"What is taking the doctor so long?" Impatient to get back to Booth, Brennan paced from one end of the waiting room to the other, refusing to look at the worried and sympathetic faces of those around her. Booth had told her once that there was more than one kind of family. She'd not understood then that included people who know you too well.

In addition to Cam, Angela, Hodgins, and Sweets, Rebecca was there. She'd made no apologies for the time she'd spent with them at the hospital, beyond the simple statement, 'he's the father of my son.'

Brennan hadn't wanted to leave Booth, not once she'd understood that however confused he was, he knew her, but the doctor – the same one who had no qualms about her watching the actual surgery – had banished her from the room while he conducted his exam.

"Sweetie," Angela murmured, and Brennan turned to see that same doctor approaching them.

He didn't delay. He looked around, as if cataloging their identities, before turning toward her. "It is not typical amnesia, in the sense of what you might think of as a blank slate. Rather, the memories are there – he just can't tap completely into them. He knows things, about himself and others, without knowing why he knows them. He remembers his son, remembers his personality, remembers things about him, without remembering specific events in the child's life that would explain that knowledge. He doesn't remember the events that explain the things he knows."

Relief passed over Rebecca's face. "Can I bring Parker to see him, then?"

The doctor turned to her, looked thoughtful. "Yes, but caution him that his father may be confused about the details. You might also prepare him for the sight of the bandages."

He turned back to Brennan. "He has very strong feelings for you." His next glance took in everyone else. "I suspect he'll 'know' all of you, but again, without having the memories to back up what he knows to be true."

"What should we do, then?" Cam asked.

"Talk to him. Maybe not tonight, as he should sleep when he is so inclined, but tomorrow…tell him who you are, what your shared stories are. Be who you really are around him. The memories will come back. This type of confusion isn't uncommon with such patients, and it doesn't last long."

Rebecca wasn't the only one exhibiting signs of relief. Cam and Sweets both approached the doctor with additional questions, no doubt reflective of Cam's medical degree and Sweets' psychology background. Later, she'd want to know what was said, would even want Sweets' take on the not-really-amnesia. But right now, all she wanted was to rejoin the man down the hall, to reassure herself that he really was on the mend. Or getting there. It had been a long four days of fearing he'd never wake at all.

He appeared to be asleep when she slipped into the room, and she stifled the disappointment. Sleep was good. She knew that. But damn it, she wanted to talk to him again. She wanted him to know her. Completely. She wanted to know that he remembered them. Their partnership. Their friendship. Their whatever-it-was.

Memory of how he'd taken her hand came back, and she rubbed her fingers with her thumb, recalled the things he'd known. But he'd only, sort of, known her as Brennan. Not Bones. It was stupid to be upset by that.

Turning, she saw her laptop still in the same place she'd left it earlier, and thought of his dream, and the silly, romantic story she'd written to occupy herself over the past days. Foolishness. She needed to get the proposal for her next book to her agent, not come up with some ridiculous story of a nightclub named The Lab.

Still, it was odd that Booth had apparently dreamed something similar. She frowned. Had she spoken the story aloud while she was writing it? She had no memory of doing so, but it was the only explanation.

Heat rose in her cheeks as she remembered the sex scene. Annoyed, and now glad he was asleep, she rubbed her face. The sex itself didn't bother her. But the fact that the characters had rather obviously been the two of them, and she'd had them married after all her negative comments about the antiquated custom of marriage…that made her uncomfortable. But surely he must know she found him attractive.

"You look so tired, I want to tell you to go home and get some rest. But I think I'll sleep better if you're here."

So startled by the fact that he'd obviously been awake and watching her, she nearly yelped at the quiet voice. Turning to him, she found his eyes on her, the same hopeful smile on his face he'd been wearing when she came to him right before the surgery. No, she wouldn't leave him alone.

Walking over, she once more took his hand, unsurprised by the quick and steady strength of it as he quickly clasped hers. "How are you? Are you remembering more?" Do you remember that you always call me 'Bones'?v

He shook his head. "I know things without remembering why I know them."

It was self-indulgent and foolish, but she had to ask. "What do you know about me?"

He studied her for a moment, his thumb once more rubbing across her knuckles. "I know you're compassionate, but not particularly good with people."

For as long as she could remember, the first word people had used to describe her had been 'genius.' She'd been proud of that – but not nearly so much as she was now, when it wasn't the first thing he came up with. She swallowed against the emotion that climbed into her throat, then considered the last phrase, and grimaced. If he hadn't added that, she might have thought he was making it all up. She hated that he was right.

"What else?"

Frowning, he focused on their linked hands for a long moment, and then looked up at back at her, a pleased look on his face. "You don't like pie!"

She had to smile at the delighted expression on his face. "I don't like cooked fruit," she corrected. "What else?" Her need to know how he saw her when he couldn't actually remember the details felt a bit desperate, but she couldn't stop herself from asking the question.

He was still smiling at her, the charm smile. It made it difficult to breathe, somehow.

"Daffodils are your favorite flower." The smile faded a little. "Have I ever given you daffodils?"

She shook her head.

"I should have."

"We're partners." It came out rote, the habitual explanation of their relationship.

"Partners can give each other flowers."

At a loss, she shook her head again. "It's not like that."

"I'd do anything for you." His voice was quiet.

He was right, but how should she respond to him? "That's more about you than me," she finally said.

"And you'd do anything for me, wouldn't you?"

"Yes."

Looking pleased with her simple answer, he shifted and leaned back against the pillows. She'd not realized he'd been sitting up until he relaxed.

"Tell me about your dream." Where had that question even come from? She'd blurted it out without even thinking about it. Only now that it was out there, between them, did she realize how important the answer was to her.

His expression turned thoughtful again. He was still holding her hand, occasionally stroking her knuckles with his thumb. "You know how in some dreams, you know you're dreaming? This wasn't like that. It felt so real…" his voice drifted off. "There was a nightclub named 'The Lab.' Odd name for a club," he murmured. "There was a murder, and all these people who worked for us thought I committed it and were trying to protect me."

Was he even aware of the 'us' in his last sentence? Brennan swallowed. It was the story as she'd written it. But surely she'd remember doing so if she had really read the whole thing aloud to him? Even guessing what the answer would be, she wanted to ask what her role had been. More than that, she wanted to know how he felt about the role she'd played. But she couldn't quite bring herself to ask. "Do you remember the others? The people who worked for you?"

He frowned. "There was a bouncer named Wendell and a bartender named Sweets. What kind of name is that for a bartender?"

"In real life, he's a psychologist, if it helps," she said, her tone dry.

"They're real? I know these people? All of them? I thought you were just a fluke, since you were here in the room with me and we're, um, partnersand, uh..." his voice faded and a slight flush rode his cheekbones.

Wondering if he was thinking about the way she'd started the story, she cleared her throat. "They're all real." She was going to feel very silly if it ever came out that the reason he'd dreamed as he had was because she'd written it using the names of friends and family for characters, particularly since she'd always insisted that the characters in her books weren't based on real people. She nearly winced.

"Tell me the names of the others."

"In your dream?"

"That we work with, and what they do."

"Very well." She considered, and then said, "Camille Saroyan is Head of Forensics at the Jeffersonian and a pathologist, the former chief coroner of New York."

"Cam." He was frowning.

"Yes."

"In my dream, she was a detective."

Wishing she'd left at least a few of their co-workers out of the story, she managed a neutral tone. "Was she?"

"Yes." He was still frowning. "Cam," he said the name again, more slowly.

"You've known one another for fifteen years. And been intimate in the past."

His face cleared a little, and Brennan wondered if he'd been remembering something, recalling a specific memory. She would not allow herself to feel jealous that he remembered Cam and not her. She would not.

"Not now?"

"No. Not for several years."

"She's not my son's mother."

More relieved than she'd acknowledge, even to herself, that he didn't seem to have actual memories of Cam, either, she shook her head. "Parker's mother is Rebecca. I think she'll be in to see you tomorrow."

"What's my relationship with her?"

"I believe you consider yourselves friends now, though that wasn't always the case."

The frown was back.

Knowing what was bothering him, she said, "You wanted to marry her. She refused."

"I loved her."

The statement made her decidedly uncomfortable. She chose not to analyze why. "I believe so. I'm not sure why she didn't marry you. Based on the amount of time she's spent here this week, she appears to have a great deal of affection for you."

"Just what a guy wants," he muttered. "Affection from the woman he loves." At her startled look, he shook his head. "Never mind. Give me some more names."

"Of people we work with?"

At his nod, she said, "Well, there's Angela Montenegro. She's an artist and software expert--"

"Who is also your best friend, and very loyal to you," he interrupted.

How could he know that without specific memories? "Yes," she said simply. Though she wondered, sometimes, about the 'best friend' designation. Angela was very important to her, but if the artist was her best friend, what role did that leave the man in front of her? Better not to ponder that, probably.

"Cam, Angela, you. Apart from the shrink with the odd name, do we work with any guys?"

Refusing to think of Zach, she nodded. "There's Jack Hodgins—"

"The bug and slime guy!" He grinned, pleased with himself.

She smiled at his pleasure. "Yes. Do you remember anything about him?"

The smile faded. "No. Nothing detailed. He's a good man, though, isn't he?"

Memories of a dark car tried to push into her mind, and she shoved them back. "Yes. He's a very good man. He's been here most of the week, as well."

He sighed and stretched. "It's good, I guess, that I know them, but I still don't remember them. Let's try something else."

"You should probably sleep."

He shook his head. "I'm not ready to return to the land of Nod. Let's talk about some of our cases." His gaze turned thoughtful. "So I'm with the Bureau, and you're a forensic anthropologist, and we're partners? How does that work, exactly?"

"I and others in the lab examine the bodies for clues and evidence, and--"

"—I do the field work?"

"You and I do the field work," she said a bit primly.

He frowned. "You go into the field? Why?"

For a moment, she didn't know how to respond. It had been a long time since they'd first had this argument. Finally, she said simply, "I wanted to experience field work, so I blackmailed you into letting me join you."

To her relief, he laughed. 'Really? Blackmail?"

"I told you I'd only help if I were allowed to go into the field."

He was still grinning at her. "Good for you. So how long have we worked together?"

"Four years."

The smile faded and he dropped his head against the pillow again. "Four years. That's a lot of memories I should have."

"You still have them. You're just not accessing them yet."

"Right. So tell me about some of our cases. If you're looking at bodies for evidence, we must be homicide, right?"

"Yes." Thoughtful, she stared down at their fingers, still entwined. He was on the right track – the doctor had said to share memories with him. But where to start? Would a case with more personal ramifications have a greater chance of triggering memories than a more ordinary one? "As to a specific case…there was the Gravedigger," she finally said quietly, memories of the dark car now tangling with a frantic helicopter ride.

"The Gravedigger. Only serial killers are usually given that kind of nickname."

"She kidnapped her victims for ransom and buried them alive. If the ransom was paid, she'd provide the GPS coordinates of where the victim was. There was no negotiation."

"She? Serial killers aren't usually women."

"I know."

"So does the fact that we know it was a woman mean we caught her?"

"Yes, but…"

"But?"

"Not at first. She kidnapped me and Hodgins and buried us in a car." She was proud of how steady her voice was, with no indication of how often she still awoke shaking, trapped in that terrifying darkness.

He was squeezing her fingers so hard it was nearly painful. "Booth?"

"The quarry. We found you in a quarry. It was…" he paused, seemed to steady himself. "It was long past when your air should have run out. It took so long to get to the damn quarry…" his voice faded.

Stunned, she stared at him. "You remember."

Grimly, he nodded. "You had a cell phone and managed to send a text of your location in squint code. Even then, we'd never have found you in time if you hadn't blown the airbags."

Realizing that she wasn't the only one who could get lost in memories of that day, she brought her other hand up, laid it over their clasped fingers. "Booth, you're remembering." She wished the first memory to come back could have been something pleasant. Would Rebecca have been able to nudge forward memories of the day Parker was born?

It was his turn to look startled. "You're right. I remember that entire day."

"Do you remember anything else?"

"No, not really." The puzzled frown was back. "We didn't catch the Gravedigger, though, did we?"

"Not then, no. Do you remember anything else? A ship?"

His eyes went slightly unfocused as he concentrated, and she knew when the memory of his own kidnapping came back to him. "Teddy."

She nodded somewhat cautiously. Was it good or bad that he was remembering one of the delusions caused by the tumor?

"I named Parker after him," he murmured. He frowned again. "But Teddy's dead. Not my fault," he said so softly she nearly missed it. With a jerk, he pulled his hand away from her, rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Damn it. Why do I associate the Gravedigger and a ship with someone who I know died a long time ago?"

Surprised it had taken so long for frustration to erupt, she said, "The Gravedigger kidnapped you and stranded you on an old Navy ship that was about to be sunk and turned into a reef. While there, you…saw the ghost of Corporal Parker."

"I saw his ghost?"

"Most likely another manifestation of the brain tumor."

"There were others?"

"Yes." Knowing she shouldn't start this, she said, "Although…"

"What?"

"Ghosts don't exist." She said it firmly.

"Not so helpful, that."

"They don't. There is no irrefutable, scientific evidence to support such appearances." She didn't know why she was telling him this.

"I hear a 'but.'"

"You managed things on the ship, trying to free yourself, that you shouldn't have been able to do without some assistance."

"Oh. So you're saying maybe Teddy was real?"

"I'm saying there are things we don't understand about your experience on the ship. Ghosts don't exist."

He smiled, as if suddenly understanding something, and took her hand again. She'd not realized how much she'd missed his touch until it was back. "You came to get me in the helicopter – I remember that. How did you know where I was?"

"Effort from a lot people, including your brother."

"Jared." His expression went from thoughtful to another frown of concentration. "He lost his career over it…no, that can't be right," he muttered.

"Actually, it is. He came through for you." Finally, she added to herself.

"Yeah?" His smile quickly turned to concern. "He's okay, though?"

"Based on an email you received the day before your surgery, he's in India, enjoying himself. He doesn't know about your surgery, on your orders." Though she'd considered overruling him on that after he'd slipped into the coma. Ultimately, she'd not done so because she'd had to believe he'd wake up at any moment, irrational as the thought had been.

He sighed and leaned back again. "He wanted me to go with him to India."

"You remember that?"

"Yes," he said thoughtfully. "I considered it, for a moment or two." Then he sighed. "I guess I'd hoped that having one memory come back would trigger them all. But that's not the case."

"But you are remembering as we talk. That's a very positive development."

He nodded, and yawned. "I should sleep." He hesitated. "And you should go home and do the same."

"I'm fine." And it would be difficult to leave when he was holding her hand so tightly.

He wanted to argue – she could see it in his eyes. But even as she had the thought, his eyelids drifted down.

She stood next to him for a long time, just watching. His face was thin, the angles sharper than normal, and there were shadows under his eyes. But on the whole, he looked like himself. And with his memories coming back…relief, for the first time since she had realized he was hallucinating in the interview room, shuddered through her. He was going to recover. Eventually, he'd even remember she was Bones. He would.

Barely aware of what she was doing, she reached out with her hand – the one not tangled with his – and touched his cheek. Where had this need to touch him come from? A wave of dizziness washed over her, and she shook her head in confusion. Sleep. He'd been right that she needed to sleep as well. So many nights of worry…her body was finally rebelling at the lack of rest.

Gently pulling away from him, she dragged the chair closer to his bed. As she settled into it, she saw he was shifting restlessly in his sleep, the hand she'd been holding moving back and forth across the sheet, searching.

Easing the side of the bed down, she leaned forward, once again entwined her fingers with his. Then resting her head on the mattress, slept. And dreamed.

She was seldom aware of dreaming even after the fact and certainly not while it was happening. And yet she recognized the dream for what it was even as it began, with the woman named Brennan slipping into the bedroom while the woman called Bones watched...

"Do you love me?"

"Yeah. Do you want me to prove it to you?"

While the lovers loved, she who watched ached to answer his question. Yes. Oh, please, yes. She'd been without love for nearly half her life, had finally convinced herself that it was nothing more than biology. And then he'd come, with his aggravating nickname and insistence that he'd never betray her. That he would keep his promises. And he had. He'd kept them all, and done so much more.

He'd helped her see the love she shared with her team, had taught her to see family wherever it existed. And then he'd helped restore her biological family to her. She was honest enough to know that without him, without his nagging, she might well have walked away from both her father and her brother.

He'd told her once of the difference between sex and making love. She'd agreed with him, unwilling to admit that she'd never experienced that difference for herself. Not even with Sully, with whom she'd perhaps come closest. Now, watching the couple love, as she'd written it, no less, she yearned.

And wept, because there was a Line.