Booth sipped at his scotch in the dark stillness of his apartment. The burn against his tongue and throat brought a welcome relief from the numbness enveloping the rest of his body. The tingling as he threw back a large sip helped combat the overwhelming desire to let his throat convulse and his tears fall.
The night ran past him, flashes of involuntary remembrances. The hard jerk of her body against him, his mouth nearly bruising hers in his eagerness. The feel of her trenchcoat beneath his hands. The glimmer of her eyes. Blue eyes blinking furiously and riotous tears streaking down the pale skin of her cheek and the sharp line of her jaw.
Her head on his shoulder. A conciliatory arm linked through his own.
He surged forward, leaning his elbows against his knees and letting his head fall into his hands.
He loved her, and he built a life around her. A life just waiting for her to be ready, for him to be ready to ask her. He'd thought that when she was ready, when they were both ready, it would be so simple to just step through the door, together, into that life, already waiting for them. All he had to do was prove that this life was worth the risk, for them both, of opening themselves completely to the other.
But he had missed on the timing, or missed a signal that she wasn't keeping pace with him, or otherwise missed a step in his own progression toward being ready. He wasn't quite sure, and he didn't want to ruminate on it now. The pain was too fresh. He'd nurse his wounded heart and find a way forward to get through the next day, and the next, and the next, until the wound smarted just that little bit less. He'd done it before, and he could do it again.
As could she.
The streetlight reflected off the single tear running down the stubble of his cheek.
.
.
.
A/N: Yes, I'm back, with another angsty drabble thing with an overly self-important title. This will be a two-shot. As always, please review and feel free to drop a DM!