Life's like a novel
With the end ripped out
The edge of a canyon
With only one way down
Take what you're given before its gone
Start holding on, keep holding on

-Stand, Rascal Flatts

It wasn't a moment of urgency. It was neither haste nor dangerous. It wasn't a drunken fiasco. The moment, it wasn't out of confusion or heartache. It wasn't because of loss, it wasn't because of humour.

It wasn't because they'd had a difficult case. They hadn't spent the day with wife-beaters or dead foster kids. No.

It wasn't because they had had Thai food for dinner. And it wasn't because they'd had the good scotch that night. They didn't even drink scotch that night. It wasn't because Cindi Lauper had played out of the speakers in the dinner, inducing a panic attack. It wasn't because she finally had a bite of pie.

Of all things, it was none of those.

It was because, Booth realized, of Cam.

I'm in love with Bones.

You're in love with Dr. Brennan?

Yeah.

You're in love with Dr. Brennan.

That's what I just said, Camille.

Well, Seeley, what're you going to do about it?

Nothing.

You have to tell her, you know.

I guess.

No. I'm telling you. You have to tell her. Do it now.

Fine. Whatever.

It was because of Camille. Because Camille had told him he had to. He didn't have to listen to her, and he knew that. So maybe Cam wasn't the reason.

And then, he chickened out. He chickened out because he's a damn coward. He could go off to war, live with an abusive parent, chase killers, and catch drug dealeres. But he couldn't -not for the life of him- say three little words. Sure, he could say them, but he couldn't say them. Maybe it wasn't the fact that he'd had a beer, that she's ate another salade, or that she had gotten home only a week ago.

So he waited. He held it off. Chickened out. Been a coward. He hid. He ran... He did exaclty what he was afraid she was going to do.

Not only was he a coward, but he was a hypocrite too.

And time passed them by just like before. Cases, Thai, beer. The diner, coffee, and car rides. That's what they were. Scotch, and hockey games and Christmas tree shopping. And none of the reason that he ever had, none of them, were because of these things.

It was because, to put it simply, she was his bestfriend. The best friend he had ever had. The friend who sat beside him, unmoving, for four days, or maybe it was years? The person who sat on his couch until two in the morning on a Wednesday. She was the one who invited him over for her family dinners saying that he was "more like family than her father and brother had been in a long, long time." No, it wasn't about beer, or being the hero. It was because of the moments where she just looked at him. The moments when he thought that maybe she could feel it too.

It was because one day, he let her go to church with him and Parker, and then they went for ice cream. And as they walked along the river, Parker ran ahead. And he told her that he lied. What do you mean, she had asked. "It was a long time ago," he assured her, "but I still need to say it."

And he told her.

I don't love you in an atta-girl kind of way. That doesn't mean I don't love you.

He thought about coffee, and pie, and guns. About the-good-bottle-of-scotch, the diner, and Thai food, and seven layer dip. He thought of every guy hug, every look that suggessted more. He thought about taking her to that baseball game, and TV shopping. He thought about french fries, about book dedications, about crappy moraccan beer. About being taken, being saved, and doing the saving. He thought about hockey games with her in the stands, about making her eat McDonalds, and going skating.

He thought about what he was about to tell her, realized that he couldn't do anything but be honest. All he could do was tell her. Tell her that no matter what, he would always be there for her. Even if she never wanted to see him again, he would wait. That he would wait forever, because eventually...

Eventually?

Everything happens eventually, Bones.

And she was all of those things, all of those reason. She was hockey, and pie, and flat screen TVs, and a cold bottle of beer. She was everything he wanted, ever.

You're everything, Bones. You're everything.

And she had held his hand in hers, weaved her fingers through his own, and he knew. She had let him hold on to everything. She had been okay with it. She decided to be alright with being everything to him.

He was never letting go.

A/N: Work has been busy for me, but I guess that's no excuse. YAY, 22 days. Ok, anyways. Classes are starting again, and work is busy and I'm just not hvaing a very good time, so updates might be rare for the next week or so. I apologize. Reviews brighten up my day! Just so you know. ;)