A/N - Christmas is about to come early. Ever since the 100th episode, I've been thinking about the mistletoe kiss from Santa in the Slush. I was messaging with a friend who expressed disappointment that there wasn't a Christmas episode this season and the light bulb went on - a three-shot with chapters from Caroline, Brennan and Booth's perspectives.

Many, many thanks to the lovely and talented jsq for signing on as beta. I envy her ability to say in under 500 words what it takes me 1500 to convey. Give her an early present for helping get this out way ahead of my plans for a Thanksgiving posting - check out her latest project The People in the Story.

Disclaimer: The only thing I own is Seasons 1-5 on DVD. What you recognize belongs to Fox.


As I make my way to her office, I consider the pair I'm headed to see. I can't have anyone thinking I've gone soft, so I told her I was feeling puckish. Despite what you may have heard, I'm a romantic. A romantic who stands to lose a tidy little sum in the office pool.

Yes, there's a bet. Yes, I'm a prosecutor and it probably violates 14 different rules of ethics, but I couldn't resist. It was fun right up until I realized I had two weeks to go before I was out. Her plea for me to fix it so her father and brother got Christmas in prison was the perfect opportunity. I'm already knee-deep in the mud, why not add blackmail to the list?

The sexual tension between Seeley Booth and that lady scientist of his crackles like a roman candle. The man needs help and I've decided to give it to him. Yes, sir; traded the good doctor a kiss under the mistletoe in exchange for giving that jailbird family of hers a Christmas miracle. What difference does it make that I have an ulterior motive?

I've known Booth for years. He's the kind of man you could take home to your mama. The marrying kind. It's always surprised me that the Stinson woman didn't snap him up when she had the chance. I mean if I was ten years younger, I might've chased after him myself. Especially once I saw him break type with Camille Saroyan.

Sure he's had girlfriends off and on. I gotta tell you, I can't recall a single one other than Cam that wasn't blonde. His baby mama. That waif of an attorney - oh, what was her name?- Tonya? Theresa? Anyway, the skinny one that you just wanted to hog-tie and force-feed cheeseburgers until she looked human.

He's more than just a good man - sure, he's flawed, but aren't we all, cherie? - he's standard issue FBI eye candy. Those broad shoulders and tight muscles encased in those perfectly tailored Italian suits. Mmm Mmm Mmm. And if that isn't enough he's got that butter-wouldn't-melt-in-my-mouth smile and those milk chocolate puppy-dog eyes.

It's the eyes that'll getcha. Only those eyes are fixed on one woman in particular and they have been for quite some time. I've known he had a thing for Temperance Brennan ever since I made him fire her for punching that federal judge. Not that he'd ever admit it. Poor boy has got it bad and he thinks no one knows it.

Dr. Brennan is a stubborn firecracker of a woman. She's beautiful and hardheaded and she thinks she's the smartest person on the planet.

I walk into her office and see her standing with him. A couple of feet and a wall of tension separate them; but not for long. "Congratulations," I say as my hands come to rest on my wide hips. Best to ease into this judging from Booth's posture. I know better than to push the former sniper. "I hear you have a suspect in the Santa slaying."

"Yeah," Booth responds. I can tell he's shaky as ever around her, but determined as ever to sound in control. "It looks like the Easter Bunny has nothin' to worry about."

Dr. Brennan, on the other hand, isn't nervous at all because, as usual, her big brain is focused on the outcome of the experiment. "Did you talk to the judge about the trailer?" she asks while Booth shuffles from one foot to the other like a middle school kid at his first dance.

"Yes, I did," I tell her. Flicking my eyes to Booth, I add, "What about your end?" She points up. "Well," I say, drawing out the word. "Would you look at that? Mistletoe." I grab Booth's arm and push him towards the good doctor. "You take a step to your right and you'll be right under that cute little sprig." I raise my eyebrows.

Dr. Brennan is looking at him like she could swallow him whole. It's like one of those Discovery Channel programs where the lioness is staring down a gazelle and you just know she's thinking about pouncing. Don't even pretend you don't know what I'm talking about, cheries. And don't go telling me that Dr. Brennan is a vegetarian - she's a man-eater and we all know it.

And then it happens. She reaches out, grabs the lapels of his coat - I can hear the breath rushing from his lungs as she pulls him to her - and lays one on him.

Things go all slow-motion. It's like one of those cheesy romantic movies I would never admit to watching. What starts as a "come here, you" is changing before my eyes to one of those you'll-never-forget-it kisses and I just know Booth will never be the same. Suddenly, what I thought was going to be a fun little push that would help me get an edge on the bet isn't so funny any more. I feel like an intruder.

Booth pulls away from her just a hair only for her to reel him back in. And I'm pretty sure she just slipped him the tongue. Wait a minute, is there a chance this isn't the first time? And they call this woman an ice queen?

I'm starting to feel confused - and let me tell you, I never get confused. Well, at least not unless those scientist types are spouting their nonsense, which, by the way, is number four on the list of things that piss me off.

When Dr. Brennan finally pulls away, I have to collect myself. No way am I letting them notice my confusion. She's wearing a smug look as Booth takes a stumbling step backwards with his chin hanging open.

Appears I'm not the only one who needs to do some collecting. Part of me wants to tell the man to close his mouth before he starts catching flies, but I hold my tongue. This is too good.

"Was that enough steamboats?" she asks, her eyes cast towards the floor. Was she moved, too? I'll be damned.

"Plenty." Slowly, I exhale. That kiss was hotter than some of the sex I've had. I need a cigarette - and I haven't smoked in years. "A whole flotilla."

"I don't know what that means," Booth says. His focus is on me. It's cute that he seems incapable of making eye contact with his partner. "But, Merry Christmas."

Brennan pipes up all too quickly, "It was like kissing my brother."

I don't know who she's trying to convince, but she isn't fooling me. "You sure must like your brother," I say with raised brows.

Booth casts a quick sideways glance at her. "She does."

She looks at him and then back to me as she scratches her nose. "I do."

Nice try. I know something's going on. And I know I've turned the knob up a couple hundred degrees on their tension. "The trailer's all arranged. You're good to go, cherie. Merry Christmas."

Turning my back, I shuffle out of her office and hurry to exit the Jeffersonian. I certainly hope the Keenan family enjoys their Christmas. Lord knows, Dr. Brennan earned it...