Title: Losing Through You What Seemed Myself
Summary: Double drabble. "It's just that Brennan and Booth aren't in any way opposites."
. Losing through you what seemed myself
Losing through you what seemed myself
I find selves unimaginably mine
Flashes of her words register, but her eyes tell him the story he needs.
Dishes. Soap. A child. The trunk of a car. Two days. A child.
He'll track them down. Wanting answers. Some broken bones. An eye. A tooth.
He feels sucker-punched.
He knew, of course – foster records in her file, though without details – but never asked. He knows all about scabs on old wounds and the unpleasantness of picking at them.
He freezes when she turns, pleading him to share his scars as well.
She really doesn't need to hear his sob-story, but the objection dies on his lips; her tear-filled crystalline eyes more effective than any form of torture he's ever endured.
He sings like a fucking canary.
But while she'd asked for Sweets' sake, he doesn't do it for him. He looks only at her while he spills.
He can't bring himself to sugar-coat it; the raw, ugly truth. If she wants honesty, he owes her all of it. He's never accepted any less from her.
The hand-kerchief she gently tucks back silences him, in awe; driving home how much he needs her strength, her courage, her resilience – to remind him how to find his own.
Note: I seem to be in need of some angsty purging today. Sorries.