Gordon Gordon says: Hope and patience.
Sweets says: You're the gambler.
In hindsight, Booth knows it's the cook you should trust, because –
Alea iacta.
Look where it got Caesar in the end.
I gotta move on.
Because everyone has a breaking point, right?
Except, when she opens the door with her eyes red and puffy, he's no longer sure about just what got broken last night.
Or who.
Will you betray me?
The center must hold.
Everything changes.
Everything happens eventually.
But in the meantime, you gotta play the hand you're dealt.
"Booth, what –"
"We're okay, Bones."
Silence. Then: "I don't know what that means."
It's a guy thing to fix stuff, right?
"I mean, I'm not okay, and – and I can see you're not okay, but... we are. We'll be okay."
"...we will?"
He doesn't remember her voice ever sounding so – small.
Until last night, that is.
Will you get your faith back?
The sun will come up, and tomorrow's a new day.
Except tomorrow is now today.
"Yeah, Bones, we will."
Ignoring the odds once used to be the most thrilling thing in his life.
Everything changes.
Cam looks suspicious.
Angela looks worried.
Sweets looks terrified, and flees back into his office when he spots Booth coming towards him in the corridor.
Bones looks like a porcelain doll in a lab coat, pale face set into a calm, stern mask of professionalism.
Booth looks at her and knows that the game won't ever be over as long as there's still so much to lose.
He told Sweets that he mostly won, but he knows even Sweets isn't naïve enough to buy that.
You're the gambler.
Do you believe in fate?
He still does.