Author’s Note: Here we go – *takes deep breath and crosses fingers*. I have to warn you, though – I am working my way up to an M-rated story, so, for the time being, I’d rather leave it all to your imagination. Plus, I have to admit that I am totally intimidated by the sheer awesomeness of the M-rated fiction on this site. I’ll get over it - one day. :) In the meantime...

..this is for all of you, but especially for Marissa, who asked for an update this Monday. Happy Birthday! I hope you like it (and I hope it’s still Monday where you are :)).

Setting: The spring and summer of season four.

Disclaimer: I just love imagining them, but no, they’re not mine.

9. Who We Are

It is time.

She does not know how it happened, but here they are, spring crossing into summer, four years rolled into one week of nervous anticipation and delight. She does not know whether he can feel it, but she thinks he does, attuned as they both are to the shifting rhythms of their relationship.

Earlier in the week, they meet at the lab to go over some paperwork together. She does not know how to ask, so she inquires casually whether they’ve arrested the barman. She cannot tell whether he can read her, although she believes and hopes that he can. He explains that several of his colleagues have been taking turns going to the bar on different days so as not to attract attention, and he is due to go again on Friday. Then he asks her if she wants to join him. He does not say “this is what partners do” and she does not expect him to.

That evening, as they are sitting at a corner table in the bar, she feels as if they are exploring uncharted territory, the music and the people around them merely the conduit for something greater. “Here be dragons”, she thinks briefly, but she is not scared. Instead, her newly-discovered sense of adventure is only mildly tempered – no, enhanced – by the secrecy of it all, by the guilty pleasure of doing something slightly forbidden.

Fully immersed in trying to identify the shape of things to come, she does not realize that she has been silent for quite a while.

“What’s going on in that big brain of yours, Bones?” her partner’s voice inquires softly.

“I like it here,” she blurts out as soon as her innate honesty manages to overcome a sudden bout of self-consciousness.

“You do?” he smiles. She thinks he sounds happy.

“I do,” she replies, her voice a little lower than she would have expected.

It occurs to her that he is also quieter than usual, and she wonders what he is thinking. She almost asks him, then she holds back for fear of making him uncomfortable. He cuts short what could become another uneasy pause by rising to his feet and pulling her to the dance floor.

She feels a little dizzy and a little high, alcohol and adrenaline mixed with a thin thread of anxiety. Booth’s light chuckle (“Hey, what did I tell you about trying to lead?”) pulls her out of the moment, and she relaxes against him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Later that night, she kisses him lightly on the cheek after saying good-night, turning quickly on her heels and missing the look on his face as she goes into her apartment.

They go out for a movie on Saturday (“Come on, Bones, your dusty volumes on anthropology are gonna be so much more interesting after a boring old movie” – “My books are not dusty, I keep them in perfect condition”). He buys them the largest soft drink and popcorn combo available, countering her comments about unhealthy foods with the mock-solemn assurance that he plans to eat it all by himself, thank you very much. Having effectively prompted her competitive self to prove him wrong, they munch happily throughout the movie, her occasional protests about the suspension of belief met by a raised eyebrow and a whisper that she should have left the scientist at home and brought the best-selling novelist with her instead.

The evening is warm when they come out, a balmy wind carrying the scent of the trees in bloom across the street. She laughs carefree when she stumbles slightly on the sidewalk, his hand immediately gripping her elbow lightly to keep her from falling. And in that instant – a split second’s action following a split second’s thought – she just knows.

It is time.

Tilting her head to kiss him, their bodies pressed closely together, she thinks that it is neither like flying nor like hurtling to the ground. Instead, it is an evolutionary instinct of such breathtaking validity that she can only surrender. She lets the instinct wash over her and they kiss again and again, laughing together when they run out of breath. They stand there for the longest and the shortest of times, the warm wind and his hands playing in her hair.

They somehow make their way towards her apartment, strewing clothes all over on their way to the bedroom. Their rhythm is that of breathless laughter, passionate and uninhibited, as they fit each other seamlessly and come together as one.

As she falls asleep afterwards, her last coherent thought is that this - the comfort of the familiar and the thrill of the unknown - is everything she ever wished for.

Yep. This is where we are at the moment.

For those of you who have been reading the story from the very beginning, I have re-edited it a little by taking out or inserting a couple of words here and there and by adding titles to each chapter. I hope it’s better now – please let me know.

This was the most difficult chapter to write so far, so... to all my awesome reviewers and everyone else out there - please let me know what you think!