Title: Where You Are

Disclaimer: These wonderful characters are not mine. Mores the pity…

Rating: This is an M rated story. Don't like sex? Then piss off! This is a nympho only story! Only kidding… don't piss off… don't leave… please!

A/N: This is post-ep for the amazing episode The Man in the Morgue. I loved this. And I feel so inspired. Coming up, Angela and Hodgins:-D for now, though, I hope to content you with the result of my late night muse. Thank you. Oh and do not forget that I love reviews!

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Brennan moved into the corridor, glancing right, but he'd already disappeared down the stairs. She saw his form, heading towards the front doors, and hurried to the railing. He was tossing his keys into the air and in the quiet atrium, she could hear him humming. Contented with himself. She felt her mother's earring prick her palm as her fingers tightened around the piece of jewellery in a tight fist.

"Booth!" He halted, his soles squeaking on the floor. Brennan descended the stairs, running her tongue along her broken lip. She tasted the dried blood. It wouldn't take long for the wounds to heal. But the memories of her trip would stay for longer than she would like.

Holding up the earring, the antique stylised metal dangling before his eyes, she spoke. "Thank you," she said. He smiled. No cockiness, no arrogance.

"You're welcome, Bones," he replied, tilting his head.

"You risked a lot, Booth. You shouldn't…" Her voice drifted, aware that her words would mean literally nothing, now. The fact was, he had. He'd risked plenty, to save the piece of her mother that she still had. "Thank you," she repeated and he chuckled.

"Phrase of the evening, Bones?" He rattled his keys a little, watching how her thumb passed over the earring. "Again, you're welcome." At the top the stairs, Angela appeared, arms crossed over her breasts. She watched them, silent, wondering what had transpired between the pair. Brennan said it meant something. She wanted to know what. It didn't make sense, yet Temperance was looking at Booth as though he'd handed her the Holy Grail.

Booth reached out, passing his hand over her arm, Brennan inhaled, her fingers tightening around the earring again. He caressed her for a moment, as if offering comfort yet, she was distinctly aware, there was an undeniable intimacy in his touch. "I'm tired, Bones…" he sighed, dangling his keys in front of her eyes. "I'm going to go home and tomorrow, we'll finish up the case, okay?" Brennan nodded, pulling her lip between her teeth and wincing when it hurt.

"Okay," she agreed. Without lifting his eyes to the balcony, Booth spoke, his tone filled with laughter and his usual quirkiness.

"Angela, when you've finished spying, do you think you could make sure the good doctor goes home?" He turned on his heel, striding across the lobby to the entrance, resuming his tuneless humming. Brennan watched him go, her forehead marred in a frown. She didn't understand what had happened between them in New Orleans. He'd believed in her, even when she didn't believe in herself. Booth had treated her, not like his partner, but his friend. Like someone he cared about. And recovering the earring was proof that he did. He did care about her.

"Sweetie are you okay?" Angela stepped down into the lobby, resting her hand on Brennan's shoulder.

"Booth tampered with crime scene evidence," she said. "That's where he found this." Angela glanced at the earring, frowning. "What does it mean Ange?" She stared at the front doors, as though she expected the answer to come sweeping into the building.

"Oh…Bren…" Angela sighed. "I think only Booth can answer that sweetie." Brennan recalled how he'd touched her. How when he arrived, he'd passed eyes over her face, then his fingertips had stroked her cheekbone, so gently, she barely felt the whispering pass of his skin on hers. Yet she'd been so desperately aware of it. She hadn't had time to analyse what it meant then, because she'd been swept off her feet into a murder investigation.

Then she remembered how she felt when he'd vehemently protested her innocence to the prosecutor. She'd watched his face contort in a passionate spiel about how he knew she wouldn't commit murder. And he was a federal agent. A federal agent who'd tampered with a crime scene… for her.

"How tired do you think he is?" She asked, glancing over her shoulder. Angela merely smiled.

"I think he'd make time for you sweetie. Go."

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He had wet hair, when he answered the door.

The time she'd hesitated in her car had afforded him the time to shower. The coating of white foam on along his jaw informed her that her arrival had coincided with his shaving ritual. She shuffled awkwardly on his doorstep.

"Bones?" He clutched the razor in his hand, awaiting her response. Brennan frowned. She couldn't exactly remember why she was there. Perhaps her amnesia was returning. "Okay… you're freaking me out. Come in," he said, ushering her by the arm into his apartment. She smelt soap, shampoo and deodorant. Exactly as he smelt all the time, only newer. She understood how he'd smell first thing in the morning. "Do you want some… coffee… or something?" His t-shirt was damp, where residual particles of water, not dried by his towel, had been blotted by the dark grey material.

"Booth…" she began, quite unsure of what she ought to say. "You came all the way out to New Orleans… for me?" He laughed, passing his hand across his jaw. Foam clung to his fingers, and he wiped it away on his sweats.

"You travelled the whole way across town to… state the obvious?" He shook his head. "Nuh-uh, what gives?" Brennan swept her eyes across his apartment. She saw his shoes, kicked carelessly into the corner, his keys tossed unto the coffee table and his shirt from earlier, draped over the sofa. Her fingers flexed, itching to feel the material against her skin.

"I don't know…" she whispered. "I feel like I'm being foolish." Booth scoffed.

"Do you think? Sit down, please." She complied, dropping to his sofa with a heavy sigh. "Okay, now start from the beginning. You feeling freaked because of the voodoo?" Booth crouched, pressing his hand to forehead as though he expected she might have a fever. She brushed his palm away.

"I don't believe in that, I told you!" When she met his eyes, she was struck by the absurdity of the situation. He knelt before her, his face smeared with shaving form, a razor in one hand and the other clenched into a fist. She smiled a little, then released a small laugh. Booth sighed.

"I'm scared," he said. "Did you just…giggle? Bones, what the hell is going on?" She shook her head, pressing her hand to her mouth. She felt like a kid, giddy and nervous and unsure of what to say in front of her girlish crush. Is that what Booth was? A crush? Because he was sexy? She smirked into her hand.

"I'm sorry," she apologised. "I was overwhelmed by what you did for me. No one has ever done anything even close, before. I guess my analytical mind went into overdrive and I tried to make sense of why you did it. Instead of accepting it for what it was." She swept her moist palms over her thighs, nodding her head as if convincing herself.

"And what was it, Bones?" Booth asked, he sounded strangled.

"You were doing what any good friend would do," Brennan said. "I just don't think my two 'thank yous' were enough." Booth rose a little, perching on the edge of his coffee table, looking at his feet.

"That's what it was…?" He shuffled his soles against the carpet for a moment, gnawing on one corner of his lip. "Yeah… that's not it, Bones," he admitted at last. She frowned, and when he lifted his eyes a thousand emotions conflicted in hers. Confusion, hope, fear… he could name them forever. But as one feeling seemed to take control of the swirling blue irises, it was gone, replaced by another.

"It's not?" She asked at last.

"No. I heard there was a possibility you'd been raped, definitely attacked, you had no recollection of anything and I generally freaked out. And basically, Bones, where you are, I'd go." She thought of Angela's crisis in the desert. He'd wasted no time dropping everything. Now this… the implications were huge.

She couldn't quite comprehend.

"The crime scene…?" He reached for his shirt, passing the material over his face, removing the foam. She saw the stubble darkened line of his jaw again.

"I saw it, Bones. I acted on instinct. It was foolish and I only comprehended the severity of my actions afterwards." She swallowed, nodding her head.

"I bet you regretted that," she chuckled.

"Not a single bit, no." Her eyes flickered to meet his, and stopped, frozen, held there by an invisible force. She was powerless to look away. Powerless to speak. She thought of voodoo, and realised what she felt was an entirely different form of magic. Her emotions had wreaked havoc since Booth flew to Louisiana to play hero. He had saved her. She had been honest when she said she couldn't have done any of the things she did without him.

"Not even… a little?" She asked, and he paused to think.

"Did it make you happy? Getting the earring back again?" Brennan smiled.

"Yes. It's invaluable to me." Booth shrugged.

"Then no. Not even a little." He glanced at the clock, straightening his spine. "Look, Bones, if you came here to thank me, again, then consider me well and truly thanked. You should go home and get some rest, okay?" When he stood, Brennan stood, too, thrusting her hands into her pockets, her shoulders hunched. She felt awkward, as though she were intruding.

"I didn't come here to thank you…" she said, then shook her head. "Well, I did, but… God I don't really know why I came here. Every time I think I've got a grasp on my reasoning it just seems to disappear and I feel like an incoherent fool. Maybe I do need sleep." She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply, praying for some kind of enlightenment.

"You came, Bones, because you feel endeared by my concerns. You haven't been in such close contact to humanity in a long time, so having someone who actually cares is a big thing for you…" Brennan moistened her lips, shaking her head.

"I don't think that's it," she said, and he groaned.

"Can't you just accept my psychology theory? Just once?" She dug her hands deeper into her pockets, rolling her shoulders.

"I have a psychological theory of my own…" she said at last. His eyes widened and he grinned a little.

"Ooh… this I have to hear." She smiled a little, watching how he scanned her face, his expression of amusement matching hers. Her palms felt moist now as she saw the flecks of brown swirl inside his eyes, and a sense of something came over her.

"I think it's because of you," she said and he frowned. "I'm not endeared by your concerns. I'm endeared by you. I have plenty of people who care about me. But it's your care that matters the most. Knowledge of this emotion has left me asking so many questions which is why I came here tonight. Why I really came. Something's changed, Booth. In the past few months something has changed and I just want to know what." She saw a trace of foam on his cheek, and removed her hand from her pocket, swiping her thumb across his face, looking down to inspect the creamy whiteness. When she glanced up again, he was studying her as though she were a painting. His eyes had narrowed, his head tilted and his lips had parted a little. She smiled. "I'm sure we'll work it out, sooner or later. We make a really great investigative team-"

"Shut up, Bones," he said, lifting his hand, passing his fingers over her hair. Her spine tingled at the sensation and she tried to discount what she felt.

"I thought we were making an effort to be nice to each other," she said, her heart beating rapidly inside her chest. She wondered, stupidity, if he could hear it. Her pulse beat a quick staccato against her throat, and she swallowed, hoping to disguise her nervousness.

"I am nice, Bones," he whispered, sweeping her hair back from her neck, exposing her skin. Her lips trembled, and she tried to nod. He leaned instinctively closer, and she smelt the cleanliness off his skin. The freshness and the spicy masculinity. "I got you the earring, didn't I? That was nice." She nodded now, pulling her lip beneath her teeth. It still hurt, and she winced again. Booth looked pained, brushing his thumb across the wound. "Bones…" His breath brushed her lips.

"I don't mean to be scientific and analytical at a moment like this… but are you going to kiss me?" He smiled, the humour reaching his eyes. He looked lovely. He looked like everything she wanted to touch and be touched by, in that moment.

"Yes, Dr Brennan, I'm going to kiss you right… now." He traced her lips with his, soft, a breathless sigh passing between them until his restraint broke, and he outlined her upper lip with the tip of his tongue. She murmured, her body leaning into his, compliant, requesting that she be allowed to taste him.

His fingers caressed the back of her neck, curling in the silken hair there, until she released a sigh against his lips. He smiled against her, touching his tongue to the broken skin. She didn't wince. He hadn't hurt her.

Removing her hands from her pockets, she passed her palms over the hard line of his sternum, mentally cataloguing each bone she passed. Across his collar bones, along his neck, her hands finding his rough, stubble-peppered cheeks, rejoicing in how good he felt against her. There was a gruff masculinity to Booth that had been so absent in all the men she'd had feelings for before.

His lips dusted kisses along her face, pausing and paying particular attention to any bruises or wounds. When he pressed a feathery kiss to her forehead, where the mark had turned purple, she almost whimpered. He was doing either one of two things; comforting her or torturing her. At present, she classed his ministrations as torture.

She didn't want to rush. Booth's hands on her waist felt like they'd been there forever. They felt like they belonged, too. She arched her hips into him, brushing the solid length of his erection through his sweat pants. She wasn't prepared for how aroused he'd be, nor how much she'd like it.

A mumble fell from her lips as she attempted to seduce with a quip. Whatever she wanted to say was lost his mouth pressing hard, his tongue requesting and gaining entrance. Brennan felt her tongue slip against his, moving by instinct. He felt good. He felt like everything she needed. And more.

His hands slipped dexterously beneath her shirt, along her sides, leaving a tingle where his skin brushed hers. The tips of his fingers tip-toed over her ribs, one at a time, lingering, caressing. She felt his thumbs sweep across the undersides of her breasts, and her nipples reacted to his touch. Her entire body reacted.

She'd known they'd eventually reach this place. She hadn't predicted that it would be so soon. But his kindness and devotion had hurried her hesitation along. Instead of feeling a niggling doubt, Brennan felt nothing but reassured.

When he passed his nail over her nipple, she moaned into his mouth, rotating her hips against his. Booth pulled back, a breathy 'wow' escaping his lips as he drank in the image of her, flushed cheeks and aroused eyes. When he tugged on the hem of her shirt, she followed his lead, lifting her arms above her head, and he deftly removed it. She ought to have felt self-conscious when he raked his eyes over her breasts, ensconced in her bra. But she felt encouraged by his blatant desire for her. She smiled, reaching behind and unclipping the garment. His pupils dilated as she hooked her fingers into the straps and pulled them over her arms, discarding the bra at her feet.

"You look…" He shook his head.

"Nice?" She offered, her voice unsteady.

"Oh so much better than nice," he replied, sweeping her into his arms, crushing her chest against his. His mouth found hers again, fiery and urgent. The tenderness was gone, replaced now by Booth's vital need to touch her. All of her. His fingers touched the sides of her breasts, his thumbs circling her hardened nipples. "Bones… I'm going to take you to my bedroom and I'm going to touch every single inch of your body, okay?" She inhaled deeply.

"I would really, really like that."

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He worshipped her. He undressed her with painstakingly slowness, memorising each inch of exposed skin until she was practically whimpering with need.

He kissed her clavicle, along her sternum, lingering for a long time over her nipples, pulling the little nubs between his teeth and then blowing cool air until they peaked, hard and tight.

She wriggled when he kissed behind her knees, because it tickled and felt so desperately good. And while his mouth explored her entire body, he hands followed, teasing her skin until every part of her hummed with a mixture of satisfaction and need.

When he parted her thighs and entered her, the release was entirely worth the wait. He closed his eyes for a long few seconds, luxuriating in the intense warm wetness of her. She surrounded him, tightened around him and he adored how her lovely body responded so eagerly to him.

They climaxed together in an array of cries and whimpers with Brennan begging him that he do this to her every night for the rest of their lives. When the trembling inside her womb ceased, he removed himself from her body and wrapped himself around her, burying his nose in her neck. She sighed, sinking against him. He kissed the base of her neck, twice, and smiled against her skin.

"Booth…?" She sighed.

"Hmm?"

"I don't know what I ought to say in a moment like this." He kissed her again.

"You don't have to say anything, Bones. We've already said everything we need to say." She chuckled against the pillow, swatting his arm that he'd tucked around her waist.

"You're hopelessly sentimental and romantic, Booth. It's sickening." He chuckled now, too.

"You secretly love it, don't bother denying it," he replied, brushing his chin over her shoulder. She turned her head a little, leaning into him.

"I won't. I do."

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I am so tired. It's 2.17am here and I have spent an agonising three hours and seventeen minutes on this. I hope it was worth it!