Oh hey! *taps mic* This thing still on?

I have vowed to finish this story and we are ALMOST there. Seriously. There's only TWO MORE CHAPTERS after this one. I really don't plan to leave 2020 with this unfinished, so wish me luck.

In the meantime, after all the downs and ups covered in this musical journey... let's dig into a few moments where Booth has simply been amazed by Brennan's heart. The one she didn't think she had on the steps of the Hoover (but he, and we, knew better).

I neither own the lyrics to Smashing Pumpkins' "Stand Inside Your Love" nor borrowed dialogue for context from The Woman In White or The Boy With The Answer.

Tag To: Aliens In A Spaceship, The Boy With The Answer, The Woman In White.

Stand Inside Your Love (Smashing Pumpkins)

October 14th, 2013

You and me
Meant to be
Immutable
Impossible
It's destiny
Pure lunacy
Incalculable
Inseparable…

He's not nervous about the wedding.

Okay, maybe he's nervous about the whole circus—with Angela as the eager ringleader—coming together in the end. If he'd had his way, the two of them would be saying their vows in a church in front of their nearest and dearest before speeding away in a limo to their refuge in Buenos Aires. The pomp and circumstance of wedding receptions—the toasts, the dances, the centerpieces and favors—Booth doesn't need or want any of that crap.

All he wants is Temperance Brennan, now and forever.

But the woman he loves, contrary to her many lectures on the patriarchal underpinnings of the institution of marriage, has revealed a hidden side in recent months. For as much as she dreads the speeches her work commands, he's seen her eyes widen in quiet delight at the thought of a first dance. He's caught her beaming at Angela's shortlist of dresses for her role as Matron of Honour.

He thinks back to her high school reunion and her wistful words: "This is the prom I never got to go to." It dawns on him that maybe Bones needs a day to be the princess. Not in that obnoxious, demanding way. Her confidence is rooted in fact, not an inflated sense of importance. No, it's a secret insecurity, if anything, that drives her need. It's the longing to be accepted, to be embraced.

And so here he is, cleaning the house while Christine naps, while Bones and Angela spend the day at the Hodgins-Montenegro home going over floral arrangements or some other thing he's been told he'll get all wrong by Angela. Fine by him. Cleaning a shower is better than debating gardenias versus Gerber whatevers. They all smell nice to him. Who cares?

He'll only have eyes for his bride come next week. She could be carrying a bouquet of weeds, and he'd still swoon.

Tugging off the rubber gloves he'd donned for the bathroom scrubbing, he washes up and heads downstairs. Parched and sweaty, he takes a moment to grab a glass of water on his way to the living room, where he notices several photo albums haphazardly stacked, the cover of the top book thrown open. His eyes are immediately drawn to the first page and its unusual contents: a series of newspaper clippings.

"Huh."

Grabbing the top book, he sits on the sofa and lays it upon his lap. He doesn't remember seeing these before. As he scans the first article, he is stunned to find it is about Gemma Arrington—specifically, about him solving the case. Flipping the pages slowly, Booth is astonished to find himself wandering down a carefully annotated history of his work with Bones. Every major case is documented somehow: news articles; journal publications documenting techniques developed by herself or the Jeffersonian; small tokens or mementoes from hotels. He even finds receipts from the diner. Every case is captured with at least one item—an anthropologist's keepsakes of a partnership. His lips curve into a smile… until he reaches the Taffet case.

Two prominent scientists abducted and found alive? It had been a damn circus. Booth shakes his head angrily as he stares at the photos of a bruised and weary Hodgins and Bones being ushered from the scene. He remembers wanting to clock the photographer, hesitating only because of the way she'd clung to him, her body small and pressed into his side.

There is a large gap on the page. He wonders if it held a picture of Taffet, torn out and destroyed during one of her annual struggles with her nightmares. Last year was the first where they'd dwindled down to little more than a startling in the night, although he'd remain vigilant as always next month, when the anniversary drew near.

Taffet… I should have known then I was in love with her. In hindsight, it is so clear to him, but years of rejection had battered his heart, left him reluctant to believe she would ever think him worthy. Instead, he'd dismissed it as friendship, or presumed it would never be requited.

We were fools, the two of us. I should have fought harder for you. I should have helped you see that you always had an open heart.

An alarm chirps on Booth's phone and he yanks it from his pocket, groaning at the display. Write Vows. Why had he agreed to writing his own vows again? Oh, right: because Angela had suggested it would be romantic, and Bones had lit up. He couldn't ever say no to that woman.

Alright, Booth. This is easy. You've just gotta talk about why you love her. Setting the photo album on the table, Booth drains his water glass and grimaces. Okay, writing's not easy, but I can THINK of the reasons why I love her and start there.

Leaning back into the soft cushions of the couch, Booth closes his eyes and does what his future wife has taught him: he reviews the evidence…

2010

And for the last time
You're everything that I want and asked for
You're all that I dream
Who wouldn't be the one you love
Who wouldn't stand inside your love
Protected and the lover of

A pure soul
And beautiful
You…

She's been poring over case files for hours, tugging and toying at threads. That brilliant mind of hers is whirring away, gears grinding. He recognizes the signs after years of partnership, knows her tells: the way she's slumping forward; the weariness in her tone; the way her eyelids are drooping down. Her blood sugar is crashing, which is why he's brought Chinese food to her office—a feast of all of her favourites—and has steeled himself for a fight.

"Come on, Bones. You've been at it for hours. You gotta eat something," he insists.

"In a little while," she dismisses, without a glance in his direction. "Her old court documents from when she was a prosecutor have case numbers, criminal code numbers and then there are zip codes."

Fixing himself a plate, he brings over the container of her vegetarian noodles she loves, deciding that maybe he can con her into ramming down a mouthful or two of veggies and carbs. "Well, that's great and all but it's not going to be any good if you starve yourself to death."

He sets the container in front of her with a pointed look, then settles into the chair across from her. Bones, unfazed but meeting his concerned gaze, continues to ruminate aloud.

"She was laughing at me. I - I can't let her win."

"She won't."

He knows this, believes this—because he believes in her. As sure as he knows God watches over him, he knows Temperance Brennan was not exaggerating on the day they met. She is the best at what she does, and no one, not even Heather Taffet, can outwit her.

"You hope. She may be amoral, but she is brilliant."

"Well, you're more brilliant." He studies her closely, his stomach clenched. Why is she so shaken?

"What if her dispassion makes her more logical?" Brennan muses. "What if that gives her an advantage over me?"

Booth's brow furrows as the pieces slowly begin to align. "Wait a minute. Now you're upset because you're not more like a psychopath?"

"I just think..." She hesitates, her eyes shimmering with frustrated tears she will never let herself shed. "Maybe I've lost my advantage because of all the people I've involved with now. All of the relationships, they complicate logical thought."

He hears the unspoken addendum: People like you, Booth. And in it, he finds a comforting confirmation and also, a paralyzing fear.

"You don't mean that."

Her body trembles as she shakes her head slightly, her voice pleading for mercy. "Could we please just work?"

"Sure."

His voice is intentionally soft, reassuring, and he is relieved to see her reach for the takeout container at last. But he is anything but calm beneath the surface.

This outburst, these fears… They're proof of everything she swore she could never be at the Hoover when she shattered his heart on the steps. She is capable of great heart—he's seen it, time and again. But if she perceives it as threatening her very identity…

"I can't change. I don't know how."

But you don't need to change, Bones. Why can't you see what I see?

They find the number. Taffet's taunt proves no match for Temperance Brennan. When Caroline Julian enters his office as he's signing off for the evening, he's not surprised by the news she brings.

"Terrence Gilroy," Caroline announces loudly. "Your Squints can't touch hide nor hair of that case. And neither can you. As victims of Taffet, it's a conflict of interest."

"I'm well aware of the law," he grumbles.

He's been pissed off all day. Hacker's promised him that he'll assign someone with experience to the case, maybe someone like Flynn. He's a transfer from the New York office, seems alright. But this is Taffet. The woman who tried to kill Bones. She must pay for that.

"Unless of course, their charges are dropped," Caroline continues in a melodic voice, "which Doctors Brennan and Hodgins have requested."

Booth's eyes widen. "Wait, what? You're going to let Taffet get away with trying to kill Bones and Hodgins?"

"I most certainly am not. But—"

His palms slam down on the desk as he rises to his feet. "The time ran out. They had to do that chemical reaction thing to make oxygen. They literally blew their way out of the ground, Caroline. I barely got to her on time…"

"And she barely got to you on time, Cher," Caroline replies quietly. "Which is why she insisted I drop their charges and let her work the Gilroy case. She doesn't trust anyone else to nail Taffet's smug ass to the wall for it. And you know I hate to lose! We'll move forward with Gilroy and your case—"

"Drop mine, too." Caroline tilts her head askance and he stares her down. "Bones isn't working this alone. Taffet needs to pay. It's all hands on deck. Those are my Squints."

"You sure, Seeley?"

He nods firmly. "Drop them."

"Alright then. I'll call the judge in the morning." Caroline pivots on her heel, heading for the door. She pauses with her hand on the knob, turning back. "Heather Taffet is a damn couyon. She's brought the entire wrath of the Jeffersonian down upon her head and I, for one, can't wait to watch them destroy her."

You and me both.

He makes it two blocks in the direction of his apartment before pulling a sloppy U-turn and heading to her apartment instead. Instinct tells him his partner is hurting. Experience tells him that although her conviction in what is right will help her stay the course, it is impossible to shake off the memory of being trapped in a metal prison, waiting to die. He raps on the door several times before he hears her hurried footsteps approach. And while yeah, he could use his spare key, with how stilted things have been since his confession of love, he'd rather get the invite inside.

Years of progress, undone by one mistake. He worries the poker chip in his pocket, cursing the gambler in him that's ruined things twice between them.

As the door swings open and he steps inside, words spill hurriedly from his lips. "So the Gilroy kid? He was last seen at the Rockland Mall on June 23. I'm gonna check all Taffet's credit card records for that day too."

Brennan is pacing, her brow furrowed as she circles the dining room table. Keeping her distance from him? Or from the world itself?

"Caroline said you can't give expert testimony if she's prosecuting your case."

"I told Caroline to drop my charges, too. I'm not gonna let you do this alone."

The practiced stoicism she hides behind is powerful protection against the world, but the mask slips, revealing a relieved smile. That flicker of emotion tugs at his heart and he knows he's done the right thing—both by dropping his charges, and coming here tonight. She's not okay. She needs me.

"She's gonna see the judge tomorrow morning at 10 and then we can dive in on all this."

"Thanks, Booth."

"We're partners. That's what we do. Right?"

Her eyes skirt the table, staring at the case files. "If Taffet is acquitted on this count, she can never be tried again. Maybe that's why she wanted us to find the boy."

He agrees. It's exactly why Taffet wanted them to find Gilroy. But Taffet's messing with the wrong woman.

"Yeah? Well, she's arrogant, like Sweets said. And she's misjudging you."

Brennan rounds the tables slowly, her lip trembling. He notices her hands are shaking at her sides and his body tenses. Something is wrong.

"I have nightmares, Booth," she confesses. "Hodgins is bleeding, you're drowning…"

Oh, baby. No, not again.

"I-I can't help anyone," she laments, and his heart sinks.

His body is in motion without a thought, his sole instinct to comfort her, to protect her as he had years before. To keep the nightmares away once again. "Alright, you know what? She's never gonna get the better of you, alright? Just know that. Alright? I promise. Okay?"

He reaches for her but she is already pulling him towards her, burying her face against his shoulder. His arms wrap tightly around her as hers fist in his suit jacket, his voice softly whispering her name as she quietly weeps. Slowly, gently, he ushers her to bed, sensing she hasn't slept well for some time.

"A week," she reluctantly admits after some coaxing.

"Bones… Why didn't you tell me the nightmares were back?"

"They come back every year." She reports this as if relaying the weather outside, and his grip on her shoulder tightens. "I've learned to deal with them."

"That's November. This is now," he clarifies.

They've spoken before of the nightmares she's had since Taffet abducted her and Hodgins—a brief conversation in the darkness, after his own brush with captivity. Gordon-Gordon would marvel at how readily she'd swapped those proverbial scars without prompting or the promise of a tasty stew. But Bones had been very clear: they were a recurring theme around the anniversary of her abduction, not a chronic affair.

They're laying down now on her bed, her body curving into his side. Her arm stretches across his chest as she tilts her chin up towards him.

"I didn't think…. I don't know…"

He knows. Fucking Sweets and his fucking gamble.

"Bones…" It's a whisper, more than a chide, as his arm wraps tighter around her frame and draws her closer to him. "You're still my partner. We said nothing would change."

"Everything must evolve, or face extinction," she murmurs sadly.

It's a loaded statement, one that could take them in so many directions. And while the part of him that's fast realizing he cannot—will not—ever move on from her could probe further, he recognizes that as the Gambler in him. No, this time he's going back to strategy one: trusting his gut instincts about people.

This case is pushing Bones to her breaking point. He's seen it before. She needs the security of his unwavering support, and she will have that. He will give her anything. But after the case is done, and Taffet is in jail… This is a conversation he will revisit.

"You need to sleep," he murmurs, extricating himself from beneath her and turning down the covers. "I can let myself out. We can't do anything until Caroline makes that call, so try and rest—"

"Stay. Please?" The words are scarcely audible, muffled by her pillow.

Booth shrugs. "Um, yeah. You still have my sweats here, right? I'll go make up the guest room."

She presses herself up, leaning on her hands. "No… stay. I can't sleep. The nightmares…. It's been days and… I'm sorry, it's not appropriate to ask, given what has transpired."

Her head bows sadly and clarity sinks in. She means like three years ago.

"I can stay," he insists, peeling off his jacket. "I'll go change. You get changed and um… you call me, alright?"

They've changed together before, back to back in the darkness, but it's the one line he'll need to survive this night. He strips down in the guest room; she changes in her room. They reunite in her bedroom, modestly dressed, and for five seconds, Booth wonders how he'll manage a night in bed with the woman he loves—the woman he's certain must love him, but won't allow herself to feel it.

The tears staining her cheeks dismiss all selfish notions. He slips beneath the luxurious comforter and beckons her closer. Her relieved sigh is loud as she burrows into his chest, hands fisting in his tee.

"It's okay. I've got you. You're safe," he murmurs.

"Promise?"

It's three years ago all over again. His lips graze the top of her head as he smoothes her hair.

"Nothing will hurt you here. I will protect you. And if the nightmares come, I will be here when you wake up. You won't be alone, Temperance."

He's learned over the years that using her given name is an emphatic gesture. It catches her off-guard, lets her know his words are more than a promise. They're a vow. They're meant to break through when her mind is holding her hostage in a hell of her own design. Her limbs relax, only slightly, but it's a victory he'll claim.

Sleep, now. I've got you.

She's out in five minutes, leaving him with his thoughts, and memories of three harrowing nights…

2006

Don't understand
Don't fear me now
I will breathe
For the both of us…

The first night, he stays to monitor her for concussion protocol.

"You blew yourselves out of a car, Bones! You banged your head off the roof of the car while dehydrated and the doctor said your pupils were dilated. No arguments."

"Booth, I'll be fine," she protests weakly.

"Yeah, well after spending the last day looking for you, maybe you let me get a peaceful night's sleep knowing exactly where you are, alright?" Setting down the bag of Thai food on her counter, he begins unpacking containers of food. "Why don't you go grab a shower and change?"

Brennan frowns, running a hand through her tangled hair and wincing as she brushes against a cut on her scalp. "Yes, that might be prudent to avoid infection."

They eat in relative silence, Booth allowing her the space to quietly contemplate her experience. Having been through harrowing nights in combat, he knows her body is here, but her mind is in coal country, gasping for air. Her skin is clean, but her mind sees Hodgins' blood on her clothes and palms. She is here and not, then and now. He will not pry nor push; he will simply be here to watch over her.

He passes the spring rolls, munches on his green curry and offers reassuring smiles when she glances in his direction. They listen to a jazz album Bones chooses, her head resting on his shoulder, before she stretches and declares herself tired.

He's only been flipping channels for a half hour when the screaming begins.

"Bones!" He's running down the hall, heart pounding, at the horrifying sound. "Bones, what's wrong?"

Her body thrashes wildly beneath the covers, her hands fisted in the sheets. A nightmare, a violent one. He reaches down and shakes her gently, but she will not emerge from her mental torment. His name slips from her lips and he winces in pain.

"Bones, WAKE UP! You're safe!" One hand on each shoulder now, he shakes her harder. "Wake up!"

Her eyes fly open with a gulping gasp for air, arms flailing, reaching. She is drowning without water and she clings to his shirt, pulling him towards her as a single sob escapes her throat. He settles down on the bed beside her, embracing her warmly.

"Shh, it was just a nightmare. I'm here, you're safe, I'm here…"

"Hodgins… was dying…"

"He's alive. He's safe, because of you." He tucks her head beneath his chin, fighting back tears. "You're both safe."

"I don't understand," she mumbles, burying her face against his chest. "Why am I so scared?"

She is trapped in the Past and Present, as he feared. His chest aches, a serrated blade twisting deep. I didn't want this for you. Not ever.

"Trauma does things, Bones. It's normal to still feel scared."

"I am not normal," she protests weakly. "I am extraordinary."

He chuckles softly, squeezing her tighter. "And you had an extraordinary nightmare. Took a lot to wake you."

She thanks him and ushers him away, seemingly embarrassed for her vulnerability, but an hour later, the screaming begins again. After the third nightmare, Booth tells her he's staying beside her and she doesn't protest. Lying over the covers, still in his slacks and rumpled white shirt, he watches her sleep.

The nightmares finally stop—for the night.

He stays the second night, anticipating the worst and hating himself for being right. The flailing and screaming begin an hour after midnight, when she finally relents and tries to sleep. This time, he spares them both the song and dance, pulling her close and falling asleep with her in his arms. The horrors of her mind abate and she rests, curved against his side.

Cam is furious, of course. The text messages and calls are rapid-fire and increasingly demanding, hot on the heels of his dismissiveness during the search.

What do you mean, you're staying over there?

She can't sleep. She's scared, just like Hodgins. I'm crashing in the guest room, he lies.

Cam wouldn't understand. She hasn't worked the beat, has never had a partnership like what he has with Bones. You die for your partner. You do anything for them. Their sleeping arrangements are solely a means of restoring Bones' sense of security.

Although, he can't deny how natural it feels to wake up with her head upon his chest. As if her body was made to meld against his own.

After the third night, Bones tells him she'll be okay, that he can sleep at home again. He is skeptical, but she presses onto her toes and hugs him warmly in the morning. By the afternoon, she is spewing scientific mumbo-jumbo at him and enthusing over a finding in a research paper with Zach.

Maybe she's really okay now…

If she isn't, she doesn't want him to know. And as a master of keeping his own trauma tucked away, who is he to be a hypocrite and call her out?

2010

He tries to warn her. He's watched Taffet play her little games with the science of their evidence, toying with it and tearing it apart. The lack of victim statements is hindering in a case like this, which is why he knows Taffet wanted their cases thrown out. Hodgins' emotions alone would have swayed a jury: he's still coursing with raw terror and anger over his brush with death.

But his beloved Bones, she trusts in facts and science, and when she is most vulnerable, she hides her heart beneath them. Her testimony certainly tries to be more accessible, breaking down the jargon to a layman's understanding of the brutal last moments of Gilroy's life, but it is still a clinical analysis. It is as dry as the dust that filled his lungs as he pulled her free of the earth, that horrible day when he thought her lost forever.

And then, it happens, as he's seen it happen before at Max's trial, and the Schilling case before it. The spark in the powder keg. That brilliant, fiery heart of hers is peering through.

"And what is the significance of the shin length?" Caroline is asking.

"It gives us the height of the assailant, which is five feet, four inches. The same height as the defendant. It is clear from the circumstantial evidence and these facts that this child was attacked with vicious cruelty by Ms. Taffet," his partner concludes.

Taffet is on her feet—zero surprise. "Objection. The jury makes that determination, not the witness."

His partner is not backing down and it is satisfying to behold. "The five-foot-four assailant - crushed the boy's chest, choked him and finally caused him a torturous death by burying him alive."

"Objection. Speculation. She can't know what the witness felt!" Taffet protests.

"I was buried alive," Bones rebuts, "Which makes me uniquely qualified to comment on its horror."

Mic drop. That's it, Bones. He glances at the jury and recognizes the empathy on their faces. She's connecting with them, just as she had during the Schilling trial. They trust her words, more than Taffet's badgering. Because there are truths that cannot be ignored. Truths born in the heart.

"I see a face on every skull. I can look at their bones and tell you how they walked, where they hurt. Maggie Schilling is real to me. The pain she suffered was real. Her hip was being eaten away by infection from lying on her side. Sure, like Dr. Stires said, the disease could contribute to that if you take it out of context, but you can't break Maggie Schilling down into little pieces."

Her father's trial flashes in his mind. He remembers the roiling in his stomach as he understood what she wanted him to do to save her father, how far she was willing to go: "That's a lot of heart, Bones."

"Objection, Your Honor. This is grandstanding. Unless the witness has any additional facts... "

Taffet picks her apart, drags up her mandated sessions with Sweets as a means of discrediting her as unstable. Bones is unsettled, her clear opinions on psychology and their conversation about how her emotional attachments may be giving Taffet an advantage echoing in his mind. But the jury… they seem empathetic, not swayed by Taffet's prodding.

Who wouldn't need therapy after being buried alive?

It's not the death blow Taffet's hoping it will be, and in that, Booth clings to a cautious optimism that once again, the heart of Temperance Brennan will prove mighty enough to vanquish evil.

October 14th, 2013

The turning of the key in the lock pulls Booth from his reverie and he rises to greet his fiancée, whose arms are brimming with bags.

"Whoa, what's all this?"

"Angela sent me home with the favors for our guests, which are trinkets we are to reward them with for attending our wedding. I would have presumed seeing us recite our vows and dedicate our lives to each other would be a fulfilling experience and if not, the buffet dinner and alcohol would be pleasure enough, but Angela says we must provide token gifts as well."

Booth chuckles, taking the bags and kissing her on the cheek. "The favors are souvenirs, Bones. A way to remember how special our wedding was. Kind of like your photo album over there. Why haven't I seen that before?"

Her cheeks flush crimson as she kisses his cheek. "Oh! Well, I find it pleasing to remember all of our accomplishments together, and I keep them assembled in a book for organizational purposes."

"And you were taking a walk down memory lane this weekend?"

"I was looking for a photo of Russ for the slideshow Angela is making, since he and Amy can't make it. I grabbed all of the albums from the closet." She hesitates, her lips curving into a smile. "Do you… do you like my book?"

"I love it. Can I look through it some more?"

Brennan nods shyly. "If you'd like to. I'll get dinner started."

Travel the world
Traverse the skies
Your home is here
Within my heart

And for the first time
I feel as though I am reborn in my mind
Recast as child and mystic sage

Who wouldn't be the one you love?
Who wouldn't stand inside your love?

She slips into the kitchen and he hears the cupboards and fridge open and close several times before the familiar sounds of chopping and water running drift out to the living room. Reaching for her scrapbook of cases, Booth settles onto the couch and flips through an annotated history of their lives. Some of the mementoes surprise him: a metal dog tag with the name Ripley; a matchbook cover from a strip club (was that the one where she bought me a lap dance?); and then a page from a day planner, a date circled in red: May 20th, 2011.

One year after the Taffet verdict came down. Why this date, Bones?

To the left of it, he finds his answer in an article about a blizzard striking the DC area, and glances at a beloved set of stadium seats. The wishes.

"…when I was a kid, if I wanted something really, really bad, I'd write it down on a piece of paper and I'd burn it. It was like a spell. It was bound that my wish would come true."

He remembers the night of the verdict, how she'd drank more than usual. How she'd refused to come inside for one more round, or stay at his place. How she'd been tired of murder. The look on her face as she'd driven away in that cab… he'd sensed a crossroads between them. Within weeks, they'd both fled the country.

Why that date?

"Because you weren't impervious anymore after that trial," he whispers. "And it terrified you into running across the world."

Gently closing the book, he gathers up the albums and returns them to the closet. He knows the rest of the story: it lies in their beautiful daughter, and the home they've built together. It lies in the marriage vows they'll make in a week, if he can write them down.

Right now? He just needs to kiss the woman he loves.

"Dinner's almost ready," she notes absently as she stirs a pan of vegetables.

His arms slip around her waist, his lips pressing to her jugular. "I love you," he whispers in her ear. "I always have."

"Booth…"

"I have. I always knew, from the beginning." He kisses his way to her jawline, pulling her taut against his chest. "I'm so lucky to have you in my life."

"I love you, too. Booth—"

"I can't wait to marry you," he continues, kissing her cheek, the corner of her mouth. "I want you to know, deep in your heart, that I will never leave you. That I will always be with you. That you never have to be impervious again."

Her breath hitches slightly as she twists in his grasp, facing him. Her eyes are wide, her hands locking around his neck.

"Impervious? That is in our past." Her voice is warm, but firm. "I trust you. I trust us. And I find myself equally impatient to marry you."

"Good."

Dinner momentarily forgotten, they seal their agreement with a fevered kiss.

October 21st, 2013

For the first time
I'm telling how much I need and bleed for
Your every move and waking sound in my time
I'll wrap my wire around your heart
And your mind…

"Half an hour!" Angela calls out as she hurries past him.

"Is she okay, Angela?"

Angela huffs, albeit with a half smile. "She's radiant! Now get your damn tux on, Booth!"

"Yeah. Yeah, okay."

Grabbing his garment bag, Booth slips into the change room adjacent to the on-site gym at the Jeffersonian and draws a deep breath. So maybe this isn't the big church wedding they'd planned. Maybe the Squints had literally just wrapped a murder investigation to spare him dragging his bride-to-be kicking and screaming from a corpse. Maybe Daisy Wick was going to be at their wedding now—damn it—but it was finally happening.

I am finally marrying Temperance Brennan and nothing will stop us.

He's adjusting his tie when Hodgins appears, slightly breathless and dressed like he's wandered away from the set of a History Channel movie of the week. Resisting the urge to question the absurd fashion choice, Booth reaches out and steals the coffee clutched in the scientist's hand.

"Thanks, pal!"

"Hey!"

Booth takes a sip, grimacing at the syrupy taste. "Is there any coffee in here, Hodgins? Or did you dye the sugar brown?"

"That'll teach you to steal a man's French press." Snatching the cup back, Hodgins drains it. "Perfect!"

"Well, if you didn't come here to bring me coffee, why are you bothering me? I have a wedding in twenty minutes!"

Hodgins rolls his eyes dramatically. "And you have to be standing at that altar in ten, waiting for Dr. B. Angela has a schedule, and I'm here to make sure you keep to it. Your tux is on, which is great. Do you have your vows memorized?"

"Sort of? I have 'em here." Booth waves a carefully folded square of paper at the scientist. "I won't be reading off it. I mean, I hope not. But just in case I panic, I have them."

Hodgins leans against a bank of lockers, smiling wistfully. "Hey, at least you won't be getting married in a county jail cell. You're miles ahead of Angie and I."

"You know, this is becoming a Jeffersonian tradition," Booth muses. "Plan a big wedding at a church, have it cancelled. Next time one of you Squints proposes, I'm telling you to elope."

Unfolding the page, Booth glances at his vows. They're not eloquent. He's not a poet, and he's not a novelist like Bones. They're honest and from his heart, and they're inspired by his week of reminiscing on their years together, thanks to that scrapbook of hers.

Her heart—how vast it is, how he'll spend his life exploring its depths—is the focus of his words.

"Booth?"

"Hmm?"

"Did you want to practice them?"

"Nah, I ran them by Parker and Pops the other day. They said I got them right. Bones helped me with them, sort of. She keeps this scrapbook of our cases. I had no idea until last weekend."

Hodgins strokes his beard, blues eyes widening. "Really?"

"More like a photo album, but she keeps articles, journals, a piece of every case…" Booth hesitates, carefully re-folding his vows. "Bones, she acts like she doesn't understand emotions, but she does. She has a big heart, she always has. It's in that photo album."

Hodgins nods thoughtfully, tossing his paper cup in a nearby bin. "I've seen it, more than once. In that car… She saved my life with an incision to my leg, but it was funny… She told me as she was prepping my leg that she needed to do it very fast and without empathy. But the way she said it was so full of empathy, I would have laughed if I wasn't struggling to keep conscious through the pain."

"Bones is one of a kind," Booth replies with a soft chuckle.

"I knew she loved you in that car, man. I'm glad you two finally got it together." With a glance at the clock on the wall, Hodgins smiles. "It's time."

Time flashes by in bursts of colour and flurries of sound. Well wishes and laughter twitter in his ear like the birds gathered in the trees of the Jeffersonian gardens, but Booth can't find the focus for any of it. The makeshift gazebo, the folding chairs, it's all lovely. The oohs and ahhs of the guests assure him that Angela has worked a miracle with her emergency wedding, but his hazy vision only clears when a familiar figure skims the silk runner in a stunning white dress and loops her arm through her father's.

Temperance Brennan, an angel sent to earth for a sinner like him.

"You're a lucky man, Booth," Aldo whispers as she makes her way down the aisle towards him.

"I know."

She is glowing, her porcelain skin casting light into the darkest shadows of his soul and illuminating them. You'll never be alone again, never be in the dark. I will light the way. And he, too, will shield her from the storms within.

It takes everything in him not to kiss her once she reaches his side.

Aldo begins, sensing Booth's impatience. "Ladies and gentlemen, friends and loved ones of Seeley Booth and Temperance Brennan, if anyone here has any reasons why these two shouldn't be married, keep it to yourself or get out because this is going to happen."

The crowd titters, even as Angela's psychic—who can apparently sing—assures them she has foreseen that all will go well.

Where were you when the church burned down?

Aldo reclaims control of his ceremony with that look he uses often on Booth during their informal confessions. "Lucky for me, Seeley and Temperance have written their own vows. So we'll start with Seeley Booth."

Even as he unfolds his vows, Booth knows they're wrong. They were the right vows for the church, but standing where they are, it's so clear: he's not a writer. He's not a man of logic. He operates on gut instincts.

His instincts tell him that they're standing here, where their partnership began in earnest, for a reason. Without hesitation, he rips up his painstakingly crafted vows and recalls the day she chased him across this field. His heart sings when, right on cue, she interrupts to echo her words from years ago:

"I can be a duck!"

Her book of memories had been the key to the perfect vows, after all. It was only when she began to speak that he fully understand how true a statement that was.

"When Hodgins and I were buried alive," she begins softly, "we each wrote a message to someone we loved, in case our bodies were ever found. Hodgins wrote to Angela, and... I wrote to you."

His mind reels as she hands her bouquet to Angela and plucks a square of paper from between her breasts. The album. The empty space. As the page unfolds, he spots it: a title page from her novel, Bred In The Bone. A flicker of a memory: the evidence list from the Taffet trial. One book, hardcover.

The letter is beautiful. It is so very her and it is but more proof of the heart she has always possessed but simultaneously feared.

"'If I ever get out of here, I will find a time and a place to tell you that you make my life messy and confusing and unfocused and irrational and wonderful.' This is that time. This is that place."

Her eyes meet his, refolding the paper and tucking it away. Within them lies a sea of emotions: love, fear, wonder. He feels the same.

I am the luckiest man.

"Did I do that wrong?" she asks quietly.

"No," he replies hoarsely.

"Oh!"

She turns to Angela, retrieving a ring. His ring, which she places on his finger. He fights the urge to weep openly. It's been such a long, long road to get here, to stand beside her, basking in the warmth of her love. Bullets and blood, wars and women he wishes he'd never dated. Angry words better left unsaid; loving words better said sooner.

"By the powers vested in me by the District of Columbia and the Internet, I now pronounce you man and wife."

It doesn't feel real. He doesn't deserve this, does he?

"You can kiss me now," Bones urges him with a slight curve of her lips.

"Aldo didn't say that I could kiss you."

Aldo huffs softly. "As usual, she's right. Go!"

He advances on her, but she edges forward too. Chasing and catching each other, as they always have. The softness of her lips is as enticing as that first kiss steeped in tequila so many years ago, but the thump of her heart within her chest as she presses closer has him spinning more than the Cuervo ever did.

"So, what do you think happens now?" he murmurs as they break apart.

"Everything that happens next," she replies happily.

Good answer, he thinks as he kisses her again. His wife, at last.

You're mine forever now
Who wouldn't be the one you love and live for?
Who wouldn't stand inside your love and die for
Who wouldn't be the one you love?

Next up: a pivotal moment in their relationship that changed everything... and then, the epilogue/finale!

Let me know you're out there (and if you happen to stumble onto this tale for the first time, WELCOME! Have some snacks and get cozy. I swear I used to update more regularly.)