Four Things She Can't Remember (And One She Can)

Warning: Spoilers for Two Bodies in the Lab and The Woman in Limbo.

originally posted to LiveJournal, 9/8/2006

1. Exchanging Keys

She knows this is supposed to be a Big Deal. The anthropologist in her recognizes the exchange of apartment keys as a symbolic gesture, conveying trust and openness, a willingness to let the other person into your life. The woman in her has, she will grudgingly admit, seen enough contemporary media to know that this is the kind of moment they base television episodes around.

With Booth, though, there aren't any declarations of emotion, no trembling fingers or awkward "Well, I just thought that maybe..." or "I've been thinking about this for a while and it's probably time..." She just notices one day that there's an extra pair on her overflowing keyring, the square one labeled BOOTH in his distinctive block capitals, and it occurs to her that she never got her extra set back that last time he watered her plants while she was in Quebec. She doesn't ask him to return them.

2. The First Date

She knows she would remember her first date with David even if she hadn't almost gotten murdered on the way. She's vain enough to know how to look her best, and she prepares carefully that night. Clothes, shoes, and light makeup are chosen strategically. The meeting place and time are arranged beforehand. It isn't one of those "Maybe we could get a cup of coffee..." moments that she dreads when she goes to conferences, where you spend most of the hour trying to figure out whether this is a date or a business meeting or just a cup of coffee, which is inevitably mediocre and leaves a bitter taste in your mouth - particularly unfortunate in those cases where it turns out to have been a date after all and there's an awkward kiss at the end. No, with David there was no question what the evening was about.

She never has that with Booth. Sometimes she dresses up a little, but more often than not she's in whatever she wore under her lab coat that day or the grubby sweatpants she threw on when he got a brainstorm about their case at midnight or 5 AM. Sometimes it's not about the case, and sometimes she's the one who calls him, especially when Parker's just gone back to Rebecca and she knows he could use some company. She picks out a Thai or Italian or Ethiopian place they've never tried, or he drags her to a movie he knows she won't understand, or they sit at Sid's for three hours working on a pair of beers. And he always opens the door for her, and pulls out her chair, and only lets her pay when she steals the check while he's in the bathroom, but that's just him.

3. The First Time They Say 'I Love You'

Angela overhears the end of a conversation one day and squeals and wants to hear the whole story, but the truth is that there is no candlelit moment, no sharp intake of breath, no tearful admission. He's calling from the SUV to talk about soil samples, she's telling him that using his cell phone in traffic is going to get him killed, he agrees to hang up, and she says "Bye, love you" like she sometimes says to Angela. He says "Love you, too, hon" like he does to Parker, and she disconnects the phone, and later on she thinks it was too natural, it can't have been the first time they've done that, but she can't ask him because that would be admitting it was A Thing. So she makes sure to say it every time, now.

4. Meeting the Parents

She's there when he sees her mom for the first time, but it's not exactly a Hallmark moment, and she doesn't find out until much later that he's the one who recognized her face. She'd love for him to meet her father, but she knows that it's more likely to happen over an interrogation table than at a quiet restaurant with handshakes and childhood anecdotes and an appropriately expensive Merlot.

She learns after the fact that his parents came to the hospital the night of the explosion, and and every night that week, but at the time she's too worried, too focused on Booth and the case, too far under the dulling influence of medication to notice. Years later, she'll find a photograph his mother took in Booth's hospital room, the two of them slumped together awkwardly where they fell asleep watching some old movie. She'll ask what made her take it, and Mrs. Booth will say, "Sometimes, you just know." And she'll think, I didn't. But maybe she did.

1. The First Kiss

She's picking him up at the airport, again. She drives his car, which is their compromise, because as little as he likes someone else behind the wheel while he's not there, this way he doesn't have to be a passenger. They'll swing by Sid's to pick up the takeout she ordered and drive back to her place to unwind before he heads home.

And it's not exactly the way it is in the old movies, because you can't wait at the gate anymore. So she's standing at the baggage claim, watching the bags circle, half an eye out for his black Samsonite rolling suitcase even though they haven't put his flight up yet. But then she sees him and it's everything the rest of it never was - slow motion and her chest tightening and the way he just drops his carry-on right there on the tile, unattended luggage warnings be damned, and when he slides one arm around her and cups her cheek with his free hand, all she says is yes before they are kissing, kissing, kissing, and she thinks, This one I won't forget.