LJ Comment fic prompt response. xhio86 wanted: B&B's pregnancy, when the others find out.

Days pass. She and Booth have found an odd sort of rhythm in their personal relationship; she's not sure if it's because of the pregnancy or if they would have continued to progress anyway. Sometimes they stay together and sometimes they don't. The times they do, they sleep together; sometimes they make love, and sometimes he sleeps on the couch (those nights she spends awake, straining to monitor his breathing, knowing it's impossible from a room away. She doesn't know why).

Every day, he is steady and watchful, and she basks in it in ways she never expected, even as she's confused about what they're doing.

Their professional life doesn't change. If Booth gets to crime scenes first a little more often, stands a little closer, wraps up questioning a little faster, well, she lets that slip her notice for now. She knows they'll have to talk about that soon.

Today, though, they have a case and she's on her way there, just leaving the Jeffersonian parking lot when the nausea hits so violently that all she can do is whip into an empty spot and open her car door. The first few heaves pass quickly, and she manages to engage the parking brake and step carefully out before another wave hits. By the time Cam pulls in, coming back from lunch, Brennan's moved on to dry heaves and spittle.

Cam pulls into a nearby space and gets out quickly. "Dr. Brennan, are you alright?" She's concerned and hovering, holding her hand out to rub Brennan's back before she thinks better of it and lets it fall.

She smiles weakly. "I'm fine, Dr. Saroyan. I was just on my way to meet Booth at the Avery office. I'm just feeling sick to my stomach."

Cam eyebrows shoot upward. "Yes, I can see that. Why don't you come inside and sit down?" Her hand moves to her purse. "I'll call Booth and let him know you can't make it."

Brennan feels a little bit of alarm at that, although she's not sure why. "That's really not necessary. I'm sure this will pass in a moment."

Skeptical, Cam's features change to an expression Brennan would normally describe as placating. "Dr. Brennan, I know you hate being left out of investigations, but I'm only suggesting that you sit this particular session out. I'm sure Dr. Sweets can cover you for the afternoon. You know there's a nasty virus going around the staff and the last thing the Jeffersonian needs is its most prominent forensic anthropologist throwing up all over a three-term Senator's antique rug. Come inside."

Unsure of how much to say - Booth is so much better at navigating the nuances of a white lie - she finds herself at a loss. "Cam, I really don't think-"

Cam reaches out and gently takes the bag from Brennan's shoulder. "Now, Dr. Brennan. I'll make you some tea. Let's go."

Feeling oddly mollified by such forceful kindness, Brennan closes and locks the door, and follows Cam across the parking lot back into the Jeffersonian. On the way she wonders idly about the social etiquette of leaving a pile of vomit in a public parking lot.

Later, Brennan is at her desk working on her long-overdue manuscript when she looks up to find Booth leaning up against the doorframe, watching her. His eyes are warm and (she thinks) amused, and she feels something slow and liquid spread through her chest at the sight.

He smiles and steps into her office, closing the door behind him. He glances briefly at the closed blinds, something she doesn't usually do, but Cam insisted. "Aren't you supposed to be lying down? Cam doesn't like her orders to be defied."

She shrugs slightly. "I'm fine. She overreacted."

Booth sighs happily as he sits in the chair opposite her and puts his feet up on her desk. "She does that with her friends. You could've just told her it was morning sickness."

She's surprised. "I thought we had agreed to keep this to ourselves."

He nods slowly. "We did." A long moment passes comfortably. "But…"


A corner of his mouth turns up again. "But it's going to come out eventually. People talk. And you're starting to show."

She looks down quickly, as if he'd just told her an alien was popping out of her stomach. "I am not!"

"Made you look."

She jerks up again and frowns at him. She doesn't know what to make of his mood. "Do you want to tell her?"

He gets up, and makes his way around her desk. When he gets to her, he leans over and places his hands on either side of her chair. Her pulse starts to quicken at the gleam in his eyes. "I," he says, drawing it out as he gets closer, "would like to tell pretty much everyone I meet."

Her gaze drops to his lips. She's certain he's staring down at her breasts now. She can practically feel the caress.

"Stop that." she's breathless, and surprised that she's enjoying herself during what is actually a very important conversation. She thinks she should be anxious. "You're trying to distract me."

"Nah. Just trying to keep you from overthinking."

"There's no difference."

"Of course there is." He brushes his lips across her cheek and moves back slightly. "What do you want to do?"

She breathes deeply – she finds his aftershave both calming and stimulating. She appreciates the dichotomy. "I would like to tell Angela at least. But if we tell her, then we have to tell Hodgins as well."

He's definitely amused now. "And if we tell Hodgins, we might as well tell everyone."

She smiles fondly. "Yes."

He leans in again. "Then we're agreed." She finds herself drawn in again, as his lips hover over hers. "If you're sure."

She sighs the remaining space between them. "I'm sure."

He grins against her mouth, and then pulls her up out of the chair towards her couch.

She may not be ready now, but she's sure she will be.

She's sure.

The next night they all gather at the Founding Fathers, ostensibly because Booth wants to celebrate Angela's return to work, even if her hours will still be limited for a short period.

Brennan feels a little nostalgic for the early years, when everything was quiet and she was rarely challenged by emotion or need. Booth was right; she doesn't handle change well. But he would be proud that the feeling doesn't last long; it's replaced by something close to gratitude.

She's doing her best. She thinks she's evolving.

Getting into the celebrations, Hodgins starts to hand her a beer. She speaks before she even thinks about it, which is proof in itself of her accomplishment. "Oh, no thank you, I can't drink."

Sweets quickly latches on to the statement. He's been observing her in his quiet way for the past few weeks, and now something different, something she can't decipher, flashes quickly across his face. "You can't drink?"

She feels Booth come up behind her, put his harm on the back of her chair. It's not a subtle act, but it's not heavy-handed either. She feels his thumb trace lightly over her shoulder blade. It feels incredibly intimate for such a small gesture.

She has Angela's full attention now. Angela has always been intuitive, and that part of her has only increased since she had Michael. Her eyes are wide, darting between Brennan and Booth. Her mouth opens slightly and closes again. "You can't drink." It's not a question.

Booth says nothing, letting her take the lead. It's the right moment. Brennan's sure it is.

There's a smile she saves for Angela, one only her dear friend can understand, and she uses it now. "I can't drink."

Angela puts a hand to her mouth. "Sweetie."

Suddenly she hears Hodgins sputter "Dude!" and feels Booth's laughter vibrate through his arm against her back. There's a flutter of movement around her as Booth shakes hands, gives hugs, answers joking questions with more jokes.

But she and Angela are still for a while longer. Angela reaches across the table and grabs her hand, beams at her. Brennan feels all of Angela's love and pride and joy for her, and finally she knows. It feels like maybe that's what she was waiting for.

She's ready now. She's sure.