A Quiet Life

It had been Sweets idea that she bring Booth to her apartment. It was larger and brighter and closer to both the Jeffersonian and the Hoover building. More than that Sweets thought that it would allow Booth to feel more in control. He would feel less pressure to remember her apartment than his own. Within three hours, Sweets had made all of the arrangements for Booth's release and Angela and Jack had Brennan's apartment ready.

Her apartment was nice, and very tidy. But it wasn't familiar. It was like walking into a hotel room for the first time.

"Okay Booth." She said matter-of-factly. "I had Hodgins and Angela set up my office as a room for you. They brought over all the things that you might need, clothes and such. The door at the end of the hall is the bathroom, and the kitchen is right through the living room."

Booth looked around. He had never seen so many books. Well not that he remembered anyway. He picked up a large wooden mask from a shelf, and looked at it carefully. "Have I been here before?"

Once again he saw the internal struggle as if she was wondering what to tell him. She finally figured that it wouldn't help his recovery to lie to him. "Actually you have. Many times. Not all happy. You were once blown up in my kitchen. And over there by the bookshelves we once found a pool of blood. You have often brought me late night Chinese food when you know that I am sad or hurting. Once you followed a serial killer here, and he fell from the balcony."

"Wow." He looked at her amazed, but not afraid. "Sounds like you and I lead an exciting life. But if it is okay with you I would prefer if we only repeat one of those events. The Chinese food." He paused and looked at her with a look she had nearly forgotten. "Except for the part where you're sad." Brennan saw something she hadn't seen in so long, a very familiar affable smile.

She returned the smile. "Chinese sounds great. I will make a call."

After spending the weekend at her house together life began to resume for Brennan and Booth, even though it looked markedly different from the life they used to lead. Each morning Brennan would get up and make breakfast, which Booth would always come out of his room to eat. They would sit in comfortable silence most mornings before she left him to go back to work. He would remain, as he was still on medical leave. She would call him at lunch, check in. He would often leave after her call to go on a walk through the neighborhood. He was on limited activity, but the fresh air seemed to do him well. Brennan's life was also drastically altered; she was no longer in the lab, late into the night. Instead she often left right at five, bringing home a few case files to look at later in the evening.

One of her favorite things was that Booth, often bored, would watch cooking shows on TV and when she arrived, he was often in the midst of some "creation" or another. Some of it was delicious and other days in went right in the trash, either way there was something comfortable about watching him in her kitchen. When dinner was a disaster they went to the diner. Apparently it was a place they frequented and everyone was always happy to see them. He wasn't sure what he ordered, she knew. Sometimes the others from the lab would join them, at home or the diner, but often it was just the two of them. It was his favorite part of the day. She would sit across from him, leaning in and tell him about her day, the job, their old adventures, his life. He noticed that she occasionally snuck food off his plate. He couldn't help but wonder if they always were this comfortable together, he hoped so.

He was having more flashes, often times late in the night. Sometimes he would wake shouting, happy because he remembered something, or sad because the image didn't last. He always apologized for waking her, and she always hugged him and said it was her favorite part of the day. She was glad that he was remembering, but knew that there were many secrets better left forgotten.

Rebecca had been bringing his son Parker over to visit after school. Parker fearfully clung to her that first day; as if he didn't recognize Booth any more than Booth recognized him. Parker was a delightful, sweet little boy. He had his father's charming smile and seemed bright for his age, not that Booth had any comparison. Soon the tension lessened, each time they came seemed to go a little easier and therefore the visit would last a little longer. Sometimes they would go play in the park, others they would sit and watch cartoons. One afternoon Rebecca asked if Parker could stay alone, she really needed to go to a meeting at work. Although hesitant, Booth readily agreed, especially knowing the Brennan was due home soon.

She arrived to watch father and son trying their best to make homemade meatballs. The scene was one of the most touching things she had ever witnessed. He seemed too relaxed in the presence of his son, and there was a quiet camaraderie between them. They hadn't heard her come in, so she stood there for a long time soaking it all in. Their matching stances and identical smiles, the smear of sauce across Booth's face. The fact that her kitchen was a disaster. The funny twists and turns of life. She thought that he might have died, when he didn't know her she was sure their friendship was broken. But here they were closer than ever. It amazed her how quickly the two of them had settled into this quiet life. She still worried about the holes in his memory, and about how he would return to work. She still waited for the day he would remember "them." She dreaded the day he remembered the baby question. She was terrified that one day he would remember too much.

But instead of being afraid she walked up behind them and joined in the fun.

Later that night long after Parker had gone home, the two sat on the sofa as they often did at night. Brennan tapped away at her laptop, Booth shouted at a sports game. Instinctively their bodies started shifting toward one another until her legs were across his lap and his hand was on her thigh. She sat up right and leaned forward to reach for a file from her bag on the far side of the couch; her face brushed past his. He reached out and cradled her chin in his hands, swept her dark hair behind her ear. He looked deep into her eyes and did what he had been dying to do for weeks. He kissed her….

And she kissed him back.

That night, long after they were a tangle of limbs, she leaned up on her elbow and looked at him. "Are you happy?" She asked.

At first the questions startled, he wasn't sure. She was always honest with him. He reached up to her in the moonlight and pulled her back down into his arms. "I am. I just wish that I knew if I was ever happy before. I feel like I was. I get this sense that I had a life that was good, that is somewhere waiting for me. Where someone is… missing me. But I know that isn't true. You're right here, you're everything." He kissed her lightly on the head. "You would know better, you are the one that has a past to compare too. Are we happy?"

She stared up into the darkness. He couldn't see the tear that had fallen down her cheek. "Yeah, Booth. In this moment we are happy." She listened as his breathing settled into the soft rhythm of sleep. How could she be so happy, feel so loved, and still feel her heart breaking?

She knew why. It was because they were living a lie. He was with the stranger that he met at the hospital, not with her. He didn't know her past. He didn't know who she was or when she had been. Where they had been. For once he didn't see her as a wounded bird that he had to protect. In this reality she got to protect him. In this world there was no line drawn in the sand to shield partners and hearts. One day this would break and she would be left with only memories, ironic given the situation. Somewhere there was a life that Booth lead, somewhere there was someone waiting for him, missing him. She should know… that someone was her.