A/N: Honestly, this one ended up way different than I expected. When I originally thought of this, I was going to make it kind of humorous. Instead I ended up with a kind of angsty (although fluffy) piece. Spoilers for 6x22. Also, I've kind of disregarded some facts, so this is just a little AU.

This is slightly based on a chapter from casket4mytears' story "The Bites of the Partnership Pie". At least, that's where I got the idea from.

DISCLAIMER: Nope, they're not mine.


The bets had started after the first case, although the people in the betting pool had been slightly different. They'd all gone to a bar in celebration, drinking more than they should and eating until they were stuffed. Brennan had been the first to leave, claiming she needed to write up a couple of reports. Booth had immediately jumped up, offering her a ride, and in the end he had escorted her outside to a taxi. He hadn't returned, choosing to go home as well.

"How long do you think it's going to take them to get together?" Angela had asked.

had rolled his eyes, clearly not interested. "I think that's my cue to leave."

Hodgins, drunk just slightly more than he should've been, had given a poke in the shoulder. "Don't be ridiculous," he'd said. "Live a little!"

"I give it two more cases," Angela had declared. "Zach?"

And so the bets began. They were always about Booth and Brennan, but otherwise they didn't follow very many patterns. Sometimes they were about how they were going to get together. Sometimes they were about when their first child would be born. Whether it would be a boy or a girl. What they would name him or her, where they would live. Most had lost track of the bets, as there were so many and so varied, and they were always at least a little tipsy.

Angela was the one who kept track of the bets, all of them written down on a piece of paper with everyone's money attached in an envelope. Every couple of months, whenever there was a development in their relationship, she'd go through the folder of bets and try to pick out the ones where someone had won.

Bets were won and bets were lost, but one bet was repeated, over and over, because no one ever won. It was the bet of 'when are Booth and Brennan going to officially get together?", and the rules were extensive. The winner of that bet stood to win more than a thousand dollars. They renewed it every six months, and a minimum of five dollars had to be added in if you wanted to continue the bet.

The rules had been debated again and again, and although they still didn't all exactly agree on them, the ones that were written were clear. The day had to be when someone who had bet found out, not the day they'd begun dating. A kiss or a 'physical encounter', as Angela wrote down for Clark's sake, did not count as getting together. Both Booth and Brennan had to admit they were dating, and this could only be confirmed either by an explicit confession from both or a witness of both telling each other "I love you". The person who won had to have the date closest to the real one, but without the date passing by. That added the possibility of them all losing, but they were all too excited about the possibilities to care. Finally, no one could force them to confess. They could poke and prod fun, but they couldn't explicitly ask about their relationship.

The other bets were usually less 'ruled'. Some were fun to win, like a particular one Hodgins had won, when Booth and Brennan had been undercover as Buck and Wanda, circus extraordinaires. The bet had been set after the Vegas case, and had no time limit. It simply stated that at some point, Booth and Brennan would be in a situation where they had to have more than hugs and touching to prove they were a couple, during an undercover situation. There weren't many rules for that one, so rocking the trailer had counted as a win.

Some, though, weren't fun to win at all. Wendell had once bet that at some point, before they got together, Brennan would confess her love to Booth. It was sheer coincidence that a couple of nights after Brennan had told Angela what she'd done – confessing her feelings to Booth, being turned down in favor of Hannah – Angela had flipped through the folder to Wendell's bet. He'd won fifty dollars, fifty dollars he probably needed, but he'd given back everyone's money, claiming that it made him sick to accept it.

And so the bets continued, no matter how ridiculous, no matter how strange, and Booth and Brennan lived on, oblivious. Everyone at the lab had lost count of just how much money they'd lost, just how much of it was saved with Angela.

The last time they'd placed a bet, on Booth and Brennan getting together, had been a month before Vincent's death. Once again, none of them had absolutely, truly believed that they would get together, not within those six months, not after six years of betting.

And then Vincent had died, and Brennan had told Angela about that night, but it hadn't counted as a confession. Still, it got everyone keyed up. They all knew, but there was no certainty, the rules had not been met. Everyone in the lab held on to their dates, growing more and more excited and worried as they got closer and mourning their loss as they passed.

Then the day came when Brennan invited everyone to her house for dinner. Every little thing the couple said was considered to be a sign, so when the dinner came around, Daisy was convinced she was going to win. Her date, after all, was the day after the dinner. No way would someone beat her.

Booth and Brennan, oblivious to the bet, had spent weeks sitting on their secret and deciding when they would reveal it. Their argument had officially become invalid when, a week ago, Fisher had commented that Brennan seemed to be gaining a little weight. He had said it in the nicest way possible, and he certainly hadn't been trying to insult Brennan. He hadn't connected the dots, a firm believer that when Booth and Brennan did get together, they would take it slow in order to make sure they wouldn't ruin their relationship. He had no idea that he was commenting on more than a slight pudge in Brennan's belly.

"I shouldn't have worn that damned shirt," Brennan had complained that night, as she and Booth made dinner. "It was too tight. I should've realized that my belly would've been more obvious."

Booth had reached for her, pressing his hand against her belly, musing to himself that it was true. She was nearly five months pregnant now, and every night they wrapped a measuring tape around her, watching the evidence that she was growing, slowly, bit by bit, but growing. She chose to wear loose clothes, hoping that no one would notice, but she'd seen the shirt and splurged on it, and she hadn't really been worried when the shirt had been just a little too tight for her.

"So we'll tell them," he'd murmured into her ear, trying to stop her from getting too nervous. "It's not like it'll be that bad. We've been planning to tell them anyways."

They'd both worked hard to make the night perfect: they'd cleaned her living room to near perfection. They'd cooked the best things they knew how to make. They'd done absolutely everything they could, and as their guests appeared, they couldn't help but notice a strange sense of anticipation in the air. Some were kind of glum; some were a little keyed up. Daisy, in particular, had shown up nearly ecstatic, giving them both tight hugs and clapping her hands.

Angela had already lost, to her dismay. Her date had been closer to when Brennan had confessed to crawling into bed with Booth. She had brought the folder, though, hiding it in her purse. They had all agreed the night before that if they really did confess; they would gather at the diner afterwards and find out who won.

They ate dinner, chatting amongst themselves and just barely reining in their happiness and excitement for the couple. At the very end, they'd gathered in the living room. Brennan had sat on the sofa, Booth stood behind her with his hands on her shoulders. "I think you'll all be very happy to know," he'd announced, barely reigning in a smile, "that Bones and I...well, we're together. We're dating."

Daisy had nearly exploded, jumping up and down, and there had been a round of extreme congratulations before Max had cleared his throat and looked pointedly down at his daughter's belly. "Booth, are you sure there isn't something else you and Tempe would like to announce?"

"Oh yes!" Brennan had said smartly, nodding amongst her friends. "I am carrying Booth's progeny." She'd turned to look at her friends, wondering if they'd understood. "I'm pregnant."

This time, unlike the explosion of happiness and excitement amongst their friends, there was a ripple of shock. Fisher had stared, mouth open, at Brennan's belly, suddenly understanding her weight gain. Angela had walked backwards until she found the sofa, collapsing down onto it as she realized the meaning behind her friend's mood swings and odd cravings. Only Max had been unaffected, staring smugly at the man he'd always known would be perfect for his daughter.

An hour later, after all of them had made up excuses to leave after an appropriate amount of time, they'd gathered at the diner. Angela had pulled out the folder, glancing in amusement at Daisy, who was nearly falling off her seat in excitement. "I won, I won, I won!" she'd said, excitedly. No one at the table disagreed with her: all of them knew she was the closest, as everyone else's dates had either gone by or were too far away.

No one, until Angela pulled out the folder and gasped.

"What?" Daisy had asked, head tilted. "I know my date, I know it. I said, September 17th. I said it! If it's written down wrong-"

"It's not written down wrong," Hodgins had said, reading over Angela's shoulder, his lips moving silently in shock. "It's right here. September 17th. Daisy Wick."

"Then what's the problem?" Sweets asked, staring at Angela in confusion.

"September 16th,"Angela had read, her mouth barely moving, her voice shell-shocked. "Vincent Nigel Murray."

There they sat, staring at each other, looking from one to another. Even Daisy couldn't grieve her loss, her fingers shaking as she held them to her lips.

"It fits," Wendell had finally said, leaning his forehead into his hands. "It fits. I mean, he's the reason they're together, right? It fits that he would win."

"Maybe we should divide back the money," Hodgins had said tiredly, barely hiding the pain in his voice, resting his cheek on his palm. "Look, Angela has the list of who paid what, dating all the way to six years back. Everyone can win back what they paid."

And so Angela pulled the money from the envelope, dividing and giving back all of it to those there. "There's still..." she swallowed, staring down at her hands. "There's still Vincent's money. And 's."

Daisy had sat there, staring at the money in her hands, so little compared to what she was going to win, and somewhat so worthless. It was still a good amount of money – more than a hundred dollars – but she felt sick just holding it.

"I don't want this," she'd said, throwing the money on the table.

"Me either," Clark had said, shuffling his money and setting it down in a perfect little pile.

Slowly, every person sitting around the table had set their money down on the table, until more than a thousand dollars was sitting in the middle.

Silence had fallen, each considering the friend they'd lost, the friend who had not only been the reason their favorite couple was now together (and having a child!) but also the one who had predicted the exact date they would officially announce it.

"I've got an idea," Hodgins had said slowly, and they had all turned to him, listening, as smiles slowly spread across their faces.


She stared at the small section of wall in the corner of the lab as she bit her pen. Over the years it had become a habit for her to look at it, as she pondered cases, evidence, even her own life. The area in the corner had been officially inaugurated about a month after Christine's birth, and though her daughter had never met the man it honored, she still insisted on stopping to look at it every time she passed it.

"Mommy!" a voice called, and she looked down just in time to stop Christine's body from knocking her over. Small arms wrapped around her legs, and she laughed as she reached down to pick her up.

Knocked out of her reverie, she looked down the steps to the door, to where Booth stood. Even from far away, she could see the pride and love written all over his face, and her own lips couldn't help but curve into a smile. Picking up her purse, she walked down the steps, sliding her card to stop the incessant beeping Christine had caused, and when tiny fingers tugged at her hair, she took a slight detour to the corner.

Chrissy's hand reached out, resting against the cool metal of the plaque, the glass that covered the picture. Her fingers traced the letters of the quotes written around it, some in paint and some in pen, all by those who loved and cherished the man underneath the glass.

Her daughter became distracted as Booth let out a whistle, immediately kicking to be let down before running into her father's arms. Yet still Brennan lingered, her own hands reaching to trace the words she'd written. Yes, it was true that, even if it hadn't been for that day, she probably still would've ended up with the man she loved, the daughter she adored. And yet, she still felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude every time she saw the picture, a feeling that, if it hadn't been for him, she wouldn't have the life that made her wake every morning with a smile on her face and a bounce in her step.

She let her fingers trace over Vincent's name before turning to the life he had set into motion.