spoilers for Bones 3x15
for slashthedrabble challenge 'good idea'
It seemed like a good idea. Pretending to be so happy. He didn’t have a serious care in the world beyond making Bones laugh out loud or teasing Angela with a smile and a wink. Smirking, joking and behaving as if words like ‘breast’ and ‘sex’ and ‘penis’ had any meaning at all. As if they carried some offense that weighed against ‘mother’ and ‘love’ and ‘family’.
It could have been a good idea. In another reality. In a universe where Rebecca married him, in a world where he hadn’t spent years as a government trained killer. In a life that didn’t include the memory of shooting down a man at his son’s seventh birthday. Right in front of the boy because there was no other clear shot. Because that was his job. Because that was who he was. Who he is.
The voices were never silent in his head. The coded orders, the yell of his First Sergeant. The dying moan of a friend. Static on the radio and a constant buzz that vibrated just behind his eardrums. Sand in his teeth, dust on his tongue. The itch of dried blood on the curve of his neck.
The burn from the metal of the gun against his cheek and the way he got used to squinting against the glare that he couldn’t fully open his eyes for almost a year after he came back home. He’d become comfortable looking at everything through the veil of his lashes. Through the impartial cross-hair of a scope.
This false comedy had all the intentions of being a good idea.
Until the boy shattered his act. Until Zach stepped over the line. The one person he would never have suspected of anything more than jerking off to unpaid porn had nodded and acknowledged and admitted to murder, to a conspiracy that made no sense. That had no logic. That was not a good idea.
Seeley sat on the stairs and held Brennan’s hand. He supported her weight and her tears until she sighed and kissed him and left. He stayed in the shadows while the rest of the team drifted away and he waited for the answer. For the one man that could say that he felt the same.
The metal curved and bent, millimeters in change. The air warmed a half a degree as Hodgins sat beside him in the dark. Their knees brushed under denim and polyester and Booth kept the distance between them safe.
“Went home with Temperance.”
Seeley wanted to ask about the psychiatrist, but he felt his throat close in around his voice. He felt the suffocating rush of pain, the drowning betrayal of trust, the violent, twisted anger that arched into inarticulate rage at the loss.
“I just can’t-"
Hot breath on his cheek. Lips too close for public. The touch of tongue, heat on skin, a promise as Jack spoke and Seeley broke.
“I know. Come home with me.”