The Crux

Summary: It struck them with a tragic sense of irony that for two people who prided themselves on their powers of observation, they profoundly misunderstood each other. / In the wake of Pelant's death, Booth and Angela mend fences. Missing scene from 9x05.

Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer applies – I don't own the show, characters, etc. Just the little plot bunny that inspired this ficlet.

A/N: Lately I've been re-watching some of my favorite episodes (including those of the Pelant arc) and when Angela and Brennan discuss the real reason Booth reneged on the engagement, this follow-up scene popped into my head. Hope you like.


"We build too many walls and not enough bridges." – Isaac Newton


"We need to talk."

Sitting in his office chair, the one that envious coworkers had dubbed "lumbar nirvana," Booth froze as though at gunpoint. Those were the four most paralyzing words in the English language, a phrase that instinctively sent a man running for the hills – even if it wasn't uttered by his significant other.

Booth didn't relax when he recognized Angela in his doorway, not even when she marched over with her palms held up in a disarming I-come-in-peace gesture.

"Yikes. You make the same face Hodgins does when I say that."

"Did you need something, Angela?"

This time she was the one who froze. He wasn't being openly hostile, but with Booth, as with people in general, it was all about the subtext. The clipped words, the rigid jawline, the way his torso still angled away from her, hands arrested mid-keystroke in front of his computer screen. He was sending her signals all over the place, and Angela read them loud and clear.

"Still mad at me, huh?" she ventured, deciding on the spot to abandon foreplay and get straight to the point.

All the air seemed to leak out of him as Booth slowly swiveled to face her. Much as he would prefer an actual shootout over having this conversation, he was already caught in the web, unable to escape so long as Angela was blocking the only exit, determined to unearth the past like a cold case otherwise left unsolved.

Still, he sensed her uncertainty, her careful attempt to navigate the minefield between them – a sudden switch after three months of open warfare. It was like she didn't know how to act around him anymore, and what surprised him even more than that was the realization that no part of him enjoyed watching her struggle.

"I'm not mad at you," Booth said, and amazingly it was the truth. Angela could tell. Far from cold and unyielding, his eyes were pools of melted chocolate. Open, honest, deep… and churning with exhaustion. Clearly he felt weighed down by the case – or far more likely, the expedited wedding plans – but he wasn't angry. At least, not with her.

For some reason, she didn't find that reassuring.

Angela folded her arms across her chest and shifted her weight, wishing for the first time that she hadn't talked herself out of doing this with computer monitors between them. "Yeah, well, maybe you should be mad. I said some pretty awful things to you back when I thought… you know."

"Yeah," Booth acknowledged, and contrary to what he'd just assured her, he fought to banish the ire from his tone. Angela's words still rang so clearly in his mind he could recite them in his sleep. You're ruining her very fragile heart. You should be ashamed of yourself. "I know."

Angela's sigh could've filled his entire office. "Look, Booth. This cold war vibe we've got going here? I want to fix it. Brennan filled me in on everything. I know it was Pelant pulling the strings when you backed out on the engagement. For what it's worth, I'm… sorry I doubted you."

She could've sucker punched him and he would've been less stunned. Several of their latest exchanges certainly seemed headed that direction.

Despite recent events, however, Booth didn't doubt her intentions now; he'd known Angela for years, and she was nothing if not sincere. And loyal. It was because of the latter that he could never fully begrudge her those sharp accusations that had on more than one occasion cut him to the bone with greater skill than Cam's scalpel.

"You were looking out for Bones," he recovered, side-stepping the apology. "If anybody gets that, it's me."

"You were looking out for her, too," maintained Angela, unwilling to let him dismiss the guilt she felt due. "You shielded her from the pain of five innocent deaths if she knew the truth."

His laugh was bitter. "Putting it like that makes the choice sound so cut and dry. Do you know how many times I nearly said 'to hell with it' and told her everything? Too many. A secret that big… it's poison, and I almost let it kill us both."

Though Angela was strongly tempted to argue and remind him who the true villain was – like Brennan had done for her just that morning – she refrained. No doubt Booth had tried that himself a thousand times over. Logic never was his forte, though; no amount of it could erase the stain of watching his partner suffer and doing absolutely nothing to stop it.

Angela settled for saying, "I know what you mean."

Booth said nothing at first, and the steady buzz of FBI agents swarming outside filled the air as he studied her. His scrutiny wasn't particularly invasive, as Angela knew he was fully capable during interrogation; rather, his eyes roving over her were like those of an art enthusiast rediscovering a classic piece he once loved… and was undecided whether his tastes were changed or not.

Suddenly Booth blinked, and when the subtle brushstrokes of his face smoothed out and formed a familiar image, Angela took it as a good sign.

"Right," he said in a strange voice. "Can't believe I almost forgot that a year ago it was you in the hot seat, trading secret flower messages with Bones while I hounded you about keeping my family from me." His tone held the hint of a reproach, but Angela gathered it wasn't entirely meant for her. "You risked alienating everyone to keep her safe."

She smiled tightly, remembering. "For my best friend, it's all in the line of duty."

If anybody gets that, it's me.

Simultaneously, Angela's breath caught and Booth's eyes went wide.

Something passed between them, some remnant of a connection long since frayed but apparently never broken. In that moment they were back, just Agent Booth and Angela the artist, two fish out of water amidst a sea of scientific gobbledygook, misconstrued pop culture references, and jokes taken far too literally. Finally they were speaking the same language again: a language by the name of Temperance Brennan.

For them, she came first. Always. For all their differences, that was the crux, the foundation beneath their strange kinship. Had they simply trusted in that bond a little more they might have spared themselves months of resentment; and it struck them with a tragic sense of irony that for two people who prided themselves on their powers of observation, they profoundly misunderstood each other.

"Pelant really screwed everything up, didn't he?"

The question was spoken quietly, warily, and though it was rhetorical, Booth saw it for what it really was. An olive branch.

His voice was just as subdued when he answered. "Yeah, he did."

Without warning, he stood and emerged from his desk and for one heart-sinking moment, Angela thought he finally meant to fly the coop.

Booth stopped in front of her. For the first time in three months, he looked her right in the eye… and smiled.

"But he didn't win."

FIN


A/N: Not sure how I feel about this one. Never read/wrote for Bones before, or done a split POV before, so I feel a little out of my depth. I enjoy the fact that these two have had their friendship tested over the last couple seasons because I think they're stronger for it, and I just felt like they needed a little more resolution than the show gave us. Anyway, thanks for giving this a shot.