The rush of endorphins had left Brennan limp and relaxed, but her pulse rate was only just beginning to slow when Booth propped himself up on one elbow beside her.
"Skip the tour."
"Booth-"
"No," he said, his voice caught somewhere between serious and not, "I mean it. You skip the tour, I'll cash in some personal time, and we'll run away together." He leaned in and kissed her, his free hand settling at the curve of her waist. "I'm thinking Mallorca."
She laughed, a rich, full-bodied laugh that made him grin in response. "You know I can't do that."
"Why not?"
Without bothering to answer she shoved him away, but her hand lingered, just for a moment, against the broad expanse of his shoulder. Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she got to her feet, turned, and shook her head.
"Look at this mess." She'd been packing when he arrived, but now the outfits she'd laid out on the bed were strewn across the room as if they'd been caught up in a windstorm. "I'm going to have to iron again."
Booth tucked a pair of pillows against the headboard and pushed himself up to lean against them.
"You've got to admit," he said with an exaggerated leer that made her roll her eyes, "it was worth it."
"You aren't the one who has to clean it up." She tried to sound stern, but it wasn't easy when she was feeling so thoroughly and pleasantly sated.
"Hey, I'd offer, but I never have mastered the art of lady's lingerie."
She raised an eyebrow at him, and he blew out a huff of exasperation that made her bite back a grin.
"Folding it, I mean."
She picked up the bra she'd been wearing earlier and examined the torn catch. With a shake of her head and a sigh she dropped it in the wastebasket by the nightstand.
"No need to fold this one."
She felt his eyes on her and looked up. His gaze flickered over her breasts, down to her still-flat stomach, and back up. "You'll be needing new ones soon, anyway."
She resisted the instinct to press a protective palm against her abdomen and reached for her robe instead.
"I'm going to take a shower," she said. "You-" she picked a blouse up from the floor and tossed it in his direction. "-can set up the ironing board."
He wrinkled his nose at her. "How about I help with that shower instead?"
"How about not?" Already halfway across the room, she tossed the words over her shoulder. "Hop to it, mister. I have a train to catch."
Brennan heard his half-hearted grumble and smiled to herself as she closed the bathroom door and leaned back against it. These past few weeks had been incredible, and for the first time in her life she was tempted to set aside professional obligations in favor of personal pleasure. But as she pushed herself off the door and crossed to turn on the water she shook her head. The tour had been planned for months, and Todd had already gone to great lengths rearranging her travel plans. She couldn't back out now.
Ninety minutes later Booth set her suitcase down in her compartment, having flashed his badge half a dozen times, glared at three porters, and kept his hand at her back during the entire trek through Union Station and onto the train. His behavior struck her as simultaneously exasperating and endearing, and by the time he finished testing the seats and inspecting the bathroom she didn't know if she wanted to kick him or kiss him.
"Booth."
He turned from the window. "What?"
"I'll be fine."
"I know you will." But he wouldn't meet her eyes, a sure sign that he wasn't being truthful.
"I'll call you," she said. "Or text. You'll always know where I am." She found it interesting that the thought of staying in contact with Booth didn't feel like an obligation, as it would have with her father or sometimes even Angela. She wanted to talk to him, to hear his voice, to laugh over the little stories he shared with her about his co-workers-to know where he was and what he was doing and whether or not he was happy.
"I know that, too. It's just …" He hesitated, his gaze flickering to the window and the platform beyond before returning to her. "We're only just starting to figure out how we fit, you know? And now you're going off God knows where-"
"I gave you a copy of my itinerary-"
"No. That isn't what I mean. Just-" He closed the distance between them. His hands settled on her shoulders, squeezed lightly, and she let herself lean, felt him take her weight as his arms came around her. "Just be careful, okay?"
It was an odd experience having somebody worry about her not just because they were friends, but because their lives were bound together in indelible ways. Booth had been her partner for years, her friend for almost as long, but he was so much more than that now, and her mind's insistence that she focus so much of her attention on him and their budding relationship had become problematic. The fact that her knowledge of the chemical processes behind these emotions no longer provided sufficient means of controlling them was more than a little disconcerting. She needed to find a balance before she lost herself in the maelstrom of emotions that had caught her up in its current. This tour would help her do that, giving her the time she needed to adjust and to begin to understand who she was as one half of a couple rather than solely as Temperance Brennan.
Reluctantly, she disengaged herself from his arms, but she didn't step away. "I'll be careful," she said. "I promise."
"And take your vitamins."
She made a face. The pills were quite large, and until recently had made her so nauseous that taking them had been pointless. But she'd finally reached the stage where she could manage them as long as she took them just before going to bed.
"I will." She gave him a light push. "Now go."
As if on cue an announcement on the PA system informed them that the train would be getting underway in five minutes. Booth took a step back, leaving her feeling oddly bereft.
She summoned a light-hearted smile. "I promise I'll eat right, get plenty of rest, and take my vitamins, as long as you promise to collect my mail, water my plants, and-" she hesitated, her smile slipping in spite of her best effort. "-don't get shot."
He grinned, his eyes warm with affection. "I'll wear Kevlar to bed," he said. But his smile seemed a little forced, and she took comfort in the thought that perhaps this parting wasn't any easier for him than it was for her.
She'd been convinced that this tour would be good for them, but now that her departure was imminent doubts were creeping in. She'd left him once before when she'd been confused, and that mistake had cost her dearly.
"I'd better go." Booth sighed and turned to leave. He was about to step through the open door when she stopped him with a hand on his arm.
"Wait."
He turned back, a question in his eyes.
"I'll-" she swallowed. "I'll miss you," she said. It was a true if inadequate description of her feelings.
"I'll miss you, too," he said, his voice low and rough with emotion.
She stepped into his arms and felt them close around her in a fierce hug. When his grip eased, she lifted her face to his, needing one more chance to feel the pressure and shape of his lips against her own. Afterwards, he touched his forehead to hers.
"I want you to think about something during this trip," he said quietly. "Not because of the baby, but because of you and me."
"I don't understand."
"I know." He seemed nervous, though she couldn't identify the cause. "I know you don't, Bones. Just … Hear me out."
It was a simple request, easily acceded to. "I can do that."
He studied her for a long moment in silence, but despite her increasing unease she forced herself to wait quietly. Finally he took in a long, slow breath. The words that tumbled out on its release made her eyes widen.
"I want you to think about marrying me."
Stunned-she wasn't sure what she'd been expecting, but it wasn't a proposal-she opened her mouth to respond, then subsided when he shook his head.
"You promised to listen, remember?"
Closing her mouth again, she nodded. But her mind reeled.
"I know you don't believe in organized religion," he said, "and that you think marriage is antiquated and unnecessary. But it's important to me." He let go of her hand to brush the backs of his fingers over her cheek. "Just think about it, okay?" When she closed her eyes, savoring the contact, he bent and touched his lips to hers.
By the time she opened her eyes again, he was gone.
*x*x*x*x*
He had just come on duty and was still adjusting his uniform when the first passenger arrived for the early seating. Mid thirties, he guessed. Dark hair and blue eyes. Stacked. And judging by the classy outfit she wore, loaded too. Probably had one of the sleepers.
It took him two tries to get her attention.
"Ma'am?"
"What?" She blinked, then looked at him, wide-eyed, as if she wasn't sure what she was doing in the dining car instead of her own compartment. He added ditzy to his mental list of attributes, careful to keep his expression bland.
"Seat for one?"
"Oh. Yes. Please." She nodded with a faint, apologetic smile.
"Right this way." He led her through the dining car to a seat by the window where she could watch the Washington suburbs slide past while she ate. "Have you traveled with us before?" he asked, as he filled her water glass and tried to sneak a peek down the front of her scoop-necked blouse.
She shook her head. "I usually prefer air travel, but-" she hesitated for an instant, her lips pursing slightly. "-circumstances precluded that this time."
Precluded? What the fuck kind of a word was that? But he nodded with what he hoped was polite interest. "May I inquire as to your destination?"
He liked the way that came out. Very posh. With just a trace of accent. The hours of practice, not to mention the dough he'd blown on that snotty British speech coach, were paying off.
"Atlanta for now," she said, and took a sip of water before reaching for her napkin. She had long fingers, the nails trimmed and buffed into perfect little crescents. Fucking sexy. And when she pressed those luscious lips against the water glass his dick throbbed. For the first time in his life he wanted to be an ice cube.
"Ah. Yes." He handed her the menu and managed to brush his hand up her arm as he let it go. Nice, soft skin. He itched to feel more of it. "History buff or sports fan?" He'd done a lot of reading on both subjects. He could hold his own on either. Reel her in.
"Neither," she said, without looking up from the menu. "Speaking engagement."
He was about to press her for details when he caught the boss's glare out of the corner of his eye. Shit. He excused himself to deal with the other passengers, but not before checking out her left hand. No ring. Good. He'd fucked married women before, but single chicks were easier. Fewer complications. And middle-aged single chicks were usually desperate, which made them his favorite targets.
While he seated the next passenger-a man with a beer gut and a creepy thing for trains-he wondered how long she would be on board. He'd make sure he was on duty early in the morning in case she came in for breakfast, but that might not be enough time to seal the deal. Maybe she planned on re-boarding after her gig in Atlanta. If that was the case he might have to see if he could switch routes with somebody, maybe even drain his bank account for a ticket of his own. She looked like she'd be worth it.
He kept an eye on her through dinner, and whenever he could he hung out near her table. By the time she finished and excused herself to the other people he'd seated at her table he knew that she was a writer, that her name was Temperance Brennan, and that she was on some kind of promotional tour. It wasn't much to go on, but it was a start. He watched her leave the dining car, already planning his strategy.
*x*x*x*x*
When Brennan returned to her compartment she found that it had already been converted for the night. She locked the door behind her, kicked off her shoes, and sat down on the edge of the bed with a sigh. She'd been a terrible dining companion. She knew that. But her thoughts had been elsewhere, and the mandatory social interaction had been unusually tiring. Which was why, having provided the developing fetus in her womb with a fresh supply of nutrients, she'd had no qualms about excusing herself.
Since she had no intention of leaving the compartment until morning she decided to prepare for bed, then read until she fell asleep. She'd brought along a suitable selection of reading material - several professional journals, an obstetrical text, a renowned parenting guide, and the latest Richard Castle novel. The last had recently debuted near the top of two best-seller lists, and she wanted to study the author's technique.
An hour later she realized that she'd read the same passage three times without comprehending its meaning, so she gave up and put the obstetrical text aside. It was obvious she wasn't going to get anything productive done, so instead she leaned her head back against the pillows and let her thoughts wander back to the day Michael had been born.
Booth had taken the news of her pregnancy surprisingly well. In fact once the initial shock had worn off he'd seemed almost ecstatic. She'd been relieved by that, having put off revealing the information until a time when she'd felt he would be most amenable to it. Apparently she'd chosen well. Booth had given her no indication that he was anything other than happy about being the father of her child.
When they'd arrived at his apartment he'd turned on a light, waved her inside ahead of him, then closed and locked the door before drawing her back into his arms. She'd tucked her face into his shoulder with a murmur of relief. Whatever else might be true, he didn't appear to be angry, and for that she was grateful. He hadn't kissed her, though. Instead he'd led her to the couch and pulled her down beside him, his fingers still wrapped around hers.
"So," he said, with a wry quirk of his lips and a shake of his head. "Guess I should've hit the drugstore after all."
Booth was a good man. It didn't surprise her that he would hold himself responsible for an unplanned pregnancy. But there was something she needed him to know before he got too caught up in his sense of duty, an offer she needed to make-even though she believed it would be refused.
"I can do this on my own," she said.
He angled his head to stare at her, but she couldn't read his expression, so she ploughed on.
"You don't have to be involved. You've already got Parker to raise, and you and I … " She trailed off, unsure what they were to each other anymore. After all, he'd made it very clear just weeks ago that he wasn't ready for a relationship yet. And now this. She bit her lip and rushed ahead before he could interrupt her. "McGill University in Montreal has offered me a teaching position. I would be quite successful there, I think. And Canada's a good place to raise a child."
The thought of leaving the Jeffersonian, of leaving him, made her chest ache, but she would do it if that was what he wanted. She wouldn't hold it against him, either. The fact that he'd fathered two out-of-wedlock babies would be difficult enough for him without having to face her every day.
"You would leave Washington," he said slowly. "Your work at the Jeffersonian, your friends, Max and Russ … me?"
His voice was even, but she thought it sounded a little choked at the end.
"Yes, but only if that's what you want."
"What I want," he repeated, his voice tense. "Bones, two years ago you were going to use my sperm to have a baby. Do you remember what I said then?"
"Of course I do." That had been before his surgery. Before a lot of things. "You said that if you were going to be the father, you had to be the father. But a lot has happened since then." Hannah had happened since then. "It's entirely possible that your feelings have changed."
Instead of answering her right away Booth turned to face her on the couch, folding one leg onto the cushion between them and taking both her hands in his. She waited, her gaze on the bleached fabric of his pant leg. She didn't know what he was about to say, and it was difficult not to let anxiety goad her into speaking too soon.
"Look at me," he said gently. When she did she found that his gaze was steady on hers, and his grip on her hands was firm, though his thumbs traveled back and forth across her wrists in a manner that she found quite distracting. "You aren't going anywhere," he said. "You're going to stay right here with the people who love you." He gave her one of his lopsided grins, the ones that made him look boyish and charming. It was a look she found difficult to resist. "You're going to be an amazing mom," he said, his smile widening. "And I'm going to be the best dad I know how to be." He squeezed her hands in his, and Brennan was surprised to feel tears in her eyes. "And we're going to do it together."
A few tears did spill over then, despite her best efforts to hold them back. He brushed them away with his thumb and a faint smile.
"Stand up for a minute," he said, and when she did he straightened his leg along the back of the couch. "That's better." He reached for her hand and pulled her down again so that her back was against his chest. Then he looped his arms around her waist, tangling his fingers with hers. She let her head fall back against his shoulder, and for a few minutes they sat quietly together.
"So," he finally said, "due in December, right?"
She nodded. "Late, I think."
"Have you seen the doctor yet?"
This time she shook her head. "I have an appointment this week."
For a minute she thought he was going to ask to go with her. She didn't want him there, but she didn't want to hurt his feelings, either, so she was relieved when he moved on.
"How are you feeling?"
"Fine, so far."
"No morning sickness?"
"Not yet."
It was a relief to know she wasn't going to have to raise the baby by herself. She could of course, if she had to. She had no doubts about that. But it would be much less stressful if she could share the responsibilities, especially since she'd be doing so with somebody who had already raised one child successfully.
"Booth?"
"Hmm?" His low hum tickled her ear.
"Were you afraid?" she asked. "When you found out about Parker, I mean. Were you afraid you wouldn't be a good parent?" She hadn't realized until she said it aloud that she really did fear failure. Raising a child seemed so much more complicated than analyzing a skeleton or giving a lecture.
His arms tightened around her for a moment, and she felt him nod. "Terrified."
"When did it stop?"
He chuckled. "It hasn't yet."
"How do you manage it?" She shifted, turning her head to look at him. "It all seems so overwhelming."
He tightened his hold on her. "You just take it one day at a time, Bones. That's all you can do." He sighed. "It's all anyone can do."
Only partially appeased, she turned around and let her head drop back to his shoulder. "I've been doing some reading," she said.
"Why doesn't that surprise me?"
The amusement in his voice confused her, but she let it pass.
"It's important to be informed, Booth. Especially about something like this."
She felt him press a kiss against the top of her head. "Of course it is," he said. "What do the experts say?"
"That's just it-" She didn't bother trying to hide her frustration. "They contradict each other so frequently that it's impossible to reach any useful conclusions." She frowned. "It's very unprofessional. They should build consensus among themselves if they expect to be taken seriously."
"Bones … raising kids-" He untangled one hand from hers to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear before settling his fingers against the side of her neck. "It isn't something you can learn from a book." He traced small circles on her skin with the pad of his thumb, and she tilted her head to give him better access while she thought about his comment.
"That doesn't make any sense. You can learn everything from books."
"Did you learn about forgiveness from a book?" he asked gently. "Or friendship? Or love?"
"No, but-"
"It's about heart, Bones. Heart, and instinct, and-" His hand stilled, and she wondered what he was thinking. ''-and a whole lot of luck."
She considered that. He was probably right. He usually was about these things.
"That explains why you're such a good father," she said, as understanding dawned.
"Why's that?" His voice was a study in wary amusement, as if he were curious what she was going to say but not entirely sure he really wanted to know.
"Because you're an excellent gambler."
There'd been a time when any mention of his gambling addiction would have irritated him, but now he only chuckled.
"I don't think it's that, Bones. If I'm a good father it's because I work hard at it. Every single day. And because I would do anything for my kid, anything at all, to make sure he knows that I love him."
"You do love him very much. I know that."
"Yeah," he said, and she could hear it in his voice. There was a kind of warmth in its tone that she only ever heard when he spoke of Parker. "Yeah, I do."
Hours later they'd been lying in his bed, their legs tangled together, his fingers tracing idle patterns along her spine. Her eyelids were heavy, her respiration slowing.
"Bones?" His voice was low, probably because he thought she might already be asleep.
"Hmm?"
"I don't want to be an absentee father."
She rolled over to face him. His hand came to rest along the curve of her hip. Hers settled on the hard wall of his chest.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"I mean I want to be there for this kid. I want to help with diapers and colic and midnight feedings. I don't want to watch his childhood from a distance the way I have Parker's."
"I don't understand." It wasn't entirely true, but this was too important for her to risk making an incorrect assumption.
"I think we should move in together."
It made sense that if he chose to have a role in his child's life, he would expect it to be a significant one. "All right"
He blinked, apparently surprised by her ready acquiescence. "No argument?"
"None at all. It's a logical suggestion, and the only one that will enable you to fully engage in the parenting experience."
And then suddenly he was laughing and she didn't know why. But she didn't ask. It was enough just then that he was happy. He'd pulled her into an exuberant hug. Then he'd kissed her, and pretty soon she didn't care why he'd laughed. She only cared that he continue doing what he was doing with his hands.
They'd started looking for a place to live the following weekend, and it was then that Brennan truly began to comprehend how difficult it would be to blend their lifestyles. Booth wanted a place in the suburbs with three or four bedrooms and a fenced yard. She wanted to stay in the city, closer to her work and the Mall. They'd agreed to consider both options, but Booth hadn't liked any of the apartments she'd suggested, and the houses he'd found had been too old and run-down for her taste. Their realtor had suggested they consider a row house, but Booth had taken one look at the prices and shaken his head.
By the end of their third weekend of fruitless searching they'd been frustrated and exhausted, and after sharing a near-silent meal at one of their favorite restaurants they'd retired to their own apartments. It was the first time she'd slept alone since she'd told Booth about the baby.
By unspoken agreement they hadn't toured any homes since that night. And while there was still time-she'd only just begun her second trimester-Brennan would feel better once the difficulty was resolved.
Finding a place to live that satisfied both their requirements was only one of the challenges they'd faced in those first few weeks. Their fundamental differences hadn't magically disappeared, nor did she expect them to. Despite those differences, and in part because of them, she knew she loved him unconditionally. She couldn't envision anything that would change that.
But marriage?
She hadn't altered her opinion about it as an institution. It was an outdated concept, better suited to a time when women had needed the security of legal contracts and the trappings of religion to safeguard their future. But Brennan needed neither of those things. Religion held no meaning to her beyond an anthropological one, and there were ways to acquire most of the legal benefits of marriage without indulging in meaningless ceremony. Should she abandon her personal convictions if doing so made him happy? Or should she stand by them? And if she chose the latter, how would Booth react?
They were questions without clear solutions, and Brennan was still pondering them as she drifted into restless sleep, her dreams punctuated by the rhythmic clack of the train's wheels and the long, mournful sound of its whistle.
*x*x*x*x*
The boldly-lettered flyer caught Natalie's eye as she reached to pull the door open. Intrigued, she stepped out of the flow of traffic in order to read it more carefully. When she finished she brushed her fingertips over the text and smiled to herself before glancing at her watch. The event was just beginning. With luck, she'd be able to acquire a signed first edition.
After a quick stop at the registers to purchase a copy of Dr. Brennan's latest novel, Natalie made her way to the area set aside for the signing. Spacious and well-appointed, it had an ambiance cleverly designed to promote feelings of warmth and security while still being well-lit enough to satisfy a devoted fan's need to see clearly. It was an impressive example of psychological manipulation through the application of atmospheric controls. Customers who were comfortable and engaged were more likely to dip into their bank accounts.
Chris's favorite author was standing at the front of the event space near a simple dais. She was speaking to a short, dark-haired man who gave off an aura of tightly leashed energy as he scanned the crowd and nodded agreement with whatever Dr. Brennan was saying. When she finished, he nodded one last time and stepped to the dais.
"Good afternoon," he said. His voice was quite pleasant, well-modulated and entirely masculine. She didn't know why she hadn't expected that.
He had to say it twice before the crowd quieted. It was a big group, the biggest she'd seen at one of these events, which spoke to Dr. Brennan's success as an author, though Natalie had always been more interested in her accomplishments in the field of forensic anthropology. Science was much more useful to the human race than the arts.
"I'd like to thank you for coming today," the man at the dais said. "My name, though I doubt you care very much, is Todd Richardson." He waited for the laughter to fade, then went on. "Part of my job is to make sure these events are enjoyable for everyone. To that end I ask that you take a moment to turn off your cell phones and other electronic devices before we get started."
Several people withdrew their phones, fiddled with them for a moment, and then put them away again. Natalie waited impatiently, her own cell phone having been silenced and put away since she'd entered the store.
"Thank you," Todd said, when the crowd had settled. "And now I'd like to introduce Dr. Temperance Brennan, author of several best-selling crime novels, and one of the world's top forensic anthropologists."
There was a smattering of applause as Dr. Brennan took Todd's place at the dais. She waited for quiet before speaking.
Thank you, Todd," she said with a warm smile as she took his place at the dais. "I'm happy to be here." She turned her attention to the audience, and Natalie's gaze narrowed. Piercing intelligence shown from the blue eyes that met hers for the briefest instant, but there was something more there, too. Something she couldn't quite define.
"The one thing about crime that most crime writers don't do well-" Dr. Brennan was saying, "-is science. My training and experience give me a unique advantage in this regard, making my novels more realistic than most others published today."
A few people laughed. Most shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Natalie nodded her approval. She didn't believe in false modesty, especially when it came to women. It was hard enough to succeed without hiding behind convention.
Brennan tapped a stack of note cards into a neat pile.
"The topic of today's talk is The Science in the Fiction - how to successfully integrate accurate scientific data and emotionally compelling drama."
Natalie tuned out after that. She hadn't come for the lecture, but for the signing afterwards. While she waited she watched the crowd, a habit she'd acquired some years ago and which had often proven useful.
The audience was comprised of a fairly wide range of people. Most wore blue jeans and t-shirts, though some of the women were wearing sun dresses. A group of senior citizens sat together at the front, nodding from time to time in a way that put Natalie in mind of mystics, their expressions sober and intent as they cataloged Dr. Brennan's every word.
Natalie's gaze snagged on a middle-aged gentleman off to one side. He was dressed as a businessman, in a mid-range, dark colored suit and blue polyester tie, but she'd bet her next venture it wasn't his usual attire. He kept tugging at his collar and jacket-not the behavior of a man who wore the uniform every day-and his gaze roamed the crowd with the critical regularity of a professional. Interesting. While it didn't surprise Nat that Dr. Brennan would have handlers, she hadn't expected a personal bodyguard.
The brief lecture drew to a close, and after another round of applause Richardson began organizing the group for the book signing while Dr. Brennan seated herself at the table and picked up a pen. Natalie glanced at her watch again, then reached for her cell phone. Her assistant would have to postpone two video conferences and reschedule a lunch date-inconvenient, but unavoidable. She sent the text, then checked her email and responded to a dozen messages, two of which made her curse softly to herself before she stepped aside to fire off terse responses and follow-up phone calls to her associates. The snafu, while minor, was enough to place her at the end of the line when she returned to the signing.
Never one to stay angry for long, Natalie waited patiently, listening to the conversations that ebbed and flowed around her, alert for any tidbits of information that might prove useful in her work. It was a skill she'd perfected as a child, when constant vigilance had often prevented unpleasant encounters with the bullies who'd ruled the schoolyard the way Caesar had ruled Rome.
When her turn finally came she handed her purchase to Dr. Brennan with a respectful smile and a nod.
"To whom should I dedicate this?" Dr. Brennan asked, pen poised.
"It's for Chris. She couldn't be here today, but she's a big fan of your work." She watched Dr. Brennan write, the long, smooth strokes both elegant and economical, and accepted the return of her book with another smile. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Natalie had been the last in line, and as she stepped away Dr. Brennan got to her feet and pulled out her cell phone. Natalie saw her glance at its display with a look of genuine pleasure before touching the screen and lifting the phone to her ear. Curious, Natalie lingered, picking up a book from a nearby shelf and examining its jacket while she eavesdropped on Dr. Brennan's side of the conversation.
*x*x*x*x*
Brennan watched Todd straighten the remaining books on the table while she waited for the phone to be answered at the other end.
There was a click as the connection went through, then, "Those diapers had better be here soon, buster, or else I'm bringing this kid to you."
Brennan blinked, nonplussed. "Angela? It's Brennan."
"Oh! Hi! Sorry about that. I thought you were that damned diaper service. They're late with the delivery again and Michael's on his last diaper."
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
Angela laughed. "I don't think so, sweetie. Thank you, though." Faint smacking sounds traveled through the connection along with Angela's voice. "How are you?" Angela asked. "How did your first stop go?"
"I'm fine. I'm enjoying the train very much, even though it's significantly less efficient than air travel."
"You had your own compartment, right?"
"A sleeper, yes. It was quite comfortable. I'm impressed by how well they utilize limited space."
"How's the food? Is it as bad as it is on the plane?"
"The nutritional value isn't as high as I would prefer, but the prenatal vitamins I'm taking should more than compensate for any shortfall."
"So. Bland but edible. Figures. How are you feeling?"
A customer lingered nearby, browsing in the technology section. Brennan recognized her as the last of the fans from her signing. Not wishing to disturb her, Brennan moved a few steps further away.
"Quite well, actually."
"No morning sickness?"
Brennan shook her head, then remembered Angela couldn't see her. "Not since I started taking my vitamins at night instead of in the morning."
"And you're getting enough rest."
"I've only been gone a day!" Brennan laughed. "Angela, I swear you're as bad as Booth. Stop worrying. I'm fine. The fetus is fine-"
"Baby," Angela corrected gently. "The baby is fine, Bren."
"No, that's incorrect. It isn't a baby until after it's born. I'm going to have a baby, but right now I'm carrying a fetus."
Angela laughed at that, and Brennan didn't understand why. She was certain she was correct.
"Fine, then." Angela still sounded amused. "You win for now."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
There was a pause, then the sound of a loud, satisfied burp from Michael.
"Have you told Booth yet?" Angela asked.
Brennan let out a breath. "Not yet."
"Brennan …"
Todd was gesturing to her, indicating that he needed to talk. She nodded.
"I need to go, Ange. Give Michael a kiss from me, okay?"
"I'll do that. But you have to tell him. And Brennan-" Angela's voice held a stern note of warning. "Soon."
"I will, Ange. I promise. But right now I really have to go."
"Yeah, Yeah. I get it." The warning was replaced by resignation. "Take care of yourself, okay sweetie?"
"I will."
Shaking her head, Brennan ended the call and put her cell phone away. She didn't understand why everyone kept expressing concern for her health. Aside from some occasional vitamin-induced nausea she'd experienced few of the negative side-effects of pregnancy that she'd been warned to expect.
Todd gestured to her again, and as she crossed to see what he wanted she gave a mental shrug. Maybe she was just in that statistical minority of women who never experienced nausea gravidarum. She should probably count herself lucky.
She did one more signing in the late afternoon on the other side of the city, then enjoyed a pleasant dinner at a local restaurant with Todd before he brought her back to the hotel. She thanked him for his help, told him she'd see him in New Orleans, and assured him that she was perfectly able to take a cab to the train station in the morning.
Once in her room she set her purse on the dresser. She was taking off her earrings when she noticed the tiny vase on the table beside the bed. Inside were a trio of bright yellow daffodils and a spray of baby's breath. A small envelope lay at its base. Brennan picked it up, not needing to read the note inside to know who had sent it.
Thinking of you was all it said. She kicked off her shoes and settled on the bed with her back against the pillows before reaching for the telephone. She was smiling, her eyes on the flowers, when he answered.
"Hey, Bones."
She found it interesting that the sound of his voice had such a strong physical effect on her, causing a slight jump in her heart rate and an increased galvanic skin response that made her shift against the pillows.
"The daffodils are beautiful," she said. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." There was a smile in his voice, along with a note of affection.
Are you at home?" she asked.
"No." He sounded tired. "Still at work."
She pictured him there. He'd undoubtedly loosened his tie and was leaning back in the chair she'd bought him a couple of years ago. Despite its excellent lumbar support, she knew his back would be bothering him by the time he left for the day.
"It's getting late," she said. "Are you working on a case?" The thought that he might be was vaguely unsettling, though she wasn't sure why. It would be unreasonable to presume that he wouldn't work cases in her absence.
"No. Just catching up on some paperwork. Hacker's been on my back about finishing these reports."
Andrew hadn't been happy when he'd learned of Brennan's pregnancy. Booth had said it was because he was jealous, but Andrew had insisted he was just worried that one of the FBI's top consultants might not be available when he needed her. Despite Brennan's reassurances he'd been behaving oddly ever since he'd heard the news.
"Is he being unreasonable? I could talk to him."
"No!" Booth's vehemence surprised her. She only wanted to help. "No, Bones. It's okay. Everything's under control."
"You're sure …"
"I'm sure." She heard the shuffle of papers, the click of a ballpoint pen. "How's the tour going?"
"Fine, so far. There was an excellent turnout at both stops today."
"Is Richardson taking good care of you? Because if he isn't …"
Brennan rolled her eyes. "My publicist is very good at his job."
"I still wish I was there to keep an eye on you myself."
"I don't need a babysitter, Booth. Besides, you can't take four weeks off work right now."
"I know, I know, I just … I miss you, all right?"
"I miss you, too." There was a moment of uncomfortable silence before she changed the subject. "Did you speak to Randy today?"
Randy Jenkins was their real estate agent. They'd agreed that Booth would start the housing search again while she was on tour. It wasn't something that could wait, since moving would become increasingly difficult for her as her pregnancy progressed.
"Only by email. He said he'd heard a rumor about something new coming on the market soon, but he couldn't give me any details yet."
"Why would he bother mentioning something that isn't even available?"
"Who knows."
"Did he at least tell you what type of place it was?"
"Nope."
"Damn."
"Yeah." His sigh matched her own. "Maybe it's time to get someone else."
"Do you have anybody in mind?"
"No, but I can talk to Cam. Maybe she knows someone."
"Let me know what she says."
"You know I will."
His voice deepened and warmed on the words, and she hated that she couldn't be with him right now. It was a familiar, if somewhat disconcerting emotion, this constant need to be close to him.
It's love, Bren. You'll get used to it. Angela's voice echoed in her mind, a memory of a conversation they'd had a few weeks ago.
"Where are you now?" he asked.
"My hotel room. I was going to do some reading, but I'm surprisingly tired. I'll probably just go to bed. The train leaves early in the morning, and I don't want to oversleep."
"New Orleans next, right?"
"Yes, but we aren't scheduled to get into the station until 7:30, so I'll eat dinner on the train and go straight to my hotel when we arrive."
"Sounds boring. You should hit the Quarter. Take in some good ol' Creole cooking, listen to some jazz ..."
"The train was your idea, remember? And it's actually quite pleasant. Besides, I'll be in New Orleans for two nights. I'm sure I'll manage to fit in some sight seeing."
"Todd's going to meet you at the station?"
"I don't expect him to. He'll be at the signing the day after tomorrow, but there's no reason for him to meet my train."
"Yes there is."
"Booth ..." She said it gently, knowing he wasn't going to like what she had to say, but knowing also that she had to say it. "You need to stop worrying. I can take care of myself."
His sigh made her shake her head. This level of concern couldn't possibly be healthy for him.
"I know you can take care of yourself," he said. "Hell, nobody knows that better than I do. But I'll still feel better when you get back."
"As will I." It was true, if only because she couldn't seem to stop herself from worrying about him in equal measure. "But try to relax. I agreed to take the train because you were convinced it was safer, even though there's no statistical data to support your claim. And Todd's with me at every stop. There's no reason for you to worry."
"Right, then." He sounded irritated with her, though she didn't know why. "I'll just turn that switch off."
"I don't understand."
She heard a faint snap, then the sound of something clattering against his desk. "Never mind."
There was a brief, awkward silence during which Brennan cast about for a way to bring their conversation back to safer waters, but Booth spoke first.
"Bones … Look. I'm sorry. It's been a long day, I'm exhausted, and I really, really hate paperwork."
"I know you do."
"You should get some sleep. Call me when you get to New Orleans, okay?"
"I will." Her gaze settled on the bright yellow flowers in their tiny vase, and she picked them up, closing her eyes as she inhaled their sweet fragrance. "Booth?"
"What?"
"Thanks again for the flowers."
"You're welcome again," he said, his voice soft and warm once more. "Goodnight, Bones."
"Goodnight, Booth."