My first Bones story! However, this is not my first fanfic ever, I'm just new to the fandom. I've been a Bones fan for years and my friend finally helped me come up with a little plot bunny. :) I've been wanting to write a love letter type story for ages now, so I finally got my chance! It's just a little bit of fluff, so please enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own Bones or anything else that may seem familiar to you.
It was Sweets' fault. Sure, the baby-faced psychologist could deny it all he wanted, but Booth blamed him entirely.
One in the morning on a Tuesday night, he was still awake at his kitchen table, his laptop open before him with a blank Microsoft Word file staring back at him mockingly. With a heavy sigh, he took a deep drink of coffee and placed his hands on the keyboard.
No, too formal.
That's what her father called her. There was no need to inspire Daddy issues.
Not bad. After all, he was the only who called her that.
I'm writing you because I don't know what to say to you. Sweets thought this would be a good way for me to express my feelings.
Lame. He sounded as though he were in middle school. At this point, he may as well call Parker for some advice.
When I'm not with you, I spend my time wondering where you are and what you are doing. I hate our distance, not only because I can't be with you, but because every moment we are apart is a moment that I cannot protect you.
She would smack him if he handed her something this saccharine. It would probably cause tooth decay, and he knew she prided herself on a flawless dentist record.
Roses are red,
And violets are blue.
Behind this cocky belt buckle
Is a hard-on for you.
Well, it made him laugh.
Maybe it wasn't the way he was wording his letter. Maybe it was just the way it looked. Exiting out of Microsoft Word, he grabbed some paper and began to handwrite new versions of his letter.
This method was quickly discarded when he realized just how atrocious his handwriting really was. Would she be able to tell that he wrote love and not Louvre? Would she think he wanted to get assigned to a case in France?
Pencil tossed unceremoniously on the table, he sat in his seat with a glowering expression. Yep, this was Sweets' fault.
He considered cutting out letters and words from magazines and even started to cut out words, pictures, and shapes. But he worried it might look too much like a ransom note. Not exactly the message he wanted to send, and Booth doubted she'd appreciate that level of creativity.
Racking his brain for new ideas and words to write, he could think of nothing except that maybe she could help him. She, the inspiration for all that he did, would surely be able to help him find out what to write.
Pulling the cell phone from his pocket, his fingers automatically called her on speed dial. The phone rang once, twice, and he wondered why Bones didn't pick up immediately. Was she sleeping? Of course she had to be sleeping, it was nearly two in the morning.
Booth's heart began to race a little and he wondered what he would say to her when she answered. What excuse would he have this time for calling? And if she didn't answer the phone, what then?
Can you call up the person you are writing a love letter for? Was that allowed? Was he breaking the rules?
He heard her answer her phone, but he hung up before she could even say hello. Booth stared at the phone laying in the palm of his hand and felt it vibrate against his skin as she called him back. It vibrated for a few moments before it lay motionless and he continued to stare at where her name had appeared on the caller ID.
Glancing around the table, he wondered if it wouldn't just be better to throw out the evidence and start again later after a good night's rest.
So the paper hearts he had cut out and the silly poems and the ridiculous declarations that were wholly honest and deeply embarrassing were tossed in the garbage.
And when he finally slept, he still could not find the right words even in his dreams.
A few days had gone by and the garbage man had collected his trash and taken it away, though the remnants of his love letter attempts continued to invade his private thoughts.
Their evening out at the diner was an uncharacteristically silent one as Booth contemplated different adjectives and whether or not it was acceptable to split infinitives. Bones spoke of different cases and clues and all the usual ingredients of their job, her voice eventually trailing off as she realized he was preoccupied.
They paid for their coffee and desserts (Apple pie and a chocolate milkshake. Like always.) and headed out the door, immediately met by early summer's humid air.
"Booth," she started, placing her hand on his elbow, calling his attention to her. She waited until he looked straight at her before speaking again. "Are you alright? I've noticed that you haven't been acting like yourself lately."
"What makes you say that?" he asked, immediately coming to his own defense.
"You're quieter," she shrugged, still eyeing him. "You didn't tease Sweets about his age once today, you didn't even mention anything about Parker's science test. And you haven't even said a single thing about how you called me the other night around two in the morning."
"That was an accident," he told her, avoiding her eyes. He glanced at the people walking around them on the sidewalk, wishing they could have this conversation in private.
"Okay, fine," he relented after a moment of her staring him down. "You're right."
"Of course I am," she replied, confused as to why he would say something so obvious. "So why did you call?"
There was a pause. Booth shifted in his stance, feeling hot around the collar. The pavement seemed particularly hard under the soles of his shoes and the air seemed denser than usual. The yellow diner lights illuminated the small space they occupied on the sidewalk, and he could not take his eyes away from her.
"It was Sweets' fault," he finally confessed. "He suggested that I write you a letter to tell you how I feel. That maybe if I wrote everything down, it would be easier to explain." The last of his statement tumbled from his mouth, spilling out in an effort to get the hardest part over with. Like ripping off a bandage or jumping into a pool.
"I don't understand."
"I called you because I didn't know what to write, but then that just didn't work either."
His words sounded stupid even to himself. He should have kept lying. He never should have listened to Sweets in the first place.
"Well, it didn't work because you didn't actually talk to me. Maybe if you had spoken to me instead of hanging up, you would have written something," she rationalized.
"And that's why you're the genius, Bones," he said with a small smile he couldn't hold back despite his embarrassment.
She matched his smile, her features warmer with the gesture and filling him with cautious and momentary hope.
"So what did you want the letter to say?" Bones prompted lightly, still unmoving on the sidewalk and her arms loose by her sides as though she had all the time in the world to listen to what he had to say.
Except, that was the problem. He still did not know what to say. He still did not know how to compose a letter, how to incorporate everything he felt and knew she needed to hear. How do you write about years of moments, significant glances, small smiles, and wonderings of "what if"? There are no words, no sentences, no punctuation. He wasn't even sure if he would be able to find the right stationary.
But she was still standing there, waiting for an answer.
And so he kissed her. The kiss was everything he could not write with a dear Bones on his lips. A beginning, middle, and end with all the details and perfectly worded sentences passed between them as the kiss deepened.
The kiss lasted too long and ended too quickly, his head spinning and his eyes locked on hers as she stared up at him with her lips barely parted. The warm glow of the diner's lights brought her face in soft relief as she looked at him with a question in her eyes.
"Booth, that's not a letter," she finally said in that cool, calculating way that simultaneously amused and frustrated him.
"Well, what would you have written?"
She pondered his question, her mouth now pursed shut in concentration. He could practically see the thoughts race through her mind as though they were projected in her eyes for the entire world to see. A subtle change in her expression, her jaw set in honest determination, and suddenly he understood.
Bones kissed him as he had kissed her, with all the unspoken words shared in silence. She pulled away, her hands tentatively holding his cheeks so that his face was only an inch away from hers.
"The same thing."
See, just some saccharine goodness. Still, I hope you enjoyed it! If you liked it or if there are any mistakes (grammatical, with canon, or otherwise), please let me know.