AN: The plan is to update this story once a week throughout the summer, on Friday or Saturday. And guess what? Today is Friday! And since I had yesterday off and the chapter is ready . . .

Also, thanks very much for the reviews, alerts and favorites following the posting of the first chapter. You guys make this writing fanfic thing fun!

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There was silence in the SUV for the first thirty minutes or so, as Booth concentrated on navigating the usual day-time crush of traffic out of DC into the Virginia countryside and Brennan took advantage of the quiet to check email on her Blackberry. Her shocking announcement in Sweets' office, however, was never far from his thoughts and as they left the Roosevelt Bridge behind he cast a quick glance in her direction. She was staring out the window, a faint smile curving her lips.

"So," he began, and then hesitated when her silver-blue eyes focused on him. "You were . . . you were kidding, right?" His gaze moved rapidly back and forth between the road in front of them and her. "Back there? In Sweets' office? You were just yanking his chain? Right?"

"About having a baby?" When he nodded, she shook her head. "No. I am very serious."

"No, Bones." He sighed and rubbed his jaw with the hand not holding the steering wheel. "You can't just -" A memory clicked into place. "Is this about the dog?" She looked at him with surprise. "I know you were . . . upset when he was put down but, you know, there are rules and . . . and we can get you another -"

"Ripley?" Brennan interrupted him. "No, of course not. Yes, it's true," she admitted grudgingly, "that I hadn't given serious thought to owning a dog before interacting with him but, no. My desire to have a child is not related to Ripley. A baby isn't a pet, Booth."

Her tone chastised him and he immediately took offense. "I know that!" he retorted sharply. "I have a kid, remember?" He rushed on without giving her a chance to respond. "But you don't just . . . decide . . . on a whim! . . . to have a baby. You just . . . you just don't . . ."

"You think I shouldn't have a child?" she asked pointedly. "Do you think I couldn't raise a child properly?"

"No -"

"Perhaps you think I wouldn't be a good mother," she accused him. "You have mentioned before that I should be more empathetic . . . do you believe I would have difficulty bonding with my child?"

"No, Bones -" This conversation was not going at all as he had planned.

"Because you're wrong," she insisted and to his horror, he saw her blink rapidly in an effort to hold back tears. "I would love my child, Booth. I would be a good mother."

It was the glimmer of hurt he saw that did it, pain that was obvious to him despite the effort she made to hide it by turning away. Jaw clenched, he took one quick glance in his rear view mirror and over his shoulder, and then slammed his foot on the accelerator and gunned his way across four lanes of traffic. He ignored the brakes screeching in his wake and the horns that blared out from the vehicles he cut off in his rush to reach the shoulder of the interstate. He threw the SUV into park before it had completely stopped moving and shifted in his seat to face her.

"Okay, I didn't say that," he corrected her firmly, his voice quiet, his eyes burning into hers. "And I definitely wasn't thinking it." It was still there, that hint of distress that he might question her ability to love, to be a mother, and it cut him to the quick. "I know you, Bones," he told her fiercely. "I've seen you with kids - with Parker, with his friends, with . . .with . . ." His brain worked frantically. "With the kids we've met - Shawn Cook!" He came up with the name triumphantly. "And . . . and Andy, you know, you were great with him! I have never . . . ever," he emphasized, holding her gaze, letting her see the truth that blazed from his, "doubted your ability to love. Anyone." Her eyes dropped then, briefly, before his next words, and the hand that squeezed her knee, drew them back. "You will be a great mom," he promised. "And any kid would be lucky to have you for a mother."

Outside the SUV, traffic continued to race by, unnoticed by either of them.

He waited for the tiny nod, for the moment when the faint shadow disappeared behind her belief in his words, before he continued.

Or, at least he tried to continue.

"It's just . . ." Booth sank back against the back of his seat. "A baby, Bones. You just don't decide to have a baby because of some . . . some game that Sweets -" He snorted loudly. "He probably made it up, you know, that stupid game. I mean, you know he thinks we're his personal guinea pigs, huh?" At that moment, he wanted to wrap his hands around the young psychologist's throat and strangle him. "Now there's someone who needs a pet," he scoffed.

"My desire to have a child isn't because of that silly exercise," Brennan argued. "It's a rational, well-considered decision -"

"In five minutes," Booth cut her off. "You made a rational decision about a life-changing event in five minutes?"

She shrugged. "My mind works quickly. I don't require as much time in order to reach a definitive conclusion as most people."

"When they stopped making your toothpaste," Booth reminded her archly, "it took you six months to decide what new brand to buy."

Her mouth opened, then closed. "That was different," she said finally. "I was doing research, there are important differences in the formulas and the percentage of -"

"Oh, right!" He laughed outright. "And I guess a baby is a lot less complicated than toothpaste!"

Her chin jutted forward stubbornly. Booth recognized the signs of a woman who had made up her mind and sighed loudly. He had his own obstinate streak.

"It's just . . . a baby, Bones. A baby." He shook his head, "You don't want to make a mistake, you can't just . . . decide . . . to have a baby without thinking about it! You have to plan for it, and . . . and . . ." He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Think about it, you have to think about it first."

"Is that what you and Rebecca did?" It was her turn to look smug while he stared back, speechless.

"Okay, not the point!" He shot a disgruntled glare in her direction and then shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Alright, yea," he muttered, clearly unhappy with the turn the conversation had taken, "Rebecca and I, we . . . you know, we . . . we didn't plan on getting pregnant but that was different, okay?" He smoothed down his tie self-consciously. "We were together," he pointed out quickly, "and . . . and we were in love back then so . . . so, okay, yea, it was unexpected but we weren't alone so . . ."

"But you were away frequently," Brennan pointed out. "You've told me several times how often you had to leave Rebecca on her own and she seems to have managed just fine."

Booth sputtered wordlessly for a few seconds then, his jaw tight, a muscle ticking beneath one eye, pointed one long finger at her. "This habit you have of only remembering things that prove your point? It's really annoying."

Her eyes widened innocently. "I'm just saying -"

"You know, we're not talking about me." He changed tacks abruptly. "This isn't about me or Rebecca or Parker. It's about you and . . . and this crazy . . ."

"If you don't want to help me," she began.

"I didn't say that!" He growled audibly and slapped one hand on the steering wheel. "I didn't say that. I'm thinking about it, okay? I'm thinking about it." The glance he shot her was filled with frustration. "It's hard to think about anything else." When she opened her mouth to speak, he waved a hand to silence her. "And that's all I want you to do, Bones! Think about it, okay? Just think about it! That's all I'm asking. Twenty-four hours," he said desperately. "One day! Just . . . just give it one day before you make a final decision. One day!"

She considered him silently for several seconds and then, finally, nodded. "Fine. I will take your advice and give this decision twenty-four hours of careful thought."

His shoulders sank with relief. "That's all I'm asking, Bones. Just . . . just think about it. I just want you to think about it."

"Fine."

"And Parker is not a mistake, alright?" The words tumbled out suddenly, surprising both of them with their vehemence. "Maybe we didn't plan on . . . maybe getting pregnant was a surprise," he continued with determination, "but Parker is the best thing in my life."

"I know that," Brennan agreed quietly. She didn't look away from him. "He is a bright, intelligent, engaging little boy."

"Fine." He glanced at her uncertainly. "So . . . we're good now?" When she nodded, he finally noticed the busy highway again. "Fine," he said again. "Let's go pull Otis out of the wine barrel."

Brennan frowned and picked up her phone. "The victim has been identified?"

"No." An amused grin on his face, he looked at her again. "Otis? Andy Griffith? Never mind." He gave up and flicked on his turn signal. "Never mind."

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Four hours later, Brennan stood over a vat of gelatinous purple goo, working with the rest of The Jeffersonian team to fish out what was left of a formerly living human being.

"I've decided to have a baby."

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Yes, I said Blackberry. Back in the day (2009) Blackberrys were the phone of choice for busy professionals. Look it up, yung'uns.

Thanks for reading!