A/N: As you may notice, I liked this month's topic for CBP.

Please don't ruin my mood by asking me to continue this. It is a one-shot (you can sound it out if you'd like). Excuse me, I am lol bitchy today. Blame my mother, she gave me her cold. I am diseased! And disease makes me grumpy.

Her life began with once upon a time.

For the longest time, she was just Temperance Brennan. Only her brother called her Tempe and only she and her mother liked dolphins. She wanted a pony when she was five, a dress when she was seven, and a book about skeletons when she was twelve (she made her career choice early).

She was quiet, but she was normal.

There was even a promise of Prince Charming in her future, riding a white horse.

At least until she turned fifteen (then her parents went away, disappeared without a trace, and all she was left with was evil stepmothers).

She was never the fairest one of all. But she was cursed like she was anyway.


She read Shakespeare instead of magazines.

She preferred Macbeth to Hamlet and King Lear to Othello, and wondered why he had so many people die.

(Nothing will come of nothing; speak again.)


They added a 'Doctor' to her name, and she was someone different.

She met Angela a year before she started at the Jeffersonian, and Angela was never allowed to call her Dr. Brennan, it was just Bren, and that's how it would always be.

She often thought; now, Angela was Snow White and Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty, she had as many Prince Charmings as she wanted, even if none of them stuck (perhaps that was the curse put upon her). She lived in fairytales, in Wonderland, and she was happy. She wondered if it was because Angela was an artist. Science had no place in fantasy, and maybe that was why she never had any.


She didn't deny that when Booth walked in, a flash of the phrase knight in shining armor crossed her mind. (Some would call it fate that several months later, Angela would utter that same thing.)


She liked that Booth understood her.

He knew when to joke and when to be serious, and what he asked of her wasn't difficult to give. Even if they fought, they were looking for the same thing and they knew how to get it, in the end.

"Three broken. Ribs, neck, pelvis."

"Oh my."

She felt it funny that her lack of knowledge about popular musical films irritated him so much. It was only after he made her watch The Wizard of Oz that she understood she had been missing out on something. Booth told her that it was an integral part of living, but she just liked that she knew what he was talking about when he quoted it.


She started calling it couples therapy a week before he did.

He blamed her, she blamed Angela.

Angela was just pleased they were together again (Booth was heroic and for some reason it made sense), and ignored them both.


After therapy (Tuesday nights, seven o'clock sharp) sometimes, they'd walk slowly down the street and talk about it. (And sometimes, they'd walk slowly down the street and talk about dragons.)

She started to remind him less and less of the fact that she didn't like psychology, and he gradually stopped bringing it up. Neither of them even noticed.

She didn't admit it to Booth, but she liked therapy. What Wyatt said about her was true, or at least, it was what she was willing to acknowledge was true. She liked that he wasn't making it up, and that he listened to what she had to say. And that Booth stopped making sardonic remarks when he was in the room.


She remembered something he said to her once, in a conversation about something she forgets.

"What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas."

They might have been at a stakeout (it was as confusing as his comment about the princess).


They only ever went undercover twice.

There was Roxie and Tony, and then there was Harry and Soya. Soya was like Roxie – her nails were red and she knew how to talk; but Soya also knew how to dance.

They were in New York – someone dumped a body in a river and forgot to take his wallet – and with Soya infiltration was easy. She knew what she was doing (or looked like she did) and hummed in businessmen's ears; but you surely must know the thrill between your legs has worn off.

She was the Queen of Hearts, and they were a pack of cards.

And she knew how jealous he was, standing next to her without a sound.


That night, she remembered what he said, and understood what it meant.

(Maybe she would live happily ever after.)