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Nope, I really don't own Bones.

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Roaring up onto the driveway, Booth parked the bike beside Brennan's car and dismounted it. Removing the helmet, he placed it on the seat and strode over to the path leading up to the front door. He'd almost reached the door when it suddenly opened and his wife exited the house.

Her gaze running up and down his body, Brennan observed that her husband appeared to be unhurt. Stepping further along the sidewalk, she leaned to the side and saw what she dreaded to see. "I thought I heard a motorcycle pull into the driveway."

Aware that Brennan was against the idea of his owning a motorcycle, Booth turned, glanced at the bike and then turned back to face his wife. "I borrowed it. Agent Carlson loaned it to me for the weekend. I wanted to see if it's something I really want to own."

With visions of Booth's broken dead body lying on the side of the road, his wrecked bike nearby, Brennan slowly shook her head. "Booth have you ever seen what a body looks like after it's been destroyed in a motorcycle accident?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Booth walked over to the front door and entered the house. Her throat dry from fear, Brennan followed him into the house and closed the door firmly behind her. Her mind in turmoil over the many possible ways she could lose him, a motorcycle had never been at the top of her list. Brennan considered herself to be a brave person, but she did have fears like most normal people and her biggest fear was losing Booth or her children.

Brennan had come to accept that over the years she had formed a strong bond with Booth and that he kept her anchored in the world. Without him, she knew she had a tendency to become lost in research, in the study of bones, in the world of logic and science. He gave her a bridge to the ordinariness of life and she feared the day that bridge was destroyed.

With Booth in the kitchen searching for a snack, Brennan walked down the hallway and entered their bedroom. Her mind trying to come to terms with the fact that she couldn't help protect him in everything he did in his life, she found her way to the chair next to the closet and she sat down.

The house quiet, Booth entered the bedroom, found his wife and asked her, "Hey where are the kids?"

Forcing herself to answer, Brennan turned her gaze from her hands to the man she loved. "Max took them to the Children's Museum."

Her voice a little too wooden, Booth sat down on the bed and faced her. "Bones it's just a motorcycle. It's cool and I've always wanted to own one. I haven't made up my mind if I'm going to buy one yet. That bike out in the driveway is just a loaner to see if I like it. I haven't made up my mind yet."

With a waver in her voice, Brennan moved her chair to face her husband. "Over the years, I've almost lost you several times. You were caught in an explosion of a refrigerator and severely hurt. Once I thought you'd died when you took a bullet meant for me. You were kidnapped and were almost blown up on a ship. You were kidnapped and tortured. Booth you were attacked in your own home and almost died and . . . and you were shot just a few months ago and almost bled to death. I couldn't do anything to prevent those things from happening and I guess I can't prevent you from risking your life on a motorcycle . . . Remember when you told me a long time ago that it's never just the one person who dies. When you take a life, with each shot you've taken you've died a little bit. You were referring to when you've killed people as a sniper, but Booth each time you're hurt I die a little a bit. Every time I've almost lost you . . . I've almost died with you."

Stunned at her analogy, Booth closed his eyes momentarily and then reopened them. "I'll take the bike back, Bones."

Tears of relief suddenly escaping her lashes, Brennan smiled at her husband. "Thank you."

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