This is Bones, Baby! It's been a while, and I missed them.

THE DARKNESS IN THE SECOND NIGHT

I. Night

Nights are honest.

She had always thought so.

It's easy in the bright daylight, hiding in the disguise of sunshine. Hiding your fear, hiding your longing. The edges are sharper at night, everything's more clear.

Isn't it funny how you know that time is passing even though you're asleep? How the very same hours stretch like eternities when you're lying awake, unable to succumb to slumber? She didn't know if being in a coma was like sleeping.

He should know, but he'd never shared that insight with her.

For three nights, she had been sitting next to his bed, guarding him. Tasting the sourness of fear and sleep-deprivation in her mouth. Facing him and facing a kind of truth she wasn't ready for.

Do they lead separate lives or is it a single life shared?

If only he wouldn't die. If only... She might be brave enough to live, then.

Nights are sticky in Indonesia.

Wide-awake in the darkness, listening to the never-sleeping jungle, she had been thinking about starry desert skies and big bruised hearts. How much more could he take before it would be too much? How much longer would he wait before he'd waited for too long?

Longing took a seat next to her, caressing her hair, whispering softly.

Nights are lonely.

People assume that when you're alone, you must be lonely. Like most assumptions, it's erroneous.

But if you are, indeed, lonely, the time between dusk and dawn refuses to pass. Burning the midnight oil in the lab was easier, so much easier than hugging her pillow while he was at home with someone else; someone he could love so easily, someone who wasn't her.

Nights are tempting.

She wouldn't have fallen into his kiss on a sunny Tuesday afternoon, but at night, in the twilit safety of his bedroom, there wasn't a road except for that one leading right into his arms. Giving in, finally, if only for one night.

What kind of person am I?

He knew the answer to that question, had somehow known it since the very first moment. And when he peeled away the layers of her clothes, the very same clothes he had given to her just hours ago, he knew how to do that as well. Knew how to kiss her, how to make her tremble.

She stopped crying just as tears formed in his eyes, and then they met for the first time ever with nothing but night air separating them.

-BONES-

Seeley Booth knew things. He might not be a pool of science like his partner and he didn't posses a multitude of random facts like Mr. Nigel-Murray had, but he knew other stuff. He knew that oatmeal tasted better with brown sugar, he knew his Flyers stats, he could fix a pipe.

Then there was Brennan, and he had known.

Rationally speaking, it made no sense, no sense at all. The idea of the two of them romantically involved was ludicrous. They were like a mismatched pair of socks. Still... Booth knew when she was sad, and comforting her had always been an imperative. For some reason, his arms were meant to hold her and something profound inside of him was always gravitating towards her.

Of course, that had been before.

Before he had gambled and lost, before Maluku and Afghanistan, before Hannah.

He had vowed to never get too close to her again, but like a moth to a flame, he was drawn to her.

And then last night...

Booth swallowed hard, as he tried to grasp the magnitude of the last twenty-four hours. Vincent Nigel-Murray was dead, killed by Broadsky. Broadsky was in custody, captured by him. He had slept with Temperance Brennan.

And suddenly he didn't know anything anymore. She had come to him in grief, but had she found more than solace?

He blinked hard, trying to shake off fatigue and something else entirely.

You put the lime in the coconut, you drank them both up...

The silly tune was flowing out of his mouth, and everything about this was surreal. The simple wooden casket, the potted plant adorning it. He had come here straight after hours in the interrogation room, and Booth wished he had taken a shower beforehand. As if that would change anything. As if it would make the English squint less dead or Jacob Broadsky less guilty.

I said doctor, ain't there nothing I could take...

The mental image of Mr. Nigel-Murray wearing Brennan's iguana as a hat popped up, and Booth almost smiled. Maybe, this was an appropriate send-off after all, and maybe "Put the Lime in the Coconut" truly was the best song for the occasion.

He could feel the sadness in the late April air, but there was so much more as well. Camaraderie, friendship, loyalty. And maybe, just maybe... he didn't dare to finish the thought, but his tired eyes flickered to his partner, finding her already looking at him. Yeah, maybe...

Booth thought about the way she had come undone in his arms the previous night, thought how comfort had turned into something else entirely.

Now there were other things that he knew. How warm she was, how soft. How she had welcomed him in the valley of her thighs, how he had made her gasp. She had moved him; moved him beyond anything he had ever experienced before, and he was so tired that he felt utterly defenseless against the onslaught of memories.

The melody faded out, as the limousine with Mr. Nigel-Murray's remains drove into the night, and suddenly Booth could sense her presence next to him. Without preamble, Brennan looped her arm through his, and warmth spread out in his chest, covering the exhaustion. He inhaled deeply.

"Booth... I don't want to assume anything. I..."

He wore his heart on his sleeve, as he cut into her hesitation.

"Assume."

A smile lit up her face, if only for a moment, and he held his breath while he watched his partner gathering her courage.

"I... I don't want to be alone tonight. And I don't want you to be alone. You must be tired, Booth... I know I am. Come home with me. Please?"

Her voice was hoarse, as she was walking on unfamiliar territory, and it tugged at his heartstrings.

"Yes."

Sometimes it was that simple.

Relief flooded her face, but then her brow furrowed and she tilted her head.

"I'm sorry about Broadsky. I know that he was your friend once."

"Yes, and Vincent was yours."

She put her head on his shoulder, and the gesture sent a rush of longing through his system. He inhaled deeply, reaching for her hand on his arm, covering it with hers. With closed eyes, he lowered his head until he could feel the silk of her hair underneath his cheek.

"I'm so tired," he finally confessed, and she burrowed into him just a tad more.

"Let's go, Booth."

The night was their friend, and they found mostly empty streets on the way to her apartment. She was driving, but at every red light, she cast a glance at him, taking in bits and bobs. His eyes were closed, his trenchcoat slightly crumpled. She could smell him, the scent of a long day covered up by deodorant. Brennan found herself reacting to his scent, and not so long ago, she would have blamed it on pheromones alone. It was more, though, and despite the fact that she couldn't prove it, she knew it to be true.

Two plus two equals four. Booth and Brennan equals one.

Just five more miles, then two.

Booth could feel her watchful eyes on him, and after the chaos of the day, her concern caressed him like a gentle breeze. This was the woman who had shattered his heart, and the power she held over him still made him dizzy. She had told him she couldn't change, but then she had done it anyways. Not that he had ever wanted her to change in the first place.

The moon was their only witness, as she parked the car, as she took his hand and guided him to her building.

A few steps, an elevator, locks, and then the quiet air of her apartment greeted them. With closed eyes, he halted for a moment, absorbing the peace, and he could hear her rummaging around. Finally, her soft voice was back next to him.

"Give me your coat."

Accepting her help, he shuffled it off. His shoes came next, then his jacket. Her small hands were back to loosen his tie, and he let her do it.

"Do you want to take a shower?"

He nodded, and she took his hand, tugging him towards her bathroom. He stopped in the entrance and watched her. She was opening dressers and drawers, providing him with towels and shower essentials. His noticed his usual brands of shampoo and shaving gel, and tenderness hit him hard. Booth swallowed.

"I don't have spare clothes."

"I do."

She left the room, only to come back a few moments later with a pile of soft cotton in her arms. A shirt, boxers, sweatpants. Booth ogled the garments and arched a puzzled eyebrow.

"They're my size."

"I know," she just said, and then she was gone, leaving him alone with the reassuring feeling of being taken care of.

-BONES-

From the other room, Brennan could hear the rushing sound of water, as he started the shower. So many feelings and thoughts were whirling around in her head, and she tried to make sense of them, as she shed her own clothes hastily.

He was naked now, she was very aware of that fact. Something stirred low in her belly, as she imagined the water cascading down his body. But it was more than that. She hoped that the water could wash away not only the grubby feeling of an exhausting day, but that it could cleanse him, them. Could mark a new beginning.

Last night... So far they hadn't really talked about last night, and while the occasion for their encounter was heart-crushing, the act itself had been anything but. Never before had she felt so connected to another human being, so cherished.

Brennan was beyond losing him and she hoped... yes, she hoped.

Hoped for a different outcome.

She slipped into her PJs and brushed her hair. The sound of the rushing water accompanied her, as she padded into the kitchen on bare feet, as she fetched milk, cocoa and whipped cream.

Intimacy. That was another part of the things she felt. It had been ages since someone else had taken a shower in her apartment, and even then it had merely been practical, had never elicited feelings of domesticity.

The shower stopped, just as she put two mugs into the microwave.

Now he was toweling himself dry. Brennan swallowed hard. Was he wondering about the garments? Was it weird that she had bought clothes and toiletries for him? She had purchased them just last month, after the blizzard and their heart-to-heart talk. They were palpable proof of the commitment she was ready to make, and she hoped he would understand her intentions.

The microwave peeped, and she retrieved the mugs. Brennan added whipped cream, and just as she dusted it with cinnamon, she could feel his presence behind her. Taking another deep breath, she turned around. No more hiding.

His hair was still wet, his feet bare, and the clothes looked soft and cozy. Then she met his eyes and fell into a pool of unguarded hazel-brown. He was here, he was truly here with her.

A heartbeat went by in silence, then another one. Eventually, his lips curved up just the slightest bit.

"You bought stuff for me?"

"I did."

The smile deepened.

"Thank you."

"I... hoped."

He was waiting for more, but when she didn't continue, Booth understood that the sentence was already complete. She was hoping.

Nobody moved a limb, but nonetheless, another heartbeat brought them closer together.

"I made hot chocolate. You want one?"

His gaze fell to the mugs on the counter behind her, and only then did he notice the comforting scent of chocolate and cinnamon. He nodded against the lump in his throat, accepting the beverage; accepting so much more.

"Do you want to sit down?"

He shrugged in an indecisive manner, but none of them moved, as the minutes ticked away and they were standing side by side, sharing hot chocolate and silence. He noticed her feet, and the sight of her pink toenails tugged at his heart. She was wearing pale blue PJs that seemed to be a size too big and impossibly soft, but he couldn't really tell without touching them. His fingers itched to gain that knowledge, but for now, he curled them around his warm mug.

With every sip he took, a bit of the tension of the day left him.

Next to him, she opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again. He tilted his head, trying to catch her eyes.

"Bones?"

"Booth, about last night... I feel the need to inform you that while we don't have to talk about it, I'm not avoiding the topic on purpose. I don't want to push you, but I'm not backpedaling as well. I'm just... here I guess." She laughed out, the throaty kind of laughter he loved so much. "Wow, I'm really bad at this."

And his heart flew to her. Placing his mug on the counter, Booth turned towards his partner.

"No, you're not. Bones, you're doing it just right. I admire your courage. Your strength..."

Strength and imperviousness.

And her heart flew to him. With shaking hands, she put her mug next to his, and then she was in his arms, finally again. A shuddered breath was released into her hair, and she wrapped her arms firmly around his midsection.

Within seconds, Booth had confirmed that her PJs were indeed as soft as assumed, but that she, Brennan herself, was even softer. Her skin, her hair, her curves. She was everything familiar, everything comfortable and he squeezed her probably a tad too much, but she didn't complain.

And, again, minutes ticked away, and he was just holding her – or was she holding him? Somehow, it didn't even matter anymore.

Eventually, he had to yawn, and she chuckled into his neck. Pursing her lips, she kissed the tender skin of his throat, before disentangling herself from him. He grumbled in protest, but then her fingers slipped through his.

"You have to sleep, Booth. And so do I."

Another time, hesitation made an appearance, as his eyes flickered to her couch, and for once, she understood all the things he wasn't saying. Ever so slightly, Brennan shook her head.

"Tell me you want to sleep on the couch, and I make you a bed. Otherwise..."

Her voice trailed off, and he brought their joined hands to his face, brushing his lips over her knuckles.

"Otherwise, please. I want otherwise."

She smiled, and he followed her, as she switched off lamps and closed blinds. One more time, she took him to her bathroom, providing him with a toothbrush, and side by side, they prepared for the night. The scent of mint enriched the air, as they brushed their teeth, and then he lingered while she washed her face, scrubbing away the remains of make-up. The sight of her so young and undisguised went straight to his chest.

He recognized the scent of her lotion, had found traces of it on her skin so many times. A smile appeared. As new as this was, it was familiar as well.

Another yawn stretched his face, and she regarded him.

"Are you ready?"

He nodded, following her to the bed, waiting patiently, while she removed pillows and covers. Her sheets looked exquisite and expensive, but he was so tired that he was beyond wondering how he fit in. Tonight, he just did. And maybe even tomorrow.

He slipped under the covers, just as she turned off the light. In the darkness surrounding them, he could hear her breathing.

"My Bones," he murmured, and she inched closer, wrapping herself completely around him.

"I'm here," she whispered, and something deep within clenched and unclenched.

"Tomorrow," he breathed, and it was both a question and a promise.

She cradled him in her arms and placed a soft kiss on top of his head. And another one.

"Yes, tomorrow."

-BONES-

Nights are dark, but people say, the darkest place is always before dawn.

To be continued...