A/N: Journey's End hasn't been the easiest of stories I've written since I delved into fanfic…Frankie L and I have had some protracted negotiations over this one. But one thing that has helped immeasurably has been the wonderful feedback and encouragement. To each and every one of you,sincerely….thank you.
And to Wills. For once again pulling me back from the temptation of filing this one in the old circular file. You rock the socks, chica.
Now…on with the chapter. Hope you enjoy…..AnaG
Booth sighed heavily as Hodgins rattled on about something he was sure was extremely scientific and just as indecipherable.
"Yeah, yeah. Want to get to the punch line sometime in the next century.?"
"Your bad guy likes his cigars. The kind that are supposed to stay 90 miles off the Florida coast…."
"So the killer smokes Cuban cigars. Why couldn't you just say that in the first place?"
"You know…never mind, not my business."
"Probably."
"I just thought with Brennan back in town today, you'd be in a better…"
"Hold up. She's back?"
"Technically, not yet..…"
"Hodgins." The warning in his voice was unmistakable.
"Hey, man, just trying to be precise. Angela's picking her up at the airport in an hour. I can't believe you didn't…"
Having all of the information he needed, Booth walked away from the squint in mid-commentary. Hodgins stared at the retreating figure before turning back to his microscope with a wry smile.
"Good luck, man."
xxxxxx
His eyes scanned the disembarking passengers, quickly dismissing a succession of unfamiliar faces. He ran a thumb along the edge of the poker chip that he'd dragged from his pocket the minute he'd seen that her flight was on time. It didn't take a genius to figure out why he was clinging to the damned thing like it was a security blanket. The easy part was behind him. Angela had handed over the flight information with a knowing look, but had remained mercifully quiet. His badge had gotten him past the security checkpoints to the gate with minimal bureaucratic fuss. No, the real gamble was still ahead of him.
The flow of people slowed to a trickle and the first of the flight crew began to appear on the concourse. His hand tightened around the poker chip as he wondered where she was, if she had stayed in Peru after all. He reached in his pocket for the slip of paper Angela had given him and was checking the gate number when he heard it—the sound of a raised voice coming from the corridor. The words weren't clear, but it was a voice he knew as well as his own.
A pair of flight attendants appeared next, the relief on their faces obvious, the wheels of their small suitcases spinning as they made their escape. He felt an amused sympathy for them; hours in an enclosed space, miles above the earth, with a cranky Brennan couldn't have been easy for the uninitiated. Mostly though, as he waited for her to appear, he was comforted by the idea that whatever had happened in Peru, that there were some things that hadn't changed.
And then he saw her.
She'd turned away, throwing back a final word to the red-faced steward behind her. He could only see her profile, a hint of a cheekbone, the curve of her neck, but it was all that he needed in order to be certain. The internal debate, the conversation with Cam, every boundary he'd established, all of it vanished into one memory.
…we complete each other…
He had never been as sure of anything as he was in that moment. She was home, and he was complete. Until she turned and saw him standing there. The slight widening of her eyes, the almost hidden falter in her steps. She recovered quickly, but his eyes had met hers, and he knew her well enough to see it; to understand what it meant. His hand tightened again, the curve of the talisman pushing into his palm as she walked towards him.
"Booth? Where's…why are you here?"
"What, Bones? Aren't you happy to see me?" The smile was tight on his face as he pushed a light-hearted tone into his words.
"No. I mean, yes. Of course I am."
She released her grip on the handle of her bag, reaching to briefly put her arms around him. A delayed greeting, a 'supposed-to' hug, he knew, but he still had to stop himself from holding onto her from an extra fraction of a second before she stepped back.
They stood there, neither prepared to deal with the discomfort that had intruded between them. He cleared his throat, breaking the stalemate as he reached for her suitcase.
"Well, let's get you out of here before the stewardesses decide to…"
"Flight attendants, Booth. And that was not my fault."
"Oh no, of course not."
"It wasn't." She insisted. "It was a long flight."
"And?"
"And….I simply made one little suggestion."
"A little one, hm?"
"Yes, regarding their efficiency. But I was very diplomatic."
His laugh surprised him. It came from the habit of their rhythm, but he welcomed it, as he did the small push against his arm it earned.
"Right, Bones. I'm sure that call from the State Department will be coming any day now."
Her retort was quick, and the bantering continued as they made their way along the concourse. With each step, he felt them returning to steadier ground, and somewhere between Gate 13C and 9F, he began to think that maybe, maybe he really hadn't seen what he thought he had.
He placed an arm around her shoulders, bringing her a little closer to him as they walked.
"It's good to have you back, Temperance."
And he pretended not to register the short pause before she responded, and when she did, chose not to notice the fact that the fleeting smile didn't reach her eyes.
xxxxx
"Here we are. Home sweet home."
Placing her bags near the end of the sofa, he groaned inwardly at the forced cheeriness in his words. He wasn't buying it, and knew she wasn't either. The drive from the airport to her apartment had been a minefield; a conversation that skirted around the undercurrents. For a few miles, here and there, they'd found themselves slipping into their old rhythms, only to be knocked off balance by the things they were keeping from each other.
…before it's too late…
Even as he watched her, shrugging off her jacket, flipping through the stack of mail left on her table; listened as she thanked him, asked if he wanted a beer, he sensed it that it already was. That for every line between them that he was ready to erase, she had drawn one of her own.
"Booth?"
"Wh-what? Um, sorry, Bones. I've got…I should go."
"Oh. Okay."
"See, Parker's got this project for school and I…well, you know how it is."
"Yeah, sure. I understand."
Her expression was neutral, but there was a trace of disappointment in her tone that made him hesitate, but only for a moment.
"So. Tomorrow then? At the lab?"
He hurried towards the door, not waiting for her response. Tomorrow, tomorrow there would be time to get his head straight, to figure out how to fix them. But for now, he just needed to be…away.
"Wait! Booth…"
He stopped, not sure he was willing to wager what might come next. But in the end, he couldn't walk away. Not like that.
"Yeah, Bones?" He turned, his eyes falling to the box she held in hands. He studied the silver paper and the precise red ribbon in silence.
"Your present. For Christmas. I never—before I left I meant to…" Her words trailed away as she held out the gift.
He hesitated before reaching to take it from her hands.
"Thanks, I…"
"You could open it. I mean, if you don't have to leave. I'll understand if…"
There was an unspoken apology behind her words, but also an uncertainty in her voice that echoed his own doubts, that drew his eyes to hers, drew him back.
"No. I can—I can do that."
He slid the ribbon from the box, looking away long enough to tear away the wrapping paper.
"You'll probably think it's silly…"
"No, I'm sure that…"
He lifted the lid, brushing aside the layer of tissue paper to see the gift she had chosen. A grey cashmere scarf, a beautiful replacement for the ordinary cotton one that had been ruined at a crime scene. He couldn't help but wonder why she would have thought it silly, when he saw the flash of electric blue from beneath the grey. Removing the scarf, he stared down at the carefully folded shirt beneath it, at the bold red and yellow lines moving across its center.
…not really Wonder Woman and Clark Kent. We're Brennan and Booth.
"If you don't like it, I can…"
He interrupted, a slow shake of his head stopping her. Still not looking away from the shirt, he spoke, his throat constricting around the words.
"What's happening to us?"
"Booth, don't…"
He looked up sharply, meeting her eyes with both plea and demand.
"No, Temperance. Whatever it is, I need to…Just say it."
She closed her eyes, and he waited, knowing that whatever came on the other side of the silence could change them forever.