This is the final main chapter. That feels so odd. It's been a LONG journey, longer than I ever intended, but I will finish this tale. The Epilogue/final song was chosen a long time ago, and features a very unique set-up... one I can't wait to write.
In the meantime, let's see the final main song on the mix, from a pivotal moment you knew had to be in this tape: the night they FINALLY got it right.
Tag To: The Hole In The Heart, The Change In The Game
I of course do not own any borrowed dialogue from the show or the lyrics to Next 100 Years by Bon Jovi which, you will surely agree, is a very Booth song. I also don't own the lyrics to Thank You by Led Zeppelin.
Next 100 Years (Bon Jovi)
He splashed cold water on his face, staring at his reflection in the mirror. The faint scent of iron filled his nostrils as his mind flickered rapidly between several images.
A ringing phone. The shattering of glass. Vincent, turning grey as he felt blood pulsing out beneath his palms. The intern's chest stilling beneath his hands. The forced stoicism of Bones' voice, that practiced armor when she truly hurt. The dust and dirt of the construction site. The quiet rattle of the shell casing as he'd driven back to the Bureau with Shaw.
This one is on me.
Broadsky owned this death. He would pay for it. But Booth had brought in a civilian—a young man with so much life left to live—and he would own a piece of it, too. It was Teddy all over again.
"Please don't… just don't make me go."
Kicking the wall, Booth stumbled out of the bathroom and headed down the hall into the bullpen, where half a dozen sets of pitying eyes immediately made his skin crawl. No, he didn't want to be with them. He needed to be with his Squints.
Sliding open the door to the conference room, he found them as bereft and lost as he was. They glanced up expectantly. Seeking leadership. Seeking hope.
Fuck, I wish I had some for you.
"So... Broadsky got away. He was on a construction crane when he took the shot. We recovered the bullet casing. It was an amazing shot," he admitted bitterly, pulling the evidence bag from his pocket.
"How did Broadsky see into the lab?"
He should have known she would ask. Should have known she would be searching for answers. Bones found comfort in science, in the hunt for justice. She would be clinging to that now, more than ever. She hadn't lied to the kid when he was dying on the platform: Vincent was her favourite.
"Thermal imaging." He hesitated, choking on the gall of guilt. "He aimed for the guy who picked up the phone."
Cam understood immediately. "He meant to kill you."
"I'm the one who gave Vincent the phone. I told him to pick it up…"
A young, strong heart. Pumping frantically, then gone. Extinguished like a candle in a hurricane. Vincent had once told him that every second, a large hurricane is capable of releasing the energy of ten atomic bombs. Broadsky's act had decimated the Jeffersonian in similar fashion.
"You didn't know," Sweets insisted. "I mean, there's no use—"
"I don't blame myself for this, Sweets." A half lie. "I blame the guy who pulled the trigger."
The shrink seemed satisfied, a small mercy. He had no time for feelings and exercises right now. Bones, on the other end, tilted her head and echoed his own private fears.
"You still have blood on your hands."
His heart sank, his shoulders slumping as he pivoted wildly between indignant anger and sorrow. She blamed him for the loss of her favourite intern. She lost all of her favourites, didn't she? Were they all thinking the same damn thing? Did they all see the truth whispering in the back of his brain: if he had not dragged Vincent into his investigation as a living prop, the young intern would be alive?
"Booth." Angela called out across the table. "She, she means literally."
His eyes skirted down, grimacing at the traces of blood around his nail beds. He tucked his unclean hand beneath the other in shame, still stung by her words as the group debated what to do next. Unsurprisingly, his partner wanted to continue pursuing evidence to nail Broadsky. The rest of the team was too bereaved to consider the possibility, except perhaps Hodgins. Booth noticed a flicker of anger in his eyes, reminiscent of the Taffet case.
Huh. Those two are more alike than they know.
Sensing now was a time to be the leader, Booth stepped in. "Guys, just listen to me for a second here. Alright, I've been through this. Lost a lot of friends in war. So why don't we all just take, you know, a little time and, and then tomorrow, like Bones says, we'll get the son of a bitch."
She nodded gratefully and the group disbanded, rising to their feet. Bones, he noticed, hung back, pausing to study his expression. Her lips parted slightly, as if she had something to say, but she kept her secrets to herself. As she moved to pass him, a swell of panic rose within.
Broadsky is still out there.
He'd already lost Vincent today. He would not—could not—lose her.
His arm flew out, blocking her path. "You're staying at my apartment tonight."
It wasn't a request. It wasn't a question. It was a statement of fact. There wasn't a version of the world where he would be parted from her side. If Broadsky chose to hunt her, her home would be unsafe. His apartment was safer. He knew the layout. He had a cache of weapons. It was smaller, with less windows.
I need to know you're safe, Bones.
After a moment's hesitation, she agreed. He fought the urge to pull her close in relief.
Time ain't nothing but time
It's a verse with no rhyme
Man, it all comes down to you
Change ain't nothing but change
Just the faces and the names
But you know we're gonna make it through…
It was awkward.
It was so fucking awkward. In another time—before the gamble at the Hoover; before Hannah; before his shitty, demanding dance request—they would have shared the bed. They were those kind of friends. But now, they were in a weird, rebuilding, maybe-someday-we-can-couple stage. He offered her the bed; she insisted he take it as he would need to rest and kill Broadsky.
"That's… very logical."
"Thank you, yes."
He secured the door, rigging a motion alarm. He had his service weapon at his bedside, but two others hidden in convenient places, one of which he'd disclosed to Bones in case of emergency.
Exchanging goodnights, he left her tucking blankets onto his couch with an apprehensive expression.
The bed was cold. The mattress was oddly uncomfortable. He clung to the pillow, tossing and turning as the memory of warm fluid oozing between his fingers haunted him.
"It's been lovely being here with… with you."
He listened to her body shifting, hearing Pops rebuke him for making his guest take the couch. The impropriety of it. Of course, Bones would call Pops sexist and start a fiery spat at the suggestion her gender meant she automatically deserved the bed. The imagined squabble half-amused him, until her constant turning worried him.
I should check on her.
She wasn't sleeping. But would she be open to discussing her grief? Booth sighed, rolling onto his back. No, no she wouldn't be. Not yet. Especially not now, not with the fracture lines between them. She would need to reach out first. He would be here when she was ready.
Forcing his eyes closed, he remembered her words and willed himself to sleep. To rest, so he could hunt Jacob Broadsky. To make him pay for the egregious wrongs he'd done against the woman he loved.
I'll believe
When you don't believe in anything…
The click of the cylinder, the slide of a door. His senses alighted, his hand instinctively reached for his piece on the bedside table as a single imperative flooded his brain.
Protect Bones.
He took aim at the intruder, drawing a steadying breath, only to find a startled woman at the darkened doorway, hands in the air. Surrendering to him. No threat. Not physically, anyway. His heart was forever between her teeth, but he chose that fate long ago. Still, adrenaline surged, his arms locked in position. He and Broadsky were adversaries now. It was war. Reflex, instinct, it had possessed him.
"Oh! I'm sorry," she mumbled.
"No, I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he insisted. "Did you hear something?"
"No… no." She stared at his drawn weapon with a mixture of concern and sadness.
"Want me to put the gun away?" he asked.
"Yes."
He sat it down, and despite their state of dress—her in his old sweatshirt, him in sweats and a tee—he suddenly felt naked. It was the first time she'd been in his room since the baring of their scars. Since Gordon-Gordon and Baby Ducks. The awkward crept in again, for a moment. Until she began to speak, her feet padding softly along the carpet.
Until her grief spilled from her lips, and her eyes. Until he understood that as much as he was owning a piece of Vincent's death, she had been privately blaming herself as well. She had believed Vincent was accusing her of making him leave.
Her literal interpretation of speech sometimes… it was a fucking dagger. His heart broke for her, thinking of the hours she'd spent, quietly ruminating over this mistaken assumption.
"He wasn't talking to you," he reassured her gently.
"I was the only one there. And you. He wasn't... he wasn't talking to you."
She wasn't going to like it, but she needed to hear it: "He was talking to God. He didn't want to die."
She dug in her heels immediately, as he knew she would. "No, Vincent was like me, Booth. He was an Atheist."
There was no sense in arguing, even though he'd seen plenty of Atheists decide to try faith when their time came on the battlefield. There was an alternative that fit, and he would offer that, instead. Because he knew it wasn't about her, and she needed to know it, too. She needed to be absolved.
"Then he was talking to the universe, then. He didn't want to go. He wasn't ready, Bones. He wanted to stay."
Her bloodshot eyes welled up with fresh tears as she stared at him, pleading. "Well, if there was a God, then He would have let Vincent stay here with us!"
"That's not how it works."
He wished it was. For her, he wished it was. Her mother. Vincent. She had so few people she truly cared for. So few she trusted enough to let in, to call family.
She leaned closer, her soft hair brushing his arm. "Can you just…?"
I'm gonna hold you 'til your hurt is gone
Be the shoulder that you're leaning on
I'll be standing here
For the next 100 years…
Her body pressed against him and he recognized the ask. Knew it, from years of friendship. Knew it from the times she'd dropped her guard around him. Around only him. He lifted his arm, pulling her against his chest as he lowered them to the bed.
"Yeah, that's why I'm here." As her body wracked with sobs, he held her tighter, fighting back tears of his own. "I'm right here. I know it's hard."
Her hand fisted in his t-shirt, pulling it taut as her sobs softened to a quiet stream of tears dampening the worn cotton. His hand moved gently along her arm as he murmured reassurances, comforting words, anything he thought might ease her pain. She said nothing, his only assurance she was listening the occasional shifts against his chest.
"You're not alone," he promised her. "You have me. I'm here for you, okay?"
She tilted her head, her bloodshot eyes staring up at him. Her cheeks were flushed and streaked in tears as she studied him intently. Déjà vu: it was that first meeting all over again, as she sized him up in her classroom. He was being judged as worthy—but for what?
Desperate fingers released his shirt and he understood. Too much vulnerability. She was going to retreat now, hide behind the walls of science and reason. She was searching him for the assurance of a secret kept; he would, of course lock it away. He kept all of her secrets, as she kept his. Their lips were sealed—
No, they were meeting, and Booth's heart was careening against his ribs as the woman curved against his side leaned even closer, cupping his cheek with those perfect fingers that moments ago, were fisted in his tee. Confusion, grief, need, they all flooded his senses as the softness of her lips blessed his profane mouth. Alarm bells were sounding in the distance, but he pushed them aside, threading his callused hand through her hair and deepening the kiss.
Her knee hitched over his in reply and he fought the urge to groan.
Kissing Bones, in his bed… how many times had he fantasized about this? Too many times. More than he would ever admit to. And here she was, murmuring against his mouth as her tongue flicked at his in a way no woman had and damn, that was hot. His mind drifted to other places tongue dexterity could be handy as the alarm in his skull swelled to a siren.
The kitchen, the kitchen, the kitchen!
Their last kiss. The sex that almost was, until she'd panicked and fled. The lingering knife in his heart that had driven him into Hannah's arms. Fucking hell. She was grieving. He couldn't, wouldn't take advantage of her. Not when they were so damn close to finally getting it right. He could feel it. Cursing himself, he pulled back, cradling her cheek lovingly. Keeping her close.
Please don't run this time. Please stay with me.
"Booth?"
Her voice was small, tentative. It struck fear in his heart.
"I just… want to be sure you're sure. That this isn't… a one-time thing you'll regret."
"I… Are you still angry?"
She was nervous… about his reaction. She wasn't backing down on her own account. Was she… choosing him?
"No, Bones," he assured her, brushing her hair back. "I'm not angry anymore. Haven't been for a while."
"I was waiting for you to ask me, because that's what I put on the paper, but I realized that even though I'm afraid I will disappoint you, or get things wrong very often, I don't want to risk us never having a chance at all." Her ocean crashed over him as she pressed her forehead to his. "I don't want any more regrets. Not with you, Booth."
She was waiting for him… Well, there was a fucking regret he'd have for a while. He was waiting for her this time. Trying not to move too fast.
"I'm asking now. Can we give this a try, Bones? You and me, evolving."
She nodded quickly. "I would very much like to resume kissing you."
"If it all should end tonight
I'll know it was worth the fight
And we'll be standing here
For the next 100 years…"
He tugged her closer and she easily rolled on top of him, straddling his hips as if she'd done it for years. She leaned down to claim his mouth and he met her halfway, hungry and brimming with happiness. His tongue teased hers as he tested waters, slipping a palm along her back beneath her sweatshirt, marveling at the softness of her skin. Her hips rocked lightly against his groin as hands wandered, caressed, and claimed.
"You need to sleep," she murmured, nipping his ear lobe.
"I'm wide awake," he protested, the straining in his pants almost unbearable.
"Listen to me. You need rest to find Broadsky." Her hands planted firmly on his chest as she spoke. "You need to be safe, for me."
She knew him so well. With one last, lingering kiss, he relented.
"Okay, but you sleep here."
"Of course. That couch was not very comfortable. No wonder your back bothers you so much." Resting her head upon his heart, she yawned softly. "Goodnight, Booth."
"Night, Bones."
I, when I think that I'm losing my mind
It all comes back to you
And you, you know that it's true
After all we've been through
There's nothing that I wouldn't do…
Ninety-seven minutes of sleep. They passed in a blink, Booth yawning as his bleary eyes opened on a sight familiar and foreign all at once.
Temperance Brennan, hair mussed, lay in his arms. In his bed.
Tentative fingers reached out, gently tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear. His breath hitched at the murmur in her throat as he traced the elegant line of her jaw to her lips, brushed a thumb over them. Wondered if he was allowed to kiss her good morning. Was she a morning kisser?
There was so much more to explore now that the door was open.
Slowly, he warned himself. She needs time.
A squint, icy blue irises fixed upon him. "Booth," she murmured.
"Yeah, Bones?"
"Do you need to go now?"
He normally hit snooze several times, but this morning, the electric feel of her warm curves pressed against him… he was restless. There would be no more sleep.
"Not yet. Why?"
Feather-light fingers danced along his stomach, tracing a path to the drawstring of his pants. He swallowed hard as she tugged gently, releasing the neat bow keeping the sweats from sliding off his hips.
Oh, shit.
"Is this… okay?" Her voice was soft as she leaned closer, her lips grazing his cheek.
"I… uh, yeah. Define this," he rambled.
Her hand slid inside of his pants and oh God, she was gripping him and he was seeing stars. "I want to try and break the laws of physics."
Her memory. Her perfect, precise memory pulled at his heart as he nodded furiously, tugging at the sweatshirt she wore until she released him long enough to bare herself for him. Clothes were silently bartered and discarded in a flurry of wandering hands and stolen kisses, until nothing remained but her, naked, shyly smiling and tugging him down on top of her. Claiming his mouth hungrily as her thighs hitched to his hips.
"..every once in a while, two people meet and there's that spark, and yes, Bones, he's handsome and she's beautiful and maybe that's all they see at first, but making love... making love... that's when two people become one…"
It's what he promised her, years ago, and as he entered her for the first time, he vowed to make it a scientific fact.
He reveled in the push and pull of making love to her. How like her eyes, she was an ocean tide, ebbing and flowing. She would ease back, letting him devour her, pushing her to the brink, only to surge forward, unexpectedly roll him onto his back and claim control with a wicked grin and a bite of her lower lip. How her hips rolled in an unexpected way that made him nearly lose consciousness with pleasure. Where the hell did she learn how to do that?
The curses from her mouth when he rolled her over and pulled out made him chuckle as he kneeled down to taste her. She'd rushed ahead, denied him a pleasure he'd dreamed of for too long—and he needed a moment. She felt too good, and he would be damned if she didn't get off first. She forgave him swiftly as he tasted and teased, mesmerized by the headiness of her.
It didn't feel real, yet. She was here, and she wanted to be with him.
Her gasping cry of pleasure filled his heart with joy as he crawled back over her, kissing her gently. Her fingers fisted in his hair as her leg hooked around his waist, tugging him against her.
"Now you," she urged huskily.
"Eyes open," he insisted, burying himself inside her warmth.
He told her he loved her as he thrust so deep, he thought they would never be parted again. Two beings, occupying the same space. Defying the laws of physics. She shuddered beneath him, gasping for air as they came together, intertwined. Forehead to forehead, she whispered her love back. Whispered a confession that love scared her, but she trusted him.
"You're it for me, Temperance," he murmured, pulling her close. "You're the one. Trust in that."
Stand by me
And I would gladly give up everything
I'm gonna hold you 'til your hurt is gone
Be the shoulder that you're leaning on
I'll be standing here
For the next 100 years…
They showered together, for efficiency and a need to see her, to touch her. The looming threat ignored for a blissful hour had crept back into his mind—and hers, too. The cascading water was good camouflage, but the sheen of her eyes gave her away.
"Hey, what's wrong?"
"I find I am very angry," she muttered, leaning into his chest.
"At me?"
"No! At myself, at life… We lost so much time, Booth." Her voice cracked as she tilted her chin upwards. "What if he hurts you?"
"He won't."
"But yesterday—"
"I know. I know." Booth wrapped his arms around her, acutely aware the shower was running a bit cold. "But do you really think after how hard we've fought to finally get this right that I will let anyone stand between us? I'm going to find Broadsky. I will end this today. And you and me, we will be together." He swallowed hard, a nervous energy coursing through his veins. "You don't… regret it, do you?"
"No!" she insisted, indignant in her protest. "No more regrets, Booth."
They fell into a rhythm, one practiced from shared spaces over years of cases and nights spent at her apartment. He made toast; she dried her hair. He brushed his teeth and shaved; she ate yogurt and sipped coffee. They seamlessly wove through his tiny kitchen and rooms, arms brushing in passing. Occasionally, his hand caught her arm, snaring her for a soft kiss. She'd wrinkle her nose in amusement, but yield.
Bones was not often sentimental, but she was intrigued by the shift between them. A renegotiation of limits and boundaries, one they made formal as he drove her to the Jeffersonian. While his heart was soaring, he was still stung by the memory of the Hoover and the months of well-intentioned meddling beforehand. Had their friends not intervened, driven by his coma-fueled confusion, would they have found their way together sooner? Would he have taken a better approach?
"Hey, Bones… about us…"
They were at a red light, watching cars sputter by in rush hour traffic. She glanced over at him, fidgeting with the travel mug of coffee in her hand.
"Do you want to keep this between us, or tell people, or…?"
He offered her a reassuring smile, wanting her to know he was okay either way. This ball was in her court. While he was a more private person, if she suddenly felt the urge to strut into work and declare his prowess in bed… well, he wouldn't dissuade her.
"I find that this is all very… new. And I would like to process and explore our new relationship parameters without any commentary from our friends. Is that normal?"
"It's very normal," he soothed, accelerating as the light changed. "We're still getting used to the step we're taking. We can keep things to ourselves until we have."
Her hand came to rest on his thigh and his lips curved upwards. God, it was really happening. The little gestures and changes… it made it undeniable.
"What's ours is ours," she mused. "Can there be one exception?"
He should have seen this coming. "Angela?"
"She's always given me good counsel about our relationship and… I don't want any more regrets."
Angela has always been his number one fan and enemy in one fierce package. When Bones was on her dig after his coma, she watched over him, keeping a close eye on his behaviour. She could clearly keep a secret, since he'd never been called out for sleeping at Bones' apartment during that time. Angela's watchword was loyalty: she'd gone to jail for Bones, refusing to testify against her father.
"Of course. Can I tell Pops?" Come to think of it, he might want some good counsel of his own.
"Yes, that is very agreeable."
If it all should end tonight
I'll know it was worth the fight
And we'll be standing here
For the next 100 years…
He pulled her into a tight hug inside her office, silencing her protests with a whispered insistence that the team would assume it was friendship. That it was about Vincent, nothing more. In part, it was: it was a promise to avenge him, to make right how he'd failed her yesterday.
"Come back safe," she demanded against his shoulder.
"I will. I promise you, Bones."
He didn't look back as he left the lab. Had he turned around, he would have noticed the single tear sliding down her ashen cheek.
Weeks passed in a dizzying blur: Broadsky captured, thanks to his beautiful, brilliant (if overly verbose) partner giving him a key to victory; a final farewell to Vincent. Nights spent together in tentative exploration between sheets, on counters and in her shower, where the hot water tank lasted far longer.
He would never tire of her, and Temperance Brennan, it seemed, never tired. Her stamina was matched only by her keen observation and scientific thoroughness in learning his every pleasure point. His body ached in the best ways, and he fell asleep nearly every night with her porcelain skin against his.
Sometimes, they only kissed, talking for hours about memories and dreams. Other nights, she'd kick off her heels in that way that made his groin tighten and he knew he was helpless prey. Whatever the darkness brought, the days were the same: casework, coffee, diner lunches and bickering over clues in that familiar way that made him feel at ease. She felt it too, had even commented on it one night as he made her pasta.
"We still work well together."
"You didn't think we would?"
"In the past, when I've mixed business and pleasure, it's always changed the power dynamic…" She reached for her wine, staring into the burgundy liquid as it gently sloshed around. "I worried that we might not be able to keep our relationship separate."
"Cam and I managed fine."
"Not entirely," she called him out. "And not Hannah."
"I was never the problem."
Bones tilted her head, mulling his words. "I concur. The issues, from what I recall, arose from complaints raised by your partners."
"Coworkers. You are my only partner, and that makes a difference. We already understand each other on a different level," he explained as he poured the noodles into the colander.
"In any case, I'm glad nothing has changed. That we can be professional in the daytime and come home and be… us."
Professional… Questionable, if you asked her father. Their latest case involved his bowling league, and the old rhino had called earlier that day, digging into their shifted energy. He was onto them. And if he was onto them, everyone else was likely picking up on it.
He pushed it aside. Let them speculate. They'd done it for half a decade. What was a few months more, he reasoned later that night, as she eased herself onto him and began an agonizingly slow pace.
Twenty-four hours later, he was forced to reconsider everything.
I'm gonna hold you 'til your hurt is gone
Be the shoulder that you're leaning on
I'll be standing here
For the next 100 years…
The air was cold as they made their way back to his apartment—closer to the hospital, where little Michael Hodgins was celebrating his first night with his parents. The case was solved, Max had promised to keep his theories about their relationship to himself, and Bones was… oddly apprehensive.
Did pretending to be engaged mess with her head?
She'd seemed enthusiastic all day, but now, she was quietly ruminating. So much had happened in the last few weeks—losing Vincent, taking their relationship further, the threat of Broadsky resolved—it would be understandable if it was finally sinking in.
And then, she paused, on that street lit in the soft lemon glow of lamp light, and held out the weight burdening her spirit:
"I'm pregnant."
His stomach dropped. Oh. Oh, no. He had assumed, before they were a they, that there was no one else recently but her trepidation suggested otherwise. Even science fails a scientist. He waited for her to reveal her mystery ex.
"You're the father."
They hadn't used anything since that first night. I'm on injections, she'd assured him. Science had failed, but who cared? Flickers of memory—of dreams of a pregnant Brennan wrapped in his arms—filled his mind as he grinned. A baby. Our baby. It was absurd. It couldn't be, and yet it was, and the thought of a little girl (oh, a little girl, with her hair) running around their feet brought him immense joy.
The woman before him, anxious, hesitant, laughed softly in surprise.
"You're pregnant?"
She nodded. "The doctor confirmed it this afternoon by phone."
"So you took a test before?"
"Yesterday," she admitted. "But home tests this early into the gestational period are not always reliable, and I didn't want to upset you if—"
He slid his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. "Why would I be upset?"
"I'm sorry. I wasn't sure how you'd react."
"You can always tell me anything, Bones. Anything. We're a team, alright?" His lips grazed hers as his heart fluttered happily. "C'mon, let's go home."
Every step on the worn concrete, his heart thumped with this new knowledge. Baby. Our baby. Pregnant. She's having a baby. He stole glances at her, noting her small smiles as they walked, and the way her palm grazed her abdomen. She was thinking it, too. He could feel it.
His only fear was her tendency to run when things moved too quickly. Would this drive her within her shell? Would it make her panic? Or would she lean on him, let him support her through the anxiety and excitement of managing a new relationship and impending motherhood all at once?
Unlocking the door, he led her inside, pouring her water before turning on quiet music. He needed to know one thing before any other discussion, and it was time to rip off the bandage.
"Bones?"
"Hmm?"
"Are you… I mean, it's your decision, but, are you keeping it?"
She frowned and set down her water. "Do you not want me to?"
"What? No, I very much want this with you. But if you don't… "
"I do." Emphatic, with no hesitation.
Relief. The grin he'd forced away was back on his face and he was on his feet. His hand stretched out to her as the music changed to a favourite Led Zeppelin song of his.
"Dance with me."
Shaking her head and smiling, she assented, giggling as he spun her in a circle before pulling her close to his chest. His hand slipped between them, fingers splayed across her flat abdomen, imagining how it would soon swell with the child they'd created.
"'If the sun refused to shine, I would still be loving you'," he sang softly with the radio.
"You're really happy?" she asked tentatively.
"Of course I am, Bones. Why would you think I wouldn't be?"
"Because we are still negotiating the terms of our new romantic partnership, and traditionally, couples fare better when major changes like conceiving a child are planned and mutually agreed upon in advance—"
His hand cradled her face lovingly as they swayed in place. "Don't 'science' this. Turn off the brain for a minute. What does your heart say?"
"I… I'm terrified."
She pulled away suddenly, her arms wrapping around her chest as her head bowed. It was as if her entire centre were drawing into itself. Diminishing, willing her to be less. Fear made her fragile, and it fractured his soul to see it.
"Terrified of what? Of being a mom? You're going to be a wonderful mother," he assured her.
"No, Booth. Well, yes, but I understand that such fears are natural and often attributed to hormonal changes during pregnancy."
One cautious step taken forward. "Then what is it?"
"It's just… I'm not good at this. At people. Relationships. And I realize now that I can't imagine us not being together. It's so soon, and statistically—"
He shook his head, reaching for her soft hand. "To hell with statistics. I love you. Do you love me?"
"Of course I do."
"So maybe the timing isn't what we would have planned, but I don't care about that. It doesn't change how I feel when you walk into the room. It doesn't change years of history between us, alright? Maybe… Maybe it's biology's way of telling us to hurry up after taking too long to get here."
She squeezed his hand, swinging their arms at her side. "I don't know what that means."
"It means we would have had kids eventually. Now, later, doesn't matter. As long as we're together, it's perfect."
A moment that felt like an hour, and there it was: a soft laugh, a gasp as he twirled her around, then a palm pressed to his chest as she fell back into his arms, smiling with visible relief. They would be okay. The three of them would be okay.
He kneeled before her, pressing his lips to her abdomen as she murmured his name reverently. "Hello, baby," he whispered. "I'm your dad. And you have the best mom."
"Booth, our fetus can't hear you yet," she gently chided.
"Hush. I'm practicing then," he protested, rising and silencing her with a kiss.
There was no way he was arguing about spirits and souls tonight. If years of partnership had taught him anything, it was how to pick a battle. The two of them dancing in a dim halo of light until the clock softly chimed midnight was the proof of it.
Every tear. Every fight. Every bullet. Every moment of fear. Every moment of heartache. Every rejection… It has all been worth it, to know a love like this.
Lying in bed that night, his body curved around hers, Booth burrowed his face into her neck and inhaled the scent of her perfume. For one moment, he felt the fear every new father feels: what if I'm not enough? As swiftly as it came, it ebbed away, replaced with a love and faith in the woman pressed to his chest.
They were the centre. They would always hold.
If it all should end tonight
I'll know it was worth the fight
And we'll be standing here
For the next 100 years
In the original extremely long outline, I'd planned for a separate chapter on Change in the Game set to Thank You and nixed it in the end; this final dance calls it back. Those with stellar memories will recall that Booth remembers this moment while drinking in the bar in the chapter Set The Fire To The Third Bar. Yes, I have outlined everything for that long.
Feedback is always kind. One more chapter to go. Feel free to take guesses on the epilogue chapter, where we get a perspective on the completed mix tape...