Look at us spinning out
in the madness of a rollercoaster;
you know you went off like the devil in a church
in the middle of a crowded room.
All we can do, my love, is hope we don't take this ship down.

The Space Between, Dave Matthews Band

They've been together two months. They've been sleeping together seven weeks and four days. Approximately. It may seem odd that given their lines of work it has taken this long to hit this particular roadblock, but as Brennan and Booth make eye contact over the table, they realise the last few months have been relatively simple, work-wise. Open and shut cases where the motives are clear and cold; money, jealousy, power. It's been months since they've dealt with children and it really doesn't ever get easier.

As the team nurses drinks around their table and the bar hums with life there's a general resentment toward the other patrons who have no idea how bleak the world they live in is; patrons who will never understand the sacrifices made by the five individuals among them in order to keep them safe. But more than that Brennan is watching Booth and wondering if she should approach him the same way she always has or if something different, something more is expected of her since they're now undeniably a couple.

Booth, deep in his own dark thoughts, is thinking about how little he wants to be sitting here with all these people when he can practically hear his own apartment and his own easy chair and his own scotch calling to him from across town. He's noticed Brennan staring at him – of course he has – but he's been pretending not to notice because there's a little part of him that wishes they weren't together – just for tonight – so that he could tell her frankly that right now he needs both time and space without hurting her feelings.

Her fingers come in contact with his beneath the table – neither of them are quite sure if she's offering reassurance or seeking it – and he squeezes them back, but he lets go as soon as he can and takes a pull of his lukewarm beer. When an appropriate amount of time passes he stands and says his goodbyes and then makes a break for the exit.

He's well on his way down the street before he hears heels clicking behind him and immediately recognises the lilting gait as belonging to his partner. He slows down but doesn't stop right away, even though he knows that he should. While he's still working his way up to turning around and facing her, her voice hits his back.

"It's a very long walk back to your apartment, Booth."

This does make him stop. Because he's completely forgotten that they took her car over here. He wonders how far he would have walked before he remembered that fact had it not been for her interruption.

He turns. "I don't think I'm going to be very good company tonight, Bones."

Being gentle takes more energy than he has in him right now, and the words come out considerably gruffer than he intends. Her face falls and he feels bad because she's trying her best to be a good partner/girlfriend, but all he can see is a six-year-old's broken body and the only thing that could possibly make him feel better right now would be talking to his son, but given the late hour that's not going to happen. He's going to have to settle for scotch and his bed.

"What should I do, Booth? Tell me what to do to help, and I'll do it."

There's a pleading quality to her voice that she doesn't really appreciate, but since this is about Booth's feelings and not hers, she chooses not to dwell on it.

"I'm just going to go home and go to bed, okay, Bones? Tomorrow's a new day. I'll see you tomorrow."

She – justifiably – feels dismissed and the knot grows in her stomach as he turns his back to her and continues walking down the street with his head down, but they're still so new and she's still so afraid of ruining them she can only clench her coat with her fists and watch as he disappears.

The next day, Booth knocks on her front door instead of letting himself in while she's drinking her morning coffee, and he offers her a banana nut muffin with a regret-laden twist of his mouth and waits for her okay before he crosses the threshold. They sit in restorative silence at her kitchen table; he picks at his Danish and she carefully pulls the top off her muffin, places it on a plate, and begins nibbling at the base. They sip their coffee intermittently, and they never speak of the night before – or the case – again.

Brennan woke up feeling energetic and instantly alert; in recent months she had made the frustrating discovery that, while she was still – for the most part – quite capable of forcing her body to adhere to her demands, it took considerable more effort than she was used to putting forth. The fluctuations in her energy levels irritated her, so simply waking up on her own accord – in the manner to which she had been accustomed before this pregnancy – put her in an instant good mood. She stretched slowly and methodically worked out the kinks in her lower back; it was dark outside, but it was mid November so that was hardly out of the ordinary. It was rarely more than predawn light until she and Booth were finishing breakfast and minutes away from leaving for work.

She shifted to turn off the alarm clock – given Booth's history with them she felt comfortable assuming he would much prefer to be woken by her when the time came – and she frowned at the blue numbers glowing 4:15am. That couldn't be right. She reached for her cell phone to check the display, and she was faced with an identical set of numbers as well as three missed texts from Angela.

I know you think anniversary celebrations are a waste of time, but humour Booth if he goes all out tomorrow, okay sweetie?

And for God's sake, stop freaking out about the present. It's a good gift, Bren. If you don't follow through with this I will slap your pregnant ass silly.

Details on the anniversary sex over lunch?

Brennan cleared the alerts without bothering to respond to any of them, and she was once again faced with the digital clock. Eventually her furrowed brow smoothed and she merely shrugged; regardless of the time, she was awake, and she wasn't going to waste this current burst of energy by trying to sleep another two and a half hours. Especially not today. Yesterday had marked three weeks of cohabitation without killing one another, and she almost felt that was more deserving of celebration than the one year milestone. With a crooked, mischievous smile, Brennan pushed off the comforter and leaned over Booth, supporting herself on her knees and forearms.

"Booth."

When he didn't respond, she shuffled down slightly and positioned her mouth directly over his ear. "Booth."

After seconds of her face being millimetres from his own, Booth's breathing changed and Brennan frowned as it became clear to her that he was now simply ignoring her. Not easily deterred, she straddled his torso.

"Booth."

Booth groaned. "For crying out loud, Bones." Without opening his eyes, he tilted his hips sideways and tipped her off his body and back to the mattress. His victory was short-lived, however, when she climbed back on top of him before he could turn onto his side.

Christ, the woman was a pit-bull.

He cracked an eye open and peered at her with blurred vision. "What?"

"Today is our first anniversary. Angela informs me that it is of the utmost importance that we start the day off with intercourse."

Booth sighed and began to shift again, and Brennan clamped her thighs around his hips to keep him from dislodging her. "Ow, easy! I just want to see the time!"

"It is slightly earlier than you will appreciate." Brennan confessed.

Booth stared at the glowing numeric digits incredulously. "Slightly earlier than- Bones, I'm going back to sleep. Get off me."

"But I'm awake. I'm ready to start the day."

"Of course you are; you passed out at like, six o'clock last night." Booth replied exasperatedly. "You slept at least ten and a half hours."

"What? No I didn't."

"Yes, you definitely did. You didn't even eat dinner. We came home, I went to get changed, and when I came back out you were sleeping on the couch. I carried you in here."

A reflexive, vehement denial was on the tip of her tongue before she found herself temporarily distracted by the overwhelming warmth of the bedroom. She and Booth had been engaged in a battle of wills of sorts for the past few weeks regarding the position of the thermostat, and yes, maybe her body was running a little warmer than usual, but right now it felt like the beginning of August as opposed to mid November, and that was ridiculous. Brennan was preparing to change the topic of argument in order to address the more pressing issue of her current discomfort, but as she placed her hands on her hips her attention was drawn for the first time to her unusual state of dress. She tugged experimentally on the impractical piece of lingerie, and then the sound of her immediate laughter was loud and uninhibited.

"What, what is this?" She asked when her breath allowed it.

The short blue negligee wasn't really meant for sleeping in, and it was tight, but not as tight as it should have been considering her pregnancy. But none of that was as weird as the thick cotton sweater that had been pulled over the ensemble. When she felt beneath the sweater and realized that the reason the sexy lingerie wasn't suffocating her was because Booth had left the back entirely unzipped, she began to laugh even harder.

"Well, you moved all the drawer stuff around, Bones!" Booth said defensively, "I couldn't find your normal night clothes. And it felt presumptuous leaving you naked and creepy putting sexy slip things on you when you weren't conscious, so I covered you up…"

He flushed a decidedly unmanly pink as she continued to laugh.

"…Fine. You know what? Next time I'm leaving you in your work clothes. I'm not even taking your shoes off."

He again tried to tip her off his body, but she laughed and leaned forward to place a placating kiss on his lips.

"It was very sweet." She managed to keep from laughing, but her wide smile said that it wasn't easy. "Thank you."

Booth finally smiled and accepted that his sleep window had closed for the night. "So, what else did you and Angela scheme up for today?"

"Well, firstly, the intercourse."

"Yep. I got that."

Brennan shrugged. "That was Angela's only suggestion that appealed to me. She says that gifts should be exchanged over dinner, but I selected my token of affection for you very carefully, and I would prefer to exchange them now. Well, after intercourse."

Booth laughed, "You're pretty fixated on that intercourse, huh?"

"It's been nine days since the last time that we had sex."

"Don't look at me like it's my fault. You're the one who keeps falling asleep all the time."

Deciding that she was more than done with talking about sex instead of having it, Brennan pulled off the creatively selected nightwear and removed herself from atop Booth just long enough to shed her panties. Booth quickly followed her lead.

They took their time – because it was four o'clock in the morning and Booth refused to do it any other way, no matter how eager she was – and when she had finally had enough, Brennan assumed control and lowered herself onto him, eyes closed. When she opened her eyes, Booth was staring up at her with an expression she couldn't quite read.

"What?" She asked softly, beginning to rock her pelvis in slow circles.

"You're so beautiful."

She stopped moving and tilted her head. "You've seen me naked before. Many times before. Why are you looking at me as if this is new?"

"Because this is." He transferred one hand from where it gripped her hip to rest against her stomach.

"Is this a previously undisclosed fetish of yours?"

"No! It's just that, there's a bit of me in there, you know?"

"Yes, I know." Brennan grinned with a pointed shift of her hips.

"That's not what I- okay you know what? Moment's passed. You killed it."

He rolled them over so that he was on top, and she emitted a delighted laugh.

Their respective phones began to ring before they had time to even start breakfast, and after throwing coffee in travel mugs and fixing bagels, the partners rushed out to their newest crime scene with practiced efficiency.

When the vehicle came to a stop in a field not far from the crime scene tape, the two partners exited their doors and met at the back. Booth popped the trunk, and while Brennan donned her boots and jumpsuit, he took the opportunity to grab her case.

"I can carry my own kit, Booth." She stated as she tugged the zipper up under her chin.

He might have argued, but a fellow agent spotted the two of them before they crossed the barrier and did an interception, and Booth wordlessly handed over her kit.

"Booth."

"Richards."

"Some dog brought a piece of the body out to his owner… we found the rest of them a little ways into the marsh."

"Them?" Booth bristled.

The agent nodded grimly. "Two, so far. They've been in the water a while; there's not much left of them."

By now they had reached the bodies lined up on the snow dusted grass, and Booth's heart lurched. He heard Brennan's soft intake of breath beside him, but by the time he looked in her direction she had schooled her features into an impassive blank slate. She squatted beside the nearest of the tiny skeletons and gently tilted the skull toward her.

"They both appear to be between the ages of eight and eleven. Both male." She listed off her preliminary findings with clinical detachment, and then her jaw snapped shut and she stood quickly. "Who laid out these remains?"

Booth stepped forward. "What's wrong?"

Brennan placed her hands on her hips. "The markings on the wrists suggest they were very tightly bound until recently. Who removed the bindings?"

A nearby technician overheard the irritated demand and rifled through the evidence bags until he found the tagged pieces of chicken wire. He passed them off to Booth and then wisely made himself scarce.

"They're right here, Bones. Tagged and catalogued the way they should be. No one broke protocol."

Her eyes flashed briefly before she corrected the display of emotion and became stone faced once again. "Why am I even here? Why do I waste my time coming to these crime scenes when people insist on touching things before I arrive?"

"Lower your voice." Booth commanded tersely. "They're doing their jobs. Let them do their jobs, and you do yours. Focus on these kids. It's all going back to the Jeffersonian anyway."

"My job is to identify these skeletal remains. And my ability to quickly do so is being impeded by-

"Stop it."

She glowered, because she was just itching for a fight to distract her from the hate and misery she hadn't quite locked away yet, and he glared back, because he was pissed at the universe as well and he wasn't allowed to start yelling at people for no good reason just to make himself feel better.

With a defiant glare – as if he wasn't already exactly aware of how upset she was – Brennan went back to doing her job (as outlined by Booth) and Booth took a step backward to give her a sense of space.

"Do you remember what happened here at this mall during the summer maybe four, five years ago?" Booth suggested slowly.

Brennan was now deeply absorbed in her process and didn't look up, but she did grace him with a slightly distracted answer. "You're being very vague, Booth."

"Five boys went missing between June and August, all while shopping with a parent, all without a single clear shot of the abductor being caught on any camera…"

"Oh. Yes, I remember." She carefully lifted a bone fragment off the tarp, and Booth obligingly handed her an evidence bag before she could request one. "It was a security guard who worked in the mall. Highly unintelligent."

"Intelligent enough that no one ever found the bodies." Booth said impatiently, unwilling to spell it out for her, yet still expecting her to eventually figure out what he was implying.

"Well, shooting oneself after successfully hiding five bodies, that hardly suggests…" she finally raised her head to stare up at him, "… you're speculating that these could possibly be the remains of those missing children."

"Now she's got it."

She shot him a withering look but refrained from engaging. Long after her attention had turned back to the skeletons Booth's continuing stare remained in her peripheral vision, and she received the impression he either had something he wanted to say, or he was waiting for a signal of sorts. Unaware of what he expected from her and uncomfortable with his steady gaze, Brennan stubbornly ignored his presence until he drifted away to question the jogger and enabled her to finally concentrate.

The day steadily became worse. Over the course of the next few hours, two more bodies were pulled from the water, and a thick combination of anger and sadness threatened to suffocate everyone at the scene. There was little work Booth could do once the witness had been interviewed and he had touched base with the other law enforcement personnel. He continually harassed her for details about the bodies and pressured her for identifications, and never before had she so badly wished she could give them to him if only just to get him out of her personal space for long enough to take a breath. After the third time he interrupted her in as many minutes to ask if she had found anything interesting, Brennan snapped and told him to go guard something. Anything. Preferably a considerable distance from her. There was quiet after that.

After a total of five hours, Brennan protectively watched as the bodies were loaded into a vehicle; once it finally disappeared into the distance toward the Jeffersonian, she and Booth were alone. She began the short walk back to Booth's SUV and listened to her partner update Cam over the phone behind her, and by the time she was buckled into her seat, the minimal conversation between them ceased altogether. They had both apparently opted to follow the, "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all," school of thought. Neither Booth nor Brennan had the energy or desire for a fight, but no comments came to either of their minds that wouldn't immediately start a war.

When Booth picked up the cordless phone from the living room, Brennan moved to the kitchen and began to organize the paperwork adorning the kitchen table. Booth watched her shuffle the work into two equal piles with great diligence, and then float about the kitchen fixing tea for herself and coffee for him. She was so much more sensitive to her environment than she gave herself credit. Than even he oftentimes remembered to give her credit. She was giving him the space he needed to call his son, and any way one spun it, since he hadn't mentioned any such thing to her, her actions required an intuitive leap of sorts.

He dialled the number and paced restlessly behind the couch as he waited for someone to pick up.

"Hello?"

"Hey Becks." Booth picked a photograph up from a low shelf, turned it over in his hand, put it back and resumed pacing. "How's it going?"

"I'm alright. You don't sound so great though."

"I'm fine." He absently straightened the key hooks by the door. "I just wanted to talk with Parker for a little bit. If he's around."

"Rough day?"

Booth swallowed at Rebecca's sympathetic tone and briefly stopped fidgeting with the books lining the shelves of the far wall. "Yeah, you could say that."

"I'm sorry." Came the sincere reply. "Hold on a second, Seeley; I'll get him."

Booth established a pattern between the front and balcony doors as he listened to the muffled sounds of Rebecca travelling through her house in search of their son, spinning lampshades and fiddling with anything he could wrap his fingers around along the way.

"Hello?"

"Hey buddy." Booth said brightly. The normalcy was feigned, of course, but somehow it was less so already than it had been while he had spoken with Rebecca. Just that one word was enough to restore a little bit of the life force he had felt draining out of him. He loved his son. And as long as he had this job he could never take Parker's existence for granted.

"Hey dad. What's up?"

"Oh nothing much; Bones and I just came home from work and I felt like checking in with my favourite eleven year old."

"You don't even know any other eleven year olds." Parker said, and Booth smiled as he envisioned his not-so-young son rolling his eyes dramatically.

"That's beside the point, bub. So, what awesome things did you do today? Tell your old man everything."

"Well, at school today, during recess, my friend Alex and I found this- … actually wait; did you say that Bones is there? Like beside you?"

"Well, she's not right beside me; she's in the kitchen." Booth answered confusedly.

"Can you find her and put me on speakerphone? I want to make sure she hears this too. She knows everything."

By now there was a genuine smile stretched across Booth's face. "I know things too, Parks. Lots of things. What are you trying to say?" He teased.

"It's a science question, dad. Last time that you said we didn't need Bones' help to do my project you just had to call her later anyway. Are you in the kitchen yet?"

Booth laughed as he rounded the corner into the kitchen, and Brennan looked up quizzically from the form she had been signing.

"Apparently, my kid thinks you're somehow more qualified to answer his science questions than I am."

She recognized the joke for what it was and smiled back. "Well I do have multiple doctorates." She reminded him.

"Here we go with the doctorates. See what you've done, Park? Hold on."

Booth removed the kitchen phone from its cradle and inserted the one in his hand into the stand in its place. Immediately, the kitchen was filled with the slightly tinny sound of Parker's laughter.

"Hi Parker." Brennan smiled. Her eyes were bright and Booth noticed that she put down her pen and gave his son her full attention much faster than she would have done for anyone else interrupting her mid task. Himself included.

"Hey Bones. Okay, so at recess, my friend Alex and I found this huge gross bug, and we thought that it was dead but then Alex poked it with a stick and it moved, so I stayed and watched it while Alex went and got a jar, and then we caught it and now we're taking turns bringing it home."

While Brennan frowned, concerned for the life of the insect the two boys had caged, Booth gave Parker the response she supposed the boy expected.

"That's so cool."

"I know! But I've been looking through this book I borrowed from Dr. Hodgins, and I can't find it anywhere. So I thought maybe if I showed it to Bones, she would know the answer."

"Well, while Dr. Hodgins is the credited entomologist, I will certainly do my best to help." Brennan replied hesitantly. Booth gave her an encouraging smile and she continued on with confidence. "We can enlist his assistance if I encounter any difficulty."

"Awesome. Mom!" Parker bellowed, "Mom! I need to use your phone!"

A few seconds later Rebecca's voice entered into the background, admonishing Parker for the indoor use of his outdoor voice. Parker made an exasperated reply, and Booth and Brennan patiently endured a good deal of back and forth before Rebecca finally surrendered her cell.

Once Brennan received the photo text it was discovered that she actually wasn't familiar with the insect, and couldn't narrow it down any further than "beetle;" a development that delighted Booth to no end. But, as promised, Brennan forwarded the photo to Hodgins along with Parker's request.

Satisfied, Parked turned the conversation to a spelling test, a history movie, and a supply teacher who had made Wendy Truman cry – but it was okay, because she had (apparently) deserved it. By the end of the conversation Booth was sitting on the counter behind Brennan – still, at last – and the crushing weight on his chest had settled to a manageable ache that he knew wouldn't entirely disappear until the case was solved.

They had both staked out a corner of the couch; backs against the plush arms, bodies and legs facing one another, entangling over the middle cushions. Booth looked up from the stack of crime scene photos in his hand and watched Brennan make a note on the legal pad resting atop her knees before she reached for a highlighter on the coffee table. Her back arched and her t-shirt inched upward, exposing a rounded section of fair skin. He smiled softly as she retrieved the highlighter, tugged at her shirt, and squirmed against the constraining waist of her jeans, trying to find the exact comfortable position she had been sitting in before she had so foolishly moved.

There was no missing her pregnancy now. She had never explicitly tried to hide it, but she was so tall and lithe that her gradual belly had been fairly subtle. It was only within the last two weeks that the weight she had been gaining had finally begun to disperse itself further than her breasts. And thank God for that; her increase in cup size had become an outright distraction.

He felt her piercing gaze, and as he raised his eyes to meet hers he realized he had been openly staring for longer than he had thought.

"What?" She demanded self-consciously.

Booth smiled. "You're pregnant."

"I believe that was established months ago."

"I know, but you can tell now. I mean, you could tell before, but now you can really tell."

Brennan rolled her eyes. "Thanks, Booth."

He smirked, admitting that his words had been less than sensitive but not offering an apology as it was clear to him that she was far from genuinely offended.

She tossed her papers onto the coffee table. "I would like to take a brief break and give you your anniversary gift."

Booth's eyebrows lifted in surprise that the suggestion had come from her and not him. "Oh. Alright."

They swung their legs to the floor, and Booth headed for his – their – bedroom while Brennan disappeared into the hall closet.

She retrieved a small envelope from the second highest shelf and returned to the couch, sitting cross-legged against the arm and twisting the envelope nervously in her hand as she waited for his return. Booth was a romantic; he expected them to celebrate these dates even though she took far more pleasure in the natural, every day aspects of their relationship. However, she had very much wanted to give him something that would show him she appreciated the change as much as he did. And when she had thought of a gift that was both pleasant and sincere, she had consulted Angela (for a second opinion on its appropriateness) and then made a final decision. The decision had seemed sound at the time, but in the face of Booth's impending approval or rejection, she wondered if perhaps she should have gone with something safe like socks or a tie or maybe a really big television.

Booth returned toting a sizeable gift box adorned in sparkling yellow paper and topped with a white bow.

Brennan froze. She definitely should have gone with the television. What use was Angela if she couldn't keep her from making monumental mistakes like this one?

He leapt excitedly over the end of the couch and landed in a cross-legged position similar to hers. "Here." He thrust the package toward her. Brennan made no move to take it.

"I'm experiencing guilt in regards to our decision to take a break from work we only recently started." She stalled. "Perhaps it would be prudent to wait until tomorrow evening."

That would give her time to enlist Angela's help in finding a real present.

"No way, Bones. Come on; take it."

Reluctantly, Brennan stretched out her hands and took possession of the box, but under its surprisingly light weight, she frowned. Distracted by the mystery of it all, she temporarily forgot her concern regarding the potential inadequacy of her own gift and she neatly undid the ribbon and pulled off the top.

The oversized box was as empty on the inside as it had felt in her hands. Her head snapped upward to find Booth doing his best not to laugh.

"You tricked me!" By the time Brennan found her voice, she was so worked up she was close to stuttering.

"You should have seen your face!" He finally allowed the fit of laughter to escape. "Be honest, Bones, if I had gone to grab us coffee or another file or something, how fast would you have been out of here?"

She blushed furiously and racked her brain for a sufficiently witty response, and she experienced one of those moments she had tried to explain to Angela where she so badly wanted to kick a kneecap.

"That was not funny."

"Are you kidding me? That was hilarious!"

As her outrage increased and Booth began to fear she might throw the box at him, he sobered and leaned forward to take it out of her hands. Just in case.

"Did you really think I would do that to you?" He asked.

"Well," she fumbled, "I know that these dates mean a great deal to you, and-

-and I know exactly how uncomfortable they make you." Booth finished gently. "I love you. And I like taking you out to dinner and coming up with fun dates, but it's only fun for me if you're enjoying it. If I see something that makes me think of you, then yeah, I'm going to buy it, but it's because I want to and I'm hoping it will make you happy."

He took a chance and reached for her hand, grinning when she accepted the gesture. "This is our first anniversary, and I know you tend to freak out a little about 'first' anythings. Consider this one your free pass. And you better embrace it, Bones, because next year you're not getting off so easily. Next year I'm pulling out all the stops." He winked.

"We will have a small child by this time next year, Booth." Brennan stated.

Booth shrugged. "We've got tons of babysitters to choose from; you know Angela would love to be a part of something like that. And there's always Sweets; I'm sure he'd be glad for the part time job. Get it? 'Cause he's twelve?"

Brennan rolled her eyes and shook her head ruefully, and then she settled back in her seat, markedly more relaxed.

Booth reached into his back pocket and withdrew an envelope the approximate size of the type that held cards in flower arrangements. "Here." Brennan eyed him suspiciously and he chuckled. "No games this time. I promise."

She narrowed her eyes dubiously but flicked the envelope open regardless. Inside there was a picture of a rocking chair that looked as if it had been torn from a catalogue of sorts. A closer examination revealed it to be the exact rocking chair she had seen in the department store she and Booth had visited a few weeks ago, when they had attempted to buy a new toaster together following an "accident" Parker had had with the old one. Booth had insisted on taking a look at the baby things – even though she had insisted they still had months before that was necessary – and the chair had reminded her so much of the one she remembered her mother using, she hadn't been able to brush it off.

She made eye contact with Booth and struggled to interpret the meaning. "You are giving me this picture as a symbol of the good memories we will impart on our future child?" She guessed weakly.

Booth laughed. "You are brutal at psychology. No, Bones. The actual chair is your present. It seemed to mean a lot to you. They didn't have any left in stock when I went back, so I ordered it, but it didn't get here in time."

Brennan stared at the glossy photo and thought to a lifetime ago when her mother had sat with her in that chair; to when her mother had read to her when she was sick and rocked her gently when she had cried because the other children at school ignored her and thought she talked funny. It had been a very good chair.

"So? Do I pass?" Booth prompted.

Brennan smiled and leaned forward to thankfully kiss his cheek. "You pass with a lot of colour."

Her eyes twinkled and Booth grinned at her intentional muck up, reminiscent of years ago when they had both been entirely different people.

"Alright, my turn." He clapped his hands together. "Lay it on me, Bones."

She shyly handed him the envelope and tucked her hands beneath her legs.

Booth tore open the flap and pulled out a sonogram photo. He frowned in confusion and then met her anxious gaze. "I haven't seen this one before."

Brennan nodded enthusiastically. "That's correct. It was taken a week ago while you were working on the Anderson case."

"You went to an appointment without me?"

Her newfound confidence plummeted at the disappointment in his tone, and she realized she had once again managed to do the exact wrong thing. Next year, she was getting him a television. Possibly two, in order to make up for this year.

"It wasn't technically a scheduled appointment." She tried to explain, "I'm twenty three weeks along and we still haven't been able to determine gender due to our child's refusal to co-operate. There was an opening and I persuaded the clinic to let me take advantage in hopes that the baby's position would be more favourable. I thought it was a good idea… Angela assured me you would enjoy it."

Booth took note of the uncertainty tingeing her tone and felt a pang of regret for eradicating her excitement. "It is a good idea, Bones." He consoled. "And you managed to keep this a secret for a whole week! That's like a record for you."

"It seemed important." She shrugged.

Determined to restore the enthusiasm he had inadvertently taken away from her, Booth reached forward and began to tug playfully on her foot. "Okay; get over here and show me what's what."

Brennan rolled her eyes and extricated her foot from his grip before shifting to his side of the couch and settling between his legs. Once she had arranged herself comfortably against his chest, Booth eagerly held the photo in front of them.

"Do your thing, Bones."

"Well, this here is the head-

"I know that much! Come on, Bones, do the good part first. Boy or girl?"

Brennan's eyes lit up as she warmed to her topic, and she took possession of the picture. "This, right here?"

"Uh huh?"

"It's an arm."

Booth couldn't see her face clearly, but he caught the undertone of barely contained laughter in her speech and knew that she was being evasive entirely on purpose. He decided that he much preferred to be on the giving end of teasing as opposed to the receiving end.

"You think you're funny, don't you?"

"I'm finding myself highly amused by my actions, yes." Brennan agreed.

Booth pursed his lips in muted outrage and poked her side, hitting a spot he knew to be particularly sensitive with his usual former-sniper accuracy.

"Hey!" She jumped.

He repeated his assault, and though she fumbled against his hands, his quick reflexes evaded her grip continuously.

"I'm finding myself pretty highly amused by my own actions." Booth countered with a grin. "How 'bout that?"

"Girl." The answer came out in the form of a somewhat strangled gasp. "She's a girl."

Booth's hands stilled and Brennan turned her head to glare at him. He took no notice of the dark look, however, and instead stared through her with an expression she would categorize as stunned. After waiting what seemed - to her - to be a reasonable amount of time, she began to tap his thigh repeatedly with her index finger.

"Booth?"

The kiss he placed on the base of her neck was unexpected, and Brennan automatically flinched due to her current suspicion of his every move. When she was (mostly) certain he had no intention of so childishly tickling her again, she relaxed against his chest.

"You're amazing." He breathed.

"It's simple biology, Booth." She scoffed. "While the human body itself is quite remarkable, I have no real control over its internal functions."

He laughed. "Parker isn't going to be happy about this. He had his heart set on a boy."

Brennan shrugged, "I will simply explain to him that it's your fault."

"My fault?"

"Yes." She stated factually. "As the male, you are the one in possession of both an 'x' and a 'y' chromosome. Therefore you are, on an admittedly vague level, the one responsible for gender."

"Great. As if you don't have my son conspiring against me enough as it is."

"I quite enjoyed having an older brother when I was a child. Given what an excellent child Parker is, it's likely our progeny will develop a deep admiration for him in a similar manner."

"He'll be good to her." Booth stated confidently.

"You are a good person, Booth." Brennan put forth sensibly. "Parker has learned how to treat others from you."

He kissed the top of her head. "I hope she's just like you. Maybe a little bit less of a smartass, but mostly like you."

Brennan laughed and traced arbitrary patterns over the back of Booth's hand. "I think that perhaps next year I will be ready for you to 'pull out all the stops.'" She admitted. "I think that, perhaps, I will enjoy it."