Fic: Of Rebirth
In the end, Brennan wants to delete it. She does, in fact, painstakingly delete each sentence. But then ... she can't. She tries to close Word, and the window pops up.
Do you want to save the changes you made to Document 5?
On a whim, quickly so she can't analyze it, she hits "cancel." Then clicks File, Save As.
Sweets would probably deduce from his training that this is her way of holding onto a last hope that maybe her words, her story, could be true for her. That maybe she does want this life, in a way, as her reality. She won't allow herself, however, to dwell on this feeling. It is heavy, and seems too big for her chest (an odd sensation, her rational brain spits out, and wonders what sort of chemical reaction causes one to feel dwarfed by a single, unnamable emotion).
And then he is waking up. She blindly clicks "OK" before rushing over to him.
*
When Angela finds it, it's nothing she hasn't heard, really, from Brennan's admission or Booth's dream. She laughs at the clever transposition of everyone they know (Hodgins as a writer? It's too perfect.) Still, she can't help noticing that for this manuscript, her friend really wouldn't have needed any help with the dirty parts. It's not even the sex, really. Anyone, basically, can write smut, romance novels are proof of that. But it's the sentiment--what Alternate Universe Booth and Bren say to each other--that really floors her. "Do you love me?" "Yeah. Want me to prove it to you?"
Angela closes Word, hitting the mouse a bit too forcefully. Her friend clearly needs (better) therapy. But for now at least, she decides to let it lie. Her and Booth being married in the story is enough to mine her subconscious with. Still, it makes her sad. Not because Brennan wrote a silly story, full of the notions and romance that go against everything she stands for, but because she doesn't think she deserves that life--that she had to write a completely alternate reality to even imagine it.
And there are those lines, at the beginning ... Angela knows Brennan, probably better than anyone. And she can see that even though Bren and Booth own a nightclub, they are still Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth, somewhere in there. She can hear them saying those words.
She blinks then, and figures she probably needs (regular) therapy too, for how involved she feels herself becoming in her friends' lives.
***
It's been almost three years since she found that story, and Angela can't believe what has happened since then. Or maybe, since Brennan seems to not want to stop torturing herself with regards to Booth, she can. But she's about to have a baby and sweating constantly (eight months pregnant in July, of course) and can't see her feet in the shower anymore and today must be the day of reckoning, because she finds herself bursting out what has been on her mind ever since she read it.
They're in the middle of a really unexpected argument in Brennan's office. Everyone has left except the two of them, Angela finishing up some work before maternity leave kicks in, Brennan working late because that's what she does, especially when there's something she wants to avoid. Like the fact that Booth's girlfriend left him a week ago because she's convinced she'll never live up to his partner--that he's still in love with her. And that Booth hasn't come in to work since, citing spending time with his son, and no one, including Brennan, has gotten in touch with him.
So Angela has now, like a bored, meddling housewife, finally been pushed over the edge.
"What about what you wrote, sweetie?" She accuses.
Brennan looks startled, but genuinely confused. "What are you talking about? I've written many--"
She rolls her eyes. "Oh my god, that story! That you read to Booth, that he dreamed while he was in the hospital! When you never left his room, sat in on his surgery, everything!"
"Angela, I explained to you at the time, it was just something I did to occupy myself while I waited for him to wake up. I admit I was extremely anxious about Booth's health, but just because--"
And Angela can't take it anymore. It's been just about seven years. An 8-to-9 pound watermelon is about to come barreling out of her vagina any day now. She's extremely hormonal. And Brennan has no idea she found the file on her laptop. But she lets the bomb descend anyway.
"'You want me to prove it to you?' Sweetie, why did you write that? I know it meant something, please, you have to know." Her voice has softened now, and she looks at her friend, preparing to regret her words.
Brennan doesn't disappoint at first; her voice is fierce. "Angela! How did you even ... you had no right to go rifling through my laptop!"
Angela sighs. "You let me on your computer to get some documents and e-mail them to mine when we were overloaded one day. It wasn't labeled, I thought it was for work. But once I saw what it was, I mean ... can you blame me for being curious?"
Her friend's face is calmer now--she sighs too, and really, Angela thinks Brennan knows her better than to accuse her of outright snooping. "I suppose not. But you still shouldn't have read it."
She puts her hand on Brennan's arm. "I know. I'm sorry, sweetie." She tries to be comforting now, wondering if even after everything, she really has pushed too much. Maybe Bren isn't ready for this. Or never will be; it could just be one of those things that doesn't--
"I do love him, you know."
Angela's head snaps up so fast she thinks she hears a crack.
Brennan still looks calm, rational as ever. "When I was at the dig last summer, I had ample time to deduce that according to what I was feeling, and my inability to stop thinking about Booth, and my increased concern for his safety even though we were not working together, that if societal norms are anything to go by, I ... I love him. I hesitate to say 'in love' because that can imply a fleeting infatuation caused by attraction, which I suppose I have, but--"
"Sweetie," Angela is almost breathless at this point, and motions her to sit down on the office couch, so both of them can take this in better. "Why didn't you tell me, at least?"
"Well--" Brennan clears her throat. "Then, as you know, Hannah moved to DC. And while it was initially ... difficult, for me to see them being affectionate with one another, ultimately I realized that really ... I just want him to be happy. So I resolved to be supportive." She swallows and looks down. "But now ... it wasn't supposed to turn out this way, Ange. He was supposed to find someone who wouldn't hurt him, and now--what are you proposing I do? Go and offer myself to him when I am probably the last person he wants to see? I can't ... just ..."
Her words trail off then, and Angela sees her tears and oh, oh god, this is it, isn't it? She takes her hand. "Oh, Bren. No, no that is absolutely not what I'm saying, here. What you've done for him ... it is the most unselfish, loving thing. But he needs a friend right now. And if he'll talk to anyone, it's you. No one said anything about sex. Or a romantic overture," she laughs softly. "Just be there for him." She looks at her friend to gauge her reaction.
Brennan meets her eyes after a minute, swallows again. "I can do that," she says, nodding.
Angela smiles, she can't help it. "Of course you can, sweetie." They hug tightly, and even if Brennan doesn't realize it, by the time Angela gets this baby out, give or take a few days, everything and nothing will have changed, for both of them.
***
It's just about five weeks later, and Angela was right. She is groaning and sweating (still), nearly breaking Jack's hand and trying not to whine as she asks when the anesthesiologist will get there, but outside in the waiting room, there is proof that she was right, god damn it.
"Oh, jeez. That sounds ..."
"It sounds like a woman in labor, Booth. By the increase in volume of her vocal discomfort, Angela's contractions are most likely intensifying."
Booth rolls his eyes. "Thanks for that, Bones, but I remember how labor sounds, I was going to say 'painful.' Or 'bad.'" He flips a magazine page distractedly.
"Well, everything with Angela was progressing normally when she called, so I am sure nothing is wrong, if that's what you're worried about."
He smiles and puts a hand on her knee. "I wasn't worried, per say. Angela's tough, she'll be fine. I mean if it was y--" But he catches himself a little too late. There is no question that he'd love to have another kid, but it hasn't been nearly long enough for them to even talk about it, and-- he sits back and clears his throat. "Never mind."
Brennan honest-to-god flushes a little with pleasure, internally. She resolves not to tell Angela this.
But outwardly, she almost laughs at how uncomfortable he seems. "Were you going to say if it were me experiencing labor, you would be anxious, and as typical of all fathers, overly protective? I can't say I'm surprised, frankly." She meets his eyes.
He sighs, resigned. "You do know me. But look, I ... don't want to make you uncomfortable, and we haven't even talked about--"
She stops him by kissing him briefly. When they pull away, she looks down, suddenly bashful. "It doesn't scare me, Booth. You must remember that I once wanted to have a child. And I wanted you to ..."
He finishes the sentence. "Be the father."
She smiles. "Yes." The smile is at first shy but then becomes a rare one that lights up her whole face, and it's catching and then they're both grinning like idiots in the maternity waiting room because how is it so easy? It just ... works, the two of them.
Booth is about to kiss her again when suddenly they hear a guttural moan and then, noisy, newly born crying. His eyebrows raise, and Brennan laughs softly, excitedly.
(Angela was right about another thing--it really did feel like a watermelon was barreling out of there. She resolves not to tell Brennan this.)
***