Fic: PitP tag - Tommorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow
On the drive back, they are mostly quiet, and it’s not uncomfortable. It’s a two-and-a-half hour drive, and they don’t really listen to the radio, or the CD player, or anything.
Brennan looks out the window, watching trees and fields and houses. Booth doesn’t have to do much to drive the car; it’s mostly interstate and it’s easy.
It’s all so easy.
He looks at her, for a moment, the dying sun coming through the window, orange, pink, and fading, and there’s a way it hits her hair and her face. He thinks about Levi, and his faith, and his struggle, and the gift he was willing to give up.
Booth agrees with Brennan on this one: no god would want Levi to give up that gift. It was too perfect, too precious. God wouldn’t give him the gift just to take it away. He smiles to himself; he never thought he’d see the day he and Bones agreed about religion, but now it’s here.
It’s all right here.
God would never give him the gift just to take it away.
And that’s what all this is, he realizes. It’s a gift. She’s a gift, the brain tumor, the coma, this job, his son, his life, they’re all gifts.
They’re all good, good things, things that led him to this point, to this case, in this car, with her.
Just with her.
It’s now that he knows, that he believes. Love, he remembers, is about faith. Faith that someone won’t leave you. Faith that you won’t leave them. Faith that you will always feel as good, as right, as strong as you always have about them.
He’s always had an abundance of faith.
An abundance of faith in everything, and everyone, other than himself.
When he pulls up to her apartment, she looks at him, and smiles. It’s a sad smile, and he loves her even more for it. She was good in essentials, always, but the ways she’s grown…well, she is a good person. She had the capacity to feel things, and to feel for others, but she wouldn’t let herself.
Now, she’s smiling at him, and he thinks of the way she touched Sarah’s arm. He’s about to say it, not in a halfass way like a few weeks ago, but for real, I love you he’d say, no, not in a professional way, but in all the ways, every way, every moment. It’s on the tiptiptip of his tongue.
“I wish we would have left Levi’s parents with the plug.”
It’s random, and he doesn’t understand what she’s talking about. She must have understood that, from the look on his face.
“For the DVD player.”
“But they don’t have electricity.”
“I’m confident they would have found a way. Gone into town, perhaps. I can’t believe I forgot.”
The look on her face, the tone of her voice…she’s upset about this. Really upset.
“I’ll make sure they get a plug.”
“How?”
“I just will.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
She looks pleased enough, relieved, really, and no longer as sad. She knows he will take care of this.
He doesn’t have faith in himself.
But she does.
She asks him inside. They can order a pizza, and she has some of the beer that he likes, because she likes it now, too, because of him.
There are a lot of things she does now, because of him. Ways she acts, and feels (because he’s taught her, it can be good to feel).
He sits down on her couch, loosening his tie. He usually leaves it on his neck, hanging, but he decides tonight to pull it off. He puts it with his jacket, on the arm of the couch, and he unbuttons the top couple of buttons of the shirt. He takes off his holster, careful to make sure the safety is still on.
She’s left the room, but when she comes back, she’ll have put her hair up, taken off her shoes, hung her jacket in her closet. His arms will be stretched on the back edge of the couch, and she will sit by him, not too close, but not too far. He will feel like a teenager again: should he move his arm away? Put it down around her shoulders? He will think that he wants to do that so badly, just touch her, but he’s not sure she wants him to, so he just will sit there in the same position, trying to be nonchalant, but feeling anything but, and his arm will fall asleep.
She will not notice anything.
He’ll eventually get up to go to the bathroom, and by that time, the pizza will be there. She’ll try to pay, and he won’t let her. She’ll say that she has far more money, and he has far more medical bills, but he will waive her off, and she’ll shut up, because she will know that paying for this pizza is important to him. She will not know why, but she doesn’t have to anymore. She does, and will continue to do, things that she thinks are sort of silly if it means making him happy.
She will not realize that this is one of the working definitions of love. Or rather, she won’t realize it tonight.
They won’t talk about anything important, which is actually an important thing to do, considering the case, and the way it made them both feel. He will endure an hour of some crap on the Discovery Channel, which he will enjoy despite himself, and she will switch over to the news in time for him to see the scores.
They will do these things, that married people do, that dating people do, that people in love do, everyday, all of the time, and they will do them tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, until one of them finally says something.
All of these things will happen, just as soon as Brennan comes out of her bedroom.
But until then, Booth sits on the couch, his tie and jacked abandoned, and he will think: I do not have faith in myself.
But she does.
And eventually, that will be enough.
Brennan looks out the window, watching trees and fields and houses. Booth doesn’t have to do much to drive the car; it’s mostly interstate and it’s easy.
It’s all so easy.
He looks at her, for a moment, the dying sun coming through the window, orange, pink, and fading, and there’s a way it hits her hair and her face. He thinks about Levi, and his faith, and his struggle, and the gift he was willing to give up.
Booth agrees with Brennan on this one: no god would want Levi to give up that gift. It was too perfect, too precious. God wouldn’t give him the gift just to take it away. He smiles to himself; he never thought he’d see the day he and Bones agreed about religion, but now it’s here.
It’s all right here.
God would never give him the gift just to take it away.
And that’s what all this is, he realizes. It’s a gift. She’s a gift, the brain tumor, the coma, this job, his son, his life, they’re all gifts.
They’re all good, good things, things that led him to this point, to this case, in this car, with her.
Just with her.
It’s now that he knows, that he believes. Love, he remembers, is about faith. Faith that someone won’t leave you. Faith that you won’t leave them. Faith that you will always feel as good, as right, as strong as you always have about them.
He’s always had an abundance of faith.
An abundance of faith in everything, and everyone, other than himself.
When he pulls up to her apartment, she looks at him, and smiles. It’s a sad smile, and he loves her even more for it. She was good in essentials, always, but the ways she’s grown…well, she is a good person. She had the capacity to feel things, and to feel for others, but she wouldn’t let herself.
Now, she’s smiling at him, and he thinks of the way she touched Sarah’s arm. He’s about to say it, not in a halfass way like a few weeks ago, but for real, I love you he’d say, no, not in a professional way, but in all the ways, every way, every moment. It’s on the tiptiptip of his tongue.
“I wish we would have left Levi’s parents with the plug.”
It’s random, and he doesn’t understand what she’s talking about. She must have understood that, from the look on his face.
“For the DVD player.”
“But they don’t have electricity.”
“I’m confident they would have found a way. Gone into town, perhaps. I can’t believe I forgot.”
The look on her face, the tone of her voice…she’s upset about this. Really upset.
“I’ll make sure they get a plug.”
“How?”
“I just will.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
She looks pleased enough, relieved, really, and no longer as sad. She knows he will take care of this.
He doesn’t have faith in himself.
But she does.
She asks him inside. They can order a pizza, and she has some of the beer that he likes, because she likes it now, too, because of him.
There are a lot of things she does now, because of him. Ways she acts, and feels (because he’s taught her, it can be good to feel).
He sits down on her couch, loosening his tie. He usually leaves it on his neck, hanging, but he decides tonight to pull it off. He puts it with his jacket, on the arm of the couch, and he unbuttons the top couple of buttons of the shirt. He takes off his holster, careful to make sure the safety is still on.
She’s left the room, but when she comes back, she’ll have put her hair up, taken off her shoes, hung her jacket in her closet. His arms will be stretched on the back edge of the couch, and she will sit by him, not too close, but not too far. He will feel like a teenager again: should he move his arm away? Put it down around her shoulders? He will think that he wants to do that so badly, just touch her, but he’s not sure she wants him to, so he just will sit there in the same position, trying to be nonchalant, but feeling anything but, and his arm will fall asleep.
She will not notice anything.
He’ll eventually get up to go to the bathroom, and by that time, the pizza will be there. She’ll try to pay, and he won’t let her. She’ll say that she has far more money, and he has far more medical bills, but he will waive her off, and she’ll shut up, because she will know that paying for this pizza is important to him. She will not know why, but she doesn’t have to anymore. She does, and will continue to do, things that she thinks are sort of silly if it means making him happy.
She will not realize that this is one of the working definitions of love. Or rather, she won’t realize it tonight.
They won’t talk about anything important, which is actually an important thing to do, considering the case, and the way it made them both feel. He will endure an hour of some crap on the Discovery Channel, which he will enjoy despite himself, and she will switch over to the news in time for him to see the scores.
They will do these things, that married people do, that dating people do, that people in love do, everyday, all of the time, and they will do them tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, until one of them finally says something.
All of these things will happen, just as soon as Brennan comes out of her bedroom.
But until then, Booth sits on the couch, his tie and jacked abandoned, and he will think: I do not have faith in myself.
But she does.
And eventually, that will be enough.