A Sliver of Topaz by ForensicMama (Multi-Chapter)

A month had passed and she was still half asleep when she fumbled for the telephone in the darkness. She knocked the phone off from the night stand and thought she had awoken Hodgins down the hall, but when she heard nobody stir, she quietly answered.

On the other line, she heard a familiar sobbing voice. Her skin crawled. She thought the worst immediately. She promised to meet her at the Royal Diner. A few more words were exchanged before they hung up.

Angela sat on the edge of the bed, her heart still crashing against her ribcage, her mouth dry. What ever happened to routine? Sure, she wasn't one to like things to be the same forever, but because of times like these, she often wished for that familiar routine: wake, draw, reconstruct, go home.

She told herself to bite the bullet and stop with the pity party.

She pulled an old pair of sweat pants over her nightgown and pulled a sweatshirt over her head. She was careful not to disturb Hodgins as she stole into the night, taking the keys to his BMW on her way out.

The diner was empty, which wasn't too surprising at 3:30 AM on a Tuesday morning. She had noticed that her breath was chilled in the air and hung in front of her face like a ghostly chandelier.

The hostess asked her if she would like coffee. She declined since she had decided on going back to sleep later if that was at all possible.

After two cups of tea, a woman in an oversized flannel shirt stumbled into the diner and sat opposite of Angela. She immediately hailed Angela and ordered steak and eggs.

She said nothing until half of the steak and all of the eggs were safely stowed away in her gullet.

She finally spoke when, prompted by fears, Angela asked the woman who looked like she'd been in a bar all night, "Debbie, why did you call me tonight? Is Brayden OK?"

She nearly choked on the steak, "That little shit?"

Angela could feel her pulse speeding up and her cheeks stinging hotly, "Is Brayden OK?" she enunciated.

"That ain't why we here."

"Why, then?"

She wiped her lips, her elbows flatly on the table, "That isn't why we're here." The way she spoke sounded as if she were concentrating on every syllable to make sure of its accuracy in grammar.

"Then why?"

"That's a nice watch. How much did it cost you?"

Angela eyed the time piece. "I don't think--"

"We're lookin' into this nice school down the street. Lots of nice teachers. I want him to get a nice education."

Angela immediately knew what this was about.

"He's a retarded."

"Brayden has a disability?"

She took another bite. "Your mother liked key lime margaritas and Coor's Light." She took another bite, completely unaware of Angela's reaction to the terrible news. "Apparently she didn't kick the habit when she was pregnant. Be a dear and pass the salt. Thanks."

Trying to speak through the shock was like running through water. "And... you need the money for what?"

"That school's got a real nice special ed program. Thing is, we can't afford it, not with Travis laid off." She stood. "Of course you don't have to do anything. He's our responsibility now and it's not like he won't get a quality education at an overcrowded public school. Lord knows it'll delay him further. Maybe he'll be institutionalized some day but that's up to God, right?"

She put her purse on her shoulder slowly... stalling.

"Email me the tuition... the, um... the tuition information and I'll make sure it's paid for by the end of the week."

"That won't work."

"Sorry?"

"They don't accept checks from outside sources. Check's gotta go into our account then we'll pay on credit through our bank."

Angela was silent for a while. This time she stood, then walked past Mrs. Devlin. "Just send me the information." By the time Angela was in the street, the sun was beginning to brighten the wintry sky. She was still trying to process all of it. Brayden had Fetal Alcohol Syndrome? How would this effect him? How severe was it?

She was glad when her cell rang and the caller ID announced that it was Brennan.

"Sweetie, what do you know about Fetal Alcohol Syndrome?"

Brennan was in the lab that morning. She shifted the phone to her other ear. "You're talking about Brayden, aren't you?"

"How do you know?"

"Fetal Alcohol Syndrome exhibits an array of symptoms including cranio-facial abnormalities. I remembered what you told me about your mother after we first met and I put the two together."

"Sweetie, why didn't you tell me?"

"Booth once told me that if I ever notice that someone's child has a deformity," she began, as if quoting from memory, "that I shouldn't just blurt it out in front of them. It's rude."

Angela couldn't help but to smile and wonder what exactly happened when that conversation came about. "Sweetie, it's OK to tell your best friend."

"Usually such fluctuations in one's voice can be confusing to me, but I've known you for a while, Angela, and you sound upset."

"I'm OK, Bren," she sighed as she reached Hodgins' car and got in. The heater began to warm up the car immediately. That was the reason she stole Hodgins' car. The heater worked faster and it was a crisp morning.

"Now by 'OK' do you mean you're actually 'OK' or are you trying to make me feel better about your well-being?"

"I'm actually OK, just... pissed."

"Would you like to have breakfast later? I'm almost done here."

"That sounds great, sweetie. Why'd you call, though?"

"There was a message on the answering machine from the State. They need you to return their call as soon as possible."

Angela leaned her head on the steering wheel.

"Angela?... Angela?... Ange?"

"I'll be at the lab in ten, sweetie."

Brennan didn't even get a chance to say good-bye before the other end of the line was dead.

Booth waltzed into the office with a big grin on his face.

"Alright, Bones. I have somethin' for you. Actually, for the baby."

Brennan stood and walked toward the bag that was in Booth's hand. She reached for it, but Booth quickly pulled it out of her reach. "M-M-M, Bones. Not yet. Guess what it is."

"Well, considering that the two most common baby gifts are clothing or blankets, I'd say one or the other."

"You know what, Bones? When you do that thing where you guess and you use your facts and your statistics you just ruin all of my fun."

"So I was correct."

Booth sighed and pulled out little blue tee shirt that said, "JR FBI AGENT".

"Are you so certain that it's a boy?"

"Ah, I knew you'd say something cheeky like that."

"Cheeky?"

"Yeah. Cheeky." He dropped the bag and pulled out the next one. It was a pink tee shirt that said, "JR SCIENTIST."

"What if it's a girl. Would you be upset that she wouldn't have a junior FBI Agent tee shirt?"

"Well, no, Bones cuz you know... you're a girl, you're a scientist... I'm a man, I'm--"

"You're not seriously saying that a woman can't be an FBI Agent?"

"Of course not. Remember Perotta? Of course she did have some guns on her..."

Brennan was glaring at him when Cam poked her head into the office, "Are you two at it again? Listen, have either of you seen Angela? There's a scary-ass woman from the state looking for her."

The argument was dropped immediately as the three of them walked toward Angela's office with curiosity. Angela was already in her office by then and was talking to the woman who ended up being Miss Willis.

"Who is that?" Booth asked.

Brennan shrugged.

"She looks familiar but I can't put my finger on it. Could she be from Juvenile Services? Everyone there looks like an axe murderer. After Michelle's dad died I was down at the DOJS every day for months. I'm still not done with them." Cam shivered. There were too many bad and good memories surrounding that place to make it warm and inviting.

They were all silent as Angela greeted her.

"Did I miss an appointment or something?" Angela shook the woman's hand warmly.

"Nothing like that, Angela." She stood and removed some paperwork from her briefcase.

Angela looked up and saw all of the curious faces in her window. She walked to the door and before she closed it, she said, "Sorry, guys."

"Damn," Cam whispered.

"I'll just go get her name from the security guard and make a few calls," Booth said.

"Nice!" Cam grinned and jogged after Booth.

Brennan decided to take a seat at her computer on the platform and watch silently until the conversation was over.

Inside of the office, Miss Willis decided to be blunt, "I like you, Angela."

"Oh... kay."

"And I don't like Mr. and Mrs. Devlin. My coworker Janine is working their case, so I've met them on a few occasions. How do I put this? Your chances of fostering your brother... they're minimal."

It was another smack in the face for Angela. "Why is this?"

"The state doesn't look fondly upon unmarried foster mothers if they're working. And according to your paperwork that you turned in, you worked fifty-two hours last week. The worry--"

"I'd cut back."

"The worry is with children such as Brayden... especially since he's been diagnosed with Fetal Alcohol Syndrome, as you've probably already guessed by now, that his behavioral issues will only be exasperated when he's in the home of a workaholic. Stability is the thing that these kids need and new faces day in and day out in a daycare is not exactly a step above the foster care system, faulty as it may be."

Angela was blinking back tears and trying her hardest to remain calm. From the platform, Brennan was trying everything not to go in and rescue Angela. She may be naive about some things, but she could tell that Angela was in pain.

"I've been informed that the state is going to deny your paperwork. I have a month to review your case with a judge. After that time lapses, I can't do much else. The case will most likely be dropped by the judge. Angela, I'm telling you this because I've seen you with your little brother. You love him. You care about his well-being...." she was silent for a moment. "I'm retiring at the end of this year. If they fire me, then so be it. My 401-K's crap anyway."

Angela laughed and wiped away a tear that had escaped. "Is there anything I can do?"

"You could try meeting with the judge. Besides that there's not much else... nothing short of getting married anyway," she laughed uncomfortably. "I,uh. I hope that everything goes OK with you, Angela." With that, she left.

Brennan was quickly by her side. Instead of over-thinking and trying lamely to comfort her friend with words, she simply hugged her and let her cry on her shoulder.

Hodgins was deep in dreamland. He wasn't dreaming about slime or bugs or dirt... he was dreaming about a certain woman who he had always been in love with. Somehow, even in his dreams, she was impossible to catch.

One minute he was chasing her in a classic Model-T and the next, he was torn from that dream world with a gentle shifting of his bed. Without opening his eyes, he gently slapped away at the body and muttered, "Off," to the 'dog' that he thought was disturbing his sleep.

"OK," replied that disturber of sleep.

His eyes peeled open and he scrambled to turn on the light. "No, wait." His eyes adjusted to her familiar face and form before he asked, "Do you, do you need somethin', Ange?"

"No, nothing, Jack."

He sat up, still half-dazed, "Uh... the only other thing I can give you is... is sexual gratification, but--"

"Let's not go there."

"Yeah. Let's not go there. What can I do for you?"

"You make it sound like a business," she jested.

He slid over and patted the sheets. She hesitated, then slid next to him and under the blankets. He leaned his head against the headboard. "What is it, Angela?"

She tried to speak. Then a few tears slipped out. She laughed and wiped them away. "I have to quit my job at the Jeffersonian. I already talked to Brennan about it. She... she tried to stop me, you know... but, I think it's the right choice."

"Woah. What? Why are you quitting?" He sat up a little straighter.

"I was informed today by Miss Willis that... that my chances of getting custody of Brayden were very slim--sister or not."

"You're kidding."

"I wish I was, Hodgins. Basically, unmarried working parents are not favored in the system. Put me up against Devlin and--"

"You've got no chance." He ran a hand over his face. "So that's it then? You're just gonna quit? Like that?"

"Like that."

They were silent for several minutes. Angela didn't know what to ask of him.

Hodgins nodded and stood up, pulling pajama pants over his boxers and throwing a robe over his shoulders. Angela watched him in wide-eyed curiosity as he circled the bed, sliding slippers on. He grabbed Angela's hand and led her out of the mansion and onto the large green lawn. Except for a few well-lit places and the stars above them, the world was dark.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

So she held his hand tighter. No questions asked.

Eventually they reached the edge of the green where the lawn met a forested piece of land. Hodgins looked down at Angela's feet. "Got good shoes on?"

"Yeah. Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

The soil beneath their feet was soggy and muddy from a recent storm. The air was icy and leaves padded their feet as they followed an overgrown path through the woods. Hodgins lit their way with a flashlight that had been stowed in his pocket. The ground grew steep beneath their feet and tilted southward. A few times she slipped, but he held her firmly in his arms every time. She didn't know if it was the impromptu hike that was making her heart beat so fast or the fact that he was holding her closely in his arms and she knew every curve of his body, every scent, every muscle.

"You OK?" he asked.

She nodded breathlessly and he continued to lead her through the woods. The sound of a creek chimed through the trees and it grew louder as they came closer.

"We're not going--?"

He laughed. She could see his blue eyes twinkle with mischief and merriment, even through the darkness. She wondered what he was up to. For the entire time that she was holding his hand and being led through the woods, she had forgotten all of her worries about adoption, paper work, social workers, and finances. For the first time in a very long time, she was herself again. And she was with Jack Hodgins. And her hand was so warm encapsulated in his, held firmly. It scared her to know she knew him so well. But it also scared her to know that she had no idea what he was up to.

They crossed a little field and a little cabin began to grow from the trees. The full moon lit up the old roof. It was out of repair, the whole building, but it looked like that newer timber and shingles had been nailed into place as time wore on. It was old, but it was not forgotten. What was so important about this place that someone--most likely Hodgins himself--came out and repaired it every other summer, pulling off old and weathered shingles and nailing new shingle in its place.

He unlocked the door and let Angela in. She looked around. It was dark, but Hodgins had quickly found a kerosene lamp that he was lighting. It was clean, surprisingly so from the outward look of the whole place. There was a pull out sofa, a fireplace, a radio and a little kitchen. There were at least two other little rooms, but she didn't go and explore.

She shrugged her shoulders at Hodgins as he blew out the match and walked toward her. The lamplight flickered all over the room.

"Where are we, Hodgins?"

"My, um... My dad built this place himself after my mom and him became engaged."

"Wow. So that makes it...?"

"Old? Yeah. I try to keep it in repair, but I get busy with the lab and things."

"Why are we here? You're not going to make me play Twenty Questions, are you? It's two in the morning, Jack."

He chuckled. "Anyway, when my dad and mom were 'courting' this place used to be just acres and acres of forest and my dad and my mom used to come out here to be alone."

"And have a little boom-boom?"

"That's what we call a Don't Ask, Don't Tell Policy." He laughed. "So when my dad went to ask her to marry him he took her to this very spot and then afterward he worked. And he worked and he worked and then he bought this land. They didn't get married until he could buy it for her. It was his wedding gift to her. I... I never really got along with my father, but I think that's--"

"Romantic."

He reached out and held her hand, "Maybe a bunch of shell fish wasn't our happy ending, Angela Montenegro, and I'm sure that we'll have our share of struggles--"

"Jack--"

"We've already had enough to last us a lifetime, but I've never stopped loving you. I don't know how many times I wanted it to be me and not him (or her) and never said a word about it. Maybe there are some things that aren't just a coincidence in this life. Maybe there are soul mates and 'meant to be's. I just don't want to figure out any of that by myself. And I certainly don't want to find out without you."

She was silent for just a little longer than he had expected.

"Jeezus, Angela, say something."

She kissed him deeply and unexpectedly. "I've never stopped loving you, either. I thought I just hurt you so bad--"

"No, never."

She kissed him again, letting her body be held tightly against him with his powerful arms. Their bodies meshed so perfectly. Every moment in his arms was just that much more that she was convinced that, just as he said, there were things that were meant to be. There were trials and struggles, but she had never forgotten what it was like to fall into his arms, or in this case, a pull out sofa in the middle of the woods, behind the main property of the Hodgins Estate. Even with the rough wool blanket being the only blanket in the house to keep them warm, their bodies were hot enough on that winter night to keep them warm until the sun rose.

Yes! Result!!! *snoopy dance time* Angela and Hodgins together at last! Thank you Mama!

RM

Oh my! So much. Heartbreak of her brother's condition. Having to deal with that woman. Hearing bad news from the kind-scary state woman. And when it's at its worst, lo and behold, Hodgins has another surprise up his sleeve that he's never divulged. And this is exquisitely romantic timing! Wonderful!!!!

Thanks, ladies. And I love Shirley Temple!!!

It was hard to get comfortable any more. As her body grew, she shifted more in her sleep and found it increasingly difficult to rest. Her back ached, her shoulder ached, her hip ached. All of this led to a heavy head and sore muscles when she woke up in the morning.

She let her pajamas fall to the bathroom tile and stared at her expanding midsection for several minutes.

Sometimes, when she was all alone, she let all rationality fly right out the window and she completely fell in love. She didn't question the oxytocin that her body was basically swimming in that was known to increase the mother/child bond and how it contributed to the extreme and undeniable love that she felt for the little person that kept her up at night with anxiety, heartburn, and loving kicks to the bladder.

Another side effect: swelling. By that time, she was standing in front of the sink with the hot shower running two feet away from her. She wiped the fog from the mirror and ran her right hand under cold water. She pulled on the ring until her ring finger grew purple. Then she pumped hand soap on to her hand and lubricated the ring. It slid off after a short struggle.

The ring was still in her hand when she heard a knock at the door. She stuck her head out, "Is that you, Booth?"

He let himself in, "Runnin' late, Bones?"

"I didn't sleep well."

"Take your time."

"No new case this morning?"

"Nothing new." Booth let himself in and sat on the couch. Brennan closed the bathroom door and stepped into the shower. The hot water relaxed her muscles.

Booth was looking around. Things had changed in his partner's apartment. Since the big revelation, as underplayed as it was by Brennan, things had changed drastically. Electrical outlets, cabinets, doors, and toilets had all been secured, locked, taped, or otherwise disabled by The Baby Zone, a safety company that came out and stuck numerous plastic things on dangerous objects around your house. The bill was over three thousand dollars. Booth remembered feeling his chest constrict then Brennan telling Booth he didn't have to worry about the price. He tried to object, but she reminded him that she was wearing a three hundred dollar maternity bra. The argument ended and Booth was left with a picture of Brennan in nothing but a bra in his head.

On the coffee table was Parenting Magazine. He reached for it and sat back. He flipped it open. It was an old FBI trick he'd pulled before. Nine times out of ten, the page fell to the last or most opened page. He was trying to analyze the meaning of the fact that she had half-finished a quiz called "Will You Be a Good Mother?" when Brennan came out of the bathroom refreshed, hair still damp, but ready to go.

He clapped his hands together, "There we are. Ready to go, Bones?"

"Yes. Wait, my bag. OK."

He led her out, opening the door for her. She smiled at him briefly. That one smile made him lose it. In that one smile, he could see everything that it should be, that it could be, that it ought to be.

---

"It's just going to be a small thing," Angela said, sipping her chai tea. Brennan had taken to decaffeinated chai tea, so Angela sipped that in support of her friend, although she felt she could really use a cappuccino.

"Wasn't last time a small thing, too?" Cam queried.

"I only have a month. I think it will be nice."

"Do you love him?" This time it was Brennan. The question threw everyone off guard. Brennan talking about love? The looks she received made her reply, "I'm told that's a common factor in a happy marriage... a strong emotional bond which some interpret to be love."

"Sweetie, it's love, no special interpretations there. And yes. I love him. I've never actually stopped loving him." She smiled down at her hand and twisted the ring absently. The look she had on her face made Brennan wonder if she was even still on earth with them. Certainly her body was there before her, but where was her mind... her [metaphorical] heart?

Angela caught Brennan's eye. Brennan quickly looked down and snatched the fork from her plate. She stabbed absently at the salad on her plate. Cam was obviously happy. A fry in her right hand hovered in space with a blob of bright red ketchup on the end.

"Have you picked out a day?" Cam asked. Cam looked at Brennan. Brennan looked down again. Cam's brows scrunched together. She couldn't interpret what Brennan was thinking.... usually her expressions were so telling, but not today. Was she happy for her friend? Disappointed? Worried? Or... jealous?

"December 24th. I hope that's OK with you," Angela replied to Cam.

"Me? Why would I mind?"

"You have Michelle--"

"She's a big girl. And I'm sure we'd all rather be at a wedding rather than watching TV on Christmas Eve. Don't sweat it, Angela."

Angela smiled widely. Then she looked at Brennan. "What about you?" Brennan gave her a look which prompted the reply, "It's only three weeks from your due date and I would like for you to still be my maid of honor."

"I'll be fine. The baby is safe as long as he or she is in my uterus."

She said it so nonchalantly that Angela gave her a sympathetic look and reached for Brennan's hand.

"What?"

"It's gonna be OK, sweetie."

"Well, statistically speaking--"

"Statistics nothing," Cam said. "You're not alone, Dr. Brennan. You've got all of us giving that baby every drop of prayer and good thoughts that we can muster up. She's going to be just fine."

"She?"

"A girl can hope, can't she?"

"You're not marrying Hodgins," Brennan said to Angela, ignoring Cam, "just so you can foster your brother, are you? Because I still have my foster parenting license. I could take him in."

Angela didn't say anything. She just stood up and left for the bathroom.

Brennan didn't seem to notice how upset Angela looked as she stormed off. Brennan said something off-hand about the bathroom line being long.

Cam grabbed her purse and made a swift move to sit beside Brennan. "You realize you hurt her feelings, right?"

"Angela's?"

"Yes, Angela's. You know, Dr. Brennan, for being so smart, you sure can be stupid."

"My IQ--"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just move your ass and apologize to Angela. She obviously love Hodgins. I've never been led to believe anything else."

Brennan got up from her seat, almost mechanically and found her way to Angela who was standing outside the Royal Diner. She didn't bother putting on her jacket when she fled from the diner, so her arms were wrapped around her waist and snowflakes were beginning to float down from heaven.

"I'm sorry if I said anything to offend you back there, Ange."

Angela turned and smiled instinctively, "I should be used to it by now." Brennan looked hurt so she added, "I didn't mean it that way, sweetie. You... you don't think the same way... your filter isn't always turned on. I get that. I guess... I bet you weren't the only one who thought about that."

They walked beneath the overhang where they were sheltered from the snowflakes.

Angela held up her left hand against her face so it was level.

"When Hodgins' dad gave his mom this ring it didn't even fit her finger so she wore it on a silver chain for five years. They didn't even have enough money to resize it." She looked down at the ring. "It fits me. I'd call it 'meant to be' but you'd tell me that that's stupid." She looked back up at Brennan. "Of course when he made his billions he bought his wife a rock big enough to skate on, but you know Hodgins. Anyway... I do love him, Bren."

Brennan hugged her friend, her full belly being the only thing separating the two from a tight squeeze. "I'm happy for you, Angela. And yes, I'm honored to be your maid of honor again."

Angela laughed, "That little guy just kicked me!" She looked down at Brennan's belly and touched the spot where the baby was kicking. "You wanna come out and play with your Aunt Angie, don't you?" She smiled at Brennan, "How about all four of us go shopping?" Angela smiled. Again, she touched the ring in a way that made Brennan feel irrationally jealous. Brennan reached for her own ring.

She... she reached for her ring...

She looked down and realized that her finger was naked.

What had she done with her ring? The last thing she remembered was taking off her ring before taking a shower. She had planned on putting into her jewelery box. But then, what after that?

"Is something wrong, Bren? Brennan, you look like you've seen a ghost."

"Can we shop tomorrow?"

"Of course, sweetie. Do you need ride or something?"

"I'll just grab a taxi."

Angela watched in amazement as her friend took her quick exit and fled away in a cab. "What in the world was that all about?"

---

When Booth arrived at Brennan's apartment, he could hear the clatter of bathroom items hitting the tile. He followed the sound and stood in the bathroom doorway in amazement as a woman, seven months pregnant, was on her hands and knees looking beneath the sink. She was pulling at the drain pipe with her bare hands and... was she crying?

"Bones!" Booth was on his knees beside Brennan in a millisecond, pulling her hands away from the pipe. "Bones! What are you doing?" Her hands released and she was still... crying! "Bones, what's wrong?"

"My ring!" It was half-angry, half-sad, the way that she blurted it out.

"What? What about your ring?"

"This morning... my finger was swollen so I--I pulled... and I don't know what I did with it." She held up her bare hand.

Booth knew what it meant. "Bones, I'm sorry. Look I'll help you find it. It'll turn up eventually."

"No! I have to find it, Booth. I know it's irrational, but... it's the only thing I have left of my mother. I have to find it."

Booth's heart was being torn out seeing Brennan so upset. Maybe it was the hormones, he thought. Maybe she really was this upset and pregnancy was allowing her to express it. Either way... He leaned close and held her in his arms. "We're gonna find it, Bones. We're gonna find it."

She let herself be held by him. Nothing felt more right. She wouldn't even admit it to herself. Not even when she was dating a man she really liked in every possible facet had she felt as perfect as in Booth's arms. She forced herself, after a few minutes, to come back to reason and focus. She pulled away and shook her head. "It's just... really upsetting. I know it's silly, but... I just wanted that artifact for my--our child. It's a piece of history with a story behind it. I don't know... if that makes any sense..."

He nodded, "It makes sense, Bones. It's like with your anthropology and your cultures and how some people come up with songs to pass down stories from the past--That ring, that's your song."

Brennan looked at him curiously.

"I pay attention, Bones." He sighed, breaking the tension purposefully, then stood and offered his hand.

She stood beside him.

"We'll find that ring. First thing in the morning, we'll bring Hodgins out here with his little metal detector thingy--"

"That wouldn't work, Booth. It would detect the nails staples in the structure."

"Fine. We'll just make him look it over with a fine-toothed comb. We'll find it. In the meantime, let's you and I get a bite to eat. Does this little guy like pizza?" Booth reached out and touched her belly. It was meant to be playful, but it ended up being a more intimate touch. His hand remained.

"Who says it'll be a boy?" Brennan asked softly.

"Who says it'll be a girl?"

Booth smiled.

Just as he was about to pull his hand away, she covered his hand with hers gently, "What's your song?... For the baby?"

"We..." he hadn't expected that question. "We all have our songs, Bones. We'll make our own song. Together."

The moment grew more intense. He reached out and let his hand find its way behind her neck. Her heart skipped a beat. It didn't help that lately she had been feeling incredibly... We'll just leave that last part to the imagination of the reader. And he was pulling her closer. Her mind zipped through a thousand images that she had indeed thought on before. He was pulling her closer. Then he kissed her forehead gently. Lovingly. Intimately. It was almost as good, but somehow it broke her heart because it wasn't at all sexual, but it was filled with more love than any kiss on the lips ever could. It spoke so much more than words could speak. It said everything that they had been wanting to say to each other in the past five years...

"C'mon, Bones, I'm buying."

She nodded breathlessly.

She's getting ready for this little one in a big way. After all the forensic mags she always has around the parenting mag is definitely a must, but Booth using his skills on it was unexpected and yet not. Angela's ring, Brennan's ring, Booth finding her on the floor looking for it. Mama, when you write this stuff I'm right there with them ... and then Booth didn't kiss her on the lips. She felt the love, but she also wanted the man.

Thanks for another great chap! Waiting on more, more, more!!!

"I'm nervous," Angela confessed. A part of her, a large part of her--a part that was hidden in the depths and the shadows--was afraid to let Brennan see. Ever since the hurried engagement that came from nowhere, but from everywhere, Angela often wondered if Brennan disapproved. Sure, she knew that Brennan was entirely anti-marriage and anti-love, but she had always entertained the thought that Brennan believed in those things, but was scared that they might never alight on her life.

Two weeks ago when Angela dragged Cam and Brennan along for a fitting at an upscale boutique, Angela came out of the dressing room veiled in white--a much more traditional look than the first. And she was glowing.

And there was that look again from Brennan. She remembered that her best friend made some crass comment about white representing virginity and Angela had entertained multiple partners. The woman who was pinning her dress looked... horrified?

"Don't say it like that, sweetie. I have the right to shop around," she had replied. The rest of the day was dappled with such comments, which ended up with an unintentional 'silent treatment' from Angela, and a fear to say anything deeper than 'I'm in love' and 'stop worrying'.

The veil was discarded and Angela stood in a mermaid-style, halter, off-white wedding dress. Somehow the fight for white and veils was never worth it.

"Just..." Brennan put aside all irrational veins of understated jealousy so nothing would mar her friend's day. That was rational, she told herself. "When I'm nervous, I try to breathe in and out slowly and focus on someone specific--in your case, that would be Hodgins." Brennan smiled, almost proud of herself for giving such good advice.

"Who do you focus on?" Angela asked, clasping a necklace around her neck.

Brennan didn't have to think long, but the surprise couldn't be hidden in her voice, "Generally... it's Booth. When he's in the audience, that is."

The door opened and Cam squeezed in, "It's a madhouse out there!" She smiled warmly at Angela, "You look beautiful, Angela. What were you two doing for your honeymoon?"

"Well, today's Saturday, so tomorrow we're going to be locked inside of our hotel room, and Monday we're in court. God, I hope it's the last time I have to be. I just want Brayden with us. You know, safe."

The next knock at the door was Booth.

"Can I come in?"

"All's clear," Cam replied, letting him into the little office.

Booth came in. His eyes fell immediately to Angela. He whistled a little, "Wow, Angela. Hodgins is a lucky guy." Then he looked at Brennan. The look that he gave her was completely different. "Wow, Bones. You're, you look-- Wow." It was like falling in love with her all over again. "I was just--"

"Yes...?" Cam asked with a sly smile on her lips.

"Time. It's, uh, almost time. Five minutes. Angela, I get the first dance, right?"

"Too late, babe, Hodgins already called it."

--

Hodgins stood stiffly on the platform. Yes, the forensic platform. The lab was shut down early that day, lights were turned down low and small white Christmas lights were strung throughout the facility. Their story had come full circle. The first proposal was in the lab with strange glowing lights. Tonight, they were to be married where they fell in love together. They weren't getting married in a little white church at the edge of town--that first location was mostly to please guests--most of which were people who worked for the Cantilever Group. This time, the audience was made up of close friends and a few relatives.

The man conducting the ceremony was a gruff old judge who had conducted a few of the group's cases in the past. Everyone knew everyone. There wasn't an unfamiliar face in the lab.

Angela's father walked up and shook Hodgins' hand. "Congratulations, son."

"Thanks, Mr.... Angela's dad..."

"Since we last spoke, I've come into possession of many a firing arm, almost to the point of being illegal. And I've still got the cars. Are we clear?"

"Yes, sir."

Angela's father turned, putting his shades back on and walked down the steps.

"Wait," Hodgins said. Angela's father turned slowly. "For--for the record, I've never stopped loving your daughter. Not for one second."

The man nodded slowly and sat on a chair at the bottom of the platform. He took his guitar from its base and held it in his hands. He strummed a few cords, a melody that was sweet but sad. Angela would walk herself down the aisle.

To the tune of the sad melody, Cam and Sweets met each other outside of Angela's office and walked toward the platform. The music stopped, unintentionally, when Booth met Brennan.

"I--" The words almost escaped. They needed to be said. The woman he loved so dearly was in front of him, nearly ready to give birth to his child. It didn't matter how the child was conceived, all that mattered is the fact that he wanted more than anything to be a part of their present... and their future.

"What?" Brennan asked.

"I love... You look beautiful, Bones." He reached for her hand, instead of holding out his elbow for her to hold onto. Things had changed between them. Elbow-holding was a thing of the past, it wasn't as intimate as feeling her squeezing his hand confidently back as they walked to the platform.

For one night, Brennan didn't mind that the 'sanctity of the platform' was being desecrated by wedding vows.

"Have you ever stopped to think," Booth had reasoned with her. "That after someone's been married on that thing, that it'll be even more 'sanctimonious' or whatever?"

"Sanctimonious?"

"Yeah, it's a word."

"You used it wrong."

"Whatever, you know what I mean, Bones. Why do you always have to correct me?"

"I only correct you when you're wrong."

The rest of the drive had been silent, except for Brennan saying, "Fine" and Booth grinning victoriously.

Angela walked toward them as her father played on the guitar.

Booth usually watched the bride in these situations, but this time around, he was keeping an eye on Brennan who stood a few feet away from him on the opposite side of the platform's step.

"Bones, you OK?" he whispered. She was uncommonly pale.

She nodded, but Booth kept an eye on her anyway.

"Are you in labor?"

She didn't reply.

Angela may have been nervous several minutes before, but as she walked up to Hodgins, she found that she was unafraid. For most of her life, she had found that she was always searching, but never finding. For the first time in her life--well, second (although there was something so different about this time around)--she found that all of the pieces of her puzzle were falling together in such a way that was both incredibly exhilarating and frightening. It was scary to know that her life was planned before her--husband, child--but there were things that she was yet to discover: solidarity, belonging, family, motherhood, being a partner to another human being through thick and thin.

"Bones," Booth whispered. By then, Brennan looked as if she were going to vomit. She didn't answer or even make a move to answer. Booth crossed over to her. Everyone noticed and looked at him as he whispered to her. "Bones is in labor."

"Oh my God," Angela said.

"I'll bring my car around," Cam said, hopping down from the platform and naturally taking over the situation.

"Like in labor LABOR?" Sweets stumbled. "But you're like thirty-six weeks, right? That's--that's--that's--"

"Take a chill pill, Sweets," Cam said. "Why don't you go boil some water?"

"Right. To like disinfect and stuff, right?"

"Mostly so you won't annoy people," she replied. By then, she had her keys in her hand and was beginning to run out the door.

Booth slipped his arms under Brennan and lifted her into his arms.

"Sweetie, why didn't you tell me you were in labor?" Angela asked.

"It's your day," Brennan said.

"There are at least three hundred and sixty five days in a year. One of them would've worked, Bren. I'm not heartless. You can tell me these things."

The wedding party followed Booth through the front doors. People who were working late at the Jeffersonian looked on in curiosity. A wedding party? A pregnant woman? People panicking? They had all been spending way too many over-time hours at the lab!

--

After a mad dash through the streets of Washington D.C., the wedding party of give-or-take twenty guests including a bride, groom, Billy Gibbons, a few off duty FBI Agents and Squints, were packed into the waiting room of the high risk maternity unit of a nearby hospital. People who walked by gave the group several glances over. It was nearing eleven forty-five at night. The still unmarried Angela and Hodgins were on a loveseat, her head on his shoulder as they napped. A few were asleep on the floors, while others were either reading or standing or otherwise trying to keep themselves entertained.

People roused from their naps when Booth came in. He had shed his jacket and tie and was just in his slacks and dress shirt. That made a few people wonder if the baby had arrived. Angela immediately began to fear for the baby's health; she felt her stomach flip.

"Where's the baby?" Angela asked, standing.

"Safe and sound, still on Bones. Um..." he squeezed his eyes tightly. "Bones is resting and on Magnesium. They don't want her to deliver yet. The high risk doc came in and... he made it pretty clear that if the baby's born early... like even at 39 weeks that chances are survival are," he blinked away a few tears, "they're next to nothing. So, Bones is on bedrest and we're just praying that she makes it to forty weeks. They won't even try to resuscitate him."

"Oh my..." Cam whispered.

"Anyway," Booth said, trying to break the tension. "She's fine now. The contractions have stopped so... Sorry about your wedding, Ange."

"It's not over yet," Angela said.

"What?" Hodgins said.

"We've got a judge, a license, guests. It's not over yet."

"Where are you going?" Hodgins asked.

"Marry me now," Angela said. "I can't wait another minute. We've waited long enough, don't you think? Why not here? Why not now?"

Hodgins smiled. "Why not here?"

"Exactly."

After a few favors that were asked to get around the three-visitor-limit, the group filed into Brennan's room. Flowers were bought from the gift shop, the window's blinds were pulled widely open to let in the moon light, lights were turned down low. Their wedding wasn't as they imagined. They weren't in the place where they fell in love, but they were surrounded by the people they loved most in the world and they were in the hospital where Brennan and Booth's little baby was going to be born and maybe even in the same hospital where their own baby would be born someday.

Despite the fact that this was more of a whirlwind romance than last, it seemed more perfect and more planned than last. Maybe it's because they had realized they were in love for many years instead of months? Either way, there was a calm and a peace that wasn't there the first time. There was a calm that fell like a summer rain.

But it was winter.

The clock struck midnight and it was no longer Christmas Eve. It was Christmas morning and a soft powdery snow began to fall outside of the large hospital window.

They chose to exchange a Traditional Irish Wedding Vow that day,

You cannot possess me for I belong to myself
But while we both wish it,
I give you that which is mine to give.

You cannot command me for I am a free person.
But I shall serve you in those ways you require
And the honeycomb will taste sweeter coming from my hand.
I pledge to you that yours will be the name I cry aloud in the night.
and the eyes into which I smile in the morning.
I pledge to you the first bite from my meat.
And the first drink from my cup.

I pledge to you my living, and my dying, equally in your care.
And tell no strangers our grievances.
This is my wedding vow to you
This is a marriage of equals.

They kissed and nurses as far away as two wards over heard the cheers.

When people had gone home and Angela and Hodgins were safely tucked away in their Honeymoon Suite, Booth and Brennan were finally alone. Brennan was asleep, as the medication made her feel heavy-headed and sleepy. A chunk of snow fell from the roof outside of their window, waking Booth. He shifted and looked over at Brennan. She was asleep, but the fetal monitor and movements in her belly made it very clear that the baby was wide awake. He found it amazing how he... or she... could be hanging onto life by a thread, but as long as he was inside... he was safe.

Booth stood and made clear Brennan was still very asleep. He pulled up the hospital gown just a little bit.

He whispered to the baby, "Merry Christmas, little guy. Your... your Auntie Ange and Uncle Hodgins got married today. It was... it was nice. I'm real happy for them. Listen, just... you've gotta do me a favor. Call it a Christmas gift. You gotta stay in there for four more weeks, buddy. I can't lose you... you know. I just... I love you a lot." He let his hand rest on her belly and felt the baby moving around beneath him. There was one strong kick to his hand which made him wonder if that was a 'yes'.

---

Thank you again.

Mama, I think you must have a remote control to my tear ducts or something. I was reading along enjoying it, getting a little worked up over Bones' labor, woggly when Booth came into the waiting room, oohing and aawwing at the wedding vows, and then just broke down when Booth wished the baby a Merry Christmas and asked him a favor!

I so hope the baby can hang on another four weeks.

Thank you! Sorry about those tear ducts...

The snow was peppering her raven waves as she walked toward the little front porch in a Southeast DC neighborhood. Although it was Christmas morning, Angela noted that there was a buzz of people walking around, just plain standing around, or staring at her from their front porches.

There was no door bell to ring on the little brick building and she would have knocked to gain entry, but solid steel bars blocked the doors and windows. Angela gripped the tiny Christmas present in her hands and tried to shelter the shiny red paper from the falling snow. She noticed some movement inside the building, behind the yellowish curtains. It wasn't an ideal place for a little boy to grow up; the neighborhood was beyond questionable. It seemed that not a day passed without WTTG or WUSA reporting a violent crime in the area. But it was definitely better than the little crack house that her mother was raising the boy in. At least here, he would have running water and a solid roof over his head. She put aside any worries that the house inside was a wasteland and shouted to let herself be known.

The curtains moved. The blinds shook. Then two hallow eyes appeared behind the door which was cracked only enough for a little bit of her face to show. Angela was shocked at Debbie's appearance. She looked ill and anxious. "Whatcha want, hon? It's Christmas, ain't it?"

"I... I brought Brayden a present."

"Brayden ain't here."

"He's not?"

"I mean he's 'sleep. It's not even ten yet. I'm lettin' him sleep in. Why don't you just come back a little later?"

Angela batted her eyes disbelievingly. Behind Debbie, she could hear laughing, chatting, har-har-haring voices. "Having a party?"

"It's a family get-together." Debbie opened the door just enough to snatch the gift from Angela's hands and close the door again. "Why don't you come back later? It's a holiday."

"But I was hope--"

Angela was left talking to the steel bars again. She felt like breaking the woman's nose, but she reminded herself that tomorrow was the day that she would talk to her lawyers. Today she was a newlywed and tomorrow would be a new day.

"A new day," she whispered to herself. She turned and walked slowly down the walk to where Hodgins was parked on the street.

---

Fifteen minutes earlier, Booth was standing in the hospital doorway waiting for Brennan to wake up. When she began to stir, he walked over to her and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Merry Christmas, Bones." This greeting did not come from Booth. It came from a little blondish-haired boy who was quickly becoming a young man before his father's eyes. "Dad said you were sick. You want some?" he asked, offering some of his lunch.

"Mmm, no thank you, Parker. I'm not hungry."

"Woah, there, Bones," Booth said, stepping forward. "You don't have to sit up."

"I want to."

"Don't you think you should lie down?"

"Don't patronize me, Booth. I'm not a child."

Their little tussle was disrupted by Parker's laugh. "You guys are worse than mom and Brent."

Booth sighed and sat back. "Rebecca brought Parker by, I hope you don't mind."

"You could have gone to Rebecca's to spend Christmas, Booth. I wouldn't have minded."

"I would have. You're my... and... you know, it wouldn't be right to leave you here by yourself on Christmas."

"Partner," Parker said.

Both adults looked over at the boy with the bag of Fritos.

"You're Bones' partner, dad."

Booth nodded. It wasn't that he was at a loss for words, but it was just that somehow that word wasn't quite right. Not any more, anyway.

When Rebecca had brought Parker by the hospital that morning, Booth had realized something. He was fairly certain that he had never been told about the baby that was coming. Honestly, he was still trying to adjust to it himself.

He had put the quarters into the snack machine in the hospital's cafeteria, all the while keeping an eye on Parker. He had cleared his throat a few times.

"What... what do you want for Christmas, Parker?"

"Is this a trick question, dad?"

Dang, he was sharp, Booth thought. "No, no. Nothing like that, Buddy."

"OK. In that case... I want a gun."

"Wow."

"It's OK, dad, you don't have to say anything. I know you're gonna say I'm too little and stuff."

"I think you're right." The Fritos fell and Parker had retrieved it.

"Why are we at the hospital, dad? It's it Dr. Brennan? I once saw this show called Cops and this guy and his partner, like, went into this house and there were a bunch of guys in there and they shot him. He was OK cuz he had a vest on and stuff, but is that what happened?"

"When, uh..." Booth had put a bill into the soda machine. Two sodas fell down and he had grabbed them in one hand. "When was the last time you saw Dr. Brennan?"

"I dunno," Parker had shrugged, drinking his soda. "It was a long, long time ago, though."

They had walked several strides in silence until they were outside of Brennan's door. Booth then knelt. "Look, Buddy, uh... Bones is gonna have a baby and that baby wants to come early, so she's here to make sure he stays in a bit longer."

Parker had drunk his soda and digested the new information. "Is he... is the baby gonna be yours too?"

Booth then stood so abruptly that Parker had begun to think he had said something wrong. Booth then put his hands on his hips, scratched his head, then knelt again. "Yeah... yeah, he is. I'm sorry I didn't tell ya before, but, uh... Well, there's no excuse for it. I'm sorry, Buddy. I should've gold you."

"I'm not mad, dad," Parker said.

"You're not?"

Parker chuckled, "Huh, no!"

"No?"

"Can I go say hi to Dr. Brennan now, cuz my legs are starting to hurt."

"Sure," Booth had replied, bewildered.

Fast forward and Parker was opening his present for Booth and Brennan. Booth laughed as Parker marveled at his gift.

"That's not child approved," Brennan whispered.

Booth shook his head, "Look at him, he loves it."

"Rebecca is going to have an ulcer," Brennan whispered back.

"It's not armed," Booth whispered back, then grinned again at Parker and the antique grenade.

Brennan rolled her eyes and shook her head.

Booth looked at Brennan and smiled at her, realizing that even Temperance Brennan could not fight anthropological inevitabilities such as maternal instincts.

Brennan caught that grin and smiled back, "What?"

Booth stood up. "I got something for you."

"I... your present is in my closet at home," Brennan replied.

"No, Bones. This isn't the kind of thing where you expect something in return. This is... it's special," Booth took the little box from his jacket pocket and sat back down beside Brennan. Parker stood by Brennan's right shoulder, Booth to her left. Their hands touched as he put the little box in her hands. For a moment, that 'lightning in a bottle' jumped out and zinged up her arm. She had to catch her breath, but couldn't help but to feel dizzy yet when she realized she was holding a little jewelery box, the size of a ring... or earrings? Or a ring.

Had he found her ring and repackaged it? Or was he going to go and do something incredibly stupid and she would have to tell him no way and break his heart?

"Booth, I--"

"Open it, Bones. Just-- trust me."

Brennan opened it.

And she was surprised that the contents of the box were disappointing.

A golden chain that ended in little red garnet. But why was she so disappointed?

"It's a birthstone. It's... our baby's birthstone. For January."

"It's December."

"And I told you, I have faith. So, it's January. The guy asked me if I wanted to get insurance even. He said that it would allow me to change the stone out if it's the wrong one and I said 'It's the right one'." Booth took the necklace out of the box and put it around her neck. He may or may not have taken his time slipping the necklace around her neck. It was just as torturous to him as it was to her, feeling his hands on the soft parts of her neck. And it did help that she hadn't been touched in many months. Then again, even if she had... it was Booth and he was so... so...

Booth's cell phone rang. He had to break contact. It was one of the hardest things he had ever done.

He took the call in the hallway.

Parker then took his father's seat beside Brennan. "I like it," he said. "It looks nice on you."

"Thank you, Parker."

"Can I name the baby?"

"Uh... how about one of the names?"

Parker thought this over. "OK."

In the hallway, Booth hung up the cell phone slowly. There was an uneasiness in the way he walked back into the room and looked at Brennan.

"What? What's wrong?"

Brennan's smile melted as quickly as it had appeared on her face. The look on Booth's face was serious and painful.

"Hey, Buddy," Booth took out a bill from his wallet and handed it to Brennan. "Bones wants some Fritos, too."

"No, I don't."

"Yeah, Bones, you do."

Brennan was slow to catch on, but then she grinned, "Oh I get it--"

Booth shuffled the boy out the door before he could question what they were talking about. He closed the door slowly behind Parker.

"What's going on, Booth?"

"What's--what's Angela's boy's name?"

"Brayden."

"Surname, Bones."

Brennan thought for a moment. "Devlin."

"I just got a call saying that they're sending out DC SWAT team to run a search warrant on a guy named Devlin."

"Is it the same one?"

Booth put on his jacket. "I sure hope not, Bones."

"Why are they calling in the FBI?"

"They need more guys. I'm 'more guys' and... if it is Angela's boy... he'll be OK."

When Booth had left the room, Brennan tried to dial Angela. She tried again, but nobody picked up. She texted her, Are you safe? and could do nothing more but wait. Thankfully the wait was spent quickly because of Parker's friendly chatter.

--

Angela sat down in the car beside Hodgins. From her face, Hodgins had to ask, "You OK, Ange?"

"Yeah," she replied. "Let's just go."

He leaned over and kissed her tenderly. In that time, Hodgins was (amazingly) able to think. "Oh, wait," he said, reaching into his breast pocket. He retrieved a little Hot Wheels car, circa 1987, still in its original packaging.

"When did you get this?"

"I... I found time..."

Angela narrowed her eyes at him. "You already had this, didn't you?"

"No!" he replied emphatically.

"Sure..." Angela grabbed the little Hot Wheels from Hodgins, stepped out of the vehicle, and walked toward the little brick house on the corner of the street.

--

Eight blocks away, Booth was pulling a 40-pound heavy vest over his head and strapping and latching it down to his person. He stood in a large group of SWAT and FBI personnel. The group totaled over forty officers.

The man who seemed to be in the lead of the operation was clothed in black like the entire group, had a large assault rifle in his hand and was putting on a kevlar helmet when he met with the group. He seemed to know everyone of the FBI agents by name, although he probably had worked with one or two of them in his career. He shook a few hands, including Booth's before he spoke, "Thanks for coming here today. I'm Senior Corporal Officer Trent, DC SWAT, 'preciate it. Thanks," he said. His voice was deep, but hinted of Southern roots. "Good to have homicide, Agent Booth," he acknowledged. "Listen up, y'all," he commanded. Everyone was all ears. "Gather close." Those who couldn't gather close listened on radios and wielded weapons. A few men listened from atop an APC armored vehicle.

"Suspect's a white male, 147 pounds, brown hair, brown eyes, six-one in height. Narcotics been watchin' the residence for several days. Female companion, white female with a history of trafficking drugs and weapons, changed her name which threw detectives off the trail for a bit 'til now. Five-one, 110 pounds, blond hair, brown eyes. There is at least one child, male, two years of age. Multiple people been out and in the residence throughout the day buyin'. Reports that the suspect has at least one AK-47, possible multiple weapons. Alright, we clear? I'll pass it on to tactical, being fronted by FBI guy Lennox. Special Agent Lennox," he gave the nod to the agent standing next to Booth, a man he had known throughout his career.

During the overview, Booth could only think of the little boy inside of the house. How could this have happened? How could the system be so fallible? He thought back to his partner's words from long ago about the foster care system. It was strained and underworked. And these were the casualties of such a system: a boy being bounced from unstable home to unstable home with no respite to call his own.

Lennox began pointing to a diagram of the building and explaining the entry points. "We'll overwhelm them from all angles," he said. "Flash bangs aren't an option, same with pulls as it could be harmful to the kid It makes things a little rough. Gotta get in there and preserve the evidence before they flush it, but we can't hurt the kid." He thought around the conundrum for several minutes. "We'll go with the pulls and hope for the best." Without the element of surprise, the drug evidence could be destroyed. But once the boy was added to the equasion, it made things very messy. Finally, the decision to put hooks, called "pulls" on the steel cages over the front door and the front window. Those pulls would be attached to an APC. Once the vehicle backed up, the windows and doors would be torn from their frames, allowing for entry by the teams. Lennox looked at Booth. "Agent Booth, you'll be with Team Charlie. Thanks for coming out here. I know your wife's expecting so we'll make sure you get home to her safe. That's why you'll be entering through the back of the residence." He patted Booth's shoulder.

Booth didn't blink, "Where's the boy?"

Lennox held up the map of the house, "Here is the bedroom, but there's no way of telling--"

Booth squinted as he thought. "I'll go through the front with Alpha."

"You sure of that?"

"Yeah."

Lennox nodded and made the signal.

The team rolled to their positions.

--

Angela walked blithely to the front door, this time with renewed hope that she would get to wish Brayden a Merry Christmas.

The same process as before repeated itself. She yelled to enter the house. After several minutes, the door creeped open and two sunken brown eyes appeared again. "Hell, what time is it?"

"Little after ten," Angela replied. "I forgot to give Brayden this. Actually, it's from Hodgins, my--my husband."

"Listen, we're a bit busy. How 'bout later?"

Angela couldn't hide the disappointmetn on her face. "Fine, how about you just take it to him after he wakes up?"

The woman stood stiffly for a moment, then opened the rest of the door and stuck her hand through the steel cage.

Their hands met at the toy.

That's when the house began to fill with frightened shouts.

"Cops!"

Debbie's face flushed scarlet. She was quick to react. She snatched Angela's hand and with her arm, she pinned Angela agains thte bars, then stuck a gun to her head. It all happened so quickly that Angela didn't even know what was happening. There was a part of her brain that was still trying to process why they were yelling, "Cops!"

The APC stormed through the fence, tearing it down like it was made of toothpicks. The yard flooded with SWAT and FBI, swathed in black and armed with assault rifles.

"Nice and easy," Debbie breathed in a shaky voice.

Team Alpha immediately relayed that there was a hostage to the rest of the teams. There was going to be no violent breaching of the front entry today.

"Oh, no," Booth whispered, recognizing the woman at the front door.

Angela's heart was racing. What was going on? Where was Brayden? Was he safe? Was this her last day on earth? If so, then what would happen to Brayden?

"With her past," Trent said, "she's extremely unstable. Breaching the rear entry could end in the death of the hostage"

"That's Angela Montenegro," Booth said, hardly believing the words coming out of his mouth.

"You know her?"

"My partner works with her at the Jeffersonian." Booth wiped the sweat from the bridge of his nose and let the sunglasses settle on his face again.

"Bullseye, can we get a clear shot?" Trent asked of his radio.

A minute later, the SWAT guy on the neighboring rooftop called 'Bullseye' replied, "No clear shot at this moment."

A nearby narcotics officer cursed under his breath, "There goes the evidence."

"It ain't about evidence no more," Trent snapped back. He turned and wiped his sweaty brow.

It was mass confusion, from Booth's point of view. His 'gut' had led him to a place he never wanted to be. A person he cared for deeply was in danger and worse case scenario: would lose her life.

Booth thought of Brennan. He imagined her falling back into her shell never to return. He thought of Brayden, forever stuck in the foster care system. He thought of... Hodgins. Where was Hodgins? He looked around quickly, finally seeing Hodgins laying on his stomach in the street, hands zip-tied behind his back, gun to his head.

Booth started to walk toward him, but then decided against it. Somehow he thought that if it weren't for the fact that Angela was part of a hostage situation and his possible step son was inside of a drug house, Hodgins would enjoy such a mark on his record... or at least in his memory. Booth looked around. Snow was beginning to fall. No wonder the sniper couldn't get a clear shot! If he were the sniper...

If he were the sniper?

Booth ran over to Trent and offered his opinion and a quick verbal resumé.

"Stand down, Bullseye," Trent said to his radio. "Do what you do," he told Booth.

Booth nodded, his mouth dry from anxiety.

"Make 'em hot," a SWAT guy said to Booth as he passed. Once on the other side of the APC, Booth ducked and ran to the bushes and around the back of the neighbor's house. Bullseye, a tall young African American man, nodded at Booth as he came down from the building. He nodded at Booth. "Do whatcha do," he said in a deep gravelly voice.

Booth nodded back. Then he asked that the ladder be moved one building over.

"That's a risky shot, man," Bullseye said as he and another officer held the ladder for Booth.

"Big risk, big reward," Booth replied.

"Dude's got balls," Bullseye whispered to his colleague.

--

Angela was almost too afraid to turn her head to see Debbie. "Where--where's Bray--den?" she asked.

"That's none yer cocern right about now." She whispered several curse words. The house was suddenly silent. The drugs were flushed. Several of the 'Christmas guests' had stuffed themselves under beds, floor boards, and in closets.

Over the loud speaker, the negotiator could be heard echoing down the street. "We don't want to harm you, Debbie. Why don't you put down the gun and we can end this peacefully. Put down the gun and let the hostage go."

Angela began to blink hard, feeling that she was losing consciousness against her will. The fact that she was under such a high stress situation and blood and oxygen were being kept from making their usual rounds by Debbie's Meth-induced grip around her neck forced her to feel woozy and light headed. Angela blinked hard. "Where? Where?"

"Shut up," Debbie said. "Just, just shut up. I ain't leavin' here without a fight. I'm not."

--

A chilly winter wind whipped around Booth as he inched onto the roof. The shingles were basically hundreds of tiny sheets of ice and packed snow. The snow that had fallen the night before had melted and was beginning to freeze again as the sun was falling behind the buildings. Everywhere but on L Street the world was celebrating Christmas Day (at least, those who do), but here, Hodgins was in the back of a patrol car and Angela was celebrating their nuptials with a handgun to her head.

Booth slipped several times, but found his spot behind a tall brick chimney. A tall withered oak stood in the way of him and the house where Angela was being held hostage. It was next to impossible: icy winds, slippery vantage point, tree in the way, but Booth could only think of one thing. He wanted to make sure Angela, his friend, was alive to be the 'auntie' to his child. Sure, he had always counted Angela among his friends, but as he set up the sniper and adjusted his scope, he began to realize how much Angela meant to him. She was definitely his friend. And it had fallen into his hands to make sure she could live to see tomorrow.

Booth took a breath and aimed.

Several minutes passed before he found the perfect position.

The negotiator gave it one more try. It echoed from the buildings with their multicolored lights and ornamented front yards. "I can't stay here all day, Debbie. We've all go families to go home to. I need you to drop the weapon and come out with your hands up. I can't secure your safety otherwise. Drop the weapon. Let the hostage go."

"I got the shot," Booth whispered.

After a few minutes, it came back to him that he could take the shot when ready.

Booth squeezed the trigger.

The woman fell to the ground and the place was stormed once again. Angela was taken away by a female SWAT officer. Booth could tell that she was crying and distraught. Angela was... kitties and puppies an ducklings. She wans't guns and drugs and snipers. Booth's jaws tightened. Then his eyes fell to the woman's body on the ground, blood seeping from her body. He had taken another life.

Another life.

He bowed his head. He may have whispered a prayer or just caught his breath. It's hard to say. But when he raised his head again, an FBI agent was walking out of the house with a little boy in his arms. Behind him were five or six men and women in zip-tie handcuffs. Angela broke away from the officer who had her and ran to Brayden. She took him into her arms and just sobbed as she held him. He was safe. She was safe. Another officer uncuffed Hodgins. He ran up to them and held them close. They were too far away to tell, but Booth knew that he was crying, too. He knew this because he would have cried, too.

From the depths of despair that taking a life had brought him to, to the tops of the hills seeing the family that had been created.

From the ashes their family had bloomed.

Booth nodded. Then he smiled a little.

Man I loved that! Booth doing what he does best (sadly) and taking the shot that honestly only he could take. Still, he took a life to save a life and as conflicted as he's got to be, that's what makes him Booth. Great chapter Mama, great story. Now if only the little B comes into this world healthy (I mean we know the child won't, but it'd be nice if just once it worked out for B&B).

RM

Note to Mama, not everyone reading this story is a lady. *cough* *cough*

Oh man, Booth on that rooftop picking off Angela's captor. I could just see his cap turned back, feel the fog of his breath as he waited, hear his prayer as he took the shot. Now that he's done what he can for Angela, I have hope that things will also turn out well for him and Bones and the baby.

Thanks for reading. It means a lot.

It isn't every day that someone finds the person they want to spend the rest of their life with. Of course, some people find that person every day and they just don't do anything about it.

***********

By Monday, Brennan was waiting on her bed in room 309. She was already suffering from a mild case of Cabin Fever and was hungrily poring over a thick text book that Booth had brought from her office. Outside, the world was a bride clothed in a silvery white veil. When did that transformation take place? From matronly and bare early winter to youthful shimmering winter?

Booth came out of the little bathroom in a new suit. He grinned at himself and did a slick little turn, arms spread. "Well?" he asked.

Brennan put down her book and looked him over studiously. Just when he was afraid she would say something to the negative, she nodded and said, "It looks very nice on you, Booth."

"Well, thanks, but-- I thought you'd be a little quicker, y'know?"

"No, I don't know."

Booth laughed it off and brought back two ties. One was blue and one was red. "Which one?"

"Either one would do."

"See, I was thinking that the red would say, 'Hey, I'm glad to be here!' but the blue, now, the blue would say, 'I'm serious about this.' Whuddya think?"

"Ties don't speak."

"No, I meant the spirit of the tie. Which one?"

Brennan looked at them a little longer. "The red."

"Yeah?"

"I'm sure Angela and Hodgins would like to know that you're glad to be there. I may not be able to speak 'Tie', but I do speak 'Thai'." Brennan smiled widely at her joke. "Did you get it? Tie, Thai? It was a play on words."

"Yeah, thanks for clarifying that one for me, Bones. OK, the red." Booth slid the tie around his neck.

Brennan watched patiently as he tried to tie it without a mirror. "Let me do it."

"You know how?"

"I've tied a few in my lifetime, yes." Brennan swept her hands around his neck... and for a moment things slowed down. The world was very different than the one that flashed before him. It was like a dream. Vague and ethereal. A memory forgotten. He almost expected her to be wearing a white blouse...? Was that right? And then they would be standing in a room that they called their own... And then she would pull him close and kiss him. Was it a brush with an alternate universe, parallel worlds, the way things ought to be? It seemed so real that for a moment... It's so funny, he thought, how things between them have gone from total hatred to tolerance to unbridaled lust to this... now he loved her. He knew it and he could never again deny it.

Brennan noticed his smile as she finished tying. Then she patted his chest and refused to meet his eyes. If Booth didn't know any better, he would have thought that she was in the same parallel universe for a moment.

"Booth," she whispered, hardly able to find her voice.

"Yeah?" he was just as quiet, as if he was afraid that if he spoke too loudly, the world would disappear and the memories would cease to come together. Why did this seem so perfect? So... so repeated, but so new?

"It's almost time," she said with a stronger voice.

Booth patted his tie awkwardly. "Thanks, Bones."

"It was my pleasure."

Booth did another spin.

"Have you thought about what you're going to say?" she asked as he drew his jacket over his broad shoulders.

He scrunched his chin as he thought. "I was thinking about how I would say something about how they bribed me--" Brennan didn't understand the intended joke. "I'll... I'll tell them how they belong together, Bones. More than any other people I've ever seen. There's unconditional love there. There's an understanding that as long as they have breath in their bodies, they will never, ever abandon one another, Bones." Brennan didn't know the art of 'reading between the lines', but she found it hard to be under his gaze.

"I don't believe in love," she said, falling back on an old adage of hers. It was safe there, tucked between stubbornness and repetition.

"It doesn't matter what you believe in, Bones. It exists." He grabbed his wallet from the night stand. "I should go, Bones. It isn't every day someone finds the love of her life... and Angela's found two in the same year, so... I should go now." He turned in the doorway. "I was wrong," he added thoughtfully. "There are those who find their soulmate every day... but they just do anything about it." He smiled half sadly and then smiled brightly. "I'll tell you how it goes afterward. Keep your cellphone on."

***

The courtroom was much emptier than the judge had expected when he walked in that morning. He knew that it was after a major holiday, but he had at least expected an opposing party. Instead, he saw Ms. Montenegro (with whom he was familiar with... he had seen her on a few cases previously) and Dr. Hodgins (with whom he was also familiar) and in the arms of Ms. Montenegro was a sleepy headed little boy. He was dressed in a size 24 month tuxedo and his hair--freshly cut by Angela herself the evening before--was parted adorably. They looked like a happy family.

"All rise. The Honorable Judge Halbert Vonderburg presiding. You may take your seats," the court reporter announced. She had a surprisingly booming voice for being such a petite little woman. She stood no more than four-foot-eleven.

Judge Vondderburg took a seat and reviewed the information quickly, sure that he had missed at least a major tidbit of information.

Hodgins' attorney, Mr. Sands, was quick to see the confusion on the Judge's face. He stood, "Judge, may I approach?"

The judge nodded and Mr. Sands stood, motioning that everyone could follow. The judge nodded and motioned with three fingers that they may.

Mr. Sands was a nervous man--twitchy, you might say. The truth was that he suffered from a very mild form of Tourettes Syndrome, but it was so controlled that most people just thought he was a little ADD or OCD. He popped his neck twice, scratched his head and said, "Christmas Day, the child's guardians, Mr. and Mrs. Devlin were involved in an incident. The FBI and SWAT teams were called to serve a drug warrant and as a consequence, Mrs. Devlin was killed and Mr. Devlin was taken into custody. His trial date is set for January 11th, Twenty-Ten."

This was Ms. Fourette, the state appointed attorney for the Devlins didn't say much.

The judge flipped through the paper work, slipping bifocals on his aging nose. "And Ms.Mei-Fen is serving a sentence for prostitution and possession?" He shook his head sadly, but then looked up. It wasn't unusual in his profession to come across blood thirsty custody battles. It wasn't unusual to sentence a mother or father to jail for a deadly addiction to drugs. But before him, he felt that something good could come of this. At home, his own wife and three grown daughters waited for him, one was a freshman in college, the other two were a junior and sophomore in high school. There weren't many people in this world who were as lucky and blessed as he was to have a loving family surrounding him. And there was this innocent child--this beautiful innocent child who only needed love. But harder questions had to be asked if he was to do his job. "I think," he said, taking his glasses off, "that this has turned into an adoption case and... I couldn't be happier." He folded his arms, "First of all, I'm sorry, Ms. Montenegro, that the Foster System did not protect you or Brayden. It is not without his faults... but it is a necessary system and it must be in place to protect orphans. Sadly, there isn't enough money to go around to make it a better system. There are angels, Ms. Montenegro," he said. Angela looked over at Miss Willis and smiled. She smiled back. "I just wish there could have been more in your path--for Brayden's sake." He put his glasses on his nose. "How about we take this to chambers?"

In the judge's chambers, the judge had to ask the harder questions to the couple as the rest of the group waited outside. The judge smiled at the sleeping child in Angela's arms. Hodgins caressed his head lovingly. "Brayden Devlin has been diagnosed with Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. My concern is that he may become difficult to handle with coming years. He may act out or have difficulty learning. I want to make sure of your... your commitment to this adoption before I sign anything--you can back out at any time, of course, no questions asked--"

"Stop right there," Angela said, trying to leave out a vicious tone in her voice that just begged to be there. "This little boy... he's the love of my life. He's the reason I wake up every morning. I look forward to him learning new things--I don't even care if it's slower than other children his age--I know things are going to be harder for him, but that's what a family is for. To be here and love each other and help each other along the way. Without someone to be there for him, be by his side, and tell him that he is loved and he can achieve anything he puts his heart to, where would he be? I have faith, Judge. I have faith because I love him."

The judge scribbled something down, stood up without another word and walked out of the chambers, his face straight and emotionless. Booth had been sitting on a bench outside of the courtroom when the judge appeared. He stood, "So?" he asked. The judge walked straight up to Booth, not saying anything to the crowd of lawyers and social workers. "Special Agent Booth," he smiled. "I've been around for nearly five decades and I've learned a thing or two in that time. It's not very often that someone in this world finds a soul mate. Sometimes we search in vain when they're right in front of us. Sometimes we know this, but we're utterly stupid... and maybe a little stubborn." He put a piece of paper into Booth's hand.

"Judge?"

"You can give your friends the good news. They're a family now." He smiled, then leaned in, "Next time I see you and your partner testify, I want none of this funny business--"

"Funny business?"

"Just. Partners." He smiled, winked, and whistled as he walked away.

Booth stood a little dumbfounded for a minute or two. He had probably only been in three or four cases where Judge Vonderburg had presided. Was he that obvious? He laughed softly and walked into the judge's chambers. Hodgins stood up. Angela turned around. "Where did Judge Vonderburg go?" Hodgins asked.

"Home. I guess." Booth handed Hodgins the paper that the judge gave him. "He said to give you the good news. You're a family."

Hodgins took the paper from his hand, hardly able to hold it as his hands shook. Angela stood and looked over his shoulder as Hodgins read.

"All you have to do is sign on the dotted line," Booth said.

"Oh my God," Angela said. "I think I need to sit down."

Booth stood at the doorway. He was happy for his friends, but at the same time, he felt a million miles away from their happiness. He closed the door softly just as Angela started to cry with joy.

whooooooooooo hoooooooooooooooooo

Update soon!! I love this story. It's beautifully written. Glad that Angela gets to keep Brayden. Hope everything is gonna be okay with Little Booth. Hope it's a girl

Mama, I love how you brought in the tie scene from The End in the Beginning! That was a perfect piece of deja vous, and even the way he patted his tie harkened me back to them confessions in Sweet's office and the handkerchief.

It was nice of the judge to let Booth give Angela and Jack the good news. After all that, and the tie, and then the judge telling him the things he did, it's time for Booth to get back to Brennan and have them finally start their way in the world together.

I thought I had posted this chapter! Sorry: (Then there's a second I just wrote)...

The next three weeks it snowed incessantly. That January was the coldest in over seventy years. Booth tried his hardest to sit in on Brennan each year, but most days were filled with cases. Depending on the case, he either worked with Agent Perotta or Agent Filmore, a tall (almost scary looking) officer from the Bronx with a heart of gold and a secret fetiche for Desperate Housewives (although he would never admit it).

One day, when on stake-out, Booth and Perotta were keeping an eye on an abandoned building outside of D.C.. After several minutes of silence, Perotta asked, "What do you and Dr. Brennan usually do on stake-out?"

Booth, keeping his eye on the building shrugged and looked over at her momentarily. His eyes went straight to the building again, dark with anxiety and anticipation, "We talk."

"About?"

"This and that."

"This conversation is so enlightening," Perotta said, smiling.

Booth smiled, "Uh... things. Whatever comes to mind. Sometimes we talk about our families. Sometimes we talk about work."

"What kind of stuff?"

Booth laughed, "You know, I get enough of this from Sweets."

"C'mon, I'm just trying to strike up some conversation."

Time passed. "We bicker. We, we joust. Repartee and all of that." He looked at her. "Have a partner yet?"

"I took a guy down last week. After that, they told me I should get a partner soon. So... I'm sorry to break it to you, Booth, but this just isn't working out. I know. I know. It's just... It's me, not you."

Booth laughed. "That kind of thing Bones does't get that kind of stuff... but..."

"That's what you like."

Booth nodded and looked at her. "Yeah."

Minutes passed with no show of the suspect, so Perotta found herself asking a question she had once warned herself was off limits. But curiosity and boredom had gotten the best of her.

"Is Dr. Brennan's baby yours?"

Booth began coughing and laughed toward the end, "Wow. You really have a way of cutting to the chase, there Payton."

"Investigation. Asking the hard questions. Kinda my job."

Booth nodded, feeling a tad uncomfortable as he gripped the steering wheel, then wiped his palms on his jeans. "Yeah. Yeah, the baby's mine."

"Wow."

"Yeah, well, there's a--"

From his tone, she quickly added apologetically, "With the rule against partners--"

"We haven't," Booth said.

"You...?"

Booth shook his head.

"I'm sorry. I'm just confused."

"Me, too," he laughed uncomfortably. A few seconds passed. Booth could feel the curiosity... or judgment?... boring into the side of his face with those two confused blue eyes of hers. "Guess you need to hear the whole story?"

"No, no," she replied hastily. "It's none of my business."

"Exactly," Booth agreed. "But now you've gotta know. Otherwise..."

"Otherwise you've got magic flying sperm."

I think it says something that Booth didn't mind Perotta saying anything about sperm or sex. The conversation was uncomfortable, but somehow he didn't mind it as much as when Brennan was talking about sex. It's safe to assume that the root cause of this discomfort came from very vivid imaginings whenever Brennan said something like she said last spring, "Cunnilingus is very enjoyable for both partners. I'm surprised you don't find it so." Booth was quick to tell her not to say 'cunnlingus' or any other such word around him. "What?" she laughed. "Does it make you feel uncomfortable when I say cunnlingus?" Now she was taunting him... and dare he say, enjoying it? Her eyes flickered with mischief and something that closely resembled sexual arousal (although she was able to explain that one away). "You know what, let's change the subject, Bones." She had agreed and sat back, catching the expression on his face as she looked his way from the corner of her eye... then smothered a smile.

"They're not magic, Perotta." She was all ears. "She asked for... my donation. And I donated... right before the surgery... at least this is what I gather from Sweets. I really... don't remember much."

There was a little silence as Perotta took this all in. For a bit, Booth began to regret telling her all of it. "Would you do it again?"

"In a heartbeat," he replied without much thought.

Perotta nodded. Inspite of her natural attraction to him (goodness knows she is not to blame!) and the meals they had shared... she was not blind. She was not deaf. She could see it as clearly as everyone else. "I don't mean to pry, but if you love her so much, why haven't you said anything?"

Booth made a face--somewhat sarcastic and amused--"You know, you don't do this guy talk thing very well, Perotta."

"I never claimed to be a guy. Now answer the question."

He took a breath. Why hadn't he? A million reasons. The first and foremost of which was, "I'm scared. I've... I've fought in wars. I've been shot, stabbed, burned, beaten--but I can't tell a woman that I love her... not just a woman, but the woman." He made a nervous gesture.

His cell phone rang. He looked down at the text message:

Inbox
Date: Jan 19 10:34 PM
From: Angela

Bren's in labor they have her on meds to stop it but its not helping much Come ASAP

Booth's body immediately began racing with adrenaline and fear. His heart began to beat faster, his body felt cold, his fight-or-flight response was screaming: FLIGHT!

"What's wrong?" Perotta asked, never before seeing such a look on Booth's face.

Brennan wasn't due for three days. He remembered an earlier conversation with the high risk OB.

"I have to go."

"Go."

"I'm--I'm sorry about--"

"Go. Another day, another suspect."

Booth nodded and within seven minutes he was running through the hospital.

It was a January of fleeting snowstorms that quickly melted and froze. Swift winter winds whistled through the treetops, laden with sleet and snow. There was at least one pileup on the freeway to the hospital, but somehow he was able to keep his hands steady enough, despite the cacophony that thundered in his head, to drive safely.

His feet hardly hit the ground as he flew through the coal-black parking lot and to the maternity wing. Cam only had a moment to react to his sudden presence and point toward the delivery room. Booth muttered a breathy ‘thanks’ and ran past her and into the room. He didn’t notice Angela’s look of desperate worry that painted her face. He didn’t notice the black funeral countenances on the nurses’ faces or the cold look of Brennan’s hand-picked top-of-his-field obstetrician.

All he saw was that Brennan was in pain and he wanted to do everything in his power to make it stop. For the first time in his life, he felt helpless. He couldn’t shoot the guy who was torturing her. He couldn’t save the day by riding up on a white steed.

He wasn’t the FBI partner as he lowered himself and held her hand. He looked at her in a way that nearly made Angela feel like a stranger in the room, despite the chaos and the fact that nothing was private when a man was ogling her best friend’s vag.

Booth squeezed her hand and they were the only two in the room. It was one of those magical moments that only those two could create or two people who are meant to be together. A veil fell around them and her clear blue eyes steadied on his. “You can do this, Bones,” he whispered.

“It’s not supposed to be like this,” she replied, looking away. The veil dissipated as Booth looked in the direction Brennan was looking. For the first time he noticed the looks on the faces of the professionals. They didn’t look like they were witnessing the birth of a child; they looked as if they were standing in line to ‘view the remains’ at a mortuary.

Booth released Brennan’s hand. “Keep an eye on her,” he said to Angela. Ordinary words, but in them, they implied that Angela was left to watch over a King’s Treasure. She nodded and took Bren’s hand.

The doctor was discussing something in hushed tones with a nurse. He heard the words, “When push comes to shove, we’ll just vacuum it out.”

It? Where did Brennan find this jackass?

“Why aren’t you over there?” Booth asked.

The doctor seemed to be taken off guard. Then he calmly recollected himself and said, “Well, I can check her again, but I just did. It might take a while. In ordinary cases, the baby helps out, you know?”

Booth felt a chill course through his veins. He could hardly speak, but he found his voice long enough to ask, “Is the baby dead?”

The doctor didn’t seem to know what to say, to Booth’s surprise. He floundered a quarter of a second before replying, “There’s a heartbeat.”

Booth could hardly believe his ears. The doctor was counting the baby as dead before he or she was even born! “Excuse me?”

“Your child is preterm—“

“My child is on time.”

The doctor grabbed Booth’s arm and took him aside—he was lucky he didn’t lose his arm!—and said, “For a healthy child, yes, but for a child with a disfigurement such as an ophalocele, each day the child is born before his or her due date significantly decreases chances of survival.”

“And for a kid who’s on time? Do you deliver him like this?” he gestured toward Brennan.

“Vaginally?” He studied his face. “No.”

“I want you to get that O.R. ready.”

“I don’t suggest that for this situation.”

“Why? Because you think our baby is going to die?” Booth’s face was hot with anger.

“I think you need to calm down, sir,” a nurse said testily.

“Because it’s an unnecessary risk of infection when your child only has a less than one percent chance of survival. I think you need to be thinking about your partner,” the doctor said. “I happen to know her as well as you do and I know that she would appreciate the logic in this decision.”

“I don’t think you know my partner,” Booth whispered in a low, dangerous tone, his teeth gritting. “You need to get that O.R. ready.” Booth gave the doctor one last threatening look, then went over to Brennan. Her eyes were closed. She was obviously in a lot of pain. Perspiration beaded along her hairline. The doctor watched for a minute, then stalked out of the room. The nurses began messing with her I.V. “It’s gonna be OK, Bones.”

Brennan had obviously heard the entire argument Booth had had with the doctor. She whispered between contractions, “It’s not logical.”

Booth’s brow was wrinkled with worry. He smoothed moist hairs from her forehead with his fingertips tenderly, “Sometimes… love isn’t logical, Bones.”

She smiled sincerely, despite the pain that was wrenching her muscles. “I want to meet our baby.”

Our baby! Booth’s imagination raced through the scenarios. Their baby would walk, breathe, talk, crawl… or they would have a tiny casket and tiny flowers in a week. He squeezed his eyes shut, shunning those thoughts as if they were a black cat being thrown across his path by cynical doctors. “Me, too, Bones.”

The next thirty minutes were a blur of surgeons and doctors. He felt like an automaton as he scrubbed his hands and let a nurse pull scrubs over his clothes and tie them behind his neck.

A gruesome image of Brennan laid out like she was being crucified made him shudder and pray that it wasn’t irony and that it was just an overworked imagination being fed on 5 hours of sleep. Brennan looked frightened as he sat near her head, a blue sheet blocking either of their views from the proceeding surgery. He thought about the doctor’s nurse as Booth signed the paperwork for the cesarean, “And y’all understand that this isn’t the doctor’s recommendation and it can result in the death to your partner AND/OR your baby.” She stared at him like he was sending Brennan to the slaughter as he scribbled down his signature on the dotted line.

Brennan remembered laying on the table and trying not to think about the things she would miss if she never held her baby… chubby, pink, dimple-kneed, toothless laughter… a tear dripped, following the curves of her eye, to her earlobe, and—two warm fingers caught the tear. Then—then his lips touched hers. It was a kiss that was built in sadness and hope and fear. It wouldn’t be spoken of for years to come in quiet reminisce.

She felt painful pressure and tugging. She was numb from a very strong spinal, but the dull pain still cut through. She tightened her jaw, determined not to say something. It wasn’t ‘logical’, but there was a fear that they would knock her out if she said anything and she would miss what would be statistically the only moments of her child’s life. Booth seemed so hopeful. She didn’t tell him that it wasn’t likely the baby would live—she didn’t even tell herself that, although she knew it very well.

So very well that it scared her to imagine the hole that would be left if… if…

“Time?” the doctor asked.

“12:03.”

The room was chillingly silent. Booth waited for the announcement. Brennan’s ears were strained to hear a cry. When nobody said a thing, when nobody laid the baby in Brennan’s arms, Booth stood up to look over the sheet.

The nurse was affixing a pink cap on a blue infant and was beginning to walk toward him. “What are you doing?” he asked. “You’re not even going to suction her lungs or give her air?”

The nurse was young and looked white with horror. She had expected to see a parent upset, knowing that his child would be born dead (this was, after all, what the senior nurse had told her to do!), but combativeness was something she hadn’t prepared herself for. “There, there’s no need.”

Booth stood up and crossed to her. He took the baby back to the warming lamps and snatched the suction bulb.

An older nurse walked over there, “I think you need to leave, sir.”

“You haven’t even given her a chance,” Booth said. He unwrapped her gently.

“I can try to give her some air,” the younger nurse said.

“Why don’t you leave, Jenny?” the older nurse snapped.

Booth looked at the younger nurse. “I could use your help, Jenny.”

The younger nurse looked to her superior, then to the little blue baby under the warming lamps. She took a quick step forward and began directing everyone around her. Within moments, she was giving the baby air and suctioning. An ICU doctor had been called and was jogging into the O.R. with a posse of staff tagging along behind him…

And the little blue baby was now pink—pinker than the little cap that covered her tiny head. Just before they put her into the little plastic incubator, with all of her little wires and monitors on her teeny little body, Booth touched her little head—it was smaller than his hand!—and so perfect! The little cap was too big for her head and was easily pushed off to one cockeyed angle, revealing copper-penny curls.

Booth smiled sadly as he fixed the hat, “’Til tomorrow, Lucy.”

This makes me want to cry! They weren't even giving the poor baby a chance! Please update soon! I hope little Lucy shows them all!!

Booth and Perotta, I knew she was a good egg and always did like her! But now Brennan and Booth are waiting for their little girl. It's so sad to watch. Way to go, Booth, on not letting them give up!

I'm not great at reviews, but I really like this story. Thank you for writing it!

Aw thank you!

Angela was wearing that old terry cloth robe of Hodgins’ (the one with the hole under the right armpit). She found it amazing that he had so much money, but refused to get a new bathrobe—but there was comfort in it that she relished in when she wore it. Brennan was still asleep and Brayden was sleeping soundly on the hospital window seat. His little body was covered by a fleece blanket that had come in the mail from her dad. It had attached to it a little note that said, “To my Grandson: May you give your mom every bit of trouble she gave me when she was 2.” She had smiled at him calling Brayden his grandson without a second thought. But there was something else she had wanted to tell everyone… something she had wanted to sing on the rooftops… but she hadn’t wanted to say a thing. Not yet. Not until she knew that Booth and Brennan’s baby was going to be OK.

She watched as the shadows of snowflakes fell on the window panes and over his little body.

“Brayden,” she whispered.

She watched him sleep for several minutes until she heard Brennan stir. She had hoped that Booth could be that first face she would look at, but he was in the NICU with little “Lucy”.

Angela held her hand. “How ya feelin’, sweetie?”

Brennan made a face and whispered, “I feel… pain.”

“Do you need more morphine? You have a drip thingy here…”

“No. Don’t touch, Angela”

“Sure?”

Brennan nodded. “How…” she could hardly ask for fear of what the answer would be. “How is the baby?”

“Lucy’s in the Nick-U,” Angela said. “That’s where Booth’s at now. He asked me to stay here while he stayed with her for a while.”

“Lucy?” Brennan asked in a heavy, medicated voice. Although the conversation about names had come up on several occasions, no choice had been made. Although, believe me, there was a list of family and friend names and Googled names from Booth and an itemized list of over 100 names which were both alphabetized and scored on a number of criteria from Brennan. Lists were compiled into a master list, but no amount of bickering had ever solved that issue.

"Alright," Booth had said, whipping his sunglasses from his eyes with gusto fired by annoyance, "what about Madison? You can't have much to say about that. It's strong. It's for a boy and a girl. One name solves both problems! Bingo!"

Brennan scrunched her face. Booth knew it was coming. "I don't care for unisex names," she said. "For that very reason. It's confusing on legal documents and not to mention it doesn't sound very professional and I'm not even going to touch on the fact that it's the number four most popular name on the 2008 census for newborn girls. It would be hard to have a unique identity if you're one of twenty girls in your class named Madison. She would be Madison B. throughout her childhood. And as for it being a boy's name, it's hardly ever used for a boy any more. The poor child would be outcast."

Booth's mind had stopped at the initial 'B'. Had they decided on a last name? He was almost afraid to bring up the subject. From what he remembered (vaguely), before the surgery he had agreed that the child would be hers--what was he thinking???--but he wanted very much for it to be his child as well. He hoped she meant 'Booth', but he didn't press the subject. Cross one bridge at a time, he told himself.

There was an uncomfortable silence before Brennan said, "Tristan."

Booth scoffed, laughed, and asked in an amused voice, "For a boy? The kid would live in his locker. No way."

"Evelyn," Brennan said after a beat.

"Are you also giving birth to a walker?"

Another uncomfortable silence.

Booth said, "Wyatt." She gave him a questioning glance. "For a boy."

"I'll think about it."

"Emma," Booth said.

"Number one most popular name in 2008."

They pulled up to the residence in question. The subject was dropped for the time being. And now Brennan remembered that since the baby’s intrauterine diagnosis, more thought had been put to worry and quiet nights calculating probabilities and percentages in her secretly frazzled mind than to naming their child. Booth, on the other hand, had never forgotten, but had given Brennan space. She never let it show, but he knew how much sleep she was losing over the little infant that she was carrying and his or her outcome.

Angela smiled. “Booth said you guys hadn’t decided on a name and since she—oh, she has really beautiful little red curls. She’s--perfect, sweetie. I think that’s where Booth got it. You know, ‘Loo-see, I’m hooo-ooome!’”

Brennan gave her a puzzled look, “Aren’t we--?”

“It’s a quote, Bren… from I Love Lucy. Listen, sweetie, I’ll Netflix it for ya. But, I think it’s a darling little name and it just fits her.” Angela stood and walked to her bag and pulled out a digital camera. “You’ve been out all day. You reacted badly to the pain meds, but they said once you’re ready you can see her.” She brought the camera over to Brennan and squatted beside her. “It looks bad with that little bag thingy over her intestines, but it’s meant to keep it moist…”

“I know, Ange,” Brennan said sleepily.

Angela let Brennan take the camera from her. Out of all of the photos, Booth only looked up and smiled once at the camera—a sleepy, weary, worried smile. But in the rest, his eyes never left the tiny infant in the incubator. She was so small! In fact—“How much did she weigh?”

“Just under six pounds and eighteen inches.”

Red hair! Brennan had never considered that genetic combination. She had assumed that the baby would be blond and brown-eyed or a brunette with brown eyes… or possibly blue eyes could win out… but red hair! That was a combination she had never considered in… in all of the time she had considered that. Not too long, of course.

Only… only in the past few years, if she was completely honest with herself… since that first thought crept into her mind and she cultivated it in secret.

“I never thought you two would make a redhead,” Angela mused absently… revealing that she had given it a lot more thought than either cared to admit to, herself.

Brennan smiled and began to move away from the bed. Angela looked startled, “Sweetie, sweetie! Let me call a nurse!”

A minute later, a nurse was in with a wheelchair, “Wanting to see your baby?”

“I don’t need a wheelchair,” Brennan informed her, moving painfully toward the door.

The nurse looked as if she was on her tenth hour (which she probably was) so she wasn’t afraid to snap, “You’ve just had major abdominal surgery.”

“I’m not a parapalegic; am I?”

The nurse glared at her.

“And don’t you agree that movement helps to prevent blood clots and other post-surgery complications?”

“Fine, but you might wanna up your morphine and let me get you a walker.” The walker was flatly refused, but Brennan did yield to a hand from each Angela and the nurse on her elbows. Even with the pain medication trailing her, it was insanely painful (not that she let it show on her face).

“You wanna take a break, sweetie?” Angela asked, shifting Brayden on her hip. He was closing in on three years old, but he was still smaller than the average. But he was growing! And thriving!

“No,” Brennan said.

Angela buttoned her lips and decided to let Brennan and Booth have alone time with their little girl, so she waited outside of the NICU doors and read a National Geographic Magazine from three years before. She paused on a story about ‘stone babies’. Her eyes grew momentarily wide with horror. Then she opted for the Elle Magazine with the dog-eared pages.

Brennan stood in the doorway for a few seconds. Something in her wanted to take everything in. Until the nurse pulled up a chair and Booth turned and noticed her. Angela looked up and watched him gently embrace her and kiss her forehead—so tenderly. She let a smile soften her face as Hodgins walked toward her with a cup of coffee and a bottle of water. He sat beside her and took a sip as he watched Brennan lean over the little incubator and her blue eyes grew bluer as they filled with salty tears. She laughed it off and shook her head at her foolishness. But Booth knew bettter and reached for her hand.

There once was a time where Angela and Hodgins theorized about when or how their friends would finally see what they were missing and would throw caution to the wind and fall into bed and love. But years later, they smiled to themselves and theorized not. Whenever these two fell in love would be in their own timing… and chances were, it would be something terrible that would throw them those last few feet into each other’s arms.

"Whenever these two fell in love would be in their own timing… and chances were, it would be something terrible that would throw them those last few feet into each other’s arms."

It's a beautiful story Mama, sad and melancholy and fluffy all at once. Kudos on this chapter.

RM

Thank you very much!

Angela watched as a somewhat familiar woman walked down the hallway toward her. She looked a little lost, so Angela asked, “Carol-Jean?”

She smiled cautiously, as if she didn’t know whether or not she should recognize Angela. Angela introduced herself and Carol-Jean’s smile softened, “It’s good to see you again, honey.”

“Bren and Booth are in there with the baby. You can sit next to me and wait if you like.”

Carol-Jean nodded and settled into a seat next to her, the snow falling from the shoulders of her navy blue coat and sprinkled the back of the seat. In her hand was some sort of book that was covered by two plastic grocery bags. Angela didn’t ask what it was. They sat in silence for several minutes.

“The weather’s terrible,” Angela sighed. “I’m almost afraid to go home.”

“My son put chains on my tires last night. Goodness only knows I wouldn’t be able to do it myself. He drove three towns over just to put those on for me.”

“You raised him right,” Angela said politely.

Carol-Jean shook her head, “You wouldn’t have said that if you saw what he was like when he graduated from high school. He was so angry with me…” an unknown pain twisted her features for a second, then her face softened once again, her cheeks pink from the cold and her blue were glittering and youthful once again. She may have aged, but it was easy to tell that she was young still at heart. “He was so mad at me that I didn’t hear a word from him for six years. He went off to the army and I didn’t hear from him until he was about to marry Minnie. She told him that if she was going to marry him, then he needed to make amends. He was true to his word and… I think things are a lot better now.”

“Can I ask why he was mad?”

“I was a young mom. I didn’t know better. I wanted to be his friend, but I learned too late that I was there to be his mother. Friendship may come later, but mothering should always come first. Remember that, Angela; remember that.”

Angela nodded and looked over at Booth and Brennan. They had been in that NICU for almost an hour. She wondered what they were talking about. The curiosity would have killed her if Carol-Jean didn’t start on her next topic, which was so fascinating that she stayed glued to her seat for the next thirty minutes without noticing how fast time had flown.

Inside the NICU room, the nurse who was in the delivery room walked over to Booth and Brennan.

Booth smiled, recognizing her. “You look familiar,” he said.

She smiled back, “I’ve been banned from the delivery room, but I think I like it in here a lot better. The lead doctor’s great.” She checked all of the baby’s machines: heart monitor, blood pressure, etc. “She looks great. Very stable. It’s actually kind of amazing. A lot of babies…” she looked over at Brennan and felt guilty quickly.

“They don’t have a very high rate of recovery,” Brennan finished for her.

“Especially when they’re… a little early like this. But she really has a fighting spirit, doesn’t she?” The nurse felt like talking more. Any other doctor wouldn’t have thought twice about giving their little baby oxygen, but that particular O.B. didn’t like to be ‘wrong’. This made him the best, but unfortunately it also made him rather heartless.

“Like her mom,” Booth said.

The nurse felt the awkward moment between the two, but didn’t know what the root of the issue was. She quickly moved on, “I tried to put an IV into her little arm, but she fought me off. That’s why it’s in her skull. It isn’t hurting her, though. It just looks worse than it actually is.”

Booth nodded. “When—When…”

“When will the corrective surgery be?” Brennan finished.

“Well… that really depends on her stability. Right now, and I’m no expert, but it looks like it could be any day now. The high risk pediatric doctor was in here while you were still unconscious and he seemed really surprised at how alert she was and how great all of her vitals are. The hernia seems to be a little more severe, and she has the age and size thing against her, but for some reason… it’s as if she’s doing better than even children with more severe omphaloceles. Like I said, she had this fighting spirit about her.” The nurse straightened. “Would you like to hold her?”

Brennan seemed to straighten, too. Suddenly she never felt so afraid in her life. Carrying her child inside of herself was one thing, but holding her child in her arms suddenly felt frightening and permanent. Would she be able to love her and give her everything she deserved emotionally? (Financially, educationally, and materialistically she knew she could.) She began to tell herself about all of the anthropological bonding that went on between mother and newborn: chemicals, hormones, smells, sights… this would be normal eventually.

“Now?” Booth asked. He seemed just as nervous, which put Brennan at ease. Even being an experienced parent didn’t make him more comfortable. Perhaps it was a normal emotional response?

The nurse opened the little casement. Brennan noticed her nametag, “Jenny”. “Have you come up with a name for her?”

“Booth seems attached to the name Lucy.”

The nurse smiled. “And you? Are you attached to Lucy as well?”

“Of course I’m attached to her,” was Brennan’s serious and emphatic response.

“The name,” she said.

“Oh, yes. I think it’s a lovely name… Strong, not too common, not trendy…”

“And a middle name? Lucy…?”

“We… we haven’t discussed middle names yet.”

“You still have time,” the nurse said. “In the meantime, Little Miss Lucy Booth, meet your mommy and daddy.” The nurse had just assumed that her name would be Booth, but instead of feeling irate, Brennan felt a chill run through her spine and warm her cheeks. Her child was Booth’s child! And it was wonderful.

As the little infant was in mid air, being transferred in the nurse’s arms, Brennan began to talk nervously, “Survival rates of full-term infants are 74 percent in children who are primarily completely closed. Of course, that means that 26 percent of children didn’t survive,” she looked at Booth. He could tell she was trying to rationalize so she wouldn’t be upset. “and of course she was born earlier than she needed to be, but she’s a fighter.”

Booth nodded encouragingly, “Yeah, she is, Bones. She’s a fighter.” His voice was almost a whisper.

He could see tears in her eyes as she spoke. “She’s a fighter.”

“She has a little of you and a little of me, Bones. She’s going to be OK.” Booth squatted beside the rocking chair where Brennan was sitting.

“True that we’re both fighters, Booth, but is it genetic?” Brennan remembered all of the logical reasons she presented for wanting Booth as a donor. But the true reason had nothing to do with probability or genetics. It had everything to do with an unnamed feeling, something so intangible that it scared Brennan when she felt herself believing in it.

The nurse laid the baby in Brennan’s arms, “Be careful of the hernia. It’s protected, but it’s delicate.”

The moment she was in her arms, there was such an unbelievable connection that Brennan began to cry. Booth noticed and wiped the tears from her eyes. “It’s OK, Bones.”

“I don’t know why I’m crying.”

“Because you love her.” Brennan looked at Booth. “Sometimes love just happens, Bones. You don’t expect it. It just happens.”

Brennan looked back down at the little sleeping babe, pale with sweet red curls and long curling lashes. It still amazed her that she was so unique… so perfect. Perfect may be an impossible thing, except for when speaking of certain mathematical equations, but she… she was perfect. Brennan looked up at Booth, “Brennan is a good middle name.”

“You sure about that, Bones?”

She nodded and touched Lucy’s tiny hands. Her little hand wrapped around her finger—and her heart.

Booth smiled. As the meaning of what Brennan had said was setting in, his grin grew. He leaned close and kissed her on the forehead. “It’s a great name.”

**
When she had settled down in her hospital room bed, she still felt the sweet weight of her tiny baby girl in her arms. The room was dark and it almost matched how she felt to a T.

Brennan couldn’t fight the urge to feel terribly sad about not having her baby in her arms when she heard a soft knock at her door.

“Angela?” Brennan sat up a little bit, trying to not look so depressed when she saw Carol-Jean walk into the room.

“Hey, honey, how ya doin’?”

Brennan nodded, “I’m sore, tired, and I’ve been given some strong medication which makes me feel like I’m talking into a box—which the doctor assured me was normal.”

Carol-Jean laughed a little and sat down beside her, pulling the chair a little closer. “She’s a real doll, honey. I could see her through the glass. You can see a lot of her daddy in her. And a lot of her mama. Seems to me that she inherited a lot of your spunk, Tempe.”

“I’m not entirely sure that ‘spunk’ is an inheritable trait, but if it is… Booth is quite spunky himself.”

She laughed softly, “He definitely seems like the… what’s the phrase I’m thinking of?... the Alpha Male type.”

Brennan seemed surprised by this, “That’s what I’ve always said.”

“Then it must be true.”

Brennan looked at the book in her aunt’s hands, “What’s that?”

“I thought we might look through this. I thought that it was something you would want to see.” She flipped through the family album. There were so many unfamiliar faces that Brennan mostly sat quietly and tried to recognize familiar bone structures.

Carol-Jean flipped to the next page. The scrap book was yellowed and the tape was fragile that held the photos down behind the foggy film. A photo slipped inside the plastic. Brennan looked at it. The bone structure was so unbelievably uncanny, that Brennan reached out and stopped the page. “Is that…”

“That’s your mom… my half sister.” She tapped the page thoughtfully. “I remember this day…” She smiled and brought Brennan back with her to the seventies. “It was the last day that I ever saw your mom. I had a great bond with your mom. I loved Anna of course, but we had a special connection.”

“I thought there was a third sister.”

“Huh? Oh, I don’t know a whole lot about her. I just know that her name was Temperance, just like you.” She flipped to another page. “My father was hurt by your grandmother’s mental illness. I think he was ashamed, so I didn’t see a lot of pictures or hear a lot of stories, but over time, I was able to piece together a bit of a story. There she is. She looked… so much like you. Brown hair, blue eyes… I heard she was a feisty little thing, too. She stood her ground and didn’t hold her tongue. I guess once,” she laughed, “she hit a boy on the nose at a church picnic. My dad was so angry, but he couldn’t whip her. She had a way about her.” She touched the photo tenderly. “She died in your grandmother’s lap on the way to the hospital. Your mom once told me about that. She watched her die. It was terrible. For some reason, I think your mom blamed herself and, well, I know, your grandmother did, too. Which is probably why she never quite recovered…” She flipped back to the photo of the last time she saw Brennan’s mother.

Carol-Jean recalled walking into the hospital and seeing the happy little family. She had no idea it would be the last time she would see her sister or her niece and nephew.

“I just remember how proud she was of you,” Carol-Jean said. “So proud, Temperance. She let me hold you and I just remember how gentle she was with you.” Shortly after that visit, her father never mentioned their names again. “I only could guess that your parents moved far away, but as I grew older, I guessed that something much worse happened.” She unattached the bindings from the pages and handed them to Brennan. “I want you to keep these. They’re a record of your history—your lineage.”

There was a moment where Brennan felt she was going to look for the ring, so Brennan slid her hand beneath the blanket and reached for the pages. “I wouldn’t mind a copy.”

“I’ve already made copies. Don’t you worry about that, honey.”

For some reason that Brennan couldn’t explain, she felt that Carol-Jean was lying and wanted her to take the pages as a gift. Confusedly, she reached for the pages. “Thank you.”

“And one more thing.” She reached inside her purse and took out a blue plastic bag. “I came across this when I was in my teens. Anna had Kathryn baptized in it and after that it just stayed in the attic forever. Your grandmother crocheted it and each of her girls were baptized in it. I guess I felt like a bit of an outsider sometimes with my sisters having these memories and this heritage, but of course, I love my own dear mother…” She took out the little crocheted gown. “Lucy might not fit in it by the time she’s out of the hospital, but I thought it should go to its rightful owner.”

Brennan didn’t know what to say as the little whitish gown with tiny yellow rosettes was laid on her lap. There was so much history in it… so many memories and connections... Her mother wore this dress. Her aunts. Her grandmother crocheted it with love for her little daughters. Suddenly the little ring that was once on her finger wasn’t her only connection to the past. And it was overwhelming.

“It’s the hormones. I cried all the time after my kids were born,” Carol-Jean said, standing. “I should get going before it’s too dark for me to drive. I have night blindness. I can’t see a darn thing after dark.” Carol-Jean sensed that she wouldn’t get much of a reply from her strange niece, so she left silently after kissing Brennan.

Brennan couldn’t keep her eyes off the little gown. She hadn’t even gotten the chance to verbalize that she wasn’t Catholic, not even religious (although the thought had passed through her mind). Instead, the gravity of the little gown had taken the words from her lips.

i love this story Mama!!!!!