AN: This chapter is HUGE. Huge. It also took a serious detour from the outline I wrote years ago.
There's a little something for everyone in here. Goofy fluffy banter, a little lust, but mostly angst. For this episode, it has to be.
Before you begin, you may want to re-read the chapter King of Fools, since I'm going to show you something from that time that was left out of that chapter. It's short and bittersweet. I'll wait.
Back? Be warned: I'm about to ruin two episodes for you at once with some offscreen happenings that will completely change the meaning of scenes. Okay, maybe not ruin, but your angst will intensify.
Tag To: The Beginning In The End (throwback sequence to The Parts in the Sum of the Whole)
I do not own Bones or the beautiful lyrics of Anna Begins by Counting Crows, a far better song for that airport. I disclaim.
Anna Begins (Counting Crows)
My friend assures me, "It's all or nothing"
I am not worried- I am not overly concerned
My friend implores me
"For one time only, make an exception"
I am not worried…
Now: 9 pm
The phone rings a third time and he starts to worry that he won't reach her. He can't have that, because he's promised himself that he can't leave without saying his goodbyes. As much as they have trotted out a party line of training exercises and minimal risk, Booth knows there's no such thing in a combat zone. Every day you make it is something to be thankful for. His thumb hovers, ready to disconnect, but on the sixth ring, the connection is made.
"Sorry!" She is gasping as she picks up. "I ran from the shower."
"So you're naked?" he muses.
"In a towel. Barely," she mutters. "Mind out of the gutter, Seeley."
"Don't call me Seeley, Camille."
She laughs softly and he can hear something rustling over the line. "I'm going to miss this. Arguing with you."
"You do thrive on confrontation."
He takes a sip of coffee, grimacing. Andrews base still has the same shitty grinds he remembers from his last tour. Hell, it's probably the same beans.
"And you thrive on escapism. It's why we never worked—except between the sheets," she replies coyly. "But seriously, how are you doing? Do you know when you're flying out?"
"I'm off to Bragg tomorrow for a week, then we deploy." He hesitates, worrying his poker chip. "I'm good, you know? I know I swore I'd never reenlist, that I was done, but the more I overhear, it makes me feel like I can help. Save lives, like Parker told me to."
"Of course you can—"
"And you know, Bones is going to her Makapupu Islands and she gets to do what she loves again. She gets to dig up bodies and learn about our history. I mean, I'm the reason she got dragged into death and gloom. She needs a break."
"If that's what you need to tell yourself…"
He groans and begins to pace, clutching the phone tighter. "Out with it, Cam. You clearly have something to say."
"You're off to shape the soldiers of the future, while she's off to solve mysteries of the past. You are literally running in the opposite direction from the present. You don't see what's happening here?"
"That's not—"
"And neither of you would be leaving if the other wanted to stay!" Something thumps on the other end of the line, maybe a mug of coffee. "Be honest with me: if she hadn't received that offer in Maluku, would you have gone back to the Army?"
He can't answer that. For starters, the lines are monitored and Cam surely has the sense to know it. But more importantly, he can't let himself wander down that road, because there's no turning back now. He's taken his oath. He's committed to the time. For the safety of the men and women he'll be working with, he has to give his all. There's no daydreaming, no what ifs.
"My country needs me. Those soldiers need me to make it back alive, like I did." It's the safest answer he can give her.
"I have no doubt you will bring them home. I know your lion heart, Booth. But I'm coming to know Brennan's too. And she is not nearly as excited as you would expect an anthropologist to be about such an incredible opportunity."
"Well, she does have to work with Daisy," he hedges.
"That's not it. You're not here. You left five days ago."
There's something in her voice that troubles him greatly. He's known Cam for a very long time, and while she tends to hold her emotional cards close to her chest, he's always been able to pick out her true feelings beneath her carefully crafted veneer. And right now, Cam is worried.
"Is Bones alright?" He catches his voice rising and quickly draws a breath, steadying himself. "Cam?"
A heavy sigh. "She reminds me of the Doctor Brennan I met years ago."
Then no, she's not okay. For all of her claims of not having his heart, for not being capable of loving others, he knows she is. He knows because over the years, she's dropped those sky-high walls she'd build when her folks bailed, and let others in. When the walls go back up, it's because she's in a world of hurt.
A world he's created, he reminds himself.
"Seeley, do you remember what I told you when you first came back to duty?"
"Yeah."
He remembers that entire case, that whole first week back. Hugging Bones in her office. Avalon's warnings and cryptic comments. Cam telling him to be sure he loved her, to not play with her heart. She'll never let anyone else in again. How Sweets had made him think his brain was imagining his love for her.
"When you tried to make it work, were you all in?"
He huffs angrily. "Interesting choice of words for a recovered gambler, Camille."
"Weren't you the gambler that night?" she snaps back. "Answer the question."
"Of course I was all in!" he hisses. "I told her how I wanted to give it a shot. Told her I've known from the moment I met her that I wanted to be with her. Kissed her how I've wanted to for a long time."
"And you told her you loved her, and she didn't love you back? Or… what?"
He freezes, replaying that awful moment outside the Hoover. "I… No."
"No?" He hears a thud, imagines it's Cam punching her wall, just like she used to when they dated. "For fuck's sake, you didn't tell her that you love her?"
"I… No, but it was obvious! Who wants to grow old with someone and doesn't love them? She knows."
"Does she, though?" He growls in frustration as she continues. "Let's examine the facts. You are prodded into taking a gamble by an overgrown child in a suit. You declare yourself the gambler—and she remembers Booth the Gambler—and tell her in metaphorical terms that you want to be with her. Something you told her before as a gambler, then promptly backtracked on before pissing her off so badly, she ignored you until you had her arrested. Be Brennan for a moment: what does she think?"
Oh, fuck. It's all so clear now. "And then I told her I had to move on the moment she balked."
"Thereby proving her fears to be justified."
He runs a hand through his hair, scratching his scalp rough enough to draw blood. "I fucked it up."
"Now see, if you told her outright, told her those three words, maybe it would have cut through the static and reassured her. But you didn't."
"Yeah, but she knew, Cam. She had to!" His brain kicks into overdrive, replaying every second of that painful exchange. "She wasn't angry. She didn't bolt away. She was adamant we remain partners. She didn't want to hurt me."
"She turned you down because she was afraid you were being impulsive. A gambler. And she wanted empirical proof that she could take the biggest risk of her life."
Cam's voice is soft and soothing, almost apologetic. What she's saying, it makes sense. And yet, he's staggered by the notion that he wasn't clear enough for Bones to read between the lines.
She knows you care a lot about her. That you want to be with her all the time. What other conclusion can you draw from that? And the other night… No, there's no way she doesn't know. She definitely knows now.
"Her flight leaves tomorrow at one-thirty," Cam informs him. "Will you be there?"
Booth kicks the foot of his bed. "No, I can't. I'm under orders. Technically I should have been at Bragg three days ago. Seems the bigwigs didn't get the memo about my brain tumour before they came calling. Even got me here in housing at Andrews, standing by for a flight."
"Huh. Alright then."
"You know I'd be there if I could. But there's no way I'm getting a pass."
"I'd make an exception in this case, but rules are rules," she concedes. "Especially in the military. So, big guy, is this the last time I'm going to hear from you before you're over in that desert?"
"Probably. But I'll write when I can."
"Well, don't worry about Brennan. We're all going to see her off. And Daisy too, I suppose. Angela and Hodgins leave next weekend." Her voice trembles slightly. "Safe journey, Seeley."
"I'll be home before you know it," he promises her.
As he hangs up the phone and slumps onto the bed, he's haunted by their conversation. By how wrong he's been about so many things. By how differently recent events could have played out, in light of Cam's insight. And while every fibre of his being wants to scream and shout until he's at that airport to send his partner off, that's not what Booth the soldier would do. And to survive the coming year, that's who he's going to have to be.
Sleep comes, but it is fitful, thrashing and tangled sheets and gulps of water between dreams. But they aren't dreams, really. They are memories stained on his soul, like the lives he's taken in wars past.
Wrap her up in a package of lies
Send her off to a coconut island
I am not worried
I am not overly concerned with the status of my emotions
"Oh", she says, "you're changing."
But we're always changing…
Eight days ago:
The Mall is unusually busy today. Booth assumes it's the weather—last week, Washington was huddling beneath umbrellas under stormy skies—but maybe it's always been this busy. Usually, he's too enamoured with a certain forensic anthropologist to notice the world moving around them.
"So, Bones, here we are. What's all the mystery about?"
He already knows the score, but he's asking anyway. Sweets couldn't shut up about it this morning. Babbling Baby Duck plowed straight ahead, asking him how he was handling the news, before realizing that Booth didn't know a damn thing.
"I've been offered the chance to head up the Maluku Island project."
Ah. So she did plan to tell him that she was leaving the country for an entire year. She'd practically scheduled an appointment to tell him. It felt cold, like the death she longed to flee from. Hadn't she said as much after Taffet's trial?
"Yeah, I heard. Daisy told Sweets and Sweets told me."
He stares out onto the Mall, curious about how many times they've done just this—meeting for coffee to catch up, chat about cases, laugh at the foibles of their colleagues. But this time is different. The bench feels about fifty feet long, and he can't look at her without wanting to shout about the chaos this little flap of a butterfly's wings will create.
"Oh." He catches the disappointment in her voice and softens slightly. "I'd like to accept."
"Hmmm. I thought you already had, you know?"
Which was why he'd signed the paperwork this morning to accept the Army's offer. If she was gone—and that's what Sweets had said—he didn't care to stick around and work with her replacement. Pretending he didn't love her, that was hell, but working with someone else was simply not going to happen. She was his partner, the only Squint who'd ever been able to convince him to give science its due.
No, he wasn't going to work without her. And she clearly didn't want to work with him anymore. Right?
"We've been partners for five years, Booth. I wouldn't make a decision like this without talking to you."
Right? But the tone of her voice… She's conflicted. Huh. Has she really been waiting to speak to him first before accepting the offer? No, there's no way. This is a formality.
"Bones, look, you don't need my permission. Okay, it's-it's cool." Just go, be with your ancient remains, away from me.
"You say that, but you won't look at me. You're the one who taught me the value of making eye contact. So, please...?"
She's pleading now, and a sick feeling settles in his chest. She really did want his opinion before deciding. Which means they're right back at the Hoover all over again. She wants what will break his heart, but she wants him to offer it to her. And once again, he knows he will do just that, because he loves her. It's a stupid, irrational, hopeless love, but it's the most honest thing he's felt in his life.
And she's right. He has taught her about the importance of body language, of connecting with others. He's being unfair here, especially since he's made an assumption that clearly wasn't correct.
He turns to face her, his mind rapidly reading her face, her posture and those eyes that hold him prisoner in this messy not-relationship. He reads concern in her eyes, and a dash of fear. But more than anything, she wants absolution. She wants to be let go.
"I'm sorry. I just... I don't do really good with change, I guess," he admits.
"Well, you're better than I am," she counters softly.
"The pyramids are better at change than you are," he quips half-heartedly, immediately regretting it as her jaw falls open. "It was a joke. Hey, I was being affectionate," he insists, managing a chuckle.
"Oh!" She laughs nervously. "Will you go back to the Army?"
He doesn't have the heart to tell her about his impulsive decision this morning. It's not like it'll make a difference: she wants to go, and he's going to urge her to.
"It's what's best for me right now."
"I'll only be gone for a year." She's pleased about this, which soothes his ego somewhat.
Play it cool. "Me, too. Right. So, hey, what's a year?"
"It's the time it takes the Earth to make a full revolution around the sun."
It's so casual and matter-of-fact that he's momentarily speechless. He's going to miss these moments dearly.
"In the scheme of things," he clarifies. "You know, the grand scheme. Just saying, a year is just, you know... it's not too bad."
"Right."
"Right?" Their exchanged smiles are forced, but neither is about to call the other out for it.
"We can come back, pick up where we left off. Nothing really has to change."
Maybe she means to reassure him. Perhaps she's trying to convince herself. Either way, a line needs to be drawn. He recalls Cam's definition of insanity speech from that first case and immediately knows it to be true. This same as it ever was shit they keep agreeing to, it's killing them both slowly.
"No, things have to change."
The ocean in those eyes of hers, it begins to churn as she mulls it over. Change, it terrifies her. It's the one thing she fears above all else. Stability has been elusive; having found it, she's desperate not to give it up.
"You know what? Hey, I taught you about eye contact, you taught me about evolution. So..." Drawing a deep breath, he extends his cold coffee towards her. "Here's to change."
She touches her cup to his, clearly uneasy. "To change," she echoes, taking a large gulp of coffee.
They sit in uneasy silence, watching tourists wander by. They don't need to get on a plane. There are already miles between them.
It does not bother me to say this isn't love
Because if you don't want to talk about it, then it isn't love
and I guess I'm going to have to live that
but I'm sure there's something in a shade of gray
or something in between
and I can always change my name if that's what you mean…
Six weeks ago:
"I am not a gambler. I'm a scientist. I can't change. I don't know how..."
"I can't change either," he muses aloud.
He will always belong to her. He knows it now, as he takes another shot and squints at the clock. One in the morning, and he's doubtful sleep will come. Not after tonight. Not after she shut down any thought of giving them a try.
She's hurting, he knows she is. She was crying just now, on the phone. But she won't let him come over. Won't let him see her cry. No, not anymore. He broke that trust with his declaration tonight on the Hoover.
The bottle is in his hand and he is drinking straight from it now.
Damn it, it makes no sense! The anger is returning now, and he begins to pace. She clearly has thought about it, thought about them. Isn't his coma dream proof of that? Her fucking book, that stupid book that she didn't even save! Before the book, he lived in a blissful ignorance, once where fleeting thoughts of love and romance were easily pushed aside as sexual chemistry or muddied waters from an unusually intimate friendship.
If he called her Bren, would she remember the fever dream she'd built for two?
No, fuck this. He's done living by her rules. Which is how he finds himself calling a cab and showing up on her doorstep at two.
He knows it's wrong. She told him not to come. She's probably asleep. And yeah, he has a key, but she also knows how to flip a man twice her size.
His legs wobble beneath him and Booth is acutely aware that he is about to collapse beneath the weight of the scotch in his veins. Bleary-eyed and bitter, he gives in to his ego and knocks briskly. Three raps, like the old days of Wong Foo's take-out.
She doesn't get to end this conversation. It isn't all about her.
He hears footsteps within and mumbles her name. His hand reaches out to steady himself against the door frame. Moments that feel like hours pass and finally, he hears the chain slide free, then the bolts.
"Bones?"
The door opens and she is there, and for all of his fury on the ride over, he is reduced to despair. Her hair is tangled and piled loosely atop her head. Her eyes are swollen and red, her nose raw.
"I told you to stay home," she protests weakly.
And in that moment, he knows he's not here for answers. He's here on unconscious instinct. She needs him.
"Well, I'm a rebel, right? Like you always say. Can't tell me what to do." His knees shudder and he grips the door frame tighter. "Can I?"
She sniffs him, shaking her head. "You're in no condition to go anywhere else tonight."
She steps aside, granting him access, but he makes it three steps inside before nearly hitting the ground. Reluctantly, she offers her shoulder, allowing him to lean on her as they head for her couch. He slumps into his usual spot and blinks away trails of light. The coffee table is littered with balls of tissue and a half-eaten container of Pad Thai. Her modest TV hums as an old movie plays, one he recognizes but can't name.
"Here," she murmurs, pressing a bottle of water into his hand.
"Hmm." He fumbles with the cap, managing to gulp down half a bottle.
She's settled on the chair nearby, studying him. "Why are you here?"
"I don't know anymore," he confesses.
Her eyes focus on the TV, watching as a man embarks on a train ride. It's clearly old school noir—maybe Hitchcock? He's struggling to name it, but it's a classic. The only sort of movie she'll watch on her own.
"I haven't been able to sleep."
He is reluctant to speak, lest he say something he'll regret. His feelings are a jumbled mess and any moment, he's capable of exploding. Just like his asshole father. A knot settles in his stomach as he wonders if he's changed at all since that first kiss.
No wonder she doesn't want him.
"I almost called you back," she blurts out. "After hanging up… I… But I didn't believe it was appropriate."
His head slumps toward her. "Why not?"
"You know why."
The room spins, colours and lights whirling, and he groans. This is going to be one hell of a hangover. Spinning makes him think of Hitchcock again. Vertigo? No, not this one… The 39 Steps! That's the train one.
"You can sleep, if you want," she tells him. "You look exhausted."
He wants to comfort her. He wants to know why she's crying when she's the one who's rejected him. He wants to enjoy her tears and hates himself for wanting her to cry.
A chasm has opened between them and he is torn between watching her plummet and throwing himself down to break her fall.
"Booth?"
"I'm sorry," he manages. "I'm… I drank a lot."
"I know." She reaches for the remote, turning off the TV. "Come sleep."
He doesn't remember walking down the hall, nor does he remember stripping to his boxers and crawling into bed. What he does remember, as bleary eyes met a garish morning sun, is finding her in the bed beside him. His heart begins to race as he pulls fragments of the night before from his taffy brain.
Oh God, please tell me we didn't… That I didn't come over here…
She's wearing her usual yoga pants with one of his FBI t-shirts, the fabric threadbare and clinging to her curves. Her hand is entwined with his, just like those nights in Vegas three years ago, and he is so lost and confused. Why is she here?
Okay, calm down Booth. She easily could have kicked your drunken ass. However you've ended up like this, she's okay with it. Which means you haven't ruined anything.
Yet.
There's no good way out of this, he decides. Every road leads to a conversation he's not ready to have, not while nursing a broken heart. There's too much anger brimming within, too much to work through. And if they're going to maintain their status quo, he needs to get that shit in check.
He manages to slip away, unnoticed by a sleeping beauty. A note tucked on his pillow is the only explanation he'll provide:
Late for day with Parker. See you Monday.
He's lying, of course. He spends the morning at the firing range, instead.
My friend assures me, "It's all or nothing`
But I am not really worried
I am not overly concerned
You try to tell yourself the things you try tell yourself to make
yourself forget
to make yourself forget
I am not worried…
Six days ago:
Last case. Last night before reporting to MEPS for medical clearance.
He spends the morning and early afternoon with Parker, doing his best to hit on all of his favourite activities. He makes him chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast, plays catch until lunch at his favourite pizza joint, then a trip to the zoo.
Parker is oddly at peace with the changes to come. Every time Booth reminds him of how much he'll miss him, he laughs it away.
"I love you too, Dad. I'll be fine! You're going to be a hero."
He'll always be his son's hero, he hopes. And maybe hers as well.
Last night was the big group dinner. Angela had gathered up all of the Squints for a little debauchery at the Founding Fathers, even booking out their party room for privacy. Food and laughter were shared, along with many embraces. Even Fisher clapped him on the back in brotherly fashion and wished him well.
Bones and Cam had stayed the longest, helping him close the bar down over wine and a second round of nachos. Cam was clearly upset, her eyes drifting back and forth between him and Bones. He couldn't blame her, really: the entire team was departing for a year, leaving her alone to continue the uncanny success of the Jeffersonian's Medico-Legal Lab. Her farewell hug was tight and tearful, a kiss on the cheek and a plea to be safe and write often.
Bones, on the other hand, had been quietly contemplative, fiddling with her drink and using food as an excuse not to speak. It was only when he'd called her out on it at closing time that she finally explained herself.
"This is the last night I'll see you for some time," she mused aloud. "I find I feel conflicted about such a large gathering."
"Well, you know, it was a goodbye for everyone, right? Not just me."
"You're the only one who will be in certain danger, Booth. It was for you more than anyone."
He'd been pretty tipsy, but he still understood her better than anyone in the world. "Hey, you wanna have dinner tomorrow night?"
"What? No, tomorrow is your day with Parker."
"Yeah, day. As in daylight. We'll do a late dinner, you and me." He grins as an idea strikes him. "Hey, would you mind making dinner?"
"You want me to cook?" At his enthusiastic nod, she'd cracked a smile. "Macaroni and cheese?"
"I'm not going to have it for an entire year, Bones. Help a guy out, huh?"
She'd agreed readily, promising to arrive at 5 to start cooking. He'd told her to use her key, in case he and Parker ran late. Which, he notes as he glances at his watch, they definitely have. Unlocking his door, he beams. The scent of dinner is in the air, and it is heavenly.
"Hey, Bones! Sorry I'm late. Traffic was a mess."
In his hand, he balances dessert: a slice of pie from the diner for him, and a pint of ice cream for her. Okay, maybe he's hoping for ice cream, too. But only if she wants to share.
(She always shares.)
She steps out of the kitchen, patting her hands on his apron. "Hello! Dinner's in the oven. There's ten minutes left on the timer."
The math doesn't quite add up. "I'm not that late, am I?"
"Oh, no. No, I found myself eager to prepare the meal and came at four. I hope that's okay?"
She's concerned she's somehow overstepped a boundary, hesitating to meet his gaze. His free hand reaches for her chin, lifting her eyes to meet his.
"That's sweet of you, Bones. Thank you."
Wine is poured, dessert is stowed away and two plates are mounded with cheesy goodness. They speak little, fragments of casual conversation, but it's comfortable. It reminds him of how things used to be before the tumour, when they could simply enjoy being together. He tells her about his day with Parker, grinning as she brings up a recent article she's read about mating pandas in captivity.
"What kind of animal doesn't know how to spread its seed and keep the bloodline going?" he scoffs, dishing ice cream onto his warmed pie.
"Well, we only have ourselves to blame, Booth."
He laughs, passing her the pint of ice cream with a spoon. "I am so not cock-blocking any panda bears."
She gives him that look, the you are deliberately being difficult look he secretly loves to bait out of her, and continues. "The destruction of the panda's natural habitat, the poor nutritional quality of bamboo, and climate change all contribute to a dwindling population in the wild." She pauses for a spoonful of mint chocolate chip, humming happily. "Really, Booth, you should have more respect for the panda. You have a lot in common with them."
Puzzled, he breaks from devouring his pie. "I'm a fat, lazy bear, too stupid to make babies?"
She laughs heartily, dropping her spoon. "No! Clearly, you are capable of producing progeny, and your son will be an exemplary man as he matures. But pandas struggle to mate successfully, be it in captivity or in the wild, because male pandas feel a need to be attracted to the female panda. They do not have sex to satisfy urges. They do not settle for the only female panda housed in captivity with them. They… make love."
Her cheeks are crimson as she picks up her spoon, suddenly fascinated by her dessert. He, too, falls quiet, contemplating her words. For all of the times she's claimed she can't change, he can list moments like these where he knows damn well she's not the same person he met in that university lecture hall.
"Thanks, Bones."
She nods thoughtfully, rising to her feet. "I'll wash the dishes."
"No, hey, don't do that. You cooked!" His arm extends, blocking her path to the kitchen. "Just… Just hang out with me tonight. I'll do them in the morning."
"Cheese is very difficult to scrub away once hardened—"
"So I'll let them soak overnight, alright?" He gestures to the lone bite of pie on his plate. "You sure you don't want to live dangerously? Eat a little cooked fruit?"
Her nose wrinkles. "No thank you."
"But it's covered in ice cream! Your favourite ice cream!" He waves the fork at her and winks. "Come on, Bones. This may be the last pie I eat."
"Don't even think that!" she snaps. "You're going to come back and I will buy you an entire pie from the diner when you do. I won't even criticize your consumption of sugars that day."
She shoves past his arm and he knows he's pissed her off. "Hey, Bones, come on!" He follows her into his tiny kitchen, cutting off her access to the freezer. "Hey, I'm sorry."
Plunking the ice cream on the counter, she crosses her arms over her chest. "You, of all people, know how serious a combat situation can be."
"Serious as a heart attack," he agrees quietly. "I really meant it more like the last piece I'd have before leaving, but it came out all wrong."
Her body relaxes, but only slightly. "I-I'll fill the sink for the dishes to soak."
"Alright."
He returns to the table, where that damn bite of pie teases him from the plate. Smirking, he returns to the kitchen, where the orange scent of dish soap fills his nostrils.
"Okay, how about a compromise?"
"Booth, I don't like pie!"
"I'm not asking you to eat the pie, Bones." At her disbelieving look, he relents. "Okay, so I'd love it if you had this bite, but I'm proposing we meet halfway. I'll eat the pie, but you will enjoy this melting dollop of ice cream goodness."
There's her beautiful smile! She flips off the water, shaking her head. "Will you promise not to hide secret pie in there?"
"Scout's honour. And I was actually a scout, so that means something."
He spears the last of the pie, savouring the cinnamon-apple goodness, before scooping up the last of the ice cream as best he can. She opens her mouth and he feeds it to her—well, tries to. It's so damn melty that a droplet hits her chin. She squeals at the chill.
"Sorry. Let me get that for you."
His thumb brushes her skin, capturing the offending smear, and it is wrong, so wrong, but he isn't thinking of lines or rejections or flights off the continent. He is running on instinct, on need. He brings it to her lips, brushing them in minty green.
"Booth…" A whispered warning.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs huskily. "Did I make a mess?"
Abort, abort! But he can't. Because what if this really is the last time they'll have dinner together? What if he doesn't make it home? She's planted the idea in his head and he has to try again, try one more time.
Her sticky lips pout at him. "A big mess…"
And then she is on him, the aggressor, the one doing the kissing this time. Arms tangle and bodies entwine and there is the taste of her, those heavenly, soft lips, and he is dizzy-drunk on her. Her back thumps against the kitchen island as he draws her lower lip between his, sucking softly on the chocolate-mint of her. Her fingers are threading behind his neck, pulling him closer and he groans as her hips meld against hers.
He's not going to question it. He's going to fall down this rabbit hole and see where he lands.
"If it's love" she said, "then we're gonna have to think about the
consequences"
She can't stop shaking and I can't stop touching her and
This time, when kindness falls like rain
It washes her away
and Anna begins to change her mind
"These seconds when I'm shaking leave me shuddering
for days," she says
And I'm not ready for this sort of thing…
Tongues tangle and hands wander beneath his shirt and his body is on fire now. He is burning to ash beneath her touch. His hands wander too, slipping beneath her blouse, between them, cupping her firm breasts. He cannot, will not, stop kissing her. She is breathing life into him even as he drowns in the perfection of her.
He grinds his erection into her thigh and she gasps into his mouth. Snatching at the hem of his shirt, she yanks upwards, signalling her displeasure with it. Reluctantly, he pulls back long enough for her to tug it free and fling it across the room. His fingers work frantically at her blouse buttons before hunger overwhelms him and he yanks the last two, sending the tiny pearls scattering across the floor.
He wants to tell her how breathtaking she is, how she is more beautiful than he's ever imagined her to be, but he's terrified of breaking the spell.
He speaks with action, his lips kissing along the swell of her breast before seizing her nipple through the flimsy lace. Her hand smacks against the counter and she gasps his name. Head tilted back, soft curls grazing the countertop, she presses her hips closer to him.
A flick of his fingers and her bra is slipping free and oh God, how can any woman be so perfect? That porcelain skin will be the death of him. His mouth claims hers once more and they are moulding against each other, becoming that miracle he always told her about. His hand grips her ass through her jeans and he growls angrily, because damn it, why are there clothes still between them? A rough tug at her fly and his hand slips between them, slides down along silk and lace between her thighs. The fabric is damp and he feels himself twitch. He's done this to her.
Her hips buck into his palm and his mouth is on her neck, trailing kisses to her shoulder. He presses harder against her centre and she groans her approval. Her skin is hot against his chest and he wants more of her heat, more of her wandering hands that have somehow dropped his jeans to his knees. Her hand grips him and he nearly explodes right there.
This has to be a dream. This can't be real. It has to be a dream.
But it's not a dream. It's not real, but it's not a dream. It's the frantic need of two people finding a port in a storm, unsure if their paths will ever cross again. And as much as he—oh fuck, she's stroking him—wants this, he doesn't want it for a night. He wants to know he's coming home to her.
"Bones," he pants into her neck. "This… Are we?"
"Booth?"
Oh no, he recognizes that tone.
His hands find hers and he holds them tightly. He presses his forehead to hers, staring into the icy blue depths that drive him mad.
"I can't do this once," he whispers. "You're right, I'm a panda bear. So… do I need to get something?"
He already knows the answer. She's an open book he can never be finished with. But he needs to hear the words.
"I… Booth…"
She buries her face against him and sobs. One single, soft sob. And the spell is broken.
"Don't cry, baby," he murmurs. "Please don't…"
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Her fingers trace the scar he bears proudly. The scar he bears for her. His fingers thread through her curls, soothing her until her breaths are no longer ragged gasps against his shoulder.
Her voice is shaky as she pulls away from him. "I should… I should go home."
"Bones, we need to talk about this."
Her gaze falls to the floor and he knows this is going to be a fight because those damn walls are mounting. He tilts her chin upwards, forces her to face him.
"Hey, it's just me," he reassures her. "Just us. You can talk to me, right?"
"I'm still a scientist." A tear slides down her cheek, falling to the floor. "I can't hurt you."
You already have. "Then what was this?"
Tears continue to fall, a bitter rain born for destruction. "I imagined you never coming home..."
"I'll come home. You know I will," he insists. "If that's all that's stopping you—"
"I'm sorry. Let me go," she insists, shoving against his chest. "Please, Booth?"
He reluctantly takes three steps back, tugging his jeans back up. "Don't go home," he pleads. "Let's just… watch movies, or listen to music—"
"I really think—"
"You think too much," he gently rebukes her. "Get dressed and come sit down, okay?"
He gives her space to collect her clothing as he tracks down his errant t-shirt. His chest aches with the separation, with the knowledge of how fucking close they came to moving past all of the fear and failings of their fathers holding them back. His fingers touch his lips gingerly. She has bruised him, inside and out.
He will always be a fool for her.
She is weary as she sinks into the sofa, arms curled about her frame. She is so very small, and half of him wants to soothe her pain. Half of him is tired of mixed signals, though, and he keeps his distance.
"I don't know how to do this," she mumbles.
He leans against the wall, studying her across the room. "Do what, Bones?"
"Act like that didn't just happen!" she shouts angrily. "Look at me!" She holds up her hands—those gifted, precise hands—and he notices the shuddering.
He can't stop the words from spilling out. "At least I know you felt something."
His hand presses to his mouth, but it's too late. She's heard him, loud and clear. Without another word, she snatches up her purse and heads for the door. For her sake, he doesn't follow.
For his sake, he tells himself that it's better this way.
But I'm not gonna break
And I'm not going to worry about it anymore
I'm not gonna bend and I'm not gonna break and
I'm not gonna worry about it anymore
It seems like I should say, "As long as this is love..."
But it's not all that easy, so maybe I should just
snap her up in a butterfly net
Pin her down on a photograph album
I am not worried
I've done this sort of thing before
But then I start to think about the consequences
Because I don't get no sleep in a quiet room…
Now: 4:47am
He wakes up for the third time and gives up on sleep.
Reaching for the water on the night stand, he gulps it down quickly. The memory of what was—what almost was—is too much to bear, especially now. Especially after what he's seen.
MEPS cleared him through his initial medical in two days, more a backlog than anything else. He'd sworn his oath and was packing for Andrews when he got the call. Brain tumour, they repeated several times. Somehow, the medical files they'd used to clear him in MEPS had missed that critical detail.
Deployment to Bragg was quickly postponed and a rush appointment was made at Walter Reed. Given his post-operative amnesia and confusion, he was required to pass an MRI and a psychological evaluation.
Psychology is a pseudoscience, he could hear her say.
The reality of reenlisting finally hit home yesterday, when he'd flopped into a chair in the neurology wing to await his assessment. Booth wasn't oblivious to the high costs of war, but it had been a great deal of time since he'd been in a military hospital.
The room was jammed, with nurses and companions often standing beside the patient they were accompanying. Old and young, wars past and present—all were here, united by the common foe of combat history.
He could pick them out by age: Korean War; Gulf War; the current conflict. One man, a double amputee, was surely a World War II vet. He'd shifted in his seat, the air thin and stale. The rust of dried blood haunted him.
He'd thought of his father, of how he drank and shouted and smacked them all around. Wondered if another tour would be what it took to prove he was the rotting apple not too far from that tree.
When he'd returned to the housing at Andrews, he'd wanted to call her desperately. She'd always understood him, always known what to say. She'd seen the casualties of conflicts overseas during the course of her work. More importantly, she'd battled demons of her own.
But then he would think of her bare skin in his kitchen, remember how her body felt beneath his palm, and the hurt seethed. She was just another addiction he needed to shake.
Tonight, though… Cam's words reverberate in his skull. Bones isn't okay with how they've left things. That much he knows. She's shutting down as best she can. But is she struggling because she regrets the spark between them, or does she wish she'd let the fire engulf them?
He rolls over, yanking the blankets closer, but it's no use. He needs answers. And there's only one way to get them.
Three rings are all it takes for a groggy voice to pick up. "Hello?"
"Bones?"
"Booth?" She yawns loudly and the phone is shuffled around. "Booth? Are you okay?"
"Can't sleep."
"I thought… You said you would deploy in two days."
He tosses off the sheets, the room suddenly stifling. "Delayed. Someone forget to tell them about the tumour. I go tomorrow to Fort Bragg."
He listens to her breathing over the line: steady, but a little hurried. She's nervous.
"Did you have a nightmare?" she asks gently.
"Not a nightmare… Um, I just… I wanted to know you were alright."
"Oh. Oh, I'm fine. My flight is today. Angela has promised to give me a ride so I don't have to go with Daisy and Sweets."
He chuckles softly, toying with the phone cord. "That's very lucky."
"it is." A beat. "I would rather be driving with you."
"Yeah?"
"So we could say goodbye properly," she explains. "Get coffee. Plus, you drive faster. I could sleep approximately nineteen minutes later in the morning."
"Nineteen minutes? That's pretty specific, Bones."
"I like to be precise." A soft yawn, almost a purr, carries over the miles. "Booth?"
"Yeah?"
"I assume there's no way… well, that you can come say goodbye?"
He fumbles the phone in his confusion. "What, now?"
"No, the airport…. I… It's foolish. You're deploying."
"I am. I doubt I could get a pass even if I asked for one." He hesitates, kicking himself for being so predictable. "You want me to try?"
The line goes quiet—so quiet, Booth begins to wonder if she's hung up or if the base has disconnected them. Then, it's there, faint enough for most to miss: the catch of air in the lungs, followed by a soft sniff.
"I would like that very, very much."
Cam spoke true: his partner's not okay. She wants him to do something about it. Thing is, he wants something in return.
"If there's any way I can be there, I will be," he vows. "What time do you have to head to your gate?"
"Ten after twelve. I couldn't… With it being an international flight—"
"Yeah, I know. I will do my best." His eyes are blurring, exhaustion creeping over him suddenly. "If I don't make it, we'll meet in a year on that bench, right?"
"By the coffee cart?"
"Yeah, Bones. Our spot. Alright?"
"Mmhmm. But I do hope you can come tomorrow, even though I know it is foolish and highly unlikely." Her tone is guarded, but the disappointment seeps between the cracks in a carefully constructed conversation.
"Are you sure about that?" The anger in his heart is poisoning the lion. "I thought you couldn't get away from me fast enough."
She mumbles something bitterly, but it's buried beneath a rustling of sheets.
"Speak up," he goads her. "I can take it."
"I…" She draws a deep breath and huffs angrily into his ear. "I made it to the stairs and cried on the floor for half an hour. Are you happy?"
Oh. OH… "Bones—"
"I'm not proud of what happened, but I certainly did not lack in feelings that night, or any night, for that matter!"
He almost argues, catching himself as his lips part. No, he said that. Once. That night.
"You don't have to come tomorrow. I've changed my mind. You said things have to change."
"Not that," he insists. "Not me being your friend, alright?"
Well, he has his answers. And while it won't make the memory of how she tastes disappear, it does soothe the beast within to know that she felt the same passion he did.
"I'm… I should let you go. You should be rested for your deployment."
"I'll be alright. Just… If I don't see you, be careful out there."
Her words are soft and kind, caressing his heart. "Be safe, Booth."
He moves to hang up but can't make himself do it. He can't cut the damn connection between them, knowing this might be the last time they ever speak. And so he lies in the darkness, listening to the rhythm of her lungs. As sleep quickly overtakes her, there are words, fragments and phrases, a secret language.
When she whispers his name, he quietly ends the call.
This time, when kindness falls like rain
It washes me away and Anna begins to change my mind
And every time she sneezes, I believe it's love
and oh lord, I'm not ready for this sort of thing
She's talking in her sleep-it's keeping me awake
And Anna begins to toss and turn
And every word is nonsense but I understand and
oh lord, I'm not ready for this sort of thing…
Now: 11:55am
Sitting in the cab, his uniform still stiff and itchy, he remembers their first conversation about fate. Ludicrous, she called it. Her position had never wavered once in the six years he'd known her.
Somehow, he senses that not even this would sway her.
He hadn't bothered asking for a pass. He knew it would never be granted, so why shake up the superiors and put them in a bad mood? He figured he'd call Cam around noon and talk to Bones, tell her goodbye one last time. Have Angela hug her on his behalf. He'd be there as best he could.
Then that damn freshly enlisted airman had shown up to inform him that his flight to Bragg would be leaving at eleven-thirty—meaning he'd be incommunicado during her departure. Damn it.
For a decorated sniper, Booth hated waiting. It was different out in the field. Waiting for a target was still active. Threats to your position could come at any moment. Weather conditions could force a change in plans or position. So many calculations and factors needed consideration. Booth was a patient man. It was likely why he'd found himself pining over the same woman for years.
But idle waiting? Waiting without purpose? It was hell.
Under orders, awaiting transport, he'd been subtly corralled around ten. Coffee in hand, he'd quietly observed the bustle and hum of Andrews AFB. Picking out the newly enlisted from the lifers was people watching at its finest. It was also relatively easy when in uniform: the reactions to his HALO badge sold them out every time. Quiet acknowledgement and respect? Experienced. Goofy grin, awestruck, literally freezing in their tracks for a few seconds? New kid on the base.
He busied himself with a letter to Parker, telling him about the day-to-day on the base. Light stuff, just to reassure him that the army was a job. Dads went to work and came home all the time. This was just an incredibly long business trip. His hand flew across the page, his eyes occasionally scanning the flurry of activity to gauge when his transport would arrive. It was when he'd sealed the letter that he'd noticed a shift in the mood of the airmen nearby.
Something's up.
One of the rookie airmen was heading in his general direction, a young kid with a fresh buzz and a clear appreciation of Booth's accomplishments. If the kid was going to stare, he might as well take a little advantage of it.
"Is there a problem, airman?"
The kid immediately shifted posture, noting Booth's rank. "No sir, not a problem. There's been a delay on transport from Bragg."
A delay? "Long enough to grab lunch?"
The kid nodded, jerking his head slightly towards his superior. "Says we're looking at no earlier than 1330 hours for departure, sir."
Booth quickly did the math and liked the answer he came up with. "That's long enough for a bite at the mall."
"Yes, sir."
The kid was young, but his voice firm and eyes bright. Not cocky, but confident in himself. It would serve him well. He was also eager to please and respectful of his superiors. It would serve Booth well with his plan.
They left the base proper, the young Airman Nathaniels providing light conversation as they drove through the gate. They'd parted ways at the mini-mall, the kid in search of coffees for his brethren. Booth, in turn, had called for a cab. It was against orders. He would be in the most supreme shit if he got caught. But I won't be, he assured himself. Nathaniels will tell anyone asking that I went to grab lunch and kill time. I'll be back before one.
This was fate, he'd decided. One last push to make things right before life took twists and turns that neither could anticipate. For all of his assurances from the military that this was a training assignment, for all of his promises to Parker and to her, he knew that with war came risk.
Teddy's words—or rather, his hallucination's words—still haunted him to this day. He'd never made it home to tell Claire how he felt about her. If Cam was right about Bones needing things to be spelled out for her… if she somehow didn't know that he loved her more than his own life, then she needed to hear that from him. Because if the worst came to pass, he didn't want her attending another funeral for him without that knowledge to cling to.
Noticing the cab has turned into the departures lane for Reagan Airport, his body tenses. He's cut it incredibly close, with only minutes to find her. Thankfully, his meticulous attention to detail is about to pay off: he knows her flight number, the airline and therefore, the likeliest place for exchanging farewells.
Throwing a wad of cash at the cab driver, he bolts into the airport, cutting quickly through the crowds of Terminal A. A clock on the wall warns him it's already 12:08 and he walks faster. She'd said 12:10, but what if she'd already headed for her gate? She didn't know he was coming for her, only that he would try.
Wait for me, he pleads silently as he rounds a corner. Please be waiting.
And then, she is there, surrounded by their team. His breath hitches as Angela steps away from her, marvelling at the sight. So damn beautiful. The source of his greatest joy and exquisite pain. She bends over her suitcase, fussing with a strap of her carry-on and he inches forward still. He wants to cry out, to show her that he can be counted on, that he's come for her in spite of the odds. The lump in his throat suffocates him, squeezing out his voice.
Because in that moment, he is remembering the kitchen. In that moment, he's remembering how close they'd been to the happiness he's dreamed of. Fuck, it hurts.
Her eyes glance in his direction and widen in recognition. Her lips part, a silent cry of surprise, before slowly inching into a half-smile. Cautious welcome. Abandoning their friends, she rushes to meet him. His hat clutched in his hand, he meets her halfway. Her hand tugs along her bags, seemingly oblivious to their weight. As she draws near, he recognizes the earrings she wears. She wore them to that last night together in his apartment. Fate, again.
Behind her, the wall display reads 12:09.
"Sorry. Couldn't get a pass. I had to sneak off the base to come say good-bye."
She immediately recognizes the significance of his words and is visibly moved. He's broken the rules for her, like he should have when the Bureau faked his death. Do you understand how important you are to me?
"Listen, Bones," he begins, but the words he's been planning to say quickly abandon him, falling away in favour of safer sentiments. "You gotta be really careful in that Indonesian jungle, okay?"
She immediately shakes her head, arguing with him. "Booth, in a week, you're going to a war zone. Please don't be a hero," she urges him.
He nods, reading between the lines to the storm of worry in those beautiful blue eyes, the faintest tremor in her voice. She's terrified.
"Please just... don't be you."
This is it. This is the moment to tell her, to pledge his love to her. He steps forward, wondering if he should speak it aloud or simply kiss her again, give her evidence and prove that it's always been more than lust, more than love, even. Everyone sees that.
Everyone sees it.
They're all standing there, surely watching this exchange. And that's exactly why he freezes. If she rejects him again… No, this has to be between them. As much as Cam is right, he can't tell her those three simple words outright. But perhaps in code?
He extends his hand, his eyes flitting downwards to signal her, and she immediately picks up on the signal. She reaches for him and he feels it all again: that damn connection, the way he'd held her hands as he pressed against her, begging her to let him love her. Her hand is shuddering in his grip and he knows she's remembering, too.
"One year from today," he begins, stressing every word, "we meet at the reflecting pool on the mall. Right by the—"
"Coffee cart," she interrupts, smiling warmly. "I know."
His thumb caresses the back of her hand, loosely tracing a heart. Hear me, Bones. Hear what I'm not saying. Please.
"One year from today," she echoes, tracing a heart of her own.
He startles slightly, glancing at their joined hands. Maybe Cam's wrong. Maybe she knows more than even he's giving her credit for. But if she knows it and feels the same—and damn it, he knows she does!—then why did she bolt from his apartment? Why does she keep pulling away?
The sting of that night, the breaking of his heart after laying himself bare only to be rejected again, it surges within him. Maybe it's spiteful, but he refuses to let her break their connection first this time. Pulling his hand free, he forces himself to walk away. His mouth is dry, burned ashes of love letters unsent. And for those first twenty steps, he's convinced he's done the right thing. He's drawn a line for when they reunite. I won't be fooled again.
Then, he hears her pained voice from the call last night:
"I made it to the stairs and cried on the floor for half an hour. Are you happy?"
One last look, he decides. Turning back, he watches as she mirrors him instinctively, meeting his gaze. Her eyes are moist, her chest heaving as she fights to maintain composure.
I'm sorry, she silently offers.
Me too, he replies.
Two paths diverge at the demand of a fickle fate. Two people board planes eighty minutes later, each unaware that the other shares the same regret.
Her kindness bangs a gong
It's moving me along
and Anna begins to fade away
It's chasing me away
She disappears, and oh lord, I'm not ready for this sort of thing
If you want to break your own heart, go rewatch that conversation on the Mall in Mastodon. "Serious as a heart attack."
This is the longest chapter in this story so far, and it probably won't be beaten by the remaining four for length. The next one may take a bit longer so please, motivate me by letting me know what you think. Did I break your hearts as much as I broke my own?
(Yes, the next one will be fluffier/sweeter/happier. I promise.)