Almost Too Much
He spent the drive back to the base cursing Sweets, first in his head, then out loud, louder and louder until he pulled off the highway onto a road cut to scream at the top of his lungs.
Finally out of breath, Booth slid back in the driver's seat of his car and rested his forehead against the top of the steering wheel. Something in him threatened to break, to loose the tears that were quivering inside, but Booth took a deep breath, held them back.
It wasn't Sweets' fault. He knew that, or at least he knew Brennan would think that. But if Sweets hadn't written the damn book, hadn't pushed him to gamble when neither of them wanted to lose what they had, when Brennan was terrified of changing the status quo—well, maybe she wouldn't have wanted to leave in the first place. But even if she had, he would still have had hope. Would still have been in a world where he could imagine going to her door the night before they were separated for what felt like forever. Where he could imagine not only knocking and entering but kissing her, over and over, and not meeting rejection.
Booth straightened in the driver's seat and rubbed a hand over his face. He would have done it, as simple as that. When you have nothing left to lose, it's the best time to gamble. And he was losing her. Had lost her; her plane was already taking off. He'd acted too early, prompted by a kid he'd never been sure he liked.
He sighed. If Brennan were here, she'd tell him...what? He closed his eyes and tried to imagine her in the passenger's seat. Probably something about logic or game theory or mumbo jumbo about probability. And then he'd tell her that people were delicate, had to be approached the right way. He'd tell her that there would be other chances.
It was what he'd said to himself on the drive to the airport: this could be a chance. And as he walked up to her, right up until she dropped her eyes, he meant to do it, meant to kiss her goodbye with everything in him, just in case. But she looked away, and he wouldn't ruin this last moment by kissing her when she didn't want it. Just in case this was it. So he held her hand. His fingers still seemed residually aware of her and he clenched his fist, imagining her there.
None of it fixed things, though. He still wished that she'd been in his arms last night, that she'd be in his arms tonight. And he wouldn't even get to see her for 364 more days. It was almost too much.
Booth turned the car on and pulled away from the road cut. There would be other chances.