A/N: I'm back, baby! That was an unusually long post-December drought but it finally ended with this tiny snippet. Thanks to Pinterest and Nietzsche for the inspiration.


"There are two different types of people in the word:

those who want to know, and those who want to believe." –Friedrich Nietzsche


Brennan wanted to know.

She was a scientist after all. Knowledge was the lens through which she saw the world and when the world was rational, Brennan felt secure.

Two plus two equals four. Sugar sweetens. The sun rises.

But sometimes? Sometimes Brennan just wanted to know.

Even for just a moment, she wanted to experience the sparkling clarity that came with certainty.

She wanted to be the only proof that mattered.

Booth was that guy. He just knew.

He knew that they could do amazing things together, if she would just get back in the car.

He knew that she was Dr. Temperance Brennan, even when she wasn't certain of it herself.

He knew, from the very beginning, that they were meant to be together for thirty, or forty, or fifty years.

But Brennan didn't.

She didn't know that he would storm into her life, disrupting all of her order and logic with his instinct and fiery emotions.

She didn't know that one look into his hopeful brown eyes as he dared to speak the unspoken would shatter everything inside her.

She didn't know that rationality, the very thing that had always kept her world turning safely, would betray her.

She didn't know.

But she wanted to.


Booth wanted to believe.

He wanted to believe that he wasn't alone, that what he was feeling wasn't one sided, unrequited, or tumor-induced.

He wanted to believe that the universe that had made him walk through fire wasn't as cruel as it seemed.

He wanted to believe that there was a point to all of the pain, that there were reasons for why he always had to learn life's lessons the hard way.

He wanted to believe that he wasn't a fool.

He had told her that he knew and in the moment, he wanted to believe that he did.

He still wanted to believe it.

But she had called his bluff.

And the worst part about it was that he couldn't blame her.

The familiar feeling of insecurity that had plagued him all of his life haunted him now.

He didn't really know anything.

Maybe she just thought he wasn't good enough.

Maybe he just wanted to feel the drug of risk coursing through his veins again.

Maybe he really was a fool.

And yet, somewhere deep within him, he remembered those rare reciprocated looks when his heart would stop in awe of her beauty and her blue eyes would sear into his soul. In those stolen moments, the partners were more than "just".

He more than remembered those moments; he clung to them.

And for better or worse, he wanted to believe that she did too.