Author's Note: This story is both a post-ep for The Dwarf in the Dirt and a (dreaded) Song-Fic. This was a writing prompt from Kerrison (because we've decided to torture each other). Her writing prompt was: How Deep Is Your Love by the Bee Gees. So, here's what became of that particular prompt…

(It's complete crap – turn back now…)

Gordon Gordon sees it, plain as day. And for some reason I have absolutely no problem admitting it to him. Out loud. With gusto. I love her. And the Good Doctor cum Chef has a bevy of reasons why he believes she loves me too and another frighteningly long list of reasons why he thinks I can't tell her. All I know for sure is why I love her.

There is absolutely nothing like the look of her eyes first thing in the morning when the early sun turns them topaz blue. She is a gorgeous woman. Unconventionally beautiful in an old-Hollywood kind of way. But her eyes, they can, in the span of moments, start me, stall me, warm me, cool me, and cut me down to size. I've known a lot of women. Women who've liked me, women who've hated me but never a woman who could stand up to me without shrillness or force me to stand up to her. And she does it all with those eyes.

Sometimes she'll touch me and I'll just…tingle. From the place she graced with her fingers all the way down to my toes, I'll sizzle. I just have this feeling that I could be standing in the middle of a torrential downpour and I'd be able to tell the lightest touch of her fingertips from the most pelting raindrops. It's like we connect on a cellular level.

Most of the time I'm watching her walk away from me. Watching her walk away towards the next thing requiring her attention. It's understandable. She's the esteemed Dr. Temperance Brennan. I'm lowly Seeley Booth. She's one of the best and brightest minds of our day. There'll be books about her one day. But every step she takes towards the other people who need her makes me want to pull her back to me and tell her how much I want her. Somehow I think she's the kind of woman who would much prefer being wanted than needed.

She comes back to me, though. Whoever or whatever took her away can't ever keep her. I'm not sure if I could either but she comes back. All warm like a breezy, sunny summer afternoon. Sometimes, when she comes back I think I can feel a little bit of love. Sometimes I think she almost gets it. And sometimes she really does get and she shows me little pieces of herself. I'm convinced that's the way she shows her love for people – she actually takes the time to share herself with them.

How deep would her love run? I should know that. The people all around us think they're helping. They push us towards each other or enforce distance between us. They're fools. She and I, we know what we're doing. They break us a little. We put ourselves back together, but the bystanders are more a hindrance than a help. But we're the center. And despite everything, we'll hold.

There's no one I trust more than I trust her. She'd never intentionally hurt me. She believes in me because I believe in her. Not in the part of her that was learned into her. Everyone believes in that part of her. I believe in the woman inside the scientist. The girl who was hurt in ways she shouldn't have been able to overcome but somehow did? That's the person I believe in. And because of that she's given me her trust in return.

She knows me in ways no one else ever has – ways no one else ever bothered to know. There are a lot of parts of me I'm not proud of. There are things I've done no one should ever forgive me for. But somehow, inexplicably, she did. The light of her shines into the parts of me that would whither and die from the darkness – the places that would dust and cobweb over. I'm a better man simply because I know her. Because it's now a part of me to try to make her proud.

She's the one who's there when things get too heavy or when I do take a step in the wrong direction. She picks me up, brushes me off and forces me to move forward. Grass will never grow under her feet and she won't tolerate that behavior out of anyone she cares about.

Part of her still believes I couldn't care for her. Not me specifically, anyone really. She's still part lost and broken girl next to strong and accomplished woman. But I think, down deep, in a place she's scared to recognize and in a place she's to fearful to admit exists she realizes what it is I say to her every time I look at her. The only one she needs to try for, the only one she'll ever need to show herself to is me. Because I believe, when you show yourself to the right person, you're reflected onto the world like a beam of light through a prism.

So, how deep is my love? It's an easy answer. There's not a part of me that doesn't speak for her. She's made me better but accepted me the way I was before. Hopefully she'll think I've done the same for her. I've tried. And that's how much I love her.

I should have prefaced with this, but I'm not a sappy-love-songs kind of girl. I'm more a quirky, off beat sort of love song girl. But hopefully I either made this work or was able to make an amusing contribution to some badfic list somewhere. :)