AN: I have been incredibly busy of late, and I apologize. I'm slacking on reviews and keeping up with PMs. This is my blanket "If I've been reading your story, I'm still reading and just not having time to review" apology. This wasn't the prompt I'd planned to handle next, but the idea popped out so I let it ramble away.

TITLE: The Never In The Happily Ever After
TAG TO: The End In The Beginning; spoilers for Harbingers In A Fountain
PROMPT: For NCISVILLE, a "what happened next?" The End In The Beginning: "Who are you?"
RATING: T

"Who are you?"

The question left her reeling. Oh no, she thought anxiously. The doctors had warned her that there was a chance Booth would experience amnesia, a strong one. But he was Booth. He was the strongest person she knew. It had never even crossed her mind to consider it a viable possibility.

"I'm Dr. Temperance Brennan," she said calmly. "I'm a forensic anthropologist with the Jeffersonian. We're partners."

"But…" His hand raised slightly, only to fall weakly onto the bed once more. "Bren, stop it. It's not funny."

Bren? She felt her stomach lurch, the bile and coffee sloshing around uncomfortably. The story.

"Booth, I was reading you a story while you were unconscious. Maybe you should rest for a few minutes, let your memory come back to you. I'll get the doctor."

The doctor would be able to help. The doctor would know how best to clear up this confusion. For a moment, it seemed Booth was beginning to understand that his mind was not in order. But then, she heard him call out.

"Is the baby okay?"

Brennan winced. "Let me get the doctor."

Rushing into the hall, she flagged a nurse down and informed her of Booth's condition. She left to page the doctor on call and Brennan slumped into a chair in the waiting area just beyond the ICU. How could she have been so utterly foolish? She was a scientist, well aware of the research indicating that comatose patients could hear and perceive events around them. Her stupid exercise – her story that she'd written as days blurred into nights into days anew to stay awake – had confused Booth. Disoriented from brain surgery and a near-fatal reaction to anesthetic, she'd sunk foolish notions into his head. Why did I read it to him? This is my fault! Her hand struck the armrest of the chair as she pressed her eyes closed.

You did it to make him happy. You did it to make yourself happy.

Brennan shook her head, immediately feeling foolish. She was arguing with herself now. Irrational. Stupid. And yet, she remembered the story's origin, relived the minutes that felt like hours now, as she sat in the waiting room, ignoring the drone of the TV. The doctor had nearly dropped his scalpel when Booth began to talk. Her eyes had widened as she watched his, studying him for signs of pain.

"Bones… Bones…"

"Booth, I'm here. Do you hurt?" She'd looked at the doctor in terror. "Why is he awake?"

"I don't know," he'd muttered, glaring at the anesthesiologist.

"He's not awake," the young woman had replied. "He's talking while unconscious. Should I put him deeper?"

"Bones… The line…" Booth's voice, so hoarse, had seemed deafening. "Stupid line…"

"Line?"

Brennan had stared the doctor down. This isn't meant for you.

"That should do it," the woman had announced.

Brennan had watched helplessly as Booth slipped back under, but not before he'd uttered the words that would haunt her forever.

"Love you… too much to… my kid."

Brennan's eyes opened, glaring at the off-white wall across from her. Booth had nearly died in the operating room, with her again powerless to stop it. The coma was equally heart-crushing to learn of. He couldn't be alone, she'd decided. Angela had graciously run to her apartment to fetch a few things – laptop, a change of clothes, toothbrush, deodorant – and she'd made herself at home at his side.

But her novel wouldn't come, despite being several weeks behind on the final chapters. Her mind – and heart – were fixed on the man beside her, the whirring and beeps and blips of the machines keeping him alive. Still, the words haunted her, both before and after surgery.

The line is stupid. He loves me. He doesn't want to not be a father to my child.

She wasn't delusional; she knew why Booth, and not Fisher, had to be the father. Genetics were certainly a factor, as she'd espoused to all concerned. But there was a part of her that knew that someday, Booth would leave her, as everyone did. She cared too much about him, and with caring eventually came disaster. He'd rejected her years ago after their first case – had only wanted intercourse. He'd wanted Cam, not her. Had re-drawn his line after the Epps case. Partnership worked between them. He was there for her, as she was there for him. But romance… Love… It ruined things. It always did.

And if the partnership severed someday, at least she'd have a child who would possess his features and love fiercely. The bond of mother and child was far more difficult to destroy.

The story had come without forethought, her fingers flying over the keys. High-risk jobs required lines, but running a night club… Well, that was mundane. Normal. As the tale of Mr. B and Bren grew longer and more expansive, she found herself lost within her own electronic pages. It would be easier to be average, she believed. Maybe people wouldn't shun her. Maybe they would see all of the love she desperately kept locked away, lest someone fashion it into a metaphorical weapon, a weakness in her armor. And Booth… Maybe he would choose her, if there were no lines drawn by either of them.

She read aloud as she typed, wanting to believe that Booth could hear her, that he could imagine such a world and perhaps feel that in another life, they would be together. But not this one; she made that clear by drawing the line firmly between the officers in her story. They were strictly partners.

She dreamed up the world that they never could have, baby included. No matter what he'd said before surgery, she couldn't proceed with the insemination process now. She would remain alone.

"Dr. Brennan?"

She glanced up, relieved to see Dr. Randolph. "Booth seems to be experiencing amnesia, and I fear I've contributed to it."

The doctor nodded. "He believes you are his wife. I told him I would come find you. He's afraid you're experiencing morning sickness and trying not to concern him."

Brennan sighed. "I was reading aloud from my novel and it would seem he's inserted us into that world. How do we reason with him? I don't want to cause him further harm."

"Perhaps showing him photos of himself and his family, items from his job, that sort of thing?" The doctor sighed. "He's very insistent that he's your husband. There was also some talk of a night club and Motley Crue?"

"I don't know what that last part means," she said, puzzled. "I can't be his wife. I can't… pretend."

Pretending would hurt too much.

"Please don't. I think it's best that we continue to stress that he's had a very vivid dream and remind him of reality," Dr. Randolph replied. "Dr. Brennan, your contradicting the dream may make him angry. Please try not to take it personally. I fully expect he will recover his memories soon enough."

"I'd like tests run to ensure there's no permanent damage."

Dr. Randolph nodded reluctantly. "I'll arrange for some scans. In the meantime, you'll need to go back to him."

"Thank you."

She watched Dr. Randolph retreat, inhaling deeply and holding it to centre herself. Booth needs you, she told herself. Just tell him the truth. Don't take it personally. She couldn't tell him the truth, though; that was the problem. She had to tell his version of the truth.

She nearly burst into tears at the grin he gave her and she froze in the doorway, hand pressed to the frame to steady herself.

"Bren, you don't have to pretend to be fine," he said. "Pregnancy is rough sometimes, from what I've heard."

"Booth-"

"We're partners," he continued. "That's what marriage is all about: sharing everything."

Not everything, she thought sadly. She approached the bed slowly, mulling her words carefully.

"Booth, we're not married. That was a dream," she told him gently. "We're friends. Good friends. We work together."

"Bren-"

"Bones. You call me Bones, because of my profession. I used to hate it, but now, I like it. Only you call me Bones." She smiled reassuringly. "I promise that you'll begin to remember soon enough."

Booth frowned, licking his dry lips. "But it's real. I know it's real."

"Booth-"

"I can see it in your eyes," he interrupted. "I know you love me. Why are you lying to me?"

Why, indeed. To protect you. To protect me.

"I'm not lying," she insisted. "I don't even believe in marriage. I'm so sorry I read that story to you. I should have known the potential ramifications."

"Kiss me," he said.

She felt her jaw slacken. "What?"

"If we're just friends, I'll feel it," Booth explained. "Need to know… know what's real."

"That's highly inappropriate," she countered anxiously.

He coughed, eyes squinting. "Please…for me."

She hated him. Hated him and loved him. But maybe it would work. She would be cold and unfeeling about it and perhaps that would be the spark that would put this behind them. And so she pressed her lips to his and felt her heart race at the contact, heard herself moan unwillingly as his tongue grazed her lower lip. It was that night five years ago all over again, only worse. She was sober. She couldn't blame the way her body felt scorching hot on tequila. She pulled herself away, struggling to keep composure.

"See? I knew you were my wife," Booth murmured happily.

"I'm not your wife, Booth. I'm not, and you need to remember the truth!"

She couldn't stay, wouldn't stay. She fled the room, managing to keep the tears at bay until she slammed into the women's restroom. Furiously, she rubbed at her lips, as if that would somehow erase the memory of him, the taste.

"It wasn't real," she whispered to no one.

Deep down, a tiny, terrified part of herself wanted him to never remember the truth.

The look of near terror when Booth says he loves her in Harbingers always strikes me... As does the chatter with Avalon about how could anyone love Brennan. As much as Booth seems more aware of emotion, I think Brennan was definitely the one Gordon said was "aware" of the love and fought it every day. Thoughts? Share away!