AN: Hi there. This is partly my own speculation and partly my own imagination at work here. Huge spoilers for season 4 finale. Lemme know what you think!

Dr. Lance Sweets shifted anxiously in his chair as he waited for the arrival of his two favorite patients. Given their reluctance to psychotherapy in the past, he could understand their judgment that showing up on time to an appointment was a low priority. He had hoped they respected him a bit more than to keep him waiting for more than five minutes.

He checked his watch again. 17 minutes had gone by since the beginning of the session. As much as he hated being compared to a little kid, he felt much like a child who had found his favorite cartoon canceled that afternoon. After all, Agent Seely Booth and Dr. Temperance Brennan were incredibly fascinating to observe, in a professional sense. Personally, he had been under the impression they were better friends than this.

Just when he was about to get up to write off this meeting as a failed session and contact them to reschedule, he heard voices outside the door of his office in the FBI building. Raised voices, coming closer very quickly to his office. Sweets sat back down and waited for the two to enter, wishing his door wasn't so soundproof. Booth and Brennan bickering had to be one of the most interesting dynamics of their working relationship, from a psychological standpoint. One minute, they would be bouncing ideas spiritedly against each other and the next, they would be solving an impossible murder.

The voices stopped abruptly and he knew that they didn't want him butting in to whatever they were in disagreement about now. He composed his face into a neutral expression as the door opened and the partners stepped inside.

"Hey, Sweets, sorry we're late," said Agent Booth in a very forced manner as he and Dr. Brennan took their usual places on the loveseat across from him.

"We wouldn't have been late if you hadn't stopped for coffee," Dr. Brennan pointed out, crossing her legs.

"How was I supposed to know there would be road construction? I drove down that same street last night and there was nothing!"

"Well, you seem to know other things that haven't happened."

"Why would I make up something like that?"

"Road construction? It's a very logical conclusion, Booth. That road is clearly too heavily used and needed to be repaved and expanded."

"Oh, so we are still talking about road construction then," Booth replied sarcastically.

"Nice to see the two of you working together again," Sweets muttered to himself. He then cleared his throat and straightened up. Wading into one of these fights took a bit of courage and stupidity. "Its fine, it doesn't matter why you were late. You're here now so we can get started."

Brennan seemed placated with this answer and leaned back in her seat, turning her eyes towards the shrink. Booth was still frustrated as he glared at his partner but also fell quiet.

"But I think this argument is a surface argument for something deeper bothering the two of you. Did your first case together after Agent Booth's surgery not go well? I thought you had caught the person responsible," Sweets began carefully, watching the pair with his 'shrink look.'

"It went fine. Brain tumor has to get up earlier than that to put Seeley Booth out of commission for good," Booth answered, his fingers going to the back of his head where a scar peeked out from under his neatly cut, albeit shorter, dark hair. He looked and sounded like his confident self but there was tightness in his jaw and a shadow as he ran his hand over the scar, then returned his hand to his lap. "It's an expression, Bones," he added, not looking at her when he said it, as though predicting what she was opening her mouth to say.

Brennan frowned. "I wasn't about to comment on the expression. Although I don't know why getting up earlier has anything to do with it. You actually slept in quite a bit. I was going to point out that you were off work for almost three months."

"Because I went into a four day coma. Things like that make the Bureau scared so they made me take off time. I felt fine after a week," Booth explained, obvious exasperation in his voice.

"I disagree, Booth. I was there. You were in no shape to catch criminals a week after coming home. You still have confusion," Brennan insisted.

"Are we really getting back on this again? I don't know why you won't just admit it."

"There is nothing to admit to! I keep trying to tell you this, Booth. Why don't we ask Sweets why you thought –"

"No, we do not need to ask Sweets anything, Bones," Booth cut across her quickly.

"I'm sitting right here," Sweets reminded them. "Perhaps I could help. What are you really in disagreement about?" There was something big here, he could tell.

A dynamic in their relationship had changed.

"Booth, this is probably more of Sweets' expertise than the neurosurgeon anyway. Sweets, isn't it likely that a coma patient would confuse dreams with actual memories?" Brennan asked directly. Booth rubbed frustratedly at his temples, not looking at either of them.

Sweets raised his eyebrows at being addressed. He gathered his wits and quickly tried to answer her question. "I suppose. It depends on the strength of the dream. Memories tend to be more vivid than dreams-"

"Hah, there, vivid. Bones, I tried to explain it to you. It was more vivid than a dream," Booth began.

"Booth, dreams like that are always vivid. I assume you've had one before," she countered.

"That's not the point," Booth said uncomfortably. He hated when she got all squinty about these sorts of topics.

"You don't even remember what happened before or after. And you admitted to having a different dream during your coma. They were probably the same dream."

"The doctor said I would be hazy on details for a while. This was one of those details."

"It just doesn't make sense, Booth. I mean, other people would know. Why didn't you ask one of them?"

Booth looked appalled at this. "Other – other people? Who else would need to know about that?" His voice was an octave higher and his discomfort level rose significantly. He shifted in his seat, leaning forward a little.

"Well, obviously I would talk about it with Angela."

"You would tell Angela? You might as well tell the whole lab!"

"And I assumed you had male friends to boast about these sorts of conquests with. Not to mention Sweets would probably pick up on something of our body language and other psychological cues."

"Bones! How many times have I told you. I'm a gentleman. I wouldn't boast."

"What are you two talking about?" Sweets interrupted them, bewildered and somewhat frustrated. He had no idea what they were arguing about. He had several theories but each sounded crazier than the last. Booth and Brennan looked over at him again, having clearly forgotten he was there. Again. "Okay, listen, something is clearly bothering the two of you and you are having trouble resolving the conflict on your own. This is the sort of reason the FBI sent you back to me for therapy."

"We are resolving this just fine, thanks," Booth snapped at him.

"No, you aren't," Sweets countered, trying not to let himself be intimidated by the FBI agent. "Whatever this is …" he motioned between the two of them somewhat wildly, "it's not being resolved."

"There is nothing to resolve. Booth is just confused and stubborn," said Brennan defensively.

"He won't listen to you?" Sweets questioned, determined to be involved before Booth opened his mouth to argue some more.

"No, he won't."

"I'm listening just fine. She's the one not speaking," Booth interjected.

"So, she won't open up to you?" Sweets turned his attention to him.

"No, she won't. I don't know what she's afraid of." The two partners glanced at each other. For a fraction of a second, he saw several emotions pass over both of their faces: he was disappointed, she was pained. Then it was gone.

"When did your communication skills start to fall apart?"

Booth shrugged and leaned back with another frustrated look on his face, turning his eyes to the window. Brennan glanced at him then faced Sweets.

"I don't know."

She sounded so unsure, so unlike herself, that Booth tore his eyes away from the window to look over at her again. He didn't look angry anymore either, just the same disappointment in his eyes as they met hers.

"Well, I think the best way to look for something you've lost is to retrace your steps," Sweets suggested after a pause.

"How so?"

"Let's start at the beginning. Tell me everything from when Agent Booth was in the hospital to what happened to cause this rift," Sweets continued. "Whatever it is, we're bound to run across it and fix it before it becomes any more of a problem." He looked triumphant at the idea.

Brennan and Booth stared at him as though he had just told them to jump off the FBI building without parachutes. The two rarely volunteered information about their lives outside of work. Sweets was studying their work partnership, not their other relationship.

"Sweets, you're a nice kid, but Bones and I are partners. We'll work through this as partners," Booth said condescendingly, motioning between himself and Brennan.

"I don't know, Booth," said Brennan with a tired sigh.

"Come on, Bren, we don't have to share our whole personal life with a shrink," said Booth, rolling his eyes.

Brennan looked sharply at him. "What did you say?"

Booth looked confused. "We don't have to share our –"

"No, before that. You called me Bren. You didn't call me Bones. You always call me Bones," she said quietly, interrupting him.

The silence was very thick in the air as Booth backtracked over what he had said, looking at her wordlessly. "I … I don't know why I said that. It just happened …"

It seemed to have some sort of meaning between them, the mistaken nickname.

"You're confused Booth."

"I know who you are, Bones."

Sweets watched the exchange, not daring to say anything as the two seemed to communicate with their eyes. Brennan could only really read Booth's nonverbal messages, could only understand his expressions. And it was a strong connection.

"Where should we begin, Sweets?" Booth said at last, looking as though the question pained him.

"The beginning. After waking from your coma," Sweets nodded, trying not to look too excited that they had agreed to open up to him.

"Alright, here's how it started."

With Bones crying by his bedside, Booth hovered between life and death for four days after the surgery. In his coma, he could faintly hear her confessing an undying affection for him and wish to give birth to all the children he wanted. She pleaded relentlessly for him to just wake up, just so she could ravish him once more . . .

"Wait a minute, that's not what happened," Brennan interrupted his version of the story.

Sweets hid a smirk and made a quick note about Booth's version.

"Really? So when the nurse told me that my wife had been sitting by my bed each day, waiting for me to wake up, she was making that all up too?" Booth challenged with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, she was obviously mistaken. For one thing, I'm not your wife."

"But you did sit there and wait for me to wake up."

"Of course I did, Booth. I wanted to be there when you woke up. But I wasn't sobbing by your bedside. Maybe I should tell the story. I'm more objective than you are," Brennan continued, a bit loftily. "This is what really happened."

"It was so real," he insisted sluggishly, the memories of the dream swirling around in his head as he looked up at her. His head hurt.

His ears were pounding. He couldn't focus on what she was saying. He kept thinking about this dream. About her. And here she was speaking to him but something was off.

"Who are you?" he asked.

Brennan looked at him, pained, taken aback.

"Booth, it's me, Bones. Don't you remember?" she asked him desperately.

"Bones." He turned the word over in his mind, murmuring it out loud several times, trying it out in his mouth. "Bones … Bones … Bones …" It sounded right. And he knew exactly why she was Bones and why he called her that. He also knew that somewhere else, he was calling her Bren. He looked at her again and said her name, "Bones, its you."