Disclaimer: I don't own Bones.

A/N: Okay, I have a longer project in mind and will be working on it, but also I just keep getting caught by how many times a minute, just 60 seconds, either way could have changed things for our favorite couple. My Peloponnesian War story was based on this idea, loosely, but I have a few more. One-shots, I assume, but I have never written a series like this. So we'll see. It'll be an adventure. 3sq. September 20-something, 2013


The One In Which Brennan and Booth Sneak Down to the Anok Exhibit and Get Interrupted 60 Seconds Later Than They Originally Did

Brennan smiles, then a beat later, says, "I have to speak. I hate these things."

"What are you talking about, Bones? You're great at these things. Listen, you changed history. How many people can say that?" Booth's voice is low and earnest. Their bodies shift. Somehow they move even closer.

"You can." A huff of laughter. "Every arrest you make changes history. You make the world safer."

"With your help." His eyes are shining and steady on hers, but somehow vulnerable and boyish.

"So. Andrew. I thought you were going to take him to this thing. That's what he told me." They are so close that even their facial gestures are minimized. A twitch of an eyebrow signals his question, gentle but...insistent.

The tiniest tilt of her head, quirk of her lips. "I was, yes, but...you and I - this was our case and I guess...what goes on between us, that should just be ours. Isn't that what you said?"

He can't help but swallow even as his lips curve up. His throat is so dry. "Yeah."

The silence spins out. The faint whir of climate control systems. The very distant sounds of voices, a party. The incipient echo of shiny-shoed footsteps down marble steps.

She wants to touch him, maybe adjust his tie.

He wants to touch her, thinks about brushing the long, soft curl of her hair back.

Nothing interrupts them and her heart is racing why, why does she feel so strange, it is just Booth. But she is so close to him, can feel his breath near hers. He shaved, she thinks inanely.

Nothing interrupts them and his palms itch to just touch her, trace along the curved edge of the top of her dress, stroke her skin where the black silk dips, low, between her breasts. He doesn't look but doesn't need to, her beautiful skin and curves imprinted on his retinas. He looked his fill, to his embarrassment, earlier that night. His palms remember, twitch at his sides.

It is so quiet, she can hear him breathe. He utters a word, a sound, that is hard to identify, and yet she wants to respond to it. Maybe not with her voice, maybe with her lips, her mouth, she wants to...taste the word. Swallow it. Then she'll know what it means. She smiles at her own foolishness, fancifulness. Temperance Brennan is not fanciful.

She smiles and he can't, can't see what she is smiling at, doesn't know what she wants but he does, he does know. If it were any other woman he would know. He...thinks he knows what she wants, what he wants.

She almost feels relief when he drops his eyes to her mouth, glad that she is released from a gaze that burns. He is looking at her mouth and without permission or volition her chin tilts and she leans in. Her hands come to rest lightly at his waist she is touching him and can feel the strong, lean, bulk of him almost pressed against her. Her legs want to fail her.

She just leans into him and it takes every last ounce of his control and now he doesn't have any left for later, not even a little to feel her warmth against him and not grab her and then aw fuck her head tips back just like any other woman. Oh my god she wants him to kiss her and jesus he wants to kiss her and it is Bones not some other woman and then just like the rawest, greenest, youngest, most inexperienced boy in the world, he lunges across the distance between them. Like a dare. Like he doesn't want to but has to.

Oh. Oh...my. His lips are on hers and she has wondered and waited. His lips could not possibly be as soft as she remembered, his tongue as talented, his smell as... Oh my. Her head drops back farther and her mouth opens, wider, moving against his passionately and her hand slips up to the back of his head, the short prickly hair there he got a haircut for tonight to pull him hard against her.

He can't think. Doesn't want to think. He just...a wave of resignation and tenderness sweeps over him. He is so tired of fighting this. She may not be like other women whatever that means but she is his Bones and he has protected her himself for so long that it is enough, finally, enough, to have her surrender. His whole body shudders when he feels her hand on his neck, in his hair, and there's no question of stopping any more.

She hears sounds, high pitched and needy, and knows they are coming from her. She feels the stream of air against her face and thrills to the knowledge that he wants her. Her, more than others. Than women with blond hair, or tall slim bodies, or normal ways of talking and seeing the world. There is no doubt in that moment, in her mind, that he believes he is fortunate. That he is worshipping her with his mouth, his hands. Oh his hands, heat seeping into her back through the thin silk.

Sniper senses. FBI. Special Agent. The spidey sense of any parent. Something. Something alerts him to people approaching. Before they are interrupted he pulls his mouth away quickly, but even quicker comes back, smothering her objections with his lips, this time pulling away by kissing along her jaw.

"Bones," he whispers.

"Booth." Her eyes are cloudy and dazed, and he sways a little at the passion he sees there. It weakens him and his own head tips back suddenly to gasp for air. The voices are louder.

"Bones. Someone is coming. Just," And he presses soft kisses under her ear, along the column of her neck and, unexpectedly, she feels the heat of his hand cup her breast.

And now she does lose structural integrity. Her whole body feels...well, boneless, and she presses into him, desperate, hungry for a firmer touch, for the rasp of his fingers.

He doesn't disappoint her, strokes outside of her dress, presses the palm of his hand against her where she most wants and she is content, reaching for his mouth with hers again when she feels his other hand come up against her other side, burning and branding, but it is not what she thinks because suddenly she is set away from him and his arm is around her but not at her waist, but around her shoulders and neck, like they are buddies. Oh, Bones, old buddy old pal he says something like that, something like a joke and she doesn't find it funny but she is so disoriented that she goes along with it and doesn't criticize such blatant nonsense and he is talking talking to Angela and Hodgins and the others and they are all laughing why are they so happy and he mumbles out of the corner of his mouth, "Smile, Bones" and that is an order like they are on a case and she does what he tells her like she always does—mostly—and so she smiles and remembers her speech and is ushered by him up the stairs to Angela and now she is more Dr. Brennan than Bones. She remembers that she needs to speak. Her body is on fire and she needs to speak. She repeats that to herself several times as if it will help and then maybe it does because she does speak. People do applaud and the level of applause tells her she did well. Better than usual. Because Anok roused her personal engagement, the lost son of a devoted mother and brother. Or because she and Booth kissed. One or the other. Maybe both. She finally risks a glance at him. Booth.

He stands in the front row, clapping louder than everyone else. She takes his breath away. She is beautiful and so goddamned smart and none of it, none of it, is because of him. She is with him, his partner, and he has long since reconciled himself to the pride he feels because of her choice. He won't fool himself into thinking otherwise. Oh, she has things she wanted to learn that he could teach her but at the end of the day she is extraordinary. And still she chooses to work with him. Questioning it too closely has never led anywhere good so he has stopped, mostly. And now, now...finally, she has let him kiss her. He is going to rock her fucking world. Bones.

He stands in the front row, Booth, clapping louder than everyone else. Like he always does. She can't help but smile at his enthusiasm. She finds it hard to look away from him, even on display the way she is. She steps forward finally and takes his outstretched hand, lets him help her down the stairs. His hand touches her back, lightly, steers her gently forward, supporting her as she maneuvers and greets people. Despite the fact that she was the keynote speaker, she can see that people's eyes are drawn to Booth. As well they should be. He is...the best man she knows. He does what is right, doesn't back down. Whatever happens next, she recognizes that they are well matched. And, if she is honest, she recognizes that she just enjoys being with him. Always has.

Almost through the crowd finally, they pause and turn to look at one another. His face is not open any more, but shuttered and closed, almost forbidding. She knows this face well. This is his way of keeping what is theirs private, his way of protecting her.

Her face is as it often is, alight with curiosity-as effective a camouflage as any poker face. He can't look away.

The crowd mixes and surges suddenly, reassembling for tours and more drinks and Booth stumbles in uncharacteristic clumsiness. Brennan feels his breath and voice, resonant but raspy with tension, against her cheek.

"You want to go, Bones?"

She pulls back to meet his eyes. The tours have just started. They have hours before the night is over. And yet...she threads her hand into his and is rewarded by the quick convulsion of his fingers around hers, the equally quick flutter of his lashes blinking closed for a long moment.

"Yes, Booth."