A/N: I realize I forgot to put the disclaimer last time, but I'm pretty sure you're aware that I don't own Bones.
But we did not die in that hole in the ground. I was pulled out by Angie, and her by Booth, and we reveled in the sensation of being alive. All of us. Alive. Together. And that's how it's been since. We're a team, we squints and Booth. An unlikely pairing, but we work well together. We solve murders. And, hey, that's great.
The lab has always bred romance, and I kind of find that soothing. That out of death blooms love. That the world is a never-ending circle. I like that. You see, for all my paranoid conspiracy theories, I really am an optimist, a romantic, even, at heart.
Me and Angie.
Booth and Cam.
And that third, unmentionable, inexplicable relationship. The one without definition, the one that goes beyond "just partners" but doesn't quite reach "I love you."
Booth and Brennan.
It's as if they are gradually moving towards each other, but each step is only a half of the last one until their movement is so infintesimal that it is unmeasurable. They are moving, and yet they aren't, because their steps are so small. They will never reach their destination, for they first must reach the halfway point. Movement without motion. It's a paradox.
Zeno's Paradox.
But of course, this is silly, and solely a matter of concern for philosophers. Because obviously motion is real; you or I can walk across a room in a matter of seconds, can get from place to place easily. Our strides, our movements, are real and true, not some theory pondered in stuffy university classrooms by eager students.
So it stands to reason that Booth and Dr. B can do the same. They are not inhibited by philosophical paradoxes; they can walk and move freely as they wish. They can arrive at their destination, can step over the line they have created for the purpose of professionalism as easily as you or I can walk across a room.
Someone just has to take the first step.
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