Okay, so this is a doozy of a chapter, but please, stick with it and read to the end. Booth and Brennan finally have the Mother of All Fights, and it's important. With a capital I. There's a lot about their views on love and marriage, and I often feel, on the show, they're just showing how Brennan changes her mind and evolves, and Booth just kind of smugly informs her how love will work (even though he's never been married and can't even get the cojones to ask her out). So the end of this chapter, which is important plot-wise anyways, also kind of gets into how Booth maybe sets up these ideals of how a marriage is going to work and how it's different in reality, and Brennan's take on it as well. Booth, Brennan, marriage? Gotta be important.
Also, the response last post really overwhelmed me. I'm glad you all like my little story that could.
Finally, all the eateries and locations mentioned within are real, and awesome, and in D.C. So stop by and visit any of them.
Again, please review. I'm especially curious to see if you guys think they're in character at the end.
"You need a vacation," Angela pronounced.
"I don't need a vacation, Angela. Though I do have a speaking engagement in Atlanta coming up next week. I'm flying down for the day." Brennan bit into a cherry tomato, wincing as it exploded in her mouth.
"Nobody goes to Atlanta for a vacation, sweetie. And I'm talking beach, bikini, Booth. Or just bed, Booth. That type of vacation."
"We don't have that kind of time, Angela. We're both very busy, you know."
"Brennan, focus. Listen. Hear the words. Process the words. You two are both massively stressed out, and I'm worried about you. Both of you. I know I always tell you that you work too much and you need to slow down, but this time I really think you two need a vacation. Rebecca's getting to both of you."
"Of course she hasn't," Brennan said, though that wasn't exactly true. Rebecca's diagnosis had caused an irrevocable directional shift, once that even she could recognize. She felt like she was still catching up. Rebecca had started chemo 16 days ago, and Parker had stayed at their house 13 nights since, as Rebecca was quite frequently nauseous, light sensitive and in pain. He tried not to show it, and Booth didn't press it, but Parker was demonstrating classic physiological signs of stress over the situation. It worried her. Despite his promise not to meddle, Booth spent copious amounts of time on the periphery, mostly through researching treatment and local specialists and dropping off food. Brennan finally caved and started doing some research of her own to reassure him, which had helped but barely.
Brennan was still not sure how she was supposed to act, and couldn't ask Booth because his way seemed so intrusive, arrogant, and domineering. She had no reasonable obligation to help Rebecca, nor were they close enough for her to feel compelled to help, and she knew that she would not appreciate Rebecca's help should she fall ill. Rebecca had two sisters, and a husband, and several friends, all of whom could better help her emotionally and physically.
Booth, however, treated Brennan's reluctance as ambivalence and had responded with distance, throwing himself into work and the kids and insisting he was fine. She knew what was upsetting him, but didn't know how to reconcile her views on how to handle the situation with being supportive for him, and she didn't want to completely acquiesce to his methods. It felt like an impasse. They fought more, bickering and biting at each other — nothing huge, just enough to irritate each other. She never felt like she was doing anything right anymore, that no matter what she did, Booth wouldn't like it, but wouldn't say anything.
She could no longer go to Guatemala to think things out, but she could go to the lab, and she often disappeared there for four or five hours once Sophia and Parker were asleep. She was able to do more academic work than she had done in years. When she'd come home, Booth would be sleeping on the couch, much to her displeasure. He needed to take better care of his back. She wanted to help him, get him to talk to her — he usually wasn't so reticent — but she just didn't know how. He just wouldn't engage in conversation. This was not her strong suit, and she never understood how Angela couldn't understand that. It was just … It wasn't as if she liked not getting these things.
"Neither of us is ill. It's unreasonable to assume an effect."
"I'm not assuming anything. Booth is angry and worried all the time and bullying his way into situations where he doesn't belong so he feels like he's doing something. And you're retreating and repressing because you're worried about not handling things tactfully, even though he probably needs you to assert yourself. You're not talking to one another."
"We talk all the time," she said, waving her cell phone in front of Angela, as if that signified something.
"Yeah, about schedules and stuff. When was the last time you laughed? You two always make each other laugh, even when it makes no sense to anyone else. You're not talking talking, and the two of you need to do that so you don't slip."
"Slip?" she asked, picturing the two of them falling on a wet floor.
"Revert, whatever. You'll try to push him away to prove that nothing is forever, and he tells you you're out of your league and he knows right to push you away. You're close to that point. You guys are just fraught with tension right now, and not the hot kind. Seriously. Rent a place in the Appalachians and forget the world exists. Sweat it out."
"Angela, you spent years telling me I ran away too much, that I quantify everything too much. Now that I'm here, now that I have to be here, acknowledging that there's something very emotional happening, with a daughter and a stepson and a museum and a book, you think I should just turn off my cell phone for a weekend? And that I can convince Booth, of all people, to do the same, that everything will still be okay on Monday?"
Angela grinned. "Exactly. Because it will be. I'm not talking you going to Guatemala for six weeks, either. I'm talking you and Booth and a bed. We'll take Parker and Sophia and the dog and you two can just rent a place for two nights."
"That would be unfair to Parker. He splits his time between two houses already." She sighed, knowing that she would get nowhere with Angela. "How are Joe and Talia?"
She rolled her eyes good-naturedly, understanding Brennan's desire to change the subject. "Joe ran into a table yesterday, but he didn't need stitches, thank God. Talia's started doing this weird thing where she lifts her dresses over her head in public and starts dancing around headless in her underpants. Oooh, we've picked our names for the new girls — Scarlet Joy and Lola Tatiana."
"Joy?" Brennan asked.
Angela smiled slightly. "Yeah. We wanted to get a little bit of you into the name, but Temperance isn't exactly gonna work for one of my kids."
She sat back. Smiled a little. "Thank you, Angela."
Lunch was the usual after that — gossip, how Angela's paintings were selling, children's antics and, as had very lately become usual, debates about schools. Georgetown Day vs. Sidwell. Maret vs. National Presbyterian. Angela was rapidly honing in on Sidwell. It was Jack's alma mater, but an unusually traditional choice nonetheless. She just wanted the best. It represented the best.
As they were leaving Kramerbooks (and after she firmly refused Angela's pleas for a Red Velvet pit stop), she remembered something. She and Booth had been planning on taking the children to Rome for Christmas this year — they were planning on going from December 23rd through the 2nd. They'd cleared it with Rebecca months ago and had traded a spring break and a Thanksgiving for it. She was supposed to book tickets that week. Instead of complaining about this to Angela, though, she just kissed the artist on the cheek before heading back to a long afternoon at the museum. Shawna dropped Sophia off at five, and she played quietly until it was time to pick up Parker from Rebecca's, drop off some groceries with Rebecca, and head home.
"How was your mom today?" she asked, when she noticed Parker being quiet.
He shrugged. "Today was her last chemo for the week, so tomorrow she'll be better. She mostly slept today. The doctors say that when she rests Thursday and Friday she'll be OK on Saturdays and Sundays."
"Oh, she should, she should be able to go to your match on Friday then."
"Yeah, she wants to come," he said, smiling. "Are you coming?"
"I hope to," she said.
"I can't believe there's only two weeks of soccer left and then basketball and hockey. Man, I love hockey." Parker was quite good, practiced three evenings a week in season and his elite team played all around Maryland, Delaware, and Virginia already.
"You're just like your dad that way, yes," she confirmed.
"Course I am," he grinned. "D'you think Sophie will like it this much?"
"If you and your father have anything to do with it I think she has very little choice in that matter."
"Are you gonna let her play? Not many girls play."
"If she wants to I don't see why not. However, physiologically it's not a sport to which her body will take to easily so we'll see how enjoyable she finds it to be when played competitively."
"Did you do sports, Bones?"
"Nothing organized, just running, yoga, and martial arts. When I was in school I was mainly involved in artistic extracurriculars, like choir."
"You should've played hockey, Bones, it's the best. Is Dad home yet?" he asked as they pulled up to the house.
"I doubt it; between the investigation into that plane bombing last year and the new privacy laws he's on the Hill testifying all week, so I believe he was staying late with a few lawyers." Booth hated testifying almost as much as he hated press conferences; he would be in an extremely bad mood.
"Can we go to Good Stuff, then?" Parker's favorite eatery was all the way across the city, at 3rd and Pennsylvania SE, and Booth disapproved of it because he could get a burger, fries, and a shake for far cheaper almost anywhere else in the city. It had been close to her old apartment, the Capitol Hill South one she'd had for years before they bought the Georgetown house together, and she used to take Parker there on weekends before she could figure out other things to do with him.
"Way too far," she said, though she could have killed for one of their S'more milkshakes right then. "Besides, it's Wednesday. Your dad's going to pick up some Chinese."
Twenty minutes after they got home, Booth tromped through the door, two greasy bags in hand. He looked tense. "Happy Wednesday," he said, leaning over to kiss her.
Oh God. Their anniversary was that weekend.
She was quiet through dinner, but so was Booth, until Parker's chatter nervously died out and he felt obligated to pick up the slack.
"You OK, Bones?" Booth asked as they cleared the dishes. "You've been kind of quiet."
She considered telling him what Angela said, and considered retorting so have you, Seeley, but instead settled for, "This weekend is our wedding anniversary. It hadn't occurred to me before today." Well, that was a bit harsh. She'd ordered his gift and picked it up months ago, and she had even enlisted Angela's help on something for both of them. She'd forgotten every date over the last several weeks.
"No biggie, Bones, it's been hectic around here lately." She saw the surprise register on his face, though.
"You didn't forget, though." She was a little upset; of course he would remember and of course he would assume she would forget. She wanted to do this correctly, though. Temperance Brennan was good at everything, and that meant she wanted to be good at being married.
"Bones, we talked about this. I'll remember the big dates; you remember when the electric bill is due. Partners." He grinned and passed a plate to her.
She saw an opportunity. "I think we should go away."
"Like, a weekend thing?" he asked. They'd done the weekend thing once or twice, early on in the relationship, but it wasn't really them. Typically, it lacked any purpose, beyond locking themselves in a room and having sex. And previously, they'd never needed to schedule in an active sex life — even after Sophia's birth they managed to maintain a rigorous and fulfilling sexual relationship — so the weekend-away thing lacked a specific objective unattainable at home. And she missed him.
"Yes. Angela always says we need a vacation; I'm sure she can watch Sophia. Parker can stay with Rebecca and Brent." His jaw tightened imperceptibly, and she added, "Or with Angela and Hodgins."
"I'm not sure it's the best thing for Parker. What if something happens to Becca and Parker's there?" Last weekend, when Rebecca simply hadn't had energy, Sarah had brought Parker over because she didn't want to deal with him.
"Booth, she's in chemo, and the weekends are supposed to be her best days. They'll have more time together, and normality — both of which qualify as your 'good' for Parker thing." When he didn't say anything, she continued, "I think Rebecca and Parker will be fine." She gave him what Angela referred to as a Look.
He looked back at her suspiciously. "I get it," he said, grinning a little. "You're doing that thing you think I do to you. Where one person suggests something and says it's a favor for her but she's really doing it to make the other person feel better."
She cocked her head. Mostly because she didn't know why she was suggesting it, so she went with the answer she knew she was supposed to give. "No, I actually would like to go off with my husband to celebrate our first anniversary, because I recognize that he considers it significant, and I really do think that leaving my stepson in the care of his mother, who has cared for him for the last 11 years, is a good idea."
He grinned and stepped a little closer to her. "I was just going to surprise you with dinner and dancing on Saturday. I didn't want to do something huge if you didn't want to," he said, kissing her lightly, his mood improving. "But I think we could do a whole weekend. Where do you want to go?"
"I can look into it tomorrow," she suggested, trading kisses with him, pressing her body under his.
"No, you know what? You suggested it; I'll book. I still want something to be a surprise." He finally committed to a real kiss.
Rebecca was fine with it, though she did take down Angela's cell phone number. Angela was ecstatic. Booth seemed uncertain when they dropped Parker off, but eventually relaxed a bit. He hummed and tapped his fingers to an energetic beat against the steering wheel as they left Hodgins' home off Dupont (Angela had insisted upon a house with only one building and in the city when they wed). She felt comfortable enough to reach over, slip her hand across his neck, gently smoothing out the tension he constantly seemed to carry in his shoulders.
"Can I have a clue where we're going?"
"Nope. Surprise. Look it up in your big ole' dictionary."
She could have told him that she knew the highways around D.C. and they were clearly heading up to the Eastern Shore of Maryland, but this was the most relaxed and at ease she'd seen him since Rebecca's diagnosis. Angela was right — a large part of their relationship depended on physical proximity, which had been lacking for the past several days. Wrecking his surprise wouldn't be wise, so she didn't say anything and instead started talking about her brother's upcoming weekend in D.C. — next week — and what they could possibly do. When the crossed the Bay, she said, "My parents brought me here once. Well, not to this exact location. Obviously."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yes. The year I was 10. It was my first time out East. We stopped for a few days on the beach and my father and I spent most classifying species out of a particular tide pool. I found a dead starfish and they let me take it home, even though it was against the law." She'd had that starfish until she'd moved out, and then she'd lost it.
"We used to get a place on the Shore for three weeks every summer," Booth said. She was surprised; he rarely spoke of his childhood pre-Hank, though she'd determined that it had been not entirely awful. "The whole neighborhood'd go — everyone would get rentals in Seaside Heights and the dads would drive down on weekends. We'd wakeboard and get sick off taffy and skateboard on the boardwalks."
They traded stories about family vacations and discussed places to take the children for the rest of the trip — Italy would be next Christmas now; Brennan wanted to take Parker to Egypt before he got too cool for vacations; and for some reason she thought Sophia would enjoy Prague very much, one day; Booth wanted to go to Hawaii or Costa Rica for a little "R&R" soon.
They entered a small town, St. Michael's, that Brennan had heard of but never visited, wended down idyllic streets until turning down a gravel road. A short while later, a sign greeted them, welcoming them to the Inn at Perry Cabin. She finally saw a large, old white house with several wings and additions. Marshland and then the bay stretched backwards from the plantation-style home. They stepped out of the SUV, and a light, salty breeze hit her nose. It was twilight, the sky streaked with dusky pinks and blue-violets. It was stark, simple, and absolutely beautiful.
"This place is …" her voice trailed off as she started to take everything in.
"Gorgeous, right?" he said, coming around and sliding an arm around her waist before kissing her neck.
"Where'd you find it?"
"Asked around, a little Google — knew I wanted to take you to the ocean," he said.
She kissed him deeply, pulling him to her by his neck. "You know, if this is why everyone makes such a big deal about anniversaries — I'm beginning to see validity in their perspective."
"Temperance Brennan, are you tapping into your inner Hallmark card writer?" he teased.
"Of course not," she said. "What I'm trying to say is," her voice lowered and her expression turned serious. She wanted to tell him, somehow, that she was here and wanted him to tell her what had been bugging him for weeks, to verbalize it succinctly so she could take it, process it, because she only could deal with things she knew. But she didn't quite know how to formulate the sentences the way Booth needed them. "I worry, sometimes, Seeley, that I don't convey the depth of my feelings or that fact that I do want to succeed in this marriage," she thought again about the past month, the distance because of their differing views on how to handle Rebecca. "I know that my actions, when they diverge from your own course, can make it appear that I'm not … invested or … supportive. I know I don't behave typically of social custom most of the time —"
"Hey, hey, hey" he said, gripping her upper arms. "The second you start behaving typically of social custom I'm sending you up for a full-body scan to see where the alien implanted the chip."
"Alien life forms would not be able to implant chips like they do in science fiction, you know," she said, unable to help herself. She knew he was kidding about things like that, but often felt compelled to say or do the "squinty thing" because it would make him smile. She wondered what that said about herself. Scratch that. She knew what that said about her, exactly what it said about her, and she hated it.
"See? That's what I mean," he said, kissing her forehead. "You show me you love me every day. And listen, hey? I know the past couple weeks have been rough, ok? I haven't been around as much this past month, I know. You've been … running out to the lab because of it. I should've said something … stopped you. And I'm sorry." His eyes were intensely sincere.
She pursed her lips. "No, but really, your actions are very understandable. I know you're very concerned about Parker and Rebecca and I get that, I do. I wish you didn't feel guilty — about any of it."
"I don't, really. Really," he added emphatically, at her skeptical look. He could feel guilty about everything. "Come on, let's get inside. Are you starving? I'm starving." He moved to grab the bags from the trunk.
"Wait!" she called. "Can't we — just have the staff do that?"
He grinned. "Why, Temperance?"
"Because I asked," she tried, smiling awkwardly.
He grinned. He was worse than Parker when he discovered there was possibly a surprise present. "Because you asked?"
"Yes — Booth, don't!" she said, stepping in front of him. His hands landed on her hips as she blocked his maneuvers. "Now I'm asking you to respect my request." If he saw the shape of the package, the surprise would be largely ruined.
"Come on, what'd you hide in the car?"
"Seeley. It's our anniversary. People customarily give their spouses presents on that day — I presume you've got something up your jacket?"
"Well yeah — I was planning on giving it to you tomorrow. Do you want a hint? I'll trade you hints. Yours is pretty."
"No! Two hours, Booth! You're worse than Parker. Just let the staff bring it in." She cocked her head, leaned in, and kissed him. "Please?"
He grinned, shaking his head. "You're too much." He kissed her again.
They checked in and let the bellhop take everything upstairs as they headed out, hand in hand, to a late dinner. Dinner was good wine and conversation about anything — work mostly, interesting cases he'd seen; interesting bones she'd seen; his testimony on the Hill and the idiot Congressmen who opposed their plan; funding initiatives; conferences she'd been invited to; the book. They debated whether Daisy would go insane before the wedding (she said Daisy be rational and reasonable; he said she would go "Bridezilla") and whether Dylan would actually follow Jared to D.C., as she had insinuated. They laughed. Fed each other. Angela had been right; vacation on a beach was a fabulous idea.
Instead of walking back to the inn after dinner, he tugged her hand and led her along a boardwalk bordered by marsh grass and light-brown sand. "What if I told you I wanted to get back to the room right now?" she asked huskily as he pulled her along.
He gave her a look then, one that made her feel absolutely sexy and shiver in anticipation. "Oh, believe me, you're hardly falling asleep when we get back," he said, his voice low.
"Oh, really," she teased, slipping a cool palm underneath his button-down shirt. He swallowed visibly, making her laugh, and she leaned up and kissed him. "What exactly will I be doing?"
He stared at her with another hard, hungry look, before reaching into his jacket pocket and fishing out a small, square box. She was surprised — she knew to expect jewelry on an anniversary, but whenever Booth gave her jewelry (with the exception of the engagement and wedding rings) it was usually a necklace. But he often gave her necklaces, she realized; whenever he saw one that he thought suited her. Perhaps for an anniversary he had decided on something more special. Earrings maybe? She wore those frequently as well.
She delicately took the jewel box, cracking it open using her thumb. Nestled on the crushed velvet was a tiny gold ring. Two hands held a heart topped with a crown. "A Claddagh ring," she said, recognizing the traditional Irish ring.
"Yeah," he said, looking down at it. "I've told you about my Irish grandmother, right?"
"Of course. Maeve Halloran Booth." Booth always referred to Hank's wife as his Irish grandmother, though she, like Hank, had been half-Italian. She'd passed away when he was very young — heart attack.
"My grandfather proposed to her about a month after meeting her, so needless to say they didn't know each other very well. He got her a traditional ring. After they married, he learned that she'd always wanted a Claddagh ring when she was a girl, so he got her one for their first anniversary. She wore it on her index finger because she already had her wedding ring. When I told my grandfather we were getting married, he gave me the ring to give to you on our first anniversary." She held out her left hand mutely, and he slid the ring onto her finger, crown toward her hand, symbolizing that her heart was taken forever. "You know what they mean right?"
"It's a faith ring," she said. "Traditionally it's associated the saying I give you my heart and crown it with love. It's a symbol of love, friendship and loyalty."
"Pretty fitting for us, right," he grinned. She put her hands on his cheeks and kissed him soundly. "I just wanted you to know … that you're pretty amazing, and I don't say that enough. And I have faith in us. In you."
She stared at him for a second. It was really quite alarming, how much he could affect her. "I love my ring, Seeley," she said.
They meandered back to the hotel room, undressed each other slowly in the dark, drinking each other in, making love. Usually, their sexual encounters were filled with sounds — talking, laughter, moaning — but it was silent this time, breathy gasps and moans and sometimes a ragged oh god yes, but otherwise nothing. He approached the session with an unusual focus, practically studying her before every swipe of his tongue, ghosting his fingers down her ribs and laving her with a determination she hadn't seen before. It was satisfying, of course — she doubted a go-round with Booth could be unsatisfying — but it felt strangely incomplete. This was especially unusual considering the fact that it had been almost a week since they had been together.
"That was …" she said, as they lay there afterwards.
"Swear to God, Temperance, you better say it blew your mind,' he murmured, laying kisses down her sternum and to her belly button.
"I think I showed how receptive I was," she said, hips bucking slightly as his fingers and mouth began to play with her again, tweaking and kissing and blowing in all the right places. 'But are you sure … is everything OK?"
"Second worst thing you could say to a guy," he groaned.
"What's the worst?" she asked, temporarily distracted.
"That you were faking it," he said.
"I was not doing that," she said adamantly, "but you're unnaturally quiet. And if you want to discuss things … that's OK. We could talk. That usually helps." She was proud of herself for getting the words out before moaning.
He manipulated his fingers again, sinking them into her and making her groan, and moved back up her body. Kissing her on the lips before resting his forehead against hers, he asked, "Do you really want to talk right now? I have a few better ideas about what we can do with our mouths."
She decided he was right. After he drifted off, though, she wondered.
Brennan was still blessed-out (as Angela would put it) when she awoke to Booth kissing patterns into her stomach again.
"You have to let me out of this bed at some point," she finally managed to say, "or else I can't give you your present."
"I'm more than happy with this arrangement," he said, with a low laugh.
She was by this point fairly certain he was using sex as an avoidance technique, which was irritating and distracting and very, very pleasurable. Damnable man. She'd check his behavior again once they finally got out of bed. For now, she rolled on top of him, her smile growing with his.
She awoke again when he began to stir. Suddenly wide awake and feeling daring, she slipped the complementary silk robe on and knotted it before digging into their luggage, abandoned the evening before. She found the first package, nestled in her clothing, easily. The second was more difficult. Finally finding what she was looking for behind a duffel, she pulled it up triumphantly and returned to bed, trepidation propelling her forward.
Noticing her full hands, he said, "Two, Bones? I know you're an overachiever but that's just playing dirty."
"Shut up," she said, plopping down and nestling into his shoulder. "I had a hard time deciding. One of them's handmade, by Angela, so it doesn't count."
"Of course it counts, if you know what it is first," he said, reaching for the flatter package.
"No, this one first," she said, pushing the cube forward. As he began to tear the wrapping off, she said, "Traditionally, paper is considered the appropriate gift for a first anniversary. However, lately it's also become acceptable for clocks or watches to be given, so …" she stopped as he pulled out the white-gold Rolex. "I … I thought you needed a good watch. Nothing ostentatious, of course, but you haven't had one since the strap broke on your last one, which was highly unreliable anyways and … it's engraved." She knew he had hang-ons with money issues.
He flipped it over. Everything happens eventually. It had become a bit of a mantra for them. October 3rd. "It's …" he started, trying to form words. "Whoa, Bones."
"You like it?" she asked hopefully. She really wanted him to like her gift.
"Yeah. It's a great watch," he finally said, swallowing. He looped it around his wrist and kissed her. "Everything happens eventually, huh?"
"You said it, not me," she murmured against his lips, pulling him against her.
After a few minutes of kissing, he asked, against her teeth, while still kissing her and stroking the underside of her breast with his thumb. "But what about the other present?"
She groaned, pulled away, and handed it to him. "The traditional gift is paper, as I said. I couldn't think of anything creative to do with that, so I consulted with Angela."
He ripped the wrapping down the present, revealing a burnished gold frame. Angela's gift was truly quite extraordinary: She'd taken photos — from the wedding, of course, but from other, more ordinary days as well, from after their relationship started and before — of the two of them, and copied them into a gorgeous, sketch-and-watercolor papier-mâché collage. Then, on top of that, she'd copied their vows on handmade paper that was just slightly transparent, so one could see both the pictures beneath and the strong black ink above them. It was truly art.
"This is something, isn't it?" he said, tracing a sketch.
"She's really quite phenomenally talented," she said. "I always forgot that when she was working at the Jeffersonian."
"We can put it in the living room, above the fireplace, whaddaya think?" he asked.
"I think that would be a very nice location," she murmured against his throat.
The rest of the weekend was similarly a sanctuary from the world; Booth was there and with her. He managed to avoid all but two phone calls from work, but she supposed that was fair because she worked on the outline for the next book. Other than that, they were content just to be lazy, and the shadows of the past months weren't cast over them. She finally, finally felt like she was doing something right again, in this amorphous, socially constructed role as a "wife."
And then, of course, she had to ruin it.
Really, one could logically blame Angela or Sweets. They were the ones who liked talking so much, who urged communication even though she and Booth really weren't communication people. Viewed empirically, neither of them had ever been a "communication" person, so her actions, in fact, flew in the face of logic.
After checking out, and as they were heading to the car, Booth entwined his hand in hers and started kissing her knuckles. "I have missed this," he admitted, squeezing her fingers gently.
"Me, too," she said. "I've gotten used to our lives being so dull. Are you ready to talk?"
"Talk about what?" he asked. Somehow, his fingers went cold. How was that scientifically possible? "And what do you mean, boring?"
"I didn't say boring, I said dull," she said. "Which they have been — no murders, you know. Objectively, your elevation in the FBI bureaucracy and my decision to leave the field made our lives less interesting. And, I … meant about the Rebecca situation. An honest discussion would be beneficial, I think. To both of us."
He didn't seem to hear her, though. "I took the promotions for you," he said. "For us. For our family. It's not like all this paperwork bull appeals to me."
"Booth, I know that. You take on far too much personal responsibility to ever feel truly comfortable in this position but your sense of obligation drove you to." She was confused. Was he deflecting again?
"Yeah, well, now you sound like Sweets," he snapped.
"Booth, stop saying that every time I make a valid observation. Sweets peddles in predictive guesswork based on a series of physiological tells he can read. What I've noticed is based in fact."
"Really, Bones? What have you noticed?" His voice was contemptuous, and it made her quite angry.
"What I've noticed," she snapped, "is that you try to belittle my ability to read you when you don't want to talk about your dismissive and patronizing attitude. What I've noticed is that you're constantly exhibiting physiological signs of stress and tension but won't talk to me about their cause, even though I've noticed that, when you do, it helps you. And what I've noticed is that in modern monogamous relationships, that's what people do. That's what we do. You force me to talk and talk and talk, about my feelings, and my father, and every body else, except that, God forbid, when you decide something, or you believe something, that I disagree with, it's OK to just tell me that everything's fine because you think I won't notice. And that I won't care. And that I'm too emotionally stunted to try and fix things. So you're going to tell me what's … bugging you, so we can fix it and go home to our children and our very busy schedules!"
He laughed, a low, mean chuckle. "You think you've got it all figured out, don't you? You notice one or two things, you add it to that file I know you have in your head of everything that I say and that I do, and you think you know things, you think you can just fix them. Like they're a bone to set or a puzzle to solve. You know what's wrong, Bones? It's that I do everything here, for you, and you're still too scared, after eight years of knowing me, after three years together, after having the most beautiful baby girl in the world, that you still can't trust me. That you still don't know which things to just go with me on. When you don't need to be your stubborn pain-in-the-ass self and fight me because you think you're right. Because you always think you're right."
"What are you talking about?" She yanked her sunglasses off and folded her arms. "I am right, Booth. You're upset, over Rebecca, and you're not talking about it, because you're upset and you don't like people to know when you're upset, or maybe not in control, and you don't like not being in charge of something. If anything, you're mad because your God, the one you put so much faith in, the one in whose name you made me baptize our daughter, because I have trust in you and you have faith in this God figurehead, is letting something bad happen to someone good. And you can't stop it and now you're just angry."
"See? You've got it all wrong. I'm talking about the fact that I gave up my job so that I wouldn't get shot, so that I wouldn't leave you, so you would feel safe in this relationship. I'm enrolling my kids in some pansy-ass private school, because you want to. I'm doing the political thing and being the charming husband so you don't have to work so hard running the museum. And what do I get? No support about Rebecca. For God's sakes, Bones, even Parker notices. Even he thinks you're being cold, by not going to these meetings and learning about these procedures and helping her out."
"You think I didn't give anything up? You don't think I'm not scared when I wake up? Every morning, Booth. I couldn't do this whole thing… the museum, and the being married, and the being a mother, without you. I don't know what I would do if I lost you. And that scares me, every single day. That i'm so dependent on you. I HATE that, Booth, I HATE it." Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she was yelling. "I would be so, so much happier if I could just run away to Guatemala. If I could just go to limbo for hours. If having just work fulfilled me again. I'd feel more secure out in the world, honestly. But I stay. Because I love you and that means something more than me feeling safe. I gave up my independence for you, for this marriage, for being partners forever and whatever the hell else you convinced me about a year ago. I gave all that up, for you, and it was irrational and I don't know why."
"Well, jeez, Bones, I suppose I should just be happy with that. That I'm tying you down, making you unhappy because I love you. And love should be enough, right? The support that I need for all of this, noooooo, that doesn't matter, because Temperance Brennan loves me."
"You told me," she hissed, poking him hard in the chest. "You said. Love is enough. Love conquers all. I remember. I remember everything."
"I said love is enough to get married. That's the wedding. The party for one day. This, Bones? This is every day, for the rest of your life. And sometimes marriage means doing something that you don't agree with. Losing the battle to win the war. It means putting your partner's needs and wants first. It means having faith that even if you don't know why the other guy is doing something, you do it anyways. Because it will make him happy. Even if you can't see the end of the road you do it because you have faith you'll get there together."
"You have exactly the same amount of experience with marriage as I do," she yelled back. "And to me? Marriage is about being honest with each other. Honesty is the only way you can trust the other person to be there, every day, for the rest of your life. It's not about your blind faith, it's about trust and honesty. And honestly? I think you're demeaning Rebecca's abilities as a parent and her capabilities as a person by hovering all the time. And, honestly? As a mother, if there was another woman, just waiting, right there, for Sophia, as I was dying, I would not want to see that woman. Ever. I would not want her at my doctor's appointments, I would not want her there when I was getting bad news. And Rebecca is getting bad news every day. She's not getting better. The chemotherapy is destroying her body and there's little chance it will work completely. So yes, you're correct. I'm not going to go to her appointments. I'm more than happy to explain that to Parker, if you want. But I think you should talk about it too. Because I know you, Booth, and you wouldn't be you if you weren't bothered and upset."
"Like hell you will talk to Parker about the possibility of Becca dying, OK? Like hell, Bones."
"Fine," she said. She was suddenly exhausted. "Now, I'm going to go call a cab back to D.C. and then go to the lab."
"Bones, are you insane? It's hours. That cab will cost more than a goddamn plane ticket. Just get in the damn car, OK?"
He did have a point; usually, she didn't care about money but that would be excessive. "Fine," she said tiredly. "But I'm not talking to you anymore, OK? And when we get back, I think it would be wise if I took Sophia and we went to Atlanta a day early. We'll stay with Angela and Hodgins after that."
He looked alarmed. "Bones, it's just a fight, OK? People, they yell sometimes. Hell, especially people like us."
"This was not just yelling, Booth. This was you attacking my abilities as a mother and a wife because you won't talk about your feelings for Rebecca."
"I don't have feelings for Rebecca. I have feelings for you."
"You're doing it again!" She yelled. "You change the subject. I've noticed these things. You do that and expect me to be OK with it, and I'm not, so I think the rational step is for me to go to Atlanta."
"Bones — look, fine, you know what? I'll talk to Sweets. First thing in the morning. Come on, babe, don't' be stupid about this whole thing."
"No! You're married to me, you're supposed to be able to talk to me," she said. She opened the car door and swung in. "And until you're ready, I don't see any point in continuing this conversation."
He just shook his head, clearly so angry he was having trouble containing it all. But she didn't care. Not right now. She was so tired of his silence, of his anger over his job, over Rebecca, over this whole thing. She loved Booth, she still wanted to be married to him, and she didn't want to see him for a week. She had not been aware that could happen.
"Jesus Christ," he shook his head before climbing into the car. "Sometimes, it's just … wow, Bones. Just wow. Really, just wow."
"None of those were complete sentences, and I told you. I don't want to talk to you right now."
"More than fine with me," he huffed under his breath. He suddenly looked as tired as she felt.
The ride was silent, except for her calling and bumping her flight up. After they got home, she packed her things and Sophia's things, not speaking until they were on the road and she called Shawna, the nanny, to tell her she had Monday and Tuesday off. They were in Atlanta that evening. Booth did not try and stop them.