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Fic: Lost and Found (1/1)
I'm Your Gun - lerdo
only_more_love
Title: Lost and Found (1/1)
Characters: Brennan, Booth
Rating: PG-13
Summary: "Confessing this sin is not an option."
Notes:  What follows is different than anything else I have posted here. This is just me playing with tense and style.  For the purposes of this, a certain event in Santa in the Slush never happened.  I'm not sure how to classify this; perhaps it's a character study.
Disclaimer: Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.

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Warning:  What follows is different than anything else I have posted here. This is just me playing with tense and style.  For the purposes of this, a certain event in Santa in the Slush never happened.  I'm not sure how to classify this; perhaps it's a character study.

The first time he kisses her, it's just to stem the flow of words from her pretty mouth. They are arguing about something, and as is often the case once they get going, he can't even remember where or why it started. Sometimes he suspects that maybe they do it more out of habit than anything else; he no longer believes they are quite as different as he thought they were when he had her detained at the airport upon her return from Guatemala so long ago.

Still, they are just different enough.

A list fifty names long stalks his dreams and pushes him to execute one more warrant, pore over one last bit of evidence, empty one more clip at the shooting range. The next day he gets up and does it again.

Hers is a different sort of list, and it's only two names long. But the length is irrelevant. It is the fact that it exists that matters. The list drives her to reassemble one more skull, clean one final shard of bone, work one last hour, as the shadows grow longer and the hours till dawn grow shorter.

There are nights when his list chases him from his bed, and when he tires of pacing his cage and hearing the floorboards creak beneath the staccato beat of his feet, he stuffs his legs into an old pair of jeans and throws on the navy sweatshirt he picked up years ago when he trained at the Academy in Quantico.

FBI—Fidelity, Bravery, Integrity.

Does he embody any of those values? On those nights, he can't find the answer, so even though he knows his hair must be a mess, he doesn't look in the mirror to fix it. Looking would mean seeing.

Some nights he drives, riding I-95 into Maryland, Virginia. Mostly trucks are his companions on those late nights and early mornings, their red taillights leading him...somewhere, as they belch diesel fumes like hulking monsters of rubber and steel. He is small by comparison, he thinks. So small.

Other nights he drives to the Jeffersonian to see if she is still there. Sometimes she is.

One night he finds her asleep on the couch in her office, her head resting at an angle he knows will make her neck and shoulders hurt when she wakes in a few hours. The way her body curls in on itself suggests she is cold, and sure enough, as he stands with his head bent and watches her, she shivers. So he goes back out to his car and returns with the knit afghan his mother made him when he became a Ranger. The red has dulled, the white has turned almost gray, and the blue has faded with time. Though some of the yarn has split into separate plies, he knows the afghan is as warm now as it was when his mother gave it to him.

He lays it over her and waits.

He plays a game in his head; he can't leave until she moves. It takes fifteen minutes that first night—before she stretches out one long leg.

But after she moves once, he has to leave. It takes several tries before he can force his own legs to take him further than the doorway of her office.

With a nod, he says goodbye to the security guard and finally leaves the building.

He goes home and falls asleep and dreams no more that night.

The next day, he wears his flashiest belt buckle and most whimsical socks in the hope that they will keep her scientist's eyes from observing the slight shadows he knows are painted under his eyes. They don't have a case, but he stops by to see her anyway. She is seated on her couch, bent over a stack of papers. With a sigh, she rubs her hand over her neck, and he realizes he was right. Before he can think better of it, he smooths his hands over the place where her neck meets her shoulders. She jumps and turns around, her mouth twisted in a frown that melts into a smile when she realizes who it is.

They talk about nothing important, and as he joins her on the couch, his eyes search for the afghan, his afghan, and find it folded neatly over one of the armrests.

The next time he comes by the Jeffersonian at night and finds her dreaming on her couch, he notices that the afghan is draped over her. He smiles and leaves.


Booth tries to be a good Catholic.

Church on Sunday. Prayers every night. Confession when necessary.

But there is one thing he never voices as he kneels in the confessional and inhales the desperation of those who occupied the space before him. That thing, he knows, is what he most needs to confess. For it must be a sin, to want something as badly as he wants her. She's pure in ways he can't even remember being, and he knows one day he'll sully that purity.

Confessing this sin is not an option. Because not only would he receive God's pardon during confession, he would also be empowered to resist the sin in the future.

He can't bear to do that.

Never a question of if, only when.

Weeks, months, years unravel.

The translucence of her skin and the cut crystal of her eyes are the sun—nearly blinding him with their brilliance. He tries not to look, tries to delay the inevitable. Still, he's weak—a creature of flesh and bone—and one day, he'll succumb.

He waits.

Booth is willing to die. For his country. For a stranger. For her. But he's unwilling to do it without having known the comfort of blindness. He yearns to lay his down his burden for a moment and prop himself against her steel conviction, lose himself in her black and white world, and forget gray—the place where he lives.

He waits.


"I'm sorry," he mutters, just before, knowing with absolute clarity that it is both a lie and the truth.

The first time he kisses her, it's just to stem the flow of words from her pretty mouth. Or so he tells himself.

She smacks him; he doesn't even flinch. A moment later, she grabs the lapels of his jacket and tugs him toward her. He is startled to see himself reflected in her eyes during the second before their mouths meet again.

There is heat and light and the warm pressure of her body against his. They stumble as she shoves him back against the brick wall. He inhales the air that has just left her lungs and finds it's suddenly easier to breathe.

When he slowly opens his eyes, it is to light, not complete darkness. Sunlight catches a thousand shades in her hair. There are roses blooming in her cheeks and thunderclouds brewing in her eyes, and he knows he put them there. Her mouth moves, but no words come out. She blinks and tilts her head to the side, looking at him as if seeing him for the first time.

A stinging cheek is a small price to pay.

She stares at him, he stares at her—seeing at last.

I once was lost, but now I'm found.*

*This is a lyric from Amazing Grace, a Christian hymn.


this was amazing! i really enjoyed reading it in this tense. it made the story even better!

Thanks. The present tense seemed to give it a certain immediacy.

Glad this worked for you. :)

(Deleted comment)
I love your writing because it is so character driven and rich with descriptions.

*hugs you* You have made my week. Thank you.

Interesting little snippet. Do you plan to do much with it?

Thanks. I think this is a one-shot, though anything's possible. At the very least, I'm sure I'll work with this tense and style again.

Yes, yes, yes, yes.

This is what has been just below the surface. The lyricism is just... perfect.

YES!!!!

(ETA: I'm in a writing mood - give me another Bones prompt... *grins*)

Edited at 2007-12-02 02:53 am (UTC)

This is what has been just below the surface.

I think so. ;)

The lyricism is just... perfect.

YES!!!!


I thought and hoped that you would like this. Thank you for letting me know that you did.

And I left a pic prompt in your journal. Hope it sparks something!


I normally don't care for fics written in this style but you have converted me. It's brilliant. Beautiful. Certainly something worth exploring. Well done.

Believe me, I understand. In my opinion, it's a risky style that often doesn't work and can come across as overwrought rather than deeply emotional. Or maybe I just found it intimidating. :) In any case, I wanted to try it and see if I could use it in a way I liked. In writing as in life, it's good to try new things and take risks. That's what I keep telling myself, anyway. *g*

Thank you for giving this a chance even though it's not generally your cup of tea. I'm happy you found something you liked in it.

Edited at 2007-12-03 04:03 pm (UTC)

This is a fantastic character study of Booth.

Confessing this sin is not an option. Because not only would he receive God's pardon during confession, he would also be empowered to resist the sin in the future.

What a perfect insight.

Thank you very much. I'm so glad you thought this worked.

Well this is definitely different than your other stories, but equally brilliant. It's a good writing exercise, and very well done.

Thanks. :) It was fun to play with the present tense; I definitely enjoyed it. Glad you liked it, too!

another terrific fic!

Booth tries to be a good Catholic. Word. Emphasis on the "tries".

For it must be a sin, to want something as badly as he wants her. She's pure in ways he can't even remember being, and he knows one day he'll sully that purity. Oh, yes: this is surely Booth's secret sin: he wants her so badly, so much, that he would rather die than have her know, because he's convinced that she'd either reject him or immolate him. "He might catch fire." And, yes: despite Brennan's sexual experience, there's a purity about her - she "shines".

And yes, again, to your choice of the word, "sully". Such an interesting word, isn't it? And such a pun with her former lover, Sully.


Two little typos, neither of which would've been picked up by the spellcheck:
1. They talk about nothing important, and as he joins her on the couch, his eyes search for the afghan, his afghan, and find it folded neatly over one of the armrests. You forgot to type the "s", after "find".
2. He inhales the air that has just left her lungs and finds it's suddenly easier to breath. You forgot to type the "e" at the end of "breathe".

Good morning! I'll be back later to respond to your other comments, but I just wanted to say THANK YOU right now for pointing out the typos you mentioned. *facepalm* You're absolutely right about those errors; thanks to you, I've gone back and fixed them.

Thanks again for taking the time to point them out!

I'm speechless!
Amazing fic! Loved it! :D :D

I'm speechless!

*g*

Amazing fic!

Aww, thanks. So glad you liked this.

That was really brilliant. I do like this style of writing. Before I somehow, um, stopped writing anything, I got heavily into it. It makes it... insightful, and real. I'm not saying this right, my brain isn't being too coherent right now, but it's really really good. :)

You said it just fine. :)

Thank you for reading and commenting. I have mixed feelings about the use of present tense. It can work beautifully sometimes, and other times I think it might be difficult to read after a while. Might just irritate readers in a longer piece of writing. But this definitely wasn't long, and I had fun trying something a little different. It's good to stretch. Maybe I should try writing a longer story in present tense and see how it reads.

Before I somehow, um, stopped writing anything

I hope you get back to writing at some point, if that's what you want. :)

Thanks for stopping by to read this; I love the little discussions that can go on in comments.


Beautiful. Gracefully written and well executed, and you've captured Booth perfectly. Love it. Do more!


Thank you so much for your kind words. I enjoyed trying something a little different, and I'm thrilled that the result was something you liked.

...you've captured Booth perfectly.

That comment's going to have me smiling for a long time. :)

Love it. Do more!

Words are fun to play with; I'm sure I'll write more in this vein.

Amazing.

I love the subtlety. The light and the dark. It's how I always imagined their first kiss to be. (Maybe their second kiss will be.)

Your fic has placed a smile on my face that I'm sure will be there for the rest of the day, if not longer.

Hi, Mar. Thank you so much for commenting!

You're right—there's light and dark, sight and blindness.

It's how I always imagined their first kiss to be. (Maybe their second kiss will be.)

I love Booth and Brennan—probably more than is healthy—so I've imagined many different first kisses for them. ;) And this is certainly a possibility for a second kiss. It will be interesting to see how it all plays out after the events of Santa in the Slush...

I'm happy this made you smile. Your feedback made me smile, so I guess we're even.


Absolutely lovely.

This is a marvelous style for you -- I'd definitely be interested in reading more along the lines of this work.

Simply excellent.

Thanks so much. I'm pleased you enjoyed this. Writing like this was an interesting change of pace; I'm sure I'll try it again.

Thank you for reading and feeding. :)

A very pleasing assessment of Booth's inner voice here. Just enough to leave the reader satisfied. Good.

Thanks very much. Glad you thought I caught Booth's "inner voice" in this. :)

Well, that's simply wonderful. I loved the introspection and the guilt and, of course, the outcome. Excellent work.

Thank you!

I loved the introspection and the guilt...

*hugs you* I'm glad; the show doesn't touch on this aspect of Booth nearly enough, but I'm absolutely convinced it's there.

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