Louder than Words

Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with "Bones," except my TV, and someone else even bought that for me.

Author's Note: This is my first (and probably only) foray into writing "Bones." The end of "Woman in the Garden" really struck me, and I had to do something 'bout that. Hope it's okay with everybody.

When he'd heard that there was a contract out on Bones, his blood ran cold. For someone so brilliant, she didn't know how normal people functioned in society, and starting trouble with gangbangers was never a good idea, especially for a woman. Even if she was strong and seemingly entirely self-sufficient.

He knew that she was expecting him at the funeral, but he didn't want to have to go to her funeral. The thought of such a thing hurt him in places inside that he didn't know could hurt. And that some street criminal thought he could get away with threatening Seeley Booth's partner filled the agent with rage. As he drove, when he felt the fear seep coldly from his heart out through his arms and down into his stomach, he summoned that rage to bolster his resolve. If he gave in to fear, something might happen to her, and if something--anything--happened to her that he could have prevented… he would have let down not only her, but the rest of the squints, and himself.

He let the rage take over as he caught Ortez. It was drowning his fear, but he almost couldn't control the trembling that it brought. He had his gun against Ortez's forehead, and for a moment a distant part of himself recognized that he might have gone a bit overboard, but then he thought of her, and the possibility of her suffering, and reason shut down. Ortez seemed to believe that he was serious about using the gun, and he felt a grim satisfaction as the gang leader shivered with fear.

Afterward he sat in the SUV, unable to stop the trembling. He wiped away the cold sweat that had formed on the back of his neck and took a series of deep breaths. He was late for the funeral, and she'd give him hell for it, and that would be fine. Because she would be fine. She was fine. He repeated it in his head and knew it to be true, but he'd feel better once he saw her and saw it for himself.

What would she think if she knew what he'd just done? She'd probably think it was uncalled for, primitive, overly possessive, a mere display of male dominance, and any other host of disdainful terms. He hoped that at some level she would understand the why, even if she found the how distasteful. He hoped she wouldn't ask why and then make him try to explain his logic, when logic really had little to do with it. So he'd never tell her what he'd done, and he didn't think she'd find out.

By the time he reached the cemetery he'd pulled himself together, and the graveside service was over. He ran up with an apologetic smile, completely unsurprised to see the stony set of her jaw marking her annoyance with him, and completely relieved. As long as she was still vertical, even if she was walking away from him, he was happy. He wouldn't tell her about this, and he knew he didn't have the words to explain everything he'd felt that day. Words could fail and deceive, but there were other ways to express oneself, and actions did speak louder than words.