Slowly but surely, we're getting there! The beginning of the school year is crazy but this has been a nice mental break. I keep saying, "Next chapter the Big Thing will happen," and it never does, so be warned — we're not quite "There" yet. But I think this one is one of the loveliest that I've written I love the evolution Brennan is undergoing right now. I'm not 100% on the ending but it does what I wanted it to do, and I've promised myself to upload more quickly. Minor edits may follow.

I just wanted to take a quick minute and thank everyone who's read and reviewed, particularly those who have lost loved ones from cancer. It's a sensitive topic and I hope that I'm still creating an accurate portrayal of how someone dies from cancer. I'm reading "The Happy Marriage" now, which has affected my portrayal and understanding of the disease. It's a great book, for those in the market for tough, provocative reads.

Anyways, please let me know how this chapter is! Again — I REALLY appreciate all y'alls feedback and perseverance in this process.

Chapter Sixteen

The Darkness Holds Little Rest for Weary Bones

It was so very primal of her, but one of the things that had first attracted her to Booth was his strength. His physical capacity was evident in everything he did: latent power rippling just below sinewy muscle. Even now, even though he was past 40 and a committed father to two and a desk rider (was that the term?) instead of a field agent, he still looked strong and the jealousy in other women's eyes when they saw him kind of made her … possessive. Proud.

Of course, the second thing that had attracted her to him was his admirable emotional strength. Booth comforted people, took care of them, intuitively knew what they needed. Sometimes, she was jealous, especially when they were working together, when he could instinctively figure out what someone needed. Now it came in use most frequently with Sophia, when she was feeling somewhat cranky (not that that happened much, really, she was a happy and often docile child), and her. It was a skill she still lacked.

But that ability of his had eroded lately, in tandem with Rebecca's deteriorating condition. Most wouldn't notice, of course. Booth had immense capabilities, and one of his many talents was convincing everyone that he was fine, that he was able to bear any burden and help any victim, with just a single crooked smile. But even though he wasn't broody or particularly angry or clearly hiding something out of a misguided sense of protection, he wasn't fine, hadn't been fine. He'd been shorter with subordinates at work, though his associate directors still maintained the same combination of fear and respect for him; he was distant with the other hockey dads; he barely interacted with any of their friends; it took him a split-second longer to smile when she made a squinty joke. She noticed things; she noticed all these things. She just wasn't sure how exactly to optimally approach this situation, as a wife.

Initially, she'd been cautious, slightly timid to step forward. She wasn't sure if she would do it correctly; not only did she give herself little room for error, but Booth could be thoughtlessly mercurial in his criticism. Earlier in her life she could have gone to Guatemala or Indonesia and given herself six weeks and a casual sexual relationship to straighten out her thoughts and work herself into a nice uncomplicated state, but she was in a family now. Societies survived due to the family unit; the family unit dictated that you put the needs of others in your social contract ahead of your own wants. Most importantly, Booth and Parker and Sophia needed her.

So she'd helped, and tried to do so quietly, so as to not debase Booth further. She took care of the children, and purchased all the Christmas gifts for all their friends and socially-mandated acquaintances, such as the Attorney General and several Senators, and driven Parker places and stayed home with Sophia, when Sophia was sick for two days in mid-December. Every night she called both his air-brained but gossipy assistant, Danielle and Sweets, who was back at the Bureau, to see how his day had been. She'd turned down social invitations that she knew would just stress Booth, like Christmas parties at the National Endowment for the Arts' director's townhome and Hanukkah receptions at the Georgetown president's residence. She stopped working on the ninth book, though she had deadlines and would really rather get the books done as quickly as possible, cancelled several speaking appearances, and all but stopped conducting actual research, since that curtailed time at home and prevented her from handling any potential crisis at home.

She was fine with these things; they didn't feel like burdens or obligations or coercions. Brennan knew, unequivocally, that Booth loved her, would always love her: He demonstrated that, showed her that, daily. Over the years, that assertion had become fact, as irrefutable as the color of the sky or the molecular composition of calcium phosphate (Ca3(PO4)2). If she did not know Booth so well, she would never have suspected just how upset he was feeling. Based on deduction, she had determined that he was feeling overwhelming guilt and sadness about Rebecca, and that was driving his actions.

What stymied her, though, was why Booth felt so guilty, why the thought of Rebecca dying was being taken so unnaturally hard. Booth had known people to die before, had had them literally die while he was holding them, had caused them to die before. Perhaps it was this waiting? But even that didn't explain the anger. She knew that Booth felt things, felt them deeply, took on too much personal responsibility, had promised himself that Sophia and Parker would have magical childhoods, and that, irrationally, this somehow felt like he was letting Parker down. But his continued level of guilt over Rebecca's condition still surprised her. He was cocky but not this blindingly arrogant, especially in personal matters. Then she decided the why didn't matter — only what she could do for him.

She did her best. When Booth suggested that she adopt Parker, she balked automatically, but only a little, and told him she just needed to think about it. Which was true. When a terrorist attack in Miami only made his stress levels rise exponentially, she stood by attentively, made sure that everything at home was absolutely taken care of, asked him to take on none of the myriad tasks related to hosting Christmas. She successfully defused his mood several times that week, which made her proud. Her tactics ranged from the sexual to washing his favorite pair of socks every night so he could go to work confident. When Parker gave him an enormous amount of attitude — again, not something over which she could necessarily ascribe blame to Parker, but something that Booth was formerly more than capable of handling — she took control of the situation, so he didn't have to. She sent him off to church and then set about dealing with Parker, calmly.

"Parker," she'd said, rationally, "Why don't you want to go to church?" She had been nervous; Booth's mood and mindset depended upon this. She was frustrated; Booth would have been able to handle this situation much better, could deftly navigate the nuances of spirituality and loss better, but he couldn't right now, so it was her responsibility.

"You don't go," he'd retorted.

"I know, but I didn't realize that bothered you."

"It doesn't bother me. But you don't go because you don't believe in God. And if all of this happens and God just stands by …"

"So if I went to church you would go to church?" she asked. "That's what would follow. Logically."

"Bones, you can't just go to church if you don't believe," Parker said, warily. "That's, like, dishonest."

She sat down on the bed. "Parker," she said, "I know that right now you don't want to go to church because you're angry about your mom, and I'm not going to sit here and pretend that maybe participating in a religious ritual is going to help, and I'm certainly not going to sit here and say that you going to church is going to make any difference in a so-called deity's decision regarding your mother's life, or give you answers to why this is happening. But, do you know what altruism means?"

"No."

"It means helping others around us. And being altruistic — taking time, and thinking about how we can help other people out in a given situation, and why helping them is good for us — has proven benefits to one's own mood, outlook, and well-being."

"Huh?"

"What I'm saying is," she tried again. "What I'm saying is, right now, your dad is upset. You don't like to see him upset. So, knowing your father as I do, logically, one thing that would elevate his emotional state is seeing you show up at church. And even though you're feeling badly — I think that seeing your dad happy and … grateful that you come to church, will make you feel better."

"You know this?"

"It's a … hunch." She tested out the word. She didn't like it much.

"Really, Bones?" Of course it was that, more than anything else, caused Parker to smirk.

"I would call it more of an inferred conclusion, actually," she backpedaled.

"I just …"

"What?"

"I don't know. It's like, I'm just not even sure I can."

She'd sat down next to him. "People … need other people. Biology and anthropology both stress this fact, the connectivity between people and their environment and other people. The way you interact with the world, Parker, the way it interacts with you, becomes indelibly mark your body. You carry people, your environment, on you and in you for your entire life. Despite the fact that it can be … scary, you are affecting your father just as much as he and your mother are affecting you right now," she paused to take in her stepson's pouting visage, and tried another tack. You have to offer up something of yourself first. "When my parents left, my brother left, too. He left me, all alone. And that made … that made getting over the loss of my own parents infinitely harder, because I didn't have anyone to help me. But Parker, you and your dad each have someone to help him. You have each other. And you're not going to abandon each other. You're both incredibly loyal. That's one of the things I admire most about both of you. Now, we know that you going to church will help him. You have so many people that are here for you and love you, like me, like your dad, so let's just trust us — not this church — and see what happens."

She'd been surprised, but he accepted it, and they went to church.

Christmas Day had gone well enough — she suspected that she and Rebecca had settled everything over Thanksgiving. They had both accepted what was to happen — unlike Booth, Brent, and Parker —and acted accordingly. Rebecca's body was warped, loose, distended; her cheeks sagged out and she rather resembled survivors of genocide. However, her eyes were bright, and she she smiled widely all day, indicating that she was happy. Before dinner, Rebecca teased Brent, joked with Parker, and needled Booth into a feigned outrage that he exaggerated to make Parker laugh, which admittedly took Brennan a bit too long to catch on to. She and Rebecca delicately, precariously coexisted, much the same as normal: Mutual admiration, appreciation, and respect, and absolutely nothing in common. They put the finishing touches on the meal together and alternately rolled their eyes and scolded the three men's antics over the meal. Rebecca directed her as she put away the dishes after dinner. Really, it was a fairly pleasant holiday, all things considered. Parker certainly seemed happy — everyone, in their sorrow and guilt and sympathy, had given him many more presents than strictly necessary.

The following week was packed with family — his and hers — and work, and they moved through the motions accordingly. Rebecca's condition seemed to linger over everything, just a little, but they managed to have a good time nevertheless. Booth looked less tired, which was what counted. She and Booth originally plotted to simply skip all seven of the New Year's parties they'd been invited to, and later inform everyone that they were at another party (she did love mild deception and chicanery). She was looking forward to this nefarious plot. By six p.m., however, Angela had called, demanding to know where they were.

"Ang, really, we're going to stay at home," she confessed. "Thank you for the invite, and I know it's rude not to come, but we're very tired. I'm sorry if this is offensive." She twisted the Claddagh ring around her finger.

"No, no, no," Angela hummed. "OK, Bren, I know you're not going to love this, and just to let you know, I promised that I wouldn't tell, but it's really important that you two come tonight. It's one of those things, you know, those things that sometimes you do for friends."

"It's a New Year's party," she protested.

"It's a little more than that."

"What's going on, Ang?" she sighed.

"Cam and Malcolm are getting married, at eight. They decided last week, we've been planning nonstop since. It's only a small thing, they really don't want to make a big deal out of it, but …"

"They would be very upset if we didn't attend," Brennan finished.

"Exactly," Angela said, and Brennan could tell by her tone that she was biting her lip. "So, could you just … get Booth here, please? Cam will kill him if he's not there."

"We don't have a gift, Angela." Her mind started clicking, with everything that she could do wrong at a wedding, and the first thing that came was not bringing a gift.

"They don't want gifts, it's a surprise wedding," Angela said hurriedly. "Just come. And when you get here, don't tell anyone what's going on. It's a surprise, ok, Bren? No lectures on social customs, OK?"

She sighed, and braced herself for the long, slow descent into Booth's basement cavern, where he had already started going through his DVD collection.

"I'm thinking we start with The Thin Man for old times' sakes, whaddaya say?" Booth said.

She shook her head. "We need to go to Angela's party," she said. "And you need to have a suit on."

He shook his head. "Oh, no, no, no. We have had a terrorist attack, and cancer, and private-school interviews, and our families, and no, we are going to have a night, to ourselves, with old movies and popcorn and that's it. You and me, Bones. Just like old times." He gave her the charm smile.

She smiled; it was nice to see his enthusiasm and zest returned. "Yes, well, not tonight," she said.

"No."

"I just talked to Angela —"

"No, Bones, I know she can be, like, relentless —"

"Booth — " she interrupted him, "The party is an elaborate ruse; really, Cam is getting married." His eyes widened. "Surprise," she added weakly.

"What?"

"Apparently, Cam and Malcolm have decided to kick the broom and get married tonight," she shrugged. "Angela said Cam would kill you if you're not there, and I'm tempted to think she means literally."

"How — what — how are they pulling this off?" Booth demanded.

"I'm guessing with Hodgins' money. You need to, you know," she made a gesture to fill in for clean up and get ready. "Also, it's a surprise, so don't tell anyone," she looked at him as he rolled his eyes. "Promise."

He rolled his eyes again, but got up and said, "Alright, surprise wedding, let's go."

An hour later, they, Sophia, and Parker (who had been staying at a friend's house, but Booth called him to see if he wanted to go, and he said yes because "it'll be just like Parks & Rec" which was confusing to Brennan since there were no parks or car crashes involved) arrived at Angela's. She'd debated what to wear before finally settling on an emerald knee-length dress with cap sleeves and an off-the-shoulder neckline. Sophia looked adorable in a navy puff-sleeved dress with a black ribbon and both boys looked dapper in their suits.

"Thank god," Angela said as she hugged them.

"What — Ang — we said we'd come," she said, struggling to breathe and hug Angela at the same time.

"Yes, but now you're here and you can be helpful," Angela smiled in reply.

"Can you explain this, a little more?" Brennan asked, as she was pulled down the hallway.

"Well, they're moving back to D.C. in two months —"

"They are?"

"— And they decided that they'd been engaged for two years, and that was long enough, and that they wanted to get married but the last thing either of them wanted to do was actually, you know, plan a wedding, so they decided to … elope, but with people here." They arrived at the kitchen. "So they decided to do it here, because, you know, big house, and so yeah, here we are."

"Dr. Brennan!" Gordon-Gordon Wyatt said cheerfully, "So delighted to see you again."

"Dr. Wyatt," she said, kissing his cheek as was customary. "You're catering this?"

"Absolutely," he said, "I was simply thrilled when Dr. Hodgins called me up with this proposition a few days ago."

"Bren, can you help in here?" Angela asked, "I've got flowers to do … We only have about 45 minutes, and then the guests will start arriving."

"Who are these guests?" Brennan inquired.

"Oh, you know, just us, Daisy and Sweets, Wendall and Vincent and the whole squintern gang, since we had to invite them, Cam's sister and dad, Malcolm's kids and his college roommate's family and his parents and his siblings and nieces. They all live out near Mitchellville."

"There are 28 guests, Dr. Brennan," Dr. Wyatt said joyfully. "I must say, this group of friends does like its last-minute weddings."

"Booth and I planned ours —" she started.

"For like a whole, what, three weeks?" Angela smiled. "No, you're right, Gordon-Gordon. The heart wants what the heart wants." She stood up. "Anyways, I need to go get the flowers set. Bren, Gordon-Gordon, can you handle the appetizers?"

"What am I supposed to do?" Booth said, suddenly materializing at the doorway.

"Seeley Booth, my hero," Angela said. "Come on, you're going to make a playlist."

"Booth has terrible taste in music," Brennan protested, as she started chopping the spinach that Gordon-Gordon has set in front of her.

"So says the girl who likes aboriginal mating calls, Bones, I got this," Booth smirked.

Angela shrugged. "He's got a point, Bren," Angela said. "Now I gotta get on these flowers."

Watching Angela's retreating back, Gordon-Gordon remarked, "Booth seems, on the whole, to be doing slightly better at hiding his true feelings, doesn't he?"

She set the potato down. "He's still very … upset," she said. "And I can't figure out why."

"You can't?" His voice was nonjudgmental, almost surprised; mostly he sounded concerned.

"No!" she insisted. "It's not logical, even when counting for emotional attachments and Booth's overdeveloped sense of guilt." She grabbed the phyllo dough and began rolling it. "I don't — I don't understand."

"Have you tried asking him about it?"

"Yes!" she said, "I did. He said he was just upset on behalf of Parker, but it still seems to be in excess."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"He's … constantly tense. He's snapping at Parker. His judgment is clouded and little things set him off. Parker gets under his skin all the time; all they do is fight. He's usually so good with people but his skills have decreased recently, and he's less effective in relationships, particularly Parker. He's short tempered and less able to deduce a person's motivations and emotions. He pretends to be OK but things just get … buried, and all he does is smile and set his jaw a little more. When he's upset we talk and I try to help but … I don't know. I can't quite articulate it, but his actions are very different from the way he insists he is feeling, and the way he is acting is out of proportion with the ways and manners in which I would anticipate him reacting. Something seems off."

Gordon-Gordon nodded. "I'll keep an eye out tonight."

She inhaled. "Thank you." She began slicing the dough into triangles, "I … appreciate it."

"You know, beyond all this Rebecca flotsam and jetsam, things seem to be going exceptionally well for our man Seeley Booth," Gordon-Gordon said.

"What do you mean?" she wrinkled her brow.

"Well — you two have worked out your problems, and settled down into quite a fulfilling marriage, which he has longed for for years. He received a fantastic promotion, and even he has noticed that he's quite well-suited to the position, and earning immense respect. His brother has straightened out; his grandfather is doing relatively well. The one other thing that he has wanted for years — more time with his son — is likely about to happen, as well."

"But, Rebecca's going to die, for that to happen," Brennan countered. "And Booth never wanted that. He likes Rebecca, as a person. He thinks she's a good mother to Parker."

"Precisely."

"You're not saying — no," she said, as realization dawned on her. "No." Dr. Wyatt was insinuating that Booth thought Rebecca's illness could be some sort of … cosmic retribution, or punishment, for him wanting more time with Parker. "Booth is cocky, yes, and superstitious, but no, he's not insane. And for him to think of that would be … extremely egotistical."

"It would be extreme, yes, but not irrational," Dr. Wyatt said. "In fact, it would be quite rational, given Deputy Director Booth's chronic inability to find himself worthy of good things."

"Booth is worthy of great things," she insisted.

"Yes, he is, but he rarely thinks that," Dr. Wyatt pointed out, lifting a tray of canapés. "Just something to think about. As I said — I'll keep an eye on our boy today. You should also ask Dr. Sweets for input, as well."

She nodded. "We talk frequently."

"Bren, come on, Cam needs you for a moment," Angela beckoned, her silver dress flickering in the doorway as she sped past.

"Excuse me," she said, stepping away from the spanakopita.

"What does she need assistance with?" Brennan asked, trailing up the stairs.

"Drinking champagne," Angela answered, pushing open one of the many doors leading to a guest-bedroom.

"Brennan!" Cam said from a seat in front of a mirror, where Michelle was twirling her hair up. "Come on in! Were you surprised?" Cam was dressed in a gorgeous, short-sleeved white-lace dress with a mock turtleneck and an entirely cut-out back. The dress hit just above her knees, and a pair of white heels loitered by her seat. Michelle wore a smoky gray dress with a tucked bodice and a draped skirt. She looked quite stylish and grown-up, Brennan thought.

"I was. Very," Brennan said. "Congratulations, Cam. I'm extremely happy for you."

Angela popped two bottles, one of champagne, one of sparking grape juice. "Oh, Michelle can have one of champagne; it's a special occasion, after all," Cam decreed, so Angela poured three champagnes and reserved a glass of sparking grape juice for herself.

"To Cam and Malcolm — may you continue in the tradition of wonderful marriages following weddings planned in a matter of hours," Angela said, before swallowing her entire glass at once.

"Hear, hear," Cam said, taking a sip. "How was your Christmas, Brennan?"

She smiled. "It was … quite busy. My family was in town, Booth's family came down, we needed to do something with Rebecca for Parker, then Booth's still dealing with the Miami bombing mess for work. It went quickly." She couldn't quite articulate it, but Christmas, the holiday, had just felt like doing a lot of what she was supposed to be doing, seeing the people she was supposed to see, instead of doing what she wanted. Having Christmas with Angela and her family, with Cam, with some of their friends from the lab days, would have been much more enjoyable, but even she could see the multiple social barriers to that. It was strange to consider, though, since five years ago — when spending Christmases with them was an option, and what usually happened — she had always tried to escape to Peru or El Salvador. She was certain there was a literary trope for that.

"Ugh, tell me about it," Angela said. "Both my dad and Jack's parents decided to come to see the grandkids — not us, mind you, just the kids — but of course Joe and Talia barely know my dad, and none of them know Jack's parents, of course so we spent the entire week being inter-generational, inter-familial volleyball referees. You know what's fun? Watching my dad and Hodgins' dad talk, except for when it's horrible," Angela sighed. "Jack's dad asked my dad his golf handicap. I mean, honestly, just look at the man, you know? Which is what makes having this even better, Cam. Good call on coming up with something to get the band back together. There's hardly anything that does that these days."

"Well, hey, when we're back in D.C. it'll be much easier," Cam said.

"About that …" Brennan started.

"It was extremely sudden, Brennan, but I was asked to lead up the creation of a forensic pathology program out of GW's med school, and Malcolm just received a two-year grant at NIH and Georgetown, so it looks like we're back. It all went down in the last three weeks …"

"And we've been overly preoccupied with Rebecca's illness, yes, I understand," Brennan said, and she did. Cam still looked relieved, though.

"How's Booth doing?" Cam asked.

She paused. "I think it's difficult for him," was the best way she could articulate it.

Cam nodded. "Booth doesn't like change. He's not flexible. He doesn't like things happening to people he loves that he's not in control of. He's lucky you're the one person he can't intimidate into letting him hide that from you."

She felt flummoxed. Booth was still not dealing with this well at all, and she wasn't having much success, which logically nullified Cam's conclusion.

"You know what I miss? Crazy crime-solving," Angela said suddenly. "Remember that Christmas we got locked in the lab? That was fun. I miss stuff like that."

"What?" Cam asked.

"Cam wasn't at the lab until later that year," Brennan remembered. "We were possibly exposed to Valley Fever, thanks to Zack and Hodgins. Until they determined whether or not we were contagious we were locked in the lab. We weren't allowed to leave for three days, on Christmas."

"We had to camp out in sleeping bags, Booth got high from the antifungal medication, and we had to make Christmas presents for each other. Hodgins blew up a mold spore as a picture for me. It's still in my studio," Angela laughed. "It was the first thing he ever gave me."

"Zack made a mechanical robot for Booth to give to Parker," Brennan remembered. "The toy broke before Booth and I even moved in with each other, but Parker still won't throw it out. Booth … told him Zack's out on a dig, and he kept it in his closet for when Zach comes back," she shook her head. "I think he's forgotten about it entirely by this point."

"Hodgins and I visit every other week; give it to me at some point and I'll take it to him to repair," Angela suggested. "If he's over the robot, Joe's almost old enough to play with it."

Their thoughts quieted for a minute as they all thought about Zack.

"Uh, Mom?" Michelle cut in awkwardly. "It's 8. We really need to get going."

"Oh, crap, I need to make my speech about what's really going on," Angela said, downing the rest of her sparkling cider. "Come on Brennan, let's go."

"Brennan — one sec!" Cam called. "Would you — sorry this is last minute — but would you mind doing a reading?"

"Of course, Cam," Brennan said, hugging her. She felt honored, truly.

Angela spirited her downstairs, where they, joined with Booth and Hodgins, went through a dizzying number of introductions and explanations to Cam and Malcolm's assorted friends and relatives. The judge, a beau of Caroline's, arrived shortly before nine, and at nine, Angela's father, on an acoustic guitar, began playing a slow-tempo version of "God Only Knows," a song that Brennan recognized but couldn't quite place without Booth's assistance.

The wedding was tinged with a grace that was appropriate for the venue and the participants. There was something about the simplicity and the joy on Cam's face that made Brennan's throat constrict and chest tighten. After a few words from the judge, Angela read a poem that Brennan had never heard but actually quite liked, titled "Love is a Great Thing" (Love carries a burden which is no burden), then it was Brennan's turn.

When she'd looked over the reading, she'd been somewhat surprised. Personally, she'd been expecting Rilke (Letters Twenty-Four or Seven), which Cam had read at their wedding and which she found would fit quite well at this ceremony as well. Instead she was given another excerpt she had heard once or twice but was essentially unfamiliar with, from something called Gift from the Sea, by Anne Morrow Lindbergh, the wife of Charles Lindbergh.

Clearing her throat, she read, "When you love someone, you do not love them all the time, in exactly the same way, from moment to moment. It is an impossibility. It is even a lie to pretend to. And yet this is exactly what most of us demand. We have so little faith in the ebb and flow of life, of love, of relationships. We leap at the flow of the tide and resist in terror its ebb. We are afraid it will never return. We insist on permanency, on duration, on continuity; when the only continuity possible, in life as in love, is in growth, in fluidity — in freedom, in the sense that the dancers are free, barely touching as they pass, but partners in the same pattern," she looked at Booth, who was staring at her inscrutably. "The only real security is not in owning or possessing, not in demanding or expecting, not in hoping, even. Security in a relationship lies neither in looking back to what was in nostalgia, nor forward to what it might be in dread or anticipation, but living in the present relationship and accepting it as it is now," she swallowed and wet her lips before continuing. "Relationships must be like islands, one must accept them for what they are here and now, within their limits — islands, surrounded and interrupted by the sea, and continually visited and abandoned by the tides. The end," she added quickly before stepping back down.

She rejoined Booth as Cam and Malcolm started to read their vows. Next to her, Daisy dabbed her eyes and sighed, leaning into Sweets and causing Brennan to roll her eyes. Without looking down, Booth interlaced his fingers with hers and squeezed, hard. For some reason, it felt like forgiveness, or maybe an apology, though she wasn't sure what for.

After the ceremony, there was more food, and lots of dancing. Angela and Hodgins offered them the use of their usual guest bedroom, and they put Sophia to sleep in Talia's room, so they were able to drink and laugh and dance with impunity. Parker dropped off around 1, heading down to the rec room to sleep on the couch (and probably play some Xbox); Cam and Malcolm headed up to the "honeymoon suite" (really the in-laws suite) not long after that. Soon, it was just them, Angela, and Hodgins; then even the two of them headed upstairs as well, with a reminder to turn out the lights and a, "Don't stay up too late, lovebirds."

They sat quietly on the couch, content not to sleep yet. "That was nice," she murmured.

"Best New Year's ever," he agreed.

"You're not upset that we didn't get to watch movies on the couch?" she checked.

"What? No, Bones. Not when we got to see this. This — this was amazing."

"I'm glad Cam allowed me to read a passage. That was very benevolent of her."

"You guys are good friends, Bones," he said, stretching out and standing. "Come on, Temperance, let's dance." He held out a hand to her.

She smiled. "Seeley — there's no music," she protested.

"Never stopped us before," he said, wiggling his finger invitingly. After a long look, she placed her hand firmly in his, and he pulled her up.

Goofily, he hummed the first few bars of As Time Goes By, just to get them dancing. After a while, though, he quieted, and they simply swayed there, to their own tempo, for the next several minutes. It was … idyllic.

The next morning Gordon-Gordon made breakfast for all of them — egg-white omelets with asparagus, salmon (not in hers, of course), goat cheese and beefsteak tomatoes. Afterwards they finally headed back home, with many "Happy New Years," and hugs, and Gordon-Gordon pulling her aside and saying, "All reasoning is also intuition," which, irrationally, made her feel much better, though it was a meaningless saying predicated on something that she did not believe truly existed.

The alleviated mood brought on by endorphins released at such an occasion lasted for a few days. On the 2nd, since nobody else was back to work, she was able to spend a solid six hours in the lab working on verifying an Iranian anthropologist's research findings; on the 3rd, it was back to work like normal, early into the lab, nine hours at her desk and home for dinner at six. Then, on the 4th — a phone call.

"It's Rebecca," Booth said, without preamble. "Brent just called me. Rebecca — they've decided to keep her on the Hospice floor."

"I don't know what that means," she said, flicking through financial reports on her laptop.

"It means —" he sighed, "It means she's not coming home again. They're keeping her in the hospital."

"Permanently?" she sat back.

"Yeah," he said.

"Are they sure?"

"It was her choice. She … doesn't want to go at home, I'm pretty sure. Brent says she doesn't want the house … tainted."

"So this is the end."

He groaned. "God, Bones, d'ya have to, you know … say it that way?"

"Say it what way? This is my voice, Booth."

"I know. I'm sorry," he said, then sighed. "They're … giving her morphine."

"Why now?" she asked. "She … didn't seem to be any worse over Christmas."

"She took a turn today, she said — the pain spiked, and then she didn't have the strength to get up again. She said she felt ready. I don't know. I just talked to her on the phone. I'm taking Parker over tonight after school."

"Do you think he should be there?"

"I talked to Sweets today — he said to let him make the choice. I don't know, Bones. Do you think he's ready?"

"No. I don't. But I think if you make the choice for him he's going to resent it for a very long time," she answered honestly.

"You're right," he said. "She also asked for you — said she needed to talk to you, so get on over there when you get a chance."

"Alright. I'll try and stop by today or tomorrow."

"Well, it needs to be soon. Eighth floor, GW, room 27."

"I know," she said. "And Booth — I'm sorry."

There was a pause. "Thanks Bones."

She tried to stop by that evening, but Rebecca was asleep. Sarah informed her that she was usually up in the morning, if she wanted to stop by then.

She promised she would, then went home. She cooked meatloaf, macaroni and cheese, two pies. Food had a crucial and undeniable role around death, as many cultures found that simple nourishment often filled a void left behind by the dying or dead. It was also accepted custom in many societies to bring food as a gift during times of intense grief. Booth had picked up Parker but they hadn't come straight home, and so she just put everything in the oven, fed Sophia, and worked on her vocabulary and spatial sense. She put Sophia to bed. Finally, finally, they came home: Booth, white-faced; Parker, red-faced. Booth mouthed out talking as he shuffled Parks in.

"Hey," she jumped up, clumsily, almost knocking the chair over in the process. Booth came over to her, pressed his lips to her temple. Parker just nodded and set his bag down. "Sophia's asleep already; Shawna said she didn't nap today. There's some macaroni and cheese and meat loaf and pie in the oven, would you like any?"

Parker's eyes flickered. "What type of pie?" he asked. Brennan smiled, relieved.

The next morning she went to the hospital on the way to the lab, after dropping Parker off at school. Booth wanted Parker to stay in school so he would have some normality. Rebecca was up, thankfully; Brent and Lisa lingered in the periphery. She'd been looking sick for weeks, really, but now she really looked ill: IVs (Brennan had seen her hooked up to them before) slithered loosely up and down her arms and under her bed linens; she wore a huge hunter-green robe and a light blue scarf on her head.

"Temperance," she crocked. "Come in." She cleared her throat.

"Good morning," she said, debating internally just how far in to walk.

"Can you two give us a minute?" Rebecca motioned to her sister and husband, who quickly left.

Temperance hesitated a moment, unsure of what to say. Rebecca just nodded, finally saying, "It's alright, sit down. Doing just fine, by the way." Her voice had a bit of an edge to it.

Embarrassed, Brennan said, "I'm sorry, I just was unsure of what to say. Booth is typically the person I turn to in these situations, but …"

"It's fine, Temperance," Rebecca said. "Please, take a seat."

She sat down and nodded toward the IVs. "Steroids, I assume?" She knew patients were often given steroids at the end of cancer battles to give them some extra time to say goodbye.

Rebecca shook her head. "No. They offered me steroids, which would give me some extra time, and would fight an infection if I got one, but they would prolong … this. I've come to terms with … with dying," she struggled over the words, "but I'm not looking forward to it, obviously. I don't want it to take longer than it has to. So it's low-dose painkillers."

"That's logical," Temperance said, back straight, on the edge of her chair.

"Yeah," Rebecca said. "I've accepted this, but I want it … I want it to be quick. And I don't want to go at home, where Brent and Parker live. This is comfortable, here."

She nodded. "Also logical."

They made eye contact for a minute before Rebecca broke it and reached underneath her. "I wanted to give you these," she pulled out a journal, and two rubber-band-bound packs of envelopes. "These are letters to Parker. I have one for every birthday until he's 30, middle-school graduation, high-school graduation, college graduation, when he gets engaged, when he gets married, when he has his first kid. Some others. I was hoping you would give them to him."

"Not … Brent? Or Booth?"

She hesitated. "They're … Mom things," she said. "Brent's going to stay in contact, he's in D.C., Seeley said last night he was going to let him do every other weekend, but this … this is Mom stuff."

"Of course," Temperance said. She understood Mom Stuff now.

"These are for you and Seeley," she handed over another pack. "They're also dated." She passed them over. Temperance flipped through, seeing Parker's Prom and First Anniversary of My Death on some of them. Some were addressed solely to her. "And this is for Parker. Whenever you think he's ready," she handed over the last item, a thick, well-used journal. "It's just … It's things he shouldn't forget."

"Rebecca, are you sure that you want me to give him all these things?" she wondered, worried about the psychological implications.

Rebecca stared at her. "Yes. You said you would. Over Thanksgiving."

She deflated. "Right."

Rebecca shifted awkwardly. "I have another … request."

Temperance nodded. "Of course."

"Could you … is Parker at school right now?"

"Yes, I dropped him off myself."

"Could you go … get him? And bring him here? I just … I haven't really said goodbye to him, just him, he hasn't been ready. But last night … last night he was. And I don't know how many days I have left. I know Seeley wants him in school as long as possible, and I agree, but … I just want a day." She looked tremulous, and Brennan could tell that this was a rather sudden, ill-thought-out request.

She automatically opened her mouth to protest, to hedge and say she would have to run it by Booth first, that she needed to defer to him. Instead, though, she just shut her mouth. "Of course," she said. "I'll go pick him up now. Janney's only a 10-minute drive. I'll be back in a half hour." She rose to leave.

"Thank you, Temperance," Rebecca said. Brennan realized that this was probably her last lone audience with this woman, who had led a life that at some points was so remarkably parallel, so twinned and mirrored but also divergent, to her own. They were doing some sort of almost ritualistic switch between being Parker's Mother and Parker's Other Mother, and she wasn't sure how to respond.

"Thank you, Rebecca," she finally said, hesitating before finally choosing to share a story. "You know, when Booth and I first started dating, I didn't want to tell Parker. I didn't know how he would react, especially since …"

"Especially since you both knew it was serious?" Rebecca filled in.

"Yes. Precisely. But he was fine with it when we first told him. But then I had to take care of him for an evening all by myself. And I was … nervous. And he just … he made me not nervous. He has this skill he acquired from his father, to make anyone comfortable. I thought it was that. But then I realized there was something more. He was just so unusually trusting and … loving and perceptive. I remember I said something dumb — I misinterpreted something he said. And he just responded with an unusual degree of empathy and kindness for an eight-year-old. It was … astonishing."

Rebecca smiled. "I think that's all him, but thank you. And, you know, you've taught him things. You make him see the world in a bigger way, a different way, than Seeley or I do. So … thank you."

Inexplicably, she felt the urge to hug Rebecca; even more inexplicably, she followed through on it. Rebecca reciprocated. After a few minutes, Rebecca pulled back, and said, "Thank you. I needed that."

She nodded. "I'll go pick him up now."

Rebecca smiled. "Thank you," she said, and Brennan, startled a little, realized she also meant I trust you.

What do you think? Please let me know!