Hey everyone! I hope that you're all still with me! I know it has been forever once again. But hopefully I can make it up by getting another chapter out this weekend? Huh?
Thanks to everyone who stopped by to review 'Without a Thought,' 'Kindness of a Lie,' and 'That English Bastard'. I really appreciate it! Believe me these next two chapters would not have happened if I hadn't stopped to get those out of my system.
I have decided to hold onto my Angsty Booth piece i promised until I get another chapter out for this. School for me ends Wednesday so you can expect regular updates starting Thursday! Until then bare with me, as I get through finals.
Thank you all so very much for your wonderful reviews, they kept me going through this past week for finals.
So, enough chatter from me, here we go with chapter 21, Booths POV, kind of angsty, no dialogue really. I am actually really nervous about this chapter so let me know what you think!
Booth groaned as he awoke yet again to the sharp beeping of his watch. It was a quarter 'til six, he'd only gone to sleep around three thirty. The sun barely starting to rise, and the air was laden with a damp mist. Pinching the button he stopped the beeping and sat up, scanning the area. He could see the tent from where he lay, and could just make out the lump in the sleeping bag that told him Bones had yet to wake. He wondered if she had had as much trouble sleeping as he had.
Pushing the sleeping bag away Booth stood, getting ready to start his morning stretch. The sound of an object hitting the ground, made him look down where he saw the handle of his Rangers knife, and the small wooden block he'd been working on the previous night. He'd felt guilty about not calling Parker when given the opportunity, but he knew he had made the right decision.
He decided to make up for it by making him something. Parker loved the figurines that Booth brought to him on occasion. He had asked for a wolf the next time Booth made one for him. Booth had assumed that it would be a good distraction from his thoughts, but he had been wrong. It probably wouldn't resemble a canine like figure, he had been so caught up in his anger, and hurt.
Why had she said no again?
He knew she was curious about his life before she met him, knew also that she wondered what he had suffered as a kid. He had offered to tell her. He'd been closer to the case than he'd let on. Those people living in the tunnel, Gerald, their leader, Booth knew him. Knew his thoughts, his guilt, and his anguish in the absolute acceptance in his statement that he was a good soldier but not a good man. It scared the shit out of him to see what he could have very well become himself. What Bones thought he already was, hiding from society, trying to repay a debt. But he wasn't Gerald, he was different, at least he stood in the light of what he had done. She thought she had it all figured out. She didn't know the weight of trying to pay an unending debt.
Why should she? After all the hell life put her through, she was the one who was owed a debt. The world would never repay her for what it had robbed her of, especially in face of her reaction. Instead of waiting around to receive the debt owed to her she had continued forward, expecting nothing, and healing the wounds of the world that had hurt her.
Not that she would see it that way. She would probably argue incorrectly that he too was owed a debt.
It didn't explain why she hadn't said anything in the car that day, she had met and held his eyes, but said nothing. Part of him was grateful, he'd still felt raw from their previous case, having found her barely in time, strung up like an animal, bond and gagged, all because he had trusted her to another. He wouldn't to that again, but if he was honest he hadn't been sure if he could trust himself with her. He'd been glad she hadn't said yes, he would have told her, but he didn't think either of them had been ready. When the moment had come that they both were ready, he'd said nothing, and she hadn't asked, they never did, not then and not at any other moment when they were ready again.
But he had braved it, he had asked last night, he had offered. He had been willing, and ready to share it all with her if she wanted to hear. He knew that she was angry that he didn't share enough with her, and if that was the problem, he was ready to fix it right there.
But she hadn't been ready.
No. It wasn't that she hadn't been ready. She hadn't needed to hear it, didn't want to hear it. That had hurt.
He had felt a need, a desire to learn everything about her, he had prodded and gotten answers, but only the ones she had willingly given up. And yes it helped that all the mess with her family had came up, making it easier for him to prod, and easier for her to answer, but still, she had answered. She had given him the information, and he had soaked it up, certain he would never know enough about the fascinating woman by his side to ever satisfy him.
That she felt she knew everything she needed to know hurt. There was so much she didn't know about him that played a vital role in who he was. In what he had become, in was he would be.
If it was so vital then why the hell haven't you told her about it before? And don't pretend it was because one or both of you weren't ready. It was because you were scared. It is because she is owed so much already, and you think you have so much to pay that you can't afford to give her much of anything. And she deserves everything.
Booth shook his head trying to dispel the voice that he'd been avoiding listening to for a very long time now. But he found it impossible to ignore now.
What the hell was he supposed to do? Should he just open up and share his feelings with her? How could he reach out and take such a gift, when his hands were still so dirty from the things he'd done in life?
They're the same hands with which you cradle your son though, right? Is he not an equally precious gift? You cling to him tightly enough for someone with bloody hands.
Booth growled aloud at the voice inside his head. He had like it better when it had just been a steady flow of do's and don'ts revolving around Bones. Like, don't call her more then four times a day outside a case. Don't bury your head in her neck when you give her guy hugs. Don't look at her lips, ever. Do put you hand at the small of her back, to allow some measure of relieve that will allow you to focus during the day. Don't punch the techs that stare at her overlong. Don't let her drive, and be left with nothing to do with your hands while trapped in a small space with her. Don't ever say my Bones out loud.
He'd become used to the hundreds of rules he'd set for himself that stepped him through his days with her, and sure there had been slips, but he wasn't perfect.
But his very thoughts were now fighting against him. He couldn't escape from her anywhere now. Booth didn't know what do now. His entire being, body, heart, mind, and soul where all rebelling against his resolve to allow her the future he knew she deserved.
He was used to one or two of them fighting against his resolve. The way his body would scream for her when ever he stood too close for too long, or the way his mind would scream at him when he looked to long into her eyes. But everything at once was too much. It wasn't fair. He didn't have the will power to keep fighting like this, especially against the rising tide of enemies he didn't want to destroy.
He came back to his previous traitorous thoughts. He had clutched onto his son, dirty hands and all. Booth had found a salvation in his son that he had never found anywhere else. He had thought that gambling had given him and escape, a small portion of peace, which was why he had surrounded himself in it, lost himself in it. But after holding his clean, innocent son, he had realized what true relief, and peace felt like and knew he could never go back to the fake numbing feeling that gambling had given him.
Holding his son had made him feel clean. Parker had cleaned away some of the blood, and kept doing so every moment he existed.
Would Bones have the same effect? Would she clean away the rest of the blood?
Hasn't she already been wiping away most of it?
Booth stood, alone, shirtless in the woods as this revelation hit him. Stunning him to the core. It was true he she had been, and for the briefest of moments he felt everything shift, for the briefest moment Booth was able to see a different reality, but the glimpse was gone too fast. He was pulled back onto track by the tiny portion of himself that was still strong enough to fight against his entire being. His reality shifted back, and he realized something entirely different from the brief, stunning reality he'd been tease with seconds before.
What had he be thinking? Using his son and his partner as cloths to wipe away blood? What kind of man was he?
A stupid one, if you think that's what you're doing. Do either of them seem stained to you? Tarnished? Blemished? Have you soiled them, or are they as clean as they were before they began to clean you?
Booth recognized with more then some bitterness that the voice spoke with the same tone that the other reality he'd been tease with held. He ignored the meaning of that.
They weren't dirty. Booth was sure of that no one could look at his son and think he was in any way stained. Bones had had tears and wholes before he'd come, but she had repaired herself enough to clean him.
No, but that wasn't right. They weren't the cloths that were cleaning his hands; they weren't even the cleansing water. They were they hands holding the cloth, using the water. His sons love for him made him clean, and Bones'…. Bones' what? Her over all goodness? Or was it love for him? Could Bones love him?
Did she return his feelings? Was that what was wrong? Was she running scared from her feelings?
Did it matter? Would he really accept her love, allow her to continue to cleanse him? Would he let Parker?
There was no way he could cut himself from Parker's life, none at all. He had made promises to the boy, he had responsibility for him, and Parker needed Booth in his life. But Bones? Did she need him? She had lived through hell, and healed herself. He had made promises yes, but did she need him to fulfill them, or had she just let him make those promises, in order to stop the bleeding.
He had lived through hell, and all he could do was stand and allow himself to be taken care of by innocents who did their best to steam the flow of blood that would never cease.
Because you continue to cut yourself, you refuse to let the wounds bleed out, to heal. You cause the blood to flow continually. They can't stop it, only you can decide when to stop the flow, when to seal the wounds. They can only clean it away as it arises.
But how long could he allow them to do that? They deserved more from life than just cleaning him up. Parker was different, he didn't have to do anything but exist to help, but Bones she was fighting for him everyday, against the on flow of blood, trying to save him from bleeding out.
How long could she do that before collapsing herself?
Perhaps it isn't weakening her; perhaps it's giving her the strength to give back to a world that has done nothing to take from her.
What was he going to do with all these thoughts? In a few minutes he would have to face the world again. Face her again. Would she sense his despair? Would she care, or would she place it in a box of information about him that was not needed for her to be able to work with him? If she had meant what she said last night, then the voice in his head was dead wrong. And Booth didn't see Bones saying something she didn't mean.
Maybe not the Bones you're used to, but this Bones is playing by a different book. This is a new Bones who was washing his bleeding hands not with cleaning water but with burning alcohol, because water wasn't working, and she was getting desperate.
Rubbing his face in exhaustion, Booth moved to escape the hoard of thoughts battering him far too early this morning and bent to retrieve the fallen wooden piece that had started this freight train of thoughts that had raked his heart, mind, and body raw.
He'd been correct in assuming it wouldn't look anything like a wolf. But it wasn't a shapeless mass either. Booth clutched the piece in aggravation, welcoming the pain in his slightly swollen knuckles, as he realized even his unconscious was fighting against him. Drawing back his arm Booth pitched the tiny dolphin as far as he could.
So what did you think? Was it too much?
Could you even follow it logically?
Can you understand his reasons behind the thoughts?- I've decided to show you my vulnerability b/c my usually idea bouncer/reassurer isn't answering her phone!