With Every Goodbye
--
"With every goodbye, you learn."
--
"It's time, Dr. Brennan." Hodgins voice implored her to come. She couldn't do it. Clinging to work as an excuse, she pleaded with them. She couldn't do this. She'd watched everyone she'd ever loved leave her, and for her to attend Booth's funeral would make it real. She wouldn't accept it. She wouldn't admit that Booth was gone. Because he wasn't.
A very large part of her, the rational, empirical, scientific persona knew that Booth wasn't coming back, but there was a part of Temperance Brennan far beneath the surface that defied all logic, the same part that made her strong and supplied her unquenchable fire. That secret part couldn't accept her partner's death. Every time she sat in her office after everyone had gone home, she heard the creak of a door and looked up to see if it was him, coming in another attempt to get her to leave and go to dinner with him. She slept on her couch, wrapped in the blanket that he had often used, and she could feel his arms around her, a phantom presence bound to forever manifest in her heart. He was in everything that she touched, in every bone that she logged, in every fact she discovered. She saw his face on every skull and heard his voice whenever anyone spoke to her. He was gone, they said, but he had never been so present.
Before she knew it, Angela was dragging her away from the group, pleading with her to come and offer support. And so she went. Numbly allowed herself to be guided toward the door and helped into the waiting car. Stood at the graveside and listened to the words of those who had held him close. And suddenly, she couldn't feel him anymore.
The first thing she realized was that she couldn't breathe. Tears choked in her throat, and she felt removed from her body. Knives stabbed her heart as she watched herself watch the funeral. Suddenly, she was angry. Angry at Pam Nunan, who had probably found herself a new person to stalk by now, but who had taken the most precious thing Brennan possessed. Angry at humanity, at all the people who caused the need for cops in the first place. Angry at everyone who had dragged her to that karaeoke bar, angry at Booth for being killed. Angry at a God she didn't believe in for letting it happen. And in the midst of all this anger, someone handed her the microphone.
"It should have been me." She spoke calmly and evenly, in the most detached way she could. Sweets had been right about her pulling away when emotions got too hard. "The bullet that killed Booth was meant for me. I would have gladly taken it. It wasn't his choice to make, it wasn't a fair deal to trade his life for mine. Because Booth was better than me. He was the heart person, the one that could always make things okay. He loved his job, loved being the one to catch the bad guys and keep the country he loved safe. He had a son, and no one in the world was more important to him. He believed in God and went to mass every week, he prayed, he always did the right thing." She reached up to push her hair out of her eyes and found that her cheeks were wet. When had that happened? "Booth always had to protect me. He saved me from a serial killer, flew to New Orleans with a lawyer when I was a murder suspect. He was even there when my dad re-appeared fifteen years after he abandoned me and I went into the foster care system. He just had to be the hero." Her voice was edging on desperation now. "I don't understand why he did it - didn't he know he was worth so much more?! He was my best friend. He said he wouldn't leave, but he did. He abandoned me, just like everyone else did. And he knew- he knew better, and he did it anyway, just to save my life. My life isn't worth that much. He was my best friend..." She sobbed quietly, "...but he left anyway."
Wordlessly, the mike was passed on as Angela gathered her fallen friend in her arms. She held Brennan close, wondering if her friend would ever be okay again. Booth had made such monumental strides in getting the normally reserved Dr. Brennan to open up and be a person. He'd infiltrated her life, gotten under her skin, and made himself indispensable. Silently, Angela stroked Brennan's hair and let her mind wander. And then she saw it - beneath a military helmet. She'd recognize that mouth anywhere. She opened her mouth to say something when he ran. He tackled a funeral guest and held him down while his partner whirled around and took in the sight before her. Seeley Booth was standing before her, panting and a little scraped but still very much alive. He held out his arms and she wordlessly accepted. She held him tightly, making sure he was whole, as the pent-up tears streamed down her face. She clung to him like a shipwreck survivor to the last piece of driftwood. She twisted the material of his shirt in her fists as she breathed in his scent and let herself succumb to him. And then suddenly she was angry. Suddenly, she realized that he hadn't told her he was okay, that it was his fault she was bawling her eyes out. She reached out and hit him, punching every part of his body that she could reach, tears streaming down her face all the while. He stood still and let her. She spent all her rage and when it was gone, the only thing she felt was tiredness. A few last sobs escaped her throat as he gathered her once again in his arms and held her impossibly close.
"I'm sorry." He whispered into her hair.
"I'm sorry," Said his arms as they held her against his chest.
"I'm sorry." Said his heartbeat as it echoed in her ears.
"I'm sorry." Said the bruises already forming on his arms.
"I'm sorry." He said once again. She nodded against his chest. Okay. They would be okay. The rest could wait.