Title: This is Life
Disclaimer: Still not mine – and typing all this takes up valuable time, might I add.
Rating: This one is T.
A/N: Well, I want to show that there's a lovely relationship brewing here. I love these two as a couple and I hope you all do too. Of course, I review is a good way to let me know…
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"You're not him," Brennan said, passing a steaming cup of coffee that had been infused with nutmeg; a Christmas special. All around the busy mall, people shopped with festive cheer that left a sour taste in his mouth. He should have been celebrating the season with Temperance, not fuming over his father's personality flaws.
"I know," he said, sinking back against the cushiony sofa, watching the mall from outside the glass. "I worry that traits really do pass between family members. And not just physical similarities. My father is not a man I want to accept as my role model in life…" Brennan sipped her coffee, aware that she should be drinking less caffeine and more milk.
"Psychologists and sociologists like to think that these things are true," she said, "and while it may be plausible, I don't put much credence in it. You know that." Booth sighed, offering her a single nod.
"The problem is that I do." He passed the palm of his hand across the darkened stubble that adorned his jaw, his eyes weary. "There were days whenever my mother barely spoke. She played her piano, losing herself in her music because it was easier than accepting that her marriage was a shambles and she was married to a man who lost respect for her years earlier…" He caught a whiff of the nutmeg and inhaled it. "Before she died, mom made me promise that I'd never do to a woman what dad did to her. I never had, but I promised anyway."
Brennan squeezed his hand, crossing her legs, leaning into him. "You're far too noble a man, for that," she said, her eyes reminding him of a depthless lake as she watched him. "Oh," she sighed, lifting her hand to stroke the hardened line to his cheek, her fingertips making soft passes, her thumb brushing across his lips. "Booth," she said, her voice almost a whisper, there was no emotional detachment now. "How can you think so little of yourself? How can you even contemplate that you'd be the same as your father? We aren't defined by our genes, entirely. A person is created by character, not biology."
He smiled, dropping a kiss to the tip of her nose. "Stable, logical Temperance Brennan. You're an astounding woman, do you know that?" She blushed, the warmth of his kiss on her nose left a tingle and she smiled. "Was I too hard on him?" Booth asked, linking his fingers with hers.
"No," she said. "You feel like this because you were hurt as a boy. I think an apology is required, yes, but only once your father accepts that he caused you a lot of pain. If he's upset that you don't visit, he needs to ask himself why." Booth contemplated this for a moment, the spicy coffee lingering within his mouth.
"Owen thinks I should forgive and forget," he said, dropping his head back against the couch, his eyes running over the green garlands that hung from heavy wooden beams above them. The decorations, made of real pine and genuine red berries added a scent that truly brought Christmas alive. He wished he could have enjoyed it.
"Did he say that?" Brennan asked.
"No, but he thinks it. Owen and his father have always had a nice, respectful relationship. He was the much loved Booth Boy." Brennan clicked her tongue with disapproval, shaking her head.
"Well I don't see how a person can be defined by their relationships to their family," she said. "And I don't want you to think that you're going to become an image of your father." He turned his eyes on her, blinking with slow contemplation, as though he were mulling over the words she spoke.
"I never want to hurt you or our baby that way…" he said and her features softened, her hand, her lovely eyes darkening now, not so much aquatic as they were like uncut sapphires. "I hope I am as noble as everyone seems to think…" she smiled.
"You are," she said and there wasn't a hint of doubt in her voice when she did. "I've been hurt and let down so many times in my life, Booth," his hand touched hers, the smallest yet most enormous symbol of comfort that she could find. "My parents were gone, my brother didn't feel he had enough maturity to look after a fifteen year old girl, I was let down by my friends, abandoned by my grandfather until his guilt finally won, and treated like an outcast from society because I thought differently… because I had intelligence…" she turned her hand, her fingers lacing within his. "I wouldn't sacrifice my heart if I wasn't sure you were worth it."
His arm snaked around her shoulder, coffee tipping over the rim of her cup. She ignored it, sagging against him, her head tucked beneath his chin. For the first time in her life, Brennan felt as though she were part of something functional and normal. She was a woman with a man, a lover, a partner, and she was providing a pillar of support just as he had done for her, so many times.
"What do you know about Parkinson's Disease, Bones?" he asked, his lips skimming the top of her head. She shifted back, setting her cup on their table, crossing her arms over her torso before moistening her lips.
"It's a degenerative disease that affects the central nervous system. It may mean that the suffer will lose control of their muscles, posture, speech," she paused, watching how Booth shook his head slowly, willing himself to accept the truth with grace, bravery and decorum. He found it hard to summon courage now, though. "Should I stop?" Brennan asked, her body tilted towards him, a show of support.
"No," Booth said, his jaw firm, determined. "It's best if I know…"
"Most cases are idiopathic… if your father didn't develop it from drug use, head trauma or mutation, it's likely that it is idiopathic, that there's no known cause. In the early stages he would have found a delayed reaction to many things. Later on, he'll probably respond to a question after a lapse of time and in the advanced stages of Parkinson's Disease he'll have… dementia…" she swallowed, sighing. "I'm sorry, Booth. It's a very serious illness. There is no cure."
Booth fixed a tight smile, nodding. "I know," he said. "I guess I can console myself in the knowledge that my dad is old. He's lived a full, healthy life and if it's Parkinson's that gets him in the end, well… something had to, right?" Brennan slipped her hand along his arm, stroking, soothing.
"It's normally me who has to rationalise everything," she noted. "I know you hate doing that, so, if you just want to be sad for awhile, it's okay. Not everyone has to put a rational façade on the things that hurt." Booth felt a low, gruff chuckle rise inside his chest.
"You're rational, even when you're explaining reasons not to be rational. I don't know if I'll ever have you worked out, Temperance," he said, emptying his cup. Brennan smiled and he stilled when she transferred her hand to his cheek again, urging his eyes to meet hers. When they did, there was enough loving emotion swimming there to topple a person.
"It won't be so thrilling, if we had each other sussed, would it?" she asked, her thumb grazing his lashes. He blinked.
"No," he conceded, "I guess it would not." When he leaned back, she saw this badge, clipped to the top of his pants; the golden medallion, topped with a proud eagle. Booth and his job symbolised something brave and honourable. He fought his personal demons with such pride and dignity that she felt immeasurably lucky to have found a man with so much integrity and kindness. He was a achingly sexy man, and while her physical attraction to him knew no limits, she was attracted more to the person he was. To the fact that he was a genuinely good man.
"People like you," she said, "are hard to find." He frowned, musing about this while she gathered her belongings, stuffing her arms into her coat. "You're tired, and we should get some rest. Tomorrow you'll have to go to the hospital again…" Booth closed his eyes, his breath burning his lungs.
Outside, the snow had begun to flutter in thick, wispy flakes, tumbling from a darkened sky that looked, even in the blackness of night, laden with snow.
The weather had not been as bad in Philadelphia as it had in DC, but a few hours of intense blizzards would cause a consistent bout of bad weather in a band from Washington straight to the north.
She pulled a wool scarf around her neck, her hair dotted with icy flakes and she looked angelic, hands in her pockets, eyes raised to the sky. He stood behind her, a flash of brilliant contentment resting on his shoulders as he watched her. For the first time in his life he didn't have to fight life's great battles single-handedly – Temperance would never leave him.
For the first time he truly wasn't alone.
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Smile… it's not all bad news!
