Three more stairs – two – one – there.

Booth holds on to the handrail and tries to take a deep, steady breath that will help slow down his racing pulse a little. His knees feel like they're made of rubber, and he's sweating profusely, but that doesn't change the fact that this was the first time he managed to climb a whole story without having to take a breather. It's one of those small, hard-won victories that always leave him torn between satisfaction and unease because he still can't get used to the fact that he has landed himself in a situation where climbing a flight of stairs feels like an accomplishment.

Genny would berate him for getting impatient again – the whole stair-climbing exercise was her idea when he started going stir-crazy from being cooped up in Bones' apartment, but he knows she'd have his ass if she knew how hard he's been pushing himself to get a little farther each day. He hopes to be able to walk up all the way from street level to Bones' door in a week or two, and then it will finally be time to check out the gym that she showed him a while ago when she took him for one of their walks. It's a small, unpretentious place that doesn't offer much more than the absolute basics, but it's within walking distance, so he won't need Bones to drive him, and it's not a place where he's likely to run into anyone he knows. Booth is pretty sure he'd rather die than let anyone who has ever seen him at the gym before witness his current state, but he's still looking forward to the day when he can start working on getting his strength back in earnest. Genny means well with her exercises, and he can tell that they're helping, but she never lets him do enough, and his patience is wearing thin from the agonizingly slow pace of his recovery.

He hits the shower in Bones' guest bathroom once he's back inside the apartment, and then goes to search her refrigerator for something moderately edible. He knows it's a good sign that he feels a bit more like eating these days, but the downside is that the longing for real food instead of all that healthy stuff Bones keeps feeding him is getting stronger too. More than once, Booth has been tempted to simply order a pizza, but Genny keeps reminding him that the medication he still has to take might upset his stomach if he isn't careful with his diet, and he knows he'd never hear the end of it if he made himself sick by eating something from the no-go list that the doctors gave him when he left the hospital.

Besides, it's not like he has much money to spend at the moment. He's on unpaid medical leave now that he used up the last of his sick days and paid leave, and the knowledge that he's living on Bones' dime makes him cringe with embarrassment whenever she comes home with a bag full of groceries, or when the mail she brings over from his apartment miraculously doesn't contain any unpaid bills. He doesn't bring it up with her because she reacted badly the one time he tried and he doesn't want to appear ungrateful, but it keeps eating at him. He doesn't have much money saved – most of what he has put aside over the years went into Parker's college fund, and he isn't desperate enough to touch that yet, but he can only hope he'll eventually be able to pay her back once he's finally fit for work again.

If his health insurance keeps covering the entirety of his treatment, that is, because he'll be broke if it doesn't.

The thought puts another dampener on his mood while he puts yesterday's leftover lasagna in the microwave (Bones did what she could, but lasagna made with ground turkey and low-fat cheese will never taste like the real deal, no matter how many fancy spices she uses) and pours himself a glass of that mega-vitamin juice that he has to drink three times a day even though it smells like cat's pee and tastes like dishwater.

He loads the dishwasher after finishing his lunch – Bones has made it clear that she isn't going to clean up after him, and he's actually grateful that she isn't treating him like an invalid when it comes to stuff he can do by himself.

A glance at the clock tells him it's only half past one; Bones told him she won't be back from work before six today (she gave him a reason, but he has already forgotten it), so he has another long, empty afternoon to fill. It's not like he has nothing to do; Genny always gives him homework that's meant to help with his cognitive functions, and even though much of it feels like it's been designed for first graders, Booth takes it seriously because he knows that his muscles aren't the only thing that needs to be in working order if he wants to meet the FBI's re-certification requirements. Besides, there are too many small incidents each day that make it evident how his brain still keeps playing tricks on him, and he finds these more unsettling that his physical weakness. He knows from experience that muscles can be rebuilt, mobility can be regained if you try hard enough, but he has no idea how long it will take until he can fully trust his mind again.

He refuses to consider the possibility that it might never happen, that he might never be the exact same man he was before his coma. He promised Parker that he'll get his father back, and he isn't going to break that promise. He still avoids being alone with his son when Parker comes to visit – it's not a problem since Bones is always home during the weekend, and she seems happy to keep them company since Booth managed to convince her that he really wants her around during Parker's visits. He hasn't forgotten how Bones admitted during their talk with Gordon Gordon that he still keeps mixing up reality and fantasy, and he isn't going to upset Parker by making that kind of mistake in the boy's presence.

Unfortunately, it's not quite that simple when it comes to Bones herself. He constantly reminds himself that they're just partners, that they've never been more than that and that he mustn't scare her by making her think that he has slipped back into what Gordon Gordon calls his 'other life'. Even though it feels to him like years have passed since that time, he remembers how skittish she used to be when it came to the topic of feelings or relationships, and he knows that he can't afford making a mistake that will drive her away. It's a daily struggle not to let the woman he loves notice his feelings for her, but it's still a lot less painful than losing her completely would be.

And yet he can't help it that the constant proximity, the closeness that feels so utterly familiar (even though his rational mind insists it's the first time they've ever shared a living space for longer than a few days) keeps getting to him. It's the small things that slip through the cracks – he has never kissed her since that ill-fated moment at the hospital, but sometimes he finds himself reaching out to brush a strand of loose hair away from her face, or leaning into her when she's close. So far, he has always managed to catch himself in time, but he's afraid of what might happen if he ever slips up for real. He sometimes worries that he's already starting to spook her, because it seems to him that lately, she has begun to pull back a little – right after he moved in, she would sometimes touch his arm, cover his hand with hers or lean against his shoulder when they were sitting next to each other, but these casual touches are getting rarer and rarer, and he can't help wondering whether it's because of something he did, whether he has overstepped the invisible line between them without noticing it.

Stop fretting, this isn't helping. With a sigh, Booth pulls himself together and walks out of the kitchen. He's pretty tired, but he's trying to wean himself off the daytime naps (not only do they always make him feel like he belongs in a nursing home, they also tend to interfere with his ability to sleep at night, and insomnia is the last thing he needs at the moment), and he knows from experience that the fatigue will pass once he manages to concentrate on something else.

As he enters the living room, he almost trips over a metal dart that has lodged itself in the carpet – obviously a stray shot from yesterday's last game, and judging by the color it was one of Bones'. With a smirk, Booth picks it up and throws it at the dartboard on the door to Bones' study; he managed to win two out of three games against her yesterday evening, and rubbing it in was a lot of fun given how competitive she is in all areas of her life.

Figuring that he might just as well get a little extra practice time in, Booth goes to get the rest of the darts. It seems ironic that they're having so much fun with this now, considering how much he hated the dartboard when Bones first brought it home. She had bought it after hearing him complain that Genny had nixed his suggestion to let him go to the shooting range – he'd been asking himself for weeks how he would fare if he had to fire a gun now, and he figured that since he was supposed to work on getting all his abilities back, that should be a part of his exercise regimen too. Genny wouldn't hear of it, though; she reminded him that as long as he wasn't fit to drive a car, he wasn't allowed to fire a gun either. When he told Bones, she got him the dartboard and insisted that it was just another kind of target practice that would allow him to work on his aim and his hand-eye coordination. Booth wouldn't even hear of it at first; he considered it the height of humiliation that she expected him to play with toys because he couldn't be trusted with a weapon. Then she challenged him to a game, and of course he understood perfectly well that she was trying to manipulate him, but he still couldn't resist.

He doesn't think she'll ever know how grateful he was when she didn't let him win. It should probably have alarmed him that he kept losing spectacularly for quite some time, but it was still a lot less disturbing than it would have been if she'd found it necessary to coddle him. He could tell how much it pleased her when he started getting better, but she never stopped challenging him, and she never gave him reason to believe that he hadn't deserved his victories. The first time he beat her, she high-fived him and then promised to destroy him the next time around, and he barely managed to bite his tongue to keep himself from admitting how much he loved her for it.

Booth throws another dart and nods when it narrowly misses the bull's eye. He has found that his aim is much better when he doesn't think about what he's doing – in the beginning, when he tried to concentrate with all his might, he could hardly even hit the board, but things got easier when he let his instincts take over. The knowledge that those instincts are still there gives him hope that the same will happen once he's finally allowed to shoot a gun again, that – no matter how long it takes – one day he'll again be the marksman he used to be and won't need Sweets to be his gun when he's in the field.

Wait – Sweets?

Frowning, Booth tries to trace that thought back to its origin. Sweets is a shrink who has no business in the field – but now that he thinks of it, he could swear that he remembers administering Sweet's marksmanship test himself, even if he has no idea how that could possibly have happened.

Cursing under his breath, Booth concentrates harder, but it doesn't help – the image is there, but he can't place it, and even though he's pretty certain it means that it's something that firmly belongs into the other reality, he needs to make sure. During their latest meeting, Gordon Gordon suggested that he should ask Bones when he can't tell whether a memory is real or not, and once Bones heard about it, she not only agreed, but also told him to call her immediately if it happens during the day when she's at work.

He still isn't comfortable making these calls because he always feels like an idiot, but she made him promise that he would ask rather than tie his brain into knots trying to figure things out himself, so he finally gets his cell phone and calls her. She answers on the second ring, and Booth fervently hopes it means she's in her office so he won't need to worry about every squint on the platform overhearing her side of the conversation.

"Is everything all right, Booth?"

It's the first thing she asks whenever he calls, and Booth isn't sure what to make of the fact that it always sound slightly panicked.

"Yeah, sure, everything's okay. I just need to ask you something."

"Something you remembered?" She sounds calmer now although there's still a hint of apprehension.

"Uh, yeah – listen, Bones, this might sound strange, but does Sweets carry a gun these days?"

"Sweets?" He can almost hear her eyebrows shoot up. "Why would a psychologist need to carry a gun? I know you've threatened to shoot him before, but I always assumed that Sweets knew it was just hyperbole, and wouldn't actually feel the need to be able to defend himself."

Booth closes his eyes and exhales sharply; he doesn't know if he should be relieved or not. "Never mind, I just… I mean, uh, thanks, Bones."

"You're welcome."

There's a strange edge to her tone, and Booth struggles for something else to say that will ease the sudden tension. "I guess I'd better write it down."

"That seems like a logical conclusion. Was there anything else you needed?"

"Nah, I'm good. See you at six?"

"Maybe a little later, Mr. Bray needs me to go over another chapter of his dissertation with him, and – "

"Hey, it's okay. Take your time, I'm not going anywhere." He meant is as a joke, but he isn't sure it came across that way.

Still, her tone softens. "I'll be home as soon as I can. Good-bye, Booth."

"Bye."

He stares at the phone for a moment, then walks into Bones' study. He found out pretty quickly that the dining table isn't very comfortable for writing, so she offered to let him use her desk while she's at work. Booth sits down, lowers her office chair to a more comfortable position and pulls Gordon Gordon's book out of the topmost desk drawer.

It doesn't take him long to note down what he remembers of Sweets' marksmanship test, but now that he's already gotten started, he figures he might just as well keep writing. He has covered a lot of ground during the last couple of weeks, but there's always more – too many memories he doesn't want to forget, too many fuzzy images that need sorting out so he can put them on paper.

He's glad that Bones never asked if he managed to write down his memory of their first night together, never reminded him of his promise to let her read it. He's certain that very little of what he has written so far should be read by anyone but him – but thankfully, it's a moot point because Bones always gives him space when he has the book open, and never asks any questions about it either if he doesn't bring it up himself. She did help him draw up a timeline of the last couple of years when he asked her – he had realized that he needed some kind of reference that would allow him to bring order into his memories, and to determine which ones had or hadn't really happened. She also went to his apartment for his photo albums, and searched through her own for pictures from the time they'd spent together as partners. She even asked Angela for a copy of Angela's collection of digital pictures, and Booth is still glad of that – not only because Angela has more photos of them than he and Bones combined, but also because it gives him reason to hope that Bones and Angela are okay again since he knows how important their friendship has always been to Bones.

Seeing the pictures of their past years together helps sorting out his memories, but it also makes him wish that he had something equally visible for that other life instead of just the images in his mind. Sometimes he wishes he were an artist like Angela so he wouldn't have to rely on words alone, but as it is, the book is his only way to keep those memories safe.

Booth reads over his last few entries and frowns when he realizes that they're all about moments he doesn't particularly care to remember. It's something that has begun to bother him – it turns out that his memories of the most difficult, or the unhappiest moments of that other life are much clearer than the happy ones. It frightens him to think that those times which (no matter if they've really happened or not) he considers the happiest of his life might be fading while the hard times remain firmly lodged in his mind.

There have been a few scenes that were immensely painful to write down – the night Bones told him no when he asked her for a chance, the day he went to say good-bye to her at the airport, the night she broke down in his car and told him she had made a mistake when she rejected him… and yet he was able to reconstruct them down to the last detail, was able to recall every word that had been spoken. The bright moments, however, those memories he keeps trying to bring back when he falls asleep at night – those are much harder to put into words. He clearly remembers the sound of Bones' voice when she told him she was pregnant, her smile when he took her to see their new house, the look on her face when she showed him the first ultrasound of their daughter – but more often than not, these moments are just tiny snippets made up of blurry images mixed with a myriad of emotions, and he doesn't have the writing skills to put these on paper in a way that even comes near the way it felt to experience them. It worries him, because pretty soon Gordon Gordon's book might be his only connection to some of his most precious memories, and he knows he'll have to do better if he wants to keep them safe.

Booth squeezes his eyes shut and tries to focus. There was something he dreamed this morning… he had woken from another nightmare, one of those in which he wandered the hallways of an empty house that went on forever without ever leading him to the people he was desperate to find, and it had left him bewildered and disoriented. Then he heard the shower in the master bathroom, and the comfortingly familiar sounds of Bones' early morning routine lulled him into a much more peaceful sleep. His dream took him back to one of those mornings when he'd woken up with her back spooned against his chest, his arm wrapped safely around her pregnant belly and her hair tickling his face. The baby was already awake too, because he could feel the flutter of movement under his palm…

Smiling, Booth opens a new page and starts writing.

.

Booth groans when his phone rings at half past five; it can only mean that Bones wants to tell him she's going to be late. Then he checks the caller I.D. and frowns as he picks up.

"Cam, what's the matter?"

"Hello to you too, Seeley." Cam sounds cheerful enough, which is a relief – for a moment, he was afraid that she was calling because something had happened to Bones. "I'm fine, thanks for asking."

Booth lets out a long-suffering sigh. "Hello, Camille, how are you doing?"

"Don't call me Camille. How are you doing, now that we've got the pleasantries out of the way?"

"Okay, I guess, given the circumstances – it's going slower than I would like, but in a little while I'll be as good as new." He does his best to keep his tone light, and to his relief, Cam either buys it or decides to let him get away with it.

"I'm glad to hear it. Look, the reason why I'm calling – I mean, not that I don't want to know how you've been, but…"

"Spit it out, Cam." He has no idea why she's beating around the bush like that; the Cam he remembers never had trouble speaking her mind.

"Seeley, is everything okay with Dr. Brennan?"

The question takes him completely by surprise. "I – yeah, I think so, I mean… I don't know why she wouldn't be…" Alarm is beginning to set in now, and it helps him focus. "I mean, having me around all the time must be pretty stressful, but she seemed fine to me when she left today. Did something happen?"

"No, she's safe and sound, it's just – I went to her office this afternoon, and she was alone, so I asked her how you're doing. I figured she wouldn't be comfortable discussing your health in front of everyone on the platform."

He's a little touched – not only because Cam takes Bones' feeling into account, but also because she's keeping tabs on him. "And what did she say?"

"Nothing. She burst into tears."

Booth finds himself momentarily speechless. The idea is too surreal – he can neither imagine Bones crying in front of Cam, nor think of a reason why she would. Interpreting his stunned silence correctly, Cam keeps talking.

"She had herself under control again in no time, and tried to downplay the whole thing – claimed that she'd slept badly, that she was PMSing, and some other stuff that didn't make much sense. The only thing she said about you was that you're doing better, but that you have 'trouble adjusting', whatever the hell that means. Seeley, what's going on? Should I be worried about her, about you, or about both of you?"

Booth still feels utterly dumbfounded. "Cam, I have no idea – I mean, I keep having some problems with… with my memory, but I'm working on it, and it's supposed to get better…"

He should have known he wouldn't be able to slip that by Cam. "What kind of problems?"

Booth's stomach clenches nervously. It looks like Cam was not on the list of people Bones decided to inform of his reality issues, but right now he wishes she had been because he has no idea what to tell her. "I had… dreams, or hallucinations, or whatever you want to call them…" – he cringes inwardly at having to use the same words he hates hearing from Bones – "during my coma, and they – they were pretty realistic, so it's sometimes difficult for me to tell them apart from my real memories."

"Hm." Cam ponders that for a moment. "You say it's getting better?"

"I'm working on it."

Cam sighs. "And I know that tone well enough not to hope that you'll give me any details."

When Booth remains stubbornly silent, she adds, "Look, I get this is difficult for you, but could you maybe keep an eye on her and see if she's really okay? She made me swear that I wouldn't mention her little outburst to you, so please don't tell her I told you, but I figured you're the only one who might be able to get through to her."

I wish things were still that easy. Booth forces himself to take a deep breath before the suffocating feeling of helplessness gets the better of him. "I'll do what I can."

"Okay; I'd better go now before she catches me talking to you. Take care of yourself, big guy!"

"Bye, Camille, and – thank you."

"Didn't I tell you not to call me that?" There's a hint of laughter in her voice, and Booth is grateful for the small moment of normalcy between them.

"You always have to have the last word, don't you?" He realizes a split second too late that he walked into one of her favorite traps, and he mouths the words of her answer along with her.

"I'm a pathologist, we usually do."