A Sliver of Topaz by ForensicMama (Multi-Chapter)

He tried to keep his eyes averted as his partner exited the tiny hotel's bathroom wearing nothing but a puffy robe and too much for the imagination. She dried her hair with a white towel as they continued the conversation started earlier when they were on opposite sides of the door.

She walked to the book she had been reading in the coffee shop, picked it up, and sat beside Booth. Without a word, she handed it to him. They knew one another well enough that elaboration was not needed. He flipped through until a photo slipped to his lap.

"The eldest daughter was my mother. Her sisters were named Temperance and Anna."

His lips parted as the pieces fell together. He smiled. "She looks like you."

"My mother probably saw the resemblance and named me after my aunt when she changed my name."

"Bones--"

She stood and quickly changed the subject from her mother. She stood, picked up her hair brush at the counter and began to roughly brush her hair and gesture with it as she spoke. "There's a wedding this weekend and I'm invited. My grandfather is going to be there."

"What about your aunts?"

"They're deceased."

"Bones, I'm sorry--"

"Don't be, Booth. Death is inevitable."

"But you lost the chance to meet them, Bones. It's OK for me to say I'm sorry."

"No, Booth, it's not OK because I'm already fine with it. It's a needless apology. I've never been emotionally attached to either of those women, so there's no loss." Her face said otherwise. It said more. It said that being close to someone had a risk of pain and loss. And Booth knew it all. He stood up and hugged her gently.

But there was something... odd... about that hug. He pulled back long enough to look her in the eyes.

She pushed him away. "It's time for you to go, Booth. It's late."

He made some nervous movements, gathered his jacket and umbrella, then walked to the door where he paused. "Good night, Bones."

"Good night, Booth."

"Hey, I was--" The look she gave him stopped him in his tracks. "Night."

And that was it.

But it was the first clue that he had that somehow he was on the outside of a gigantic secret. Brennan was known for throwing up walls, but whenever she was around him, the walls crumbled--they had no chance. The mortar was weakened by a closeness that was unmatched by any other relationship either had experienced before. But what was it now that kept those walls so firmly held together? When he looked into her eyes for that moment, the levees held tight all of the deep blue secrets and openness that were welled up behind them.

And it hurt to know that that trust they had built was now gone. So he closed the door and silently walked to his hotel room.

---

The room was warm and muggy. An old fashioned metal fan whirred and tried pathetically to cool the small room.

"Nervous?" It was the only thing Hodgins could think to ask his on-again off-again girlfriend.

"No." Short. Succinct. Perhaps a tad bit perturbed.

She tapped her toe. She made a pen tumble between her manicured fingertips. She even began to count the holes in the ceiling tiles.

After a minute more, the door reopened and a short, red headed woman walked in, eyes glued to a standard green file. She took a seat. Folded her hands. Cleared her throat.

And just when Angela was going to say something she would regret, the woman spoke. "There's really nothing we can do, Miss Montenegro."

"Nothing?"

She flipped through the file once again, looked up once to eyeball Hodgins suspiciously, then said, "Ms--uh,--Thien is complying with the state's requests for her to find a home--"

"Have you even seen it? No child should live like that."

"Bimonthly a social worker does check in and everything has been fine so far, otherwise there would be a report sitting right here in this file, Miss Montenegro." Her tone was snippy.

"When was the last checkup?"

"As long as guardians are complying, there's really nothing that we can do. There's a shortage in foster parents, sometimes children sleep in our offices for days before we can find emergency care for them. Taking a child who has a home out of his home is simply foolhardy."

"But I would be his foster parent, Ms Willis. I'm here. I love him--"

"If you loved him, then you'd be creating a relationship with him and your mother and not stirring up a bunch of trouble, Miss Montenegro. Our hands are tied. I don't mean to be rude, but the law is the law and your mother has abode by all regulations set on her by the state. I'm sorry that they don't meet your standards, but sometimes it's the best we can do and it's the better alternative than having another child stuck in an over crowded, under funded system."

Angela simply stared at her coldly.

The woman sighed. "I'll tell you what, Miss Montenegro. I'll put your name in his file and if there are any issues concerning his guardianship or safety, then you'll be the first we call. In the meantime, you can work on becoming a licensed foster parent. Do we have a deal?"

Again, she stared at her.

Hodgins broke the silent stare-off by whispering, "C'mon, Angie."

"Fine," Angela relented. She stood and together they left the office. "Something terrible's going to happen to him," she told Hodgins as they walked through the parking lot.

"It's not our place."

"You're right, Jack. It's not our place. It's my place. Brayden belongs to me by blood. I happen to believe in love at first sight. Sometimes it only lasts a few weeks or years, but sometimes it's meant to be forever. He's my brother. This is forever."

He nodded, his hands in his pockets. "Alright then. I'll help you do whatever you need to do."

"I need to get that license."

"And I'll be by your side, Angela. Every step of the way."

"Thank you." She smiled, not knowing that she would be needing that license a lot sooner than she thought.

ForensicMama wrote:"But you lost the chance to meet them, Bones. It's OK for me to say I'm sorry."

"No, Booth, it's not OK because I'm already fine with it. It's a needless apology. I've never been emotionally attached to either of those women, so there's no loss." Her face said otherwise. It said more. It said that being close to someone had a risk of pain and loss. And Booth knew it all. He stood up and hugged her gently.

But there was something... odd... about that hug. He pulled back long enough to look her in the eyes.

She pushed him away. "It's time for you to go, Booth. It's late."

He made some nervous movements, gathered his jacket and umbrella, then walked to the door where he paused. "Good night, Bones."

"Good night, Booth."

"Hey, I was--" The look she gave him stopped him in his tracks. "Night."

And that was it.

But it was the first clue that he had that somehow he was on the outside of a gigantic secret. Brennan was known for throwing up walls, but whenever she was around him, the walls crumbled--they had no chance. The mortar was weakened by a closeness that was unmatched by any other relationship either had experienced before. But what was it now that kept those walls so firmly held together? When he looked into her eyes for that moment, the levees held tight all of the deep blue secrets and openness that were welled up behind them.

And it hurt to know that that trust they had built was now gone. So he closed the door and silently walked to his hotel room.

This is an excellent chapter, interesting as we see the contrast between the growing closeness between Angela and Hodgins, and the growing separation between Booth and Brennan.

Booth's dilema is summed up perfectly in the above quoted passage. The tumor, the coma, his memmory loss - temporary as it is - has done what no one else could possibly do, it's driven a wedge between them, created a problem he can't fix. In some respects the coma and subsequent amnesia have impacted Brennan more than Booth, in some regards she's come to own them. Pre-coma Brennan trusted pre-coma Booth implicitly. In the above situation pre-coma she'd have broken down and cried on his shoulder (or at least sought the comfort of a few well timed 'guy-hugs'), but post-coma Brennan is guarded around Booth, she treats amiably but the intimacy is gone from their relationship. Now we see a Brennan who's afraid, she doesn't want to get hurt again so she's ready to cut him out of certain aspects of her life, she's already begun limiting his access, the walls are going back up and this time their holding because her fear of getting hurt is now as great, or greater, than her fear of losing him.

Contrast that with the Angela/Hodgins dynamic, and we see things have gone 180 for the partners. Before Brennan wouldn't have hesitated to accept Booth's help or guidance, he's the heart man afterall, but now she dismisses him as if his mere offer to help is out of bounds. Meanwhile Angela, who started out almost hostile toward Hodgins' presence has moved on toward accepting him there and is openly appreciative of his offer to help.

I'm afraid from the picture you paint that things will either have to get much worse for Brennan before they get better for Brennan & Booth, or Booth will have to walk away and hope she realizes that he isn't leaving her, but it's she who's forcing him out. The real question that begs is, will he still be there when she wakes up to what she's doing and will she even try to fix things when that happens?

RM

Mama, this is getting so sad. Poor Booth. Poor Bones. He felt that he should be with her so he came, but she's not letting him do his part. Now I just wonder what he's going through back in his room.

And Angela is all business, she's gonna do what she's gotta do. And Jack's gonna be there for her.

Hopefully you can follow the last bit as the italics are missing, but thanks for reading!!!!
______
When they arrived, guests were standing under the large canvas canopies and were talking idly to one another. Not a single face was familiar among them. Brennan immediately turned around, but Booth grabbed her arm.

"Bones, where you goin'?"

Instead of answering him and admitting to fear, she turned back around and straightened her skirt. He held out her arm and they walked toward the casual little wedding.

The wedding coordinator immediately found the two, having never seen either of their faces before. "Bride or groom?"

"Excuse me?"

"Are you friends of the bride or the groom?"

"We're--neither actually," Brennan said.

The woman stiffened. "We don't do the whole Wedding Crashers thing, ma'am--" Which earned her a confused look from Brennan.

"She's family," Booth said quickly.

"To--?"

"The uh--"

She narrowed her gaze. "Nice try."

"Frank Stanley is my grandfather."

Booth leaned in and whispered, "Thanks. Coulda stepped in earlier, Bones."

"You're welcome."

"Right this way," the woman grumbled and walked them to the bride's side and gestured carelessly at some seats in the back before walking away quickly.

"Wow. You pissed her off, Bones."

"I did not."

"Clearly she was pissed."

"I only said a few words to her. You conversed with her most of the time. If anything, you were the one who pissed her off." She took her seat beside a woman who was breastfeeding her infant.

Booth noticed almost immediately and kept his eyes glued forward.

Brennan smiled at the little newborn's toes which stuck out beneath fuzzy blue cotton. "How old is your baby?"

The woman smiled, "Three weeks."

She reached for his toes, but pulled back before touching the tempting little things, "Uh, he has well formed phalanges, metatarsals... cuboids... calcaneous."

"Uh--What?"

Booth leaned a little forward, just enough for the woman to hear him, "She means to say that he has cute feet."

She laughed a little, "Well, thank you."

Brennan whispered under her breath, "I meant to say that his feet are well formed."

"Then tell her that. Don't drown her in an anatomy lesson."

"How far are you?" the woman asked suddenly, cutting off the argument.

"Excuse me?"

"How far along are you?" She looked at probably the world's smallest bump that Brennan was sporting--something that could've easily occurred in any non-pregnant woman by slouching.

"I--I'm not--"

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry. Usually I can tell these things. Hormones or something. Usually I'm pretty good. I hope I didn't insult you. It's not like you look pregnant or anything--"

"It's fine."

"It is?"

"Yes."

A few more people filed into the seats and a moment later, the music was beginning.

Everyone stood.

Booth and Brennan, of course, found this to be a very good time to chat.

"Wow," Booth whispered.

"What?" she whispered back.

"You know, most girls would've clawed her eyes out."

"I'm not most girls."

"I know that. I know you better than that. Probably better than most people."

She looked at his eyes. "Booth--" Everyone took a seat except for them. "There's something--" Someone cleared her throat. They noticed they were the only ones still standing--and TALKING.

"My bad." Booth sat down. "Take a seat, Bones."

She took her seat.

---

A low fog was forming along the coast and despite the fact that it was a cool late July evening, people spoke, laughed, and drank champagne by the light of tiki torches and a full moon.

Booth felt like a third wheel, but he stood back and genially spoke with a few men about what he did while keeping an eye on Brennan whose cousin was leading her around. It was the same young mother that met her at the door and invited her to the wedding a few nights back. She was not a people person, but she always surprised Booth at how well she seemed to interact with strangers. The ease of conversation probably flowed by way of curiosity at the well-known author and interest at the fact that she was a long-lost family member.

Sophie wrapped her arm around Brennan and laughed easily. Her cheeks were dimpled and her eyes glittered. "There are a few people I want you to meet before you go today. I can't believe you found us. Honestly, Papa Stanlely... Oh, there he is. The one in the wheelchair."

Beneath a tiki torch that flickered in the cool breeze, Brennan could see her grandfather sitting, looking much like he did on that night when his daughter died, wearing a faded 5-piece pinstriped suit, b. ut his face and hair were tinged with gray and sagged. He wore a nasal cannula which helped him breathe. But his demeanor was exactly the same as it was all those years ago.

"Grandpa."

He followed his granddaughter's voice and looked up.

He didn't need an introduction. People rushed to keep him from wobbling to the ground, but he stood anyway and immediately put his hand to the face of the woman who stood before him. He grinned and wheezed a laugh, then pulled her into a hug. It took her a moment to react before she accepted his hug in return.

---

The cool night air had forced everyone to go back to their hotels and homes. Booth sat back and gave her as much time as he thought she would need, but eventually, he meandered over to his partner. She walked, bathed in the creamy moonlight, arms wrapped around herself. There were few times where he had seen her in such a thoughtful state. Doing so meant taking down portions of her walls.

She heard his footsteps before he was by her side. And she told him how her grandfather's memory was as sharp as ever.

Minutes after pulling away from the bank that day in the 70s, Kyle in the back seat, sleeping in his seat, real contractions began. On the interstate, the contractions continued. The sirens wailed in the distance. Not knowing who they were coming for, Max tore off the main road, dust billowing over their car, tires popping, shocks nonexistent, Russ enjoying the ride and laughing, Ruth trying to breathe.

"Slow down!"

"Jesus, you want them to catch us?"

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

He looked sharply over at his wife, her face contorted from the agony of labor. They reached a paved road. He turned sharply. Sirens continued to wail.

"Again! Again!" Kyle was delighted.

That story came from Ruth in a letter sent anonymously years later.

She gave birth in a small town in Maryland hours later. That was the only time that Frank Stanley saw his daughter and her family. He came into the hospital with his new wife and their daughter, Carol-Jean, ten at the time and Anna.

"You were the most beautiful baby," the old man said, hand trembling as he held hers.

"Isn't she perfect?" Ruth asked her dad and sisters. She took off her ring and slipped it over the baby's little fingers.

"What's that?" Carol-Jean asked.

"It's a very special ring that will be Joy's some day."

"It used to be my mom's," Anna said. "Right?"

"Right." She gazed lovingly on the tiny infant.

"We went back to Chicago and a few years later the police found their car abandoned and covered with blood. Nothing else was found. I never--"

"It's OK, Papa," Sophie patted her grandfather's cheeks with a tissue.

Brennan caught her breath. He could see the moonlight reflecting off from the moisture in her eyes. "Sometimes I wonder what would it have been like to grow up with a grandmother and a grandfather--to have a normal life. Sometimes I fight feeling angry and hurt that we were deprived of those normal things for a life of crime and hiding. Is that selfish?"

He shook his head and reached for her hand. "Not selfish, Bones. Normal. Nothing's more normal than to want connections. Family. Love. You want family and belonging, Bones. I'm proud of you for looking for it. You're doing the right thing."

The right thing.

An overwhelming sense of guilt swept over her. "Booth-- I--" The words wouldn't form.

"What?"

"I'm just glad you came."

He grinned at her in one of those sexy half-grins that he does so well. Chuckled, and interlocked his arm with hers. "C'mon. I'll take you home."

"Carol-Jean lives in Jersey. I intend on finding her."

"And I intend on being by your side."

You're too good for me. She smiled softly and simply enjoyed having his arm around her and a cool breeze against her warm face. Neither said a thing more, although a thousand things begged to be spoken.

She was nine again. Tall for her age and with that endurable and wild spirit that had marked her path every step of the way, she slept with her cheek against the itchy polyester couch. The television was flickering and washing the room in a ghostly dance of colors and light. Aside from the usual sounds: cats fighting, neighbors arguing in the distance, cars rumbling in the streets.

It wasn't long before familiar sounds roused her from her sleep. Experience told her not to stir. Experience told her to squeeze her eyelids shut, pull the dusty throw pillow over her head and pretend that it wasn't there. But it hit her. She wondered if she had ever really seen what happened in the only bedroom in the little apartment. Had it all come from conjecture or from something worse?

Her stomach twisted inside of her as she walked slowly toward the bedroom.

Sounds. Noises. In a backwards world, they would've been pleasurable sounds. But in this world, they were strained. Agnozing. Fake. Faux. She knew her mother's voice well enough to know that it was another one of those veils.

Her mouth was cottony as she crept up to the door. A slit of moonlight struck out between the crack in the green blanket that was thumbtacked to the bedroom window. It slashed across the flexing bare bottom of an unknown man. Pasty white and tangled with course black hair. He caught his breath and sat on the edge of the bed.

Movements. A hushed conversation as her mother pulled a ratty black bra back on her stick-thin frame and restuffed it with mismatched socks.

A dull light from a cigarette illuminated her face. She remembered seeing her dark eyes, caked with makeup, flick her way for a second.

The girl froze, but her body wouldn't move away from the door. Not for fear of being beaten. Not for fear of seeing something she didn't want to remember.

Her mother blew the hot smoke from her lungs and threw a tee shirt at the fat man beside her. "Get out."

"How's that for beside manner?" He asked.

"It's a transaction."

He laughed humorlessly. "I love you, too."

"Love only exists in movies. Now get the hell out." Next his jeans were thrown at him.

The door opened wide. Again, the girl couldn't move. The man pulled on his zipper and simply looked at her and walked out the door.

Her eyes followed his exit.

"Go back to bed, Lien," her mother said, closing the door in her face.

On the other side, the doorbell rang.

The door bell rang.

The door bell rang.

The door bell rang.

Angela tore herself awake to glance at the clock, threw on a robe and somehow had sense enough to peep through the peephole.

"Hodgins? What are you doing here? It's 2 AM."

He grinned at her and walked in. "I couldn't sleep."

She laughed and pointed at the hot cup of coffee in his hand. "That couldn't help matters."

He smiled and took a deep breath in. His demeanor grew serious. "Listen, Angela. I wanted to give you time, but I just--I can't wait any longer without knowing."

He followed her into the kitchen where she began to brew coffee for herself. Then she leaned on the wall next to where he stood.

"And what exactly did you come to hear?"

"I asked you a few months ago, Angie, if--hinted, actually," he smiled nervously, "if you wanted us to be more."

"Hodgins--"

"I know you feel it. I feel it, too. Whenever we're near, Angela. Whenever--"

"Jack. Sometimes I wonder if our time passed." She wondered if she could believe her own words, let alone if Hodgins would buy it.

He began to shake his head when the phone rang.

"Who would call at 2 in the morning?"

"I have no idea, but I should take this." It only took the first few words from the caller's mouth to send a cold chill through her body, mixed with terrible memories. A cold concoction of nightmares, real and present.

"Angela?"

"I'll be there as soon as I can."

"What's going on?"

She slammed the phone on the counter and threw on shoes sans socks and an old sweatshirt. "Brayden," was all she could say before she was out of the door.

---

How could she feel like she was running in mud but a drop hadn't spilled from the skies in weeks?

The social worker met her at entrance of the E.R., also dressed in her pajamas, but with a serious looking blazer that covered most of the frivolous Garfield logo.

"Angela Montenegro?"

"Where's Brayden?" The wind whipped at her hair angrily, cooling her throbbing migraine as Hodgins squeeled into a parking space yards behind her.

"There are some considerations before I release that information."

"What considerations?"

"Legally, Brayden Devlin is a ward of the state. To say anything about his current condition, you would have to be a registered foster--"

"I'm his sister. Doesn't that say anything? I'm working toward the license. I'm one class short."

The woman cleared her throat softly. "I've been a child advocate for children in the system for going on fifteen years. The truth is, I've only run into a few family members who have fought as hard as you have. Why don't you follow me?"

They followed the social worker to a little room inside of the E.R. They pulled back the curtain. A doctor was squatting in front of the little boy, who was curled in the corner sucking his thumb and naked, holding out a red sucker for the child.

"Num, num. Want it?"

The boy said nothing. Didn't move.

One glance and Angela's heart was torn from her. On his face was a half moon shaped mark that was like a large swollen pomegranate. Besides the left side of his thin little face, there was hardly an inch that wasn't bruised or battered.

"Oh, God," she whispered, her legs feeling weak beneath her and tears growing in her eyes.

"Emergency care is full," the social worker said. "If he didn't go home with you, then he would have to come home with me, so-- You're really just doing me a favor."

Hodgins could tell that she was really saying that she would bend the rules for them, but fudge the facts on the paperwork. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me. You're just doing me a favor, that's all."

Angela crossed to the little boy as the doctor stood and handed her the sucker. "This might help."

She took the sucker from his hands as the social worker and he filled out paperwork.

Angela squatted near him.

He looked so small. So crumpled. No child should ever look like that. No child should feel like they're in captivity when their life has only begun.

"Do you want to go home with me tonight?"

"I've got spare rooms to spare," Hodgins offered.

Angela heard his words, but kept her eyes on Brayden.

"I think I've got Finding Nemo somewhere. Do you like Nemo?"

No response.

"Thomas the Engine?"

He shook his head and buried it behind toddler arms. Only the top of his overgrown silky black hair could be seen.

After a moment, the hair began to shiver as he cried.

She fell softly to her bottom and scooted closer, wrapping her arm around his stiff body. He stiffened as she touched his bruises.

Angela quickly searched her suppressed childhood memories for something that would be familiar to him. A lullaby bubbled swiftly to the surface. The tune was quick to bubble, but the words were slower to come. "Shi... shi shang zhi... you ma ma hao...you ma de hai... hai zi xiang ge bao..."

The boy sniffled and softened into her touch.

"I thought you didn't speak Chinese." Hodgins whispered.

She smiled slyly as Brayden began to drift to sleep in her arms, "Who said that was Chinese? You're mistaken. That was Russian."


----------------

The two of them at the wedding was great - B/B in their own little world! And her grandpa, who got to see her when she was just born, and yet he knew her instantaneously!

Booth was perfect with her ... again with just the right words for her.

But poor Brayden. Thank God he has Angela. Unfortunately she knows what he's going through, but at least that will help her help him.

I loved it Mama! I'm dying to know how Brennan is going to break it to Booth, and if/how Brayden is going to affect the dynamic between A/J.

Thanks! I'm dying to get more written. I know where this story is going and I think it'll be a good one!

Hodgins put the coffee grounds away, pressing the tin lid back onto the can before setting the coffee to brew. He walked upstairs and stood in the doorway for several minutes.

When Brayden had finally fallen asleep, she carefully maneuvered so that she didn't disturb him, then found her way to the doorway.

Hodgins smiled at her. "He's gonna be OK, Angela," he whispered.

Usually that kind of comment would earn an "I know", but Angela frowned at him. "You don't know that, Hodgins."

"What?"

"You don't know that. No offense, Jack, but you don't know what he's been through."

"Look, Ange--"

"Don't, Jack." He pushed past him and walked into the bedroom down the hall.

His hand blocked the door as she pushed it closed.

"Jack..."

"What happened?"

"For once, I don't feel like talking about it. I don't feel like giving or receiving advice. I just want to wash my face and fall into bed."

"Angela. You're right. I don't know what he went through, but you do. You've been there. If anyone knows, it's you."

She wiped a tear away that slipped down her cheek. Then her eyes met Hodgins'. "When I was nine, my mom brought home a guy. Then she passed out. She was high as a kite. And he was all alone with me."

"Angela--"

"After that, my dad fought for me. I can't be the one who doesn't fight for Brayden. I don't know where I'd be today if my dad didn't fight for me. I've got to be that person, Jack."

He nodded, at a loss for words. At a loss for comforting words. What does one say?

"Good night, Hodgins."

"Night, Ange."

Then he was alone in the hallway. And she was alone in the room with nothing but terrible, unearthed memories.

---

She thought she was alone. That's why she had her headphones in and the volume was as high as it could go. She was bent over a desk, tapping her toes, and everyone in the lab could hear her singing--except for herself.

"Cam. Cam. CAM!" Booth reached out.

She turned, startled, and took out the headphones.

"Hi. Seeley."

"Everyone can hear you, Cam. The whole lab."

Her eyes grew a bit wider.

"Yup. Whole lab. Brought you these."

"New case?"

"Something to tide us over."

She flipped through the report. "Booth, these remains are 40 years old."

"Yeah."

Her eyes grew wider to emphasize her point: "Exactly. You should be giving this report to Dr. Brennan. I'm not your maid, Seeley. Go do it yourself." She bent absently back over the computer.

Booth didn't shoo as she expected. He sat on the edge of the desk.

She sighed.

"What do you want?"

He scrunched his nose. "Bones has been acting weird."

"No surprise there..."

"Really?"

She straightened, realizing her slip. "Uh... no. Just... what?"

"Huh?"

"Who?"

"Not gonna play twenty questions with you, Camille."

"Then why'd you start? You know I'm competitive."

"Think you can give these to Bones for me?"

She sighed audibly and snatched the report from him. "She's going to wonder why you didn't give them to her yourself."

"Bones doesn't do that whole girl thing."

She rolled her eyes and put her headphones back in, then handed the report back to Booth. "I'm busy."

Angela watched as he disappeared into Brennan's office. She pulled a headphone out of her boss's ear, "What's up with them?"

"My suspicion is that Dr. Brennan has that big appointment coming up and the guilt of not telling Booth that he's her babydaddy is eating her up inside."

---

Booth knocked lightly, then let himself in. "Bones. Got a case for you. Oh! What's that?"

Brennan quickly tucked away the item.

"C'mon, Bones. Let me see."

"No." She snatched the papers from Booth and shuffled through them. "Just have them bring it in."

He wandered nonchalantly over to her, under the guise of looking over her shoulder, "Yes, ma'am." Then he snatched the little bag from her hand, reached inside, and saw-- He shook it next to his ear. "A baby rattle?"

"It's a gift."

"For?"

"None of your business." She snatched it back.

"You're mad at me."

"No."

"But I can't place it. Did I touch one of your skeletons? Screw up evidence? Order your the wrong thing--it was that martini, wasn't it? You didn't touch it last night... actually, you haven't been touching any of the drinks I order you--"

She stood up quickly, putting on her lab jacket. "I read a recent study about how damaging even a little bit of alcohol can be on the liver. I'm just being conscientious."

"Of what? A good time?" He followed her into the lab, where everyone who knew Dr. Brennan's secret listened carefully. "Drinks on me-- Metaphorically, although... if you wanna do literal--"

She turned sharply around.

"A joke, Bones. C'mon. You used to just ignore those little wisecracks."

"Well, maybe I need to be more serious."

"No, Bones. You don't. You don't have to be more serious. You're serious enough for all of us."

They stopped about a millimeter away from where Daisy Wick and Sweets were standing.

Their eyes bore into Booth's head. Booth and Brennan looked at them.

Daisy grinned and nodded enthusiastically, "It's true, Dr. Brennan. I feel way more serious around you. It's like a miracle drug!"

"Good to know," Booth replied. Then he steered Brennan away to a slightly more private venue--although everyone still listened intently. "Bones, what's gotten into you?"

She wiggled free of his arm. "Nothing. I just want to focus on the lab, Booth. I've been gallivanting--"

"Gallivanting?"

"Yes. Gallivanting about, and I came up empty handed. I've wasted precious time where I could've gotten ahead. I'm ready to buckle down."

"Gotten ahead? Bones. It's LIMBO. People die CONSTANTLY. You can never get ahead down there. Drinks doesn't slow down the criminal justice system, it keeps those cogs nice and slick."

By then, she was inspecting the body that had been laid on the table. "More metaphor?"

"You got it, Bones. Founding Fathers. You and me. Tonight."

"I'm busy tonight."

Booth took a few steps closer. "You're not going out with that Chuck person, right?"

She looked at him curiously. "Chuck? Who?"

"Good answer, Bones." He spun around and walked out of the lab.

Angela and Cam were quickly on Brennan's heels.

"Sweetie, you haven't told him yet?"

"I'm waiting for the right time."

"I hate to say it, Dr. Brennan, but Booth deserves to know. It's his biological right."

"Mr. Nigel-Murray, go ahead and go over these remains. I'll be in my office." She took off her gloves and looked at Cam and Angela. "Mind your own business, please."

When she was out of sight, Cam sighed. "She's impossible."

Daisy piped up, "I think she's amazing."

"Put a cork in it, Miss Wick."

Mama, this story is wonderful! Love the back story to Angela and Brennan. I hope we get more insight into Angela's past this season too.

Oh, Mama! Things are starting to bubble up! A/J and B/B. I'm loving it!

Oh Mama! Have you forgotten your little Sliver of Topaz?! Hmm?!

Where are yoooooooooouu?

Sorry it's been so long! Everything I've written since, I've hated and scrapped! I've scrapped at least four chapters that were all terrible! But this chapter is quite nice!

**

An unusual heat wave swept through the North East that year. Combine the heat and humidity with nausea and lower backaches and you could say very easily that it was an uncomfortable drive to the small New Jersey home that belonged to Carol-Jean. The house was a small brick building at the end of a long country street that was almost untouched by modern conveniences. Aside from tracks in the road from cars driving through a few times a day, it gave one a feeling that you were as far from civilization as one could possibly get in New Jersey.

She pulled into the driveway, which consisted of two long and narrow strips of concrete, in between which grew vibrant green grass, dappled here and there by dandelions and little white wild daisies. She noticed no cars in the little green carport and the curtains were pulled closed against the heat of the midday sun.

For a moment--a split second--she considered turning back and driving back to D.C., but instead, for reasons yet to be known, she continued up the walk and knocked without hesitation on the friendly white front door.

Nobody answered, so she turned back down the walk to her car and that is when her cell phone rang. She answered it and began to walk slower.

"Sweetie?"

"Hi, Angela."

"Hi. I have a quick favor to ask you. I want you to think it over first before you tell me what your answer is, though, OK?"

"OK," this was spoken with hesitation.

"I need references for the foster parenting thing and I'd really love it if you could--"

"Of course."

"Really? Because, I know that--"

"Angela. I don't know why you'd think that my answer would be anything but yes. I'll write it up and have it on your desk by tomorrow."

"Thank you." She breathed a sigh of relief. She never actually did doubt that Brennan would say yes, but somehow that thought had wormed its way into her mind and fear had dug its claws in. Everything was on the line and it was nice to know that she wasn't alone in all of this. Besides, after the home study, there were more things to worry about besides referrals. Not two seconds after her apartment was checked out was it determined that nothing was up to code and everything was well below par. Her home was not suitable for a ward of the state to reside in. That was the first downfall she had come across to having a rent-controlled apartment thus far.

"Is everything OK, Ange?"

"Yeah. Uh... everything's just fine, sweetie. I'll talk to you later, OK?"

The call was disconnected and just as Brennan stuck the cell phone back into her pocket, the screen door of the little cottage swung open and sweet wrinkled face with eyes that were as lively and young as when she was twenty peeped out. "You want somethin'?"

The voice took her off guard, so she reached for her chest unconsciously.

"My--My name is Temperance Brennan--"

The door opened wider and the woman walked out a little, "Is that the truth? I just read one of your novels. Yeah. Yeah, I see it. Looks just like that photo from the back cover. Would you like to come in? I have iced tea. Hope you don't mind it with no sweetener. Just he way my granny made it."

"Please."

Brennan followed her into a modest little living area with an old fashioned blue couch with four slender legs, a braided rug, a fireplace that most likely crackled warmly in the winter, and a blue-geese china motif. It was all not too unordinary at first as Brennan sat in the living room waiting for a cool glass of ice tea, but after a few seconds items from the shelves and bookstands began to leap out to her. Metaphorically, of course. A small porcelain finger bowl was the first item to stand out to her.

Immediately she was twelve again.

Her parents had been arguing. They were a loving couple, true, but every couple has moments like that where they just get at each other's throats. To believe otherwise would be naive. "Just because we fight, doesn't mean that we don't love each other," her mother had told her. "Sometimes, quite the opposite."

The fight escalated. Russ and left to get away and Temperance had sat in the living room with headphones on her head and Kacy Kacem turned up as loud as possible. They were like mimes--swinging their arms and gesturing, but all without voices. Eventually, Max left the house, leaving her mother in the kitchen where Temperance could see her. That was the first time she remembered seeing her mom cry like that. Usually when Max and Christine fought, they tried to do it in the bedroom and away from the kids, but that time she could see everything.

Temperance stood and walked over to her mom, unsure of how she should comfort her mother. She was upset, she could see that, but when it came to expressing that she was sorry for her mother's sadness or trying to comfort her, she was at a loss. So, she stood there, three feet from her mother and didn't say anything. Eventually, Christine looked up, and noticing her daughter, she simply and silently embraced her. Over her mom's shoulder is where she saw the little finger bowl on the shelf. The same finger bowl that was on her aunt's shelf. It was possible, of course, that they were only duplicates and not the exact bowl, but there were other items that brought back memories in the room: a little frame, a braided rug, a little statuette. Each one brought with it a new and forgotten memory--each more precious than the last because they were of a woman who she could never make new memories with. A woman who... who would never meet her granddaughter.

Brennan touched her stomach. It wouldn't be long before her clothing would be too tight to wear and buying new sizes would only trick Booth for so long. Keeping such a secret from him was terribly unrealistic. She decided that it would be that night that she would tell Booth.

Her aunt returned and took a seat. She handed the glass of tea to Brennan. "Now, how can I help you, honey? Are you OK? Have you been crying? What for?"

Brennan told her everything that she knew. Of her mother, her grandfather and everything that followed.

Carol-Jean nodded. "That's quite a story." She stood. "I would love to have you again sometime. Next week is my granddaughter's birthday and I would be more than honored to have you attend."

---

Hodgins was surprised to see Angela walking past him as he walked up to her apartment building with boxes in hand--boxes piled so high that she could hardly see where she was going. He startled her by taking the boxes from her. "Angela, what are you doing?"

Angela took a breath. "I have to move. The apartment isn't up to code and social services won't let me get my foster parenting license--"

"I could pay for upgrades--"

"I only have until Friday. There's no way they could replace the wiring and fixtures and God knows what else in two days."

"Where are you moving?"

She shrugged helplessly, "I have no idea."

"Well--move in with me."

She sort of half-laughed, "Hodgins, that--We've already done that."

"What other choice do you have, Ange? They won't let you keep Brayden if you're living out of your car. Just stay with me. You can have the upstairs, I can have the downstairs--or Zack's place."

"Where I can't see the main house from all of the tennis courts and ponds?"

"The main house is just as nice. Plenty of room. Please. C'mon, Angie, don't make me beg."

She laughed, "It has been a while since you've begged me to go home with you."

"That's the spirit. Now let me help you with these boxes."

Hodgins took the boxes to the moving truck. What was he getting himself into? Everything wonderful. Everything awful. Everything that he'd dreamed of. It was obvious to God and everyone that he was still in love with her--MADLY. And to be able to see her every day--maybe in her nightgown, when her hair is down and her make up is off and she's in an old tee shirt with her long legs and nothing more-- He was nuts. He was insane. But insanity makes us do crazy things, especially for the ones we love.

Yeah! Now you're back in the saddle. I can't imagine you scrapping four chapters! Mama, when you write I feel like I'm right in there with them, feeling their heart skip and thud and mush right inside my own.

I wanted to cry when Temperance was just standing there in front of her mother not having a clue what to do, but knowing that being there was better than pretending nothing happened.

And I was practically dizzy when Jack was wondering to himself what in the world he was getting himself into!

I love it!

yay!! Great chapter Mama.

Wow! Thank you for that lovely compliment!

Anxiety. Impatience. Worry. Sadness. Fear. That is the theme for today's chapter. Every one of us, no matter how privileged or how penniless we are, go through times like this. Times where we feel there is no hope. Times where we are forced to wonder... hope... believe.

And for some of us... pray.

I think we all know which of the two friends were praying that day. Outside of an old gray office door with the stickered-name and initials peeling from a door, Angela found herself praying. She had never been much of a prayer. Life had blown by her in so many ways and colors and themes that she never found time to pray most days. And to be honest, she never really found a reason for it. But unlike her "BBF", she was not one to shun the practice. So she prayed. She watched as Brayden sat with a group of other children his age at the office with worn out third-hand toys.

Something was different about him, but a part of her refused to believe it. One second he played with a little Latina girl with brown pigtails, the next he lashed out at her and threw a tantrum which she had to quickly assuage and mediate. A few soothing words and a firm reprimand and Brayden was once again playing nicely. His attention span was short. He was anxious around groups. When more children came into the waiting room, he began to cry until Angela held him and he calmed. Brayden was released to play with the girl who, although at least a year and a half older, was at least a half a foot taller.

Again, Angela prayed. Earlier that morning, she had received a call as she was in her office sketching the face of a Jane Doe. Nothing more was said over the phone than, "I'd like to schedule a meeting with you today, Miss Montenegro. How's three for you? Yes?" but the woman's voice was strained. Perhaps she had been working all day with no relief? Or could it be bad news? Could it be the strain of delivering bad news? Was her mother getting Brayden back?

She quickly suppressed that worry. She focused again on the little boy who had become such a bright part of her day. In him she saw herself at that age. In him she saw someone who needed love. She could give that love.

"Angela?" the secretary asked. "You can go in now."

She picked up Brayden.

Another memory slipped by like a soft muslin curtain in a summer breeze. It was such a sweet memory, but looking back on it, she realized how twisted things were.

She was five and was sitting on the edge of the street while her parents fought. She didn't know that the next time they fought, her father would leave and she would be left alone for four terrible years with her mother.

The screen door snapped shut with a screech and a smack. Her father stalked by and sat on his Harley. He looked over his sunglasses at her and winked, his blue eyes twinkling, letting her know, without any words, that he loved her. Then he rode down the street. The memory was choppy and blurred, but the next thing she remembered was sitting on the stoop with her mom who was smoking a Camel. She passed the cigarette to her daughter. Angela took it with clumsy fingers. It was some sick rite of passage, but neither knew any better.

Mei-Fen took the cigarette back and breathed into the sunset. Angela remembered wondering, at age five, if some day she would be able to find out where the sunset got its colors.

Walking into the office in present-day Washington D.C., Angela sat in front Miss Willis who was taking a call as Brayden struggled for freedom. Just shy of a fall-out, Angela released him to deconstruct the social worker's office.

"Brayden, stop it."

"Sorry about that. I had to take that call."

"What did you want to talk about?" Angela kept her eyes on the busy little boy whose energy was explosive and implosive.

Miss Willis nodded sorrowfully, "I--I received a call from Arnold Thomas, who represents Travis Devlin, Brayden's biological father. By law, for foster children to be released for adoption, we must contact all blood relatives, especially parents, unless of course their rights have been terminated by the state, as in the case of Mei-Fan..." She paused. Angela found herself annoyed with Miss Willis and her dramatic flair. "Mr. Devlin has requested to be awarded full custody of Brayden. I'm very sorry, Angela."

"What?" Every drop of blood in her body drained and what was left chilled and crystallized. Fear was the primary emotion. Who was this man? Who was Travis Devlin? Who would have a child with an ex-prostitute-slash-drug addict, then leave his child with that woman and still believe that he had a chance to be a proper protector and provider and... and... father? "No. No. No! You can't do this. They can't do this!"

"Of course he will have to be checked out as per the usual. Background check, that sort of thing. But as the biological parent of Brayden, he does have... dibs, so to speak."

"Dibs?" She couldn't believe it. This little boy was going to be torn from her arms. This little boy was going into the arms and the house of strangers. And she could do nothing to stop it. "I have to fight for him."

"By all means. But I'm just warning you that you will most likely lose if his record is clean and he has any chance at raising him."

Angela shook her head. No more words could come. She wanted to cry, but instead she found that she just wanted to leave from that place. She wanted to escape. She stood and took Brayden into her arms. He kicked and cried, but she said nothing. She just took him.

Who knew how much longer she would have with him?

Twelve hours.

Twelve hours later, his little blue outfits, his little baseball caps, his little sneakers and toys were all packed neatly with disbelief into a tiny suitcase.

Then, when he was gone, Hodgins held her. She was glad that she hadn't told Brennan yet. She would try to be comforting, but somehow she wouldn't understand. Hodgins let her cry. So, she did. She let out anguished sobs and let her body shake with mournful cries. He didn't say anything. He didn't tell her that it would all be OK... because he couldn't promise that. The only thing he promised was to be there for her every step of the way. And so he held her and said nothing.

And when she finally fell asleep, he carried her into his bedroom and laid her down. She woke up as soon as he laid her down and said, "Stay with me."

He turned off the light and crawled into bed. He held her hand and let sleep come to them.

---

Days passed and joy was once again on the horizon. It teetered like plates being spun on a pole. The 'big appointment' was coming up and it was time for another wardrobe upgrade. It wouldn't be long before elastic waistbands were a necessity and she knew it. Every day she wondered how she would tell him.

They pulled up to Carol-Jean's place. Booth peeked over his sunglasses, "Nice place."

"She enjoys gardening, so she has said. You can park there. Between the Taurus and the Honda."

"Back-seat driving again, Bones. I know how to drive."

"I wasn't telling you how to drive and besides, I'm in the front seat, not the back seat."

"I'm just saying, Bones, I know how to drive. I've been driving since I was sixteen. I know how to drive."

"You're too close."

"Shh."

"Booth, it's too narrow for your gas-guzzler."

"Zip it, Bones."

"Booth!"

"Bones!"

"Booth!"

"Do you wanna drive? Do you wanna drive?"

"Yes! Yes, I would!"

"See? I told you I could park this thing. I've parked in a lot tighter places than this."

Brennan got out and slammed the door. She surveyed for a moment. "You parked crooked."

He narrowed his gaze at her. "That's enough from you."

On that day, she wore a dress. A dress that would show a little bit of her protruding belly. Thanks to eating well, exercising, and being relatively tall, she wasn't showing much at all, but she was hoping that this would help the cause anyway.

Carol-Jean met her on the porch. People were talking and drinking lemonade under the tents in the yard. Children were laughing and playing tag between the adults. A few were annoyed, but most of the adults were enjoying the gaiety of the atmosphere and chose to say nothing.

"This is my partner Seeley Booth. This is my aunt, Carol-Jean."

The woman smiled and took Booth's hand, "Kids these days. When I was a girl, it was 'beau', then it morphed into 'boyfriend' and finally 'partner' is now the fashionable word. Well, tomato tomato, that's what I say."

"I thought it was tomato potat--"

"Bones," he cut her off. "Nice to meet you, Carol-Jean."

She smiled. "Bones. Alright, then." She snagged a girl who was running past her. "Hold it there, Holly. This is the birthday girl, Holly Hobby."

"Grandmaaaaaaaaaaaaaa..."

"Hobby isn't really her last name," Carol-Jean winked at Booth.

Booth nodded knowingly.

Brennan was confused.

"Holly, honey, these are my friends. This is actually your... your cousin... second cousin I think... Temperance. And this is her 'partner'--" she winked again, "Seeley. Say, 'How do you do?'"

The little girl curtseyed uncomfortably, "How do you do?" Then she whispered audibly to her grandma, "Nobody does that any more."

"Go along now." The little girl ran away in a blur of yellow and blonde. "Come along and I'll show you around. I'll introduce you to my daughter Amelia, her husband Frank, their kids: Justice, Alex, and of course you've already met Holly, then there's little Catriona--I think that's Irish or something, we're just a little bit Irish, but it's a trend... Then there's..."

Brennan grabbed Booth's arm and kept him back just as her aunt was out of ear-shot, "There's something I need to say."

"Can it wait?"

"I'm with child."

"You're what?"

"Pregnant."

To her surprise, he didn't react in any of the ways she had imagined. He didn't laugh nervously. He didn't accuse her of having a secret relationship. He didn't... he didn't do anything!

"Uh..." He sighed. And he nodded. He didn't look into her eyes. He put his hands in his pockets. Then he walked off toward Carol-Jean as she was introducing them to 'Lester'.

Brennan ran up beside him, "You're not going to say anything?" she whispered.

"Not now. Not the time," he whispered back. "Nice to meet you."

Lester laughed and introduced his family, then pointed to a few of his grandsons, then they were corralled into another meeting.

Meeting after meeting after meeting. Grandsons, granddaughters, nieces, nephews. And throughout it all, Booth avoided saying anything personal to Brennan. Sure he asked her if she needed to take a seat or needed anything to drink several times, but for the most part the light-hearted banter was gone.

The drive back after the party was even more painful. He didn't say anything. When she spoke to him, he didn't say anything more than what was the bare minimum requirement to say.

In all of it, she was so bewildered that she didn't even think to tell him the rest of the story... that the child was his.

She mentioned that her appointment was in a couple of days. The ultrasound appointment was coming up. He seemed surprised that she was that far along--he remembered Rebecca's pregnancy with Parker. He remembered where each of the milestones lay. He gritted his teeth at this news and muttered a congratulations to her. She didn't ask if he would be there. Somehow she thought that he still wouldn't be talking to her by then.

And she was right.

Ugh. One of these days she's going to figure it out. She's a freakin' genius but she doesn't know what she just did to Booth does she? He's thinking she slept with someone and that it's his baby, poor Boothy. And poor Brennan too.

RM

Really gonna push to finish this story soon.

She was alone. Nothing unusual. She had been alone on many occasions—In that case, her entire life was such an occasion. But somehow it hurt. It hurt to know that she was alone for this occasion.

Earlier that day, she was in the lab with Cam.

Once or twice, she tried to speak. Speaking of such matters were difficult, to say the least. At last , Cam asked for calipers. Those were the first words she had said to Brennan in several days. Sure, they had had their rough times, but it was clear that Camille Saroyan was one to demand respect and earn respect. She was also one who, when she respected you, it was something to feel good about. But lately, Brennan felt that connection of mutual and professional respect slipping.

She handed Cam the calipers and said bluntly, “You’re angry with me.”

“Not right now, Dr. Brennan.”

“I intend on telling Booth soon. It’s just difficult to know the right words to say.”

Cam looked at Brennan sideways. She sighed. “It’s not that hard. Just open your mouth, Dr. Brennan.” She turned sharply. “Of course I’m not mad at you. It’s none of my business.”

That was the end of that conversation.

But apparently Cam was somehow still angry at her, despite her words. Going through the conversation as she sat in the waiting room drinking a ridiculous amount of water, Brennan could not figure it out. Cam’s tone was sharp, angry, biting… but the words she said contradicted her tone.

She chose to ask Cam later about it.

“Temperance Brennan?” The nurse smiled at her. “Hi Temperance. You wanna come in and have a sit? We’ll get started. You drink all your water? Bet you’re hurtin’ to pee. We won’t be too long. You can go in, change into this. You can leave on your panties, of course. This ain’t that kinda exam. Just gonna check on your little one. You turn in your insurance stuff to the front desk? Sure. Good. K. Go on in there, change and you can come on out. Your tech’s gonna be in in no time flat.”

Alone at last, all worries about Cam not speaking to her, Angela being unable to be there for her, and Booth still not talking to her was washed over by the tremendous pain of a full bladder which could not be relieved.

“Hi, I’m Casey,” the ultrasound tech greeted her as she exited the little bathroom and sat on the edge of the little cot and made herself comfortable.

“Temperance.”

She smiled, “I’ve only heard that name once before—well, besides eighth grade history on the Puritans and stuff. Sorry, this is going to be a little cold.” She squirted the gel onto her abdomen. “Were you interested in finding out the baby’s gender today?”

She hadn’t really thought about that. Every thought about the baby was overshadowed by thoughts of Booth. “No,” she said, deciding that it somehow wouldn’t be right without Booth’s permission or insight, however irrational the thought was.

“That’ll be exciting. Not a lot of people opt out. Looks like this little guy’s a squirmer. If he could just hold still…” she was silent for several seconds as she began measuring the fetal long bones. “Looks good…” Then she began to measure the infant’s tiny head. Her bedside manner was indeed lacking as she pressed into Brennan’s full bladder with unexpected strength. Brennan gritted her teeth. She had felt worse pain before. But did she have to push so hard?

“Looks like you chose the right thing. There’s no way I’d be able to see any boy or girl parts. This kid’s a gymnast in the making.”

She continued to quietly measure and check out the body parts.

For some reason, it seemed as if she was taking longer than she ought to have. Her mind was muddied with thoughts of the pain in her bladder, the baby, Booth… But did she expect what would come next?

“Hm,” Casey said at last. She then pulled back her hair roughly, then continued to measure in silence.

“Is everything alright?”

She didn’t reply. She didn’t know what to say quite yet. Then she stood. “I’ll be right back. Nothing to worry about, so… Do—do you have anyone you can call?”

Numbly, Brennan found herself shaking her head. Who to call? Max? Her brother? Booth? Obviously, she should call her dad. Her dad! Had she even told him about the baby yet?

Casey left the room leaving Brennan to feel a million things. Fear. Shock. Loneliness.

With clumsy fingers, she texted the last person she wrote with three words: “I need you.”

A doctor in white who looked like he had just come in off from the nearby Pediatric Unit walked in with an intern at his heels. He smiled stiffly. A stiff friendliness and a painted smile. “I’m Dr. Westcott. Nice to meet you. I’m just going to have a look-see. Why don’t you lay back.”

She complied and let the doctor move around the wand on her stomach. She was too afraid to look again at the little face on the monitor. Too afraid.

“Sorry if my hands are cold,” he said, eyes not leaving the monitor.

The doctor tapped the screen and whispered to his colleague. At the tapping sound, Brennan looked over and saw something she didn’t expect to see. A perfect little skull as the wand wandered away from the point of interest. Perfect little zygomatic arches. Perfect little nasal bridge… Add a little flesh, a little hair, and several years… and she was looking at somebody very familiar. Somebody who, when she was alone at night, she believed she felt very strongly for.

A tear slipped onto the pillow case. With that one look, she wasn’t pregnant with a faceless fetus. She was pregnant with her child. Booth’s child.

She slapped the tear away.

Again, she was in the waiting room, holding a little black and white strip of photos. Always of the face. Why just the face? Just as everything felt cold, she heard a familiar gate. She didn’t even have to look up or hear his voice to know that it was him. To know who belonged to that gate.

“Bones, what’s wrong? Are you OK?” He took a seat beside her, his eyes falling to the pictures in her hand. “Is that—Is that your baby?”

“Booth, I’m sorry that I’ve been…”

“No apologies, Bones. God, when I got your text, I don’t know—It freaked me out. I thought the worst. You’re OK then? Why’d you text me?”

Knowing that the doctors in that office may have held the fate for the child inside of her and knowing that time was indeed of the essence; she knew she only had one choice. It wasn’t graceful or poetic. It was clumsy and prosaic. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, Booth. You deserved to hear the truth from the very beginning.”

“You were scared.”

“Yes, but I’ve never lied to you before. Not—not really.”

“And I believe it. Bones, what are you getting at? I’ve forgiven you. Don’t even worry about it. You were scared and I know you’ve never really wanted kids…”

“I have.”

“You… have?”

“I have.”

“Since when?” He looked at her as one might expect an unsuspecting camper might look at Sasquatch.

“You—You don’t remember anything, do you?” She took this in for a second. “I once told you that I wanted a child. Right before your surgery.”

He began laughing nervously.

“And you did exactly that.”

“Bones, it’s not April anymore.”

“I don’t see what the date has anything to do with what I’m telling you.”

“Never mind.”

“And I told you that I wanted you to be the father of my child.”

He was silent. For a long time. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” He stood up abruptly.

“What?”

“Talk about irony. I don’t remember us—y’know…”

“Getting a checkup?”

“That’s kinky, Bones. Whatever you wanna call it.”

“You mean sex?”

“I get a tumor and I don’t even—This is cruel,” he said to the sky.

Brennan looked up as well and studied the ceiling until Booth closed the distance on her.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I mean, you knew I didn’t remember anything. I thought we were closer than that.”

“Booth, I asked you to donate your semen.”

“And I agreed?” Then he whispered, “Somebody pinch me…. Yow, Bones! What was that for?”

“I thought…”

“No, you didn’t… What the--??? Jeezus, Bones.”

She watched silently as he paced. Before he could make the final round, the doctor came into the waiting room. He looked at Booth, “Could we--?”

“He’s my partner.”

Booth’s lips tightened. He obviously wasn’t pleased with her.

The doctor took a seat. He held several papers in his hand as he spoke to the pair who sat across from him. The serious look on his face made both Booth and Brennan keep their peace.

“So, you’re the father?”

“Yeah. I’m the father,” Booth said curtly.

“When Casey was doing your exam, she noticed some abnormalities. Things that we don’t normally see on a routine ultrasound. Have you… Have you been cramping, bleeding…?”

“No.”

“No, I wouldn’t expect that. Anyway, when Casey asked me to look at your ultrasound, I was quickly able to see what she saw. It was blatantly obvious. What your child has is called an omphalocele.”

Brennan sucked in air sharply, recognizing the word almost immediately.

“What?” Booth asked. “What is it?”

“An omaphalocele is a defect in the abdominal wall. Basically, there’s a –a herniation of the contents of abdomen, which protrude onto the base of the umbilicus.”

Booth looked to Brennan for translation. He knew it was bad. The picture forming in his mind was so horrifying that he was hoping that Brennan would not look as terrified as he felt. To his dismay, she was as she always is when facing a great and painful torrent. She was sitting very still, her eyes glassy with tears.

He reached for her hand, which she squeezed back tightly.

“In laymen’s terms, the contents of your child’s abdomen are outside of her little body…”

“Her?” Booth asked.

“I--I use that pronoun loosely.”

“Does… does this mean surgeries?” He could feel his voice weaker than he’d ever heard it before. One minute, he had one child, the next he had two and one of them was in danger. And he was powerless to stop it. Powerless to relieve the pain of his partner. Powerless to save his child.

“I’d like a second opinion,” Brennan whispered.

“Of course. I’ll recommend you.”

“What does this mean?” Booth asked.

“If your child makes it to full term, I’d give him… or her… a ten percent chance of survival. Expect NICU stays, illnesses… and God forbid, heartbreak. I hate to paint such a bleak picture for you, but I have to tell you the truth. I can’t let you have false hope. Very few of these children survive the first few days after they’re born. Infections. Hemorrhaging. Failure to thrive.” He was silent as he let the news sink in. Booth held her hand tightly. “Just… pray.”

“I don’t…”

“I’ll pray for the both of us, Bones,” he whispered to her.

Brennan nodded. Tears filled her eyes and overflowed.

He reached up and wiped them from her cheek.

Oh, Mama. Such heartbreak. Brennan can't deal with the relatively simple stuff at time, so she has to call in Booth when the really hairy stuff shows its head.

It's very good, and very, very angsty.

Oh man...as soon as he finds out he is going to be a father he finds out his baby is sick and probably won't make it....poor Booth...

Thanks everyone! Before you read this next chapter, it must be know that I HATE the 'R' word... but it's important for the story and that character.

Weeks passed. Brennan's pregnancy was progressing as normally as it could. Everything was normal from the outside, but tests and appointments would soon become a daily occurrence. For now, though, things cooled down for her. We'll get to their story soon enough, though.

In that time, Angela had decided to fight. She was not one to sit back and let the world storm around her without trying to erect a roof. The struggle to erect that roof might have been more difficult if it wasn't for the fact that the man she was living with... and slowly getting very comfortable with--by way of late night talks, walks in the cool night in bare feet, playful swims, and moonlit dinners on the veranda-- had a team of lawyers to call on at any time of the day.

She did not want to cry to him and ask for his help, but when the pain of losing the little boy she had grown so fond of had become too painful to bear--when she realized that she hadn't slept more than twenty hours in one week and was crying herself to sleep on the nights that she had, she finally let her defenses down. Isn't it funny that she was always telling her best friend to offer up a little of herself to others and she couldn't do that very thing for herself?

It's a very different situation when you're in that place.

She couldn't sleep, so she wrapped a cool satin robe around her shoulders and found her way to the moonlit walk that led down to the pond. She didn't realize that Hodgins was still awake until she realized that he had followed her down to the waters and sat beside her.

"Can't sleep?"

He knew the answer, so she asked, "Did I wake you up?"

He shook his head, "Mm-mm, no." Silence filled the space between them. Then he asked, "What's on your mind, Angie?"

"I can't... I can't do this any more, Hodgins. This waiting game. It's killing me. Knowing that he's-- It's like getting hit with a wiffle-bat each time by some hairy bouncer called Knuckles. I just... I can't sit back any longer. I have to fight for him."

"You have no rights..."

"I'm his sister. "

"It might be enough, but I'm not a lawyer, but do you know who is?" She looked at him. "Cartwright Cather."

An eyebrow tipped.

"He's--he's my attorney. He doesn't go by Knuckles, but he can be pretty scary at times."

She laughed. And in the moonlight, he couldn't imagine anything more beautiful. He only wanted to see that smile light up her face every day for the rest of his life. But he didn't say anything. They'd been down that road. But... if they walked down that road one more time... being more mature and wise with experience and pain and sadness... would they walk to where the streets meet again?

"What are you thinking about?" She murmured.

"I'm thinking about you."

How was it that he still made her feel dizzy at times? Like the first time. Like the last time. She didn't reply to him. She just smiled and was glad that the dull light hid her blush.

"C'mon, I'll walk you back to the house." He gave her his hand.

The roof was built, slowly but surely, and with time, Angela was given the right to visit her little brother one bright early autumn day when the leaves were just beginning to turn and tumble gracefully to the ground. They chose a park in the middle of the city to meet. Angela knew Brayden's father by sight. Travis Devlin some how looked exactly like his name suggested. He was a tall Caucasian man with linear features and sad looking brown eyes. His hair was cut into a mullet, or something close to it. He wore a tee shirt with a beer logo on it and tight fitting Levis. He looked approachable, however weird he may have appeared, but he showed up with his wife who looked totally unapproachable.

Debbie was altogether too large to be wearing the skin tight, too short, too low cut, outfit that she must have found in the junior's section of the mall in 1987. Her bleach blond hair was curled and hair sprayed beyond an inch of its life. She was chewing tobacco when they first met and on that day in October, she made it her goal to make sure that Angela was not needed. She was very suspicious of the legalities that were brought into the situation and was biased against her from the beginning.

Brayden broke away from the two as they approached Hodgins and Angela and wrapped his arms around Angela's neck. This made Debbie wince and mutter something to her husband. They sat on a benc, the four adults, and watched as Brayden played with the other children. He seemed well cared-for, but Angela couldn't help but to wonder if it was all window dressing. The shoes and clothes he wore were crisp as if they were just bought and put on in the car. His hair was a little on the long side and his nails were dirty, but otherwise he was spotless.

After a brief reintroduction, the four sat in silence. Angela wanted nothing more than to go and play with Brayden. But somehow she didn't want to seem too eager.

"He's a friendly boy," Debbie said. "He likes to hug people. Even if he doesn't know them much. Don't get your hopes too high on that front. I think he just likes hugging."

"He's a good boy," Angela agreed.

"Yeah. A good son."

After a minute or two more, Angela said, "I like his little outfit."

"You like that, huh?" she sniffed in return.

Minutes more passed before Debbie said, looking Angela up and down, "I like your outfit some. You didn't go and spend your entire paycheck on that, right? Cuz it would be a waste of money, better spent on bills and respectable things."

By then, Hodgins had gotten annoyed and was standing at the monkey bars where Brayden was pointing to the bars above his head wordlessly. Hodgins lifted him and hoisted him to the bars. Brayden laughed.

"He better not break my kid's arm," Debbie muttered.

Angela tried her hardest to ignore the impossible woman beside her.

Debbie elbowed her silent husband and whispered an order for him to go and play with Brayden. He sighed and stood to go and play with the boy. Soon, all four adults were trying to play with him. Eventually, Angela and Hodgins stood back. Not only was the visit ridiculous, but they were standing back and watching as other people were playing with Brayden.

"We should get goin'," Travis said at last. It was probably the only words anyone had heard from him the entire afternoon. "Come along, Brayden!" He repeated this several times until he had to go and retrieve the boy himself.

"Sometimes I think he's retarded," Debbie grumbled, to Angela's horror. "Can't potty train worth a damn and doesn't say nothing." She shoved a wad of tobacco into her mouth. Who uses Snuff anymore???

"Well, she's a winner," Hodgins said to Angela as they walked toward the car.

Angela didn't say anything. She was planning her next strategy. She had to get him back. Would it all have to be left up to chance for them to get Brayden back home and into their arms?

Ugh! This sounds like the visitation from hell. I liked that Hodgins was the one that headed over to play with Brayden first. Angela probably adored seeing them together, and hated that he had abandoned her!

Aww I just had a vision of Hodgins and Brayden playing on the monkey bars! Great chapter Mama!!

Thanks! I'm glad you liked it!

At ten years old, he could hardly see over the counter. He wouldn't reach that big growth spurt for several years to come. He had woken to yelling. Sadly, those were familiar sounds. At times they lulled him to sleep, but at other times, he covered his ears and hummed until it had drowned out all of those sounds and he fell back to sleep. For some reason, he had gotten out of bed that time.

He stood for several minutes in silence, the tall bar counter hiding his presence from his fighting parents. There was no love in the words that they exchanged. They were full of drunken anger and sullen fear. It wouldn't be long before he discovered that there was a difference. He would look back on those years and wonder why his mother stayed with his father. It was always rhetorical, but an answer always echoed back to him. And that answer echoed back in the form of a memory.

After the screen door slapped shut, his mother fell to the floor, knees to her forehead, and sobbed. In that moment, she was weak. His mother was a strong woman. She was careful not to put on any other front with her sons in the room, for fear that they would pick up the habits of their father. It didn't make a lot of sense, she knew that, but she also prayed she was wrong.

He walked into the 70s-style kitchen and sat down on the yellow and brown tile floor beside his mother. He didn't say anything for a long time. Then he put his arm around her. To his surprise, she put her head on his little shoulder and let her child comfort her.

Just like that day in 1979, he was standing just steps away from a woman he loved who was at her weakest moment. Where she would be sure to tell him about the odds that were in favor of the baby, she was instead closed inside of the bathroom, the shower running over her body, her sobs almost hidden by the sound of the downpour.

After dinner, he had asked her if she was OK. She was quick to list her multiple degrees and doctorates, emphasizing that she had contacts with people that the general populace did not. Then the bathroom door locked.

He may have been angry at her for keeping this from him so long, but he wasn't so callous that it didn't tear him in two knowing that she was in there and he was out there.

He knocked softly at first, "Bones, are you OK?"

"I'm fine..."

"Bones, open up."

"I'm showering..."

"I know that. C'mon, Bones. C'mon, just open up."

"Booth, just go away please." Her words were nasal from congestion.

He knew better.

"Bones, open up."

At this point, she had decided not to reply to him any more, despite several more requests.

"Fine, just remember you made me do this," he said, stepping back away from the door and giving it a violent kick.

It wasn't the fairy tale tuck-in he had expected, though. She scrambled to her feet in the slippery tub and was standing in front of him within a second. Apparently she wasn't very modest, either.

He tried not to look as she stood in front of him, hands on her hips. Who cared if she was pregnant? She was probably a hundred times sexier than he had ever imagined. Her breasts were fuller than if she wasn't pregnant and her belly was only bulging a little bit by that time. And to add to it, her eyes were positively blazing at him... and it was the hottest thing he had ever seen.

"What are you doing, Booth? You have no right to break in my door like that!"

"Bones, I--"

"You're paying for that."

"Bones, you can't just hide in here when you're hurting--"

"I'm fine, Booth. I told you that. Didn't you hear? Are you suffering from a hearing impairment because you--"

He grabbed her wrists roughly. It took him by surprise and took her breath from her chest. "Bones, just shut up. I'm not going to be on the outside of that door while you're in here crying. This isn't just about you any more--"

"I know that. It's your baby--"

"It has always been my baby, too, Bones. Always. The moment I started to suspect you were pregnant, I knew that I would want to be a part of this baby's life. Me, Bones. It's me. You know me better than that. I can't believe you'd think that I wouldn't want to be. You know me, dammit. You. Know. Me."

"You can go now," she said hoarsely.

"No. No, Bones. I'm here. And I don't regret anything. Not a thing."

"The door?"

He smiled as if he were going to laugh. "No. You and me. Our baby. The only thing I regret is that..." we didn't make our baby the right way, he told himself.

"What?"

"Why don't you go put something on. I'll get us something to eat."

She watched him walk away from her. Again. Just like all of those other times. When her heart was pounding in her chest, he walked away. She closed her eyes.

Who was the stubborn one? Who was hiding? Who knew that they loved the other, but let fear get in the way?

Today, the answer was both. Both of them loved, but both of them feared.

The rest of the evening was spent in an ironic way. Booth fed her strawberries and popcorn as they watched Casablanca beneath a large quilt.

At the end of the film, he was quietly walking around the apartment getting ready to go. He put his jacket on and touched his back pocket. He noticed that he was missing his wallet; that familiar bump was missing. His partner lay on her back, reclined against the couch. Beside her, he found his wallet, which he put into his pocket. But he stayed there, hoving over her for a little while. He couldn't quite put his hand on it, but there was something amazing about her as a pregnant woman. Even with all of these fears about the baby's health and outcome, she still glowed with this maternal radiance and joy. He knew she would make a good mother. He just hoped that she would get a chance to see that, too.

He wanted to kiss her, wake her by pressing his lips to hers.

Deciding against it, despite an internal protest, he grabbed the throw that was on the back of the couch and pulled it over her. As he did so, he felt a movement beneath the blanket. It wasn't Brennan. She was still fast asleep.

He smiled to himself and pulled the blanket down, then carefully he pulled her shirt up, checking to make sure he wasn't waking his partner. Her eyes stayed closed. Beneath the soft skin of her belly, to the left of her belly button, a little bump pushed out. The bump moved swiftly up toward her ribcage, then disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. He grinned and tried not to laugh. Brennan was still asleep, he didn't want to disturb her. But the temptation was there. The bump appeared once again. He pressed a fingertip against it. It pushed back, then disappeared. He laughed.

Then realization set in. Even with ultrasound photos from three different doctors, this somehow made this little baby even more real. His eyes filled with tears. In spite of it all, he couldn't help but to feel like the most blessed man on earth. He smoothed a thumb across her belly button in line with the little foot that was pushing out to earth. Doctors might call his child deformed or a genetic anomaly, but he knew that his child had purpose, had life. And he could not wait to see him or her come into the world. His child might only breathe for a minute, but to hold him or her meant that he would be the father to an amazing one-of-a-kind gift. This little person would have a little bit of him and a little bit of Brennan. It may not be the fairy tale way of doing things, but they had brought this child into the world together.

He decided to put aside all of his frustration and pain, lay it down for the sake of this little person.

He leaned close and kissed the little spot where his child's foot was pushing out toward the world. 17 weeks. Until then, he would wait and be by his partner's side. After all, since when did he and Brennan ever do anything traditionally?

When the door closed behind him, Brennan moved her hand to her stomach, her eyes still closed, and smiled. Without a word, they had chosen the same path. Termination was never an option. They were both madly in love with this little baby. Every heart beat meant something grander. They may not be together as a couple, but this little baby would represent all of the What-Ifs. They were putting all of their hopes into the What-Ifs of this child's life. What if they were able to take their child to the park? What if they were able to teach their child Chinese? What if their child was a genius, too? What if they were able to take their child to a NASCAR event?

What if their child lived for a moment? What if their child lived for a year or a decade or for a century? What if their child defied logic and statistics?

That last question scared Brennan to think of. So much of her hopes had been put into such things over the years that it was scary to hope for the unlikely. She still felt his lips against her skin and the movement of her child inside of her. She didn't ask for a nuclear family and a white house with a picket fence and everything told her that those were illogical things to hope for... but she did.

That was so beautiful. When he watched the baby move and then grinned, I could feel it blow his mind! So glad they're both invested in the What Ifs.

... and all this goes without saying that I'm crying like a baby now. Good thing I'm going to sleep now.