The most random ideas come at the most random times. This idea interrupted my attempts at sleeping.

Context: Bones and Booth are somewhere living together, they are not really married (she claims she's his wife to give the caller a reason to talk to her instead), and she is approximately seven months pregnant.

The Comfort in the Cradle

Brennan was in the kitchen when the phone rang, making a sandwich and contemplating paint colors for the nursery. The number that appeared on the caller ID was unfamiliar to her, but she answered it anyway in case it was work-related. The caller asked for a Mr. Seely Booth, who was presently in a deep sleep on top of the bedcovers, and, intrigued, she told the man that she was his wife and his matters could be discussed with her. Seconds later, she ended the call and put down her mayonnaise-covered knife with a shaking hand.

She walked into the bedroom with the phone locked in her hand and anxiety twisting her stomach. She sat down on the edge of the bed next to Booth's waist and touched her hand to his shoulder. He slowly reclaimed his consciousness, staring blearily up at Brennan and puzzled by her expression. He had not seen one like it on her face before. She opened her mouth to speak, desperately trying to summon up every experience she'd had with Booth during death notifications.

"Hank has passed away, Booth," she told him slowly.

"Pops?" Booth asked in surprise, his voice raspy from sleep.

"He had a heart attack late this morning," she murmured, watching him raise his hands to his forehead as sadness crept through his body.

Booth had held himself together for the last two days, but his already dented armor was sagging under the weight of the grief he carried. He managed to plod through the eulogy speeches and the reception after the funeral, and now he was exhausted. When he said he was going to bed at eight o'clock, Brennan gave him a few minutes alone before joining him.

The lights were off and the curtains drawn tightly. She found him lying on his back on top of the bedcovers, his palms pressing into his face. She awkwardly eased herself onto the bed next to him and slid down until her hips were at the level of his chest. He was so visibly upset and she was immensely frustrated with herself for not knowing how to comfort him enough.

"I'm sorry, Booth," she whispered, resting her hand on top of his head and threading her fingers into his hair. She raked her hand through his hair for a long time in silence and then he rolled onto his side to face her. He pushed himself higher onto the pillows and settled his ear on her greatly expanded abdomen with one arm under his body and the other wrapped around the underside of her belly. She kept one hand on his head and put her other hand on top of his, feeling his tears soaking her shirt against her skin. When they woke up the next morning, her back was incredibly sore but Booth being only sad rather than in his previous despair made her discomfort well worth it.

How was it?