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Things have changed a lot, again, in their lives. In his life.
He had officially retired from the FBI. With the kids getting older and their activities getting more demanding, it made sense for one parent to be at home more. There were extracurriculars and sports teams and debate and tutoring and study groups and more friends and two kids who needed rides all over town everyday.
Besides, he’d been back and forth between the Rangers and the FBI for his entire adult life. Over 35 years of dedicated service for his country. He’d lost countless friends, people who were close enough to be considered family.
If he could admit it to himself, he was old and was tired of serving his country.
Bones had finished her first set of novels and was onto her second in her spare time. She was still on at the Jeffersonian and he knew he had a small chance of pulling her from her work even in the afterlife; she was a dedicated forensic anthropologist through-and-through.
His kids were well out of diapers now. Parker was practically living with his long-term girlfriend, Christine was old enough to be going off to an academic summer camp for high schoolers all by herself, and Hank was starting middle school next year.
It was a different life for all of them.
He sits at the counter in their kitchen, fiddling with the medallion. It runs it over his fingers mechanically like his poker chips used to. The serenity prayer looks up at him from one side of it, visible then not as it flips over his knuckles.
Change.
The cycles of life never seemed to slow. One day easy, another day hard. One week simple, another chaotic. One month happy, one month full of grief.
And boy, had there been a lot to grief over the last twenty-something years. His parents, his brother, his grandfather. Max. His best friend twice over, first in Parker and then in Sweets. More soldiers and scientists lost in the line of fire due to their line of work. He'd spent many long years, long nights, long hours thinking and working through it all. His therapist had taught him what "feeling statements" and as much as they infuriated him, it was a good tool to have.
Tonight, and really for the last few days, he's felt alone.
Christine and Hank were over at the Hodgins-Montenegro residence, Christine likely hanging with Michael Vincent and Xander, Hank bothering Angela about her art and her process, a little sponge for any creative endeavor he could get his hands on. Hodgins had promised to drop them off later, loaded up with pizza and social adrenaline.
Bones was working late, like she often did when her work got busy.
There were years past when he would’ve been out chasing his own adrenaline as well. Sitting in some smoky casino, betting a days wages and then two days and then up until a week, trying to calculate how much he could risk while still being able to pay rent the next month.
Then he’d met Bones and in a whirlwind of emotion, decided that he was done with it. GA meetings became his regular Friday night thing, driving all over the DC metro area to get to one if he needed it. He’d even driven deep into Virginia for a meeting once, just because he’d needed it. He'd slacked off a bit over the years, trying to get to one a few times a year if he could manage it but sometimes... life just happened and he forget.
However, he was extremely unlikely to forget his relapses any time soon, but especially the most recent one before Hank was born. The shock in Bones’ bright blue eyes, how betrayed and tortured she'd looked when she realized fully what he'd done and how he'd put both her and Christine in danger. It was a look that haunted his nightmares, a look he’d never wanted to be responsible for. He’d promised to love and cherish and protect her and he’d broken every vow in the book because he hadn’t been watching for the signs.
The shame was almost enough to temper the cravings on their own most of the time.
But the shame was a weird creature, both self-deprecating and self-defeating. He felt like a piece of shit for even thinking about it with all of the things that he could lose. He had the perfect life and he was still considering risking it all for some cheap thrills. Then he felt like he didn't actually deserve everything he had, which made him wonder if it it was even worth it. Why try to resist if he'd just give in eventually?
How could someone like him even be good enough for his wife, for his kids?
Sometimes, sometimes the escape and the thrill, the cheat and the game where he was in control of the chaos and the risk, felt like a pull he couldn’t resist.
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change…
The coin loses the balance from its spin and falls dully against the cold stone countertop.
Like a stroke of fate, the garage door opens.
“Booth, I'm home!” his wife's voice calls, the words stretching out as she sing-songs slightly.
“In the kitchen, Bones!” he calls back, picking up the coin with a snap.
It has a solid weight in his hand.
“How was work?” he asks as she comes into the kitchen, her briefcase over one shoulder and her other hand holding a bag of takeout.
“Long, but good, I was able to identify the remains of those three bodies and Aubrey was able to leave in pursuit of a suspect as I was leaving,” she answers back, throwing her stuff on the stool next to him, “I got Thai!”
He can’t help but feel excited. “Thai? Just like old times.”
She grins as she turns to pour herself a glass of water. “I thought the same. And that it might be nice, without any kids in the house. I might actually get a full bite in without breaking up an argument.”
He nods, his thoughts elsewhere. "Good, good."
They sit at the table, not unlike they used to in the early days of knowing each other when they used to stare affectionately at the other over a takeout box. It used to be a constant in their lives and now, of course, the constant has shifted into something that includes their children in almost every aspect of their lives. The ever-energetic Hank bounds into their room in the early hours of every Saturday morning, begging to be taken out back so he can practice his hitting. Christine sleeps in late but stays up late too, beginning for midnight snacks of pancakes and bananas while she loses herself in a book.
The coin sits on the table in front of him and his mind wanders.
He can admit to himself that all of the change of his life, the shift from the excitement to the monotony, is giving him cravings. He’s craving some rush of adrenaline that he’s no longer getting from work and from being around the house so much more. The jolt is something he doesn’t feel often and while he knows he should be grateful that his life is so much safer than it used to be, his palms are practically itching with the urge to call someone up, place some bets, watch some sports, look at some stats.
“Something on your mind, Booth?” Bones asks between bites of spicy pumpkin curry.
He stops before he thinks, another symptom of his old age.
“Yeah,” he says, because he knows it's the first step.
She swallows and studies him.
They’ve been together for 15 years and have learned some surprising things about each other even as they’ve grown. Bones had become a mom and then a mom again and they’d raised their family, all five of them together in a chaotic slice of heaven.
Those 15 years have afforded her some more social grace, little by little and a bit begrudgingly, but she has learned nonetheless. He’s thankful for the space she gives him, letting him come to his own conclusions.
She doesn’t push him now, just watches him curiously as she eats, waiting for him to fill the silence himself.
“I’ve been having some cravings,” he admits finally. It's not the first time he's said those words to her, but it's been years, at least 5 since they've come out of his mouth.
She swallows again.
“Okay,” she says.
Her gaze makes him feel like he has to defend himself. A panicky feeling comes up within him, a thousand scenarios running through his head.
“I had been slacking on meetings a little bit," he says in a rush of words, "but I’m going to one again tomorrow."
She smiles softly over her glass of water. “Okay, Booth.”
"I already contacted my old buddy, remember Brian? He's gonna go with me.”
He shifts uncomfortably in his chair. Her gaze doesn’t feel like judgment but it feels like… something.
“Goddammit, Bones, will you say something?”
Her gaze from her food turns back to him and he can’t help but study her, looking for clues of how she’s feeling behind that stony exterior.
“I mean, what do you want me to say? I’m proud of you,” she says with a shrug, like she’s saying nothing when really, her reassurance is everything to him.
His breathing comes a little easier. “Yeah?”
“Of course I am,” she responds instantly, serving herself more. “You’re having a craving and that’s to be expected but you told me and you already have a game plan.”
“I thought you’d be…” He struggles for the right word. “Pissed. Or worried, at least.”
She shakes her head like she doesn't understand. “How long have you been having cravings?”
He shrugs. “I dunno, a day or two.”
“You’re going to want to gamble sometimes, Booth,” she says with that smile that melts him into a puddle on the floor, “Cravings aren’t a problem unless you’re hiding and denying them from yourself and… and from me Which you haven’t.”
His exhale is heavy. "Jesus, Bones, warn a man before you get all sentimental, would ya?"
"Did you expect I would be mad?" she asks in surprise. "That I would doubt you and your commitment to your sobriety and our family?"
He shrugs again. "I've fucked up before."
"That was a long, long time ago," she says, her fork punctuating the point. "The human psyche can undergo a remarkable amount of change in that amount of time."
"But—"
She interrupts him. "And you're proving that change right now with the way you are handling the current situation, Booth. By being honest with me immediately."
"I mean sure, but—"
"Do you not want me to believe in you?" she asks suddenly, her look incredulous. "Do you want me to tell you that you're an awful human and a bad partner and an unfit father? Is that what you want to hear?"
Her reading of him sends heat rising on the back of his neck.
Is that what he wants? For her belief in his to have a finite ending and to be given a clear excuse for going off and being self-destructive?
No, he realizes even as the thought crosses his mind, it isn't.
He wants to be the husband she deserves, and maybe the vast majority of him is.
"C'mere, Bones," he says, pushing away from the table a bit.
She looks at him bewilderedly but comes to him anyways, standing against the table between his legs.
He runs his hands up the outside of her thighs and rests them on her waist, his thumbs running gently over her stomach.
"Thank you," he decides on saying seriously, finally.
She doesn't speak, just looks down at him and runs one hand into his hair, scratching gently at his scalp. It feels like heaven and he's tempted to let the words he wants to say fall to a place where they’ll never be spoken, where words he'd never get the chance to say go, but he carries on.
"I don't know if I'm the man you deserve," he says, tilting his head back to look at her honestly. "But sometimes you really know how to make me think I just might be."
She smiles, leaning down to kiss him gently, pulling back up.
"You are a good man, Seeley Booth," she says after a moment.
"You—" he swallows thickly, "you make me a good man."
"No," she replies, her voice insistent. "You are a good man."
The tears well up then and the shame he's been feeling over the last 48 hours for the cravings seem to wash away with them. He lets it roll over him in waves, the shame and the support and the faith that his wife has in everything that he can be. It's a soothing, healing balm to all the self-defeating thoughts he didn't know he'd been having. She's a steadfast, unshakeable sustainer for him.
He doesn't know how long they stay like that, his forehead resting gently against her stomach as she runs a hand through his hair, a comforting hand resting on his shoulder.
The takeout and the medallion sit on the table, long forgotten.