Title: The Ship That Sailed

Rating: Mild T for some kissy kissy

Spoilers: All aired episodes, including the first episode of S6. No spoilers.

Disclaimer: Bones does not belong to me. The genius behind it is in Hart Hanson's hands, along with FOX, the various other producers and writers and creative minds behind the show, as well as the talented Emily Deschanel and David Boreanaz.

Summary: The definition of insanity is doing something over and over again, expecting a different outcome. Well, what if this time, it really was different?

Author's Notes: Yes, I was inspired by someone's recent nuptials, but not to worry – this is a product of positive, HAPPY feelings. And I love weddings. And the ocean. And I especially love a happy ending. The song that was quoted here is "One Friend Left" by Dan Seals.

The ceremony was short, mercifully so. The vows were written by the bride and groom, and promises were made underneath the starry sky above the harbor, where bright constellations wove in and out of patches of clouds, moving in ancient patterns. There were fairy lights strung across the posts and woven into translucent sheets decorating the wide wooden slats that punctuated the edge of the water. There was a string quartet playing in the background, and white linen on the small round tables decorated with seashells and candles. Lobsters and oysters, freshly harvested that morning and kept in saltwater tanks until the wedding dinner, were served by elegantly-dressed waiters slipping in and out of the circle of tables. Carafes of a crisp white wine were circulated, and champagne was poured from beautiful crystalline bottles, sparkling in the candlelight.

"Hey Bones," said a bright-eyed boy of thirteen, his blonde curls form childhood cut short, "will you dance with me?"

Temperance Brennan smiled and pushed her seat aside, feeling the sand crunch underneath her sandals. They were all dressed for the beach – or at least, an elegant version of beachwear, all white lace and blue cotton and pressed khaki. "Sure, Parker," she smiled indulgently, taking the boy by the hand and allowing him to lead her towards the open space in front of the band. He was already at that age when he noticed girls. In a few more years, she thought as she held hands with Parker and started swaying to the music, he would lose the roundness of his cheeks and limbs, lengthen and grow into a young adult. She felt an irrational moment of sadness – she had known Parker since he was four, and now he was at the cusp of his teen years. But she shook her head to dispel the thoughts, and allowed Parker to lead her through an intricate dance that seemed to involve arms and elbows and jumping up and down whenever someone shouted "Macarena!"

Later on, when the moon reached its apex and bathed the gently rolling waves with a silver light, the groom's best man stood up for the first toast. His broad shoulders were enhanced by the thin white cotton of his button-down shirt and his cropped brown hair seemed to swallow the reflection of the wavering lights. "When I first worked with the Medico-Legal lab at the Jeffersonian," began Seeley Booth, his dark eyes dancing happily for the first time in months, "I had to deal with a group of the most brilliant, most insane group of people – people who had no idea that judges were not to be punched in the nose, who had anger management issues and drank illegal moonshine brewed at the lab which I should have arrested them for, who saw through the bullshit and right into the heart of the truth. I thought I was working with a bunch of squints, but it turned out that I was working with family – dysfunctional, sure, and crazier than loons, but family nonetheless, and I'm proud that tonight, our family's now stronger and closer than ever." He raised his bottle of beer in the air, tasting the tang of the salt breeze as he opened his mouth. "To Jack and Angela, congratulations."

Everyone stood up and raised their glasses at the happy couple at the center of the gathering. "To Jack and Angela," they repeated.

"A kiss!" called Wendell from his table, his eyes crinkling in delight. The couple obliged – Angela grabbing Hodgins by the nape and pulling him down for a searing kiss, all tongue and lips and a bright delight. When they surfaced for air, Hodgins red and blushing beneath his beard, they were met with applause. The band started up again – a slow song, Dan Seals this time, and the children, sensing that something grown-up and boring was going to happen, started running up and down the shore, chasing each other under the moonlight and starlight. Couples drifted like clouds towards the dance floor, arms around each other, swaying to the music.

As though she was a moth drawn to the flame, Brennan approached Booth, who was seated a little farther away from the wedding party, nursing his beer bottle. She stretched out a slim white hand towards him. "Would you like to dance with me, Booth?"

He gazed at her over the rim of his bottle. "We've been dancing around each other for years, Bones," he said, a hint of bitterness in his voice. The wedding ring on his left hand glinted in the dim light. "What makes you think this will get any better?"

She gathered her skirts and sat on the empty seat beside him. "While I'm unsure whether or not you're speaking literally or metaphorically, I'd like to say that I'm sorry, Booth. I'm sorry for everything."

"It wasn't your fault, Bones."

"But you're still hurting," she said shrewdly.

His mouth was set in a grim line. "I've been on the losing end before."

She gestured to Hodgins and Angela, twirling each other across the sand, laughing. "After five years, I'm glad they finally decided to have a proper wedding."

"I know. I'm glad as well."

Brennan reached out to gently lay her hand on top of Booth's. "I know you don't like weddings, not after Hannah..."

He sighed. "You can say it, Bones. After Hannah died."

She gave him a tender smile. "It's not your fault either, Booth. She was the one who decided that she needed to go back."

"I could have stopped her," he said, his voice rising suddenly. He slammed his bottle down on the table. "I could have stopped her," he repeated, quieter this time. "I could have put my foot down and made her stay. She wouldn't have lost the baby. She wouldn't have..." His voice trailed off, swollen with unshed tears.

Brennan looped her arm around his shoulders and drew him to her, allowing him to nestle his face against the crook of her neck, feeling the dampness of his tears slide across her bare skin. Best friends, she reminded herself. Best friends for twelve years. This is your job, Temperance. "I'm still here," she reassured him, her voice low. "Your family is still here. We're still here for you. We'll get past this, Booth."

He smiled against her skin. "When did you become such a people person, Bones?"

"You taught me, Booth. I must admit that I still have trouble gauging other people's actions and words, but you are an open novel to me."

"Book," he said, smiling despite the weight in his chest. Some things never changed. "An open book, Bones."

"Well, you are still my favorite reading material, whatever the correct idiom is," she said, rubbing gentle circles up and down his back. "And I find that I can somehow empathize with your pain, although Hannah was never –"

"I know what you mean, Bones." Booth lifted his face and looked at her, silhouetted against the bright night sky. "You're still gorgeous, you know," he said, tucking a stray curl of auburn hair behind her ear.

"Thank you." She tried to hide her surprise at his words, but Booth still knew that deer-caught-in-the-headlights look that graced her blue eyes.

He extracted himself from her embrace and stood up. "I think I'd like to dance now, Bones."

Hand in hand (her fingers were cold, and he gripped them tightly, trying to warm them up), they walked towards the clearing. Brennan lifted her arms and looped them around Booth's nape, her grip loose but comfortable. His hands settled on her hips. Even though she was closer to forty now than thirty, she was still slim and curved in all the right places – Booth's imagination filled in the gaps of his partner's body as she pressed against him, her chin tucked against his shoulder as they swayed to the music.

The smoky jazz voice of the band's singer swirled around them. Someone who understands me, and knows me inside out, she sang as the music swelled around them. And helps keep me together, and believes without a doubt. "That's you, Booth," she whispered, her breath warm and intoxicating against the curve of his ear.

"If I had only one friend left," he sang, his low voice intended only for her ears, a counterpoint to the singer, "I'd want it to be you."

She kissed him lightly on the cheek as the song ended. Her lips were plush and warm against his skin, and he trembled to keep his hands to his sides as she stepped away, curbing the urge to pull her back into his arms and introduce his lips to hers. It was, in a sense, odd – he'd been married, happily, for years, and a part of his heart still mourned Hannah's loss. And the child – the autopsy said that she'd been pregnant when she returned to the war zone, just a couple of weeks along, but a healthy pregnancy nonetheless. He mourned for the life that was taken before it had begun, a life he wasn't even aware of when he took Hannah to the airport for what turned out to be the last time, wrapped his arms around her slender frame, and told her to call him as soon as she landed in Baghdad. Sure, he still indulged in a mental game of What if? every once in awhile whenever his thoughts drifted towards Bones – she was still the bright spark to which he anchored his troubled soul. But that ship had long sailed, and she even confirmed this once more, a year after they had returned from their trips on opposite sides of the world, one late night at the Jeffersonian, over paperwork and an empty pizza box. "A romantic relationship wouldn't have worked out between us, Booth," she said, her mouth working on a triangle of thin crust slathered with cheese and peppers. "We're just too different."

The next day, he proposed to Hannah, and she accepted.

"Booth?" Her quizzical voice broke through his reverie. "Are you all right?"

He nodded, suddenly wondering where his voice had gone. "Sorry, spaced out for a second."

She smiled, her eyes alight. "I know what that means now!"

"Good for you, Bones."

"Yes," she smirked. "Good for me."

The wedding party was now breaking up, scattering to the four winds. The band was playing "Fly Me To The Moon" but it was now only Jack and Angela on the dance floor, entwined around each other like twinned roots of an ancient tree. Around them, their two children, Aven and Darren, were bouncing up and down to the music, their pudgy hands gripping the hem of Angela's dress. Parker was slumped against one of the chairs, head pillowed in his arms, his mouth slightly agape as he slept. Cam and Paul were nowhere to be found, and Billy had already retired for the night. Sweets was seated next to his wife, rubbing her slightly swollen belly and making cooing sounds while Daisy nursed the last of her apple cider. The other squinterns had also returned back to the old-fashioned whitewashed inn perched on top of the promontory overlooking the beach – a Cantilever holding, as it turned out, and reserved for the wedding party. Lights flickered like fireflies as windows were illuminated, darkened. The moon was half-hidden by a bank of clouds.

Brennan walked towards the shore, barefoot, the sea breeze lifting her scattered auburn curls and playing with the pearls braided in her hair. Her white lace dress skimmed her knees, revealing a pair of toned calves that were, by turns, strong and delicate. Her arms were around herself, fingers gripping her forearms as she stared out into the endless horizon. Booth walked up to her and slipped his own arms around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest. She leaned back against his shoulders, allowing him to support her frame. "Hey," he said in greeting.

"Hello."

"I missed you when you left."

She was quiet. The waves crashed against the shore. A lone seabird flew across the ocean, shadowed wings against the sky. "Do you miss her?"

He took a deep breath. "Sometimes," he said quietly. "I wake up and she's not in bed, and the house feels too big with just me living in it. Maybe I'll sell it, find an apartment. It's been months, Bones, since I buried her." He struggled not to let the tears fall, to stop mourning. His heart felt like a stone dropping into a cup, heavy and weighted down with too many sorrows.

She rubbed his arm, the one that encircled her, her fingers trying to draw away the sadness. "You're a good man, Booth, and you still deserve happiness. Love. Being loved. You still deserve your 30, 40, 50 years."

He buried his face into the ocean-scented strands of her hair. "Love? I'm not sure I believe in that right now."

Brennan twisted in his arms, so that she was facing him. Her face was almost hidden by the darkness, her eyes almost black, like sparkling agates. "Booth," she said quietly. "You are the strongest person I know. I have seen you – both physically and emotionally. You have experienced pain that many of us are unfamiliar with. You have been ordered to kill. People have tried to kill you, the people you love, the people you care about. You have seen the darkness that each of us carry, and yet you are the only one of us who still believed that there is something better past that darkness. You still believe in a metaphorical supreme being, a being whose existence has never been supported by empirical data or evidence, simply because you have faith. I have seen that faith in you. You live it, by example, every day." She took a deep breath, her eyes shining. "And I am envious of that faith you have. I wish I could believe in something that did not require logical reasoning or empirical evidence, or cross-referenced data. So please, do not tell me you do not believe in love or faith or all the other ephemera that makes you the strongest man I know. Because if you can say that..."

They stared at each other. Booth could feel the air charged around them, crackling like invisible forks of lightning, running up and down his arms and all the way down his back. "Bones," he asked very slowly. "What are you trying to say?"

"When you married Hannah five years ago," she said very softly, so soft that he had to bend down to hear her clearly. "it was the saddest day of my life."

"And why is that?"

"Because…" She took a deep breath. "I realized that you had given me all the evidence I needed to support your hypothesis regarding emotional co-dependence. And that I simply was unable to reconcile the data you had provided with my own opinions, without taking into consideration alternative theories, because I was afraid of the answers."

He chuckled. "Bones, when you speak squint, I know you're nervous. So out with it. What do you really want to say?"

Brennan allowed her arms to fall to her sides, her hair framing the sides of her face, the strong curve of her cheekbones. "It means that I've realized that I have… feelings for you, Booth. Feelings that I've never ascribed to a friend, or to a partner, or even to my biological family." Her fingers started worrying the fabric of her dress, twisting the cloth in agitation. "Feelings that, I finally realized, would never be reciprocated because you were binding yourself, legally and emotionally and physically, to someone else. And I couldn't bring myself to disappoint you once again."

"Hey." He reached out and cupped her chin in his hands, drawing her eyes back to him. "Hey, Bones, remember what you said before? The definition of insanity is doing something over and over again, expecting a different outcome."

"That must make me insane, then."

"That makes the two of us."

He felt a bright spark ignite in his chest as her eyes widened, as she struggled to understand what he was trying to tell her. "You mean…?"

Around them, the whole world stilled. The ocean withdrew, the sweet susurrus of the waves retreating into the background. Booth felt the shore drop beneath his feet, the moon large and luminous in the sky, illuminating Brennan's bright blue eyes. "I've loved you since the beginning, Bones, and I still do."

"You love me?"

"Yes."

"Like the way you love Rebecca? Or Cam?"

"No. Like the way I never loved Hannah."

Brennan stepped back. The saltwater lapped at her feet, covering her skin with silt and foam, making it seem as though she was floating on the surface. "You love me?" she repeated softly, as though it was the first time she had heard those words and it was a wonderment to her.

"And you love me."

"Oh, Booth." Her eyes softened. "I've always loved you."

He swept her up in his arms as she cupped his face in her palms and kissed him, reverently. A part of him was still crying, saddened that it took the death of his wife to have the love of his life in his arms; another part of him was spiraling upwards with joy, crashing against the cliffs in an explosion of triumph. She loved him. Not as a partner, not as a friend, not in an "atta-boy" kind of way, but the love, the love that he had always dreamed of. Her lips tasted of salt and sweetness and something else that was undeniably, irrevocably hers, and he set her down on the sand shakily, his arms around her shoulders as they tumbled downwards on the sand, his body cushioning her fall.

"Oooof."

"Booth, you're too old for this."

He laughed. "Don't tell a man he's too old or he'll just try to prove it to you that he's not."

She kissed his nose and smiled. "Is it wrong to feel happy right at this moment?"

Moonlight slivered across the muted landscape, bathing them in shadow. "No, Temperance," he said quietly. "I feel sad, but I feel happy as well."

She wrinkled her nose. "I find that I am irrationally upset that you are feeling sorrow, and would like to inquire if any of my actions would possibly please you."

Booth rose up on his elbows and leaned forward to give her a quick kiss. "You please me, Bones. Irrationally and rationally speaking, you please me very – " and here, his voice lowered just a notch "—very much."

She entwined her hands in his, fingers fitting perfectly between the spaces, and allowed her tongue to finally explore the body she had only studied from afar: the perfect jawline, cheekbones, brow. The names of bones eluded her now, in this very instant – only his name remained in her mind, an echo reverberating as she traveled downwards, his insistent moans in her ear. Clavicle, acromion, scapula. She slipped the pale plastic buttons from the holes one by one and laid her head on his bare chest, listening to the beat of his heart with one ear, and the beat of the ocean's waves with the other.

"Bones?"

"Yes?"

"Can we go back? I'm really cold."

She laughed and stood up, holding out her hands to yank him back up. He pressed a sliver of a kiss against her smooth cheek and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her towards him. She reached up to twine her fingers into his. He spared a glance at the wedding ring on his left ring finger. Hannah wouldn't mind, he prayed – he knew that she wanted him to be happy. He reminded himself to bring red roses to her grave when they were back in DC, and to ask Bones if she'd come with him. He was sure she had a lot to say.

And as they made their way up the stone steps carved against the cliff walls, tethering themselves against each other, hips and legs bumping as they climbed upwards, he thought that maybe the ship hadn't sailed so far off – his heart just needed to see the lighthouse that would guide him safely back into the harbor of Brennan's arms.

/the end

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