Okay, here is another group of one shots. It's not based on the song Sweet Disposition, but every chapter follows a phrase from the chorus, starting with here...a moment.

After watching the 100th episode, I was desperate for more information on what happened between B&B in the year between the Arrington and Eller cases, if anything. To keep it in canon, B&B won't have sex with one another in this story, but I hope it still feels like something that COULD have happened. Let me know what you think! To be clear, I think Brennan said something like it was over a year since they could stand to be in the same room with one another? I don't know if that means they never saw each other, or if they bickered. Mmmmmm...yes!

-b&b-

"Why are we here again?" Brennan's eyebrows rose as she scanned the thumping, humping, massively crushed crowd of dancers in the frantic club.

Angela rolled her eyes and grabbed her arm, pulling her closer to the bar. "Because, I'm lonely, it's Friday, Peter's an asshole, and…" she trailed off and looked the sexy bartender up and down. "And because of that guy."

Brennan followed Angela's line of sight and conceded with a small nod. "His frame is quite impressive, indicating he's most likely also endowed with a large penis."

"Hands, sweetie. How many times do I have to tell you? It's the hands that tell you." Angela smirked and motioned the man over from the other side of the bar. She winked at him. "Two Amaretto sours. And two for her, too," she added with a thumb in Brennan's direction. The bartender smiled at her and began making their drinks. Angela turned toward Brennan and saw her eyeing the bartender's hands. She laughed and Brennan looked up quickly, then smiled, realizing she'd been caught.

They perched on barstools and scanned the crowd. "When are you going to finally dump Peter, Bren?"

Brennan frowned and looked down to her drink. "I see no need."

"No need?" Angela tilted her head to the side with a sad smile. "Sweetie, listen to me. That guy…he does not get you."

"Get me?" Brennan interrupted. "I don't know what that means. Besides, I make a good income on my own. I don't need him to get me anything."

"No…" Angela laughed. "Not get you things…he just…he doesn't understand you. He doesn't get you."

"Peter IS very intelligent," Brennan countered. "He's a physicist. Though he's not as smart as I am, there is little he doesn't understand. I still don't know what you mean, Angela. What's to understand?"

Angela pursed her lips as she considered her answer. "Okay…I mean…does he know your favorite flower? Does he know what kind of beer you like? Does he even know where you are now?"

"How is that important?"

"Because. Brennan…look," Angela pleaded. "I know you said Peter is 'highly satisfactory' in bed, and believe me…" her eyes re-scanned the crowd, scoping out a potential hook-up. "Believe me, I'm happy for you," she groused. "But…don't you ever feel like it's not enough? Like maybe there's something more?"

Brennan bristled. "I don't have time for more. My work and my writing keep me incredibly busy. You of all people should understand that."

Angela sighed and sipped her drink. "I do. I definitely do."

"And on top of that, I've been asked to go to Guatemala to identify remains."

"Oh," Angela looked at her in surprise. "Are you going to go?"

Brennan shrugged a shoulder and sipped her own drink. "I'm strongly considering it. It would be informative for me and of course highly beneficial for them."

"Oh yeah," Angela smirked. "Of course."

She turned back to the bar to set her drink on her napkin and then paused. "Hey, isn't that Agent Booth?"

Brennan's body stiffened and she immediately looked down to her drink. "Who?" she asked, her voice cracking slightly.

Angela whirled to face her in surprise. "What? Who? Brennan…it's Booth. You know who he is. Please…do not even start that."

Brennan swallowed, but didn't comment. She looked up from her drink toward where Angela had been looking. And sure enough…

There he was.

-b&b-

"You got him in your sights?" Booth heard in the small earpiece.

"Yep," he murmured, running his thumb and index finger up and down his nearly full beer bottle. Anyone watching him would know he hadn't taken more than two sips. But he was the one doing the surveillance. He was the one reporting to the team of agents just outside the club. Tonight was just for research purposes, and it had been awhile since he'd done this kind of thing. In the past six months since he'd opened and closed the Arrington case, he'd had more high profile work. But a couple of the guys from the fraud department had gotten injured in the intramural flag football championship game, and Cullen had asked if he'd help round out this unit for the weekend. Tessa had been pissed about it. But Booth was starting to wonder if there would ever be a time when she wasn't pissed about his work. And yeah, he admitted, it was Friday night, but still…it's not like she'd never cancelled a date because she'd been working on a big case.

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. He knew it was time he committed to Tessa. After all, she was smart, nice enough, and fit him pretty damn well in his bed. And he was fucking tired of the dating game anyways. Pops didn't exactly approve (A corporate lawyer, Shrimp? I don't think so.), but what the hell did he know about dating in the new millennium anyways? Booth grimaced. If there was an answer to that question, he didn't want to know it. He took a sip of his now warm beer and watched the club floor. His only job was to stay in the club and keep an eye on their target. Watch who he talked to, what he drank and which girls in the club seemed to approach him. There was suspicion of under-age prostitution, and the FBI had decided the best way to get justice was to go in through the money. It almost always talked.

As he scanned the room again, his shoulders tensed. Immediately, he sat up in his seat, his body automatically leaning forward to make sure he wasn't just seeing things.

But it was true…

There she was.

-b&b—

Brennan felt more than saw Angela lean closer to her. "Whatever happened between you two, anyways?" the artist asked.

Brennan blinked and then looked toward her friend. "What do you mean? Nothing happened between us. I mean, we worked together. On the case. And that was it."

Angela snorted. "Yeah right. I mean, I'm an artist, so yeah, hello, I've been around some moody people. But you, pal, you are not moody. And one day, you had the biggest smile on your face, and then it seemed like the next day…" Angela eyed her. "Well, you didn't smile as much, that's for sure."

"I told you," Brennan forced herself to look toward the nearest wall. "My services were no longer needed by the FBI, and therefore I ceased my communication with them, including my ties Agent Booth."

"I'd like to have ties with him," Angela murmured. "More like use ties with him…"

Brennan felt Angela looking at her for a response, and she masked her feelings. But the truth was that she felt a riot of sensation inside her body. It was amazing to her how the human body reacted to sights and thoughts and past feelings. And seeing Booth again made her feel warm and angry, but also intrigued and aroused. Her lips tingled and her palms felt empty as she immediately remembered the way he tasted and felt under her touch.

For the first month after they'd worked together, she'd thought about him more than she'd ever thought of any other person outside her family. She'd wake up and think of him. She'd force him away from her mind as she went to work, where for the most part, she stayed busy enough to keep her thoughts at bay. But when she was alone at night, and sometimes when she wasn't…she thought of him. Their final words to one another still stung, and pride caused her to lift her chin and look back to where she'd seen him sitting. But she blinked when she realized he wasn't there anymore.

-b&b—

Booth shifted in his seat, trying to force his eyes away from her. He was here for work, and yeah, it was a pretty easy assignment, but he really didn't need a distraction right now. Especially not her, Dr. Temperance Brennan. Dr. Temperance Brennan of the damn Jeffersonian Institute, and Dr. Temperance Brennan of his damn dreams.

She was just as pretty as he remembered. There had been a part of him in the six months since he'd last seen her that had figured he was just imagining his gut reaction to her. But now, seeing her again, it brought it all back in full force. Pale skin, long neck, straight posture, slim body, mile-long legs. Unlike her normal attire though, tonight she was in all black. Strapless, mid-thigh length dress, high heels. Son of a bitch.

He saw her friend Angela with her and noticed her attire as well. A streak of curiosity and protective jealousy raced through his blood at the thought of Brennan on the prowl.

"Booth…Booth!" he heard in his earpiece, and he blinked.

"Yeah," he muttered.

"Johnson's gone. Come outside and we'll debrief."

Steeling his jaw and laying a five on the table, he got up and walked outside the bar.

-b&b—

Brennan felt awkward and almost itchy. She looked around the room and then back to Angela, noticing her flirting with the bartender again. Brennan knew enough of human sexual interaction to know that it was highly likely Angela was going to have sex with that man tonight.

A thrum echoed low in her belly at the thought of intercourse. Her entire body felt like it was on alert, but also empty. It was the same feeling she'd felt when thinking of Booth.

Irrational, she chided herself, watching Angela for a few more moments. Scanning the crowded room, she grew impatient. Even the normally fascinating study of human interaction wasn't satisfying to her tonight.

She grabbed her small purse and nudged Angela on the arm. "Ange, I think I'm going to go home."

"What?" Angela barely spared her a glance. "What? No. Sweetie…don't go…" Her eyes pleaded for Brennan to stay, but Brennan shook her head.

"No, I have a slight headache, and you seem to no longer need my presence as your wingedperson, so I'm going to leave."

"Uh, wingman, Bren," Angela corrected with a somewhat chagrined look toward the bartender. Brennan missed all of that and stood up from the barstool.

"I'll see you on Monday, Angela. Okay?"

Angela nodded and sighed. "Okay, see you on Monday."

Brennan didn't look back as she made her way to the club exit through the crowded room. She heard a few sexual propositions, but was not interested in refusing or accepting them verbally. She made it almost to the door before the strap of her high heel slipped off the back of her foot. After pausing to fix it, she didn't look up as she continued to walk to the door, and she was forced to a stop when she collided with another person.

"Hey, Bones," Booth sneered.

An amalgamation of unidentifiable emotions rose up inside of her, and she narrowed her eyes. "Don't call me Bones."

-b&b—

Oh yeah, just as fucking pretty.

Booth felt that right to his gut as his eyes moved quickly over her from head to toe. "Fancy meeting you here. What are the odds, right?"

She shrugged a perfect and bare shoulder and her chin lifted just a fraction higher. "The odds are probably smaller than you think. We do both live in the same town. Apparently this is a highly popular place for young and attractive professionals to come to seek out sexual partners."

Okay, just as fucking literal too.

For some reason, that affected him as much as the color of her eyes. "I'm sure explaining it like that is getting you a lot of success." Booth heard the sharp edge to his tone, and he winced internally. What was it about her that stripped away his manners and general respect?

"I am very successful," she replied, completely missing his point. He shook his head to himself and then noticed the way Angela still hadn't left the bar.

"Are you leaving?" he asked Brennan, turning back toward her and realizing that for some reason, she was looking at his hands. He shoved them into his pockets and she looked up and met his eyes.

"Yes," she replied. "Are you?"

What kind of question was that? His brain felt scrambled as images of leaving with her and going…wherever the hell she wanted to go...rocked through his mind.

"No," he blinked and focused. "I'm working."

Immediately her blue eyes flickered with interest and curiosity. "A case?"

It almost felt like whiplash, how fast her mind worked, and he chuckled humorlessly. "Oh no, you don't get to know anything about that."

Her brow furrowed, and she crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Why not? I am very intelligent."

"Yeah," Booth agreed. "But…"

His words were cut off when a crowd of people shoved behind him through the door. He was pushed forward, and into Brennan. His arms went around her immediately and they were both pushed until a wall stopped their movement. Once he actually realized what had happened, it was too late to control his body. His hips were pinned against hers, and he was sure she could feel his erection pressing against her. Damn it.

But her hands were clutching his shoulders, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. And he knew he wasn't the only one affected by their forced proximity.

"You," he stepped back quickly and tried to get himself under control. He steeled himself against the image she presented in front of him and the memory of just how freaking perfectly they'd fit against one another and pressed his hands to his hips. The closeness only brought back the sting of rejection he'd felt after their big fight, and he clenched his jaw, gritting his teeth against the incredible onslaught of emotion. Fury, desperation, embarrassment, desire. "You don't work for the FBI. I do. We don't need your help. And even if we did, we wouldn't ask you for it."

Her eyes flashed and she pushed off the wall to stand right in front of him. He could smell her perfume and practically salivated at the scent. Her lips were full and red and he wanted them against his. "Even if you did ask me," she snarled, and he had to clench his hands to his sides to keep from pressing her back up against the wall. "Even if you did, I wouldn't help you."

"Fine" Booth barked back. "Good."

"Goodbye," Brennan shoved past him, walking toward the exit.

And Booth stared at her back as he watched her walk out the door.

-b&b—

Brennan stood under the pounding spray of her shower, trying to force her emotions and thoughts into rational categories. Damn it.

She'd never experienced sexual desire for another man like she did with Booth. Her eyes fell shut, and she leaned against her warm shower wall as she remembered the way he'd looked her over from head to toe. She imagined the way he'd felt, pressed against her, so hot and hard. Her hands swept over her arms and stomach and up to cup her breasts, trying to regain the sensation of his hard body. It wasn't even close to the same, but a stroke of her thumbs over her nipples, and in her mind, she could instantly see him, feel him…want him.

If he'd kissed her, if he'd have pulled her into his arms, if he'd have asked her to come home with him, this time she would have.

"Yes," she gasped into the warm and mist-enclosed space, answering the question she was never asked. If she closed her eyes tight enough, she could imagine him on his knees, gently parting her thighs. With a groan, she grabbed for her handheld showerhead and hooked it into the lower wired soap dish at waist level. The angle was perfect, and she could press her clit against it while still rubbing her hands all over her skin. As the water from above ran down her back and the water from below pressed against her, she pressed her hands to the wall for a moment to gain her bearings. "Booth…"

His name tripped off her lips and she closed her eyes, leaning her forehead against one arm against the shower wall. Her other hand traced over her belly and hips, and Brennan's mind immediately went back to Booth's hands.

She hadn't really paid much attention to them before, but now she could hardly think of anything else. Long fingers inside of her. Warm palms cupping her breasts. Tattooed wrists for her to kiss and lick at. And if the size of his hands was any indication, as Angela was so confident, it was likely Booth's penis was long and thick. Brennan's knees buckled at the thought, and she thrust down onto the shower head, trying to get some relief.

Booth would cup her ass in his large hands, as his penis slid in and out of her. Despite hardly knowing him, she was convinced they would be compatible. He'd kiss her lips or maybe her nipples, sucking her hard then covering her with soft licks.

"Ah!" Her eyes flew open at the sound of her own voice and she stared at the shower wall, nearly going blind at the pleasure ricocheting all over her body. "Oh, yes. So hard," she gasped. "Mmmmm…"

She fell backward against the shower wall, sliding down to sit on the floor. Her body hummed with the aftershocks of one of the hardest orgasm she'd had in weeks. That she'd had it on her own wasn't lost on her.

The water falling around her was cooling, and she shivered, sighing as she stood to her feet. Turning off the water with one hand, she reached with the other to grab a towel from the rack.

Her body was satisfied yet still felt empty. She tried not to dwell on that fact and instead dried her hair before quickly pulling on a comfortable pair of jeans and a sweater. She grabbed her phone and smiled at the picture text Angela had sent her, knowing her friend would likely have a story for her on Monday morning.

Looking around her apartment, she decided to keep working on her novel. If she could finish the final chapter, her editor suggested it would be sent for a quick printing.

An hour later, she heard the front door of her apartment open, and Peter walked in, tossing his work bag on the couch.

"Can you not put that there?" she asked him, for the fifth time that week.

He rolled his eyes and walked past her without saying anything. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and then pressed a kiss against the back of her neck. Brennan flinched and felt uncomfortable.

"What are you doing?" he asked as he sat across from her. Her eyes narrowed on his untied sneakers and then snapped back to his face.

"Working on my book."

He laughed. "Look, Tempe, I still don't understand why you're doing that. You're not a writer. You're a scientist."

Brennan flushed. "I can be both. You know my IQ." Her tone was icy, and at that moment, she realized what Angela had meant about 'getting' someone.

"And…" she continued. "I am going to Guatemala for awhile." Decision made.

"And…" she repeated. "I think we should break up."

She wasn't sure if it was the right decision or not, but it felt right.

-b&b—

"See ya, Booth," Betty saluted him. Booth forced a smile and handed her the earpiece he'd used.

"Betty," he clicked his teeth against his tongue. "When are you going to wise up and leave the fraud department and come join the awesome homicide department."

The receptionist just laughed at him and waved him away. "Then who would you come visit?"

Booth conceded that with a nod and waved as he walked outside. His body felt tense and uncomfortable. That wasn't too unusual after a stakeout, or any kind of mission. But he knew that those things were only about 50% percent of what he was feeling. The rest could all be associated with his run in with the infuriating and tempting Dr. Brennan.

As he got into his SUV, he shook his head. There had been a time when he'd promised himself that the next time he saw her, he was going to apologize to her. And there had been a time when he'd promised himself that the next time he saw her, he was going to kiss her. And a lot more.

So the reality that they'd faced off again, both physically and verbally…it gave him a headache. What hurt the most was that everything he'd felt the exact moment he'd seen her for the first time…that was all back. That was all still real. He hadn't imagined any of it. Any happiness he might have felt about that was subdued by the fact that as strongly as he felt the pull of fate toward her, the obvious reality was that they were more than likely to murder one another than ever care for one another.

He was tempted to just go back to the club and drink himself stupid. But he knew that would just make him feel worse in the morning.

He drove through the city for awhile, trying to organize his thoughts. About halfway to his apartment, his phone rang, and he quickly picked it up. "Booth."

"Hey…"

"Tessa," he glanced at the clock. "Hey…where are you?"

"At the store. Near my apartment, though. Want to come over?"

The tension he felt from the evening settled in his back and he rolled his shoulders. "Sure…yeah," he choked out the words. "Yes, I'll be over." Decision made.

Tessa chuckled, and Booth felt a little bit better. "You know, if you'd actually taken my spare key like I told you to, you wouldn't have to wait in my driveway."

Booth turned onto Tessa's street. "I know. I'll take it this time. I promise."

"Okay. I'm in line. I'll see you soon."

Booth said goodbye and closed his phone.

He knew it was the right decision to make, even if it didn't exactly feel right.

-b&b—

To find out what happens next…watch the Pilot episode! :)