This little one is just based on some spoilers and I guess a different way to look at them...

Let the record show that I actually don't mind Catherine, but I'm not all for loving her either. ;)


Disclaimer: Once I thought I owned Bones...but then I woke up. Still not mine, folks.


Tequila and Rain


A bottle of tequila sits between them on the top level of the Jeffersonian. They let their legs dangle over the edge, shoes off, swinging back and forth at random intervals making no noise in the already silence created by the two sitting there.

It's dark outside and the lights of the Jeffersonian illuminate the lack of activity on the lower level. It's Friday night and everyone has a life outside of work.

The two drinking figures knock back another shot in silence, their minds not processing how drunk they are, their bodies not ready to move. The alcohol burns through their throats; it makes their eyes water and their mouths wish for something else to hit their tastebuds. But they continue.

It is a silent agreement that they entered into. A silent agreement to drink until their heads spin and they can't remember the pain.

Because lately, all there is, is pain.

Their eyes meet sometimes, but they look away from each other before it can be acknowledged. Choosing instead to look out over the lab and let their thoughts consume them.

His mind casts back to earlier that evening.

The appropriate memory functions are already trying to block it out, or perhaps he's reached the point of fuzzy memories due to the alcohol. Whatever the reason, he can only catch snippets of the argument in his mind.

Parts that he really did not want to relive.

"I hate you."

He hangs his head and pours another shot for the two of them, noticing the lightness of the bottle, knowing they should stop before they reach an empty bottle.

He lets the alcohol burn its way through his system and settle with a distinct fire in his stomach before turning his gaze to his partner.

"We should get a cab."

She doesn't look at him, but nods, scared to open her mouth to speak. Scared of what words might escape her.

She notices that though they both need to go and get some sleep, neither one of them makes a move to get there. She figures it's going to take many, many hours for the alcohol to work its way back out of her system, so what could be the harm in waiting a little longer for a cab?

She watches out of the corner of her eye as Booth checks his phone and her stomach feels a little queasier.

He's still holding out hope.

She reaches out to hold his hand and looks at him truly in the eyes for the first time since they uttered such hateful things to each other.

His body stills and tenses. Her hand slips into his.

"I'm so sorry."

He pauses and then puts his phone back in his pocket. Her stomach eases.

"It was never going to work out anyway," he pats her hand reassuringly.

His hand stills on hers and stays. Holding on.

They sit like this for a long time. Hands intertwined and unknowingly, their minds are settled on the same thought as well.

The difference between happy and content.

He would only ever be content with her, with Catherine, and he knew it. Because the happiness he wanted was fused to the woman sitting beside him. And yet, it still stung...the rejection.

The reason why.

"Catherine, I have to cancel tonight. I have a case to wrap. I'm sorry."

"You're with Dr. Brennan, aren't you? I should have known," a sigh, "I should have known."

He blamed her.

"I can never be happy because of you!"

"I'm not stopping you."

"You're not helping me either!"

"What are you saying, Booth?"

"I hate that I love you."

"I can't help that!"

"You can, leave me alone. Just leave me alone to get over you."

"You're leaving me?"

"It was bound to happen anyway, right? You can't hold onto any meaningful relationships."

"I hate you."

And somehow, through the haze, a bottle of tequila had been pulled.

Booth swings his legs around and stands up and calls for a cab to pick them up, his head spinning, but his desire to get home more prominent, "Come on, Bones."

She stands slowly and clings to his hand once again.

Outside, the rain pelts against the windows, the only noise between them as they move inevitably closer to each other.

It started with tequila and rain.

"I don't really hate you. I couldn't."

"I know."

They sit, teetering on the edge, one way into content, the other way into happiness.

She chooses the former.

He chooses the latter.

As always.

"There's a team in Indonesia who have been asking for my help on a dig. It would be a year, which would give you sufficient time to..."

"Don't go."



His lips brush gently over hers, their presence barely known in the whisper of a kiss. There's tequila all around them and they both know how drunk they are, but they both know that this is as good as it's going to get.

He chooses the latter.

And suddenly, so does she.

The clarity is overwhelming and she pushes herself a little harder against him, kissing him a little more. Holding him a little tighter.

Somewhere through the noise of the rain and the gentle beating of their hearts, they hear a car horn, a cab signalling for them. They pull apart and with no time for words, run towards the Jeffersonian exit.

The rain pools on their skin, on their clothes as they climb into the cab together, finally heading towards the same destination.

It started with tequila and rain; it would only be poetic for it to end in those things also.


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