Disclaimer: Not mine in the least. If they're yours, thanks for letting me borrow.

Note: Quite short. Written for the comment fic meme on livejournal. Prompt: B&B, "You shouldn't think what you're feeling" (Death Cab for Cutie, Lightness)

Break Fast

It's a strange thing: waking up and waiting to remember that you love someone. Waiting for it to be real.

He remembers the pieces of two lives. Both of them are his. She's told him before that, scientifically, you never really touch anything in this world. The little bits, electrons, of one thing bump into one another, slide across the surfaces. Your brain just fools you into thinking otherwise.

So when one life feels as real as the other, what does it matter if it all happened in his head?

##

"If you eat a pizza in a dream, does it count?"

"Excuse me?" Gorgon Wyatt has to raise a hand to stop one of the sous chefs from intercepting the agent who's barged into his kitchen. He's hoping Agent Booth doesn't expect him to make pizza.

"I mean, does it mean you ate a pizza?"

These are the kinds of questions psychologists hate but chefs can answer with ease. "Do you wake up hungry?"

Booth frowns over the question, great gravity resting in the creases of his forehead. "Starving."

Gordon Wyatt draws a circle in the air, around the question, with the tip of a wooden spoon before bringing it home with a smile and a flick of his wrist. "Simple. You should eat a pizza."

##

Like a good scientist, the first thing she does when she finally finds an answer is ask 'why?'She wonders why he didn't tell her sooner (why, attagirl?).

He says it's strange to wake up and realize you love someone, to realize, despite the evidence against, that you did all along.

His face is pained when he mentions the brain scans, needing to be honest even if it means the end.

But she surprises him.

She's a writer too. She knows endings are retroactive. The best tragedies come from perfect love stories that end badly. The ending reaches back and changes them.

He wonders about happy endings, something hopeful crackling around his eyes. She tells him they don't exist.

"They're just beginnings," she says, fingertips sliding across his jaw.

Because she's just realized it. But she, too, has loved him all along.