Disclaimer: I do not, nor will I ever, own anything Bones-related. The show is simply so great that it inspires all of us to pay tribute to it.
Summary: Brennan POV, last scene from "The Titan on the Tracks", Episode 2X01. BB future implied.
The Answers by the Grave
As I stand facing away I can feel his eyes on me.
Part of me feels foolish for talking to a headstone in front of an audience, and another part of me feels foolish for not knowing what to say. Afterall, I am constantly around the deceased, you would think I'd be comfortable talking to them.
But this is different.
This is my mother.
And Booth knows this is different and therefore hovers just within ear shot, lending his support. Pretending he will not be listening to what I am going to say.
We both know better.
We've gone through this several times before. For instance, when he didn't go get that funnel cake as he said he would at the fair in North Carolina while I went to talk to Russ. Instead, Booth just backed away slightly and then stood there, across the path, leaning against a metal barricade, watching me.
Making sure I was ok. Ready to swoop in to rescue me from harm should I need him.
Just like he is doing now.
And I love him for it.
I frown at the forcefulness of that thought jumping into my head. It is not the first time it occurred to me, but the strength of the emotion still has the power to astonish me. Almost every day, with every new experience we share, my feelings for him grow.
I wonder if I will ever get the opportunity to tell him so. I hope I do.
All I know is that, without him, the last few months would have been unbearable. How would I have ever gotten through finding my mother -- dead! -- without his support? And surely, I still wouldn't be on speaking terms with Russ - I owe Booth so much for the chance he gave me to heal those old wounds.
He also is the only one that understands the pain I feel when I think of what my father did... what he had done in his name...
As I stand here by my mother's grave, thinking about my dad, the words I thought I would not find do finally start pouring out of me, and I vocalize my confusion over my warped family and my doubt in my dad.
How can I believe any fond memory I had of them, knowing what I know now?
I ask for guidance, for answers which I know I will not get from a headstone and a plot of ground, but I wish so much that she could answer me, help me work through the uncertainty and disorder.
I wish she could hug me, stroke my hair, and whisper in my ear that 'everything will be ok' - the way I remember her doing when I was young.
The knowledge of her death is more than merely a reminder of the family I lost, the could-have-beens: It also means that there is one less person that can explain why my family fell apart all those years ago. And that if I don't find my father, there is no one else who can.
But the more we dig up about my family's past, the more another question continues to grow in my mind: Is ignorance bliss? Do I truly want to find out who my parents were? Who my father still is? Or will it shatter the last bit of faith I have in my parents, extinguish the last bit of hope I have to piece my family back together some day so that I am no longer alone?
...Alone...?
As if on cue, I hear Booth's feet shuffling in the grass a few yards away and feel his eyes boring into me. I take a deep breath and will the tears that are stinging my eyes and have been threatening to fall to subside. Him being here, watching me, reminds me that I am not alone, at least not in the literal sense. And if I'm honest with myself, not even in the figurative sense.
And I am thankful for that.
Once I feel that I am back in control of my emotions, I chance a glance at him and catch him staring. He quickly looks away and again pretends not to be paying attention to me until I say his name. The understanding he feels for me shines in his gaze when he finally turns to look at me.
Then I do what I do best: Scared at how well he can read me, I hide emotion with sarcasm and a flippant remark, stating that I did not receive answers to my questions. He steps towards me and easily parries my remark by quipping that I should show a little more respect by not actually standing on top of my mother's grave, but then his voice quickly switches to a softer tone when he explains that I might need to be more patient. He encourages me to leave the flowers anyway.
I lean forward, humoring his request to "do what people do", as he had instructed me earlier. But, unable to back down from an argument, I do not let him win so easily and continue to state my skepticism over the usefulness of this entire trip to the cemetery.
As we comfortably fall into our usual banter, I see something small in the grass, the sunlight reflecting off its surface. Before I can even truly think about my actions, my trusty latex glove is on, and I pick up the object to inspect it.
A small silver dolphin.
I drop it into one of my evidence bags, which I seem to carry with me wherever I go these days, and step back, pondering the meaning of its presence here.
Booth, ever the romanticist, interprets it as proof of my dad's love and devotion to my mom and, ignoring my protest at his obvious tainting of evidence, takes the dolphin charm back out of the bag and hands it to me. Is this really evidence of my father's good heart, of my parents' love for each other?
This is one of those moments when I wish I could believe in the same things as Booth does.
Have the same faith in love as he does.
And as I stand there looking at the tiny silver token of affection my father left for my mother, Booth watching me, I find myself seeing the item as just that.
No matter what awful things my father might have done, at least he must have loved my mother to seek out her grave. Does that restore my faith in my dad? In love as a whole? I'm not sure yet, but the thought of it is beautiful.
"It's beautiful," I hear myself say, and Booth echoes my words.
Perhaps, for once, there is something we can both agree to believe in.
Thanks for reading! Please hit that review button, I would really appreciate it!
Nessy