Note: And here we go with the numbers series. Some may be AU, some may not, it's very much up in the air at this point.
Also, this one? Not terribly happy. But that's probably clear from the title.
Title: One (is the loneliest number)
AU? Not at the start, anyway.
Disclaimer: I don't own them
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Brennan carefully placed the last fork on the table and stepped back to admire her work. The tablecloth hung evenly on all sides of the table. The five place settings were perfectly centered on the place mats. The fresh flowers in the centerpiece contrasted nicely with the table linens.
The oven timer buzzed and she went back into the kitchen to put the finishing touches on the meal. By the time her doorbell rang, she had everything under control in the kitchen.
Angela and Hodgins were the first to arrive, and Angela was her usual cheery self, talking non-stop about how good the meal smelled, the difficulties of finding clothes that fit now that her regular clothes were too tight but she wasn't pregnant enough for maternity clothes, and the sunset they had witnessed from the car.
They hung their coats in the front closet and Brennan offered them drinks – wine for Hodgins, sparkling water for Angela.
The three of them had no sooner settled onto the couch than the doorbell rang again as the remaining guests arrived.
Soon, the food was ready and the group settled itself around the table. They had all traveled extensively, and they swapped stories about the problems they had run into – government officials who didn't approve of an excavation, the challenges of a woman chasing a story in a country that didn't exactly encourage independence in its women, running out of money in a small town in South America.
Angela's morning sickness kicked in as soon as she smelled the rice side dish, and as she scraped her portion onto Hodgins plate, he made a joke about eating for two, his eyes twinkling as he grinned at his wife.
By the time the meal was over, everyone was full, each of them complaining that they couldn't eat a bite more, but when Brennan brought out the apple pie she had picked up for dessert, they managed to find room. In fact, Booth somehow managed to eat two pieces, proclaiming it the best pie he had eaten all week.
They retired to the living room – Booth arm around Hannah as they sat on the couch; Angela cuddled into a chair with Hodgins; Brennan sitting on the remaining chair. The conversation was light as they touched on such diverse topics as Parker's latest hockey game, Angela's high school reunion, and the best place to get a pedicure in DC.
By the time her guests left, Booth's hand resting proprietorially at the small of Hannah's back, Brennan was exhausted. When had all of her friends become couples?
BbB
"Hey, Sweetie." Angela breezed into Brennan's office like she usually did, walking over to plant herself beside the desk.
Brennan reluctantly looked away from the computer. "Hi, Angela."
Angela took this as an invitation and sat on a corner of the desk. "Thanks for having us all over last night. We need to get together more – you know, when no human remains involved."
Brennan smiled weakly. "Oh. Yes, I had a nice time, too."
Angela rubbed her hands together. "That's why I was thinking we should all go to the opening of the new paleontology exhibit. We can get dinner first, then show up for the big ceremony."
Brennan swiveled her chair to look at her friend. "I don't know."
Angela waggled her eyebrows. "Come on, it'll be fun. You, me and Hodgins, Booth and Hannah, Sweets and Daisy. I think I've even convinced Cam to bring her new man. I can't believe they've been dating for two months and we haven't even met him!"
Brennan made a show of consulting her calendar. "Sorry, Ange, I'm busy that night. I'll be out of town – I have a book-signing in Chicago."
"Oh." Angela stood, disappointment written across her face. "Well, maybe we can reschedule and just have dinner another time."
"No." Brennan shook her head. "You guys go ahead without me. Have a good time."
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Brennan walked into her apartment and dropped her bag by the door, not really sure how she felt about the decision that lay before her.
When she had first considered having a child, it had been a spur of the moment decision, something she hadn't even known she wanted until the words left her mouth. When Booth had changed his mind, she had been disappointed, but when he was rushed into surgery, she had put the idea aside.
Angela's pregnancy had brought it crashing back. She heard Angela complaining about cravings and morning sickness, and she wondered how it felt. She watched Angela's balance shift as her body adjusted to the new life inside of her, and she imagined her own body going through a similar change.
She pictured Angela holding her newborn child, and a wave of jealousy threatened to overwhelm her.
She had a good job, sufficient financial resources. She could adequately provide for a child. Why couldn't it be her?
Of course, pregnancy required a man, and it's not like she was seeing anyone. In fact it had been … how long had it been? She counted back, stunned at the realization that between work and writing and Booth, she hadn't made time for a relationship, for sex, in an embarrassing number of months.
She supposed she could go out, find someone who would be willing to father her child, but that seemed … inadequate. Wrong, really. She wasn't sure she could let a man touch her.
The irrational thought made her angry. Why should she sit around, celibate as a nun, because of her newly-realized feelings for her partner?
He had at one time claimed that he wanted more with her, but he didn't seem to have any trouble moving on. Why couldn't she do the same?
Even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew it didn't matter – she couldn't have a child with a man she barely knew.
That left one option.
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Negative.
Brennan sat on the bathroom floor, her eyes blindly staring at the pregnancy test that dangled from her hand.
All of that effort – picking the perfect candidate from the sperm bank, the hormones, the budding hope that she would end up with a child to love, to teach, to share her life with – for nothing.
She had failed.
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Once, she had been content on her own. She had been her own person, doing what she wanted when she wanted without having to consult anyone else.
Over the last seven years, her independence and detachment had disappeared, swept away in a tide of "Come on, Bones, lunch time"s and "Don't give me that, sweetie, you are coming with me to that club"s and "You look just like your mother"s.
Now, though, the people who made her feel connected, part of a group, had moved on, found others to spend their time with. She was left alone, bereft, unable to remember how to be happy by herself.
Chiding herself for her overly-dramatic thoughts, she picked up her keys and drove back to work. There, at least, she was needed.
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She could feel the music. As she made her way through the crowd, she wondered if she should advise the management about the known dangers of excessive, prolonged noise.
The other patrons didn't seem to mind as they gyrated on the dance floor.
An hour ago, sick of moping, she had decided that she should go out, have fun, maybe meet a sexual partner. Bars were an accepted venue for such things, so she had googled the hottest bar in DC and called a cab.
Now she was surrounded by people, yet she'd never felt more alone.
She had to persevere. She had come here with an objective, and she intended to see it through. First, though, she needed a drink. The bartender was at the other end of the bar, and she waited somewhat impatiently for him to make his way back to her end.
Someone bumped into her and she stumbled, bumping into someone else in turn. "I'm sorry", she said as she turned to face the person she'd hit.
"It's OK", the man answered, smiling. "It's pretty crowded in here."
Relieved that he wasn't angry, Brennan smiled back. "Yes! Someone just ran into me – but I guess you know that."
The man shook his head in mock dismay. "And here I thought you just wanted to meet me." He held out his hand. "I'm Doug, by the way."
Brennan shook his hand. "Temperance."
The bartender approached and Doug signaled him over. Nodding at the empty bottle on the bar, he said, "I'll have another beer, and Temperance will have ..." He turned to Brennan.
Slowly, she smiled. "I've always wanted to try one of those drinks with an umbrella in them."
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They walked together into the night, leaving the noisy crowd behind, Doug's hand at the small of her back. A cab appeared down the block, and Brennan asked, "Do you want to come home with me?"
Doug shook his head. "Not tonight. But I would very much like to see you again."
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She spent an hour trying on clothes – bright red lingerie or cream? Dress or form-fitting pants? Heels that made her legs look endless, or flats so that they were the same height?
She even considered filling her bedroom with candles before discarding the idea as too romantic. This wasn't about love – it was about moving on.
When Doug kissed her the first time, it had initially felt strange, wrong. His cologne was a little too strong, his hair a little too curly. When she opened her eyes, the eyes that sparkled back at her were blue, not brown. It wasn't until late that night that she realized that the last man she kissed had been Booth.
Over the past few weeks, she had adjusted. They had had several dates – an art showing, rock climbing, a behind the scenes tour of the Jeffersonian – and they had grown closer. Well, intellectually closer. Physically, they hadn't gone much beyond that first tentative kiss.
That was going to change tonight.
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"Doug wants us to move in together."
Angela stopped, french fry half way to her mouth. "Oh."
Brennan took a sip from her coffee. "I'm thinking of saying yes."
The baby stirred, and Angela rocked the car seat as she asked, "Is that what you want?"
Brennan's eyes met Angela's. "We agree on so many things, Ange – he's a vegetarian, his career is as important to him a mine is to me, he's very intelligent, we share interests... I don't think we've ever had a real fight."
Angela picked up her fussy daughter, patting her back as she turned her attention back to Brennan. "As long as you're happy, sweetie."
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"I'll leave in the morning."
Tears glistened in Doug's eyes as Brennan sat beside him. "I'm sorry", she said, hating herself for the pain she was causing him.
She wanted to feel angry, to scream and fight, but all she felt was guilt and an overwhelming numbness. She had thought that cohabitating was the right choice, but she had felt smothered almost as soon as he had moved in. When she tried to read, he wanted to talk. When she worked on her book, he watched TV, the volume up just high enough to make concentration impossible. When she went into the kitchen, there would be a dirty dish sitting in the otherwise pristine sink.
She had started to resent him until the only possible solution was for him to leave.
Desperate to do something to make it better, she took his hand and led him to the bedroom. She didn't know what to say, so she kissed him.
Their clothes fell to the floor and they stumbled to the bed, neither of them willing to break the connection. He entered her and as they moved together, a tear rolled down his cheek and fell onto hers. She tightened her arms around him, hoping he'd be able to feel how much she regretted hurting him.
When they were done, they lay facing each others, whispering their regrets. They fell asleep with their arms around each other.
She woke alone.
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Wow, that was … so not where I thought this was going to go. And I suspect there may now be a worldwide comma shortage. Suggestions for 2?