This one's been stewing for a while, so I hope it comes across alright. :)

Thank you to all the lovely reviewers out there who I haven't yet replied to...I'm getting there, I promise, life is just busy at the moment. You are appreciated though!


Disclaimer: Dear Mr Hart Hanson, if you hand me the rights to Bones, I'll be the youngest owner of Bones ever. That's surely a Guinness World Record...I'm sure they'll put your name in there somewhere too... (That's right folks, I still don't own it.)


Lies and Life


He had lied.

He felt dirty and cheap for it, but that's the consequence for lying.

He'd attended confession and told the priest of his lies.

He had been forgiven in the mighty eyes of God and sent on his way.

But nothing changed the fact that he had still lied to his therapist.

"Is there anything you miss from your alternate life?"


"The clothes."


So he wasn't being completely untruthful. He liked his clothing in his alternate reality. He thought he'd looked smart and smooth and somewhat Rat Pack-esque. He was sexy and confident and dressed to the nines in expensive suits and casual shirts.

But the thing he missed more than that is was he should have told Sweets. He missed the way his partner's hands had removed the clothing from his body. He missed the way she had dressed him afterwards and fixed his tie and smoothed his vest.

He missed her kiss.

He missed her touch.

He missed his wife.

In his dream he had been wearing a rather sexy three piece suit the night Bren had informed him of her pregnancy. It was simple, but so classy. When he saw one just like it, it was as good as bought. He didn't consider the price tag, just wondered how much wear he would get out of it before his dream really did come true.

It was silly, he knew, but the added vest to his suit made him feel like he was a part of his dream world again. When he was close to his partner, he felt bolder and touched her more often. A hand to the small of her back that would open and close against her clothing, caressing the skin underneath. Hugs that were definitely not professional. Hand holding that wasn't exactly necessary, but felt necessary. He pushed the bounds with the suit, keeping it his own little secret.

After a long day at work he would go home and sit on his couch and fantasise that his Bones would come through the door and sit on his lap and tell him she was pregnant with his child. He knew the fantasy was bordering obsessive, but he couldn't stop it. In his mind he had tasted something so real and so true and it was the hardest thing on this planet to even consider letting it go.

Brennan had commented on his new suit a few times, saying that he looked smart and handsome, saying that the fit of the vest accentuated his well formed body. His heart swelled in those moments and he wished he could explain to her what it felt like when she spoke to him like that. He wanted to tell her he loved her, but more than that, he wanted her to say it first. He wanted her to realise that their closeness had nothing to do with work, and more to do with the fact that they were perfect for one another.

He wore the suit more often than not, flooding himself with memories of her touch and smooth skin. He could almost taste her on his lips every time his tongue poked out to wet them, but then, just as his dream, it would be gone in an instant, because it was all just a wasn't real.

He fell asleep on his couch one night and was awoken by a knock to his door at 3 in the morning. Stumbling to the door, he realised too late that he was still fully clothed. Given the time of the morning, his visitor would only be one person; he opened the door and awaited her scolding for sleeping on the couch with his current back problems.

The words he expected didn't come instead he was engulfed in a hug that nearly knocked the wind out of him. He reciprocated the hug, careful not to hurt her.

"What's wrong, Bones?"

He could feel her shaking underneath his arms, he could feel tears wetting the front of his shirt, and then he was kissing her.

Or she was kissing him.

He didn't know.

He couldn't tell.

He didn't care.

As long as her lips were melded with his, he knew it was okay.

They kissed in a frenzy up against his front door. There was no chance to draw breath, it was do or die. He pushed her against the door and began kissing his way down her neck, savouring every small moan that escaped her and every sensation going through him.

He moved his mouth back to her face, kissing her cheeks, tasting her tears. He wanted to know what was wrong still, he wanted to do the right thing and stop and ask if she was alright, but her hands kept pulling him closer and he couldn't resist her. He didn't want her to disappear, if this was just a dream, he didn't want it to end ever.

Her lips parted again and again beneath his, allowing his tongue to sweep her territory and taste everything that was her. She was fresh and sweet, like a ripe peach in summer, but with a hint of something distinct. She was better than his dreams. Much, much better.

She moaned into his touch and he pulled back, she kept trying to kiss him, but he needed to know first, "Bones, what's going on?"

She was standing between his legs, her head down and her fingers touching the small patch of tears on his vest, caused by her, "You're the inspiration for my books."

He wanted to laugh, "I've been telling you that for years."

She looked up at him, a hint if a smile across her face, but only a hint, "You're Andy...I'm Kathy."

He'd become used to reading between the lines with her, but this time, in this most intimate moment, he couldn't understand her, "What do you mean?"

"In the books I publish, you're Andy." He nodded, he understood that much, "In the book I deleted, you were Booth...I was Bren."

He knew this also, and nodded, still unsure of where this was going.

"Four days, Booth. You were in that coma for four days. I was writing for four days. I was writing about you and me and always in my imagination, you were wearing that suit," her tears were in her eyes again at the simple thought of Booth in that coma, Booth not waking up, "And now you have one here, in our real life and it's hard to tell sometimes."

Booth could almost feel the vulnerability rolling off her in waves, he put his arms around her in a tight embrace, "It's okay," he whispered.

"I'm not this person who can't tell if it's reality or fantasy and I'm not this person who shows up on someone's door step, crying at 3 am," she pulled back to look at him again, "This is something Bren would do, not something Bones would."

Booth pulled his hands from around her and placed them up to her face, caressing her cheeks softly and soaking up the moment, "Maybe there's more Bren in you than you think."

She shrugged, reluctant to disagree with the man who was making her feel so good, "I did model her after me."

"And Mr. B was me, right?"

"Yeah," she closed her eyes as he drew closer to her, revelling in the feel of his hands on her skin, his breath on her lips.

"Well maybe we should just take a page out of their book."

She knew it was a metaphor but she couldn't resist a whispered, "It was my book," before his lips descended on hers once again.

This kiss was soft and careful, his lips and tongue soothed hers from their earlier passion. Their hands roamed each other's bodies taking their time and feeling everything.

They stepped out of the doorway and Booth pulled her towards his bedroom.

They paused for a moment to take everything in and Brennan took that moment to ask something important, "Do you love me?"

Booth recognised the question, "Yes. Want me to prove it to you?"

She smiled at his playing along, "If you're not too tired."

As they fell to the bed, smiles on their faces, Booth realised that he hadn't really been lying when he'd said he'd missed the clothes from his dream, but as the couple made love for the first time, a discarded suit by the side of the bed, he came to the conclusion that he'd just missed other things more.


I want a Booth in a suit.

If you want one too, review this story.

(Suited Booth not guaranteed upon reviewing, but hey it's worth a shot for that hunk-o-spunk.)