Note: Thanks for the suggestions and comments on the last chapter. This one is not nearly as happy, and contains character death (as should be obvious from the prompt below), so be warned (or skip it and wait for the next one.)

What if: Booth didn't survive the brain surgery?

AU? Yes

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Rationally, her being in the operating room made no sense. She wasn't a medical doctor, and even if she had been, neurosurgery was a demanding discipline with extremely specialized knowledge.

But for once, she didn't care whether it made rational sense. She had to be there, as if holding his hand while the saw cut into his skull could make it all work out the way she wanted – needed – it to.

And it worked – the surgery went smoothly, and she heaved a metaphorical sigh of relief when he was wheeled back into the recovery room. Sometimes, even years later, she wondered what her life would have been like if he'd woken up on schedule, three hours later.

Except he didn't wake up. Instead, he reacted poorly to the anesthetic and ended up in a coma. Three days later he died, the victim of a massive stroke.

Four days after that, she sat in the third pew of an unfamiliar church listening to an elderly priest talk about God's mercy and love, wishing she could believe in the unlikely possibility of a life after death. Parker and Rebecca sat in the front pew, along with Jared and an elderly man she'd never met.

Cam sat with Cullen, a man she thought might be Cullen's boss, and Sweets in the second pew. She'd been invited to join them, but she'd hung back, maneuvering herself into the aisle spot on the third row. She wasn't sure she could would be able to sit through through the entire funeral without crying, and she wasn't going to break down in front of all of these people.

Somehow, she made it through the service, and Angela herded her down into the church basement, where people were huddled around tables, eating cold sandwiches and a variety of sweets.

She wasn't even a little bit hungry, so she stood at the side of the room, watching Cam talk with Jared and the man she assumed was Booth's grandfather. Cam caught her eye and beckoned her over, but she shook her head. She was still angry with Jared for trying to convince Booth to run off to India, and the last thing she wanted to do was make polite small talk.

In fact, there was no reason for her to stay. Booth wasn't there.

Booth wasn't anywhere.

Fifteen minutes later, she walked through the front door of her apartment. She texted Angela – a quick "Went home. I'm fine, Ange.", then turned off her phone. Sinking into the couch, Brennan stared at the ceiling and, for the first time in years, did nothing at all.

The next morning, she got up and went to work, throwing herself into her job with all the energy she could muster. When the work day was done, she came home and stared at the ceiling for hours, falling asleep well past two. She repeated that routine for thirty-two days straight, until one morning she woke with Booth's last words to her ringing in her ears. That was the day she booked an appointment with the fertility specialist.

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When she found out she was pregnant, she cried. It could have been hormones, or the realization that her life had changed forever, or it could have been the simple fact that she couldn't share the news with Booth. She hadn't asked him to be a father, but she knew that he would have been delighted for her, regardless of the unconventional path she'd chosen.

Of course, if he'd lived, she wouldn't have been pregnant.

She didn't share the news with the Jeffersonian team for three months – not even Angela. It was too precious, too fragile to share, and a part of her was irrationally afraid that saying it out loud would make something go wrong. She was surprised at how surprised her friends were, particularly since they had previous knowledge that she had planned to have a child with Booth. Cam looked … well, she looked both horrified and delighted. Angela just looked worried. Hodgins was the only one who took the news in stride, as if it were not at all out of the ordinary.

Still, with the exception of more frequent doctor's appointments and unusual fatigue, life returned to a semblance of normal – or at least what passed for normal before Booth came into her life. She worked, she wrote, she occasionally got together socially with Angela. If anything, she was busier than before, scared that if she stopped, the weight of her loss would crush her.

When she was six months pregnant, Cam hovered nervously near the door of her office and asked, "Have you told Jared?"

She hadn't, of course – it hadn't even occurred to her that Jared would need to know. It wasn't just Jared, either – Parker would soon have a sibling and, if Booth's grandfather was anything like Booth, he'd want to know as well.

Her child would be part of a family.

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She gave birth on a cold February morning, Angela at her side. Her daughter was beautiful, even when she was red-faced and screaming in annoyance.

The first weeks were hard. She had hired a very competent nanny, of course, but that still left her alone with the baby at night and on the weekend. Since she wasn't working, she found she was lacking both adult companionship and intellectual stimulation, but she was so tired that the thought of going back to work was overwhelming.

Max came by a couple of times, but he was hardly reliable. Angela came by a few times a week, but she had work and a social life of her own.

In many cultures, it was common for the child's grandmothers or aunts to help out in the first weeks after birth, but the closest thing she had was Amy, who was busy with her own children. She was on her own.

Then again, she'd been on her own for years.

Somehow, she stumbled through the first few weeks. The nanny helped her establish a routine, which helped a little, and the baby started sleeping for longer periods of time – which meant that she could sleep longer as well. She was still tired and sleep-deprived, but normal daily activities became a little easier.

The day before she was scheduled to go back to work, she gave the nanny the morning off. She bundled the baby up and programmed her destination into her GPS.

She had no trouble finding the cemetery, despite never having been there before, and soon she was carrying her daughter through the quiet paths. It was a beautiful, sunny day, and the grass was damp from an early morning shower.

When she reached Booth's grave, squatted down to trace the familiar letters of his name on the newly-placed headstone, then stood and rocked the baby back and forth. After a few moments in silence, she scanned the area to see if anyone was watching, then began to talk.

"I promised I'd visit you, Booth. You know I believe that all that's left of you is your bones … and some flesh, I would imagine. But I promised. And I thought … if I'm wrong and you can hear what I'm saying … I thought you'd want to meet your daughter." Her voice broke, and she took a deep breath, choking back the tears. "She's six weeks old today, and I'll always be sorry that you didn't get to meet her, but … thank you, Booth. Thank you for giving me your child." She shifted the baby in her arms and stood there for a few more moments, remembering countless shared meals and late nights doing paperwork, then she quietly said, "We'll be back." She wiped a tear from her eye and walked away.

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Let me know what you think. And I'm still open to suggestions, if you want to play along.