[A/N: Wow. Okay. This chapter came out of nowhere. It literally materialized and disrupted a chapter I was actually excited about writing and posting. I suppose I had done Bones an injustice because she (at least the version of her in my mind) was eager to interrupt and insert part of her own story here. Writing her POV makes me quite wordy (yes, even more than usual). I suppose I consider her substantial thoughts to require long explanation or something. Anyway, this chapter surprised me as it unfolded, but in this moment, I think that I am pretty pleased with how it developed.
I really am eager for your thoughts on this chapter. If this part doesn't work, I can limit Brennan's part of the story easily since she still frightens me more than a bit. But if I pulled off a decent take on her perspective and it works, I can make sure to shift to her view of things every so often for the sake of balance. Please let me know what you think--even if you want to tell me this chapter is completely off the wall and disturbing! It's not typical for me by any means. Honestly, I am quite disturbed by the imagery in this chapter, but it seemed to write itself. It's fine if you scoff or laugh or ask if I was severely sleep deprived when writing it. I've done all those things myself. This was a foray into unchartered fanfic-writing waters for me. Feedback would be very much appreciated.
If I owned Fox or Bones or its characters, I'd make the show last year round. Sadly, it appears those who do have other plans. Thanks ever so much for reading!]
Chapter Eight: There's An Exception to Every Rule
Maybe I know somewhere deep in
my soul that love never lasts.
And we've got to find other ways
to make it alone or keep a straight face.
Temperance Brennan took no notice as the display on the clock changed to read 3:07 a.m. That very fact was noteworthy: there was hardly anything that Dr. Brennan, the world renowned forensic anthropologist did not notice. She had made a career—a lifestyle—out of noticing everything. She identified and observed microscopic evidence that most people didn't even know existed. She uncovered evidence that other experts had missed or ignored. But the person staring at the clock across the room was the woman--the girl who'd been deserted by everyone she had loved as a child, the internally bruised and vulnerable woman who'd made being invulnerable and strong and independent such a part of her that it had overshadowed everything else—even her survival and her success. While doing so—being strong and independent—had been the only way she'd survived her early years and had likely been the primary cause for her ascent to the top of her very specialized field, the woman—Temperance, not Dr. Brennan—now realized that those traits that had been the key to her survival were not obtained or honed or perfected without great cost.
Temperance was a highly rational person. As such, she seldom suffered long from insomnia. If she were ever distracted from sleeping, she simply reasoned that her body and mind needed a certain amount of sleep in order to perform at their optimum levels. That conclusion having been reached, she typically slipped into bed and slept soundly for a requisite amount of time. Reason had that tight a control on her brain and her actions. Certainly there had been major life events that had interrupted her sleep or made it difficult for sleep to come, but those events were rare and temporary. She hadn't slept for weeks after her parents had disappeared, and she had been too frightened to sleep when moving to new foster homes. She'd had nightmares—still had nightmare sometimes about the Gormogon case… or about Zach… or about her kidnapping with Hodgins or about Booth's disappearances. But the rational part of her brain prevented the emotional side from allowing those nightmares and memories from disturbing what she considered to be a highly successful and disciplined sleeping routine.
Frustrated by the fact that she remained awake and continued to stare at a digital time display hours after she'd "told" herself to sleep, Temperance sat perfectly still. Her body did not betray the chaos and disturbance within it. Her ever-working mind was replaying the events of the evening over and over and over again. She had long since memorized the evening and analyzed its events from every perspective—even from those that were not purely rational. As she already had for hours, she now sat contemplating her actions... and Booth's... her inability to face the intensity of the reality before her... Booth's words that haunted her mind and her soul....
And I've always lived like this
keeping a comfortable distance.
And up until now I swore to myself
that I'm content with loneliness,
'cause none of it was ever worth the risk.
She absolutely hated the way that she'd been feeling and behaving recently. Booth owed her nothing—he'd offered her everything and refused to turn away from her completely despite the fact that she had refused that offer. She had no right, no claim, and no expectation that he discuss his thoughts or his feelings with her. She cursed her damned inability to walk away from something without understanding every facet of it in excruciating detail. Why couldn't she just drink away her doubts or ignore her frustrations? Why did it matter to her what he thought or what he felt about anything other than being her partner and continuing to be her friend? She couldn't return his affection—not in the way that he deserved. She was getting her way—he'd still work with her and be her friend despite her rejection. Why would her mind insist upon examining the details of what almost was and what couldn't have been and dwelling on the reasons why Booth did or said things to her or to any other women?
There was no logical explanation. It wasn't as if she wanted those things that Booth wanted. Of course she wanted for him to be happy and to find what he was looking for. But she reminded herself that she didn't want to date him or to sacrifice part of herself to him or to anyone else. She didn't want to give things a try or to risk any part of their current partnership. She had no assurance that she'd even be alive in 30 or 40 or 50 years—or that he would be. And yet she'd felt so wistful when Booth had said that he'd wanted her to be there with him then. While she'd never be so callous as to dismiss his genuine feelings and hopes about the future—she'd been touched by them significantly, years of anthropological study had taught her that such long-term monogamous, happy attachments were as rare as the coral she'd once discovered along the coast of Australia. While Booth had never given her any reason to doubt his sincerity or his ability to be one of those rare people who deserved and could find and hold onto that sort of relationship, she knew that he had been working in vain to try to establish one with her. She'd be fortunate if they managed to remain friends for that long. Anything more than that was beyond the realm of her experience and her ability to consider seriously.
She hadn't lost anything. She shouldn't have needed consoling. Why had she? The possibility that Booth's loss of hope for them could constitute a loss for her, too, was beyond her. Instead, she had focused on the surface—on the actions and the words and the circumstances—not on the nebulous feelings behind them. Those things couldn't be measured or weighed or taken as substantial evidence. She was not a woman of faith. She could only rely upon information she could test and examine. So that's what she did.
She sighed as the internal voice she kept hidden carefully away at most times now pointed out that Booth was behaving predictably and within his nature despite the pain of her refusal. If he had managed to do so having to face the loss of a significant hope for his future and if she had lost nothing, why hadn't she been able to behave as she normally would have? She was more disciplined, more rigorous, more predictable than anyone else—even Booth. If he were not sidelined by his disappointment, why had she been?
She should have filed the whole discussion with Booth about their taking a chance on dating into her extensive memory banks by now. Of course it would be a significant experience for her—perhaps the closest she'd ever come to considering anything resembling real relationship beyond friendship, but it was over. At an early age, Temperance Brennan had made a habit of learning from her experiences and then filing them away as evidence, memories, and experiences only to be revisited for the purposes of avoiding future mistakes and missteps. Life was simpler that way. Dealing with disappointment and heartbreak was easier when the pain of the loss was kept at a distance and banished from her mind.
That was why she had been struggling to understand why this current situation had been so different. Why couldn't she remain objective and move past Booth's offer and the fallout from it? Why—when all rational thought directed her to compartmentalize her emotions and tuck them neatly into the boxes in her mind that resembled those in bone storage—couldn't she put the matter to rest? Why did she feel unsettled and vulnerable when there was no threat—no further reason to consider a change to her current carefully controlled environment? As she considered these things, the weary scientist finally drifted into a restless sleep, carrying the weight of her significant worries along with her.
Despite her age, education and extensive travel, Temperance Brennan now observed clearly for the first time that her metaphorical drawers of emotional attachment were relatively empty. Along an enormous wall filled with clear plastic storage boxes that closely resembled those in her laboratory, there were many drawers of various colors and sizes. Naturally, there was a drawer labeled with the name of each of her parents, the contents of which had rattled around and become jumbled with first the discovery of her mother's remains and later with her father's reappearance in her life. At the time, each of those events had been life-altering and extremely upsetting, but she had managed to regain her grip on her self control and rationality in order to put those memories and experiences into the proper perspective in order to store them in this vault of her emotional bank. Dealing with those losses and with the remains of those former relationships had been extraordinarily difficult. Brennan winced as she recalled so vividly the ways that Booth had held her hand and stood beside her as she had done so.
But you are the only exception
There was a drawer for her tumultuous relationship with her brother, the contents of that box battered by his desertion as much as they had originally been treasured by her childlike worship of him before things had gone so terribly wrong between them. That drawer had finally been put to rest in their current attempts to become friends again if not loving, entirely supportive siblings. Brennan's heart clenched as she remembered how Booth had tracked Russ down, saved his life, helped him to see his girlfriend's daughter in the hospital, gotten him out of jail, and convinced her to spend Christmas with him that first year. He'd never stopped encouraging her to reach out to reconnect more deeply with her brother even if he weren't one of his favorite people. She realized that it would be dishonest not to admit the role Booth had played in her reconciliation with her brother. He'd pushed her toward it against her will and stood beside her when taking those steps threatened to crush her.
You are the only exception
As she considered the wall of emotional evidence in front of her, she realized that there were also drawers full of more stable, more functional friendships she'd established and maintained over the last few years. There was a bright purple drawer full of art and color and support and advice and acceptance from Angela. Next to that was a brown drawer full of science and exploration and a common dedication to work-not-required-for-a-livelihood for Hodgins. That drawer also held a secret, locked compartment with the shared trauma she and Hodgins had endured when they had been kidnapped. Above that was a blue, Jeffersonian lab coat-colored drawer full of her attachment to and disappointment in Zach Addy. When she considered her friendships and attachments, she realized that she felt most like family with Zach. They were so similar, so intelligent, so inappropriately outfitted for life and love outside the laboratory. Whenever she examined the contents of Zach's drawer, she wept internal tears if not actual ones. She missed him terribly and ached for things to have turned out differently for him. Beyond those feelings of pain and loss, she could also feel that his demise had been a precursor for whatever potentially lonely one lie ahead of her.
There had also been a light grey drawer for Sweets—she'd dumped that one out on more than one occasion—for Booth's sake if not for her own. But she and Dr. Sweets had established a rapport and a mutual "I respect you even if I can't begin to understand you fully" relationship that had grown and matured as Sweets himself had. Brennan found that she trusted him as almost no other. Sweets wasn't without fault, and he certainly made more than his fair share of mistakes, but his intentions and affections were true and pure. She sighed. Booth might be beyond the point of forgiving Sweets for his latest, most indelicate intrusion into their partnership. But she didn't blame Sweets. He had just been one factor in their environment and he had been severely limited by his unscientific field of psychology. Besides, he had wanted happiness and love for both of them. Was it really fair to fault such a young, idealistic man for wishing them happiness they weren't meant to discover together?
Temperance Brennan's mental inventory of emotional connections included other boxes not yet filled to capacity. There were boxes for Dr. Saroyan and Andrew Hacker and Caroline and for the other interns at the lab. There were also boxes for Amy and her kids and for Sid and for Parker. Swallowing hard, Temperance considered the boy for a long moment. Thoughts of him were hopelessly entwined with those of his father, however, so she pressed upon that drawer until that relationship were stored safely away to make certain that the tangled web of feelings and unwelcome emotions could not pull on her any longer.
Thinking of Parker had reminded her of Booth's own childhood wounds and difficulties. He was in so many ways still seeking that comfort and approval and acceptance that he had never found in his father. Convinced though she was of the validity of her decision, she couldn't hide the fact that being the source of additional pain for her partner was extremely difficult. Denying that man—her selfless and adoring protector—anything that he wanted desperately could never be an easy thing. She wished that she had been able to be the source of healing and support for him that he constantly had been for her. If she'd been able to change a part of herself in order to make him happy, she would have. Sadly, she realized that change that significant within her simply wasn't possible. Circumstances and genetics and events had conspired to mold her so firmly into the type of person she was that the only way that change could happen in her was from brute force or by someone chipping away at the stony substance of her soul. Such destructive forces inevitably left her bruised and weaker—not emboldened or stronger or more able to love. In her immutable form, she was incapable of molding herself to fit the needs of those around her. Others got close enough to touch her and some even attempted to mold themselves to her form in order to form an attachment with her, but those efforts were typically short-lived and fleeting. Relationship required adaptation she simply wasn't capable of.
You are the only exception
Overwhelmed even dreaming about it, Temperance closed her eyes and braced for the thoughts that now flooded her already overcrowded brain too quickly. Somehow in her dream she was able to see as if her eyes hadn't been squeezed tightly closed. She had been able to view the row of boxes running just above the center of the wall. Those drawers had been a surprising pale, nearly translucent pink—a strange color to have represented the men with whom she'd attempted serious or near-serious relationships. Most of those men were strong and intelligent—Brennan would never have wasted time considering a mate who could not keep up with her stride for stride whether it were physically or mentally. Had she been able to choose a color for these boxes, she'd have selected a cobalt blue or a shade of green pulled from raw nature to represent their strength and attractiveness.
Hesitantly, she surveyed these drawers carefully, experiencing more significant pain along with memory with each box as she moved slowly from left to right examining them. There had been approximately eight boxes in the row. Brennan had regrets about the way some but not all of those relationships had ended. She ran her fingertips lightly along the boxes as she considered each man's strengths and weaknesses as well as the reasons those relationships had fallen apart. She paused and opened some of the drawers, revisiting the memories of each man with differing degrees of sentiment or regret or disappointment. With tears in her eyes in the dream, she had stared at the contents of Sully's drawer longer than most. She'd never looked back on her relationship with him for more than a few moments at a time. She still wasn't entirely certain why she hadn't followed him out onto the ocean. She still missed him and the carefree way that she'd been able to behave when she'd been with him. But for the first time since he had left, she was now able to look down at their relationship without doubting that she'd made the right choice. She was able to be happy that Sully had found happiness if not love aboard the boat bearing her name as it drifted across the beautiful blue of the Caribbean ocean aimlessly or in ways designed to earn enough money to pay for bare essentials. A bit afraid of the shift in her angst over her memories of him, she slipped the drawer back into place slowly and took several steps back as if to protect herself.
You are the only exception
From a greater distance, Temperance was now able to gain a different perspective on the collective nature of her emotions and her relationships. The evidence now presented itself in that blatant, irrefutable way that the bones on her examining room often spoke to her. In that fleeting moment, a solitary, mind-bending thought registered with her. There was an exception to the pattern she'd been observing. There was one person who had stood beside her through all manner of difficult circumstances and arguments that had seemed critical at the time and through dangers and tears and through the happy times. He—unlike the others—had refused to leave or to accept being kept at a safe distance. That person had never demanded that she change more dramatically than she had been able at the time. He had questioned her endlessly, ruthlessly—even painfully so—and she knew that he expected more from her than anyone else and, at times, more than she had been able to deliver, but he had remained ever there, ever constant, ever in her corner, ever caring for her and acting in her best interests.
As she surveyed the metaphorical drawers of her emotional life, Brennan's powers of organization and analysis painted vivid images of the attachments she'd formed with those closest to her. In that moment of clarity, she saw for perhaps the first time that one person had more drawers—far more than any other. This person's drawers surrounded all of the others completely and filled in the gaps between them. Each drawer was filled with mementos and memories. There had been a drawer for their partnership down in the right corner. That large, overfilled drawer was packed full of the solid reminders of their partnership and the significance and solidity of that fundamental relationship. Atop that drawer was another similarly-sized drawer of friendship. That drawer held images of Smurfs and pigs and time spent sitting atop cars staring at the stars or eating Thai food or drinking or even dancing. That drawer was the most full of them all—it had been stuffed to overflowing with emotional memorabilia from the years their friendship had grown and prospered. There were other drawers of different colors marked with his name—drawers for what she'd absorbed from him in times spent teaching and learning, drawers for conclusions about the nature of people had been reached and consolation obtained when debating philosophy and religion and psychology with him. There were also drawers filled with feelings of loyalty and sacrifice and laughter and sadness.
But the drawer that now drew her complete attention was the one at the center of the wall of emotions and memories. This particular drawer was tinted a dark black, and it was made of a softer material than the rest. Unlike others bearing his name which appeared to be stuffed to the point of overflowing, this drawer appeared to be sealed and unreachable so that its contents could not be known. Considering the image as a whole, Temperance realized that most of the drawers of her evidence of relationship showed signs of use. Some were half-open, others were scratched or worn, but that one—the one in the center was pushed in completely. It hadn't even been pulled out to be flush with the edge of the cabinet that held it. This box—unlike the others—was locked away safe and sound. This box had not been disturbed. Ever the curious scientist, Brennan examined it more closely.
In her dream-filled mind, she reached forward to grasp the handle of what appeared to be an untouchable drawer. As her hand wrapped around the handle and pulled firmly, she braced herself for what might become visible. As her eyes beheld the contents of the box, she gasped and slammed the drawer back into place quickly. Her breathing labored both in and out of sleep, she sank to her knees in her dream, unable to bear the weight of what she had seen.
Temperance woke with a start, her hand clutching at her wildly beating heart and still unnerved by the clear images from her vivid dream. She sighed… she'd never been convinced that dreams meant anything significant. She'd done enough reading to have formed a basic understanding of psychologists' methods for studying dreams, but she had dismissed that science as unreliable as the overall practice of psychology.
Trying to calm herself and to dismiss the dream from her agitated mind, Temperance realized that she now lacked equilibrium. She sighed. Perhaps that was it. Booth had disrupted their equilibrium. She wasn't actually emotionally upset by that so much as she was thrown off balance by the disruption of the natural order of things. Through her dream, her scientific mind had been investigating the force that threw her off balance in an attempt to restore the harmony of an unchanging environment in which she felt safe and comfortable and able to operate in predictable ways.
She swallowed hard as she realized that she wasn't thinking entirely rationally. Anthropology was grounded in the reality that everything changes and that human beings—the most advanced of all living organisms-- adapt to their environments or flee from them in order to survive the changes that nature consistently wrought upon them. For ages she could recite without thinking, people and societies unwilling to adapt or change had typically been pushed aside or fell victim to their own rigidity. They had been defeated, killed, removed from their place of power or distinction. Temperance considered that she was not that hopelessly rigid in her beliefs. While she was inordinately consistent and rational by nature as well as experience, she had changed significantly over the last several years—forging relationships with friends and family and allowing her mind (and her heart) to enable those relationships to affect her life and her work. Given the considerable change she'd experienced, she should have felt proud or accomplished. Why was it that she did not? Why did she feel more incompetent and less successful and more frustrated with her inability to be a complete, whole, emotional being?
I've got a tight grip on reality,
but I can't let go of what's part of me here.
I know you're leaving in the morning, when you wake up,
leave me with some kind of proof it's not a dream.
You are the only exception
You are the only exception
You are the only exception
Exhausted from self-analysis and shocking dream but not tired enough to go back to sleep, Brennan now carefully considered her partner's actions and words from the evening before afresh. Had she been objective, she'd have realized that her instantaneous return to thoughts of her partner held great significance. But she was too distracted by her need to prove that her feelings had no significance to notice that they were shaping her current mental research. Single-mindedly focused on her process, Temperance noted that Booth had followed her the previous evening; he had spoken reassuring words to her, he had even hugged her tightly—none of those things had been selfish or helpful to him in any way. Booth had not been functioning in order to ensure his survival—he had been risking his own safety in order to protect her emotional well being. She strongly suspected that all of his actions that evening had brought him considerable pain.
When she asked herself—the ultimate survivor--if she would have done any of those things for him in the same circumstance, she posited that she would have—doing what she could do to help him or save him from pain was not optional. It was instinctive when it came to dealing with him—with him alone. She knew that she wouldn't have managed those tasks as gracefully as he had, but she'd have done what she could. That always seemed to be enough for him. The realization that she now seemed programmed to act in the interests of another's emotional safety instead of for her own self-preservation was shocking to her. It ran counter to her innate need to protect herself from attachments that might be to her detriment.
You are the only exception
You are the only exception
You are the only exception
You are the only exception
In what she would later insist had been the muddled thoughts of a woman on the heels of a disorienting dream, Temperance Brennan felt more than thought about her dream and its significance and of Booth's encouragement and support earlier the evening before. Unaccustomed to speaking much to her at all, her own heart said loudly and boldly that she was still more to Booth than his partner and friend. Against all odds and despite the pain it brought him, Booth had been acting toward her as a lover would have. He'd reached out to her, ignoring his own pain, to try to encourage and console her. She'd felt his internal struggle as he'd held her close, now realizing even more clearly how physically and emotionally risky and heartwrenching it had been for him to put himself in such close proximity to the object of his unrequited love.
But that was not the thought that paralyzed the genius as she lie there contemplating the current state of her partnership and her friendship with Booth. As her mind dissected and evaluated the dream from all possible angles even while the evening at the diner with Booth replayed its mind in another part of her oversized brain, her heart yelled out in a voice that silenced her mind and that gained her full, if wary, attention. Something clicked, something shifted, and something happened that rocked her to her core.
Taking a moment to walk back through her own thoughts and actions and feelings that night and the ones she'd had ever since Booth's profession of hope for their future, Temperance Brennan's heart now spoke to her in a voice full of consolation and support. It had been purely rational for Booth to behave in her best interests and as a lover would have. He loved her. He admitted that he loved her. He'd told her that he'd loved her for years. So his actions had not been uncharacteristic or even impossible to anticipate. What had been truly and utterly shocking had been her response to the entire situation. She now had one theory—one she'd wish to be able to disprove in order to preserve the order of her environment. There was only one possible explanation for her behavior, her actions, her emotions, and her unrest.
What she'd felt for Sully had been real, and she'd regretted not giving things with them a chance to unfold. But her regrets had been primarily those of a woman worrying that she might have left herself unnecessarily stunted by missed opportunity. She'd missed Sully, but she'd moved on. She'd been able to process and to compartmentalize her feelings for him and to pack them away carefully in a drawer. What she had not been able to do and what she feared she might not ever now be able to do was to do the same thing with Booth.
You are the only exception
Her breathing unsteady and her pulse racing, tears filled Brennan's eyes as she closed them and vaulted the tears down her flushed cheeks. She swallowed hard and allowed memories of her dream rush back toward the forefront of her mind. Blessed by a memory able to recall even dreams in significant detail, she lay there overwhelmed. She remembered quite clearly what had made her wake up. As she had touched that small box in the center of the wall representing her emotional life, the color of the drawer had changed rapidly from a deep black to a glorious red. With every centimeter she'd pulled the drawer from the wall, the rows and columns of all of the other drawers had all changed color. They had merged somehow. It made sense in her dream, but there was no easy way to understand or to explain the merger of her emotions and attachments into one continuous object. There had been absolute harmony and peace in the arrangement of the drawers when her hand had rested upon that drawer in the center.
And I'm on my way to believing
What had disturbed Temperance more than the symbolism of the dream had been the contents of the drawer. It hadn't been flowers or poetry or even a picture of the man whose name emblazoned the façade of the drawer when she had touched it. No, the drawer she had opened only once had contained a human brain. While that unexpected image would have been surprising to anyone, Brennan had scrutinized it closely—she was programmed to be unable to view human bones or body parts without a certain level of curiosity. In her dream, she'd been able to see closely enough that it had been her own brain—a very large, healthy brain with a small card identifying it as her own. The card had been inscribed in her handwriting, labeled with her name and covered with additional text written in smaller print beneath it.
"There's only one logical explanation. There's only one exception to your need for logic and order and reason. There's more than enough evidence to support your decision. You have every reason to believe."
That message was so blatant and literal that even the skeptic could not dismiss its psychological significance. But even attempting to consider that the words on that card might be true shook her to her core and sent shivers down her spine.
And I'm on my way to believing
The sound of the alarm clock pulled Brennan from her flurry of thoughts and feelings about the dream. Eager for a distraction and determined to put these disconcerting images out of her mind so that she could go to the lab, she slipped from the bed and made her way into her shower.
Although she had been able to shake off the major effects of the dream, she had not been able to rid her mind of her partner. As she prepared for the day, her mind kept wandering as if of its own accord to thoughts of her partner and concern for whether he'd been able to rest the previous evening. A bit embarrassed and more than a bit on edge just thinking about him given what she feared might be the message from her vivid dream, she realized that she almost dreaded his morning visit to the lab. That feeling of unease gave her all the more reason to hurry to the lab early to give her time to strategize about how to deal with him and how to learn to ignore the odd thwump her heart now made whenever she thought about Booth.
Amazing lyrics from "The Only Exception" performed by Paramore
[A/N: Like I said, I laughed at the detour in style and subject matter this chapter took. I can't explain it. I just hope it wasn't too bizarre to fit with the rest of the story. Now I can get back to that chapter I had been writing… Whew….]
