Hi again... so I know that the flood of post-finale fics is daunting, but I hope this one sticks in your mind. I know that I always have the problem after reading a bunch of fanfiction of all of it meshing into one giant angst-fest in my mind, and only the really good ones stick out. Hopefully this is one of them for you guys.
You turn the pages of the photo album slowly, frustrated and lost. Vague little details come floating to the surface with each picture – she paints, he scuba-dives. Slowly, you're remembering everyone.
Except her.
You could hear her scrabbling in your kitchen. The occasional clink of glasses or faint slam of a cabinet door will float through your apartment into your bedroom.
You stop, looking at a picture thoughtfully. It was obviously taken without either your or her knowledge. You were opening the door to the diner you've seen frequently in other pictures, grinning impishly. She was glaring at you through narrow eyes, obviously about to say something. You get the feeling this kind of thing happened a lot.
You slam the book closed. You want to remember so badly.
"Dinner's ready," she says softly. You look up and are guilt-ridden to see that she still hadn't gotten rid of that look – sadly questioning your every move. Every once in a while, you'll say something, or do something, and hope will flare up in her eyes, only to be extinguished seconds later. The last time this happened was when she caught you staring at the rosary hanging from your rear-view mirror.
"Why are you staring at that?"
"I'm Catholic. Really Catholic."
"…I don't believe in God."
"Oh. I guess we'll have to disagree, then."
She had confessed her lack of faith almost hopefully, and poorly concealed her anguish at your lack of argument. Did she want you to lecture her about the importance of religion?
"Thanks," you say, snapping out of your reverie. You follow her silently to your kitchen. This seems right, somehow. Sitting here, in your home, eating a meal together.
"Did we do this often? Eat together?" you ask after a moment. She looks up from the food she won't eat and nods sadly.
"All the time. It was something of a tradition. After a long day, or a difficult case…"
"Tell me about them. The cases," you ask.
She deliberates for a moment before acquiescing.
"There was one from early in our partnership… a killer involved in the mob sent me a pair of kneecaps he had removed from our victim. You refused to let me be alone. You came over to my apartment that night. You thought you were going to stay on my couch," she says, smiling.
"Go on," you prod, feeling like a child at story time.
"You were…" she stops herself, deciding on something. Something to tell you? Maybe something to leave out. You don't push her on it. She'll tell you when you're ready.
"You went to get a beer from my fridge, and the only reason the bomb that was meant for me didn't kill you was because you were reaching for a glass at the same time."
She's speaking in the same unattached, clinical tone she reserves for retellings. You wonder what would happen if lost some of that control.
"…I got blown up?" you ask disbelievingly. A tiny spark returns to her eyes. It fits within them. You want it to be there more.
"Yes. And then, when you realized that the killer was the agent you had assigned to watch me, you left the hospital without being discharged. You still had multiple broken ribs. Hodgins drove you to the warehouse where the killer had tied me up. You gave Hodgins your bulletproof vest, led the team into the warehouse, and shot the killer. That was one of the first times you've saved my life." She finishes her narration by looking up at you, gauging your reaction.
"I really did all that?" you ask quietly after a moment.
You both know you can't remember.
"Yes. You're a very brave man," she informs you.
You eat in silence for a few minutes. The fact that she's merely pushing her food around doesn't escape you.
"You should eat," you tell her. She sighs and looks back up at you. Her eyes are rimmed red.
"You always used to get me to eat more. I could have sworn you thought I had some kind of eating disorder," she tells you, a tiny smile on her face. You can't help it; you grin.
"Did you ever listen to me?"
"No. Yet you still somehow got annoyed when I stole your fries at the diner," she replies. She's nearly laughing. You decide you like this.
"I like making you laugh," you confess. She nods, the smile slipping off her face slowly.
"You always did. You were always trying to get me to lighten up."
Her words sink in and you look away uncomfortably because you both know that won't happen anytime soon. You finish the macaroni and cheese she made for you, noting that it was amazing.
"Thank you. I love macaroni and cheese," you offer. She looks sad again, searching within your eyes for the answer to some unasked question.
"I know," is all she says before collecting your plates (hers still full) and putting them next to the sink. She turns on the faucet, about to wash them, when a memory springs unbidden from the abyss of your mind.
She's crying, admitting to a travesty from her childhood. Her foster parents had locked her in a car for two days because she broke a dish. You had vowed then and there that you would never let her go through that kind of pain again.
"Don't!" you say suddenly, getting up. She spins around, confused.
"Don't what?" she asks, utterly lost. You go over to her and turn the faucet off.
"I remembered something. Your foster parents locked you in a car… because you broke a dish. It was… unfair," you say, struggling with the wording of your confession. You can tell this information makes her happy, despite the atrocity of the story.
"Yes, Booth. That was a few months ago, in Sweets' office. We were… comparing scars."
She has the hopeful edge to her voice again. You close your eyes, praying for more of the memory. She's still looking at you when you open them again.
"I can't remember," you say finally. Her face falls, like you knew it would, but she nods, accepting this.
"I'll take what I can get," she tells you. "For now."
"For now," you agree.
So? I'm trying to decide between adding more to this, making this the first of a series of unrelated post-finale oneshots wandering around in my head, or just leaving this be. Thoughts? Leave me a review and tell me what you think!