Chapter 26: Cinderella Shoes

"Temperance, that dress looks lovely on you." Brennan carefully smoothed the satiny fabric over her stomach, unnecessarily worried about looking too large.

"Thank you," she said honestly and turned around on the pedestal to stare at Amy. Russ was in the other room, helping his newfound step daughters try on different flower girl outfits. "It was quite thoughtful," and unexpected, she thought to herself, "for you to ask me to be a bridesmaid."

"You're Russ' sister," laughed Amy, her blonde hair glinting as she smoothed the white fabric over her own hips. Her mother smiled blissfully.

"You look beautiful darling. And you picked such a nice bridesmaid color." Brennan turned away from the sight of Amy in her wedding dress, holding her mother's hand, eyes aglow. Brennan concentrated on her own reflection, blinking her luminous blue eyes to quickly dry the blurry sight she was suddenly experiencing upon viewing a moment she herself would never had. She shook her head smartly; how ridiculously sentimental of her. It was doubtful she would ever get married.

She swallowed upon feeling two different objects bounce between her breasts underneath the bridesmaids dress. One was Booth's St. Christopher's medal and the other was his ring. She mentally corrected herself. His father's ring. It disturbed her how easily she had come to think of it as his. She had declined to mention the exchange; she was almost positive Booth didn't know what Taylor kept from him.

"Don't you think teal is a lovely bridesmaid's color Temperance?" Amy's mother was now addressing Brennan. She blinked and carefully turned, not quite spinning.

"It's not teal," she smiled back, simultaneously as Amy snapped.

"Mom it's pistachio." Brennan bit the inside of her lip, remembering Booth cautioning her not to overly correct people. She decided to decline to tell Amy that pistachio was a vibrant lime green instead of a pastel aquamarine. She instead turned back to survey herself once again.

Because Amy had picked a slim fitting sheath for a wedding dress, feathered in gauze and trimmed in pearls, she had decided to continue the theme of the sea for her entire wedding. Her reception would include seafood for her hors d'oeuvres and main meal, plus sparkling champagne instead of wine. Similarly, continuing the color scheme, Brennan was wearing a shimmering dress that glinted between light green and blue, which felt as if someone had saran wrapped her into it. She was slightly surprised her breasts didn't spill over the top of it as she had a fuller top figure than Amy did. However, Brennan did admire the shape and color of the dress; it brought out the redder glints to her hair and the blue of her eyes. Brennan felt no shame in clinically ranking herself the best looking of all five of Amy's bridesmaids.

"Oh show mother your shoes Temperance," gushed Amy, rushing over, causing the tailor to frown in disapproval and have to follow her flowing dress to better pin it.

Brennan smiled in spite of herself and crouching gingerly, sure either her dress was going to split the seam down her backside, or that her breasts would finally heed the call of gravity and spill over, she carefully unearthed a shoebox from her bag.

"Put them on," her soon to be sister-in-law urged. Brennan carefully sat, surprised that the tight fabric allowed her to do so and almost smiled smugly when she heard the other four bridesmaids whispering in envy about her body. She had not made friends with them; her brash attitude and forthright bluntness had not gone over well. While the maid of honor had been groaning how unflattering the dress looked on her (which, in Brennan's mind, was true), Brennan had tried to pipe in by suggesting she lose some weight before the wedding both for her looks and for her health. Scandalized, Brennan had endured the silence she was used to from the other four with long enduring patience. After all, that was how she had gotten through high school.

Angela was the mastermind behind the shoes. While the other bridesmaids were already shorter than Brennan's 5'9" stature, they had rushed to make it up with large three and four inch heels in varying colors of white, black, gold and green. Brennan's own shoes were silver – at least part of them were. They were plain pumps with a peep toe, but the body of the shoe was a small mosaic of glass woven together with silver mesh so intricately it looked as if she were wearing Cinderella's glass slippers.

While the mother cooed and shrieked over the shoes, and the bridesmaids gulped down their jealousy with false wonderment, Brennan had to wonder at the price Angela had paid for the shoes. When Brennan had offered to reimburse her, Angela had laughed throatily and said she more than had. Brennan had taken it to assume the check she had given Angela for her contributions in writing her books, but now she wondered if Angela had been alluding to her and Booth's relationship. Brennan's cheeks burned in the midst of the crowd as she recalled exactly what Angela had said.

It had been a long day. A grueling day. A day full of murder and death and despair. A day where Booth had held a weeping mother, sobbing for her son, and Brennan had gravely shaken the shaking hand of a grieving father as he adamantly refused to look at the small statured coffin that a team of lab techs had rolled past them to collect the bones.

"I can't imagine," Booth said, as they finally slid down the couch cushions. "What if it had been Parker?" The anguish, the worry, the helplessness had been so heavy in his voice, Brennan had not known what to do. She had simply placed her long fingered hand on his arm and squeezed. She had assured both Cam and a very troubled Clark, who had been as disturbed by the case as any she had ever seen, that she would lock up the lab. Booth had ordered takeout – just pizza this time – as they slaved over the casework at the upstairs table. The lights flickered and were halogenic pools of silvery light that weren't as warm or as reassuring as the yellow lights of either partner's apartment.

Slouching on the couch across from the coffee table and chairs on the inner balcony of the lab, the last report written, Brennan finally tilted her head back. Her eyes popped open when she realized he was watching her. No, not watching her. Studying her. The way she studied bones or Hodgins studied dirt.

"What?" she rolled her head to one side, irked and fatigued. His finger came up and traced under her eyes. She flinched but she hadn't meant to; it was a dead giveaway.

"I'm tired," she supplied to his questioning stare. His finger continued its almost blind meandering to the bridge of her nose; she could feel her headache pounding there, and knew her brows were wrinkled together. She made an effort to smooth them. He didn't ask, and she didn't offer this time. Her breath was bated; he couldn't possibly know. His finger drifted to her chin to tilt her face into the light but she jerked away, disturbed. He knew. She didn't know how he did, but he did. She waited for the accusation but he didn't say anything, simply let his fingers drift to the little hollow at the base of her throat. As his fingers splayed over her clavicle, his thumb rested in the little hollow and pressed, just the very littlest of pressure. She could feel her pulse beating steadily under his thumb. Only then did he speak.

"You've been crying."

"I have not, Booth," she said out of reflex, inflecting as much insulted tone as she could, as if the accusation was ridiculous instead of right. His left side of his mouth hitched up in a crooked smile as he felt her heartbeat flutter with her lies.

"Bones," he said her name with a rising tone at the end, warning her not to pursue this path.

"It was a long day," she said instead of admitting it. "I've been working. I'm exhausted Booth." She made a move to stand, but his other arm clamped her down. She glared at him and his crooked smile became a full blown one, feeling her heart thunder in frustration under his thumb. Her glare couldn't stand the force of his charm and felt it melting away until even the little tension between her eyebrows melted with it.

"Don't lie to me," he whispered. "I can always tell." One eyebrow went up over a blue eye.

"Really now."

"Yep."

"Prove it."

"Okay."

"One condition."

"Name it."

"Remove. Your. Hand." Her words came out icily and one of his eyebrows went up over one eye.

"Tone, Bones, tone." She gritted her teeth and he mocked her with a little boy's smile, inches too close to her face, to taunt her frustration. She seethed.

"Those are the rules."

"Okay then." With great exaggeration, Booth lifted his hand as if releasing a docking clamp.

Brennan breathed a sigh of relief but stiffened when he ran his finger under her cheekbone. She held her breath, unsure if it would come up wet; he had been correct in his assumption. The case had rattled her as well. To her relief, it wasn't stuck with tears.

"I have one condition if you want me to prove my abilities." His words and tone were light, teasing, friendly but his face was serious, intense. Brennan swallowed.

"One," she allowed.

"Tell me why you were crying today."

"It was a sad case," she shrugged her shoulders and made her face crease in all the right lines of grief Sweets had outlined. "That poor little boy. I hate it when children get hurt Booth." His jaw clenched in anger. She sympathized; what had been done to the boy…

"Lies." She blinked and realized his anger was directed at her. Somehow, regardless of her correct grieving face, he could tell it was fake.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm not playing a game here Bones. I asked you for the truth and you just lied to me."

"No," her own tempered flared to life. "It was a sad case, that boy truly suffered…"

"That's not why you cried. You were upset Brennan, and you can get upset. But you don't cry unless it's important. Unless it's personal."

"Booth you are being ridic-" she squeaked as he suddenly swung up over her and pinned her to the couch. Her breath came in little pants; she knew he wouldn't hurt her rationally, but as his legs straddled hers and pinned her with all his weight, his elbows to her shoulders, his forehead against hers, she was threatened instinctively. She struggled briefly, but when he pressed his entire torso to hers, she stilled.

"Tell me," he whispered, and his breath flowed seductively over her face, enchanting her the way his scent always did when he was much, much too close.

"Booth –" she hissed, but it was weak, and her fury was gone. He knew her too well. She had cried hours before, and he had still known. That meant he had been biding his time to confront her, and watching her for hours. Her heart throbbed almost painfully with love for him.

He wanted her.

He protected her.

He loved her.

"Tell me Bones," he urged quietly, and she closed her eyes so she didn't have to struggle to focus her orbital lenses at macro at something too close to see.

"He…the boy…" she started, her breathing ragged, and Booth shifted a bit, his thumb resuming its position at the hollow of her neck, his other fingers sinking into her flesh over her collarbone to ease the pressure she had been hunching there all day. "He had someone to look for him. To grieve for him."

"You never looked." Booth didn't state it as a question. He knew that she was referring to her own parent's disappearance. She also knew that he wasn't saying his words. His words were saying what he truly meant: You never grieved.

"Not personally," she answered clinically.

"Don't," he whispered.

"Don't? I thought it led to acceptance."

"You never go in order."

"Order of what?" Brennan asked, confused.

"The stages of grief. You've gone out of order. You've already had acceptance. Why backtrack?"

"Sweets would not like that viewpoint."

"Sweets is a squint, he doesn't like things out of ord-"

"He is not a squint!"

"Oh yeah? How come he's crazy specific about rules, regulations, following protocol, textbook cases?"

"Psychology is a soft science."

"Still a science."

"Hardly," she scoffed.

"What I'm saying is why would you go back – when all you have to look forward to is ahead of you?"

"What's ahead of me?"

"Me." The confession was low. Sincere.

"Booth-"

"I will always be there."

"You can't know that."

"Yes I can."

"What if you die?"

"Death cannot stop true love."

"You're quoting the Princess Bride again."

"You said you knew the movie."

"I do."

"Believe it."

"But in reality, Booth, death can stop true love because...well, you're dead."

"It doesn't matter."

"It does matter. Death is so final." He huffed a laugh that was mostly just a shared breath between their noses, their eyes open and crossed to stare too close.

"Death isn't final."

"What are you talking about-"

"Have you seen Lord of the Rings?" Brennan stopped, feeling a sense of déjà vu.

"Of course not."

"Gandalf – he's a wise wizard you see – he says that death is just another path... One that we all must take. That the grey rain-curtain of this world will roll back, and all will turn to silver glass."

"You base your belief on the afterlife in a stupid fairytale?"

"Tolkien was a very intense Christian believer."

"So your religion is a fairytale."

"No," he whispered. "It's real." His eyes were burning, burning brightly and so convincingly she wanted it to be real, just so she could be with him in this country he spoke of, one that would dawn bright, with a shore swiftly approaching.

"Booth," she said after a time and he grinned against her.

"Yeah Bones?"

"Don't ever die okay?" her voice was small, scared, unsure.

"Okay. I'll get right on that."

"I'm serious…I love you too much. We're partners in everything. By myself…I'd…I'd…"

"You'd be just fine. You're Dr. Temperance Brennan."

"No…I used to be. Now I'm Bones."

"I don't ever want to change who you are." A little smile lit her face, both sad and touched.

"Too late," she whispered.

They were silent.

"Bones," he whispered right back.

"What?" she smiled at the change in his tone.

"We're still alive right now…"

"So?"

"So let's act it. A tribute." His mouth closed over hers.

"Booth," her mumbled words were becoming quickly garbled. That man could do things with his tongue that should be illegal. "We're in the lab."

"It's midnight," he rumbled, his hands now roving down her sides, making her shiver and jump, on the brink of laughter. "No one is here."

"Security tapes…"

"You have a key. Erase them. Buy them off. I don't care."

"Booth…" but now his name was a moan and her hands had adroitly stripped off his suit jacket within seconds to join his shoes on the floor. She laughed when he pulled off his socks with his own toes but stopped when she felt his side, the new scar a bump under her fingers. He stopped too and they paused, staring as he ran his finger down her face. She had no scars.

He knew better.

"Are you okay?" he whispered and she nodded before lust overcame her and she stripped his shirt off too. They were quiet at first, the only sounds were their breathless laughter and mingled pants, and the loud clunking of his cocky belt buckle as it hit the floor.

The quiet only lasted as long as it took Booth to shift his head much lower than Brennan was used to, and then her pleasure sang the world a tribute to life, much, much louder than either had anticipated.

To Angela, downstairs in her office, the world was a blur. Hodgins was asleep at home in his own bed, as much as she desperately wanted him in hers, and instead of going home to an empty one, she had decided to take advantage of her enormous, clear lab screen and watch a movie in surround sound. The action movie had overpowered her mixed emotions with noise, gunshot and gore. She had enjoyed it more than was strictly necessary until about after three or four minutes of hearing an irritating voice in the movie, did she realize the screams were not in the film itself.

Breathlessly, Angela bolted to her feet, grabbed the baseball bat she kept in her closet and crept from the lab. When she realized the voice sounded familiar, her blood ran cold. The screams faded and abruptly stopped. Angela's heart almost did too. Brennan.

Pelting up the stairs, she smashed the bat onto the bare back of a stranger; her swing was only half hearted though, slowed at the last possible second but unable to swerve away as she recognized the situation.

"What the-" shrieked Angela at the same time Booth let out a bellowing curse.

"Angela!" screeched Brennan, shocked and embarrassed, barely able to form the coherent thought to cover her shaking body before she made eye contact. Angela about died.

"Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my GOD! Brennan! Booth?" She turned questioningly to find Booth, staggered upright, the closest garment covering his front – which just happened to be Brennan's lacy pink and brown bra.

"Uh…" groaned Booth holding his ribs with one hand, unable to even think. Brennan tripped getting to him, shielding his body with hers, his suit jacket barely shielding her breasts from Angela.

"Oh God. Okay," Angela's face was now a huge grin of both chagrin and amusement. "Wow. Brennan." Angela delicately handed her the dress and made a show of turning around while they both silently, faces burning, struggled back into a semblance of clothing.

"Angela," Booth growled under his breath. "What are you doing here?"

"Watching a movie," she shrugged innocently. "It's better than my screen at home. I heard the screams so…" She was grinning in what seemed a mixture of mortification and ecstasy at walking so inopportunely in.

"Yeah, yeah," grumbled Booth. "You're welcome. Get your own peep show." While he shrugged into his suit jacket, Angela gave Brennan two thumbs up and a sultry wink for the performance. Brennan burned; she didn't think she had been this scarlet…ever.

When he turned back to the two women, all three broke out into helpless laughter. By the time they were done, Booth was wheezing and Brennan was furiously admonishing Angela at the top of her lungs.

"How's your back?" Angela asked Booth in real concern.

"Go away," Booth moaned as she made a move towards him. Brennan stifled a laugh into the cushion of the chair.

"For the record," Angela said primly, getting up and grabbing her bat as if it were simply an extraordinarily long purse, "we're even. You hit Brennan with a bat and I just returned the favor."

"Thanks for the interruption," supplied Brennan drolly, which so shocked the other two that another round of laughter was set off.

"And..." called Angela as she retreated down the stairs. "If you two keep going, I won't be able to sit on any couch ever again!"

"Sorry!" called Booth, laughing. "Not my fault this time." Brennan laughed into Booth's chest until they had both slunk home.

The next morning Angela had brought Brennan her shoes for the dress, telling her they would go with any color. Brennan knew an apology when she got one, and patted Angela awkwardly telling her it was all right.

"I'm so jealous," Angela confided at the door, "I mean you two…" she fanned herself and Brennan had collapsed into her couch, the mortification still burning hotly.

The chime to the dress shop dinged open. Brennan's head snapped up as she rolled one ankle to help the shoes better conform to her feet. To her surprise it was Booth, ushering in a very reticent looking Parker. Emma and Hayley giggled and blushed as they came in from the next room, shepherded by Russ, both wearing white dresses with pink roses made from silk hanging into their ballet skirts. Parker made a face as the two girls tittered while Booth and Russ made introductions.

When Booth straightened up and saw her, his eyes went from brown to black in a heartbeat, his pupils eating the iris with lust. His black t-shirt fit him snugly over dark blue jeans and Brennan realized she wasn't the only woman admiring him in the room. The other bridesmaid's faces fell when he strode possessively over to her, Parker left to make conversation with the two girls.

"Bones, wow, you look…wow."

"Booth, what are you doing here?"

"Russ asked me if Parker could be the ring bearer in their wedding. I told him I'd ask Parker. Once he realized that Russ was your brother he told me he would…and I quote, 'Do it for Bones.'"

"Russ," exclaimed Brennan, as Russ appeared by her elbow, murmuring how beautiful she looked. "You asked Parker?"

"Tempe," he soothed, stroking her arm. "Amy was all willing to have you as much of a part of this family as she can. She asked you to be a bridesmaid and since she didn't have any little boys on her side of the family I suggested Parker."

"Why?" asked Brennan, completely blithely.

"Well you and Booth…you're together now…" Brennan knew what he wasn't saying. He had echoed it before. To keep the two families close. She and Booth were going to be a family. That's what Russ meant. She swallowed.

"Yes, of course, that was…very nice."

"Is that a problem Bones?" asked Booth with raised eyebrows. "You could scream a little louder." Brennan realized her escalated voice had gotten the shop very quiet. She blushed and glared scathingly at him.

"Maybe then Angela could hear me." It was his turn to blush and glower at her. She laughed.

"Bones, are you mad at me?" It was Parker's young voice next to her hip.

"No, of course not Parker." His face lit up like Booth's did.

"Good cuz you're the prettiest lady here!"

"Except for the bride, right Parker?" Booth hastily injected, swinging Parker up.

"Yeah, I guess," pouted Parker. "Have you ever been married Bones?" he asked her, while his hair floated as a halo around his upside down face. Booth froze, holding Parker that way, his muscles quivering as Brennan smiled.

"No, Parker, I never have."

"Are ya ever gonna?" Booth's face looked strained. Brennan ignored the agony she saw flashing there. He knew she didn't believe in marriage. She answered Parker instead, turning her face sideways to be right side up in his vision.

"Maybe someday Parker." Parker almost hit the ground before Booth caught him around the middle.

"Da-aad," groaned Parker. "What'd you have to go and drop me for?"

"Sorry buddy," said Booth distractedly, but his eyes were devouring Brennan's face. "Why don't you go talk to the pretty girls over there?"

"But you're with the prettiest girl here," pouted Parker. "I'd rather hang out with Bones. She's cool." But Booth only heard the first part and his eyes were laughing down at her.

"Yes I am Parker. Yes I am." They were lost in each other for a moment before Brennan broke eye contact when she felt a tug on her dress. She was almost surprised the movement didn't pop her breasts out of the top. She looked down into Parker's smiling face.

"Geez Bones, where'dya get these shoes?" The moment went out in a rush as Booth and Brennan burst out laughing. Booth struggled to speak.

"I'll tell you when you're older sport, I'll tell you when you're older." Brennan gave him a death glare.

"Or not," Booth amended as Brennan swung Parker up in the air, laughing. She realized Russ was right. That Taylor was.

This was her family.