A Sliver of Topaz by ForensicMama (Multi-Chapter)

Title: "A Sliver of Topaz"
Pairing: Brennan's Family Story. A family story, a love story.
Rating: T--although this chapter is probably K+
Spoilers: n/a
Chapter: 1
Summary: This is a sneak peak into a much longer fic which I will be expanding on like nobody's business this summer.
Brennan's curiosity, as encouraged by Booth, leads her to discover the secrets behind the family ring. She discovers secrets, fears, and joys-but most of all, she discovers the meaning of family and love.
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I kicked the blankets on the floor
Turned my pillow upside down
I never never did before
'cause I was tossin' and turnin'
Turnin' and tossin'
a-tossin' and turnin' all night

She moved her hips to the beat as it blasted from the family radio. Manicured nails fluffed the bouffant until it was tall enough to earn a halo of cloud cover. Another dusting of hair spray. A green swing coat brushed against silk leggings as she leaned toward the mirror, adding another layer of lipstick.

"Tossin' and turnin' all night," she whisper-sang with the refrain. Her eyes were pulled from the gold-brushed en vogue mirror at the sight of movement outside of her bedroom door. She sighed heavily, annoyed, and set the lipstick on the vanity. "Ruth! Ruthie!"

The girl stopped her dancing and brushed back chestnut waves. "Yeah, mama?"

"What did I tell you, girl? Go get dressed. I'm not gonna tell you again. I swear on everything holy."

The girl sighed and walked back to her bedroom, shoulders hunched.

Her mother shook her head and walked back to the vanity where the bouffant was decked with a pearl comb. She opened her jewelry box and thumbed through the little pile of cheap costume jewelry until she found it.

A silver ring, size 6 with a sliver of topaz that captured the moonlight.

She slid it on her finger.

What Karen Stanley knew about that ring could hardly fill a paragraph. It had been handed down from generation to generation for an undocumented amount of time. A trip to a jewelry appraiser in the city shortly after she inherited it at the age of sixteen gained the knowledge that it wasn't worth much.

"Fifteen dollars," the man had said, holding the ring out to her. "Not worth much."

She fought the urge to glare at the man and instead left the shop without another word.

Although its intrinsic value was next to nil, the value of the ring meant much more than fifteen dollars worth of silver-alloy and a sliver of worthless stone. Her own granddaughter would someday realize this much more than she knew herself. It was the fact that every woman in her family from 1850 until the present had worn that ring that made it so valuable. Photographs disappear or can be improperly labeled, wedding dresses mildewed and dissolved with time, but the ring had an inerasable history.

If the ring could talk, which her granddaughter would say it would never be able to do, it would attest to the fact that it had once inadvertently shaken the hand of Lady Bird Johnson. It would say that a woman with only the clothing on her back and a ring on her finger had once hidden three days in a storm culvert to hide from her abusive husband. It would say that it was once worn by a still born child as it was baptized by the local priest. It would say that it was slid on the finger of a young bride as she was wished bon voyage by her mother.

It had history. It had a former life that could never be denied.

The wedding they attended that day in 1962--mother, father and three young daughters, was a bright and classic affair, worthy of all of the Jackie Kennedys of the world.

"Calm down, Tempe," Ruth snapped at her sister. Temperance was the middle daughter born to Karen and Frank Stanley. She looked everything like her older sister with the exception of a set of startlingly blue eyes and a wild temper which earned her the nickname of Temper-Tantrum.

"It's itchy," she whined back, scratching at the stiff polyester dress with white kid-gloved hands.

"Girls, do I have to separate you?" This time it was Frank, who gave the girls a stern look, his jaws set firmly with anger or something close to it.

"No, sir," Ruth replied before she shot her sister a cold glare. The glare said for Tempe to behave. Be silent. Be still. Be anything but a burden and an annoying little brat.

"Mama, I gotta potty!" This came from the youngest, three year old Anna.

"You wanna take her, hun?" Husband whispered to wife.

"I'll take her," Ruth interjected.

"You know where the rest room is?" Frank asked his eldest.

Ruth nodded and took Anna by the hand, leading her down the aisle. The wedding party had already begun to assemble outside of the double doors. Ruth was quick to notice the women--so many beautiful young women dressed in organdy and lace. A cloud of cream, floating full skirts and sweetheart necklines.

"Lost, sweetie?"

Ruth was startled to see a tall woman in a taffeta cocktail dress standing next to her.

"Wedding's about to begin. Why don't you and your li'l sister go sit down?"

"My sister has to pee." She hated herself almost immediately for spitting out such an incoherent sentence. It nearly cemented the theories by most adults that she was a child with a childlike brain.

She breathed deeply and turned to a man in a green tweed suit and coiffed hair. "She's gotta pee, Dick."

He cleared his throat. "Five minutes."

She turned back, bending a little, and condescending-to-the-tee, "Hear that, honey? Five minutes, or your mommy and daddy gon' beat you for being left in the hallway."

"C'mon, Anna." She had to remind herself of the rule of thumb: be seen, but not heard. She would leave talk-back when it came to Tempe and her big mouth when time came to it.

When she returned, the music was beginning. A woman in black cat frames was beginning to play the wedding march on the organ. Tempe was quick to point out to her sister, "You almost got in trouble. If you was a little later, daddy was gonna spank you."

"Shut up, Temper-Tantrum."

Her father looked harshly in their direction again. A look that was clearly read: Another word out of you and you'll go to bed without supper. Once sure that his daughters would remain well-behaved, he looked forward, straight-backed and listened for the bride's music to begin--which it did shortly. The audience stood as she and her escorts walked down the aisle.

"I hate you," Ruth whispered.

"Hate you more."

Her father reached out and smacked Ruth, who was closest, in the back of her head. There wasn't the kind of stigma in those days that came with corporal punishment. Eyes watered silently as the audience sat and the priest began his initial blessings and prayers over the couple.

Where most young girls, Anna and Tempe included, would have sat back in awe of the beauty of such a fairy tale wedding, Ruth slouched in her chair, her mind acloud with silent anger. How was it that she was always in charge of her sisters? How was it that she was never appreciated? She was twelve but often felt more like a second mother to her sisters. Not a single thought passed through her mind about how terribly selfish her thoughts were. But she was twelve, after all.

She was a twelve year old who wasn’t enjoying a single moment of the wedding. She wanted to tear off the stupid dress her mother had put her in, put back on her clam-diggers and raise a raucous. She wanted to pull her sister’s chocolatey curls. She wanted to throw cake at the ring bearer. She wanted to scream.

It wasn’t hard to see that Ruth Stanley AKA future Ruth Keenan AKA Christine Brennan was a little spitfire with a rebellious streak. From day one, she was painfully compliant on the outside: doing her parents’ will, taking care of her siblings, getting good marks in geography—But also from day one, she hated it all. She wanted to break out of her shell. She wanted to do something to get her name on the chalkboard. She wanted to kiss boys under the monkey bars. She wanted to learn how to shoot her daddy’s .22. She wanted to wear pants, say ‘piss’, skip studying for her algebra test, listen to the Beatles, and thumb through Mad Magazine.

But as known for her independent streak as she was, she was also known for her sweet nature, easy laughter, and sparkling brown eyes.

That’s what made her her.

They left the church reception hall shortly after the rain began to fall.

“We should go so we don’t have to drive in this rain,” she overheard her father saying to her mother. She nodded her bouffant and said her farewells to the other women whose husbands were retrieving them and herding them through the door like lost and overly primmed and powdered cattle.

Ruth was more than happy to get out of that church. Her mind was still brewing. She was still angry. And the downpour only made things that much worse.

She stomped across the country street, slipping half way in her kitten heels. She caught herself and continued her march.

“Wait up, Ruthie!” Her father lit up a cigar, threw the match to the curb and grabbed Anna’s hand.

Ruth turned at the Ford and looked back at her family. Her father was walking toward her holding Anna’s hand. Her mother was still gossiping on the curb with Mrs. Bauer who once taught her Catechism Class.

“C’mon, Mom!”

“Shut your mouth.” Frank puffed a few more times before smothering the cigar under foot.

Ruth leaned against the Fairlane, hands tucked into pockets, head tipped to one side impatiently. “Mom! It’s cold!”

“Get in the car,” she shot back, turning and talking to Mrs. Bauer once more.

Through the dim light and rain, Ruth could see Tempe hopping down the steps of St. Michael’s and toward the car.

Karen absently looked at her daughter, “Don’t run, sweetie,” then she continued her conversation.

“You’re such a brat,” Ruth told her sister as she ran across the street toward her. She stopped in the middle of the road having lost her shoe. Ruth growled at the inconvenience.

Nobody noticed the speeding Chrysler until it was too late. Tempe herself was probably the first to notice. She let out a short little shriek. A yelp. A gasp.

But it was all too late. Medical care wasn’t what it is today and ambulances were next to nonexistent, especially in small towns.

The rest of the night was a nightmare. Anna sat up front crying and peeping over the seat as her father, cold-eyed sped to the next town over where the teaching hospital was.

In the back seat, Ruth held her sister’s broken legs. Her mother smoothed back Tempe’s hair and sung a lullaby through tears.

“All night, all day,
Angels watching over me, my Lord.
All night, all day,
Angels watching over me.”

Tempe held her mother’s hand and stared into her eyes. She didn’t blink. She breathed shallowly. Crimson blood soaked lilac-hued organdy.

“Sun is a-setting in the West;
Angels watching over me, my Lord.
Sleep my child, take your rest;
Angels watching over me.”

Ruth watched her sister’s lively blue eyes glow dull.

I'm kind of confused, but I like it.

Thank you. What's confusing? Ruth is Temperance Brennan's mom. If you're confused about little Tempe, that's Ruth's sister who she later renames her daughter after. That will come later.

I like it! And I've been wondering for awhile when the show would have Brennan start looking for her family - which as Max said is going to be on her mothers side -

I agree - that's an arc that's just begging to be written. Go, Mama, Go!

Thanks everyone for the encouragement! And thank you DB for the constructive criticism!

Chapter 2

A cloud of dust grew behind the '71 Chevelle, dusting its cherry-red exterior with grayish powder. The vehicle pulled up beneath a sycamore. The summer sunshine warmed her dark hair and the long halter dress picked up the arid soil from the bumper as she walked to the front and sat on the hood.

Max slammed the driver's side door and walked to the front. "You ready, baby?"

She lit up a cigarette and threw the match to the dust. She sucked in the cool vapor, then pulled it out between two fingers. Her arms crossed as she looked over at the man in the gray-blue shirt and brown pants. He smiled at her with those twinkling blue eyes and reached for her free hand.

She took another drag. "Ah, fuck, Max. I don't--" She drew in more smoke. "I don't know. She's nuts, babe. She fuckin' doesn't remember my name, let alone the fact that I'm her daughter."

"She's your mother, Ruthie. I hate to break it to you, but she could die tomorrow and who knows if we're coming back?"

Her eyes wandered to the tall white building shaded by dessiduous trees and surrounded by manicured lawns. A few senior citizens with their helpers wandered around the grounds. "I just--" She brushed away her long brown hair and shook her head--a nervous gesture. "I don't want to see her that way, you know?"

He reached for her cigarette and sucked in a breath. "Take all the time you want, honey."

She laughed sweetly and looked over at him. "How is it that you're the only one who ever calls me that?"

"How is it that you're the only woman I've ever wanted to call that?"

She leaned close and kissed him--once, twice, three times. Then she leaned back and took the cigarette back from him.

"You say bye to your sisters?"

She shook her head. "I hate the idea of saying bye to Anna. It's not like--" She threw the cigarette to the ground, took out another and lit it, then brought it to her lips. "I'm gonna smoke the whole pack before I go in there." She laughed and looked again at Max. "It's not like I'm that close with Anna, you know. She hasn't even reached puberty yet." She breathed in the smoke, breathed it out. "And Caroline's four and she's just like Judith." She took a puff as a woman in a pink robe began to wander away from her helper. "I guess if dad's happy with her..."

"You don't have to be strong around me. Your step-mom's a bitch."

She laughed again, her eyes lighting up. "God, I love you." She shook her head and threw the cigarette to the ground, then hopped off the hood of the Chevelle. "Guess I should go in before I get cancer or something." She skipped across the gravel road and waved, her back still to him, "Wish me luck!"

"Good luck, baby."

Urine and ammonia were the first things to hit her senses as she walked into the home. A woman in a white nurse's cap, white dress, and white shoes met her at the door. "Just sign your name in, hun."

"Thank you." She jotted her name on the list and walked toward her mother's room.

Karen Stanley was on the first floor of the building in the recently added wing.

Ruth stood outside the door for a moment, breathed deeply, then knocked on the ajarred door. She let herself in to find something she didn't expect at all.

Where every other visit to the Ambrose Home for the Mentally Disabled and Diseased had resulted in a reunion with a woman in restraints of some sort--almost every time a straight jacket, Ruth found her mother sitting at the window seat calmly looking over a photo album. Her hair was disheveled, she wore a house dress, and she almost always smelled of fecal matter, but she was calmly dabbing tears away with a tissue and flipping the pages of the album.

"Mama?"

Karen looked up and smiled. "You're wearing a dress."

She fought the urge to cry and was able to keep her emotions restrained. "It's the style."

Karen nodded and patted the seat beside her, scooting over enough for her daughter to sit beside her. Ruth crossed the room and sat down. Karen pressed a kiss to her daughter's cheek. "You always were such a pretty girl, Ruthie." Karen stood and put the photo album away on a mostly empty shelf. She pushed the tissue into the pocket of the house dress. "Why'd you visit me?"

"I'm moving, mama. I just wanted to let you know first hand."

"Moving?" She nodded, but obviously looked disappointed. "I see."

"Is that OK?"

"No, no. Of course it's OK. You're a woman now. You're just the only one who ever visits me." She smiled sadly and nodded. She sat back down beside Ruth and patted her knee. "Where ya moving?"

"D.C., mama."

"Wow. Quite a move."

"I'm sorry," she couldn't help but to apologize for leaving her mother behind.

She smiled. "I'm all right here. Good food, interesting company--Lord knows, they keep me on my toes just as much as I keep them on theirs." She laughed lightly. "What's the reasoning?"

"I met a nice young man, mama."

"Yeah? Good. Every woman needs a nice young man." She stood up and walked to the shelf where a small jewelery box was kept and dug through the costume jewelery until she came to what she was looking for. "I need you to keep something special for me."

Ruth knew immediately what it was as her mother walked back to her. "The ring."

Karen took Ruth's hand with shaking fingers and set the ring in her daughter's palm--silver with a sliver of moonlight topaz. "Every eldest daughter has had this ring on their finger. My mother gave it to me, hers gave it to her and down the line." Ruth's fingers closed around the ring. "It's yours now. And when the time comes and you have a daughter, it'll be hers. It's there to remind you that you've got family, people you love, no matter where you go."

Ruth wrapped her arms around her mother's frail figure as her body began to shudder in sobs. The sobs began to grow until they became a hysterical wail and Karen crumpled to the ground and began to hit her head with her fists. The change in her demeanor was such a shock and so drastic that Ruth could only stand back in astonishment as nurses came in and began to sedate her...

Ruth ran across the dusty road. "Get in the car," she ordered Max who quickly complied and hopped in, starting up the engine.

"What's wrong?"

"Time to go."

The Chevelle peeled out of the spot, tearing up perfect green grass. Ruth quietly twisted the ring on her right hand as they drove across the states toward their new life. In search of excitement, change of venue, danger, and a new way of defining family.


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Thanks for the reviews! And thanks, DBCrazy for the constructive criticism! It's truly appreciated!

And they're off! It's neat knowing that Brennan's mother was tender hearted, enough to be the only one that visited her mother in the home. Keep it up, Mama, but don't stay away from the studying altogether.

Oh, I love this. I love stories about their histories, about family and things we've never seen. Great job, and I look forward to more!

Chapter 3 (I didn't want to leave this story!)

"Baby, just wait in the van." He said it as sweetly and forcefully as he could. But try as he might, Ruth was always a spit-fire kind of woman.

"Are you kidding me, Max?" She gave him that same look she gave him ten years before when he told her that men should open doors for their women. Not only did he get sharp words for being called his "woman", but he also earned that custom glare for being coddled. Years down the road, he would see that same look and that same stubborn streak in his daughter.

"You're pregnant," he informed her.

"I'm not stupid," she reminded him. "And I've been doing this for almost a decade, Max. Besides, it's not like we're going in there guns-a-blazin'." And just to articulate her point, she pulled out the Baretta 92 from his holster and loaded it without her eyes leaving his, as if to say that she could do it in the dark and still not shoot herself, or their baby.

He sighed. "Fine." There was no arguing with her. Being stubborn was nothing but a pastime for her. He slid to the back of the van and opened the double doors. They both entered the night just as someone moved in the shadows.

He stopped. She stopped.

"Keep going," he whispered.

She nodded, but just barely and kept walking ahead of him.

"Excuse me!" A man appeared from the darkness and began to walk toward him, hand on his weapon, security badge catching the light of the streetlamp. "Excuse me!"

Max turned and smiled at the man as Ruth continued to walk toward the front door of the bank.

"You! Ma'am! Freeze!" The guard gestured at Ruth.

Ruth turned and gave the man a confused look. "What's going on here?"

"I should be asking you two what the hell is going on."

Max smiled congenially, "Just hold on there, buddy. Might I suggest some deep-breathing techniques?" His blue eyes twinkled.

The guard shined his flashlight on Max's name tag. "You work for Mid Atlantic?" He narrowed his brows at Max. "And who's she? I wanna see some ID."

"You're a tough customer," Max grinned, taking out his wallet slowly to show that he wasn't any threat.

"I said, who's she?"

"Mrs. Alexander Fields," Ruth replied, glittering her ring at him. "The bank president's wife. I'd like to go in and get my purse without getting hounded, thank you very much." She rested a hand on her hip.

The guard shined his light on Mrs. Fields' protruding belly. "And you're pregnant?"

"No, I'm smuggling watermelons." She whipped out a cigarette and lit it. "God, you people are impertinent."

The guard took Max's ID. "What? You do house patrol or somethin'?"

"I work at the estate, yes. You should really take a break, buddy. Take a vacation."

"Excuse me for being a little suspicious with all of the banks being robbed in Maryland." The guard's speech slowed as he watched Mrs. Fields take a drag from the cigarette."Why don't we go inside and I'll give Mr. Fields a call for you."

"Why would you do that?"

"Call me suspicious. Inside we go. Go on." Inside, they were ushered into a small office where the security guard began to dial.

"You really don't have to do this. Alex won't be too happy with me."

"And I'm Tom Selleck. Just keep it down." His eyes shot to Max. "Keep your hands to yourself and stand still."

"You aren't a very peppy person, are you, son?"

"Just shut the hell up."

"This really isn't necessary," Ruth whispered again, this time with more worry in her voice.

The phone picked up on a fifth ring.

"Hello? Uh... What the hell time is it?" Alexander Fields sat up half way in bed and flipped on the lamp so he could squint at an alarm clock.

"Almost one, sir." He cleared his throat as Mr. Fields uttered a profane word. "I'm standing here in your office with a woman who clams to be your wife. She's about five-nine, brown hair, brown eyes, and about nine months pregnant. Looks like she's about to pop."

"Excuse me!" Ruth spat.

"Make that ten."

"Hey, be nice to the lady," Max chided.

"Is that Frank?" Fields asked. "That's the estate security guard."

The guard began to fidget. "And... and what about the lady?"

"That's my wife, you fucking hippie. Think we can end this call?"

"Uh... ye-yes, sir."

"Thank you," Fields--or, as he was known in the real world, Russ Staple--slammed the phone down and went back to sleep.

"Was that Max?" Asked the woman in the skimpy pink nightie.

"Deal's done, sweetheart. Now let's get some shut-eye." He wrapped his arm around her.

The security guard in the bank office slowly hung up the phone on the receiver. "Look..."

Max grinned and patted the man on the shoulder. "Can't blame you, son. God only knows how many break-ins there've been lately. You can never be too careful."

"I got kids..."

Max nodded slowly just as Ruth screamed and buckled over, grabbing her stomach.

Minutes later, the bank office was full of paramedics and EMTs as they strapped Ruth to the stretcher.

"You know this woman?" an EMT asked Max.

He shrugged. "Not personally. I'm just a security guard."

"This is gonna mean paperwork, dammit."

"I could keep an eye on things while you get a head-start. I don't have anywhere to go for a half-hour."

"Thank you. Y'know... I got kids."

Max nodded sympathetically.

When his shift ended, Max got into a red Chevy as it pulled into the the bank parking lot. The sun was just peeking over the horizon. Max kissed the driver who was clad in sunglasses and scarf.

"You should get pregnant more often, baby."

She smiled at him and stepped on the gas.

Max shifted and set his bag full of cash in the back seat beside his three year old son.

Later that night, the wires were tripped. Police flooeded into the parking lot. Stolen money was accounted for. But how did the thieves disappear so quickly?

"Inside job?" A detective with a thick mustache asked his parner as they stood beneath the streetlights.

"I can't make head or tail of this guy."

"He's good."

"We'll see how good he is when have his head in the gallows." A cigarette was tossed to the ground and smoldered in the dense evening darkness.

Chapter 4

Angela flipped through the blouses in Brennan's closet. She came across the specific one she had been hunting for and threw it on the pile that was forming at the base of her friend's bed. She stopped and watched as Brennan continued to shuffle through drawers, somewhat hurriedly.

"I'm gonna miss you, sweetie."

Brennan stopped for only a moment and looked at Angela. "It's only a few weeks. It's not forever."

Angela sat on her friend's bed. "Don't you think you should slow down a bit? Take a breather? Booth's hair hasn't even grown back and you're running off to Oregon or wherever."

Brennan stopped again. "He's fine, Angela. He's healthy. He's alive. He's fine."

"He's not fine, Brennan. He's not--he only has like ninety percent of his memory and he needs a friend right now to tell him that everything is going to be fine and that everything is going to go back to normal. He seems so--Someone to tell him that there's a happily ever after."

With that, Brennan threw the socks that she had in her hand into her suitcase. "You know I don't believe in that."

Angela sat beside her. A cool evening breeze was drifting through the window, softening the humid room and ruffling the drapes. "Right. Because you're far too logical to even assume that there could be a happily ever after. You can't even lie to a friend?"

"Lying to Booth will get him nowhere. Telling him that he needs to fight will be a lot more sensible in the long-term."

Angela nodded. "Fine. OK. Just call me often."

"I'll be fine, Ange."

Angela pulled her into a hug.

"I've been to Rowanda during wartime, being on the other side of the country will be nothing in comparison."

"It's just--usually you have Booth or some guy with a machete to protect you. Can't I worry for you like anyone else? Can't I pretend that you don't know ju jitsu? Can't I--miss you?"

Brennan stood and began to pack again, this time more slowly. "You can miss me, of course. But I'll be safe, Angela."

"It's not your physical safety I'm concerned for, Bren."

Brennan looked at her friend. "What else is there?"

"Your heart, Brennan. What if she rejects you? What if she doesn't recognize you or that ring? What if--There are a lot of what-ifs, Bren."

"This is the time, Angela. It's just something I need to do. Aren't you the one who always tells me that I need to set my roots in new soil, metaphorically speaking? This is something I need to do."

"Is this--?"

Brennan closed her suitcase. When Angela didn't continue, she asked, "Is it what, Ange?"

"Is this because of the--baby?" She gestured at Brennan's belly.

Brennan only looked confused. "I don't know--"

"I just thought... if you have to have roots--You've never gone looking for either of them before, sweetie. So what's your motivation now? The baby?"

Angela took Brennan's suitcase as her friend closed the window and locked it securely. "I've always been alone. I'm used to it. But it may be important to the baby someday. I'm only thinking of the baby, Angela."

Angela caught her friend in another hug as she turned from the window. "You've never been alone, sweetie. You aren't now." She looked into her eyes. "You'll always have me. You'll always have Booth--"

"He's--my partner."

Angela nodded. "Yeah. But he's your friend and he loves you--" Brennan opened her mouth, but Angela cut her off, "just as I love you." Angela pulled a bag over her shoulder. "C'mon. Let's get you to the airport on time."

Brennan unplugged a lamp and locked the door behind them.

The heat of the day drew clouds from the coast. A warm rain began to fall and lightning zigged and zagged across the gray-blue sky, turning an unfriendly-looking sky into mid-summer light show. The taxi pulled into Dulles. The loudspeaker called out names of flights that were canceled because of the storms. The flight to PDX wasn't among them.

The taxi driver pulled the luggage from the trunk and slammed it on the sidewalk unceremoniously. Angela gave him a little money. The driver looked annoyed at the tip, but left to circle the airport for a new fare.

"I'll just grab another taxi or call Hodgins or something," Angela said, assuring Brennan that it was fine that the driver had driven away.

Brennan smiled. "And how's that going? Are you two going to start up a sexual relationship again? You're quite compatible."

Angela laughed lightly as they walked up to the automatic ticket booth. Brennan retrieved her ticket and they walked toward the gate. "It's not always about sex, Bren. You should know that."

"I don't know what you mean by that, Ange."

"Oh, I think you do." Movement caught her eye and she looked up to see a familiar figure amongst the crowds, sporting a tee and jeans. "Speaking of which--"

Brennan looked in the direction that Angela was looking. "Booth." Her lips mouthed the word, but barely any sound came out.

Angela pulled her friend into a quick hug. "Be safe, sweetie. Call me when you land."

"Angela--" but her friend was gone before she could protest any more.

Booth smiled at her as he walked up to Brennan. "I got you something."

"Booth, you didn't have to. I'll be home again soon--"

He lifted the little red gift bag and produced a little book. "One Sudoku puzzle. Uh?" He grinned, truly pleased with himself and pulled out the next item. "A pen that says 'Bones'. I had to get that one made special." Brennan smiled and accepted the little trinkets into her hands. "And you'll like this last thing. Go on." He nudged the gift bag into her hand. She sighed and then slipped her hand into it and produced a--

"Cocky ring?"

"Found it online." He was like a child.

The call for Brennan's flight echoed through the loudspeaker.

"I should go, Booth."

"OK. Sure you should go? I mean, you're not still sick, right?"

"I'm feeling better."

"OK..."

Boarding call for all first class passengers for flight___ to Portland, Oregon. Boarding call. Thank you.

A look of disappointment crossed his face. "Bon voyage, Bones." He leaned close to kiss her cheek. Cold heat slipped through her limbs and she smiled brilliantly back at him.

"I'll call you when I land."

Booth watched until she dissappeared. Then he turned and Angela was standing with her hand on her hip.

"What? I'll miss her."

"Uh-huh," she replied, very Caroline-esque. "Dinner at Founding Fathers with Hodgins and me?"

"I'm going to bed, Angela. I've got a massive headache for some reason."

She laughed. "Yeah, you should see a doctor about that."

They walked together out of the busy airport. "Did... did Brennan talk to you about anything... in particular?"

"Huh?" He opened the door for her and she slid in. He slid in beside her. "Like what?"

"Oh nothing. Still have a patchy memory, huh?"

"I'll get it back eventually."

"I suppose everything happens eventually..."

Booth looked at Angela sharply. He had a sudden sense of deja vous. "What did you say?"

"Nothing."

He nodded slowly and looked out the window as they drove past the airport.

Oh, I've been hoping that you'd come back to this one!!

I had to re-read Ch 3 to figure out how they managed to lift the money! Very good!! When I realized that it was Brennan in her belly - that affected me - I'm searching for the words to describe and I can't come up with any tho.

And Ch 4 ... she's having his baby, she's going to visit her aunt(?), she's searching for something. And Booth is there trying not to make a spectacle of himself, trying to keep his heart off his sleeve! That cocky ring! Just go ahead and call me a crybaby. And then "eventually". Ooh, Mama!

I'm here, sitting on the steps, patiently waiting for the next installment! Thank you!

oh so glad to see you on Mama

Sleep. His eyes fluttered closed after a few hours of tossing and turning. After a while, a fitful sleep commenced. It was just like any sleep before his surgery, except now it was sprinkled with nightmares and twisted dreams of memories lost. A terrible mix of old and new, what may have been, and what possibly had been.

Dreams of Parker.

Dreams of his past with Rebecca.

Dreams of Bones. But those last weeks were still blurry, fuzzy, muddled, unsure. None of it was very clear or dependable.

In his dreams he held her close as she dozed next to him. She wore a ring and he called her his wife. She told him she would be a mother. His heart leapt. But everything that he remembered before told him that it was all a dream. All fake. All imagined and nothing more.

The phone rang and he sat upright sharply. His head felt light and and he immediately had to fight for consciousness before reaching for his phone. "Bones?"

Brennan was in a hotel room in Portland, Oregon, digging for toothpaste and her pajamas. "I made it here fine, Booth. I told you nothing would happen. You and Angela--"

"I worry, Bones. You're my partner." Somehow those words carried with them a sting. It seemed that it had been a while since either of them had argued with anyone using the 'just partners' statement.

"Yeah." Her reply was weak.

"You OK?"

"I"m just tired, Booth. I didn't sleep very well on the plan. I'll call you in a few hours."

Booth rubbed his eyes and laid back into the pillows. "Hey, Bones--"

"Yeah?"

"I'm proud of you. This whole thing with your aunts--I'm just proud of you." There was silence on the other end, so after a few seconds, Booth said, "Good night, Bones."

"Good night, Booth." She hung up the phone and continued to unpack slowly. Why was it that talking with Booth now carried with it an inexplicable pain? Regret? Fear? Sadness? Loss?

If I don't make it, I want you to have my stuff...

But she shouldn't feel that way, right? No matter what, she was bound and determined to become a mother. Why did it matter if he didn't remember those things? Why did it matter that she had to make that decision by herself? Then hate herself afterward, but love the thought of it all as well? Wouldn't this make it easier? Booth was so hurt about her not caring if he was involved, that it practically sent him packing to the hospital.

She must have watched the caller ID blink on her cell phone for a minute and a half before she stood up, left the tiny hospital room, and answered it in the hallway.

"Dr. Brennan, this is Shirley Padnick from Maryland Fertility Specialists. You never called back to confirm your appointment for this afternoon."

She remembered her body feeling cold, chilled. On one hand, the next appointment opening would be months away. On the other hand, Booth said 'If I don't make it' and he was obviously still alive, despite the coma... She squeezed her eyes shut, as if to shut away the confusion, the confliction, the nagging feeling that if she set up the appointment and went through with it, somehow she would be accepting the worse case scenario. On the other hand, there was the logical demand to go through with it. Logic always spoke loudest to her.

"I'll be in this afternoon."

Maybe there was a secret feeling that if she became pregnant and Booth didn't make it, that she wouldn't lose him after all... But that was illogical. She ignored it as best as she could.

"Excellent. We'll see you then."

And yet... he still didn't know the truth. He didn't even suspect the truth. Was she a liar? Or was she doing as she told Angela and Cam? Telling them that she was waiting for the right time. But when would be the right time if his memory never recovered? Never?

She fell into bed, careful to lay on her left side. The room was completely silent, almost lonesome in its stillness. Her hand fell on her stomach. She didn't feel that pain of loneliness, when she acknowledged the baby's presence. It was illogical. It was silly. But it was comforting.

She was a woman who found comfort in logic, but somehow the illogical was more comforting than logic could ever be.

----------

The house was tall with white paint that was becoming greener with algae and moss every day, despite its immaculate yard and geometric hedges. She sat in her car for several minutes, debating within herself why she felt so anxious and why she ought to just march up and ring the doorbell and not be afraid. She found herself unconsciously twisting the ring on her right hand.

Two minutes ticked by. Her phone startled her. She sucked in a deep breath of air and answered it.

"Sweetie, did you talk to them yet?"

"Not yet. I'm about to go in."

"Sure..."

"I am going inside, Angela."

"Brennan, let's just level the playing field for a second. You're afraid. It's OK to be afraid, sweetie. It's a part of life."

"You were trying to talk me out of this in the airport. Which argument do I believe?" Brennan was sounding incredulous... and a little annoyed at Angela's change of pace.

"I was wrong. Well, not entirely. I was afraid for you, but that doesn't mean that you're not doing the right thing. You deserve happiness, Bren. You deserve to have roots, just like the rest of us."

"Like with your mother?"

On the other line, Angela's lips twisted. "I told you not to talk about her, sweetie. No offense, it's just... she abandoned me for crack cocaine. It's not like it was with your parents."

"They were all running from the law and abandoned their children."

"OK, let's just get this straight, sweetie. My mother left me with my father so she could get an easier high without some snotty brat kid slowing her down--her words, not mine. From what I know, she's been clean for a decade, but hasn't taken it upon herself to contact me. Your father found you and loves you, Brennan. Never forget that. He's not the best guy in the world, but you know what? If my mom came here and wanted to start a relationship with me, then I'd be all for it. But that isn't the case. You have family that wants you, Bren. You have aunts who don't know you exist and don't know what an amazing person you are. You can do this, sweetie."

Brennan watched as a windchime jingled in the Oregon wind. "I'm sorry, Angela. I guess I don't see the difference. Your relative is alive and doesn't know what a wonderful woman you've become, just as my relative is alive and doesn't know what an amazing person I am. What's the difference?"

Angela sighed and tapped her pen several times on her desk top. A minute passed. "OK, sweetie, but I'm only doing this because I love you. What if we make a deal? You ring that door bell and I'll contact my mom."

Brennan conceded and a minute later she was standing outside of the the garden gate and looking at the door. Her friend had met her half way. Would she go the other half? Knock on the door?

Thank you so much for reading! Just a little side-note, we'll revisit Brennan's birth and Brennan's mother in a much later chapter. We'll also revisit Angela's promise to Brennan. I think this will be good.

Oh my. She went ahead with the insemination while Booth was in his coma! And he doesn't know the baby's his? Ooh! And the illogic of her feelings is comforting her and confusing her! Way to go, Mama!

Angela tapped the pen on her desk for several minutes and watched the activity in the lab. From where she sat, she could see Hodgins directing Wendell and Vincent in what he said would be 'an experiment of epic proportions'. Of course, Cam stood by, arms crossed, watching every step in the process. She occassionally stepped in from time to time to clarify the rules she had laid out. But Hodgins would look at her. They would, without words, agree to meet on common ground. Cam would step back and Hodgins would subtly change his plans. Authority was certainly not his thing, but somehow, Cam and Hodgins had created system where they respected one another for the sake of sanity and science.

Angela's eyes wandered to the back wall of her office. They traced the grotesque outline of a man, his arms spread, his head bowed. Jesus? A random corpse? What had she been thinking when she--

A cacophonous crash shook the lab. Her eyes jumped as well as her body.

Hodgins helped Cam to her feet. She was unscathed, but from her body language, it was simple to see that she wasn't too happy with the outcome of the experiment. Hodgins shrugged, palms to the sky. Cam crossed her arms and scowled. Then she laughed and shook her head. He laughed, too, then ran off the platform and into the Angela's office. He tore off his goggles from his smoke-charred face and was grinning ear to ear.

"Did you see that, Ange? When I say I'm good--I'm good!"

"Cam doesn't look very happy."

"Eh, she'll get over it." He noticed the sheet of paper in front of her and circled her desk to see what she was looking at on the laptop. "What's up with the--" He bent slightly to read it. "Looking for your mom? Angela--"

"What?" She stood and shut her laptop, covering up everything she had written her notes on.

"It's just-- It's your mom, Ange. I thought you didn't--"

"I promised Brennan."

"I--"

"Let's just say that every once in a while Brennan makes sense." She stood up and threw her purse over her shoulder.

"Need a friend to go with you?"

She turned at the door. "No. I think I can do this, Hodgins. Thank you, though."

"If you need me, Angela, I'm here. I'm here for you."

She bravely smiled and nodded. Hodgins watched her walk away with an address in hand.

He watched her for several seconds before running out of the door, unbuttoning his jacket. He tossed it on his desk and shouted to Cam, "I'll be right back."

Cam nodded, but Wendell was quick to yell at him, "Hey, man. What about the mess?"

Hodgins turned and pointed at him, "Noob!"

Wendell sighed and turned toward Vincent, "I can't believe he just left it for us to clean up."

"Did you know--"

"No, man, I don't."

"But, the first soaps were created--"

"Just. Stop right there."

-------

Her finger pressed into the doorbell and chimed throughout the house. After a few minutes of waiting, a young woman in her thirties with a child on her hip answered the door.

She looked confused at first, "Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for Anna Rochelle. Her maiden name was Stanley."

The woman's confused look became even more puzzled. She moved the child on her hip, then spoke, "Uh, I'm sorry, but she passed away just this last spring. Did you know her?"

It was a dagger. A dagger which stole her breath away. "Uh, no. No, I didn't."

"Would you like to come in?"

"No. Thank you."

The woman couldn't shake the feeling of familiarity. As if Brennan's features were etched into a deep part of her mind. "She was my mother, actually."

"I'm very sorry."

"I feel like I know you. Have we met?"

"My facial morphology is probably similar to those of your relatives."

"I'm sorry?"

"My--" She took a deep breath, feeling alone all at once, but her hand slipped to her belly. "My mother was Ruth Stanley."

"Oh, my--" She sucked in a deep breath. "Please come in. I have something to show you."

-------

Later that evening, Brennan sat at a small coffee shop in Portland. People walked by, talked, chatted, laughed. Brennan silently stirred her coffee and watched people saunter past the window.

She had traveled across the country in search of roots and family and she had come up with nothing.

It wasn't logical, but she felt like asking if the baby wouldn't mind not having family.

A woman ran into the coffee shop with her umbrella dripping, her hair matted to her head.

The manager laughed, "Got caught int he rain?"

"It's just pouring out there!"

"Nothing like summer rain."

"I don't know. I think we get enough rain the rest of the year."

"Touché." He laughed good-naturedly.

A waitress walked up to Brennan. "Want me to top you off?"

"No thank you."

She smiled at her sympathetically, having noticed her dour mood since she walked into the shop thirty minutes before, then walked away.

The sun began to fall behind the trees and buildings. The rain still tumbled from the clouds.

The waitress returned after a while. "I'm sorry but the shop's about to close."

Brennan stood, "It's OK. Thank you for the coffee."

"Any time."

The bells on the door jingled as she opened then closed the door. She watched as a few cars flew through the puddles to her left. The rain was coming down in sheets. She sighed and began to pull her collar up over her head to shield herself from the rain.

"Looking for this?"

She looked up. Although it was dark, she recognized Booth's frame. One hand was in his pocket, the other hand held an umbrella over his head.

A smile tugged at her lips until they were grinning widely at one another.

Thank you, everyone!

I liked 'watching' the experiment through Angela. It added a little wonder to it without the soundtrack! And then Jack scrambling off - the interns were funny.

And Brennan, feeling alone even moreso now. Touching her belly, talking to her baby...

... and then ... "Looking for this?" I knew it had to be Booth. God love him, he knows when his Bones needs him.

I love how you put together the picture, Mama. A piece here. A piece there. I'm kind of wondering if this is a 250 piece puzzle or a 1000?

I've been meaning to read and review but I keep getting distracted. Finally I have the time and I must say there's a reason I have you on Author Alert!

You know I positively love this story so far, and the fact that you're putting it up as you go, no beta'ing, just editing on the fly, it has an almost organic feel to it. Sort of like Hitchcock's movie Rope, where he shot every scene using on ten minute takes in real time, because that was the length of time it took to use a full reel of film. I can't describe it but to say that the flow of it seems so sure, almost seamless, it's really well done.

I enjoy the interaction between Angela and Brennan, especially the focus on Angela's mother and her familial issues. It's a nice change from the focus on Brennan or Booth. Also I appreciate the way Booth's dealing with being 'almost' there, but still not quite. The evil cliffhanger at the end of chapter six, with Booth's sudden appearance, is delightfully fraught with possibilities. I say evil of course because I'm a shipper and I really just want them doin' it (T-rated, I know, *sigh*), but I have faith you'll get our dynamic duo there. Looking forward to the next installment, and thanks for this Mama, as always you're work is a delight to read.

RM

Thank you both so much! Such music to my ears!

FM

By the time Angela pulled into the dirt driveway, the sun was low and the sky was blazing like smelted copper. The wheels of her Toyota grumbled and popped as she pulled into the parking spot beside a 1970s-era trailer house the was beyond repair. It sunk on one side into weak soil. Tall plants were growing from cracks in the plywood that held up the house. There was a divide down the center that cut the trailer house into a duplex-type of home.

She had to catch her breath as she remembered playing in such a yard. Long before her father took her on tour when she was a child. There once was a time when she lived such a life. Brief as it was, faded as those memories were, they were forever a part of her. Forever part of her existence. Forever part of her future.

Another car pulled in behind Angela. She crossed her arms and walked over to Hodgins. "I told you not to follow me, Hodgins. I said I could do this myself."

"Thought you'd need a friend."

"This is something I need to do on my own. You wouldn't understand." She turned again to the delapidated trailer house.

"Ange--"

"You don't know what it was like, Hodgins. I don't think that you understand. You never could. You grew up in a life full of you know--ponies--"

"Ponies?"

"Trips to Europe in the summer. A life of privilege. The first nine years of my life was full of anything but hope and privilege." Somewhere within herself, she didn't want to reveal this part of her past to Hodgins. Yes, he knew of her childhood from what she had told him in vague descriptions here and there, but actually seeing it--feeling it--smelling it--was a completely different experience.

"It made you who you are, Angela. Strong, resourceful. You wouldn't be the woman I fell--" They stopped for a moment, the words that would not be spoken hung between them like damp laundry flapping on the line. "You just wouldn't be the woman who stands before me today."

She nodded. A warm summer breeze tugged at her silken curls. A dog barked in the distance. A lawn mower buzzed deeply somewhere beyond the sycamores. The scent of rain in the distance suspended the warmth of freshly cut grass and fuel in the humid air. "You'll go in with me?"

He shook his head. "Someone's gotta keep an eye on the cars. Someone might strip them for parts or something." He chuckled.

"Your insurance could cover it."

"There isn't a bus line for miles, we'd have to walk." He looked at her scarlet stilettos. His smile disappeared. "It's you, Ange. Like you said, it's your thing."

She nodded again and without another word, walked to the trailer and knocked on the left side of the house. After a few minutes, a man with a pale white gut that peeked from beneath a stained white tee shirt answered the door.

"I think yer lost, miss."

"I'm looking for Mei-Fen."

He stared at her for several seconds. Perhaps a minute. As if he was trying to process what this beautiful city girl was wanting with Mei-Fen. He nodded and took a swig from the long neck that was in his right hand. "You want come in here? Might ruin yer pretty clo'es."

She hesitated for a second, then nodded and entered the residence.

"May! Gotcherself a visitor!" He turned to Angela. "Whatcher name huh?"

"Angela."

"Tayka seat." He nodded at a shabby, brownish-orange circa 1979 couch. Again she hesitated, then stepped over piles of trash and old magazines and newspapers until she came to it. She sat on the edge. A plume of dust billowed around her. She was alone in the little room for a fraction of a second before a bickering little Chinese woman came into the room, speaking in Mandarin to her boyfriend--words that were so slightly familiar to Angela--words that she had once heard, but could no longer remember.

She was smaller than Angela had remembered. She had aged by decades and looked frighteningly ill.

But that wasn't the greatest shock of all to Angela. The greatest shock was the fact that the woman was bouncing a toddler on her hip. The child was about two with round cheeks and bright Asian eyes. He looked like photos of herself as a toddler.

She must have been staring because Mei-Fen was quick to bark, "Who're you? You wanta sell subscriptions to magazines? I don't read those things. Wasting your time."

Angela stood slowly. The woman's eyes traveled up to meet Angela's eyes. Then they grew wide. "Lien."

"Angela. My name is Angela. I changed it when I was in college."

The woman put her child on the floor. He made his way through the maze of trash to the television where Sesame Street was blaring.

"His name is Brayden. He named him. Not me." She took a long drag of the cigarette that was in her hands. She seemed to grow three shades of gray within those seconds. Then the smoke was released into the room.

Angela stood dumbfounded. She had lost her philosophy. Love. Family. All she could think of was the little boy who was living in squalor and was sharing her blood!

"What? You come here for apologies? Want me to say I'm sorry? Or you come here for money?"

She shook her head. "I'm sorry I wasted your time."

"That was quick!" Hodgins proclaimed as Angela made her escape.

"I can't believe what I just saw, Jack."

"Care to enlighten me?"

"I have a brother. He lives-- That can't be legal what they're doing!"

"Is he safe? I mean, he's alright, right?"

"Alive, yes. Alright? Not exactly." Angela got into her car, a plan formulating in her mind.

Hmmm, now this is an interesting development and me likey! So I'm guessing Ange is going after guardianship of Braden, which could end up with both Brennan and Angela having children to take care of, and both the respective men in their lives being put in the position of being in love and totally devoted to their partners without having an actual relationship with them. The way you've set both the Hodgela and Semperance relationships up as mirrors of one another is brilliant.

To quote Oliver Twist, "More Please"

RM

What Angela must be feeling standing there looking around, and then another layer of humiliation when Jack shows up. I so expected Jack to go in with her, but he's learned from Booth to let the woman stand on her own.

She had lost her philosophy. Love. Family. All she could think of was the little boy who was living in squalor and was sharing her blood!

... lost philosophy, love, family ... not lost at all ... refocused on her little brother!

It's building and building. I like!

Thank you all so very much!
Brayden--named after my sister's dream son lol.
And thank you! I'm glad everyone catches the mirroring and such. Such good readers I have!