Are you saying that you aren't going to ask me to marry you?
Her words kept ringing through his mind. Booth tossed and turned, pulled close to her, held her growing belly, rolled on his back, stared at the ceiling, twisted onto his side, huffed, puffed, groaned, all while Bones slept soundly next to him. She was tired, exhausted really, though she'd never admit it. Between long hours working on the latest case and their argument over housing arrangements they were both emotionally and physically drained.
Are you saying that you aren't going to ask me to marry you?
What did that even mean? Did she want him to ask her to marry him? Did she expect him to? She was so opposed to the idea of marriage and he was so worried he would push her too hard and she'd run again that he never even considered asking her. Well, that isn't true. He considered it. It just wasn't a risk he was willing to take at the moment.
Of all the women he asked to marry him or could ask he already knew what answer to expect from her. Years of talking about the difference between love and the biology of intercourse made it pretty clear where she stood on the topic of relationships and marriage. Hell, he was sure it was an act of God that she agreed to live with him, divine intervention or more like Angela intervention if he was being perfectly honest with himself.
Are you saying that you aren't going to ask me to marry you?
And yet he was sure he heard emotion in her voice when she asked it. Like she was hit by a sucker punch. Surprise, hurt, want, he wasn't sure exactly and it's not like he could go back and ask her. She recovered so quickly reasserting her no marriage stance, a hard line drawn in the sand he was forbidden to cross or even hint at crossing or edge towards in any way.
She stirred next to him, mumbling for him to stop. Stop moving. She did that when he was restless and somewhere between deep sleep and wakefulness. He didn't want to wake her so he forced himself to lay still physically. Mentally he was all over the place, flipping, turning twisting, regretting. If he could just take back his ridiculous response.
No, you are going to ask me to marry you.
What was he thinking? Needing one more settling move to get comfortable Booth stretched out on his back, his hands interlocked beneath his head. It was warm. Who was he kidding it was hot. Her apartment had more room, true, but what it really had, that Booth wanted at the moment, was air conditioning, good air conditioning. Shoving the sheet down away from his torso and pulling it up by kicking his feet and legs out from underneath it he found some momentary comfort and let out a huge sigh.
No, you are going to ask me to marry you.
Would she, really, what were to the odds of her asking him to marry her. It worked in the moment. Diffused the possible eruption of panic and backsliding that would send her into a hasty retreat. She could laugh. Which she did. And scoff it off as an impossibility. Which she did. And maybe, at least he hoped, she could let her beautiful amazing overactive brain consider it for a later date. She took lots of time to warm up to an idea, monumental amounts of time. Who courted her for six years? He did. Well, not really, kind of. It was always about the end game when dealing with her. The long run. She would not be rushed. She proved that over and over and over again.
Are you saying that you aren't going to ask me to marry you?
Maybe what he saw most was fear. She was afraid. After all, that's what kept them apart for so long, right? Her fears. She was afraid to want something she felt she could never have, something she never thought anyone would want to give her. Afraid she would screw things up, that she wouldn't be able to give him what he needed or deserved. That she wasn't worthy of that kind of love. Afraid that it would be temporary and after bearing her heart she would lose it. She was a person who couldn't bear to lose anything else.
She was wrong. He would never leave her, never.
Convincing her of that would take time. His scientist. The love of his life. Like in every other aspect of life she needed evidence that he would stay, that he would continue to love her, even when she got mad at him, even when they fought, even when life got hard. Time and his unchanging affection was what she needed. Them having a baby, them living together, them taking life one day at a time, that would be the evidence she needed.
He gave up too easily before. Which sounded ridiculous after all those years of waiting but it was true. He pushed her too hard and when she pushed back he just proved what she thought all along. He would leave. Leaving for Afghanistan, leave her for Hannah, leave. He wouldn't do that this time around. He wouldn't leave no matter what. He would stay and they would make a future together.
No, you are going to ask me to marry you.
Maybe, then, his answer was perfect. He let her know, in the most non-committal way possible, that she would want that someday and when she did he would be there. No pressure. He rolled to his side, sweeping her hair from across her face and tucking it behind her ear. God, he loved her more than life itself.
New memories, new life.
She stirred, grumbling, her lips full and pouty. Every day was a new memory, a step forward, a piece of evidence in their new life together.
"Booth." She whined. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." He tried to reassure her.
But she knew him. She knew the arguments they engaged in this week, during this case, affected him deeply. They wouldn't go away as easily as he tried to make her believe they would. She offended his sense of family, his sense of what they were to each other, what they were becoming to each other, together.
It was so hard to let go of the hurt and fear her past gifted her with. She was strong, so strong and she promised herself so many times over the years it would no longer affect her. But it always crept back in, silently, undetected. It reared its ugly head overpowering even her most solid arguments and thoughts, riddling them with fear and doubt and the insatiable desire to run. She hated that about herself.
We can have whatever life we want. You know that right?
Reaching over she ran her hand across his shoulder and arm, tugging and pulling him towards her until Booth came to rest with his head on her shoulder. Her hands. He loved those hands. So strong and confident, graceful. They played across his arms and back. Calming, but invigorating at that the same time. He nuzzled in closer, curling around her warm body, humming against her shoulder as his lips reached for her neck and cheek. This was all he ever wanted out of life. The feeling of her there with him. The feeling of them, together.
"I love you, Booth."
She remembered the the first time she told Booth she loved him. It was awkward and she feared it sounded forced. Not that her love for him was awkward or forced. It wasn't. If anything she worried it was fierce and wildly out of control. Measured and even emotions would not be nearly as intimidating as her feelings of love for Booth. Still, saying it, verbalizing it, was difficult to do.
In all her years she never told any man she loved him. Not one.
He said it with such ease, and to his credit, made it clear that he didn't expect her to say it in return until she was ready. When he told her he loved her it felt natural and real and powerfully true. She wanted her expressions of love to him to sound equally as moving and wonderful. It never felt like they measured up to her feelings. With time it became easier, more comfortable, most of the time. Especially when she was sleepy and her guard was down it rolled so effortlessly out of her heart and off her tongue.
And she did love him. It was something she realized some time ago. Long before they were together as a couple. Long before she was in a position to tell him so directly. For her, the way she felt about him was the very definition of love.
New memories, new life.
She fidgeted as she thought, twitched, wiggled, slightly adjusting herself over and over. There was a measure of discomfort that accompanied the unknown nature of the future. Such endless possibilities. His hand, large and strong and solid, wandered along the edge of her. Searching for the hem of her camisole then slipping up under it to spread out across her growing belly. He quieted her fears. Her whole body responded to his touch. It spoke safety and security without saying a word. She felt the release as every muscle relaxed and fell. Their baby moved in her, a feeling so uniquely wonderful she never tired of it, and settled under his hand. Life. New life. Both literally and figuratively they were creating a new life together.
New memories, new life.
This baby, their baby, would have such a different existence than either of them had growing up. This baby would not be the victim of its parents circumstances. Not the way she was. Not the way he was. This baby would have deliberate parents that chose, very carefully, the life they wanted for her or him. Both of them were committed to being better parents than their own. Booth. Booth was evidence that a person, a father, could do that, rise above their experience, their past, genetics. She was not a criminal like her father. He was not an abusive drunk like his. There was peace in that.
A peace that opened up endless possibilities.
We can have whatever life we want. You know that right?
They were both awake now, laying silently with one another in the dark. Neither willing to break the stillness of the night. Moonlight peeked in between the slates of Booth's blinds as they rattled in the breeze.
Booth sat up abruptly flipping around so he was facing her. She was still laying sprawled out on the bed. So beautiful, his eyes took every bit of her in as they danced across her. Smiling down at her he offered her his hand and pulled her up. They were so fluid together. Natural, well choreographed, they moved and shifted until they were facing each other, their legs entangled with one another's. The sheet twisted and wrapped in and around them, knotting them together. The back of his hand lightly brushed against her cheek as he scooped her hair back behind her shoulder.
She caught herself, hands draped over his thighs, fingers drifting through the soft fine hair on his legs. His muscles twitching under her delicate touch. This was them, the real them, no pretenses, no defenses, no walls. Alone with each other there was no need for them. They were just two people. Two people that found each other in a crazy world. Two people that found a connection, a real connection.
Leaning into one another they could feel that connection. The electricity as their bodies barely touched. Cheeks met along the tender skin of shoulders and necks. Lips brushed, soft and full, warm breath wisped faster, harder, out of control. Soft murmurings of love and affection spoke no words, just gentle sounds.
He didn't have to say he loved her. She knew it. Every bit of him screamed it.
We can have whatever life we want. You know that right?
This was the life she wanted, life with him.
ooooo0ooooo
A/N
That's it folks! Thank you so much for taking this long journey with me on this story. I debated long and hard how and when I would wrap this one up and decided the best thing to do was tie it back into the series and the beginning of season 7.
I have loved writing this story and I'm sorry that there was such a big gap between these last few chapters. I have ventured into writing some original fiction and that has been thrown into my juggling act of knives! Right now I am just trying not to kill myself in the process. Does that mean I will stop writing Bones stories? No, not right now. I have a couple I have been meaning to write forever that must be told and one (a longer story) that I've already started. I am excited to give that some attention.
In the meantime, if you are interested in my new (non-Bonesy) venture you can find me on twitter and follow what is happening there. Website and facebook should be coming soon. You can follow me on twitter regardless of whether you are interested in that venture or not - I do love to chat, in person or virtually. ( dg_schneider)
I owe a special thanks to craftyjhawk and snowybones and faithinbones they all helped me get through this story in one monumental way or another!
Mostly...Thank you! For reading, for reviewing, and encouraging me to continue! Writing is nothing without readers. It's just a strange, vain, conversation with myself until someone comes along and brings it to life by reading it!
Wanna preview…
The next story I am working on is called Just Mistletoe, Totally Sexless
"She watched in the oversized ornate mirror as Booth's hand slipped lightly across her collarbone until it dipped under the edge of her dress. It took her breath away which she knew he felt as her chest rose and fell against the palm of his hand at a severely expedited rate.
"Shhhh." He quieted her. "It's just mistletoe, Bones. Act like it happens everyday and no one will know it doesn't." She sunk back into him, let his hand drift, his fingers play lightly moving back and forth, let her heart race, let her head roll into his neck. He watched their reflection as his other hand gripped her hip and held her close. Believable. Anyone watching them would think they were just another couple who'd come to the remote lodge for a discrete romantic getaway.
"Totally sexless." Attempting to sound solid and unaffected by his touch she whispered her response. It came out breathy which clearly brought Booth great pleasure."
Let me know what you thought of the end of Hindsight Being What it is and if you're interested in this new one. I am anxious to hear from you :)