The Progeny in the Parting

Chapter 29 - A Seriously Silly Season

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Disclaimer: BONES is owned by FOX, Hart Hanson and his team of awesomeness. No disrespect or infringement is intended.

A/N: For those of you that hang out with me at Bonesology, you know that I'm hoping for a review rate of more than 1% on this chapter…Yes, the truth about fan fiction. I wrote a non-fiction piece on the site, exploring this, it's called 'The Fervent Wish in the Fanfic Writer.'

This chapter is dedicated to MiniSkole – Happy Sweet 16th, baby!


Thursday, December 23rd 2010 - Swan Valley, Western Australia

Brennan relaxed back onto the blanket that she had been sitting on during a picnic lunch with Angela and Hodgins. She gave a sigh and a groan of contentment, as she gazed up through the canopy of the Jacaranda tree that they chosen to sit beneath; its branches were almost obscured by the pregnant mass of tiny lilac blossoms which greatly outnumbered the leaves. The day was clear and bright, with a dry heat sitting in the nineties, it was almost 2 p.m., but the sapping heat was tempered by the shade of the mature trees and a light breeze that sent spent blossoms coasting on lazy zephyrs down to rest on the grass below.

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"Did you have enough to eat, Sweetie?" asked Angela, the sounds of ice cubes rattling in a metal bucket indicating that the Artist was pouring herself another glass of the local Unwooded Chardonnay.

"I find myself in post-prandial nirvana. You may have to request assistance from the staff at the winery to have me winched off this blanket," replied Brennan in a moment of self-depreciative levity, her toes scrunching at the cool blades of grass that were ticking her bare feet.

Hodgins chuckled appreciatively and translated for his wife. "That would be a no to more food for our gastronomically sated friend."

"Correct," replied Brennan, giving another sigh as she shifted onto her side in a complex series of moves that accommodated her high round belly. The child within complained at the shift in gravity by poking her lower ribs with what Brennan knew to be an elbow. Joey had been stubbornly in a breech position for the past ten days, without the head of the baby engaged in her pelvis; breathing had become a little restricted lately.

Angela was sat against the trunk of the Jacaranda tree, a wine glass in one hand, her other hand sketching the vista of rolling hills, scored with the orderly lines of grapevines, mostly denuded from the recent harvest. Native and introduced tree species bordered the view in a riot of blossoming reds, orange and yellows. The giant Jacarandas framed the picture in the eye of the artist, the green and lilac foliage providing both colour and contrasting light and shade over the green grass.

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"The light is amazing here," commented Angela. "I could draw and paint all day."

"And I could watch you doing it all day," said Hodgins with a toast of his wine glass toward his wife.

"The additional natural light is stimulating the rods and cones in your retina, which would undoubtedly enhance the artistic interpretations from your visual cortex," said Brennan, rearranging the flowing material of a summer maternity top that she and Angela had purchased on a 'shop 'til you drop' trip on the previous week. The trip had been punctuated by plenty of rest and bathroom stops, but the ladies had enjoyed themselves immensely.

Angela chuckled. "Oh, I assure you, my visual cortex is very happy, Brennan."

"Yeah, mine too...," quipped Hodgins, as he openly attempted to undress Angela using only the power of his stimulated visual cortex.

"Do the two of you need some time alone?" asked Brennan with a smirk playing on her lips. "Because, despite my circumstantial abstinence, I have no vicarious desire to watch you engage in coitus."

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Hodgins laughed loudly at the thought.

Angela rolled her eyes. "Hodgins is just happy that he can sleep naked again. The heating in the bedroom of our Montmartre apartment is temperamental, and sleeping in the buff on the rug in front of the fireplace is so clichéd."

"Not to mention, potentially hazardous..." added Brennan in a serious tone.

"Ouch, don't go there, Dr. B," said Hodgins, flinching at the thought of stray embers.

"No, let's not," suggested Angela, taking an eraser to correct her drawing. "Y'know, I'm really glad we came here. The heat is dry and Texan, the skies are clear...my best friend is here, relaxed and looking the happiest that I've ever known her to be. It's Christmas; a weird summer 'tinsel melting in the sun' Christmas, but we get to celebrate the holidays together for once. Does life get any better?"

Brennan smiled at her friend. "On balance, I suppose that it doesn't. Usually, I spend Christmas in far flung locations with traditions that fall well outside the Western cultural norms of Judaeo-Christian belief systems...Booth asked you to come here, didn't he?"

"No, Sweetie, he did not. Although I could tell that he had ants in his pants, resisting the urge to bring it up," replied Angela.

"There was an infestation of ants at his base camp? Booth never mentioned that. Are the ants native to Afghanistan region particularly aggressive, Hodgins?" asked Brennan.

"Only if they're Myrmica metaphoricus," chortled Hodgins.

"Oh, metaphorical ants. I see. So if you say that Booth wanted to ask, then why didn't he?" asked Brennan.

"Just because he could have asked, didn't mean that he would. He was already blown away by the help that we gave him to get to see you at the dolphin sanctuary on his Liberty," explained the Artist.

Her friend gave a chuckle. "Booth explained the concept of being blown away in the vernacular. He also provided a very physical demonstration for my benefit."

"I'll bet he did. I'm sure that the 'benefit' was mutual," said Angela in a tone that was laced with implied innuendo.

Brennan nodded in agreement and rubbed absently at a spot on her belly. "Yes. It was, I experienced multiple orgasms. In fact, I am aroused by simply recalling the memory of it."

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Hodgins choked, spraying his mouthful of 2006 Cabernet Sauvignon over the grass at his feet, trying to clear the small volume that he had inhaled into his airways in reaction.

Angela dissolved into laughter. "Hold onto that feeling, honey, it seriously needs to be channeled into your next book!"

"What?" asked Brennan, as her friends composed themselves. "Moments ago, you were clearly engaging in foreplay. Why can't I talk about sex?"

"Brennan, please...," said Angela with an eyebrow arched. "We were on the subject of Booth and our decision to come and spend Christmas with you. Hodgins and I discussed coming to Monkey Mia, but decided against it. You and Booth needed some time to adjust," she said with a meaningful wave of her wine glass toward the round abdomen of her friend.

The Anthropologist flashed a smile as she glanced down at what would no doubt prove to be a pivotal period of re-adjustment in her life. "Well, regardless of the decision-making process involved, I am very glad that you are here with me for the holidays. I consider you both to be an important part of my family."

"The feeling is mutual, that's why we're here with you on this beautiful summer day, sipping wine, not freezing our asses off in Paris...," said Angela.

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Hodgins gave a start, as he spotted something in the grass. "Ooh! Onthophagus gazella! An African immigrant...let's take a look at you, my friend."

"Jack...winery, wine, relaxation with loved ones...as in 'not' a field trip," Angela said with a grimace at the bug he held between his fingers for inspection.

"How did it get here from Africa, Hodgins?" asked Brennan, reaching over for her bottle of water and peering at the bug.

"It's an introduced species," explained Hodgins."The Australian Dung Beetle Project ran until the mid-eighties, they control bush fly populations."

Angela recoiled slightly. "Ugh! That's a Dung Beetle?...that means it hangs around in..."

Hodgins smiled with boyish delight. "Yeah, poop. These guys...love poop. Especially cow dung, they love that stuff."

"I cannot take you anywhere, do you know that?" said Angela.


Saturday, December 25th 2010 - Perth, Western Australia

Christmas morning dawned hot and humid, and for the first time in a couple of weeks, Brennan felt relief. If she had been inclined to write a letter to Santa Claus, she would have asked for her unborn son to move his head away from her diaphragm. It was simply a coincidence that her Christmas wish had been granted, she glanced at the empty space beside her; well, one of her Christmas wishes. As she shifted in preparation to get out bed, she considered pragmatically that life was all about balance; breathing more freely was clearly going to come at the expense of her bladder that was now compressed by Joey's head.

After a shower, Brennan headed downstairs to the main living area of the Haynes' home. Dr. Phil Haynes was sat alone at the breakfast bar in the open plan kitchen, leafing through a magazine as he sipped at an espresso.

"Morning, Tempe," he said. "Merry Christmas! Mark and Caleb were up at 5:30, so the main madness is over. Everyone is out by the pool, except Jack and Angela; they're still in bed. I'm indulging in my second cup of coffee. Can I interest you in a decaf?"

"Merry Christmas, Phil," she replied. "A decaf coffee sounds like a perfect start."

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Phil flipped his magazine closed and proceeded to put the coffee machine to work. He glanced up at Brennan, his eyes flicking over her with a quick clinical assessment.

"You've dropped." he commented, as he pulled a clean coffee cup from a cabinet.

"Dropped what?" she asked.

Phil gave a chuckle. "The head of your baby has fully engaged, Tempe. I can tell. In my line of work, it's a skill that comes in handy."

"Oh, yes," she agreed. "My respiratory embarrassment is much less pronounced this morning and my centre of gravity has shifted. I predict that I will be experiencing back pain soon, because I believe that Joey's spine is resting against my own this morning."

"Ha! You would know," commented Phil with a grin. "Eileen always used her physical anthropology know-how to monitor the position of all of our kids. It spooked my poor colleague who did her pre-natal care and deliveries. He stopped placing bets with her about the delivery dates and presenting position of the fetus after the third baby. I never met a woman as in tune with her body as my wonderful wife."

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"And you know it, Philip Haynes. Keep talking, lover," said Eileen in a sardonic tone as she appeared, carrying an armful of discarded wrapping paper which she unceremoniously dumped into an empty box. "Ooh, Temperance, you've dropped!"

"I know," said Brennan. "Phil was telling me that he didn't deliver your babies, Eileen. Would it have made you uncomfortable?"

"Well, not really, but it was a close thing with our youngest," replied Eileen. "If it hadn't been for a fortunate series of green traffic signals, Caleb could well have been delivered by his father in the front seat of a Mercedes Benz."

Phil piped up. "My preference is to play the role of expectant father, when the babies involved are the ones that I made."

His wife snorted derisively. "Right, you 'made' them; a night of passion and contribution of ejaculate...What about the forty weeks of effort for each of them on my part?"

Brennan laughed at the exchange. "She has a point, Phil."

He handed Brennan her coffee cup with a smile. "I know. I just enjoy the benefit of being born with testicles, my dear."


By midday, token gifts had been exchanged and everyone had eaten far too much food to be interested in lunch. Brennan had retreated to the second floor balcony off her bedroom with her laptop to make her scheduled call to Booth. The past couple of weeks had been difficult for him, having lost two members of a team that he had trained, in a violent skirmish. He also missed Parker and Brennan acutely. The period between Thanksgiving and Christmas was his favourite time of year. She hoped that he had received his Christmas care package in time; the polite official at the U.S. Consulate had assured her that it would, when she deliberately leaned on a diplomatic connection to send it.

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"Merry Christmas, Bones!" he said, as a Santa-hatted hunk in fatigues appeared on her screen. The smile on his face, along with the hat on his head, confirmed that he had indeed received his Christmas care package in time.

"Merry Christmas to you too, Booth. Have you been permitted to spend some time away from your duties today?" she asked.

"Eh, we're getting extra rations", he joked with a smile. "Did you get any nice gifts?"

"I have now that I'm talking to you...," she replied. "How about you?"

"Aww, Bones... Parker sent me a video of the Nativity play from his school. He played one of the Three Wise Men and they had live baby animals on stage; they all escaped the pen and caused a riot, it was classic."

"That sounds very entertaining," she said with a grin. "I sent Parker some rollerblades. Rebecca said that he had written to Santa to 'put his order in'. Things have changed since I was a small child; Russ and I were strongly encouraged to phrase our letters as innocent wishes, along with reassurances that we had maintained an acceptable standard of behaviour."

"Yeah, naughty or nice, we did that too." Booth gave a laugh. "I guess kids are a little more demanding these days, maybe with the exception of Sweets, but they seem to know what they want at a much younger age than when we were kids, Bones."

"Do you think it will be worthwhile perpetuating the Santa myth with our son?" she asked seriously.

"I'll let you in on a little parenting secret, seeing as it's Christmas and all...," he said leaning in conspiratorially toward the webcam.

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Brennan saw the light of mischief in his eyes, but played along anyway. "Is it a secret conspiracy, Booth? Because Hodgins is presently sleeping off his brunch next to the pool. Perhaps I should go and wake him..."

"Ha! No way!" he retorted. "This is just me letting you in on the club a year early. Y'see the whole Christmas thing, pretending to believe in Santa to make it special for kids; it's a heck of a lot of fun...for parents too. Making your kid smile, there's nothing quite like it."

"Then I find myself looking forward to next Christmas. Joey will have developed sufficient psychomotor skills to laugh at you in your Christmas hat!" she remarked with a laugh.

"You're in a feisty humour today, Bones. We'll have to be sure that Sweets doesn't scare the poor kid next year with that God-awful elf hat of his. Those ears are big enough to pick up NPR, they'd scare the shit out of poor Joey!" said Booth with a snort at the thought of the elf hat on the Psychologist.

She frowned as she considered the scenario. "I fail to see the relevance. Even if he is startled by Sweets' ridiculous hat, Joey will still be wearing diapers at that point."

"Fine. You get to change his poopy diapers next Christmas Day," he said. "Speaking of the little guy, how's he treating you? Still head butting you in the ribs?"

"No. He has turned, and as Eileen phrases it, 'assumed the position', which means that Joey's head is engaged in my pelvis," she informed him matter of factly, before standing to show the corresponding change in her shape.

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"You're ready to drop, baby!" he said.

"Not yet. February. Approximately six weeks from now," she replied, deliberately ignoring his epithet.

"It could be earlier, you never know. The guys on base run a pool on due dates," said Booth.

Brennan gingerly lowered herself back onto the balcony, her pelvis complaining bitterly. "While I could do without the lower back pain at this stage, I prefer to stay focused on the thirty-eight to forty week timeframe. Plus, you shouldn't be gambling on the possible date of Joey's birth."

"Nah, I'm not allowed to bet on my own kid. That would be unethical," he said with a grin.

She smiled. "Speaking of unethical. Do you like your Christmas gift?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm totally blown away. Did Angela take the photo?" he asked. "Because it's everything I wanted...and then some. It's like a painting, with a hint of something..."

"Erotic...?" supplied Brennan.

"Yeah, but tasteful. To look at it, only I would know it was you. Give Angela a hug from me, okay?" he asked.

"That was the intention. Angela deserves more than a hug, she is very adept at interpreting my requirements, and yours too it seems," she replied.

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"Did you get your gift yet?" he asked.

"Not yet, but I have everything that I could possibly ask for..." she replied, playing with the ring on her left hand. "...except your presence, of course."

"Same here. But it won't be long. You can dream of me, right?" he asked with a brow raised and a cocky grin.

"Provided that I 'can' sleep, Booth. Insomnia has been troubling me. Sometimes...I experience anxiety, about becoming a parent. I very much want to succeed..." she admitted.

"Completely normal, even for geniuses. You'll have all that natural instinct kicking in. Lots of love for the little guy. Remember baby Amy at the hospital? It'll be a sure thing, you'll see!" said Booth reassuringly.

"I actually saw baby Amy last night, I even managed to hold her for a while after I persuaded Angela to relinquish possession of her for a few minutes. The baby went to sleep on my shoulder, it wasn't an onerous task. Perhaps I am worrying unnecessarily," she conceded.


Booth's Christmas gift arrived on the following Monday morning, which coincided with the departure of Angela and Hodgins, who were returning to Paris for New Year's. Along with a small stash of Hershey chocolate bars, the package contained a flash drive with audio recordings of Booth reading six bedtime stories, with a request to play them to Joey each night, so he would get used to his father's voice. With the simple tales of childhood looping at low volume on an iPod on her pillow; lying awake alone in the small hours somehow became just a little less lonely.


Saturday, December 31st, 2010. Perth, Western Australia.

The year was rapidly coming to a close. For Brennan, it had been a frenetic year of pain, pleasure, loss, love, anguish and adoration. She had grown, and objectively, she was growing too. New Year's Eve celebrations were going to be low key for her this year. Abstention from alcohol was not really a reason not to attend a party, but the drop in her iron levels since leaving Maluku made her increasingly tired and irritated, as did the pressure of a precocious mini-Booth head on her beleaguered pelvic girdle. The days immediately following the departure of Angela and Hodgins had been spent between the blessed gravity relief of the Haynes' swimming pool, a banana lounge in the palm shaded area next to the pool, or dozing off pretty much anywhere. Although she had spent time working on reviewing thesis chapters and journal articles, her daily productivity had fallen to perhaps three or four hours of what she would classify as work.

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At eleven-thirty p.m., Brennan was floating on her back in the pool, looking up at the stars; the muted sounds of merriment from the house and those of the neighbouring properties reached her ears through the water. With arms outstretched like wings and feet paddling intermittently, she relished the freedom from the dull aching that was making her miserable, and the sciatic pain that had been shooting through her left hip without warning for the past couple of days. Joey, for the most part, had been quiescent today, only giving half-hearted nudges and taps, as if in sympathy for the pain that she was already experiencing. This had changed since she entered the swimming pool, he had begun wriggling and fidgeting, just like his father. Making slowly over to the steps, she decided to take a break from floating, as she felt an attack of nausea and acid reflux threatening. Joey took opportunity to commence pummeling at her iliac crest for a few seconds as she reclined against the steps.

"Hmm...you appear to have ants in your pants..." she mused to her unborn son, trying out one of her new hyperbolic metaphors, with only the possums and other night fauna in the tropical garden as her witness. A rustling in the leafy undergrowth caught her attention, but she dismissed it, having become accustomed to the nighttime movements of the small foraging animals.

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Eileen Haynes wandered out of the main house, holding a champagne flute. Letting herself through the gate into the pool area, she kicked off her shoes before sitting on the edge of the pool steps. Dipping her feet into the water to mid-calf, Eileen gave a sigh of a satisfaction.

"Are you waterlogged yet, Temperance?" she asked, her tone heavy with amusement.

"No," replied Brennan, as she pulled herself out of the water and sat beside Eileen on the step. "But my hips feel significantly better now. I may even be able to get to sleep tonight. This pool provides an excellent non-pharmaceutical pain relief."

The two women sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, listening to the voices of party-goers becoming increasingly raucous as midnight approached. Brennan put a comb through her damp hair which was drying into soft waves in the warm evening.

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"We'll be doing the countdown to 2011 soon. Are you going to come inside and join us?" asked Eileen glancing at her watch, breaking the silence between them.

"Yes. Of course," Brennan replied, yawning. "I was considering calling Booth, if I can get through, and if I can stay awake."

"Use our landline, Temperance. You'll have a better chance of getting a decent connection," offered the elder Anthropologist.

"That is very kind of you, Eileen," replied Brennan with a smile. "I should dry off."

Both women made their way back toward the bright lights of the house, Brennan wrapping her still damp body in a colourful sarong. The temperature was still in the high eighties and it was pleasant to be a little cooler. Perhaps a dozen guests had shown up to celebrate New Year's Eve with the Haynes family; greetings were called out as they entered the main entertaining area of the house. Brennan grimaced slightly as she took the low stairs into the room, her left hip twinging in complaint.

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The time was now only five minutes to midnight. Brennan calculated the time back in D.C. and turned to Eileen. "I should call my father. I believe that he would enjoy the paradox of a call from the future."

"What if your old man built a time-machine instead?" asked a familiar voice behind her.

She spun on her heel, ignoring the protesting pain from her pelvis, to see the sneaky old badass standing there in the flesh.

"Dad?" she said, aghast.

"Tempe?" he said with amusement evident in every line of his posture as he leaned casually against the doorframe. "Booth asked me to be on the lookout for strange guys who might try and kiss you at the stroke of midnight."

She gave him the withering look that usually preceded a 'don't treat me like a child' or 'I can take care of myself' rant. Max held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "I know that you don't 'need' any help, but Booth and I were on the same page for once...plus the cold in D.C. has being playing havoc with my knee..." he said with a melodramatic wince as he flexed his left knee experimentally.

Brennan smiled at his attempt to con her into submission. "Your knee pain would improve considerably if you lost fifteen pounds; you've put on weight since you moved into my apartment."

"Ha! You can talk. Look at the size of you. How many babies are in there anyway?" retorted Max, throwing his arms open. "C'mon, how about a hug for your old man?"

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Father and daughter embraced in the doorway.

"I missed you, Dad," she admitted.

"I missed you too, Honey," he said with a sniffle. "Pregnancy suits you. Your Mom was just the same."

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The one minute to midnight announcement came from Phil Haynes. He brought over champagne flutes, handing them to Max and his daughter. "Yours is sparkling apple juice Tempe. It's quite nice actually. I'm on-call tonight, so I'll be joining you in a sober toast."

Max sniffed at the contents of his glass suspiciously.

"Yours is French champagne, Mr. Keenan, I poured it for you myself," added Phil, with a toast of his own glass as the countdown began. Time waited for no-one.

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"Ten." The number of fingers (or the number of toes) on the baby that this New Year would bring. Or more accurately, twenty-eight dancing phalanges.

"Nine." The number of months since she'd said 'No' to Booth.

"Eight." The number of months since she'd gathered her courage and changed her mind.

"Seven." The number of miniature dolphins that adorned the platinum and gold band on her finger.

"Six." The number of bedtime stories narrated by Booth on her iPod.

"Five." The number of weeks until her due date.

"Four." The number of months until she would see Booth again.

"Three." The number of people who would soon form the inner circle of her heart's desire. Her own family.

"Two." The number of people that Seeley Booth stubbornly insisted could occupy the same space while making love; despite the Laws of Physics that stated that it couldn't be done.

"One." The number of loneliness. The number of being alone. The number that she could never, ever, be again.

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"Happy New Year!" rang out voices from within and without.

Max pulled his daughter into another spontaneous hug. "Happy New Year, Tempe," he said over the raucous din of revelers.

"Happy New Year, Dad," she replied. "I'm really glad that you're here."

"Me too! I hear the barbecued food in this part of the world is to die for..." he said with a grin.

Brennan rolled her eyes at that comment. "You should be more concerned about your cholesterol intake. I promised Booth that I would call him, Dad, beforee it gets too late in Afghanistan, so I should do it now. He'll be waiting up with the satellite phone," she explained.

"Okay, Honey, tell him 'Hi' from me," said Max giving the now empty champagne glass in his hand an appraising look. "I'll be on a mission to get a refill."

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Brennan headed toward Phil's study, where she would be able to place the call away from the noise of the party. Having memorised the number sequence, she lifted the phone from the charging cradle and dialed. There was a pause before the tinkling electronic chimes announced that the connection was being attempted, followed by another pause, where she leaned against the wall of the study, intent on stretching away the dull pain that she knew would only be remedied by a hot shower and bed.

The muted ring tone came down the line, confirming that her call had connected.

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His voice was a welcome sound, taking her mind off her lower back for the moment. "Booth."

"Happy New Year, Booth!" she said by way of greeting.

"And to you, Bones! It's about time that you made it to 2011," he joked, with Perth being a few hours ahead of Afghanistan.

"Max says 'Hi'. He arrived a short time ago. Why didn't you tell me he was coming here?" she asked.

"Well. He never gave me a firm 'Yes' when I asked him. So I didn't want you to get your hopes up," explained Booth.

"That sounds familiar and predictable when it comes to my father," she mused. "Ouch!" she added.

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"You okay, Bones?" he asked concerned at her hiss of pain.

"It's just my lower back. I'll be fine. I just need to go to bed," she reasoned.

"Oh, okay. So will you play my bedtime stories for Joey tonight?" he asked.

"Yes, I will...I do...oh! Booth, I have to go now." she said, her last words in a distracted monotone.

"Uh, yeah… Okay. You're tired, I understand," said Booth, trying to suppress his disappointment at cutting their chat short. "It's really late here, plus this phone call must be costing you a packet..."

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She cut off his rambling. "No. Booth, you don't understand. I have to go. My waters just broke..."

"You're kidding me?" he responded reflexively.

"Why would I make jokes at a time like this?" she snapped. "Oh, no..."

"Bones...Temperance...get some help...What's happening?" he asked, sounding calm, but in truth, inwardly frantic. He heard a stifled sob.

"I'm bleeding...a lot," she whispered. Not only had she made an incorrect assumption about about number five on the countdown; Brennan realised suddenly that she'd been in labour since lunchtime.

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"Listen to me, Bones," he ordered. "Get. Help. Now. Call out, scream, whatever...Do it. Now!"

He heard a thud, the crash of a glass breaking on a hard surface and a scream of pain as she experienced the shock of the first full force contraction. Dazed in the aftermath, perhaps twenty seconds later, she found herself on her knees, hearing footsteps approaching rapidly and the sound of Booth's voice squawking from the handset of the phone on the floor beside her. Attempting to reach for it, the edges of her vision darkened, then blackness engulfed her.

.

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"Bones...Bones! For Christ's sake answer me...Temperance...?" came Booth's voice. " Joey...?"


A/N #2: Hmm…a cliffhanger *naughty Skole* - So who wants an update for Christmas?