Hey guys! Sorry for the long lag, but life kind of got in the way. This one is pretty long, but (I think) is worth it. The Booth/Brennan drama will get resolved, and soon we'll be back to the main storyline. I'm not sure if Brennan seems a little OOC right here; I like to think it's growth but please let me know if it's too much. Thank you again for reading and reviewing, and I hope you like this one.
Brennan was regretting her rashness by the time she arrived at the hotel. Traveling with Sophia was always difficult; doing so at the last minute and without Booth there was almost impossible. Booth was an extra set of hands, would make the funny faces, handled her during takeoff and landings when her sobs nearly crushed Brennan's heart. And figuring out how to maneuver the stroller and suitcase at the same time was one of the most frustrating dilemmas she had ever encountered.
But mostly, she missed Booth.
It had been careless, to leave that quickly. She knew they needed a "time-out" and that the trip to Atlanta posed one, but she still regretted it. Leaving had made the situation infinitely worse, she knew, making them two people who had erred instead of one person and a second to help improve the situation. Shortly before the wedding, her father had told her to be sure "never go to bed angry" and she was pretty sure she was doing that now, though she maintained that being able to hold a point of view in opposition to a spouse fearlessly was honesty, and honesty was the only thing that could make a marriage work. Ironic now, she considered ruefully.
Her borderline-tearful call to Sweets — who was she these days? — had definitely worsened things. But Booth was just so angry, so clearly hurting, so obviously conflicted about Rebecca. She knew that, the way she knew the periodic table and how to read bones. And she was too close. He burned her. If he wouldn't let her help — and she truly wished he would — he had at least suggested that he talk to Sweets. She hated to tell someone else Booth's problems, and hurt that Sweets might be able to help Booth, but if it could … well, she'd do anything.
She called Annalise and Carolyn, instructed them to push meetings and that she would work from home the next day. Sick nanny, she said. No room in daycare already. Booth had an important meeting. They offered to drive materials out to the house in the morning but she quickly declined.
Booth's message and its earnestness made her ache a little, but she quickly pushed it down. She noticed his careful wording; obviously, he still saw his position as having extreme merit. That fact almost made her smile, because it meant he still had a bit of his stubbornness in him. She almost called Parker immediately but decided to wait until after 8, when Sophia would be asleep. Instead, she and Sophia played with a few toys — she was becoming quite adept at verbal labels — and worked on some auditory and tactile development, then wandered around the hotel identifying flower colors before taking a bath and going to bed. Finally, there was no avoiding it.
Parker answered the phone, as Booth promised. He didn't say anything about Atlanta so neither did she. They talked for a short amount of time, mostly about Chinese and science class, and he filled her in on Rebecca's condition and beating Hodgins at the Wii game before saying, "And then Gordon-Gordon made us dinner."
"Dr. Sweets brought Dr. Wyatt along?"
"Yeah. Gordon-Gordon cooked and then Dad helped. Are you mad at Dad?"
"Your father and I had a disagreement, Parker," she said slowly. "You've seen us debate points before." They debated points, yes; they even had arguments and got mad and once every several months Booth would storm off and fall asleep on the couch only for her to guiltily poke him awake because she couldn't sleep after fights. People who lived together all the time did that. After all, one person still could not be everything to another at all times.
But they had not fought in years. Not like that. They'd had three or four big arguments, but that was before Sophia was even conceived; otherwise, nothing. She could not even remember them fighting that badly in their early years of working together; they hadn't known each other well enough to cause actual emotional pain.
"I know, it's just, you've never gone to Atlanta before," he sounded so hesitant and scared. It was heart-crushing.
"My decision to fly to Atlanta was extremely irrational and I regret it now. It was a disproportionately emotional reaction. We had a fight and I acted impetuously because I was mad. I'm sorry, Parker." Parker, of all people, did not deserve to get stuck in a sort of limbo as some of his parents fought. "I shouldn't have left like that. Even if I was mad at your father it was unfair to you." Parents, even step-parents, should be there for their children. "I'll be back Tuesday night. Do you … do you want to perhaps go to Good Stuff on Wednesday after basketball practice?"
He shrugged. "Sure, I guess."
"Alright. Could I talk to your father please? And give me a call tomorrow, okay, Park?" She felt the overwhelming urge to make everything right by Parker.
She apologized, haltingly, getting the distinct impression that nothing she was meant was being properly conveyed. That had always been at the center of her relationship with Booth; the fact that they often meant the exact same thing, or had the same goal, yet their approaches and ways of viewing things were so diametrically opposed that it was difficult to bridge them. And she was constantly the inferior one at being able to simply show him how she saw things. Now, though, she needed to be in charge.
She hung up quickly after agreeing to a Wednesday lunch.
She got very little actual work done on Monday; instead, she and Sophia went to a park for most of the afternoon. She didn't call home but found herself wishing that Booth called. He did not.
Her speech was over a luncheon to a group at a symposium for promising undergraduates studying anthropology. She had been invited to be a keynote speaker, but had opted for a lunchtime address so that she wouldn't have to stay overnight. She spoke on the continuing necessity for anthropologists and took questions that ranged from inane to reasonably intelligent before departing to the airport.
Once Sophia had drifted asleep on the plane, she thought back to her re-meeting with Booth — when he had her detained at Dulles on her return from Guatemala. She had a fleeting irrationaly, happy moment, thinking perhaps he might do that again. Track her down at the airport and force her to talk to him. But that was just empty hope. Booth, she knew, felt extremely guilty after a fight and become overly deferential. He worried that if he pushed her too hard she might flee, though that was a ridiculous notion. She had disproven that many times, though today she admittedly had not. But she knew Booth, and knew it was incredibly unlikely that he would pick her up today.
That was the fact, perhaps, that irritated her the most about the conversation with Booth — not that she was a bad mother or an uncaring person, but that she did not know him. Even in the early, early days of their partnership, before Cam, probably while he was seeing Tessa, he had fascinated her. She was an anthropologist, and he was a subject that she wanted, desperately, to understand comprehensively. She had spent the last nine years trying to catalogue everything that he did, to know everything about him. When she looked into his darkened eyes during intercourse, sometimes she even wanted to be him, to know the feelings and sensations he was experiencing. To say she didn't understand him was a "fight" reaction, and it stung deeply.
Of course, she had fled, which she supposed was not much better.
After retrieving the car from long-term parking, she headed toward Dupont, but surprised herself by taking a left onto M from Connecticut and instead heading back to Georgetown. She realized after parking that neither Booth nor Parker was home, though that was unsurprising, considering it was barely past five. She called Angela to let her know she was going back home — which made Angela ecstatic — and promised a coffee date sometime over the weekend to explain things. A quick call to Rebecca's home confirmed that Parker would be there until Booth got off work, probably around eight. She organized her files and did a little work — she was helplessly behind — then fed and bathed Sophia. By half past eight, though, the boys still weren't home.
Brent called then, apologetically, and asked he she could possibly come pick up Parker. Becca's body was still treating the chemotherapy drugs like an invading poison and she was feeling quite ill and Parker was being belligerent and unhelpful. She agreed, bundling Sophia into the car and sending Booth a message that she was home and had Parker.
Parker was quite unresponsive in the car, for which she couldn't exactly blame him. She asked him about school; he answered with a brusque fine. She asked him about basketball; he just rolled his eyes. She asked him about his mother; she received an acidic, "Why do you care?"
"I care, Parker," she floundered. "Because I care about you."
"That's a crock of shit," he retorted.
"Parker! That language, especially around your sister, is quite unnecessary. And while I'm unclear what I'd do with a pot of excrement —" she paused warily, "I do want to know how your mother is doing. And how you are doing. You are an important person to me."
"She's sick, OK? She's always sick, but it's no worse and no better this week. It just really sucks, Bones."
She suddenly remembered Booth's first piece of advice on how to connect to victim's families. Give a little to get a little. Rebecca certainly qualified as a victim. Parker was Rebecca's family. "Parker, when I was 15, my parents had to leave. It was … It was for my own safety that they went. But the point is, they left me, and I didn't know where they went, or when they would be back, and so I was quite bereft at their absence. It was a loss. And I was quite anxious and confused as well. I can approximate what you're experiencing emotionally right now. Unlike me, though, you have me and your dad to talk to. So please. Don't… don't be angry about everything. I made a mistake by letting my argument with your father affect you. And I'm sorry."
He snorted. "I'm sorry, Bones," he said, and this time he meant it. "But honestly, it's nothing too bad right now. And Dad and I talked. Promise," he paused. "What happened after that? When your parents went away?"
"I lived with a variety of different foster families before going to college a year early. I completed my undergraduate work in three years and my graduate studies in four, before starting to work with the UN and on digs and at the museum. I was quite a prodigious student, you know."
"Yeah, yeah, Dad says you're a genius," Parker said distractedly. "But when did Grandpa Max come back?"
"Oh. After I had met your father; we'd been working together a little over a year. Fourteen years since I last saw him."
"What about your mom?" Parker's eyebrows were knitted together; clearly, this was a puzzle to be solved. She was proud of that trait in him.
"She died. In an accident. Shortly after they left."
"Like Dad's mom's car accident?"
"Not quite. She had a head injury, which was minor at first, but it was so small she didn't know it was there, and she died quite unexpectedly."
"And then Grandpa Max found you again?"
"Well, yes. Parents always come back whenever it is possible."
They arrived home then, and she put Sophia to bed as Parker watched TV and read The Giver. He went to upstairs around 9:30 though, leaving Brennan to work peacefully. She checked in on him at 10:15, finding him asleep. Extracting the book from his fingers, she set it on the nightstand, gently kissed his temple, and turned out the light.
Booth came in around 10:30, looking slightly disheveled. "Hey," he said, tossing his keys on the coffee table. "Thanks for grabbing Parker." He moved back into the kitchen. "How was Atlanta?"
He seemed strangely normal. "It was … fine," she said guardedly, putting down the latest Scientific American and following him into the kitchen. "Do you want anything to eat? I can reheat something. Macaroni? An omelet? Thai?" She started to scour the refrigerator, realizing that she'd been gone for four days.
"No, Kant remembered we hadn't eaten anything around 8 and ordered some Chinese."
"And you accuse me of forgetting to eat when I work too hard," she said lightly. "What were you working late on?"
He sighed and shook his head. "Working our way out of this wiretapping mess. More reviewing the privacy regulations. Taking a fresh look over the Elbert kidnapping. An interagency dispute over the death of a CIA operative. Tons of crap, really. Sophia and Parker both asleep?"
"Yes, I just checked on them both. Sophia … missed you."
The vein in his jaw jumped. "Yeah, well I missed her too."
"And it was extremely difficult to travel with just her. The suitcase, plus the stroller, you know."
He just kind of chuckled and shook his head. "Yeah, I feel really bad for you, Bones."
"I don't expect you too, unless whatever that's compelled you to act angrily and derisively over the last several weeks has become even more prominent." Okay, she hadn't meant to phrase it that way.
"Okay, we're really going to get into it now, huh?" He set down his glass of water.
"I don't think … there's anything to get into," she said. "I don't want to fight again. I think, as adults, we can both acknowledge that we behaved poorly on Sunday? I accept that I did not behave optimally. I shouldn't have called Sweets, for instance. And I shouldn't have left."
"Hey, hey. I was being an ass. Calling Sweets was a good thing."
She nodded. It was true. "True, but we shouldn't require our former psychologist to come in and mediate an argument. Booth," she started. "The part that … The part that hurt the most wasn't the slurs against my abilities as a mother or emotional capabilities. It was when you said that I didn't know you. And that's false. I know that is false. I know you, Booth, from every scar on your body to the fact that you always use your right hand to put on sunglasses to what the type of pie available at the diner means for your mood. And right now, you're acting out of guilt over the Rebecca situation. Every single one of your actions appears to come straight from guilt, mixed with fear and anger. And those two, I can understand. But the only person you stay angry at is yourself, and there's no reason for you to feel that. And fear doesn't make you so volatile. So that leaves guilt. But I can't figure what you could possibly feel guilty about. It makes no logical sense. I tried thinking illogically … And the only thing I could come up with a feeling of failure over your ability to protect Parker. And I really don't understand why, or why that would make you so angry at me. And I … I would like you to explain that to me."
He smiled wryly. "Temperance Brennan, wanting to know the why of a mystery?"
"This isn't a mystery, Booth, this is our marriage," she said impatiently, and his eyes caught in surprise. "It was logical that I would behave irrationally when attacked. But I don't feel its logical that you would get so upset about that, or about why me describing our lives as 'dull' would set you on this … path. And I'd like for you to explain it to me. I want to help. I'm here to help. But you … you need to tell me how."
He sighed, ran his hand through his hair. "It's just… What if she dies? What's that do to Parker? I'm going nuts thinking about it. And you haven't been home lately, it's all about the bones or the baby or the museum and right now I'm just going insane from it."
"Statistically, she could die from this disease. But that was not your fault."
"Damn it, Bones, do not say things like that. And it's not guilt. Well. Yeah, maybe a little. It's … you know? We work so damn hard to make sure Parker's safe. We take care of enemies to this nation and we put bad guys away and then we stop putting bad guys away to give him a sense of stability. Becca works her ass off. Brent works … well, he works a lot. So yeah. Maybe I'm frustrated. We can't stop this."
She was quiet for a moment. "I'm scared, too."
"I didn't say I was scared, Bones." She looked at him, and he broke the eye contact first. "Okay, yeah, it's a little terrifying."
"We've both lost mothers. We both know that, objectively, it made our lives far worse, especially in the short-term. And I think of what Rebecca must be feeling and I can't bear it. I can only arrive at the fact that I'm very scared. But I know that you have to be more scared than I am. And that … terrifies me a little, too." She bit her lip, and reached out, sliding her fingers between his thumb and fingers. He squeezed. "You and I have … never seen anything the same way. You say magic; I say science. You say faith; I say biology. Communication is the only way we accomplish anything, even though we don't really like talking. And we stopped that. But I can only go so far. I can be here, I will always listen with respect, I can try and understand any irrational thought, but I need you to try, and apologize, and help me understand what you're thinking. Because I can't comprehend it on my terms."
He clasped her fingers more tightly, bringing them to his lips for a kiss. "You're goddamn amazing, you know that?"
She squinted, confused. "So are those terms satisfactory? You'll agree to be more responsive? I can be a very good filter for you; I just need to know what you're feeling."
"Yes. I will. I promise," he said, leaning forward and kissing her softly.
"Okay," she said, relieved, pulling back and folding her arms in front of her expectantly.
"Oh — you mean — now?"
"Well, yes. I still don't fully understand why you're feeling this way or why my remark started this."
"What? Okay. Okay," he sat back a little, tapped both index fingers on the side of his nose, thumbs pressed to his chin.
"And please be honest. I appreciate that."
"I know that," he said wryly. He sat back. "God, Bones, you sure we have to do this tonight?"
"Quite positive," she replied. Sweets said confronting issues as they appeared was key.
"You know, why don't you ask questions? To start. So I know what you want to know."
"But Booth, I've been clear. I want to know everything. Ideally, I would be able to think what you think and …"
"Okay, okay, and see what I see. This speech still freaks me out. But Bones? The biggest thing here, about this whole situation? Is that I need you. Becca … We might lose Becca and Parker'll be destroyed and right now I have no idea what's going on. I need you to do what I ask and I often really don't know what. And right now I need you to ask questions. And be there. Go to the doctor's appointments. Hell, come home at night. I need to be able to trust you before I can talk to you. And you just leaving after our fight? Really pissed me off."
She flinched at his implication that he couldn't trust her. "I'm … sorry. Truly. While you, as you are closer to Rebecca and aren't very good at compartmentalizing, have clearly been having more trouble with this, it has been difficult for me to watch you. To watch Parker and Rebecca. Going into the lab helps me order my thoughts and see with more clarity. You know that. And so I relied upon that for a few nights. I apologize. But," she continued. "you know that I would do anything for you. And sometimes you can be too close to something. You taught me that, when we were working cases? And I think you're too close right now; metaphorically, you can't see straight. And that's why I'm trying to keep a distance from treatment. So that we're not too emotional."
"Bones, this? This? Is all emotion! You can't study a bone until everything all ordered up, it won't be! It shouldn't be!" He got up and started pacing, and she crossed her arms. He was getting angry again.
"This requires that someone maintain a rational presence of mind. And I am the best one at that, as well as the one best suited to it right now. And I should have been more here for you, but again, Booth. Please, please respect my decision to respect Rebecca's privacy. I bring her food, I pick up Parker whenever she needs it, when she needs a recommendation on where to buy organic household products or help with her dietary needs I answer every one of her emails. I need you to respect that line between Rebecca and I that I am not willing to cross. I am here for you, but I won't be bullied into berating her doctor just so you feel you've done something. I don't think that helps the situation at all. That's part of me being here for you too." She looked at him evenly.
He finally stopped pacing. Deflated a little. "Do you really — really — think that I'm not being helpful?"
"Booth," she sighed, and put her hands on his chest. "I know you have the best intentions. I know that. But … you're angry. And that has a proven, negative effect on stress levels. And that's not good for Rebecca right now. Nobody doubts that you care deeply about Rebecca's well being. But she doesn't want you to hover, and anger doesn't change anything, doesn't alleviate anything." She stared at him as his jaw clenched and unclenched, and he finally swallowed. "And still — I don't get why you're angry, or feeling guilty."
He pulled her hands off his chest; cradled them gently. "Sometimes it's hard when you can't do anything. You get a little crazy. And I — I just got mad. It just … so mad."
"You can do things, though; just not the things you like. You can't cure Rebecca but you can make things easier on Parker."
"When Parker was born — and the same thing with Sophia — I promised myself that I would be a better father than my old man. That I'd protect them from hurt. That they'd have normal childhoods, with swings and sandboxes and baseball games and … prom. Happy things. And this is just going to tear Parker apart."
"Nothing's done yet. She might recover. But don't forget, Hank came in and put you back together. And many years later, you came in and helped me heal emotionally. And if Rebecca does die, we can be here. We can … repair Parker, if his heart metaphorically tears. And we will. You will. I will help you. But you can't start thinking about that yet."
He smiled, put his hands on his hips and pulled her closer. "That's a lot of faith, there, Bones."
"Not at all," she replied. "Newton's First Law — unless acted upon by an outside force, an object travels in a constant direction at a constant speed. I can't fathom an outside force that would be great enough to cause you to deviate from your path of being an attentive father."
He kissed her deeply then, maneuvering her so she was pressed against the counter. For comfort, she hopped onto it as his palms worked up her blouse and his knee between his legs. "Wait," she gasped. "One more question." She pulled his hands out of her shirt. "Are you happy? With your job, with me, with … us?" Her voice finally cracked. This was the part of the conversation she needed to have answered, but the part she didn't want to hear.
"God, Bones," he said, finally ceasing his ministrations. "The job — I'm still getting comfortable with it."
"You're really very, very good at it," she insisted. He was. She wasn't sure if he comprehended that most days, but he was such a good leader at the FBI. Everyone at the Bureau remarked on it, and she had seen it herself. "But if you're not absolutely happy with it... if you think it's the wrong choice ... you should go back."
"I mean, yeah, I'm not 100 percent comfortable with it yet. I miss running around every day and I miss chasing down the bad guys sometimes. And reminding me I'm good at it — it's like me telling you how good you are as head of the museum. You like it, but it's taking some adjustment, you know? But I was getting old — old is worthless at the FBI unless you're doing substantive policy crap. But no matter what, it's worth it, Bones. You, this, Sophia, Parker? It's all I'm ever going to want. And if it means that we should have safer jobs to be better parents, it's absolutely worth it. You, Temperance Brennan," he said, kissing her jawline, "have made me happier than I thought was humanly possible. Every day. Even when you're kicking my ass."
"You know," she said, struggling to maintain her composure as his hands ghosted down her back, "that I only do that when you absolutely deserve it." She finally let herself be consumed by the kiss.
Wednesday, she finally felt like she could breathe a sigh of relief — Sophia was back with the nanny, Booth was whistling at breakfast again, Parker was running up and down the main hallway. Which was why she was completely caught off-guard when Russ called to let her know they'd be in by dinnertime the next day.
"Dinner time tomorrow?" she asked.
"Yes, Tempe," Russ said, annoyed. "You didn't forget, did you? Hayley's got doctor's appointments all day Friday so we wanted to get down there early.
"I didn't forget," she said defensively. "I've just been busy."
"You're still cool with all of us coming up, right?"
"Of course. I can put you, Amy, and Nicholas in the mother-in-law suite, Dad in Booth's den, and the girls in the finished guest room. What?" she asked as her brother began to laugh.
"Nothing," he said. "It's just — your house is big."
"As it should be. Do you know how much we paid for those five bedrooms?"
"Yes, Tempe, I do. I'll see you tomorrow, OK, sis?"
So her already-shortened workweek lost another four hours, as she left early Wednesday to clean the house and again on Thursday to meet her brother, father, sister-in-law, nieces and nephew.
"Aunt Temperance," Emma and Hayley cried, tumbling out of the mini-van as she opened the door. "Where's Sophia?"
"Two-year-old little girls are infinitely more exciting than eight-month-old baby boys," Amy called, unstrapping Nicholas from his car seat.
"How are you, Tempe?" her father asked, kissing her cheek.
"Fine, Dad. Booth's still at work and Parker's at practice; they'll be home in a few, though." Her father had moved down to Newport News to live near Russ, who now ran three repair shops, after Nicholas' birth. Hayley was getting sicker and they needed the extra hands. "How have you been?"
"Eighth grade is so fun, Aunt Tempe," Emma said knowledgably.
"Emma's got her first boyfriend," Hayley cut in.
"You're a little young for a mature, sexually intimate relationship, aren't you?" Brennan asked.
"They're not that serious, Temperance," Amy cut in quickly. "She and Dylan go to the movies and that's it, isn't it, Emma?"
"Yeah, Mom," Emma said.
"Tempe, thanks again for letting us stay here. We'd like to take everyone out to dinner tomorrow night, maybe that bar you and Booth used to go to all the time?"
"That's really not necessary, Russ. We've got more than enough room, and our combined incomes — ow!" Her father grinned at her. She understood what he meant. "Dinner sounds lovely. The bar will be extremely crowded, though. There's a pizza place Parker enjoys on Dupont, Pizza Paradiso. We could go there."
They discussed the plans for the next few days — Max was taking Emma sight-seeing on Friday as Russ and Amy took Hayley to the doctors, some family things on Saturday, home early Sunday. Emma was insisting on a stop at Good Stuff, and Brennan made sure that they waited until Parker could go as well.
Booth and Parker arrived home shortly after six, and everyone sat around the table to talk some more. Booth still seemed burdened — heavy from the world, but not angry, not since their talk. When Nicholas started fussing Booth went for him, walking him around and gently cooing at him.
"You look good, there, Booth," Max teased. "You two going to have any more? I could do with some more grandbabies as gorgeous as these five."
"Dad," Russ hissed, and Booth just looked at Brennan, eyebrows raised, clearly signaling that it was her question to answer. He would have as many children as she wanted, she knew, but she had never given any indication to want more.
She broke eye contact and turned back to her father. "We'll see," she finally said. "Maybe in a year or two, when Sophia's a little more independent." She tried to avoid Booth's surprised face.
"Whoa, Tempe — seriously?"
"Why not?" she shrugged. "Anthropologically it's less pressure on offspring when they have multiple siblings. We're more than financially capable, but right now is a difficult time, between our jobs and Rebecca and the current children."
"Who's Rebecca?" Amy asked, and the conversation resumed.
They stayed up late talking after dinner, but eventually the youngest children went down, then the girls headed to bed, then Max, then finally Amy, giving Russ a tender kiss goodnight. Booth stepped out to make one last phone call for the evening, finally leaving the siblings alone.
"Thanks again for letting us stay here this weekend, Tempe."
"Of course. It's always good to see you, Amy, the children, Dad," she replied, moving to pour herself one last cup of decaf.
"I actually wanted to talk to you about something," he said.
"Yes?" She took a sip of the coffee.
"Dad's — Dad's been having some heart problems. Some lung problems."
"That's not extraordinary; he smoked for years when we were children and follows a diet even unhealthier than Booth's." She leaned against the counter.
"My diet isn't unhealthy; I like meat, Bones," Booth groused, entering and kissing her temple.
"Russ appears to be concerned about Dad's health, despite the fact that it's entirely unsurprising giving his lifestyle choices."
"Your dad's still kind of young, right?"
Russ nodded. "Sixty-five."
"He should be fine for a few more years then, right?" Booth said.
"He's been having heart trouble; he's ignoring it, though."
"What do you mean, heart trouble?"
"High cholesterol. He got admitted to the ER a few weeks ago for wheezing and fatigue. They say he's a high risk for a heart attack. And his lungs are giving him trouble, too."
"Again, to be expected. Would you like me to lecture him?"
"No, no," Russ said quickly, looking around. "It's just … Hayley's not doing too hot. We're not expecting great news tomorrow. We'll be making a lot more trips up to Richmond and D.C., and Emma's at this crappy, dramatic stage and getting in a lot of trouble, and Nicholas is young…"
"And Sophia is still a toddler and Parker's mother's dying; what game are we playing?" Booth asked impatiently.
"I'm not — I'm not saying that you guys don't have it hard. God knows that you guys work a lot longer hours than we do. But I just want to work out a plan, you know, worst-case."
"Logically, the worst-case is that Dad dies and we bury him, I assume?" Brennan said. Both men rolled their eyes.
"Look, really, Russ? Between you guys having Hayley and us having Rebecca right now, I don't think any of us can handle thinking about another health crisis right now. God forbid, if something happens to Max, we'll all take care of it then. But not till then, OK?"
A long silence later, Russ finally said, "Yeah. I guess that's what we gotta do, right?"
Booth nodded and swallowed. "Bed, everyone?"
They headed upstairs and quietly began their bedtime routine. As she was washing her face, Booth, who took far less time to prepare for bed, leaned into the doorframe of their in-suite master bath. "Bones?"
She turned the water off. She knew what he wanted to talk about. "Yes, Booth?"
"Did you — did you mean what you said to your dad earlier?"
"About having another child?"
"No, about whether he was taking his pills on time. Yes, the third kid thing."
"Didn't you say the number of children we had was my decision?"
"I'd love to have another kid, Bones, if you wanted to. And if we thought we could manage it."
She sighed. "It's not something I think about all the time. I'm not Angela. But — we're doing pretty well with Sophia, aren't we?"
"We're doing great with Sophia."
"Yes. And yes, I never considered having more than one child until very recently. I'm not — I'm not the most natural mother. Objectively. But I'd never considered having children until about a year before we conceived Sophia. And she's amazing. I don't think I'll be — we'll be — ready to really try for another year at least, but — I never thought I could be a mother, or enjoy being a mother, really. And then you, and Sophia — I know I could do it. That we could do it. If we wanted to, the two of us could do it. And so yes, I was acknowledging the possibility."
He smiled, rubbing his nose gently against hers. "The two of us can do anything, Bones."