After watching the season finale last night, I was compelled to write this little one-shot, in which Brennan is mulling over her thoughts…
*Spoilers for Finale*
I thought the finale was brilliant – I mean – Hart Hanson really knows what to do to keep the audience hanging. What I really liked about the episode (and the show in general) is the fact that it is written so that it can be interpreted in different ways, I think that it's the only show around that does that.
Personally, I thought that the storyline is a mixture of Brennan's writing and Booth's dream – like for example, if she read some of it out aloud, and his subconscious picked it up…or something – I'm going to stop babbling now because I'm starting to not make sense.
Ah, one last thing, for those of you guys who read my multi-chapter fic, 'Unbreak the Broken', there will be another chapter up soon (possibly Tuesday), I'm not leaving it to one side to pursue other projects, it's just that this was begging to be written! ^_^
Many thanks to Daruma, my beta for editing out all those silly mistakes.
Enjoy, and remember, for each review I receive, a kitten will be saved from a tragic and untimely death!
'Who are you?'
You blink, and let out a small sound that could've been a whimper, but you're not sure. The man – no, your friend – doesn't stop gazing at you, a sad expression reflected in his brown eyes. You remember when those eyes twinkled. How they darkened with desire until they were almost black when he was describing passionately, enthusiastically, what made love different to sex. Sometimes – although you'd never admit it out loud – you could've sworn that you were the cause of his pupils dilating, or the cause of their sparkle. And you were happy.
'S' alright, Booth,' you manage to croak. But no, it most definitely isn't. And you're not answering his question.
Why are you not answering the question?
Maybe it's because if you do, if you have to verify – or prove – who you are to him, all of it. All of that… time – and all of those…moments - would have been for nothing. And that would break your heart.
You love someone; you open yourself up to suffering, that's the sad truth. Maybe they'll break your heart. That's the burden.
If you could cry, you would, but you've found that suddenly you've lost that ability. It's not fair, you think. Someone is taunting you, aren't they? They've led you to discover something, something that you can't have.
You can't have love. No, no you can't. Why? Is it because you don't deserve it? Because you think you do. And it's taken you a little less than five years to acknowledge that.
'Do you know me?' your partner asks feebly, regarding you carefully. You feel your heart constrict a little – he's never looked at you in this way. It's the way that he stares at suspects when he interrogates them. When he interrogated them, you mean. The gleam in his eyes is suspicious.
You don't think your heart could constrict any tighter.
'Yes,' you reply quietly. Your voice is hoarse, but you haven't been shouting. The suspicious gleam disappears, but the sadness returns to his eyes.
'I don't know who you are.'
A lone tear trails down your cheek, and falls onto your hand – the one that's intertwined with his. It slips underneath your fingers, leaving a damp trail across your thumb.
'I know.'
But you wish you didn't - you wish you couldn't know. There is no way, no possible way you can accept that he doesn't know you. Usually you pride yourself in knowing everything, because that's what makes you special. But you don't want to be special if it means that he can't remember you.
'I'm sorry,' he says, squeezing your hand – and your heart. So are you. You're sorry that you ever met him. You're sorry that he's lying here apologising for something that is completely out of his control. A second tear falls. This time it lands on the back of his hand.
'Are we married? Or engaged?' he asks, turning his head slightly.
You think back to the story you have just deleted from your laptop – back to Mr. B and Bren.
'No,' you manage a tiny, wavering smile – attempting to do anything to keep a third tear from falling. 'My name is Doctor Temperance Brennan. I'm a forensic anthropologist that works at the Jeffersonian Institute, here in Washington. You are Seeley Booth, an FBI agent, and together we catch murderers. We are just work partners.'
There it is again. We're just partners. Why do you feel that it is necessary to remind him of that?
Is it really him you are reminding? Or is it you? Either way, you know that you were not 'just partners'. Because 'just partners' don't have lunch together every day, nor do they stay at each others houses overnight if they've been going over paperwork until late. 'Just partners' don't put themselves at risk – and don't behave in other irrational ways when the other is in danger. Neither do they go ice-skating together, after solving a case. Neither do they give each other nicknames.
'Hmm,' Booth nods, closing his eyes. You hope that he will go back to sleep, and that when he wakes up he – the real him – will be back, and that he will call you 'Bones' again, and that he will wrap you in his arms and run his fingers through your hair to comfort you, and that he will explain catchphrases and sentences that you don't quite understand. Oh, how you wish he would do all of that again.
'I think I love you.' Turns out he wasn't asleep after all. Something moves within you – a feeling that either makes you want to sob or laugh, you don't really know. Is it a fluttering feeling or a writhing one? He frowns in thought. 'I just get the impression that there was more to us than that, y'know?'
'Yes. I know.' Of course you know. But it's too painful to remember, isn't it? It's too painful, but unwillingly your brain flicks through all of the memories, one-by one, metaphorically bound in a large book inside your head, the covers well worn by the number of times that it has been read.
'There's this line and we can't cross it--you know what I'm saying?'
You knew that that had been easier said than done.
'Bones, just take the brain, ok, put it in neutral—then take the heart and pop it in overdrive.'
At some point over the last four days, in between fitful sleeps and restless hours of waiting, you began to think with your heart, and not your brain. The frequent episodes of frenzied writing that had produced a world in which your unspoken, subconscious desires were revealed could account for that.
And how you had waited for him to wake up. How you had hoped to tell him of your discovery – of how you had finally discovered what love was. And that he was the reason for it all.
Oh, remembering is too easy for you. If only it could be that easy for him. If only his book of memories hadn't been padlocked, if only the key to it hadn't been lost.
You wish you could find his key. For once, you forget how irrational wishing is.
* Cries*
Oh, how unbelievable was the end of that episode? It was so heartbreaking, and I tortured myself by watching those last minutes over and over. But really, it was a wonderful episode.
And now what, we have to wait until September (probably longer for me in England). I mean, do they want us all to die??
Please review and tell me what you think. (And if you like, message me with your opinions about the finale!)