A/N: If you like this story you have Jenny1701 to thank. She gave me the idea when she pointed out that there isn't much about how the FBI and Sweets found out about the new Booth and Brennan relationship or how they reacted. If they're out there - I have to say I haven't seen them either - if you know of any drop me a line and let me know about them. In the meantime, this is my take on the whole rigamarole. Jenny1701 this one's for you! Thank you for the idea!

Set at the end of season 6 starting with The Hole in the Heart

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~ Prologue ~

He closed blinds, checked locks, even tried to get her to sleep in his room, which was far better protected than the living room. More than once, he stopped and looked at her, silent. The entirety of him ached to fix something for her, anything. She was strong, brave, logical, and resistant. There was nothing to be fixed or maybe it was the stark reality that nothing about this situation was fixable. They could only move forward. She insisted on taking the couch. He needed his sleep, he had to kill Brodsky.

All day long, he'd wanted to pull her into his arms. On the forensics platform as they watched the life slip from Vincent Nigel-Murray. In her office as they gave statements, rehearsing over and over the sequence of events. At the FBI, where her carefully constructed walls of science and fact were obvious to everyone but her. Call it a guy hug, call it partnership, friendship, hell, today, tonight, he'd call it love. He knew her, knew she was hiding the pain. He tugged lightly on the pillow she was slipping into a pillowcase, an attempt to pull her in. She resisted. She could handle it herself. More than one message sent, more than one received. She would come to him if and when she was ready, not before. So, he gave her everything he could, then said goodnight and closed his bedroom door.

He didn't fall asleep immediately. He listened, for a long time, hoping to hear if she were struggling with the day long into the night. Knowing, as he did, that he would only hear her if she wanted him to. Eventually, his eyelids grew heavy and drooped, until he thought he'd close them just for a moment or two to rest, until he slept.

Her eyes didn't close, they never grew heavy. Resisting sleep, they burned from the tears she couldn't stop from streaming. Mind reeling, trying desperately to make sense of the nonsensical, her heart broken over the lose of her intern.

Necessity is the mother of invention Booth had explained to her once. It was a colloquialism, an idiom. Out of necessity, she'd learned to cry silently. A skill she learned in foster care that saved her as a young teen in the system and had served her well many times over the years. This night, she didn't actually feel that well served by it. The more she considered it, the more it hurt. The more it hurt, the more she cried. She was stuck in a circle of thought that, no matter where she started, ended with her sweet, young, quirky intern thinking she didn't want him there at the lab. That he died thinking that broke her in a way she couldn't quite put into words. It all, every last bit of it, seemed senseless and painful.

Desperate, she sought out Booth. He understood these things, surely he would help her out of the Gordian knot she'd twisted herself into. He was her Alexander the Great, he knew her, knew her better than anyone. He had a beautiful way of explaining things in a way that she understood. Pulling her by the hand, she came to sit next to him on his bed. Her words, her tears, her pleading eyes, blamed a God she didn't believe in for not stopping such a horrible loss from happening.

"It doesn't work that way." His deep comforting voice, his painful honesty, echoed in her heart. The tender stroke of his thumb on the hand he'd been holding anchored her as he tried to right her teetering world. She wanted to be here with him, not alone on the couch. She barely asked, a couple words, a nod, her eyes glued to his bed. He wrapped her in his arms and pulled her down. "Of course," he whispered to her. It's what he was there for.

He held her, as she sobbed, in that same position where they'd collapsed back on his bed. Then later, they wiggled and shifted and moved until he positioned them both under the covers. Every movement he made she countered, tightening her hold on him despite his constant reassurances that he wouldn't leave, that she didn't have to go. Finally, he felt her respond to that consoling hold he had on her, the long firm strokes along her back and arm reminding her she was safe with him. She was under his protection. She took a deep breath, what felt like the first one in hours and let herself fall into him.

He had no intention of this night being more that just what it had been. Two old friends comforting each other in the wake of a horrible senseless death. But, something changed. As one layer of her grief and pain was lifted, another rose to the surface. She could have lost him, he could have lost her. They both felt the tug, the pull of that dark and painful possibility. To lose one another before they'd ever found their moment.

It was then that she felt the shift, his long firm strokes lightened. They changed from consoling to comforting, from comforting to caressing. Each one seemed to allow her to relax a little more, adjust herself a little more, until her arms and legs were twisted and tied around his.

His hand slipped under that old grey sweatshirt he'd loaned her and came to rest in it's natural home, the small of her back. He didn't ask if it was okay, though he could barely breathe as he waited for her to respond. She didn't pull away. Her approval echoed in the softest sound, barely audible, she hummed her acceptance and approval. It was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. Letting her hand slide down his side she countered, found the edge of his shirt, hesitantly slipped her hand under it, and around his waist.

Their hearts raced, their breath shallow and quick, eyes danced as one simple innocent touch led to another, to a kiss, to more, until these two people, who'd waited so long to be ready for each other were carried away by their love, their hurt, their passion. Leaving no line, no separation, just two lovers bound into one.

Later, they'd reflect on it, try to break it all down, try to figure out where it all happened. Where did it start? That was easy. It started just where you'd it expect it to start, with his hand on the small of her back.