So... I was supposed to be working on Absolute Faith during the week but I could not get it done. Too darn HAPPY! I can't write angst when I'm grinning ear to ear. Can't, won't, this is what popped out instead. LOL.

(Don't worry, the next chapter of A/F is in the editing stage. It'll just be delayed until Sat or Sun.)

Those of you who were brave enough to wade through my insanely long story, A Face on Every Skull, and got to chapter 19, have already read the first little segment at the start of this story. Consider it a prequel because it mentions 'At Last' and Cyndi Lauper sang an incredible rendition of 'At Last' for the wedding procession and ... Ha! I knew that song was perfect for them. :P

Episode tag to the Woman in White.

~Q~

Last Minute Decisions

~Q~

May 2006

When bold tangerine sunlight started spilling into her apartment, she took a last, fortifying gulp of coffee because it was time to finish dressing and head out to work. The time would be edging past six-thirty by the time she left and traffic would soon get crazy.

Etta James crooned softly from the stereo that life was like a song (since he came along) as Brennan rifled through her earrings. Every pair had a story and a place attached, some more compelling than others. Her fingers brushed over a rounded metal disk, familiar, and she pinched the disk between them, lifting out her mother's earring. This one had the longest story, more than one place and more than one time. Studying it, she traced the circular swell in the center while her eyes cast down for its mate. Booth flashed in her mind, mated to the earrings now that he'd risked his career and even his freedom to restore the missing one to her.

She felt her pulse throb a little harder as it often did lately when thinking of her partner. Excitement mingled with peace, agitation mixed with surety, cocky twirled around sweet; everything contradicted with itself where he was concerned. A strange sensation of movement rippled low in her belly, prompting Brennan to renew her vow to seek out the physiological explanation for 'butterflies in the stomach.' Angela had described it thus to her once, and she could not deny that the roiling tumble did indeed resemble the brush of soft wings. What caused that feeling? (Aside from Booth himself, that is.)

Slipping the earrings into her lobes on a whim, Brennan reached for a suitably similar necklace and rushed out of her room. She'd wasted enough time while Etta sighed, "You smiled, oh, and then the spell was cast."

Booth's smile could definitely cast spells. Grabbing her bag and keys, Brennan sighed herself, wondering what was wrong with her.

~Q~

21 Oct 2013

"Sweetie, don't worry about anything. It's all taken care of."

"Angela, I still don't understand how you did all of this so fast." Brennan's voice was muffled as her white gown drifted over her and settled to the floor in a swish of silk and organza.

Fussing over the skirts, shaking out all but the most becoming creases, Angela paused at the back - just about to zip it - and chuckled at her best friend's astonishment. "I arranged my first wedding to Hodgins in less than a week. Remember? This time, everything was pretty much done by you and Booth. The only challenge was getting flowers and letting everyone know about the change in location on such short notice."

"Thank you."

It was soft, simply stated as Brennan's rarefied moments of sincere appreciation often were. Angela zipped her up and stood back to admire the effect. The vintage style and classic lines perfectly suited the bride wearing it, as if the dress were made for her. (Well, in fact, it was. Childhood dreams belonged even to rational, reserved geniuses and it was Angela's pleasure to help recreate it.) Brennan's gratitude covered both the dress and the last-minute change of venue, but Angela had not worked her organizational magic for only her best friend. Sheepishly, she confessed, "I'm doing this for Booth as much as I am for you. Kinda figure I owe him one."

"You still haven't apologized?"

"I will, I will. Just ... not today. Okay? Today it's not about me. This is my way of not getting in the way. It's all about the two of you, which is the natural order of things." Angela bit her lip, fighting back another wave of tears. Given all that her friend had suffered, all the pain and the seemingly endless, unrewarded struggles, to have finally ended up here... No. No apologies today. Nothing but joy for the both of them.

Tucking stray strands of hair back into place, smoothing the skirts, she looked into Brennan's sea-mist eyes and felt an odd swell of pride that choked her up again. She's come so far, she's grown so much, but she's still stubborn, innocent, brash Brennan, and I never want her to change. Great, now Angela was starting to sound like Brennan's mother, (which was a ridiculous notion given they were the exact same age), and that feeling was certainly not helped any by Brennan's pedantic insistence on referring to Angela as the Matron of Honor. Angela barely refrained from rolling her eyes just at the thought, but she was glad to think it because her wayward bemusement helped distract her from crying yet again. (She was running out of mascara.) Sister, Angela declared firmly in thought. I'm the sister of the bride.

Metaphorically speaking, added a soft whisper in a manner that sounded suspiciously like Brennan.

Her musings was interrupted by a knock on the office door followed by a gilded head poking through. "I'm here, Temperance. Ooohh... You look beautiful. He'll be dazzled all over again."

"Do you really think so?" Brennan looked down at the dress Angela had helped her with, suddenly self-conscious at being dressed in such conspicuous clothing. Everyone would be staring at her, but not like when she read from a chapter at a bookstore or gave a presentation. Not like speeches, receiving awards or teaching classes. Not because she had accomplished something. Not even because she'd committed a vocal blunder and offended everyone within earshot. No, everyone would be staring at her because of the iconic dress and all of the anthropological meaning it conveyed of white, virginal blushing brides being handed off to an unknown fate. The virginal attire suggested a woman who'd had no hand in choosing her own mate. Hadn't she insisted only a few months ago that she would not wear white?

Yes, she had. Something had changed only two weeks ago when her last bit of self defense surrendered to the faith she'd developed for her partner. When she'd trusted Booth with her heart and future (and he came through), the last barrier whispered away and Booth had breathed life into dreams that had heretofore no hope of revival. It was a surreal experience to wear bridal white, so filmy and feminine, so very much not who she was anymore but just a tiny glimpse of who she'd wanted to be (when she was eight years old). Just for one day, she could be the princess she'd dreamed of being. Would Booth be dazzled?

Avalon Harmonia thought so.

Did she want him to be? No. She just wanted him to know - wanted everyone to know - that she (Dr. Temperance Brennan, holder of three PhDs, numerous awards and accolades, international prestige, and author of several best-selling novels), had chosen Seeley Booth freely. That was why the letter she'd written to him from inside the car was tucked into her decolletage, because her words from seven years ago would provide the proof that she has loved him for years. As close as they were, this was something he still didn't know and today she would finally tell him. Her pulse raced in anticipation and an influx of nervous adrenaline, the confused jumble of thoughts and physical sensations almost too much to process. Brennan wished fervently for an x-ray or journal article right then - anything to calm the growing riot in her mind.

"You remember the first time I told you he is dazzled by you," Avalon admonished, pulling her half out of the incipient panic with an opportunity to argue.

She grasped the debate most gratefully, using the familiarity of logical repartee to steady herself. Even if it wasn't arguing-with-Booth (always the best medicine), it would help. "I was on pain medication."

"You remember." Their eyes held, Brennan's rimmed in khol that brought out their startling silver light and Avalon's sparkling with remembered certainty even all those years ago because the cards had spoken. And, "The cards are never wrong."

While the two determined women politely butted heads over the veracity of Tarot cards, Angela kept busy tucking the borrowed, old, and blue pin into Brennan's hair, smiling at both the lovely flashes of glittering light from the rhinestones and her best friend's endless skepticism even in the face of evidence. It was plain to see that Booth was dazzled by his soon-to-be-wife and Avalon had indeed predicted an eventual happy union four years prior.

Whether Avalon's cards were wrong or right was rather a moot point given the wedding was about to begin. Brennan smoothed her hands uneasily over the gown, still a bit dazed that it was actually happening. At last.

Suddenly she looked up. "Oh!"

"What, 'Oh?' What's wrong?" There had better not be anything wrong, Angela thought with a twist of dread. Nothing could derail them now, not when they were so close.

"We were going to have Clarke's Prince of Denmark March played at the church for the processional but we can't do that here."

"Oh, don't worry, Temperance. That's what I came to tell you." Avalon smiled and revealed, "Angela asked me here to sing for you."

Brennan turned to Angela, startled. "She sings?"

"Better than Cyndi Lauper," Angela confirmed.

"My mother always said I sang better than Cyndi Lauper," Brennan informed Avalon, who simply smiled indulgently.

"There's a particular song with lyrics that you'd like, am I right? Since it seems fate has decided to eliminate the Prince of Denmark March."

"Well played, Fate," Angela murmured sardonically.

"I don't care about that," the bride dismissed. "I only chose the march because I thought Booth wanted a traditional Catholic wedding and the Church forbids Mendelssohn's Wedding March. I prefer Jazz."

A bemused maid of honor (not matron, no matter what her marital status) raised her brows and chuckled at the blunt discarding of tradition. "Well then, what song would you have chosen?"

There was only one song she could imagine. Brennan closed her eyes, thinking back to a sunny morning almost eight years ago when she'd played a jazz tune while getting dressed. Her mother's earrings, freshly reunited, had brought to mind her partner while the song that played fit itself to him as well, and the entire moment, (that span of a minute), had revealed his place in her life. That was the morning she started to realize she was falling in love with Booth. It would take her a few more months to recognize it fully (aided by a brush with death that lasted long enough for her to write the note that proved it and rested now against her heart in wait for the moment she would read it to him At Last), but Etta James had sung the truth to her that long ago morning. Years had passed and she had waited for him, the timing never right to give him the proof in her letter.

But at last it was the right day. At Last.

There could be no more suitable song than that one.

Blinking back a burn of liquid emotion, Brennan turned to Avalon with her foolishly romantic request. "Could you sing At Last? I know you don't have much time to prepare."

Wearing her most mystic smile, Avalon chuckled and turned to go. "Temperance, of course I'm prepared. I saw this moment five years ago and at last it's finally here."

Confused again, Brennan sensed Angela coming at her with a tissue and a stern warning to stop crying. "What does she mean," Brennan asked, using befuddlement to try and evaporate the apparently forbidden fluid.

And her friend dabbled at the liquid threatening to ruin the smoky masterpiece of Brennan's eyes. "She told me on the phone this morning that she's been practicing 'At Last' for the last two weeks, ever since I told her Booth got Pelant."

"But, I just now asked her. And..."

Angela laughed. "The cards are never wrong. Just go with it."

~Q~

The feeling of unreality only seemed to increase as Angela handed her the bridal bouquet and tugged on her hand, leading her out of the safe cocoon of her office into her father's warm arms. His eyes crinkled up as the same sturdy touch from her misty childhood wrapped around her. "You're beautiful, Tempe. Just like your mother was. Just like her..."

"Dad..."

"No, no, you two stop that!" Angela stamped a foot and pulled them apart with an exasperated tug. "I just fixed her makeup for the third time."

Brennan nodded, obedient for once, and Max offered the cheeky grin that never failed to get him out of trouble. "Can't a father be proud of his daughter on her wedding day?"

"Not if you're going to make her cry," Angela growled but there was too much happiness in her eyes to make it a real threat.

Setting pace with her father, Brennan glided out on his arm, finding that she almost seemed to be outside of herself as they passed the familiar lab equipment and exited the lab entirely. Her abdomen roiled in anticipation the way it always did when she had to give a speech. She gathered up the filmy skirts (how odd it felt to walk through a laboratory - her lab! - wearing this princess costume. Like Halloween, only ...) her analytical thoughts tripped to a halt.

They were standing outside, blinking into sunlight.

Her nervous tension soared upwards and she clutched at her father's arm desperately. "Oh, God." So many people, even from here on the steps, and she still had so much further to walk just to get to Booth and the audience that always seemed to hang on their every interaction.

"Easy, Tempe. You'll be fine. You've come this far, you can go the rest of the way."

They crossed the distance in a blur, Brennan's mind taking refuge in a memory of crossing this expanse barefoot and hopping along after Booth (more like a rabbit than a duck, really, but he had said ducks). He needed his ducks in a row, and she wasn't one of them. She wasn't sure why his ducks needed to be lined up or what he would do with them but she wanted to be his duck. Even then.

"I don't know what that means, but I think I can be a duck!" That's what she'd told him, bouncing along behind, trying to catch up.

He wasn't having it, so she blackmailed him, just to make sure it happened. That morning he'd truly entered her life; that morning was when everything started to change.

They were getting closer to the assembled guests, approaching the fountain. She was so uneasy now, so swirled in disbelief of what was taking place that Brennan wanted to turn and run before all those people saw her. They could elope, right? Her father's hand covered hers and gave a reassuring squeeze. "Tempe, look. There he is."

She obeyed, the last command her father would ever give her and she was compelled by the affection in his voice to do what he'd said. She looked up into Booth's breath-stolen face (she could see he'd stopped breathing, just like she had and the mutual shock of recognition, of seeing what they could do to each other, jolted through her). His eyes warmed and watered and then he smiled. ...the most heartfelt, enchanted, beautiful smile... just like every other time he'd beguiled her with nothing more than a glance.

It was always the same result: Booth smiled and her disquiet dissolved.

Everything stopped.

The universe vanished.

Avalon began to sing.

There was nothing now but Booth's smile and Avalon's voice rippling over them like warm silk ribbons winding around and drawing them together. She moved forward in a dreamy bliss, carried along by the spell of his smile and the tether of his loving gaze.

At last
My love has come along
My lonely days are over
And life is like a song

Oh yeah yeah
At last

The skies above are blue
My heart was wrapped up in clover
The night I looked at you

I found a dream, that I could speak to
A dream that I can call my own
I found a thrill to press my cheek to
A thrill that I have never known

Oh yeah yeah
You smiled, you smiled
Oh and then the spell was cast
And here we are in heaven
for you are mine...

At Last

Her father lifted her hand with another gentle squeeze and placed it into Booth's as Avalon's rich voice crooned, "At last..." The spell broke: she was there, at last, standing beside Booth on their wedding day.

Brennan turned back briefly to address the crowd. "This is not one man ceremonially handing over a woman to another man as if she were property. Okay?"