His Resolve, Hers

Summary: Thoughts on proposals in two parts, from his perspective and hers. He resolved to not ask her, because he's 0 and 2 in this department and this is the only pitch that counts. And she knows the science of attraction, but she's starting to believe that her love for him goes beyond scientific explanation. Spoilers for season 8, including finale. No angst, however.

He doesn't know how it comes to him - it's nearly as much a surprise to him as it is to her, but he is certain when he says it. "You're going to propose to me," he tells her, and she's immediately incredulous. She laughs it off, can't formulate a situation in which that might come about, and he just smiles.

Maybe he can't say for certain that she will, but he has a feeling. He has faith, and it's not a make it or break it deal, anyway. He doesn't need them to marry, not now, not ever if she really never wants to. Titles have never mattered to him. They were in love when they were just partners, they made a family out of a barely-born relationship, they are simply more than titles can convey. The only thing he does hope for is to be seen as married in the eyes of God, someday. But she's taught him to be a patient man, and he prays God will see it as a virtue, somehow.

And no, he doesn't know when he decided he wouldn't propose to her. It wasn't a conscious thought, but he's always known that she's never really seen marriage as necessary, never wanted that finality, and he's never wanted to mold her into something she isn't. She is beautiful and thoughtful and he fell in love with her differences to him as much as he did her similarities. Somewhere along the way, he just realized he couldn't put that pressure on her. Perhaps it has something to do with his own history of rejection, because he's 0 and 2 in this department and this is the only pitch that counts. He proposed to Rebecca and Hannah and it didn't work out in his favor; he lost them, completely, spectacularly. But he cannot lose her, simply refuses to. He loves her beyond anyone he's ever loved, would follow her to the ends of the earth, married or not.

Sometimes, his resolve cracks a little. Because she's beautiful inside and out, because he loves her, because his big, traditional romantic heart can't help but plan little ways he would propose. Reenactments of first kisses and first dates and Hot Blooded playing somewhere in the background. And the words would be simple, sweet, and them. So maybe that's why he'll mention marriage every now and then, because he wants to remind her. He is here, and always will be, and he is ready to take that leap the second that she is too.


Bones has always been well aware of the science of attraction, of love. There are chemicals and hormones, estrogen, adrenaline, dopamine, serotonin, oxytocin, and vasopressin all working in stages and together. And all the science says it doesn't last. Eventually those chemicals diminish in production, love fades, relationships end. Surprisingly enough, she isn't all that worried about falling out of love with him like he thinks. She just can't make the bet when the odds are stacked against her; someday, she thinks, he's scientifically probable to look at her and feel less than he does now.

And she's never wanted marriage for herself. Human monogamy is a construct, something seen as a duty due to religious myths and flawed logic. She doesn't need a piece of paper to designate what she feels for Booth, doesn't need a ceremony or something physical, doesn't need the legal status. They are happy now, as they are, and they have Christine and a home and life together.

But he wants more, and she knows it, has always known it.

He doesn't push it, and she's honestly a little surprised when he assures her that he never will. It's irrational, of course, to feel disappointment when she knows what her answer would have to be, but she kind of does feel a little sad that he's not willing to try for her even though he tried with Rebecca, with Hannah. But it's not because he doesn't want to marry her, he promises. He simply believes she'll be the one to propose to him.

And at the time, she's convinced she'll never understand his logic.

And then Pelant returns and targets Booth and it sends her into a frantic worry, far beyond any she's known. Suddenly, she's thinking of all the times she's almost lost him in the past, all the times he's almost lost her. She's thinking of when he had to fake his own death and she didn't know, and all the emptiness she felt back then.

Metaphorically, her heart aches at the thought.

And she sees him and she kisses him in desperation. "You are not allowed to die," she tells him, and she means it. He is not allowed. She needs him. It's in that instant she realizes it, with a warm, clear certainty. She needs him now, a year from now, a hundred years from now. She will love him as long as he lets her, and probably beyond. She doesn't believe in God or the afterlife, but if she did, he would be her Heaven. And if she can't have that later, she'll take it now.

She's never cared about marriage, but he always has. It would make him so happy, she thinks, to have the ceremony and the status and to be able to call her his wife. She wants to call him her husband, too. She just wants to see him smile when she says "I do." And she won't wear white, but their love and marriage will be the purest thing she's ever felt.

He'll be happy, and she'll be happy with him, for him, because of him. With all they've been through together, they deserve this. He deserves this.

And, come to think of it, he deserves his jerky too.