**THIS FIC IS BASED ON A SPOILER**

Hello, folks. :) i know it's been a long time, and in all honesty, i had kind of sworn off fanfic -- mostly due to an impossibly busy schedule, and ALSO because my sweetest jamie lee and i wrote (wait for it) a novel! so we were working on that for the better part of 2009 thus far. in fact, if you're curious, and if you want to maybe leave us a little testimonial to help us get it published, we would heart you forevers. follow the link in my profile at the bottom after the videos.

Anyways, back to this little fic. i wasn't going to write this, and let me tell you, i STRUGGLED. in fact, here's a snippet of j and i's convo:

me: i'm not sure how to word it to sound like her, though

Jamie: well, the issue is, NONE of this sounds like her b/c it isn't something she'd do. but yet...she IS going to. so. you have a free pass w/that one.

me: i guess that's why i'm struggling so hard... i can't picture him wanting to do this or him agreeing -- like, at ALL. sigh

Jamie: just keep doing what you're doing, babe. what's driving this is the thought that part of bren has evolved enough to understand the implications of what's she's trying to do, and share that with booth. and that booth is in love with her enough to respond to that.

so. with that, i'll leave you with the story rather than try to explain it. just know i really have reservations about this storyline and whether it seems like something EITHER of them would do, and so i did my best. :) xoxo mia

--

A New Life

He hasn't realized how nervous he is until the knock on his door causes him to nearly drop his beer. Taking a deep breath, he stands up, leaving his drink on the coffee table and making his way towards the front of his apartment. Pausing again at the door, he chews on his bottom lip for a moment before reaching for the doorknob.

This feels so wrong.

Before he can even open his mouth, she's brushing past him, talking about her visit to the doctor, about his recommendations and the timeline they have while she's ovulating, etc. He swallows, shutting the door behind her, following her as she walks directly past this living room, shedding her coat along the way and disappearing into the bedroom.

Hesitating at the entrance to his room, he knows suddenly in his heart he can't do this, can't give her what she wants, not like this. It feels so unnatural, feels as if it's for all the wrong reasons.

"Bones," he says, stepping into the room, clearing his throat.

She barely glances at him, tugging the elastic from her ponytail, her hair draping over her shoulders. "I was hoping that maybe I could still head back to the lab after, if that's okay with you," she says, toeing off her boots. "Hodgins thinks he'll be done with the –"

"Temperance."

This time, the use of her first name gives her pause and she looks up at him. She must see the look in his eyes, because she sighs, taking a step towards him. "Booth, I know this must seem kind of business-like. And you probably hate that. But I think that once we get started it won't seem that way. I think you'll be able to relax –"

"Bones, can you please just –"

Without warning, she suddenly tugs her shirt up over her head, revealing a lacy bra, her breasts pushed up and practically spilling out of the cups. "I want this to enjoyable for you," she says quickly. "Despite the circumstances, it can still be pleasurable, and so I made sure to wear something arousing."

He suddenly realizes, watching her standing in front of him, her chest heaving slightly with her breath, that all this talking, all this organization and planning is covering up her own nervousness. In fact, now that she's stopped speaking, her face reveals how scared she really is.

He averts his eyes from her body, his hands falling to his hips. "Listen, I think we need to talk."

He can see out of the corner of his eye that her fingers curl tightly around the shirt still in her hand, strangling the fabric. "You've changed your mind, haven't you?" she says, her voice trembling.

Her vulnerability forces him to look at her again, and he swallows. "Tell me why," he says suddenly. "Tell me why you really want this."

"I've told you," she insists, shifting her weight awkwardly from one foot to the other, still standing in front of him half-dressed. "I told you why."

He shakes his head, fighting the urge to walk to her, staying on the other side of the room, keeping space between them. "This is a big deal, do you understand? It can't just be because you want to pass on your brilliance, to pass on some sort of idea or philosophy, or that you're financially able to provide for someone -- not if you want me to do this."

She drops down to the bed suddenly, her hands between her knees, her hair falling around her face in a curtain as she looks at the floor. She's silent for several moments, and again, he has to fight to stay put. This isn't just about her now; this is about both of them. He can't be selfish in this, he just can't. He has a son who will require an explanation as to why, the possibility of a future child who will want and deserve answers.

She finally raises her head, but her eyes are still hidden – she's turned and is looking out the window. "I didn't lie when I told you my reasons at first," she says quietly. "I think I was just… I had all these reasons, more than I gave you. Because everyday, whether I was at work or in the shower or lying in bed I was coming up with…reasons."

She finally turns and looks at him, her eyes shining with moisture, but she isn't crying, not that he can see. "I have a whole list of reasons," she says slowly. "I could read them all of to you, I could type them up, put them in categories." She shakes her head. "But that's not what you're asking, is it? For rational reasons?"

He finally takes a step or two closer to her, his heart beating a little more quickly at the change in her. "No," he murmurs. "It's not."

She nods, again looking at her lap, her fingers tracing the outline of her knee in her pants. "When my parents disappeared, Russ, he… he got rid of almost everything, let the state take it all, deal with the house." She hesitates, and finds himself even closer, now only a few steps from her.

"I didn't take anything with me," she says. "No pictures, nothing to remind me. It all got packed up and shipped off and I never saw any of it again." Her shoulders hitch up slightly with a breath, but her cheeks remain dry, he can see it when she again looks up at him.

He doesn't know what to think, looking at her. He doesn't know if there is something she can say to change his mind, and wonders if it's right to ask for an explanation if it will make no difference. Because the truth is, they aren't together, they wouldn't be working together to raise this kid, and yet she still wants his help to knowingly bring a child into that. It doesn't feel right.

But when she talks about her childhood, about leaving her family, he feels the harsh tug in his chest, he is reminded just how much time she spent alone in her life, without family or a home. It's understandable for her to want that, to crave that. He just isn't sure it's right to put all the responsibility of giving her that on a child.

She sighs suddenly, standing up, facing him. "I went to the store the other day, to… to buy things. To get a room ready at my house, because babies, they need things. But…"

She bites her lip, turning away from him. "I started looking at everything. And I moved from department to department, looking at all the things that go along with a child growing up, remembering games with my mother, science projects with my father." She stops in front of the window, her fingers reaching out to gently trace the fabric of the curtain hanging there. "They read me books, they chased Russ and I around the yard and we cooked dinners and laughed and joked and…."

She stops suddenly, turning to look at him, and this time he does see a tear, and it makes his own eyes moisten to see her like this, remembering her family. So it surprises him, what she says next.

"You know what I realized, in that store? I realized I couldn't do this," she suddenly blurts out, a new wave of tears streaming down her cheeks, and he wants so badly to pull her up to his chest, to comfort her. But he takes a step forward, and she takes one back.

"What do people always tell me?" she asks, wiping at her cheeks. "I'm bad with people." She shakes her head, looking so vulnerable standing in front of him, her shoulders and belly and arms bare, only her breasts covered, the shirt she'd so easily removed still clutched in her right hand. "I can't connect – even a therapist knows it."

"Bones," he croaks, shaking his head. "That's not true, that's not –"

"I'm not like my mother," she moans quietly. "She spent so much time with Russ and I, she played with us, laughed with us, did projects and baked cookies and, just…" She swipes again at her cheeks. "I don't know how to do any of that. I work, I read, I go on trips to look at remains, I write papers and I teach." She sucks in a breath. "I stood there in that store, looking at all those things that reminded me of my mother and thought, 'I don't know how to connect with anyone.'"

He reaches out, finally tugging the shirt from her rigid grip, gesturing to her bare torso. "Then… why all this?" he whispers. "You showed up talking doctor's visits and pulling your clothes off – why?"

She sinks back down, this time skipping the bed and sitting on the floor, her back against the side of his mattress, hugging her knees. Hesitating for only a moment, he joins her, waiting, waiting for anything that might explain to him why she is here.

It's almost unbelievable how long she sits there, silently. Finally, she beings to speak, and he finds all he can do is sit beside her and listen.

"I went home," she beings quietly. "And started to move all the furniture I'd put into my storage space back into the guest room. But I kept thinking of my mother, and not just of all the fun things we did together, but other things… just laying next to her while she read with my own book. Being close to her." She bit her lip. "I tried to remember how that felt, tried to remember what it was like to feel that comfortable and protected and cared for."

Her hand suddenly leaves her lap, and she slides it across his floor and her fingers touch the side of his own, questioning, and he curls them up tightly in his palm. "Temperance…"

She looks up at him, her eyes sparkling with her recently shed tears, her hand warm in his own. "I realized it's not so distant a memory, don't you see? And I realized… I realized I have connected – with you."

His heart pounds at her words, and he finds he can't speak, that he has no way of knowing how to say what he's feeling.

"And I just thought… maybe..." Her lower lip quivers, and her cheeks are flushed. "I thought maybe I could do that again – with our baby."

Overcome, he folds her into his arms, holding her tightly, his eyes clenching tightly shut to keep his own tears from spilling. She's always told the truth to him as she knows it, but here, now, in his bedroom, Temperance Brennan is as honest as he's ever seen her. And he's never felt closer to her.

"Bones," he says softly, his fingers slipping through her hair to massage tenderly against her scalp. "You do connect. You've connected with Angela and Hodgins and Cam… you connected with Zach."

She presses her nose into his chest, staying hidden, and he holds her more tightly, feeling the warmth of her skin against his arms, smelling the light scent of her hair. "You just need time with people, okay? It's not that you can't do it, it's just that it's not something that happens naturally with strangers for you." He pauses. "And I'm not sure you have to have a child to continue to experience that."

She pulls back slightly, her nose slightly red from her crying, her hair mussed from where his fingers have tousled it. "Booth," she says quietly, the huskiness of her voice causing him to follow her every word, "it's just that everything we do together… it works so well."

She doesn't have to continue, or to further explain – he understands what she is trying to say. And it is that her reasons are complex and convoluted and she is scared as hell, but more than anything, there is hope in what she is saying – a hope he hadn't seen in her before today. A hope that her future doesn't have to resemble her past, and that she believes she can open up and live her life with more than just her colleagues. And it's beautiful.

He sweeps a thumb across her cheek, and she tucks her face into his palm, her eyes closing, letting out a shuddering breath. Revealing so much has clearly taken its toll on her – she is allowing herself to be more vulnerable in front of him than usual, allowing him to see her struggle and to see that she doesn't necessarily have the answer.

"Okay," he says quietly, touching his forehead to hers. "Okay."

She pulls back slightly, her eyes showing her caution. "But you'd changed your mind."

He nods. "I had."

"And you've changed it back?"

Sighing, he sits back, leaning against his bed, his arm tucking around her waist. "I wanted you to be sure."

She drops her head to his shoulder. "Because it wouldn't be fair otherwise."

Sighing, he reaches for her hand again. "People have kids for all kinds of reasons, Bones. And a lot of them aren't fair. A lot of them aren't even planned – I certainly didn't plan Parker. But you're in kind of a unique place, you know? You're planning this, and you're wanting to do it on your own. That's a big deal. Planning a kid… it's not like planning an addition on a house, or changing a career. Sure, it has a big impact but… you can't always rationalize another human being. They're unpredictable, they're one surprise after another, in good ways and in bad. They frustrate you, disappoint you… and can also thrill you in ways you never though possible."

Lifting her head, she looks him in the eye. "Will you tell me something? Honestly?"

He nods.

Her voice quavers slightly, and it's quiet. "Do you think I'll be a good mother?"

He considers this for a moment, and realizes with his pause she is anxious. Smiling, he again strokes her cheek. "No, I think you'll be a spectacular mother, Temperance."

Her breath hangs in the air for a moment, and suddenly she smiles, a huge, sparkling smile that lights up her eyes and changes her whole face. It's breathtaking, and he finds himself smiling back, and because he's so enraptured, he's surprised when she suddenly cups his face, kissing him.

"Thank you," she whispers against his mouth, "for saying that."

He nods, and she leans back, her eyes closing. "I guess I should go."

He feels a bit of disappointment at her leaving, but also realizes that maybe they need some space. She stands, and he hands her the shirt he's still holding and she slips it over her head, her bare skin disappearing.

"Are you going to go to the lab?" he asks quietly, still seated on the floor, looking up at her.

She pauses for a moment, a strange look on her face. "I'm not sure," she murmurs. "I might just… go home."

Surprised, he smiles. "That's good, Bones. Good for you."

She hesitates for a moment, as if she has something else to do, something she wants to say, but in the end, she reaches for her large leather shoulder bag that she'd dropped on the armchair by his bed. "I'll let myself out, okay?"

Under normal circumstances, he would jump up, he would be a gentleman, walk her to the door. But he's feeling as if he's been hit with the equivalent of an emotional semi this week, and so he simply nods, staying put. Leaning his head back against the mattress, he hears the tap of her boots on the hardwood floors and the soft click of the front door closing.

He isn't sure how many minutes tick by, and when he finally pulls himself to his feet, thinking of soaking in the tub, he hears a knock at the front door. Shuffling his way out into the living room, he wonders briefly if it is Rebecca, hoping he would watch Parker. She usually calls, but he remembers his phone has been turned off for the afternoon.

But when he opens the door it's his partner again, her cheeks flushed, as if she'd realized she'd forgotten something and dashed back up the stairs.

"Is something wrong?" he asks worriedly.

"No, no," she reassures him. "I just… I wanted to say thank you, I suppose."

He blinks. "You already did, Bones."

She blushes more deeply. "Oh. Well… I guess I wanted to say it again. Not just about today, but about everything."

He steps to the side, allowing her to again enter, feeling a sense of déjà vu.

"I know you were really unsure when I first approached you with this," she says quietly, pausing just inside the door, letting her bag drop off her shoulder to the floor. "But you were willing to consider it, and that means a lot to me."

"I'll always try to do what I can to help you, to make you happy," he says honestly. "You know that."

Biting her lip, she suddenly steps forward, and it is Temperance who initiates the hug, wrapping her arms around him, holding him tight. "Booth," she whispers.

"Hmmm?" he murmurs, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair.

"I love you."

His heart stops at her words, and he stills, everything in the room slowing, including his breath. He can't believe what she's said, and as soon as he's realized her words, he instantly questions their context, her meaning. There are so many different kinds of love.

Moisture pricks at the corner of his eyes, because he hasn't, until this moment, understood how he's longed to hear her say those words.

"Booth?" she asks, pulling back, her eyes full of concern. "Are you alright?"

He cups her face, nodding, still unable to speak, and her distress is evident. "I'm sorry," she insists. "I didn't mean to –"

"No," he cuts in, his voice ragged. "Please don't take it back."

Her eyes widen, and she simply nods, and they're suddenly left simply staring at one another, a new question in the air.

And this time he takes the first step, his mouth gently brushing against hers, and startled, she jumps slightly but what she doesn't do is pull away. Gazing into her eyes, he waits to see what she will do and he sees it, the slight reaching forward towards him, and it's all he needs to suddenly swoop in again, claiming her mouth again, this time his own open and hot, his tongue questing.

And she's responding, her hands are coming up and clutching his shirt, and as he takes a step forwards, she takes one back, running into the wall with a soft thump, her fingers curling into his belt, tugging him closer.

From the shock of her words a few moments ago to the velvet caress of her tongue, his heartbeat has done a one-eighty and is now hammering his ribcage.

Not the awkward and observed kiss in front of the district attorney last Christmas, or the affectionate one she'd offered before leaving earlier, it is this that is their first real kiss, this that is open and honest and real, conveying just how much he has held in the last four years. He is confessing so many things in this kiss, conveying a smattering of words with the way his hand cups her cheek, with the way he presses against her body, the way he moans -- it all comes together to spell out something he's been unable to say to her for all these years.

"Bones," he gasps against her mouth, "Temperance."

Her eyes are hazy with passion when she tilts her head to look up at him, the lids low, a pink glow covering her face and throat. "Oh," she simply says, her chest heaving with exertion. "I…"

"I've wanted to do that..." he breathes. "For so long."

She doesn't say anything, but her gaze drops to his mouth, her fingers still curled into the fabric of his shirt.

"I couldn't help but think of this," he admits, still trying to catch his breath, "when you asked. I thought of you here, saw you with me… I didn't even think of the baby at first."

Her eyes widen, and he isn't sure what she'll do with this new information. For a moment she simply looks at him, the sound of their breath filling up the room. And then she suddenly lets go of him, her fingers uncurling from his shirt, her palms pushing him a step back, and his heart falls past his stomach and onto the floor.

She's rejecting him.

He's about to speak, wondering whether or not to voice a thousand apologies or none at all when she grips the hem of her own shirt, tugging it over her head for the second time that day, standing before him.

She is in his arms and pressed up against the wall again, lifted so that her legs can wind around his waist, and he's kissing the breath out of her, clutching her, holding her like he'll never let go. He abandons her mouth for her throat, then her collarbone. She's plucking urgently at his own shirt, and he knows he should move to the bedroom, the floor, anything, but he can't seem to help but press his hips against hers, to hear the moan rumble from her throat.

This is his opportunity to, without words, really show her who he is, who she is to him. And he's going to take it. He wants to hear her moan, to feel the ardent, bowstring quivering of her hips, to hear his name echo throughout the room.

He wants it all.

Somehow, someway, he gets her to his room, and then they're on his bed and they're tangled up in shirts and pants and when he feels the hot press of his bare skin against hers, when he has her beneath him in only her panties that he pauses, gazing down at her flushed skin and her blue-green eyes.

"This is what I saw first," he confesses, "when you asked me – only this."

Her eyes are dark orbs, glittering in the now darkened room, and she tugs him down to her open, willing mouth, and he's sinking into the sensation of her, of kissing her. It is both what he imagined and more, both familiar and comfortable and yet thrilling, exciting. He feels an overwhelming sense of comfort, and yet he's never been so aroused, never been harder in his life.

He suckles the tips of her breasts, nuzzles the skin of her belly, tucks his fingers into the small rectangle of her panties, causing her to throw her head back, for gasps to escape her.

But she only takes for so long before she returns the favor, flipping him onto his back, her mouth moving lower and lower until he's gasping himself, his fingers winding into her hair, begging her to stop, to not let it end like this.

His hands tuck under her arms, hauling her up his body, rolling with her until she is under him again, and he hesitates, gazing into her eyes.

"Booth," she begs. "Seeley."

But he needs her to know, and so he grasps her chin, forcing her to look at him, holding her eyes. "This isn't about the baby," he swears, he voice catching. "Do you see that?"

Her eyes glimmer and she reaches for him, her palm pressing against his throat. "Yes," she whispers. "I see."

But he doesn't reach for a condom in the dresser drawer, leaving the moment to fate or chance, or whatever it is the moment calls for, and she locks her legs around his back, urging him inside, deeper, her gasps mixing with his. "Yes," she says again, "yes."

"Temperance," he gasps, cupping the back of her head in his hands, supporting himself with his elbows as they meet again and again, their hips, their bodies kissing together.

The skin at her throat is damp, strands of her hair clinging to it, and he buries his face there, gasping as he brings them both thundering towards orgasm. Every part of her surrounds him, and suddenly they're slick against the sheets, their chests heaving, their limbs tangled.

And he reaches out with a hand, finding the bare skin of her belly, and he doesn't know if it's a child they've made, but today, they have created a new life.