"Before I built a wall I'd ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out"
"Something there that doesn't love a wall
That wants it down."
Something There That Doesn't Love a Wall
"That was seriously the coolest gift I've ever gotten," he said, laughing as he held open the door to the bar for her to precede him through it. She smiled at the joy in his voice, but he noticed that it didn't quite reach her eyes. He'd noticed that a lot in recent weeks, and he knew the reason for it; he just couldn't bring himself to examine it too closely, not yet.
"You're very welcome, Booth," she replied, sliding onto a barstool. He couldn't help but recognize it was the same one she'd been seated in two weeks ago; he suddenly wished they'd chosen somewhere else to end the evening, anywhere but here, or at least chosen a different corner of the bar to occupy. His hesitation seemed to tip her off and she stood awkwardly. "This wasn't such a good idea."
He found himself unable to answer, eyes rooted on the spot where he'd sat that night. He jumped when he felt a gentle, tentative touch on his sleeve and looked down to see the concerned face of his partner staring up at him.
"I have a better idea," she said simply, and he nodded, allowing her to lead him out of the Founding Fathers and into the street where he blindly followed her down familiar paths until he realized they were standing on her doorstep.
His brain immediately went into a panic as he realized he hadn't been to her apartment alone since his return from Afghanistan, that it was too soon for them to be this alone together and that he really, really didn't think it was a good idea but before he could form the words he found himself inside, breathing in the familiar scent of sandalwood-scented candles and a faint, lingering hint of the bath products she used. He inhaled it softly, remembering how she'd told him about finding it online and being amused by the name of the company that sold the all-natural products and how all the different scents were named for poisons or something like that.
"Datura," he whispered, unaware that he'd spoken the name aloud, oblivious to the curious stare she pierced him with as he closed his eyes. That was the name of her favorite fragrance. She'd tried others, he knew. It was one of her bizarre quirks, telling him which poison she was wearing that day. To him it was just the scent of Bones: the scent of a beach in Hawaii, flower-laden with musky undertones that made him think of long, moonlit nights kicking up sand while the ocean lapped at his feet and exotic birds called from the lush vegetation at the shoreline.
The feel of her hand on his arm for the second time brought him back to reality and he was surprised to find that he couldn't remember when she'd touched him last before tonight. It was as though – he swallowed before even thinking the name – Hannah's arrival had put up a wall between them, an invisible barrier that prevented not only physical connection but the emotional and mental connection they used to share. He wondered briefly what that wall's purpose had been, to wall out the aspects of their partnership he could no longer handle in the wake of her rejection or to wall in his own feelings. Her hand was still on his arm and he smiled softly down at her while she pointed towards the living room, indicating that he should make himself at home, something he knew he hadn't done the few occasions she'd had them over for dinner since they returned. He braced himself again as he admitted to himself that he hadn't wanted Hannah to see how much time he used to spend at her apartment, how comfortable he was there. Another wall. It seemed he was good at building them.
As he sat in the silence of Bones' living room, a scotch in his hand and more drunk than he cared to admit, he found himself speaking softly, deliberately looking out the open window towards the skyline and the stars above it so that he wouldn't have to see her face.
"I'm as detached as you in my own way, you know," he started. "Always building walls and creating lines, things that people can't cross. There were always things you knew you couldn't talk about, things I just wouldn't talk about, no matter how hard you pressed: Rebecca, my father, the things I did to help Jared, the things I've seen and done with the Army. You never stopped trying, I'll give you that." He paused, thinking harder than he'd really thought about things in a long while.
"I was worse with Hannah," he said, proud of his voice for not breaking on her name. "But it was easier with Hannah because she never asked. All I do is build walls, Bones. And all you do is tear them down without any regard for what might be behind them, what I might be trying to protect with them or how desperately I might need to keep that one wall that makes it possible for me to still work with you. And every time I think that you've finally barreled into the wall that keeps our partnership functioning, the one whose destruction is going to end everything, I find out that I'm wrong. I've got to wonder if there actually is a wall that keeps us working or if we run off pure stubbornness at this point." He allowed a wry smile to slip through as his eyes darted over to see how she was taking this.
Her eyes were downcast and there was a faint sparkle of tears in the corners of them. Her hands were clenched tightly in her lap and her knuckles were white. But there was the barest trace of a smile gracing her lips and he sighed in relief. They were going to be fine. He said it aloud.
"We're going to be fine, Bones." He watched her face, and smiled when she looked up at him, hope shining in those eyes he knew so well. "I know I've put up a lot of new walls lately. First the ones I put up while I was with Hannah and then the ones I put up two weeks ago. But you're a stubborn, determined woman and I know you'll break them all down in no time. Just wait it out and you'll see."
It was the only encouragement he could offer her. Somewhere inside of him, in the part of Seeley Booth that hadn't been crushed by Hannah's rejection, he knew that his feelings for his partner had never entirely faded, that he'd simply pushed them down, down, down until he could pretend they didn't exist anymore. He knew that they would rise to the surface again, dominating his heart until he'd reach the point that he had tried so hard to forget while he was in Afghanistan. But he wasn't going to push them, and he wasn't going to push himself or her. He'd once told her that all good things happen eventually, and he'd meant it as a promise then – a promise that if she would just wait then he would eventually prove to her that she hadn't made a mistake by letting Sully leave without her. He meant it as a promise now, too, and he saw the understanding in her eyes.
"You know, Booth, usually I find metaphor to be extremely difficult to understand," she began in her squintiest tone, and Booth found himself laughing. They really were going to be okay, he realize as she launched into an explanation of the vagueness of metaphors with the light of understanding shining in those beautiful eyes.
