A fanfiction about Booth and Bones... from the POV of Booth. "Let me go" means "let me go to the death"


"Who will it be?"

"Me," we both say, although Bones hesitates.

She looks at me with some alarm. I return her gaze with a steely, determined eye of my own.

I turn to her as the watchers give us sacred minutes of privacy with which perhaps to say good-bye, for each to try and talk the other out of going. Before her rose-petaled lips can part either to admonish or deter me from my mortal decision, I cover them gently with a hand, a hand capable of delivering swift death in the form of a bullet, yet also the most loving caresses. However, it is neither of these actions that my hand performs now; it functions merely to silence her, though her voice is lovelier than coming home alive.

Although I silence her, I am willing to sacrifice the latter for the former...one last time. For now, she must listen.

Her marble-greened eyes glitter, though not with tears. Each strand of auburn hair seems to have been placed meticulously to augment her beauty, a rare thing that casts a warmth which repels the sinister chill one feels when within the grip of such cold steel walls and their sentinel gaze.

I sit down on the equally cold iron bench before her; she mimics me. Still covering her satin lips, I begin:

"Let me go, Bones. Now listen to me. There are tons of special agents out there, each just like me. If I let you go, not only will I never forgive myself, the world will be the worse for wear." This I speak quietly and firmly, though each word is in full actuality a fine, fragile piece of glass, belonging to a picture of shattered hope. Each shard cuts into me ever deeper; I am forced to swallow the blood before continuing. "No one on your little squint squad knows a quarter of the things you do. You give people the truth, the facts, the knowledge of what really happened to a loved one so they can stop worrying. True, in some cases, they stop hoping, but it's a safe stop. No more nights of uncertainty, no more nights of thinking of the worst possible torture befalling said loved one."

In a sudden surge of emotion, she knocks my hand away; the action surprises both of us. Anger flashes in her eyes. "Yes, and without you, I can't bring those harmful people to justice! There are other special agents out there, Booth, but ... there's nobody truly like you." The anger recedes. I feel her eyes drilling into mine, and I am momentarily defenceless to her drilling.

"Bones..."

"Who knows if the other special agents are even going to be willing to help us like you have? In the beginning, you treated the sign-on like just another paying job, but in the end, we all grew on each other, grew to know each other." Her voice is astringent with urgency and conviction. "You became part of our team, Booth. Part of our family. And we don't let just anybody come in like that. There are not tons of other special agents out there, each just like you." Relentlessly and easily she throws my words back into my face.

This is why I will miss her.

"I don't know what other way there is to convince you, Bones, but in the end, it's gonna be me." She is clueless about the song reference. Again, another reason why I will miss her. "I get my way when I want it. And I need it." I push her stare back, not trying to overpower it but to throw some authoritative juice into mine. "Be realistic --"

"I am!"

"--you're not expendable--"

"And neither are you!" Her voice rises in defiance laced with more anger. "I'm not letting you go, Booth!" Suddenly I am kissing her. My lips press against the rose petals on her lower face, at first meeting resistance, but then I am welcomed with a ferocity borne of what they call sweet sorrow.

The door slams open, the resounding clang as hollow as my heartbeat, my chest. As the killers enter, more burly beast than man, I pull away. "Think of this as my parting gift." I stand and walk backwards while the men are coming forward for me.

Huge, thick hands enshackle my wrists, holding on so tightly that pain shoots up my arms and into my chest.

But it is not more painful than the look on her beautiful face, nor the knowledge of never seeing her again, never calling her Bones again... never visiting the busy lab or her squint squad again.

I am unable to tear myself away from her eyes. Eyes full of regret, she is letting me look into her mind, which she never has done. I feel that I am only slightly betraying her, but I am letting her go.

Letting her see the sun.

She will have to see it for me now.

As the locks are applied to the iron rings bolted to the table which hold my wrists and ankles (the classic places for shackles), I turn and face her one last time.

I do not see Death approaching, do not feel sad. Of course, this could be partly because I cannot see the syringes they are filling up with air and planning to plunge into my veins. Oh, I can't see them, but I know what they're doing.

Not all harmful people are secretive.

I allow a small smile to flit across my face as the first gap reaches my heart. It's strange, this fluttering. There will be more of it.

Again.

It seems as though my very soul is trying to break away from my chest cavity. I'm in a dream state.

See it all for me, Bones.

I'm counting on you.