Dismayed, Brennan watched Booth turn the corner and disappear.
"Angela, that was unnecessary."
The artist was unrepentant. "Says you. I feel a lot better."
"I am not angry with Booth," Brennan insisted calmly. "I'm happy for him, and for Hannah. In fact . . ." When she began to fidget with papers and pens on her desk, Angela's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Hannah called earlier. She's planning a party to celebrate their engagement and asked for my help."
Angela's mouth dropped open. "Please tell me that you told her she could take her party and stick it up her -"
"No, I didn't. I told her that I would be glad to offer whatever assistance I could."
"Brennan!" Angela's wail was heard on the platform. "Why?"
Brennan deliberately chose to misunderstand the question. "She needs my help with the guest list. She wanted the names of some of Booth's friends."
Angela threw up her hands. "She's marrying the guy and she doesn't know who his friends are?"
Brennan looked momentarily unsure but quickly rallied. "Booth is a very private person."
"Well, he was never private with you, was he?" Angela snapped. "He told you his life story within five minutes of meeting him!"
"You're exaggerating." A faint hint of pink warmed her pale cheeks.
The blush did it. "You know what you need, sweetie? A break. You need to get away." Angela warmed to the idea as she spoke. "Yes, that's exactly what you need to do. You should go away for a few weeks, maybe even a few months. Isn't there some Cro-magnon Neanderthal missing link guy in Mount Pikachu you could go study?"
Brennan looked confused. "I'm not familiar with that discovery . . ."
"Well, I'm sure there is one." Angela waved airily. "And you should go. Now. Right now. I'll help you pack."
"Thank you, Angela, but I'm not going anywhere." Brennan's smile was tender but her voice was firm. "My work is here. My friends are here - and I count Booth among those friends."
Angela glared at her. "You picked a hell of a time to stay put, Brennan." A minute passed before she heaved a deep, disappointed sigh. "Just so you know, this conversation isn't over but right now, this kid is playing kickball with my bladder so I have to go. But I am not done with you."
On that proclamation, she swept out of the office.
.
.
.
.
He didn't go back to work. He should have, there was more to be done and more hours in the day in which to do it. But he didn't.
He went to church.
Chaos surrounded him, his thoughts a swirling kaleidoscope of memories as anger and resentment battled with hope and uncertainty, underscored as always by the ever-present need to do the right thing. He was a good man. He'd spent his whole life trying to prove it.
Booth stepped across the shamrock embedded into the floor of St. Patrick's and slid into a pew at the back of the sanctuary. Others were there, most of them sitting closer to the front, near the closed wooden closets of the confessional at the side of the room. He gave them only a cursory glance before turning his attention to the big Rose Window above the choir loft. He took a deep breath and waited for the peace and serenity of the church to calm his troubled mind.
"Seeley. How nice to see you again. How have you been? How is Ms. Burley?"
The deep, rich tones fit the regal bearing of the dark-skinned priest who sat down in the row just in front of him. He shifted sideways, the better to see his recently absent parishioner.
"Father Paul. I'm good. She's good, thanks." No mention was made of how long it had been since Booth had been to confession but the implication was there, gently, just behind the words. He heard it. "We're getting married. Hannah . . . I asked and she said yes, so . . ."
"Congratulations." The black eyes twinkled with good humor. "Perhaps I'll see you again after your nuptials."
"Yea." Booth smiled back but it wasn't the easy grin of someone in perfect happiness.
Silence fell, broken by the squeak of metal hinges as the confessional door opened. A teenage boy stepped out, then waited politely as a stooped, gray-haired woman teetered forward for her turn.
Father Paul watched Booth.
"You know," he said finally, "we don't need a sliding panel between us just to talk."
Shoulders hunched, Booth stared down at his hands, at the restless clenching and unclenching of his fingers.
"I . . . it's Bones."
"Ah. And how is Temperance?" Smiling, the priest stretched his arm out along the back of the pew and settled in comfortably. "When you stopped coming to confession, she stopped coming with you to wait. I miss our chats."
Booth's grin came a bit more naturally. "You know, she's not a believer."
Father Paul shrugged. "Temperance believes in the universe. She sees majesty in each tiny blade of grass or the tallest redwood . . . or the spark that makes us human. While it's true that she doesn't credit those things to the power of our Creator, as you and I do, we share the same sense of wonder and amazement at the world our Lord has given us." He gave Booth a wink. "I can work with that."
"I'm still in love with her."
The confession surprised him. Father Paul, not so much. His face grew somber as he listened to the words pouring out of Booth's heart.
"I mean, I knew I still . . . cared . . . you know? That kind of feeling just doesn't go away. But I thought I was over . . . I thought I'd moved on, that it was in the past but . . ."
He raked a hand through his hair, then sat forward, elbows on his knees, with his forehead resting on his intertwined fingers.
"And Hannah . . . she didn't want to get married, she told me that, but I kept asking and I kept asking until she finally . . . And now she wants to get married and she's happy and I'm . . ."
"You are finally acknowledging your love for Temperance."
Booth looked up, his eyes bloodshot and rimmed in red. Angela's scathing contempt taunted him.
"I can't just walk away from Hannah. She hasn't done anything wrong. It's not her fault. And Bones . . . why would she trust me again? What makes me any different than some kid chasing after the shiniest toy?"
His head dropped onto his hands again.
"I don't know what to do."
Father Paul laid an open palm on one wide shoulder.
"Would you like me to pray with you, Seeley?"
When Booth nodded, the priest closed his eyes.
.
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Btw, for those of you weirdos who like this kind of angst (you know who you are!) I hope you're reading AmandaFriend's The Odds in the Gambler. If you aren't, you should be. Go now. Run, don't walk. And leave her a review because she is KILLING that story!
