AN: I am so glad that I posted this, because the response has inspired me to continue. Thank you everyone. Please let me know if there is anything that I should or should not be doing. By the way, Have I mentioned how much I adore these characters!?
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Chapter 7 – A Sniper Never Flinches
He dropped Bones at the lab for the second time that day. He could sense her reluctance at exiting the car, but he was no longer capable of supplying reassurance. He prided himself on his on strength and ability to help others, but right now he just wanted to be alone. He felt exposed like a sniper whose position has been compromised. A sniper must always remain in control and under cover—one flinch, one sneeze, one mistake and it means your life or the lives of others. He had flinched more than once today. Heck, he had practically leaped out of the bush to announce his presence to all. For the second time today, he felt like an idiot.
What had happened? For one thing, he had admitted his feelings for Bones not only to himself but to her. To make matters worse, she had dismissed him as being logical which irritated him to no end. For another, he was thinking about Richard Barton. What happened to them? How did his son get wrapped up in this? This was one of those times that he was glad that Parker was safe with Rebecca. He existed within a bubble of murder and danger that was not healthy for anyone he cared about.
He drove home, but didn't know what to do with himself when he got there. He headed for the shower letting the water run over his body until it had long run cold still concentrating on the events of the day. He climbed into bed, but he knew that sleep was lost on him at this point. In fact, he hadn't slept in days. He tossed in one direction and thought about Bones and the feelings that they would probably never share, and then he tossed in another direction and was confronted by the fates of Richard and Adam Barton. Giving up, he headed for the living room and that big glass of Scotch he promised himself.
He stared at the amber liquid swirling it around in the glass enjoying the soft clink of ice and the strong aroma. Finishing one glass and pouring another, he stretched out on the couch and closed his eyes. A man would do almost anything for the women he loved and a father would do absolutely anything to protect his child. He could think of no stronger emotions. Admittedly, he was ruled by his heart and these two issues were almost too much to process at once. When it rained, it poured. How did Bones keep herself so guarded? How did she stand over bodies and spout technical crap? These were people they were dealing with—people with lives, loves, hearts, and souls.
He sat up and poured a third glass of scotch when he was startled by a knock at his door. "What the hell?" he muttered quickly downing the liquid. He stood a little too fast and felt a little light-headed. Bracing himself on the arm of the couch, he glanced at his watch—it was almost 1:00 in the morning. He headed toward the door ignoring the little stagger in his step and swung the door open prepared to give whoever it was a piece of his mind.
"Bones? What are you doing here?" He was dumbfounded. She had never come to his place at this hour. He immediately felt his body relax but did not immediately step aside to let her in.
Not one to take an any sort of hint, she casually brushed him aside and swept into his space; "I figured it was about time to show up at your doorstep in the middle of the night as you seem entitled to come to my apartment whenever you please. Besides, I know that it is my turn to supply the take-out." She turned to face him smiling and he noticed that she had a large bag in one hand and a six-pack in the other. Her face turned serious as she continued, "I was worried about you today."
"You mean yesterday." He couldn't help but grasp the opportunity to correct her—these moments were so few and far between.
"Very funny. I take it you are feeling better."
"I don't know about that, but I am happy to see you and I am suddenly starving." In fact, he could not remember the last time he ate anything which might explain why the scotch affected him so quickly.
They spread out the Thai food and opened a couple of beers, eating and drinking in silence.
"Booth, you never told me what you were thinking today." She was not one to let things go. It made her one hell of an investigator and sometimes an irritating partner. Still, he could not deny that her persistence had gotten them through many cases.
"Listen Bones, when I received the data on Barton, it was like I was reading my own file. He served in the same type of unit in the same war. He left the military for government service like I did. He was the same age as I am at his death and he had a son the same age as mine. The similarities hit me hard. When you described the evidence to me, I just knew what had happened and it is very unpleasant and disturbing."
"What is it that you think you know Booth?" Persistent, as ever.
He turned to face those intense eyes of hers that seemed to be providing the only light in the room. "I think that Richard Barton held his son while he died, and then killed himself because he could not cope with his failure." It sounded so matter-of-fact as he said it, but he knew that their experience in cold storage had been excruciating for Barton. Now, it was excruciating for him.
"His failure?"
"He could not save his son or even ease his passage."
"That scenario actually fits the evidence. Hodgins identified traces of graphite and microscopic slivers of wood on his vertebrae and mandible. This would suggest that Barton used a pencil to puncture his jugular and carotid arteries." She lowered her eyes from his before continuing, "It took several tries." Although Booth appreciated her candor, he was having trouble hearing this reading of the evidence especially in her scientific tone. He was ashamed at the pressure welling up in his eyes. He knew exactly how Richard Barton felt in those moments—a man would do absolutely anything to protect his child. Failing that, there would be no point to living. Although no tears had fallen, he could sense Bones scrutinizing his thought process. "Booth, you really need to find a way to distance yourself from these emotions. It will help you remain objective."
"Objective?" He screamed standing abruptly and backing away from her. "No way lady, I don't think so. I am not sure how you manage to bottle everything up inside of that brilliant brain of yours, but my heart does not allow situations like this to go unacknowledged. I will leave objective to you, my dear Dr. Scientist. I am angry and sad and I cling to both emotions so that I will not falter in my duties to find out what happened and bring justice."
He could feel his face scowling and flinched as she rose from the couch and approached. "I think that it is about time that I give you a guy hug, Booth." His instincts told him to turn and run from this gesture. There were too many things swarming around in his head and his heart. Ignoring his obvious apprehension, she wrapped her arms around him whispering in his ear, "It will be alright Booth; we will find the truth and deliver justice to these souls." She had spoken the exact words that he needed to hear. He felt his body relax against hers and was surprised by the tears rolling down his cheek. Without breaking the embrace, they maneuvered to the couch and he allowed himself to slide down so that his head was in her lap and suddenly felt that the sleep that had eluded him for days was finally within his grasp. As he was slipping into oblivion, he felt her fingers in his hair and her breath against his ear. The last words he heard were, "You know that in order to have a real guy hug, we would both have to be guys."
