Chapter 6
"You are loved deeper than any ocean. Let your mind swim through it's depth because I will never let you drown."
― Shannon L. Alder
Valentine's Day, not even two weeks after his failed proposal and breakup with Hannah. Ten days. That wasn't fair. And to add insult to injury, the victim was a wedding planner. That's right, weddings, love, jealousy, marriage, that's what he dealt with all day on Valentine's Day, ten days after breaking up with Hannah. Ten days. Karma was kicking his ass.
Served him right for thinking a marriage proposal was the way to fix his conflicted heart, Booth thought as he gathered up his belongings and headed downstairs to the FBI firing range.
He sent one love packing and the other one, well, that was as complicated as the woman herself. Just the thought of her, God, how could one woman evoke so many different emotions, none of them passive, not one? He wasn't ready to deal with that, not while he was still working through the whole Hannah mess.
Of course, maybe this case was God's way of pointing out how lucky he was Hannah said no because this wedding party and the people planning it were jacked up, every single one of them. Certainly more of an argument for Bones' view of love and relationships than his own.
Letting out a heavy sigh, Booth waved to Manny, the firing range supervisor, as he passed by. The place was a tomb, not surprising given that it was 7:00 p.m. on Valentine's Day and just about everyone who's anyone was out celebrating, paired off, a city of happy romantic couples. Not him, he was alone. That was okay, his choice, just the way he wanted it, he reminded himself. Alone, at the firing range. Perfect.
Booth let his eyes fall shut slowly.
Truth. More than anything else, he didn't want to be home. He felt that way a lot lately, driven from his own apartment, his space. He missed the warmth and comfort of someone to come home to, someone to share his life with, to connect. The contrast still too fresh, he couldn't be home without the sense of loss overwhelming him. Worse, in some ways, he was starting to realize he missed the companionship more than Hannah. That bothered him. It shouldn't be that way. Booth took a long deep breath, letting it out slowly. Either way, it would be worse tonight. Being alone sucked, being alone on Valentine's Day sucked more.
No, the firing range was the perfect place for him.
Booth pulled up the first target, his loud scoffing laugh echoed through the empty range. Manny had a great sense of humor. There was some kind of frilly valentine taped to every target. Booth emptied his clip, ripping to shreds a lacy pink heart, and reloaded. This place brought him a measure of solace. He could think here, while his body got lost in the repetitive task his mind could work on some of the mess he made of his life.
On the outskirts of DC, in a beautiful hotel decorated beyond what Booth could ever imagine or afford, Reyna Ericson was tying the knot. The bride in the case they just solved, wow, she was everything he hated about people of privilege. As he took aim at the paper target in front of him, Booth couldn't get over the fact that someone like that, a self proclaimed bitch, could find love and he, basically a good guy, at least trying to be, kept striking out.
He couldn't blame Hannah, not really, even though he wanted to. She was right, she told him she never wanted to marry multiple times. Free and easy, that was her, a good time girl when it came to love and relationships. That was great when he was alone in Afghanistan, drowning in sand. It was perfect, she was just what he needed, at least he thought she was.
Hot and sweaty, covered in a thin layer of dirt he never seemed to get rid of, baking under the desert sun, she took him by the hand and pulled him in under the cool shade of those fig trees. Tall, far reaching branches, big full leaves, he was in another world. It was inviting, she was inviting, some kind of goddamn siren with long blond curls and sharp blue eyes. There was no discussion, her dainty hands and nimble fingers worked his shirt open, her soft lips laid appreciative kisses down his neck, across his bare chest. He just stood there as she pulled him into her blissful abyss. When he was with her he forgot everything he left behind: the life he missed back in DC, his partner who still hadn't written, his broken heart, war, all of it. Making love to her under those damn fig trees, God, it was healing.
Twisting in a sudden and different direction, Booth's mind grabbed ahold of the letter that fell out of Bones' photo album. The letter with his name on it. She never said what that was about and he didn't ask, but he couldn't stop thinking about it. He wanted to ask her, wanted to know if she wrote him or tried to write him, what she said, but they weren't in a place where he could ask that, not now, not yet.
Seeing that letter changed things for him, it mattered. All those months with no communication from her broke him. God it hurt, worse than her rejection on the steps of the Hoover, worse than Hannah's rejection of his proposal. No letters from her, no emails or calls. Just one, that's all he needed, anything from her at all and maybe things would be different. Maybe Hannah would be nothing but a story about how he saved some dumbass journalist who refused to follow the rules.
He felt the rage rise back up, took aim at another paper heart, and emptied his clip without blinking.
Something Hannah said the night he proposed kept nagging at him. Hannah followed him, right, gave up her assignment in the Middle East to chase him. That was love, had to be. Otherwise, why give all that up. But she had no intention of marrying him, ever. That night, the night he asked her to marry him, she said she thought they would have more time together before they got to that point, that point, the point where he wanted more than she did. But they were always the point, right? From the very beginning they wanted different things.
Because Hannah wasn't the marrying type, but he was.
She knew that all along. Hannah let him love her, let that love grow, until it didn't serve her anymore. That was cold hearted, right? Cruel. What if he waited, a year, two years, built an entire life around her, only to be rejected when he wanted to take things to the next level. It wasn't right to compare them, Bones and Hannah, he knew that, but he couldn't help it.
Because Bones, well, she would never do what Hannah did to him. She was just the opposite. Even when he pushed her, begged her to give them a chance, she refused. Reluctant to even try because she thought she'd never be able to be what he wanted most, a wife, his wife, the woman he could build a family with. She didn't want to lead him on. Like Hannah, she didn't believe in marriage either and was just as vocal about it, but she wanted to protect him. She loved him, loved him so much that she couldn't bare the thought of causing him pain, even if protecting him hurt her.
The more he thought about it, the more he realized he screwed up, got it all wrong. Breaking up with Hannah wasn't the mistake he should be worried about. Hannah left, yeah, it hurt, opened up all kinds of wounds, flooding him with insecurities, reminders of all his failings. But, the bigger mistake in all this, his mistake, was what he put Bones through. That's what he needed to fix.
Booth set the gun down momentarily, taking a step back, he rubbed his face vigorously with both hands. He didn't know how to do that, didn't even know where to begin. Letting his hands fall causally to his hips, Booth took a long deep breath, filling his cheeks like bellows then letting the air out slowly. He'd fix it, he'd figure it out, he promised himself, he just needed a little more time to get his shit together.
Stepping back up, he set another target. This one, a red cut out of a chubby little cupid in the center of a white heart. Adjusting his stance and taking aim, he prepared to empty another clip.
Bones.
There was a definite divide in their partnership, a before and after, he could see it now. When they first got back he was so busy trying to convince himself that they were the same that he ignored how much things changed between them. How many nights and weekends did she spend alone in the lab since their return? Too many, Angela said as much, scolding him a thousand times over since their return to DC. Truth, until recently he tried not to think about it or whether she was eating or getting enough sleep or alone. But now, things were different now.
A deep sense of worry rose up within him.
For a brief moment he wondered what she was doing. Probably at the lab, he consoled himself, spending her holidays with bones was such a Bones thing to do. That big hollow building, everything so cold and sterile, nothing warm and inviting, as much as he tried he never saw it the way she did. It was her refuge, like the firing range was his. Still, she spent too many holidays like that, alone, as much as she might say she was okay, he didn't want that for her. She deserved more. She deserved to be somewhere warm and inviting with people who loved her.
Lowering his gun, he rubbed away the ache in the center of his chest. Maybe he'd drive by there after this, go through the parking lot, make sure her car wasn't still there. He wanted that, wanted to be there for her like she was for him lately. Booth felt his own hesitancy rise up and chase that thought away. He wasn't sure he was ready for that, for what might come of it if he sought her out like that. If he did, when he did, he needed to be ready, he needed to be sure. They were out of chances, they'd wasted too many of them, one more, that's all they had, he was sure of it, one more to get it right.
Of course, she might not be at the lab, she might not even be alone, maybe she accepted one of those calls she kept getting, propositions for a Valentine's date. David, the guy from her gym, Jean Paul, whoever the hell he was, creepy ass Bunsen Burner the science guy, the calls just kept coming, every time they were together, all day long. The anger and frustration and pain he fought back all day, he expected that, part of recovering from a breakup. The one emotion he didn't expect to feel was jealousy. The tug of those familiar feelings surprised him. If he was honest with himself, he didn't want her spending the night with any of them.
What an ass, he thought, chastising himself. He didn't want to be with her, didn't even ask what she was doing, but he sure as hell didn't want anyone else to be with her either. Pulling his gun up in front of him he tore through another paper heart, this one with an arrow right through it and the word love scrawled across it.
He emptied the clip, ready to reload his weapon when he heard the jiggling wheels of a rolling cart as they thunked over the seams in the concrete floor. At first he thought it was Manny, but when he turned to acknowledge the man, well, it wasn't him. It was Bones, right there in front of him, pushing out a cart with two huge wooden cases on it.
She looked, God, she looked beautiful, but then she always looked beautiful. Her eyes danced, her smile, a little nervous at first, got stronger as she came closer. It was all good until she said Valentine's gift and his heart sunk, his shoulders fell. He just wanted the day to end, needed it to be over and done with.
She saw it, his reaction, and a short burst of insecurity ran through her. This whole plan of hers was risky and she knew it. But when he said he might spend the evening at the firing range her mind immediately started piecing bits of their conversations together. St. Valentine's Day Massacre, firing range, Roaring Twenties Exhibit at the Jeffersonian, it seemed like such a good idea at the time. Judging by the look on his face, she wasn't sure he wanted her there and she wondered if this, what she planned for him, fit into the new, partners only, definition of their relationship.
"Bones, I told yo-"
"Open it." She commanded, not even letting him finish his thought and when he asked what it was, she repeated herself hoping if he saw the gift it would speak for itself.
His movements were rough, slightly irritated as he flipped the latches and opened the case. That all changed when he saw the Tommy Gun. Bright with excitement, his eyes sparkled and he smiled, a real smile, genuine, not forced. A sense of relief washed over her.
He was happy.
The pair laughed and joked back and forth, trading old black and white mobster movie quotes as they obliterated the targets in front of them. The rapid fire of the Tommy gun, it's surprisingly light recoil, the loud repetitive popping sound in his ear, and thin haze of smoke, were seductively overwhelming. Booth let himself drown in the sensory overload until he completely forgot about his breakup with Hannah, his aching heart, and the complicated relationship with the woman standing next to him.
It felt good, really good.
Time with her flew by and before he knew it the warning bell rang, letting him know they were going to close the range soon. It was time to wrap it up. A satisfying silence lingered between them as Booth helped her pack up the guns and load them into her car. Closing the trunk he found himself leaning against it, arms folded loosely across his chest. She settled next to him. There was so much he wanted to say, but he didn't know where to start or how to convey how much her support and friendship meant to him. At a loss, he took a deep breath and bumped her shoulder lightly with his own.
"Thanks, Bones." His voice was soft and deep. Looking over at him, she caught his eyes, they connected, the two of them, and he gave her a content smile. "I liked my gift." She smiled back, her eyes light and happy.
The day he couldn't wait to get rid of turned into the night he didn't want to end.
"Hey, so...have you eaten?" He asked hoping he could steal just a little more time with her. "I'm starving, you know, and I was thinking about hitting the diner on the way home...If you haven't eaten...maybe…" He didn't get to finish his thought before she jumped to answer.
"No." His eyes looked sad, his whole body crestfallen and she sought immediately to correct what was obviously a miscommunication. Reaching out as if to stop him, her hand came to rest on his arm just below his elbow sending a thrill through him. "No, I mean, no I haven't eaten." Nervous, she laughed trying to play it off casually. "The diner sounds good, Booth."
"Good." Booth nodded as he talked. "Good...I figure it won't be crowded tonight, you know, I mean who takes their date to the diner for Valentines, right?"
"Yes, right," her voice as firm and supportive, "it should be good, neutral." She would do anything for him, anything to make him happy, to see him smile. It was all she cared about, all she wanted from a day she knew would be hard for him.
"Good, then, I'll follow you over."
Holding the car door for her, he waited for her to get in, then closed it once she was settled. Watching him as he jogged across the parking lot, a couple rows over to his vehicle, her heart skipped a beat as he turned suddenly and waved as he walked backwards a few steps. She waved back. This man did things to her she just didn't understand.
Love was not an emotion she was used to indulging. For years she distanced herself from it, dismissing it as mere chemicals, pointing out its fleeting nature, protecting herself to avoid its traps. Somewhere along the line, while she was busy maintaining her varied defenses, this man waltzed right past them all and before she even realized what was happening she was already in love with him.
The drive to the diner was short, he met her down the street and walked in with her. They were completely engaged in conversation when Booth opened the door, bells ringing to announce their arrival. His hand fell so naturally to the small of her back as he guided her through the door. Such a simple act, still it nearly took her breath away and she found herself fighting the wave of emotion that followed.
There was a time, recently, when she thought she might never share those simple intimacies with him again. Their easy banter back and forth, late nights working together over take out, long talks, the way he explained things to her, social things that didn't come naturally to her, she missed those things, missed him. Of course, she couldn't tell Booth that, not now, not while he was still healing from his relationship with Hannah. All she could do was be there for him, support him, and wait, hoping it wasn't too late, that he, the very person she let get away, wasn't going anywhere, that someday there might be a chance for them.
"You okay, Bones?" She looked up to find him peering over the top of his menu, his deep brown eyes full of concern.
"Oh...yes...of course," she fumbled around trying to answer his concern while settling in her seat. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she smiled and looked straight into his eyes. "Better now."
ooooo0ooooo
A/N: Thank you to all those who wished me well. The heart catherization went off without a hitch. Turns out don't have any heart disease (as in clogged arteries) at all (Yippee) just a big heart that appears to be a weak. I don't know what all that means but I'm bound to know more in a couple weeks when I meet with the cardiologist again. In the meantime the blood pressure meds seem to be helping and I am back to writing.
Thank you also to all those who've been reading, following and favoriting this story and leaving reviews and private messages. Your support is invaluable! I definitely feel it and it makes all the word wrangling and wrestling I do worth it! Keep 'em coming! I promise they are appreciated!
Until next Thursday, much love
~DG
