Rubble
If, a year ago, you had told one Doctor Temperance Brennan what she would be doing with her life, she would've laughed in your face and insulted you with a witty and intelligent remark. Even she could not believe that this had been where her life had ended up.
She was in a relationship. No, this wasn't one of those biological urge-satisfying, only good for the other person, emotionally distant relationships that she was infamous for having. No, this was that whirlwind, completely insane yet definitely right, one-of-a-kind relationship.
With one Special Agent Seeley Booth.
A year ago, this would've been impossible. But now, now she doing and saying things she never thought she would say again. She had told him that she loved him a month ago, and two weeks ago they decided to live together. The decision was made by both of them, which offered her comfort in the face of her relationship fears.
He, however, had wanted to start over in a new apartment, in a new neighborhood. He had reasoned that his was a bachelor pad, not fit for the type of woman she was. She, however, had argued that her apartment couldn't handle an active five year old boy and his equally energetic father.
So now they were packing up their things and moving into their place. It had been decided that they would help each other with their packing, to enjoy the other's company and maybe to discover little things that hadn't been known before.
She had insisted on packing her closet, telling him quite convincingly that a woman's closet was not a good place for an alpha male like him. He had agreed, and taken it upon himself to start boxing away her CD collection.
So there she was, sitting on the floor of a bedroom that didn't feel like hers anymore, trying to pinpoint where she had her change of heart.
The epiphany didn't come, not while she folded her blouses and arranged her nice dresses in a garment bag. She still hadn't figured it out as her shoes were piled into a suitcase and the various knick-knacks that were strewn on the floor wrapped and boxed with care.
Her work with the closet was almost complete. To the careless eye, it was as empty as it had been the day she moved in, but Temperance Brennan was not careless. She, just before declaring herself finished, noticed the shoe box tucked away in the corner.
This box brought back a big wad of emotions she didn't want to conquer alone. She hadn't been alone for almost a year now. He knew a little bit of this side of her, and she decided it was time he learned a little bit more.
She called out his name, her voice sounding strange in the nearly-empty apartment. He entered the room almost immediately, looking slightly concerned but just as handsome and comforting as always.
"I didn't want to do this alone," she told him quietly, motioning to the box. He nodded, not yet understanding fully, but sat down next to her and waited for the explanation that was sure to come.
Carefully, she opened the shoe box, blinking away the tears that threatened to fall. She hadn't looked at this in years, not since her grandfather had died while she was in college.
"This was my foster box. I made it after my grandfather got me out. He wanted me to throw away everything, but I couldn't. These things, they are a part of me."
Carefully, she removed each item placed inside and gave it to him to look at, explaining each one in detail.
There were the shoes she had told him about during a case, a pair of Keds that she had written, doodled, and colored on mercilessly. She watched as his fingers traced each swirl and word and pattern before turning the shoes over. On the soles, identical lists, consisting of ten names were scribbled in dark marker. Two dates were listed on the heels, about eight months apart.
"Those were the families that didn't work out," she reminded him, but he didn't need it, he remembered. "And that was how long I was in the system."
The next thing she handed him was a folded piece of paper, the creases worn and the edges ripped. He opened it carefully, reading the few words and numbers on the page. Underneath it, in a different ink, a crude and unflattering doodle of a woman with a beehive hairdo and cold eyes looked up at him.
"The social worker who handled my case, she gave me this paper with her phone number. I guess she thought I would reach out to her. When I was in one of the group homes a boy about my age drew the picture. He was an artist, always got in trouble for drawing when he should've been paying attention."
Her hands closed around the last thing in the box and she took a deep breath before pulling it out and passing it to him.
He was clueless for a moment, but after he opened it up his gaze sharply met hers.
"My trash bag, it held everything I had. I took great care that it never ripped or broke, even when I wanted to destroy it myself. At one point, it seemed as though I was worth only what was in this bag, because everything else couldn't be counted on."
He turned and looked at her then, taking in her emotions before pulling her to him in a tight embrace.
Later, she would tell him that she showed him the shoe box because she wanted their relationship to work out, because she would always be tied to him, and because she knew that she could always count on him.
A/N- So, how did I do? The only reason I wrote this is because my muse hit me and decided to keep beating me with a bat until I typed. Reviews are always appreciated. I hope you enjoyed this!
