Chapter 8
"The heart of man is very much like the sea, it has its storms, it has its tides and in its depths it has its pearls too"
― Vincent van Gogh, The Letters of Vincent van Gogh
They sat in silence, his apartment dark, only a few candles offering little light. It was late, the day long put away. They finished their small meal of snacks, cleaned up the last of it, rearranged the furniture one last time to accommodate the new addition of the stadium seats and settled on the couch. Booth's blinds were up and in the haloed light of the street lamp they watched the snow, still falling. A fire in the fireplace crackled and popped and kept the apartment warm, though the power was on at the moment, there was no telling how long that would last, it was out most of the day and already flickered on and off several times.
Booth took in a loud, deep breath and she turned to look at him momentarily.
"Good thing we told Sweets to leave when we did. He never would've made it out otherwise."
"Yes." She was quick to respond.
The partners shared a knowing look before looking away and settling back into the silence. Sweets spent the day relishing the fact that they were caged, or at least it felt that way. His own captive audience, Booth thought, push, push, push, the boy didn't know when to quit. It's like he didn't learn anything from the first time around, even though that landed him and Bones over six thousand miles apart, literally, figuratively, well, it seemed like they'd drifted farther apart than that. Booth scoffed out loud as the thought passed through him, drawing her attention. She seemed to know what he was thinking.
"I think he's just trying to . . . help. I think he means well." She was nervous about what she was saying, this was obviously a sensitive topic for Booth as evidenced by the once frozen peas scattered far and wide between the first and second floors of his building.
"I don't want him in the middle of this, in the middle of . . . us. Whatever we decide to do, whenever we decide to do it, it needs to be . . . ours, just ours." Looking directly at her, he gave her a clear nod and waited for her to give him one back. But, she wasn't a shrinking violet and he smiled broadly when she straightened up, squared her shoulders, and answered.
"I agree. This is ours. It needs to belong to us, but I also believe he feels bad about what happened and his attempts to push us together are probably his way of trying to fix what he thinks he broke. That makes his actions understandable, though clearly not acceptable."
Booth nodded. Insight into Sweets' mind from the girl who hated psychology, sound insight, he agreed.
"Still, I don't like that he took advantage of the situation." Booth paused looking down at this hands, fidgeting with his fingers. "That was wrong . . . and playing on my belief in fate to try force the conversation, well, I don't like to be manipulated."
Sweets clearly picked up on their vulnerability, but he should've seen past that, he should've realized it wasn't the time or the place. He knew too much about them not to, spoken and unspoken. Booth's military records were part of his FBI file, the times he was held captive as a soldier and in the line of duty for the Bureau and Bones, well, she'd confessed being locked in the trunk of a car for a couple of days a few years back, he knew about her time in the system and about the Gravedigger. Sweets wasn't an idiot, he could put two and two together and today he worked it to his advantage. Booth didn't like that, didn't like it at all, and found he wasn't quite done talking about it.
"And, you know, we did talk about it, us, on our own and even if we hadn't done that today, you know, if he hadn't brought it up, well, we would have talked about it eventually, right? Because we both knew we needed to." They were getting there, on their own, without Sweets, that's what he wanted her to know.
Booth ran both hands over his face, letting his eyes fall shut as he breathed out the stress of the day. Looking back up just in time to catch her watching him intently. A rim of warm yellow light highlighting her beautiful features, he couldn't pull his gaze away. What he wouldn't do for this woman, nothing, there was nothing, he'd do anything, anything but. He felt the weight of their day fall around him, of her day, and the heaviness of not being able to fix it for her. He got her stuck, he was the source of her torture. They're just chairs, Booth, rang in his head, I blame you. He could hear it, her anger and frustration, her unspoken pain, and he couldn't help the cringe that overtook him.
"You okay, Booth? Is your back hurting again?"
"No." He smiled, but it wasn't very sincere, she could see that, even in the dim light. "No, I'm fine, Bones . . . just a chill . . . or something. How 'bout you? You cold?"
He'd been a smart ass in the elevator, for the no match in missing persons or for the blizzard, he countered even though he knew what she meant. He was too busy fighting his own demons or maybe it was some form of self punishment. He deserved her wrath. Of course, he still thought he could get them out of there at that point, didn't realize they'd spend the whole goddam day in that elevator.
"Not really." She was curled in tight around herself, sweater pulled closed, hands tucked in. Liar, he thought, as he pulled the throw down off the back of the couch they were sitting on and tucked it around her.
There was guilt too. God, he was so wrapped up in those damn chairs, so captured by them, driven to seize them, he lost all perspective. He should've known when they were trying to get them in the elevator, he should've seen that it was a bad idea. But he couldn't, he didn't see anything but what those chairs represented to him. And then, as if the universe was mocking him, he was trapped, locked up with them. And they weren't just chairs, they never were, never could be, they were the personification of his father, of his childhood torture, of his need to hold onto the few good memories he had. She was telling him these chairs were nothing and his father made him feel like nothing, and he had to explain, he needed her to know why they were important, to understand.
Those chairs, too big for the damn elevator, larger than life, were a symbol of something good, they meant he mattered, if only for a couple of weeks, if only for that day. And she got it, she listened and she understood, he could see it in her eyes. God, the look in her eyes, the compassion and empathy. And with no more thought of her own needs she took up his cause. Those goddamn chairs mattered to her because they mattered to him. No one in his whole life ever gave him that, no one but Pops.
"That better?" He asked softly, she nodded, barely humming her answer.
Things had been so . . . awkward . . . between them for so long. It was changing, it was definitely better and he needed that, more than he could ever find a way to tell her he needed that, and this too, he needed her by his side.
His smile was warm now, not forced, and she smiled back wondering what was weighing so heavily on his mind that he more than tolerated their silence, he seemed to embrace it. She wanted to reach out and smooth away the worry from his brow, but clenched the blanket tighter in her fists instead. She caught him looking at those stadium seats, so tied to them that he didn't feel her watching him, and knew she needed to say something. Taking a deep breath, she reached out, let her hand fall tenderly on his arm, and spoke softly.
"I'm glad we got the chairs, Booth. It was worth it, all of it." Turning his attention to her, he took in a sharp, deep breath and held it. "And we solved the case, from an elevator, that's pretty impressive." His smile broadened.
"Well, yeah, I guess it is."
The case hadn't been the focus of his day and he didn't think it was hers either, more like a distraction that made their captivity bearable.
"We're a good team, aren't we?" He leaned closer, bumping her shoulder playfully, she smiled and laughed, a low chuckle. They sat that way for a long time, letting the quiet peacefulness of night wrap itself around them, watching the silent snow falling. Her hand was still resting on his arm when he started to speak again.
"God, I loved winter when I was a kid, looked forward to it all year. And when it got colder and started to snow, wow, I just couldn't wait until the river behind our house froze over and we could skate on it." Booth turned a little toward her and her hand fell away. She couldn't tell if this, what he was about to share, was going to be a happy memory or a traumatic one. Either way, she felt the need to offer him a sense of solidarity.
"I lived for it, you know? Skating." She nodded, reaching out to touch his arm like she had just moments earlier. "I bugged the hell outta my dad. Everyday I asked if I could skate yet and everyday he told, 'no, one more good freeze, Seeley, the river's not ready yet.' It seemed like weeks, you know, to a kid time just . . . God, it passes so slow." Letting her hand slide down his arm, she grabbed ahold of his hand, squeezing it just enough to let him know she was still with him.
"He lost his temper more than once about it, swore I wouldn't skate all winter if I didn't stop bugging the crap outta him, even threatened to throw away my skates, holding 'em over the trashcan." Booth was shaking his head, the look in his eyes pained as he swallowed hard.
"And then one night he woke me up, just me, it was late, middle of the night. He had this tone, this way he said my name, used to scare the hell outta me because I never knew what was coming. I was sleepy and confused and trying to figure out what I'd done wrong so I could apologize for it. It took forever to understand what he was saying, he was trying to be quiet, slurring his words a little. But he was happy, excited, and he was holding my skates. Told me to hurry and get dressed and to be quiet so I didn't wake up mom or Jared." Booth was smiling now and she felt herself relax as he pulled her hand over into his lap, holding it loosely with both his hands.
"The river was finally frozen. He'd been out late drinking, it'd been snowing and I guess he decided to check the river on his way home. We skated for hours, just me and him, 'til the sun started to come up and then we snuck back into the house. He made me change back into my pjs and get back in bed like I'd never been up, swore me to secrecy, told me if I told mom I'd be in trouble."
"That's a beautiful memory, Booth."
"Yeah, yeah, it is. It . . . it doesn't change anything, doesn't change who he was, what he did, but he wasn't all bad, there were . . . times, you know, a few of them, good times." Looking up at the ceiling, eyes blinking madly, Booth took a deep breath, letting it out in a huff as his fingers worked intently around hers until he wrapped her hand tight in his own. "Sometimes I wonder if it made it worse, those good times, because when it was bad, God, when it was bad I wanted that dad back, the good one, the fun one, I wanted those times, but that wasn't him, he wasn't that man, not really."
Booth was anxious to change the subject and jumped to do so, cutting her off before she could comment.
"So, Bones, do you have anything like those chairs?"
"No, I don't own any stadiums seats."
"No, no, I mean, something you have or wish you had that represents something good from your childhood, like these, you know, remind me of that one perfect day with my dad."
"Oh, oh . . . no . . . I . . . I don't. I . . . uh . . . I wasn't allowed to take much with me when I went into the system." Even though she was sitting right there beside him and he was still holding her hand, she seemed suddenly far off.
Pulling away, her gaze fell to her lap and she started fidgeting with the fringe on the edge of Booth's blanket. Her mind was lost in all the personal items she left behind when she was taken away from their family home and put into the system, so much of her personal history forever lost. Even the few things she carried with her, a few pictures and small items of memorabilia, were lost, for the most part, over her years in the system. Booth was about to say he was sorry for bringing it up when she started speaking again.
"A medal, there's a medal, I wish I had that." She looked up at Booth, his attention drawn to her, his rich brown eyes, still glossy from the tears he fought to hide, so connected and supportive, reached out to her. "I won the regional science fair when I was in the seventh grade." The confidence and pride in her eyes was riveting as she told him the details of her project, a test to see if weakened chicken bones could reabsorb calcium, her win, and the day spent celebrating with her parents. The way she told the story, in such great detail, so animated, that science fair medal easily rivaled any award or accolade she'd ever received as an adult. "But, I lost it, I don't even know where, had to be in one of the foster homes I lived in or, more likely, in a move from one home to another." She was quiet momentarily, before looking straight up into his eyes. "I'd like to have that back. It would be like your chairs to me . . . but . . . but it's lost . . . has been for many years."
"I wish I could get it back for you." He offered softly. "If you gave me a list of names, you know, the families you st-"
"No. No, I don't want to, I . . . I . . . I can't. So, don't." She looked pointedly at him, "Please, don't." He gave her a nod, she needed the reassurance that he wouldn't contact the families she lived with during her time in the foster system. That was in her past and she wanted it to stay there. "But I have this." Moving the blankets she reach into her shirt and pulled up a simple little locket that hung on a long chain.
"What's that?" He moved in for a look closer as she fiddled with the clasp and opened it.
"My father gave it to me before I left for Maluku." Booth reached out, taking the small open locket in his hand and leaned in, trying to see it more clearly in the dim light of the apartment. "There's a picture of my father on one side. That's what he looked like before plastic surgery. And my mother and on the other side. That picture was taken on their wedding day."
The back of Booth's hand rested lightly on her chest as he studied the small pictures. He could feel the rapid rise and fall of her chest as her heart raced and her breath quickened. He was so close and the urge to kiss him so strong. She let her eyes fall shut momentarily and forced a long measured breath as she struggled to maintain control.
"She's beautiful, Bones, you look a lot like her." Letting the locket fall from his palm, Booth pulled back his hand and when she thanked him he wasn't entirely sure whether it was for the compliment or for retreating just enough so she could regain her composure. "You're staying tonight." Her eyes widened, they'd talked about the possibility of more, in the future, loosely, in nonspecific terms, and burned papers in some sort of magic ritual which was supposed to bring about desired results, but nothing said or unsaid indicated that he wanted to sleep with her tonight. "I'll sleep on the couch." He tried not to chuckle at her obvious misinterpretation.
"No," she blurted. "You can't, not after injuring your back today."
"Then you can sleep on the couch, but there's no way you're going home in that mess. They haven't even cleared the streets yet . . . and it's already late." He spoke with such authority and her urge to argue with him simply out of principle was strong, but she didn't. She just huffed in exasperation as she acquiesced.
"Okay."
"I'll get you something more comfortable to sleep in and some blankets." With that he stood, left her sitting on the couch as he went about his business.
They didn't talk much after that, both buzzed around the apartment getting ready for the bed. She washed her face and changed. He stoked the fire, adding another log or two, and made up the couch, pausing briefly when he was done. He felt her hand on his shoulder and turned, she was swimming in an old grey FBI sweatshirt of his and a pair of sweatpants bunched up with a drawstring around her waist. Smiling, he stepped aside and motioned toward the couch, now all dressed in sheets, blankets, and pillows. He watched as she sat down and started to settle herself. Brushing past the chairs on his way to drop the blinds, he stopped, looking down on her all curled up on his couch.
"Good night, Bones." He spoke softly.
"Good night, Booth." She added.
He looked back one last time before entering his bedroom. Those stadium seats, situated directly across from his couch, stared back at him. They meant something to him, held a connection forged in his childhood. They reminded him of something good, something to hang onto despite all the pain that surrounded those memories. And somewhere in their inescapably long day, they became something more, not just a memory, something new, something to hang onto now. Maybe even a little magicky, because even though he wasn't sure he was ready when she asked if Sweets was right, if they should talk about them, he said yes. That wasn't planned. He wanted things to be better between them first, he wanted some proof, some evidence that this wasn't going to end up like the last time, some protection for his still aching heart.
And he crushed her when he qualified it by telling her not then, not there in that stupid cage, not with Sweets popping up unexpectedly. He could see it mattered to her and watching her cover her disappointment hurt. He let his eyes fall shut as he stood against the pain he saw there, he couldn't look. Remembering it brought it back. He couldn't give her what she'd given him. Not then, not at that moment.
All day, just them and those chairs, a wedge between them, big at first. It divided them, stood between them, or maybe just represented everything that stood between them or at least he thought they did. But it changed, as the day went on, as they worked through it, and they did talk about it, about them, briefly, while they were still in their prison and then several times over the long night they shared. And the wedge dissolved, they broke through it, like snapping the row of seats so they could get out of the elevator.
And now when he looked at those stadium seats, they weren't just about his dad, they were about Bones, they were about them. They were a promise, a someday. Booth tapped the doorway to his room lightly a couple of times, gave a nod to nothing but his quiet apartment, closed his door, and went to bed.
ooooo0ooooo
A/N: Good grief, I have a way of complicating things and the closer I got to posting today the more I realized I wasn't happy with the jump from chapter 7 to the then already written chapter 8. So, what did I do? Contacted my good friend snowybones and told her I was crazy and I was thinking about adding a chapter in between what I had already posted and the chapter I'd previously planned on posting today. Special thanks to her for being available to read this on short notice and act as a sounding board when I panicked about the flow from this chapter I just wrote and the one I previously wrote….she has the patience of a saint. As one of my sons would say our family motto is: making simple things hard.
Anyways, I hope you liked it. After the idea started to work itself out I found it a great opportunity to add some details in that are referenced later in the series. Please let me know what you think even though I haven't had time to sit down and respond to all your wonderful reviews. I will try and work on them tonight, last week went a little sideways but I think I'm headed in the right direction now.
I am ever grateful for your dedication to reading and support through follows, favorites, and reviews.
Speaking to a couple questions and comments. I addressed all the wonderful people who review under the umbrella guest. One person said they were on tumblr. I will try and find you but if I don't please understand, it's not you. I am not the least bit technically savvy. I set up a tumblr account eons ago and still don't really get that platform or how to use it. I am on twitter though, under the name DG_Schneider. If you want to find me there we can connect.
Also, the letters will come back up, I promise, they'll be the focus of a couple of chapters in the not so distant future. I've been writing those chapters (10 and 11 I think) and I'm actually very excited to share them with you.
Thank you again for all your wonderful support
Much love,
DG
