Love Letters

Prologue

Seeley Booth was at his wits end. There was no way he could deal with his pain any longer. He had to find a way to show her how much he cared. There was nothing else he could do. If he worked, he'd want her opinion. If he wanted to go out to eat, he'd invite her to come along with him. If he took a nap on his couch, he'd dream about her. He couldn't escape.

What he wanted to do was to charge his way down to that lab, take her in his arms and kiss her relentlessly. That wouldn't work, however, because that would be too direct and make her feel uncomfortable. His mind couldn't come up with a feasible way of showing his emotions. It wasn't like he could ask anyone's advice either; nobody at that lab could keep a secret to save their soul and his buddies at the Hoover building would make fun of him. Where was there a beer when you needed one.

An idea had suddenly dawned on him as he stared at the desktop of his computer screen. This would have to be done smoothly and quietly with just a little insider's help from a certain artist.

Letter One

Temperance Brennan walked into the Jeffersonian like any other day she would. She checked in with Cam for lab results and Hodgins for isotope analysis and then go to her office to check her email. When she came into her office today, she saw a very neatly folded piece of paper resting on her keyboard with her name on it in unfamiliar script. She opened it and quickly read through it like she would a crime report. This, she soon realized, was no crime report. She looked at it with wide eyes and went off in search for Angela.

Brennan charged into her best friend's office. "Do you know about this?" she asked.

Angela looked up at Brennan's distressed appearance, "What is it, sweetie?"

"Take a look," Brennan said while sliding the paper in front of her. Angela read:

"All things uncomely and broken,

All things worn-out and old,

The cry of a child by the roadway,

The creak of a lumbering cart,

The heavy steps of the ploughman,

Splashing the wintry mould,

Are wronging your image that blossoms

A rose in the deeps of my heart.

The wrong of unshapely things

Is a wrong too great to be told,

I hunger to build them anew

And sit on a green knoll apart,

With the earth and the sky and the water,

Remade, like a casket of gold

For my dreams of your image that blossoms

A rose in the deeps of my heart.

-your Secret Admirer

"Aww…Brennan, it looks like you've got a certain someone pinning for you." Angela said as she finished the enticing read.

"But who would go to the trouble of writing me an entire poem?" Brennan asked confusedly.

"Oh, someone didn't write this, this is William Butler Yeats that wrote this. Someone is just trying to send the message that they think you're beautiful and there's a place in their heart for you." Angela replied.

"Since when do you know so much about poetry, Angela?" Brennan said.

"It's the artist in me, sweetie, and I started reading so I would know if Hodgins was cheating on his poems to me." Angela said with a smirk.

Brennan sighed. The raw emotions of writing poetry had always been a little foggy to her. "What should I do, Ange?" she pleaded.

"I would just wait it out a little sweetie, until you can actually sit down and think rationally who would send you a beautiful love poem. Who knows? Maybe it's Booth." Angela said teasingly.

Brennan laughed despite herself, "This doesn't seem like the work of Booth to me. I've got to get to work. Lunch later?"

"Of course." Angela replied as Brennan stormed out of her office. She waited until Brennan was on the forensic platform, engrossed in a human body, before she whipped out her phone to send a very short text message saying:

First one down, hope u know what ur doing

She hit send without a second thought. She prayed he knew what he doing.