DRINKING BUDDIES
From the Author: Readers, NOTE THESE DISCLAIMERS:
Let me pause in my story telling and make a clear distinction between the fictional world of "Drinking Buddies" and the real world program that has saved so many people's lives, including members of my immediate family and good friends, by offering this preamble from AA:
"alcoholic's anonymous® is a fellowship of men and women who share their experience, strength and hope with each other that they may solve their common problem and help others to recover from alcoholism. The only requirement for membership is a desire to stop drinking. There are no dues or fees for AA membership; we are self-supporting through our own contributions. AA is not allied with any sect, denomination, politics, organization or institution; does not wish to engage in any controversy, neither endorses nor opposes any causes. Our primary purpose is to stay sober and help other alcoholics to achieve sobriety."
I hope you will continue to enjoy my fanfiction in the spirit that I am writing it—primarily to entertain. I do not want to misrepresent or presume to give information about the real world AA program. And I don't own Bones; just playing. And now, let's go see what's happening at Booth's apartment…
CHAPTER 12: A Night with the Booth Boys
"Dear Journal:
Even though it seems silly to address an inanimate object as a sentient being, it also seems the most appropriate way to commence with this account of my thoughts and feelings as I examine myself and my actions. I find it hard to accept that I am powerless on my own to control myself and my choices. I find it almost impossible to admit that I may be an alcoholic. Yet I do acknowledge that circumstances in my life have been out of control lately, as have my actions and reactions, that my actions have adversely affected my life and work, and that I have a recurring problem with drinking myself into intoxication. I am, at this point, not sure what I think; what I believe: It is an uncomfortable state of mind. Booth would call it my state of the soul."
"Dr. Bones! Dr. Bones!" Parker came barreling in Booth's front door with an excited grin and plopped down right next to Bones, as close as he could get without actually sitting on her. She placed her pen into the binding of the journal and closed it up. Booth was right behind him, hurrying to shrug off his black overcoat and leather gloves so he could reach out to prevent Parker from throwing himself on top of her.
"Whoa there, buddy," he cautioned his enthusiastic son.
"It's okay, Booth." Brennan draped an arm around Parker and he snuggled into the crook of her arm immediately. Booth sat down in the chair across from the two of them and smiled at the sight before him. Dressed in her most comfortable pair of blue jeans, long-sleeved thermal top, thick socks and wrapped in his afghan, Bones was as relaxed as he'd ever seen her.
"We brought home takeout," he announced, pointing at a white bag on the counter. "Did you get some writing done?"
"A little. I mostly slept though; I'm still kind of groggy." Booth nodded. He knew how the first day home from the hospital felt, from unpleasant personal experience.
Leaning forward, Booth peered closely at her, reached out his hand to push aside a corner of the afghan and rubbed her knee for a moment. After evaluating, he was apparently satisfied that she was looking and sounding better.
"It was good for you to sleep. The doctor said it would take a few days to get that stuff completely out of your system. Hey, the Doc also said," Booth continued, getting up to fix her a plate, "that Chinese food would speed up the process."
"No he didn't," Bones protested happily. "Did you get Chinese Dumplings?"
"Of course," he answered. "And Egg Drop Soup." It was her favorite.
"And Lo Mein for me," Parker added. "It's almost as good as spaghetti. Dad, can I open my fortune cookie now?" A cookie was already in his hand and he was poised to rip open the cellophane wrapper. Booth took two steps in Parker's direction, picked the cookie from his palms and dropped it back into the bag.
"Not until we're all done with the 'eating dinner' part. Hey, Bones, we also brought home a selection of fine movies for your entertainment tonight."
"Yeah; "Monsters and Aliens" or "Fantastic Four"," Parker announced loudly.
"Or "Australia", or "Earth"," Booth added, laughing at his son for only mentioning his own personal preferences.
"I'll let you Booth Boys decide," Bones said diplomatically. "Just don't get offended if I drift off during the movie. I'm quite sleepy tonight."
By the end of the evening, however, it wasn't Bones who was fast asleep on the couch after a showing of "Fantastic Four"—it was Parker. With his dinosaur-slippered feet on Booth's lap and his curly blond head on Bones', he looked like a sleeping angel. Booth slid out from under the furry feet on his lap as the credits played across the screen and carefully lifted Parker into his arms.
"Be right back, Bones," he whispered.
Watching him carry his son to bed, she was overwhelmed by a wave of well-being and contentment. She hadn't felt this safe, this connected, since before her parents had disappeared. A light bulb went off in her head. Could Sweets be right? Was it possible that her ability to give and receive love had been critically wounded at that painful juncture of her young life? Could psychiatric wounds be as devastating as actual physical ones?
Maybe there was more to the science of Psychology than she'd previously allowed. She needed to further explore this new revelation about love. What if her ability to attach to the two most important people in her life—Booth and Parker—was paralyzed by her childhood trauma because she'd refused to deal with it? She couldn't allow the past to ruin her present. There was too much at stake. She had to talk to Booth. She anxiously waited for his return from Parker's bedroom. But she had to wait for several long minutes before he walked quietly into the living room.
"Now that little boy is out cold," Booth declared, reclaiming his seat on the couch. "I think he saw maybe the first five minutes of that movie."
"Didn't his fortune cookie say 'you will be surrounded with tranquility'?" Bones reminded him. He chuckled.
"Yeah, I guess it came true. Hey, you seem to be waking up now."
"Yes, I feel more alert than I have all day. How about you?" She studied him closely, apparently trying to assess how tired he was. She seemed tentative, unable to read his current state of mind. Booth recognized that confused expression. He knew that reading people was not her strong point and hurried to put her at ease.
"I'm great. Wide awake. Is something on your mind?"
"I want to talk to you about some things I've been pondering lately."
"Wow, Bones; pondering sounds kinda serious," Booth kidded with a grin. "So, tell me, what have you been pondering?"
She scooted a little closer to him, and upon seeing the movement, he responded in kind so that they were sitting together, close enough to sense each other's warmth. Booth couldn't help sighing and leaning back, enjoying the feeling. He swung an arm over her shoulders.
"Can you talk like this?" He asked, snuggling her to his side.
"Of course."
"So what's bothering you? Something's bothering you; I can tell."
"I've been thinking about the connection between my childhood, my teen years and who I am now, in the present."
"Psychiatry, Bones? You?"
"I know; I know." She shrugged. "All I'm saying is, I've been going back over my life, and attempting to discover what happened to mold me into who I am. A good deal of who we are is determined by the genes we inherit, but it's become increasingly obvious to me that human beings are much more complex than the sum total of their inherited characteristics."
"Okay. That much is true. So what else goes into making you who you are?" Booth raised an eyebrow; he was a step ahead of her and he liked the feeling. People and what made them tick was his area of expertise.
"Our experiences play a part. We learn to behave in certain ways because of what we experience. Traumatic events are experiences that can change the way we perceive the world and therefore affect our behavior."
"Right. So what happened to you after your parents disappeared, Bones?"
"You know the story. They disappeared a few days before Christmas when I was fifteen. Russ found the presents they'd left for us and tried to make it a normal Christmas for me. When I got angry at him he left too. I shouldn't have done that; if I hadn't treated him so badly, everything would be different," she said sadly.
"Now, wait a minute. First of all, when you saw the presents under the tree it was a natural reaction to expect that your Mom and Dad were back. When you realized your mistake, you must have been devastated, as would any normal child, Bones. Russ was the only target around, and he was practically a kid, too. But, just for argument's sake, let's say that you didn't get angry with Russ, and he didn't leave, and the two of you opened your presents that morning. You both would have still felt miserable and missed your parents like crazy. See? Not so different."
"But maybe I wouldn't have been put into foster care."
"Assuming you and Russ could pay the bills on your parents' house, that your neighbors wouldn't report your situation to social services, and that Russ at the age of 19 could be your guardian? Not. You know you would have probably ended up in the system anyway."
"Hmm. I've never thought about it like that."
"So, see? Not your fault. Now go on. Tell me what happened to you in your foster home."
"I was in two foster homes. The first one lasted about three months. They weren't mean to me, but they didn't care about me, not really. I wanted my own parents and I made it known. I was obnoxious about it."
"No… really? You, Bones?" Booth exclaimed.
"Okay, I get it Booth," she smiled weakly, giving him a playful shove before continuing with her story. "I was unhappy there. I just wanted to feel special; loved. I was uncooperative and disrespectful. One Monday morning I just walked away, carrying my bag of clothes. I walked until the sun went down, and I curled up behind a store for the night. That was the end of that foster home; they didn't want me back. So then I got placed in the home of a young couple with a little daughter, about three or four. She was so cute. You know, she was the only human being I liked and who liked me back, through all the bad years. But her father was mean. He called it 'strict'. If I didn't do exactly what he said, he would punish me. I began to realize I hadn't been so bad off in the first home."
"How long were you there?"
"Until I turned 18. I left when I got into college on scholarship."
"Is that the home you told Sweets and me about? The dish that slipped and broke?"
"Yes. He locked me in a closet for two days that time. But that wasn't the only time he locked me up as a punishment. I got used to it." She raised her eyes to his, calm and devoid of emotion. Booth didn't buy it.
"Nobody gets used to that," Booth whispered. His eyes brimmed as he reached out to smooth her hair away from her forehead. She only hesitated for a second or two before resting her head on his shoulder and wrapping her arms around his chest. She sighed contentedly.
"I have felt safe with you since the day we met," she said softly.
"Really? That's funny, because I thought you hated me the day we met, and for a lot of days after that, too," Booth remarked, twisting his finger in a lock of her hair.
"Sorry about that, Booth. I guess I did act kind of…"
"Yeah, you did," he agreed.
"I've been punching and kicking my way through life ever since my teen years."
"Well, that we have in common," Booth said wryly.
"I came out of those years determined to never be powerless again. I learned martial arts; I took riflery in college and learned to shoot a hand gun. I borrowed money for grad school. I earned a PhD. But here's the point, Booth. My motive for all that wasn't self-fulfillment, or some noble purpose. I did it partly because I love science and I love to learn, but I also did it out of anger. I was determined to be the best, to prove to them and to myself that I would never be dominated again." She paused and took a deep breath.
"What were you angry about, Bones? Who were you angry at?" Gently, he pushed her away just enough so that he could look into her eyes and she could see him. He already knew some of the answers. But he wanted to hear her put her anger into words.
"That's what I've been pondering. I know I was angry at my foster parents. And Russ. But I didn't feel anger at my Mom and Dad until recently, when I found out my mother was alive for almost two years after she left me, and when I discovered that Dad has been alive the whole time. Since then I believe I've been very angry."
"I'd agree with that assessment. Is there anybody else you're angry with?" Booth asked, fully expecting to hear her say him. After his brain surgery, after he'd been in a coma for four days, she'd run off to South America for six weeks. He'd thought for some time now that she must be angry with him for almost dying and thus threatening to abandon her, just like her family, and he had wondered if it was the catalyst behind her recent problems. So he was surprised at her answer.
"I'm angry at me," she said. "I'm angry at myself for being so different from everyone around me that I am unlovable. I'm angry that I can't figure it out, no matter how hard I try." Her eyes filled with despair.
"What are you talking about?" Did she really feel that way about herself? Booth was stunned. He'd always simply assumed that everyone liked him.
"I can't figure out how to love, or be loved. And I want that, more than anything. I know dead people better than living ones. What's wrong with me?" Her voice broke.
"Hey. Listen to me, Bones. Temperance. There's something wrong with everyone. Nobody has it all figured out. And you're wrong about yourself; you are totally lovable and capable of giving love. You're an amazing woman. You're loyal, caring, and open with the people you care about. Parker loves you, and you can be sure that he knows you love him too. Your father; Angela; Russ; Zack. All imperfect people, but they all love you and you love them back. And I love you; you believe me, right? So, see? You're not as different as you feel. You're not alone. That's all in your head, honey."
"I stabbed my best friend," she reminded him, resisting his efforts to reassure. "I don't think she feels very loving toward me."
"About that… have you talked to Angela about it? Because I think she knows more than you do right now, about the case."
"What do you mean?"
"Caroline came by the lab yesterday to talk to Angela, and I was there checking out her idents of the victims. Caroline told us that the shot glasses from the bar had traces of a sedative in it; I don't remember the name of the drug. Bauman, Marcus, whatever name you call him, was probably planning an abduction that night. But your attack on him prevented that, although the situation admittedly got out of control. Angela said she had wine but didn't have shots with the rest of you. She said she wasn't feeling too well that night, so I guess that's what kept her from drinking and getting drugged along with you. My point is she knows you were drugged and didn't know what you were doing."
"I should go talk to her," Bones said. "I don't want to lose her friendship."
"You won't lose her friendship. You may not believe it right now, but she loves you no matter what."
"I don't know." Bones sounded down, more so than Booth could ever remember.
"Well, I know it," he asserted. "Another thing; Caroline has petitioned the judge to hear your case again because of this new evidence that's come to light, and on account that you helped catch the serial killer. With my help, of course." Booth beamed. Bones looked up into his eyes, searching for strength. He brushed her cheek with his hand and waited for her to draw her own conclusions.
"Then tomorrow I'm going to talk to Angela. If she wants to talk with me, that is. And Booth—even if my sentence is lifted, I'm going to keep attending the group meetings. I like Fran. And I like the way she sees the world. I find it quite intriguing; compelling even. I even like her poetry selections. And it's already helping me understand myself better. I think I have a lot more to learn. Will you come with me?"
"Of course, Bones. Anything for you." He leaned over and kissed her hair. Closing his eyes he sighed happily. "I don't think I'll move for a while."
"Me too. This is great."
"So great it's reduced Dr. Temperance Brennan to one-syllable words," Booth teased.
"Shut up."
"See?"
To be continued…
