This is just a spoiler/speculation fic for the second last episode of the season based on the new sides circulating. If you're unspoiled, please don't read, but at the same time, it is a lot of speculation so I could just be completely wrong.
WARNING: Character death
Eitoph, you know the feeling of just needing to get a story up, which is why this one once again hasn't passed through you. Lol.
Disclaimer: If I owned Bones, I wouldn't even consider this story. Too sad.
Somewhere Only We Know
There are moments in life which have the ability to push two people together and then there are moments in life which can tear two people apart.
He sits by the headstone of his friend; this kid who died on his watch. He places a hockey puck by the assortment of flowers that adorn the cold grey stone. The last hockey puck Wendell ever took a hit at, the last hockey puck that glided through the goal before his life was abruptly cut short.
Broadsky was dead. But that brought no consolation to his aching form. Everything hurt and everything was numb all at once culminating in a sense of emptiness which would only ever be partially filled. He had tried once to describe the feeling to Bones. He had tried to tell her that after every kill, after every shot, a part of your own soul dies. He knew she wouldn't understand it when he told her, but after the week they've had, he believes she might truly get it now. She had been there when he pulled the trigger on their enemy, hell she had been there as Wendell's lifeless body fell to the ground. She had been there to save him from himself because Lord knows shutting himself out from the rest of the world would be a much easier alternative to this. Anything would be a better alternative to this.
He blames himself for this one. He should have seen it coming. Broadsky was after people who caused injustices to the world. Brennan had helped set her father, a career criminal, free. It couldn't be any clearer than that and yet the thought was so distorted and blurred that even as the bullet intended for his partner hit her assistant he didn't understand why. The puzzle pieces fell into place later as he replayed the images over and over in his head. Wendell had reached to grab a rib from the observation table at the same time a piercing crash broke loose in the lab. The glass from the shattered window above them rained down in a shower of disbelief.
They say it's a reflex to jump away from a dead body and he's ashamed to admit that he did. Brennan was on her hands and knees by his body in an instant though. Booth gave one thought to her safety before he saw her face and then he knew that it didn't matter to her anymore whether she was in danger. Wendell mattered; his poor crumpled body lying on the Jeffersonian floor, a shot that was meant for her head was embedded in his neck. The bustle of alarms and guards around them didn't reach their ears. Angela's scream, Hodgins' gasp, Cam's cry, they were all background noise to the sickening ringing in their ears. Broadsky wouldn't try again, not now, not when he had already missed once.
Booth pushes the puck closer to the headstone and closes his eyes against the tears. If he'd done his job and kept Brennan away from the lab, kept her hidden in a windowless room, the young intern would still be here.
They say some moments push people together and other moments tear people apart. As he feels Brennan's soft touch on his shoulder he knows that the death of a friend is one of those few moments which can do both.
When he tells her to write a date her hands tremble at the thought. He passes her a pencil and tells her that he wants this, he wants it so badly that he's willing to put it out to the universe, just like he did when he was a child and he wanted to go to the baseball with his father. As they sit there together on the seats that he claims his one true perfect day to, he asks her to write the date that maybe, just maybe they can try.
She isn't sure what guides her hand, but if Booth could see what she writes, he'd call it fate. And this time, maybe this time, she would agree with him because as her hand writes 'May', he folds his piece of paper containing the same three letters.
He takes her hand and they walk away from Wendell together, side by side, neither one knowing who is holding the other up. They pause for a moment when they reach his car and he takes a deep breath, "I want to take you somewhere."
She only nods as an answer, trusting him completely.
They drive in a comfortable silence, their hands joined over the centre console. For once Brennan doesn't feel the compulsion to ask 20 questions about their destination and Booth doesn't feel the compulsion to gloat about knowing where they are driving. The ten minute drive turns into twenty in the afternoon traffic and when they pull up at a familiar location she starts to understand what might be happening.
She walks behind him to the coffee cart. The man who owns the cart seems to want to close up for the day, but as he sees two of his regulars walking towards him he pulls together one soy latte and one regular to hand to them before he locks up his coffee machine for the night.
They sip at their drinks, completely in sync walking to their bench.
"Today, a year ago, we said we'd meet."
He nods, and they sit for a bit longer.
"Wendell was a good friend of mine, you know, Bones. He was a good kid."
"He had a very strong sense of morality, I would agree, Booth." She pauses for a second, "But that's not entirely what you meant, was it?"
He smiles a small smile, something he hasn't done all week, "It's exactly what I meant," Holding his coffee cup up he toasts, "To Wendell Bray, a man with a heart of solid gold."
And even though she doesn't see how a gold heart would be anatomically correct, she toasts too, "To Wendell."
The sun sets a little further over the horizon turning the sky a delicate shade of pink. If it were any other day they may have been able to marvel at the beauty of it, but now, right now was a time for staying rooted to the ground, it was a time for healing things which had been long ago broken.
"I wrote today, Bones. I want this. I want us."
She senses he's not finished and she is patient with him as he tries to compose his thoughts, "Life is too short. I've let you slip away too many times. I hate that Wendell's gone, but it kills me when I think of that bullet hitting you."
She reaches out to take his hand in hers.
"I don't want to miss out, Bones. I want to know everything."
She grips his hand tighter and he turns to see the tears in her eyes, "I wrote today too."
Coffee cups fall to the ground as he pulls her face to his, lips meeting in passionate bliss. The world fades to black around them and they ignore the sounds of passers by telling them to 'get a room'. Their world is contained in a very small space and nothing will penetrate what is theirs.