Created December 2013 - I don't own these characters or the words made famous by the TV show, Bones. Love them anyway. All the rest that follows is my feeble attempt to keep time in between broadcasts and Razztaztic, Threesquares, and Covalent Bond postings.

A/N - 04/29/2014: So here it is, the final chapter to my holiday story. This final posting is happening exactly four months from the first, LOL. Thanks for sticking with this one. How fun it is to poke around with these characters. I have changed the ending from what was originally planned, as Ralph Waite passed away right after I completed the If I Were A Carpenter chapter. The original ending was way too sentimental in consideration. But with my last minute switch flip, I hope that I've closed all the open loops from the opening chapters, and I also hope that this is just enough sugar to get you through your 3:00 PM fix.

Thanks as always to you for your lovely, funny and unexpected comments and feedback. And a special woot to FaithinBones, whose cranking update schedule leaves me humbled and amazed. I am not worthy!

I had barely turned off the car, and Booth was standing outside my door. Hidden within his eager, handsome smile, I detected a hint of immediate apology for startling me. I calculate the high probability that the vehicle was in motion when he exited his door.

While I never object to my husband's nearness (except of course, when he became overly boisterous while watching sporting events), I find his presence at my car door to be neglectful and inefficient. He had abandoned Christine, who he had been seated next to, on the passenger side of the backseat. She and all of her travel items were still there. And apparently, so was Booth's coat.

"Booth, what are you doing?" Without realizing that I was doing it, I accepted his assistance stepping out of the truck. "Stop (I smack his hand) holding my hand! You left Christine. And-."

I try to warn him that it was - at most - forty degrees outside. But my ability to speak was swiftly thwarted as he pleasantly assaulted me with a lovely kiss.

I very much enjoy the sensation of my husband's impressively solid frame pressed against me. My body softens against the closed door as he crowds me against it. One of his arms constricts my waist while the other threads through my hair. I feel his lips curl into a smile as mine part to welcome his tongue's intrusion.

Chemically, I've always understood why this pleases me, but I am consistently confounded and surprisingly tolerant of the emotional components of our connection. Having Booth this close is always exhilarating. I feel his right hand slip inside my coat to find commanding anchor against my breast. Approvingly, I push into him, fervent to prolong his contact.

I want him to peel my blouse away. I want to feel his fingers pluck and tease the flesh that I reveal only to him. I pull him further into me, hopeful that the additional pressure of our entwined legs will encourage him to continue. So softly his fingers of his left hand are stroking the back of my neck. Excitedly, I wonder of the feel of the cold window and door behind me – what if Booth was to yank down my coat and my blouse from the back collar, leaving me bare and exposed to the elements? I want him to do it. I believe that I'm moaning affirmations to encourage this action, perhaps audibly, but I don't know. I just know that I want more.

I love this. I love him. I love us.

He's stopped. I open my eyes to find his eyes twinkling, and his lips smirking, laughing at me. I know that my face displays a substantial frown, because Booth is grinning at me broadly. The principles of Newton's Third Law dominate several facets of our relationship.

My cheeks are warm, not from embarrassment, but from stimulation.

Booth has not pulled away from me, so I tug on his sweater, desirous to resume my submission to his spell. His frame lazily bumps into mine, he is aroused, but he steps a platonic distance from me, straightening my coat and my hair.

Since we have been married, he's far more relaxed, and playful. And – how it's possible – I don't know, but he's even more spontaneously amorous. Ugh! It's so frustrating at times! But he's smiling at me so sweetly. Unable to restrain myself, I hear myself plead, "why?"

I'm not pleading, I'm whining.

Smugly, he brushes his knuckles against my cheek. I love it when he touches me.

"Christine, you goofball! Your kid? Remember her?" He chuckles. His forefinger draws a straight line from my sternum to right below my umbilicus, and then he tugs my hips to his by my belt. "You spend a few hours at my old garage, and now you want to reenact a Whitesnake video?" he teased.

I know this reference. Vehicle acrobatics performed by the actress who beat up her baseball player husband with a stiletto shoe. Booth reminds me of the video almost every time he observes me do yoga. I find this odd, because we look nothing alike.

But I dismissed the thought, as he had misinterpreted my question. "I know why you stopped you foodus!"

He smirks. "Doofus, Babe."

I must have said it incorrectly. Hmph. Foodus/doofus…no matter. "Whatever. I know why you stopped." I shifted off the car, marking a line of my own on him. "I want to know why you felt the need to kiss me in the first place." I hope that he detects my accusatory tone.

When – in the vernacular – the dam broke between us, the deluge was quite significant, heh! And persistent. I finally had the opportunity to experience the euphoria that Booth referred to when speaking of his gambling days.

I was a veritable junkie. My partner was all I wanted to...heh heh…"do" – morning, noon, and all night long. Surrendering to the urgency, emotion, and pleasure of finally succumbing to our carnal desires was incredibly cathartic.

And addictive.

Though Booth consistently chastised me for being seemingly insatiable, he was rather encouraging and reciprocative of my addiction to sex with him. All these years later, my appetite for my husband is as voracious as is his desire to oblige me. All evidence indicates that this feeling is mutual and reflexive.

However, Booth functioned also as the self-appointed professional "compass" of our partnership, and he felt that it was important for us to agree to some terms of moral restraint (his words). His primary concern was tempering my eagerness to enact several of his stated fantasies: us at the Jeffersonian, the front seat of his truck, the backseat of Caroline's tiny Gremlin, his office…. Oh, and at the shooting range, the gym, the back alley of Founding Fathers, Hodgins and Angela's rooftop pool. The decontamination showers, museum exhibits, the men's locker room at the Potomac ice rink… The list is long, and surprisingly, his imagination is comparable to my own.

If only he'd let me write about some of the things we did, I'm convinced that the book sales would replenish the Cantilever Group fortunes. And, make the world a far happier place. I'm not being hyperbolic.

Irrationally, the need to regulate our romantic behavior confounds me. It's silly. I just want to make Booth happy, but his faith-based prudishness – ironically- is as unyielding as his sex drive. As such, he established a series of "fuck boundaries" – again, his words. Our "FB's" don't restrict what (thankfully) but rather where we can engage in amorous activity.

As ridiculous as it was to me, I was agreeable to honoring them. Rationally, I prefer the low level emotional output required with clearly defined boundaries. And, since I never had been in love with anyone before, I was willing to accept Booth's expertise in this area.

Ugh! Even so, it was still so unjust! Because he established the rules, Booth was quite cavalier at enforcing them, but he was completely roguish when it came to breaking them. It was so unfair, especially because I almost always want to submit to his distractions.

It was infuriating. Even though I had mastered a few acts of sexual manipulation during our time together, I wanted his power. His under-fulfilled acts of sexual teasing were very arousing, and they foretold the promise of our next authorized lovemaking session.

But still, he could be so maddening! He needs to explain himself so that I can return to touching him inappropriately as quickly as possible.

"For several reasons, Bones!" he offered playfully poking me in the sides. "I haven't kissed you since the shower this morning, and that was like nine years ago!"

I refrain from making a Bobby and Pam Ewing joke. I've never admitted to Booth that I used to watch TV programs like Dallas and Dynasty. It's far more amusing to infuriate him with my lack of pop culture knowledge. I simply frown at him and roll my eyes.

He continues with his gleeful banter. "Plus it's a 'woohoo-we-have-our-home-back' kiss. It's also a 'thank-you-in-advance-for-whatever-you've-been-plotting-with-the-thing' kiss."

For such an effective major crime solver, his thinking could be so absurd sometimes. "Booth, it's ridiculous to thank me for something that you've yet to see. It is possible that you won't be pleased by your gift." His confidence in me was reassuring, but always unsettling. I never felt that I deserved it.

"Not possible. Everything you've ever given me, I've loved." He beamed what Cam referred to as his infectious smile. While medically inaccurate, the analogy was well-reasoned.

It is impossible for me to remain annoyed with my husband when he says things like this. His acumen at disarming me is masterful.

But I'm not one to make things easy for him. I love to tease him as well.

"You didn't like it when I shot you." I challenged. He countered by smacking me on the buttocks.

"Bah! Do you know what I remember from the night you shot me? Your tits spilling out of that amazing Wonder Woman costume while you fussed over my injury. And, oh yeah, the feel of your sweet pillows on my neck when you were climbing all over my back in the snake room. God, I lived off of that memory for months!" he smirked.

"Booth!" I swatted him again laughing, unable to resist his mirth.

Little did he know that my "fussing" over him that night was an intentional attempt to distract him while I assessed the severity of his gunshot wound. For all that we discuss, I enjoy having a few secrets from him.

He steered my hips to his, leaning his mouth in to kiss me again.

Yes, please.

But we had ignored Christine for too long. "I want tout! I want tout!" she cried. Her over-pronunciation at this phase of her phonetic development was commendable. But she was in distress. Booth and I exchange penitent grins. He kisses my forehead and then rushes to rescue our daughter.

"There was one more reason, Bones. I figured enough time, water and mints had passed that you wouldn't make the yuck face when I kissed ya." He added, opening the door to release Christine.

He's right. Cheesesteaks.

Disgusting.

Six fucking forty-two.

"Six forty two!" Booth groused staring at his laptop's clock. "It's six fucking forty-two! Bones!" he bellowed, tossing his laptop to the side and standing up from the cushy living room sofa. He cracked his spine before walking over to the stairs. While watching football, Booth had busied himself with catching up on emails and reports. It may have been New Year's Eve, but murder didn't stop for the holidays.

Or his honeymoon, dammit.

Booth wasn't returning to work until that following Tuesday, but his last minute decision to fly his family out to Minnesota to see Russ, Amy, Max and the girls for a long weekend meant that he would have even less time for catch up baseball. Even though he was satisfied that he was able to plow through a substantial amount of the paper-pushing parts of his job, he had grown restless.

After all, he and the girls dropped Pops off three hours earlier, and 1) he still didn't know what "the thing" was, and 2) about an hour ago, Bones had told him that she accepted an invitation for them to attend a New Year's Day luncheon at Cam's.

Ugh! Cam's on New Year's Day. Even though Arastoo – thankfully – also loved all things sports, he knew from experience that Cam's tolerance for sports watching during one of her "events" was verboten. She'd probably banish them to the bedroom, and spending the first day of the year in his ex-girlfriend's bedroom cramped next to her current boyfriend, Wendell, Sweets and Hodgins was so not high on his list.

And then he knew Bones would make him eat some black-eyed peas, too – he hated them. On the bright side, Bones and Pops had prepared Grams chiacchiere recipe and Cam was making collard greens. Yum! But, then ugh! Black eyed peas for good luck - my hypocritical nerd. Booth had always found it amusing that Brennan enjoyed peppering New Year's with various culinary traditions. But Hell, she was part cultural anthropologist – they loved traditions.

Except football, for fuck's sake.

It killed Booth that Bones didn't understand the BCS schedule. By the time they got home from Cam's, he'd have missed four games, and probably the start of the Rose Bowl game. At least they'd be home on Monday night to watch Auburn and Florida State. That was the official end of the holiday season for Seeley Booth. That game was going to be a goodie.

But it was the last day of the year, and he wanted to spend as much time as possible with his lady.

"Bones!" he barked as he corned toward the stairs.

"Shush!" his wife snapped from the top of the stairs. I'm putting Christine down now. Would you like to join us?"

He snickered at her appearance. She was wearing the form fitting skeleton pajama bottoms that Parker had given her for Christmas, a white tank top, and fluffy bunny slippers. While she glared at her husband for disrupting the serenity that she was trying to set, she pulled her Christine-bath-dampened hair into a side braid. "What?" she questioned, all too familiar with the smirk on his face.

"Nothing," he grinned as he stepped over the bottom gate and darted up the stairs. As expected, she began to walk back without him toward Christine's bedroom. Sensing that Booth had just hurdled the upstairs gate, she turned and caught him gawking at her ass.

"Eyes up here, Daddy" she warned throatily. "There will be no coitus until after I give your gift." She smiled as she continued forward, moving a bit more slowly for him to catch up with her.

I don't know why she insists on tying up her hair. Booth wondered as jogged to catch up and tug on the back of the newly formed French braid. I'm just gonna loosen it. "We'll see about that. Bones if I have to pick between the thing and us boinking…"

"Don't be so crass, Booth!" Brennan giggled as Booth slid his tickling fingers up and down her curves.

"Really? Have you heard yourself when we're fooling around? I know truckers and soldiers who are less graphic." He teased as they entered Christine's room. Booth picked up his daughter and they joined Brennan on the rocking chair. "Christine, you smell nom-nom-nom good and clean! Dada was worried because your mama's got a potty mouth!"

Christine tightened her grip on the stuffed T. Rex doll that Pop Pops had purchased for her as she nuzzled onto her Daddy's chest. Removing one of its feet from her mouth (she found the toes very pleasing to her sore gums), she studied her mother. "Mama?"

"Yes Christine?" Brennan asked, stroking her hair.

"You gots potty mouth." She observed before sticking 's toes back in her mouth. She felt the laughter vibrations of father's rumbling chest against her cheek and decided that 'potty mouth' must be humorous. "Dottymuff", she snickered while she gnawed on Turex's toes.

"Not funny you two!" Brennan jested, lightly poking her giggling little girl on the nose.

"C'mere. Booth encouraged, raising his arm to lure Brennan into a side hug. Soon she was cozy, her head nestled against her husband's shoulder as she and Christine began their staring contest ritual.

And, as expected. Booth began to untie her braid.

"Booth! I just-"

"Pipe down there Sally! You knew this was coming." He teased. "I know you do it so I'll do this."

"Hmm." Brennan replied quietly, enjoying the feel of Booth's large able fingers combing through her hair. She regarded Christine and her new bedtime friend. "She really likes her new stuffed animal."

Booth chinned a look down his chest to see Christine's rhythmic administration of the stuffed T. Rex's toes to her gums. "Heh! I hope that thing stands up to machine washing. I think Turex is gonna need a lot of it. BG thinks he's a chew toy!"

"I hope so too. Given that the Jeffersonian will be installing a T. Rex later this spring, the timing of this gift is perfect. Hank chose well." Brennan observed thoughtfully.

The trio fell into a natural silence, quietly enjoying the last moments of their year together. Mama and Dada had bickered (Brennan, for; Booth, against - keeping her up late), but in the end they concluded to try and retain as much of Christine's regular schedule as the holidays would allow.

Otherwise, getting back into their Tuesday schedule next week was going to be Hell.

After a while, Booth caught his wife's eye for a sleepy time status. Quietly, Brennan updated "She's a few minutes from stage one" chuckling when Booth rolled his eyes, though he understood what she meant – Christine was beginning to drift.

"So," Booth whispered, the rumbling of his voice causing Christine's eyes to widen momentarily before they began to droop even more heavily. "Are you gonna tell me what he said to you this time?"

Brennan tilted her head up, confused as to the subject of Booth's sentence. "Who, Max?"

Booth sighed, realizing that the last "him" that she had spoken to today was her father. "No. Pops, Babe. When you guys were saying goodbye, he made you cry. I saw." He stared her down, daring her to craft an evasive explanation.

"Oh." Brennan nodded, sitting up, extricating herself from Booth's hug. "It wasn't anything upsetting" she clarified. Recalling their discussion, she smiled winsomely. "H-, He…told me how much that he loved me and that he was proud of me." She tilted her head towards Booth. "He told me that he never thought he'd live to see his boys together again. And, he was happy that I had given him his family for Christmas." She pursed her lips, holding back a fresh set of tears. "It made me very emotional."

Booth returned her smile, rubbing her thigh.

"Because I realized," she exhaled. "How fortunate I am that you came into my life, Booth." She clasped the hand on her thigh with both of hers. "The significance of causality: if Cam hadn't suggested that you meet with me…I wouldn't have the happiness that I have today."

Booth continued to grin at his wife. Immediately he understood Brennan's mood when she had accepted Cam's New Year's Day invitation earlier that afternoon.

He also chuckled to himself – Causality. She will never admit that fate brought us together.

Tears finally began to flow freely. "And Hank is so important to me." She anguished. "I love his spirit – you have it, too. I love and admire him because of the life that he has led. But I love him mostly because he raised you. He contributed to shaping the man that you are now. And his approbation – given how much I owe him – means so much."

"Aw Bones…" Booth began to speak, but instead chose to pull his wife to him to kiss. Christine slept peacefully as her parents exchanged a soft and gentle peck.

"I told him that it's all your doing." Brennan began, sniffling and laughing. "That you taught me to love Christmas again." Booth stroked away the tears from her face. "Planning our Christmas together this year, coordinating with Rebecca, Jared, Pops, Sweets and Caroline; Padme's pregnancy announcement; watching you with Christine and Parker; even Midnight Mass! It's all been such a fulfilling experience." She smiled. "I really feel a part of a family again; we have a real family together, a family that I helped to create. I never thought..." she shook her head.

"I thought that making you happy for the holidays was the most important thing. But when you said what you said in the car, and then when Hank shared his thoughts we me, I felt, so connected to the experience in a way that hasn't happened since…well, you know." She relaxed, happy that she didn't need to explain her childhood to Booth – he already knew. "I had a wonderful Christmas, Booth. And that it meant so much to Hank; that I could create that… it is…" she exhaled and then took a deep inhalation, trying to calm her feelings.

Booth beamed proudly at his wife, tears forming in his eyes. He paused for a moment, before whispering "hold on." Stealthily he stood and placed their daughter in her crib.

Lovingly, Brennan watched her husband put their daughter to bed. Watching the man, who for almost a decade, had so fiercely – sometimes violently – acted to protect her, so gently and sweetly tend to their daughter, generated an overwhelming swell of emotion. Her entire being vibrated with love for this man.

Booth had barely turned around, and Brennan was on him. He took two steps back to absorb the force of her assault. Furiously, passionately she kissed her husband as if to compensate for every lost moment between them.

Booth chuckled at his pouncing tiger. "Whoa!" he whispered. "Hey!" He returned her kiss. "Hold up!" he soothed pulling her into a guy hug. He held her until she stilled. He knew that she was trying to channel her flooding emotions. "Shhhhhhh, Bones. I've got you," he hushed.

"C'mon." he invited her out of the room. Taking her by the hand, he guided her down the hallway towards their bedroom.

He felt her trembling fingers entwined with his own. She needed reassurance. Leaning himself against the wall next their bedroom door, Booth pulled Brennan into his arms.

"You're an amazing woman, Bones." He whispered against her ear as she broke. "I'm so thankful that you let me love you." He rocked her gently. "And as much as I'd love to keep you all to myself, it's been so amazing to watch you share your love with all the people we love – our beautiful family – and Jared too."

He smiled as he felt her laugh against his shoulder. "Pops is right. This is all you. This is the thing that I've known all along, Babe. That once you realized how big your heart was…"

Brennan mumbled into his chest.

"….Right, your metaphorical heart." he chuckled. "Once you realized how big your metaphorical heart was, you wouldn't be shy about sharing it. Well, you did good, Dr. Temperance Bones Brennan Booth." He kissed her forehead.

"You put a lot on your shoulders, Bones. I know that you've been a little tense and anxious over the past few weeks. You've been worried about me and Jared getting along, getting Parker here on time, coordinating New York, making room for Sweets, keeping Christine on schedule…getting me whatever is this thing that you got me. I get it - you wanted to make me happy. Well, Bones, you succeed in doing that every day – can you get that through your big brainy head please?" he teased.

A tear stained faced looked up at her husband. "Now you tell me." She sassed.

Booth laughed, gently pushing his wife to the wall opposite them. He placed one hand on her hip, the other against her cheek. "Look, I'm never going to be able to give you back all of those Christmases that you lost Bones. But I promise you – you'll never have another Christmas alone. We've created some amazing traditions this year, Babe. You did that. And we'll continue them."

Brennan smiled, furiously resisting her mind's default to point out that they are not promised tomorrow. "Yes and there will be even more family to celebrate with us next year" she observed.

Booth's jaw dropped. "Do you mean…" his hand grazed her belly.

Brennan immediately detected his assumption. "Oh! No! I meant Padme and Jared's little boy. And my Max. And hopefully Amy and Russ will bring the girls."

"Oh!" Booth replied, trying to hide his disappointment. "Yeah it will be crowded." He laughed. "We should start booking the hotel rooms now."

Brennan studied his tone. "We've been trying for only two months, Booth. There's no need for us to worry yet..."

"I know, Bones! Don't misinterpret. I just got excited thinking about us having another little Bones. We make beautiful babies, hmm?"

Brennan frowned. "I suppose that my stress levels have been even higher than normal because of all the holiday activities, and my need to be "present"." She reasoned.

Booth laughed, recognizing his wife's use of the word "present" meant having to pay attention to others. He took her by the hand into the bedroom. "That is exactly why we're spending this New Year's Eve all alone, Bones. No stress, no distractions. Just you, me and a lot of heavy petting." He dimpled as he tugged her by the bottom of her tank top. "C'mon. Let's get wet, Bones. We'll have a little tub time, I'll ply you with a little champagne and some lovin'. Then I'll give you a nice massage, I'll paint your toes, give you some more lovin…"

Brennan giggled as she extended her arms for Booth to extract her bra. She blushed, aroused by how hungrily Booth leered at her emancipated breasts through the tank top. "That sounds delightful. But, don't you want your last Christmas present?" she reminded him. "The thing?"

Booth pulled off his t-shirt. "Having you all to myself is my last present of the year Bones. Let's save the thing for next year, huh?" he husked, pulling her into his arms.

She pushed back against his bare chest to enable her space to unbuckle his belt and unfasten his pants. They laughed as he marched his way out of them, reluctant to separate his lips from her own.

***BEEP. BEEP. BEEP***

"Hello? Answered a groggy Brennan.

"See Hodgins! I told you they'd be asleep!" howled a very tipsy Angela. "Sweetie! It's five minutes to midnight! You've gotta wake up!" she hiccupped. "It's almost Happy New Year time!"

Booth stirred awake as Brennan laughed at her best friend. He turned on his night table lamp.

One of the last remnants of luxury still intact from Hodgins' fortune was the annual New Year's Eve party in the East Jefferson Cabinet room at Quill in the (you guessed it) Jefferson Hotel. Since he first accepted the position at the Jeffersonian, Hodgins had covertly hosted the annual event. The soiree had been such a success, that he had prepaid (including a sizeable tip) for the event to be hosted there for the next fifteen years – regardless of whether or not he attended.

Booth and Brennan had never attended the event as a couple, a fact that royally irritated Brennan's bestie. So it was no surprise that an inebriated Angela would feel the need to interrupt the quiet bliss of the slumbering Booth household.

"Okay Ange!" a throaty Brennan chuckled. "We're up. Happy New Year."

"Mwah! I love you Sweetie! I love that big hunk of a jerkstore pain in the ass husband of yours too!"

Booth groaned slipping his arms around Brennan's waist. "Tell her the feeling's mutual."

Brennan snickered. "Booth says Happy New Year Angela." Booth responded with a grunt.

"It's been such a hard year, Sweetie. We deserve an amazing 2014, you know? Here's to nothing but love and laughter and love…and-and-and…love!" she meandered and sang.

"Get her off the phone." Booth playfully commanded with a whisper, arguing his case with a trail of kisses extending from Brennan's bare shoulder, down the side of her back. He reached back toward his night table. Brennan twitched as she felt the cold of a thawing grape trace her spine.

"Don't eat that yet!" she hissed. "Not until midnight!"

Booth chuckled, slipping his hand around to her front to rouse her nipples with the grape.

"Okay, Mommy! Do you think that you can hold Mikey safely while I talk to Dr. Brennan?" Hodgins interrupted.

Brennan listened distractedly to her friends talking while Booth pulled back the sheets to give him better access to palm her bottom. She wriggled, feeling him deposit and (with his tongue) stir three or four grapes at the dip of her back.

"Oh, oh yeah, sure Babe! Bren I gotta go. Happy New Year Honey! Heeeeyyy Mikey! Mommy loves you sooooo…." Away went Angela.

"Hi Dr. B! New Year greetings to ya," announced a happy, but perhaps a lslightly exasperated Jack Hodgins.

Brennan laughed, partly from his tone, and partly from Booth tickling her side. She watched him put the grapes to beside her and then his hand slip further down her body.

"Happy New Year Hodgins." She returned. She was eager to give the feel of Booth's warm, exploring fingers between her legs the attention it was due. Hastily, she added. "We will see you three later at Cam's!"

Booth eased Brennan's back onto the bed, gently tugging her knees separate to avail him more access to her. He smiled as he deposited the grapes from the bed onto her twitching belly. He reached for the rest of the plate of grapes, his thumb continuing to work in symphony with his fingers on her. Strategically placing grapes up and down her torso, he gave her one final warning. "Off the phone. Now!"

An obviously weary Hodgins groaned at the thought of even more celebration in the coming hours. "Yeah, brunch!, I'm getting too old for this, shit. Dr. B. But I'll see you later. Wish happy new year to Booth!"

Brennan concentrated on disconnecting the call. She understood how important of an action it was to take, but her capacity at sequencing logic was being severely compromised by her husband's ministrations. Later that morning, she would wonder if she said goodbye to Hodgins before or after she hung up.

But with the drop of the phone to the bed, the only thing that she cared about was giving full attention to the grape seeking creature above her.

Booth eyed the clock, smirking at the serendipity of his wife's timing.

"Happy New Year Bones." Booth hushed against her lips.

"Happy New Year Booth."

Another shower would definitely be in order.

Brennan knew from the prior holidays spent together that her husband had a new year's tradition that involved him waking early, and sneaking off to the Man Cave to retrieve a few photos and mementos that reminded him of how far he had come before he began his new year. So it was no surprise when she rose to find Booth missing from their bed.

Padding down the stairs, she was surprised to find that her husband was not upstairs after all. "Booth?" she called out quietly, not wanting to wake Christine so early.

Evidence suggested that he had been in the Man Cave and then to the living room, as several photos, news clippings and trinkets were splayed out on the coffee table. Brennan looked over to the lit kitchen. Coffee was brewing, but there was no Booth.

It was a quarter to five o'clock in the morning. It was still too early for him to take a run and Brennan's survey of the back door confirmed that he wasn't tinkering in the garage. Perplexed, she stood by the kitchen island trying to process where her husband could be.

The quieting of the brewer came to her assistance. It was then that she heard the squeaking.

She laughed. Though this was a new noise, uncommon to the normal creaks and bumps of their home, she knew immediately where her husband was. And it actually surprised her.

Very rarely would Seeley Booth dare venture into the Anthropologist's Cave. When they planned the design of their home, he swore that he would never set foot in it when she asked for it to be placed next to the laundry room for convenient access to a water source, ventilation, and materials disposal. It was her space, and he didn't want to know what went on in the Chamber of Torture, as he called it.

It was the perfect hiding spot, or so she had reasoned. He would never set foot in the Anthropologist's Cave without her invitation. But that was exactly the point of the thing, ironically. She had it installed there to lure him. She wanted him to spend more time in there with her.

It was almost a perfect plan that she and Jared had devised. She had just not counted on her husband's unyielding curiosity willing him to seek out his gift in his least favorite of spaces. He still surprised her.

But she had not had the chance to surprise him. She bit her lip, disappointed that she hadn't been able to witness his expression upon first recognition of the gift. Even with Hank and Jared's encouragement, she was still nervous that Booth may react negatively to the intended sentiment.

Her worries were summarily dismissed as she walked into the room. She found her husband circling the thing with tears of admiration and recall. His fingers pressed into the leather as he knelt down to examine the intricate design that framed the lettering on the foot rest:

KOKEN

BARBERS' SUPPLY COMPANY

ST. LOUIS U.S.A

Sensing her presence he stood, his eyes wide with amazement. "Is it-" he began, but stopped as his own eyes answered the question. On the back frame of chair, a child's handwriting gave him proof – his and Jared's initials carved into the wood.

"I had a friend of Angela's restore it," she offered softly. "But I was specific that I do not want certain things corrected. She shifted.

His jaw dropped. This was his father's first chair. He huffed a laugh as he spun it. "How?" he asked.

"Walter." She replied nervously.

His glistening eyes locked with hers.

"Bones... I- " he smiled.

A/N 2: What a horrible, ending, I know :). Happy "New" Year.