So....You could make a drinking game out of how many times Booth and Bones touch in an episode now. And that thought alone created this little ditty. :)

Disclaimer: I'm not Canadian. It's easy after making that simple deduction to see that I am not the owner of Bones.





The sun was shining down on Washington DC; however the mood in the Jeffersonian Institute was nothing less than cloudy with a definite chance of anger.

Most of the bad mood was situated in Doctor Temperance Brennan's office where she and her partner, Special Agent Seeley Booth were standing on either side of the room engaging in a rather vocal display.

It had started with a simple touch.

They were pouring over case file after case file trying to decipher a code written by a crazed serial killer who's calling card was a jumble of letters on a piece of green card. The hour was early as they had been there all night and the tension was thick for the same reason. The Thai food had all been eaten long ago and just the musky smell of the leftover residues hung in the air.

And just as the heat of the day had started creeping its way into the room, Booth had reached out to place an arm behind Brennan and the yelling had started.

He wasn't sure what he had done wrong. One moment they had been sitting in silence and the next she had been 6 feet away from him with a couch and a table in between them, effectively producing a tangible line for the metaphorical one they had created years before.

Words like, "Why do you have to always have a hand on me?" and "I was never this dependant on someone's touch before you came along," had been sprouted in round one. Round two was gearing up for action and he was unsure whether he could take the beating.

"Bones, slow down," his hands were raised in the classic sign of surrender, "What's wrong?"

She sighed, leaning her tired body against the back of the couch, "You."

He nodded his head in defeat, he had finally pushed her too far away, "Come on, let's get you home."

She shook her head, "I don't think you understand, Booth."

He tried to take a step towards her, but she just took another one back. Not believing what he was seeing, he took another step, only to see the same action on her part, a step back, "What's going on?"

"Just go."

Anger sparked somewhere deep inside of him and he turned away from her without a second glance, obeying her wishes and walking out of her office in one swift movement.


It was just after five when he heard from her again. A simple text message.

"Sorry. Mine at 7?"

He sent back his answer and his forgiveness, "I'll be there."


She was barefoot and it was nearly his undoing.

He'd been to her place before; they'd sat together all night long and just talked about the injustices of life with a bottle of wine and a myriad of food. But tonight he was so drained, emotionally and physically and he found the fact that she was barefoot to his socks to be so domestic and so Bones.

She stepped aside and allowed him entrance to her home, he nodded his thanks as he walked past her and took her appearance on board in one glance.

He wished he hadn't.

Bare feet led to bare legs led to little boxer shorts led to loose t-shirt. No bra.

He groaned and she looked at him in concern, "Is it your back again?"

He shook his head, even if it had been hurting he wouldn't admit to it. Having her pressed against his back all naked the way she was would do him in. Seeley Booth would cease to exist; he'd just be an empty shell of his former self, guided in life by the woman who stood before him.


And they did, facing each other in silence on a couch they often sat on, talking, laughing, remembering.


"It's OK Bones, I know."

"No, I want to explain."


She reached out and touched his hands. Feeling the bolt of electricity she always did, she held them a little tighter and pulled them towards her, "I hate psychology."

He smiled, it was something so common of her to say, but it seemed it carried a greater weight tonight, "I know."

She nodded and let his hands fall from hers. When he didn't pull them back to himself, instead, allowing them to just sit on her lap, she looked up at him, confused, "I heard what Gordon-Gordon said."

It was his turn to be confused, "When?"

"In the kitchen, that night," she sighed, "I heard him tell you to protect me and you'd aim straight."

No point in hiding it, "Yeah. I know you don't think you need protecting but-"

She cut him off, "It's not that."


She looked into his eyes, begging him to understand her, "When will it stop?"

Her silent pleas were ignored as he looked at her in confusion, "When will what stop?"

She held his hand again, mostly out of the comfort that if he freaked out, then she could pull him back when he tried to run. She almost laughed at the thought that a few years ago their roles would have been reversed. But she wasn't scared anymore, nowhere near it.

"Before the operation," she swallowed, she was ready, but the words were hard to find, "We were close."

He squeezed her hands, "We still are."

"No, Booth. We were close to something else."



"Now you don't want to be?"

He wasn't understanding her, she knew she wasn't good at euphemisms, so she decided upon her usual and more brash approach, "Booth, I'm still there, I'm still close. And you still touch me the way you used to, if not more. You're still there too Booth, or here. You're with me. Wherever we are."

"But I couldn't fire my gun straight because of psychology."

She breathed a sigh of relief; he had gotten it, "Exactly."

"So now you're worried that I can't see how close we are?"

She nodded, "You still touch me the same, you still talk to me the same, but I wonder if you still believe you feel the same way as you did before."

Booth's heart was beating fast, he wasn't sure this could be happening. It was true that he had been having doubts about his feelings. Cam had made him sure, but Sweets had planted the seed of doubt. He knew in his heart that he had always loved his partner, but something in his brain was always trying to tell him that his feelings weren't true.

Her blue eyes shone with a nervous glimmer he hadn't seen before. She was always so sure, but now, sitting in front of him, holding his hands, confessing her feelings she felt so small and so shy.

Suddenly, he was overwhelmed with emotion. His heart beating faster, he watched her eyes widen as he moved closer to her. He nudged an inch closer and saw her eyes flutter closed in a silent invitation.

Looking back on it years later, he still didn't know how he held out for those final few seconds, but he did, "I have always loved you, Temperance. If that's what you wonder about." A whimper, he smiled, pulling his hand free of hers and placing it on her cheek, "Always."

As his lips finally descended on hers a single thought flowed through his mind.

It started with a touch.


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