You honestly thought that when she'd stopped you, it would be because you both had a commitment to the victims. That you were the only ones who could solve the mystery of their deaths and give their loved ones peace of mind.

But she pushed against your chest, and when you looked up she was crying, and you felt your heart break right against her palm.

Can't you feel it Bones? It beats for you. It breaks for us.

You know what could have been. Until now, you had kept your hope alive. You kindled it with soft touches, a guiding hand on her back, a broad and honest smile. You nourished it with moments over coffee, alone time at the diner, or takeout at her place. But now it was all but snuffed out, as if a breeze had ignorantly passed over it and whipped away the essential oxygen that it required to burn.

She's saying that she can't change. That she doesn't know how.

Don't you know Bones? You don't have to change. I don't want you to change.

She thinks she couldn't love you.

You already do. A man knows things Bones. A man knows when a woman loves him.

God, she loves you just by breathing. Because if she's alive, and near you, then you too are alive.

All the things you want to say to her. But they just won't come out.

Instead you cry. You are not afraid to. You are not weak. Just broken. Heartbroken.

You thought that by telling her you wanted to try, that you wanted a real-life, grown-up, long-term, I'll-still-love-you-in-fifty-years-and-until-the-day-we-die-and-beyond relationship, that the ache would stop. That desperate, heart-wrenching ache in your chest that was persistent and determined. And it had for a moment, when your lips met.

But when you saw her tears, and the plea in her eyes, it started right back up again. Who knows, maybe it was always there and your heart just stopped for a few glorious seconds.

Oh my God, Bones, I love you so much. And I'm so, so sorry.

And you know she is, too.