Rating: M or R for language
Word Count: 269
Story Notes: This is a dialog ficlet set in the future. Booth and Brennan are romantically involved.
Warning: This isn't pretty.
A/N: As always, I would love to hear your reactions.
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Click here to read the other drabbles in this series.
"Can't do what?"
"Can't or won't, Bones?"
"Does the distinction matter?"
"Yeah, it does."
“Fine then. I can't give you what you want.”
“What do you think that is?”
She stares at him in silence, her face a book he can no longer read.
“Jesus, you won't even say it. Love, Bones. Love.”
“Whatever. I can't give you that. Friendship. Sex. That's all I can give you.”
“I want more than that.”
“I know. But I can't be the one to give it to you.”
“Be honest, damn it. It's not that you can't love me; it's that you won't let yourself. Man up, Bones.” He knows he should be more gentle with her, but there's a burning in his gut, and he can't stop the words any more than he can stop what he feels for her. “Are you going to hide behind what your parents did to you for the rest of your fucking life?”
“This isn't about my parents—”
He barks a laugh. “Sure, and if you believe that, I have a bridge to sell you.”
“What? I don't—”
He cuts her off. “It means you're full of shit.”
“This isn't productive,” she says, and turns to leave.
“God forbid we ever be anything less than productive and rational. Not everything fits into your fucking scientific framework,” he calls out to her retreating back.
“Go to hell, Booth.”
“Trust me, I'm already there.”
After his front door slams shut, Booth sits with his head in his hands—until the sunlight streaming in through his windows fades.