BONES

An hour earlier…

Closing my eyes, I drop my head into my hands. I've been unable to shake the weariness clinging to me the last fewdays, something to which I am not at all accustomed. At first, I thought it was nothing more than a heavy work load coupled with late nights with Booth. We'd had three cases in rapid succession, the second of which we'd quickly solved. The third, however, had taken the better part of a week and Broadsky? Well, that had taken its toll not because of its duration but its costs. In truth, I was still having some difficulty working on the platform, the memory of the sound of breaking glass, Booth and Mr. Nigel-Murray hitting the ground and watching the life leave my intern close to mind. The loss of my sense of security in my favorite place has shaken, shockingly, to the core. The memory is only made bearable by the reminder of what has grown out of it: The new dimension to my relationship with Booth.

It's been… wonderful, so much more than I had ever imagined…

Or had ever wanted.

It's always been my belief that sex was nothing more than a biological imperative: It's been genetically instilled in us that sex is a necessity for survival, so even if we lack interest in procreation, that need still needs to be satisfied. I'd chosen Micheal as my first, his substantial experience and like mindedness to satisfy the biological urge without consideration of the ridiculous notions of love, commitment and monogamy, promising a beneficial pairing. When Michael and I had gone in different directions, professionally speaking, I'd had a couple of arrangements over the years between him and Pete to satisfy those needs. As for Pete? Well, we'd gone into that with an open understanding: A sexual relationship and nothing more. Then, he'd slowly but surely started moving things into my place: A few changes of clothes, a toothbrush and razor, then his television. That television had been my wake up call: He wasn't following the agreement and I, by no means, reciprocated the feelings he'd been hoping for. I'd kicked him out and had left the country for work.

Sully had been the only 'relationship' I've had. I'd learned a lot from my brief time with him, the most important lesson being I was capable of engaging in an actual relationship. I'd cared for him a great deal, but not enough to leave my life, my work at the Jeffersonian…

And Booth…

Behind. I'd enjoyed our time together, but I'd never pictured building a life with Sully and the idea of spending the remainder of my life with him had never even come to mind.

Not like Booth.

I stopped being able to envision my life without Booth in it a long time ago. Now, much to my own shock, I find even the single night I spend away from him…

Lonely.

But, as I remind myself on Saturday nights, it is what's right for Parker. One of the best parts of Booth, I've always thought, is his selflessness when it comes to Parker. When he believes Parker is ready, he'll put up a fight, not the passive argument he's twice presented now.

Lifting my head, I pick up the box on my desk and finger it, then, with a sigh, I set it back down and drop my head into my hands again.

If what I suspect is correct, Booth will have more than one explanation to make.

I'm not sure how he'll feel about that.

I don't know how I feel about that. I'm not very good at discerning my feelings most of the time.

Fear. That is a feeling I recognize with ease these days, given it's a feeling that's been my constant companion the majority of time since last spring. Fear of my feelings for Booth. Fear of what our relationship meant. Fear of losing our partnership. Fear that I'd hurt him so badly I was losing him. Fear that I had lost him to Hannah. Then, this last month, a whole host of new fears. The fear I might not know how to love Booth as much and the way he deserved to be loved: Without hesitation or reservation. The fear that I did love Booth that much and in that way, maybe even more. The fear of what it means that I'm so happy and it could come to an end. The fear of not knowing what all that meant for me if things didn't work out, although I've come to the conclusion it would be as hard, if not worse, than losing my family.

Then there was the biggest fear of all: The fear of how I was changing… of how Booth has changed me.

I'd once believed monogamy was unnatural. Now, when I think of Booth, I know with absolute finality that I could never be anything but monogamous with him. It would hurt him, deeply, maybe more deeply than I'd hurt him when I'd turned him away. I could never hurt him that way again. The memory of how sad he'd been still ties me into bows.

Then, there's me. I'd made a stunning realization a few nights ago. Booth and I had made love, then had talked and joked and he'd teased as we'd lay facing each other in his bed, something we'd taken to doing almost nightly. I've discovered I enjoy those times after sex as much as I do the sex itself. I've never been as comfortable with anyone as I am with him. Naked we might both be, with our bodies still bathed in sexual satisfaction, but we're as comfortable with each other as we are when we share drinks at Founding Fathers.

The familiarity extends to sleeping as well. The first week we'd been sleeping together, I'd gone to sleep in Booth's arms. I won't lie and pretend I didn't willingly accept the comfort being offered. What I will say is: I recognized it for what it was. Between Mr. Nigel-Murray's death, Booth's confrontation with Broadsky and my nightmares, Booth's first instinct would be to sooth me, which he did. I believe it was his presence at my most vulnerable of times those evenings that allowed my brain to finally put the fear that stoked my nightmares to rest. Once my world had righted, we'd begun naturally sleeping as we both preferred: In our own space, whether we were both laying facing the outside of the bed or on our backs. There were no explanations needed. Neither of us were avoiding physical contact – in fact, our feet touching as we slept facing the outside of the bed and someone's hand touching the other's arms could be virtually assured. It was simply that we found sharing each other's space a much more intimate gesture. It had been that way during our partnership. In sleep we acted as we do in life: Sharing that personal space while giving ourselves plenty of room to breathe.

That Booth's body is as hot as a furnace is only an aside… although it might come in handy on cold nights.

Is it any wonder I miss him when I fall asleep alone on Saturday nights?

This is another way Booth has changed me: For the first time since I was a kid, there was someone I missed when we were apart. Michael and I only spent a couple nights a week together, and I hadn't missed him when he was gone. The selective handful of men I'd had sex with to slake biological urges, I would have been happier if they'd gone home afterwards instead of lingering in my bed and apartment. I enjoyed the nights Sully and I spent together, but on the nights we didn't I was inevitably with Booth and any thought of missing Sully hadn't occurred to me at all.

Missing someone was certainly new and I couldn't put a word to the feeling, which disconcerted me. I always know the word and that I didn't…

Then, yesterday afternoon, Hodgins had been yammering on about the movies he'd reviewed and had given approval for viewing by children in preparation for the birth of his and Angela's baby. I'd managed to tune him out for a bit as I'd studied three-hundred-year-old remains, thankfully so, as he'd been going on-and-on about first a cartoon starring ants then another about the lives of a variety of bugs. By the time I'd registered he was speaking, still, he'd moved on to glowing reports about a fish movie while interspersing his outrage the movie had missed out on valuable opportunities to teach children about the relationships between plants and animals.

"…I mean the movies about a clownfish who lives in a sea anemone, how could the writers not explore the symbiosis? The sea anemone provides the clownfish protection from predators, with food from its leftovers and home, while the clownfish provides the sea anemone protection from being eaten, nourishment from its excrement and metabolism by moving. I mean, catch the kids while they're young, and they'll love science and want to learn more…"

I'd paused in my examination without looking up as I silently acknowledged Hodgins had just inadvertently supplied me with the word I'd been searching for: symbiosis. It was the reason I wanted to be near Booth, the reason I would remain monogamous. He protects me. He nurtures me. He's my home. Fearful, I might be, but there it was.

Admitting that to myself had brought on an odd sense of peace. I'd found the word, quelling that worry. Even more importantly, there was an answer in science to what I was feeling.

I'd slept more soundly last night than I have since the night he'd said to me.

"I have to move on."

I woke this morning happy and content. My mood was so good, I'd eased Booth awake for some very satisfying morning sex, then had left him in the bed dozing as I'd showered and prepared for work. It was when I reached for my pills and put one between my lips that I'd gone still, blinking at my image in the mirror in disbelief.

Tuesday.

It was Tuesday.

I should have taken my first peach placebo on Sunday morning. My menstrual cycle should have started yesterday and I've never, not once, been late since I started birth control at sixteen. Even when I traveled, those pills came with me, a defense against painful cramps and a means of regulating my once unpredictable cycle.

Two days. I'd somehow missed my pills two days.

I finished getting ready for work by rote and conducted the rest of my morning much the same way, as I'd gone back day-by-day to identify when I'd missed taking those two pills. Yesterday I'd definitely taken it. Saturday morning I'd been at Booth's and I very clearly recall slipping the pill between my lips just before dropping the case into my makeup bag. Slowly, I worked my way back until I found my answer.

The morning we'd been called away from Delaware, we'd rushed back to the hotel, had tossed on appropriate clothing, swiper our belongings into our bags and were out the door. Then, Booth and I had spent that evening in my office at the lab. The next morning after saying goodbye to Booth, I'd walked directly to the platform to start work. It was only that night I'd gone home to get my bags before spending the night at Booths… including the makeup case where my pills were still packed from our weekend getaway.

Throughout all the digging through my memory, I the back of my head, I kept hearing words I'd uttered to a pregnant teenager during a case Booth and I had worked several years before…

"In this day and age of available contraception and easily accessed information, for a teen girl to become pregnant is clearly a lapse in judgment."

A lapse in judgment, indeed. Not to mention careless.

So careless.

Raising my head again, I pick up the box containing the pregnancy test I'd bought at the drugstore after Booth and I had gone our separate ways in front of the diner at lunchtime. Ten minutes ago, I'd secreted myself away in my private bathroom and had urinated on the small wand that had the power of changing my life to one I'd stopped believing I'd ever had…

And one that I was terrified I wouldn't be good at. This wasn't a matter of gym class putting my GPA at risk of being less than perfect. This is a matter of if I can't do this, if I can't connect to my own child, I not only fail at the most elemental of a woman's biological tasks but my child will pay the price. I may not believe in Sweets' psychology, but it has been proven across one culture after another spanning hundreds of years, there is statistical significance for lack of maternal bonding playing a part in creating some of the most sadistic and depraved individuals society has ever witnessed.

That I don't know what my biological response will be to my own child terrifies me in a way that makes my blood pressure rise and my pulse pound. I remember, too well, what it's like to feel alone and unconnected. I don't want to do that to my child.

To Booth's child.

In this I could fail our child, myself and Booth in a way that none of us would likely recover from.

I jump and drop the box when someone raps on the office door and swings it in before they'd finish their knock. I scramble to shove the box into my messenger bag and stand before Angela strolls into the room.

"Hey, is everything okay? It's not like you to not be all over that vase. I, for one, want to know if it's the real deal, because if it's not, then I'm taking it home with me. It's beautiful." I frown at her as I sling the strap of my bag over my shoulder, only to realize I haven't turned my computer off.

"Even if it isn't the vase in question, a Famille roseporcelain vase ofyangcai ware from the Qing dynasty could be an amazing find for the Jeffersonian. They've sold for more than a hundred-and-fifty million to private buyers in the past but would be a priceless piece of history for the Jeffersonian museum."

"Well, if it goes missing and you see one just like it in my living room… where it would go perfectly… don't tell anyone." Computer turned off, I frown at her.

"I'm not sure if you're serious," I admit. She laughs.

"I was joking. I promise, honey, before I turn to a life of crime, I'll ask Hodgins to buy me one," she assures, then adds, "As far as I'm concerned, it's the least he can do since his kid won't come out, no matter how nicely I ask." I can't restrain my curiosity.

"Were you happy when you found out you were pregnant? I mean, immediately?" She follows alongside me, out of my office towards the lab's exit.

"I don't think absolute joy and angels singing is the first reaction most people have, even when people plan the pregnancy. I mean, for me, when that plus sign appeared, my first reaction was I was terrified. I mean, what if Jack and I aren't ready? Can you ever really be ready to be a parent? I mean, there's like a gazillion ways you can mess up one of these little guys," she rubs her prominent stomach as though emphasizing the thought. "After the fear, came the happiness. Why do you ask?"

"No reason," I brush off. I'm not sure why Angela's looking at me like she is. "I have to go. Booth's making dinner." She grabs my upper arm, grasping it lightly and turning me around to face her. Her eyes are oddly wide.

"Brennan, are you… You're not…" she stutters. "Are you?"

"Late getting home? I will be, if I don't get going." I spin around and stride towards the door.

I am reminded of what the expression of feeling someone's 'eyes burning a hole in your back' means. It's not logical, but I swear I can feel her eyes on me until the exit door closes behind me.

When I get to my car, I toss my bag into the passenger seat and get in. I turn my car on then call Booth, my phone automatically connecting with my car's speaker system. His phone rings several times and I've pulled out of the parking lot, turning in the direction of my apartment before he answers.

"Booth."

"I'm on my way home. Do you need me to pick anything up? Wine? Dessert?"

"Nope. Only thing I'm missing is you." My lips crest upwards in a smile. "Dinner should be ready just about the time you walk through the door."

"I'll see you soon."

I disconnect the call.

By the time I've pulled the car into my parking spot, I know I can't put it off any longer. The directions accompanying the pregnancy test had warned the results must be read within two hours and the clocked continues to tick. Whether I'm prepared for the answer, or not, it's there, ready and waiting to be viewed. The fear driven side of me wants to drop the pregnancy in the trashcan on the way out of the garage and never look back. The logical, rational side of myself reminds not knowing won't change the answer. Perhaps I'm late for no other reason that those missed pills. If that's the case, all the fear and worry will have been for naught.

When I hold the wand in my hand, I close my eyes and take a deep, cleansing breath, letting it out slowly then look.

My initial reaction, staring at those two lines, is both what I'd anticipated and not what I'd expected at all. The fears, worries and concerns are still with me, maybe even a little more pronounced, but the unexpected does its best to shove those thoughts aside. I feel the smile as it slowly spreads across my face. Happiness. Hope. Excitement. These are the emotions taking the forefront.

I'm going to have a baby.

Booth and I are going to have a baby.

Ready or not, it's happening and I discover I'm… fine… with that. More than fine. I'm thrilled. I'm ecstatic. I rest my head against the seat and indulge in something I seldom allow myself: A bit of daydreaming. The second bedroom in my apartment will make an ideal nursery. I'd set it up as an office when I'd moved in, but have found, across the years, that I prefer working on my couch or standing at the island in my kitchen. The room gets a bounty of light during the day, and, looks out over the greenspace out back. The crib will be centered on one wall and a comfortable rocking chair tucked into the corner near the window. The walls will be a pale yellow, a color that always reminds me of sunshine.

My moment of self-indulgence over, I put the wand back into the box and stuff it in my bag. Minutes later I walk through my front door. Despite my queasiness on-and-off throughout the day, the scents coming from my kitchen, where Booth stands, hanging up his phone, make my stomach growl.

"Something smells wonderful," I praise, dropping my bag on a bar stool. He moves to the end of the island where he pours me a glass of wine and hands it to me before pouring one for himself.

"Yeah, well, you were telling me this afternoon that you were feeling more tired than normal, so I thought you'd enjoy a nice glass of wine and a good meal, followed by a quiet night in." My brows draw together as I take a small sip of the wine.

"It's Tuesday night. You have hockey practice." He shrugs his shoulders as he opens the oven and removes a baking sheet.

"I told Wendall my back's bother me. They can do without me for a night," he replies while arranging mouth-watering garlic bread topped with roasted tomatoes, a light sprinkling of cheese and a variety of spices on a plate.

"I don't want you missing out on something you enjoy because of me." He placed the plate of bread on the table and smiles at me.

"The only thing I'll be missing out on is a few bumps and bruises. Besides," he wraps an arm around my waist and tugs me close, "There's nothing I enjoy more than spending time with you." He presses a soft kiss to my lip before I slip from his embrace, smiling at him as I walk to my seat. "You worked later than I thought you would," he comments as he returns to the stove and begins making our plates.

"I'm behind on my non-crime anthropological work," I share. "With no crimes to solve, currently, I need to make the most of the opportunity to catch up. Crime doesn't fund the Jeffersonian," I remind. He reaches for the grater and shaves fresh parmesan over the pasta.

"Yes, but you also have to take care of yourself," he counters. "I can just look at you and see you're exhausted.

"Not exhausted," I correct, "Just a little more tired than normal." He sits our plates on the table. I wait until he's seated before taking a bite of the pasta. "This is delicious, Booth." The compliment draws a smile.

"Pops was a great teacher." He takes a bite of his own meal.

"Angela says I need to be ready because she's going to have the baby tonight." He laughs aloud.

"She's been saying that for weeks."

"Yes, but her due date was yesterday." A thought comes to me that has me sitting my fork down and preparing to stand. "I should go get the bunny from your apartment, just in case." He grasps my hand before I can fully stand.

"Relax. My apartment's on the way to the to the hospital. If Angela goes into labor tonight, we can stop and get the bunny on the way there." It's a rational solution. Nodding my head, I relax into my chair.

"Bones—" I stand back up again. "Uh, where you going, Bones?" I look at him, a puzzled look on my face.

"I'm just going to make myself a cup of ginger tea." He sits down his fork.

"You don't like the wine?"

"The wine's excellent," I assure. "But unlike the wine, ginger tea calms dyspepsia." He's on his feet in an instant.

"You told me you were tired, not sick."

"Well, run down," I qualify. I take the kettle off the stove, only to find my hand empty a split-second later.

"I can make my own tea, Booth," I half-complain. I know he derives a great deal of enjoyment from doing things for me, which is fine, but I don't care for someone fussing over me, and that's what he's doing at the moment. I take the kettle back from him and squeeze myself between the sink and his body.

"Even I know dyspepto is throwing up. You taught me that," he pursues my earlier comment.

"Dyspepsia," I draw out the word with some irritation over the fussing. "I haven't been 'throwing up,' to use the colloquial term. I've just been a little queasy, a little achy and slightly more tired than normal the past couple of days. It'll pass." If memory serves, Angela had similar symptoms throughout her first trimester. Yes, it'll pass. The question is how long it will linger. A week? Two? Six? More? I set the kettle on the open flames of the burner, then open a cabinet.

"Sick," he insists. "Go sit down. I can get your tea."

"I've got it," I insist again. I sit my mug on the counter and drop a teabag into it. "I'm not sick," I reiterate, returning to the table.

"Maybe you should take a couple days off. You know, get some rest. Restore yourself," he suggests. I pick up my fork, although my eyes are on him.

"I'm perfectly capable of determining if I need time off. I'm fine." I'd hoped to put off my announcement until after we'd eaten, preferably while we were both relaxed. Now, I'm realizing, the longer I put off telling him, the more he'll worry. I put my fork back down. "Booth, I have to tell you something—"

"Bones, we need to talk…" Booth announces at the same time. He sits down his own fork. "You first," he offers.

"What do we need to talk about?" I ask instead. He reaches for his wine glass, taking several sips. When he sets it down, he draws in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. Worry weaves its way around me. He's clearly nervous, so whatever he has to say he anticipates it not being good news. "Booth?" I nudge.

"Tonight… right before you got here… um," he takes another drink, "Uh… Hannah called. She's… uh… in town and… uh… asked if we could have lunch tomorrow." My appetite suddenly flees and I find myself wishing for a glass of that wine as the feelings I'd carried with me for months – the loneliness, the loss, the grief – return.

I force myself to remain composed, giving no indication of how his news has affected me.

"How is Hannah?"

"How is…?" Clearly, it was not the response he was expecting and it seems to shake him. "I… I don't know…" He stands and moves to the island and the bottle of wine. "I never asked." He sits back down at the table. "Okay, I guess. At least she sounded okay."

"I didn't know she left D.C.," I tell him. "Where did she go?" He looks at me the way he does when he thinks I'm not making sense.

"I don't know. This is the first time we've spoken since…" He doesn't finish the sentence, but I do: Since the night he asked her to marry him. My mood spirals downward. "All I know is she's taking a hop out of Bolling tomorrow night to Germany."

"Then she may still be living here," I point out, standing when the kettle begins to whistle. "It may not have been easy to get out of her assignment early." He turns in his chair to look at me. "Where is she going?" I pour the hot water over the teabag then set the kettle aside.

"I don't know. I didn't ask." He gets up and stands facing me on the opposite side of the island. "Bones, if you don't want me to go—" The remark doesn't even warrant finishing.

"You know I would never do that," I tell him, disapprovingly. I pick up my mug and walk back to the table. "Hannah was important to you. You loved her. So much so, you wanted to spend the rest of your life with her. It's only natural when the opportunity arises – as it has now – you'd want to see her again." He's shaking his head before I finish speaking.

"No, Bones, no. You've got this all wrong," he insists, drawing out the last word in emphasis. He sits back down next to me. "Me seeing Hannah isn't about reliving the good times or catching up. It's about taking responsibility for things that I did and decisions I made and making amends for them. It's about getting right with myself and you, so we can move forward with no more lies or secrets between us."

"Me?!" I shake my head, confused by his appeal. "Why would you have to get right with me? I thought we were fine. Are we not fine?" I tilt my head, the feelings I'd felt while he was with Hannah now combining with worry I'd missed something. Something he needed.- "Are you not happy? I thought—" He shoves aside his plate and reaches for my hand.

"We're not just fine, Bones, we're great! Really great! I'm happier than I can remember ever being before. I mean ever. I love this. Us. All of it." His eager reassurance doesn't ease my sudden discomfort or concern. It does the opposite and I don't know why, which only adds to my confusion. The urge to return to the lab and bury myself in my work until I can quell my riotous emotions, takes me to my feet.

"I need to go back to the lab. I'm authenticating a vase from the Qing Dynas—" He bolts out of his chair and blocks my path before I can reach the table where my bag lays.

"Wait, Bones, just wait." I come to a stop, instead of veering around him and wait. He glances at the dining table. "Let me just wrap our plates and put them in the oven to stay warm and give me a chance to explain. Please. Just.. give me a chance to explain and you'll understand. I'm asking you to trust me. Can you do that?" I stare at him. The desire to find solace and seek understanding while I work at the lab hasn't lessened, but truth and trust are the foundation of everything Booth and I have. I can't turn my back on that.

I nod my agreement. Relief is painted on his face. He quickly grabs my mug of my tea and presses into my hand.

"It'll only take a minute," he promises.

I cross the room and take on the seat of the couch, waiting for him to join me…