Booth gathered the last few odds and ends he needed for the picnic, tossing napkins, a package of raisins, and a handful of cookies into the cooler before cleaning up the kitchen. He was due to pick up Parker in half an hour. They were going to spend the afternoon at the park. The football and frisbee were already on the kitchen table next to the ice chest and sunscreen. As Booth finished putting away the cold cuts and wiping down the counters his mind drifted back to the last Saturday he and Parker had spent together.
It had been one of those perfect spring days that always made him hate being trapped inside, so they'd decided on miniature golf instead of going to a movie. Afterwards they were going to meet Bones at Parker's favorite pizza joint. Booth had been unusually nervous, uncertain how Parker would react to the news he had to share.
After Parker scored not one, but three holes-in-one-including the free-game shot at the eighteenth hole-Booth had walked with his son to a nearby ice cream stand. They sat together on a tree-shaded bench while Parker wrapped himself around three scoops of double-dutch chocolate, and Booth tried to decide how to tell him about Bones.
"So … Parks," he started, as nervous as an elephant in a stampede of mice. "You like Bones, don't you?"
"Yeah," Parker said, in between licks of his ice cream cone. "She's cool." Another lick. "And she lets us swim in her pool."
"Yeah. Um. About that."
Parker glanced up apprehensively. "Did she take back her key?"
Booth wanted to smile, but couldn't quite get there. "Not exactly."
"Did somebody poop in the pool? When Lasky's baby sister did that he couldn't swim for two whole days. He was pretty mad."
Booth laughed. "I'm sure he was." He offered Parker a napkin, though it looked like the kid might need a hosing off instead. "And no. Nobody pooped in Bones's pool."
Obviously relieved, Parker swiped at a dribble of melted ice cream. "Then what's up?"
"Well, you see Parks, Bones is going to be moving soon."
Distracted from his treat, Parker stared at his dad. "Where?"
"I don't know, yet."
"But you're sure she's moving?"
"Yeah, I am."
"How come?"
Booth took a steadying breath and sent up a quick, fervent prayer.
"What would you say if I told you Bones and I were thinking about moving in together?"
Parker's eyes widened in surprise. "You're getting married?"
"No." Booth would have liked to give a different answer, but he wouldn't lie, no matter how awkward the truth might be. "At least, not yet."
"But she's going to be your girlfriend, right?"
Booth watched his son carefully, trying to gauge his reaction, but Parker was growing up, getting better at hiding his thoughts.
"Yeah." Booth took a sip of water from the bottle he held in his hand. "Something like that."
It seemed wrong to think of Bones as his girlfriend. She meant so much more to him than that rather juvenile term implied. But right now it was all he had.
"Does that mean you're going to have to quit your job?"
"What?" Taken by surprise by the question, Booth blinked. "No! Of course not!"
"But I don't want Bones to leave the Jeffersonian. I like going there."
"Bones isn't quitting, either. Why would you think that?"
"Because," Parker said. "She said she couldn't be your girlfriend if you worked together."
Oh. Right.
He'd forgotten about that.
Booth sighed. "She did say that, didn't she?"
Parker nodded solemnly and took another lick of his rapidly melting ice cream.
"Well, I've talked with my boss, and she's talked with hers, and they seem pretty okay with it." At least, Cam did. And Hacker's issues were personal rather than professional.
"Really?"
When Booth nodded Parker broke into a wide smile. "Awesome!"
Booth grinned his relief. "Yeah," he said. "It is pretty awesome, isn't it." One hurdle down, one to go.
"So when are you going to move?"
"I don't know, Parks. We're looking for a place now, but nothing's turned up, yet."
"Will it have a swimming pool?"
Amused, Booth ruffled his son's curly hair. "We'll see what we can do about that, okay?"
"Okay."
For the next few minutes Parker worked on his ice cream cone in contented silence while Booth considered how to broach his other big news. It wasn't until the last of the treat disappeared into Parker's chocolate-smeared mouth that Booth worked up the courage to bring it up.
"There's something else, Parker." He poured the last of his water over a handful of napkins he'd held in reserve and handed them to his son.
"What?" Parker swiped at the mess on his face, missing most of it.
There was no point trying to sugar-coat the facts. Parker was way too precocious for that.
"Bones is pregnant."
Slowly, Parker lowered the fistful of napkins to his lap. "What?"
"Bones is going to have a baby," Booth repeated. He didn't blame Parker for being surprised; he'd been pretty stunned himself. He was more worried about what came after the surprise wore off.
"But …" Parker was apparently having trouble wrapping his head around the news. "You two aren't married."
Oh, yeah. Here came the tricky part. "We've talked about that, Parks. You know that two people don't have to be married in order to have a baby together."
"But you said that only stupid people don't use birth control."
Booth cringed. He had said that. Almost word for word. "Yeah, well, I also said that sometimes accidents happen."
"Not to you."
"Yeah, buddy. Even to me." Booth gestured to the forgotten napkins in Parker's hand. "Finish wiping up," he said.
Parker did as he was told, but it was obvious he was thinking hard.
"So …" Parker said, tossing the dirty napkins in a nearby trash can. "Bones and the baby." There was a lonely note in Parker's voice that made Booth want to reach out to him, but he waited to hear what he was going to say. "They'll be your family now."
Booth put his hand on Parker's shoulder and waited until his son met his eyes.
"The four of us are going to be a family, Parker." At his deliberate emphasis on the number, Booth saw a flash of relief in Parker's eyes. "Together." He squeezed lightly. "I'm always going to love you, Parks. Nothing and no one is ever going to change that."
"But you're going to be busy with the new baby all the time. Lasky says that after his sister was born his parents forgot all about him."
Booth didn't need Sweets to tell him what Parker was getting at. "I'll never be too busy for you. Never."
"Will we still hang out together on weekends sometimes?"
"Twice a month. Just like clockwork."
Parker still seemed a little doubtful, but he nodded. "About the new place," he said, tilting his head. "Will I get my own room?"
"Absolutely." Booth ruffled his son's curly hair. "Maybe we'll even be able to get that dog you've been wanting."
"Really?" Excitement brightened Parker's eyes and set him bouncing on the bench.
Booth nodded, relieved by how easy it had been to allay his son's concerns. "No promises, okay? Bones and I will have to talk it over."
"Yeah. Okay." But Parker was on his feet now, ready to be moving on. "Hey, Dad?"
Booth turned from tossing his empty water bottle in the trash. "Yeah?"
"Should I still call her Bones?"
Booth smiled. "Why don't you ask her?"
Parker nodded. "Okay."
Dinner that night had been amazing. If he'd expected there to be any awkwardness between Bones and Parker they soon proved him wrong. Instead they'd spent most of the evening laughing, arguing over pizza toppings, and debating dog breeds. Bones, it turned out, had had a German shepherd when she was a little girl. Somehow he'd never known that about her.
Hours later, with Parker asleep and the apartment quiet and dark, Bones had still been in a good mood.
"He knows what we're doing in here, you know."
"Shh!" Booth glanced toward the locked bedroom door. "Not so loud!"
Bones laughed. "Oh. Well, then, I guess you don't want me to do this." She ran a trail of light nips across his chest, and he stifled a groan, wrapping one arm around her waist and tangling the other in her hair.
"Bones …"
"Or this." One hand slipped down his body, and with a light squeeze and a tug almost made him come up off the bed.
"Christ!"
She grinned at him unrepentantly. "Tsk tsk. Taking the lord's name in vain?"
"You," he said, trying to sound stern and failing miserably, "need to be careful."
"Oh?" Another tug. An impish sparkle in her eyes. "Why is that?"
Without warning, he wrapped his leg behind her knees and rolled, toppling her to her back.
"This is why."
He'd kissed her breathless, letting his hands run freely over her body until her low moans and the insistent thrust of her hips had become more than his self-control could take. He'd taken her up fast, and she'd matched him stroke for stroke, more than his equal in both stamina and enthusiasm. And afterwards, when they'd lain side by side, chests heaving, she'd looked at him and grinned.
Thinking back on that night as he gathered up the picnic supplies and turned out the light, Booth smiled. Bones had once told him she thought they'd be highly compatible in bed. She'd been right. There might be a hundred differences they still had to work through outside the bedroom, but inside it? Inside, they were magic.
*x*x*x*x*
There'd been only one signing scheduled in New Orleans. After it was over Todd and Brennan had ventured to the French Quarter for dinner. The outing had been pleasant, even though she'd chosen to avoid most of the spicier dishes and opted for a few sips of red wine over the Abita Amber that Todd had selected.
Booth had been adamant that she give up alcohol during her pregnancy, despite the studies she'd cited supporting the theory that moderation was more important than abstinence. She'd even pointed out the benefits of red wine in terms of disease prevention and cardiovascular health, but he'd been unmoved. And her attempt to initiate a conversation regarding the conflicting cultural attitudes toward alcohol in the United States had been met with stony silence. Her obstetrician suggested a compromise that he'd agreed to, albeit reluctantly. Since then she'd allowed herself an occasional glass of red wine, but never when they were together.
After dinner she and Todd had joined the throngs of tourists strolling the streets of the French Quarter. She had enjoyed the musicians very much, though more than once she'd wished Booth was with her. She still remembered how surprised he'd been when he'd first learned that she liked jazz, and though Todd was certainly a well-informed and interesting companion she would have preferred sharing this experience with Booth.
By mutual agreement the evening had ended early, and Todd dropped her off at her hotel with a casual wave and assurances that he was looking forward to seeing her in Houston. She closed the door behind her, turned, and looked down when something shifted under her foot. Puzzled, she bent to pick up an envelope, turning it over in her hands. There was no return address, nor any other identification.
Inside she found a short note written on a single sheet of lined paper. Brennan read it, shook her head, and crumpled it up, tossing it in the trash as she moved into the bathroom. She barely remembered the man from the dining car and certainly had no interest in pursuing the sort of relationship he was suggesting.
Another trio of daffodils had been on her nightstand when she'd arrived the night before. They were still there, brightening the room's generic atmosphere and bringing a smile to Brennan's face. Putting the note out of her mind, Brennan got ready for bed, then settled down against the pillows and reached for her cell phone.
Booth answered on the first ring. "Bones?"
"Hi, Booth." She smiled, her eyes on the daffodils. "Just letting you know I'm in for the night."
"I'm glad you called," he said. "How was your day?"
"Not bad. Todd was angry when he discovered that the store hadn't ordered as many copies of my book as he'd told them to, but he managed to find more in time for the signing."
"Did you need the extra copies?"
"We sold out," she said, a fact she was still quite pleased about.
"Congratulations!" He sounded genuinely happy for her. "And did you do the French Quarter thing for dinner?"
"Yes, we did. Todd and I enjoyed a very pleasant meal and and then a walk. I wish you could have been there. I would have enjoyed listening to the music with you."
"We'll go back together some day," he said. "We'll stay in one of those B&Bs right there in the Quarter, do the tourist thing during the day-" His voice lowered suggestively. "-and make sweet bluesy love all night long."
She laughed even as her body warmed to the image. "And do what with the baby, Booth?"
"He can stay with Aunt Angela and Uncle Jack. I'm sure they'd love to have him."
"He?" Her hand settled on her abdomen, the way it so often did these days. "What if it's a little girl?"
"Then she'd better stay with Aunt Cam. We wouldn't want little Michael Staccato Vincent-" She could hear the amusement in his voice. "-to get any ideas."
She laughed again. "I don't think we need to worry too much about her virtue just yet."
"I'm not taking any chances."
She was still smiling when she hung up the phone a few minutes later. The thought of vacationing in New Orleans, of sharing its history and rich cultural diversity with him, was intriguing-definitely something they would have to discuss again in a year or two. Some New Orleans memories that didn't involve voodoo, black magic, and murder would be quite pleasant.
Her cellphone flashed with an incoming email, and she toggled over to see who sent it, then rolled her eyes. Angela again. Brennan didn't have to read the message to know the subject. She set the phone aside. She would call Angela tomorrow during the trip to Houston. There would be plenty of time to talk during the nine hour journey-though the more Brennan thought about it, the more convinced she'd become that Angela's concerns were unwarranted.
She extended her legs, pushed back against the pillows in a long, luxurious stretch, and let her thoughts drift back to the night they'd loaded Vincent's casket for the trip to the airport. Booth had been surprisingly pensive, she remembered, and on impulse she'd linked her arm with his. Only after the hearse's taillights disappeared around the bend did she and Booth turn away from the loading dock. Then, for reasons she still didn't quite understand she'd stopped him just outside the door. He had looked over at her with a question in his eyes, and what she'd said next had surprised her almost as much as it seemed to have surprised him.
"I don't …" She'd paused, knowing that she needed him, hoping he wouldn't turn her away. "I don't want to be alone tonight."
He'd hesitated for an instant before nodding. When she'd pulled out of the parking lot a few minutes later his car had been right behind hers, and it had stayed there all the way back to her apartment.
He followed her inside, then waited while she closed and locked the door. When she turned back he hadn't moved. He was just standing there, waiting, and she knew intuitively that the next move had to be hers. Without speaking she stepped in close and reached up to trace the outline of his clavicle where it rose against the cotton of his shirt. Then slowly, deliberately, she flattened her hand and slid it down to press against his chest, feeling it rise against her palm with his sudden sharp intake of breath. The sound of air hissing between his teeth, the way his eyes closed for an instant, then opened again to meet hers, made heat churn low in her stomach.
"Bones …" His voice was low. Strangled. "I can't …" But his lips brushed against her forehead, belying the implied rejection.
She lifted her other hand and placed it beside the first. Thumbs touching. Fingers splayed wide. He had a very broad sternum with well-developed musculature. Impressive.
"Don't do this if you aren't absolutely sure," he managed, and she felt the shape of the words in the way his lips moved against her skin. "If you run again …"
She looked up, and bit her lip at the fire she saw in his gaze. She'd once told a witness that it was a myth that a person's desires could be seen in the eyes. She'd been wrong. Very wrong. "I'm not running anywhere," she said softly, and watched his gaze drop to her lips. Beneath her palm his heart rate had accelerated noticeably. She was ready for this, had wanted it for a long time. But she wasn't yet certain of what he wanted. "Are you still angry?"
He shook his head. His fingers found hers. Folded over them. His voice was barely more than a whisper. "No."
She stared at their joined hands, at the way his longer fingers fit around and among her own. His free hand slipped into her hair, the pressure of his palm tilting her face up to his, and when he kissed her, she couldn't help the faint gasp that rose in her throat or the way her body melted into his.
This. This was what she had wanted, what she'd been waiting for-the feel of his mouth moving over hers, the way he smelled, the sound he made in the back of his throat. These were all things she had longed for, things she'd glimpsed but never grasped. She opened to him with a hungry moan that made his hand tighten in her hair as he accepted her silent invitation.
For the first time she was free to touch him, but there were still barriers between her hands and his skin. She hated those barriers, hated anything that kept her from getting closer. Impatient, she broke the kiss. Clothes were annoying. An impediment. A frustrating obstacle to be overcome. She shoved the coat off his shoulders, letting it fall unheeded to the floor as she reached for his tie, and he worked the buttons of her blouse.
"Bones … God, baby. Wait." Voice rough, he eased away from her just long enough to tug off his tie. Tossing it aside, he pulled her back into his arms and slid his hands under the hem of her blouse. She felt herself go hot and tight as all of her awareness centered on that first breathtaking touch of his hands on her bare skin.
She pushed into him. Tugged at the buttons of his shirt. Shoved aside crisp, cool cotton. He was backing her toward her bedroom, but she neither knew nor cared whether they would make it that far. She only knew that she needed him closer. Much closer. His hands were in her hair again, then at her shoulders, pushing her blouse out of the way and following it down her back, sweeping over her skin in tight, possessive waves that made her back arch and her breath snag in her throat.
"Booth … I want …"
"Shh," he said, his hands already at her waistband as he pushed her back and she fell to the bed. "I know."
Her shoes were gone, though she had no memory of taking them off, and in another instant he'd unbuttoned her slacks and was tugging them down over her hips. She reached to help him. Anxious. Eager. Hungry. He followed her down to the bed, the weight of his body pushing her into the mattress, and though she usually preferred to be the aggressor during sexual encounters, it didn't occur to her to object. So good. He felt so, so good.
Her hands roamed freely, exploring the textures of his skin with rough impatience before sliding past the barrier of his pants and evoking a guttural moan that made her smile against his neck. There was satisfaction in knowing that she could move him as deeply as he moved her.
She yanked at the fabric "Off," she demanded, and despite the intensity of the moment she thought she heard him laugh.
He got to his feet, and she watched, need making the blood thrum in her veins, while he unzipped his pants. They slid down his legs, pooling at his feet with a faint jingle of loose change and the deeper thud of his cell phone hitting the carpet. Ignoring both, she reached for him, pulling him down and rolling so that she came up beside him, already exploring the planes and angles of his chest with lips and teeth and hands. Her legs tangled with his. And still it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.
His hips shifted beneath her, and he let out another moan, his hands busy at the clasp of her bra. And then it, too, was gone, and she sucked in a breath as her breasts came in contact with his chest and all that was left between them were his boxers and her panties, and a minute later those, too, were gone, and Booth's arms were around her, and this time he was the one to roll, the one to come up on top, his hands bracketing her face, pushing strands of hair aside as he searched her eyes, though she didn't know what he hoped to find. She felt his erection against her leg, the hard, hot throb of it making her bite her lip and thrust her hips toward his. Yet he hesitated.
"What?" she asked.
Breathless.
Impatient.
She wanted him. Inside her.
Now.
"Bones, I don't … I didn't plan for this."
It took her hormone-fogged mind a moment to register what he was saying. Then she shook her head, reached down, and dragged at his hips.
"It doesn't matter," she said. She would have to tell him. To explain. But later. Not now. "It's okay." Later.
And still he waited. Still he searched her eyes.
"Booth." Frustrated, she arched her back, pushing into him. "Please."
He studied her for another fraction of a second. Then he was moving, finding his place while she bent her knees, her hands flexing against his arms. She pushed back against the pillows, lifting her hips to meet the single long thrust that took him deep inside her body. His eyes snapped shut, his back and neck arched with the strength of his thrust, and Brennan held there with him for an instant. Deep. So deep. And hard and hot and … Her fingers curled into his thickly muscled biceps, and her breath locked in her throat.
She needed more. And faster. And … More.
She pulled her hips back. Twisted. Snapped upward again. He groaned, his eyes opening to meet hers.
"God, Bones …" His voice trailed off as he met her thrust with one of his own. "God, yes."
Together they raced toward a finish line she saw reflected in his eyes and felt in the way his body tensed and trembled against hers. She had a vague awareness of his impending release just as her own cascaded over her, and then there was nothing except the explosion of muscular contractions, the breath hitching in her throat, and the sound of her name whispered in the dark.
Awareness returned slowly, bringing with it the knowledge that what they'd just done would change their relationship in drastic and irrevocable ways. When she turned her head, would she see doubt in his eyes? Regret? She summoned her courage, rolled to her side to face him, and felt a surge of relief when she found only contentment-and a healthy portion of male satisfaction-in his warm, brown gaze.
"So," he said, smiling at her. "Compatible?"
She pretended to consider the problem, tilting her head to one side and walking her fingers across his chest as a giddy kind of weightlessness flowed through her body and lifted a smile onto her face. "I don't know. I think the question requires more extensive research."
He laughed, a rich, deep laugh that lit up his eyes. His arm came around her shoulders, drawing her close. "Well, you know me, Bones. I'm a big fan of thorough research."
They'd enjoyed two more encounters that night, though both times had been slower, more languorous, punctuated with murmurs and sighs and occasional laughter as he discovered the ticklish spot just beneath her ribs and she explored the bottoms of his feet. They had finally fallen asleep just as the first rays of the sun had crept over the horizon. Sated. Content.
Together.
Brennan emerged from the vivid memories to find that she'd wrapped her arms around a pillow and was hugging it tight against her chest. Loneliness, deep and aching, rolled through her. She wanted him with her. Here. Wanted to feel his arms around her and smell the scent of his skin and hear the warm timber of his voice. With a frustrated curse she got up and crossed to the bathroom. Maybe a shower would help.
She tossed and turned that night, overslept the next morning, and had to scramble to make it to the station on time. She was riding coach for this leg of the journey, so she checked the majority of her luggage, stashing her cellphone and e-reader in a small carry-on bag and her laptop in its leather case. Once on board, and with nothing to do but wait, Brennan pulled out her phone. It seemed as good a time as any to respond to Angela's message.
"So?" Apparently Angela no longer felt it necessary to engage in conversational preliminaries. "Did you tell him?"
"Hello, Angela." Brennan lowered her voice in imitation of her friend's. "Why are we whispering?"
"Oh. Sorry about that. I just put Michael down for a nap. Give me a second."
Brennan heard a soft click followed by several seconds of silence, and then a long sigh.
"Let's just hope he sleeps for a while," Angela said, her voice no longer muffled but still quiet.
"The books I've read say that a baby's sleep patterns can be quite erratic," Brennan observed.
"Don't I know it." Angela let out an exhausted laugh. "Sleep deprivation, my friend. You too can look like death." Brennan heard a click and then a faint burst of static as Angela turned on the baby monitor. "It's a good thing Hodgins and I are already married."
"I don't see how those things are related."
"Oh, honey. Wait a few months. You'll learn."
"But Booth and I aren't married."
"Right." Brennan heard water running. "Whatever." The water turned off. "Listen. You and I need to have a serious talk."
"About what?"
"You know what."
"Angela …"
"No, Bren." It was Angela's stern voice, the one Brennan envisioned her using with Michael when he got older. "You have to tell him the truth."
"No. I've been thinking about this a great deal. Sweets says that white lies play a crucial role in human interaction. I didn't believe him at first, but I've come to see that maybe he has a point." There was a jerk as the train started moving. "Even Booth lies, Angela. He admitted it."
"This isn't some little white lie, Brennan. This is big. Huge."
"Why? Booth and I had sex. I'm pregnant. He's the father. Those are the relevant facts." Across the aisle, a middle-aged woman shot Brennan a scandalized glare and clapped her hands over her child's ears. Brennan only just managed not to roll her eyes. Sex was part of being human, one of the best parts in her opinion. She didn't understand why some people were so prudish about it.
"Not all of them," Angela insisted, drawing Brennan's attention back to the discussion at hand.
"They're the only ones that matter."
"Brennan ..." Angela sounded worried. "Booth's a smart guy. He's gonna figure it out. And when he does he's gonna be pissed."
"Are you going to tell him?"
"No! Of course not!"
"Neither am I."
"You aren't seriously asking me to forget about this, are you?"
"Yes, I am. In fact, I'm starting to think I shouldn't have told you at all. Obviously it's causing you significant distress."
"No. Sweetie … I'm glad you trusted me. I just wish you trusted Booth, too."
"This isn't about trust."
"Yes it is," Angela insisted. "Deep down inside you're afraid of what Booth will do when he finds out."
"Booth is a reasonable man. He would understand."
"Right," Angela said, her tone heavy with sarcasm. "The same reasonable man who came back from a war zone with another woman on his arm."
"That wasn't his fault." Instantly defensive on his behalf, Brennan shook her head. "I turned him down."
"Whatever. The point is, he broke your heart, and you don't want to risk that happening again. I get it." Angela's voice softened. "But Booth isn't going anywhere, Bren. He loves you."
"He's never said that." But he had said it to Hannah. And when Hannah had rejected his proposal he'd sent her away. She took a deep breath. "I know what I'm doing, Angela." Biting her lip, Brennan gazed out at the passing scenery. Booth never had to know the details.
"You have to do what you think is best," Angela said, though she sounded doubtful. "Just … Take care, okay? Of the baby and yourself?"
Brennan refrained from correcting Angela's terminology. "Of course I will."
After they said their goodbyes Brennan put her cell phone away and settled in to watch Louisiana's marshland give way to the broad, derrick-studded expanse of east Texas. She'd made the correct decision. She was sure of it. But Angela's concern still weighed heavily in her mind.
I'm with someone, Bones. And Hannah … She's not a consolation prize. I love her.
The memory of Booth's words on that rain-drenched night still triggered a faint ache in her chest. He'd offered to call someone to stay with her, but she'd turned him down.
Tears had mingled with the lingering traces of rainwater on her cheeks. Not bothering to wipe them away, she shook her head. "No, I'm fine."
.
.
.
Alone.
Her parents' disappearance and Russ's subsequent desertion had convinced her that alone was the only safe way to be, that the only person she could ever truly count on was herself. Booth had challenged that belief in ways no one else ever had. He'd pushed her to look beyond science and rational thought, to consider the possibility that she couldn't control the dynamics of human interaction or extrapolate future events based solely on her own experiences-that her life would be richer without those self-imposed restraints.
By the time she'd come back from Maluku she'd decided that maybe he was right. Maybe she had guarded her heart too closely and for too long. Maybe love really was, if not more important than truth, then at least equally so.
It had been painful to realize that she hadn't been wrong after all. In fact love was both fickle and fleeting. And Booth himself had provided her with the proof. In a few short months he'd gone from wanting to spend thirty or forty years with her to being in love with Hannah. As Micah would have said, "Ipso facto Columbo oreo." Love was transient.
Her apartment had seemed unusually quiet that night, and Brennan had turned on the stereo to combat the oppressive silence. Then she'd showered, letting the water cascade over her for a long time, washing away her tears and with them, the last vestiges of hope that she might have a future with Booth. She'd emerged from the steamy enclosure still deeply hurt, but with growing resolve. Regrets were counter-productive. There was nothing she could do about the past; it was time to think about the future.
Dry, warm, and with a glass of good red wine in hand, she made some important decisions that night. Life changing decisions. She would rely on herself, make her own choices, direct her own future. There were certain things she wanted for herself, things she'd put off out of consideration for Booth's feelings. She wasn't going to do that anymore. So she retrieved a thick folder from her filing cabinet and took it with her to the couch. For the next two hours she went through the contents with painstaking care, reading, taking notes … Planning.
The choice she made, the decision she faced, was hers alone. He would have no part in it. She would, in fact, discuss it with nobody, at least for a while. Angela would only try to talk her out of it, and Booth … Booth had Hannah. That was his primary relationship, and Brennan would do everything in her power to protect that and ensure his happiness-even if it meant withholding information that she once would have shared.
Weeks later, after Booth and Hannah broke up, Brennan had briefly reconsidered her resolution not to confide in him. But he'd been so angry, and so adamant that their relationship be limited by the boundaries of their partnership, that she'd decided it was best to keep her own counsel. She hadn't questioned her judgment again until the night she and Booth had burned those silly pieces of paper, but even then her doubts had been fleeting. This was the path she'd chosen for herself, a piece of her future whose outcome would be determined by the precise and dispassionate hand of science.
And now … now the point was moot. She was pregnant, and whether it was because of the choices she'd made months ago or because of those she'd made a few short weeks ago was irrelevant. She loved Booth. Of that she had no doubt. But she was less certain of his feelings toward her and unwilling to expose their still-fragile relationship to any unnecessary stress.
*x*x*x*x*
Todd Richardson wiped the sweat off his brow with his handkerchief, tucked it back in his pocket, and sighed his gratitude for the air-conditioned interior of Tucson's east side Barnes & Noble as the heavy door whispered closed behind him. Granted, Arizona's dry heat was easier to take than Houston's spongy humidity, but he was really looking forward to the northern leg of this tour.
He glanced at his watch and shook his head. Traffic had been a nightmare, and he only had half an hour to get set up before Temperance arrived. A quick scan of the store made him sigh. Apparently her fans had already started drifting in. He saw at least a dozen customers with copies of her book in their hands, and another dozen milled about near the back of the store. With an hour to go before the event started it promised to be another good turnout. He gave the hem of his sports coat a quick tug, straightened his tie, and set off to find the manager.
Sixty-five minutes later Todd turned over the podium to Temperance. He'd heard her speech half a dozen times by now and knew it almost by heart, so he only listened with half an ear as he did a quick head count and recorded the figure in his notebook. His cellphone lay on the table in front of him while he worked, and when the message came in he saw the alert flash across its screen. He picked it up and turned to one side, hoping to reply without drawing the attention of Temperance's audience. He needn't have worried. A quick glance assured him that they were totally involved in the brief lecture. Secure in that knowledge, he glanced down at the now familiar message.
How's she doing?
Always the same three words. And so far his response had been equally consistent.
Great!
He keyed it in and hit the send button before returning his phone to the tabletop. He wondered if Temperance knew about the regular text messages he received from her FBI partner, then decided probably not. She didn't seem like the type of woman who would appreciate being checked up on. But if his suspicions were correct, he didn't blame Mr. Booth for keeping tabs on her.
When Temperance had originally requested that he rework her itinerary he'd wondered why, but he hadn't asked. She was one of his less demanding clients, and even though she was a little blunt at times he'd grown to like and respect her, so he didn't begrudge her the hours spent on the phone rearranging her schedule and changing the travel arrangements. Then when he'd finally caught up to her in Atlanta at the start of the tour he'd noticed she was different. Softer somehow. Less intense.
That initial signing in Atlanta had been the first time Todd had heard from Mr. Booth. He'd been puzzled by the message and a little surprised that Temperance had shared his contact information, but since he knew they were partners he'd replied readily enough. There had been identical text messages at every stop, nearly always at the beginning of the signing, and always with the same question.
It hadn't seemed necessary to mention the brief interactions to Temperance, so he'd kept the information to himself, though he'd watched her carefully, trying to put his finger on what might have caused the changes he was seeing. It wasn't until New Orleans, when she'd avoided the spicy foods she'd once told him she loved, that he put the pieces together. Now he looked up, watching her as she responded to a question from a fan. Her eyes sparkled with humor, and she was smiling broadly, two things he didn't remember seeing very often on their first tour.
On a whim he picked up his phone and snapped a picture, capturing her just as she turned toward him. It was a good shot. He wished he'd had his camera ready so he could've gotten it at a higher resolution, but as he hit the button to send it to her partner he realized he didn't really mind. He'd taken other pictures during the tour, and would continue to do so throughout the three remaining weeks of the trip. He could afford to give this one up.
Temperance was wrapping up her speech, so Todd checked to make sure her water glass was full and her pens were ready. She always asked for two, preferred blue ink over black, and standard ball point over gel, but despite those clear preferences, she never complained if he gave her something else. Maybe that was why he always carried a box of her favorite pens in his briefcase-something he didn't do for most of his other clients.
When the talk ended Todd spent a busy few minutes organizing the excited crowd into something resembling a queue. Then he circulated among them, shaking hands and telling short, innocuous stories about his experiences working with Temperance. It was a tried and true technique for easing the wait, and the fans seemed to appreciate it, especially one business-suited gentleman he thought he'd seen in Houston, and maybe even in Atlanta before that. Groupies weren't uncommon, and this one, though obviously an avid fan of Temperance's work, seemed harmless, so Todd spent a few minutes talking with him about his favorite books before moving on.
Two hours later Temperance finally finished signing the last book, thanked the woman for her support, and set down her pen with a sigh and a rub at the back of her neck. Todd was helping with clean-up by then, folding chairs and collecting the inevitable detritus that seemed to accumulate after these events. He glanced over at her, noted that she looked tired, and excused himself to the clerk he'd been helping in order to cross over to her.
"Doing all right?" he asked, dropping to a crouch beside her chair.
She straightened her shoulders and gave him a tired smile. "I'm fine," she said. Then she shook out her arm. "These events always make my wrist ache."
"I can get you some Tylenol, if you'd like."
She shook her head, as he'd suspected she would. "No, I'm fine. Let's finish up here and go get something to eat."
Temperance autographed an extra three dozen copies of her book while he finished helping with the cleanup. Then, after a final word with the manager, Todd escorted his charge out of the store and into the waning afternoon.
"Four hours until I need to be at the station," Temperance said. "Know any good hangouts?"
He quirked an eyebrow at her. Hangouts? That was a recent addition to her vocabulary. "We'll find something." He keyed the button to unlock the car doors and opened hers for her, waiting until she was in to close it again.
By the time he got in on the other side she had her head tilted back, her eyes closed.
"What are you hungry for?" he asked.
"Something light," she said. "And someplace quiet."
Forty-five minutes later their server placed their meals in front of them, refilled their water glasses, and hurried off to another table. Temperance arranged her napkin in her lap before reaching for her fork. Todd watched her eat, noting that she spent a lot of time pushing food around on her plate instead of putting it in her mouth. He didn't think it was the quality of the food. Her salad looked crisp and fresh, and his steak was excellent. Still, it wasn't long before she pushed her plate away and sat back.
"Not as hungry as you thought you were?" he asked.
She smiled faintly. "I guess not."
He'd known her for three years, and though their relationship had always been more that of professional colleagues than friends, he felt they'd established a certain level of trust, so her reaction to his next comment caught him off guard.
"When are you due?" he asked, and saw her eyes snap up to his, a mixture of wariness and consternation in their depths.
"That's a very astute observation on your part," she said. "How did you know?"
He ticked the clues off on his fingers. "You had me completely rearrange your itinerary and travel plans, you've been unusually tired, and you've taken to wearing clothes that don't bind your waist." He was puzzled by her reaction. Was there some reason she hadn't wanted him to know? "Those are the facts," he said, aware of her preference for logic and science. "But there are other changes, too. You aren't as driven as you used to be, and there's a-" he searched for the word he wanted, came up empty, and shrugged. "-a gentler way about you."
When her eyebrows shot up he smiled and lifted his shoulders in casual apology. "Three sisters," he said. "And a litter of nieces and nephews. You learn to recognize the signs."
She studied him for a minute, her gaze sharp and penetrating. "December," she said finally.
A quick backward calculation. A nod. "Just coming off that first trimester, then," he said. "Was it a bitch?"
She tilted her head. "A bitch is a female dog."
Once he might've laughed his surprise at her literal interpretation, but he knew her better now. "No. I mean was it hard? Did you have a lot of morning sickness?"
"No," she said. "Aside from tiring more easily, I feel quite well."
"You're lucky. My sisters both spent those first three or four months on a diet of saltines and ginger tea."
"That's very wise. Ginger can be an effective treatment for nausea. And crackers absorb excess stomach acid."
He snorted a laugh. "I don't think they cared why it helped. Tea and crackers were just the only things they could keep down."
"I see." She was watching him steadily, an odd, intense expression on her face, and he wondered what she was thinking. Experience had taught him that with Temperance Brennan, it always paid to be alert.
"Can I ask you a hypothetical question?"
Ah. There it came. He recognized the tone. Whatever she had on her mind was probably going to make him squirm.
"Shoot."
"How would you feel if a woman used your sperm without discussing it with you first?"
Nope. Not ready. Not even close. Damn it all, anyway. He swallowed hard and tried for a tone of casual curiosity.
"Excuse me?" Nope. That was definitely a strangled croak. Damn.
"I said …"
"No, no-" he waved her off. "I heard what you said. I meant-" Was that how it had happened-a brilliant, gorgeous woman like her? "Why would you ask me that?"
She blinked. "Because you're a man and I'm not. I don't have any sperm of my own."
Todd struggled to find his equilibrium. "So, what … " He lowered his voice, glanced about the crowded restaurant. "We're talking about artificial insemination?"
Her expression made it clear that she was questioning his intelligence, but she nodded. "Yes."
"I thought those things were done anonymously? You know. Pick the guy you like out of a book or something."
"Yes." She nodded. "It's often handled anonymously."
"But yours wasn't."
"No."
"So … You know who your baby's father is."
"Of course I do."
Of course she did. And then it dawned on him, and he wanted to kick himself. The text messages. The look in her eyes whenever his name came up.
Oh.
Oh, boy.
"Does he know the kid is his?"
"Yes. But …" She hesitated. Her gaze slid away from his, and she bit her lip. Bad signs, those. "He doesn't know about the IVF."
Confused, he stared at her. "He knows you're pregnant, knows he's the father, but doesn't know about the IVF?" Saying the words clarified the situation, and suddenly he wished he were anywhere but here. He didn't want this responsibility. "So … Your pregnancy …"
"Might have resulted from sexual intercourse, yes."
Startled by her candor, his gaze flew to the nearby tables, checking for possible eavesdroppers. He felt a rush of pure relief when nobody appeared to be paying attention to their discussion. Turning back to his companion, he found her watching him quizzically.
"I don't understand why people get so flustered over the topic of sex," she said. "It's as natural a part of the human condition as eating and sleeping."
Todd knew better than to tackle that discussion. It was one they'd had before, and he'd long since despaired of making her understand.
"No. It's okay," he said. "I was just looking for our server. I thought maybe we'd order some dessert."
She looked skeptical, but a moment later she gestured to somebody behind him, and Todd found himself ordering a piece of pie he didn't really want.
"So … What exactly is your question again?" he asked, when they were alone. He hadn't forgotten, but he needed time to process.
Temperance spoke slowly, as if explaining a difficult concept to a small child. It would have made him smile if he weren't so damned uncomfortable.
"Would you be upset if you discovered that the woman you were involved with had used your sperm to become pregnant without discussing it with you, first?"
Wow. Just … This was … all kinds of fucked up. He fought down his first instinct, which was to shout at her, to ask her if she'd lost her fucking mind, to say of course he'd be pissed. He'd be so fucking pissed he wouldn't be able to see straight.
"I don't understand," he said, fighting for calm. "If you two were involved, why would a fertility clinic even be in the picture?"
She took a sip of water, pushed her plate away, and folded her arms on the table. Then she paused as their server arrived with his pie and their check. When the man stepped away again Todd felt the full force of her attention focused on him and tried not to squirm. With clinical detachment and clear, concise speech, she outlined her own case history as coolly as if she were laying out plot points for her next novel.
"So," she asked at last, sitting back and folding her arms as she drew the messy and complicated story to a close. "Would you be angry?"
Hell, yes. He'd be angry. Other woman or not, it was his sperm. His kid. His. Fucking. Kid.
And yet he couldn't help feeling a certain amount of sympathy for her situation. Literal thinker that she was, she'd taken her partner at his word when he'd said he loved this other woman. Todd couldn't fault her for that, nor for taking control of her future. He could even, almost, understand her use of the donated sperm. There'd been permission of a sort-albeit two years ago-and if her partner hadn't actively rescinded that permission she would have considered it still valid. He discarded her insistence that her choice of sperm donors was based entirely on physical and psychological indicators. Todd wasn't an idiot. And he wasn't blind. Temperance Brennan had it bad for her partner, would, he suspected, willingly trade her life for his. He imagined she couldn't conceive of carrying any other man's child.
And yet …
Todd didn't know much about Seeley Booth, but he knew enough to be pretty sure the man was both conservative and traditional when it came to matters of the heart. Plus, he was an FBI agent-a damned good one, if Temperance's occasional off-hand comments bore any semblance of credibility. Combine that with Mr. Booth's military background, and Todd came up with a guy who would blow a gasket over this.
Todd pushed away his empty pie plate without any clear memory of having eaten.
"So your friend Angela thinks you should come clean," he said, choosing his words carefully. "But you don't agree." She was rationalizing there, but he let it pass for now. Hell, it was probably the least of her problems.
"That's correct."
He blew out a long sigh as he sat back in his chair. "Shit, Temperance. I don't know what to say."
Her gaze didn't waver from his. "You haven't answered my initial question."
"Which question was that?"
"Would you be angry?"
He hesitated. Blew out a breath. "Yeah." Worry flared in her eyes, and he wished he could've given her a different answer. He leaned in again, making sure he had her undivided attention. "Look, I can't advise you on whether or not to tell him," he said, "I think you have to make up your own mind about that." If she did tell him, Todd hoped Mr. Hotshot FBI Agent didn't do anything stupid, because if he did, Todd would have to personally kick his ass, gun or no gun.. "But yeah, if he finds out, I think he's going to be pissed."
Temperance nodded her head. She seemed calm enough, but Todd suspected that underneath that cool facade she was one confused mess. Had he known her better he would have drawn her into a comforting hug as they left the restaurant. As it was all he could do was respect her silence as they made their way back to the car and then on to the train station. He carried her luggage in for her, waited for her to check in, and as she turned to leave, stopped her with a touch on her arm.
"I'll see you in LA?" he said.
She nodded. "Of course you will."
"If you need anything, Temperance, anything at all …"
"I'll be fine," she insisted, but her face still had that pinched, worried look. "You should go. You've got a plane to catch."
She was right, and there was nothing else he could do anyway. But she'd long since disappeared into the crowd when he turned to walk away-only to stop when his cellphone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, his gut tightening when he read Booth's message.
Arriving LA 1330 tomorrow plz advise re probable location
Oh …
Shit.