Disclaimer: I own nothing; for fun, not profit; etc.
Setting/Spoilers: None. Place this anywhere you want. If I had to pick I'd say late season two, early season three.
Notes: This was written because I frankly don't believe that someone as observant as Brennan would not recognize the weight of Booth's words and gestures. It's more likely she hasn't the first clue what to do about it, deciding instead to go anthropologist on its ass.
oOo
Contrary to popular belief, Brennan is not entirely oblivious to the extent of Booth's emotions where she is concerned.
It's not a precise knowledge, nor could it be. The first rule of anthropology is to leave no trace of oneself in the study, to remain on the fringes of existence itself. She knows it instinctively: Observe; immerse; imagine the scenario as though you, the anthropologist, are surrounded by an impenetrable bubble, semi-permeable to allow only for communication.
She had been faced with a curious dilemma when first faced with Booth's roundabout declarations and physical gestures, a wild sort of anthropology that refused to be boxed or neatly defined, all rules that rightly should exist falling carelessly by the wayside. Objectivity had naturally gotten lost in the muddle of emotions that, by their very definition, are both personal and subjective.
As a scientist, she acknowledges she should never have begun such a study. Everything about it is wrong.
She's found her lack of knowledge regarding pop culture is an easy veneer to hide behind, especially given the fact that in real life situations ignorance feeds ignorance. Where she has been willing to let every other relationship slide by as it might without any real attempt to identify its critical mass, its singular breaking point, she has been compelled by forces she doesn't understand to treat this particular relationship differently.
The details are not simply in that he looks at her or speaks with her, but in the manner in which he does so. There are nuances so numerous layered into the thick subtext of everything he does in her presence that she cannot separate one variable for another. There is no control to use in comparison, namely because as both subject and experimenter she cannot have any herself.
This first, mild realization arrives over what Booth calls 'comfort food'. It's late enough at the diner that the waitress is bussing the last table and sweeping the floor, the lights dimming in a mood reminiscent of endings and sad goodbyes, sudden wind storms and goosebumps.
They're talking about a case when she suppresses a shiver, tries not to trip over the word metacarpal, the taste of the intimately familiar word suddenly sharp on her tongue. She takes it well, all things considered.
He starts to comment on her wide eyes, the odd lilt in her side of the conversation; she steals one of his fries. He bats her hand away with a look around his eyes that belays his words, and she smiles, and they leave before they're kicked out.
She catalogues it all, files it away in her brain for cross reference and a later disambiguation.
She remembers him saying once that simply because she doesn't believe in a higher power, it doesn't mean his God doesn't believe in her; More things in heaven and earth, Bones. It had been intended not to frighten her, but to make her consider possibilities far outside her own, studiously crafted realm. She assumes – she feels justified in doing so, in this case – the same holds true for his definition of love.
There is little she can do in light of this revelation she comes to, on a cold, wintry night in November at approximately 11:10 inside her office; and so she tries not to do anything to encourage it, voids left by her mother and father and brother whispering to stay objective, genocide victims and the muted lights of Limbo spinning around her mind until she almost cries from the near devastation of it all.
Booth asks her what's wrong when he picks her up at 8:00 AM the next morning. She can only see the red numbers of her digital clock burned into her visual cortex like a branding. Alpha male, she thinks – she's stopped mentioning it, but has never stopped making the comparison in her mind.
She's silent for most of the car ride. Booth throws her concerned looks, keen and all-too tangible, for the duration, but respects the silence.
She's counting down to zero hour.