A/N: My recovering shoulder is a work in progress, as is this story. I'm fairly certain the next Thursday installment will be the last, but make no promises. It depends on my physical therapy schedule and how much I'm physically able to type between now and then. Thanks much for your patience, as well as for all your reviews and well-wishes.
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The mix of pizza, Thai and beer that had previously been sitting very comfortably in Booth's gut suddenly rose up in rebellion.
"God, Bones." He tried the doorknob yet again. "Bones. Bones-" he trailed off, fumbling for words when his throat had effectively clamped shut. He wasn't sure how long he stood there, struggling for control of his fear. She didn't need to hear that in his voice right now.
"How much time?"
Feeling numb, Booth glanced at the cellphone still clutched in his hand. "Three minutes. Bones, why didn't you tell me?"
"I dislike pity." She sounded exhausted.
"It's not pity," Booth snapped in frustration, slapping his hand against the door. "It's concern, okay? Was Angela with you when you had the biopsies, at least?"
"She doesn't know."
His stomach took another dip. "What?"
"She and Hodgins are very preoccupied with their son. I didn't want to disturb their new family unit."
His mind filled with images of Brennan being sliced and diced without having anybody's hand to hold during the procedure, or even a person to at least provide moral support from behind a curtain. "What about Russ?"
"His daughter is in the hospital again."
"Max?"
"He's out of the country."
"Damn it, Bones," he groaned. "You should've said something. I would've been there—you should not have gone through that alone."
"Sometimes … it can be difficult for me to ask for help."
"I get that. But this is different, Bones. This is something that people who love you need to know about."
"I'm unaccustomed to being loved." Typically Brennan, she made the sad statement bluntly, as though it was just a basic fact of her life. "I realize that Angela holds me in high esteem and that you've expressed feelings of desire for me, but translating that into a relationship whereby I open myself enough to seek comfort from others—"
"It's a hell of a lot more than desire," Booth interrupted, realizing for the first time that he'd never actually said the words out loud to her. Not even on the steps, where his feelings would have been obvious to anybody—anybody who wasn't Brennan. "Bones, I love you. Okay? I'm in love with you. I have been—I am—from the looks of things, I always will be. Moving on is not an option, unless you come with me." It was probably the lousiest declaration of love he'd ever made, not to mention the fact that it was said through a door so he couldn't even gauge her reaction, but he didn't regret it.
"Will you get me an icepack? It will help minimize the bruising."
Booth sighed. Not exactly the response he'd hoped for, but now definitely wasn't the time to be demanding.
"Sure."
He reluctantly headed for the kitchen, where her fridge was as organized as her office at the Jeffersonian. Several icepacks were neatly stowed in the side of the door, beside a frozen daiquiri mix that looked vaguely appealing if only in the sense that it contained better-tasting alcohol than Brennan's usual stash of foreign beer. Man, he could definitely go for some hardcore booze right now.
Booth glanced curiously at a steel bowl on the counter, filled with the remains of the mug Parker had shattered. There was a glue bottle next to it, as though she was actually going to try and piece together the smithereens.
A towel was folded in a precise square on top of the counter and he used that to wrap the icepack before turning back toward the bathroom and discovering Brennan standing in the doorway to the kitchen.
She had changed into a loose gray Tee that hid any blood or bandages, and the only clues that something was wrong were her reddened eyes and the way her arms wrapped around her chest protectively.
Hard as it was to show restraint, he held out an arm, giving her the choice to come to him or stay where she was. "C'mere, Bones."
For a long moment, she just looked at him. Then she took a step toward him. Another. And a third and fourth, until she was close enough to wrapped her arms around his neck. Booth tossed the icepack aside and locked his own arms around her. He buried his face in the hollow of her neck, muttering a silent prayer of gratitude that she had finally chosen to open the door for him.
He could feel her trembling and fought down the urge to hold her much tighter. Afraid of causing more bleeding, Booth restricted himself to squeezing her waist and stroking her hair. ""Easy, Bones. I got you. I got you. Shhh."
Her own grip tightened considerably. "I'm afraid, Booth."
He didn't say anything, using the moment of silence to tamp down the visceral fear threatening to give him away as being similarly terrified.
"My knowledge of my family medical history is relatively limited." Her voice took on a clinical tone, like it did when she was trying to burrow deep into her head and reason away the pain of an inescapable reality. "However, given what I do know, it would seem that my statistical odds of contracting breast cancer are small. My fear is premature and potentially irrational."
"Maybe yours is, but mine isn't! Bones, you can't put a number on fear, or rationalize it away anymore than I could make up my mind to just stop loving you. Things don't work that way."
"How do you know?"
"Because emotions aren't like precise chemical equations, Bones. They're messy and—"
"No," she cut in, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. Her own were red and puffy, but inquisitive as ever. "I mean, how do you know you love me?"
"Because—" Booth flailed, searching for the right words when nothing in the dictionary came close to explaining his feelings, "because the thought of not having you in my life—not seeing you every day, or having you around to bounce theories off of or being able to argue with you about the right way to sort puzzle pieces—it kills me, Bones." In spite of his best efforts, his voice cracked with the intensity of his emotions.
"You're referring to my potential demise."
He blanched. "Whoa. Hey—I didn't—No!"
"You mean that if I die, you will miss me," she continued calmly, as though she was discussing an interesting discovery on a case,
"Well—yeah—" Booth sputtered, "But—that's not what I was talking about, Bones! I just meant that I need you. I want you. All the time. The thought of not having you around, for any reason, leaves me cold."
Brennan's brow furrowed. "If I do have breast cancer, my chances of survival will depend both on what stage the tumors are and the quality of medical care that I—"
"You're not going to die!" His voice snapped like a twig again, mocking his show of confidence. "You're gonna be fine, Bones."
She squinted. "What is your evidence?"
"My gut's my evidence." His gut was currently tied up in large knots that seemed to have been yanked tight and soaked overnight in water, but she didn't need to know that. "Trust the gut, Bones. It's always right." It has to be right. You have to be all right.
"What if it's wrong?" she insisted.
"Then we cross that bridge when we get there." Booth slid one hand into her hair and nudged her face towards his. "Together."
Brennan followed his lead and leaned in closer. "And if I require chemotherapy?"
He hated having this conversation. Hated it with a capital H.A.T.E.D. But if she needed reassurance—"I'll hold the puke bucket. Donate a kidney. Shave my head. Anything you need, Bones."
"It's highly unlikely that I will require any of your vital organs," she said so seriously that Booth would have laughed if he hadn't been on the verge of crying. "And I don't want you to shave your head. I find your hair very attractive."
Feeling his eyes stinging dangerously, Booth took the coward's route. He closed them and pressed his lips to Brennan's. The kiss was only intended to stop the conversation long enough for him to pull himself together, but as soon as their mouths met, that plan went out the window.
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Post-narrative A/N: An unsatisfying end to this too-short chapter, I know. Bear with me and my recovering shoulder, please. =).