His hand hurts and the thought of, "Aren't you brilliant?" floats through his head. His teeth are pushed together tightly, and he knows it will result in a migraine later, but right now, he's okay with that.
He really shouldn't have punched that door. It really wasn't the smartest way to let out his anger. It's just....her.
"Booth!"
"What do you want?" he spits out, his jaw still locked in anger.
She wasn't expecting this. And yet...yet at the same time, he knows they've been asking themselves this question for years.
The thing is, he already knows what he wants. He's known since the first time he asked himself that question. Bones, on the other hand....he sighs. Bones and Bones and he knows that that's what he loves about her.
Yes, loves. If only he could tell her. Tell her like he needs to tell her, show her like she needs it to be shown. Make her see how real this is and that he won't leave at the first sign of danger (the fact that he's been there for so many years should already attest to that). He just wants to know what's stopping her from letting this become a them.
She's asking herself this question. Again. As she's been doing for....years now. The part that scares her is that, to be honest (and she prides herslf on that ability) she doesn't know. And for someone who always knows what she thinks, not knowing scares her.
It means there's a question mark. An uncertainty. A black space she can't fill in. It means she doesn't have all the answers, that for once, she's going to have to place more trust on someone else than she does on herself. And she knows so doesn't do that. At least not well. She knows that it's ironic, that she can plunge into danger, risk her life to study and observe and find the truth, but when it comes to admitting the truth to herself, well, she runs straight in the other direction.
So, the question's still there, and he's looking at her in the way that makes her feel like a deer in the headlights. She can't run anywhere, because he's the person she runs to. She smiles when she figures that since she's running from herself, trying to ignore the truth that's swelling up inside of her, she might as well run to him.
He's taken aback, only at first, when she throws (yes, throws) herself onto him, latching her arms around his neck, and fitting herself right. Into. Him. That's when he knows he won't have a migraine later on that evening.