Bones Fic: Losing My Religion~ Part 4
How awesome is it that Glee did a cover of this song? :D
Title: (That’s Me In The Corner) Losing My Religion (Part 4/?)
Author: Anna (bite_or_avoid)
Pairing: Booth/Brennan
Rating: R
Word Count: This part: 2,991
Disclaimer: Not mine
Spoilers: Through the Season 5 finale. Kind of takes my own road from there.
AN: tempertemper77my love, you are made of awesome ♥
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
*
*
*
Angela texts Cardiac Unit before he’s five minutes out. His one thought as he switches on the siren and floors the gas is that Max better not leave Bones again, or else the old con will have more than a higher power to answer to.
*
*
*
He’s not sure what to expect as he rounds the corner to the Cardiac Unit waiting room. She may be a pro at hiding sorrow and vulnerability beneath a sheen of clinical detachment, but he’s been allowed behind the curtain. He knows exactly how deeply those scabbed over wounds penetrate, how easily they can bleed again. How losing her father now, when they’ve just begun to forge a relationship, would only reaffirm her conviction that everyone she loves leaves, one way or another.
The sight of her slams into him like a battering ram. She sits flanked by Russ and Angela, her brother uttering low, intense words that Booth can’t hear. From the look on her face, it doesn’t seem like Brennan’s hearing them either. Her eyes are glassy and unfocussed, that razor-sharp mind adrift in some point in time other than the present. He wonders if maybe she’s got that winter day in 1991 on instant replay, watching her parents drive away for the last time. The thought of her reliving that makes a sharp pain blossom suddenly in his chest. He takes in a startled breath, and Brennan’s head snaps sharply in his direction. Despite Cam’s assertion that she didn’t want him to be told, she doesn’t really look all that surprised to see him. She stands as he approaches, and some petulant part of him wants to rail against the unfairness of it all.
There’s nothing clinical or detached about the way her eyes search his face. Instead, there’s a longing he’s never seen from her. Like she’s struggling to find the science, the logic, in what she feels. Like she needs him to explain things that are beyond anyone’s understanding, much less his. But how he wishes he could give her the answers she’s looking for.
Her voice sounds hoarse, chafed raw by tightly reigned emotions. “Booth, what are you doing here?”
But she leans into him without reservation before he can even respond. And, for a moment, that damn traitorous instinct flares hot in his belly-that he was made to protect her from the world.
*
*
*
They sit huddled together with nothing to do but wait.
“You know, statistically speaking, cardiac catheterization is a very common procedure. And the one-year mortality rate is only three percent, so my father has an excellent chance. Especially when you take into account the fact that the arrival to OR time was only forty-five minutes, which is well below the national average. Times less than ninety minutes have been empirically proven to have better outcomes. That is, for patients who present early, of course.”
“Of course.” He squeezes her hand lightly to show that he’s listening. If the way she periodically lets her head dip against his shoulder is any indication, this fact-laden stream of consciousness is more for her own benefit than for his anyway.
“Additionally, there are few risk factors for a poor prognosis in this case. My father is not obese, nor does he suffer from hypertension or diabetes, therefore there is no reason to think that-”
“Bones-he’ll be okay. He’s a tough old coot, that Max.”
“I fail to see how my father’s perceived fortitude has any bearing on the rate at which his coronary vessels accumulate atherosclerotic plaque.” Her words refute his statement, but they lack the familiar reproachful edge. As if she understands the point he’s trying to make and is arguing out of sheer habit.
“The man’s got a gift for survival, Bones. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Technically, you are correct. However, outrunning hitmen and law enforcement doesn’t exactly correlate to-”
“You’re not gonna give me the benefit of the doubt here, are you?”
She looks at him so earnestly that his throat goes momentarily dry. “Are you asking me to?”
“Yeah,” he rasps out. “Yeah, I’m asking.”
“Then I will make an attempt to oblige your instincts. However imprecise they may be.”
He’s still trying to come up with a coherent response to that when she speaks again.
“I feel… surprisingly guilty.”
“What? Why on earth would you feel guilty?”
She remains silent for a long time, eyes focused on his hand covering hers.
“Bones?”
“When I left, I didn’t really think-I mean, I thought about you, and myself, and how the time apart would affect our relationship. I thought about us a lot. But I didn’t really consider my father. I didn’t consider that-” She staunches the flow of words, biting her lip. Booth wonders if she even realizes how much she just revealed to him.
“You didn’t consider that he might not be around for much longer,” he finishes gently. She nods in response, and he feels more than sees the way she swipes at her eyes. He tugs on their entwined hands to get her attention. She looks up, despair making her already delicate features appear that much more fragile. He can’t help but trace his thumb against the line of moisture adorning her cheek. “It’s okay, Bones. I did the same thing with Pops. I went across the world, not thinking about how little time I have left with him. We just… we just take the people we love for granted sometimes, that’s all. That doesn’t make it right, but this isn’t your fault.”
“Do you feel… as if I took you for granted?”
That’s a loaded question if he ever heard one. He doesn’t even want to consider the implications of her asking it. “I think maybe we took each other for granted, Bones.”
“I never meant to.” Her wide eyes are fixed on him, filled with a tenderness that makes him swallow thickly past the lump in his throat. He realizes suddenly how close they are, how she’s leaning into him like… like…
“Miss Brennan?”
The moment shatters as she jumps up to face the approaching doctor.
“Doctor Brennan. How is my father?”
“We were able to stent the blockage. He tolerated the procedure very well. He’s in recovery now, awake and ready for visitors. But,” his eyes sweep over the waiting room, “two at a time and family only.”
Brennan nods briskly and motions for Russ to follow. Then she falls into step with the doctor, already firing questions in the man’s direction.
And, as always, leaves Booth shell-shocked in her wake.
*
*
*
Three cups of coffee later, Angela launches into a story about Hodgins prematurely baby-proofing the mansion that already makes him feel sorry for the poor squint-ling. Booth can’t help but smile though; the bug guy has been wearing a shit-eating grin for weeks, with no end in sight.
“Yes, well, he can afford to,” Angela grumbles when he tells her as much. “He’s not the one wowing the whole lab with his stunning digestive pyrotechnics.”
Booth grimaces in sympathy. “Morning sickness?”
“More like morning, afternoon, and all day sickness. I tell you, this kid had better appreciate the sacrifices I’m making. My favorite pastry is no longer a valid breakfast option.”
“Heh, you’ll get used to it. Rebecca used to make me…”
Brennan steps back in from beyond the recovery room doors. Both he and Angela rise to meet her, and Booth doesn’t miss the exhaustion evident on her face.
“Sweetie, how is he doing?”
Brennan grips the artist’s hands as if they were a lifeline. “He’s still weak. But the doctors believe that he may be recovering well enough to be released home in forty- eight to sixty-two hours.” She glances back at the door behind her. “Even though this was the most likely outcome, I find I am still quite relieved.”
Angela lets out a small squeal, pulling her friend into a hug. “That’s wonderful, Bren.”
Booth smiles but keeps his distance, suddenly wary of a repeat of earlier. Emotional intimacy from her is the last thing he needs right now. Russ saves him from any awkwardness though, when he appears from behind the same doors as his sister.
“Hey, Booth. Dad wants to see you. Says it’s important.”
Not so much of a save, then. Just replacing one brand of torture with another. He wonders if it can possibly be genetic-how much her family gets under his skin.
*
*
*
If Booth had to describe Max Keenan, feeble would certainly be at the bottom of his characterization list. In fact, he strongly suspects that anyone who dared call the man that to his face would probably end up eviscerated on a rooftop somewhere. But there is no denying that is exactly how he looks now; like a frail old man, devoid of all his grandeur. He almost feels sorry for him. Almost. And then he is reminded that nothing short of death could rid Max of his bluster.
“What the hell did you do to my daughter?”
Booth chokes back a surprised cough. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. She comes in here, looking for all the world like someone ran over her dog, and then gives me some nonsense about being sorry for taking advantage of me. Me! Now where do you suppose she got a crazy idea like that?”
“Look, Bones just misunderstood something I was trying to tell her, okay?”
“Well, you really upset her, Booth.”
He can’t tell if he’s more offended or impressed at the unbelievable gall it takes to make that statement. “Maybe she was upset because her father nearly died on her, Max.”
Max waves his hand in deflection. “Don’t give me that crap. I’ve survived far worse than a bum ticker, and Tempe damn well knows it.”
Booth stares at him, agape. “You’re kidding me with this, right? You’re honestly blaming me for Bones being upset when you just had a heart attack? That’s rich, even for you.”
Max seems to deflate, blowing out a deep breath and slumping down into his pillow. His voice takes on the patient tone of a man sharing some critical piece of wisdom, harshly acquired and not to be bestowed upon just anyone. For some reason that, more than anything which came before, strikes a raw nerve.
“You’re a good kid, Booth. I’ve always thought so. You have a mean right hook, which is worthy of respect in my book. And what you’ve done for Tempe, the ways you’ve been there for her… well, I can’t ever repay you for that. But there’s been something different about my baby ever since she got back from that dig of hers. Come to think of, since even before she left. And the truth is that if you can’t see what’s two feet in front of your face, you’re not the man I thought you were.”
Booth’s jaw clenches so hard, he swears teeth crack. “I’ve never punched an old man in a hospital bed, but don’t push your luck, Max.”
The other man shrugs his shoulders. “Just something to think about. If there’s one thing I know we both want, it’s for her to be happy.”
A terse, “Get well soon” pushes past Booth’s lips before he turns and leaves. In the emotional manipulation lottery, Max Keenan just hit the freaking jackpot.
*
*
*
Storming back out into the waiting room, Booth has half a mind to keep on going and not look back. He doesn’t know who he’s more pissed at; Max for having the nerve to read him the riot act, or himself for buying into it. Where does the guy get off dispensing advice like some wise old patriarch? And what the hell was that crack about not seeing what’s two feet in front of his face? He’s pretty sure that he’s actually seeing the situation clearly for the first time in months. More clearly, in fact, than he even lets on. He catches that glint in Bones’ eyes sometimes-not of jealousy or betrayal, but of a hurt that just about wrecks him-like he’s merely another in the long line of people who have abandoned her.
He knows, godammit, that he should have been the one person to defy her notions about the transient nature of love, and ended up proving them instead. That by moving on, he made a lie out of everything he ever tried to tell her. But what the hell else was he supposed to do and stay sane?
He sees now that he’d spent so long trying to take care of her needs that he forgot how to take care of his own, and rectifying that is not something he’s going to apologize for. Not to her, not to himself, and certainly not to Max.
“Booth? What happened?”
She’s watching him with a strange mix of alarm and anticipation. He lets out a steadying breath and allows a neutral expression to relax his features.
“Nothing, Bones. Just a little guy talk, is all.”
“Well, that’s… odd. What could my father possibly want to talk to you about?”
“Max is just worried about you.”
“But he’s the one who-”
“It’s a dad thing, okay Bones? Just trust me on this.”
She looks confused, but nods. Temperance Brennan actually lets it go on his word alone, and that startles the anger right out of him. He reaches out to cup her elbow.
“C’mon Bones. Lets grab something to eat and I’ll drive you home.”
“No, I… I’d like to stay here for a while.”
“Okay. Think we can find some better chairs though? These plastic things are murder on my back.”
His hand is still resting against her arm, the skin smooth against his fingertips. He knows he should pull away but doesn’t, and she doesn’t either. Not even when she shakes her head.
“You should go.”
This time he does pull his hand away, clenching it into a fist at his side. “You don’t want me here?”
“I…”
He’s never known her to be so stilted with her words; so careful. It’s like some tenuous balance would be upset if she told him what she was really thinking.
“I believe you can still make your trip, Booth.”
He blinks. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him.
“Bones, come on. I can go to the beach anytime. I should be here.”
“I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but you shouldn’t have to change your plans to accommodate me. Besides, Parker will be very disappointed. He’s been looking forward to this for weeks.”
Well, that was manipulative in a way he hadn’t expected. In this moment, however pure her intent, Brennan truly is her father’s daughter. Booth eyes her speculatively.
“You sure?”
“Russ has already offered to stay with me for the next few days. I’ll be alright.”
“Okay, Bones. If that’s what you want.”
“It is. I’d like you to enjoy yourself.”
He nods resolutely, but his chest feels uncomfortably tight. This whole thing doesn’t sit well with him. Not much of a choice but to turn and walk away though, so that’s what he starts to do. Brennan stops him with a sudden hand on his shoulder.
“Booth.”
“Yeah?”
That soft vulnerability adorns her face again, a hint of something he can’t define tugging at the edges of his consciousness. It’s like a caress, the way she looks at him, and the control he’s been holding onto for dear life starts to crack under the weight of her gaze.
Her arms come around his shoulders as she moves into him. His own arms wrap instinctually around her waist, squeezing tightly. Over her shoulder, Russ meets his startled eyes with more understanding than he can stomach.
“Thank you. Thank you for coming, Booth.”
The words whisper against his ear and settle in his heart. He can’t tell her this, but there’s nowhere else he would rather be.
*
*
*
Olivia leaves the decision up to him. In the end he chooses not to disappoint her or Parker. They’ve only lost a few hours, but his excitement about the whole thing is pretty much gone with the wind.
He pushes the image of tear-filled blue eyes out of his mind and musters some enthusiasm for the sake of the people beside him.
*
*
*
Being away from the city calms the turmoil inside him. They lie in the sun and chase a Frisbee and boogie board until his son’s lips turn blue from being in the water too long. Olivia and Parker bury him neck deep in the sand, then shriek loudly when he lifts one under each arm and tosses them into the frothy waves of the ocean.
He can’t stop watching her-white sundress flowing against tanned skin, hands that have pieced together more lives than his have taken, green eyes alight with warmth and laughter. In the evening, after Parker collapses into a sun induced coma, they make love in the hot-tub on the deck that leads off of their bedroom. As she straddles him, backlit by the star-filled sky, he can’t contain the gratitude at having found someone who accepts him so completely, even if he doesn’t deserve it.
When he drifts off to sleep, his mind may wander more than it should. It may stray three-hundred and seventy miles north, to the woman who set him free to come here even as she gripped him tightly, telling him more with actions than she ever has with words.
He’s always been so good at reading her, at knowing her. But maybe Max is right. Maybe he’s been so unwilling to risk being pulled once again into her orbit and drowning in a sea of unrealized potential, that he’s not looking as closely as he should.
Maybe he’s afraid of what he’ll see.
Part 5
Title: (That’s Me In The Corner) Losing My Religion (Part 4/?)
Author: Anna (bite_or_avoid)
Pairing: Booth/Brennan
Rating: R
Word Count: This part: 2,991
Disclaimer: Not mine
Spoilers: Through the Season 5 finale. Kind of takes my own road from there.
AN: tempertemper77my love, you are made of awesome ♥
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
*
*
*
Angela texts Cardiac Unit before he’s five minutes out. His one thought as he switches on the siren and floors the gas is that Max better not leave Bones again, or else the old con will have more than a higher power to answer to.
*
*
*
He’s not sure what to expect as he rounds the corner to the Cardiac Unit waiting room. She may be a pro at hiding sorrow and vulnerability beneath a sheen of clinical detachment, but he’s been allowed behind the curtain. He knows exactly how deeply those scabbed over wounds penetrate, how easily they can bleed again. How losing her father now, when they’ve just begun to forge a relationship, would only reaffirm her conviction that everyone she loves leaves, one way or another.
The sight of her slams into him like a battering ram. She sits flanked by Russ and Angela, her brother uttering low, intense words that Booth can’t hear. From the look on her face, it doesn’t seem like Brennan’s hearing them either. Her eyes are glassy and unfocussed, that razor-sharp mind adrift in some point in time other than the present. He wonders if maybe she’s got that winter day in 1991 on instant replay, watching her parents drive away for the last time. The thought of her reliving that makes a sharp pain blossom suddenly in his chest. He takes in a startled breath, and Brennan’s head snaps sharply in his direction. Despite Cam’s assertion that she didn’t want him to be told, she doesn’t really look all that surprised to see him. She stands as he approaches, and some petulant part of him wants to rail against the unfairness of it all.
There’s nothing clinical or detached about the way her eyes search his face. Instead, there’s a longing he’s never seen from her. Like she’s struggling to find the science, the logic, in what she feels. Like she needs him to explain things that are beyond anyone’s understanding, much less his. But how he wishes he could give her the answers she’s looking for.
Her voice sounds hoarse, chafed raw by tightly reigned emotions. “Booth, what are you doing here?”
But she leans into him without reservation before he can even respond. And, for a moment, that damn traitorous instinct flares hot in his belly-that he was made to protect her from the world.
*
*
*
They sit huddled together with nothing to do but wait.
“You know, statistically speaking, cardiac catheterization is a very common procedure. And the one-year mortality rate is only three percent, so my father has an excellent chance. Especially when you take into account the fact that the arrival to OR time was only forty-five minutes, which is well below the national average. Times less than ninety minutes have been empirically proven to have better outcomes. That is, for patients who present early, of course.”
“Of course.” He squeezes her hand lightly to show that he’s listening. If the way she periodically lets her head dip against his shoulder is any indication, this fact-laden stream of consciousness is more for her own benefit than for his anyway.
“Additionally, there are few risk factors for a poor prognosis in this case. My father is not obese, nor does he suffer from hypertension or diabetes, therefore there is no reason to think that-”
“Bones-he’ll be okay. He’s a tough old coot, that Max.”
“I fail to see how my father’s perceived fortitude has any bearing on the rate at which his coronary vessels accumulate atherosclerotic plaque.” Her words refute his statement, but they lack the familiar reproachful edge. As if she understands the point he’s trying to make and is arguing out of sheer habit.
“The man’s got a gift for survival, Bones. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Technically, you are correct. However, outrunning hitmen and law enforcement doesn’t exactly correlate to-”
“You’re not gonna give me the benefit of the doubt here, are you?”
She looks at him so earnestly that his throat goes momentarily dry. “Are you asking me to?”
“Yeah,” he rasps out. “Yeah, I’m asking.”
“Then I will make an attempt to oblige your instincts. However imprecise they may be.”
He’s still trying to come up with a coherent response to that when she speaks again.
“I feel… surprisingly guilty.”
“What? Why on earth would you feel guilty?”
She remains silent for a long time, eyes focused on his hand covering hers.
“Bones?”
“When I left, I didn’t really think-I mean, I thought about you, and myself, and how the time apart would affect our relationship. I thought about us a lot. But I didn’t really consider my father. I didn’t consider that-” She staunches the flow of words, biting her lip. Booth wonders if she even realizes how much she just revealed to him.
“You didn’t consider that he might not be around for much longer,” he finishes gently. She nods in response, and he feels more than sees the way she swipes at her eyes. He tugs on their entwined hands to get her attention. She looks up, despair making her already delicate features appear that much more fragile. He can’t help but trace his thumb against the line of moisture adorning her cheek. “It’s okay, Bones. I did the same thing with Pops. I went across the world, not thinking about how little time I have left with him. We just… we just take the people we love for granted sometimes, that’s all. That doesn’t make it right, but this isn’t your fault.”
“Do you feel… as if I took you for granted?”
That’s a loaded question if he ever heard one. He doesn’t even want to consider the implications of her asking it. “I think maybe we took each other for granted, Bones.”
“I never meant to.” Her wide eyes are fixed on him, filled with a tenderness that makes him swallow thickly past the lump in his throat. He realizes suddenly how close they are, how she’s leaning into him like… like…
“Miss Brennan?”
The moment shatters as she jumps up to face the approaching doctor.
“Doctor Brennan. How is my father?”
“We were able to stent the blockage. He tolerated the procedure very well. He’s in recovery now, awake and ready for visitors. But,” his eyes sweep over the waiting room, “two at a time and family only.”
Brennan nods briskly and motions for Russ to follow. Then she falls into step with the doctor, already firing questions in the man’s direction.
And, as always, leaves Booth shell-shocked in her wake.
*
*
*
Three cups of coffee later, Angela launches into a story about Hodgins prematurely baby-proofing the mansion that already makes him feel sorry for the poor squint-ling. Booth can’t help but smile though; the bug guy has been wearing a shit-eating grin for weeks, with no end in sight.
“Yes, well, he can afford to,” Angela grumbles when he tells her as much. “He’s not the one wowing the whole lab with his stunning digestive pyrotechnics.”
Booth grimaces in sympathy. “Morning sickness?”
“More like morning, afternoon, and all day sickness. I tell you, this kid had better appreciate the sacrifices I’m making. My favorite pastry is no longer a valid breakfast option.”
“Heh, you’ll get used to it. Rebecca used to make me…”
Brennan steps back in from beyond the recovery room doors. Both he and Angela rise to meet her, and Booth doesn’t miss the exhaustion evident on her face.
“Sweetie, how is he doing?”
Brennan grips the artist’s hands as if they were a lifeline. “He’s still weak. But the doctors believe that he may be recovering well enough to be released home in forty- eight to sixty-two hours.” She glances back at the door behind her. “Even though this was the most likely outcome, I find I am still quite relieved.”
Angela lets out a small squeal, pulling her friend into a hug. “That’s wonderful, Bren.”
Booth smiles but keeps his distance, suddenly wary of a repeat of earlier. Emotional intimacy from her is the last thing he needs right now. Russ saves him from any awkwardness though, when he appears from behind the same doors as his sister.
“Hey, Booth. Dad wants to see you. Says it’s important.”
Not so much of a save, then. Just replacing one brand of torture with another. He wonders if it can possibly be genetic-how much her family gets under his skin.
*
*
*
If Booth had to describe Max Keenan, feeble would certainly be at the bottom of his characterization list. In fact, he strongly suspects that anyone who dared call the man that to his face would probably end up eviscerated on a rooftop somewhere. But there is no denying that is exactly how he looks now; like a frail old man, devoid of all his grandeur. He almost feels sorry for him. Almost. And then he is reminded that nothing short of death could rid Max of his bluster.
“What the hell did you do to my daughter?”
Booth chokes back a surprised cough. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. She comes in here, looking for all the world like someone ran over her dog, and then gives me some nonsense about being sorry for taking advantage of me. Me! Now where do you suppose she got a crazy idea like that?”
“Look, Bones just misunderstood something I was trying to tell her, okay?”
“Well, you really upset her, Booth.”
He can’t tell if he’s more offended or impressed at the unbelievable gall it takes to make that statement. “Maybe she was upset because her father nearly died on her, Max.”
Max waves his hand in deflection. “Don’t give me that crap. I’ve survived far worse than a bum ticker, and Tempe damn well knows it.”
Booth stares at him, agape. “You’re kidding me with this, right? You’re honestly blaming me for Bones being upset when you just had a heart attack? That’s rich, even for you.”
Max seems to deflate, blowing out a deep breath and slumping down into his pillow. His voice takes on the patient tone of a man sharing some critical piece of wisdom, harshly acquired and not to be bestowed upon just anyone. For some reason that, more than anything which came before, strikes a raw nerve.
“You’re a good kid, Booth. I’ve always thought so. You have a mean right hook, which is worthy of respect in my book. And what you’ve done for Tempe, the ways you’ve been there for her… well, I can’t ever repay you for that. But there’s been something different about my baby ever since she got back from that dig of hers. Come to think of, since even before she left. And the truth is that if you can’t see what’s two feet in front of your face, you’re not the man I thought you were.”
Booth’s jaw clenches so hard, he swears teeth crack. “I’ve never punched an old man in a hospital bed, but don’t push your luck, Max.”
The other man shrugs his shoulders. “Just something to think about. If there’s one thing I know we both want, it’s for her to be happy.”
A terse, “Get well soon” pushes past Booth’s lips before he turns and leaves. In the emotional manipulation lottery, Max Keenan just hit the freaking jackpot.
*
*
*
Storming back out into the waiting room, Booth has half a mind to keep on going and not look back. He doesn’t know who he’s more pissed at; Max for having the nerve to read him the riot act, or himself for buying into it. Where does the guy get off dispensing advice like some wise old patriarch? And what the hell was that crack about not seeing what’s two feet in front of his face? He’s pretty sure that he’s actually seeing the situation clearly for the first time in months. More clearly, in fact, than he even lets on. He catches that glint in Bones’ eyes sometimes-not of jealousy or betrayal, but of a hurt that just about wrecks him-like he’s merely another in the long line of people who have abandoned her.
He knows, godammit, that he should have been the one person to defy her notions about the transient nature of love, and ended up proving them instead. That by moving on, he made a lie out of everything he ever tried to tell her. But what the hell else was he supposed to do and stay sane?
He sees now that he’d spent so long trying to take care of her needs that he forgot how to take care of his own, and rectifying that is not something he’s going to apologize for. Not to her, not to himself, and certainly not to Max.
“Booth? What happened?”
She’s watching him with a strange mix of alarm and anticipation. He lets out a steadying breath and allows a neutral expression to relax his features.
“Nothing, Bones. Just a little guy talk, is all.”
“Well, that’s… odd. What could my father possibly want to talk to you about?”
“Max is just worried about you.”
“But he’s the one who-”
“It’s a dad thing, okay Bones? Just trust me on this.”
She looks confused, but nods. Temperance Brennan actually lets it go on his word alone, and that startles the anger right out of him. He reaches out to cup her elbow.
“C’mon Bones. Lets grab something to eat and I’ll drive you home.”
“No, I… I’d like to stay here for a while.”
“Okay. Think we can find some better chairs though? These plastic things are murder on my back.”
His hand is still resting against her arm, the skin smooth against his fingertips. He knows he should pull away but doesn’t, and she doesn’t either. Not even when she shakes her head.
“You should go.”
This time he does pull his hand away, clenching it into a fist at his side. “You don’t want me here?”
“I…”
He’s never known her to be so stilted with her words; so careful. It’s like some tenuous balance would be upset if she told him what she was really thinking.
“I believe you can still make your trip, Booth.”
He blinks. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him.
“Bones, come on. I can go to the beach anytime. I should be here.”
“I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but you shouldn’t have to change your plans to accommodate me. Besides, Parker will be very disappointed. He’s been looking forward to this for weeks.”
Well, that was manipulative in a way he hadn’t expected. In this moment, however pure her intent, Brennan truly is her father’s daughter. Booth eyes her speculatively.
“You sure?”
“Russ has already offered to stay with me for the next few days. I’ll be alright.”
“Okay, Bones. If that’s what you want.”
“It is. I’d like you to enjoy yourself.”
He nods resolutely, but his chest feels uncomfortably tight. This whole thing doesn’t sit well with him. Not much of a choice but to turn and walk away though, so that’s what he starts to do. Brennan stops him with a sudden hand on his shoulder.
“Booth.”
“Yeah?”
That soft vulnerability adorns her face again, a hint of something he can’t define tugging at the edges of his consciousness. It’s like a caress, the way she looks at him, and the control he’s been holding onto for dear life starts to crack under the weight of her gaze.
Her arms come around his shoulders as she moves into him. His own arms wrap instinctually around her waist, squeezing tightly. Over her shoulder, Russ meets his startled eyes with more understanding than he can stomach.
“Thank you. Thank you for coming, Booth.”
The words whisper against his ear and settle in his heart. He can’t tell her this, but there’s nowhere else he would rather be.
*
*
*
Olivia leaves the decision up to him. In the end he chooses not to disappoint her or Parker. They’ve only lost a few hours, but his excitement about the whole thing is pretty much gone with the wind.
He pushes the image of tear-filled blue eyes out of his mind and musters some enthusiasm for the sake of the people beside him.
*
*
*
Being away from the city calms the turmoil inside him. They lie in the sun and chase a Frisbee and boogie board until his son’s lips turn blue from being in the water too long. Olivia and Parker bury him neck deep in the sand, then shriek loudly when he lifts one under each arm and tosses them into the frothy waves of the ocean.
He can’t stop watching her-white sundress flowing against tanned skin, hands that have pieced together more lives than his have taken, green eyes alight with warmth and laughter. In the evening, after Parker collapses into a sun induced coma, they make love in the hot-tub on the deck that leads off of their bedroom. As she straddles him, backlit by the star-filled sky, he can’t contain the gratitude at having found someone who accepts him so completely, even if he doesn’t deserve it.
When he drifts off to sleep, his mind may wander more than it should. It may stray three-hundred and seventy miles north, to the woman who set him free to come here even as she gripped him tightly, telling him more with actions than she ever has with words.
He’s always been so good at reading her, at knowing her. But maybe Max is right. Maybe he’s been so unwilling to risk being pulled once again into her orbit and drowning in a sea of unrealized potential, that he’s not looking as closely as he should.
Maybe he’s afraid of what he’ll see.
Part 5