It is one of life's more uncomfortable truths that time has a nasty habit of speeding by, often in direct proportion to how much we wish it would instead crawl. Sitting across from Brennan in the small sandwich shop housed in the same building as the fertility clinic, watching her swirl a spoon in oatmeal she had yet to taste, Booth had plenty of time to ruminate on that fact.
They picked up a case on Monday and another one on Thursday, and the days had flown by as he watched her . . . and she watched him. The thought of what they were about to do was never far from the surface, and brought with it an awareness that sizzled between them on a current so strong that everyone around them felt the vibration.
Cam called twice and stopped by his office once, an encounter he dodged by virtue of being in his boss's office at the time, delivering a status report. He'd never been so grateful for those boring meetings before.
He wondered if Brennan was dealing with similar well-meaning interference but didn't know how to ask.
He wavered . . . and wavered again, tossed about like dandelion seeds drifting in the winds of a hurricane, one minute deciding he had no business going with her and the next knowing he would never be able to stay away.
Technically, she invited you. Okay, you brought it up first but then she asked you so really, you're doing her a favor.
And last Sunday, with Parker, somehow she fixed it with Rebecca so you could have him all day, so you kinda owe her.
Besides, you were there when your first child was conceived, might as well be there for this one, too.
He responded to his internal conversation with an audible snort and then froze when Brennan's quick glance up from her bowl snagged his.
"Something wrong with the oatmeal?" He tried to maintain an easy, casual tone, as if he hadn't been covertly studying her since he'd first arrived at her apartment that morning.
"It's fine." She shrugged and immediately scooped a bite into her mouth before pointing at his plate with the spoon. "Your eggs are getting cold."
"Oh, they were too hot anyway." He shoveled in a heaping forkful that almost came right back out with a stream of bile. With difficulty, he chewed and swallowed and tried to smile. "Mmmm."
The spoon hit the table top with a clatter as Brennan's hands dropped to her lap. "I believe . . . I am experiencing anxiety." The words started with slow hesitation and ended in a hurried confession.
Tableware rattled again when Booth pushed his plate away at once and leaned in toward her, fingers laced together on the laminate surface. "Then don't do it."
"You don't want me to have a baby?"
He cursed himself mentally for being the cause of the glimmer of pain he saw in her expression and quickly backpedaled. "No, I mean . . . I do. I do," he insisted with a nod of his head. "I do. I didn't mean . . . I just meant that if you're scared -"
"I'm not frightened." She was quick to argue the point, even as the fresh resolve struggled with an uncertainty that was obvious to him. "It's just . . . I couldn't sleep last night and . . ." She reached with both hands for the half-full glass of orange juice in front of her. "My whole life will change." One thumb circled the rim of the drink.
"Yea." He watched her carefully, noted the eyes that avoided his, the careful concentration on the beverage in her hands. His gut churned; fancifully, he imagined he could hear a squeal as the coil inside his stomach that had wound tighter and tighter over the last week turned another notch. "Yea, it will."
"But change is a good thing, isn't it?" Her gaze lifted then, to meet his. "You're always telling me that I'm too mired in my usual habits."
"Yea, but this is a baby, Bones." Their glances locked. "A person. It's not like . . . like, trying a new brand of coffee and then deciding you don't like it. You can't go back." He hesitated for only the span of time it took to draw breath, then plunged forward. "If you're having doubts now - "
"Do you ever regret having Parker?"
"No." His response was instant. "No, never." One shoulder lifted slightly. "I'm sorry things didn't work out with Rebecca," he admitted honestly. "Sorry that we couldn't, you know, make it work but Parker?" His smile was wide and loving. "Parker makes my life 110% better." He couldn't resist the gentle, familiar tease and was rewarded with a tilt of her chin and a hint of laughter in her eyes.
The light moment faded quickly. "Rebecca seems to manage very well alone."
"She's not alone . . . she has me." The drumbeat of a pounding heart filled his ears. Giving into the impulse, he risked the opportunity offered by the flow of conversation. "So will you." He reached across the few inches of space that separated their hands and rested his fingers on hers, around the curve of the glass she still held. "If that's what you want."
Seconds ticked away as she studied the sight . . . his short, well-kept nails close to the buffed ovals of her own, the strength in the tanned fingers lying against her pale skin. A bubble descended over the table, shutting out the noise of other diners, of the tinkling of the cash register and the bells that jangled when the door opened.
"It doesn't seem quite fair to you," she said, when she finally looked up. Her fascinating eyes seemed to change color as she blinked, first blue, then green, then silver. "Having a baby was my idea. It wasn't your choice."
With what felt like Herculean effort, he focused on her words. "It was my choice to help," he pointed out. One side of his mouth quirked. "I could have let you use that professor at Georgetown."
She gave in to a brief smile before her face became earnest again. "I don't want you to worry that I will make demands of you. I'm quite self-sufficient."
His stomach knotted as her fingertips fluttered and stretched up to intertwine with his.
"I know."
Neither noticed that the light touch of their hands had become a caress.
"And of course, I don't expect anything of you financially."
"You're rich. Got it." His brown eyes were warm and soft as he smiled across the table at her.
"Statistically speaking, children perform better with a strong male influence in their lives." Her tongue darted out to moisten dry lips. "If, on occasion, you wanted -"
"I do," he nodded quickly. "I will."
I want a baby.
My baby.
His fingers tightened around hers; for the first time, they noticed the intimacy of their hold on each other. Immediately, their hands separated and moved off the table, out of sight.
The moment shattered.
"We should probably -"
"I'll get the check."
.
.
.
The small waiting area was occupied; the young couple already seated looked up with small, diffident smiles when Booth and Brennan entered the office. Returning the greeting with a nod, Booth chose an empty chair while Brennan registered at the reception desk. When she returned to his side, he leaned forward, grabbed two magazines at random from the stack on the coffee table and passed one to her.
"These places are always so quiet, aren't they?" The female half of the other couple spoke up after a couple of minutes of silence had passed. "I'm Teresa." She nodded toward her companion. "My husband, Steve."
Booth and Brennan exchanged a short glance. "I'm Seeley," Booth finally answered. His head inclined slightly toward Brennan. "Temperance."
"Hi." Teresa's grin was self-conscious but friendly. "So, how long have you guys been trying?" Her tone was edged with polite, if faintly nervous, curiosity.
Booth coughed and cleared his throat. "Excuse me?"
"This is our fourth time. No luck yet, though." Teresa patted her husband's knee. "Next up, in vitro!"
Her tone was bright and chipper but when the open smile wavered, Steve quickly grabbed her hand and squeezed. "Fourth time's the charm, right?" He looked at Booth with a faintly embarrassed shrug. "Slow swimmers, you know how it is, right?"
Booth's hand went to smooth a tie he wasn't wearing but before he could respond, Brennan had already spoken.
"Oh, no. Booth has excellent sperm."
Her words fell into an embarrassed silence before the young man nodded and shrugged in a gesture meant to be casual. "Well, lucky you, right?"
An uncomfortable moment followed before Teresa leaned forward again. "So you're the problem?" she asked Brennan, her voice filled with sympathy. "What's wrong?"
Brennan's eyebrows rose imperiously. "Pardon me?"
"Mrs. Fairburn?" A nurse in light blue scrubs thankfully interrupted before the conversation could develop further.
"That's us!" There was a flurry of activity as the hopeful parents gathered their things together and stood up. "Good luck to you." Teresa bestowed a sincere smile on Booth and Brennan before she hurried off with her husband to follow the nurse.
For a moment, the only sound was that of the receptionist typing at her computer.
Finally, Booth looked at Brennan and gave a short bark of laughter. "People will talk about anything in waiting rooms, huh?"
She pursed her lips and nodded and for the next five minutes, they stared down at their separate magazines without once turning a page.
"Dr. Brennan?" A different nurse was there, this one in light purple scrubs.
"Yes." She stood up, took two steps in the direction of the nurse, then paused when the woman spoke again.
"Your friend can come back with you, if you'd like."
Wary blue eyes met panicked brown. "No." Booth was already shaking his head, even as he half-rose from the chair. "No. I'll . . ." He collapsed back to a sitting position and clutched the rolled up magazine like a shield. "I'll just . . . wait out here."
Brennan turned away before he could read her expression. Disappointment? Relief? Once she was gone, Booth struggled to remember exactly how she'd looked . . . His gaze swept over his surroundings as he desperately sought something to distract his thoughts from where they zoomed automatically – into the room with Brennan, to what was happening at that very moment.
" . . . very simple procedure . . . semen . . . hollow syringe . . . which is then . . ."
The receptionist looked over curiously when he propelled himself forcefully out of the chair. He gave her a tight smile and walked to the window as if that had always been his intended destination.
The parking lot and scrawny trees sticking up from small squares of dirt squeezed into acres of pavement disappeared.
Fantasy and reality collided.
" . . . the semen that you . . . donated . . ."
Long, long legs . . . impossibly long legs wrapped around him . . .
Dingy, tawdry room . . .
" . . . hollow syringe . . ."
. . . naked beneath him . . .
" . . . the semen that you . . . donated . . ."
Eyes flashing silver . . . the whisper of his name . . .
Booth . . .
"Sir? Excuse me?"
He jumped, startled, at the light touch of a hand on his arm. "Huh?"
The purple scrubs were back. "We're done now," the nurse explained, her smile uncertain as she noted his reaction to her appearance. "You can wait with Dr. Brennan if you'd like. We need her to lie prone for half an hour or so but there's no need for you to sit out here alone. Come with me," she encouraged, taking his assent for granted as she turned away. "I'll take you to her room."
He followed automatically, a marionette blindly dancing to the rhythm of strings controlled by someone else. He caught a glimpse of the number 4 and flushed hot just before they turned a corner into a hallway lined with doors labeled with letters of the alphabet. The nurse stopped at C and tapped quietly before she poked her head in.
"Dr. Brennan?" She pushed it open wide and waited for Booth to shuffle his way inside. "I brought you some company while you wait," she announced cheerfully. "Would anyone like some juice or a bottle of water?" When they both shook their heads no, she stepped across the threshold and pulled the door closed. "I'll be back in thirty minutes!"
Booth stood just inside the door, afraid to breathe, unsure of where to look or what to look at. Just feet away, Brennan lay on an examination table, knees bent, still wearing the blouse he'd seen that morning but covered from the waist down with a plain white waffle weave hospital blanket. Bare toes, the nails painted a soft seashell peach, peeked out from the edge of the cover. Dangling from a hinge attached to the end of the table, he could see one glittering silver stirrup.
"She made me come in." The explanation escaped in a rush, anxious as he was to assure her that being here wasn't his idea, that he wasn't . . . invading her privacy, that he wasn't trying to push her into . . .
I want a baby.
"It's fine." Brennan's eyes were fixed on his. "It's fine." When he still didn't move, her head tilted toward the wall on the other side of the exam table. "You should probably sit down, though. I have to wait like this for thirty minutes."
"Right." He heard her but it took another minute for the desire to walk to register in his brain. When it did, his shoulders moved forward while his feet remained rooted in place. Finally, feet and body began to move in sync and he managed clumsy, ungainly steps across the room.
Two black armless chairs sat beneath a garish print of red and gold sunflowers. On the floor stood a pair of tall black leather boots while on one seat, inky blue denim jeans had been folded neatly. A scrap of white lace sticking out from beneath the jeans caught his attention. He looked away quickly and shifted the empty chair a few inches to the side.
Brennan watched him without speaking.
His eyes met hers, skittered away, and landed on the other metal stirrup hanging from the end of the table.
The safest place to look seemed to be directly into her eyes.
"So . . ." He smiled and attempted a pose of nonchalance. "Everything go okay?" He heard the words come out of his mouth and flinched internally. Oh, God.
"Yes."
Her upraised knees were at the corner of his vision; his eyes burned with the effort to avoid looking in that direction. "Good."
A minute ticked away.
He looked at the ceiling.
Frowning, she followed his gaze.
Chance locked their fleeting glances together again.
"So . . ." He swallowed roughly. "So, the . . . the stuff, it's . . . in there."
" . . . Yes."
"Good."
Silence fell once more. His eyes were drawn against his will when the blanket that covered her began to move as her knees tapped together nervously. She saw the direction of his gaze and immediately stilled.
"I have to lie prone for thirty minutes to minimize seepage." The unasked for explanation tumbled out. "Then they'll insert a cervical cap and -" She hesitated at the look on his face. "It's like a diaphragm except -"
To her surprise, Booth began to laugh.
"Why is that funny?"
"Well, if they're using a diaphragm then you'll be preg-" He bit off the comment, and then it was her turn to look confused and his to attempt an explanation. "That was what . . . when Rebecca got pregnant, she was using . . . well, we were using . . ."
"Oh." She nodded in understanding. "That was your method of birth control."
"Well, obviously not so much." The words, and the dry tone in which they were uttered, finally broke through the tension between them. When the laughter faded, so had much of the discomfort.
"You're really okay?" He had to ask again, this time so he could actually hear the answer.
"Yes, I am."
His gaze landed once more on the stirrup that was visible to him. "Those things . . ." He shuddered dramatically. "I've been in these rooms before, you know, with Rebecca," he explained. "Those things creep me out."
"They're usually cold," she agreed. "And the position is uncomfortable."
"Yea, I bet." He shifted in the hard chair and tried to think of something else to talk about.
He wasn't quick enough. "Did you accompany Rebecca to many of her prenatal appointments?"
"Oh. Well, yea, when I was around." He lifted one foot to the opposite knee and plucked at the hem of his jeans. "But I missed a lot, too."
She studied his reaction the way she would a research subject. "I'm sure that was difficult for you."
"Yea." He shrugged and then met her eyes. Say it. "You know, you want to be there for everything. You want to be the person she can count on."
She didn't look away. "Booth -"
A knock preceded Dr. Matheson's entry into the room again. "Hello again," she announced cheerfully, and shook hands with Booth when he stood up, before she turned to Brennan with a pat on one blanket-covered knee. "Let's take one more look, shall we? Then we'll insert the cervical cap and let you go home."
When her hands went to the bottom of the blanket, Booth slid behind the doctor and headed for the door. "I'll just wait in the hall, okay? Just . . . I'll just be . . . out there." He escaped before anyone could stop him.
Brennan's eyes caught his before the door closed behind him.
"You want to be the person she can count on."
He hadn't been talking about Rebecca.
They had both known it.
.
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It's like watching snails race, isn't it? :-D
Thanks for reading!