I leaned against the cold wall of my bedroom, one hand clenching my too big shirt- a souvenir Harry and husband number 3 had taken while "honeymooning" in Italy – while with the other I pressed the phone against my ear, as it could help to feel Ryan closer than he was- and not states away.

Part of me wanted to believe every word he spoke, wanted them to mean what I knew they couldn't; Ryan and I had known each other for almost twenty years, and even if for a short while our roads had crossed, too many things had happened. It wasn't like I didn't want him: I still did.

But I was too scared that he didn't want me. that he believed himself too damaged to be able to love again, after what had happened to Lily just few months before.

I shook myself, and called myself a stupid as Ryan repeated once again the same sentence, his voice filled with regret, fear, hesitation and something else I couldn't- or didn't want – to see.

"I should have been there, Temp." He paused, and I felt a traitor tear wetting my check, as I tried my best to suppress the memories. Hawaii. South America. Canada, Montreal, Charlotte… he was always there, in every room of my memory palace, his smile, his humor, his spectacular blue eyes… and his body. The way I felt when I touched him. or when I touched him. "I should have been there for you."

I desperately wanted to believe him- but then, he stopped calling, and between everything- work, mama, Mary Louse and McGee's arrest and persecution, I forgot all about it.

I took a big breath and berated myself: it was a lie. I hadn't stopped thinking about Ryan, he was always there, appearing every now and there in my thoughts as he belonged there.

Maybe he did. Maybe he would always have.

But I wasn't the kind of woman to run after a man, and that day, when he had showed up at my doorstep to tell me of Lily, and then called it a mistake, just to vanish afterwards for two whole months, with only that one email between us… well, I guess that I read the message all clear.

Or so I thought. Because I was in for an hell of a surprise…

How many people had told him, in the years, that before getting married, you always, always had to meet the mother? He had lost count. It wasn't a matter of courtesy for his "friends" at the district, he and the guys always joked that the only reason you had to meet the in-laws was to see how the chosen girl would be in 20, 30 years or whatever.

Back then, while drinking beer or whatever with his "buddies", he would have laughed, high-fived them and agreed wholeheartedly, despite lacking knowledge in the whole getting married business.

Today, though, he was there for a far more "intimate" and old-fashioned reason, but well, could God kill him in the spot if his friends' words didn't resonate in his ears after seeing the woman right before his eyes. Because he didn't need to ask the personnel, or call her name out loud, to know who exactly she was; white hair cut pixie-short, her skin preserved, as she had told him, by creams, lifts and injections, and maybe the flesh was looser, the wrinkles deeper, but there was no mistaking the set jaw with the air of tension and guardedness, and those deep green eyes- Temperance's eyes.

And yet, he called her name anyway; not because he needed confirmation, but because of the far-away look- The cancer? The bipolar disorder? The drugs? – that suggested she was somewhere else, that wasn't seeing him there.

"Madame?" he called her once in his native tongue. "Mrs. Brennan?"

She turned then, and looked at him with such an intensity he felt like she was reading him, see right through him, the facade and the lies and the sufferance and regret and everything else, and he gulped down a mouthful of saliva as he kneeled at her side, so that they were eye-level for the incoming conversation; they both stayed in silence for a long time- something that felt like a week- and then, when Ryan opened his mouth, she beat him to the draw.

"Ah… my darling's young man… detective… Andrew Ryan, oui?" As he blushed at the endearment, lowering his eyes as he had been a schoolboy caught with his first crush, she looked at him deeply, smiling of an enigmatic smile, filled with sorrow and sweetness- and maybe regret for the life she knew she was losing, and fear for the daughters and the grandchildren and the great-granddaughter she was leaving behind; Daisy Brennan looked at him like there was a secret she and only she knew about- and maybe she did. After all, he and Temperance hadn't talked too much, how could he know that Temperance hadn't told her everything? She had recognized him, knew immediately who he was, after all… what else did she know? How much?

He closed his eyes and mentally shook his head- Temperance wasn't that kind of person. She would have never betrayed him like that. His life- and Lily's- was a tale only his to tell.

"I was told your daughter was ill. I'm sorry for your loss." She simply said. He looked at her, caught off-guard. Ill, she had said. Not… rotten, or any other word often used to describe addicts.

Ill.

Because that was how Temperance had explained his situation to her own mother. Because Daisy Brennan had probably asked- demanded, maybe – a reason why her child was still alone.

Ill.

And maybe, just maybe… it was how Temperance had seen Lily. How she still saw him- Hadn't she told him herself the same sentence- or something like that- just few months before, on her porch? But he hadn't listened. He rarely did when other spoke. He almost never did when it was Brennan talking to him, trying to bring down his defenses and his walls.

Because, frankly, this is what his exile had been about. Staying away from her. the truth he didn't want for her to see- that he wasn't the man she still loved, but a failure and a wreck who ruined everything he touched.

I'm sorry. This was a mistake. He had told her that very evening- and he still remembered how she had looked, like he had just stabbed her. And how desperately he had wanted to tell her those same words again when she had found him in Costa Rica. Or when she had seen him crying in her garden just a matter of weeks before.

Costa Rica had been a good… disguise for his emotions. Over there- even when she had joined him- he could pretend he didn't care, that he didn't want to have to deal with her and her (their) job any longer. But the job was one thing. Temperance…

He had gotten back for her- although reluctantly. He had promised her 24 hours. Stayed weeks. Booked an hotel. Moved into her home. Promised himself to be a mean bastard. Fallen all over, and even more, in love with her when he had seen what kind of bastard he was being, and how it was affecting her.

Yes. He was a big softie when Temperance Brennan was involved. He had promised himself to stop, but he couldn't. and if he wanted to be completely honest… he didn't want to. Not any longer.

Hence, the reason he was visiting her mother. As old-fashioned as it was. Despite the fact that they were both in their forties. Despite having been on-off for a good decade.

"Madame, there' something I'd like to ask you…" he smiled of a little, sad smile, blushing yet again.

When Temperance Brennan was involved, the old Andrew Ryan was no more.

"Have you seen your young man, darlin'? Monsieur le detective…" Mama looked at me conspicuously, like she often did lately when talking about Andrew Ryan.

Regaining my composure, and resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I got closer to her. her scent was the usual, high-priced European soap, and forced myself to not cry as I committed this little piece of info to memory.

How long did we still have? I didn't know- not even Luna Finch could say. Mama refused to keep seeing her doctor, and he didn't see why bothering with a patient who refused any kind of treatment. I wasn't bothering with begging her to accept chemo any longer too: only harry did, every now and then, but every time Mama just waved her hand around to dismiss her childish and knowing-nothing daughter.

"I haven't seen him in a while." Ryan had called twice after the arrest, each time saying again and again how sorry he was that he hadn't been there to protect me. I did my best to not see anything in his words, but I was failing miserably: when he spoke with me, all I could think about, all I could see, where the good memories. And those, I craved to have them back.

Mama didn't add a word. She just smiled in that weird way of hers- like she knew a secret she didn't want to share with me, or like I wasn't seeing the obvious right before my eyes- and then, patting my knee like I was still a child, she switched topic, without pressing on the matter.

I leaned at the door when I left Ryan outside, blushing like a schoolgirl- not an unusual feeling since I met him almost twenty years ago. I stood there, taking the known, things in my family from years. Sometimes generations.

And then, my eyes fell on the drawing Mary Louise had made of Birdie. And I stopped seeing- anything but ice-blue eyes. And I heard the words that Ryan hadn't said out loud. The offer of an altered future. Endless uncertain possibilities. Impediments I could neither foresee nor control.

Marry me. I'm proposing. Marriage.

But hadn't my life ben just like that until that point? Yes, science had given some kind of order to my existence- and that, maybe, was the big difference between me and Harry – but before that… before that, there was the uncertainty of a future with Daisy. I didn't blame her, and she was my mama. I loved her and cherished all her memories, even the ones of her leaving, following her last love or her newest passion- was it a man or an interest or a new clinic, it didn't matter.

I felt a smile nudge my lips. I had been through that before, and I hadn't come out all that bad- divorce included. Life had been kind with me.

It could be again. I just had to grasp this opportunity. But could I really do it? Ryan's escape to South America was still fresh, in my mind a betrayal. But I guessed there was more than that. I knew, intellectually, that he hadn't abandoned me; by leaving me behind, he was, more than anything, punishing himself for faults that he still wasn't sure weren't his.

I forgave Pete time after time in my marriage to him- despite the fact that he was being infidel to me. Could I do the same with Ryan, who had been infidel to none other than himself?

I knew the answer, and despite my words, I knew that I had found it in that tree-house, when, seeing him for the first time in months, I had suddenly realized how much I had missed him. How much my life- and not only my bed- felt empty without his mere presence.

One way or another, I wanted Ryan in my life, and when, few weeks before, I had feared that he would have turned his back on me, asked to be assigned to cases that didn't have to deal with my area of expertise…. I had suffered. Of a pain I didn't know I could still feel, just like the day I realized that my wedding was over, and there was nothing else I could do to save it, despite wanting the opposite.

I just didn't want Ryan. I wanted him in my life- wanted for him to be part of it, and not out of convenience; I should have probably realized it sooner- after all, after our break-up I hadn't dated seriously any longer, and not for the lack of occasions. But because none of them felt right. Every time I would have asked: is it because of Ryan? I've never been able to answer.

Now, I did. And the answer was yes: it was his fault.

It had always been Ryan's fault.

Ryan. How crazy was it that I still called him, like that? When we were dating, I didn't usually use nicknames, and even then, more than Andy, he had been simply Ryan. Even if we had known each other for almost twenty years.

I was Temperance. Temp. Baby. Cupcake. But for me, he was Ryan. I didn't think that it would have changed, engagement or marriage or whatever. We were buried too deep in our roles to change now, and I didn't want for it to happen anyway: wasn't that the way I had fallen for him, after all?

(Besides the nice ass and the general hotness, of course.)

With energy I hadn't felt in a long time- not even after cups and cups of the strongest coffee- I opened the door, hoping that he hadn't left already; I knew we were going to see each other again in the evening, but I wanted to answer him now. Ryan had been instinctive with his proposal, I wanted to do the same, not thinking again and again- and maybe talk myself out of accepting- nor I wanted for him to rehearse it and do something as stupid as buying me a ring; I was over forty and with a grown-up daughter who served in the military. I didn't need a ring- not from him, anyway.

But, he wasn't there. I decided to try with the patio, where, sitting on an wrought-iron bench, I had founded him crying on our first week working back together; I was right, he was still there, nervously smoking a cigarette- or maybe cigarette after cigarette.

"You are not staying at the hostel?" I asked him. Ryan shook his head, looking at me like he was dreaming- or seeing me for the first time, me- the woman he wanted. The only one he had ever asked to marry him. The one he had waited for even when it seemed that there could be nothing more than friendship between us, even when he was sharing his life with someone else.

I sat at his side, allowed my head to rest on his shoulder as I seek the comfort of his body. We stayed like that for a long time, then, we got back inside, without saying a word. And as Birdie watched the Bones reruns, purring every time Hodgins appeared on the screen, I finally answered Ryan, in the most primal way possible.

There would have been time for the rest. For him to explain when he had decided to propose. If he and mama were sharing some kind of secrets. And what we would have done about our lives- and our jobs- after the wedding.

But, as I said, there was time for that.

For now, I just was going to allow Ryan and his calming presence to keep the nightmares at bay.