Brennan walked up the stairs to St. Mary's Catholic Church, fully realizing the irony of what she was doing. Ever the logical, rational, empiricist, Temperance Brennan was climbing the stairs of a church—not for research, nor an investigation, but to attend Sunday Mass. Hell was most certainly freezing over.

The church was almost full, and Booth was nowhere to be seen. Brennan took a seat in a row near the back, leaving just one seat open near the aisle. If Booth was late, he'd have to either sit beside her or the family of eight, who smelled faintly of spit-up. She wanted to surprise him, so she kept her head pointed directly ahead, confident that he would be there.

The service opened with a greeting and song, both of which were simple enough to follow, even though Brennan wasn't familiar with the words. As the congregation took their seats, she heard a familiar voice ask "Ma'am, do you mind if I sit here?" And without turning her head, she nodded her consent, smiling to herself. The priest then began to pray, and she saw Booth's eyes close in her peripheral vision. Grinning devilishly, she slipped her hand in his, watching his eyes spring open, widen with recognition and surprise, and then close again as he put his arm around her shoulders, smiling.

Their few attempts at talking during the service earned them severe stares from the elderly ladies sitting behind them. So they sat in silence, neither able to pay much attention to the priest or his message.

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After church, they went to Booth's apartment, and Brennan started making lunch while Booth unpacked from his trip. Brennan was mildly irritated with Booth's lack of organizational skills, which was the reason she was having trouble navigating his kitchen. The cups were in a cabinet with the spoons, and the spices shared a drawer with the bakeware.

"Booth!" she exclaimed. "Where is your can-opener? I can't find it anywhere! How do you ever find anything in this kitchen?" she asked, exasperated.

Booth strode out of the bedroom, chuckling. She is incredibly beautiful when she's angry, he thought to himself.

Brennan couldn't help but stare. Booth was striding towards her, shirtless, a perfect specimen of a man. She momentarily forgot what she was looking for as she struggled to regain her composure. "The can-opener Booth, where is it?" she asked.

Booth reached over her head, pinning her against the refrigerator, as he felt around for the infamous can-opener.

Uncharacteristically, and without much thought, Brennan lay her head against his chest, wrapping her arms around his torso, breathing in his scent. And as always, she didn't have to wait long before his arms encircled her own shoulders, pulling her close.

"Oh Booth," she sighed.

He gently lifted her off the ground, intending to set her on the couch, where the embrace could continue. But the couch, like most of his apartment, was littered with things from his trip. He looked at her questioningly, and she nodded—the bed would be okay. She knew he didn't expect anything from her of that nature, although she would have been all too happy to give herself to him completely.

They lay on Booth's bed, simply staring at each other. Their embrace was punctuated by the occasional gentle kiss, and soft-spoken words of endearment. Somehow, Booth's hands found the small bump on Brennan's midsection, and he smiled. They would be together, as partners, friends, lovers, parents, and eventually as husband and wife. He was sure of it.