Chapter 11

I collapsed back onto the bed after our latest romp. As my breathing slowed, I closed my eyes to relax and felt the bed shift beside me. When I opened my eyes, Booth was no longer laying next to me on the bed. I rolled out of bed and pulled his robe on over myself. I walked into the kitchen to see Booth leaning against the countertop, chasing a shot with a beer.

He may have not heard me, or he just ignored the sound behind him, but I walked up beside him, and wrapped my arms around his waist.

"Baby, what's wrong?"

He shrugged his shoulders. I let go of him, and jumped up and sat on the counter next to where he was standing.

"Why are you doing this to yourself? Why are you guilting yourself? You aren't going to lose Parker or myself. Why are you doing this?"

He looked at me with earnest and tear filled eyes, "Bones, I just can't help the feeling. I feel like the bad guy. And I have this guilt hanging over me. And it sucks. I don't know what to do."

I opened my arms and let him bury his face into my chest. For the first time in my life, he cried in front of me. Full out cried, no holds barred. His emotions were getting the best of him, and I knew he felt like less of a man when he cried, but I was seriously worried about him. If he was having these issues before he left, then what would he be like when he came back?

I lifted his chin like I remember him doing to me so many times, and looked into his eyes. I could see just on his face that he looked older, he looked like he had lost a few years of his life just stressing over this stuff. He was only 38, he wasn't supposed to look like this.

"Listen to me, I think you need to realize that you will never be the bad guy. You will never be the person behind that trigger. You are amazing, courageous, brave, handsome, heartwarming, lovable, loving, kind, do you get my thought process?"

He nodded, then wrapped me into a tight hug, "You know, the more you tell me that I am not a bad guy, the more I begin to believe it. But I think what bothers me the most is that I have to kill someone to do my job. That's what kills me more than anything. I hate pulling that trigger."

I pulled him in even tighter, knowing he needed reassurance. He was hurting, and he was extremely confused, and I couldn't blame him. Even being super rational would not help me here. I suddenly had a brilliant idea though.

"Booth, did you keep in touch with any guys that served with you in the Gulf?"

"Yeah, one guy Bones. He actually lives a couple of blocks from here, why?"

"Invite him and his family over for dinner, I'll cook and you two can talk."

Booth looked at me with narrowed eyes, but picked his cell up off of the kitchen table and flipped through his contacts.

"Joey? Its Booth. How are you man?"

"Good, I'm good. I was thinking, would you and your family like to join myself and my wife for dinner tonight, I need to talk to you actually."

He looked over to me, I mouthed 7 o'clock.

"Is 7 okay? Alright. I'll text you the address. Thanks again."

I walked out of the kitchen and into the bedroom, pulled on a yellow sundress and a jean jacket, flip flops. Booth was waiting at the front door with my keys and purse.

"So two big meat eaters, right?"

He nodded his head, gave me a big kiss, and shooed me out of the apartment, with a slap on the ass. I turned around and he had this sly grin on his face. I laughed, and went down stairs only to realize that he handed me his keys instead. I went to turn around, but looked up and saw him standing on our deck, laughing.

"Take the SUV!"

I smiled wide, got in the SUV, revved the engine and watched his face drop. I unrolled my window only to hear him yell, "Don't burn out my ENGINE!"

I started at the liquor store, picking up his favorite imported beer and a couple of bottles of wine, and lastly a bottle of Jack. When I left, I went next door to the supermarket. Grabbing the cart, I headed straight for the meat. I picked up two huge steaks, ground beef, hot dogs, and some chicken breast. Typing out a quick text, I finalized a few plans. I grabbed all the necessary fixings for a barbeque. I paid, and went and picked up my last thing.

I parked the SUV and brought all of the stuff upstairs. I kicked the door to get his attention, and the door swung open.

"Wow, Bones, you got a lot. Liquor, meat, and Parker?"

Parker peeked out from behind me and laughed. Booth dropped the bags onto the floor and picked Parker up.

"But Becks had him today, how did you…"

"I'm just that good, Booth."

I put all the things away in the fridge and started by making my macaroni and cheese. Parker and Booth came into the kitchen a little while later only to be licking their lips. Parker surprisingly, was the first to speak.

"Dr. Bones are you trying to kill me? I could eat a horse right now! That smells so good."

I turned to them, holding a casserole pan.

"Well, I guess it's a good thing I made you and your father a little snack right?"

They both cheered, sat down at the kitchen table at their usual places, and chowed down. They didn't even wait for me to get them plates. They just started eating with forks, right out of the pan. I laughed at their appetites and turned back to working on the next side dish. I filled a large pot with water and set it on the stove. I turned around only momentarily to see how far my boys had gotten. The pan was half empty, in only a few minutes. I swear, everyday Parker was more and more like his father. I turned back around and started cutting potatoes into quarters when I wasn't paying attention and must have slipped.

"Shit!"

"BONES! Parker here."

I immediately put pressure on the cut, I had no idea how bad it was. Booth got up from the table and walked across the kitchen to ask what happened. I wanted to see how bad the cut was, and I let go of some of the pressure. Blood started pouring out of my finger. He stopped in his tracks and swore too.

"Bones, you need to go to the hospital. You need that stitched up."

"No I don't Booth. I have stitching thread somewhere in this apartment. You can stitch me up. They taught you basic skills right?"

He shook his head, "No way. I am not stitching your finger shut. You need to see a doctor. Not me."

I shook my head at him, "Fine, I'll do it myself. Go into the third drawer from the left and grab my needle and thread, and some vodka."

He left me and Parker, who was still eating the kitchen. I heard him fumbling around and he finally came back with what I asked for, plus gauze pads, and medical tape. I had Booth thread the needle, burn it with a lighter and then dipped it in vodka. I unwrapped my finger, which had slowed down in bleeding. I cleaned it off with some vodka, then touched the needle to my finger. I hadn't realized it was going to hurt this much.

Booth sent Parker to his room and took the needle from my hand. He started stitching my finger closed, watching me as well to make sure that he wasn't causing me too much pain. He tied off the last stitch and poured some more vodka over my finger. He wrapped it in gauze and taped it. He poured me a shot of vodka to dull the pain.

"Are you okay?"

"Those stitches were very good Booth. I should have had you stitch me up last time."

He looked at me curiously, "What last time?"