Eventually, we finished greeting our own partnership's families and taking photos out in the garden behind the church. You'd been trailing your hand up and down my back nonstop since I'd rid myself of the veil, until I shivered and hissed "Stop it, you'll have time for that later and I'd really rather not have my knees give out here."

You laughed and trailed your hand under the hem at the base of my spine, leaning in to whisper, "If you think I'm not taking you from behind while you're still wearing this dress, you're crazy." Angela probably has a photo of me grabbing your jacket as my knees did then give way. Evil man. I'll get you back later today, never doubt it.

"Lech."

"Seductress."

"Insatiable."

"Goddess."

"Love of my life."

"Love of my life."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," interrupted Sully, who'd joined Cam outside with us after the service. "No, no, Mrs. Booth, love of my life, no, no, Mr. Brennan, love of my life. Can we go start drinking now?"

Your smile widened when we got back to the car. They'd tied plastic bones and handcuffs to the bumper, and taped a "Just Partners, Just Married" sign to the rear window.

"That looks like Lance's writing," I said. Looking over, I saw Sweets on the stairs, his arm around Anne, looking on expectantly. "Now Seeley, tell him thank you," I warned.

Grinning, you shot him a smile and gave him a thumbs up, which made him grin from ear to ear. Turning back to me, you said, "Maybe we should take the kids on a double date. I don't think they've done the deed yet."

"Booth. Let Sweets take it at his own pace. Besides, I caught Anne grabbing his rear end at the barbecue. If they haven't, it'll be any day now."

"Rear end? Behind? Bones, you can say the word 'ass,' you know," you said, pulling me in for a kiss that left me gasping as you dipped me so low my hair brushed the sidewalk. Letting me up, you grinned, and pulled out the car keys, dangling them in the air for a moment before holding them out to me. Grinning, I walked you to the passenger side of the car to let you in, then came around to my side to the laughter of those of our friends in on the joke.

I started the car, pulled away from the curb, and eyes still on the road, reached over to grab you through your pants, as I said, "Listen to that fine-tuned transmission."

"Agh! Bones! Are you trying to kill me?"

- - -

Only the fact that you were driving and I didn't want you to crash my new 'Stang on the way to the reception kept me from dragging the wheel over to make you stop the car so I could make you shut up about "wood grain paneling" and "white walled tires." Jesus, Bones. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?

- - -

We beat everyone back to the house, but Jenkins shooed us out into the garden outside the ballroom because the food and the band were still not set up. "Here," he said, ice bucket, champagne, and glasses in hand as he led us out into the gardens, "Amuse yourselves for a bit, I'll come out and get you once the rest start to arrive." He pulled a blanket out of I don't know where, and shook it out on the grass underneath a grape arbor, then winked and said, "Can't have the bride and groom covered in suspicious grass stains before the reception even begins, now can we?" and turned on his heel, striding off back to the house. Bones, I want a Jenkins. Do you think Jack and Angela will share?

I flopped down onto the blanket, and pulled the champagne bucket over. "C'mon, Bones, time to start running up the bar bill before our alcoholic friends and family arrive and drink us dry." You smiled and knelt, pulling your feet in to sit sideways.

"I think that went well," you said, taking a sip from the glass I'd handed you. "I even made it through the ceremony without being struck by lightning."

"Wouldn't have happened. There were at least six guys with guns there, even the Big Guy knows better." You laughed, and finished your glass.

"More?"

"No, not yet." You lay back, then, hands behind your head, your loose hair falling around you on the blanket. Sighing, you turned your head to smile at me. "It's a beautiful day-- it should stay warm enough later so we can dance on the patio."

"Jenkins said they have heaters, so as long as it doesn't rain, we're all set. You alright? You look a little tired."

You smiled again. "No, I'm fine. Just nice to have a little quiet before the next round of antiquated rituals begins." I finished my glass and lay down next to you, pulling you over to rest your head on my chest. We lay there, looking up at the sky and smelling the herbs from the garden.

"Your friends are all staying the night here, aren't they?"

"Mmm-hmm. We were going to play football with whomever else is left tomorrow after brunch, maybe go for a bit of a hike. Hodgins said there's conservation land on the other side of the big lake."

"Sounds nice. I was going to take your mother and Parker out in one of the rowboats-- your Dad might come too."

Thinking aloud, I said, "It was so nice of Jack and Angela to let us do this here."

You laughed. "Well, Angela wouldn't stand for us doing it elsewhere, if it meant she couldn't stalk us every single minute."

"True, very true."

Raising your arm, you pointed and said, "Look! A femur!" I squinted-- so it was, a femur. Wait. Did I just squint? Great-- I've been married not even three hours and I'm already squinting. Thanks a lot, Bones.

"Bones, you're such a nerd."

You slapped my chest. "Too late to discover that now. You're stuck with me, pal." I kissed the top of your head, looked up, squinted.

"Look, a mandible." It really was jawbone-shaped.

"Oil filter."

"Scapula."

"Firing pin."

"Sternum."

"Booth, it looks more like a clavicle to me."

"Fine. But that-- that one is clearly an occipital knob."

"Yes, it is," you said, your hand drifting down to slide under the waistband of my pants.

"Bones, if you start that, we are definitely going to miss the reception."

You turned your head up to look at me, and pouted. "But I love it when you say 'occipital,' Seeley."

"Plenty of time for distal phalanges later, wife." Heh. Wife. I just called you wife, and it's official, now. Wife.

"You're too good to me, husband." More heh. You just called me husband.

We lay there a bit longer, until we heard voices approaching. "Sweeties? Where are you?"

"Under the arbor in the potager," you called. Potager? Is that what they call a fancy vegetable garden? The other half of our little family appeared around the edge of the framework, carrying two more champagne glasses.

"Jenkins sent us out," explained Jack. "We beat everyone else back besides you two, and he's still not happy with the bar arrangement, so he kicked us out and told us to come make sure you weren't getting grass-stained."

"I tried," you said, "but Seeley's being a party pooper." Bones! Are you making sex jokes outside the bedroom? I need to make you drink champagne on a regular basis, clearly.

I scooted us back, pulling you so your head was in my lap as I pulled up to rest back on one elbow, the other playing with your hair. "Pull up a blanket, best gal and best man. And pour the champagne... Bones isn't drinking enough for me to take advantage of her later."

You pulled my hand to your mouth and bit it, a frisky look in your eye. "Maybe I want to take advantage of you later. Drink up, Seeley, my boy."

Jack and Angela laughed, and sat, Jack pouring us each another glass. When we'd finished the bottle, they lay back on the blanket, Jack's head in Angela's lap, and the sounds of the band tuning behind us.

"Scarab beetle."

"Pallette knife."

"Handcuffs."

"Vedic Stupa." Wait. Isn't that one of those Indian sex sculpture thingies? Bones, your mind is really in the gutter today.

"Chisel."

"Hexagonal crystalline structure."

"Hand grenade."

"I hate to interrupt this vocabulary-strewn idyll," came Jenkins' voice, "but your guests have begun to arrive, and are already laying bets on whether the bride and groom will even appear."

You rolled to your side and looked up, shooting Jenkins a grin straight out of Vegas. "What are the odds?"

People had gathered on the patio, lined up at the three bars and around the tables and chairs around the edge of a dance floor, picking at the starters Jenkins had set out. Everyone was drinking and talking as the band started to play old standards, we four trailing up from the garden, you and Angela holding hands and Jack and I trading leers as we ogled your respective behinds as we followed. God, Bones, the back on that dress. It stops just short of the curve of your gorgeous ass. I'm going to kill anyone who looks at you too long.

There were some catcalls as we came up the stairs onto the patio. "What, you couldn't stay gone ten more minutes?" called Sully. "I bet Dumbass here you two would disappear for longer."

"Sorry," you said. "I'm just too good a hostess."

Sully shot me a look, then said, "May I kiss the bride?"

I threw up my hands in mock dismay. "Ask her. She always does what she wants anyway."

You laughed and pulled Sully in for a quick hug and chaste kiss, then backed off and said, "I'm saving the tongue for Camille."

Sully smirked. "You just tell me when, and I'll start selling tickets." He was ogling your back, so I pulled you into my lap at the table, making sure your back was against my chest. My Bones' lower back. Mine.

Clark wandered over, the rest of the Squint Squad and Sweets in two, he and Sweets carrying a bottle of scotch and some glasses. Setting them down on the table, he smiled, and started pouring shots, handing them around to Cam, Jack and Ange, Sully, Sweets and Anne, and with a flourish, to us.

Raising his glass, he began.

"To the Squint Squad and the Bureau Brigade. The bad guys can run, but they can't hide from microscopes and scanners, gut instincts and pavement-pounding. And to Mom and Dad."

"Mom and Dad," they all repeated, laughing, as we all downed our shots.

"Damned whippersnappers," I grumbled, and they all laughed again.

You pulled the bottle over then, motioning for everyone to hold out their glasses. When you'd finished pouring the next round, you set down the bottle and raised your glass.

"To brothers and sisters in arms, true friends in time of need, shoulders to cry on, hands to hold and smiles to share. May there be more laughs, more smiles, more convictions, many more years of teamwork."

"Teamwork," we all repeated. Hmm. That's good scotch.

Cam quirked an eyebrow at you then, and you nodded. You pushed the bottle toward her, and she took it, emptying the bottle among all of our glasses. Smiling widely, she raised her glass, and said, "To Clark, if he'll have us." His face split into a grin.

"Really?" The kid's so cute when he smiles, Bones. I hope he and Amelia work out.

"Really," Cam said, then clinked her glass against his.

"To Stretch, Clark, Edison, Dumbass," we said, each calling him by our preferred name. I've never seen someone look so happy to be called a Dumbass before.

- - -

We wandered around, saying hello, sometimes together and sometimes apart. I saw you standing over with Steven and my buddies, knocking back more shots that I'm sure didn't affect you at all, and they were all smiling at you, dopey in love. Parker was running around, working on a box of animal cookies Jenkins came up with, and demanding "pony rides" from every guy in the place. At one point I saw him yelling with glee as your Dad took off with him on his shoulders, and ran around the nearby fountain a few times.

After about an hour, Jenkins appeared in the doorway, looking grave and formal in the tux that he'd donned, a departure from his usual jeans and Hawaiian shirts and Chuck Taylors. He rang a bell until everyone fell silent, casting a stern glance at the crowd before solemnly saying, "Grub's up, y'all. Come and get it." His staid affect didn't waver as he turned and walked back into the house, as everyone howled with laughter.

"Jack, where the hell did he come from?"

"I could tell you, but I'd have to shoot you."

"Hey! That's my line!"

- - -

I was glad we'd decided to dispense with waiters and table service-- we didn't have too many guests, and with the buffet, everyone was getting up to wander around visiting other tables between seconds and thirds. I saw lots of people carrying whole trays of beers, or bottles of wine or alcohol back to the tables, and everyone seemed to be having a great time. We got to talk with everyone, though I didn't really eat much, which was fine with me because I'd eaten a lot earlier, and was relieved to not be having you watch every mouthful I ate, for once.

I was sitting with Rebecca and Brent and your mother, Parker sprawled across "Grandma's" lap when you caught up with me.

"What are you plotting," you said, smiling as you came to stand behind me, your hand on the back of my neck.

Rebecca spoke up. "Brent and I were thinking of going on vacation the week before and after Christmas, and were wondering if you'd like to take Parker. Temperance already said yes."

Your eyes lit up, and Parker's face mirrored your own. "That would be great, right buddy?"

Parker nodded. "Jamaica doesn't have snow, and Bones said she hasn't made a snowman in forever."

"Well, that settles it then," said Brent. "Mai Tais for me and Rebecca, snowmen for you three."

- - -

You surprised the hell out of me when dinner was over. I hadn't paid too much attention to the menu stuff once it was clear Jack and Angela were happy to care of it, so when the food was all cleared, I expected them to bring out a wedding cake. I noticed out of the corner of my eye that they were setting something up over where dinner had been, but I was busy smelling your hair as you sat on my lap to really pay heed until you put down your champagne, turned and stood, and tugged me up by the hand. "Come on, Mr. Brennan. Time for a variation on a traditional ritual for you." And then you tugged me across the floor to where they'd been setting up the -- Oooh. Wow. Pretty. Oooh, Bones.

"Bones! How many kinds of pie are there?!"

"All your favorites."

"But, Bones, I don't have a favorite kind of pie."

"I know. I just got every kind of pie I've ever seen you eat."

It was beautiful. Not as beautiful as you, but at least as beautiful as the new 'Stang you'd gotten me. Hmm. Maybe I could take some pie out to the car later. That would be nice, and no one would bother me. But anyway-- laid out on the table, on stands and plates and all sliced into so you could see the insides, there were apple, and cherry, and blueberry pies, lemon meriengue and key lime, Boston cream, banana cream, strawberry chiffon, and oooooh... "Anamaria's pine nut torta! Bones!"

You leant over and kissed me on the cheek. "I will try one kind of pie, not apple or lemon meriengue, and if you get any on my dress I will kill you, is that understood?"

You're so sexy when you're threatening me. Hmm. Banana cream, I decided, though nothing would be the same as the banana cream pie Sid used to make with the shortcake crust and the caramel swirled through the filling underneath all that whipped cream. God, I miss Sid. I found a fork, dug in, and gave you a bite, then had a bite for myself.

Banana-y, caramel creamy deliciousness filled my mouth. I moaned, talking with my mouth full. "Oh my God, Bones! This is as good as Sid's ever was!" God, I miss Sid's pies. Sid, too. I mean, the diner's pies are good and all, but Sid? Sid's the man.

Your eyes glinted at me. "There's a reason for that." And then you walked off, and stuck your head in the pantry door where they'd been bringing out all the food, and yelled "Hey, Sid!"

Oh my God, Bones. You got Sid to make us pie for our wedding? How'd you get him to come back from Paris? I don't know how I'm going to eat all this, I hope there's more in the kitchen, because just between my Dad and my brother and my buddies? These pies right here are all accounted for. And then, like a culinary angel, Sid appeared in the doorway.

"Seeley, my man, how you doing?"

"Sid! But... Paris! Sid! Oh my God, pie! Bones! Sid! I missed you, man!"

Smiling his enigmatic smile, Sid slapped me on the back, and said, "Well, when the good doctor told me she'd finally hit you over the head and dragged you back to your cave, and asked if I would come make the pies for the wedding, I could hardly say no, could I? I mean, half my weekly receipts were from you two for a while there."

By this time, the Squints and cops who'd frequented Wong Fu's had all cried out "Sid!", tears of joy and longing for his cooking in their eyes, and had swarmed the table, bringing along all the newbies who didn't know the deliciousness that was Sid's cooking with them. My Dad and Jared and my buddies brought up the rear, having heard the word "Pie!" shouted with glee. My Dad was starting to hone in on my banana cream pie, so I stuck my arm out behind me to shove him and Jared away as I gave Sid my best one-armed man hug, the one that says, "Please, please, please, for the love of God please, move back so I can enjoy your delicious baked goods every day again?" He pulled away, laughing, and said, "Sorry, man, no can do, but I'll tell you what. You get your lovely wife to give me the recipe for that incredible pudding? I'll give her the recipes for every single pie I make." Heh. He called you my wife. My wife. Heh.

"Done," you said. "I thought you might ask, so I emailed it to you already." Oh, Bones. If I didn't love you already...

I was torn between kissing you, or boosting you up onto the table and ripping your dress off so I could dump pie all over you, because the only thing that could possibly taste better than Sid's pie is Sid's pie on a plate of Bones, or fending off the hordes trying to eat all my pie, that you got for me, but you laughed, and whispered, "there's two more of each just for you downstairs in the fridge." Good-- problem solved. I would just make sure we came downstairs later for a midnight to three a.m. snack. Or maybe four a.m., there would be a lot of pie to eat off your stomach. I've got to bribe Jenkins to keep everyone out of the kitchen, though. I hope they don't have security cameras down there.

"God, woman, I love you."

"You'd better," you shot back, and then landed a kiss on my cheek. "I'm going to go visit with your mom, enjoy your feast, Jasper."

"Oink." And then I turned, and addressed the long line of men waiting for pie. My pie. That you got for me. Because you're my wife. Mine. Heh. "Okay, you hungry bastards. One slice at a time, and if anyone lays a utensil or hand on my banana cream pie, I will shoot you." And then, I picked up my pie, and my fork, and began to eat. Mmmph. Bones, you're totally awesome, as Sweets would say. I mean, Bones! Sid!!

- - -

I'd returned to the table with my father and Jared, Dad with an apple pie and Jared with a key lime one, and the three of us all digging in, when you came back over and settled into my lap. "Save me any?" you asked, then opened your mouth like a baby bird, making me laugh as I gave you a forkful.

"That is good. You know Sid's making brunch tomorrow, right?"

"Bones, you're the best. I mean, Sid!"

"Seeley, you keep saying that. I'm starting to think you married the wrong person today."

"No, Bones, I mean, no, but still! I mean, Sid!"

- - -

Not long after the pies were totally decimated, Jenkins and Sid shaking their heads at the carnage after they brought up the fourth round of pies, Rebecca and Brent took Parker home, and we made arrangements for Caroline and Richard to pick him up to bring him back in the morning for brunch. "See you tomorrow, Parker," I said, bending to give him a kiss. "Sleep tight, and we'll go for a boat ride after lunch, okay?"

"Is Grandma going to come in the boat?"

"Absolutely. Maybe Grandpa, too, we'll see. I might even let him row." Richard laughed, as I looked up and winked at him.

"Go tell your dad goodnight, okay?" He ran off to where you were sitting with your friends, and jumped into your lap. I didn't hear the conversation, but he was clearly entertaining the boys at your table. Turning back to Rebecca and Brent, I bid them goodnight. "Thanks so much for coming, you two."

Rebecca smiled. "You guys are going to be hard to top if Brent ever gets around to proposing to me."

"Hey!" yelled Brent. I laughed, and said, "For a small fee, I'll be glad to consult, but really, you should hire Angela and Jack, they did most of the work."

"Well," Rebecca replied, "it was lovely, and you know I already wish you two all of the best. I'll talk to you soon." You came back over then, Parker on your shoulders, and handed him over to Brent.

"Night guys, and see you tomorrow, Parks."

"Night Daddy! Night Bones!" he yelled, as Brent swung him up on his shoulders and they headed out.

"He's going to be up all night," you snorted, after they left. "I saw him have at least two pieces of pie, and I think your dad brought him another."

"He's a typical Booth, then, it seems. But you'd better hope not, or he'll be really cranky tomorrow."

"Booths are never cranky from too much pie, because there is simply no thing as too much pie. So there."

"We'll see. I'd like to see you finish all of that pie downstairs in less than a week."

"Bones, is that a bet?"

"No, simply a statement of interest."

Just then, Angela came over. "Okay, you two. We've had booze, we've had food, Booth's had obscene amounts of pie, it's time to get toasting and flower tossing and dancing." Inserting herself between us, she hooked our arms through her elbows and dragged us over to a table near the band, where Jack was standing.

Sticking his fingers in his mouth, he let out a sharp whistle, and people quieted, looking around for the noise.

"Everyone having a good time so far?" There were cries of "yes!" and whoops and whistles from the crowd, as well as a "We need more whiskey at the bar!" from the back. Jack laughed. "Sorry, Sam, we only laid in three cases, you're going to have to switch to rum."

"It's time to get the rest of the 'archaic rituals attendant on an outmoded institution' out of way, now that we've had the nontraditional massacre of the pies. Dr. B. has refused to throw the bouquet unless both her bridesmaids tongue-kiss their escorts, so Ange, honey, come here." Ange skipped forward, and laid a long, long kiss on Hodgins, eliciting cheers from the room. After they broke apart, Jack took a bow to the continued whoops from the crowd, and said, "Agent Sullivan, Dr. Saroyan, I believe it's your turn. And Cam, quit it with the 'just colleagues' thing, I saw you two dancing last night and colleagues do not do the lambada." Everyone laughed, and Sully obliged, dipping Cam into a kiss that had her grabbing his lapels when she came up for air.

"Before that, though, I have a few things I'd like to say, so I may fully discharge my obligations as best man." Making a show of straightening his tie, and clearing his throat, Jack smiled over at us and began.

- - -

"The first time they worked together, he didn't believe she could determine the cause of death so quickly, and they had a vicious fight in the middle of the lab so electric it threatened to short out all the equipment, and so magnetic that I was amazed that every metal object in the room didn't come unmoored to orbit around them.

The second time they worked together, and the first time they did so as partners, she threatened to have him arrested for kidnapping her, and he actually arrested her for shooting a suspect-- though they ironed that out, and he believed her this time, and they solved the crime.

The third time they worked together, they saved over three hundred people from a terrorist bombing, though the argument they had in her office about racial profiling while investigating the suspects almost blew the roof off the lab.

And so it went-- more crimes solved, more heated fights, more banter, more intimate moments, more sexual tension and mutual frustration than in any screwball comedy ever committed to film. Some people called them Pat and Mike. Some people called them the His Girl Friday show. David and Maddy, Scully and Mulder, Lancelot and Guinevere, the list of nicknames went on. For a while, when it seemed like they'd never get together, it was Romeo and Juliet. And then, when he was shot, and we all thought we'd lost him, it seemed like we might lose her too. But he came back, and after they got over the whole "punching him out at his funeral thing," things went back to normal, mostly, though they'd been brought closer afterward by what happened with Zack. Angela was worried that Booth's fake death would ruin things, but I reminded her of the wisdom in my favorite movie, and told her, "Death cannot stop true love. It can only delay it for a while." I think that was when I started calling them Westley and Buttercup, though never to their faces, because I knew Booth would shoot me, and Dr. B. would karate chop me, then shoot me.

See, they're not like the rest of us, and like they've cheated death uncountable times, their true love never wavered-- it was only delayed. In the movie, the last line says "Since the invention of the kiss there have been five kisses that were rated the most passionate, the most pure. This one left them all behind." Well, those of us who have had the joy of watching these two since their engagement have watched as each kiss topped the last, pure, and passionate, and as my Angela would say, "totally hot."

But back to our story-- I want to tell you a little more about these two.

Dr. B. has the most brilliant mind, the most tender soul, and has the bravest heart, I've ever encountered. Booth is the fiercest, most quick-thinking, and most valiant man I've ever had the honor to meet. Together, they're unstoppable-- literally.

Dr. B's knowledge, her drive to know more, to do more, to be more, is what keeps the rest of the Squint Squad going. Every case we solve, she's there, pushing, asking the questions that lead us to the next step, the next conclusion. We're all pretty damned smart, but it's Dr. B's passion for the answers that always brings the case home. They've handled dozens of cases between them, each of them brilliantly, but there are several that I think prove the rule that there's no stopping these two.

When we were buried alive, Dr. B. not only performed surgery on me that kept me from going into severe shock, but drove me to identify where we were from the soil in the car. She found a way to send Booth a message where no phone signal should have been found, and pushed us both to find three times more oxygen than we ever should have had. She designed a way to blow out the windshield of the car, sending up a signal that only Booth's eagle eyes could have seen. He pulled us, literally, from an early grave, but it took the two of them, pushing from both sides, to do it.

Then there was the time when Booth got blown up while guarding Dr. B. after she'd just missed being shot at. When she disappeared, he literally ripped out IVs to run from the hospital and search for her. With three broken ribs, a broken collarbone, a concussion, and a half-collapsed lung, he outpaced an entire tactical team to locate her, firing his gun and taking down her abductor before the rest of us even sighted the quarry. When he reached her, it was like the rest of us had disappeared-- all the light, all the air in the room was for them alone, the rest of us intruders on something not meant for others' eyes. It was like that every time they saved one another.

When Booth was kidnapped during an investigation, Dr. B. drove us to find his location from a series of seemingly unconnected pieces of evidence, relentlessly questioning, hectoring, demanding, until we found the truth. And then she was out the door, a look in her eye that I'd only seen before-- and only from Booth, when she'd disappeared. It was a look that said, "If he is hurt, someone will pay." She found him, after beating a corrupt bounty hunter to a bloody pulp to get his whereabouts (sorry Dr. B., your Dad and I were up late drinking last night and he told me), and brought him back safe. I saw that again, less than a year ago, when Booth was shot by a stalker. Dr. B. caught Booth as he fell, and while the rest of us were caught in slow motion, she pulled out the gun that he'd used to save her. With the same lethal grace, steady arm, and keen eye I've seen only in Booth, she eliminated the threat, then turned her back on that woman, and pleaded, demanded, begged him to stay. And he did.

And then, the world crashed. In the middle of September, Dr. B. went out with Booth to a scene to recover some remains. We'd been expecting them back, when Paul Rodgers came back with the body, instead of them. I was sitting in Angela's office when he came in and shut the door, and told us what had happened. Dr. B., puking up a full pint of blood, and passing out when Booth tried to get her to a gurney. We'd all hoped it was a horrible migraine, but the truth was so much worse. In the midst of it all, the horror that she might be taken from us, there was so much joy, in the way that they'd finally found each other.

Even before they'd admitted how they felt to each other, everyone around them fed from their energy, their devotion to each other and their work, basking in it like they were the sun and we were plants that couldn't grow without their light. After they'd finally confessed how they felt, though, there was no comparison. If that was the sun, well, this was a supernova. If anything, their work became even more brilliant, and all those half-conversations none of us could ever follow anyway became even more impenetrable, because now they hardly even needed to speak to know what the other was thinking. They'd just exchange one of those looks, and then announce their next brilliant leap forward.

At first, Dr. B. got better and we all heaved a sigh of relief, and amazement at the blessing they each now had found. And then she found out what was wrong, and it got worse, then much worse, and as the surgeons worked on her as we nearly lost her again, he pleaded, demanded, begged her to stay. And she did. And she has. And by God, Temperance, you'd better still, though we know the battle's not over yet. If we small satellites can lend our sun the strength to keep burning, we will, and you're welcome to all of it.

I've had the honor of counting Seeley Booth as my friend for several years now, but he's become more than that. I once admired him for the ferocious tenacity with which he fought for the ideals so many give up on, for his commitment to people who don't even know he's trying to save them. I have since come to love him as a brother for the depthless heart he has for his son, his true love, for anyone worthy enough to earn his trust and whole confidence. And I respect him as I've never had a father to respect for the way in which he blazes the forward trail, reigniting purpose and energy in those who'd given up to focus on everyday banalities.

I've had the pleasure and privilege of knowing Temperance Brennan since she first came to the Jeffersonian. At first a colleague, then friend, then mother and sister all in one as she compelled me to help her save ourselves, as she dropped everything to help Angela when her friend Kirk was murdered, and drove us to find why a sick little girl was dying of an old man's disease. She carries the weight of the world on her shoulders as heavily as her partner, and has used not just her intelligence and strength, but her money and influence to shame and cajole and compel others into saving the world, too, one foster child, one injured soldier, one war-ravaged village, one economically depressed town after another.

They complete each other, in a way that Ange and I agree we've never seen before. We cannot express our pride that these two have allowed us to call them family, to lend them what strength we've had to give as they've fought this war that's not yet over. The world should be so lucky to do the same.

Last night at dinner, Booth's father ended his paean to Temperance with their ritual family toast, "Phoenix from Ashes." I don't think there could be a more apt description of their lives since September, and even before. The mythological phoenix cannot be killed by normal means. It can be wounded, but while wounded, it still works wonders of healing by the blood and the tears dropped on those sheltering beneath its wings. When the Phoenix's time has come, it surrenders to flames so hot that none could ever survive-- except the Phoenix. When the flames die, there is darkness and destruction, from which comes light and rebirth. From a creature who has outlived its old form, emerges a new one, reborn and renewed.

From just partners to true loves-- from Booth and Bones to Seeley and Temperance-- from friends to lovers-- from health to sickness and back again, as man and wife, a Phoenix from Ashes. Westley and Buttercup, thank you for sharing your fairy tale with us, and for teaching us the meaning of true love. May you continue to stun and amaze us with your beauty and strength, your ferocity and love, for happily ever after.

Please join me in wishing Temperance and Seeley their Phoenix from Ashes, their happily ever after."

In unison, there was an almost deafening roar of "Happily Ever After!"