A/N: I think I just might be back in the game. Thanks to SSJL for the look-over.
A million clichés come to my mind. Heart in my throat. Time stopping. Stomach dropping to the floor.
"What?"
"Who are you? If you aren't my wife, and the dream wasn't real, who are you?"
"I... I'm... your..." So many times we've explained to people that we are just partners. But there's more to it... I don't know what it is. But I can't believe that he can't remember. I was his... "Bones. Well, Temperance Brennan. But you call me Bones."
"Bren," he whispers.
"Angela calls me Bren, sometimes, but you always call me Bones."
"Angela? Our hostess?"
"Angela is an art-" it clicked. His dream. "Tell me about it. Tell me about your dream, Booth."
"It seemed so real."
"Tell me," I beg. "Tell me what happened."
"We were...married. And we owned a nightclub. And... my brother..."
"Jared," I supply.
"Jared," his tongue trips slightly over the word. "Jared killed..." he interrupted himself. "But if you're not my wife..."
"Your partner. We work together. I'm a forensic anthropologist. You're with the FBI. We solve murders."
"You said... you said you were glad we were nightclub owners and not crime solvers."
"But we're not nightclub owners. And we are crime solvers."
"The baby..."
"What?"
"You were pregnant."
"I'm not. We... I... but... I'm not."
"In my... dream? It seemed so real. We were so..."
"So what?"
He looks at me, and I can see it. My Booth. He's in there somewhere.
"In love."
A/N: Well?