PT II
AN: I've got some lyrics for this chapter, so check the song out! Brave by Sara Bareilles.
Or you can start speaking up
Nothing's gonna hurt you the way that words do
And they settle 'neath your skin
Kept on the inside and no sunlight
Sometimes a shadow wins
But I wonder what would happen if you
Say what you wanna say
And let the words fall out
Honestly I wanna see you be brave
Booth wiped the grease off his chin as he finished off his burger. What better way to forget than eating? The burger was gross but he bought so he ate. Booth didn't know what time it was, and he didn't care. He sat in the diner, flipped his phone open and held on to the power button. He knew who would call and he knew he didn't want to talk. Finally, the phone turned on and Booth was rudely awakened to the buzzing left from six calls from Cam, two from Brennan and three from Sweets. Obviously the ones left by Brennan were just business so he decided to listen to the one message she had left him.
To sum it up; they found some evidence.
From Booth's perspective he got; some knick in the bone, some fiber found by Hodgins and Cam had a personal question. The first two he was interested in; the third he was less than enthusiastic about. He wanted to talk, he really did, but he just didn't know how.
But yet, Booth knew how. He was just something he wouldn't admit to himself let alone anyone; he was scared.
These impulses, what were they? Why were they only triggered now? It had to be the coma. Booth just didn't know what to do anymore. He leant back in his chair and waved his hand at the waitress signaling he was ready to pay the check. Booth laid the 12.69 on the counter and was ready to leave when he saw Sweets light up at the sight of him. Booth groaned and sunk back down into the chair.
The shrink ran to him breathless, and plopped down in the chair opposite. "We've been very worried about you Agent Booth. You've been gone for hours."
"Really?" Booth said unenthusiastically.
"Yes. We've looked here already so I would guess you have been somewhere else throughout this time."
"Well, you guessed right Sweets" the agent got up and began to walk out.
"Booth!" the psychologist chased after him, "we really need to talk about what you're going through."
"And what exactly would that be, Sweets?" Booth replied as he opened the door out to the street.
"It's obvious that something is wrong, and I would like to know what." Sweets said seriously.
"You know, why don't you come over tonight and watch the game. We could do some drunk talk."
"Booth," Sweets grabbed his arm lightly, "we need to talk. It has grown increasingly obvious to me that it is difficult for you to even handle whatever the hell you're trying to handle and you are going to need help."
"Help is for damaged veterans, Sweets!" the agent exploded, "I am not damaged and I sure as hell do not need help. I am not broken, I am not stupid, and I am not homeless. Why do I need help! I haven't needed it before, I don't need it now! Oh, sure I'm going through emotional stress, trying being in war, Sweets! Maybe, just for one hour, if you saw the hell I went through then you might understand! Try blowing off the head of a child soldier, huh? I'll give you a gun and I'll call my buddy at the Pentagon and I'll get you suited up and you can go blow away some fucking kid who's only shooting because the warlord has his sister in captivity! How about that? You want that, Sweets? I'll fucking give it to you." Booth shoved his phone into the psychologists chest and yelled "Speed dial number six, Sweets. Go at it!"
Booth strut to his SUV, slammed the car door, rolled down the passenger window and screamed "And after all that, try getting a fucking brain tumor!"
Booth drove away and Sweets was left awestruck.
Cam walked into the liquor store, and walked past the man behind the counter, "Hey Sal, don't have a key. Is through here okay?" The man nodded, and Cam walked right into the back. Walking up the stairs, her heels clicking, Cam thought about the irony of the situation; Booth lived above a liquor store after being abused from a man who drank the liquid for years.
Booth needed a break. He underwent surgery and only went under five weeks of recovery unlike the ten or eleven he was supposed to.
Walking past the other rooms on the floor, Cam finally got to 8A. He would be here; of course he would. He was nowhere else, so of course he was here. Cam took in a deep breath and rapped her knuckles on the door. She heard movement, and her sigh of relief was more than audible as Booth walked toward the door.
Booth knew it was Cam. She knocked on the door the same way every time she did so. Three sharp knocks and then silence. Booth wouldn't have answered the door if it was anyone else. But it was her. He could trust her.
Looking through the peephole just in case, Booth opened the door with a beer in his hand; little did Cam know it was his sixth. Booth only opened the door a few inches and murmured out a greeting.
"Booth, let me in" Cam said seriously.
"Why."
"You promised me we would talk so I'm coming in."
"I did?"
"Yeah; move."
"Okay."
Booth backed up and let the pathologist in. He was a slave at his own demise, either he let her in to beat him up or he'd beat himself up.
"Want one?" Booth pointed to the more-than-half empty 12 pack.
"Uh, no…" Cam gawked at the left over beers.
The two sat down on the couch in their usual spots; right beside each other. Cam turned to Booth and said uneasily, "Seeley, you have to let me in. What's spinning up there?"
Booth just looked at her, he wanted to, he had to; but he couldn't. "My head just hurts" he squawked out.
"Yeah, and so does mine. I've been worried about you, Booth. You just exploded from Sweets and haven't been heard from since then."
"How long ago was that?" Booth rubbed his eyes with his empty hand.
"About four hours ago; Seeley it's dark outside."
"Been gone that long, huh?"
"Yes; and I want to know where you've been."
"Oh, just here and there," Booth chuckled, "to the moon and back you could say."
"Booth how many beers have you had"
"Just a couple…" he placed the half drunk one on the coffee table.
"And how many's 'a couple'?"
Booth surrendered, "this is the seventh".
Cam sighed, "Booth, why are you doing this to yourself? You just got back out there. Do you need more time off because I think you do. You're tired; very tired, and it's very obvious."
"Yeah, I know."
"Booth I don't want you drinking, it could be bad for your healing."
"I'm already healed, Camille!" Booth's tone thunderous.
"Okay, Seeley, see this is what you went off at Sweets abou-"
"Yeah I bet it's on the fucking news by now." Booth's anger beginning to surface.
Cam placed her hands on either side of Booth's cheeks. She learned a trick or two about controlling his anger when they were together. Booth was a people person; he connected through touch. When he was lost he just needed a simple touch to gain himself back. She could tell he was beginning to lose control. Booth would never hit her, she knew it, but he would most definitely destroy something else. His gaze shifted to hers and calmly Cam said, "I'm no shrink Seeley, but I know you're going through something and there are obvious symptoms to whatever the hell it is."
"I don't want to talk about it," his breath soiled with the scent of beer, "you'll think I'm going crazy- I think I'm going crazy."
"You aren't crazy…" Cam replied as she rubbed her thumbs over his stubble, "is the anger gone, Booth?"
"No it's still there; it's always there. I-I can't escape it."
"You can, Seeley, you can. I've seen you control it." Cam said as she brought her hands away from his face and into her lap.
Booth frowned at the loss of contact and warmth but mentioned nothing of it. "Um…" he said, "I'm having dreams."
"What kind of dreams?"
"Bad ones."
Booth stood up off the couch and walked toward his bedroom. Cam understood; he didn't want to talk, but he would. Later, he would.
Cam watched him as he struggled to get his intoxicated self under the covers and smiled a sad smile. He was hurting and she needed to know why. Only time would tell; she told herself. Cam was walking toward the door when she heard it; the plead.
That little cry; his soft voice forming the word; 'stay'.
