Author's Note: I struggled and struggled with this chapter. First and foremost big love to Kerrison. If it weren't for her the entire story may well have died with Chapter 9. The weekend was nearly impossible to write through. I tried, I did, but nothing came out right. She forced me to spank my inner critic and just write, damnit. Those parts of this chapter, I assure you, are the best.
Also, lots of thanks to tracgyrl who continues to answer my emails – though I'm not entirely sure why. :) Both ladies got copies of this chapter that included something along the lines of "what the hell do I do?" She was incredibly supportive as she read the rewrite and gently pointed out I was headed off on a tangent it was too soon to take.
So you have those two to thank that this story hasn't been completely derailed. I'm not sure how or why it happened (I mean, I outlined and everything!) but it did. It's still not the best thing I've ever written and I'm still not completely happy with it but the good news is, it finally has a some good moments (which it certainly didn't have when I started the panicked emails). The other good thing about this? We're one week closer to Week 12 – the next one I'm really, really excited to write!
Week 10 started out as something I thought would be a filler chapter but as it's presented now it's chock-full of story development. It's true that, even with the most careful planning, my characters really and truly take over the story at any given opportunity.
Hopefully you'll stick with me through this mess! The reception to this story has been so great. I've received a lot of review I've been remiss in replying to, and for that I'm sorry – but please know I've read and enjoyed every single one. Many have added this to their alerts (and favorites!) list and lots of thanks for that as well. First and foremost writers write for themselves but it's always wonderful to know the work you're producing is being enjoyed. So, without further ado, Week 10.
~Amara
Re-uploaded May 27, 2010 (sorry if you got alerted for it...) - FF has been killing section breaks. Several readers noticed they were now missing an it impeded the flow of the story so I'm going back through to fix the missing breaks. Sorry if readers end up with a stack of alerts for old chapters! ~A
"What's the worst thing you can do if you're feeling queasy? Skip a meal."
Tuesday morning he'd made her breakfast. The same way he had every morning since he'd been staying with her. The same breakfast he'd now made her fourteen times. Dry toast. She turned it down. He can't really say he blamed her. It was barely seven thirty when he'd handed her the fourth cool washcloth she always seemed to like so much after she'd been sick. He was worried. He'd heard of morning sickness but it seemed ridiculously constant to him that morning. She'd assured him it wasn't anything to worry about but still he'd asked when she saw the doctor again.
"Week after next," she'd said before accepting his help off the tile floor of her bathroom.
"Is it normal to wait six weeks between visits," he'd asked.
She'd explained it wasn't but that most women didn't find out they were pregnant three weeks after the fact, either. It was usually four or five and then it made more sense to wait until the twelfth week. That's when they'd normally date the baby. It was the first ultrasound, she'd gone on to explain but he lost the thread of the conversation when she'd dropped her robe and revealed an apricot colored nightgown that reached to the indecent part of her mid-thighs. He'd excused himself, then, to make her toast.
He'd picked her up for lunch that day too and watched as she'd pretended to eat some split pea soup.
For dinner that night she'd cooked for him and she'd pushed her food around on her plate without actually taking a bite. He was sure. He'd been watching. And later that night he camped out in the bathroom with her. For an hour she sat on the floor within leaning distance of the toilet. He talked to her, stroked her back when she was overcome by the nausea, and provided her with a half a dozen cool washcloths.
"There's nothing in my body to throw up. I haven't really eaten today."
"You've taken three bites of soup today. That doesn't qualify as eating at all."
"This…what's the word? Sucks? This sucks. I hate being so sick."
He chuckled, "I never imagined you'd be the kind of woman who regressed when she got sick. Maybe you should try eating something."
She groaned in response.
"I know it's crazy, but I really think something in your stomach would help."
"I couldn't possibly eat right now."
"I'm getting you some crackers."
"Booth, I'm serious. No food," she choked the words out around another wave of nausea but was, by then, reduced to dry heaves. When she felt like the danger had passed he helped her stand again. "God, I'm woozy."
He chuckled. "Now I know you're not okay."
"What do you mean," she asked, leaning heavily against him.
"You used the word "woozy"." He helped her to her bed. "You're probably dehydrated by now. Do you think you can drink some water?" She screwed her face up and shook her head. "Well you're going to have to try. If you can't drink a glass of water I'm taking you to the hospital."
"It's not my fault," she pouted, "if I can't keep down the water. The baby is half Booth genetic material. Clearly that half is overdeveloped. This is her way of annoying me."
"Already she's mine when she's causing you trouble?"
She closed her eyes, relaxed into the bed, and said on a mumble, "She's always yours." Her hand settled right over the baby on the outside of the blankets. He smiled. That's what he liked to hear – affirmation that his strange little family was, and always would be, his.
As he made his way back out to the living room he realized how much he liked her when her defenses were down and when she wasn't completely in control of everything around her. But ultimately, he was worried. It wasn't like her to be that sick and he didn't think women were supposed to be that sick when pregnant. And it bothered him she couldn't, or at least didn't want to, eat. He grabbed his copy of the book he'd taken to keeping in the drawer of the end table by the couch. She didn't use the drawer, he knew, because all he found in there was a five year old copy of TV guide addressed to her ex-boyfriend.
He turned to Week 10 and read about what was happening to her and how their baby was developing. He discovered the baby was now prune-sized and that Bones was likely suffering constipation – he'd decided that he really hadn't needed to know – but not how to help with her morning sickness. But he skimmed the book to a symptoms and solutions section and finally found his answer: Ginger.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
She was jerked awake by the sudden need to pee and noted, with relief, as she made her way to the bathroom the urge to vomit had passed. On her way back to bed she noticed light from the living room. She grumbled aloud about men in general and the lack of attention to such details. But when she got to the end of the hall she stopped in her tracks.
He'd fallen asleep on the couch. His feet were propped up on the coffee table and his head rested on the couch-ledge in a way that made the stretch of his neck look uncomfortable. But something about him there captured her gaze in a way that wouldn't allow her to look away. Or move.
She was struck again, as she often was, by the sight of him. He was a beautiful man. Her hand drifted to her belly as she thought about a boy who would grow up looking like him. But, more importantly, acting like him. Their son would be a good, strong man. Like that man sprawled there on her couch. Or, if she gave his thoughts on the subject any life, a daughter. A daughter who would grow up to be compassionate the way her father was. She'd grow to be empathetic and emotive because he would teach her that. The idea warmed her the way she'd be warmed the day she caught Booth dancing around her kitchen and she'd been reminded of her childhood and suddenly she understood family.
When she felt as if she could move again she crossed the room to stand beside him. He was snoring softly and she found it strangely…endearing. A copy of What to Expect was open on his chest and she identified it as the copy she'd given him by the Post-It flags that indexed the pages she'd wanted him to read. Gently, very gently, she picked the book up off his chest. He shifted slightly and she held her breath, loathe to wake him.
She glanced down at the open page and discovered he was in the symptoms section, specifically morning sickness. She had a sudden sensation of melting she wasn't sure she'd ever felt before. The logical part of her wanted to be angry. Clearly this wasn't an issue she'd wanted help on. If it were she'd have marked the page. But a long denied part of her couldn't help but point out that he cared. She'd been uncared for so long she wasn't quite sure what to do with the sensation.
She sat next to him in the tiny space between the high arm of her couch and his right thigh. She closed the book and leaned over to place it on the table. With an unsure hand she smoothed her fingers down his cheek and whispered his name. His eyelids fluttered before they opened as if she'd disturbed a dream.
"Bones," he croaked still half heavy with sleep, "you okay?" One large hand reached up to gently grasp her forearm.
"Shh," she whispered gently, "I'm fine. But you should go to bed. You can't sleep here." He blinked at her so she stood and caught his hand where it had started to drop from her arm. Fingers cupped with his she gave him a gentle tug. Instead of getting up he placed his feet flat on the floor and trapped her in the v of his thighs. Their eyes locked as they'd been doing quite frequently in the past couple of weeks. "You were reading the book. I didn't think you'd read it."
"Of course I've been reading it," he said as if she was partly crazy.
"I didn't mark that page."
"You didn't mark most of the pages. Doesn't mean they weren't important."
"Maybe it meant it wasn't for you to bother with."
"Maybe you don't know what I should and shouldn't bother with." He twisted his hands until their fingers were entwined. "I know this is going to be a hard concept for you to grasp, but there are a lot of things about you being pregnant that you're not going to be able to control."
"It's still my body, Booth."
"But it's been hijacked. That's okay. But there are going to be things happening that aren't going to make sense. You're not going to be able to logic everything into a neat little box. Most of all, me," he said seriously but gently and he tugged her a little until her knees bumped into the couch. "I'm going to surprise the hell out of you over the next thirty weeks, Bones."
She gasped when he tugged on her again and she lost her balance. He tipped her in midair to fall next to him, hip to hip and then he pulled her into his chest until her forehead rested on his neck so she feel the vibrations of his speech slide down her face. "This is so exciting for me, do you know that," he asked quietly. "I want to be with you every step of the way. There's not anything happening that I don't want to deal with, that I don't want to know about. And I hate that you're feeling so awful, but you'll feel better and I want to be here for that too.
"God, Bones, you're gonna glow. And you're gonna be happy. And you're not going to have any control over that either. You've got to learn to let go. It's a ride. An unpredictable sometimes messy ride. But every minute is worth it. Every moment is something to be savored. Good. Bad. Ugly. It's all a part of this absolutely amazing thing you can do. And I'm in awe. It astounds me what's happening to you.
"I'm not as smart as you are, but I'm a pretty intelligent guy. I've read the books too. But it's still blowing me away what you're doing right now. And it makes me feel strong knowing you couldn't have done it without me." He ran his fingers through her hair. "Well, I guess you could have. What makes me feel powerful is that you didn't want to. You may not realize it, and you might think you don't connect with people, but what you said just by asking me, well, you connected with me."
They sat quietly for a few minutes as if he realized he'd overcome her with his words and all the while he ran his fingers through her hair. Finally he shifted next to her, "You should really get back to bed." She nodded but she couldn't speak for the lump that had developed in her throat. He disentangled them and pulled her to her feet.
In her room he held the covers back for her as she climbed in and he smoothed them up under her chin. "Sleep is important, Bones," he chided lightly as if she'd been purposefully awake.
"I know," she finally spoke. "I'll sleep, I promise." The words fell out of her mouth and she wasn't completely sure why. But it felt important that she promise him something and right then, that was the best she could do.
He gave her a smile and checked the setting on the alarm clock. She was quickly taken aback by his simple gesture. And again she was reminded just how he cared. The little ways he took care of her flooded her: making her breakfast, watching her caffeine, making sure she ate, cool washcloths and white-flag words. It's just who he was, she realized suddenly. He was just a guy who cared. Who did things because he wanted to not ever because it was what he was supposed to do. Because he was never supposed to be this for her. But he was. And it ruined her, just a little, for anything that wasn't completely him.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
On Wednesday morning she looked especially pale to him. Her eyes were dull and she didn't have any energy at all when she finally dragged herself into the kitchen. She wasn't dressed for work, though, and that surprised him. "You're not going in today," he asked around a mouthful of cereal.
"I don't think I should," she said as she slid into the seat across from him.
"I've got a meeting at nine, but I could come back and stay with you afterwards," he offered.
He'd expected her to categorically deny his help but she surprised him. "Would you? I'm a little worried."
"Yeah," he said softly, "I'll come back." He got up and poured hot water out of the tea kettle into the cup he'd set on the counter with a tea bag then put a piece of bread into the toaster. He turned back to her, "I know you don't want to, but you need to try to eat something."
She nodded, "I know. I will."
They stared at each other until the toaster startled him as it ejected the toast. He slid it onto a plate and carried it over to her along with her tea. "It's just the usual. See if you can keep it down, okay?" She nodded at him. He could feel her eyes following him as he moved around her kitchen preparing his travel mug of coffee. When that was done he picked his cell phone up off the table. "Do you want me to call Cam and let her know?" She nodded again and took a small bite of her toast.
He dialed Cam's cell number and watched Brennan while he waited for Cam to pick up. She was nibbling at the toast but didn't look all that enthusiastic about it.
"Hello?"
"Cam, it's me. Bones isn't doing so hot this morning. She doesn't think she should come in."
"What's wrong?"
"She's been pretty sick. But I think I'm more worried than she is."
"Morning sickness?"
"Yeah," he chuckled, "though she'd probably throw something at you if you called it that. It's more an all-day-sickness she's been fighting."
"She's got to eat, Booth. She's not going to want to if she's feeling that bad, but it will really help with the nausea."
"She didn't eat at all yesterday. Said she felt too bad." His confession to Cam had Brennan sending him an annoyed glance. He tilted the speaker back from his mouth and said quietly, "Well, you didn't."
"Small meals, five or six a day, instead of three regular meals will help a lot too. But she's got to eat."
"Okay. Got it."
"Good. Tell Dr. Brennan we'll see her tomorrow."
"Thanks, Cam," he said and disconnected the call.
"She says you have to eat. It'll help with the nausea."
"Yes, I know," she says. "But you try eating when you feel like this." She pushed the last corner of toast into her mouth.
"Well, you ate a piece of toast. I feel better."
She rolled her eyes. "Good."
He couldn't help but chuckle as he pulled his suit jacket off the back of the chair he'd been sitting in earlier and threaded his arms through the sleeves. "I'm going. But I'll be back around eleven. You should try to eat something else between now and then. Maybe try for another piece of toast? Or, there are some animal crackers in the cabinet."
"Animal crackers?"
"Picked 'em up a couple days ago since that's what our little zoo-keeper seems to like."
He thought she blushed just before she ducked her head. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." He dropped a kiss to the top of her head before he'd realized his own intention. "I'll call you on my way back to find out if anything in particular sounds appetizing for lunch."
"Okay," she nodded as if a little dazed.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Why had he done that, she'd wondered once he left. He'd kissed her. She absolutely hated confusion and he'd just heaped a whole load on her. She'd always considered she'd be going through the pregnancy alone. He'd said he wanted involvement but she'd assumed, apparently incorrectly so, he meant with the child once it came. As she thought back to how she'd been feeling, though, she was very glad he seemed intent to be around. And his speech the previous night made it clear he had every desire to be with her through the pregnancy.
She'd expected to feel feminine and womanly once she'd gotten pregnant but so far she'd felt pretty awful. Between mood swings, morning sickness, fatigue and lightheadedness she felt more like a science experiment gone wrong than an expectant mother. She honestly wasn't sure what he was hanging around for. So far there'd been little in the way of joyous celebration. But he'd told her the night before she was going to glow. And he wanted to be there to see it.
They'd shared a few moments since she'd been pregnant. She thought back to the kiss they'd shared in Dr. Ashbacher's office, the night over dinner when he'd told her, awe in his voice, she was carrying his baby and how he couldn't help but think of her a little as his, the night he said when they made love as if it were a foregone conclusion, the day in his car he'd said she was his type, the morning he'd felt their baby inside her, the night she'd been so upset he thought something had happened with the pregnancy and had called her "Baby". And then there was the fact he'd pretty much moved in. As far as she knew he hadn't been to his apartment in a week.
She knew something was changing but she didn't want to ruminate on it too much. Careful thought meant consideration and a change in their relationship wasn't something she was ready, or willing, to consider.
Except, she wanted him, when she wasn't feeling awful, anyway, in a way she hadn't wanted a man in a long time. She'd always used sex as less a way to connect with a potential partner and more a way to satisfy sexual urges. But the way she found she wanted Booth didn't have a whole lot to do with sexual urges, though she was sure it was a factor. She wanted him. Another man wouldn't do. She wasn't feeling the hormone induced attraction for anyone else. Only Booth. And that, she thought with some alarm, was highly peculiar.
Their time curled up on the couch last night had done nothing to assuage the barrage of feelings she'd discovered she had concerning him. Most were familiar: friendship, trust, comfort, attraction. Some weren't, like the odd sensations of home and family he seemed to be evoking. And a strange sort of ache that felt kind of fantastic deep in her chest.
Later on in the morning she had eaten some of the animal crackers. And though she was nauseous she'd managed to refrain from sprinting to the bathroom. But when he'd call to ask what she wanted for lunch nothing had sounded good to her and she'd told him to choose.
He'd brought her vegetable soup from the vegetarian restaurant she liked so much and ginger candy from the Oriental grocery by the FBI building. After she'd eaten half a bowl of soup he'd drop the candies into her hand and said, "The book said these might help. The old lady at the store said the same."
Thursday morning she'd sent him along to work swearing she was in fine shape to drive herself. She really did feel quite a bit better. She was sure it had more to do with the rest she'd gotten the day before than the food but she still forced herself to have breakfast. She made a quick call down to the doorman and made a request before she left but then she was on her way to work.
He was largely in his office that day but he'd sent her an email at ten reminding her to eat and she'd made a quick trip to the vending machines for animal crackers. At lunch time he'd brought her Tabbouleh, always a favorite, but at one o'clock she'd been reminded the baby was Booth's when he decided to reject that particular offering. Shortly after she'd ventured back to her office Cam had surreptitiously dropped a handful of peppermints on her desk with a small smile. She received a text at four that told her he'd "be home late…witness interview at five in Laurel, don't forget to eat something".
That night he'd come in looking tired and she'd put a bowl of leftover macaroni and cheese and a beer in his hands as he'd collapsed in front of a ball game. He'd smiled at her so brilliantly she'd been bowled over. Everything he did for her and he was grateful she'd handed him leftovers? She'd decided then, as if it were some sort of revelation after nearly five years of him, what a spectacular sort of man he was.
She'd ordered the parking decals from the doorman that morning and they'd been in her mailbox when she'd come home. Standing in the kitchen with the din of the basketball game in the background she'd set his travel mug on the counter next to the coffee pot and slipped the corner of the stickers underneath. She looked at them there and then decided she couldn't do it that way so she picked them back up. And as she held them in her hands, staring at her apartment number dash two, she began to panic. What was she thinking? She couldn't just do it that way, she couldn't do it at all. Not yet, anyway.
While she was sure she wanted him to stay with her there was a lot to consider. He'd said he'd wanted to be around for everything but that didn't necessarily mean he meant to live with her. And what about Parker? It had worked when he'd stayed for a weekend, but what about every-other-weekend for the next seven and a half months? What about the occasional school nights he'd need to stay with his father if something came up for Rebecca? And Booth would eventually want or need his space. He was young, healthy and virile. Why would he want to stay when he could have everything he wanted even if he left?
No, she couldn't ask him yet. She fled to her bedroom and tucked the little stickers into her bedside drawer underneath a book she hadn't picked up in a year. They were safe there. Safe until she figured out what she wanted to do and how, exactly, she'd be able to do it.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Over the weekend she'd been asked to help identify some remains for the Jeffersonian's archeological department. And aside from a few more bouts of her all-day-sickness, as they'd taken to calling it, she seemed to be doing much better. He made sure she ate five or six times a day and she didn't grumble nearly as much as she had at the beginning of the week. He made sure she was getting plenty of sleep.
Sunday morning she'd wandered out to the living room where he was watching the twenty-four hour news and tying his tie for church. She was dressed in another one of those incredibly distracting nightgowns; that time a mint green that set her hair on fire. He whistled low and waggled his eyebrows at her. She'd just rolled her eyes. He figured she'd become much more comfortable with his presence because she'd mostly stopped finding robes to pull over her less-than-decent-wear. No complaints from his department.
"I'm having brunch with Angela today; I couldn't get out of it."
"Why would you want to get out of it?" He pinched the crease in his tie to perfect the dimple as he talked, finishing the Windsor knot. "She's your best friend."
She watched as he picked up his coffee and took a sip. "She thinks the big news I've been keeping from her is that we're sleeping together."
The sip of coffee he'd just taken lodged in his throat and as he sputtered he bent slightly at the waist and held the cup out and away from him before he ended up with coffee on his grey suit. "And rather than just tell her, since the cat's pretty much out of the bag, you let her believe that?"
"Well," she hedged, "I did tell her it wasn't true. But she wouldn't believe me."
"She would have if you'd just told her you were pregnant!"
She cocked her head and studied him. "Are you upset I let her believe we were sleeping together? What do you think people are going to think when we tell them we're pregnant?"
"I think they'll ask," he said with exasperation. "Hodgins did."
"And you told him I was inseminated," she surmised and he nodded. "Would you prefer people didn't think we were sleeping together? Does it matter somehow to you?"
He sighed. "I'm not sure. I hadn't given that part of it much thought."
"Do you," she started, "I mean, is there," she faltered, "would you like to be seeing someone and that's why it's important people don't think we're in a sexual relationship?"
"What if there were?" He was suddenly burning with desire to know what her reaction would be.
"I want you to be happy, Booth," she said after some consideration. "We're partners. Friends. And we're having a baby. That's all."
He wasn't sure what to make of that strange look in her eyes. It wasn't something he'd ever seen in her before but she looked tense. He decided to let her off the hook though he wasn't sure what hooks were out there for her to be caught on. "There isn't anyone, Bones. But you know I believe honesty is the best policy. You've always believed that too."
"I know. I'll tell her today, if it would make you more comfortable."
He nodded but said, "Whatever you want." But then he shook his head. "I understand why you want to wait, and if you still want to, that's fine. But honestly, Hodgins knows, Cam knows, hell even Rebecca knows. Angela's going to need to know as well – and I think you need to tell her. She's your best friend," he reiterated, "wouldn't her support be nice?"
"What if something happens," she'd asked softly.
He covered the short distance between them and stood in front of her, grasping her bare upper arms. "You're healthy. You're taking care of yourself. You're young. The chances of something happening are slim. And if something does happen, these are the people who are going to help us through it."
She nodded. "Okay." She seemed to collect herself. "You're going to be late for church."
He looked at his watch and discovered she was right. "Whatever you want to do is fine by me. You know what I think but it's your decision."
"I'm not sure what I'm going to do."
"Just let me know one way or the other so we don't end up in the middle of another aardvark conversation."
She smiled at him. "Okay."
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Ultimately she'd decided over brunch to keep her news under her hat a little longer but even she couldn't understand how her friend didn't notice the intel was incorrect. Brennan picked at her toast and fruit and completely ignored the scrambled eggs on her plate. And she'd casually dismissed all of the questions Angela posed concerning Brennan's supposed relationship with Booth.
But Angela must have had something on her mind because she never seemed to realize anything was amiss. And when they were done eating the two women had hugged goodbye and Angela had kissed her cheek and headed toward the studio where she taught a beginner's art course on Sunday afternoons.
Brennan ran a few errands before returning home. She'd stopped by the dry-cleaners and smiled a little when she saw Booth's suits hanging next to a dress she'd recently had cleaned. They organized by address at that little shop and it warmed her to know that not only had he started using a cleaner closer to her home but also that he'd listed her address. Afterwards she'd stopped by the grocery store then at the produce stand a block from her apartment.
When she got home Booth was in the kitchen whistling. She stopped her progress to greet him, though, when she noticed a huge bouquet of pastel flowers on the coffee table. He'd brought her flowers? She crossed the room to them and plucked the florist shop's card, decorated with tiny pictures of baby accoutrements, out of its plastic holder. "Congratulations!" it read in her artist friend's flowery hand. Then, just below, "(I can't believe you thought I wouldn't figure it out!)" Brennan supposed she'd just been told exactly what her friend had on her mind that morning.
Booth cleared his throat behind her and she spun on her heels. He grinned at her. "Busted."