This is for paladin117, who was kind enough to send me an email when he noticed one of my old stories published under someone else's name. Yikes. The stolen work has now been removed.

The best way I know to say thank you to a reader is to give them something new, so I asked if I could write a one-shot for him based on a prompt of his choosing. He gave me one,"Booth asking Brennan if she ever regretted not going with Sully," and was also nice enough to allow me to use my Roots and Wings-universe, since I'm no longer familiar with what's happening in the real world of Bones.

Paladin117, thank you again for alerting me to the theft of 'Sparring Partners.' Thanks to that notice, I was able to inform FFN of the plagiarism and have it taken down. I hope this story is what you wanted out of the prompt. :-)

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Brennan pulled to a stop in an empty space in the row of parked cars that faced the soccer field. A group of parents huddled together at the edge of the grass, watching a dozen children gleefully chase a black and white ball from one end of the field to the other. A few looked casually in her direction before one, a tall, slender Black woman, waved and headed over.

"Hi, Tempe. You made it after all." Nichole Fields leaned down to peer through the open window into the back of the vehicle, where Zach was buckled into his car seat. "Hey, little man!"

"Hello." Brennan smiled as she exchanged greetings with the mother of Christine's best friend. "Yes, I did. Thank you for offering to drive Christine home. I worried that I would arrive after practice ended. Obviously, I had nothing to fear."

Together, they looked at the field just in time to see Kennedy and Christine, on opposite sides for this session, kick the soccer ball at the same time, then trip and fall on each other, giggling. "They got a late start," Nichole said. "Coach just told us he's getting ready to wrap up."

The two women settled into easy conversation to pass the time. A few minutes later, a small voice interrupted.

"Mommy, can I play on your phone?"

Almost by reflex, Brennan twisted in her seat to pass her phone back to Zach. At the last second, she hesitated and looked at the four-year-old warily.

"Do I have your assurance that you won't make any purchases without my permission?"

The dark head bobbed. "Uh huh."

The quick reply had Brennan's eyes narrowing in warning. The last time he'd been given Booth's phone to play a game, the brilliant little boy had skipped through several advanced levels – paying for each of them – before either parent noticed. "Zach Henry."

"I promise," he chirped.

The smile he gave her, charming and innocent and heart-tuggingly familiar, made it difficult to maintain her serious demeanor. After the most cursory of struggles, Brennan gave up and handed the phone over with a laugh.

Nichole watched the byplay with a grin of her own. "It's hard to say no to that smile, isn't it?"

"On both father and son," Brennan sighed. Shrugging it off as a lost cause, she resumed the conversation that had been interrupted.

The children on the field were just rushing over to the bench for juice and snacks when a melodic chime from her phone indicated a text message coming through over Zach's game. Other than registering the sound, Brennan gave it little thought . . . until once again, a small, high-pitched voice rose with a question.

"Mommy, who's Sully?"

Surprise snapped her head around. "What?"

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It was long past dinner when the sound of the front door opening heralded Booth's return. He tossed his keys on the table in the foyer and shrugged out of his suit coat, tugging his tie loose at the same time.

"Hey, guys. I'm home!"

"DADDY!"

The patter of running feet almost drowned out the cries of his children as Zach and Christine, already bathed and in pajamas, raced out of the kitchen and fell on him as if it had been weeks since they'd last seen him, instead of just the hours since breakfast. They talked over each other in a bid to be the first to get his attention.

Christine won when she stuck her arm high in the air to show off a bandaged hand. "Look what I did at soccer practice! Look! It took two band-aids to cover it up! Look! Two!"

Scooping Zach up against his chest as a consolation prize, Booth examined the scrape on the small palm with just the right combination of sympathy and awe. "Wow, that's a heck of a battle wound. I bet it leaves a scar."

"A scar? Really?"

"Daddy! Daddy!" While Christine studied the superhero-patterned bandages intently, Zach tugged at his shirt. "Guess what? We did Christine's homework and she got three spelling words wrong and I got them right!"

Christine was immediately distracted from the hopeful promise of a scar. She stuck her tongue out at her little brother. Booth noticed, and tapped the eight-year-old's nose with the tip of one finger.

"Stop that. And you," he looked at Zach sternly. "What did we say about doing your sister's homework? We'll get you some of your own to do." He shook his head at Brennan, who walked up at a much more sedate pace. Although not in pajamas, she'd changed for the evening at home, too, and wore soft knit pants and a loose grey blouse that picked up the flecks of silver in her eyes. Booth leaned in for the kiss she willingly bestowed. "Sorry I missed dinner."

She shrugged, nonchalant. "There are leftovers, if you're hungry."

"We had sandwiches delivered." He switched his attention back to the kids, sending them into squeals of laughter when he let Zach dangle from the bend of one arm and hoisted Christine high up on his other shoulder. "Okay, you two," he growled, "what other kind of trouble have you been up to today? Tell me everything!" He stomped into the living room and collapsed into the old yellow recliner. They tumbled into his lap.

Zach quickly scrambled to sit up. "Everything?"

"Everything," Booth insisted solemnly, settling them into his arms more comfortably. "Tell me about your whole day."

The little face, so like his father's, scrunched into thoughtful wrinkles. "Well, first I woke up."

Booth's deep, booming laughter echoed through the downstairs rooms. He dropped a kiss into the thatch of dark hair. "I tell you what, sport, why don't you start when Mommy picked you up after pre-school. How's that?"

Twenty minutes later, Christine was finishing up an animated description of her own day, and Zach was nodding sleepily against his father's shoulder. Soon enough, they were tucked into their beds with stuffed animals and favorite blankets, and enough extra kisses to ensure the sweetest of dreams.

Booth followed Brennan downstairs again, and after grabbing a beer from the fridge, helped as she gathered up the school papers scattered over the granite surface of the island. He picked up one sheet covered with a large, uneven childish scrawl.

"Did he really get all of Christine's vocabulary words right?"

Brennan nodded. "He did."

Booth grinned proudly. "Gonna be a genius, like his mom. Speaking of . . ." He set both the paper and the beer aside and reached for Brennan instead. His voice dropped to a husky rasp. "I forgot to ask about your day, didn't I?"

Moving gracefully into his embrace, Brennan draped her arms over his shoulders and gave him a smile twinkling with mischief. "Well, first I woke up . . ."

They laughed as they kissed, and when the laughter faded, the kissing continued, rich and intimate, and deepened by years of love and desire. It was Brennan who pulled away first.

"Actually," she said, "I received something rather surprising today. A message from Tim Sullivan."

Booth paused with one hand hovering in the air, frozen over the beer he'd been reaching for. His jaw dropped. "Sully?"

Brennan nodded as she stacked papers together and tapped the edges against the counter to put them into neat alignment. "Yes. He plans to be in this area at the end of August, and invited us to meet him for dinner."

When she gave the homework to Booth, he stuffed it into Christine's backpack without looking. "Us? He invited both of us?"

'Our marriage isn't a secret." She picked up her phone, and after finding the message, offered it to Booth as she had the homework. The message was short, barely forty words, its tone deliberately casual.

Hey, Tempe. It's Sully. Blast from the past, I know, but I'm going to be in Baltimore at the end of August. Wondered if you and Booth would be up for dinner? Happy to come to DC. Call/message me back at this number.

He glanced up to find Brennan waiting patiently as he read. "You didn't answer him."

"The invitation was extended to both of us," she pointed out. "I didn't want to assume your response."

"Huh." Booth read the message one more time, then handed the phone back to her. "Sure, why not. Might be fun to hear what he's been up to. What's it been? Ten years? You think he's still sailing that rusty tin can of his all over the place?"

"Thirteen years," she corrected. "I spoke to him once, a few months after he left, but that was our last conversation."

Booth leaned one hip against the counter and watched over the rim of the beer as she methodically emptied Christine's backpack, straightened out the mess he'd made of the homework, and replaced it. Something about the precision of her movements aroused his attention.

"You okay?"

She zipped the bag closed and hung it across the high back of a chair at the island. Then she looked at him with a sigh and a small shrug.

"The unexpectedness of the contact has left me . . . unsettled."

The admission took him by surprise. "How's that? Have you been wondering if maybe you should have gone with him? If you could be sailing the seven seas right now, living a life of adventure instead of soccer practice and homework?"

As difficult as Brennan sometimes found reading other people, she knew Booth and recognized the warmth in his eyes for what it was - concern for her. Their relationship was as solid as it had ever been, and neither feared a third party's intrusion. She smiled ruefully.

"No. I made the right choice. Sully has a wanderlust in him that I don't share - didn't share, even then. I wouldn't have been happy on the boat, not for more than a few weeks." She fell silent, staring down at Christine's bright purple and green backpack.

After a few seconds, Booth prodded again. "Bones?"

She looked up with the faintest shimmer of tears glimmering. "I've just . . . I've been contemplating my life. I never thought of myself as a mother. Or a wife . . . and now I'm both. And I'm happy. No," she said quickly, even as more tears appeared, thick and glistening. "It's more than that. I am . . . content. I can't imagine how empty my world would be without you. Without the children."

"Baby. Come here." Glass clinked against granite when Booth set the half-empty beer down. He pulled her into his arms and cradled her against his broad shoulders. She nestled closer, accepting the comfort of his embrace and relishing the sense of home she'd always found there. He pressed his lips against her forehead. "You know, it's probably going to put a crimp in dinner when I punch him for making you cry."

He was only half joking but Brennan chuckled into his shirt. "It's not him. I'm just . . . emotional."

Suddenly suspicious, Booth leaned back to peer down at her. "Are you pregnant?"

The tears had disappeared. She shook her head. "No. I may be ovulating."

Booth drew her close again with a good-natured grumble. "Well, damn. There go my plans for the rest of the night."

Once more somber, Brennan curved one hand around the pebbled jaw. "I love you."

The words were a vow, a promise renewed each day in the life they were creating together. Booth accepted them and gave them back with the same tangible aura of certainty and commitment.

"I love you."

The kiss they shared was almost chaste - until it wasn't. It deepened, became hungry and demanding, was made urgent by eager, searching hands.

When long fingers pushed up beneath her blouse, Brennan gasped and arched into his palms.

"I thought you said your plans for the evening had changed."

In answer, Booth hoisted her up on the counter and stepped between her open knees. When her legs locked around him, his mouth scraped a blazing trail down her neck to push aside the loose neckline that was in the way of his ultimate goal.

"What the hell. Let's live dangerously."

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Living dangerously is how two children become three. Just sayin'. :-D

Thanks for reading, and thank you again to paladin117. I am very grateful for your eagle eye!