Booth

I pushed her.

I should have waited, I should have been more patient. I guess I was too in love with her to listen to my head, to realize that she wasn't ready. But even though it was all my fault I still couldn't bring myself to say I was sorry. I think I'd just realized that she deserved someone who wasn't a total numbskull, a guy who would wait for her to come to things in her own time, the way I should have.

It had been hard without her, harder than I was willing to let myself admit when I walked out that door. I spent most of my nights on my couch with a glass of bourbon in one hand and my cell in the other, agonizing about whether or not I should call her. The rest of my nights I spent sitting in my car outside her apartment, debating about whether or not I should go up. Working beside her after all of it was harder, but it would have been even worse if I had to go without seeing her at all. I can't explain how much concentration it took to listen to what the squints were trying to tell me, when all I wanted to do was grab her by that stupid blue lab coat and crush her up against me; say all the stuff I'd been wanting to say.

Parker didn't help much. It was getting tougher to think of reasons to tell him why she wasn't around anymore. He loved her a lot, more than I had expected he would. I didn't think they'd have much to talk about. But the more time they spent together, the closer they got. I think he likes how she doesn't talk to him like he's a baby; how she shows him the way things work without dumbing it down, how she's willing to answer any and every question he's ever had about what he sees in the world; and truthfully. It amazed me, how much she came to love him too. She tried to hide it, but I saw. When she thought I wasn't looking she'd put her arm around him, or let him sit in her lap; resting her head on his. I think she likes the way that he says exactly what he's thinking. She never has to guess what his true intentions are, never has to interpret subtle innuendo. They're alike in that way, and I think she finds it comforting, after being stuck in a world where no one ever says what they mean. It's funny, I always felt the same way about her.

XX

When they told me about going to Vegas to keep an eye on her, I agreed in a heartbeat. She had received several death threats over the course of the past six months, mostly from random whackos that Sweets claimed would never act on their rage, but a couple of them had him knitting his eyebrows with concern. My presence was just a precaution, and I was told not to worry her with the details. Of course I was well aware of how angry she'd be when she found out I was going; but I didn't trust anyone else to take care of her. I never will. I made sure to get there before she did because I thought that might make it easier for her. I watched cartoons in my room as I waited for her, my ears straining for any sound. I think I felt her presence in the room beside me before I actually heard her. She would say that that's not possible, but I know that it is. We're connected, we always have been.

As I listened, my heart thumping, I heard her tiptoe to the door that separated us, and I held my breath. Right in that moment I made the decision that if she came in, I would give in and press my face to hers and tell her that I was sorry, that I would never push her to be anything other than herself. I'd pull her so tight against me I'd be able to feel her heart through her clothes, bury my face in her hair, run my lips across her eyes.

She walked away from the door. My heart sank. I was getting used to the feeling. I heard the water running in her room, and to comfort myself, my mind immediately drifted to a warm place where the two of us were still together. A place where I would sneak into the bathroom, pull off my clothes, and slip in behind her. She'd jump, pretend to be annoyed as she said my name in a sort of reprimand. Then she'd laugh as I slid my fingers over her wet skin, across the angles of her hip bones, over her flat belly, and pulled her up against me. Maybe she'd reach her hand behind her to thread her fingers through my hair, lean back to kiss me, hum with appreciation as I ran my fingers over her favorite places. Maybe she'd turn around, catch my mouth on hers, sink her short nails into my arms.

My reverie was interrupted by the sound of smashing glass. I was up and through the door into her room before my brain even knew what was happening. I like when that happens, when my body just reacts. It shows me that my reflexes are still sharp as a tack.

Her room was dark, and my heart was pumping. I didn't see her at first, she was crouched on the bathroom floor, naked. The door was open and behind her, the blinking lights of the strip washed her skin this eerie blue color. It ran over her hair, her back, the nape of her neck. There was still water running off her in streams; the light caught the droplets on her body and made them glow like stars. Her hair, in thick, wet ropes, dripped sapphires.

I stood there for a moment, mesmerized. I knew I was going to scare her but I did my best not to. I whispered her name, the name I had given to her, as softly as I could. She started and dropped the glass she was picking up, standing quickly. She made no attempt to cover her body, and why would she? It's perfect. Besides, I had seen – adored – her naked body more times than I could count. The light cut across her, making hollows under her ribs, her cheekbones, beneath her eyes. As she breathed, the water-stars on her body moved, and glimmered. She looked like some sort of goddess. Man did I have it bad for her. Still do.

"Booth," she said, because neither of us had said anything else yet.

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to scare you, Bones," I replied. "I heard glass breaking."

She looked down at the pile of shards around her bare feet. "I just broke a cup. But thank you for your concern." It broke my heart to hear her speaking to me like that. It was how she used to talk to me when we first met. Before she trusted me.

"Well here, let me help you clean it up," I offered. I felt the need to do something. If I couldn't clean up the mess that had become our relationship, at least I could clean this one. "Don't move, you'll cut yourself in your bare feet like that."

She shifted to the side to pick up her towel and nicked her foot on some glass. "Ouch!" she whispered, sucking in air through her teeth.

"Bones! What did I say?" I lectured as I watched the blood begin to seep out from the bottom of her foot. In the darkness of the room, it looked black. "You gotta be more careful!" She bent and swept her towel off the floor, wrapping it around herself before sitting on the edge of the tub to inspect the damage.

"I'm fine, Booth, it's just a cut."

"Is it deep?" I asked, reaching out to grasp her heel so I could see. She moved away from me by a fraction of an inch, and I pulled my hand back, trying not to look as crushed as I felt. I forgot that I didn't have an all-access pass to her body anymore. I had to ask permission before my skin was allowed to touch hers, and right then, Bones couldn't handle that. It would have hurt her too much, I think. God knows it hurt me.

"No, Booth. It's perfectly fine," she assured me, though I could tell she hadn't really looked at it at all.

"Do you have any band-aids?" I asked, looking around the scantly supplied hotel bathroom.

"Yes," she answered.

I knew she was lying. I quickly cleaned the rest of the glass while she pressed some toilet paper to her cut. Finishing, I stood. "Okay Bones, you have the all clear."

She looked up at me from the tub, her wet hair sticking to the sides of her face. "Thank you, Booth."

The silence stretched between us for a moment, deafening, before I cleared my throat, and muttered, "Well, if you're okay, I should get to bed." It wasn't easy to say that to her, not after almost eight months of being the one that got to hold her in my arms every night. She didn't say anything, so I turned to go, leaving the bathroom and heading for the door. Then she spoke, so softly I almost didn't hear it. "You didn't have to come, Booth."
I turned back and saw her stand and walk towards me, her eyes every bit as blue as those neon lights. "I just wanted to make sure you were safe, Bones," I answered.
"I wasn't talking about the broken glass," she responded, referring to my sudden burst into her room.
"Neither was I," I replied. A brief look of surprise flickered across her face before she managed to suppress it. I smiled weakly and turned for the door, tossing a "Goodnight, Bones," over my shoulder.
I had opened the door to my room, the light flooding into the shadows of her own, as she whispered, "Goodnight, Booth". I shut the door behind me and tried not to think of her standing alone in the darkness.