Title: Risk Management
Series: Snowflakes
Characters: Temperance Brennan
Rating: K+ or PG
Spoilers: None
Prompt: Heed
Disclaimer: Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Brennan-centric musings.
A/N: Snowflakes is a series of Bones oneshots. I have a
50scenes prompt table I claimed a gazillion years ago. Writing time is always at a premium these days, and on the random occasions when I have it (read: when my daughter naps), I'm finding it hard to find or create much inspiration. Too much pressure, maybe. Regardless, perhaps these will help.
If you read this, thank you. If you comment, thank you. It's always good to hear what you thought. :)
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Click here for fic index. Click to read other ficlets in this series Risk Management
Which came first, the chemical reaction or the emotion? The fowl (chicken, Bones) or the egg? Taxonomy matters; to a scientist, how could it not?
But it is not the sole matter of importance here.
Even scientists feel.
After all your questions, after all your exhortations for proof, there exists this knowledge: the small spot on his chin where skin fought steel and the latter won, is beautiful. As beautiful to you in its perfect imperfection (paradoxes cause you less discomfort now; even bone remodels in response to micro-damage) -- as essential to your understanding of how the world works, as the incontrovertible way in which bone fits against bone.
You love him.
But you are not Angela, with her unshakable belief that love conquers all. Temperance Brennan. Joy Keenan. Russ Brennan. Kyle Keenan. Matthew Brennan. Max Keenan. Christine Brennan. Ruth Keenan. Empty safe-deposit boxes. Unopened Christmas presents. Hot water; a broken dish; the trunk of a car.
Love did not conquer personal weakness. You do not wish to discover that it does not conquer personality differences, either.
So you will not press your lips to his tiny injury, murmuring soothing words. Instead, you will offer pretty toasts and exchange glances heavy with unfulfilled promise.
At least he will never look at you as though he would hate you if he could.