AN: I'm so grateful to Penandra for coming up with the idea for this project. It's been so much fun, and such great reading, and I am really excited to have been included. There's a lot of talent in the Bones-fandom and the writers so far have really gone above and beyond to craft brilliant chapters, as befits a tribute to arguably the most prolific writer in the fandom. Lenora, I hope you're soon on the mend and able to enjoy this just-for-you treat!

This chapter is set in my 'Roots & Wings' universe. Within that timeline, it fits between Chapter 151, 'A Man in Uniform' and Chapter 64, 'Fate.'

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Booth was surrounded by family and friends and people who loved him, and it irritated the hell out of him.

He sat in the backyard, protected from the late afternoon chill by a warm sweater and a blanket spread over his legs, and frowned at the crowds milling in front of him. Gathered at the grill, or around the coolers overflowing with ice and drinks, or sitting at one of the tables spread out across the lawn, they laughed and talked, swapping stories about God knows what, all while what seemed like hundreds of children chased each other across the grass, giggling and playing and screaming at the top of their lungs.

It was giving him a damn headache.

"Wow, you look grouchy. Here, this might help." Christine plopped herself down beside him and, after an exaggerated look over her shoulder, set a napkin-covered package in his lap. "Eat that quick, before Mom sees."

Booth lifted the edge of the napkin to find two pieces of jumbo shrimp, grilled and wrapped in bacon. Popping one in his mouth, he threw her an arch look. "I could use a beer, too."

She barked out a laugh. "Don't push your luck, kid."

"It was worth a shot." Booth finished off the other piece of shrimp, wiped his fingers with the napkin, then handed it to her. Christine crumpled it into her palm and stretched her arm out behind him.

"So why are you sitting here scowling at the world? It's a party. You're supposed to be having fun."

"Harrumph," Booth grunted. Jaw set in a cantankerous frown, he folded his arms across his chest. "It's not my party. I didn't ask for a party. Your mother didn't ask for a party. This is all your fault. I don't know half of these people."

Christine was too used to his truculence to take offense. She just laughed. "Oh, you do, too. And I didn't actually invite all of them. I told a few people we were having a family thing for your anniversary and I guess word just got around. You and mom know a lot of people, and they all think they're family."

"We don't have this many kids in our family," Booth groused as two little girls ran by, shrieking at each other loud enough to be heard two streets away.

Christine winced when he did. "That's true. What can I say, your friends had kids and now they have grandkids."

"And they're all in my backyard."

"Looks that way." She sent a frown of her own toward the bunch swarming like ants up the ladder to the treehouse. When a crash came from somewhere inside, she jumped up and marched over to stand beneath it. "Hey!" she called out. "You guys be careful with my treehouse! Don't break anything!"

A chorus of small voices drifted out from the interior. "Okay!" We won't!" "Sorry, Aunt Christine!"

No one argued that, fifty years and countless children after its construction, the treehouse was, in fact, still Christine's.

She returned to Booth's side and picked up the conversation again. "Yes, they're all in your backyard. Because it's a party. Stop being a grumpy old man."

"We had a party last year," he snapped. "And the year before that. Why do we have to have a party every year?"

Christine's face wore the same stubborn expression he'd seen hundreds of times on Brennan. "Because we love you, okay? Because it's a big deal! Do you know how many couples make it to their 47th anniversary? Don't make me ask Mom, because I will, and you know she'll know the answer. Yes, we are going to have a party every year and you're going to like it! And when we get to your 50th, I'm going to have an ice sculpture and a band and you're going to have to wear a suit! So there."

There won't be a fiftieth.

The words came unbidden into his head, and struck with force, freezing the air in his lungs to solid ice. Booth didn't question them; the same gut instinct that once pointed out the lie in a suspect's alibi confronted him now with what he knew in his soul to be the heartbreaking, unavoidable truth: There would be no more parties. There would be no more anniversaries. Whatever date it was that marked the last of his time on God's green earth, it was fast approaching. He swallowed hard and looked away, trying to avoid Christine's attention until he could get his expression under control.

It didn't work. Christine picked up on his reaction immediately and shifted beside him to get a better look at his face. "Dad? What is it? Are you okay? Daddy?"

Booth forced a smile, and did his best to keep his thoughts from showing on his face. It wasn't easy; Christine had inherited his instincts and further training during her career with the FBI had only honed them further. He cleared his throat and tried for a casual air. "I'm fine, honey. I just felt a little breeze, that's all. I'm fine."

A trace of suspicion lingered in her gaze as she studied him carefully. She tucked the blanket tighter around his knees and smoothed his sweater down over his shoulders. "Are you getting cold? The sun's going down, maybe it's time you went back inside. I'll get Andrew to help you up the steps. Maybe Zach should take a look at you, too, just in case you're catching something . . ."

All signs of his earlier bout of ill-humour were gone when Booth's age-spotted hand covered hers and squeezed. With traces of the sunlight poking through the trees picking up russet sparks in her hair and her eyes gleaming silver with worry, she looked so much like Brennan, it made his heart ache. A lifetime of memories flashed by: an infant, cradled in his arms. A tow-headed little girl in a lopsided bike helmet, crying over a skinned knee. A bride, walking down a petal-strewn path on his arm. His smile this time was unforced, and full of genuine happiness. "Honey, I'm fine. I promise. And you know what, you're right. It's a party. I should be enjoying myself, not complaining about a full house."

At his words, big crystal tears bloomed and threatened to overflow. "Daddy, you're scaring me. Is it your heart? It's your heart, isn't it? Are you having chest pains? I'm getting Zach right now - -"

He laughed, a big, booming sound crinkled at the edges with age, and brought her hand to his lips, putting a halt to her frantic escape. "Oh, I love you. You know that, right? I've told you enough times so that you believe it, deep down?" When she sniffed and nodded, he nodded, too, and pressed her fingers to his chest. "Good, good. Here now, you feel that? My ticker's going nice and strong, isn't it? I just had a moment when I realized how lucky I am, that's all. A man's allowed to take a minute and think about how lucky he is, especially on a day like today. I'm fine."

Christine's chin wobbled as she swiped at an escaping tear with the crumpled napkin in her free hand. "You promise?"

There are some things a man just keeps to himself. Booth kissed her fingers again. "I promise. Now, where's your mother?"

Asking for Brennan soothed some of her worry. It made perfect sense to Christine that if her father was taking a minute to count his blessings, he'd put her mother at the top of the list. "She's inside. Marie-Claire brought her sketchbook but forgot her charcoal pencil and Mom thought there was one in the kids' art box. Do you want me to get her?"

Booth let go of her fingers and ran his hand over her hair. Only he noticed that it trembled. "Yes, I do. She can sit here beside me and we can both think about how lucky we are."

"Okay." Christine got to her feet, then turned toward him, hesitating. "You're sure you're okay?"

"I'm sure I'm okay," he replied. The words rang with sincerity because, he decided, he was okay. Even if he took his last breath right then and there, he'd spent more than half his life with the woman he loved, and a family he loved, doing a job he loved. He was definitely okay.

Christine seemed to take him at his word but he wasn't surprised when her path back to the house detoured by a group of men standing beside the grill. After a few quiet words, Zach and Parker both looked in his direction. He sighed when the two of them put down their drinks and headed over.

Zach took the seat Christine had just vacated. Seated beside his father, he looked like a younger, more vibrant image of the same man, with dark hair just beginning to grow silver at the temples and the same broad forehead and hooded eyes. He wrapped his fingers around Booth's wrist and scanned his face carefully.

"Christine said you're having chest pains. Any nausea, or trouble breathing?"

Booth sighed and shook his head. "I'm not having chest pains, or nausea, and I'm breathing just fine. I'm fine!"

Parker planted his hands on his hips and gave him a hard look. "Would you tell us if anything like that was happening?"

"Yes," Booth insisted. He snatched his hand back when Zach's fingers loosened on his wrist. The trouble with having a doctor for a son was that he never stopped being a doctor. "Are you going to embarrass me by examining me out here in front of all these people?"

Zach stared back at him as if he were considering doing just that. When he thought he'd made his point, he shook his head. "No, but I am going to have a look at you once they're gone."

Booth snorted. Since a bout of pneumonia that landed him in the hospital earlier that year, his family had wrapped him in cotton wool and practically smothered him with good intentions. It was getting on his nerves. "Well, hell, you were going to do that anyway."

Zach didn't argue the point.

Out of the corner of his eye, Booth saw Brennan step out of the house behind Christine. This time, it was he who grabbed Zach's wrist.

"Your mother's coming over here and I don't want you to say a word about any chest pains, understand? Because I'm not having chest pains, okay? I'm fine. I'm fine! I'm fine!" His steely glare went from one son to the other and then landed on Zach as he made his final point. "Do not worry your mother. Got it?"

Zach gave in, albeit grudgingly. "Okay, you win. But we will talk about this later."

That was enough for Booth. Still, he held on when Zach got to his feet. If his days were numbered, there were things he needed to say. "You know I love you, don't you? Both of you," he said, looking from one son to the other. "And I'm proud of you, of the men you are? I've told you that, right?"

Zach and Parker looked at each other, and then back at him. Parker crouched down until he was at eye level, and laid a hand on his blanket-covered knee. "Dad, what's wrong?"

Unfortunately, Brennan was close enough to hear. The smile on her face from whatever she and Christine had been talking about faded. "Something's wrong? What is it? Booth?"

Booth shooed Parker away with a wave and smiled up at her. "Nothing's wrong. I got a little cold, that's all. I'll be just fine as soon as you scoot under this thing and warm me up."

He raised one corner and gave her a playful wink. Brennan slid in beside him, but her wary eyes were on the three people standing in front of them.

"Is there something I should know?"

Booth spoke before anyone else could. "Yes. Christine snuck me out some of those bacon-wrapped shrimp."

"Dad!"

Brennan chided her with a look. "How many pieces?"

Christine pouted like a child called to the carpet. "Only two. I didn't expect Dad to be such a tattletale."

"She yelled at me, too," Booth added, giving Brennan his best hang-dog look. "Because apparently this is a party, even though we don't know half the people here. And when I stopped being grumpy about it, like she told me to, she yelled at me again and then sent these two over here to yell at me some more."

Parker shook his head in disgust. "I don't believe you. You aren't buying any of this, are you?" he asked Brennan.

"Not at all," she replied immediately, "but you can all go and enjoy the rest of the party. I'll handle your father."

Booth watched his children take a few steps away and then put their heads together. He didn't need the anxious glances sent his way to know that he hadn't heard the last from them, but for now at least, they'd stopped fussing over him long enough to give him a few minutes of peace and quiet with the love of his life. He put his arm around Brennan and hugged her closer. Beneath the blanket that covered their legs, she tucked one foot between his calves.

"You didn't send Christine to find me because the children were yelling at you."

"Nope. I just missed you. Did you find what Marie-Claire needed?"

"Yes." Their heads turned at the same time to look toward the young teenager sitting cross-legged on the low stone wall of the patio, bent over an open sketchbook. As if she felt their gaze, she looked up, smiled, and went back to her drawing. Brennan sighed quietly. "I know that Tom and Michael Vincent used Tom's sperm for her so there's no genetic relationship but she really does remind me of Angela. I'm sorry that she didn't have the opportunity to really know her."

"Tell her stories," Booth suggested. "Better yet, write them down for her and Barney. You're good at that. You could call it . . ." His voice dropped a notch as he leaned in close to her ear. " . . . Cavatina Thunderbird."

Brennan's merry laughter drew other eyes toward them. On the stone wall, Marie-Claire studied the elderly couple snuggled together, focused on each other as if no one else existed in the world, for several minutes. Then she flipped the sketchbook to a clean page and began to draw.

"If it were possible to come back from the dead, Angela would come back to haunt me."

"She would find a way, that's for sure."

Hours passed and the shadows lengthened until the lights at the back of the house popped on. The coolers emptied and the grill grew cold, and small children were laid on blankets stretched on the grass to nap but no one showed any inclination to leave and for once, Booth felt no inclination to shoo them all away. With his arm around her slender frame and Brennan's head resting on his shoulder, Booth looked over the crowds milling in front of him. "They think they're family." He smiled to himself. They are family. The squints and his team, grown old now, with children wearing different versions of the faces he remembered. The gaps left by those already lost, still present if only in memory. And the family he'd created with the woman beside him.

He wasn't afraid of dying, although he'd seen enough of both the violent and peaceful ways of going to know which he preferred. He'd tried to be a good man. A good husband. A good father. If his cosmic balance sheet wasn't quite even, he hoped it was at least close enough to tip the scales in the right direction. It was a gift, he thought, to know that his last days were here. There was so much to say in whatever time was left to him, so much to make sure his children knew, that his grandchildren knew. So much to make sure that the woman beside him knew. If there was any pain for him in the thought of dying, it was in leaving her behind. Blinking back tears, he pressed a kiss into the soft white hair tucked beneath his chin.

"I will love you forever."

He felt her smile before she looked up at him. Although faded, her eyes still sparkled in a galaxy of blue and silver. "You said that to me on our 25th anniversary. Are you going to say it again on our fiftieth?"

He swallowed past the lump in his throat and looked into the face that was as beautiful now as it had been when he'd walked into an auditorium and felt the earth shift beneath his feet. "No. I'm going to tell you every day for the rest of my life."

And he did.

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A special collection deserves a special surprise so thanks to artist friend Gabriella Amaris, you can see Marie-Claire's drawing of Booth and Brennan on the wiki at rootsandwingswiki {.} com, on the Fanart and Videos page. (Booth and Brennan's 25th anniversary is Chapter 97, 'Etched in Silver.')

There are still two chapters to come, and those will be posted as soon as the writers finish them. In the meantime, feel free to read everything again while you wait!

Thank you for visiting my little corner of Hart Hanson's sandbox. :-)