BOOTH

Bones is right, both in that my words have double meaning and that I wouldn't tell her the second reason if asked. I'll pick up food every night if she keeps me as entertained as she is now. Hummus, ketchup and broccoli? Blech. Even if I pointed out how disgusting the combination is and that she is very much experiencing cravings, she wouldn't buy it.

"Booth, do you want to know if the fetus has male or female genitalia?" I chew on the question for twenty seconds or so.

"Yeah, I think I would like to know. Don't get me wrong, waiting until the baby is born to know if it's a son or a daughter can be exciting, but from what I could tell it complicated more than it was worth."

"What do you mean?" She wonders, digging in for a heaping spoonful of ice cream this time.

"If I learned anything when Parker was born, it's that gender determines everything. What color do you want to paint the nursery? Well, is it a girl or a boy? What color crib do you want? Well, is it a girl or a boy? What type of clothes to buy? Is it a boy or a girl? What type of stroller? Here's a nice black one since you don't know the gender. Blankets, comforters, even diapers these days: Girl or boy. If you don't know the gender, you get stuck racing around after the kids born trying to put together everything you already should have had."

"Then we'll find out," she shrugs. This time I actually grimace when she takes a bite of broccoli, ketchup, hummus and mint chip ice cream. It irritates the hell out of me that Hodgins is going to get such a kick out of it, but I'd kind of like a heads up on how bad this cravings thing gets. It's as fascinating as it is disgusting.

"Booth, did your Pops have any routines with you?"

"I'm not quite sure what you mean, Bones." She pursed her lips, assembling her thoughts.

"All the literature I'm reading emphasizes the importance to a child's emotional growth of structure and routine: Straight home from school, snack while homework is done, playtime, dinner, then the bedtime routine. Some experts even suggest an infant is happiest when you employ a strict feeding schedule, delaying the feeding until its time even if the infant expresses hunger earlier."

"I say, if the kid's hungry, feed him. That's what I did with Parker and look at him. He turned out great."

"I don't disagree. In some cultures, women carry infants with them from birth so it can nurse at will." She tilts her head, a signal an announcement is about to be made. Cramming the last forkful of her broccoli concoction into her mouth she talks around it. "I intend to breast feed our child." I shrug a shoulder. I had assumed as much and say so.

"I had assumed you would."

"You're okay with that?"

"Yeah, of course," I assure. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Research shows a wide range of responses by men to their mate breastfeeding their offspring. Some men resent the infant for what they see as diminishing the sexual experience. For others the sight of their mate nursing their child elicits a primal and possessive response, while yet others, although a much smaller number, find breastfeeding sexually arousing." I roll my eyes.

"I'm not a teenager, Bones. How about we count me among the grown men who find it amazing the woman they love is not only feeding their son but protecting him." The frankness of the remark earns me a wide, pleased smile.

"There's a movement right now against immunizing that finds its roots in early America, when, during the eighteen century, religious leaders would describe such preventative measures as the 'devil's work'. The anti-vaxx movement really took hold in twentieth-century America after The Lancet, a respected medical journal, published an article in 1998 by Andrew Wakefield, suggesting a link between the MMR vaccine and autism – which further experiments have failed to replicate. Now, refusal to vaccinate has become politically mired, with anti-vaxxers claiming vaccinations are an invasion of their right to privacy as guaran—"

"I agree. Vaccinate," I cut in. I'd been nodding my head throughout, feigning interest but who wants a history lesson at midnight? She looks relieved, nodding her head, then shoving aside the breakfast tray and preparing to get up. "Mommy rests," I order, playfully, "Daddy has this. I'll be right back." Before I'm out the door, she has her pad in her hand and is making notes.

I need to take a look at that pad to see what all is on her mind. Clearly, quite a bit.

In the kitchen, I wipe down the breakfast tray and put it away, then turn to the few dishes.

Bones doesn't talk a lot about the baby. I'm not saying that in a bad way. If asked, she's more than happy to fill me in on the details of the baby's growth. You know, all the technical junk. I won't pretend that I don't love that side of it, too or lie and say my favorite part of all these books she brought home aren't the parts about what the baby looks like from week-to-week and the new things happening….

Those pictures of childbirth though? The best cure to unsafe sex: Pictures of a woman giving birth and one of those dolls that scream all night long.

I'd been resentful that Rebecca refused to let me watch Parker actually be born, making me stand near the door – at level with her head – throughout. After seeing those pictures though? I have every intention of holding Bones hand and helping her however I can… as long as I am standing from her chest up. Let the doctor earn his money and see that.

I don't know how women do it. If men had to go through it – all of it, the pregnancy and the childbirth, especially the childbirth – human existence would end. Nuh-uh. No way.

My respect for Bones only grows with each passing day of this pregnancy.

I know this hasn't been easy for her, that it won't be easy for her, and I don't mean physically. I've watched the last year as she has battled her fears and a lifetime of protecting herself to really open herself up and left me in. It wasn't easy and at one point came close to breaking her, but I nearly burst with pride by the fact she didn't retreat, pressed on despite setbacks, for me.

For me.

Now, it's a new battlefront: How does she open herself completely up to not one… but two? She hasn't talked about it, but she will when she's ready and I'll be ready for her when she does. She's hidden her troubles well from friends and family, even Angela, but I know her far too well. That list of her that she's got going is her attempt to calm fears that she may have some control over. Whether or not she can bond with our baby, that's something over which she has no control. The thing is, I know she will, because she wants it so bad. Bones doesn't know how to fail when she really wants something.

She's going to be a great mom.

Drying my hands, I return to the bedroom where Bones' nose is still buried in that pad. Flopping down on the bed, drawing a look of disapproval from her, I grin at her unapologetically as I pluck the pad from her hands.

"Hey, that's'—"

"Circumcision," I read aloud. "Yes, boys should look like their dads."

"There's other things to consider, Booth. Circumcision involves the severing of nerves, decreasing sensitivity during sex—"

"I've never had any complaints," I note with a waggle of my brows.

"Booth!" she laughs, shoving my upper arm playfully.

"A boy should look like his father," I repeat. The look on her face says maybe this is one of those things where dad's vote counts most…

I don't expect to see that look often over the next eighteen-and-a-half years.

"Alright," she agrees. I return to the list skimming through an eye crossing detailing of just how much this kid is going to need the day we come home. I answer the one question that remains.

"Pops wasn't much of one for routine," I share. "He made it clear the day we got there that we'd go to school – no and's, if's or but's about it – and do our chores. Outside of that, we were free to play or hangout or whatever you want to call it until dinner, which we were expected home for. I suppose that's where you could say what routine he did have were. After dinner, we did the dishes and cleaned up – part of our daily chores, then it was homework and a little TV. Until we were twelve, our bedtime was nine o'clock unless there was a special occasion…" I look at her and smile "…. Or there was a really good game on. The first couple of years we were there, he read to us, then it was lights out. He got tired of our complaining when I was around eleven. He didn't read to us anymore but we were expected to read at least forty-five minutes a night, before bed, not that Jared and I didn't try to get away with it at some point.

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"How's The Winds of War going, Seely? You should be about done by now, I imagine."

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It was one of the very rare instances when I lied to Pop. The only thing that ranked higher than respecting Pops was hating to read.

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"Great. Great."

"Those were scary times, what with Germany's invasion of Poland then the bombing of Pearl Harbor only two years later. I thought you'd enjoy the book with Pug being an Army officer and all."

"I am. I am. It's good. Really good."

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I don't know why I didn't tell him the proof. I wanted him to be proud of me, is my guess. The look of disappointment that settled on his face was worse than any beating I'd ever taken from my Dad.

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"You know, Seeley, I don't ask much from you boys: Go to school, do your chores, do a little reading at night, to mind your manners and be honest. Get the syrup out of the cabinet, would ya?"

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Pops didn't say another word. He hadn't needed to. I took that book with me to class and read it throughout the day, set it aside for practice, then picked it right back up after dinner. The next day was more of the same: Reading in class and after school until the game, putting the book aside, and picking it back up after we got home, a sandwich in one hand and the book in the other.

As I'd told Pop, I finished that book after the game, making it a point of bringing it up the next morning at breakfast…

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"Pug isn't an officer in the Army. He's a Naval officer…"

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I hadn't needed to say anything else. He clamped a hand on my shoulder then said…

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"Scramble the eggs up for me, will ya?"

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We never spoke of it again… And I never skipped reading again. As Pops had said, he didn't ask much from us and if it made him happy, then that's all that mattered.

"I did a lot of reading while I was in the Army. It made me feel closer to home. I think that was kinda Pops point though: The small routine he had created for us – book and bed – added some routine to our lives, made us think about things we never might and somehow made our place in Pops' house feel more secure."

"Then we'll make that our tradition as well: Reading and to bed." I smile softly at her. God, I love this woman. "You're going to be a great Mom," I tell her, and I mean it. Her eyes light up with pleasure at the confident and just for a second I think this time she's going to believe it, but her smile fades and shadows of doubt cloud her eyes.

I siddle down the bed until I'm nose to belly-button with her.

"You hear that, little guy—"

"Booth," she draws out the warning. I love tweaking her nerves with references to a son or the boy.

"Bedtime and story time." Something suddenly clicked. Something my Mom made sure to do at bedtime each night, until we got too old. I lean back my head to look at Bones. "And snuggles. We'll have to fit snuggle time in there, too." I had never felt safer than when Jared and I would snuggle with mom as she told us stores of her times on stage, even in a house filled with anger and rage.

"And snuggles," Bones agrees, softly. It amazes that she sometimes understands the unspoken. She may not know why I made that addition, but she senses it's important to me, so it's important to her, too.

I press a kiss to her belly, then return to the top of the bed, where I reach over and turn off the light. Bones does the same. We stretch out, facing each other, but not touching.

"Since you have Parker this weekend, I thought Angela and I could go shopping for maternity clothes on Saturday." Isn't it funny how people begin to whisper when the lights are turned out? "Do you want to go crib shopping on Sunday? I know the Birds will be playing—"

"The Eagles," I correct. Technically, the Eagles are referred to as the Birds by diehard fans, but I think we can all agree Bones had no clue, just got the team name wrong… again.

"I'll bring my radio," I jump in. "Maybe we can even pick up a few things on that list of yours," I suggest. "If we get started now, we may have everything he needs by the time he's six months." Her eyes crinkle with laugher as she gives her head a shake.

"It won't be that bad," she insisted, while hoping that was true.

"It's going to be great, Bones."

"I didn't realize you were so fond of shopping." Wait. What? I put it together with a roll of my eyes.

"Not the shopping. You, me, Parker, our kid. It's going to be a great life…"