A/N I'm shooting for Wednesday for ch39. At this point you might wish to re-read 36 & 37.
Walter Reed Army Medical Center, Thursday Evening
As she watched Booth weep, Brennan's future stretched before her, joyless perhaps, but safe.
She thought for a moment that he was about to say something before he tried to roll on to his side, but he didn't. During his release the sheet had slipped lower toward his waist, uncovering his bandages. In spite of knowing what lay beneath them, and the sight of bruises which peeked out around the edges, her ever more tenuous hold on the void could not stop a small part of her mind from noting how beautiful the well defined musculature of his torso was before he hid himself from her with the sheet.
She squelched the errant thought with a vengeance. After what she'd just done she was no longer entitled to such an observation.
His attempt to roll over apparently too painful, Booth settled for turning his face away from her as his crying subsided.
It was done.
She had successfully protected herself from getting sucked in, but she felt no relief. Instead she felt nauseated, disgusted with herself. In order to prevent herself from being hurt, she had ended up hurting him grievously, just when he was most vulnerable.
She watched silently as he dabbed at his face with the sheet, still turned toward the other wall.
However painful, it was the right thing to do, she tried to convince herself. It was a bit late for doubts about her chosen course anyway. Monday night, when she had caught a glimpse of him on the operating table apparently near death, looking worse than many fresh corpses she'd seen, she'd felt like she was dying too. As it was she had felt perilously close to losing her grip on sanity. It was as if all of the emotions surrounding her parents' disappearance and presumed deaths, as well as Russ's departure, had been compressed from several months down into the space of a few hours. It was just too much.
If that was the price of letting herself love someone, she couldn't face paying it again.
Even then she had still been torn, but the final blow had been when she watched Cullen's video of Booth being shot down, compounded by the explanation that he'd willingly drawn fire on himself in order to save the hostages. She knew in her heart that even if they were together in a relationship he would still make the same choice just as he hoped someone else would if it had been her and Parker standing there. He was that kind of man.
Who knew that the universe could be such a cruel place, in that one of the qualities which had drawn her into loving him was also one which meant that she should not, could not, let herself love him?
As she watched, Booth closed his eyes and straightened his head on the pillow, but instead of looking at her he stared at a spot high on the wall opposite the bed. It was probably better that way even though his justified refusal to look at her hurt.
He finally spoke in a grating tone, "Sorry about that. It won't happen again."
Her heart felt like a hard, shriveled knot in her chest. It was stupid of her to not have fully realized that in rejecting him that she had invited, no, guaranteed, his rejection of her. So much for her plan of avoiding a hurtful scene.
What did you expect, a medal? the little voice in her head mocked.
She watched Booth take a deep breath even though it must have been painful.
"When I saw you on Monday…" he began bitterly.
She instantly grasped his direction. Reminding her of their kiss, the one unexpected moment of joy on the single most terrible day of her entire life, was a grave threat. She had barely let herself think about it, first while fearing for his safety, then later when she began considering pulling away. She had to say something, anything, to stop him.
Her mouth gaped for a second then, for some unknown reason, her subconscious settled on a particular diversion.
"I finally got the flowers…" she blurted out.
She had no idea what she was doing, and she tried to dampen a rising sense of panic as he turned to look directly at her. …
"I got the flowers," she repeated. "The apartment manager gave them to me Tuesday evening."
Even as she became more nervous under his narrowed gaze, she caught a hopeful glimmer of a way forward. She fumbled with the possibilities. She did have a heart after all, however stunted, but in her distraction she let the coldly logical part of her mind temporize for her…
"Arrangements of cut flowers are just so… impractical. All too soon they wilt and they die…"
As soon as the words were out of her mouth Booth let out a sigh, and he withdrew again – and she knew she'd made another horrible mistake. Far from protecting her, her fears were only continuing to hurt them both. Her mind flailed about for a second then she opened her mouth to try to rectify it.
But Booth beat her to it…
"Impractical? 'Impractical' is the whole damned point!" he said angrily.
She couldn't take her eyes off him, paralyzed like a motorist stranded in front of an oncoming train. What he was saying was the most important thing in the world. Booth only glanced at her briefly before looking back at the empty expanse of wall to her left.
"We have to be 'practical' in order to survive. Monday sure as hell proved that. But we don't live for the practical. None of the things that make life really worth living are very 'practical'."
Each time he said the word it felt like a slap in the face, but then he calmed slightly.
"And as to wilting and dying, well that still happens sooner or later even when the flower stays on the damned plant."
Suddenly, she knew what she'd meant to say, should have said about the flowers. Her breath caught as he concluded…
"Sometimes… sometimes, when you see something beautiful, something truly special, you just have to go for it while you can, because whether you do or not, it won't always be there."
For all of her adult life, caution bordering on cynicism had held her back. She had settled for contentment at the cost of happiness because she was one who could never entirely overlook the fact that the glass was also half empty. Could she ever change?
"Carpe diem," she said softly.
"Yeah, 'seize the day'," he agreed.
Her mind raced uselessly.
Booth lifted up to glance at her again then dropped back to the pillow. For the first time since she'd entered he truly looked ill, weak.
"Do me a favor?" he asked tiredly, still without looking at her.
She was ready to grasp desperately at the proffered straw. "Yes. Anything."
His eyes shut as his head sank into the pillow. "Tell the nurse I'd like some more pudding on your way out."
Her throat constricted, and her vision suddenly blurred. His words of dismissal pierced her to the core, but she had to accept them. It was only fair after what she had done to him.
The little voice wasn't through with her yet, Well, as painful as all that was, at least it's done. You're committed now.
She realized that once she left the hospital room it really was over: the stillborn relationship, the deepened friendship, the working partnership… everything was unraveling.
A tear rolled down her cheek, and she hurriedly wiped it away.
She didn't have the right.
Her future stretched before her, safe perhaps, but joyless.
She deserved it.