Something shifted in their relative positions after that sham of a funeral; if he were a planet revolving around her sun, then he was Mercury just before it, almost scorched by her heat, and now he's Pluto, at an icy-cold distance.

Weeks had passed since and she was still giving him the cold shoulder. Disconcertingly, he had no idea how to handle her, and the fear that she didn't even care anymore burned like acid in his gut.

One afternoon, his restraint suddenly snapped under the pressure of his frustration and the outrage broke free.

"You wanna slug me again? Go ahead! Hit me, kick me, take your best shot, anything! But I can't bear the sad puppy eyes and the silence anymore. Haven't you punished me enough by now?"

Her mouth set in a hard line, her eyes like molten concrete.

Is that what he thinks this is? An act; manipulation?

The myriad of emotions that had fuelled her anger and her withdrawal these past few weeks were as real as the blood pumping through his veins, and it made hers boil to hear him accuse her of manipulation.

"Fuck you, Seeley Booth."

Then he suddenly remembered how uncharacteristically small her voice had been when, one night in his office after too many dixie cups filled with liquid truth, she'd asked him point blank, "Are you going to betray me?"

"No," he'd told her firmly and sincerely.

Not only had he broken his word but he had been selfish in his desire for her to forgive him, he realized, and the absence of indifference (he dared not think of it as passion) in her voice made him thank his lucky stars to hear her say those words, which he welcomed even as a curse, never mind as a wish.


Oh and one last thing: don't even dare point out to me that Pluto isn't a planet anymore; I'm still in denial about that one and the injustice of it all is nearly unbearable (planets have feelings too, you know) ;-D.