Carpe Diem

A/N - After a long writing drought, I'm trying to find some time to churn out a response to the weird character turns of Season 4. I agree this season has easily been the weakest so far (Season 2 was by far my favourite), but I still love to watch the show because I fell in love with the characters years ago, and so I hope the writers realize that Season 5 needs a revamp back to the emotional core that was Bones. This is a vague multi-chapter attempt to rationalize Brennan's wish to get her hands on Booth's sperm, and the characters actions in general. I'm not the biggest fan of Sweets, who seems to only be a huge plot device in 90% of the situations he's in (aka randomly hanging out at the Jeffersonian as if he has no other duties in his full time job at the FBI), but I am attempting to use him here.

Sorry about the rant, it ends now! Reviews are greatly appreciated. This starts between 'The Critic in the Cabernet' and the 'The End in the Beginning'. I will be conveniently forgetting weird-ass-alternate-reality BB, and instead focusing on the characters' response to Booth's illness.

--

It kept playing in her mind, a never ending loop. The glaring white lights hanging over head as they pushed the gurney past the point of no return. The nervous and watery smiles they shared in a shallow attempt of reassuring each other. His countdown before he finally slipped under the anesthesia, caught somewhere between dreams and darkness. She hoped he was dreaming.

"Dr. Brennan?"

Her head snapped up, expecting a doctor. Expecting the worst. "Sweets," she breathed with relief.

"The others said they would come back tomorrow. I literally had to push Angela out the door to make her get some rest," he said, settling himself down in the seat across from her. "Since visitor hours are over soon, I was wondering if you wanted a ride home. It's getting pretty late."

She glanced at the clock that was ticking closer towards 11:30. "But the sign said that they were extended until 2 am on Fridays."

Sweets shook his head as he stifled a yawn with the back of his hand. "That's for family only, I'm afraid."

Brennan's shoulders sagged with defeat, but she remained seated, intent on staying as long as possible.

"But don't worry," Sweets needlessly assured her. "Cam already called Rebecca. They're cutting their vacation a little short, but she and Parker will be here tomorrow."

This irked her. Did this distinction make her far less important to Booth than the other people he cared about? She saw no such difference between friends and family, it was all semantics in her mind. But she knew her experiences and point of view were atypical. Throughout her life, friends had often been a pillar of strength when family was absent. In contrast, with the exception of his father, Booth held the familial experience very close to heart. Undoubtedly, the distinction between friends and family was important to him.

"How long were you planning on doing this?" Sweets asked suddenly, breaking her from her reverie.

"11:30. Obviously," Brennan replied evenly.

She was exhausted, having woken up at 5 am that morning to get an early start in the lab. She caught a glance of herself in the mirror on the far wall. Her hair was thrown up in a mess of a ponytail, and the dark circles under her eyes were startlingly apparent against her skin. And she only looked half as bad as she felt.

"No," he chuckled, fluidly crossing his ankle over his knee. "I mean the forensic talents you lend to the bureau. What started out as a very minor undertaking has quickly become the focus of your career. Do you ever plan to shift your focus back to conventional anthropology?"

The shift in conversation was evident. Brennan treaded carefully, weary of Sweets' tendency to psychoanalyze every answer, or even worse, the lack of one. "I suppose I've never thought about it."

"Oh, I think you have," Sweets insisted, sitting forward in his chair. "The fact that Agent Booth hasn't already moved onto a more senior position within the bureau, one that keeps him off the field, is quite astonishing, and you know that. In fact, I think that is what prompted your desire to have a child with him. A decision like that happening on a whim during a word game? For someone as rational as you, that's ridiculously impractical."

"That's preposterous," Brennan protested.

"Clearly," he continued, unfazed, "a child is a way to cement a connection. Something that space and time cannot diminish."

Brennan set her jaw and glared as she rose from her seat. "I'll drive myself home."

"Dr. Brennan," he called after her. "I'm speaking as your friend…not your therapist."

Against her better judgment, she allowed her expression to soften as they walked out in a dreary silence.

Her terrible mood was reflected by the slight spring drizzle that had accumulated in the greater DC area that evening. The darkness of her apartment was just as unwelcoming, so she trudged right through the lounge and snapped on the lamp in her bedroom. She resisted the urge to collapse immediately on her bed for what would undoubtedly be a fitful sleep, and instead threw on a pair of ratty Northwestern shorts and a t-shirt.

Beneath the unforgiving bright lights in the bathroom she quickly swiped the toothbrush in her mouth. Her knuckles went white from the exertion of grasping the marble counter top as she thought back to Sweets' unwelcome observations. She never gave credence to his, or anyone else's, psychological reasoning, but she found their conversation continuously turning over in her mind.

When she had completed her dissertation years ago, she had very clearly defined goals. She planned to work her way up to medico-legal head at the Jeffersonian, knowing the institution was on the leading edge of research, and certainly had the technological and monetary resources needed to cultivate her talents. Once she had established herself on the academic front, she hoped to settle into a teaching position, and eventually land tenure. For someone so young, she was aware that such accomplishments required an incredible amount of perseverance, but it was nothing that was beyond her abilities.

But to her chagrin, she found herself agreeing with Sweets. Her side project of being a forensic liaison with the FBI now took up the bulk of her time. Her increased presence on the field meant less time in the lab, which ruled out a fast track route to the top of the Jeffersonian's seniority ladder. Suffice to say, in the last few years, academia had taken a back seat to serving the justice system and catching the bad guy. And it was all because of Booth.

The strangest part was she had no regrets. In fact, she was glad that her perfectly designed life had taken all of these unforeseen twists and turns.

She sat on her bed for a time, staring at nothing in particular. When awareness returned, she buried her head in her hands, confused more than ever about everything, except that she needed Booth to be alright.

--

TBC