Note: This is a companion piece to "Singing".
Disclaimer: We all know I don't own them.
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He's making her pancakes.
She's getting used to the way he hovers, making sure she's comfortable and keeping her fed. At first, it felt almost stifling – it had been a long time since anyone worried about her – but she knows it's how he shows he cares. She can picture him now, in his boxer shorts and that ridiculous "Kiss the Cook" apron.
She turns the water temperature up a little higher and steps into the steamy shower. The shower is so small that she can't extend either arm without hitting the outdated tile on the wall. Unlike the large, luxurious shower in her apartment, there is only one shower head and the water pressure is mediocre at best.
Of course, if she were at home, no one would be making her breakfast.
She lathers Booth's shampoo into her wet hair and winces as she hits her elbow on the glass door.
He wants to spend the day at the zoo. He says it will be fun. She supposes it will – pretty much anything she does with him is fun, if she excludes human remains, criminals, and religion. Now that she thinks about it, though, she supposes they have had some good times that involved dead bodies.
She's always lived a rather solitary life. She's used to spending her Saturdays at the gym or writing or catching up on the piles of work that she never seems to get through during the week. She's not used to having someone make her pancakes or suggest she spend a summer Saturday at the zoo. If you'd asked her before she and Booth started their sexual relationship, she would have thought she'd need more time alone. She's surprised how content she is to spend her nights watching the movies he wants to share with her or working at his kitchen table while he yells at some sort of quasi-tribal sporting event on the television.
She rinses the shampoo from her hair and turns off the shower, making another mental note to pick up some conditioner. Somehow, she never remembers that he doesn't use it until she's already in the shower.
She likes knowing the little things about him – that he sulks a little when his favourite team loses, or that he is extremely neat but considers "in the general vicinity of the hamper" close enough when it comes to socks, or that he makes sure he calls his son just before bedtime every night.
She likes knowing that she's important to him – that he'll worry if she's late getting home, that he brings her a cup of tea when she's too queasy for anything else, that he spent an evening fixing her closet door even though she could have called the super.
She smooths the lotion over her calf and notices it's becoming more difficult to bend over. Her body is changing, accommodating the child she is carrying.
She's excited about having a child with Booth. He is an excellent father, and together they have the financial and emotional resources to provide an exemplary home. If she's being honest with herself, though, she's also a little nervous. Not about childbirth – women's bodies are exceptionally well-designed for the birthing process – but of the days that come after. She can master the physical tasks for parenthood – feeding the baby, changing diapers – but how will she handle the emotional tasks? What if the baby doesn't like her? Will her child be as socially awkward as she is? How will she deal with her child's peer group, whose parents will likely either be intimidated by her celebrity or repulsed by her job? Will she feel trapped in D.C.?
Will the love she already feels for the child be enough?
She towel dries her hair as she walks into the bedroom. There's no point in getting dressed quite yet – somehow, they rarely make it through a meal fully dressed – so she pulls on Booth's t-shirt and steps over the circle of discarded socks to hang the damp towel over the edge of the laundry hamper. The floor is cool, so she pulls on the ridiculous bunny slippers Angela bought for her for Christmas. For some reason, Booth loves them. He says she looks cute in them.
No one has ever called her cute before.
Well, perhaps when she was a child. Children are generally considered cute. It's a survival mechanism. She must have been cute as well.
She feels the fetus kick and takes a calming breath. She is a best-selling author, a world-renowned scientist. She does not give up in the face of adversity. She will learn to an impressive parent.
She walks into the kitchen and his eyes light up. She's starting to get used to the way he looks at her, his metaphorical heart in his eyes.
He hasn't said so yet, but he loves her. She hasn't said it out loud, but she loves him, too. Booth will help her figure out how to raise this child.
They're in this together.
After all, they're partners.
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Anyone still there?