If I've accidentally missed one of your reviews, please know that I am deeply grateful for them; I've gotten so many kind, personal messages from you all on this story, I'm feeling pretty overwhelmed. Thanks!

"Where's the kiddies?" Mrs. Kelly asked, trying to draw attention away from what she felt was the unladylike shimmer in her eyes. "It's far too quiet in here-did someone take them outside to play?"

Giving her husband a surreptitious glance Brennan replied,

"They're at home with my father. Booth thought that being here might upset them, especially Christine. She was extremely fond of her great-grandfather." A second, more critical look in his direction. "Booth's son is currently out of the country and couldn't make it back in time."

Mrs. Kelly's innocent question invariably resurrected for both partners their latest sparring match only the day before.

"They're staying with Max, and that's final."

"In most cultures, including Western ones, it's perfectly acceptable for families to bring children to wakes, Booth. In fact, it's expected."

"No," Booth answered curtly.

"I don't understand why you're being so intractable. Wakes are a way of introducing children to the notion of death within a controlled, nurturing environment, a concept they'll have to become acquainted with sooner or later. It's also a way of helping them to adjust to the loss of a loved one. Children Christine's age don't think in abstract terms; they need tangible proof that an event has happened in order to understand it. It's how they make sense of the world."

"She believes in Santa Claus" Booth whispered, double-checking that his daughter wasn't anywhere nearby.

"For all intents and purposes, she has seen Santa Claus, Booth. He's present in every mall we go to and practically every Christmas image she sees. He's even been to our house" she said, poking Booth in the ribs as he looked around him in horror. "She also gets presents from him, as well as from the Easter Bunny. That is all the proof of their existence she requires."

"I don't care" the agent argued, his voice ticking up in defiance. "I don't want her seeing him like that."

Brennan's raised eyebrows were the only outward sign of her impatience.

"Hank will probably appear to her as if he's in a state of deep slumber. You must have viewed your deceased grandmother's remains. You were a child then, and you don't seem to have been too traumatized by the experience."

"Yeah, I did, and I wish I hadn't. It was..." he shuddered. "Pops' soul is in heaven, Bones, where it belongs; seeing him inside a coffin all stiff and quiet isn't going to help Christine understand that. We'll think of another way to help her deal with it-later. Maybe talk to Sweets or something."

"You should at least have made Parker come. He's certainly old enough to understand what's happening."

"Bones, they just got to the Bahamas a day ago. I can't do that to him, ruin his and Rebecca's vacation after all the work he did on that damn science project. He's been looking forward to that trip for months. Besides, he's still a kid."

In truth, Brennan didn't know who was being more of a child at the moment-Christine, little Hank, Parker-or Booth. Regardless of its obvious futility, she wasn't about to give up on her cause just yet.

"Parker is an adolescent, not a child Booth, and Hank was his great-grandfather. They spent a lot of time together; he deserves the opportunity to say goodbye. I can still arrange for him to get here by tomorrow evening in time for the funeral on Thursday. I'll cover whatever expense is necessary to fly him here and back to the Bahamas. I can even arrange to extend the trip by a day for all involved; money is not an obstacle. I'm sure under the circumstances, Rebecca would understand."

Booth shook his head.

"I love you, Bones; I really do, and you're incredibly smart-the smartest person on so many weird and..." He rolled his eyes as the right adjective failed him. "Just plain weird things. But sometimes you don't have a handle on the easy ones. It's not about the money. I'll take him to church and the cemetery next week. We'll look at pictures and talk about Pops-he can say goodbye that way, him and Christine."

Why, an exasperated Brennan wondered, did Booth always expect so little for himself from others? She took one look at his stubborn, incipient-tantrum face and bit her lip, feeling as she so often did a sense of supreme injustice on his behalf.

But of course, she knew the answer to that missive already. He'd gotten so little from people in the past, that no matter how things had absolutely changed for the better for him since he was a boy, a part of her husband would always cling to the belief there still was no reason to expect more now. That perhaps, he wasn't quite worth all the trouble.

But mainly, she guessed, because he didn't want to risk asking for anything he considered too burdensome to others only to be met by an intractable 'no.' Too many disappointments for a single lifetime, she surmised.

Brennan supposed in some strange, twisted way that frustrating character trait had worked in her favor; a more demanding man might not have waited so patiently for her to come around to the notion of love and lasting, monogamous companionship.

"If you don't feel Parker should be there for Hank, he should at least be there for you" she added softly, a final plea for common sense.

"I don't need more people there, Bones. There's probably going to be way too many of them as it is."

Softening his stance, Booth pulled his wife to him. "Besides, I got you. I'll be okay" he added, kissing the top of her head.

Brennan grudgingly agreed to what she felt was an unsatisfactory arrangement in order to avoid another fracas with her mate. As much as she loved Parker, he wasn't her son and she had no real say over the choices he was given. Besides, Booth didn't need any more pressure, especially from her, even when she suspected he might come to regret his hasty decision to be without a significant portion of his family later on.

So Parker remained in the Bahamas and Max stayed behind at home with his two grandkids. But Brennan soon discovered that the subject of funerals and their attendant social rituals hadn't quite been entirely covered by that heated conversation. She wasn't prepared for the announcement Booth would make on the drive to the funeral home the following day.

"About the wake, Bones-when I go, I don't want one-not with a casket and stuff. You can cremate me, have a mass in my name and store me in a drawer in your bone room, okay? Then when it's your turn, the kids can throw us off a volcano, or whatever other bizarro place you want. Maybe shoot us out of a cannon into the moon together."

Brennan looked over in surprise.

"I realize that cremations are now routinely accepted by the Catholic Church as ways of disposing of human remains, but I always assumed you would want something more traditional. You once told me to just 'put you in the ground'."

"I changed my mind. You know, you mentioned my grandmother-it wasn't her in that box. The woman who cooked all those Sunday dinners, who played card games with me and grew those great tomatoes with Pops-that wasn't her in there. I never want our kids to see me that way. I know you will because, well, you're you, but promise me it'll be for as short a time as possible."

"I thought you wanted me to watch over your body overnight to ensure that the coroner hadn't made a mistake," she teased.

"I'm serious, Bones. This is important."

"I may die before you do, Booth," Brennan said matter-of-factly.

The look she got sent chills down her back.

"No-you won't. That's not how it's supposed to go."

Silence, and then a quiet, unexpected "alright."

Booth glanced over affectionately and smiled, clearly relieved that the discussion was over so quickly and with relatively so little fuss.

"It's settled then."

An impossible promise anyway you looked at it, but Brennan decided that if it gave her husband a little peace of mind during this difficult stretch, she would make it. Time would eventually take care of the how and when-and the who, promises notwithstanding.

She did feel like pushing the envelope just a bit more, if only to be further enlightened as to Booth's ever fantastical-and decidedly romantic-notions about the after-life, particularly the one where'd they'd somehow wind up together in the end. Oddly enough, talking with him about death tended to leave her a bit more hopeful about life, much like her conversations with Daniel Oroyuma did. Not that she believed there was anything else no matter how much those two exceptional men argued there was, just that when she spoke to them, she felt herself open up to the possibility that maybe, just maybe, there might be more.

After all, it didn't feel logical that a connection as intense as hers and Booth's would just vanish with the corruption of the body. Perhaps subatomic particles, still vibrating with the pent-up energy of their years of unwavering devotion, would continue to hold the essence of their love long after the two of them were gone.

She sat back in the passenger seat, relaxing under the unconditional adoration contained in Booth's dopey smile. Accepting that the process of falling in love with her superstitious, overprotective, stubborn and occasionally infuriating husband would probably never come to an end. Much like the mythical ouroboros' insistence on forever gripping its own tail-an ancient symbol of humanity's ceaseless quest for knowledge-her infatuation with him might indeed be eternal.

As Mrs. Kelly was leaving, Booth took a small brown package off one of the display tables and handed it to her.

"We wanted you to have this; it's the picture you told us about. Bones found it when we got home" the agent declared.

Their elderly visitor looked at the tall, handsome man and the beautiful woman standing beside him with tenderness.

"Thanks" she whispered, her eyes drifting into the distance as she held the package to her bosom. "I won't open it here-I don't want to cause a scene. Hank wouldn't approve."

The forecast for Booth, so iffy at the start of the wake, had remained relatively sunny throughout the evening even as the hours dragged on. But after the last stragglers had departed and the time to go home neared, his wife noticed he became unusually reserved again.

He also seemed reluctant to walk out.

"Booth, aren't you coming?" Brennan asked, donning her rain coat. "Was there something you needed to discuss with the home's directors about the funeral tomorrow?"

Looking pensive, he stared at a yellowing photograph of his grandfather, youthful and confident in his military police uniform.

"Do you mind taking the car home by yourself?" Booth asked after a small pause, offering Brennan the car keys. "I think I'm gonna stay here a little bit longer."

"Stay longer? Isn't the funeral home closing soon?"

"Not this one-you can stay all night if you want. It's kind of an old-fashioned place, for when people used to stay up and watch the..the..."

Brennan finished the elusive sentence for him.

"The deceased," she said.

She considered Booth's request with more than a hint of misgivings, but finally decided it was probably best to give her husband some leeway. "Do you want me to stay with you?" she asked, even when she could guess what the answer would be.

"Nah-I just want some time alone with him. You understand, right?"

Almost word-for-word what he'd asked from her the night Hank died, when he said he wanted to go into the hospital room by himself.

Brennan's reply too echoed her last.

"Yes, I understand."

She kissed him on the cheek, hanging off his neck for a brief moment before letting go.

"Don't come home too late," she urged into his ear.

But several hours passed, bringing with them nothing but a fitful sleep for the increasingly nervous anthropologist. She imagined that there was more to Booth's withdrawn behavior than just the typical sorrow tied to a loss. Seeing all those pictures of Hank and hearing all the stories about him must have brought out other memories for her husband, including some not so pleasant ones, particularly of his unpredictable, abusive father and his wayward mother. Could his current absence have anything to do with that?

Brennan was reaching for the phone when she heard Booth walk into the bedroom. Sitting up in the darkness, she propped herself up on her pillow and called out his name.

"Hey," he answered softly. "You should be sleeping."

It wasn't a reproach, she knew that; more of an apology than anything else. She heard the soft thud of his jacket hitting a chair and then the more muted sound of it succumbing to the laws of gravity as it lost its hold on the fabric and slid to the floor.

Turning on the bedside lamp, Brennan watched her husband with groggy eyes.

He looked bedraggled and also fairly damp, as if he'd been wandering outside for a long period of time in the heavy mist that had rolled in earlier that day.

"I was worried about you," she said with some severity. "You should have called. I was beginning to think something had happened to you on the way home."

This time, a real apology because he knew he owed her one.

"I'm sorry, Bones; I lost track of time. Turns out the funeral home did close an hour after you left, so I just took a walk to unwind."

"Booth, it's been over three hours" she scolded, not feeling even remotely guilty for sounding like the perfect stereotype of a hen-pecking wife. A marital union came with privileges, and finding out what one's husband was doing alone in the middle of a soggy night was one of them, particularly since the funeral home wasn't in one of the more picturesque parts of town. He was an FBI agent, certainly, but a gun and combat training weren't valid excuses to foolishly risk one's life.

Suddenly, the shadow of his not-so-distant gambling relapse danced like a specter between them, even if that's not what Brennan had been hinting to at all.

"It was just a walk, Bones, and then I took a cab home,' he said defensively. And then more meekly, "I didn't do anything bad, I swear. I just needed some time to decompress."

"I know you weren't doing anything 'bad' Booth," Brennan reassured. "I trust you completely. I was just worried, that's all. The area around the funeral home can be somewhat questionable after dark. There was a drive-by shooting a few blocks away just last week."

Booth seemed grateful for his wife's answer and the fact that she was willing to let this minor infraction go without further interrogation. After quickly changing into sweatpants and a t-shirt, he turned to leave.

"Where are you going?" Brennan asked. "You need to rest, Booth, before you completely deplete your body's energy reserves. You risk weakening your immune system to the point where you might become ill. Please keep in mind that tomorrow will be a very long day."

"I have to check my emails; I haven't looked at them all day. God knows what mess will be waiting for me when I get back to the office on Friday."

He wanted to hear them. Needed to hear them-certainly more than he realized. And when the strict orders came from way up high, almost as high as it got, he followed them without uttering a single contrary peep.

"Come to bed, Booth."

"Yes ma'am."

Two brief personal stories: my mom, like Booth, never took me to a funeral home, even when my grandmother died (I was thirteen). She hated going herself and didn't like looking at dead people, having had to kiss a deceased relative once when she was a kid. The upshot is that I hate them too-when *my* time comes around, I want a big, whopping party with loud music and fancy cocktails instead.

Two: my parents both wanted their ashes scattered off the beach where they had spent so much time and where my dad had grown up. In order not to have the stuff end up where people were bathing, I had to scamper like a goat up a very big, very treacherous and slippery coral reel formation that was more like a jagged mountain. True story-with my dad, I almost fell in with his ashes, which would have been unfortunate since there was no way for anyone to fish me out and keep me from being pounded to death against the rocks, lol! Still, I treasure the memory of the white roses we threw in as they drifted out into the sea. It was an incredibly spiritual experience. God bless!