Title: A Small Crime
Summary: One shot, brief interaction between two friends after 'The Man in the Cell'
Ratings/Spoilers: References 'The Man in the Cell' – otherwise, it's a pretty tame story
Disclaimer: They don't belong to me
Author's Note: A simple piece about a friendship that's anything but simple. Slight undertones of B/B – but mostly a friendship piece. So…there is Booth/Cam in this piece – and as much as I think it's an unholy union, this last episode really put it into perspective; I can't change the characters, there's genuine affection between those two and I think it'd be disingenuous to ignore that. Bren and Booth belong together, just not yet. The title is from Damien Rice's '9 Crimes' – which was kind of a catalyst for this piece. Let me know what you're thinking.
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"She's awake; she asked for you."
"How is she?" He looks up at her with more emotion than she can bear. His eyes haunting her long after he's left her; large and round and pleading.
"She's stable, quick recovery – you were right, she's a fighter." She says gently, fingering a button on her suit jacket, wrinkled from use.
"That's my girl." He says quietly, to no one in particular, a voice tinged with pride and shame. She wonders how long he can keep this up.
"Five. She's being discharged at five." She states plainly, shifting on the couch to face him. "She'll need a ride home – I've offered, but I think she'd rather it was you." She nudges his knee lightly – trying hard to point him in the right direction, to break this funk he's been in for the last few days. He moves away slightly, ignoring her comment.
"I guess she convinced her family to head back to New York." It seems more of a statement than a question, but she takes his cues and nods her head – trying to draw the words out of him.
"I know I'm not the person for this – who is experienced in these things." She explains softly, playing with her fingers as her hair curtains her face from his view. "But, she needs you there – you need it too." Looking up at him, her eyes sear into his and he runs a hand down his face, wincing as the stubble from his chin digs into the tender skin of his palm.
"If you're not there for her now – you'll regret it." She takes his hand from his face, "I don't want you to have any more regrets." He doesn't want her here – he doesn't want the comfort she's offering him. She's so many things, but this isn't one of them, and to see her struggling this hard, searching for the right words, makes him feel even worse; even more lost.
"I can't be there – I'm the reason why she's there."
"That's not how she sees it – that's not the truth." She says, her eyes brimming with tears and her voice brimming with honesty. "What you're doing – this isn't the answer."
He scoffs and stands, walking towards the door, hand sliding down the frame as he rests his forehead against the support. "I don't know the answer – I just know that I can't let this happen ever again." He says more to the door than to her. She sinks further into the couch, bringing her head into her hands. She doesn't know him like this – she doesn't know what to say. She has the haunting suspicion that there aren't any right words.
"You've always been able to see the light, in all of this – through everything we do and everything we experience." She began quietly, standing and slowly making her way to his side, "I've always respected you for that, and even if I couldn't see it or understand it; I had faith in your faith." He looks up at her, tears in his eyes as she reaches out to place a palm over his heart, "Please, don't loose that light."
He looks at her hand, speechless by her confession. She looks to him as if he is redemption, but instead of feeling weighted down by expectations he feels only her belief, her faith in him. Placing his hand over her wrist, he gently rubs her forearm, locking eyes with her. It feels natural, as if they've been this way for years; she's familiar and right. He kisses her gently, it's soft and she doesn't pull away.
She's wrapped tight in his embrace, supporting him as much as he is supporting her. He feels her tears through the thin fabric of his shirt and pulls away, touching her check gently with a look of profound sadness; as if after everything they've been through, seeing her cry is the most tragic.
"You need to go to her." She says gently, he doesn't feel chided or embarrassed, he doesn't regret touching her. He nods, hand resting on her shoulder as if telling her, 'I wish it were otherwise.' But that's more honesty than either can handle at this point, unaware and unprepared for anything more than this.
"Thank you – for everything." He says honestly, kissing her forehead. She smiles sweetly at him, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.
"You'll get through this; we'll all get through this, together." He nods, pulling on a jacket and grabbing his car keys.
"I know that now." He says simply, turning towards the door, leaving her standing in his apartment playing with the edges of her sleeves, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. As he opens the door, he turns around with a look of gratitude and longing and something neither of them can place nor understand. Walking away, the world doesn't slow, stop, or end.