Shrink

30

The case is closed. We leave the day I'm discharged from the hospital (again). As I round the corner with a new prescription to fill, I see a small gathering by the entrance of the hospital.
Doctor Brennan and Booth, Sweets and Daisy are all waiting on benches by the door.
"There she is, finally," says Booth, leaping to his feet and sanding his palms together. "we can hit the road."
Before I even really realize what's happening, everyone is standing in a flurry to get to the cars.
"You fail to realize I still haven't packed," I voice somewhat sheepishly, balling up my baggie of pain meds like a lunch bag.
"Already done," says Daisy. "I hope you don't mind, I packed your things for you."
My face must have shown some form of shock or discomfort, because she backtracks.
"I just put your things where they would fit, I didn't look at anything," she says gently, and I nod, reassured.
"Who's riding with who?" I ask, suddenly aware I'm the odd one out, glancing at the two happy couples.
"Well," says Doctor Brennan. "since you and Doctor Sweets are both invalids at the moment, you'll both be flying back, to minimize your discomfort. Daisy will drive Sweets' car."
I blink, and steal a glance at Sweets as he tugs his sweater closed over his Doctor Who tee shirt. He doesn't make eye contact with me.
Daisy gives me a grin, and a pointed look that I can't interpret.
I nod. "Alright."
The nearest airport is mostly quiet, and Sweets and I breeze through security after being waved off.
The mounting tension I had felt at the hospital seems to double every minute.
Once we're at the gate and Sweets' leg is at a comfortable angle, the silence becomes difficult to bear.
I watch him begin to count the other people at our gate, and then drum his fingers in what I can only assume is a symphony of music in his head.
His left hand belts out what I can only imagine are intense chords, when suddenly his jam session lands his fingers cresting the back of my knuckles. He hesitates slowly, glancing at me, with his fingers pressed delicately into the back of my hand.
I feel the need to say something suddenly.
"Sweets, I"—
"Passengers boarding for Washington, we will now begin to board first class," chimes the stewardess over the loudspeaker.
His hand had jumped and his fingers had slid in between mine.
"There's things we should talk about, Papillon," Sweets says quietly as we gather our things.
I wordlessly hand him his crutches, and we proceed to get in line.
In the air and seated by the emergency door by the front of the economy section, a silence laps over us.
"What were you playing earlier?" I ask.
Sweets turns from the window to face me, his brown eyes always serious.
"What?" he asks, not rudely, just curiously.
"You were playing air piano," I say, imitating him, and earning a chuckle.
"Ah," he says, and stares at his left hand, resting on his knee. "do you read music?"
I tilt my head. "I used to, kind of rusty now."
"You tell me what I was playing," he murmurs, reaching up and pressing on my knuckles like keys.
In slow sequences, I can hear the inaudible melody of The River Flows In You, and I lean my head back delicately to listen.
When the final notes are completed, his fingers rest where they are, and he closes his eyes.
"Could you hear it?" he asks quietly, his lips barely moving.
"Yes," I breathe, and turn my hand over and let his smooth palm fit over mine.
His eyes don't open, but his fingers rub slow circles over mine.
"Sweets," I say quietly. "what about Daisy?"
"Can we talk about it when we land?" he asks, tilting his head towards me.
"Wow, a shrink that doesn't want to take part in important emotional discussions, I must be in opposite world," I sigh dramatically.
The corners of his mouth tilt up into a wry smile.
He leans further over and rests his lips on the crown of my head and murmurs, "I just wanted to relax now and talk later. My meds make me tired."
Finally, he reclines again, comfortably napping, my hand in his.