Mid October. 12 months since THAT Wednesday (part 2)
Booth had just spent the last hour working out in the FBI gym. He was exhausted. It was now two months since he left the hospital after being shot at point blank range. His surgeon was quite happy with his progress and had approved him for light desk duty. His Physical Therapist, in consultation with the surgeon, had designed a program for him that included a once per week appointment at the PT clinic combined with several days per week on his own in the gym. The PT gave him strict orders about the machines he could and could not use, as well as weight restrictions and restrictions on the number of reps. His whole medical team hoped to have him back to full strength by Christmas. Booth had been hounding both the surgeon and the PT to be allowed to practice with his hockey team a few nights per week and they had finally relented. With caveats. No games, just practice. With strict instructions to his teammates to treat him like a football team treats their quarterback in pre-season. No hitting, no checking. His first practice was going to be that night and he could hardly wait. He longed to feel the wind in his face as he sped down the rink. The feel of the stick in his hand while maneuvering the puck. The thrill of a perfectly placed slap shot. Oh, he was going to drill that goalie in the five hole the first chance he got! Booth always prided himself on his accuracy around the net. Top right corner? No problem. Blocker side low? Oh yeah. But a slap shot through the five hole was his favorite. He was already pumped for tonight.
Wendell offered to pick him up for practice so they could go out and celebrate after. He was so happy to be spending time with his hockey pal because they had seen very little of each other in the wake of the, well, the thing that happened THAT Wednesday. Booth felt like he was finally peeking out of his cocoon as he recovered from both the rough last year and the brush with death. He was giddy walking into the practice rink, exhilarated through the entire hour of practice, and both exhausted and buzzing as they left the rink. "Where we going bud?" He asked as they walked to the car. Wendell thought for a second. "I think we should go to the Founding Fathers. We haven't been there in like, forever." Booth's stomach lurched and then settled. 'Nah. There's no reason to avoid that place. I always LOVED that place. It's been too long.' He pursed his lips and nodded. "Yeah. Founding Fathers. Sounds like a plan."
As Booth followed Wendell through the door, he spotted her immediately. Her back was to the door, but he would have known her anywhere. The posture of her back, the tilt of her head when she was listening. Just then, she turned to the left and with a laugh called over the server. It was her. How could this be happening? He was afraid he might pass out. He grabbed Wendell's arm and guided him to the back area of the bar - the furthest he could get from her without leaving the building. And there was enough cover for him with the lights and racks hanging from the ceiling with wine glasses hanging below. Wendell was puzzled. "What's going on man?" Booth told him that he had spotted Bones at the other end of the bar and he just needed to stay out of her sight. Wendell, of course, knew the whole story and he felt bad for his friend having to deal with this on his first night out since his hospitalization. "It's fine Wendell. I just don't want her to know I'm here." Wendell shrugged his shoulders, ordered two beers and they sat down at the bar. They talked a lot about the practice they had just left, the World Series, the new football season, and the upcoming hockey and basketball seasons. It felt good to be out. To be talking about his favorite sports. But his gaze continually wandered across the room to keep tabs on the table where Bones sat with the handsome gentleman. He could tell it was a date. No question. What he couldn't tell was if it was early in their dating life or several months in. Wendell could see exactly what was happening. He was proud of his friend for being able to stay in the sports conversation while visually monitoring what was happening across the room. A couple of beers in, Booth saw them both stand to leave. They were both smiling and seemed to be having a good time. As they walked through the door, he saw the man put his hand in the small of her back to lead her outside. Booth's face lost all of its color. 'That's MY spot.' He wondered how many other men had touched her there in the last year. He suddenly felt ill. Wendell noticed that he had grown quiet and looked across the room and saw the empty table. "They left?" Booth pulled himself together. "Yep. A few minutes ago. I'm certain she didn't see us." Wendell nodded. "Well, that's good. Now you can relax. Let's go for the good stuff." He called the bartender over and ordered two scotches. They fell back into their intense sports conversations while sipping scotch for the next hour. A few hours later, Booth was lying in his bed wide awake. His body was giving him mixed signals. He felt great after that first skate - it was like his legs were buzzing. But he also hurt all over from the skate and the intense morning workout. He knew this was temporary, because it was a sign that he was getting his body back in shape. The aches and pains just came with the territory. And his head was buzzing just a little bit after the beers and the scotch. That felt good too because it was a sign that he was getting himself out among people. But of course, then there was Bones. He always wondered if the first time he saw her would be awesome or would be painful. Face it. He believed he would see her again one day. He had faith. And it turned out not to be painful. It was just so wonderful to be in the same room with her. To be breathing the same air (kind of). To be able to just watch her. Watch her move. Watch her laugh. Even if he could just see her back, because he had often walked behind her and he was so familiar with that confident, elegant posture. But the hand on the back had thrown him. How many hundreds of times had his hand rested there? He shuddered to think that it was possible she was having sex with that man right this minute. He closed his eyes. 'Yep. Here comes the pain.'
