This is merely fan fiction. The characters were created by others who retain all rights to them .

Safe Bet on a Buried Letter

Booth,

I hope you are okay over in the desert. You have a tendency to find danger. If you need me to send a team to extract you, I would be happy to. Life in Paris is beyond imagining. As much as I love my work at the lab, I almost can't imagine coming back to it. Angela is so happy here and paints almost every day, of course there are the days we never make it out of bed but I am sure that is TMI to you.

I do have a purpose in writing before you become irate:

Dude, you are my friend. Perhaps reluctantly on your part, but my friend none the less and if I can make you see reason long enough for you to find half the happiness that I have than this is all worth it.

When we were trapped underground, I used pages from Brennan's book, so kindly left in the vehicle with us by the Gravedigger demon, to write a note of goodbye to Angela. After exhausting all of our options to extricate ourselves other than blowing the windshield which we feared could kill us, Bren decided to write a letter of her own. As she had no pockets in her clothing, and placing the paper too near her skin in case of decomp would make it unreadable even to Angela, she allowed me to keep her letter with mine in the pocket of my jacket safe from decomposition.

I have never said anything to her or anyone about her letter. She has never said anything to me about it either. You know as well as I that Bren is not someone to forget anything. Why then, was that letter allowed to stay with me?

You know me well enough now to know that of course I read the letter. I stashed it with some of the other evidence I stole that did not get sacrificed in our attempt to rescue you from the boat. Brennan probably doesn't need to know about that.

You probably also so suspect that Angela does know about what happened at the Hoover than night. Bren told her, and Ang told me. What you don't know is what else Bren told Ang. She told my wife that she loves you. She wishes for the 50 years you described but she feels she is too science driven, too cold, too empirical and too damaged to ever be able to make you truly happy. Besides you didn't tell her you loved her, you qualified it with saying you wanted to give a relationship a chance. And, Dude, you didn't fight for her.

In the years I have known Brennan, longer than you I might add, I have never known her to be swayed in her knowledge- until we met you. Think about it: you have managed to convince her to believe in love, believe that although religion is drivel to her, it must be tolerated because you believe. You brought her out of the lab and showed her that life outside worth the risk. She never wanted children, and then suddenly she wants yours.

In the car that night, I accused Bren of having faith in you. She told me that faith is the irrational belief in something for which there is no evidence. She refuted that what she felt could not be faith because she had over time seen what you can do. That still sounded a lot like faith to me. Empirically there is no way to know what you were doing, if anything, to save us. You made her have faith. Over the years you have managed to turn her to your way of thinking in many ways, why aren't you trying to convince her that a relationship with you will be for the rest of your lives? You just need to prove it to her. And fight a bit harder.

Why then did Bren not take back that letter she wrote? She left it with me for a reason, I suspect in the event of her death. But I am just as tired of death as the rest of you, so I am sending you the letter. I will deal with her wrath when I have to, I will shamelessly hide behind my offspring if necessary.

Something else you should know: Prior to Bren's departure she made some changes to her will. I know this because she made me executor of the will. Prime beneficiaries cannot be executors and since you are indeed the prime beneficiary it could not have been you. She left small allotments to Max and Russ, generous college funds for Russ's girls, Michele and Parker, an endowment at the Jeffersonian, and a chair position at Northwestern. The only other beneficiary is a small charity that supports foster teens. You would inherit the bulk of her estate including all royalties to her books and movies, with the only caveat that you spend some money each year on your own happiness. Trips, an adventure, a giant TV, even a wedding are possibilities. Even in death she only wants you to be happy. Isn't that worth fighting for?

I tell you this because as happy as I am, finding out that I am going to become a father has made me even happier. I want to spread the joy. So yes, this letter is all about me, the bug man, sticking my nose in your business. Angela knows nothing about this but you know that she would condone it. Read the letter, G-man, if I can do anything to help your cause I will gladly. If you have managed to move on, I hope you will forgive me; I will value our friendship even if it ends.

Sincerely,

Hodgins

I open the envelope in which Hodgins has placed her letter to me. The paper is stained and still a little dusty from the dirt that was all over them when we finally pulled them out. It will be hard to read her words through the dirt. And to be honest, it will be hard to read her words because I still hurt from her rejection. I admit that I am mad about Hodgins sticking his nose in my business, but I hate it here. The only reason I agreed to come to Afghanistan is that the thought of staying in DC and trying to "move on" was making me crazy. I was feeling compelled to drink, gamble, anything just to dull the pain. So I ran, just like she did. Maybe Hodgins will save me.

The pages of her letter are random chapter ends, where the words on the page end before the bottom. Hodgins must have used all the blank paper in his letter to Angela. Her writing is usually so precise, just like her, but this is cramped on to the page as if she felt she didn't have nearly enough space to convey her words. Not once that I can see is anything crossed out either. Whatever she wrote, she didn't have to think much. Of course this is her brilliant mind and most things don't require her to expend much brain power. Yet I can only assume that this a letter is about how she feels, so it seems like she would have to think, have to scratch out thoughts too personal to share even in her last words. With a sigh, I unfold the pages and start to read.

Dear Booth,

Hodgins and I have been underground for approximately 13 hours. Had we not managed to extend our air supply a few times we would be dead by now. We managed to cut through the rear seatback to slice open the spare tire that probably gave us about 40 more minutes of air. Hodgins also managed to create a carbon dioxide scrubber giving us just enough time for me to rig the air bag explosives to the dash and try to blow our way out. It could very easily kill us both though. So I decided I need to write to you.

I know you never gave up on us, even as time ran out. I know you continued to look for us. I know that even when it becomes impossible to believe that we can be rescued, you will continue to look. You did everything you could and this is not your fault. Hodgins says this is faith. I tried to tell him it is evidentiary, but he's right. You have given me faith- at least in you.

I was never a typical child. I was always teased and bullied. I never knew how to relate to children and most adults found me irritating. I grew up withdrawing from everything but my own mind and my family. They accepted me, encouraged me and yes, loved me. Then they left me. In order to protect myself, I withdrew even farther. I never got close to another person again, not truly. Sex was just satisfying biological urges, relationships were impossible because I refused to give anyone the power to hurt me again. Then I met Angela, she made me believe that having a friend felt good enough to stop worrying so much about potential pain. But I never let her completely close, because I still needed to have a retreat. Then you came into my life. Sex was certainly on my primary agenda. Then we couldn't do that because we worked together. Over a short period of time, the desire for sex was far overshadowed by just you. I wanted you in my life, you make me feel happy, you make me feel just a little normal, you make me feel cared for. As much as I hated the nickname you gave me, I find that I am comforted that it is unique to us. Only you will ever call me Bones that makes me feel just a little special.

I have always said that I don't believe in love. Love is indeed created by chemicals produced in the brain. However, just because these are chemical responses to stimuli does not mean that these chemicals may not be lasting in their effects. I have certainly known love, in the sense of family love. I have also come to realize that the attraction I feel for you is heightened by love. I love you. You are the first thing I think of in the morning and the last thing I think of at night. I continually try to expand my social skills so that you will like me just a little bit more.

In those moments just before awakening, I often can smell the scent of your skin, and see the way your smile reflects into your eyes when you look at Parker, and feel your arms around me as you hug me when I am scared. You continually give me reasons to love you, trust you, and believe in you. It is my wish that if the explosive concussion does turn my brain to jelly, the last conscious thought I have will be of you.

Since you are reading this I am dead. I do not believe that anything of me will remain beyond the organic materials that make up my body- and those only for a few thousand years. I know you do believe that some form of my sentience will continue to exist. If you are right, know that I will remain with you if I am able and provide any protection to you or those you love that I can. Your laugh will be a balm to my spirit. But since I do not hold that as a high probability, please use your memories of me to provide comfort rather than grief.

With an infinite sense of loss, I bid you good bye.

Bones

In the desert, the dust often makes the eyes sting and water. It was not dust that made the tears run down my cheeks now. I knew I rushed, I pushed and I failed to prove my point. My own insecurities held me back. Now here we are separated by thousands of miles and hurt, but she isn't dead. I am not dead, and I cannot stop looking for her until I find her again. Surly this has to be our second chance.

Bones said she wanted perspective. I took that to mean that she wanted distance from me. She probably does so that she can safely shove feelings, such as she described in that ill fated letter, far into a locked compartment. If I give her too much time she may be successful. So I emailed Cam, who informed me that not only did Bones check her email regularly, but that it was possible to call the site. I need to hear her voice, so my fingers dial the number I was given.

The ringing phone is answered at the Maluku Islands project:

"May I speak to Dr Temperance Brennan?"

"Dr Brennan is in her lab and asked to remain undisturbed, may I take a message?"

"Please, tell her it is Booth, and that I need her. I will wait. "

Minutes pass, the flunky hopefully conveying my message. Through the dust and distance and satellites, I can hear footsteps. Quick purposeful steps that I know are not those of the flunky answering the phone, but of Bones.

"Booth? Are you alright? What's wrong?" Rapid fire, she questions me. I think, dare I hope, that I hear fear and worry in her voice?

"Oh Bones, I just needed to hear your voice. I am so alone here. "

There is a long silence, I am afraid I lost the connection. "Booth, did something happen, "she asks quietly.

"No, not really. It is hot and dusty and some of these kids will die, and I hate it that I came. But I had to leave. I couldn't stay where you were not. It was killing me. Bones, don't run, don't hang up.

I know you said you were protecting me, but I need you. You keep me sane; keep me from falling into despair. Please just for me; promise you'll come back to me. "

I know I am playing a mean trick. I mean what I say, but I don't think she will want to hurt me, and that seems to be the only way I can get her to stay on the line.

"Booth, I do think I will hurt you. But I recognize that I already have. Please forgive me. I care about you so much and you are the only person I have ever really trusted. If you need me, I will be . . . "

Bones, I love you. There, I am saying that out loud. I love you. Everything else I said is true too, but I forgot the proof. I love you. And I think you love me too?

The pause is so long I am sure that my heart stops,

"Yes, "she whispers.

This isn't a gamble anymore.