(The Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood)

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I don't own Bones.

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They were standing in front of a minister in a church that was clear. Brennan's arms were around him and she was hugging him. She looked so beautiful with her hair pulled up . . .

His alarm clock radio blaring out Stevie Nicks singing "Gypsy", Booth sat up abruptly on his bed. Scrubbing his hands across his face, Booth sighed and tried to understand what he had had just dreamed. "Oh, man."

Filled with anger, he reached out and slammed his fist down on the radio finally getting the quiet he needed. Falling back and letting his head hit his pillow, Booth closed his eyes once more. "That was not a memory dream . . . damn it, no way that wasn't real."

Opening his eyes, Booth sat back up and rolled the muscles in his neck and shoulders. Tense, he sat on the edge of his bed, placed his feet on the floor and prepared to feel the pain that always came when he first stood up. His phone ringing, he stood up before he was ready, hissed and hobbled to the dresser, picked up his phone, and saw it was Rebecca.

"Yeah, this is Booth."

Seeley, I was wondering if I could get you to take Parker today. His sitter called me and she can't make it in. She was in an automobile wreck a little while ago. I have to take a witness statement this morning and I can't miss it. I know this is short notice.

Since he couldn't really say no, Booth sighed. "I'll come and get him."

Thanks, Seeley.

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He hated to do it, but Booth talked Angela into looking after Parker while he and Brennan tan out to a crime scene. He had been grateful she had done him the favor, but that gratefulness died when when he'd returned to the Hoover and found his son's face painted in bright gold and red colored paint and that Parker had been asking every woman he came across at the Lab to be his father's girlfriend.

Worried about the paint, he took his son into the bathroom, tried to scrub the paint off of Parker's skin and managed to get most of it off, but not all of it. "Parker, your mother is going to be pissed when she sees your face."

Admiring the shadows of the paint around his eyes, Parker beamed with happiness. "I think it's cool Dad." He didn't understand why his father was upset since it made him look a super hero.

Not sharing his son's happiness, Booth tried once more to get the paint off of the boy's face only to find that the paint could still be seen around his eyes and on his cheeks. "Oh, well, I tried . . . If your mother wants to get mad at me then there isn't anything I can do about it."

Puzzled, Parker glanced at the faint mask around his eyes. "Why would she get mad, Dad? It's just paint. Angela says I can take it off with makeup remover."

Booth ruffled his son's hair and decided to just go with it. "I'm all out of that stuff, Parker. I guess you'll have to get some from your mother."

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After arresting Mary Kay, Elliot and James for the murder of Kurt Bissette, Booth had driven Brennan back to the Jeffersonian.

Her mind on Booth's dreams and wishes, Brennan turned to stare at her partner. "Do you still wish to own a house with a white picket fence in the suburbs?"

Puzzled, Booth glanced at Brennan and tried to think of why she wanted to talk about that. "Uh . . . yeah, sure . . . maybe some day. Why are you asking?"

The seething emotional undercurrents of the neighborhood they had investigated made her wonder what was so special about living in the suburbs. "We've just seen the stress that living in the suburbs can cause, I just thought you'd changed your mind."

Amused that his partner thought what they had seen was normal, Booth chuckled. "Those guys were caught up in a soap opera. The victim was having sex with every woman that would let him and his wife drugged him to try to stop it. Then he built that damn windmill that drove everyone nuts. That whole situation was not normal. What you saw wasn't normal."

Turning to look out of the passenger window, Brennan thought Booth was wrong and said so. "Sweets seems to think that it was normal."

Booth stared at the red light coming up and sighed. "Sweets said . . . Bones, that kid is a psychologist. He studies the abnormal. Believe me, what we saw isn't normal. Those people were nuts." A quick glance at Brennan and then back at the red light turning green, Booth decided to ask a question of his own. "So, Bones, I have a question for you."

Curious, Brennan turned back to stare at her partner. "What is it you wish to ask?"

Careful to keep his eyes on the road a head, Booth finally asked his question. "Have you ever thought about getting married?" Booth waited for her answer, but he thought he already knew the answer.

Not sure why, she felt slightly defensive as she gave her answer. "You may not remember it, Booth, but I've told you in the past, I don't believe in the institution of marriage. It is an ancient tradition that has long outlived its usefulness in modern society. It serves no purpose in today's society."

Startled, Booth glanced at Brennan and then back at the road. "Bones, marriage is . . . uh, people get married to . . ." Not sure how to continue, he scratched his head and tried again. "Look a marriage certificate allows the spouse certain rights in society. Say if we were married and I got hurt, you'd have the right to all of my medical information and you could make medical decisions for me. A girlfriend or a friend couldn't do that."

Rolling her eyes, Brennan couldn't believe how naive her partner seemed to be. "A medical proxy would take care of that problem. The fact is, I still have your medical proxy. You gave me it to me before your operation. Do you wish to revoke that privilege?"

Surprised, Booth tried to remember doing that, but couldn't. "I did? . . . No of course I don't want to revoke it. You're my partner and my best friend. I might need you to make decisions for me if I'm ever hurt on the job or I get sick again. I sure as hell don't trust Jared to make those decisions." Scrunching his nose, Booth thought furiously and then snapped his fingers. "Okay I got it . . . if we were married you'd be my beneficiary if I was killed. You could collect my life insurance and my veterans benefits."

Not sure why Booth was so determined to make her see the value of marriage, Brennan stared at the road ahead and tried to make him see reason. "All you have to do is just make me your beneficiary. We still wouldn't need to be married, besides, I would think that you would want Parker as your beneficiary not me. He is your son."

Frustrated that Brennan seemed to have all of the answers, Booth glanced at Brennan and then back at the road again. "Look being married lets you show society that you love someone and that you're committed to being in a permanent relationship with that person. It tells the world that you belong to someone. It's special, it has meaning."

"I'm not chattel, Booth. I don't belong to anyone."

Irritated, Booth finally gave up. "Never mind, Bones. Just never mind." How the hell am I going to get around that shit? How?

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Sitting in Sweets office, Booth held his head up with his right hand and stared at the far wall.

"Is something wrong, Agent Booth? You haven't said anything since you walked in to my office. These sessions are to help you with any problems you may be having. To do that, you need to actually talk to me." Sweets had noticed the sad look on Booth's face and wondered what was going on.

A deep sigh escaping from him, Booth moved his hand down and placed it on the arm of the couch. "Nothing's wrong. I guess I'm just a little depressed that I'm still having memory problems. I thought I'd be better by now."

He knew that Booth was frustrated and he also knew that it was important to keep Booth positive about his situation. "It takes time. Sometimes it takes years to fully recover from something like this. You are doing remarkably well, Agent Booth. I mean, really well . . . Most of your memory is back as far as we can tell. Those memories that are missing don't appear to be affecting your day to day life or your job . . . How are you doing on the practice range? Will you be ready to re-certify soon?" Sweets hoped that would go a long way to help Booth since the agent needed that bit of confidence.

Turning his gaze towards Sweets, Booth shrugged his shoulders. "It's going okay. I still need more practice . . . Look I just want to know how bad this really is. Are you and Bones keeping anything back about me? Is there something else wrong with me and you're not telling me? Because if you are . . ."

Quickly holding his hands out in a placating manner, Sweets tried to use a soothing tone to put Booth at ease. "No of course not. You had a non-malignant brain tumor, it was successfully removed. You had some severe memory loss after you woke up from a coma, but you appear to have recovered a major portion of that memory. You're doing your job and you know the things you need to know. You're very lucky."

Filled with anger, Booth stood up and glowered at Sweets. "Stop telling me I'm lucky, damn it. My life is a mess and I am not lucky." Breathing hard, Booth turned and walked over to the window. Staring at the building across the street, Booth shook his head. "I'm not lucky. I'm not lucky and I never have been, never."

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