A/N: Honestly, this is extreme angst for the first half. I don't know why this came to me, but it did, and I just had to write it, even though it's sad and horrifying and could possibly make you cry. But it ends pretty happily, if I can say so myself.

By the way, there are two weeks to Bones! Is anyone else in shock over that?!

DISCLAIMER: Nope, still don't own them.

She sits in the front row, anxiously smoothing her hands over the silk dress, stopping at places to feel her daughter kick. She hadn't wanted to sit so close to him, she hadn't wanted to be here at all, but he had asked and she couldn't refuse him, not even after everything that had happened.

Beside her, Parker gently pats her arm, and she turns to him with a smile of gratitude. He is the only thing that makes sense to her these days, sticking by her through everything. He gave up his place in this event to be with her, admitting that it was his own tiny form of rebellion; that he didn't quite agree with all of this.

Up front, Booth stands with his hands held loosely together, eyes darting over the audience. She wills him to look at her, to catch her eye, but whenever his eyes do land on her, they move on within seconds. She is just a member of the audience, just another person, and it makes her stomach clench nauseously.

The organ begins to play, and Parker wraps an arm around her, steadying her with an arm on her elbow as they stand. Heads turn to look down the aisle, but she can't help but keep her eyes on him for a little longer. His hands let go of each other, his eyes light up, and a smile slowly spreads across his face, a smile filled with so much love and pride it glows, a smile that used to be hers.

Unwillingly she turns her head to watch the woman walking up the aisle. With her blonde ringlets and blue eyes, she looks like an angel in the white dress. The dress that used to be hers. It has been taken in, of course, as it was originally sewn to hold an eight-months-pregnant woman, which is not the case for the woman now wearing it. She looks just as beautiful as she did nearly seven years ago, when she'd declined Booth's first proposal.

The ceremony drags on, every word cutting into her like a knife, and then the audience once again turns, this time to watch a little girl – their little girl – walk up the aisle. Every step is precise, and she is so beautiful, even in the horrid dress Hannah picked out for her. Christine had begged to sit with her mother - not because of Parker's reasons, but because of simple stage fright – but they had convinced her.

She holds out the basket to them, and they take out their rings before Christine puts down the basket and nearly runs towards her mother, curling up into her side and resting an ear against her pregnant belly. Still the ceremony drags on, as they exchange vows and rings. They kiss, but even though everyone else claps and nearly coos at the sight, the two children in the front row stay quiet, in respect to the woman in between them, with her eyes closed and who bites the inside of her cheek in an attempt to stave off tears.

Everyone is ushered into the ballroom as the reception begins, and she finds herself wandering around the edges. Parker and Christine stand with the newlyweds, and she feels a little push of pride at the sight: Parker stands with a serene look on his face, no smile to be seen; and Christine only really smiles when she sees her mother standing across the room.

She finds herself at the buffet table, her cravings refusing to let her eat anything there. She holds a plate in her hands, chewing on her lip and simply staring at the array of food.

"He's divorced, you know."

The words catch her ear, and she stands absolutely still, listening to the conversation of two old ladies behind her.

"Divorced!" The lady sounds scandalized, as if a good part of the human population isn't divorced, as if this happens rarely.

"Not technically," the first lady says. "He broke off an engagement."

She tells her feet to walk, tells herself to turn away, but a tiny part of her brain tells her to stay, because she thinks that maybe, by some miracle, hearing her story in a stranger's words will give her some kind of perspective, some kind of understanding of the mess her life is.

"You see, he was engaged to this woman. Kind of pretty, but couldn't hold a candle to our Hannah." The two women chuckle. "God knows why they were together. The woman had no heart, no soul. They had a kid, because she, of course, wasn't careful enough. You saw the ring girl, right? Her name is Christine." The woman clucks. "Poor girl. No heart, just like her mother, cold and calculating."

Her fingers clench around the plate, dying to turn around and yell at the women. Her daughter is not cold. Her daughter is smart and brilliant and loving, but not cold.

"Anyways, they managed to stay together for five years. The woman didn't 'believe' in marriage, but about nine months ago he convinced her to get married. Thank goodness Hannah showed up in D.C. Talked some sense into him right away. Told him, 'you can't marry that woman, you two will never make it'. He finally realized it, of course, and broke off the engagement. Not two months later, he and Hannah were engaged."

She put down the plate carefully, slowly, and then walked as fast as she could to the bathroom. Her swollen feet hurt in her heels, but she can't take them off because that would be giving into the pain.

She sits in the bathroom for a while, tears slipping silently down her cheeks, pain ripping through her. How could they have gotten here? So little time ago, they had been together, and happy. He had kissed her good morning and good night and everything in between. Christine had gone to preschool and daycare and would talk excitedly every night about her day. They had a life, a beautiful one, a loving one, and how had it all dissipated into thin air?

She leaves the stall, ignoring the stares of those around her, and splashes her face with water before reapplying her makeup. It is nearly nine thirty, and she decides to find Christine and go home.

The first thing she sees when she walks out is Booth, talking tersely to a man in a suit. Behind them, Hannah tries to play with Christine, but her daughter looks confused and slightly annoyed.

Booth waves her over, and she waddles to where they are. "Temperance," he says, the formality hurting her deeper than anything, "This is Hannah's lawyer."

The man shakes her hand. "I'm here to talk about a custody agreement. We don't usually take these into court, since Christine was not born to a married couple. However, Mrs. Booth has expressed her wish to make this into an official contract. We can do this the easy way or the hard way, ."

She swallows. "Meaning?"

"You sign this, and the agreement is official. Christine will live full-time with Mr. and Mrs. Booth, and will visit you for a week every six months. Holidays will be negotiable. Once your daughter is born, she will be put into a similar contract after she turns one. If you refuse," he says, "we will dig into your past. We will find absolutely everything about you that you wish never sees the light of day. Not only will Mr. and Mrs. Booth be given full custody of Christine and your unborn daughter, but a restraining order will be filed against you as an unfit mother."

The man snaps his briefcase together, turning to walk away. "Think about it, . It's our final offer."

Booth turns to follow the man, and she reaches out one last, desperate time. "Booth," she croaks. "Why?"

Booth turns back to her slowly, and she begins to turn into dust, into nothing, as he gives her a malicious smile. "Don't you see, Temperance?" he says. And as he says the words, the words that break her, she disappears into nothing.

He wakes when her hand smacks his face.

"Ouch," he murmurs, turning around and blinking sleep from his eyes to watch her. She thrashes on the bed, a steady chorus of "no, no, no" slipping from her lips. "Bones," he says, then again, more desperately. He straddles her, bracketing her hips with his knees and trying not to startle her or let her hurt herself, leaning forward just a little on her pregnant belly. "Bones!"

She gasps, eyes flying open to look at him, and then wiggles until he lets her go. She crawls out of bed, wrapping a robe around herself before leaving the room. She walks down the stairs and out the door, sitting down on the cold cement of the porch and pressing her forehead to the metal railing. The night is hot and balmy, and the cold distracts her.

He comes up behind her, sitting down and wrapping his arms around her. She leans back automatically, sighing a little as she allows herself to relax completely against him.

"Nightmare?" he asks eventually.

She recalls the nightmare haltingly, bit by bit, and he stays silent. Even through the moments that scare him, even when he feels the need to assure her, to tell her that he loves her and that she is okay, he stays silent. He knows she needs to tell her entire story, to let it out before it festers and breaks her from the inside.

"I was disappearing," she finishes, her voice fading, "and you said to me..."

He doesn't need her to finish. He doesn't know how he knows, or why he knows, but he just knows, exactly what that horrible, deluded version of him had said to her. "I told you that you were a consolation prize," he says quietly, disgusted.

She nods, hiccupping as she cries, and he turns her in his arms.

"You know I was lying, right?" he says. "That night, that night I turned you down and told you Hannah wasn't a consolation prize. I was lying. Everyone," he says. "Every one of them. Tessa, Cam, Hannah...they were all consolation prizes after you. Nothing can possibly be better than loving you."

She looks at him with tear-filled eyes, a shaky smile curving her lips. One hand grabs his shirt, and she presses her lips against his neck in gratitude.

So there they sit for a while, possibly minutes, possibly hours. Eventually she tires, and he stands, cradling her in his arms and gently leading her up to their room. And as she falls asleep, head on his chest and his heart in her hands, he takes her fingers and gently thumbs the diamond on her ring, pressing his lips to her hair. He remembers her proposal, her halting attempts at romance and beautiful metaphors. He remembers planning their wedding, the things both of them gave up. He remembers the dress he had sewn especially for her, the one that flows beautifully over her pregnant belly, the one that brings out her eyes and makes her skin look like porcelain. "I promise you," he murmurs to her as her breaths even out, "nothing can stop us from getting married tomorrow. Nothing can stop us from happy ever after."