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II. The Problem That Was

"No, Booth."

He froze with his hand under her blouse, an ice-cold fist grabbing his insides. Eyes flew up.

"What?"

Her palms flat on his chest, she kept the distance.

"I said no."

Hurt, panic, fear, anger... his face was twisted with emotions, and some part of her wanted to take it back, wanted to give him an easy way out. But the box had been opened.

"You don't want me to touch you?" he whispered, pulling away as if he had burned himself. And maybe he had.

Closing her eyes for the fraction of a second, she tried to find the right words.

"I want you to touch me. I need it, Booth. But what I need even more is you. I want you back."

He watched her, breathlessly, but then something inside of him clicked.

"Yeah, guess what? I want three months back, Bones. Sometimes, we just don't get what we want, do we?" he spat out, and, suddenly, she was deeply scared that, maybe, coming home hadn't been enough.

Silence followed his bitter eruption, thick silence looming between them, and his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. Breathing heavily, he pierced her with his gaze, and Brennan felt naked and small and fragile. What if she couldn't fix this? What if...?

'Not an option,' a tiny voice inside of her hissed, and she opened her mouth to say something, anything, but the whining of the baby monitor cut her off.

Bowing his head, Booth turned around.

"Check on her. She prefers you anyways."

He sounded defeated, and, for the first time in a very long time, she felt tears closing her throat. She couldn't cry. Not now. She had to fix this.

Christine had merely lost her blankie, but Brennan picked her up nonetheless, seeking strength in her daughter's sleepy baby scent. The child snuggled up to her, already drifting off again, and Brennan kissed her silky head. Putting her back into the crib, she turned the mobile on.

"Everything's gonna be fine. I promise," she murmured, trying to recall how the baby had looked three months ago; trying to see her with his eyes.

Three months had changed her, changed them. Three months had happened. If only she knew a way to make up for the lost time, she would do it. But there was no way. The only thing left was moving on.

When she came downstairs, Brennan found his slumped body on the couch, his face buried in both hands. Making a detour, she poured two glasses of Whiskey with shaking hands, placing one of the two right in front of him.

He looked up, his gaze wandering from her to the glass.

"Thanks. Look... Bones, I'm sorry."

Waving her hand, she stilled him.

"You must forgive me."

"I... I don't blame you."

"Yes, you do. And you're right. But you have to forgive me, Booth. I didn't want to go. I didn't want to take her away. But I had to. I had to. And if you can't forgive me..."

She took a seat on the table in front of him, shifting as close as she could without touching him.

Taking the glass, he twisted it in his hand, finally gulping down half of the drink.

"You left and took my life with you."

Nodding, she accepted his words.

"Now you're back, but... everything's different."

Inhaling deeply, she took his hand.

"You're right, Booth. I cannot change that. Believe me, I wish I could."

"She's grown so much..."

"She doesn't prefer me. Christine didn't understand why we left, and now we're back. She's sleeping better. Laughing more. She missed you so much. Give her some time to adjust."

"You don't need me."

Shaking her head, she laughed out without humor.

"You're wrong, Booth, very wrong. Christine needs her daddy. I need my... you, Booth, you. We can survive without you, that's correct, and I'm adept at cooking breakfast, but we do need you. We love you."

"I just... Bones, do we have to do this?"

Pain, so much pain in his eyes, but she squeezed his hand.

"You have to understand, Booth. If you cannot forgive me, Pelant has won. I can't let him win. Not this one."

"Bones..."

"This is important, Booth, we are. We both have lost three months."

Her words were lingering in the air, and, for the first time, he saw her pain.

"Tell me about it," he whispered, his face softening.

-BONES-

The room disappeared, as she began to talk. She led him from town to town, describing motel rooms and sleepless nights. Painting a picture of a life that hadn't really been a life, had only been existence. Rationality fought with emotions, and her voice halted every now and then. He heard about a purple unicorn and the first ride on a carousel. Heard about blue baby clothes and a red wig.

There were pictures to accompany her story and letters she had written but never sent.

She talked about the case as well, their efforts to take down Pelant, but only briefly because that wasn't what mattered. Not right now.

She spoke for about an hour, her pain filling the room, and when she finally stopped, another kind of silence was lingering between them. Their glasses had been emptied and refilled, but, still, she was holding his hand. Or, maybe, he was holding hers.

The night had darkened, but in the wee hours of the new day, Booth felt something new, something else replacing anger and hurt and loss. Something that flickered like a tiny flame in the darkness. Pride.

"You were very brave," he finally uttered, and, lifting her head, she sought his eyes, finding them warm and steady on her.

"I did change because I had to. All I ever wanted was coming home."

Lowering his gaze, he played with her fingers, and, eventually, a soft smile curved up his lips.

"I like your pancakes."

Four simple words that flooded her with relief, and, once more, she had to keep her tears at bay.

"Yours are better."

He tugged at her hand, gently, and she followed her heart, falling into his arms. Arms that opened for her, that closed around her, holding her tight to his chest. He was warm and solid, but he was soft as well, finally soft again.

"Please forgive me," she whispered into his neck, and he blinked against the moisture in his eyes, inhaling the very familiar scent of her.

"I do. I have. I will."

"Just... don't give up, Booth. Don't give up on us."

His hold on her became almost painful, but it felt good, so good.

"I'm not that stupid, Bones."

She laughed out on a sob and he kissed her; kissed her just because he wanted to kiss her, and, this time, she did not say 'no'. Her lips parted ever so softly under his, tongues brushing over each other, fingers entwining.

"Booth?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you, too, you know that, right?"

"Yes. I... Bones, I can adjust. I will."

-BONES-

People say living well is the best revenge.

But, as he got up with her in his arms, it was not about revenge. As he carried her to their bedroom, it was not about revenge. And, as she removed his clothes, shed her own as well, it was neither hiding nor forgetting.

It was remembering; remembering with body and soul.

And, as her hand cupped his hip, moving lower; as he buried his face in the valley between her breasts, it was just it.

A man and a woman. Making love.

Finally, as she was moving on top of him, feeling him so deep inside of her, it was nothing but pure bliss. Raw emotions wrapped up in bubbles of happiness.

And, as he pulled her into his arms afterwards, kissing her damp brow, it was coming home.

Coming home.

The End.