Disclaimer: My life's pretty good, but it'd be better if I owned Bones. Or even just Booth. I don't really have a need for the rest of them.. Booth would be plenty for me.

Well, here it is, the last chapter of Drink Deeply. It's more of just an epilogue. I've been holding onto it for a few days 'cause I'm not too happy with it, but I'm eager to move on to other stories. Anyway.. here it is.

Thanks to everyone who pointed out the formatting error.. it looked good to me when I posted it, but I guess something got lost in the process. Hopefully this'll work better.

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Standing outside Brennan's apartment, Booth tugged at the hem of his black button-down shirt with one hand, smoothing the front. He glanced at the gift he had picked up at the florist's and began feeling a little stupid for not just getting roses. But it had seemed like a good idea at the time, and it was too late to change his mind. He ran his fingers through his hair one last time, then knocked on the door. Tapping his foot anxiously, he waited for her to answer. When she finally opened the door, he nearly did a double-take.

Booth rarely saw Brennan dressed up; aside from that trip to Vegas and Angela's wedding, there had only been one or two mandatory events at the Jeffersonian when he'd seen her wearing anything that could be considered formal. But as she stood in front of him now, he thought that she had never looked more appealing—whether this was because he had a very good idea now of what it would be like to remove the sapphire blue, empire-waisted dress that clung to her bodyor what it would be like to pull the pins from her hair and see it cascade over her shoulders, he wasn't sure.

She was smiling shyly at him, and as she moved forward to take his hand and lead him into her apartment, his eyes were drawn down to her shapely legs as the hem of her skirt swirled about her knees. As the door closed behind him, Brennan pulled him into an embrace, sliding her arms around his neck, and kissing him tenderly in greeting. He wrapped his free arm around her waist while still awkwardly holding his gift in his other hand.

After thoroughly welcoming him with her lips, she pulled back. "Hello, Booth," she grinned.

Tilting his head to the side in acknowledgment, he winked at her. "Hey, Bones."

As they stepped apart, she indicated the ceramic planter he was holding. "What's that?" she asked.

"Oh, it's for you," he said, feeling himself flush. "I was at the florist, and I was going to get you roses, you know, but I know you've said that cut flowers are impractical, and then I saw this, and, well, I thought you could use it more." He was babbling and he felt his face grow warmer. He needed to stop talking. "They're fresh herbs. Since you've been getting interested in, you know, cooking," he finished lamely.

Her cheeks glowed a delicate shade of pink and she smiled broadly. "That's so thoughtful of you, Booth. Thanks."

He nodded, and said gruffly, "Sure. You're welcome."

She slipped her hand into his and led him further into the apartment, then took the planter of herbs from him.

"I'll put it on the balcony, then I just need to get my shoes on," she told him.

He watched her walk down the hallway toward her bedroom, her bare feet making soft padding sounds as she moved. He leaned to the side as she turned into her bedroom, trying to keep her in view. On impulse, he followed her.

When he entered her room, she was sitting on the edge of her bed, a pair of black heels in her hands. He crossed the room quickly, taking the shoes from her before she could put them on. She quirked her eyebrows at him as he knelt before her and placed one hand behind her slender ankle, pulling her foot into his lap. His hands skimmed over the smooth skin of her leg, cupping her calf, then up to her knee, where he rubbed his thumbs across the barely rougher skin there.

He glanced up at her briefly and smiled when he saw her eyes were closed, an expression of relaxation on her face. Moving his hands higher, he danced his fingers along the sensitive skin of her thigh. She breathed in sharply and opened her legs slightly. He gently rubbed her thigh, teasingly inching higher, then back. Abruptly he slid his hands back down her leg, lifted her foot, and slipped her shoe onto her foot.

She groaned quietly in frustration, but quieted when he shifted his attention to her other leg. His fingers glided along her pale skin, gently tickling behind her knee, along her inner thigh, then back down to the underside of her foot. He eased the other shoe onto her foot and rested both his hands on her knees, gazing up at her. She opened her eyes and looked down at him, a mock frown on her painted lips.

"You're such a tease, getting me all worked up," she chided him.

Chuckling, he stood and helped her to her feet. "Well, we do have a reservation, you know."

She made a most unladylike snorting noise and he slipped his arm around her waist, ushering her toward the door.

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Quiet music and soft light filled the small restaurant that was mostly empty; Booth and Brennan, who were sitting at a small table next to a window, were one of only a handful of couples dining out so early in the week. She took a small sip from her glass of wine while Booth fidgeted with his beer bottle. They had already placed their order and were waiting for their appetizer. He could see her eyes lingering on his vividly bruised cheek and he contemplated the appropriateness of him being bruised and battered and still recovering from injuries, on their first real date.

"It looks like it's starting to fade a bit," she said.

She was trying to be nice; he knew that if anything, the blues and purples turning to sickly yellows and greens just made it look worse. But he appreciated the effort.

"Thanks. It doesn't hurt too much anymore."

She nodded. "It's barely been two days, give it time."

"So, what do you think? Did this case make it to the top of our ten weirdest cases ever?" he asked, grinning.

"I don't know if it's the weirdest case we've ever had, but it's definitely in the top ten," she chuckled. "I mean, there was the one we thought had been abducted by aliens, the voodoo murders, the one with the witch..." she trailed off after mentioning the Hastings case.

He knew she still felt self-conscious about having briefly dated the man who ended up being the murderer, and sought to lighten the mood.

"Oh, come on, Bones," he laughed lightly, though he snaked his arm across the table and rested his hand on hers. "A guy who thought he was possessed by the Devil because he ate some poisonous berries when he was a kid, and believed he was being forced to kill innocent hikers and drink their blood? Sounds like a bad horror movie to me."

She smiled at him. "Yeah, I guess so."

A waitress approached their table carrying a platter of antipasto, set it down on their table, and asked if they needed refills on their drinks. Both declined and then spent several minutes helping themselves to the prosciutto, fresh mozzarella, marinated artichokes, and sliced tomatoes. In between bites, Booth watched her as she ate, cutting even the small pieces of food into little bites, then lifting each morsel to her lips with her fork. Her tongue darted out to lick the corner of her mouth.

"I wonder about the wife, though," Brennan said after a while.

"Who, Alicia Balch?" Brennan nodded.

"What about her?" Booth asked.

"How could she not see that her husband was, well, crazy? That he had murdered seven people?" She seemed troubled and he sensed that it wasn't just about Alicia Balch's lack of sense.

"Maybe he was able to act normal most of the time," he suggested.

Pursing her lips, she said, "I find it hard to believe that there weren't any signs of what he was doing."

"You're probably right. But sometimes people are so scared of being alone that they're willing to ignore what they don't want to see."

Brennan cringed slightly and it occurred to him that perhaps she was worried about doing the same thing. He squeezed her hand and gave her what he hoped was his most reassuring smile.

"Just because some people do that, doesn't mean you will, Bones." He paused for a minute, then grinned. "Besides, I'm not some psycho killer, so you have nothing to worry about."

"Well, I'm sure that's what Balch would have told his wife," she said, though her smile told him she was reassured.

Through dinner, they chatted amiably, though from time to time they bickered lightly over unimportant things, in that way that they so often did. As they stepped out into the cool evening air, Booth's arm around Brennan, keeping her pressed to his side, he glanced up at the sky. The stars were bright, the moon beaming down at them, and he thanked God, Gordon Gordon, Angela--and whoever else had played a part--for giving him sense enough to let go of his fears and surrender to what his heart had been telling him all along.

He noticed Brennan watching him, and when he turned his focus to her, she asked, "What's the matter?"

Before answering her, he pressed his lips gently to hers, holding her tightly to him. He broke the kiss after a moment and he winked slyly at her.

"Just thinking about how the next time we go camping, we'll get to share a sleeping bag."

She laughed, and slapped him lightly on the arm, shaking her head as he reached to tweak her sides. They teased each other all along the way to the car, then Booth opened the door for her and she slid into her seat easily. Before closing the door after her, he leaned into the car, hooked his finger under her chin and tilted her face up to him. He brushed his lips across hers, then slipped his tongue along hers. Her mouth was warm and tasted of wine and of the profiteroles they had shared. He kissed her hungrily, her hands pulling him to her, until he felt a twinge in his back from the awkward position. As he closed the door, he glanced upward again, and murmured a quiet acknowledgment of his gratitude.