A/N: Hey there! So I've had this story sitting on my desktop for a long, long time and I was convinced to publish it by the lovely belowthetamarack. It's set anytime between seasons 2 and 5 and was born of my wandering mind during a particularly boring pre-cal class. So at least I know something came out of that subject...

Zeno's Paradox

I have known Dr. Temperance Brennan for a long time. In fact, she is probably the oldest friend that I am still in contact with.

Not that we were friends at first. Far from it.

I was irritable. Angry at life, the world, and all who inhabited it. Wrapped up in my elaborate conspiracy theories and strange, exotic bugs, forever snapping the rubber band around my wrist. She was cold, hard, and hyper-rational. Wrapped up in her world of the dead and forgotten, forever staring at the bones of the long-gone. So it was understandable that we disliked each other, at least at first.

But things change. People change.

And I had never seen someone change more than she did when he entered her life. I think entered is too gentle a word. When he pushed, shoved and bullied his way into her life. He was perhaps the first one to attempt to break through those walls she had carefully constructed, the walls of cold, hard logic and rationality and where is the proof? and I don't know what that means, which shut everyone else out, even her best friend. Even Angela. She resisted, of course, pulled back, away from him, for a whole year.

But he would not take no for an answer.

Even the most casual observer (myself included) could not deny the attraction between those two, the way the very air seemed to crackle with electricity when they occupied the same space, the way pure chemistry seemed to get them through a murder case. I still find it difficult to believe they have not yet given into their most basic instincts and just, well...ripped each other's clothes off.

Booth showed her the real world for the first time.

Not that she had been avoiding reality before, it was just that it had passed her by. Her reality was the bowels of Limbo, among ancient skeletons and their untold stories. She had never considered a life with the still-living. And initially, she preferred it that way.

But he didn't care. He dragged her, kicking and screaming, into the sun, the light, out of the cave. He was the philosopher-king and she the shadow, fettered and chained, observing and cataloging and closely observing the shadows that danced on the walls before her. Plato himself would have nodded in approval of the modern reenactment of his famous work.

After those first few cases, I saw them temper their obvious sexual attraction, saw the way they could solve murders like nobody's business, the way they worked perfectly as a team. The way they complemented each other.

I caught glimpses into their lives; an intimate hug in her office here, a shared smile there. I also caught things that they both seemed unaware of; the way he smiled at her when he thought nobody else was watching, the way she seemed to brighten up, relax, when he entered a room.

Theirs was the strangest relationship I had ever observed. And yet, it was also the most perfect.

I myself had had limited one-on-one time with Dr. B up to that point. At most, we would discuss a case over lunch, but by then her lunches were dominated by Booth's presence. In fact, her entire life seemed to be dominated by Booth. At times, she appeared to ooze his essence, spouting what, to most, seemed to be the most inconsequential things he had said as though they were the words of God himself. I'm sure he worshipped at her feet just as much as she did at his, perhaps more so. He was just better at hiding it. I'm not completely sure though, as I tried to steer clear of him. The G-Man, with his tough guy talk and his sniper training and quick temper, scared me a little then.

To be completely honest, he still does.

But my lack of bonding time with my boss changed on one fateful day. You get to know someone pretty well, when you think you're going to be sharing a grave with them.

I remember everything from that day, in the car. My subconscious has helpfully stored every minute detail, so as to be recalled easily on nights when I wake up in a cold sweat, unable to breathe and afraid of the dark.

At that moment, I can recall every sensation that I experienced in those cramped quarters, so close to death and yet so far.

I remember how it feels to wake up and not know where you are, only to discover you're in a nightmare.

I remember how it is to feel insatiable anger and unbearable rage at the injustice of the world.

I remember how it is to hate a person so fiercely that murder no longer feels like an irrational action.

I remember the pain of being struck by a car.

I remember how it feels to have all your hopes pinned on one text message, on one group of people. How it is to feel so disparaged and yet so hopeful at the same time.

I remember how desperate the need is to confide in someone, anyone, your most closely guarded secrets before the end.

I remember how it feels to watch a friend, a colleague, write, with a sense of uncharacteristic frenzy, what may very well be their last words. I remember the force that goes into those words, which must say so much in so little. I remember how I could tell how desperate the letter was, just from watching the rushed strokes of the pen against the paper.

I knew exactly who that letter was to.

There is only one person who incites such passion in her.

It could only be Booth.