Author's Note: Jumpin' on the finale band wagon, of course. How could I not. But instead of writing one big dealio, I'll just be writing a few oneshots to it here and there. This will be the "Quaestio Memoria" series. The vignettes can either have everything to do with each other, or nothing to do with each other. They can be standalones, or not. They will be in no particular order.

GHOST

"Hey there, studly," Angela greets with a generous and welcoming smile.

The man before her shifts from one foot to another, a hesitant smile quirking his lips. She's still a little disenchanted that he doesn't flirt back anymore. Though of course it had never meant anything beyond playful teasing, and it's not his fault. "Hi," he says quietly.

"How are we feeling today?" Small talk it is again, today, too.

"Headache still, but not as bad as before. I feel good, though, thank you."

"Did you drive?"

"Um, no. Walked. From… from the Royal Diner."

It's still so bizarre to observe this man. A man who had been the embodiment of conversational at times, and how different he's become from their memories of him. She hopes they all don't forget as well. "Wasn't expecting you today. I didn't presume you to be driving yet, especially."

"Oh. Should I not have come?"

He's well again. But he isn't. He isn't what they knew. Angela's determined will smoothes over the frown lines dipping her brow and she forces her features into a smile that's genuine and sweet. "You're more than welcome here, Booth. Just a pleasant surprise." This isn't a lie. "What brings you here?"

His face falls a little, and she thinks those brown eyes of his can become no more dejected. He purses his lips, taking an interest in his shoes, so she waits in silence. "She hasn't been by lately," he says finally, at long last. He fidgets a little, but picks his head back up, trying to appear indifferent. But his face is an open book. "I think I upset her again."

Of course even Booth With No Memory would be first to blame himself for the way the world suffers.

She offers him a kind smile and shakes her head. "You haven't at all, sweetie. She's been… you know, busy with work. She gets distracted, you don't remember." He doesn't buy into her lie, no matter how lost he is, and she's glad she doesn't have to keep making excuses. "She's in her office now, why don't you say hello?" she encourages.

He smiles, and it's a sight indeed. If only those once spirited eyes were what they used to be. "Thanks, Angela."

As soon as he knocks on her office door, he feels a little more sure of himself. Her presence does something to him that he can't explain. But it makes him curious.

"Hey, Bren," he greets eagerly.

That hero worship he'd displayed around her has never been vanquished. Instinctively though, she's frowning before she can smother the expression, but turns at his voice from her desk. "Hello, Booth." She's glad to see him, always. Always hoping for something new, but today is not advantageous. Not after her second and most recent breakdown up on the catwalk near the lounge.

He deflates a little at her obvious reluctance to his presence, and she's immediately regretting her offhanded tone. "Sorry to bother you, you know, I just… well…" he opens his mouth again to speak, but nothing comes out.

The silence isn't awkward, but it's painful. This timid mad is not her Boo—BOOTH. It isn't Booth.

She needs him to smile. "You missed me, I think." She tries to wink, and it must amuse him, because he's laughing.

"Well… kind of, yeah. Yes. Um, I did. Do miss you. I hope I'm not being annoying." He also hopes he was far more articulate than this, once upon a time.

Her smile fades a little, softens. "Of course not."

He nods, becoming a little more serious. "It's easier. You know?" At her quizzical look, he elaborates. "Around you. I'm not… I don't feel so lost."

Her stomach flips, and then flops. Something clenches around her heart, too, and she's sending him a more watery smile. Booth has seen her cry many times, but she's terrified of shedding a drop of emotion in front of this man. "I'm glad my presence is beneficial to your recovery."

She's making light again, but he holds on to the gravity, despite that that's what's been throwing him asunder lately. "It is," he repeats, agrees. His voice is soft. "Beneficial. It really is, Bren."

But she's wincing now, turning away from him, and he's alarmed at the sharp set to her lips. He's said something wrong already. Will he ever get this dance right?

"What?" he asks, a concerned arch to his brow. Was he not only repeating what she'd just said? "I've said something wrong. You're upset."

"Stop calling me that," she whispers. It's out before she can swallow it back down.

She seems almost surprised as he at her response. Usually when something like this would occur, she would say nothing. Assure him she was fine, and instruct him to move on. Encourage him that this wasn't about her, never will be.

It takes but a moment, and he realizes she meant her name. "Why?" he asks. She sighs, but it isn't tired or oozing irritation. Instead, it's anguish, and she almost looks as though she's collapsing in on herself right at her work desk. She mumbles something then, but he doesn't catch it. "I'm sorry?"

"Bones," she says finally, a little louder. But the volume only makes her voice crack and the single syllable fractures like a shard of glass. Her head bows, and he's frustrated with himself, because he's brought this sadness on her again. "You call me Bones."

He remembers that. She'd only told him of it once before, while he was still in the hospital. "I know," he acknowledges hesitantly. "You said that. It's just…"

What? He doesn't know. Doesn't know what to say to bring that smile back to her face. He's too afraid of hurting her again, still. He has to become better at this difficult game, because watching her in pain like this is utter agony.

So, he gives up the fight. For now.

"I'm trying," he says. And he is.

She chews on her bottom lip for a moment before those blue eyes find him, hold him steady. And that smile is back – a shadow of what it once was, but it's something. "I know," she nods. A grateful luminescence ignites the crystal flecks in her eyes.

The moment becomes heavy, and fraught with meaning. But he doesn't know what that means. So he grins a little, eager to impress her. "I remembered my favorite pie today," he says. He's almost afraid that he's bragging, but he thinks it's something to be proud of.

And apparently it is, because her smile widens. "Good," she nods. Meaning it.

There's still a trace of hurt in those eyes he can read (but doesn't know why, because she's practically a stranger), and he knows why that is. He hasn't remembered her yet.

His eyes show her nothing but apology. But there's hope. She feels it, and calls on that faith she's always had in him when everything else has brought her crashing down.

He may indeed be a burden to her now, but he has never stopped making her fly.