Title: Rethinking
Summary: Booth's thoughts after the conversation when Brennan asks if he likes his father in Stargazer in a Puddle
Rating: K+
Genre: General
Characters: Booth
Spoilers: Woman in Limbo, Stargazer in a Puddle, extended version of Knight on the Grid, and Con Man in the Meth Lab
A/N: I've thought about this question a lot, and here's what I think Booth would think about it. Also, I have no idea if a '57 Thunderbird is one of those "awesome! Must-restore!" cars. Sorry if it's not. I hope everyone had a wonderful New Year and holiday season. And a big thanks to SapphireDesire for beta-ing again :)
"Do you like your father?" she had asked.
You hadn't missed a beat. "I love my father."
The conversation had been about her, so you hadn't dwelled on your response to her question at the time. But now that you're alone, you can't help but question your answer.
Yes, you suppose, you do love your father. But that hadn't answered her question. The question was, specifically, do you like your father. It had, however, answered the question that she was trying to ask, so she didn't point out that you hadn't answered the actual question. And no, you don't like your father.
He wasn't a good father, you said so yourself. To be perfectly honest, he wasn't a very good man either. You didn't like him as a father, or, later, as a man. Yeah, he'd done some great things in 'Nam, and he was a good pilot, but he was a weak man. He needed to physically dominate his family, his wife and children, in order to feel powerful. And he drank. A lot. He drank to give himself the courage to feel powerful. And then he drank some more to quiet the shame of having felt that kind of powerful.
But you loved him. You had to. That was nonnegotiable. It was a contract that you hadn't even been told you'd signed, much less given a chance to read or negotiate. There were times when it was easy to love him, of course. Like when he taught you to play catch when you were 5. Or when he let you mount, by yourself, the front grille on the '57 Thunderbird he was restoring. Those were legitimately fun times; a rare combination of him being both home and sober. You loved him then.
It was harder to love him when he was drinking, though. He was always looking for a fight, always looking for a way to provoke you, anyone, so that he'd have an excuse to hit. That man could turn "Please pass the potatoes" into fighting words if he wanted to. And sometimes he really, really did. (And being the brave older brother and loving son that you were, you made sure that you took the brunt of it). You realize, though, that you loved him anyway. Because you remembered how much you loved him when he was sober. You continued to love that fun, sober part of him, even when he was so far gone he couldn't figure out which image of you to hit.
You love your father. But that doesn't mean you have to like him.