Walking Irrationality
Fic dealing with the Finale.
Too tired to give more details than that, lol.
Thanks to annabones for her reading it over!
Typing was all she could do. Somehow, her fingers on the keyboard allowed her to have a connection to reality beyond the glances she couldn't help directing to him-to check if there were any changes, to see if he was finally awake (He's taking so long to wake up). Maybe if she kept writing he would feel all she needed him to know.
She knew it was one of the most irrational thoughts she could have. But in this moment, 'irrational' didn't sound so bad. Irrational was just how she felt. Now she understood what it meant when they said love is irrational.
And if she was in love, if she loved him, then there had to be space for irrationality inside her.
That realization was what made her write what she wished was real without the guilt of not being her usual empirical self. It was just a silent message she knew he'd never get but that she still had to put into words in the hope he'd get it, somehow. Even if she rationally knew he couldn't. The irrationality in her told her that maybe he could, and that maybe was enough.
So she wrote. She pushed keys that built words to express and, in the process, accept what she'd had struggled so much to understand. She brought to light the irrationality that led her to dream for the first time, images of loving companionship and a future shared without fears, without restraint, all because they had what she'd taken so long to see not only as trust, but as faith.
She put herself into the position of being brave and making the intangible something real. If she felt herself starting to categorize and judge what appeared on the screen, she just blocked it out of her mind and emotions-years of compartmentalizing in the opposite direction made it easier than she would have thought possible-and let the flow of images take hold on reality through her fingertips.
And it was real. It was him waiting for her in their bed, telling her he loved her and how he wanted to prove it to her (oh, Booth, please tell me you love me); it was him who was the one to support her when she had to face the murdered body (I'm not as brave as I make it look like. I need you beside me, now, to be all that I am), the one to beam at the prospect of parenthood, of sharing a baby together.
I want to have all those things with you.
Because even if we break each other's hearts in trying, the burden of the risk is surpassed by the chance of love.
She finished that idea and read it on the screen.
She read how it had translated to a love that could make her fly.
But with him in that state (look at him... that's the man that I love), she had to learn first how to walk.
Her finger hovered over the keyboard, leaning into a certain key. Hesitating for a moment, she finally gathered the courage and pressed delete. Not because she wanted to forget, but because she really wanted to make it work and to do that she couldn't rush it.
She had to walk before she could fly.
Then she heard him. She wanted to run to him, but she walked. She explained. She felt herself tear up and how the emotion filled her throat so the words didn't come out easily.
Until those three words came from his mouth.
And the walking she'd just begun froze in mid-step.
Too tired to give more details than that, lol.
Thanks to annabones for her reading it over!
Typing was all she could do. Somehow, her fingers on the keyboard allowed her to have a connection to reality beyond the glances she couldn't help directing to him-to check if there were any changes, to see if he was finally awake (He's taking so long to wake up). Maybe if she kept writing he would feel all she needed him to know.
She knew it was one of the most irrational thoughts she could have. But in this moment, 'irrational' didn't sound so bad. Irrational was just how she felt. Now she understood what it meant when they said love is irrational.
And if she was in love, if she loved him, then there had to be space for irrationality inside her.
That realization was what made her write what she wished was real without the guilt of not being her usual empirical self. It was just a silent message she knew he'd never get but that she still had to put into words in the hope he'd get it, somehow. Even if she rationally knew he couldn't. The irrationality in her told her that maybe he could, and that maybe was enough.
So she wrote. She pushed keys that built words to express and, in the process, accept what she'd had struggled so much to understand. She brought to light the irrationality that led her to dream for the first time, images of loving companionship and a future shared without fears, without restraint, all because they had what she'd taken so long to see not only as trust, but as faith.
She put herself into the position of being brave and making the intangible something real. If she felt herself starting to categorize and judge what appeared on the screen, she just blocked it out of her mind and emotions-years of compartmentalizing in the opposite direction made it easier than she would have thought possible-and let the flow of images take hold on reality through her fingertips.
And it was real. It was him waiting for her in their bed, telling her he loved her and how he wanted to prove it to her (oh, Booth, please tell me you love me); it was him who was the one to support her when she had to face the murdered body (I'm not as brave as I make it look like. I need you beside me, now, to be all that I am), the one to beam at the prospect of parenthood, of sharing a baby together.
I want to have all those things with you.
Because even if we break each other's hearts in trying, the burden of the risk is surpassed by the chance of love.
She finished that idea and read it on the screen.
She read how it had translated to a love that could make her fly.
But with him in that state (look at him... that's the man that I love), she had to learn first how to walk.
Her finger hovered over the keyboard, leaning into a certain key. Hesitating for a moment, she finally gathered the courage and pressed delete. Not because she wanted to forget, but because she really wanted to make it work and to do that she couldn't rush it.
She had to walk before she could fly.
Then she heard him. She wanted to run to him, but she walked. She explained. She felt herself tear up and how the emotion filled her throat so the words didn't come out easily.
Until those three words came from his mouth.
And the walking she'd just begun froze in mid-step.