A Booth and Brennan One shot.

Based on the ending of the penultimate episode of season 5, of the Fox show Bones.

I do not own anything. No Copyright Infringement Intended.

And just like that, fate had played us an ever familiar card.

I don't wave goodbye, but I want to, and suddenly feel a strong sense of what people call 'déjà vu'. Otherwise known as paramnesia, which originates from the Greek would para, meaning near or contrary, and often implied in relation to memory. Usually, when one experiences said déjà vu, it is caused by a stimulant of vivid images, which affect the temporal lobe, and is always a repeated memory. People who say it is a memory from a past life, or a future warning are wrong or deluded and should seek professional help.

Anyway. Fate.

Ridiculous, I know, since fate does not logically exist in a rational mindset, or equasive form of thinking. I know that.

I'm Temperance Brennan, who is usually very aware of these things. But in this particular case, I have to question; why am I feeling this?

Booth is a good partner. His mental drawbacks most likely due to an excessive secretion of emotional hormones and natural brain stimulants sometimes fog my logic, but it seems we are a suitable match. More than suitable, at times.

Over the recent years, I've learnt a lot from him. About socializing, and how I am lacking in useful information of the subject. And about the heart.

Granted, I'm sure you understand I mean the metaphorical heart. The heart that can contain and conjure feelings of empathy or passion towards another human being, or in fact, in some cases, material objects. Anyway, Booth has taught me that this heart is at times just as important as the real organ of the same name, and must be looked after with the same care and priority.

But I still don't understand.

Five years ago, the two of us nearly consummated a night of what would have been, without a doubt, ever satisfying intercourse and an exciting new prospect, but for reasons that I don't find to be of any statistical importance, we did not.

Since then, I've felt a particular closeness with Booth (after the initial hatred shared shortly after our failed affair). Yes, we are very good at our jobs, and spend almost everyday in each other's company, but I feel as though, there is 'unfinished business'. Issues that I should be resolving now, rather than beginning another circle of uncertainty and regret.

If I were by any means, as open as Booth, or Angela, or as irrational and impulsive as Max then I'd stop the cab and run back. No, in fact, I wouldn't be in the cab to begin with. I would stay with him.

Stay and talk, and listen, and accept his ever accommodating arms to make me feel better. To reassure me and make me feel safe.

I would want to nourish this ridiculous feeling in my stomach and hold him close to me, bring his lips to mine and tell him what I should have told him that night he became the gambler again.

I'd tell him that this feeling, love, does exist in me. And that I feel it completely for him.

I'd tell him that watching him watch me, the second time, is filled with double the amount of regret than the first.

But I'm not like Booth. Or Angela. Or Max.

My eyes are still locked with his, but he is becoming a smaller figure by the second, and then he turns. Slowly, but definitely. And now I am watching him walk away. And inside, I feel cold, empty, and alone.

And in an instant, I question and conclude.

Evolution is inevitable.

To survive, we have to adapt to new environments, physically and mentally. But we do what we do to survive. It's instinct. It's nature. An anthropological necessity.

And that very second, I do the only thing that I believe will logically keep my metaphorical heart beating (assuming that although metaphorical, it cant still beat).

"Wait, stop the cab."

I don't even wait till the vehicle is stationary and I leave the door open, which I'm sure inconvenienced the cab driver, and then I run, without planning, without thought or logistical validation.

"Booth!"