Within the Cold Mid-Winter

Booth sat in the hospital waiting room as he had many times in the past. Hunched over, elbows on his knees, hands clasped, eyes closed. At 3:30 am, he had no company in the small seating area, no one to notice the slight movement of his lips. He would've sought out the chapel, if not for the unpredictable nature of the mission that had roused him from bed in the middle of the night.

Dressing quickly, he and Brennan had jumped into their car and driven through the bitter, windy darkness. On the way, they shared memories of arguing with an innkeeper more concerned about his wine tasting than imminent childbirth, and the small shed where Christine had entered the world.

"Leave it to our daughter to continue her flair for the dramatic," Booth had sighed. "She picks the coldest damn night of this winter to have a baby…at least the day you delivered was warm and sunny, Bones."

Brennan had looked over at her slightly distraught husband, knowing parental anxiety was causing his rant.

With a wry smile, she patted his knee, and replied, "Booth, we are both skilled scientists, but neither I nor Christine can control the timing of childbirth! Inducing labor is sometimes necessary, but a natural delivery was my goal and our daughter shares that desire."

"Well, why in tarnation did they decide it had to be at GWU? Why not Shady Grove Adventist? Driving 50 miles in the middle of the night is sheer lunacy in my book!"

"Booth, stop exaggerating; the hospital is only 16.8 miles from our house, and much closer to Chrissy and Michael's apartment. You know why...Before she retired, Dr. Bannon recommended they deliver at GWU because of their Level I nursery! The baby may not have LCA or any complications, but it's best to be prepared."

"Says the woman who would have given birth in a prison infirmary!" Booth had sputtered.

Their bickering had continued until they pulled into the hospital's front entry, Brennan hopping out and Booth off in search of a parking spot. At 2 am, there was plenty of space.

Due to multiple injuries during their careers, both parents knew the hospital's layout well and the expectant grandfather's long strides and rising pulse carried him down the corridors in record time. Skidding to a halt at the nurses' station, he had barely opened his mouth to speak before spotting Brennan further down the hallway, motioning to him.

"Booth, Michael says she's doing fine so far."

"Can I at least see her for a moment?"

"I think they'll permit that, if you calm down a bit first."

He had slipped into the private labor room, kissed his daughter's forehead, squeezed her hand, and clapped Michael on the shoulder.

"Hang in there, Bud. It will all go fine; this kind of thing has been happening for millennia," Booth had assured him with a smile.

Michael Vincent looked pale but determined. "I'm gonna take care of her, Booth!"

"I know you will, Son, just relax. You've gotta stay calm for Chrissy, ya' know? She's the one doing the heavy lifting."

"I know that; I'm just nervous."

"Aren't we all," Booth had responded, shaking his son-in-law's hand. "Now go help Chrissy get that baby here, man."

With that, he had walked down the corridor, plunked down into a chair he neither felt nor noticed, and began to pray for the safety of his child and hers, glad for the empty solitude of the waiting room.

Bbbbbbbbbbbbbb

At 5 am, Angela arrived, pushing Hodgins' chair in spite of its occupant doing the same. His curly hair stood on end, and she looked more distracted than Booth had ever seen her.

"I can't believe this happened when we were in Richmond," Angela gasped. "I finished my last presentation at 8:30 pm. It's a good thing left the reception early and went on to bed." She had been invited to speak at a symposium on the work of Alphonse Mucha, discussing "Le Pater" his 1899 illustrated volume of The Lord's Prayer, in which each phrase of the ancient prayer was decorated with ornately-scrolled border designs of flowers and Christian symbols. A Czech illustrator, painter, and graphic artist, Mucha was a master of Art Nouveau stylized designs, who produced ornate theatrical posters for Sarah Bernhardt's performances.

Hodgins looked up at Booth. "How are the kids doing?" he asked bluntly.

"Just fine from what I know. Bones has been back and forth checking on them. It seems Michael won't leave her side, even to get the nurse."

"He's worried about the baby's eyesight," Angela interjected.

"I know, that's natural. Same as you guys, I recall. We've just gotta have a little faith, ya' know? Ta tell the truth, I'm glad for some company; I've about run out of prayers to say without boring the Big Man upstairs," Booth replied.

Hodgins chuckled in spite of himself. "Yeah, it's not like we're in control of this process. Gotta be harder on Dr. B and Angie than us; they know what she's going through."

"You've got that right," the artist agreed.

Hurried footsteps sounded nearby. Michael Vincent appeared in the doorway. "He's here! William Henry Hodgins has arrived! Dr. Thompkins says his eyes are perfectly normal!"

Angela hugged her son. "I'm so glad for you, honey," she said softly, kissing his stubby cheek.

Hodgins shook Michael's hand, who engulfed his dad in an embrace, then turned to Booth with a grin from ear to ear.

"Your daughter was a trooper! She had a tough time for a while, but the doc says she's doing fine now, and your grandson is healthy, Booth! He's got quite a set of lungs, and knows how to use them!"

Bbbbbbbbbbbbbbb

Once the four grandparents had peeked in on Christine, and the newest family member, they left the hospital to catch up on some sleep. Driving home as sunrise brightened the sky, Booth looked over at Brennan.

"Chrissy has given us the finest gift she ever could, Bones. A healthy new grandchild born a week before Christmas; what better present could we receive? Better than any ornament made, though I'm sure gonna to find one to engrave with his name and hang on our tree!"

"Sorry if I was a little melodramatic on the way here, Bones," he continued.

"I was nervous too, Booth, but Christine did exactly what was required tonight; not that she had much control over the timing. She and Michael worked together, just as we did, and he was a great support and comfort to her. He might have been worried, but you'd never have known it. Acted calm as a squash throughout the birth process."

"Calm as a cucumber, Bones," Booth told her, then stopped.

"You did that on purpose, didn't you?"