The When and the How: A Bone to Pick ... read it here!

Okay Folks ... I started writing this fanfic in May or June. It is still in progress, and I try to post a new chapter about every day or every other day, depending on how life is going at Case de Cabanela (my house, of course!) It is currently running on Fanfic.net and in the BoneYard, which is where it originated. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I have been enjoying writing it!

The When and the How: A Bone to Pick is my version of what happens AFTER the episode when Vincent Nigel-Murray is killed and BEFORE the season 6 finale when we learn that Brennan is pregnant. THE WHEN refers to when, exactly, Booth and Bones became a romantic couple. THE HOW refers to what they went through to get to that point. A BONE TO PICK refers primarily to the absorbing case they get wrapped up in during which the metamorphosis occurs. Many questions are answered, and Hannah is given her final send off - for good. If you like lots of detail, case and fluff, you will enjoy The When and the How: A Bone to Pick.

All comments are welcome, and mean a lot to me!


The When and the How: A Bone to Pick

Chapter 1. The Absolute Truth

Booth enters the diner and pauses, as if looking for someone. The lunch rush is winding down and the place is half empty. He sees Hannah sitting at his usual window table and advances slowly.

Hannah stands up, not knowing what kind of reception she’ll receive, searching his face for a clue. Tightening the belt of her black leather coat, she plunges her hands into the pockets, as if preparing for a brisk breeze.

Booth advances slowly and stops in front of her.

“Hannah,” he says, unemotionally.

For a moment they stand there as he appears to be weighing options. After a pause, he leans forward and kisses her on the cheek. Not a frigid greeting, but not a particularly warm one either.

Sensing now that he will at least listen to her, she exhales, realizing she hadn’t taken a breath since she spotted him through the window crossing the street a moment ago. A flash of memory recalling their affectionate greetings at this very café, at the bar, even at his office in the middle of the day tugged at her heart.

“Thank you for meeting me, Seeley.” She grimaces – watching him to see what kind of mood he might be in.

“What’s on your mind, Hannah? I’ve got about 5 minutes. You are … looking good … as usual.” He says without smiling, and not breaking eye contact. All business.

She smiles, grateful. “Thanks, Seeley. You look … healthy.” Pause. They sit on opposite sides of the table. She takes her hands out of her pockets and picks up a rubber band she discovers wrapped around the salt shaker on the table. She fiddles with it nervously, then slips it around her wrist and takes a sip from her coffee cup.

“I have missed you, Seeley. Do you ever think about me?” Hannah doesn’t look him in the eyes, nervous about his response.

“I’ve, uh, been kinda busy.”

“How’s Temperance?”

“She’s fine, Hannah. Why’d you ask me here?”

She looks up, but still says nothing.

“You’re not rethinking my offer, because it’s no longer on the table.”

“I wouldn’t expect it to be.” She puts her hands in her lap, fiddling with the rubber band once again.

”I didn’t believe it was over, we were over, for a long time,” she says. “But then I had to face what I had known all along - that our relationship was a detour, but not the real ride. I never really expected it to last. We had a great present, but our futures, your future, was always meant to be with someone else. We did have some amazing experiences. But we were never a team, Seeley.”

“It felt real to me.”

“Did it really, Seeley? I mean really?”

The waitress tops off Hannah’s coffee cup and puts one in front of Booth. He puts his hand over the cup.

“Not for me, Liz. Thanks.”

Hannah fidgets again with the rubber band, slipping it on and off the handle of her coffee cup. She is obviously anxious – and trying to muster the courage to say what she’s come to say. It was a lot easier saying it to her reflection in the mirror this morning, and in her car on the way over.

Hannah puts creamer into her cup, stirs it with a spoon, takes a sip. Puts the cup back on the table and takes a sharp breath in. Here goes nothing.

Booth just looks at Hannah, not yet sure where this is going.

“How are things at the Jeffersonian? I assume you and Temperance finally have the chance to be together?”

“It’s complicated,” he answers as he looks out the window. This is going slow – but he can tell there’s something she’s working up to – but having trouble getting to. He decides to wait her out – but not for too long.

Hannah looks at him and slowly nods, as if she’s assessing what exactly that might mean. Has he moved on from Temperance?

Facing her once again, Booth says, “Listen Hannah, when you called, it sounded like you had something you wanted to talk about..”

“I did. I do. I wanted to find out how you are. We haven’t seen each other since, you know, the night I moved out.”

Booth lets out an exasperated sigh. Is that the most significant thing she remembers about that night? He had asked her to share the rest of her life with him …

“Yeah, I remember when we last saw each other.”

“You mean a lot to me, Seeley. I don’t want to just leave it how we did. I feel like I’ve committed an egregious crime against you – and you might never forgive me.”

“So, what? You wanna be friends?” He looks at her shocked and somewhat annoyed.

“No, Seeley. I’m trying to move on, but I can’t until I explain some things. I can’t live my life knowing that I hurt the one man I came close to abandoning my independence for. You deserve more than that from me. I really did, really do, love you. Even though it will never be the same between us.”

“What’s with you people? If one more woman cites her independence as an excuse not to share their life with me – I will shoot them. No questions asked.”

He holds her gaze for a heartbeat, expels a lengthy breath, then softens visibly. Six months ago this would have enraged him. But he’s learned a lot since then.

“Hannah, I really don’t need you to …” he starts, then remembers Sweets’ encouragement to meet with her – listen to what she has to say - gain some closure. Releasing the anger and pain of rejection had been a long process. “Well, what the heck … maybe I do.”
“Seeley, there are some things I want … no, I need, to explain to you.”

He nods, saying nothing, but maintaining eye contact. He doesn’t want to make this easy for her – but he understands, from personal experience, the need to unburden one’s self, to set right what has been wronged.

“You have my mute and undivided attention for the next (looks at his watch) three minutes.”

“I’m going back to Afghanistan, Seeley. For good. Or at least until there’s nothing left to report on.”

She lets that sink in. This is not what he expected, and it shows on his face. All of his defenses drop – which is exactly the effect she was going for.

“It’s where I belong, Seeley. I miss being in the middle of it. The important news is all over there. I just want to say good bye. And tell you … and tell you that I was always truthful with you. I loved you and I loved being with you.” She smiles, but her eyes tear up. She brushes a tear away quickly.

“I know, Hannah. I know,” he says, a bit surprised that he’s calmly participating in this conversation with the 3rd woman who broke his heart.

She goes on, “In journalism, there’s something we call Absolute Truth. It’s the simple truth at the center of every behavior, every opinion, every good deed. Uncover the Absolute Truth, and everything else makes sense. Even the craziest beliefs or motivations behind a behavior become clear.”

“And this is important to me why?” He looks at her blankly, shaking his head.

“Most people spend their lives oblivious of or in denial of Absolute Truth. Sometimes they just don’t want to know. The Absolute Truth about us, Seeley, was that you were on loan to me from the beginning. I only had part of your attention.” She tears up again but this time lets the tears fall, reaching in her purse for a kleenex. “Deep inside, I knew that. And I was okay with it. But it didn’t include happily ever after, Seeley. It wasn’t supposed to. I understand that now.”

“Hannah – I was always truthful with you. I was in love with you,” he says, almost beseechingly. Then reminds himself to remain calm – there’s been a lot of water under the bridge since that night on the lawn overlooking the reflecting pool.

“Not really in love, Seeley. Your heart was always divided.”

“But Hannah … I gave you my heart – couldn’t you feel that? Didn’t you know that?“ He looks away from her and out the window once again. He’s surprised and confused, frustrated … and sad that she must not have felt this back then.

“Just let me finish,” she says, waiting until he looks in her eyes again.

“I believe you wanted to give me your heart – but your have an Absolute Truth that says there is really only one person who completes each of us. And for you, I am not that person.”

“But …”

“I think having lost that one person, you were reaching for the next best thing … and luckily for me, I was in the right place at the right time. I could see your pain. Men aren’t the only ones who have the white night syndrome, Seeley.”

“Hannah,” He reaches across the table toward her, puts his hand on the table, a pained look on his face. “You were never a consolation prize to me. I would not do that to you.”

She puts her hand on his, and squeezes it reassuringly. It felt … really good … to touch him again.

“I don’t think you would ever intend to, Seeley. But I think it happens to people all the time. You think you know what you’re doing, and why you’re doing it. But it doesn’t change the fact that you’re settling for something different than what your heart knows is possible.”

She pauses and lets this sink in for a minute, still holding his hand. She interlaces her fingers with his. Smiles compassionately at him, knowing that he does not see himself as someone who would knowingly hurt someone he loves.

“Hannah, I’m sorry,” He says finally, anguished.

“It’s okay. It’s really okay. Now.” She smiles weakly. She straightens up, as if preparing for round two.

“I really was in love with you, Seeley, I still love you. And that’s the second reason I wanted to see you. There are some things that I’ve learned about Temperance that I would never forgive myself if I didn’t share with you … things you should really know …”

Booth’s phone rings. He disentangles his hand from Hannah’s and sees that it’s Bones. He answers, leaving Hannah’s outstretched hand on the table.

“Booth.”

“Booth, it’s me. I’ve assembled the bio and abstracts regarding Dr. Enrique Larinaga. You wouldn’t appreciate the complete text of his publications, they are quite scientific. But I think you’ll find this guy’s life fascinating …”

“Bones, I’m in the middle of something right now. Can I call you back in about 15 minutes?”

“Sure. When do you have to be at the airport?

“No later than 2:30. Can I meet you at the Jeffersonian in about twenty minutes, half hour?

“Sure, we’ll head to the airport from there.

“Thanks Bones.” He hangs up and places his phone on the table.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Across the street, standing on the sidewalk a half block from the diner, Bones says, “You’re welcome,” looking at her phone, knowing that he had already hung up. She looks back toward the diner where she can see Booth and Hannah sitting at the window table, holding hands and leaning across the table toward each other. Booth looking very serious. Hannah, a little upset. She pauses, pensively, before turning around and slowly heading back to the lab.

So, The Founding Fathers Members ... what do you think?

Chapter 2. How Did I Not See This Coming?

Back at the Jeffersonian, Bones goes straight to her office and sits down in front of her computer.

“Dr. Brennan,” interrupts Wendell, poking his head in her door. “I’ve identified four distinct bone collections in the samurai remains from the 1877 Battle of Shiroyama. The Satsuma Rebellion Exhibit this year at the Museum of Natural History will finally get the recognition it deserves.” He notices she’s not even listening.

“Have I come at a bad time, Dr. Brennan?” He asks. “I can come back later.”

“No Mr. Bray. Good work. I’m on my way out, but I’ll be back later to review your findings.” Not once did she turn her head to look at him.

Wendell remains at the door a moment longer, recognizing that look of concentration on her face. She was trying to figure something out – and she rarely gets it wrong.

Alone once again, Dr. Brennan slides forward, puts her elbows on her desk, interlaces her fingers as if she is praying, and rests her chin on her knuckles. Is he getting back together with Hannah? She wonders. This would certainly explain why nothing happened last week when I got into bed with him the evening after Mr. Vincent Nigel-Murray was killed. Wow. She lets out a long breath, and swallows loudly, shaking her head. How could I have missed this? Why didn’t he say anything? Have I truly lost my chance?

She knows that Booth may be many frustrating things, but an infidel he is not. He claims he’s never cheated in a relationship – and she believes him. She closes her eyes as a wave of humiliation washes over her. Once again she’s the high school Tempe Brennan in love with Andy Flooger, the Varsity LaCross Captain who taped Brainy Smurf to her high school locker. What did I think was going to happen when I got into Booth's bed?

At least this explains why he didn’t take advantage of the situation, though she really wanted him to. He’s not Andy Flooger – and we are not in high school. We are partners – partners who have feelings for each other. Booth wouldn’t shame me for climbing into his bed. Thank the universe I didn’t take advantage of the situation. I don’t think I could have handled rejection in the state I was in that night …”

Chapter 3. Get Me to the Airport On Time

“Where’s Bones,” Booth shouts toward the lab platform as he walks briskly toward her office.

“You’re going in the right direction,” Wendell shouts back. “But good luck getting her attention. She’s got that - I’m about to crack this case wide open - look on her face.”

“What’s she working on? Nothing has come in since we put Broadsky where he belongs.”

“Bones? Bones, we gotta go!” He walks briskly into her office. She’s sitting, inert, at her desk. “Bones,” he says once again, whistling and waving his hand in front of her dazed eyes. “Earth to Bones. We’ve got a flight to catch.”

With his right hand he grabs her purse from the floor at her feet. With the left hand he grabs her by the upper arm as she begins to stand up.

“All right. All right! Stop pulling on me!” She slaps him on the forearm as she slings the purse over her shoulder and grabs her keys. We’re just Booth and Bones. Nothing is different. She tells herself.

As they exit the Jeffersonian, he heads to the left of the parking structure.

“I thought we were taking my car,” she says.

“We’re in a hurry, Bones. And I have a siren and flashing lights,” he says with a conspiratorial grin. “Benefits of having the word SPECIAL in my job description.”

“Why are we in such a hurry, Booth? Your flight isn’t for an hour and a half.”

“Just work with me here, Bones. I got held up and I’m running behind. I promised Parker I’d stop by school and give him a hug before taking off today.”

They hop in the car and he pulls out of the parking ramp.

“What held you up this morning?” asks Bones.

“It was personal,” he answers looking forward at the road as he pulls onto the ramp for I-495 toward Dulles International Airport.

“Personal?” She asks. “You always tell me personal things. Why is this any different?”

“Look, Bones,” he says looking over at her for a moment and shifting in his seat. “I don’t keep anything from you, you know that.”

Here it comes, she thinks to herself, bracing for the news that he and Hannah are going to give their relationship another chance.

“I tell you everything. And I’ll tell you about this too, eventually. But right now I just need to do some thinking by myself. Figure some things out.”

“Is everything okay? Is Parker okay? And complications on the Broadsky case?”

“I wish it were that easy,” he sighs. “Don’t worry about it, Bones. Just concentrate on completing all that paper work stuff you guys do so Caroline can lock him up forever.”

“And you’ll tell me what’s so personal you can’t tell me right now?”

“Bones – have I ever not?” He had a point.

“You are being truthful, Booth. But I worry about you when you are agitated.”

“I’m not agitated, Bones! I’m running late – and my reason for living is waiting for his hug before his dad flies off to Pennsylvania for two days.”

“Okay. Just concentrate on driving. I thought you said you were going to use the sirens?”

“I say a lot of things, Bones.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” They spend the next 5 minutes in silence.

“Aren’t we stopping to see Parker?” she says as she sees their exit pass by out the window.

“Dammit – grrrrr. Yes!” he says as he takes the first off ramp and goes through the back roads to get to the school.

Chapter 4. Out of the Mouths of Babes

“Daddy! I knew you’d make it!” Parker runs to Booth who scoops him up in his arms.

“Are you being a good boy today?”

“I always am, Dad.”

“Is Bones here? There she is! Hi Bones!” Parker rushes to Bones and gives her a big hug almost knocking her over.

“Should we show Dad our game, Bones?”

“Sure – should I go first?”

“Dad, watch this. Bones has been helping me develop a clean sense of observation.”

“That’s a KEEN sense of observation, Parker. And remember, it’s all about the facts.”

Bones adopts a playful posture and voice. “Dr. Parker, you smell interesting.”

“Watch this, Dad. Bones, tell me what I’ve been up to.”

“Come here, big guy,” she says grinning. Brennan crouches down, gives Parker a hug, lingering right in front of him, breathing in deeply through her nose and looking him up and down.

“Hmmm. Salt, dirt, grass, hard plastic, galvanized steel, iron, rain water, and sunshine.”

Parker smiles, not surprised. This is obviously a game they have played many times before. “And what have I been doing?”

“Hmmmm. From my observations I can deduce the following: Dirt and salt: you’ve been playing hard enough to sweat, in a park with exposed soil – maybe a baseball diamond. Hard plastic and grass: you tossed a Frisbee in the grassy part of the park. Galvanized steel and rain water: you stepped in a puddle, then played on a swing set, the older kind without the plastic coating on the swing chains – explaining the iron. Oh, and you spent a lot of time in the sunshine.

“That’s exactly right,” says Parker, delighted. He giggles and hugs her again.

“Your turn, Parker, What have I been up to?”

“You smell like your lab coat. And coffee. And those tiny plastic gloves. And shampoo. You smell like a big ol’ bunch o’ love, Bones!”
Brennan Laughs and hugs him. “Whoa – a romantic, just like your dad. You are amazing, Parker.” She stands up.

“Daddy I can do you too.” He moves over to Booth and hugs him, leaving his arms around Booth’s neck. “You don’t smell like the lab so much. You smell like coffee and French fries, ketchup, your office, and …, ” he looks confused. “ and … Hannah? Are you and Hannah back together, daddy?”

Booth shoots up to a standing position and tousles Parker’s curly blond head of hair. “Whoa Whoa whoa! That’s enough, buddy. I think your teacher is calling you for snack time. I’ll call you tonight from my hotel room. I’ll be back in two days and we’re going fishing for a whole three days. Just us men. How about that?”

“I can’t wait, Daddy. Bring me something back from Philly, Daddy.”

“How about your own Flyers cap? I need mine back!”

“That’d be AWESOME! I love you, Dad. And you, Bones.”

"Thank you, Parker" Bones says. Then she whispers in his ear, "And the chocolate ice cream I detect you had for breakfast will be our secret."

"You can smell that?" He looks alarmed.

"Only because it is one of my anthropological super powers. And because I love chocolate for breakfast too." They both giggle and she kisses him on the forehead.

He leans toward Booth conspiratorially, “Was that okay, Dad. If I tell Bones I love her?”

“Of course it is, Parker. Love you, Buddy. We’ll talk tonight. Say hello to your mom for me.”

“He’s such a smart little kid, Booth,” says Bones with a smile as they walk through the grass back to Booth’s car.

“Sometimes too smart,” replies Booth sheepishly. “He must have gotten that from Rebecca.”

“Oh no. He clearly got his ability to read people from you.” They both laugh and get back in the car.

Chapter 5: The Panasonic with a Dongle

Pulling back onto I-495, Booth’s phone rings. With his right hand he takes it out of his suit pocket and holds it to his left ear.

“Booth.” He pauses, listening to the caller for a couple seconds. Assessing the look on his face, Brennan can tell this is not good news.

“Uh huh.” Closes his eyes momentarily, shaking his head side to side, his shoulders dropping. Brennan watches as his jaw tightens and loosens several times. She can tell he’s just shy of losing his cool.

“Who is it?” Bones asks while pulling on his sleeve, attempting to whisper audibly over the tiny voice she hears coming from Booth’s cell.

Booth, puts up his hand, shrugging her off, attempting to remain calm.

Bones pulls out her own cell. If it’s about a case, they usually receive calls only moments apart. Nothing. Brennan relaxes visibly, realizing she’s just gonna have to wait this out. It must be “Personal.”

“Look … what’s your name?” Booth asks, then pauses for the caller’s answer. “Really? Gator? Who names their kid Gator?” He looks at Bones, rolling his eyes and shaking his head once again.

“That was a rhetorical question, Gator. Look, this was supposed to be delivered 4 days ago. I’ve rearranged my busy schedule to be home waiting for you. This is the 3trd time you people are rescheduling on me, and once again your time frame absolutely DOES NOT work for me.” He pauses, listening, shaking his head.

“I understand. I understand.” He says, pseudo-calmly, condescendingly. “Let me talk to whoever’s in charge there.” He listens, sighing exasperatingly and mouths to Bones, “Where do they find these people?” She just shrugs her shoulders, still not sure what’s going on.

“I should have insisted on driving,” she says looking out the window.

“Listen, Gator. Listen - To - Me. Let me talk to your boss.”

“I’d listen to him,” shouts Brennan toward the phone. “He shoots people for a living!”

“You’re not helping!” says Booth giving her a pissy look.

Booth is put on hold. “I swear I will never do business with those idiots at Plasma World again. Why does a high tech company hire the most moronic delivery company in D.C.?” He’s clearly exasperated, but keeps an eye on the road. “This crap always happens at the most inconvenient times!” He pauses. “Where’s my exit?”

“Next right.”

“Time?” Asks Booth.

“2:05.” She answers.

“Flight ...”

“3:55,” she answers before he even gets the words out of his mouth. “I can drop you …”

“Nope. This time I WILL use the lights. We’re parking at drive up.”

“You’re the boss.”

“Time? Where is that supervisor?”

She starts to say. “2:07,” but Booth’s attention has returned to his cell.

“Yes, hello. This is Special Agent Seeley Booth. I purchased a 65 inch Panasonic TC-PVT30 with 3D glasses and a connective dongle - on your website last month. It was supposed to be delivered four days ago – and your people keep rescheduling on me. Mr. Fawaz, was it? Mr Fawaz, I catch murderers for a living, that’s why I’m called Special Agent. I catch murderers so your family can feel safe in their beds at night. The more time I spend WAITING at home for a delivery that never comes, the longer it takes to get criminals off the street and more people end up dying …”

“Special Agent Booth,” Bones can hear the supervisor’s voice from across the car. “Your purchase will be delivered to your home this evening, even if I have to personally deliver it myself.”

“Finally! Thank you.” After confirming his address, Booth flips the phone shut and puts it back in his pocket. “Now that’s what I’m talking about. Sometimes you gotta go straight to the top to get things done.”

“Booth?”

“What Bones? If You’re going to tell me that by getting a 65 inch HD TV I’m fueling consumerism and supporting big businesses that drain our nation of its natural resources and exploit children from third world countries … look, I’m a simple guy …”

“According to whom?” she says under her breath then turns to look out the window before looking back at him.

“… who takes my work seriously. When I have some down time, I like to kick back wth a cold one and watch a good game. Why shouldn’t I get to do that with the greatest clarity and the finest sound system known to man? Just because your television hasn’t come out of the closet in 3 years ….”

“Booth,” she interrupts him with a calm, yet quizzical expression on her face.

“What?!”

“Two questions,” she begins.

“Here it comes,” he announces, slapping his hand on the steering wheel.

“First, what’s a dongle?” She asks, undeterred by his attitude.

“A dongle? A dongle is a … a … cord … thingy that connects to your computer so the tv and the computer can communicate. Don’t ask me how. Angela probably has loads of them.”

“Oh. I thought it was a high tech sex toy – or another euphemism for the male sex organ.”

Ha ha! Bones, you still manage to surprise me on occasion!” He flashes a smile and relaxes a little.

“Second question. You must quite literally be Superman – which I assure you I would have deduced by now, or you’ve managed to perfect the highly implausible ability to physically manifest yourself in two places at one time – thereby accomplishing that which eluded Albert Einstein his entire life.”

“That wasn’t a question.”

“The question was implied.” She looks back at him, waiting for an answer.

“In English please – we left the Twilight Zone crew back at the lab.”

“Booth, how can you be at your place to meet the delivery guy and be flying over Boston Harbor at the same time?”

“Holy shit,” says Booth eerily calm. “Bones? Would you mind …”

“I thought you’d never ask,” she says before he finishes his sentence.

“Thanks, partner,” he says relieved. “What would I ever do without you?”

“You’re knuckles would still be dragging on the floor and you’d have a much smaller office than you do now.”

Booth tries to formulate an equally snarky remark, but can’t. “You’re absolutely right, Bones,” he admits with a somewhat sly grin, which turns into a full smile as he locks eyes with Bones. “You’re absolutely right.”

Bones reaches across the gap between them and pinches his cheek. “Damn straight, SPECIAL Agent Seeley Booth. They both laugh.

“I’ll give you my house key," he says. and pulls off I-495 toward Dulles.

Booth pulls up to the curb for passenger unloading, turns off the ignition, and reaches behind his seat for his flashing lights. Turning them on, he places them on the roof of his SUV. They both get out of the car and head to the back where Booth unloads his gear.

As they start to move away from the car, Booth flashes his badge to an approaching security guard and they continue on, leaving the car at the curb, lights still flashing. "And that better be here when I get back," Booth shouts out authoritatively to the security guard.

"Booth, you don't really expect them to let you leave the car here for two days, do you?" asks Brennan, more than a little concerned.

"No, Bones, but they don't need to know that." They push through the double glass doors into the cavernous lobby of Dulles International Airport.

Unexpectedly, Brennan gets the giggles which quickly turn into a throaty laugh. She can't stop.

"Are you gonna share, Bones? Come on, spread the wealth. What's so funny?"

"Do you think they'll make me sign for the dongle?" she says, still laughing. "You've got to admit it's a very strange sounding word."

"Or, how about this, "What size batteries does your dongle require?" she says.

Booth can't help laughing now, amused that she is laughing so hard.

"How about this," he offers, "Is that a dongle in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?" They're both laughing so hard they lean on each other so they don't fall over.

"Never a dull moment with you, Bones," says Booth, wiping the tears from his eyes.

Chapter 6. Sweet Cheeks Goes First Class

Brennan walks with Booth to the counter for check-in and waits with him in line.

“I don’t see why you don’t go the e-ticket route and bypass all this waiting in line.”

“Bones,” replies Booth, “Some people actually enjoy seeing a friendly face when they check in. Great customer service is a lost art! I suppose you buy online, e-check-in, drop your luggage at the curb, put your ear phones on and sleep all through a flight?”

“Actually, Shanara makes all my travel arrangements.”

Booth just stares at her, “Who’s Shanara?”

“My publicist. One of the benefits of being a best selling author and renowned forensic anthropologist.” She shrugs her shoulders.

Booth checks his watch. "Well, this time I’ve got a premium seat in the new Economy Plus section. I get five extra inches of leg room, baby,” he says, a smug look on his face.

“Is the seat wider?” Asks Brennan, dryly.

“No, but the drinks are free. Jack Daniels, don’t wait up for me!”

“Shanara always books me in First Class. I get seven additional inches of legroom and the seat is 3½ inches wider. And the seats fully recline.”

“Bones, you know how to suck the joy out of some of life’s simplest pleasures. Can we change the subject?”

“Oh, and I get those little footie things to keep my feet warm.” She says crossing her arms and looking at the lengthy line in front of them. “That reminds me, I brought you these,” she says, reaching into her bag and bringing out a three pack of fluffy baby blue footies with little white pompons sewn onto the lip of the heal.

“Bones … you didn’t have to do that,” he says delightedly and a little bit in awe.

Brennan’s pleased with herself to have gotten this reaction from Booth.

“I wanted to. Besides, you always steal mine when we fly. Now you’ve got your own … and I don’t have to worry about posting bail for you when you’re arrested for stealing from First Class.” She smiles, then continues, “Hey, Sweets was right – you do try to change the subject when you feel out done or uncomfortable with the topic!”

Booth smirks at her. “What would he know, he’s only twelve.”

“He may be preadolescent, but he’s got you figured out to a P.”

Booth stares at her blankly until comprehension dawns. “Its ‘figured out to a T,’ Bones. A ‘T.’ Sweets has got me figured out to a ‘T.”

“It’s impressive that you have so readily accepted Sweets’ assessment! Aw, look how much you have evolved in just a few short years of therapy,” she chides him and chuckles.

Booth turns away from her when he hears, “Well, I’ll be damned if it ain’t Special Agent Seeley Booth as I live and breathe!” coming from the direction of the First Class check-in counter. The attendant with a name tag that says, “SHARON is at your service,” in five languages gives him a mega-watt smile and leans across the counter, giving him an eye-full of her own deep neckline.

“Well, heh heh! Sharon, how nice to see you!”

“Agent Booth, my counter is free, get your bad self on over here!” she croons in a syrupy southern drawl straight from the bayou. She waves him over, leaning even further over the counter. She flashes a full set of blindingly white and perfectly straight square teeth.

“I’m not First Class, Sharon,” he says a little too excitedly, grabbing his luggage and walking toward her counter anyway. “Look at that, Bones, heh heh,” he says to her with a snooty air and wiggling his eyebrows at her.

“Well, that’s a matter a ‘pinion t’which I do not ascribe.” She winks at him. “You sure are lookin’ fine as ever. Goin’ somewhere special?”

“Just work, Sharon. I get to present an award to a hard working citizen who helped us solve the anthrax case a couple years ago.”

Sharon leans over again and asks in a hushed voice, pointing at Brennan who is mostly obscured by Booth’s tall frame. “She goin’ with ya’?

“No. No, she’s not. Sharon, this here’s my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan of the Jeffersonian.” He moves to the side so Sharon can fully see Bones behind him.

Sharon does a once over of Brennan and nods, “Howdy-do?” then returns to Booth without waiting for a reply.

“So, you still single, Sugar?”

“Well …”

“Still out there with your junk blowing in the wind, huh? Nothin' to be ashamed of! Say listen, my sister Petra’s movin' back to D.C. Y’all should catch some dinner sometime. A man’s gotta eat, right?”

“I appreciate the suggestion, Sharon, but I kinda have my hands full right now,” he demurs.

“Well, things change for ya’, you know where you can find me!” She flashes him a mega watt smile. “Now lets get down to business and getcha on your way…” She takes his ticket and starts clacking away at her keyboard, squinting at her screen.

“Are you sure you’re not in First Class seating with us today, Sweet Cheeks?”

“Well, I prefer to fly among the people. The real people. I’m in Economy Plus, seat 9A. If it’s good enough for the people I serve, it’s good enough for me.” He gives Bones a smug look.

“Well, lookee here!” exclaims Sharon as her bright pink lacquered talons clickity-clack on her keyboard. “My trusty computer here has you assigned to seat 1B in First Class with extra leg room due to a cutout in the bulkhead.”

“I’ll take it,” he says, maybe a little too quickly.

“You’re incorrigible, Booth,” says Brennan.

“What? I serve the good people in First Class too.”

“Yeah, usually with a little extra salt and vinegar,” she replies.

“What …? Thank you, Sharon,” He says following after Brennan as she walks away from the counter.

“Anytime, Sweet Cheeks. You take care now, ya hear?” Sharon replies with more enthusiasm than necessary.

“Man, you know how to work it, Booth,” says Brennan as soon as they are out of earshot.

“It’s one of my super powers, Bones.” He grins and winks at her.

Her stomach does a flip and she loses her balance for just a moment. Fortunately, she regaines composure before he sees the affect he has on her.

As they near the security gate, Brennan says, “You know, we’ve never taken a trip together, Booth.”

“Sure we have – we’ve taken lots of trips together, Bones, “ he says stopping and turning to face her.

“Yeah, for business. But never just for pleasure - - - ” The words are out of her mouth before she realizes she’s said it. In a split second, her cheeks feel hot, she can feel her heartbeat beating out a Rhumba at her temples, and her mouth goes dry. He’s still looking directly into her eyes and has moved, slowly, even closer. Time feels like it’s standing still all of a sudden.

Booth’s look is penetrating, but surprisingly warm. Soft. Sweet. The affect his proximity has on her simultaneously disturbs and delights her. Oh how I love this man, she thinks to herself. In the warmth of his gaze she feels relaxed yet euphoric, eager yet apprehensive. This can’t be happening until I find out what’s going on between him and Hannah, and why he’s been so distant lately, she tells herself.

“Partners can do that, right?” she asks without breaking the eye contact.

“Sure. I think even Sweets would agree that it is important to keep the relationship well rounded – share some non-work related experiences.” He pauses, and tries to swallow. His mouth has gone dry … and he’s suddenly aware that he’s been sweating. He can’t stop looking in her eyes. “Not like we don’t already. I mean, we do. But we’ve never really … traveled … together,” he says never looking away.

“We could go see one of your favorite hockey events,” she suggests, as if waking from daydreaming.

“They’re called games, Bones. Or we could go to New York and take in a show – or how about this,” he says excitedly, “we could go visit someone else’s museum and look at their ancient bones.”

They stare blankly at each other in silence for a moment.

“Nah!” They both say at the same time, laughing the tension away.

He puts his arm around her and they walk companionably toward the line at the security gate.

“Anyway, maybe we can talk about it when you get back from Philly,” says Bones.

“Thanks for bringing me to the airport, Bones,” says Booth as Bones turns to leave. “It means a lot to me.” He looks at her with a sweet and appreciative expression.

“That’s what partners are for, right Sweet Cheeks?” she says with a southern twang, batting her eyelashes at him. They both laugh. She turns and walks away as he stands, watching her leave.

As he empties his pockets at the security gate, he realizes he still has his keys. But Bones needs them to get into his house – and, he realizes in a moment of panic, to drive his car out of the airport drop-off area!

Without hesitation, he jumps over the security barrier and almost gets tackled by several security guards. He flashes his badge all around, shouting, “FBI. This is official business. Do not deter me!”

He runs to the check-in area and sees her outside the doors, standing in front of the car. He’s flooded with such relief that he can barely breathe.

She turns just in time to see him through the glass doors. Their eyes meet and he stops in his tracks, stunned at how, even after 6 years, the sight of her still makes his heart skip a beat and his knees turn to rubber.

He runs through the doors and into her arms.

“Booth, " Brennan is taken off guard. "You’re only leaving for two days. I know you’ll miss me, but …”

“Bones, you’re gonna need these to get out of the parking lot.” He steps back and holds his right hand up, the car fob held between his second and third fingers, the keys dangling in front of Brennan’s face.

“You are correct,” replies Brennan, smiling as Booth drops the keys into her hand.

Booth leans closer to Brennan, puts his arm around her shoulders to pull her to him, and kisses her on the forehead. “Thanks for everything, Bones.”

“Sure,” she answers softly as he steps backward.

As he starts to walk backwards toward the glass doors he adds, “And thanks for the thing at my apartment …” Brennan returns a smile and a nod.

Booth notices a security guard paying a little too close attention to their conversation while ogling Brennan. “Hey, Buddy. Show a little respect. And get your mind out of the gutter!” He turns and leaves as Brennan presses the unlock button on the key fob.

Chapter 7. Hannah Begins to Spill the Beans on Brennan

Seated in first class, Booth stretches his long legs. “Now THAT’S what I’m talking about!" He loosens his tie even further, kicks his shoes off and stows them under his seat, then pulls a pair of baby blue footies out of the briefcase laying on the unoccupied seat to his right.

As the aircraft leaves the runway, he's got the dossier on Enrique Larinaga that Brennan prepared for him open on his lap. He knows he should be reading it, but after the first two paragraphs, his mind drifts back to the coffee shop and his conversation with Hannah earlier in the day.

"Your Dr. Sweets would probably say that meeting with you and spilling the beans on Temperance,” she began, “Is an attempt to gain control over the situation … or maybe as a final effort to really prove to you have much I love you. Or,” she paused, pursing her lips and speaking as if she were talking to herself, “maybe it’s just to assuage my over developed sense of guilt over hurting you.”

He had looked at her wondering if he should stop her right there. He felt sure he had been clear about their potential future as a couple. As far as spilling the beans about Bones, he was not interested in hearing anything against his partner.

With all he and Bones had been through, he was certain without reservation that there were no secrets between them. He already knew all the details of her heart-breaking childhood abandonment when she was sixteen and her years in the foster child system. He’d helped her reconnect with her only sibling, Russ. He’d captured Bones’ father, a wanted fugitive and murder suspect, and put him in prison – all in the line of duty – only to be instrumental in getting him acquitted of the charges.

Booth stood by Bones as she faced the truth about her mother’s death. He knew about her awkward and lonely childhood, her unsuccessful romantic relationships, her commitment to the truth, and her ability to come across as intimidating or heartless in her efforts to uncover that truth.

He’d witnessed her struggle to interpret the nuances of social interaction, and been there to hold her hand or offer a shoulder when she’d been devastated by others’ less than flattering impressions of her. He knew her to be a compassionate, loyal, and generous person. He treasured the countless times she had publicly and eloquently voiced her appreciation for who he was to her. More than once he’d found himself pleasantly embarrassed and short of breath as Bones made a toast to him or shared with their friends the valuable insights she’d gained through their relationship as partners and friends.

He could comfortably disagree with her – actually appreciated spending most of his time with someone he never had to pretend with. He spoke his mind; she spoke hers. She didn’t back down just to be nice and would have been disappointed if he did. Being with Bones was as comfortable as being with a guy – but nothing like it – she was beautiful and, he couldn’t deny, powerfully attractive and fascinating – at least to him.

They had both literally saved each other’s lives several times over. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for her, nothing he hadn’t already done for her. He knew she felt the same.

He’d seen her happy, disappointed, delighted, sad, heart-broken, angry, frustrated, and jubilant. The one and only time he’d seen her afraid is when he had told her he wanted to give their relationship a chance to be more than just a partnership. She had been afraid then. Afraid that she would hurt him. Other than that, she seemed to have no fear, something he rarely witnessed in any human being regardless of sex.

She liked guns, solving cases, and catching murderers. She saw the best in him. To her, he was a hero. To him, she was too. They were partners, and he’d been in love with her since the first time they met.

Reflecting on all this, he recalled the conflict within him as he sat across the table from Hannah this morning. Should he allow her to continue with whatever it was she had come to say? Or should he thank her for the coffee, wish her success in Afghanistan, and leave for the Jeffersonian?

Her opening was so provocative; he had been at a loss to figure out what she could possibly be about to share with him. He was wary, however. He’d known many women who would scratch their best friends eyes out in a heartbeat if they thought it would advance their chances with a mutually sought-after male conquest. He had never doubted Hannah’s competitiveness. You don’t get to where she is in her profession without clever maneuvering and ruthless strategy.

There was nothing she could tell him that he did not already know about his partner. What did he have to lose? He had decided to let Hannah say what she came to say … to a point.
Booth had sat quietly while Hannah laid out her case.

“Seeley, when I moved here to be with you, I was, in a way, coming to fight for you. The whole time we were together in Afghanistan you didn’t mention Temperance or the particulars of your situation, but I could see someone had hurt you. When you told me you were coming back – and that you’d be working every day with a woman who had broken your heart and sent you off to Afghanistan to lick your wounds … I intended to come here to rescue you, I guess. I came to D.C. ready to fight for you, for us.”

He almost objected at that point. Seeley Booth does not sit around licking his wounds – and no one SENDS him anywhere. He went to Afghanistan of his own accord to train soldiers in combat strategy in such a way that lives on both sides of the conflict could be spared. Hannah was making him sound like a victim. Like a boy, not a man in charge of his own destiny. However, he let her continue. There had to be a point in there somewhere …

Chapter 8. Female Mud Wrestling – and Then Booth Woke Up


Booth shifts in his first class seat and wiggles his toes inside the silky baby blue chenille footies. Do these look like girl sox? He wondered to himself. Who cares – they are awesomely warm and cozy. Too bad they don’t make these for your hands, he mused as he noticed his fingers were getting chilly form the dry, sterile, circulating cabin air. “Wait,” he actually said out loud sitting bolt upright and looking back in his briefcase. Bones gave me a whole bunch of these things, he said, this time to himself. How stupid would I look wearing a pair on my hands?

He straightened up again and peered over the back of his seat to assess the possibility of being observed wearing girl sox on his hands. Satisfied he was safe from scrutiny, he slipped the footies over his fingers all the way up to his wrists. Immediately he could tell that something wasn’t right. There was something scratchy and flimsy inside the right footie. “What the …” he said loud enough for the two ladies in the row across and behind his own to look in his direction before lapsing back into their conversation about grandchildren, he assumed, or something else equally banal. “Nothing to see here,” he tossed out as he eased back into his cushy seat.

Do these things have tags sewn into the seams, he wondered. He pulled the footie off his right hand and found that Bones had left him a little note. It reminded him of the notes his mom used to put in his Green Lantern lunch box when he was in grade school. Mom’s notes usually said something mushy or reminded him about something going on after school that day. This note was different. He read it, smiled to himself, and put it in his wallet for safe-keeping.

Snuggled back into his cozy seat, his hands and feet wrapped in silky luxuriousness, a gift from Bones, he attempted to take in a little snooze before the brief flight landed in Boston where he’d catch another flight into Philly.

Sleep eluded him, however. What Hannah had shared at the diner had ended up surprising him. He would forever be grateful for what she sacrificed in order to bring him that information. Now he fully understood the depth of her feelings for him.

Booth wanted to recall every word of her revelation so he could savor every one. “When we met in Kabul,” she started, “I could tell that you were hurting. I jumped at the change to be your Knight in Shining Armor – You men aren’t the only ones who suffer from white knight syndrome, Seeley. Why do you think I go all the way to Afghanistan, when I could easily take a less dangerous and less heroic assignment stateside?”

Booth had smiled when she shared this. He knew full well the lengths to which a person would go to protect or defend those they love. He’d seen it many times in the war. Too often he’d witnessed soldiers make unsafe choices … sometimes stupid choices … in the name of bravery or honor. This last time in Afghanistan he’d made a choice to give up combat heroism in exchange for something much more important, though not nearly as glamorous: the chance to actively participate in his son’s life. If Booth had continued in his final assignment, the likelihood of him making it home was not great. In his mind, that was unacceptable. Just when he was formulating a plan to return to D.C., he received a call from Caroline, his colleague and friend who was also the district attorney who prosecuted most of the criminal cases for the criminals Booth had captured and incarcerated.

“Well Seeley, I ended up falling for you,” Hannah had proceeded. “I didn’t expect that. When you said you were leaving, I had to follow right behind you. I wanted to find out how serious it could be between us. Of course, I also wondered about this Dr. Temperance Brennan you had finally told me all about.”

“I was ready for a catfight, Seeley, and I made the first move. Remember when you first saw me in D.C.? I came into the diner and stood there kissing you right in front of her. You don’t think that was by accident, do you? The number one rule in journalistic combat: draw first blood – put the opponent on the defensive. So that’s what I did.”

“You conniving … “ he had started to say, half irritated, half amused, and, he had to admit, more than a little flattered.
“Now just wait, Seeley. I didn’t say I was proud of what I did. Just let me continue.”

“Go ahead. By all means continue. But I sure hope it is worth it to show me the side of you I’ve always suspected but never actually seen with my own eyes,” he’d said, shaking his head and motioning to Liz for more ketchup and a fresh cup of coffee. “Maybe I should get some pop corn and a slushy for part two of this show,” he quipped. “I love a good catfight – especially when the cats are in wet t-shirts and the beer is flowing freely. Or better yet, how about mud wrestling?”

“Anyway,” she continued, rolling her eyes and grimacing at his attempt at humor and his blatant display of testosterone. “You seemed determined to get past that painful relationship, though for some reason, I wasn’t so sure that you could."

"What I found when I met Temperance what not at all what I expected…"



Chapter 9. Bones Doesn’t Play Games

Booth grins as he recalls making Hannah uncomfortable with his chauvinistic comments about mud wrestling while she was being so serious. He realized now that he must have been more relaxed by that time in their conversation or else he wouldn’t have been so flip. Anyway, he was glad that conversation was over and he was on his way out of state for some time to himself to do a little thinking.

“Instead of getting into a catfight or a competition,” Hannah had explained, “I found that I liked Temperance. I began to see some of the reasons why she had been so important to you and still is.

“Right away when you introduced us, Temperance was welcoming. She seemed genuinely happy to meet me and happy to see you happy.”

“She was, Hannah. That’s how Bones is. She doesn’t wish ill on anyone,” he had commented to Hannah.

“Well, Seeley, I wasn’t so sure she wasn’t just putting on an act so I stopped by her office not long after we first met to see if I could detect any kind of … I don’t know … animosity … or jealousy … or whatever one feels when someone else is dating a person you love.”

“You stopped by the Jeffersonian?” Booth had asked.

“Yep.”

“Without me?

“Yes, I did. It’s not like I needed your permission, Seeley. You would have done the same thing in my position. don't deny it.”

Booth’s eyelids had shot up at this comment. No, she didn’t need his permission … that is true … but for the first time in his life he was realizing how much more goes on behind the scenes than men are aware of. There were things that women share with each other that men are rarely privy to. This was the first he had heard of Hannah’s visit to the Jeffersonian. Bones hadn’t said anything to him about it then. Neither had Hannah. How strange.

He realized how oblivious he had been to Hannah’s concerns during those first months here. How could he live with someone and not know what she was thinking? Dr. Sweets would have some brilliant insight about all this – but Booth was at a loss … and suspicious, concerned that what he was hearing about today was just the tip of the ice burg.

“Hannah, why do I get the feeling that what you just told me is just the tip of the ice burg?” he asked.

“Because you are a freakishly perceptive man, Seeley Booth,” she answered with a sly grin.

“Well apparently not THAT perceptive, because I was clueless about all this going on. We lived together, for Christ’s sake … and when I wasn’t with you – I was with her almost every moment of the day!” He was getting a bit agitated.

“Simmer down, Seeley!” she chided him, using one of his own catch phrases intended to command order amid commotion or to interrupt a heated discussion that was about to get out of control. “I haven’t even told you what happened that day at the Jeffersonian.”

“Something HAPPENED?!” he was alarmed.

“Seeley,” she said, reaching across the table. “You’re acting like Temperance and I are teenagers who stole a car and got caught speeding the wrong way down the highway with a back seat full of pot and Jack Daniels. If you just stop being a little girl about this, I'll continue. There's more. Don’t you have a plane to catch?”

“You’re right,” he said, breathing in deeply through his nose and exhaling. “Hannah, this is taking too long. Whatever you have to tell me, you better just rip it off like a Band Aid. I have a feeling some of what you have to tell me is going to be painful?”

She had looked at him, considering if he was ready for this information. Considering if she really wanted to go through with this. What the hell, she thought. I have nothing to lose.

“Seeley, when I went to the Jeffersonian that day, I went to get a reading on her. This was right before I moved into your apartment. Temperance greeted me without rancor and invited me to sit down. My pretense for being at the Jeffersonian was that I wanted an idea of what I should get you as a gift to celebrate our new living arrangement.”

“Ahhhh … the antique phone.” Seeley had guessed, nodding his head in recollection of that evening when he was so surprised - and so grateful.

“You are correct,” confirmed Hannah. “Temperance knew that you had been looking for a heavy, black, antique telephone for quite some time. Instead of keeping that information to herself, she told me about it. Without hesitation.”

“So?” Booth had given her a blank stare.

“So,” Hannah explained, “She didn’t have to make that suggestion. She could have suggested something ordinary and meaningless like – he loves Froot Loops, or he needs a new microwave. She knew the phone would be a wonderful, thoughtful and surprising gift … and it would make you happy – so she told me about it. Don’t you see? She let me be the hero. Most women in her situation would not have done that.” Hannah paused, looking for the right words. “Temperance … doesn’t play the games that most other people play.”

“No. Bones doesn’t play games. What you see is what you get. More than with anyone else I’ve ever seen, anyway.” Booth was beginning to understand. He was suddenly quiet. Pensive. He looked at his coffee cup and tipped it back and forward, watching about a tablespoon of amber liquid roll back and forth.

“Before I left her office, she stopped me asked me and made an odd request. Well, I thought it was odd anyway.”

“What do you mean?” Booth asked.

“She said I should consider how serious I was about you before moving in with you. And I thought she was finally about to show her true colors. But what she said next proved me wrong. Her colors had been true from the start, and they never wavered.”

“What did she say?” asked Booth, placing the coffee cup flat on the table and scrunching up his eyebrows. Several vertical wrinkles appeared at the base of his nose like a pair of quotation marks.

“She told me to be sure about how I felt about you – because you would give me your whole heart.” The irony of the situation was not lost on either of them as they sat in silence for a moment. “Seeley, she didn’t want you to get hurt again.”

When Booth didn’t say anything, Hannah went on. “A person who was competing for your affections wouldn’t have done that, Seeley. I mean, she put your happiness above her own, even if she didn’t know that that was what was at stake.”

“I disagree, Hannah. My money says she knew exactly what was at stake,” said Booth.

*******

Booth was awakened from his reveries by a petite blond flight attendant letting him know they would be arriving at Boston Logan in 10 minutes. Booth sat upright and looked out the window. The Eastern evening sky was winding down into shades of orange and pink.

Taking the footies off his hands and dropping them into his briefcase, he reached below his seat and pulled out his shoes. One at a time he pulled the baby blue chenille footies off by the toes and put his shoes back on. He reached into his back pocket and removed his wallet. Once more he opened the “footie note” Bones had left for him. He smiled to himself, smelled the paper the note was written on, refolded it, and slid it back into the wallet. Such a small gesture on Bones’ part had moved him. He realized for the first time that the scent of the footies, the same pleasant scent now left on his hands by the footies, was the same scent that tickled his senses whenever Bones walked past him or stood near him. With a pang, he wished that she was on this trip with him.



Chapter 10. Maggot Puree and Deep Fried Jalapeno Peppers

Exiting the parkway at Dulles International, Brennan can’t help but notice how empty Booth’s SUV feels without him in it. She knows that the integrity of the vehicle’s dimensions had not been compromised during the brief interim it was parked at the curb at Dulles. She notices that she finds it interesting that when Booth was with her in the SUV, his presence appeared to fill the space, making it appear much smaller than it empirically was. She also notes that she felt at least 20% smaller in stature while alone in Booth’s SUV. Perhaps this is a sensorial illusion, perhaps a tromp l'oeil of some sort. Could it be that one’s perception of space and dimension could be perceived as altered as a result of physical orientation? Was this because she was in the driver’s seat instead of the passenger’s side? This conundrum disoriented her.

Perhaps this spatial disorientation is a neurological manifestation of the simple bodily requirement for regular sustenance. When was the last time she had eaten? Stopping by the diner on her way to the Jeffersonion, she orders a fresh spinach salad with walnuts and raspberry vinaigrette in a Styrofoam to-go box. As she waits for her order her best friend and colleague, Angela, calls.

“Hey Sweetie, where ARE you?” is the first thing out of Angela’s mouth.

“I am waiting at the diner for a to-go order. I’m on my way back to the Jeffersonian. Should I bring you something? I understand the potato cheese soup is quite excellent.”

“No – stay right where you are. Cam is out of the office today and I’ve been stuck here with the two stooges and almost nothing to do for the last three hours. I need to take a breather. I’ll be there in five.”

“Is it good for the baby for you to walk four and a half blocks this late in the pregnancy? I can bring you anything you need.”

“Did you not hear me, Sweetie? If these boys run into my office one more time begging me to judge who has concocted the vilest combination of unknown slimy crap, I will personally castrate the two of them with my fingernail file.”

“Ange, we need a case. I myself have been experiencing uncharacteristic neurological anomalies that cause me to question my sensory perception. Let me order you something so it will be ready when you get here.”

“Thank you, Sweetie. I’ll have a bowl of that soup, a slice of that kidney pie if they have any left, a large order of fries with mayo on the side … “

“Got it, Ange. It will be …”

“Potato salad, a banana milk shake, and deep fried jalapeno peppers. Do you think they still serve those?”

“If not, I know kumquats are in season. They serve an unusual yet delightful – “

“Oh, and a vat of Tabasco sauce on the side. That’s all I can think of now …”

“Ange, is this for Hodgens and Mr. Bray as well, or is that all for you?”

“Oh, its not all for me, honey. All I want is the soup. It’s the baby who’s craving the rest of that stuff. See you in a minute.’

“Wait, Ange. I find that it might be best if I advise you that my mood is not as festive as you are accustomed to.”

“What? Honey, you gotta give me more than that if I’m gonna be left alone with my own imagination for 4½ blocks.”

“Ange, I think Booth and Hannah might be getting back together.”

“Shut the front door, Brennan. If that is the truth I will swallow whatever Hodgens and Wendell have in their blender RIGHT NOW.”

“You might want to reconsider, Ange. Earlier today I saw Booth and Hannah at the diner holding hands and leaning toward each in what I can only assume was intimate conversation.”

“Did you ask him about it on the way to Dulles?”

“I did.”

“What did he say?”

“He said it was personal. Then, he was acting strange at the airport when I dropped him off …”

“Strange? Wait, what? Just hold on. Bren, hold that thought. I’ll be right there!”


Chapter 11. Hanky Panky Under the Blankie

“This has been great, Liz, but I’m still gonna need that cheese burger and fries for my husband – so could you make that to-go? He’s working so hard, he just can’t get away from the office.”

Angela had arrived just fifteen minutes ago and was already surrounded by empty plates containing only crumbs, drippings, and the remnants of what had once been steak and kidney pie though now resembled the carcass of a small woodland creature. Angela didn’t actually like kidney pie. She just liked to pick out the savory steak parts and nibble the puff pastry soaked in gravy.

“Sure, Ms. Montenegro. Do you think he’ll want a big ol’ chunk a’ this here chocolate fudge cake I made this mornin’? I’ll put it in a separate box so he can save it for later,” suggests Liz, her right eyebrow raised like a sideways question mark.

Liz knows full well this whole mess is for Angela anyway. But that’s okay. Liz went through five pregnancies herself and understands that when a pregnant woman needs to eat, she needs to eat. It don’t matter what time it is or what you think about her diet choices – because she don’t give a damn what you think. And why the he11 should she? She's the one preparin’ to shoot a watermelon out her privates and spend the rest of her life trying to erase stretch marks with coconut oil.

“Yowsa. That chocolate fudge cake sounds perfect,” purrs Angela with a wide beautiful grin that showcases her gorgeous teeth. “Why don’t you make that two pieces of cake and I’ll have some too.” Turning to face Brennan, she adds, “Hodgens knows I don’t believe in sharing cake … unless there are two pieces of cake.”

“Comin’ up!” Liz walks behind the counter to place the grill order and gather the Styrofoam containers. “You gonna be here for a while or should I get this going now?”

Angela looks at Brennan and chews on the inside of her bottom lip. “I think you better assume we’ll be here at least another half hour.”

“You got it sugar,” replies Liz and heads into the kitchen.

Now that Angela (and the baby) are no longer famished (at least for now), she is all ears.

“Okay, Bren. Spill!” Angela eyeballs her best friend and prepares for a tale of highly uninformed and disconnected details about what’s up with Booth and his ex-girlfriend. Deciphering what was really going on is Angela’s specialty. This is the ex-girlfriend of Booth’s, by the way, whom he had brought back from Afghanistan, invited to move-in, made googly eyes at for several months, proposed marriage to, and then unceremoniously dumped when she shot him down. Not that there was anything wrong with that. The dumping, at least.

"What is the deal with men and proposing marriage all the time, anyway?" mused Angela. This question plagued Angela after, once again, having to perform another premature eject-ulation on some adorable yet deluded suitor after the proffer of excessive adulation and expensive gifts though after still way too few dates. "Nip it in the bud if you don’t plan to take it home," was her philosophy. "Life is too short to be saddled with a puppy." Though she had to admit she did like the gifts ... and puppies. I digress. Back to Brennan and Booth …

The verdict had been handed down a l-o-n-g time ago that Booth and Brennan belong together. Already are together, some would say, even though they hadn’t yet managed to seal the deal with more than a sous-mistletoe lip-lock motivated by Brennan’s commitment to gathering her incarcerated family together for a Christmas celebration in a conjugal trailer on prison grounds a couple years back. (Try saying that ten times fast, Dear Reader!)

“Well, as I mentioned on the phone,” Brennan began, “Booth and Hannah were at the diner earlier today. They were holding hands across the table and had their heads very close together. I find that quite disturbing, considering our recent discussions about our potential and theoretical sexual compatibility. Mine and Booth’s I’m referring to, of course. I have no interest in delving into the …”

“I … know what you meant, Brennan.”

“Thank you. It was not my intention to offend. It appears I am quite traditional when it comes to my choices of partners …”

“Okay – that was not at all awkward,” teased Angela, her mouth dropping open exaggeratedly. She knew there was not a single topic on God’s beautiful green earth that she and Brennan couldn’t discuss with ease. That is part of what made their friendship special.

“Why didn’t you go into the diner and join them?" she asked? "That would have been a balsy, yet somewhat bunny-boiler-y move. If you didn’t want to intrude or feel like you were stalking them, you could have called me. I’m not above a little espionage in the name of getting the real scoop on the poop.

"Angela, I know you are speaking English, at least I think you are, despite your half-Chinese facial musculature and bone structure … but I don’t know what anything you just said means past the words that would have been a …“

“Never mind, Sweetie. It was more of a rhetorical question anyway,” Angela said, considering a different approach. “So, exactly where are you and Booth with the whole ‘You’re-unattached-I’m-unattached-so-why-don't-we-get-drunk-and … act-like-more-than-partners’ situation? You said you got into bed with him the night Vincent was killed, but you didn’t give any details. So dish, girlie, or are you going to make me drag it out of you?”

“There’s really not much to tell, Ange. I was considerably upset. I couldn’t get back to sleep. The couch was uncomfortable. I thought Mr. Nigel-Murray had been afraid I would make him leave the Jeffersonian and I was feeling remorseful that he may not have been aware that he was my favorite squin - - I mean, intern.”

“And?” prodded Angela, her eyes wide and her chin dipped toward her chest in a posture of true rapt attention. “And then what happened? Details. I need details!”

“Nothing happened. I cried myself to sleep in Booth's arms …"

"In Booth's arms. In Booth's arms and in his bed."

"Correct. … And woke up on the other side of the bed. In the morning we got up, got dressed in separate bathrooms, grabbed some toast, though I had a bagel, and headed straight back to the lab.”

“You’re joking,” said Angela, an expression of incredulity plastered across her face.

“No, Angela. I wish I were.”

“But you gave me that … that … that I-just-romped-all-night-and-could-really- use-a-nap-and-a-fresh-change-of-clothes look after dropping the got-in-bed-with-Booth bomb.”

“Angela. I admit there was a certain … peacefulness … about me … as a result of … as a result of … I mean, when I told you … but it was more about – - - oh, Angela, you know I am no good at sticking my phalanges in this kind of thing.”

“Do you mean – ‘putting your finger on’ - which feeling you experienced?”

“Precisely. Thank you.”

“Okay. So, just to be clear: there was no hanky-panky under the blankie and nobody woke up wearing fewer items of clothing than when you got into the bed? With Booth.”

“Succinctly put, Ange. And I actually understood you this time. No hanky-panky. No Bingo Baby. No intercourse … but there was something that I cannot explain. Maybe I hallucinated it. There was something ethereal about the experience.”

Angela regarded her friend and slowly raised a suspicious eyebrow. “Ethereal?! Ethereal, meaning extremely delicate, heavenly, or spiritual in a way that seems too perfect for this world? And you’re … sure … there was no sex?”

“Ange, I may be awkward and lacking in some interpersonal acuity, but I know when I’ve been visited in the biblical sense,” explained Brennan, straight-faced. Then she sat up straight and laughed at her own cleverness. “Ha, ha, ha. Angela, ha, ha, ha. – that could be considered a joke, as Booth … is Catholic,” she explained, delighted.

“Bren, I think it is a good thing that nothing happened that night.”

“You do? I don’t understand. Why is that? I thought maybe there was something wrong. And now I think it must be that Booth has been considering reconciling with Hannah. His heart was very much broken by her refusal to marry him.”

“No, Bren. Booth is a lot smarter than you think. This proves it. You will thank him one day for this stroke of genius on his part.”

“I am acutely aware of Booth’s … intelligence … brilliance is a more accurate descriptor when it comes to Booth in that it includes a component of clarity of insight that illuminates … something … which he uses to figure out … " She pauses, then exhales and closes her eyes. "I have no idea what I am talking about, Angela. Please make me stop talking.”

“I think we’re finally getting somewhere, Bren,” declares Angela. “Liz, I’ll take that food to-go now. Better make it three slices of cake, and Dr. Brennan will be paying.”

“Not to disagree, Angela, but why am I paying for your order?” asks Brennan.

“Listen, Sweetie, its cheaper than what I’d bill you for this one session alone.”

Brennan pauses, then smiles and slowly nods her head in agreement. “On this point we are in agreement, my sister-friend.”

“Bingo, baby,” Angela replies with a grin.

Brennan picks up the take-out tab, grabs the two large white bags of Styrofoam-encased food and cake, and offers her elbow to Angela to hold onto as they exit the diner in the direction of the Jeffersonian.

Chapter 12. The “WHA WHA-WHA”

Brennan is standing in Angela’s office after having spent two hours with Wendell reviewing his findings regarding the samurai remains from the Battle of Shiroyama.

“Angela, the Satsuma Rebellion Exhibit is going to be quite fascinating this year. Wendell has identified two additional contributors within the collection of remains we’ve been reviewing. That makes five in total. Have I ever told you about the Chi’zahmi expedition I lead as part of my doctoral thesis in grad school …”

Brennan stares at Angela, attempting to ascertain whether or not she’s actually awake. She notices Angela’s eyes are open, but there is no movement. “Ange,” are you okay?”

“Sorry, Bren, all I heard was WHA WHA WHA, WHA WHA-WHA, WHA’S. WHA WHA?” replies Angela as if awaking from a sugar-induced stupor.

“Is this a common side affect of the increased volume of estrogen and hCG resulting from the pregnancy?” Brennan asks, concerned.

“What? The stupor, or the WHA WHA WHA?”

“The WHA WHA WHA, of course. The sucrose-induced stupor is not at all surprising.”

“Unfortunately the WHA WHA WHA has been going on for quite some time – about six years or so …” Angela chuckles at her own joke alone, as Brennan does not comprehend what Angela is really telling her.

“Well, Ange, you may want to have that looked at by an otolaryngologist. You may be suffering from a rare case of tinnitus. A simple audiometric test will determine the cause. I can recommend an excellent facility just outside D.C. if you are interested.”

“Sweetie, I already know the cause, and I’m not interested in a cure … why did you come to my office?”

“Ange, I find I am experiencing what I can only assume is an anxiety disorder --- and you are the one person I know who can help me decipher the cause of it.”

“Doctor Montenegro, at your service,” says Angela as she attempts to get out of her desk chair. “Can you help me? Just grab hold of my hand and pull.”

Waddling across her office and lying down on the couch, Angela has an idea of what is coming. Their earlier conversation had been cut short by the arrival of Wendell and Hodgens who continued waving around beakers of maggot puree in varying colors and consistency. On any normal day, this would have been enough to make Angela hurl. Today, her reaction was magnified exponentially. It is no small wonder she is a little pale and quite dazed.

“Try some of that cake, Brennan,” offered Angela, hungry once again as a result of the maggot puree-induced evacuation of her stomach contents. “There’s one piece left.”

“Ange,” said Brennan as she flipped open the only remaining Styrofoam container of chocolate fudge cake. “This one is half eaten.”
“Baby got hungry. Sorry. Please take the rest … “

“I don’t think I could handle even half of that cake considering the increased heart rate and gastrointestinal discomfort I am currently experiencing. That’s why I’m here to talk to you.”

“Sorry. Yes. Please. What’s up?”

“Just in case we get interrupted once again, here is a list of my concerns so you can help ensure that each is addressed. First, why didn’t Booth initiate intercourse when I got in bed with him? Second, what do I do if Hannah reemerges as a permanent fixture in our lives? Third, I think I may be experiencing perimenopausal symptoms.”

“Oh. Is that all, Sweetie?” says Angela rolling her eyes.

“Yes. Am I overreacting? Are these absurd concerns?”

“No-oh-oh! Those are exactly the concerns any normal woman would have in your shoes. Except perhaps the peri- whatever. You are decades too young for that.”

“Well, I don’t think another woman would necessarily have to put my shoes on to have these concerns. Besides, I’m a little anal retentive when it comes to other people wearing my clothes – or shoes for that matter. Do you think you could help me with your own shoes on?” Brennan asks with that semi-sad, semi-supplicant look on her face.

“Bren, I’m not even wearing my own shoes these days – look, I’m borrowing Jack’s today. They are the only ones that fit my swollen feet! But lets get down to business.”

Brennan takes a seat on a cozy chair across from her best friend, who keeps shifting her considerable girth, trying to get comfortable on the couch.

“Lets do this in an orderly fashion. Issue number one …” begins Brennan.

“Bren. Sweetie. I think this will go much more quickly if we go backwards,” interrupts Angela. “That is, if you want to address all three issues before this baby goes to kindergarten.”

“In the interest of time, I will defer to you, Angela, though my inclination would be to utilize the traditional consecutive numerical process of …”

“Before kindergarden … remember?”

“Right, Ange. I trust you. Proceed.”

“Thank you. Third concern: early signs of menopause. We have no information about when your mother started menopause – so that avenue is a bust. But as I said before, you are way too young for that. Why do you think you might be perimenopausal?”

“I’ve been displaying typical first level symptoms: bouts of excessive perspiration, shortness of breath, rapid pulse rate, difficulty sleeping …” Brennan crosses her arms as if to say she’s already convinced she’s staring straight down the double barrel of childlessness and mother nature has her finger on the trigger. “Mother Nature is a bitch,” she blurts. “Oops! Sorry, Ange. Perhaps Tourette Syndrome is another symptom of early-onset menopause?”

“Sweetie, this is crazy. Make an appointment with your OB/GYN and get this figured out with a hormone level test. In the meantime, you do realize that all those things are also indicators of emotional distress?”

“You are making sense, Ange. However, I’m experiencing these symptoms at an intensity which, if measured by a Geiger counter, would result in a very loud and rapid beeping sound,” replies Brennan, not convinced by Angela’s dismissal of the menopause theory.
“Make the appointment, dearie. If that doesn’t resolve the issue, go see Sweets.”

“Is Sweets experiencing perimenopausal symptoms as well. You know that is implausible, Angela, as he is most definitely not a human female in her waning years of fertility. No. I don’t see how Sweets can be of any assistance here.” Brennan shakes her head and bites the inside of her lower lip.

“Bren, Sweets is a psychologist. If this is caused by emotional distress – it is right up his alley. He will be thrilled. Well, that didn’t come out right. I meant that he would greatly appreciate the opportunity to counsel you about whatever might be causing you to … freak out.”
“Could I really be … freaking out … Ange? I have never … freaked out … in my entire life.”

“The ability to freak out is one of the happy benefits of becoming a less-impervious adult female human. Didn’t you say you’ve been working toward that goal?” insisted Angela.

“You mean these symptoms could be signs of success toward my goal of becoming stronger?”

Angela just smiles. The teacher proud of her student.

“Issue number two,” asserts Angela, “is a non-issue and not worth our time.”

“What is your reasoning?” asks Brennan a little put-off by Angela’s comment.

“The way I see it, you’ve still got your gun, right?” Angela adopts a droll expression while looking Brennan straight in the eyes. Getting no response, she continues, “It was a joke, Honey. A joke! Jesus!”

Brennan is at a loss for how to respond. She is only slightly relieved that Angela asked that question in jest rather than as a homicidal conspiracy.

“Bren, look. If he’s seeing her again, which I sincerely doubt, there’s nothing you can do about it. Le coeur veut ce que le coeur veut.” The heart wants what the heart wants – Woody Allen.” Angela lets that sink in for a moment, then continues.

“It will be sad, sweet girl, but you will move on. And I will be right here beside you while you do it … that is … if I’m not in prison for maiming an FBI agent and spray-painting Agent Booth is an A$$ Hat on the front doors of the Hoover building.”

Finally, Brennan grins, then breaks into a throaty laugh which ends with something akin to a sob. “Bone head!”

“Moron. Numbscull.”

“Twit.”

As they regain composure after a fit of tension-releasing laughter and a couple tears, Angela looks in Brennan’s eyes and says as gently and affectionately as she can, “But that will never happen. I’d bet my first born Stacatto on it.” She waits until she can tell that Brennan is taking in what she is telling her.

“You listen to me, Temperance Brennan. There is a reasonable explanation for what you saw. Give Booth time. He is a good man. An extraordinarily good man. He will tell you what it was about if it is important. Booth loves you. He’s always loved you, Sweetie. I know these things to be true.”

“I wish I had your confidence, Ange. But for now, I choose to trust you. Because that is my only option.”

“Good girl.”

Brennan heaves an enormous sigh and stares off into space, attempting to compartmentalize all she’s just taken in.

“Now,” begins Angela once again, ”let’s tackle concern number one …”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 13. The Passion in the Chemistry

“Angela, we still on for dinner and probably our last mini-babymoon before the kid makes an appearance?” Asks Hodgens, entering Angela’s office.

“Go!’ she shouts, startling him. “Yes on the dinner thing. But right now you are to leave. This. Office.”

“But … what …”

“Trust me on this and LEAVE!”

“Okay, okay!” he submits, his hands held high like he’s at gunpoint. Under his breath and out of earshot, he continues, disgruntled, “Those wacked out hormones are seriously damaging my calm. I’m married to the Incredible Hulk. Which reminds me – I gotta make a run to the comic book store…”

Brennan hops up and closes the office door, locking it. Returning to her chair across from Angela, Brennan jumps right in. “Nothing happened in bed with Booth, Ange. Why is that? Why is nothing happening? I thought we had agreed that we would be physically compatible. We are both physically fit and possess quite remarkable stamina. According to his physical attributes, Booth would qualify as a good breeder. I myself qualify as well, obviously.”

“Physically compatible, Bren? Really?” Angela asks with a sigh. Is she up to the task set before her, she wonders? Time will tell. But hopefully not too much time …

“Bren, you and Booth are not software programs created by competing developers in two different languages, nor are you a USB port and he an electronic device cord - though I don't know if I'll ever be able to look at my computer the same way again, thanks to you."

“But human anatomy of adult males and females are very much like USB ports and electrical cords in that … Look, it’s basic biology, Angela. What is there to discuss, really?”

“I know you are good at biology and science, Brennan," says angela shaking her head, "But you are NOT going to be the one giving MY kid the sex talk when the time comes,” says Angela, rubbing her eyes with closed fists and shaking her head.

"Oh, I think I’d be quite good at that …” offers Brennan.

“Bren, my dear sweet wonderful girl,” she begins again with an affectionate expression on her face, “There is more … so much more, to love and romance and sex than plusses and minuses, screws and washers, USB ports and electrical cords. …… And I guarantee you it is more than basic biology.”

“I know,” concedes Brennan. “It’s also chemistry.”

“It’s even more than chemistry, Bren. Though, thank God for chemistry,” says Angela patting her considerable abdomen and rubbing circles around her navel.

“Angela, I find both the biology and the chemistry of sex quite satisfying. The rush of norepinephrine, serotonin, oxytocin, vasopressin, nitric oxide and prolactin …” Brennan looks dreamily off into space. “But perhaps you are correct, and perhaps there is more to sexual intercourse than biology.

Angela pauses until Brennan notices no one has said anything for a while. She looks over to Angela, who launches into an Angelesque soliloquy on one of her favorite topics.

“Brennan, you can have intercourse with anyone. But we are talking about making love. With Booth. With the man you have loved … for I don’t remember how long and I’m sure you don’t even know. Between the two of you there is a chemistry – a good chemistry. A solid chemistry. With that kind of chemistry, and that kind of love, it’s never just sex. It’s vulnerable and emotional and safe and thrilling and desperate and cathartic and frightening and important and beautiful and life-giving and fun and passionate. It’s cry-your-eyes-out-wonderful and passionate, Bren.”

"Have you ever had that feeling when he looks into your eyes and says something that touches you in such a way that you feel like you will actually throw-up if he does not kiss you?"

Brennan looks back at Angela with an expression that’s difficult to read. She listens with rapt attention. She sits very still. Angela almost thinks Brennan looks a little frightened. She continues anyway.

"Passion is your pulse going wild the closer you get to the building where you know he is waiting for you."

“Its about being in a meeting with the team and wanting to crawl across the table and smell his neck, nibble on his earlobe. It’s about having to put your hand over your own mouth while he’s talking because all you can think of is how he tastes and how his kisses melt you in places you didn’t even know could melt.”

“Sweetie, passion is about wanting to rip his clothes off every time you see him. It's about getting hot and cold flashes at the memory of the way he touched you last night - or an hour ago in the Family bathroom at Macy’s – or yesterday in the Egyptian exhibit.”

“Passion is about being so hot for each other. Because underneath everything else is the closest and most beautiful relationship known to our species. So powerful that it was put in charge of the continuation of the human race.”

“Being hot for each other is tucking your lace panties into his coat pocket, or his brief case and calling him an hour later to see if he’s found them.”

“Being hot for each other is not remembering the last time you went to bed or woke up without making love…”

They sit in silence, each caught up in their own thoughts.

“That doesn’t last, Angela,” Brennan finally says, quietly, as several tears run down her face. “Fifty per cent of marriages …” She pauses, and looks back at Angela.

Angela shakes her head in disagreement. “Maybe the frequency of the love making slows down. And when he’s showing off his butt crack, insisting he’ll get these pipes fixed himself instead of calling the plumber and spending $100 – maybe he may not seem so hot at the time. But this all turns into even better stuff. When you’re with the right person.” She pauses before landing the final punch.

“And Booth knows this,” she arcs an eyebrow knowingly. She slowly nods as Brennan coughs and fidgets in her chair. “Being the guy he is – the intuitive one in this relationship – he knows all of this.”

"Shit," says Brennan.

Chapter 14. A Good Look in the Mirror

Brennan leaves Angela's office in a daze and heads for the bathroom. Splashing cool water on her face, she lets it drip onto her collar and run down her neck. She peers into the mirror and thinks to herself, "Why is this so difficult for me? Why is it so hard for me to relax, give in, allow myself to be vulnerable … like everyone else?"

She knew Angela was right. The kind of love making and passion Angela described, the kind of love Brennan knew Booth was capable of giving, and inspiring, was exactly the kind Brennan desperately wanted to believe she could have. She had seen it in him; had heard him say it with her own ears.

As she gazes questioningly into the mirror, she recalls something Booth said to her one evening after they had just wrapped up a curious case involving grown adults who enjoyed engaging in "pony play." In pony play, one partner takes on the characteristics of a pony and the other plays the part of the rider. While Brennan had conceded that she was not averse to role-playing with sexual partners as a way of mixing things up, Booth found the whole concept of pony play disturbing and disingenuous.

At the diner that evening, he had insisted that pony play participants went to a lot of expense pretending to be something in the name of crappy sex. Brennan recalled objecting to how he could know that these people, unconventional though they were, were having crappy sex. His reply had left her speechless and breathless and had been indelibly written into her memory – like a cranial tattoo – as the most sensual and beautiful thing she had ever heard one person say to another. She closed her eyes now, visualizing him across the table from her, and recalled what he had said:

"How do I know they are having crappy sex? I'll tell you why," he began. "Here we are. All of us, basically alone. Separate creatures just circling each other. All searching for that slightest hint of a real connection."

"Some looking in the right places. Some just giving up hope because in their mind they're thinkin', Oh, there's no one out there for me. But all of us, we keep trying over and over again. Why?" he had asked, "Because every once in a while two people meet and there's that spark."

He looked straight at her while saying all of this, as if he had practiced it – or perhaps this wasn't the first time he had given this speech – though she had a suspicion that it was.

She remembers feeling acutely aware of the rise and fall of her own chest, the sound of the ocean rushing around inside her head.

"And yes, Bones," he continued, "maybe he's handsome and she's beautiful and maybe that's all they see at first. But Making love," he paused and leaned further across the table toward her. "Making love," he said just above a whisper, so she had to lean in closer to hear him, "that is when two people become one."

Though she could barely speak, she had managed to whisper, "Booth, it is scientifically impossible for two objects to occupy the same space."

"Yeah Bones," he replied, "but what's important is that we try. And when we do it right, we get close."

"To what?" she had asked, wanting to believe him, but constrained by her knowledge of the laws of the physical world. "Breaking the laws of physics?"

"Yeah, Bones. A miracle," he responded with a smile that melted any parts of her that hadn't already dissolved into a gelatinous puddle of defenselessness.

"Those people prancing around pretending to be something they aren't, that is crappy sex," he said, looking straight into her eyes as he said, "compared to the real thing."

When he had finished, she was speechless ... and shaking. Fortunately, he hadn't seemed to notice that. He couldn't have been more vulnerable if he had been sitting across from her completely naked. The way he had let her see him, know him, created a physical sensation in her she could only describe as how a magnet must feel when it is in close proximity to another curiously strong magnet. There's an undeniable force between them, an urgency to be near each other.

Brennan found Booth's brand of intimacy to be simultaneously frightening and titillating. It dawns on her that the intimacy he had always offered her was more than a physical intimacy – it was an emotional intimacy. He frequently got just close enough for her to feel that intoxicating heat of his body, but he never stepped over that wall that she had erected to protect herself. He respected her need for control.

How is it, she marveled now for the first time, that he has always been able to do that, and I have never felt anything but safe? Why is it that I feel anxious about all of this when I am alone with my thoughts, but in his presence I feel comforted, protected?

Brennan recalls thinking to herself that night in the diner after the pony play case, that whoever finds herself on the receiving end of Booth's lovemaking would have to be someone who would receive him with an equally intimate vulnerability.

This is what she was referring to when she told Hannah to be sure about her feelings for Booth before moving in with him. Brennan had known that Booth would give Hannah his heart, but she wasn't sure Hannah fully understood what this meant – or would be able to fully reciprocate. Unfortunately for Booth, he learned too late that Hannah was not worthy of what Booth was offering. Or Maybe Hannah was afraid – maybe Hannah had the same fears Brennan had had more than nine months previously.

This train of thought brought Brennan back to the mess she was currently in the middle of. What if Hannah also had the same revelation Brennan had had during the case of the surgeon they found buried under a tree in a bad part of town. It was while solving that case that Brennan had an epiphany, realizing that she didn't want regrets. It was then that she had told Booth about her feelings for him. Maybe Hannah had come to the same conclusion and was regretting turning Booth's proposal down. Since Brennan and Booth were not really together – perhaps Hannah wanted to give it another try.

What fresh he11 would it be to finally be vulnerable, and strong, and ready to take the final chance with Booth, only to have come to it all too late?

Brennan closes her eyes at the sadness, the devastation, of this possibility. "I can't go through this again," she says out loud. "If they get back together our partnership will have to change. We will have to stop working together. Watching him with Hannah will break me."

She feels she cannot blame Booth for getting involved with Hannah the first time around. But a reconciliation with Hannah, when he is free to make a choice between the two of them? It was unfathomable. "I will have to get a new partner. I couldn't do it, couldn't watch them together. No longer working together would also devastate her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 15. I Got it Bad, and That Ain't Good

Leaving the Jeffersonian after chatting with Cam about the remains Wendell was still repacking, Brennan gets into her car and begins to back out of her parking space. Suddenly, Booth's ring tone startles her, and she involuntarily slams her foot on the brake, screeching to a halt halfway out of her spot.

Booth had been quite excited when her publisher had given her a new cell phone loaded with every bell and whistle known to man. She had told him that his "bells and whistles" comment was both absurd and impossible, as surely this phone did not contain the unique melodic whistles of the Molbar community in the southern wetlands of the Sudan. The Molbari people felt that recording would significantly distort the warbles and tings created by the hollowed out Mooskla grass that grew only in their particular part of the world. She assured him that they were a dogged people and would never change their mind.

He had looked at her and said, "Bones, why do you have to suck the joy out of everything?"

Chastised, Brennan handed him the phone and asked him to program it so that when he calls her, his ring tone is different than the ring tone for all other calls she receives.

"Really?" he asked, surprised that she had given in so easily. "I'm going to set you up with the coolest ring tone this phone has, something that embodies who we are as partners and the importance of the work we do together." He smiled at her then, his eyes sparkling like a child on Christmas morning spying the bicycle shaped gift leaning against the wall next to the tree.

"That's a daunting task, Booth," she had replied. "Unless you can find a song about bones and guns and murder." They both laughed at that point

"I don't really suck the joy out of everything, Booth … do I?" Brennan asked him, concern in her voice.

"Bones – you don't suck the joy out of EVERYTHING. I was just annoyed. Sometimes you annoy me," he explained while staring at the phone screen and pushing the little buttons. "Then you go and do something like letting me program a special ring tone just for my calls. And I can't stay annoyed for long."

Satisfied with his response, she left him to his task in her office and returned to the lab platform to hear what Hodgens had to say about the purple particulates found growing out of the eye socket of a skull.

Booth had plopped down on her couch and played every single ring tone preprogrammed into the phone, dismissing all of them as lame. Two days later he had arrived at her apartment to pick her up for an interrogation. Immediately after crossing the threshold of her apartment, he asked, "Where's your phone?"

"Over there on the counter top. When do I get to hear the tone you've chosen for us? You haven't called me since last night so I still don't know what you chose."

"I haven't called you because I didn't like any of the preprogrammed ring tones, so I had Angela help me make one for you."

"What? You're kidding, Booth. You didn't have to do that."

"This is important, Bones." He started punching buttons. "Besides, Bones and Guns and Murder was copyrighted and I couldn't use it." He looked at her, and winked.

"You must be bummed up," she said, returning his smile, and giving him an exaggerated wink, which was her way of responding to him when he turned on the charm. She enjoyed it when he directed his charm toward her, but she hadn't yet figured out what to do when he did. She then shook her head, rolled her eyes, and gathered her things for the day.

"It's bummed out, Bones, not bummed up," he corrected her. "Bummed up doesn't mean anything."

Now that she'd recovered from the surprise of the phone ringing, she rolled the car back into her parking space, put it in neutral, and reached into her bag to fish out the phone. She couldn't help but smile to herself whenever she heard the ring tone he'd made for her. Even if she was angry with him, this softened her up a bit.

"I'm hot blooded, check it and see. I got a fever of a hundred and three. Come on baby you can do more than that! I'm hot blooded … hot blooded," followed by his version of a rock guitar riff.

Holding the phone to her ear, she says, "Hello Booth."

"Hi – how's it going?"

"It's going fine, Booth. Why are you calling?" She isn't annoyed, just direct.

"Oh. Just wanted to report that I'm here in Philly waiting for my ride. Those first class seats are sweet! I can see why you never want to go back and sit with the general population – though a lot of them are probably your readers …"

"Another reason not to sit in coach."

"Come on, Bones, everyone enjoys a little fan adoration every once in a while."

"I find it stressful. Chit chat is unproductive and a waste of time."

"Bones, these people are your customers. They paid for your fancy car and your techno-phone. It's part of the job of best selling author of the Kathy Reich series."

"Why did you call me?"

"Like I just said – just wanted to check-in, let you know that I arrived here safely, no worse for the wear."

"Was there a problem with the plane?"

"Um, no."

"Did you experience turbulent weather?"

"No – "

"Then why should I be concerned that you wouldn't arrive safely?"

"Bones, you shouldn't. It's just a thing people do when they travel. They call their … they call and report that they've arrived and can now receive any phone calls people might want to make to them."

"Were you expecting a phone call from me?" Bones is still trying to figure this out.

"No – "

"I'm still confused."

"It's just a thing, Bones. Being nice – relieving any worry you might have about my safety or whatever," he continues to explain.

"But you said there was no problem with the plane and there was no turbulent weather …"

"Forget it, Bones." What he wants to tell her was that he misses her already and just wanted to hear her voice. But he doesn't want to argue with her about it –

"Hey, did you try on the footies?" She asks.

"Yes! Ahhhhhh. They are great! Thank you so much. You really didn't have to do that, Bones, but I am glad that you did." She can hear him smiling over the phone and feels a warmth come over her – but she's also curious if he'd found the note. And a little apprehensive at his response. She can't believe her ill-timed gesture – on the same day he meets with Hannah – and who knows what happened between them? But he sure seemed to be in a happier mood since then. And that actually puts Brennan in a worse mood, much to her chagrin.

"They were so cozy I put a second pair on my hands to keep them warm," he informs her, laughing to himself. "You should have seen the looks I got from the old ladies across the aisle from me."

"I'm glad you like them. I find they are warmer and softer than the free ones you get in first class," she offers.

"Well, I don't have much to compare to – but I THOROUGHLY enjoyed these – even if they are baby blue." She could hear him smiling again. She pauses, waiting to hear what he has to say about the note she put inside the middle pair of footies.

Booth listens to the dead air on the phone, not knowing what to say next. Of course, he wants to say something about her note – but he doesn't know what. He finds it odd, that he actually feels a little uncomfortable. The silence drags on, probably for only 10 seconds, but it feels like five minutes.

"Well, I think my ride is here, Bones. So I'll let you go."

"Wait a minute, Booth! Did you read the, um … " she closes her eyes and attempts to clear her throat which has inexplicably and suddenly tightened. I am such an idiot when it comes to these things, she thinks to herself. She tries to speak then, but it comes out as kind of a throaty whisper until she clears her throat once more, this time quite audibly.

"What? Are you okay, Bones?"

"I am fine, Booth. I think I may be coming down with something. My temperature has been a little high lately, I think. But don't worry about it, I'm seeing my physician on another matter tomorrow morning and I'll have her run a streptococci culture."

"What were you saying? You were about to ask me something …" he says, holding his breath and wondering where this conversation might lead.

"Oh, yes. Did you read the dossier I assembled for you. About Dr. Enrique Larrinaga?" This must be what it feels like to dodge a bullet, as they say, she thought.

"Oh," began Booth, relieved, but also disappointed. Everything in it's own time …he reminded himself. "Actually, the footies were so comfortable, I fell asleep immediately and slept through both flights."

"Oh, okay. Well, you should have plenty of time in your hotel before the reception this evening. Make sure you do read it though, Booth. I made notes about some simple questions you can ask him – along with his likely responses – so you can feel like you know what he's talking about. Don't worry about memorizing anything … you'll do fine … as long as you read the …."

"Bones, I'll be fine," he said, much more comfortable with their usual Bones-Booth banter. Oh, I almost forgot – remember to stop over at my place to meet the delivery guy from Plasma World."

"I was actually on my way there right now," she says. "Did Fawaz mention what time he might be delivering it?"

"I'm sorry, Bones – I forgot to ask!"

"Not a problem. I'll just hang out there until it arrives. I have a considerable amount of paperwork to complete before we ship out the samurai remains."

"Hey, how's that going, by the way?" Booth asks.

"It's going as smoothly as expected, and it is truly fascinating, but – "

"I know – It's not a murder case."

"Right," she says and he can hear the smirk in her tone. "Is that bad of me? To wish we were on a case right now? How awful am I?"

"Bones, if that makes you awful – well, I'm right there with you. Not to worry. As long as there are people, there will be murderers. I'll see if I can scrape up something interesting here in Philly for you – Hey! Then you could come see the game with me!"

"You know how I enjoy observing men display their battle skills on the court, or field, or whatever … You must be rubbing on me," she says and laughs for a moment.

Booth can't help it – he laughs as well. Once again he wishes he could share one of Bones' mixed-up idiomatic phrases with Hodgens or Cam. "I think you mean – rubbing off on you, Bones."

"Yes, Booth," she continues laughing heartily. "That sounds much better. Oh … OH! Thank goodness no one else heard what I just said to you. Whoops! Sorry, Booth." Hearing no response, she asks, "Are you blushing, Booth? You know I have been noticing lately that you are quite the blusher. I find it fascinating."

"Thanks for bringing that up, Bones," he says, and can't help but giggle a little bit.

"Did you just snort?" Bones asks in an astounded voice.

"What? Did I snort? No – Bones – I do not snort. I …. Giggled …. Maybe. But I don't SNORT."

"You giggled?" Bones could hardly contain herself. "Like a little girl? Did you giggle like a little girl?" she teased him unmercifully.

"Bones – what's gotten into you? It wasn't a little girl giggle – it was really more like a – a chortle. A masculine chortle. And it was definitely NOT a snort."

"You know, I snort sometimes. When I'm caught unawares and find something unexpectedly humorous."

"Maybe I snorted a little. But lets keep that between us."

"Okay, partner."

"Hey – there's my ride. Look at that – they are even holding up a sign with my name on it!"

"Okay – Booth. Will you be calling me to let me know you have safely arrived at the hotel?" she asks stifling a snort.

"Bones ….. and you say I am the incorrigible one," he replies. Call me after the tv gets there. Have them put it in the middle of the living room on the floor. Whatever you do – do not touch anything! I will open the boxes when I get back."

"Okay, okay. You can have the honor of breaking open your little gift of self-love."

"I mean it, Bones."

"I know," she replies. Then, "Booth …"

"Yeah?"

"Be safe."

"I will," he says, and adds, "You too." They both pause for a moment, warmed by the knowledge that the other one is on the other end of the line. Then they each hang up the phone.

Turing off her phone, Brennan says out loud, "I got it bad, and that ain't good, recalling one of her favorite old Billie Holiday melodies.

In another city, two plane rides away, Booth rests his phone on his chin and thinks, "I am in so much trouble …"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 16. Honor Among Men

"Special Agent Seeley Booth of the FBI, I presume?" Advancing toward Booth, and waving a greeting which turns into a hand shake, is a stout man of average height, an open face with straight teeth, warm brown-black eyes, peppered hair which must have once been all black, and considerable five o'clock shadow. Dr. Larrinaga, wearing a thin cotton dress shirt unbuttoned to the third hole, a pair of dark brown cargo shorts, white crew socks that had seen better days, and a pair of Keen Gypsums, takes Booth's hand in his own and shakes it enthusiastically.

"Please forgive my appearance, Agent Booth – my grad students and I were cleaning out the planetarium archives getting ready for a temporary move to the Margret Fell Fox auditorium. They are assessing what new equipment we'll need for the new Stevens Morris Nguyen Center. We are all thrilled to be the beneficiaries of this amazing donation to the School of Physics and Astronomy at Haverford," he admits humbly. "Everyone has been working around the clock since you called me five months ago." Larrinaga stops to take a breath and notices that Booth hasn't gotten a word in edgewise. "Am I talking too much? My wife is still in shock over learning I scored as an introvert on the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator assessment tool, considering how much I can talk once I get going."

Booth chuckles, liking Larrinaga already. Granted, he's not quite what Booth expected from a name like Enrique Larrinaga. He'd assumed he be meeting a George Lopez or Paul Rodriguez look-alike. Instead, he's walking beside a stout younger-brother-type version of an Antonio Banderas or a Javier Bardem-without the swarthy accent, thankfully. Why do women find men with Spanish accents sexy? To Booth, they all sound like Count von Count, the purple Muppet vampire on Sesame Street with a obsessive-compulsive love of counting who announces the number of the day each episode. How fair is the playing field when a vampire Muppett with a mental disorder can get all the women he can count, yet real live ex-jocks from Pittsburgh go home alone every Saturday night?

"Dr. Larrinaga, to tell you the truth, it is a pleasure to listen to a man of your considerable experience and education speak American. My partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan of the Jeffersonian, and her colleagues, with whom I spend the majority of my time, use complicated long words that I can't even begin to pronounce, let alone understand. You just keep on talkin,' pal, and we'll get a long just fine."

"Agent Booth, you're all right. Quite frankly, I was a little intimidated to be the one to pick you up here today," he says looking sideways at Booth as he pulls Booth's suitcase up to his car. "I may research the universe looking for clues about it's age, shape, and size – but you guys at the FBI in D.C. and the Jeffersonian save people's lives every day. You put your lives on the line and say it's all in a day's work."

"Dr. Larrinaga, we all have our place in this world and we all make it go around," he smiles back at him.

"Hey," Larrinaga exclaims, "you stick to catching criminals and I'll stick to figuring out what makes the world go round!" Larrinaga looks sternly at Booth, then breaks in to a huge grin.

They get into Larrinaga's Subaru Outback and exit the parking ramp, merging onto I-95 heading South. Out in the open air, Booth rolls down his window and fills his lungs with the Philly night air.

"Ahhhh. The sweet smell of home," he croons.

"Agent Booth, are you, by any chance a Flyers fan?"

"Born and bred."

"Seriously?"

"Serious as a myocardial infarction," replies Booth, then slaps himself on the forehead. "I can NOT believe I just used the medical term for heart attack! Those squints are rubbing off on me!"

"Happens to the best of us, my friend," replies Larrinaga, merging from I-95 toward I-476. "Would you believe my wife actually understands me when I comment on the ellipticity of the Pisces-Perseus Supercluster?"

"Is that why you married her, Dr. Larrinaga?"

"Call me Enrique, Agent Booth," said Larrinaga. "And, no, the Pisces-Perseus drew me in, but I fell in love with her because she's the smartest woman I know who would have anything to do with me," he laughs, but Booth senses that he's telling the truth. "Or was it because she's got killer legs? It was so long ago, I don't remember," Larrinaga says, looking questioningly at the windshield.

"Enrique, I don't believe you can't remember which it was for a single minute," Booth says and smiles broadly toward his new acquaintance.

"And you would be right, Agent Booth …" he answers.

"Call me Seeley."

"You'd be right, Seeley. I fell in love with her for her legs."

"Well, you can't beat a smoking hot pair of gams – any rat knows that," quips Booth as they both start laughing in earnest.

Settled into his room later, Booth's mind turns to Hannah. What she did today took more guts than running through Kabul during a firestorm. What could he ever do to repay her? He know just the thing. He'd save her a dance …

Just as he started to wash-up before meeting the Larrinaga's for dinner at their Ardmore home, his phone rang.

"Bones! Did my television arrive in one piece?"

"Well no, not yet. But something else did arrive that's a LOT more fun …"

"Huh?" he asks, thinking what could be more fun than a 65 inch Panasonic TC-PVT30 with 3D glasses and a connective dongle.

"There's not a rotting corpse in my apartment, is there, Bones?"

"What? Why would you think that?"

"Because I'm talking to YOU, and you said something more fun than a 65 inch …"

"Oh, I see what you mean. Well, four years ago I would never have said this – but here I am, a changed woman. Parker is here – and he's what's more fun than both a tv AND a set of unidentified remains. How's that for progress?"

"Nice progress, Bones – but why is Parker there, I'm not supposed to have him until Friday. Is something wrong? Is Rebecca okay?"

"Everything is fine, Booth. Captain Amazing, I mean, Rebecca's boyfriend fell off a roof on a job and Rebecca has taken him to the ER. It sounds like everything is fine, but they want to keep him overnight for observation."

"Wow."

"Yeah, so I got Parker!" she says, sounding pleased with herself.

"You sound pleased with yourself, Bones."

"Well, you know how I enjoy Parker's company and I am happy to help Rebecca in her time of need. I find that I am quite enthused at the prospect of spending this time alone together. He's such a great kid, Booth. Don't worry about us."

"Are you sure you are okay with this, Bones?"

"Of course, don't be absurd. This kid is crazy about me and it is quite mutual. What could possibly go wrong that I can't handle?"

Booth rolls his eyes. "Well, okay. But let me give you the bedtime routine rundown and a list of things he likes to eat …. "

"Booth, stop. He and I can work all this out together. He is in good hands. You just enjoy your time in your old stomping grounds, did I say that right?" she asks and pauses.

"He-e-ey, Bones! That was exactly right – stomping grounds."

"So you just enjoy yourself there and get home safely for your fishing trip with Little Booth here. He can't stop talking about going away with you for the weekend – I've never seen him this excited."

"Thanks, Bones. I can't tell you how much I appreciate this. Call me, anytime, day or night, if you need anything, or can't find the tooth paste, or anything else."

"In other words," she states matter-of-factly, "same rules apply as at any other time?"

"Exactly," he replies. "Hey, can I talk to Parker for a minute?"

"Sure - - Parker! Your dad wants to say Hi to you."

"Hi Dad!" Parker is on the line.

"How's your mom's boyfriend?"

"Pretty banged up, Dad. But they say he will be fine. They just want to make sure he doesn't start puking green slime or oozing blood out his ears!"

"Now you be good to Bones, she's doing us a big favor."

"I will, Dad. Mom wanted to send me to stay with the neighbors, but I talked her into letting me stay here with Bones. Isn't that great?"

"Parker, you're just like your old man – and I'm not sure that's a good thing. Have fun and don't stay up all night!"

"I won't, Dad. I love you."

"I love you too, pal. Make sure to say your prayers and thank Bones for being there for us."

Back on the phone with Brennan he asks, "Are you sure this is okay? I can call Rebecca's neighbors …"

"Booth! Stop! I want to do this. We've already made lots of plans about how to spend our time. Now, go -!"

"Thanks, Bones," he says finally, "call me!"

"I'm hanging up now …. "

Turning to Parker, Brennan says, "You're dad, he's got worry warts."

"Tell me about it, Bones. He's covered in them." They both fall onto the couch and dissolve into laughter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 17. Damsel in Distress

As Brennan had been looking through Booth's fridge earlier, scrounging for food, she had heard the phone ring three times, then the answering machine click on. She knew it wouldn't be Booth calling because he would have called her cell. As she opened a container of cottage cheese, grabbed a bowl and a clean spoon, and headed for the living room where she'd set up her files, she recognized the voice being recorded on the answering machine. It was Rebecca, and she was in a panic.

Rebecca was Booth's ex girlfriend, and the mother of their son, Parker. Over the years, Booth and Rebecca had worked diligently to ensure that Parker spent at least forty per cent of his available time with Booth.

Rebecca had been calling from the ER for some reason Brennan couldn't decipher from the hysterical message she was leaving on the machine. She ran to the phone and picked it up, catching Rebecca before she hung up.

"Rebecca, this is Temperance Brennan. Are you okay?"

"Oh, Dr. Brennan! Where's Seeley?" Brennan could tell Rebecca was on the verge of tears, most likely from an excessive amount of adrenaline coursing through her system as a result of needing to be in the ER.

"Is he there? This is an emergency … (Boyfriend whose name I cannot for the life of me remember - help!) fell off a roof at work and nearly broke his neck and Parker is at a play date but he needs to be picked up and I have nothing ready for dinner and my car is still at (BWNICFTLOMR-H!)'s job site and he might have to stay here over night for observation and I don't want to leave him alone so I need Seeley to take Parker and everything is such a mess …" Rebecca's increasingly incoherent voice was swallowed by a gut-wrenching sob.

Brennan had deduced that Rebecca was in shock and could probably use some pharmaceutical assistance herself.

"Rebecca, Booth is out of town and he's not returning until tomorrow night."

Brennan could hear a wail on the other end of the line, followed by a high-pitched squeaky noise as Rebecca's voice got higher and higher the more freaked-out she became. "Rebecca, listen to me. Listen to me, Rebecca! Are you calling from your cell?"

"Ummmm - yes." Another sob and the sound of a juicy nose being blown.

"Okay. I want you to sit down. Is there anywhere you can sit down? But not on the floor."

"I'm already on the floor, Dr. Brennan!"

"Get up off the floor and find a chair. I want you to elevate your posterior and place your head between your knees, which will force your lungs to fill to capacitation thereby significantly increasing oxygenation, and finally diluting the concentrated volume of adrenaline in your blood system."

"What? What the %$&!# is that supposed to mean?"

"Bend over, head between your knees. Don't fall over."

"Got it."

"Now breathe deeply. Think Yoga. Cleansing breath in, toxic breath out. Cleansing breath in, toxic breath out. Are you doing it?"

Brennan could hear a huge sigh on the other end of the line followed by a healthy intake of breath.

"Hmmmmm. Yes. I am…," huge sigh, huge breath inward "… doing it. Ohhhhhhh, Sweet Baby Jesus."

"Now listen carefully to what I am saying, Rebecca. Booth is gone for a couple of days, but I am available and competent with Children, I have a foster parent license and am trained in First Aid. I … once had to revive a Reeses monkey after his heart had stopped during a laboratory stress test in a pharmaceutical trial. He did die later, but that was because of the pharmaceutical, not my resuscitative efforts …"

"Dr. Brennan, I am sure you are competent and I appreciate it your offer, but … but ..."

"I know what you're concerned about, Rebecca, and when are you going to start calling me Tempe? "

"Fine, Tempe. Fine. I just don't want to get involved in Seeley's work relationships. Wait – what do you think I am concerned about?" She sniffed.

"Rebecca, I promise I will not touch Parker in any way that could be considered inappropriate in the District of Columbia. I am a very trustworthy person. I can give you the phone number of my case worker at Social Services …"

"Oh, Dr…. Tempe, I'm not worried about that …" began Rebecca.

"You SHOULD be concerned about it, Rebecca. Twenty-five per cent of children in the care of a non-family member fall victim to some kind of inappropriate touching or …"

Rebecca cuts Brennan off before she can continue with a litany of potential abuses. "Temperance! I am not worried about that with YOU. With YOU, Tempe. I know Seeley trusts you and that's good enough for me," she says, sounding distracted all of the sudden. "Can you wait for a minute, Tempe, I see (BF's) doctor."

"Go ahead, I'll be here," says Brennan.

After a moment, Rebecca returns to the line. "Tempe, if you are really serious, I would be so grateful!"

"Of course I am serious. I wouldn't lie about anything concerning Parker – or anything else, I can assure you."

"Okay – do you think you could pick him up after his play date?"

"Absolutely. Where's the play date?

Rebecca had then given Brennan care instructions for Parker and provided the address, phone number, and the name of Parker's friend's parents. Then she had called the parents to let them know Brennan would be picking him up. "Thank you so much, Tempe. If you need anything and can't reach me, call Seeley."

"It is my pleasure, Rebecca. I find that I am jazzed about having Parker all to myself for the evening – though, again, I promise not to behave in any way inappropriate for a nine year old human child."

"You are a very good friend to him, Tempe. Parker talks about you quite a lot."

"That is very nice to know, Rebecca. I appreciate you telling me …"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 18. Laughter: A Medicine Best When Shared by Two

Back at Booth’s apartment an hour later, Parker and Brennan discuss their evening plans.

“Bones, I am so glad my mom’s boyfriend is in the hospital so I can be here with you.”

“Parker! That’s really not a very nice thing to wish on anybody!” admonishes Brennan. “But I think I understand what you mean,” says Bones giving him a big smile and tousling his blond curls.

She and Parker had made up a game a couple months ago about where they would go and what they would do if they got to have their own time together - without either of his parents. The place and the activity they planned together had to start with the same letter, like boating in Borneo, skiing in the Sahara, Planting Peppers in Poughkeepsie. Brennan always said that one day they really would take one of these trips and fulfill their mutual dream. Parker made her pinkie swear, which was a new concept for her, but she readily adopted it when he explained that a pinkie swear cannot be broken without severe consequences.

“Hey,” Brennan continued, “I thought you and California were becoming good friends.” They had started calling Rebecca’s boyfriend, Drew, “California” because Brennan could never remember his name. At first they had called him “C. A.,” which really stood for “Capitan America.” Later when Parker was going through a geography obsession he noticed that C. A. is the abbreviation for California – and the nickname was born. It was also a bonus that Booth didn’t object to this nickname as he did to “Captain America,” even though he was the one who had originally come up with it.

“We are friends, Bones.” Parker conceded now. “He’s a nice guy. And he makes Mom happy. He’s got a kid who comes over with him sometimes. But he’s a little younger – and totally into Bakugan,” explained Parker. “It’s just that I just love being with you, Bones. I don’t think we’ve ever gotten to have it just you and me before. Not for a whole night.”

“This is a first, Parker. We should celebrate with a fancy dessert. What is your favorite,” she asks, with a devious look on her face. “Something you usually don’t get to have. Or maybe something you’ve never had but have always wanted to.”

“Hmmmm. Can I think on that? Aren’t we going to eat dinner first though? My tummy is grumbling and I should eat some real food first – or I promise you I will puke up even the bestest most richest dessert you could make me!”

“How about we get some take out from the diner?” suggests Brennan.

“Or we could just eat at the diner ..." says Parker.

“Or …” Brennan whispers, once again assuming a sly look, “We could get take out and have a picnic on the living room floor at home – your dad’s home, I mean!”

“OR …” Parker loudly whispers back, his eyes getting bigger and bigger, “We could put up the tent …”

“This is sounding good …” says Brennan, nodding in encouragement.

“ … on my dad’s bed … “

“Uh …”

“And when we’re done eating, we can clean out all the dishes, move the tv into the bedroom …”

“Wait a minute …” says Brennan, putting the breaks on.

“And then we could bring sleeping bags into the tent as sleep there too!”

“I like your style, LittleBigMan.” Says Brennan in sincere admiration. “However, what do you think your dad would think about us messing with his television, his speakers, and all those other things he’s got hooked up to them?”

“Bones ….” Parker begins, nodding slowly and looks sideways at her, his eyes slender slits of white and pupil. “It’s true what Dad says about you.”

“What?!” blurts Brennan. “What does he say about me? Give me the full 4-1-1 before I have to tickle it out of you!”

“Hey, you said it right this time, Bones!” says Parker, complimenting her on not saying the 9-1-1 when referring to information or gossip, as she had in the past . “Okay. Dad says many things of course, because he’s always talking about you, but this is what I was just thinkin’ ‘bout … though I’m not sure if he’d like me telling you this … maybe we should call him and check it out first. He always says – when in doubt, check it out.”

“Park Booth! Quit stalling – what does he say about me?!”

Parker climbs up on the couch, stands with his legs a shoulder-width apart, puts his hands on his hips, scrunches up his brow, and says in as deep a voice as his little 9-year-old vocal chords can muster: “Parker, that woman is the voice of reason in a world full of chaos!”

Brennan can’t help laughing out loud, astounded at this odd quote that has made an impression on Parker so he’s remembered it enough to repeat. “When was that, Parker? Do you remember what he was referring to?” She’s curious to understand what the context for such a statement could have been.

“I don't remember – but he’s said it more than once, though it has been a while …”

“And what are you doing up there on the couch?” she looks at him askance, suggesting perhaps that standing on the furniture is bad behavior for a nine year old.

“I’m being Dad! Don’t you see it? And Dad is TALL” he insists, stretching up as high as he is able.

“Oh,” she replies blankly. “Oh … Ohhhhhhhhhh yeah! Now I see it.” Brennan cracks up, covering her mouth and pointing at him. “Parker, you are really good at acting like your father. Has he ever seen you do this?”

“Are you kidding?” he blurts. “I may have been born at night, but not last night,” he says dissolving into giggles.

“We are bad. So bad, Park. There better not be any hidden cameras in here,” she says swinging around and making a show of looking for camera lenses peaking out from the bookcase and inside lampshades. “Your dad would not be amused,” she says conspiratorially, still laughing loudly.

“I wonder if I could do him. Your dad,” she says once she calms down.

“Try it, Bones. Try it!” She hesitates, conflicted, feeling like she’s being challenged to shoplift.

She swings around again looking for hidden cameras. “Okay – but if this gets back to your dad, I will strenuously deny it. And on that you have my solemn pinky swear, Parker Matthew Booth!” She thinks for a moment, hand to mouth, eyes to the floor. “Okay, I got it. I need some props.”

Brennan runs into the bedroom and returns with a suit coat and a Boothy tie. Putting them both on, she stands with her legs a shoulder’s length apart, both arms extended forward at shoulder height, hands grasped as if pointing a gun at a criminal. “Nine times out of ten, murder is about love or money, when both of those go south, all bets are off, my friend.”

“Is that all you can come up with, Bones? After all this time knowing my dad?"

"Okay ... give me a minute ..." she says, thinking. "Okay, I think I got it."

“Stop or I will shoot you, and I never miss, I’m Special Agent Seeley Booth, emphasis on Special, and this here’s my partner Dr...,” she loses control in a fit of giggles, “Dr. Temperance …. Ah … Brennan … ahh hah … of the Jeffersonian.” She finally drops to her knees holding her sides as if in torturous pain.

“Nailed it,” sings Parker as he explodes in a spasm of giggling and coughing that alarm Brennan, but she’s too hysterical to do anything about it.

“My intercostals, my intercostals, all three pairs,” moans Brennan, still grabbing at her sides and wiping tears from her eyes. “I can’t take it anymore!”

Brennan and Parker, he lying on the couch and she lying on the floor, finally settle down after several minutes of uproarious laughter. After a moment of silence, invariably, one of them starts laughing again and the other can’t help but join in. This goes on for ten minutes or more.

“Oh, Park,” says Brennan, a bit remorsefully and feigning panic, “You must NEVER tell your dad we impersonated him. I’m not sure he would find it as humorous as we do.”

They break into giggles again. “Double pinky swear, Park,” she says, sitting up and thrusting both of her little fingers toward him.
“Double pinky swear,” he answers her solemnly, wrapping his pinkies around hers. “Now I’m really starving, Bones! I might eat this couch if we don’t get some food quick.”

“The diner?”

“Yep. But I don’t think I can wait till we get home to eat it.”

“Me neither,” agrees Brennan. “But I have an idea for dessert that will knock your socks off. Ever heard of Bananas Foster?”

Chapter 19. Crab Cakes and College Tuition

“Where’s the tent? Where do you keep the tent?”

“The what?” screams Booth into his phone as the Flyers score another goal and the crowd jumps out of their seats screaming. “I can barely hear you, Bones.”

Larrinaga and his wife, Carmen, had treated Booth to some of the best pub food on the Philadelphia Main Line. The Grog, a few miles outside Philly in a barrio called Bryn Mawr, is less than 2 miles West on Lancaster Avenue from the college where Dr. Larrinaga teaches Astronomy and Physics. According to the Larrinaga’s, The Grog served up the best butternut squash soup and crab cakes on the Main Line.

After dinner, Carmen kissed Larrinaga on the lips and forehead, refused Booth’s handshake and hugged him instead, then headed home to relieve their babysitter. A fellow Flyers aficionado, Larrinaga had surprised Booth with an invitation to the Flyers that evening. “Work, work, work,” Larrinaga had said. “It’s one of my more onerous duties, entertaining the visiting dignitary.” He and Both exchanged faux pained expressions over the tragedy of it all.

“Hardly a dignitary,” dismissed Booth, with a grin.

“Not according to my expense report,” replied Larrinaga.

“Well played, Enrique,” said Booth, pretending to tip his hat to his new friend. “God, I love this town!”

Booth and Larrinaga were silent a moment, waiting for their tab. “Enrique, I have to be honest with you. I wasn’t looking forward to coming on this trip. But I am really enjoying myself. Thanks for sharing your experiences with me.”

“Well, I got that from my Midwest roots. Carmen and I are transplants here from Minnesota. Though I have to admit, I got all my entertaining skills from my wife. As a rule, I’d rather spend my time in an office working on research or somewhere else entirely collecting data from a radio telescope.”

“Where does a person do that kind of thing?”

“Oh, there are places. But enough about me, Seeley. What’s going on on the home front that’s got you all up in your head all the time? A person needs some breathing space, man.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. I don’t believe it half the time.”

“Is the crime solving business even harder than they make it look on CSI?”

“The crime-solving business?” repeats Booth, crossing his arms in front of his Flyers jacket. “Well, that does keep us all on our toes. Just when we’re wrapping up one case, new ones fly at us from all angles. Then an old unsolved one rears its ugly head and we’re off to the races,” explains Booth. “Nope, murder I can handle. It’s the after five business that can be daunting.”

“The prostitution? Is that what you’re talking about?” asks Larrinaga.

“No – I have nothing to do with that – I’m talking about the real stuff life is about – my son, my ex girlfriend and her new boyfriend, Captain Fantastic. A recent breakup from someone I thought was, you know, the one,” explains Booth, though he knows that not the whole truth. “A recent ‘vistit’ from an ex …”

“Oh, the life of a single man.”

“A thirty-something single man. Who I don’t mind telling you, Enrique, would rather be settled in a life of domestic bliss like you are.”

“Bliss? I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about, friend,” said Larrinaga taking a more serious tone. “The grass is always greener on the other side of the goal line – that’s not an axiom for no reason.” He said leaning on the table and looking Booth straight in the eyes. “I do have a sweet life - I guess – a job I love at a great institution, a supportive and resourceful wife, two healthy kids I’m crazy about, but it’s a struggle keeping it all together.” As Larrinaga spoke, it was clear to Booth that, whatever makes this guy’s life a struggle, he was pretty sure he wanted in.

“I’m constantly being pulled in every direction,” Larrinaga explained “I got my work, which I never seem to have enough time for. I got my kids who are fun and full of energy and the best people I’ve ever met – seriously – but demanding as all get out. I got my wife who wants more of my time at home and just with her. Then there’s gymnastic classes and swimming lessons for the kids – plus braces and college coming up before long. That may not sound like much to you …”

“Wait, how old are your kids? I thought you said you only have two.”

“Anna is five and Jack is nine. We have just the two,” he answered. I know, I know, college is a ways off. But it’s always hanging over my head. Carmen, on the other hand, likes to live for today – let God take care of tomorrow. I tell her that I hope God plants a money tree in our back yard – because I don’t where its gonna come from otherwise!”

“I know what you mean. I have a nine year old and I cannot believe what just hockey gear costs these days,” says Booth, starting to think for the first time about college expenses. That had just always seemed so far off. “I feel like we’re doing well just keeping Parker in shoes without holes.”

“Wait till you have the second one, Seeley,” cautioned Larrinaga. “That’s when it all starts to feel real. That’s when you’re wife’s got her hands full and all of a sudden you have to the first child who is now looking to you instead of his mom for entertainment and attention. And all your expenses are doubled.”

“I can imagine. At this point I don’t know if there ever will be more than just Parker. His mom and I never married.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Larrinaga said recalling earlier in the conversation when Booth had mentioned an ex or some other complication. “Its never too late to tie the knot – a strapping young FBI agent like yourself.”

“We’re no longer together. But it’s all good, right? His mom is great, and she has her own life. I get Parker just about whenever I want him – which is never enough. But it will do for now.”

“For now? What’s next? Is there a special someone – other than this ex or whoever?”

Booth pauses, looking at his hands which are at this point clasped and resting on the table in from of him. The tab arrives and Booth grabs it before Larrinaga can. “This is on Uncle Sam,” he says. “Remember, I’m here to honor you, Sr. Enrique Larrinaga of Anthrax-busting fame.”

“Well okay – but if you are here tomorrow, you’re coming over to the house for dinner,” he said smiling at Booth. “Hey, I apologize for prying a moment ago. You are just so easy to talk to – and it sounds like you could use an ear attached to someone that you’re not. I apologize, Seeley.”

“Don’t sweat it – its just that its gonna take a couple beers to tell that story. And we’re gonna be late for the pregame cheerleading warm-up!”

**************************

“Give me a minute, Bones,” screams Booth shoving a finger as far into his other ear as is humanely possible. “I’m going to get outside where I can hear you.”

“Thank you, Booth,” says Brennan shushing Parker who is bouncing off the walls after all the sugar from two helpings of Bananas Foster.

“Is everything okay? Has the tv arrived yet,” he asks.

“Everything is fine. We’ve eaten, then made a mess of your kitchen making Bananas Foster – which is Parker’s new favorite food. I’ve won awards for my secret recipe, did I ever tell you that?”

Booth rolls his eyes, is there anything she does with mediocrity? “No, bones, but if its as good as that macaroni and cheese …”

“I’d say they are equally superb – but I’ll let you be the judge sometime. I’m calling because Parker and I need to know where you’ve stored the tent.”

“The tent?!”

“Yeah, the tent. He wants to sleep in the tent on your bed.”

“Tent is in the hall closet on the top shelf behind the suit cases and Christmas decorations. But it is NOT going on my bed. Move the furniture out of the way in the living room and put it there.”

“Got it,” says Brennan.

“Is there anything else? I’m about to miss half time, says Booth looking back through the glass doors to the score board.”

“No, thank you," she answers, smiling. “Wait – how do you get Parker to calm down enough for bed?”

“Read him a book or tell him one of your stories.”

“I don’t think a story is going to unwind this spinning top, Booth.”

“Well, what’d you feel him?”

“I told you, Bananas Foster. He had two helpings – mine’s the best recipe in the world, remember? Oh excrement – its full of sugar.”

“Ding, ding, ding, the light goes on,” says Booth, mocking her. “Better get some coffee, Bones, you’re in for a long night. He’s gotta get some sleep though. Tomorrow is a school day.”

“I am so screwd,” Brennan says, deflated, as Parker launches himself from the couch into a mound of pillows with a primal yelp.

Booth just laughs. Finally, something she has something to be humble about. "Look like you're not finished with dessert, Bones."

"Oh, I had two helpings of Banans Foster too, Booth. That stuff doesn't preserve well in the fridge."

"No - I think you;ve got some pie to eat - humble pie."

"Booth," says Brennan, desperately. "You know I don't care for pie!"

Chapter 20. Life Isn't Enough

The game over, Larrinaga drops Booth off at his hotel after discussing tomorrow morning’s schedule.

How is it, Booth wonders finally back in the solitude of his hotel room, that you can know some people for just a couple hours and feel like you’ve known them your whole life?

Tonight he felt like he was on vacation from himself. He had basked in the comfort of the Larrinaga’s hospitality. He had thoroughly relaxed for the first time in … he couldn’t remember how long. With Enrique and Carmen it had been so easy to let his guard down, to share stories, to eat a good meal and share a beer, to laugh at himself and to reveal some of his personal dreams and concerns.

While Carmen was in the ladies room and Larrinaga was chatting with a colleague he ran into, Booth had realized he didn’t have any married couples as friends in D.C. Or anywhere, for that matter. Tt felt good to spend time with a happily married couple. It painted a picture for him. Gave him something to strive for. Sure, Angela and Hodgens are married, but that is different. They are colleagues and friends, but colleagues nonetheless. He wondered how the dynamic at the Jeffersonian would be affected once Baby Hodgens joined the party. How would that be for Bones to watch her best friend flourish in the light of domestic tranquility?

As relaxed as he was here with these new friends, he realizes that something has been missing for a long time in his life. He has work. He has friends. He has Parker. But he doesn’t have family – a whole family – under one roof – having breakfast and dinner together every morning and night. Going to mass together on Sunday mornings. Taking vacations together. Arguing about the banal stuff a committed couple argues about, then making-up and falling asleep in the same bed. Then to be awakened in the middle of the night to find a cold pair of tiny feet warming themselves on your backside – accompanied by a small human wedged between you and your partner.

Partner. He thinks about his own choice of words. The word partner had come to mean something much more than a colleague in a team of two. Partner, for Booth, could mean only one thing: Temperance Brennan. Bones. When he pictured that little body wedged between himself and his partner, by partner he meant Bones. He’d been picturing her in that role since the day he met her in the lecture hall where she was giving a seminar on something or other anthropologic. That was the day their partnership began. In his heart anyway. Despite their ups and downs, their other love interests, both his and hers, their differences of opinion and approach. It had always been she who had taken permanent residence in his heart … his life … his soul.

He knew he had a full life as Special Agent Seeley Booth and Parker’s father, but this evening brought home for him once again, though somehow more forcefully, poignantly, that he wanted more. And thanks to Hannah, he was ready to go after it.

He takes out his wallet and locates the foot note Bone gave him. Carefully unfolding it, he brings it to his nose and inhales her scent. He places the note on the bed side table and wonders what she might be doing at this very moment.

Chapter 21. Never Lonely With You Around

Booth takes a shower to wash off all the airplane, restaurant, and hockey stadium residue. He puts on the tee shirt and the boxers he brought as sleepwear, and can't help looking at his phone. I wonder how things are going at home with Bones and Parker, he thinks to himself. Looking at the clock, he makes the decision to call, even at this late hour. Bones will be up trying to sedate Parker most likely, maybe she'd appreciate a little company, even if just over the phone line.

He dials her number and listens to it ring, then has second thoughts and hangs up. What if Parker has finally fallen asleep and the call wakes him up? He knows how torturous that can be on an exhausted adult. While he's standing there, one hand on his hip, the other holding the closed phone against his chin, he's startled by Brennan's singing voice.

"The phone rings in the middle of the night, my father yells what you gonna do with you life? Oh daddy dear you know you're still number one, but girls they wanna have fu-un. Yeah, girls just wanna have fun …"

Angela had helped Brennan record this as a ring tone for Booth's phone under the guise of being a thank you for the "Hot Blooded" ring tone he'd made for her. Angela was tickled to help the two of them surprise each other with this sweet gesture. Brennan pretended she was doing it because of her competitive nature – she didn't want to be outdone by Booth. Angela knew otherwise. She thought it was one of the most romantic gestures she'd ever witnessed, especially for a couple who weren't officially dating.

"Bones! What are you doing calling me so late at night?" he says after depressing the TALK button on his cell.

"You called me, Booth," she says sounding groggy. She plops down on his bed, grabs one of his pillows and buries her face in it, breathing in the Boothy scent still lingering there.

"What?" Booth feigns confusion.

"Booth … what time is it?" asks Brennan, yawning.

"Its quarter past midnight and all's well on the Eastern front. Did I wake you?"

"So you admit you called me?" She asks skipping over the question she didn't want to answer.

"You caught me. I thought I'd see how you were faring with the human jumping bean. How's it going? He still awake"

"Oh no, he fell asleep half an hour after I called you. It must have been the crash after the sugar high. He's asleep now in his bedroom," she says, yawning again and sitting back against the headboard, an arm hugging the pillow in her lap.

"What happened to the tent idea?" asks Booth.

"We did assemble it and play around in it for a while, but the floor out there is not as soft as a mattress. I don't know how you guys sleep there as much as you seem to."

"We have inflatable sleeping mats – makes you sleep like a baby. Don't be surprised if he crawls in with you during the night, by the way."

"Hunh?" says Brennan.

"Where are you sleeping, by the way?" he asks, closing his eyes and laying back diagonally on his hotel room mattress, feet up by the pillows, head at the foot of the bed. He scratches his chest with his free hand, then runs his hand through his hair, eventually slipping his free hand behind his neck and crossing his legs. Not really a phone person, he actually doesn't mind chatting for a while after such a relaxing evening.

"Well …," Brennan begins. Where did he think I was going to sleep? She thinks. "Yours is the only other bed in the apartment, Booth … I'll sleep in your bed. Unless …"

Booth closes his eyes and, taking his free hand from behind his neck, lays that arm over his forehead, and across his eyes. He lets out a lengthy sigh.

I'll be over in five minutes, thinks Booth, loud enough that he's not sure if it WAS just in his head or if he said it out loud.

"What?" Brennan sounds confused.

"What?" replies Booth, thinking, "Crap!"

"Did you say something?"

"What, when?" he says playing dumb.

"Just then. You said something I couldn't understand or maybe you just … were making a noise. Or was that your digestive system - maybe you need to eat, Booth. Surely they have pie in Philadelphia?" She chuckles, goading him.

Relieved, Booth says, "Very funny, little miss double serving of Bananas Foster right before bed," he teases her back. "So how'd the night go in general? Does my place look like a tornado hit?"

"Your place is fine – or it will be, by the time you get back," she says. "The tv guy called …"

"Called? He was supposed to show up. They didn't deliver it?" He asks, exasperated.

"Booth – no need to get cranky – I negotiated a second pair of 3D glasses for you."

"But it's the principle of the thing …" argues Booth.

"Simmer down, Booth, you can't watch it while you're in Philadelphia anyway. It will be here by the time you get back," she says. "Pinky swear."

"Pinky swear, huh? You're being trained in the vernacular of a third grade boy. By next week you won't even recognize yourself."

"Booth, VERNACULAR? Was that the word of the day on your cell phone dictionary app?"

"I take it where I can get it … I'm a busy guy. Got things to do. Places to go."

"Speaking of the vernacular of nine-year-olds, did you know that every preadolescent grade level has its own unique culture? The rituals, rules, and customs of these miniature societies are dictated by a leader who has proven his stamina, skill, and creativity in the arena of denigrating the mothers of the other members."

"Yes, Bones, I was aware of that though I've never heard it put so succinctly. "Yesterday's word, succinctly?"

"Last Thursday's. I'm on a self-improvement kick. So, have you corrupted my son?"

"No Booth," she begins. "Oh, you're joking. That was a joke, right?"

"Yes, that was a joke."

"Hey, I did learn something that might interest you."

"And what might that be, Bones? Did Parker teach you the fine art of hocking a loogie?"

"No – although that does sound interesting. Is that a competitive skill?"

"It has to do with spitting a snot projectile at increasing distances, preferably toward an enemy or someone who has better toys than you do."

"What a useful skill," she comments, "Did you see how I said exactly the opposite of what I meant? It was an ironic statement. I really do not see how HOCKING A LOOGIE could be a useful skill unless you are a member of the Tse-Tsemili military tribe of Caliguay, Macedonia." She pauses briefly, then adopts a more serious tone. "Booth, Parker is lonely."

"I thought you said he was asleep."

"He is. I don't mean he's lonely this minute, Booth. He's lonely in general. I know that is not an easy thing to hear, but I really thought you should know."

"What do you mean, lonely? Is he having trouble making friends at school? Is he getting into fights? Because his school is usually very good at keeping us informed if there are …"

"No Booth. He's doing fine at school. Has a couple of friends he identifies with. He says he misses him mom. And he misses you."

"What does that mean?" Booth sits up, concerned.

"He says you and Rebecca are the best parents a kid could have. You both deserve happiness, he says. He wants you to have that – and he thinks he gets in the way sometimes."

"Gets in the way – what is that supposed to mean? He's never in the way. Everything else is in the way," he says confused. "He is exactly where he should be."

"Okay Booth, I'm not going to interpret this, we both know that is not my strength. This is exactly what he said, I actually made a bunch of notes after he passed out – so I could get it right." Booth can hear the rustling of a piece of paper and lies back on the bed, shoving a pillow under his head.

"He misses his mom," begins Brennan.

"But he's with her all the time," counters Booth.

"Booth I am just telling you what he said without alterations so you can figure this out. Personally, I'm at a loss."

"Sorry, go on."

"Okay – He misses crawling into bed with her. He misses having her all to himself. He knows she loves him – that is not the problem. He says when California is there, California gets a lot of her attention. When Hannah was with you, she got a lot of the attention. Its not, he said, that he feels left out, its just that he's not the center of attention. And he misses that."

"That's part of growing up, Bones. He's never going to be a baby again."

"I know that, Booth, but children, preadolescents especially, are miniature people whose job it is to figure out how to become adults. Part of that is creating distance between themselves and their parents through any number of paradoxical proclamations and behaviors which place them in opposition to anyone or thing that represents authority. In any culture, it is a confusing and stressful time for both parents and children."

"Did he say anything about when he's with you and me?"

"Yes, he did, though it isn't consistent so I have no theories as to the implications. He said when the three of us are together – Parker, you, and me – that you don't have to work at paying attention to me, and so he gets to be the center of attention," she explains as if reading straight from her notes, which she is. "He says that it doesn't look to him like you are ignoring me – or like I ignore you – its just that its not work, whatever that means. I told you, its inconsistent."

"Maybe what he's saying is that we are comfortable enough with each other that we don't feel the need to … I don't know … make things happen. We just let things happen naturally. That's gotta be good, right?"

"I would think so – but I am not a parent, or a child psychologist. Maybe you should have Sweets have a talk with him."

"You really think so?"

"Look, he doesn't seem depressed. I think he's going through a normal growth period and its confusing for him. But again, I'm not a psychologist or pediatrician."

"Hmmmm."

Brennan pauses to let all this sink in. "Should I not have told you? I just thought you would want to know."

"No, Bones," he says thoughtfully. "I am glad you did. I am impressed that you two had a conversation like this. Sometimes it's a challenge to get him to tell me when something is bothering him."

"That has been the case in all cultures, in all countries, in all generations, since the beginning of time. It is an anthropological certainty. "

"For someone who's not sure it's a good idea to bring kids into this world, you seem to be enjoying your time with one," comments Booth.

"Yes, I am," she agrees. "I find that I'm experiencing and identification with Parker. I experienced many of the same feelings he's going through. When it was just Russ and me, he was constantly distracted with finding ways to earn money and provide for my physical needs at the same time – and in foster care, you are never the center of anyone's attention."

"I'm sorry you had to experience that, Bones."

"But it has given me access to being able to identify with Parker."

"Bones, that's all being a loving parent is – being able to identify with your child. Seeing yourself in this tiny human being and aching to give them all you didn't have. Its almost like trying to love the child version of yourself – a better version of yourself – because this time you get to be the parent."

"Hmmmm. I never looked at it that way …."

"Many times we end up screwing it up in other ways. But all we can do is try. And love them. And hope they have good medical insurance and can afford lots of therapy when they finally become adults!"

Quite a while and several conversation topics later, as the conversation begins to wind down, Brennan remembers she had taken a photograph, with her cell, of Parker slurping up the Bananas Foster syrup.

"One more thing before we hang up," she says, not for the first time during this conversation. "I am sending you a picture of Parker. I took it on my cell. You should get it in a moment." She pushes a bunch of buttons on her phone. "After we hang up, you should be able to download it. Keep in mind that he has been thoroughly wiped clean since that photo was taken. He will not wake up with a twin-sized sheet attached to his face – I promise."

"I can barely see at this point. Or keep my eyes open. But I will look at that photo before passing out. what time is it anyway?"

"You're not going to believe this – it's 2:30 in the morning!"

"What?" exclaims Booth.

"Its 2:30 in the morning. No wonder I feel hung over –and I haven't had anything to drink. Must be dehydrated from all the talking – and laughing."

"This was fun, Bones. When was the last time we talked for more than ten minutes on the phone?"

"Never, in all likelihood."

"Right. I should go out of town more often."

"Don't you dare. I need my sleep!"

"And I have to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at 7:30 tomorrow morning to be picked up by Dr. Larrinaga for the ground-breaking ceremony at the college."

"Good luck with that. I'll see you at the airport?"

"Yep. I'll be the one who looks like he's had a great vacation – but no sleep the night before."

"You really enjoyed yourself this evening with the Larrinaga's, didn't you?"

"Yes, and you enjoyed yourself with Parker."

"Indubitably. And on the phone with you."

"Good word, indubitably."

"Know what it means?"

"Nope," admits Booth.

"Look it up," replies Brennan. They both chuckle and yawn at the same time.

After hanging up, Booth downloads the photo of Parker. He's pleasantly surprised by how happy Parker looks. And why wouldn't he be, he says to himself. He spent the evening with my partner.

Chapter 22. Overwhelming Sensations

Flashback three hours before Booth calls Brennan from his hotel room and they talk for over two hours.

Once Parker passes out in the tent, Brennan moves him into his bedroom for a more comfortable night's sleep. She surveys the damage in the living room and kitchen and begins to straighten up, piling dishes in the sink and collecting the little boy clothing that had been flung everywhere but into the dirty clothes hamper. She picks up the pillows from the floor and returns most of them to their rightful home on the couch.

The two remaining pillows she carries into Booth's bedroom. She tosses the pillows toward the headboard and returns to the living room to continue straightening up. As she does so, she finds herself walking through his home with an anthropologist's eye, noticing what the items Booth has on display, noticing how his personality is reflected in his furnishings and other decorative belongings. She runs her fingers along his shelves, and comes across the scrapbook she'd given him about the two of them - back when he suffered some temporary memory loss after his brain surgery.

Taking the scrapbook to the bedroom, she tosses it on the bed and goes into the bathroom to get clean up. Face washed and teeth brushed, she realizes she's neglected to bring over any kind of pajamas! She roots through Booth's drawers for something suitable to wear. Finding nothing that appeals to her - and feeling odd going through his drawers, she looks in the closet and spies the dirty clothes hamper. On the top of the heap is the tee shirt he must have worn yesterday, Sunday, when he played all day with Parker at the zoo. On an uncharacteristic whim, Brennan grabs the tee shirt and thrusts her face into it. Just as she thought, it was saturated with the intoxicating scent of Booth.

Feeling dizzy, she backs up to the bed and sits down, her face still smothered in his tee shirt. She sits there for a while, just breathing him in. How can one human being smell so good ... and have such an effect on my respiratory - - - all of my - - - its got to be those chemicals ... hormones ... what were they called?

---------------------------------------
Before she realizes it, five minutes have passed as memories of the night Vincent was killed swim around in front of her closed eyes. She hadn’t been exactly honest with Angela about the events of that night for a reason she has yet to identify. “Yes, I came into his bedroom, she thinks. “Yes, he comforted me. Yes, he agreed to let me sleep here, in his bed. No, we didn’t engage in Coitus. Why didn’t I share the rest with Angela – my best friend? The one person she confided most everything to.

At this point, she stopped cold. Angela wasn’t the person she confided the most to – at least not since Angela and Hodgens had gotten serious again and eventually showed up married. Angela just didn’t seem to have as much free time anymore.

That isn’t quite accurate, Brennan thinks, mentally going through a typical day at the Jeffersonian. She and Angela saw each other at least seventeen times throughout the day, including phone conversations and telecommunicating. They had many opportunities to speak privately if they needed to. With the self-induced celibacy, Roxy, Wendell, pregnancy scare, and kava-induced Grayson Barasa marriage/divorce fiascos overcome, you’d think they would have become closer still. Yet that didn’t seem quite right either. What had changed?

As a break from her usual method of organizing her thoughts, Brennan chose to allow the thought in the deepest recesses of her subconscious float to the surface and be spoken out loud, in her head anyway. Angela hasn’t moved away from me, she realized. We have not become distanced,” she began letting the complete thought form as it emerged from her subconscious.

“For quite some time now, Booth has been the first one I talk to in the morning and the last one I talk to at night.” By any definition, she had to admit, Booth had become her best and closest friend.

He had once described her as like a guy friend – a buddy. And in that scenario, she insisted, Booth was like a woman – her girlfriend. And, besides the obvious physical impossibility of that analogy, this was truer now than it had ever been. “How did that happen?” she asked herself. “Especially since he has been so distant lately. He hasn’t been as been as humorous. He was downright snarky at times, perhaps even rude.

“He doesn’t look into my eyes like he used to.” She finally admits what she’s been suspecting for months. “He barely touches me any more. Perhaps he has moved on.” This thought was followed by a painful sensation in her chest. But she couldn’t deny the proof was mounting … and that night, in his bed, was the lynch pin. Because if he had the opportunity and he still loved her, he would have done something. She discounted Angela's dismissal of the inactivity that night in his bed, because Angela didn't have all the Facts. Angela didn't know how close they'd come.

Chapter 23. Intermission

When he turned her down the night she realized she didn't want any regrets, it hadn’t been as devastating as it could have been, because she did know that he loved her. He didn’t deny that he still did – just said that he was unavailable. Knowing that Booth was not going anywhere softened the blow.

The most painful moment of that night was when he asked her if there was someone he could call to be with her so she didn’t have to be alone. The answer that hung in the air, but was never spoken, was that he was the person she would want him to call to be there for her. Not as a lover or partner, but as one friend comforting another. That was the part that had broken what others call their heart.

Also, she really had to admit that though she liked Hannah, she didn't see her as a permanent partner for Booth. Eventually, Hannah would leave the picture, right? The possibility for Brennan and Booth could still be out there somewhere ... sometime ... at least that is the hope that got her through that night after he dropped her at her apartment.

Booth's proposal to Hannah had shocked and panicked Brennan, even though he had been turned down. Brennan didn’t regret choosing to remain partners and friends and nothing more. Having Booth in her life was better than the alternative, of that she was crystal clear. But learning that Booth felt he had loved Hannah enough to ask her to spend the rest of her life with him broke something inside Brennan.

For weeks after that, she had barely spoken to anyone. Miraculously, they had just completed a case and didn’t have another one until two weeks later. It was as if the universe was cutting Brennan and Booth some slack, giving them a break. She told her colleagues she was in the final stage of writing her most recent novel, but everyone knew she was devastated and needed time to herself. She put on a good face around Booth, however. His friendship was what she missed the most during that dark period, but she knew he was in his own heII and angry most of the time, and couldn’t be pushed. That had been the beginning of his changed behavior.

She feared that Booth's feelings for her had changed permanently, but over time, they returned to the same Booth and Brennan they had always been – minus the sexual tension. Eventually, and with Sweet’s prodding, she and Booth had begun to talk about the possibility of advancing their relationship romantically, but his heart didn’t seem to be in it – or maybe he was just not ready to risk being vulnerable so soon after Hannah’s rejection. Booth refused to talk about Hannah with Sweets, so no one knew what was really going on inside his head. Sweets assured Brennan that Booth was processing and healing and would recover. She just had to be patient.

Over the months Brennan had been learning to loosen her stranglehold, her own compartmentalization, of her feelings, in hopes that a future with Booth was a possibility. She wanted to be ready this time. Booth must have been doing the opposite, she thought, successfully enough to put his dreams of her and him together in a closed box shoved behind the consciousness he floated in during his waking hours.

Chapter 24. In the Jungle the Mighty Jungle ...

Brennan leaves the scrapbook, the tee shirt, and her memories of the night of Vincent’s death lying on the bed she would be sleeping in for the second time. She goes to Parker’s bedroom to check on him. Parker, lying on his side facing the wall, has one leg under the covers and the other outside the covers. One arm is wrapped around a pillow he’s crushed to his chest. The other arm is hiding somewhere under the pillow his head is lying on. She looks at his miniature silhouette against the Green Lantern pillowcase. She sits on the side of his bed and watches closely to see if he stirs. Encouraged, she studies his face which in the moonlight and moon shadows looks so much like Booth no one could ever doubt his paternity.

Gently, Brennan leans forward and places an index finger on Parker’s forehead. She traces each eyebrow from the center outward, noticing the intricate growth pattern of the delicate hairs. She then places her index finger between his eyebrows and draws an invisible line down the bridge of his nose and over the tip. The pad of her finger fits perfectly in the space between his nose and his lips, like a little fingerprint imprint. His skin is soft and flawless. She is transfixed.

Pausing, she wonders if touching his face like this is inappropriate. She decides it’s not, but stops anyway. She marvels at the thinness of the skin covering his eyelids. Usually when she has the opportunity to get this close to a child’s face, it is in the morgue. Life has stopped coursing through those eyelids and they appear solid, opaque, waxen, grey. Parker’s tiny blue veins peek through his translucent lids like a tiny map of an imaginary village.

Brennan is in awe of how strongly she feels for this child, this wonderful child who is half Booth and half Rebecca. She pauses, looking at him as he sleeps peacefully. She reflects on how different Parker’s life is than her own was, and sends what can only be described as a prayer, into the heavens, that he always have the love and attention he needs and desires.

Closing his bedroom door behind her, Brennan turns on the bathroom light and leaves the door slightly ajar in case Parker awakens needing to go potty before the morning light. When she was in foster care, sometimes she’d awaken in the middle of the night forgetting where she was, and unable to find the restroom in the dark. She never turned on a light for fear of waking a grumpy foster parent or sibling. On more than one occasion, she hadn’t made it to the bathroom in time and had needed to change her pajamas and hide them so the foster parents wouldn’t find out. Sometimes she even just threw them in the garbage rather than risk discovery. Brennan shutters at the memory, thankful that Parker will never know that level of humiliation at the hands of those who care for him.

************

Going through the kitchen and living room, she turns off all the lights and heads back into Booth’s bedroom.

Once again she’s faced with the pajama conundrum. What to do? It didn’t feel right to sleep in his bed nude – or just in her underthings. While thinking about that, she begins clearing the bed so she can sleep in it. She takes the scrapbook and places it on the bedside table, unopened. She hesitates, aware of what remains on the bed: Booth’s tee shirt and clinging to it, memories of that night. She knows she has to pick up the tee shirt – or sleep on it. And with the tee shirt, come the memories.

Resigned, she kneels on the bed and grabs the tee shirt. Eerily, the tee shirt feels alive - though she knows it couldn’t possibly be. Without even thinking about it, she lifts it to her face once again. Breathing in the scent left behind on Booth’s tee shirt, the emotions of that night come flooding back. Before she even knows what she’s doing, she tears off her clothes, all but her panties, and pulls his tee shirt over her head, thrusting her arms through the armholes. Is it her imagination, or does the shirt already feel warm against her skin? She deduces that the warmth is a result of her pressing her face into it. That is the logical explanation.

Nervously, she realizes her stronghold on logic is weakening with every intake of breath reminding her of that night. She runs her hands over the tee shirt, noticing how wonderful it feels against her skin. She hugs herself and buries her face in the tee shirt shoulder, filling her lungs with a concentrated Boothy aroma. “This is too much,” she thinks. “I am torturing myself.”

Overwhelmed by a flood of emotions, she decides she doesn’t care if it is torture, she can’t resist reliving the last time she was in this bed, between these sheets, and surrounded by these smells …

Chapter 25. The First Night in Booth's Bed

She had come into Booth's bedroom in the very early hours of the morning, seeking comfort for the death of her favorite squintern, Vincent Nigel-Murray. Though they had yet to share a bed, and were still officially only partners with a mutual and powerful romantic interest and a lot of history, she didn't let that stop her from asking to sleep with him that night.

Once Brennan was in his arms, and lying against his warm chest, she could feel his heart beating and hear his every breath. The only thing separating their bodies was Booth's tee shirt and the sweatshirt he had lent Brennan to sleep in. Finally in a safe harbor and encircled by his strong arms, Brennan released the pain she'd been keeping at bay since Vincent Nigel-Murray's final breath. Booth held her as a torrent of tears and sobs shook her body. Pained by the death himself, Booth allowed several tears to run down his face and into his ears. More torturous, however, were the gut-wrenching noises being made by the woman clutching at his tee shirt. In the six years they'd been together, only once before had he seen her in the grip of such intense anguish. The first time, Booth had been the cause of her tears, something he promised he would never, ever do again.

He had wanted to protect her from the pain, from the loss of a friend's life, but he knew there was no way he could. She had to feel it, to release it physically from her body through tears and cries, in order to begin to heal from the loss. He held her to himself and was surrounded by the scent of her hair, her skin, her sweat, and her tears, mixed with the faint perfume of fabric softener reawakened by her body warming the clean sweatshirt he had lent her to sleep in.

"Sh, sh, sh," he whispered into her hair as he rocked her side to side. He attempted to pull her tear and sweat-drenched hair out of her face with his right hand, and with his left he rubbed her arm and held her even closer to his body. "Shhh, shhhhh, shhhhh." There were simply no words for a moment like this. What was there to do? Just to be there.

For a moment Booth was lost in thought, images of the many times they had saved each other's lives, proven their commitment to each other, defended each other, argued with each other, supported each other's professional and emotional growth, watched themselves become more together than either of them had been individually … all of these images played silently on the screen of his memory while the sound of her crying in his arms drifted from his awareness.

Being with her like this, holding her in his arms, felt good and right. Their relationship had been slowly moving in this direction for a very long time, despite the occasional distractions.

More than he'd ever wanted anything in his life, at this moment he desperately wanted to wipe away her pain. He felt compelled, by their relationship, his love for her, and nature itself, to run the palm of his hand over the bare skin of her belly, moving on to caress the tender skin of her bare back before burying his face in her neck and leaving a trail of wet kisses from her collar bone to behind her ear, to her sensual lips. He was hungry to be one with her, to give himself to her and to experience the joy of her returned passion.

If he were any other man, Booth would have taken this opportunity as a sign from God that the timing was right. But he wasn't any other man. And Bones wasn't any other woman. This was too big of a move to make just because the opportunity presented itself. He could see in her eyes that she was hungry too, but her hunger was mixed with situational pain and loss. And though he knew she never did anything she didn't want to do, and though she might not understand his reasoning, he was clear about this one thing – when he made love to Temperance Brennan for the first time, it would be a private and deliberate celebration, not as a result of a tragedy. And not without both of them knowing that this was for good, this was for real, this was for keeps.

Becoming aware that Brennan was no longer crying, Booth softly said her name. "Bones," he whispered.

"Yes," she whispered and moved her head up onto his shoulder so she could look in his eyes. Her face was red and puffy from crying, and her lashes were wet with her salty tears. Her eyes … her eyes were clear and beautiful and he could see his future reflected in them.

"We'll get through this," is all he said, holding her close and putting his lips to her forehead for a long moment before releasing her, sitting up, and pulling her gently out of the bed. He could tell she was confused. Then he pulled back the sheets and motioned her to climb under them. Relieved, she crawled in and over to the other side of the bed where she lay on her side facing away from him. He climbed into bed behind her. She felt him lean away from her toward the bedside table to turn off the light. In the darkness, he lay on his side of the bed facing the back of her, scooted closer, and put his arm loosely around her, and whispered once again into her hair, "We'll get through this, Bones." She pulled his hand up the her chest where she wrapped her fingers around his. Spent from the highly emotional and tragic day, yet somewhat relaxed after an intense outpouring of tears and emotion, they both fell into a deep, restorative sleep.

Chapter 26. A Flag at Half Mast

At the Jeffersonian Institute the morning after the assassination of Mr. Vincent Nigel-Murray, the halls were empty. All the department heads had followed the example set by Dr. Camille Saroyan and declared a bereavement break. The doors would remain locked until noon. The only personnel present this somber morning were the two security guards and Dr. Saroyan herself.

Assembled on the plaza at daybreak, Dr. Saroyan oversaw the raising of the American Flag at half mast. As the security guards solemnly and silently raised the flag, Dr. Saroyan said a silent prayer - for the peaceful repose of the soul of Mr. Vincent Nigel-Murray, for the capture and conviction of his killer, and for the healing from this blow for her colleagues at the Jeffersonian, most especially, her squints … and those at the FBI who had come to know this fallen soul.

After a ten minute pause during which all three of them remained motionless and silent, facing the flag at half mast, Dr. Saroyan let the one hundredth tear slide unimpeded down her smooth caramel cheek. "He was dearly loved," she said. "And he will be missed." Her voice cracked on the last word.

With a deep breath that filled her lungs, followed by a lengthy breath out, emptying them again, Dr. Saroyan turned on her heal to return to her car. As she turned, she noticed movement from behind her. Stopping in her tracks, she watched as Dr. Jack Hodgens, Angela Montenegro, Dr. Lance Sweets, Mr. Wendell Bray, Dr. Clark Edison, Daisy Wick, Arastoo Vaziri, Colin Fisher, Professor Bunsen Jude, Dr. Daniel Goodman, Special Agent Payton Perotta, Andrew, and members of several departments at the Jeffersonian who had become good friends with Mr. Vincent Nigel-Murray Micah, and Max Keenan slowly advanced toward her and laid flowers at the foot of the flag pole. Not a word was said.

Slowly, after each friend, associate, or colleague of Mr. Vincent Nigel-Murray paid their respects and slowly departed, all that were left were Dr. Saroyan, Dr. Sweets, the forensics lab team, and Micah the night security guard.

"Dr Saroyan, if I may?" interrupted Micah humbly approaching the others. "I once had a conversation with Mr. Nigel-Murray in which he told me that the death that we humans fear is not a death at all, but a repurposing of the 123 unique categories of particles which make up our physical bodies. Each individual particle, made better by having participated in a human life, continues on to effect positive change in the world." He paused. "Ipso Facto Colombo Oreo, I like to believe that we are surrounded by the living essence of all that was good in those we love."

Dr. Saroyan smiled her beautiful smile of appreciation and nodded her head once toward Micah, "That was beautiful. Thank you, Micah."

"Also," continued Micah, "Dr. Brennan was here at the Jeffersonian until well past midnight last night sitting with Mr. Nigel-Murray. Special Agent Booth waited with her. She said she knew that he was dead and no longer there, and that it was … irrational, but she wanted to be near his remains as long as she could." Micah paused for a moment, looking down at his shoes, then continued, "Dr. Brennan said she was memorizing the shape of his cranium. She said he had an exceptionally symmetrical cranium – and some other stuff that went right over my head."

"Before she and Agent Booth left, she asked me to tell you that she would not be here this morning as she didn't expect she would sleep very well and she had to be rested to assist Agent Booth in the capture of Mr. Broadsky today. That, she said was how she choose to honor Mr. Nigel-Murray today rather than standing around in the cold looing at a piece of fabric flapping in the wind."

"Thank you, Micah," said Angela warmly, hugging Micah. With that they all turned and headed to the diner for an early breakfast.

Chapter 27. Another Flag at Half Mast

Across town from the group gathered on the mall of the Jeffersonian, Brennan was becoming aware of her surroundings as the morning light filtered through the shades hanging in the East window of Booth's bedroom.

She had slept solidly, noticing this morning that her limbs felt heavy and relaxed. How long had it been since she slept so deeply? Sighing, and drawing in her first deep breath, she was overcome by a feeling of intense wellbeing. It was as if her real life had been a dream, and this life, the one that started each day in bed with Special Agent Seeley Joseph Booth, was the real one, the right one. She lay there, eyes open, staring at the glowing window shades.

For a brief moment, she was happy, content. Like sand through an hour glass, images of the previous day crept slowly into her peaceful morning, pushing aside her calm. The near capture of Broadsky, the squintern death and his final words which haunted her still, the blood covering Booth's hands and suit coat. With some temporal distance, she was able to begin compartmentalizing the events and her own reactions. The scientist in her was ready to go back to work to nail this Son of a bitch, that bastard Broadsky.

Despite her brain having been jump-started with the unsettling recollection of the previous day, and the gravity of what lay before them today, Brennan was acutely aware that she was in Booth's bed and so was Booth, just inches away. She listened to him breathe for a moment and prayed he wouldn't awaken, wouldn't return to today's harsh reality, until the last possible moment.

In their sleep they had moved apart, but were still lying in the same orientation. He was behind her, seemingly dead to the world. As quietly as she could, she rolled over to face him, leaving very little space between them. She notice he was shirtless. She could feel the heat of his warm body and feel his breath on the hairs of her forehead.

For several moments she just stared up at his beautiful face. Masculine, yet boyish in repose, she couldn't help but admire his bone structure. His prominent cheekbones, his jaw line, the strong brow dropping off toward his eye sockets and nasal ridge. The lids concealing the eyes that she could live lifetimes gazing into and it would still never be long enough.

"I'm losing my edge," she thought to herself. "Getting mushy in my old age." She knew that what she and Sweets had been so diligently working toward for the last several months had made this softening inside her possible. Surprising herself, she conceded she approved of this change – it brought with it a pleasing sense of … what? … what would you call this? … Contentment? Having spent many years living in the opposite, she was ready for this change.

Gently and quietly, she pulled her left arm from under the sheets and placed her middle finger along his hairline, tracing it from his left temple to his right, noticing the horizontal crevices that age and life had etched across his forehead. Over the last six years, the nearly invisible lines had become deeper. She knew she was responsible for the deepening and the addition of some of those lines.

Booth's facial structure exhibited many of the markings of a good warrior, provider, and breeder. It also missed the mark in several small ways that gave him character, made him "Boothy," and endeared him to her.

As she smoothed his right eyebrow, fascinated by the growth pattern and the softness, Booth's eyes fluttered and slowly opened. Brennan paused in her tracks, but didn't pull away. He exhaled, saying nothing, a hint of a smile on his lips. He didn't move, so she continued exploring.

"These," she began almost inaudibly, retracing his eyebrow, "are the Superciliary Arches." She returned to the space between his eyebrows and paused as she said "Glabella."

Traveling down the bridge of his nose, "the Nasal Ridge," she watched as he slowly closed his eyes. She stopped just short of his lips. That was dangerous territory. "Maxilla," she said in a throaty whisper.

To the left of his nose, she gently outlined his right eye socket and traversed his cheekbone all the way to his ear, identifying as she went along, "The Zygomatic Process, the Sphenoid, and the Temporal bones."

Noticing Booth had reopened his eyes, she continued, outlining his jaw. "The Mandible, or the mental tuberosity," she whispered as she traced an invisible path across his chin and up the right side of his face. "The Zygomatic Arch, the Temporal bone once again, and the Occipital," she said, continuing behind his ear and into his hair at the back of his head, this time using two more of her fingers as well as the middle one. "The cervical vertebra," she said.

As her fingers trailed down, pushing gently on each of the four top vertebrae, Booth shuddered involuntarily and smiled a dreamy smile. Moving slowly along his trapezius muscle, she reached his shoulder bone. "The clavicle," she said, following it toward the center of his chest. When her finger came to rest in the dip of his collarbone, and before she could say, "Manubrium," Booth reached up and grabbed her hand like a snake springing upon its prey. He held her hand pressed against his chest, rising and falling with each of his breaths. His eyes traveled from her neck, to her lips, and eventually to her eyes where they rested. She glanced up at him, moving only her eyes.

Being so close to his bare chest, touching his hot smooth skin, inhaling and exhaling the same warm air he was, had an intoxicating affect on her. She felt dizzy and on the verge of passing out. Her breathing slowed and her eyelids felt heavy. The thrum and rush of her heartbeat filled her ears. At the same time, every cell of her body was alert and standing at attention for whatever might happen next.

"Is this what it's like for you, Bones?" He whispered. How could he sound so calm, she wondered, and what happened to his shirt? "When you look at a live person, do you see only bones?" he whispered.

"When I look at these bones," she said, barely above a whisper, "I see a miracle." They lay there and time stopped. A million memories of the two of them flashed by for each of them … each instrumental in bringing them to this moment – and suddenly it was clear that they were all worth it.

Any moment, she was going to close the gap between their lips, throw her leg over his, and everything would become a blur of arms and thighs and lips and sighs. Perhaps even some screaming.

Before she could move a single cell toward that end, she became aware of a siren blaring. Or was it a fire alarm? Or an ambulance wail? "Oh my God, that's the phone!" she choked out, snapped back to reality.

They reached this realization at the same time and both lunged for their cell phones on the bedside table behind booth. He leaned back to reach over his head as she landed on his chest. They lay in that position having their rushed and separate conversations, then hung up at the same time.

Still laying on Booth's chest, Brennan looked at him. They were both thinking the same thing. She broke the silence. "I need to take a shower," she said.

"I'll get the coffee brewing," he said, as they both sprang into action. Regarding the shower he said, "There's a trick about the hot water …"

"Oh, I don't plan on using any hot water – quite the opposite!" she said with a combination laugh and snort.

"Well, save some of that cold water for me," he replied with equal snarkiness, though confident there wasn't enough cold water in D.C. to put out the fire burning beneath his calm exterior. He kept that thought to himself, however, at least for now.

Chapter 28. Recap of the Last Five Days

Okay folks - I have no idea what day of the week it was when Vincent Nigel-Murray was killed, nor consequently, the date Brennan and Booth's night spent together in his bed after that fateful Hole in the Heart.

As A Bone to Pick is about to get complicated, I feel the need to provide some temporal structure. So – regardless of what may have been alluded to in the last two episodes of Bones' Season 6 episodes, I propose the following for the purposes of this fiction, and I will henceforth indicate when a new day has begun.

THURSDAY:

Mr. Vincent Nigel-Murray dies of a fatal gunshot wound to the heart.

FRIDAY:

B&B wake-up in Booth's bed, while the team attends a flag raising in his honor. The Jeffersonian is closed half a day for bereavement.

SATURDAY:

Broadsky is apprehended and taken into custody

The Jeffersonian team send VN-M off to England with a resounding, if not off-key rendition of "Lime and de Coconut,"

SUNDAY:

Everyone goes their separate ways –

*** Booth and Parker attend mass, then spend the day at a Pinewood Derby Boy Scout event, Rebecca and Brennan join them for the spaghetti dinner and awards ceremony later. Parker does not take first place in the race, but wins an award for the coolest design – which Angela had helped him come up with.

*** Brennan spends the morning in her home office attempting to edit the final chapter of her latest book. After seven attempts, she gives up and takes a very cold shower. Then she heads to the Jeffersonian to get a head start on some Broadsky paperwork she was trying to put off till Monday. Later, she picks up Rebecca and they meet Booth and Parker at the Boy Scout Awards Dinner.

*** Angela and Hodgens practice Lamaze breathing techniques and relieve a supermarket of its entire Ben & Jerry's Chubby Hubby and New Your Super Fudge Chunk inventories. Hodgens contemplates creating a green glow-in-the-dark ice cream flavor and gets busy ordering shrimp on the Internet. Angela has a three hour long conversation on the phone with Roxy – just to catch up.

***Sweets spends the morning at the comic book store, then judges Karaoke try outs for a fundraiser at his church to be held that evening. He is flattered yet depressed when a 65-year-old woman insists on performing Rod Stewart's "If You Want My Body …" while sitting on his lap. Incidentally, Grandma didn't make the cut for the karaoke competition, but Sweets did agree to take her granddaughter out to lunch the following week.

***Dr. Soroyan spends the day in a red convertible with the top down traveling to a small town south of Ocean City with her favorite gynecologist.

MONDAY INTO THE EARLY HOURS OF TUESDAY MORNING:

***Booth gets a call from Hannah and meets her at the Diner for a "talk," learning she is returning to Afghanistan and has some intriguing information she wants to share about Brennan. Later, Brennan drives him to the airport, agrees to be at his apartment when his tv arrives that evening, and gives him the baby blue footies. Included with the footies is a private note from Bones to Booth that makes him smile. He puts it in his wallet for safe keeping.

Once in Philadelphia, Booth meets his host, Dr. Enrique Larrinaga, and has dinner with him and his wife, Carmen. After dinner Booth and Larrinaga attend a Flyers game - which gets interrupted by a call from Brennan, who is babysitting Parker overnight, looking for the tent. Back in his hotel room, he calls Brennan, but hangs up before she answers. She calls him back, they talk for two hours, then he goes to sleep.

*** Brennan sees Booth and Hannah deep in intimate conversation at the diner and is shaken. She confides in Angela that nothing happened when she and Booth spent the night in his bed on Thursday, that she thinks Both is reconciling with Hannah, and that she may be entering menopause prematurely. Angela gives her a run down on what passion really is that makes Brennan weak in the knees (etc) and assures her there's nothing going on between Booth and Hannah. And that she's too young for the baby factory to be closing up shop.

Brennan, while at Booth's apartment to sign for the tv, learns that Parker needs a sitter for the night and offers to do the job. The two impersonate Booth, eat at the diner, make Bananas Foster for dessert, and attempt to sleep on the uncomfortable living room floor in the tent. Once Parker passes out, Brennan transfers him to his own bed. Brennan, finding she has forgotten to bring pajamas, takes Booth's tee shirt from his laundry basket and loses herself in memories of the night and morning she spent in bed with Booth. As her memories bring her to the moment the two jumped out of bed to begin their day, the phone rings and it's Booth, but he hangs up before she gets to it. She calls him back and they talk for two hours. She tells him Parker is lonely for how it used to be when he was the center of his parent's attention – but doesn't feel lonely when he's with Brennan and Booth at the same time because they always make him the center of attention.

We join Brennan now right before she receives that hang-up call from Booth (though we've already read about it from Booth's side of the story) and we continue to learn what she was doing immediately before the phone rings – other than reliving Thursday night and Friday morning …

Chapter 29. When in Doubt, Verschränkung It Out

Reliving the seductive memories of her first night and morning in Booth's bed has had a sedative affect on Brennan. As she has done several times since Friday morning, she clings to those moments before their phones interrupted them. Once again she plays that game of "What if … " with herself. Lying in his bed, drunk on his scent, his tee shirt touching her skin, she closes her eyes and it is as if he is there with her once again.

Creating her own ending to the memory, she picks up right before the phones ring and sees herself sliding her leg over his hip bone in one fluid movement while he reaches around her waist and pulls him to her, their bellies and chests now right up against each other.

As she reaches for him, he brushes her hair out of her face, and she can feel his weight shifting onto her … and then she hears, "I'm hot blooded, check it and see. I've got a fever of a hundred and three …"

She is startled and disoriented by the intrusion. Is this an uninvited fantasy-induced audio illusion – or is the phone really ringing? Coming to the conclusion that the phone is, indeed really ringing, she sits up and runs around the room, looking for her pants. Last she remembers, her cell was in the back pocket.

Having located the pants, she yanks them off the floor and chases the cell as it falls out of the pocket and bounces toward the bathroom. Scooping the phone off the carpet, she continues her trajectory and stumbles onto the tile floor of the bathroom, only now becoming aware of how relaxed her limbs had been and how sleepy she now was. Lying on an Alpha males' bed, in a shirt laced with his pheromones, fantasizing about removing said shirt in a moment of passion and in the presence of the actual Alpha male, she noticed, has the tendency to render useless the limbs and/or brain of any sexually mature human female of the species, right?

Sitting on the toilet, her panties around her ankles, she stares at the phone. Has she imagined him singing, or did the phone really ring? She touched a couple of buttons and found the call history. There it was – "Booth (xxx) xxx-xxxx 12:11 AM."

Walking out of the bathroom a moment later, she depresses the callback option on her cell and listens to it ring. Almost immediately, she hears Booth's pick-up, "Bones! What are you doing calling me so late at night?"

At the sound of his voice a searing and ineffable sensation shoots through her chest. Is this another symptom of perimenopause, she wonders, making a mental note to mention this to her physician tomorrow morning.

Over two hours later, Brennan hangs up the phone, a satisfied smile on her face, and stretches languorously across the bed. Noticing that though her body is completely relaxed, her cheeks are on fire, warm to the touch. Dang that Mother Nature, she curses, then: What am I going to do with myself if he gets back together with Hannah? Once again she changes her mind about which would be more painful for her – no longer having him in her life, or watching him share his life with someone else. For tonight, she decides, he is mine.

After her parents abandoned her at sixteen, she used to walk her old neighborhood after school. She would convince herself that at any moment she could walk up her old front steps and into the house to find her mother in the kitchen, the television on, paperwork spread all over the kitchen table, and her mom munching on a cookie while staring off into space trying to find the perfect words to further whatever cause she was writing about.

As she would near the house, she would ignore the different name on the mailbox, the dog leash hanging over the porch railing, the new sand box and swing set in the yard, the Big Wheel on the sidewalk. She always experienced a magical, yet frightening sensation that her mother really was inside that house, just as she always had been.

As long as Brennan did not step onto the porch or knock on the front door, the possibility existed, for her, that her mother – really – could be there. Throughout her life since that time, Brennan was able to use this exercise to get her through situations whose outcomes or realities were too difficult for her to process.

She acknowledged that this mind game was classic Verschränkung – and that she used it gratuitously – but as long as she was consciously aware she was doing it, she was not concerned with losing her grip on reality.

In a high school physics course, she learned that she wasn't the first person to play this game. An Austrian physicist called Erwin Schrödinger created a paradoxical thought experiment that was then coined "Schrödinger's cat." The thought experiment presents a cat, sealed within a cardboard box, that might be alive or dead, and is, in fact, BOTH, as long as the box remains unopened. Schrödinger called this paradox, "Verschränkung."

As she slides beneath the cool sheets and begins to drift off to sleep in the afterglow of a highly satisfying conversation with the man she loves, she decides that until Booth tells her he is getting back together with Hannah, nothing has changed between them. This renders the previous concern, no Booth versus Booth with Hannah, moot, or immaterial. Since it is moot, she need not delve into the inevitable emotional … bla bla bla … she tells herself, as she sends up a heart-felt thank you to Erwin Schrödinger.

Chapter 30. Save. Send. Delete.

Parker wakes up to find himself back in his own bed. On automatic pilot, he heads across the living room, through Booth's room and into his private bathroom. Without turning the light on, he stands in front of the toilet bowl, lifts the cover and the seat, and attempts this task - which is difficult at best when he's awake, and nearly impossible when he's mostly asleep. He doesn't care. He's tired. He scrunches his closed eyes together, trying to concentrate. As his body relaxes, he hears the tinkling sound of liquid hitting liquid. "He shoots, he scores!" he mumbles. As he raises his fist in victory he notices a soundless split second mid stream. He knows what this means – apparently he scored both inside and outside the goal. Eyes still closed, he drops his arm, creating a Morse code of tinkling and non-tinkling sounds. Rubbing his eyes in the dark, he puffs out four cry-like sighs. Dad is gonna kill me, he tells himself. Better clean it up.

Flipping on the light and reaching for the toilet paper, he's discouraged to find that he's gotten stuff everywhere. He couldn't have spread it around more if he'd gotten straight out of the tub without drying of and sat down on a closed lid. They should really make these things bigger, he thinks, and tells himself to remember this in the morning so he can start designing his own toilet. It should probably be about half the size of the tub, he surmises. Hmmmm.

Filling the bowl with soggy toilet paper, he sets about the task of washing his hands with soap and water. Sometimes he skips this part, but under the circumstances …

So intent is he on the task at hand that he doesn't realize, until his hand is about to hit the light switch, that the soft bathroom light perfectly illuminates Bone's face and upper torso as she lay on her side sleeping soundly in his father's bed. Wow, he thinks. She looks like a princess. A real live princess. He wonders if he could kiss her without her waking up. He stands in the bathroom doorway trying to figure this out.

Her skin looks so soft, and he wishes she and his dad would get in love and marry so he could come live with them all the time. Mom could move in too. They'd get a bigger house. With a pool. And some horses. Close to Dad's work and to school, so they could have lunch together every day. And he could bring Bones, if she's not working with some guts and stuff. Well, even if she was working with guts and stuff.

As he's looking at her, he moves a little closer, careful not to cast his own shadow on her face. He notices she's not moving. What if she's not breathing? What if she's dead? Her skin is very white. What if she had too much sugar from those banana thingys last night and she's totally gagged in her sleep?

Parker panics and doesn't know what to do. He doesn't want to touch her. That would be gross. He's never seen a dead body before – except for that finger he once found – but that finger didn't have a face – and wasn't from someone he knew. This may scar me for life, he screams inside his head – using the phrase his mom used when he walked in on her and her boyfriend having a tickle fight on the living room floor one night. But he hadn't developed any scars from that. This was a whole different matter though. This could cause some serious skin damage – if she really is dead.

As he's looking around frantically, trying to figure out what to do – he spies her cell phone on the bedside table. He picks it up and can't see what the buttons mean. He pushes one and a flash goes off, blinding him. He drops it on the floor and scrambles to pick it back up. When he grabs it, Booth's face appears on the screen with the options: Call, Text, Send Photo, Cancel. God! That flash had been a photo! He'd taken a photo! He was in trouble now – Dad strictly forbade him from playing around with adult things that didn't belong to him, and now he'd TAKEN A PHOTO. OF BONES. ON HER OWN CAMERA. If ever he were in deep doo doo, it was now!

More nervous about Bones being dead – or worse yet, finding out he's taken her picture - than about Booth punishing him, he depresses the "Call" button and prays to high heaven that the phone doesn't make any noise when it rings. Booth answers groggily on the sixth ring, "Bones – miss me already?" he asks playfully, expecting a completely different response than he gets.

"Daddy," Parker chokes out in a stage whisper. "It's me."

Disoriented because the voice he hears is not at all what he expects, Booth stares into the night with a perplexed expression on his face. This voice is a harsh whisper of a …

"Parker, where's Bones? Is she okay?" he shouts as he jumps straight out of bed, his heart thundering like Secretariat's hooves sprinting toward the finish line, winning the 1973 Kentucky Derby. "PARKER, TALK TO ME? WHERE IS BONES?"

"Dad, she's here in bed. She's fine, well maybe not fine. I don't know! He tries to remain calm, but is overwhelmed by all the adrenaline coursing through his small body and now the panic he has caused his father. He begins to choke up, trying not to cry. As a result, he can't get any sounds to come out of his mouth. Frustrated and distraught, he runs from Booth's bedroom and throws himself on his bed. He lets himself cry into his pillow, then tries to dry his face, smearing tears and saliva all over Brennan's phone – which he just now realizes is still connected to Booth on the other end. "Dad – "

"Park, I'm here. What's going on? Why are you on Bones' phone?" Booth says gently. It is obvious to him that Parker is quite upset and unable to communicate until he calms down. "It's okay, pal. You can tell me," he says, trying to sound soothing.

"Dad, I did something bad. And I think …" All of a sudden he's not sure which thing is worse – taking a photo of Bones without her permission, on her phone – or suspecting that she might actually be dead.

He puts the phone to his ear, not even caring that he's now smearing slime on his own cheek. He's just relieved that Booth is still on the other side.

"Parker, breathe. Breathe, Parker," Booth says, coaching him to lower his heart rate enough to be able to talk. "Good. Good. Breathe. Now tell me what is going on. Can you do that, Park?"

"Dad," says Parker between deep breaths. "Dad – I didn't mean to do it. I just thought Bones might be dead and I panicked."

"WHAT?

"I don't really think she's dead. Well, I did. But that really doesn't make sense, right? Because you told me people die for a reason – and there's no reason Bones should be dead. I mean, it's not like anything happened tonight …"

"Parker, where is this coming from?" Booth is thoroughly confused.

"Dad, I used your bathroom and had to turn the light on to clean up the floor around the toilet and before I knew it the light was shining on Bones' face. She looks all white and she's not moving. I thought maybe she was dead."

"Parker – she's just sleeping! I guarantee you, she's just asleep."

"How do you know?"

"I just know, pal," Booth assures him. "Bones is fine."

"She just wasn't moving … and her skin is so white … and I couldn't see her heart beating or anything."

"Park, if it will make you feel better …"

"I am NOT going to touch her, Dad, just in case …"

"Parker. Go get one square of toilet paper and hold it up in front of her nose – but don't touch her nose."

"What? Dad, that's silly."

"If you want to know if she's alive, hold the toilet paper square in front of her nose and her breath will make it move away from her nose."

"Will you stay right here?"

"I'll be right here when you get back, but I'm telling you, she's fine."

"Okay – I can do that." Parker lays the phone on his pillow and leaves to try this breath test on Brennan.

"Dad. She's alive!"

"Told you."

"I am so relieved! Whew!"

"Okay – it's – what time is it?"

"I don't know."

"Whatever it is, it's still early … get back in bed and get some sleep."

"Dad …"

"Yeah Parker?"

"There's something else …"

"What?" Booth says suspiciously. "What else?"

"Well, when I thought she might be dead, I picked up her cell phone to call you – cuz I was freaked out."

"Yeah - ?"

"And when I picked up the phone – which I had to do in order to call you, Dad, even though it's not my phone – but we don't have another one here …"

"Parker, what did you do?"

"When I picked up the phone, a flash went off – I guess I took a picture of Bones. And now she'll know because it's on her own phone. What am I going to do? I don't want her thinking I played with her phone. And taking apicture of her sleeping – that's creepy. Right?"

"Ohhhhhhh, Parker," started Booth rubbing his eyes. "It's okay – there should be a delete button on the photo file. She'll never know the photo was even there."

Booth walked him through some steps to find the photo. Before he had him delete the photo, he said, "Parker, is there an option to SEND the photo?"

"Yes … SAVE, SEND, DELETE."

"Parker, send that photo to me – I just want to see for myself that she's not dead."

"Okay, but would that be creepy? Since she doesn't know? Isn't that wrong?"

"Parker, it's kind of like detective work. If anything were to happen, we now have proof that at – 5:04 AM," he says looking at the red numbers on the hotel clock, "Dr. temperance Brennan of the Jeffersonian was still alive."

"Okay. That makes sense to me." Parker pushes the correct button to send the photo.

"Now DELETE the photo," advises Booth.

"Okay."

"Is it gone?"

"I can't see it anywhere, Dad."

"Okay – now get back into bed!" Booth says, yawning.

"Okay. Good night. I love you."

"I love you, pal – see you in a couple days."

Parker decides he should probably return Brennan's phone to her bedside table before he goes back to bed. Once he turns off the bathroom light and places the phone where he found it – he's overcome with relief. Instead of going back to his own room, he goes to the other side of Booth's bed and climbs in behind Brennan, snuggling up to her backside. "She did tell me I could sneak in here if I woke up in the middle of the night," he says to himself, reassuring himself that this is okay.

Which, of course, it is.

Chapter 31. I Seriously Need More Sleep

The sun peaks through the East window shades as Brennan's eyes open after only five hours of rest. As she thinks about the timing of getting herself ready and getting Parker off to school, she becomes aware of two very cold feet tucked between her calves and a thin little arm which is conspicuously protruding from her arm pit. She looks at his little boy hand. This is all she can see of him as he is behind her and quite a bit smaller than she is. She brings his dangling hand to her face and smells his little boy smell. Almost as intoxicating as the scent of a larger Booth, but in a completely different way. This Booth smells sweet and playful and funny and innocent and endearing.

Few people are aware of this fact - Brennan likes to keep it well hidden - but Brennan knows herself to be quite proficient at creating fun. She will never win any awards for frivolity, but fun, not that is her forte. Booth had begun discover this side of her – a side which surprised him over and over again - during the last couple of years as her partner. Parker simply brought it out in her.

Suppressing an impish grin and making no sound at all, Brennan separates Parker's index fingers from the rest and puts it between her teeth, giving him a playful chomp.

"Hey!" she hears squealed from behind her. "You bit me!" Parker retracts his feet like the tape from one of those rolled-up metal-encased industrial tape measures.

"I was just testing your bone for something," she answers, rolling over and almost squishing his miniature man body.

"Give me back my hand, Hannibal the Cannibal!" he shouts, giggling but also a little scared.

"What did you call me?" she asks, releasing his hand, her eyes opening wide. "Was that a Silence of the Lambs reference?" she asks, acting shocked.

"I thought you didn't watch movies, Bones. Dad says you are way behind the times in your movie trivia – I didn't think you'd know about Hannibal the Cannibal."

"A man who eats people? Who could resist a movie like that?" she replies. "Well, your dad is right. I am not easily entertained by the banal productions aggrandized by contemporary pop culture. I prefer the classics."

"I heard Dad tell Mom you can be a classic pain in the," interjects Parker, recognizing the word he recently learned the meaning of during a conversation about old cars and old books with Booth. "I thought that just meant you are super old."

"Interesting. I'll just file that little tidbit of information for now. Parker, another time we will have a conversation about MY favorite classics. Right now, we have to get you dressed, fed, and off to school. Where do you keep your school clothes?"

"In the bedroom, of course. Where'd you think, silly?"

"Park Booth, I assure you I have been anointed with the power of pseudo parenthood and I am not beyond a little corporeal punishment for impertinent children."

"What?"

"Go get your clothes and GET DRESSED!" Parker reluctantly comes out from under the warm sheets and heads for the door leading into the living room. "What do you usually eat for breakfast?"

"At Mom's house or here?"

"Here, of course."

"Dad makes me waffles. Or eggs. Or Lucky Charms in milk."

"Hm. How about we get dressed real quick and go back to the diner?"

"If we must," Parker says with a grin as he turns and bounds toward his bedroom.

On the way to the Royal Diner, Brennan's phone rings. She pushes a button on the dashboard and says, "Hello?" It's Rebecca.

"Hello, Tempe. It's Rebecca. How did last night go?"

"Hi Rebecca – everything went well, I thought. What did you think, Parker? Just speak out loud and you mom will be able to hear you."

"Mom, we had fun. I got to help Bones make Fostered Banabas. I mean, bananas. It's a dessert – very yummy."

"Did you behave yourself?"

"Of course, Mom!"

"Are you ready for school? Did you pack a lunch? Tempe I completely forgot about the lunch …" Rebecca apologizes.

"Not a problem, Rebecca," assures Brennan. "We are already on the way to school," she says, winking at Parker. Rebecca doesn't have to know they will have eaten two meals in a row at the diner. "If you aren't out of the hospital by lunchtime, I can stop by the school and bring him a sandwich from the cafeteria at the Jeffersonian."

"Are you sure?"

"Rebecca, it is no trouble at all. I'd keep Parker for another day if I could," she ads, smiling at Parker.

"Actually, my boyfriend is being released this afternoon around five o'clock. Would it be at all possible if Parker could stay with you until I can come pick him up? School gets out at 2:55. He'll have to be picked up from school."

"Sure, I think we can find some things around the Jeffersonian for him to entertain himself with for a couple hours," smiling at Parker again. The Jeffersonian is one of his favorite places to visit, and she knows it.

"Tempe," begins Rebecca, "Can I ask you something in private?"

"Sure," says Brennan as she disconnects the cell from the speaker and holds it up to her ear.

"I really appreciate all you are doing for us. I don't know how I will ever repay you …"

"Rebecca, there really is no need …"

"I just can't thank you enough." She pauses, then "Can you just make sure he doesn't see anything gory at the Jeffersonian? No body parts – real or even just made of plastic or whatever it is you do your testing on. I just don't want him having nightmares or anything. He can be surprisingly squeamish …"

"I fully understand, Rebecca. Though you might be surprised at his tolerance for disembodied biological materials … children are natural scientists and many of them simply find biology fascinating."

"Just the same, I'd prefer Parker not be exposed to all that right now."

"Of course. You are his mother. I will respect your wishes. Coincidentally, we are in between cases and the lab is free of remains anyway. What time will you come by the Jeffersonian to pick him up?"

"Around 5:30, I suspect."

"Shall I feed him dinner?"

"No, that won't be necessary, Tempe. We're going to take him to the diner since he didn't get to go there Sunday like he usually does with Seeley."

"Oh," says Brennan. "That will be a nice surprise. We will see you around 5:30."

Brennan hangs up and tells Parker they are going somewhere else for breakfast. "Have you ever been to the International House of Pancakes?"

"I LOVE pancake places! Except I hate it when there's syrup on the seat and it gets stuck on your pants."

"I agree. We'll have them wipe the seats down before we'll agree to sitting in them."

Brennan feels a cool dampness on the side of her face and puts her hand to her cheek. Noticing it is a little slimey, she picks up her cell and looks at the display. Something shiny glares at her from between the tiny buttons. Did I drop this thing in the sink, she wonders. I seriously need more sleep.

Ineffability is concerned with ideas that cannot or should not be expressed in spoken words (or language in general), often being in the form of a taboo or incomprehensible term. This property is commonly associated with philosophy, aspects of existence, and similar concepts that are inherently "too great", complex, or abstract to be adequately communicated. In addition, illogical statements, principles, reasons, and arguments are intrinsically ineffable along with impossibilities, contradictions, and paradoxes. Terminology describing the nature of experience cannot be properly conveyed in dualistic symbolic language; it is believed that this knowledge is only held by the individual from which it originates. Profanity and vulgarisms can easily and clearly be stated, but by those who consider they should not be said, they are considered ineffable. Thus, one method of describing something that is ineffable is by using apophasis, i.e. describing what it is not, rather than what it is.

Chapter 32. All That and a Bag of Fritatta

Booth steps out of the shower, laughing. Parker's antics became more and more humorous each time he thinks about them. Poor kid. As far as he knows, Bones has no idea what had all gone down just feet from her sleeping form. One day, some day, they would tell her about it and the three of them would share in the humor. At least he hoped so.

Dressed and ready for his pick-up, Booth grabs his keys, his phone, his wallet, and yesterday's spare change, plunking each into a fresh suit pocket. Reconsidering, he pulls his cell back out of his pocket. Pushing buttons, he smiles as the image of Bones blinks onto the display.

Like Parker had said, her eyes were closed. Her skin was flawless and bright white in the flash of the camera. She lay on her side, her face on the pillow, her hand tucked under the pillow, her hair a disheveled mess of chestnut. "Wow," he says out loud, shaking his head. He has a pang of guilt. Bones might consider it an invasion of privacy for him to have this photo without her knowledge. "I am going t have to tell her about this. When she's in a good mood," he decides.

"Wow," he shakes his head once more and sighs. At times like this – seeing her face, looking at her in still life, he actually feels a little … he hates to admit it, but … intimidated.

How can she be all this? How can she be brilliant and beautiful and not dating a millionaire or a king of some foreign country? If she weren't hidden away at the Jeffersonian, she'd be more exposed to that type of man – and pursued doggedly, he was certain. "Maybe he and the Jeffersonian were holding Bones back," he thinks out loud as he closes the hotel room door behind him.

He'd expressed this exact sentiment to Dr. Gordon Gordon Wyatt the last time he'd visited the therapist-turned-gourmet chef in his kitchen at Le Gourmand. Gordon Gordon had a way of seeing what was going on in Booth's head and providing insight that made sense.

"You're not of royal lineage, a Nobel Prize winner, a hotel magnate, a movie star. You didn't go to private schools or study law at Harvard. And yet … she chooses to stay with you. How do you explain that?"

"I can't," replied Booth, shrugging his shoulders, exasperated. "That's why I'm stuck. What if we go for a … more personal relationship, and something better comes along for her? I don't have a real good track record for keeping a woman's attention past a certain point," Booth finishes as he flips a coin and catches it. Flips the coin and catches it mid air. Pass-flips it across his fingers, heads, tails, heads, tails, and back again. Bored with the coin, drops it back in his pocket. He then grabs a stainless steel spatula with a hard plastic handle and swipes it around like a sword, battling the invisible person to his left. He then flips imaginary pancakes over onto the metal surface between Gordon and himself.

"What are you making?" Booth asks, watching Gordon Gordon's dexterous handiwork.

""Frittata. I'm making a concoction of my own design. Yes, Dr. Brennan could have her pick of any of those impressive Lotharios. Granted, given the opportunity, each of them would most likely make fools of themselves in pursuit of capturing her heart," stated Gordon mincing scallions, fresh garlic, red and yellow peppers in an orderly and deliberate chop, chop, chop.

"But do you think that is what she wants, Agent Booth? If she's as brilliant as you seem to be convinced she is, don't you think she knows she could have her pick of lovers?" Gordon asks, pausing as he usually does for enlightenment to descend upon Booth. He chooses six more vegetables from a colorful pile of freshly washed produce.

Booth's face betrays a hint of panic, so Gordon continues, choosing another knife from an impressive array hanging on the wall behind him. "She already has everything she wants – I dare say, everything she needs, in her own estimation. She loves her work at the Jeffersonian and that is where she feels she belongs." He adds the newly chopped vegetables to the the scallion mixture.

"You aren't holding her back. She's exactly where she chooses to be. She scoffs at pompous displays of grandiosity, considers them vulgar. She has experienced first hand how puffery falls flat in the face of what really matters. No. For Dr. Brennan, what is at issue, what she seeks in a man, is character, moral fiber, loyalty, reliability, intelligence, and determination. And the dogged pursuit of that which she holds most dear."

"Which is?" Booth had flipped an imaginary pancake up in the air and let it fall to the ground. He caught himself stooping to scrape it off the floor.

"The sanctity of life."

"Right … I knew that."

"Not just for the lives of others. She has shown repeatedly that it is the sanctity of life that she preserves in her work as an anthropologist. She gives names, histories, and a sort of – life - back to those who have had it taken from them. She provides answers, closure, so loved ones, and even history itself, can continue, even flourish." Gordon paused, simultaneously jostling a sauté pan full of color and butter, and watched Booth's face once again.

He sees a light bulb go on. Booth was getting it …

"I am not the one who figured this out, old boy," he continues finally. In fact, you are the one who identified all of this for me. I'm simply confirming what you already know."

"I did?" asks Booth.

"Yes, perhaps not in so many words … but, yes, on every count."

"Go on," urges Booth.

" Another piece of the pie – pardon the pun – she holds dear is reverence for her own life – the continual affirmation that her own life is worthwhile. That, despite her childhood experiences, she is worth being known. And being known, she can be loved, cherished – despite any number of unsavory details in her past. Being loved, she can risk trusting. Trusting requires risk. You and I take it for granted that those we love will always be there – within reason. This has not been her experience." Gordon, a compassionate expression on his face, saw the effect this had on Booth. Booth stood, hands in his pockets, staring at the floor, deep in thought.

"And so, being the brilliant woman she is," Gordon continues, "she has spent a lifetime constructing a story of herself as impervious, constant, unchanging, self-sufficient."

"But Bones believes that everything changes, evolves. She's said it may times," argues Booth.

"That may be so, but what if she suspects that she is incapable of evolution?" He lets that sink in. "It wouldn't be hard for her to prove that she is. We all cling to beliefs which we can then find "proof" of – or at least that is how we interpret the signs the universe sends us. As proof. Humans are meaning-making machines. We twist information to support out theses, our hypothesis. We are quite convincing – especially without a moderator inside our heads helping us sort it all out."

"Isn't that what you shrinks are for?"
"Precisely, my dear boy. We question the logic of madmen and kings. The constant in humanity is that our brains are all made the same way – and fire the same way. Rarely does a unique thought appear on the horizon. Every once in a great while, a unique person comes along who possess an extraordinary perspective. Those are your game-changers. Aristotle, Newton, Shakespeare, Bell, Pasteur, and your very own Michael Jackson and Bill Gates, Henry Ford. You get the idea."

"And how did we get from Bones' story to Aristotle Shakespeare?"

"I do have a point, Agent Booth if you'll just hand in there. There are very few original thinkers in this world. When their ideas become known, they become old ideas by the very nature of being shared."

"Ipso Facto Colombo Oreo, Bones may have a complicated story, but it IS possible to figure her out and help her to feel known. And not abandoned. Because others before her have been through this."

"You are brilliant."

"Okay. So …."

"So, what prince or millionaire has proven to Bones that she can be known.?"

"I don't get it," says Booth.

"Any that you know of?"

"No, who would have the patience?" he asks, making a sarcastic sound that at a different time might have been a chuckle.

"Precisely. And how long have you been partners?"

"Six l-o-n-g years."

"And you have been there, patiently, allowing her to suspect that her story just might be rubbish. That the story is just that, Agent Booth – a story. You put that story - oh, how do you Americans put it – oh yes … on its ear. You challenge her assumptions about herself. And you do it – not by pointing it out to her, but through who you are with her. Through doing whatever it is that you do that makes her able to safely question that story. She's learned to lean on you. And when she falls, she knows that in you she has a safe place to fall."

"Hmmmm," Booth made a sound, but said nothing, a bit embarrassed by this talk of something he holds very private.

Gordon continues, "Naturally, given her past, she's also afraid of losing that. That is why she comes close, backs away, comes close, backs away. She hopes by being in close proximity to you, she can figure out what is true, what is real. By watching you. The rub, if you will, is that she could figure it out – but miss the key ingredient – interdependence, rather than independence – she could end up right where she started."

"But you can't do it alone," Booth argues.

Gordon Gordon stands behind his sauté pan and continues looking at Booth, not responding to Booth's last comment.

"Now, how about some sweet pepper frittata? This is going to knock your multicolored, individuality-asserting, rebel socks off."