BOOTH

I've always enjoyed driving. Sometimes there's no better way to work out things that are eating at you than by staring at the open road ahead of you while listening to the hum of the truck's tires against the road. Unlike Sweets, Shaw remains relatively silent when we drive, her nose usually buried in the case file, refreshing herself with every aspect of the case, as though she hasn't memorized it all. She reminds me of Bones in that respect.

Snapshots of making love with Bones play through my mind, as they have all morning… and as I have all morning, I've forced the images aside. This is not the time or place for them.

In Gambler's Anonymous, we are constantly reminded that any day we could relapse and find ourselves heading quickly for rock bottom. Just like almost everyone in the program, I knew that would never be me. As I sat there on my barstool knocking back my fifth, then sixth, shot of tequila followed by a beer chaser, I stared at that fifty-dollar bill. I could feel the chalk on my hands, the glossy surface of the cue stick against my fingers. I registered the trash talk – from the people playing, their buddies and even those just watching, hoping a little adrenaline would rub off on them, too. The smell of smoke filled the air, ordinances on indoor smoking completely ignored. No cop was going to be bothered with citing the dive and everyone in there knew it. My fingers itched for a cigar. Instead, I held up a pair of fingers and tapping the rim of my beer bottle, ordered refills on all.

The seventh shot reminded me I have more than the ghost of gambling past roosting here…

"Why am I fired?"

"You're fired because you assaulted a federal judge."

"No, you thought that was hot."

"I did. I did. It was very hot."

Desire rushed through me, as it had that night six years ago. Watching her give it to the judge had been so… damned… hot. She had been so… damned… hot. By then I was already fascinated by her. She was a genius who was confused by jokes and who was really, really bad at using sayings most people didn't even have to think about because, you know, you just know them.

"…Obviously, I passed with a lot of color."

"Pardon me?"

"It means I did very well."

"Oh, right. You, um—Flying colors. You… you passed with flying colors."

"Yes, I know."

The way the top left side of her lips tipped upwards when her pride demanded she pretend to know something she didn't. Her refusal to be intimidated. Her sexual confidence…

"So, you're afraid that when I look at you in the morning, I'll have regrets?"

"That would not happen."

Her laugh, that had been like music. The kiss that had been liquid lightening, jolting my system, leaving me stumbling and mumbling 'wow' when she pulled away. The kiss that has been burned into my memory ever since. I'd gone home that night believing in my gut that my life had just changed and it had, but I'd had no clue just how much.

And it hadn't been all for the better.

Case in point, what had just happened. I saluted the air with a shot, then downed eight and nine as several cheers and jeers rose above the noise in the crowded bar. My turn. Two more shots and a fresh beer in hand, I took a final look at my sobriety chip, shoved it in my pocket then grabbed my beer and crossed the room. Dropping my beer on a table, I moved from rack-to-rack checking the balance and weight of the bar cues, wishing I still had my custom sticks. When I say they were sweet, it's an understatement, but keeping them around would be just begging for trouble.

I'd been checking out my opposition from the bar, sizing him up. He was a big guy, no doubt about that. Six-seven, six-eight and around 300 pounds, I'd guessed. Bald with a beard, a hoop earring in one ear, a flannel shirt with its sleeves torn off hanging open over the white t-shirt and tattoos covering both arms, he was either a biker or a red neck. My guess? Between the dozen or so bikes parked out back and number of bandanas on heads, biker is a good bet. Then the question remained: What kind? They're not all bad you know. Sure, you have your Hell's Angels, the Outlaws and Sons of Silence – all of them known for their violence, then you have your Sadistic Souls and Cowboy Brotherhoods, the members brought together by mutual hate of all but one race. But you also have your weekend warriors, clubs from local Veteran's posts and clubs like BACA – Bikers Against Child Abuse – and such.

My hand twitched, itching to hold a cue again.

I grabbed the first one in reach. My pulse picked up pace and those chemicals Bones is always talking about flooded my body. I'd craved that feeling, that high, for five-and-a-half years but first my partnership, then my friendship with Bones had helped to calm it. For the last year, that craving had been growing and growing, demanding I give in. I craved that high as much as the meth addict craved her next hit or the drunk craved his next drink.

I still do.

"Get a move on, buddy," the giant at the table demands. He holds up my fifty-dollar bill. "Or, you can admit defeat now and I'll just…" He moved as though he was going to put the bill in his pocket. His cronies that were crowded around three tables laughed. His cockiness irritated me.

"Sorry, can't do that." I replied lifting and dropping a brow and a shoulder, "But I get it." I turned and yelled to the bartender, holding up my beer and a pair of fingers requesting another round. The effect of all the alcohol I'd consumed was starting to barrel through me, but it still wasn't enough yet.

Oblivion.

I wanted oblivion.

The giant's eyes narrowed on me.

"Get what?"

"If I were you, I wouldn't want to play me either." The laughs grew louder and were directed at him that time around. I smiled, enjoying the response from the group and it egged me on… Not that I needed too much encouragement given the state I was in. I dropped a twenty into the palm of the bartender then grabbed the first of the shots. It burned its way down my throat, but I barely noticed, my eyes focused – at least at much as they were still capable of focusing – on my opponent who'd moved several steps closer to me.

"Why's that?" he challenged. I finished the second shot before answering. I took a step towards him to show I was not going to cower.

"You're too impressed with yourself when you make the most basic shots. Your stroke isn't smooth. You have no idea what English is or how to set up your next shot. You've double-kissed the ball twice, scratched four times and you try to pound the balls into the pockets instead of using finesse." His buddies laughed louder and started jeering him. I watched his face turn dark red. He was pissed and I really didn't give a damn. I had my own problems to worry about.

Beginning with hallucinating Bones and me sitting at the bar, where we'd sat that night.

"…we can have sex."

The power of my reaction made the room spin and I juggled my cue then dropped it, barely noticing the crack of wood against cement. As I had that night, I instantly grew rock hard, unconsciously shifting to conceal my condition from those in the bar.

I'd known. It was her. She was the woman I'd been waiting a lifetime for. It wasn't logical… or rational... but love never is. Something in her had connected with something in me—something I still didn't really understand yet, but whatever it was, was so… so… magnetic that I'd known.

I'd known.

In a snap, white hot fury filled me.

Life had moved on…

I had moved on.

I couldn't just—

A beefy hand slamming into my chest propelled me into the pool table. Nothing like a little pain to make a man focus. Swaying, I squinted until the two giants before me became one.

"I wouldn't do that again if I were you," I warned. He moved toe-to-toe with me, leaving me staring at his shoulders.

A round of 'ooohs' was followed by more laughter.

"And if I do?" Defiantly, I reached around him and grabbed my beer. Tipping it back, I looked him in the eye while taking giant gulps. I had a feeling I'd be needing it shortly. I set the empty bottle back on the table and then sealed my fate.

"Why don't you find out?" I taunted, lifting my chin and providing a target. His face turned purple when more of his buddies laughed.

"There's nothing I hate more than a lousy drunk." It was the wrong thing to say. When a meaty fist came in my direction, I ducked then rained blows on my opponent. I knew I didn't stand a chance when his buddies jumped up to join in. A foot to the instep, a right hook and a solid foot planted in his gut and the giant went down.

I didn't have time to enjoy it. Two of his pals grabbed my arms and restrained me while another pair pulled the giant up and shoved him my way.

I got in a few more healthy blows, but in the end I'd been dragged semi-conscious out of the pool hall and tossed into the street without ceremony. I hadn't tried to smother the loud moan as I gingerly got to my feet, defiant until the end.

"You're a lousy pool player," I slurred around a split lip. The comment wasn't very witty but it served it's purpose. I saw the blow coming…

Then… there was darkness.

I have no idea how long I lay on the street, or how many cars might have passed me by. By the time I came to, I was freezing, soaked from the pouring rain and still drunk…

But not drunk enough by far. Prying myself up off the pavement, I'd staggered down two blocks and over one to a dive liquor store where I bought a bottle of good ole Jack Daniels. Returning to the Sequoia, I'd drank in gulps from the bottle, numbing the aches and pains brought on by the fight while listening to country music. By the time I'd consumed a third of the fifth, I was stretched out in the backseat, my head propped against one window and my feet propped on the sill of the other, open window, belting out tunes from a playlist of sad songs that seemed to be custom made just for me, from Chesney…

"You and tequila make me crazy, like poison in my blood. One more night could kill me baby…"

To the song that had become my personal torture in Afghanistan…

"What if I'm trying then I close my eyes and I'm right back in that last goodbye. What if time doesn't do what it's supposed to do? What if I never get over you—"

"Oh, boy." The fact that the words didn't belong in the song made my eyes pop open. Pushing myself up a little, I squinted towards the other side until four faces became one.

"Heyyyyyyyyyy, lookywhoitis!"