Bones Fic: Losing My Religion (Part 7/?)
The days trickle by at an excruciatingly slow pace. Parker is stuck at Rebecca’s with the flu, and Olivia has taken to working nights so as to stack some vacation time at the end of the month. The loneliness he feels without her is tempered by relief that at least she’s not around to see how much the situation with Brennan is messing with his head.
There’s guilt, too. He owes her more than this kind of uncertainty.
He knows he needs to get his shit together. The thing is though, nothing is really gonna feel settled until he faces Bones and lays their past to rest, once and for all.
He decides that being supportive is a place to start. He’s always been acutely aware of how much she deserves; of how much less than that the world has given her. And if she’s content now, if she finally found in someone what Booth had told her for years was just within reach, then…
Yeah, that burns.
But what matters is that she’s happy, even if the guy isn’t good enough for her. He can’t be. No one ever could. That’s none of his business now, though. Maybe it never was.
What he wants, what he really wants, is a fraction of the trust that was once inherent between them. No more secrets. No more furtive glances or uncertain hedging. Everything out in the open, so that they can both move on to a better place.
Whether she’s in love with this guy, or simply screwing around, he wishes she would just tell him. He wishes he could just know.
*
*
*
By Sunday, he’s got himself under some semblance of control. He and Bones need to have a conversation, that much is certain. How to go about doing that… that’s the part he’s kind of fuzzy on. But he refuses to believe that it’s impossible to bridge that awkward gap between them. What they have goes far too deep, is too much a part of both of them, to let the changes in their lives erase the last six years.
The problem with his plan is that they’ve never been very good at talking. In code, yes-running circles around what they really meant, what they really wanted, always so careful, never committing any game-changing truths to irrevocable words until the fateful night he did.
Even then, he hadn’t said any of the things that really mattered.
But where silent communication was always their forte, excluding all intruders from their world of two, there is now only silence. Silence laden with misunderstanding and volatility and the painful absence of a connection he has never felt with anyone else.
He wonders if, once extinguished, a spark like that can ever re-ignite again.
*
*
*
That morning, Booth calls to make sure they’re still on for dinner, and she confirms. Her laughter at something on her end of the line before she hangs up echoes in his ears like a half remembered sacrament.
He changes his shirt three times before leaving the apartment.
By the time he knocks on her door, awkwardly juggling two bags of takeout and a six-pack, the lump of lead weighing on him all day has settled deep in his gut.
He feels, irrationally, as if their whole future is riding on what happens tonight. On whether or not they can come to an understanding.
In the space of her approaching footsteps, he assures himself that they can do this. They can be friends; good, close friends who respect and value each other, who are open and honest, just like him and Cam…
… except Cam, even if she were to waltz around in front of him naked, would elicit nothing more than a healthy, male response.
Not strike with the deadly precision of a thunderbolt, the current conducted through his very core. He almost stumbles back a step with the sheer impact.
The sight of her-hair still damp and slightly curling, robe cinched tight around her tall frame-evokes such a desperate longing that he can barely stand to look.
Yet he can’t turn away, either.
She looks young and tired and achingly beautiful; the ghost of a life that had been nothing but a dream.
Maybe putting distance between them wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
But she’s already opened the door further in invitation, relieving him of the six-pack as he wanders inside.
“My flight was delayed, and I wasn’t expecting you for another half-hour, so…” Her downcast eyes suggest an uncharacteristic self-awareness at her state of semi-dress.
“T’s okay. Look, I brought some of that crap organic beer you like.”
Brennan sets down the case and pulls her robe tighter. “Mongozo is not crap. It has been a cultural rite of the Chokwe people for over two centuries.”
“Well, it sure tastes like it’s been sitting around for at least that long.”
He hopes the return to basics will put them both more at ease, and his partner exhales on a nervous laugh. “I could explain the inherent superiority of the tribe’s distilling methods, but I believe that my time will be used more wisely by changing into something more appropriate.” Setting off towards the bedroom, she adds, “Don’t worry, there’ s some of your Lager in the refrigerator.”
Booth tries not to stare after her retreating form. He hasn’t been here in months. In over a year, if you wanna get picky about it, for anything more than to pick her up or to drop off some paperwork. Considering that he finds the bottles way in the back of the fridge, along with a lack of much to indicate that she even eats here, it’s probably safe to say that she didn’t go shopping for tonight.
The fact that she still keeps his beer here leaves him awash in a strange, awed calm. Funny, that something so simple could bring it all home for him.
Bones may think he’s the expert at interpersonal relationships. But she’s been showing him what it means to be a true friend for a long time.
*
*
*
He’s set the table and is pulling food out of boxes when she emerges, dressed in a pair of well-worn jeans and a blue button-up top that brings out the striking hue of her eyes. Brennan wordlessly begins loading the plates. They move around one another with a practiced ease that belies the constraints of their current relationship.
It’s too intimate, somehow.
Booth clears his throat. “So, how did it go in the Big Apple? Not too bad, as far as fancy shindigs go?”
“Honestly, the whole affair was fairly exhausting. I’ve never understood how the choice of hors d’oeurves correlates to the public’s interest level for something I’ve written.”
“That’s why you’re you, Bones.” He smiles warmly. “You might be a PR nightmare, but it’s only because you see what’s important. Without all the bells and whistles.”
She smiles too, an unguarded joy briefly lighting her face. Then she lowers herself into a chair, leaving the food untouched. Her demeanor takes on that contemplative solemnity he’s come to both dread and anticipate.
“I’ve been considering something you said.”
“That’s a first.”
“Booth. I’m serious.” She still says his name with that unique affectation; tenderness and admonishment wrapped up in a few extra syllables. His heart feels heavy with the sound. “In my office, when we argued. You said that all you wanted was the truth. That you need it, the way I need tangible evidence.”
He nods, not trusting his voice. There are many sins he carries; hypocrisy has never been one of them until now.
“Can I extrapolate this line of thinking to infer that if there were some aspect of my life that could potentially affect you, and our relationship, you would want to know? Despite any possible consequences?”
He’s not convinced anymore. The consequences may be more than the delicate balance they’re walking can take. But he’s backed himself into a corner with that little outburst, and now she’s taken his words to heart.
For the briefest instant, she hesitates. Like she’s thinking the same thing he is. But she faces him with a naked vulnerability that she rarely allows herself, and how the hell is he supposed to tell her to shut it down?
“Things have changed between us, and I believe… I believe that I am making it worse by keeping something from you.”
Booth puts down his fork and pushes away from the table. As much as he wanted to know about this, he’s not sure he can stomach hearing it from her. “I know what you’re going to tell me, Bones.”
That momentarily derails her train of thought. “How can you possibly know something like that?”
“FBI, remember? Federal Bureau of Investigation. I did some investigating.”
“I don’t… follow your reasoning.”
“I saw the note, Bones.”
To his dismay, it comes out more defensive than apologetic. But she looks genuinely confused. “What note?”
“The Post-It, on your desk. The one signed G.M.” He sighs. “I get it, okay? And I hope you’re happy. I mean that.”
Brennan’s expression shifts from surprise, to guilt, to annoyance. “You went snooping through my things and concluded that I am involved in a romantic relationship.”
“I wasn’t snooping-”
She shakes her head, something dark and defiant flashing in her eyes. “This is why I hate unfounded supposition. You had no evidence on which to base your assumptions.”
“It looked pretty founded to me.”
“And you truly believed I would keep something like that from you?”
The prepared retort dies on his lips. Her face is a study in controlled emotion, but whether it’s anger or distress or even fear lurking beneath the surface, he just can’t say. “Are you seriously telling me nothing happened?”
“That would not be an accurate statement, no.”
“Then why are you fighting it so hard? You found someone, end of story. You don’t owe me any explanations.”
“But you are laboring under a misconceived notion. One that, for whatever reason, is bothersome to you. Therefore, I believe it necessary to set the record right.”
“Straight, Bones. Set the record straight.”
There is a beat of silence between them. Something in her seems to crack under the weight of it; a chink in the armor he hasn’t bothered to breach in so long.
“I think it's important, Booth. Please.”
It's that please he can’t stand. How hearing it still twists him up inside, still renders him incapable of denying her anything.
He sighs in resignation. After all, wasn’t this what he thought would help steer their friendship back on track? “Okay. Say what you gotta say, alright?”
“I… I suppose you are aware that Grant and I became acquainted in Indonesia. His assignment was not specific to our excavation, but on the occasions that our paths crossed we discovered many similar interests. I had forgotten how grueling a dig like that could be. While it was a change that was necessary to my mental well-being, I began to feel… isolated. Restless in a way I can’t explain. I would often explore when it became too late to work, and eventually Grant began to join me. We became friends. I found his company comforting, but there was never anything more. Not then.”
He stays silent, not really knowing where she’s heading with this but dreading it all the same. That telltale knot in his gut has never been wrong. Brennan draws a deep breath as if steeling herself. He's never seen her be this hesitant, yet he’s riveted by the way she forges ahead despite her discomfort.
“Perhaps… the time away compromised my ability to rationalize. I admit that I allowed myself certain expectations, maybe even hopes, for our respective returns that seem childish in retrospect. As a result, I have found it… difficult… to adapt to the current parameters of our relationship. I’ve been alone most of my life, and have always preferred the solitude. But I don’t believe I’ve ever understood loneliness in quite the way I have experienced it these last few months. I continued to feel isolated, and restless, even in the company of those closest to me. In our time together, Grant expressed a sexual attraction. More than that, really. I had thought to use my trip to New York as an opportunity to broach the possibilities he suggested. But, it didn’t work out.”
The blood pounding in his ears is almost loud enough to obscure her careful words. She’s been withdrawn, yes, but he never questioned why. Too wrapped up in his own life, he hadn’t bothered with hers.
There’s a prickle in his spine; a horrible kind of certainty that leaves his instincts screaming in warning, but not quickly enough…
“I felt affection for him, Booth, I truly did. However, I found that embarking on something even in a fairly casual capacity carried with it the distinct sensation of being... unfaithful. Which is utterly ridiculous, as you and I are clearly not-”
“No, no, no, no, Bones!” He is out of his seat like a shot, thundering toward her. “You don’t get to do this. You can’t shoot me down and then say stuff like that.”
“I'm only being truthful. I thought that-”
“There's truthful and there's timely, Bones. And you're about eighteen months too late.”
He's never felt crueler than he does right now; never reminded himself so much of his old man. But the spell she was weaving has lost its hold, replaced by righteous anger at the ease with which she can still tie him up into knots.
Brennan gasps at the harshness in his voice, but stands her ground. “I didn't tell you this to upset you, Booth. And I'm not attempting to restore your feelings for me, if that were even possible. I... made a mistake. It was never my intention to hurt you, but I did, and you'll never know how sorry I am for that.” Her gaze falls from his, voice quivering. Tears, the wet, bitter kernels of her truth, weave their way down her cheeks. “I know that you've moved on. And I'm glad. All I ever wanted was for you to be happy.”
What he’s hearing can’t possibly be what she’s saying because she told him I can’t, crushed his heart with it, changed their lives with it, and if… then she can and she does and she did, even then, and-
“Jesus, Bones.”
It's like a suckerpunch right to the gut, and it levels him. He can’t catch his breath, wondering uselessly how it’s possible that she can still wreck him, even when she doesn’t mean to.
Even when he’s moved on.
He walks to the couch on leaden legs and sinks onto it wearily, dropping his head into his hands. His fingertips press tight against the temples, as if to contain the clamoring inside. A sudden wave of nausea nearly makes him gag.
The apartment is thrust into a vacuum of ghostly silence. Booth can feel her hovering, wraithlike-the specter he can never outrun. She finally takes a seat next to him. Her hand lingers just over his arm, close enough to make the hairs stand on end, but the indecision that keeps her from making contact is palpable.
He is grateful. The thread by which his control hangs could never withstand her touch.
“Are you okay, Booth?”
Her earnestness is salt on an already festering wound, and he laughs bitterly. “No, Bones. I’m not even close to okay.”
“I shouldn’t have said anything.”
The self-reproach in her voice makes him look up sharply. Her eyes are bright with the sheen of more unshed tears, and filled with such remorse that he forcibly softens his demeanor.
“Why did you?”
“I… explained my reasoning. You made a point about needing to know your place in my life. I thought you deserved to have that.”
“You picked a hell of a time to listen to what I need.” He swallows past the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for.”
“I knew that I would do something wrong, that I would hurt you. This…” She motions between them. “This just isn’t a skill that I possess. Do you understand now why I could not agree to pursue a romantic relationship with you?”
This whole situation has got to be some sort of karmic justice. Looking at her is like wading through the rubble of his life, and he can’t stand being trapped in the ruins.
Never before has he understood her desire to run so perfectly.
“Bones, I can’t… I can’t do this with you.”
His voice is brittle; the sound of something being twisted and bent until it can bend no more.
He can bend no more.
There’s no malice in it. He’s just not sure if he’ll survive rehashing this a second time.
Brennan nods disconsolately, not bothering to wipe at the steady stream now trailing down her cheeks. “I know.”
He wants to reach out, to wipe at her face and soothe her pain and tell her that everything will be okay. But he can’t. Through the anger, through the confusion and the despair, he knows that he cares too much to lie to her. The only thing he can do is pull himself together enough to carry on.
He’s got his hand on the doorknob when she calls out to him, panicked.
“Booth!”
He doesn’t face her, merely turns enough that she can see his profile. “Yeah.”
“Rebecca once told me… she once said that she believes there is a single moment for two people. I understand that we missed ours, but please, I need you to tell me that we can still work together. That I haven’t… that I haven’t made the mistake of risking our partnership a second time.”
She sounds frantic, desperate. And just like he couldn’t give life to her biggest fear last year when it nearly killed him, he can’t do it now. Certainly not when she made a liar out of herself and did change.
The fucking irony is caustic enough to burn a hole through his heart.
But this is something he can give her, even if he can no longer give her himself.
“We can still be partners, Bones. I just need some time, okay? I need to try and wrap my head around all this.”
He walks out before they can hurt each other further. But his legs are unsteady, and the world has spun completely off its axis, and he leans against the outside of the heavy oak door to catch his bearings. It is only a minute later, when he should have been well out of earshot, that he hears her quiet, broken sobs.
TBC
There’s guilt, too. He owes her more than this kind of uncertainty.
He knows he needs to get his shit together. The thing is though, nothing is really gonna feel settled until he faces Bones and lays their past to rest, once and for all.
He decides that being supportive is a place to start. He’s always been acutely aware of how much she deserves; of how much less than that the world has given her. And if she’s content now, if she finally found in someone what Booth had told her for years was just within reach, then…
Yeah, that burns.
But what matters is that she’s happy, even if the guy isn’t good enough for her. He can’t be. No one ever could. That’s none of his business now, though. Maybe it never was.
What he wants, what he really wants, is a fraction of the trust that was once inherent between them. No more secrets. No more furtive glances or uncertain hedging. Everything out in the open, so that they can both move on to a better place.
Whether she’s in love with this guy, or simply screwing around, he wishes she would just tell him. He wishes he could just know.
*
*
*
By Sunday, he’s got himself under some semblance of control. He and Bones need to have a conversation, that much is certain. How to go about doing that… that’s the part he’s kind of fuzzy on. But he refuses to believe that it’s impossible to bridge that awkward gap between them. What they have goes far too deep, is too much a part of both of them, to let the changes in their lives erase the last six years.
The problem with his plan is that they’ve never been very good at talking. In code, yes-running circles around what they really meant, what they really wanted, always so careful, never committing any game-changing truths to irrevocable words until the fateful night he did.
Even then, he hadn’t said any of the things that really mattered.
But where silent communication was always their forte, excluding all intruders from their world of two, there is now only silence. Silence laden with misunderstanding and volatility and the painful absence of a connection he has never felt with anyone else.
He wonders if, once extinguished, a spark like that can ever re-ignite again.
*
*
*
That morning, Booth calls to make sure they’re still on for dinner, and she confirms. Her laughter at something on her end of the line before she hangs up echoes in his ears like a half remembered sacrament.
He changes his shirt three times before leaving the apartment.
By the time he knocks on her door, awkwardly juggling two bags of takeout and a six-pack, the lump of lead weighing on him all day has settled deep in his gut.
He feels, irrationally, as if their whole future is riding on what happens tonight. On whether or not they can come to an understanding.
In the space of her approaching footsteps, he assures himself that they can do this. They can be friends; good, close friends who respect and value each other, who are open and honest, just like him and Cam…
… except Cam, even if she were to waltz around in front of him naked, would elicit nothing more than a healthy, male response.
Not strike with the deadly precision of a thunderbolt, the current conducted through his very core. He almost stumbles back a step with the sheer impact.
The sight of her-hair still damp and slightly curling, robe cinched tight around her tall frame-evokes such a desperate longing that he can barely stand to look.
Yet he can’t turn away, either.
She looks young and tired and achingly beautiful; the ghost of a life that had been nothing but a dream.
Maybe putting distance between them wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
But she’s already opened the door further in invitation, relieving him of the six-pack as he wanders inside.
“My flight was delayed, and I wasn’t expecting you for another half-hour, so…” Her downcast eyes suggest an uncharacteristic self-awareness at her state of semi-dress.
“T’s okay. Look, I brought some of that crap organic beer you like.”
Brennan sets down the case and pulls her robe tighter. “Mongozo is not crap. It has been a cultural rite of the Chokwe people for over two centuries.”
“Well, it sure tastes like it’s been sitting around for at least that long.”
He hopes the return to basics will put them both more at ease, and his partner exhales on a nervous laugh. “I could explain the inherent superiority of the tribe’s distilling methods, but I believe that my time will be used more wisely by changing into something more appropriate.” Setting off towards the bedroom, she adds, “Don’t worry, there’ s some of your Lager in the refrigerator.”
Booth tries not to stare after her retreating form. He hasn’t been here in months. In over a year, if you wanna get picky about it, for anything more than to pick her up or to drop off some paperwork. Considering that he finds the bottles way in the back of the fridge, along with a lack of much to indicate that she even eats here, it’s probably safe to say that she didn’t go shopping for tonight.
The fact that she still keeps his beer here leaves him awash in a strange, awed calm. Funny, that something so simple could bring it all home for him.
Bones may think he’s the expert at interpersonal relationships. But she’s been showing him what it means to be a true friend for a long time.
*
*
*
He’s set the table and is pulling food out of boxes when she emerges, dressed in a pair of well-worn jeans and a blue button-up top that brings out the striking hue of her eyes. Brennan wordlessly begins loading the plates. They move around one another with a practiced ease that belies the constraints of their current relationship.
It’s too intimate, somehow.
Booth clears his throat. “So, how did it go in the Big Apple? Not too bad, as far as fancy shindigs go?”
“Honestly, the whole affair was fairly exhausting. I’ve never understood how the choice of hors d’oeurves correlates to the public’s interest level for something I’ve written.”
“That’s why you’re you, Bones.” He smiles warmly. “You might be a PR nightmare, but it’s only because you see what’s important. Without all the bells and whistles.”
She smiles too, an unguarded joy briefly lighting her face. Then she lowers herself into a chair, leaving the food untouched. Her demeanor takes on that contemplative solemnity he’s come to both dread and anticipate.
“I’ve been considering something you said.”
“That’s a first.”
“Booth. I’m serious.” She still says his name with that unique affectation; tenderness and admonishment wrapped up in a few extra syllables. His heart feels heavy with the sound. “In my office, when we argued. You said that all you wanted was the truth. That you need it, the way I need tangible evidence.”
He nods, not trusting his voice. There are many sins he carries; hypocrisy has never been one of them until now.
“Can I extrapolate this line of thinking to infer that if there were some aspect of my life that could potentially affect you, and our relationship, you would want to know? Despite any possible consequences?”
He’s not convinced anymore. The consequences may be more than the delicate balance they’re walking can take. But he’s backed himself into a corner with that little outburst, and now she’s taken his words to heart.
For the briefest instant, she hesitates. Like she’s thinking the same thing he is. But she faces him with a naked vulnerability that she rarely allows herself, and how the hell is he supposed to tell her to shut it down?
“Things have changed between us, and I believe… I believe that I am making it worse by keeping something from you.”
Booth puts down his fork and pushes away from the table. As much as he wanted to know about this, he’s not sure he can stomach hearing it from her. “I know what you’re going to tell me, Bones.”
That momentarily derails her train of thought. “How can you possibly know something like that?”
“FBI, remember? Federal Bureau of Investigation. I did some investigating.”
“I don’t… follow your reasoning.”
“I saw the note, Bones.”
To his dismay, it comes out more defensive than apologetic. But she looks genuinely confused. “What note?”
“The Post-It, on your desk. The one signed G.M.” He sighs. “I get it, okay? And I hope you’re happy. I mean that.”
Brennan’s expression shifts from surprise, to guilt, to annoyance. “You went snooping through my things and concluded that I am involved in a romantic relationship.”
“I wasn’t snooping-”
She shakes her head, something dark and defiant flashing in her eyes. “This is why I hate unfounded supposition. You had no evidence on which to base your assumptions.”
“It looked pretty founded to me.”
“And you truly believed I would keep something like that from you?”
The prepared retort dies on his lips. Her face is a study in controlled emotion, but whether it’s anger or distress or even fear lurking beneath the surface, he just can’t say. “Are you seriously telling me nothing happened?”
“That would not be an accurate statement, no.”
“Then why are you fighting it so hard? You found someone, end of story. You don’t owe me any explanations.”
“But you are laboring under a misconceived notion. One that, for whatever reason, is bothersome to you. Therefore, I believe it necessary to set the record right.”
“Straight, Bones. Set the record straight.”
There is a beat of silence between them. Something in her seems to crack under the weight of it; a chink in the armor he hasn’t bothered to breach in so long.
“I think it's important, Booth. Please.”
It's that please he can’t stand. How hearing it still twists him up inside, still renders him incapable of denying her anything.
He sighs in resignation. After all, wasn’t this what he thought would help steer their friendship back on track? “Okay. Say what you gotta say, alright?”
“I… I suppose you are aware that Grant and I became acquainted in Indonesia. His assignment was not specific to our excavation, but on the occasions that our paths crossed we discovered many similar interests. I had forgotten how grueling a dig like that could be. While it was a change that was necessary to my mental well-being, I began to feel… isolated. Restless in a way I can’t explain. I would often explore when it became too late to work, and eventually Grant began to join me. We became friends. I found his company comforting, but there was never anything more. Not then.”
He stays silent, not really knowing where she’s heading with this but dreading it all the same. That telltale knot in his gut has never been wrong. Brennan draws a deep breath as if steeling herself. He's never seen her be this hesitant, yet he’s riveted by the way she forges ahead despite her discomfort.
“Perhaps… the time away compromised my ability to rationalize. I admit that I allowed myself certain expectations, maybe even hopes, for our respective returns that seem childish in retrospect. As a result, I have found it… difficult… to adapt to the current parameters of our relationship. I’ve been alone most of my life, and have always preferred the solitude. But I don’t believe I’ve ever understood loneliness in quite the way I have experienced it these last few months. I continued to feel isolated, and restless, even in the company of those closest to me. In our time together, Grant expressed a sexual attraction. More than that, really. I had thought to use my trip to New York as an opportunity to broach the possibilities he suggested. But, it didn’t work out.”
The blood pounding in his ears is almost loud enough to obscure her careful words. She’s been withdrawn, yes, but he never questioned why. Too wrapped up in his own life, he hadn’t bothered with hers.
There’s a prickle in his spine; a horrible kind of certainty that leaves his instincts screaming in warning, but not quickly enough…
“I felt affection for him, Booth, I truly did. However, I found that embarking on something even in a fairly casual capacity carried with it the distinct sensation of being... unfaithful. Which is utterly ridiculous, as you and I are clearly not-”
“No, no, no, no, Bones!” He is out of his seat like a shot, thundering toward her. “You don’t get to do this. You can’t shoot me down and then say stuff like that.”
“I'm only being truthful. I thought that-”
“There's truthful and there's timely, Bones. And you're about eighteen months too late.”
He's never felt crueler than he does right now; never reminded himself so much of his old man. But the spell she was weaving has lost its hold, replaced by righteous anger at the ease with which she can still tie him up into knots.
Brennan gasps at the harshness in his voice, but stands her ground. “I didn't tell you this to upset you, Booth. And I'm not attempting to restore your feelings for me, if that were even possible. I... made a mistake. It was never my intention to hurt you, but I did, and you'll never know how sorry I am for that.” Her gaze falls from his, voice quivering. Tears, the wet, bitter kernels of her truth, weave their way down her cheeks. “I know that you've moved on. And I'm glad. All I ever wanted was for you to be happy.”
What he’s hearing can’t possibly be what she’s saying because she told him I can’t, crushed his heart with it, changed their lives with it, and if… then she can and she does and she did, even then, and-
“Jesus, Bones.”
It's like a suckerpunch right to the gut, and it levels him. He can’t catch his breath, wondering uselessly how it’s possible that she can still wreck him, even when she doesn’t mean to.
Even when he’s moved on.
He walks to the couch on leaden legs and sinks onto it wearily, dropping his head into his hands. His fingertips press tight against the temples, as if to contain the clamoring inside. A sudden wave of nausea nearly makes him gag.
The apartment is thrust into a vacuum of ghostly silence. Booth can feel her hovering, wraithlike-the specter he can never outrun. She finally takes a seat next to him. Her hand lingers just over his arm, close enough to make the hairs stand on end, but the indecision that keeps her from making contact is palpable.
He is grateful. The thread by which his control hangs could never withstand her touch.
“Are you okay, Booth?”
Her earnestness is salt on an already festering wound, and he laughs bitterly. “No, Bones. I’m not even close to okay.”
“I shouldn’t have said anything.”
The self-reproach in her voice makes him look up sharply. Her eyes are bright with the sheen of more unshed tears, and filled with such remorse that he forcibly softens his demeanor.
“Why did you?”
“I… explained my reasoning. You made a point about needing to know your place in my life. I thought you deserved to have that.”
“You picked a hell of a time to listen to what I need.” He swallows past the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for.”
“I knew that I would do something wrong, that I would hurt you. This…” She motions between them. “This just isn’t a skill that I possess. Do you understand now why I could not agree to pursue a romantic relationship with you?”
This whole situation has got to be some sort of karmic justice. Looking at her is like wading through the rubble of his life, and he can’t stand being trapped in the ruins.
Never before has he understood her desire to run so perfectly.
“Bones, I can’t… I can’t do this with you.”
His voice is brittle; the sound of something being twisted and bent until it can bend no more.
He can bend no more.
There’s no malice in it. He’s just not sure if he’ll survive rehashing this a second time.
Brennan nods disconsolately, not bothering to wipe at the steady stream now trailing down her cheeks. “I know.”
He wants to reach out, to wipe at her face and soothe her pain and tell her that everything will be okay. But he can’t. Through the anger, through the confusion and the despair, he knows that he cares too much to lie to her. The only thing he can do is pull himself together enough to carry on.
He’s got his hand on the doorknob when she calls out to him, panicked.
“Booth!”
He doesn’t face her, merely turns enough that she can see his profile. “Yeah.”
“Rebecca once told me… she once said that she believes there is a single moment for two people. I understand that we missed ours, but please, I need you to tell me that we can still work together. That I haven’t… that I haven’t made the mistake of risking our partnership a second time.”
She sounds frantic, desperate. And just like he couldn’t give life to her biggest fear last year when it nearly killed him, he can’t do it now. Certainly not when she made a liar out of herself and did change.
The fucking irony is caustic enough to burn a hole through his heart.
But this is something he can give her, even if he can no longer give her himself.
“We can still be partners, Bones. I just need some time, okay? I need to try and wrap my head around all this.”
He walks out before they can hurt each other further. But his legs are unsteady, and the world has spun completely off its axis, and he leans against the outside of the heavy oak door to catch his bearings. It is only a minute later, when he should have been well out of earshot, that he hears her quiet, broken sobs.
TBC