Title: The Taste of Destiny

Summary: Brennan fights with logic and wonders if she believes in destiny. Brennan's POV.

Rating: K+

Disclaimer: Not mine. Oh no.

A/N: I am a believer in destiny. It was a million to one chance that I would meet my husband. But I don't think Brennan would be so easily persuaded. Please review this.

The word destiny is a noun. It is broken into three syllables – des.ti.ny. It derives from 14th century French, destinee and Latin, destinare. The literal definition of the word is 'a predestined course of events considered as something beyond human power or control'.

Personally I think destiny is a concept which was invented by people who wanted to believe that unimaginable luck would fall unto their laps because they were too lazy to work towards an attainable goal.

It's for people who strive on romantic ideas that, even though they are desperately lonely in their solitary lives, it doesn't matter because destiny has already picked their soul mate out of six billion and it's not really a question of 'if' but rather 'when'.

It's for the millions of hopefuls to buy a lottery ticket, dreaming that their numbers will come up because fortune is destined.

It's for people who believe everything happens for a reason.

I think it's for weak people. And I am neither weak nor a believer in fate.

In the age old argument of fate versus freewill, I stand firmly on the side of freewill because I am prepared to work hard for everything I know, everything I do and every dollar I make. I don't go to bed at night in the vain hope that a piece of paper will blow a ten million dollar fortune my direction. And I certainly do not believe my soul mate is already chosen and he'll waltz into my life, without my knowledge 'when I least expect it'.

Isn't that what these romantic fools believe?

I am willing to put effort into every relationship I have and if it ends, I don't shrug my shoulders and say 'it wasn't meant to be'.

I think horoscopes, not to sound like Hodgins, are a conspiracy invented for people who want to make a fortune off the gullible and needy.

I can't remember my star sign because I don't deem it to have any relevance in my life. It seems ludicrous that because I was born on a certain day, month or year that Venus or Mercury has my entire life mapped out. That I have no choice. That I am a puppet in a story that is already written. Already finished.

It is illogical. I believe in facts, hard science and theories that can be proven.

Destiny is a hypothesis imagined by romantics, artists and writers and people who don't like logic. It's unsound, without proof and reminds me of religion itself!

And with all the odds stacked against it, and I cannot fathom, in my wildest dreams, why I am standing here, in the snow, questioning why I don't believe.

My breath rises in white puffs, fast and thick. My breathing always quickens when I am confused or frustrated. I am afraid of that which I do not understand. I feel anxious, unable to comprehend why, with all the logic that I know I have inside my brain, and all the hundreds of reasons why destiny is as fraudulent as emotion itself, there is a nagging voice at the back my head, asking if I really don't believe that my soul mate exists and we were always meant to be together.

It was only a matter of time.

That it would fall upon me when I didn't expect it.

Snowflakes dust my hair, make my nose red and my lips tremble. I cannot move because I am so struck by this new concept that refuses to leave me alone. I am not thinking of bones or anthropology at all. My mind wanders aimlessly from one thought to another, on and on until I am breathless.

I stand before him, thinking of the statement he made, wanting to debunk his assumption with every fibre in my body. I want to tell him that he is crazy, if he really believes that destiny brought us together.

His conjecture is that, if I had not been so driven by my desire to discover what happened to my parents, or in some way prevent my pain from passing unto others, then I wouldn't have turned to anthropology for refuge. That he wouldn't have been assigned to me in the Jeffersonian, but someone else. That I could be in another career in another state and we'd never pass each others path.

He said that if only I watched Serendipity I would understand.

Serendipity, I explain to him, is an accident that has a good outcome. He rolls his eyes and tells me it's a movie and if once in awhile, I pulled my head out of a book, I might open my mind to the stranger possibilities.

I try to argue, but he shakes his head, a flurry of snow falling to his shoulders.

"It doesn't matter what you think anyway, Bones. I don't believe that something as wonderful as you could happen by chance. You were meant to come into my life and we were meant to stand here, having this debate in minus two degree temperatures because that's who you and I are destined to be."

My resolve melts a little.

He steps closer, encircling my waist with his arms, lowering his lips to meet mine. They're cold but as his tongue probes inside my mouth I realise how hot he is. A lot like our debates. I don't mind. He challenges me. He makes me think about what I believe instead of allowing me to maintaining a steadfast belief that I am always right.

I touch his skin, aware at how comfortable I feel in his embrace.

He tastes of coffee and gum as his mouth plunders mine. I wonder at destiny, at our first meeting, our first kiss and the first time we ended up in bed together. I don't believe in destiny, not really.

Maybe the tiniest fraction of my illogical mind is willing to accept it.

He kisses me again.

Damn… maybe I can be persuaded.