Dr. Good and Mr. Lucky — Home again
When they came to the end of their driveway, she said, "Did I somehow miss the part that was supposed to land you in trouble?"
Oh, that. He'd completely forgotten. "I assumed we'd get around to discussing how all this… stuff… affected my relationship with… er… women."
"Women," she echoed with apparent calm. "Beginning with your mother, I presume?"
"Well, yeah, she's part of it. As well as my … ah… adult relationships."
"Do the girls you seduced under the high school bleachers qualify as adults, or are they considered adolescents?"
They were well within sight of the house now; a few yards to go. He picked up his pace ever so slightly. "They might figure in the discussion, yeah. Briefly," he amended.
"I see. And, you anticipated that your history with women, as viewed through the lens of therapy, was going to upset me somehow. What would the reason for that be?"
He turned into the trellised passageway that led to the front door. "I don't think we have time just now to do the subject justice. It's… kind of complicated." He was an arm's length from the handle when she caught him by the jacket sleeve.
"Not so fast," she said, holding him in place as she stepped around and into his personal space. "I believe you have something of mine."
This was so out of left field, he could only stare at her blankly. He could read nothing of use in her uncompromising gaze. Finally, in desperation, he tried, "Your… ah… heart?"
She grabbed a fistful of jacket in each hand, and pulled him so close, they were practically nose to nose. "Don't try to charm your way out of this," she hissed, narrowing her eyes at him. "And, don't play the innocent, either. Not three hours ago, you recklessly wagered that by this time today I would not be receptive to physical affection from you, and you were wrong. I should take pity on you, seeing you're a gambling addict, but I'm not feeling generous, see?" Another tug, and their lips were mere inches apart. "So, it's time you made good, buster."
And, he did. He paid his forfeit, and then some, on account. She had loosed her grip on the fabric over his heart, and slipped her hand up over his shoulder and into the hair at the nape of his neck in a caress he had come to know and love as an invitation to hold her more tightly, kiss her more deeply. He could hardly have been blamed, under the circumstances, to have missed the sound of the front door opening or the muffled giggling of their little girl.
"All right, all right, that's enough, break it up," Max was saying, in fed-up-parent mode. "Get in the house this instant, young lady. You have a brood to tend to. And, don't give me any of your sass," he added sternly, as, a roguish smile on her face, she whisked up a tittering Christine and disappeared into the house. "As for you," Max said severely, taking a step back and clearing out of the doorway. "Thank you." He slapped Booth heartily on the back. "I missed my chance to play father-guardian-of-his-daughter's-virtue when Tempe was a teenager, and I'm grateful for the opportunity to make up for it. Have a good walk?"
The usual commotion attending any return home ensued: Hank, having woken from his nap, was his usual fussy self and needed to be cajoled and cuddled into better humor; Christine had to have the coloring book pages and the play-doh menagerie she and her grandfather had completed exclaimed over and admired in detail. It was a good twenty minutes before the children were settled once more, and they could see Max to the door.
"You're sure you won't stay for supper?" Bones asked him. "There's tofu stir-fry on the menu, or Booth could fire up the grill. It's really no trouble."
"Thanks for the invitation, honey, but I'm beat. Grandkids are wonderful, but they take a lot out of an old guy."
She enveloped her father in a tight embrace and held on to him a heartbeat longer than was her wont. When they drew apart, Max smiled with his usual affection, but there was something forced now in his expression, and he looked at his daughter quizzically. "I know the 'thanks-for-helping-out-with-the-kids' hug, Tempe, and that one had a little more oomph to it. What's going on?"
She stared at her father a long moment, her jaw working to the side, her weight shifting from one foot to the other. Reading her tells, Booth would have sworn she was going to pass it off as nothing, but then, at the end of a day already packed with surprises, she said, "There was a little extra 'thank you,' Dad, for introducing me to rotational velocity, torque, and angular momentum."
Max took this in, his eyes never leaving his daughter's as though if he probed their depths long enough he could find the key to unlock her coded message. Booth felt for the man, and was trying to think of some way of giving him a hint, when it happened: Max's smile slowly widened and warmed again, evoking a matching smile from Bones, and Booth knew, watching them, that they had connected somehow, that for the two of them, in that moment, the present had fallen away and they were Dad and little Tempe again, playing on the swings. Max's nod of acknowledgement was so slight, Booth thought perhaps he had imagined it, and then Christine barreled up to her grandfather, waving the drawing she had made expressly for his refrigerator art gallery, and the moment was lost for good. Max accepted his latest tribute with a lavish display of gratitude, called out a last 'Good-bye, all,' and was gone.
"I love Grandpa," Christine announced, as the door closed behind him. "He's fun."
Booth followed her into the living area, and settled down beside her on the couch, little Hank on his lap. He pulled a pretend long face. "So, you didn't miss Mommy and Daddy at all?"
"No," she said plainly, her mother in miniature. "But I'm glad you're back. Can we read a story?"
Many Dr. Seuss books later, they sat down to their stir fry, and, from there, the evening unfolded in the usual way. It was well past eight before the children were tucked up and the house restored to order, and then, there were a number of phone calls to return, and emails to send. When Bones finally joined Booth in the bedroom, he wanted nothing so much as to be left to watch the ninth inning of the Phillies' game in peace. Seeming to sense this, Bones waited for the final put-out before she said, "Our conversation this afternoon left off at a very interesting juncture, from my point of view, at least. And, I know…" She raised a hand to postpone any objection. "…that it's too late tonight to take up the subject, but I'd just like your assurance that we will get back to it sometime in the not too distant future."
He let out a sigh of relief. "You got it, Bones."
"And, I'd just like to add one thing, if I may."
"One thing?" he verified.
"One." He gestured 'the floor is yours, take it away.' "Well, at the risk of sounding like a damaged record…"
"A broken record, Bones."
"That's what I said."
"You said… Never mind. Go on."
She inhaled deeply, and began again. "At the risk of repeating myself in an aggravating manner, I would like to assure you once again, Booth, that you are good. Whatever doubts you may entertain on that head, please believe that I have none."
"I appreciate that, Bones. Thanks. It means a lot." He swung his legs off the bed, and pushing his fists into the mattress, prepared to stand up.
"There's more."
"You said 'one' thing," he reminded her.
"It's still the same thing. It has two parts."
Of course it did. He settled back against the pillows. "Okay."
"In spite of our activities this afternoon, Booth, we're not children anymore, and we don't have to be bound by the limitations that were ours as children. You said that children need certainty, they need the world to be black or white, without shades of gray. But, we're adults now, and we don't have to think in terms of 'either / or.' Opposites can blend, they can be two interlocked parts of one whole."
He nodded. "It's what Dr. Cameron calls 'holding the paradox.' "
She lit up like the sparkler. "You've already talked about this in therapy!"
"Yeah, sure. That's the goal: to revisit childish ways of dealing with old problems, and rethink them using a grown-up perspective."
"Well." Her shoulders slumped, and she threw up her hands. "That's it, then. There's no need for me to say what you already know."
"Tell me anyway. It'll sound more official if you say it."
"You're sure? Then, the gist of it is this, Seeley Booth: you are not a simple man, 'simple' in its original meaning, of course. You are good and lucky. Sometimes more of one, sometimes more of the other, but always, always both."
"You know what, Bones? Dr. Cameron couldn't have put it better himself. So, is that it now? Are we done? Can we finally call it a night?"
"That's it," she confirmed. "End of story."