Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Bones show, except a copy of the season 4 DVDs. Although, I did contemplate buying a copy of one of the books that inspired the show...
I have thought of many ways to begin this letter. Not only do I believe that the greeting 'Dear Booth' is overused in its entirety, but it does not begin to portray even a fraction of how I feel. The word 'dearest' has many connotations, but how I most remember that word is when I think of my dad talking to my mother, when he thought no one was around to hear. Most endearments used today are tossed around so casually that they begin to lose all meaning; something I refuse to let happen to us.
You once told me that "people who work in high risk situations can't be involved romantically," and it was then that you drew a line. We both stayed on one side of the line, and I believe that it has shaped who we have become since then. The line has helped us evolve into who we are, and will continue to make us who we will become.
I will never be more thankful that we stepped over the line.
In one of our more recent cases, you told me that there would always be one person that we love the most. I find that I must, once again, reevaluate my beliefs. I love you, Booth, more than I ever believed possible. You have taught me that love is more than a simple hormonal shift, or a chemical message sent through the limbic system. It is an electrical burst of energy that consumes entirely; a fire that, once ignited, will not extinguish. You taught me that.
I have thought about what you said to me when we began discussing our living arrangements. You said, "You are going to ask me to marry you." At the time, though I tried very hard to hide it, I was intrigued by the notion. You know that I do not understand societal norms, although I am improving. I worry endlessly about our child, and how she will grow. I worry that she will be like me, socially awkward, and cold. If I could ask your god one thing, it would be for our daughter to be like you: warm, loving, and caring. I constantly seek to find the calm that you seem to possess when it comes to life.
I love you, Booth. I love that you care enough for me that you worry about splinters in my toes, and that you love me enough to help me understand colloquialisms and pop culture references. You help me be a better Bones, and I can't love you more than I do now. Not only do I love you, but I also love your son, and this child that we have created together. A physical manifestation of your own virility, and soon a living symbol of the love we feel for each other.
You know that I have always believed that you should have a good reason for marriage. I have spouted beliefs that it is an archaic institution, and I have adamantly stated that I do not need a piece of paper to remind me of my commitment to another human being. I have refused to believe that monogamy is the only way to live life, and anthropologically, that is true. However, as much as I hate psychology, I now know this to be false. The sting of rejection is not one that fades over time. It stays with you, and leaves a bitterness.
While in a relationship with you, I have realized that anthropology, once again, has it wrong. Monogamy is a way of showing your significant other, as well as those in the outside world, that you have promised your commitment and love to one person, and one person alone. For me, that one person is you, Booth.
You're the gambler. You believed in giving this a chance. Giving us a chance. When you talk to older couples who have been in love for 30, or 40, or 50 years, it's always the guy who says, "I knew." You knew, right from the beginning. You're that guy. You knew. You knew, and even now, you know. While I still don't believe in fate, I knew, too.
Will you marry me, Booth?
A/N: It has been such a humbling experience, trying to write, post, and everything else that comes with a story. To all those authors who do this on a regular basis, I now have a respect for you that I could not understand before. You're my heroes.
