You are as flawed
as my vision
As short tempered
as my breath.
Moron, bully, stupid: these are the words you once used to describe the man sleeping beside you now. You're awake because you got angry tonight and used more words like these and they are haunting you. You saw hurt on his face, but you kept raising your voice, letting your angry emotions control you. After your tirade-the first since you and he crossed the line he drew while sitting on a bench in front of a carousel-you expected to hear the sound of a door slamming shut behind him. You have grown so much and have learned how to trust people, but inside the woman you've become dwells the girl who was abandoned at fifteen. In your worst moments, you still expect the people you love to walk away from you. But instead of walking away, he walked closer. And though your earlier argument wasn't really his fault and you both know that to be true, he hugged you and said, "I'm sorry, Bones."
Bones. This nickname used to be your greatest annoyance. You have a name: Dr. Temperance Brennan. He knew this, yet the nickname stuck. You never stopped to think about when you began to embrace the identity of Bones rather than Brennan until Angela asked you about nicknames and you couldn't suppress your pleased smile when you thought of Booth.
During the first year of your partnership, you broke down in a killer's barn, confused about your family and yourself. You spoke aloud your name and your credentials and there Booth was, arms around you telling you that he knows who you are.
You realize tonight as you struggle with your guilt that he has always known who you are. And he stayed. He is here in your bed after you yelled at him for a reason you can't quite remember. He is here with you and has spoken to your belly daily since he found out about your pregnancy. You told him once that a fetus at this stage of development is unable to recognize a person's voice. With the use of the word "fetus," he looked at you and said, "No, Bones. This is our baby, a child." You knew then that he was right, regardless of the physical development of the baby inside your womb.
You know Booth is with you because he loves you and you know that you love him so you turn on a lamp, roll over, and wake him up so that you can let him know.
His eyes drag open as you shake his shoulder. He raises his eyebrows at you, squinting with the brightness of the light and wonders out loud what you need.
"I love you, Booth." You say this with every ounce of strength and conviction you have because it is a fact. Before Booth, facts were your greatest comfort. You can't pinpoint the moment this changed, but you're okay with that now.
Even though you have been in a romantic relationship with this man for three months now and are carrying his child, this is the first time you summon the courage to speak these words of love out loud. Though you have hesitated to share these words because of lingering doubt that they are not enough, he has spoken them to you repeatedly. The first time he did so was early in the morning, hours after Vincent died. You left Booth's couch and headed for his bed because you needed him to tell you once again who you are, that you are not cold and uncaring. He said the words you needed to hear and he held you, stroking your back so slowly and placing soft kisses in your hair. You have found that as much of him as you get, you always want more. You are greedy when it comes to Seeley Booth. At first, you thought it was greed that caused you to push yourself up and kiss his lips, that it was greed that made you to run your hands under his shirt, that it was greed which led you to whisper in the darkness, "Are you still angry?"
Now you know it was love.
Three days later, still emotional and grieving the death of your favorite intern, you began to get a bit scared of what was changing between you and Booth. You told him that things had happened so quickly, maybe too quickly. He looked at you stoically for a moment and then he laughed. He kept laughing as you asked him what was so humorous about your earlier statement.
"Quickly? Bones, I told you once that I knew right from the beginning and I meant it. I know that I love you. I've known for a long time how much I want to be with you. There's nothing quick about us. We've been dancing around each other for seven years."
You wanted to tell him that you had actually only danced together twice. The first time was in a Washington bar, early in your partnership before serial killers and Buck and Wanda. The other was when you were pretending to be his wife, even though you had just crushed his heart. You didn't mention these moments, though, because that time you knew what he meant. Instead, you stayed silent.
He could see you hesitate. He could sense your love for him, but could also sense your inability to fully express it just yet, remembering what you said about evolution taking thousands of years. He spoke again and you just stared at his face, studying him for a clue as to what to say.
"I know you're not always sure you believe in love, but I know you believe in me. So trust me when I say that I love you and that I want all of you, even the scared and unsure parts. Even if I never hear the word 'love' come out of your mouth, I know you love me. You show me all the time, in a thousand different ways."
He took your hands and brought each one to his lips. You stopped trying to find the right words and kissed him instead. You kissed him to feel close to him. You kissed him because you simply wanted to and now you finally could. You wondered if this was one of the thousand ways he referenced and were sure in that moment you wanted to think of a thousand more.
And so you wake him up in the middle of the night to tell him you love him and you're certain the smile he gives you when he hears the words is one you want to see every day for the rest of your life.