Title: Three Revelations
Author: Lucy (somethingsdont)
Pairing: Booth/Brennan
Rating: PG-13
Timeline: 4.23, The Girl in the Mask
Summary: "Contentment is not the fulfillment of what you want, but the realization of how much you already have." -Anonymous
Notes: These two are really starting to grow on me. I hear that it happens. I've still got quite a bit to learn about writing them, so I hope you enjoy the fruits of my learning process! This little thing will (hopefully) be a three-parter about Brennan's revelations regarding her and Booth's relationship. P.S. I started this fic before the fifth game of the Pittsburgh-Philadelphia NHL playoff series, so the scores don't match up. Also, I actually hate the Flyers, but they happen to be Booth's team of choice, so sacrifices have to be made.

The First Revelation

Sometime after the second overtime ended, Booth dozed off. He'd been yawning since the end of regulation, but his beloved Flyers were on the brink of playoff elimination in a do-or-die game, so he'd forced himself to stay awake in support of his team. Two lackluster overtime periods later, however, he'd finally succumbed to his exhaustion.

Brennan was curled up on his armchair, a blanket draped over her body. She'd decided to keep him company and had remained quietly observant as he'd reacted to every shot, every penalty. She'd watched as his emotions had cascaded from revulsion when Pittsburgh opened the scoring to unadulterated bliss when Philadelphia had tied the game with moments left to force overtime. It'd been rather fascinating to observe, and Brennan had quickly learned that Booth commanded quite a colorful vocabulary when irate.

But now, except for the buzz of the television and Booth's light snores, his apartment was quiet, which gave her mind time to wander. She thought about what he'd said a day earlier, everything that'd happened with the case. She'd always been a firm believer that love was a notion invented by those with inferior intelligence and a severe lack of logical reasoning. And yet…

She turned to look at where Booth lay fast asleep on his couch. There were things he did that sometimes escaped her careful calculations. He'd taken a bullet for her. She remembered being angry that he'd done so, angry that he'd been stupid enough to jump between her and the muzzle of a gun. She'd wondered then what had prompted him to make a decision so rash and instinctive in nature, but at the time, she'd come up empty, hadn't properly understood the threads that weaved and defined their relationship.

Brennan recalled Ken Nakamura's words: If I was willing to give up my life for Sachi, why would I not be willing to risk my happiness for her?

Even though she refused to acknowledge any rationality behind the unconditional manner in which Ken loved his sister, what he'd said resonated with Brennan. Human beings were social creatures and yearned to connect; she understood that much. She couldn't, however, fathom the idea that emotions ran so deep and unreserved. She saw it those around her though; once in a while, she even felt something resembling what she saw. It frustrated her that she was as susceptible to an unfounded belief as others were. It meant that Booth was right; some things simply defied her observations.

Brennan turned back to the TV, where the game's third overtime period was beginning. She called Booth's name, but he remained still, deep asleep. Brennan shrugged out of the blanket and moved over to the couch, taking a seat at the edge near his hip. She reached out and touched his shoulder.

"Booth," she whispered. "Hey, Booth."

"Mmmuh," he groaned, turning away.

She tried again. "Booth, wake up," she urged, her hand finding his cheek. She pinched.

He jerked awake, his palm snapping to his cheek. "Ow! What the hell'd you do that for, Bones?" he demanded, simultaneously rubbing his cheek and his eyes. It was inelegant; it made her smile.

"Your game is starting again," she informed him, motioning toward the TV.

"What?" he asked, squinting at both her and the TV before it clicked. "Oh, the game. Thanks, Bones." He shifted himself into a more comfortable position, acutely aware of Brennan's lower back pressed against his abdomen. He tried not to move too much.

Just as she made a small gesture to return to the armchair, he slid a hand over her thigh. Surprised, she studied his hand for a moment before turning to observe his features, but his eyes were following the movements of the hockey players on the screen. She'd never been particularly good at reading cues, but she'd learned to read his. She stayed put.

Brennan had never been a big fan of sports, but Booth loved his hockey, and eventually, she'd come around to appreciate that it kept him happy. She wondered if that'd been what Booth had been talking about all along.

Seven minutes and three close calls later, Sergei Gonchar slipped a tape-to-tape pass to Jordin Staal, who rocketed the puck past a sprawling Martin Biron. Mellon Arena exploded in rapture. The game was over. The series was over. Pittsburgh was moving to the second round, ousting Philadelphia from the playoffs for the second time in two years.

Booth shot up from the couch, nearly bowling over Brennan in the process. "What the fuck was that?" he raged, his voice drowning out the sounds of ecstatic Pittsburgh fans. "Goalie interference!" he cried, pointing to the TV screen, where the entire Pittsburgh bench had emptied onto the ice in celebration. He turned to Brennan, eyes flaring. "Did you see that? Kennedy bulldozed Biron to the ice!"

Brennan responded with an amused smile. "You do realize that it is highly improbable your Flyers would have won three consecutive games against a team they had lost to three times in the past four games, right?"

Booth sunk back onto the couch with more weight than necessary. "They had a chance, okay, Bones?" he fumed. "Fucking Penguins. Who names a hockey team after penguins? They're small, fat, and can't even walk properly."

"Objectively, penguins are adept at maneuvering over snow and ice, despite their awkward gait," she countered, ignoring his groan. "Should their flippers enable them to hold hockey sticks, I would argue that they would make excellent hockey players."

Booth glared at her, not the least bit amused. "Are you done?"

She smiled. "Your attachment to your hockey team is rather entertaining."

He continued watching the television set, almost as if expecting it to rewind itself. Maybe it was an April Fool's joke, twenty-three days too late. But Versus had already moved on to post-game analysis, and Booth groaned again. "Losing to the Penguins is worse than losing to any other team, Bones. Ever heard of division rivals? Battle of Pennsylvania?"

"No," Brennan replied, shaking her head. "But that makes no sense. Statistically, a loss is a loss. The fact that you derive a greater sense of satisfaction from defeating a certain team is absurd."

"Does every criminal you put behind bars feel the same?" he challenged.

Immediately, her mind conjured up images of the Gravedigger sitting smugly in the interrogation room while Booth's time ticked away. "No," she replied, pressing her lips together as he tossed her a gotcha look. She picked up the remote and turned off the TV. "I'm sorry your team lost, Booth," she offered.

"Always next year." Booth rose again, stretching slightly. "You want something to eat?" he asked, heading to the kitchen.

"I'm actually satiated," she replied.

She followed him to the kitchen anyway, squinting against the sharp kitchen light. She took a seat at his table and watched him rummage through his fridge. He finally pulled out a slice of leftover pizza and, after grabbing a plate, he slid into the seat opposite Brennan and took a bite.

"I've been thinking about what you said," she said suddenly, her eyes meeting his.

He slowed mid-chew. "About what?"

"About… being worth it, to love someone," she answered, carefully studying his reaction. "I have arrived at the conclusion that our relationship already rests in the vicinity of this concept."

His eyes darkened, and he had a bit of a deer-in-the-headlights look about him. His cold pizza went forgotten in his plate.

"I was speaking with Ken," she continued, "and I realized that we spend an exceptional amount of time together when we aren't required to." She paused, waiting for him, but when he continued to stare wordlessly at her, she pushed on. "I believe that our relationship comprises all the prerequisites."

Booth finally found his voice. "I'm glad you realized that, Bones," he replied, "but love is, you know, it's implicit. There are no equations where you can plug in the numbers and crunch out an answer. It's just something you feel."

"But you agree with my observation," she stated, searching him for confirmation. "That we must love each other," she clarified without much fanfare.

He nodded. "We do," he reassured her.

She thought back to all the times he'd been there, everything he'd done and said. She lost count. "Is it worth it for you?" she asked, this time knowing his answer was the same as hers.

He couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. "Always."

She mirrored his smile. "Me too."

A/N: Second revelation to come hopefully this weekend! An in-the-pants kinda revelation, if you know what I mean.