If.

Two letters.

One word.

One . . . small . . . tiny . . . miniscule word.

It hung over their heads and haunted their sleep.

It lurked behind every smile and every carefully casual conversation.

If.

If she were pregnant . . .

The weight of the rest of their lives balanced on one inadequate little word.

If.

A letter arrived inviting him to teach a three-week marksmanship course to new recruits at Quantico. He was pleased and honored and immediately began drafting a letter accepting the opportunity.

And then . . .

The course was in February. It was May. He counted out the months on his fingers.

If.

He folded the letter, slipped it back into the envelope and stuck it beneath the phone on his desk.

And waited.

She came over when he next had Parker and a friendly game of Battleship turned into a vicious competition. The little boy egged them on, moving from one side of the table to the other to peek at both screens, whispering hints and lies to each of them and laughing uproariously when he got caught. Their eyes met over the blue plastic boards and they shared the same thought.

They were like a family.

They could be a family.

If.

.

.

.

On Wednesday morning, exactly ten days after the morning spent at the clinic, Booth was in his office, standing at a file cabinet next to his desk. Movement in his peripheral vision snagged his attention; he nudged the drawer closed and turned just as Brennan rushed into the room.

"Hey, I didn't know you were -"

She slammed into him, pressed against him, arms thrown around his neck.

His hands came up automatically to return the embrace. "What -"

"I'm pregnant." The whispered words brushed against the shell of his ear with the touch of her lips.

The air froze in his lungs. His heartbeat stuttered to a stop before pulsing hard with renewed force. Over her shoulder, his jaw dropped, his eyes widened in shock.

She pulled away to look at him, her face open and filled with joy, eyes shimmering and moist, nodded then hugged him tightly again.

"I'm pregnant, Booth." The second whisper held a hint of tears.

His mouth opened and closed several times before words actually formed. "You said . . . I thought . . . fifteen percent . . ."

"I know. The probability was relatively low." Her head bobbed against his before she drew back once more. "You really do have excellent sperm." Her arms were looped around his neck; she was so close he saw flecks of green and a dark circle of grey around her irises. She sparkled from within, so full of happiness her skin almost glowed.

His hands rested unmoving on her back. "You . . . you're sure . . ." Lost in her own response, she noticed nothing amiss about his.

"Yes." They were still whispering, their voices reaching only each other. "I just left my doctor's office. She took a blood sample . . ." She pulled him close again. "I'm going to have a baby."

The feel of her lips on his ear skittered along nerve endings that suddenly felt exposed and raw.

"Yea . . ."

She stepped back, finally, one full step out of his embrace. One hand lifted to rest above her heart as she took a breath. He'd never seen her smile with that much abandon.

"I'm going home for the rest of the day," she told him. "I don't want to tell anyone else right now, okay? It's just between us . . . it's so early and so much can happen . . ." A hand waved away the thought. "I don't trust my ability to dissemble at the moment - Angela, I'm sure, would take one look at me and know something was happening." She laughed with abandon, and threw her arms around him again. "I'm pregnant, Booth," she whispered one more time. "I'm going to have a baby."

In his shock and surprise, he hadn't said more than fifteen words, maybe twenty. He hadn't said congratulations. He hadn't told her he was happy. For her. For them.

She didn't notice. At least not then. She existed in a bubble of her own elation, one that stretched to include him because she couldn't imagine he would not share in her delight.

She cupped his stubbled jaw with one hand and smiled beatifically on him, then rested her cheek against his. Her eyes closed as she breathed deeply.

His eyes closed, too, as he struggled to draw air into his still frozen lungs.

The hand on his cheek slid down his chest, to his arm, to grasp his fingers. She squeezed them hard, and held on as she took two steps toward the door.

His arm and hers stretched out across the space that separated them.

She pressed her fingers around his once more, let them fall away with a smile, and left.

He stared at the empty doorway for several long minutes then stumbled to his desk. The chair protested with a loud squeak when he collapsed bonelessly into it.

I'm pregnant.

If became now.

.

.

.

The bartender had poured his favorite top-shelf bourbon. Booth recognized the smell and the look of Woodford Reserve, even though when he drank, it slid down his throat with all the flavor of sawdust. He grunted to himself. Well, that was a waste of twenty bucks.

I'm pregnant.

He dragged both hands down his face and sat, elbows bent on the bar, fingertips spread across his forehead. Now what?

He was happy about the baby. He was.

He was.

There was no denying that small nugget of fierce pride and joy that burned in his gut.

She was pregnant. With his baby.

Where do we go from here?

Oh, sure, they were fine . . . for now. His blow-up at Reggie's apartment had them tiptoeing around each other, circling closer, inch by inch. He'd caught her watching him . . . had let her catch him watching her. For them, that was progress.

They were fine.

He and Rebecca had been fine, too. Until they weren't.

Bones isn't Rebecca.

That thought should have comforted him.

It didn't.

I'm pregnant.

They were having a baby.

"Well, well, well. Just the man I wanted to see."

The tart voice pulled him out of his solitary introspection; he didn't bother trying to keep the groan that escaped him quiet.

"Obviously, you're thrilled to see me, too," Angela said dryly. She tossed a thin purse on the bar and, uninvited, slid onto the stool beside him. "You haven't been dropping in at the lab recently." The bartender approached and laid a napkin in front of her. "Lemon Drop Martini. So why is that?" She turned back to Booth without hesitation.

"Phones, email, they work pretty good." Shoulders hunched, he stared straight ahead.

"Uh huh. Brennan took the day off today." She nodded thanks when her drink was delivered. "But I bet you probably knew that."

Booth swirled the contents of his drink in a circle. "I heard."

"She's been doing that a lot lately. For Brennan, I mean. There was a time she practically lived in the lab." Angela sipped from the pale yellow drink. "She said she was working from home but," she smiled, "we all say that. Personally, I usually get a pedicure and a massage."

He took a sip from his drink without speaking.

"So, about this baby thing . . ."

That got a response. He dropped his head into one hand and rubbed his closed eyes. "Angela -"

"You do see that it's a crazy idea, right?" She dug in, determined to have her say now that she had the chance. "I mean, if you two want to have a baby together, there's a better way to do it, know what I mean?"

"Angela -"

"You love her." The bald statement drew his eyes to hers. "Come on, everyone knows that," she informed him. "Everyone except Brennan, and that's only because she refuses to see it."

Booth picked up his glass.

"She's in love with you, too." At the soft spoken words, he closed his eyes and rested the drink against his forehead. "She may not recognize what it is she feels, she may even be afraid of it, but she's in love with you, Booth. Trust me."

The words pounded in his head, feeding his hopes even as they filled him with doubt.

"And this baby thing," Angela continued doggedly. "I don't know where that idea came from but it's just wrong and one of you has to be smart enough to say so." She slapped him on the arm. "That means you, G-man. Brennan may be a genius but in this case, she's not being very smart."

"She's pregnant." He just wanted her to stop talking. The words slipped out before he could stop them.

Angela's mouth fell open. "What?"

He shot a quick glance her way, immediately regretting the confession. "Don't say anything. She doesn't want anyone to know yet."

Her expression betrayed her amazement. "She's . . ." Her face cleared, her eyes sparkled with merriment. "That's why she's been running from me for the past couple of weeks, isn't it? You guys finally -" His wary look stopped the playful tease. "No." Now she looked as if she wanted to cry. "No. You didn't."

Booth drained the last of the amber liquid in his glass.

"What happens now?" Angela's searching gaze scanned his profile. "Booth!" She grabbed his forearm; his eyes met hers unwillingly. "What happens now? How do you go from two people who are wildly attracted to each other to two people who are having a baby, who've barely kissed?"

Her questions echoed his own fears. He had no answers for either of them.

"You guys could be great." He looked over when she removed the napkin from beneath her glass and dabbed beneath her eyes. "Watching the two of you," one shoulder lifted in a delicate shrug, "there's something special there. But a baby . . . like this . . ." Angela shook her head wordlessly. "What happens now?"

The concerned inquiry hit too close to home.

"I guess we'll have to figure that out for ourselves." Booth stood up, took out his wallet and tossed money to the bar. "Don't say anything about the baby," he reminded Angela, his eyes stern. "Let her tell you when she's ready."

"Yea, sure." Before he walked away, she stopped him with a touch on his arm. "Congratulations. I mean that." Her smile was sincere, if a bit sad. "I just . . . wanted it to be a different way."

He rested his hand on hers. "Thanks."

The question reverberated in his head as he walked out of the bar.

What happens now?

.

.


What happens now? Inquiring minds want to know . . .

:-)

Thanks for reading!