Angela pushed aside two rattles, a baby blanket, and a teddy bear before dropping onto the couch. She'd just put Michael down for a nap, and she was thinking she could use one, too. She had almost forgotten what it felt like to sleep for eight hours straight. These days she would be grateful for four. She couldn't sleep now, though. Cam had mentioned that they were having trouble with a facial reconstruction at the lab, and like an idiot Angela had jumped at the chance to do something more interesting than clean up baby drool or change diapers. She'd promised Cam a rough sketch by the end of the day, but Michael had been so cranky all morning that she hadn't even started on it. Now, with the baby asleep and Hodgins out running errands, she should be leaping at the chance to draw. Instead all she wanted to do was sleep.
She forced herself up and into the kitchen, looking for something to drink. She wanted caffeine, but that was out. She wasn't about to give the kid another reason to keep her up all night. She settled on filtered water with a squirt of lemon and was giving the coffeepot a last longing look when the telephone rang. She glanced at the caller ID and breathed a sigh of relief as she picked up the handset.
"Thank God," she said by way of greeting. "Somebody who isn't going to cry, drool, or spit up on me."
There was a brief, puzzled silence followed by a hesitant, "Angela?"
"Yeah, sweetie. It's me."
"Are you okay?"
"Oh, God. You do not want to know the answer to that." Angela smiled tiredly. "Besides, I want to hear about you." She settled on the couch, water in hand, and put her feet up. "Tell me all the juicy details about your visit with Booth."
"You knew he was here?" The surprise in Bren's voice made Angela smile.
"Oh, you know how these things go. Booth told Cam, Cam mentioned it to Jack, and Jack told me."
Brennan's response was thoughtful. "No, I didn't know that."
She sounded so serious, as if this were vitally important information that somebody had been keeping from her, and Angela grinned. "Gossip. It's what's for dinner."
"I don't understand."
"Don't worry about it." She took a long sip of icy water, let it slide down her throat. "Now stop stalling. I want details."
When Brennan spoke again she sounded …utterly happy.
"It was …" Angela heard her take a breath. "It was wonderful, Angela."
Angela squealed, bit her lip, and cast an apprehensive glance at the baby monitor. "Oh, Bren." She couldn't stop smiling. "I'm so happy for you."
"Thank you."
Angela waited for more, and when nothing seemed forthcoming she squirmed impatiently. "Brennan. Sweetie. Don't leave me hanging."
"What are you hanging from?"
The note of amusement in Brennan's voice gave her away. Angela blew out an exasperated sigh. "You, apparently. Now come on. Stop busting my chops and tell me about Booth."
"You want to know about Booth."
"Yes, I want to know about Booth!"
"But you already know Booth."
"Brennan-" Angela was exasperated, but thrilled as well. Brennan didn't often relax enough to joke and tease like this. Her little interlude with Booth must have been spectacular. "Don't make me come over there and-"
"You'd come all the way to Seattle? That's a long flight, Ange, and my train leaves tomorrow afternoon. Are you sure you'll be able to get here on time?" Brennan's voice bubbled with laughter. "Maybe you should meet me in Minneapolis, instead. You can bring Michael with you."
"No. I am not flying to Minneapolis. And no. I am not bringing Michael." Angela was sorely tempted to stomp her foot. "Now stop messing with me and tell me about your sexcapades!"
"Sexcapades?" Brennan was giggling openly now. "Is that what you're calling it these days?"
"Brennan …"
"Okay, okay!" Brennan cleared her throat, and when she spoke again, she sounded calmer, less uncharacteristically giddy. "What do you want to know?"
"Everything! Where did you go? What did you do?"
"We just … drove from Los Angeles to San Francisco."
"Really," Angela said skeptically. "That's all you did. Just drove to San Francisco."
Angela could almost see Brennan biting her lip, her eyes sparkling with glee. "The drive along the coast is quite beautiful," Bren said at last. "And we stayed in some very nice inns along the way."
"So. Sex. Sex. And more sex."
"Yes. We did engage in coitus quite frequently." Brennan was trying to sound cool, but her voice positively hummed with feminine satisfaction. "Increased arousal is a natural response to the hormonal surges that occur during pregnancy, Angela. I'm sure you had a similar experience when you were pregnant with Michael."
Oh, yeah. Snorting out a laugh, Angela shook her head. "Tell the truth, Bren. The man makes you hot."
There was a pause. Then, "His proximity does seem to cause a noticeable increase in my body temperature."
Angela hooted. "Is that what you scientist types call it?" She parroted Brennan's words back to her. "A noticeable increase in body temperature?"
"Well?" Brennan sounded vaguely irritated, but Angela wasn't buying it for an instant. "It's true."
"I know, sweetie. I'm sorry. I shouldn't tease." Still grinning, Angela changed the subject. "How's the tour going?"
"Quite well, actually. The response to the new book has been very positive."
"Well that's good." Angela settled back, propping the phone between her shoulder and ear as she tilted her head against the cushions. "Got any fun stories for me?"
"Not really. It's all pretty routine."
Bren's hotel must have been close to the station, because Angela heard a train whistle in the background. She made a mental note to get Hodgins on a train. Soon. Sex in one of those sleeper cars would be hot as hell.
"Routine. Really." Angela forced her mind out of the gutter and back to the subject at hand. "If private sleeper cars, mobs of adoring fans, and a five-day interlude with the second sexiest guy on the planet is routine ..." She shook her head. "I want to know what you would call exciting."
"Second sexiest?"
Angela could swear she heard Brennan's eyebrows shoot all the way up to her hairline.
She grinned unrepentantly. "Absolutely."
"Booth is taller than Hodgins. And his shoulders are much broader."
"You don't measure sexy with a yard stick," Angela shot back, without missing a beat.
"I disagree," Brennan argued, using that ultra-reasonable tone that always made Angela want to bang her head against the wall. "Male attributes-"
Angela cut her off. "Tell me about your fans, Bren. Any weirdos in the bunch this time?"
"If there are, they haven't shown themselves, yet."
Ange heard a faint ripping noise, as if Bren were opening an envelope. That was strange. Who got mail in a one night hotel stay?
"Although-" Something about the way Bren said it made Angela sit up, alert. There was another rattle of paper. A crumpling noise. "Never mind."
Nevermind? No way. Not going to happen. "Although what, Bren?"
"It's nothing."
Angela knew that tone of voice. Something was definitely going on.
"Hank Beldon," she said, ticking the names off on the fingers of one hand. "Ashton Keller. Greg Braley." Maybe they hadn't been after Bren. Maybe they'd only been using her books for their own nefarious ends. They were still average guys who turned out to be creepy as hell.
"That was years ago." Brennan sounded annoyed. "And Booth's been monitoring chat rooms ever since it happened. If he'd seen anything suspicious he would have told me."
"My point," Angela said, trying for patience, "is that those guys all seemed pretty normal, too."
"You're being alarmist, Angela."
"Right. Well humor me, okay? Chalk it up to my being a paranoid new mom or something." She took a breath. "Now what about that 'although'?"
Brennan's sigh carried clearly over the phone line, but Angela ignored it. She was in no mood to be toyed with. "Bren …"
"You really are quite paranoid."
"Maybe." And maybe Brennan wasn't paranoid enough.
"It's just …"
"Just?" Angela prompted.
"Well, there's this man."
Angela felt her pulse kick up a beat. Damn it. "And?"
"He's been at every event."
"Every event? Atlanta, New Orleans, Houston, Tucson ..?"
"Yes. As well as L.A., San Francisco, and Portland."
"Is he riding the train with you?"
"I haven't seen him."
Which meant exactly nothing.
Truly worried, Angela reached for a notepad and pencil. "Did Booth notice him?"
"He didn't say anything."
"And you didn't tell him."
"Of course not. You know how Booth is."
Yeah, she did. If Brennan had mentioned this guy to Booth he probably would've demanded she cancel the tour, Brennan would have argued with him, and it would've blown up into this big, nasty … thing. Angela sighed.
"What does he look like?"
"One hundred and eighty centimeters," Brennan said, dropping neatly into clinical mode. "Approximately eighty-five kilograms. Short brown hair. Green eyes. No visible tattoos or scars. Neatly dressed but not especially wealthy. Clean shaven."
Angela scribbled it all down on the notepad. "Age?"
"Mid fifties."
"I don't suppose you know his name."
"Chuck. He never gives his last name."
"Okay. Is there anything else you can tell me about him? Anything at all?"
"We don't strike up conversations, Angela. He shows up, listens, gets his autograph, and leaves."
"When?"
"When what?"
"When does he leave? Right after you sign his book? Or does he hang around for a while?
"I have no idea. I'm usually busy."
Angela slapped her pen down on the notepad and sat back. "I'm telling Booth."
"No! Angela, you can't. It'll only upset him."
"This guy's been following you, sweetie. Doesn't that seem the least bit weird to you? "
"He's probably collecting signatures to sell on Ebay or something."
"Maybe, but what if he's not? What if he's stalking you?"
Brennan's sigh of exasperation came through loud and clear. "He isn't a stalker. And Todd's with me at every signing. It isn't as if I'm on my own."
Angela shook her head but said nothing.
"Please don't tell Booth, Angela."
"More secrets, Bren? Really?" Angela didn't like it. She didn't like it at all. "You have got to start trusting him."
"I do trust him," Brennan shot back. "I trust that he'll overreact."
She was right. That was the hell of it. Booth was so damned head-over-heels in love with her that he couldn't see straight. He'd probably go ballistic if he so much as suspected Bren might be in trouble. Damn it all, anyway.
"Brennan …"
"I'll be all right, Angela."
"Promise you'll tell Booth if the guy does anything weird?"
"I promise. Just … let me handle it, okay?"
"I guess." But she didn't like it. She didn't like it one bit.
They talked for a few more minutes before the signal dropped and Angela was left holding a dead line. She got up to put the handset away, thinking.
She'd promised not to mention this Chuck guy to Booth, and she wouldn't.
But she hadn't said anything about Hodgins.
*x*x*x*x*
Booth closed the door behind him, threw the lock, and dropped his keys on the end table. Carrying a stack of mail in one hand and a trio of packages in the other, he crossed to the bar, adding the collection to the growing pile. It was going to take Bones a week to sort through it all when she got back. With a shake of his head he moved around the counter, picked up her watering can, and turned on the tap. While he waited for it to fill he looked around the quiet apartment.
He always missed her the most when he was here, where memories of her lingered in every corner. She was there in the kitchen with him, her hip bumping against his while they cooked. And she was in the dining room, her eyes sparkling with laughter as she raised her glass in yet another toast. She was in the living room, too, lying on the couch with her head in his lap, reading one of her journals while he watched a ball game. He'd stroke her arm or the curve of her hip and smile when she hummed a quiet approval.
Even the bathrooms reminded him of her. The dried flowers she kept in little bowls on the backs of the toilets were the same ones she used in her underwear drawer. He couldn't walk into the bathroom without getting a sudden, vivid image of Bones, wearing nothing but bra, panties, and a mischievous grin.
And the bedroom. God, the bedroom. He hated going in there. He couldn't even look at the bed without getting a hard-on. She was, hands down, the most generous and uninhibited lover he'd ever had. But it wasn't just the sex that made him get the hell out of there as fast as he could. It was the thought of how she felt curled in his arms, the sleepy droop of her eyes when she first woke up in the morning, the way sometimes when he couldn't sleep he'd just lie next to her and watch her until his own eyes finally drifted closed. Those were the times when it hit him the hardest, when he thought about just how much he loved her and how amazing it was that they were finally making this thing happen.
He wanted her to come home, wanted her in his arms again. Soon.
Cold water spilled over his hand, startling him out of his thoughts. He glanced down, shook his head, and turned off the faucet. Keep your head in the game, he thought. Get the job done and get out before you lose what's left of your mind.
After he finished watering the plants he put the can away and took a last look around, ignoring the ring of the telephone. The answering machine would take the call, and Bones was checking her messages remotely. Whoever it was, she would handle it herself.
The machine came on, and he listened as Bones asked the caller to leave a message, her tone cool and professional. And how much of a sap was he, he wondered, that his heart warmed at the sound of her recorded voice?
"This is Fairfax," a pleasant female voice responded. "We've been informed of your success and would like to speak with you regarding the final disposition of your account. We've attempted to contact you by mail, but haven't received a reply. Please call us at 703-555-9538 at your earliest convenience."
There was another click, an instant of dial tone, and then silence.
Booth stared at the blinking red light.
Account. That usually meant a bank, but Bones did all of her banking at the Jeffersonian's Credit Union right here in D.C. She'd once told him that she liked the convenience, since she spent so much time at work anyway.
So what kind of account did she have in Fairfax?
...
Wait.
…
There was one account. With growing unease, he dug through the mail on the bar. He'd seen it. He knew he had. It had come in a few days after she'd left. Envelopes slid across the counter. A flyer landed on the floor, and he managed to snag the electric bill just before before it fell in the sink. He finally found what he'd been looking for and pulled it from its place near the bottom of the stack. He held it in his hand. Stared at the return address. And felt his gut twist.
Fairfax Cryobank.
He took a breath. It could be nothing. It could be as simple as her having decided that she no longer needed to keep his donation.
We've been informed of your success.
What the hell kind of message was that?
He returned the envelope to the top of the pile, unopened. He would wait. He would wait and ask Bones about it. She would explain. He was getting all wound up over nothing. It was just a stupid message on her answering machine. Probably didn't mean anything.
He flipped off the kitchen light, crossed to the front door, and picked up his keys.
He was outside, key in the lock, when he hesitated.
What if it wasn't nothing? What if it was something?
Would she have used his sperm sample without telling him? Most people would know that that would be a fucked-up thing to do, but Bones wasn't most people. She didn't view the world through the same lens. She was logical. Rational. Pragmatic.
And she wanted a baby.
Slowly, heart beating hard in his chest, he withdrew the key and dropped it in his pocket. He didn't want to think this about her, didn't want to believe that she might betray his trust. But he couldn't keep his hand from turning the knob, from pushing the door back open. Couldn't keep himself from crossing the apartment and reaching for the plain white envelope with the pale-blue logo.
He weighed it in his hand, studied the name and address, ran the pad of his thumb over the strong black type. Slowly, methodically, he tore a thin strip from one end and drew out the single sheet of folded paper. He straightened it out. Smoothed it flat against the counter. Skimmed it.
And paused.
No.
No, that couldn't be right. There had to be some mistake.
He read it again, more carefully.
It was true.
She'd made not one withdrawal, but three, the last just two days before Vincent's murder.
Three withdrawals. Three times she'd tried to get pregnant using his sperm, but without his knowledge.
Three. Fucking. Times.
Fury tightened his jaw. With slow deliberation he removed his cell phone from his pocket, keyed in a number, and waited for the line to be answered, breathing slowly, forcing some semblance of calm.
"Dr. Peterson's office." The cheerful voice made him grit his teeth. "This is Marcia. May I help you?"
"Yes." He was relieved that his voice sounded almost normal. "I need some information about a patient of yours."
"I'm sorry, sir. All patient information is confidential."
"I'm an FBI agent." He had surprisingly few qualms about using his authority this way, despite knowing it could cost him his job. "The name's Seeley Booth." He gave her his badge number.
"One moment please."
She put him on hold. He gritted his teeth and listened to canned music while he waited for her to return.
"I'm sorry, but we can't release any information over the phone." He heard her whisper an aside to somebody else. "If you'll come to the office, we'll be happy to help you in any way we can." Another whispered conversation. Then, "I assume you have a warrant?"
He sighed. He'd been afraid that they would ask him that. "Not yet," he said. "I was hoping to get some additional information first." He struggled to control his voice, to sound gracious and apologetic. "Thank you for your help," he said. "I'll be in touch."
He ended the call, cursed, and picked up the statement again. He hadn't really expected the doctor's office to answer his questions. In fact, he would have been pissed if they had breached confidentiality without a warrant, but it would've made things a hell of a lot easier.
He stood for a few moments, pondering his options. There was still a slight chance that he was wrong, though he really had no idea how. The statement was pretty clear. Still, he didn't want to confront Bones with what he'd learned until he had more information. Making an abrupt decision, he folded the statement and tucked it into his pocket, then left the apartment, making sure to lock the door behind him.
There was still one person who might be able to clear this up. One person who might know the truth.
*x*x*x*x*
It felt a little strange to be back in her office, even if it was only for half a day. She knew Michael was fine at home with Jack, and that she'd left plenty of breast milk in the fridge. But she was way more conflicted than she'd thought she would be. She had thought … Well, hell. She didn't know what she'd thought, really. But she hadn't expected to feel so damned torn.
She wandered around the room, letting her hands brush over her equipment, saying hello to old friends. She'd missed this place. There was no denying that. Despite her initial reluctance, she'd come to love her work. She was doing something important here, something vital, and who could argue with that?
A sound at her office door brought her head around. She broke into a wide smile when she saw who it was.
"Well hello there, stranger." She crossed to meet him. "Long time no see."
"Hey, Angela." Booth watched her from the doorway. He was leaning against the jamb, arms folded, and Angela felt a frisson of unease crawl up her spine. Something was wrong.
"Hodgins told me you were here," he said. "Welcome back."
Half a step this side of a monotone. Oh, yeah. Something was definitely wrong.
"Is everything okay?" she asked.
Booth shook his head. "Do you have a minute?" he asked. "I need to talk to you."
"Sure. Come on in." She waved him inside, tension mounting when he paused to close the door. "What's going on?"
He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to her. "Do you know anything about this?"
Angela unfolded the paper, scanned it, and swallowed a curse. She'd warned Bren, hadn't she? Told her what might happen? Gathering her scattered thoughts, she looked up.
"Where did you get this?"
He shrugged. "It doesn't matter," he said.
"It's addressed to Brennan." All at once she was pissed-with Bren for putting her in this position, with Booth for coming to her with it instead of going straight to Brennan, and with herself for getting tangled up in what was undoubtedly going to be a massive, and very ugly, cluster-fuck.
"I've been taking care of her mail while she's on tour," he said shortly.
Angela folded her arms. "And taking care of it means reading it? Who knew?" Needing space, she backed away, dropped down on her rolling stool.
"No!" He pushed a hand through his hair. Lowered his voice. "No. I stopped by her apartment on my way to work this morning and just happened to be there when a call came in from the cryobank. I heard the message and …" He gestured at the statement she still held. "The rest is history."
He paced away, hands in his pockets, and stopped with his back to her. Blew out a sigh.
"Look," he said. "I know you don't want to get caught in the middle of a fight. I just …" He shook his head. "I just need to know if it's true." He turned then, and she wanted to cry for both of them when she saw the heartache in his eyes. "Is it?"
Clearly he was holding it together by the thinnest of threads. It would be cruel not to answer him. Still, Brennan had entrusted her with this, and Angela had no intention of betraying that confidence. She bit her lip, thinking hard. Finally, she held out the statement. She couldn't do it. She just couldn't.
"I think you should talk to Brennan," she said, and got a flash of frustrated disappointment in reply.
"Angela-"
"No." She shook her head. "It isn't my place," she said quietly. "I'm sorry."
He studied her for a long moment. "It's true," he said, his voice so low as to be almost inaudible. "How long have you known?"
He sounded so … broken.
"A few weeks." There was no point in denying it. Booth would see right through a lie, and it would only make things worse. "She thought-" She paused, wondering again how much she should tell him. "I guess she just needed someone to talk to, someone she thought would understand."
"She didn't think I would understand?" He stared at her. "Jesus, Angela. We're talking about my kid here!"
And that was just it, wasn't it. He didn't understand. It was there in the way his jaw flexed as he stared at her, the way his fingers curled into fists at his sides. And it was there in his voice, too, in the underpinnings of anger and betrayal that made her take an instinctive step back. He couldn't see past what Bren had done to understand why she'd done it. She took a step toward him, but he snapped his hand up, stopping her. Without another word, he snatched the statement out of her hand and started toward the door.
"Booth-"
But he was already out. She hurried after him. "Booth!"
Nothing. She watched him walk away, those long legs of his carrying him out of earshot before she could think of a way to make him stop and listen.
"Damn it!"
She turned to go back into her office and noticed her boss standing a few feet away, a puzzled look on her face.
Cam folded her arms across her chest. "What was that all about?"
Angela looked back the way Booth had gone. Bit her lip.
"Armageddon," she said quietly.
She went back into her office, closed the door, and dropped down onto her stool, twisting around so she could rest her elbows on her workstation. Then she dropped her chin into her hands and shook her head. Oh, Brennan. I am so, so sorry.
She remembered the day Brennan had told her she was pregnant. They'd been at her house a couple of weeks after she'd gotten home from the hospital. Angela had known Bren had something on her mind, but had waited until Michael was fed, burped, and handed over to Jack before asking any questions.
As it turned out she didn't have to ask anything. Bren just blurted it out, the way some people said they were hungry or tired.
"I'm pregnant."
At first, Angela thought she'd heard it wrong.
"Say that again?"
"I'm pregnant."
Stunned, Angela stared at her best friend. "This is exhaustion, right? I'm hallucinating? Because I could've sworn you just said you were pregnant."
"I did." Brennan gave her a strange look. "Twice."
"Whoa." Angela sat down heavily. "You two don't waste any time, do you."
She knew they'd started dating. But a baby? Already?
Damn they were good.
Brennan perched on a chair across from her. She was … There was no other way to put it. She was glowing. And as far as Angela was concerned anything that put that look on her best friend's face had to be good.
"You're happy about this," she said slowly.
Brennan nodded. "Very much so."
"Does Booth know?"
Another nod. "I told him the night Michael was born."
"How did he take it?"
Angela watched the soft smile spread across Brennan's face and into her eyes. "He's happy, too," she said. "We're talking about moving in together."
"Jesus," Angela said, trying to wrap her head around it. Five years of cow eyes. A year of angst. And suddenly she was pregnant and they were moving in together? What the hell had the two of them been drinking, anyway? Love Potion Number Nine? "You're going to have to give me a minute to catch up, here." She stood up, shaking her head. "Can I get you anything? Water? Tea? Something to eat?"
Brennan shook her head. "I'm fine, thanks."
"Well I want tequila," Angela said. "Or scotch. I feel like getting sloshed." She held up a hand before Bren could protest. "Don't worry. I'm getting water." She headed toward the kitchen. "Damn breast feeding anyway," she muttered.
Behind her, she thought she heard Brennan laugh.
When she came back Brennan's mood had changed. Her arms were wrapped around a pillow, and she had a pensive, faraway look in her eyes.
Angela set the bottles down on the table. "I brought two," she said. "Just in case."
Brennan's gaze slowly refocused. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." Angela dropped onto the couch, grabbed one of the bottles of water, and took a long swig. It helped. A little. "So," she said, determined not to freak out. "When are you due?"
"December." Brennan's gaze flickered to hers, slipped away again. Angela raised an eyebrow. There was a story there, somewhere, but she'd play it cool for a bit, see if Bren brought it up on her own.
"A Christmas baby?" That would be so sweet. She'd buy the kid a bright red onesie. Maybe she could find one with Santa Claus on it. Or … No. A white one. Snow white. With the words 'Mommy's Little Angel' embroidered across the front. It would be worth it just for the look on Bren's face. Brennan's voice snapped her back to the present.
"Maybe, yeah."
It was a remarkably vague answer, considering the source.
"Bren … Look at me." Angela saw shades of worry in the blue eyes that finally met hers. "What's wrong?"
Brennan set the pillow aside, arranging it with meticulous care against the cushions. "Nothing's wrong."
The protest didn't ring true. Angela's trouble radar pinged wildly.
"Don't lie to me, sweetie. You know I can always tell when you're lying."
Brennan was silent for so long that Angela had to bite her lip to keep from prodding her. She took another sip of water instead. The bottle was already half empty.
"I've got …" Bren paused. Looked around as if checking for an audience. She needn't have worried. Jack was upstairs with the baby, and he knew better than to interrupt girl talk. "There's something I need to talk to you about."
Angela leaned forward. "You can talk to me about anything. You know that."
"I know, but …" Brennan picked up the extra bottle of water, shifted it from hand to hand. "I need you to keep this to yourself."
Angela raised her eyebrows. "Oh, I love a good secret," she said, trying to lighten the moment.
Brennan looked up, her gaze solemn. "Seriously, Angela. You can't even tell Hodgins. This has to stay between us."
Angela capped her water bottle. Set it aside.
"Scout's honor," she said, giving the traditional three-fingered salute and earning a puzzled look in reply. "Now what's going on?"
Angela listened, simultaneously fascinated and horrified by Brennan's detached recitation of events. Booth had loved Hannah. Bren had expected them to marry and start the family he'd always wanted. She'd realized too late that she had missed her chance with him. She didn't blame him for turning her down. Booth loved Hannah.
It was like listening to somebody read a grocery list. Angela's only clue to how deeply Brennan had been affected by Hannah's presence in Booth's life was in that last sentence, uttered in heart-breakingly unemotional tones. Booth loved Hannah.
"I wanted him to be happy," Brennan concluded. "Hannah is a good woman. She was good for him." Then, in a softer voice, "She could have given him all the things I can't."
Angela wanted to argue, to insist that all Booth had ever wanted was Bren, and that no, he hadn't really loved Hannah. He'd just been heartbroken and humiliated when Brennan had turned him down, so he'd done what a lot of men did-sought solace and an ego boost in the arms of another woman.
She sighed. If only she hadn't been so wrapped up in her own life these past few months. Maybe she could have helped. But that was all water under the bridge. Now it was time to start filling sand bags and donning life preservers.
"Yes. Hannah was very nice," she hedged, unwilling to interrupt Brennan's train of thought with a lesson in the subtler complications of love.
"So …" Brennan picked at the label on her water bottle, eyes downcast. "Booth and I were over," she said quietly. "I thought all we would ever be was partners."
"Booth was a jackass," Angela said, swallowing a more colorful adjective. Bren had been head-over-heels for him for years, and Booth had been making puppy-dog eyes at her for just as long. The only two people who hadn't acknowledged they were in love were Booth and Brennan themselves.
Brennan smiled a little, then shook her head. "I'm not finished," she said.
"Of course you aren't." And why did she suspect she wasn't going to like what she was about to hear? "Might as well get it all out in the open."
Brennan took a deep breath. Straightened her shoulders.
"I wanted a baby," she said. "I never really stopped wanting that. And watching you, seeing how happy you were …" She shrugged. "I was certain that I would never be in a lasting relationship with a man," she said. "But a child would be different."
"So you … what?" Angela watched, increasingly alarmed as Brennan peeled the last of the sticker from her water bottle. She assembled the bits into a tidy pile on the coffee table, then looked up, meeting Angela's eyes head on. The worry was still there, but now there was a hint of defiance behind it.
"I still had Booth's sperm sample," she said quietly.
"Oh, no." Horrified, Angela could only gape. "Oh, sweetie. Tell me you didn't."
"I considered paying an anonymous donor," Brennan said. Angela could almost hear the flip of a switch as she shifted into scientist mode, separating herself from the emotional implications of the choices she'd made. "But I know Booth. I know his history, his psychological makeup. Genetically speaking, his sperm was the best available option."
She'd compartmentalized all of it, just like she used to compartmentalize everything before Booth had come along to open her up. Her failed relationship with him was in one box. Her desire for a child in another. Reality, apparently, was somewhere else entirely. It was quintessential, old-school Brennan. Only this time she'd boxed herself right into a corner.
"He does have a few minor health issues," Brennan went on, "and I would have preferred a donor with a higher I.Q." She blew out a breath. "But overall, I believe I made the correct decision."
She was hiding behind science, using it to shield her heart. She'd done it before, but never like this.
"No," Angela said gently. She had to make Brennan understand that what she saw as letting go of Booth was really the exact opposite. "No, honey. You didn't use Booth's sperm because it was the best option. You used it because you're so deep in love with him that you can't see straight."
"That isn't true." Brennan tensed. Her chin came up. "I have excellent vision."
She hadn't denied the being in love part, Angela noticed.
"That isn't what I meant." Leaning forward, she took Brennan's hand in hers. It was cool and just slightly clammy. Somehow she doubted either fact had anything to do with the water bottle Bren had just stripped bare with her fingernails. "Brennan … Sweetie … The truth is, you used Booth's sperm because you knew, deep down inside, that if you had his child you would always have a part of him with you." It was sweet in a twisted kind of way, and terribly romantic. But it was also very, very wrong.
"No," Brennan insisted, but she didn't sound as calm anymore. "I didn't think that at all. This was something I decided to do two years ago. I postponed it when Booth got sick, but I never changed my mind. When I saw that Booth was happy with Hannah I decided that it was time to restart the process."
What had Sweets called it? Oh, yeah. Hyper-rationality.
"What if he'd asked you whose sperm you'd used, Bren. What would you have said?"
"I don't know. I don't like the thought of lying to him, but I know how he is about children. He would have felt obligated, and I didn't want that for him. I just …" There were tears in Brennan's eyes, now. Angela watched her blink them furiously away. "I wanted him to be happy, Ange. But I wanted to be happy, too."
And my, my, what a tangled web you wove in the process. Angela sighed. Her heart ached for Bren. She'd wanted so much, yet sometimes she understood so little.
"What did Booth say when you told him?"
Restless fingers poked at the soggy pile of torn paper, corralling it into a tighter pile. "I haven't told him, yet."
Heart sinking, Angela stared at her. "You did not just say that."
Brennan looked up. "Yes, I did."
"But why would you keep it from him? I mean, you two are together now, right? Besides, it obviously didn't take or else-" She stopped as a thought struck her. "It didn't take, did it? This baby you're carrying, it isn't …"
"Because of the IVF?" Brennan reached up to tuck wayward strands of hair behind her ear. "That's just it. I don't know."
The news just kept getting worse. "Can't you tell by the dates?"
More alarm bells went off when Brennan shook her head.
"My last treatment was two days before Vincent's death. There's no way to be completely certain."
Oh, God. OhGodOhGodOhGod. This was not happening. Angela struggled to gather her scattered thoughts.
"Then Vincent died, and you two started having sex and …"
"Yes."
It was a disaster-one made all the worse by the fact that Brennan obviously had no idea just how much trouble she'd be in when Booth found out. "So what are you going to do?"
"That's why I'm here." Brennan finally uncapped her water. Took a long sip. "I was hoping you would give me some advice."
Angela had tried. She really had. She'd told Brennan that she needed to be honest with Booth, that she should tell him what she'd done and make him sit still long enough to hear why. They'd talked about how important family was to Booth and how he would probably freak out at first but Bren shouldn't take it personally. She'd thought Brennan understood, had even gotten her to promise that she would talk to him before she left on her book tour.
But Brennan had chickened out.
Angela got that. She did. Brennan was terrified of losing him. And who could blame her, really? When he wasn't being a jerk, Booth was a pretty amazing guy.
So rather than take the risk, Bren had stuck her head in the sand, probably hoping that either Booth wouldn't find out or that he would understand when he did.
For a smart person, that had been a damned stupid thing to do.
And now they were all going to pay the price.
*x*x*x*x*
Booth reached into the fridge, grabbed a beer, and popped the cap, downing half the bottle in one long, icy swig. He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth and turned, resting his hip against the counter, staring at nothing.
When the phone rang he didn't move. It rang again. Still nothing. On the third ring he swore and snatched it from its cradle.
"Hey, Bones." He didn't have to check the caller ID. He knew it was her.
"Hi, Booth."
Her voice. That warm, deep caramel she'd taken to using since they'd been together. God … So sweet. He closed his eyes, jaw clenched against the pain.
"You in for the night?" He had to ask, because damn it, he still cared.
"Yes," she said. "And the flowers are beautiful, as usual. Thank you."
The daffodils. Those God damned daffodils. "I'm glad you like them."
"Booth?" She sounded worried. "Is something wrong?"
He almost snorted. Shook his head instead as his fingers tightened around the bottle. "No."
She was silent for several long seconds. "I don't believe you," she said at last.
"Why would I lie to you?" Just because you lied to me?
"I don't know, but your voice isn't right. You sound angry."
Instead of answering, he took another gulp of beer.
"Booth?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you angry about something?"
He set the bottle down on the counter harder than he'd planned. It rocked, tipped, and fell into the sink. Half of what was left sloshed down the drain before he could right it again.
"Why would I be angry?" His voice was low. Dangerous. "What could I possibly have to be angry about?"
Apparently he was going to do this now. Oh, well. At least he wouldn't have to watch those big blue eyes fill with tears. And he wasn't going to let her try to gloss this over with science and reason, either. No way. No fucking way.
"You know, don't you." Her voice was low. Almost inaudible.
"Did you really think I wouldn't find out?" He loosened his tie with a vicious tug. Sent it flying across the room. "I'm a God damned FBI agent," he ground out. "Did you really think I wouldn't figure out what you'd done?"
"No. I was going to-"
"So what was your grand plan? Huh?" He was too fucking pissed off to listen to anything she had to say. "If we hadn't gotten together, what would you have done, Bones? Was that why you set up that job in Canada? Did you have that all worked out ahead of time just in case I wouldn't fuck you?"
He heard her gasp of outrage. Ignored it. "Were you going to just take my kid out of the country and never even tell me about him?" Fury pounded through him at the thought. "You know how I feel about kids. You know!"
"Yes," she lashed out. "I would have left the country if you'd stayed with Hannah. It was obvious that you didn't want anything to do with me, so I didn't see any reason why you should have anything to do with my child.
"It's my child, too, Bones. Or did you forget that part?"
"No," she corrected him. "It wouldn't have been your child. Only your DNA."
He hated that she could so cleanly separate science from emotion, as if one counted for everything, the other for nothing. He gulped more beer, but it didn't cool his boiling temper. Long, tense seconds passed before she spoke again.
"I never intended to hurt you, Booth." She no longer sounded angry, she sounded … Hell, he didn't know how she sounded. And frankly he didn't care.
"Right." He barked out a short, humorless laugh. "As if that counts for anything. Because no way would it hurt to find out that you'd been going behind my back or that you intended to have my child, my child-because make no mistake, Bones, that kid you're carrying is mine-and never even tell me about it."
"Booth … Just. Please. Listen to me."
"Why? So that you can tell me how ridiculous I am for caring about what happens to my own fucking sperm? You've already given me that lecture. I thought you were full of shit then, and I still think you're full of shit."
The depth of her betrayal was staggering. He yanked open the fridge. Grabbed a fresh bottle from the dwindling six pack on the top shelf. "You know what? I almost think I could've handled one try," he said, unscrewing the cap. "When was that first one?" Without waiting for her answer, he snapped his fingers. "That's right. January. I was still with Hannah then, so yeah, I can see you rationalizing your way through that. Hell, nobody can think their way out of a moral dead end as well as you can. I still would've been pissed as hell, but maybe I would've come around eventually." He resisted the urge to smash the bottle he held through a window. "But three?"
A horrible thought struck him. "You reasoned this all out in advance, didn't you. You knew that if you turned up pregnant I'd start asking questions, and you didn't want that. You didn't want me to find out what you'd done." Was their whole relationship based on a lie? He shoved that thought aside, unable to bear the implications. "So you seduced me. You knew I wanted you, knew I thought we could be something special together. And you logicked that right into a cover-up."
"No!" She was pissed again. He could hear it in her voice. But he ignored her and took another long drink.
"I knew you could be cold," he said, "but this …" Another gulp. He wanted to get drunk. Falling down drunk. Passing out drunk. Blackout drunk. Anything to make the pain go away. "This takes the cake."
He dropped both empty bottles in the bin. Listened to them hit bottom, and reached in the fridge for a third.
"It really was an ingenious plan." He didn't even try to keep the bitterness out of his voice as he snapped off the cap. "I guess you decided you didn't want to move to Canada after all. And who can blame you? You've got a good thing going right here in D.C. But you'd already started taking those fertility treatments, so you needed a story, didn't you? And there I was, ripe for the picking." God, he'd been such an idiot.
"No." Desperation, or something like it, replaced the anger in her voice. Desperation and fear. "That isn't what happened at all."
"Right. Because everybody does shit like this." He flicked open the top button on his shirt. Sucked down more beer. "Everybody thinks it's okay to use a guy's sperm without telling him. Without even giving him a chance to do the right thing."
"What would you have done?" she asked. She'd found her feet again, and she was coming out swinging. "Would you have left Hannah because I was having a baby? Or would you have given me another speech about how sorry you were, but you loved Hannah, and she wasn't a consolation prize."
That hit him like a sledgehammer. He would have left Hannah for Bones. In a heartbeat. But he wouldn't have been with Hannah in the first place if Bones hadn't lost it when he'd tried to tell her how he felt about her.
"The point is," he said fiercely, "you didn't even give me the chance to make that decision. And it was my decision to make."
"No, it wasn't." He heard her take a deep, trembling breath and knew she was fighting tears. He tried not to care. "You signed your donation over to me, remember?"
"But I didn't die, Bones. Did you forget that part? I said I wanted you to use it. If. I. Died."
"You signed the paperwork, Booth. I have a copy of the release form."
"I don't care what I signed." His head had started to pound. "And I don't care about logic or science or any of your God damned rationalizations. What you did was wrong."
"You think I should have chosen an anonymous donor," she said. "Out of respect for your sensitivities, I should have burdened my child with inferior genetics."
At any other time he might have been flattered by the implication. Right now he couldn't see past the rush of jealousy that surged through him at the mere thought of her carrying another man's child. His hand closed around the top of the empty beer bottle. He spun. Slammed it into the trash bin, listened to it shatter against the others.
"I'm saying you should have come to me. I should've had a vote."
He would've said yes, damn it. If she'd come to him, told him she wanted to have a baby … He would've said yes. He wanted her to have his baby. Their baby.
He just didn't want it like this.
"I disagree." Her voice was quiet, but determined. "We weren't a couple, Booth. You'd made that clear. The decision I made was about my life. My future. Not yours."
"And what about after Hannah left? What then?"
"The second IUI was just after she left," she said flatly. "You'd given me an ultimatum. Partners or nothing. And you've always said that partners don't talk about sex."
She was right about that. Damn her. He could argue that IVF wasn't sex, but he doubted she'd see his point.
He thought about the dates on the statement. "And the third?" We were back on track by then. I thought maybe we were getting somewhere."
"After the first two IUI attempts were unsuccessful my doctor suggested IVF. That was the week before the blizzard. We were closer, yes, but there were still times when you seemed angry with me."
"So angry that you couldn't talk to me?"
"Angry enough that I decided to wait," she said quietly. "But I had changed my mind about one thing."
"Oh?" He was still pissed off, still hurt, and the damned beer buzz was making it hard to think. "What one thing was that?"
"I'd decided that if the IVF was successful I would tell you the truth. I wouldn't keep your child from you."
"But you didn't decide to stop it, to wait until we could talk things through."
"No." She sighed. "IVF is a longer, more involved, and significantly more expensive procedure, one I'd already begun when we burned those pieces of paper. And I still wanted a baby, Booth. Whatever was happening between us, that hadn't changed. It wouldn't have made sense to cancel on the chance that you might, some day, not be angry anymore."
He didn't respond. After a few seconds of silence she continued, her voice quiet. Resigned.
"I understand if you want to end our relationship. I even understand if you never want to see me again. But I will never, never regret having this child."
He started to say something, but she interrupted him.
"Goodbye, Booth."
There was a soft click, and she was gone.