Just HAD to write something Bones-y: I mean, the episode was so great. And I am quite glad I will actually be one of the first: Critic in the Cabernet has not appeared yet in the USA, which is where most writers come from. It has aired in the Canada, and so I was able to watch it here today. Believe me, I was very pleasantly surprised when I found out =)

These are more or less three tags - one long, one short, the third long again. The first one is taken directly from the episode: all things that are said by the characters belong to Hart Hanson or whoever it is that owns those things. The script writers, perhaps?

Also, it's a horrible title but I honestly didn't know any other title. Suggestions are very welcome.

Last thing: I apologize for any mistakes: English is not my native language. I don't know if 'furrowing your brow' is an actual expression, but if it isn't, I just mean that he frowned. It just sounds fancier. :P

Enjoy, and please tell me what you think!

Out of the corner of her eye, she suddenly saw Booth stiffen as he looked up from the bottle of cheap wine. He put it down on the table and said "oh God" so softly she doubted she had heard it right. She looked at him, not understanding what was going on. "Booth, what is it?" she questioned softly, hoping to be able to continue the interrogation and solve the case quickly.

But Booth didn't react, only furrowed his brow as he continued to look at a spot to the right of Charles Dunwood. For some reason, he looked devastated.

"Because some people, they just feel remorse and they wanna set their record straight," he said, talking to someone she could not see. She looked around the interrogation room in a vain attempt to find a person she had not seen previously.

Then he turned back to Dunwood, eyes darting from side to side as he said: "Nobody asked you."

"Booth, who are you talking to?" she asked with more urgency in her voice, as the suspect asked what was going on.

Booth gave another look at the table on the right side of Dunwood, and she suddenly noticed his eyes were brimmed with red. She had seen that before with Angela and knew they were a sign of impending crying. Surprised, for she had never seen Booth, she stared at him, trying to figure out what was going on. Her mind buzzed with possibilities – was he just talking to himself? She didn't know he did that, but she didn't know everything about him.

He regained his composure. "Nothing, I just, uhm... go on." He indicated towards Dunwood, who started talking again, but she couldn't focus. She was trying to fit the symptom to a disease, but her mind came up empty.

She snapped out of it as he suddenly said "shut up" in a way she had almost never heard him talk. "Shut up!" he repeated, and she couldn't contain herself any longer.

"Booth, who are you talking to?" she questioned again, bending forward for emphasis. But he didn't look at her, only continued to look ahead.

"I didn't say that," he continued, shaking his head. "No, no, no I can't walk away, I never said that, okay, d'you understand? I can't walk away, this is my kid. If I can't be involved, I don't want her to have the baby!"

She understood he was talking about her, though to whom was still a mystery. He was panting now, and looked on the verge of tears.

"What the hell is going on here?" Dunwood asked, and at any other time she would have tried to explain, but right now her partner was all that mattered.

"You shut up and don't move. Booth, come with me." She took his arm, but he stood up at his own accord. He had closed his eyes, and looked pained: it only increased her worry. What was going on with him? What would cause him talking to people who weren't there?

Suddenly she remembered something that had occurred a while ago: Booth seeing his hockey idol. And then, Booth seeing his old army buddy – hallucinations.

He was hallucinating. It suddenly became a lot clearer.

"Hey, what is going on?" she asked nonetheless, not knowing if she was right.

"I can't do it," he told her, and her heart constricted just by that sentence. "Listen, I have to be involved. If I'm the father, then – I have to be a father." She could see clearly how his eyes were pleading her to understand, but there were more pressing matters.

"You were seeing something in there. What were you seeing?" she asked, looking at him intensely.

"Stewie," he replied, as if that answered everything. "You know, the baby, from the Family Guy." She vaguely recalled a cartoon show she had once seen with Booth called the Family Guy. Right now though, it did not matter. The point was that he was hallucinating, like she had thought. He sat down, and she sat down with him.

"You saw Stewie?" she asked him. "In there, in the interrogation room." She needed to know for sure. He didn't reply, but looked at her rather nervously.

"So what do you say about the kid?"

"Fine," she replied a bit impatiently. "I won't have a baby."

She could see her words were finally sinking through with an intensity she had hardly ever seen before, and when she had finally convinced him that something was wrong, they immediately left for the hospital.


"This isn't about me," Brennan finally said, then turned to return to Booth.

Sweets looked at her retreating form and thought once more that there was much more to this woman than he could have ever imagined: much more than probably she even knew.


She sat by his bed, not at all tired. The surgery had gone quite well, better than expected: now he just needed to sleep to regain strength.

Now she was mostly waiting for him to wake up, waiting to see those brown eyes again. She could not explain it, but somehow she always felt better when he looked at her and she knew he was still there. She supposed it was one of those things that defined a relationship: for even she knew that asking someone for his sperm was not something 'only partners' did. Over the years, she had grown to care for him in a way she had not cared for a man in very long: he was an intriguing mix between Angela and Russ, and yet there was more to him, something she could not define. He was her friend like Angela was and her brother like Russ was, with something else as well.

Maybe it was what Angela called love: maybe it was what still made Angela's eyes sparkle as she looked at Hodgins, or what she occasionally saw with couples on the street. Maybe it was the sensation she had had with Sully; but still, it was stronger, somehow more defined: it belonged to them and them only.

No matter how she tried to name it, though, she knew she never wanted to lose it.