"What if you hadn't died?"
The words were bitter on his tongue.
"What if you hadn't died and you could have opened that stupid bar we talked about?"
Stupid promises they'd made while still young. Or well, while Booth was still young. Teddy was stuck like that for the rest of Booth's days.
Another beer that he cracked open, another blow of the wind.
"I left work early for you, y'know?" Booth asked the gravestone, his eyes however stuck on the sunset. "Good thing case was already done with."
Booth didn't expect a response. He never did. Never had. Always hoped for one, though.
Late spring. The weather matched the season's expectations.
"I wish you'd met pops." Booth frowned, looking down at his beer bottle. He'd brought a six-pack and a rose, both set next to him. No plans to leave the place without having finished them — his yearly tradition of drinking with Teddy.
He leaned slightly closer to the gravestone, the small American flag fluttering right by Booth's head. "Told him about you last year. He fell asleep right after."
The image of Teddy's smile flashed in his mind.
Teddy didn't know how to tie a tie, but he knew how to get superiors drunk by 7 PM. Teddy didn't always remember names, but he always comforted anyone who needed it. Teddy always said that many sweets tasted the same, in the same sentence he added that Booth tasted sweeter than them.
"You wanted to name it Guns N' Brews." As funny as it sounded a few years ago, it stopped being funny the moment Teddy left his side.
The bottle was emptied soon. Too soon.
His eyes landed on the remaining four beer bottles. "Want a sip, kid?" He asked the wind as he cracked another one with the bottle opener.
Booth didn't wait for an answer. He set down the cap next to the other two before pouring some beer into the grass, right next to the rose.
Another sip of his own, another bitter taste on his tongue and down his throat.
He set his head down on the gravestone. It was cold, too hard to be comfortable. Nothing like Teddy's shoulder.
"Maybe if I had pulled you down instead of told you to get down, you would still be…" His words were silenced by his own hand taking the beer bottle back to his lips as if it belonged there instead of a declaration of regret.
Booth's eyes set back on the sunset, on the mix of colors in the sky. Teddy was able to see it daily now — the only good thing that one of them was getting out of this.
Teddy got daily sunrises and sunsets and Booth got a hangover every day after Teddy's death anniversary.
Booth set the beer bottle on the grass and closed his eyes. He didn't acknowledge the tear that fell from his left eye and onto the gravestone. Or the one that followed it.
Nothing could have prepared Booth for what had happened during that mission. With Teddy gone, so was a part of him. A part of him that now lay flat, buried six feet below with Teddy's body, in that very casket.
A part no one would ever find out or figure out. None of his co-workers, none of his friends, none of his family members.
He'd told Teddy about this in a dream once.
When he confessed he was never going to repeat what they had in the army. When Teddy told him that life was worth living even as the one thing he feared. When he went to Teddy's grave that morning and yelled at the wind and the birds for half an hour.
He didn't take Teddy's advice. All of it was left to the past.
"Do you want a black rose next time?" He mumbled, opening his eyes. They shifted from one side to the other, in search of any witnesses, but none were found or present to witness such a thing.
The wind blew against his face, his beer bottle, and his hands. The hands he used to touch Teddy's skin with, the very hands that tried to help stop the blood from flowing out of Teddy's wound, the same hands that felt Teddy's heart stop right beneath their palms.
"I'll bring you a bouquet next time," He whispered, "I promise."
The beer bottle was soon emptied.
Three left. Booth didn't want them to ever end.
Teddy's side felt warm even if it was through a cold stone.
Booth set aside the empty bottle and picked up another one. "Do you think we'll meet someday?" Cracked it, another sip.
No response, just the wind that felt both like a caress and a slap at the same time.
He straightened, taking his head off the gravestone and wiping his tear streaks with his palm. "Do you think we'll get into heaven, Corporal?"
Another sip, "I hope you are in there now."
Teddy had no reason tonotbe in heaven. No matter what wrongs he'd done throughout his life, Booth could vouch for him to Saint Peter.
Before he knew it, the beer bottle was empty and later on set aside with the other 3.
A break was what he needed. A break from drinking, that was.
Booth reached into his pocket and took out a folded photo, the corners felt worn beneath his fingertips. As he unfolded it, he revealed the image of him and Teddy, arms slung over each other's shoulders, big smiles, looking like they'd just run the marathon.
He ran his thumb over Teddy's face. That was the man who had stolen every little spot Booth had saved in his heart, the man who had reserved his every thought back in the army to be about him — the man who still made him believe that miracles were true, that maybe the universe could return him to his arms.
He quickly folded the photo again and set it inside his pocket, as if it would burn him if he held it for longer than just a few minutes.
"I don't think I can drink this much this time, kid." Booth reached for another beer, cracking it open. "Let's split it."
And split it he did. Poured half the beer on the grass, making a small puddle that got absorbed by the dry dirt in just a few seconds.Bon appétit, worms.
The other half was drunk by him in big gulps. The bottle was set down with shaky hands, right next to its empty friends.
His gaze fell back on the sky, where the sun was previously setting, now leaving him all alone with Teddy's grave. A question stabbed his throat. It always did when he came here, and he never got the chance to let it out into the wind.
"Do you think we would've gotten married?"
What a stupid and impossible question.
Teddy often spoke about marriage after drinking a little too much, after spending too much time in Booth's room, after a cruel and hard day.
He would wear a plastic ring Booth got him from a gumball machine. It never fit his ring finger, only his pinky, but he wore it when no one was around to judge.
Booth still had it. Hated it more than he hated life itself for taking Teddy away from him. Or himself for not protecting Teddy like he promised himself and him that he would.
That cheap ring, the paint chipped. Booth could now buy him any ring he wanted on earth, any wedding band with anything he could ever want on it. With his name engraved in gold if he asked for it.
But digging up old people was illegal, and so was opening their caskets to give them a ring. And Teddy had no way of asking for a ring now.
"That's dumb." He muttered to himself, reaching for the final beer bottle. "It's not like you're here to give me an answer."
As he opened the bottle, another tear slid down his cheek. It was swiped by his sleeve as he looked around, checking for any witnesses.
The only witnesses, however, were the distant lamp posts, the wind, the graves, and the crows that were hiding in the trees — watching and listening in to his lonely conversation.
A lump formed in his throat after just another sip of the beer. "I'm sorry." He muttered, putting the cap back on the bottle. It hung loosely on it, but at least covered the rest of the liquid.
The bottle was now set on a new spot, right next to the gravestone, on the short grass. "Keep it for later." He murmured.
The empty bottles were set back into the six-pack and the empty caps were left around the remaining bottle.
"See, I leave you decorations too." Booth smiled despite himself as he stood up.
It wasn't funny. The alcohol made it funny.
Booth looked around and rubbed his face with both of his hands before he settled them into his pocket. He faced Teddy's gravestone and took a deep breath, the small smile not leaving his face.
"I'll see you next year, Corporal."
The words slipped from his mouth, just like his hand slipped out of his pocket to pick up the six-pack with the empty bottles, just like his smile finally slipped away and into nothingness.
A quick salute, that was all it took to be a true goodbye.
He turned around, his back now facing the grave, and began walking away. Slow, steady steps to the exit of the cemetery.
Another tear down his cheek, wiped away quickly by his palm. As if it was illegal to mourn the one person who truly understood him in that place.
He turned around. In the far distance, the shadow of a person leaned against a tree.
Booth blinked a few times, rubbing one of his eyes with his free hand. Gone. Unlike the bitter smile that was forming on Booth's lips.
"Goodnight, Teddy."
The wind received the message and stopped blowing into his face, now simply witnessing him turn back around and head home with the same slow steps as before.
Maybe, in another universe, you'd be alive.