Page 37 of Bones

Bones’ confession sends me into a tailspin. My heart races even as I try to control what I know now are trauma responses. My brain screams that I can’t trust Bones while my heart is telling me that it’s not true. That it can’t be true, because I love Bones and he’s supposed to love me.

Paul said he loved me too.

I sit up, clutching my arms over my chest to hide my nakedness while I try to keep my breathing under control. Desperately trying to fend off the looming anxiety attack, I start looking around Bones’ room.

My shirt on the floor.

My panties tangled with my jeans.

He broke people--the way I was broken.

The stack of photographs that I’d looked through.

He loves me, though. He would never do that to me.

The white blinds covering the window.

The pile of dirty laundry shoved in the corner.

The bed shifts behind me preludes Bones’ voice. “Sloan?” He sounds as shaken as I feel. The air moves and I flinch away before he can touch me. Agony lances through me. I didn’t do it because I don’t want him to touch me.

“Bones.” I twist in place, my heart aching and mind spinning like I’m strapped in one of those old g-force rides they put astronauts in.

He’s moving towards the end of the bed, yanking his pants up and refusing to look at me. The bond that should be there between us, the thin connection I’d been ignoring while cradling close, is closed off between us. The tattooed rictus grin counters the pain filled grimace on his face.

I want to tell him that it’s okay, that I understand. That I . . . that I don’t think he’s like them? Even when his words and past tell me otherwise? There’s so many things I want to give voice to but the words aren’t coming. When he pushes up onto his feet, I scramble to follow. The panic inside me splits in two. One: that he’s right and I should leave him before I’m the next one he hurts. Two: That he’s about to shut me out of his life forever and break my heart in some unnecessary heroic gesture.

As I reach for him, a hard pound on the door has both of us looking towards it.

“Bones. Sloan. We leave for Cerberus in five,” Reaper’s grim voice bellows from the other side. “Stubs has Xavius’ location and we need to move before we lose the opportunity.”

“Got it,” Bones calls back before stooping over to grab his shirt from the floor. Can Reaper tell his voice is thick yet brittle? Thatthe two of us are waiting for the ice to break underneath us, plunging us into a reality neither of us will be able to escape?

He yanks the shirt on over his head, covering up the miles of muscled torso I’d just been running my hands over while he fucked me into oblivion.

I grab his upper arm, uncaring that I’m naked while he’s already dressed. I don’t care that I’m heading straight into a death spin of an anxiety attack and mental shut down. I’ll hold the damn thing back by sheer force of will for the next few minutes, even if that means the crash will be worse later. It’s not even that Bones is worth it, though he is.

I’m worth it. That’s the best thing I’ve learned over my twice weekly sessions with Dr. Grayback. My future happiness is worth confronting and pushing through the hard things.

He stills at my touch but he won’t look at me. That’s okay. I don’t need any bond between us to feel the pain and rejection pulsating from him.

“We don’t have the time to fix this right now,” I get out before swallowing. My throat is so damn dry and hoarse. “I just need to know thatyouknow I want to figure this out. Whatever figuring this out looks like.”

He tries to shrug out of my grip, but I refuse to let him go. “What is there to figure out?”

God, he already sounds so defeated. Like he’s already given up on us. Anger shoulders its way in between my dual panics. My blunt nails dig into his skin and I throttle his arm until he gives me the decency of his gaze. “Is that it, then? You’ve just decided without me?”

His brows narrow, before he runs a hand through his dark hair. “Fuck. Sloan. I don’t know what you want me to say.”

I shake my head and let him go. My movements are sharp and jerky while I pull on my clothes. Men are so fucking stupid sometimes. “I want you to say that we’ll figure this out,” I snap while shoving my foot into my jeans and hobble in place beside the bed. “I want you to say ‘I love you, Sloan. We’re in this together.’” Jeans on, my shirt is next and I practically growl as I shove my hand through the neck hole rather than the sleeve. When I’ve figured it out, I whirl on him and close the space between us. I point at him, poking him in the center of his chest. “I want you to say that this isn’t the end of it for us.”

He captures my hand in his, his eyes falling closed. He’s gripping my hand like a lifeline, and finally I feel a crack in the wall he’s built between us. It’s a crack made from hope but pain is the only thing leaking from it. I don’t have any idea what I’m doing but I recall the intense affection and belonging I’d felt with him during our lovemaking. I picture wrapping that feeling around him, pushing through the pain in that crack to show him a better future.

Bones shudders and the crack grows wider, opening the bond between us a little bit more. My own anxiety is calming, I realize, as I focus on building the connection between us. My own fear is still there, but it’s quieter. It’s being pushed into the background, like it should be. The anxiety’s grip on me is lessening. It’s still there--I think it’ll take years until this reaction is gone.

I step into him, resting my forehead on his chest, trapping our hands between us. “You aren’t that person anymore. I’m not the same person I was months ago. Just don’t decide what happens to us without me.”

Bones doesn’t answer, but he squeezes my hand briefly and presses a kiss to the top of my head. He lets me go and coughs to clear his throat. “Reaper is expecting us.”

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