5.

He should have realized that someone of her petite stature wouldn't last long after the night she had. As he sat on her bathroom floor, his back resting against the tub, one hand sturdily supporting Brennan's limp body, and the other stroking her hair comfortingly, he felt like he was in a dream. She clung to the toilet seat, her head hovering inches above it as waves of peristalsis shook her body and the contents of her stomach emptied, soiling her otherwise pristine white toilet. The misty haze of sleep had yet to wear off and the whole situation was so utterly…bizarre…it was difficult for Booth to really register what was going on.

They couldn't have been asleep for more than an hour or two when he felt her rustle against him, shoot up on the couch, and let out a weak whimper before jetting to the bathroom. He didn't think twice as he jumped off the couch as well and followed her. While he was more used to handling four year olds' upset stomachs, the curse of a hard-hitting hangover was nothing new to him. A part of him nagged, saying that Brennan would never want him to see her like this; weak and exposed. There was just something so utterly demeaning about hanging lifelessly from a porcelain toilet as you fell prey to the biology of your stupid, stupid decisions. This nagging, however, was easily shot down by Booth's ever-present, over-protective side. He wouldn't let her suffer alone.

She mumbled incoherencies into the seat before raising her head slightly. "Worst decision of my life."

Booth smiled as his eyes drooped closed and his hand continued to stroke her head before resting at the base of her neck.

Reaching up limply, she flushed the toilet before sliding back down. She covered her face with her arm then muttered, "how could you ever let me do that to myself?"

Lazily, Booth's eyes drifted back open. "Let you?" He laughed.

When his gaze settled upon her slumped form, he forced himself up and pulled her to spot he had previously occupied against the tub. Stepping over her tangled legs, he turned on the sink, and grabbed a hand towel from the hook on the wall. He waited for the water to cool slightly before reaching a hand under the faucet. Deciding that it was cool enough, he placed the washcloth beneath it as well. After he let it soak completely, he turned the faucet off and wrung the towel out. He looked over his shoulder quickly, unsure of Brennan's status, seeing as she had suddenly grown eerily quiet.

With a sigh, he took a step forward, and crouched down beside her.

"Hey," he called softly as he lifted her chin towards him with his index finger and thumb. Her eyes fluttered, stuck somewhere between twilight and delirium. He chuckled humorlessly to himself as he gently moved errant strands of hair out of her face, placing them behind her ear. "Geez Bones, for such a smart woman, you certainly make questionable choices."

Slowly, he ran the damp towel across her forehead, then down the side of her face. He smiled to himself as her head moved and she mumbled indecipherably in response to his comment.

"Don't worry, you can thank me later," he said, almost to himself, as he wiped the towel over her mouth, and folded it before running it down her neck.

Standing back up, he threw the towel onto the counter haphazardly before trifling around for a toothbrush and toothpaste. While he was quite aware that she very well had a few more bouts of vomit left in her, he remembered hearing long ago something about the stomach acid eroding the enamel of your teeth. Were Bones in a slightly more aware state of mind, he was sure she would have done the same. He filled up a glass with some water before squeezing a small amount of toothpaste onto her brush and heading back towards her. He sat down beside her, then turned her head towards his own.

"Open," he commanded, gently tugging at her jaw, and for once, she actually listened. Her mouth opened slightly, just enough for him to shove in the toothbrush and get a few good strokes in. As he pulled the brush out, he quickly brought the cup up to her face, "sip and swish." With that, Brennan took a small gulp of water, swished it in her mouth for a brief moment, then spit it back into the cup, which Booth was holding just under her chin.

"Good girl," he muttered with a grin as he placed the mug down on the ground, toothbrush and all. Finally, he leaned back exhausted against the tub, and wrapped a protective arm around Brennan and let sleep overtake him once again.

---

Surprisingly they had no more early morning vomit wake-up calls, and when the sunlight flooding through the curtains pried Booth's eyes open, Brennan was still sound asleep. Rubbing his eyes lazily, he yawned before letting out a small groan as he shifted positions against the tile. His neck was sore and stiff from the twisted position he had fallen asleep in, yet he didn't mind the pain as the sound of Brennan's faint snore filled the small bathroom. He laughed to himself, grinning like a madman. The possibilities for blackmail were seemingly endless.

As he struggled to sit up, Booth heard a hitch in Brennan's snores. Immediately, he stilled himself, trying his best not to wake her. Instinctively, she nudged herself closer to him before the soft, rhythmic snore once again filled the bathroom.

He was stuck.

Turning his wrist over, Booth checked his watch. 6:45 AM. Pushing away all complaints of how it was absolutely unethical to get up at this hour on a Saturday morning, he realized there was no possible way Brennan would be waking up any time soon. Someone as hung over as his partner would invariably be out for a good, oh, four more hours. If not more.

With that fact in mind, he slowly eased himself up, lifting her with him as he stood. As he stood at full height, he shifted her slightly in his arms, letting her head rest in the crook of his neck. Almost as if on cue, Brennan brought her arms around his neck, and muttered something softly in her sleep.

Like hell we're just partners, he thought to himself as he carried her towards her couch, before resting her gently on its soft cushions. He stepped back, looking around the apartment for a brief moment, scanning for something she could use as a blanket. Finally, he found a throw slung across the back of her ottoman. Opening it up, he leaned down and spread it gently over Brennan's sleeping body.

As he stood up, Booth crossed his arms and stared at Brennan thoughtfully. Logically speaking, he had two options here. He could either leave a note and exit her apartment as unsuspectingly as possible, or he could stay and make her breakfast. The first, of course, was what he knew he should do. The second, though, seemed like the more appealing alternative. He also had a third, quite illogical possible scenario that seemed particularly inviting: jumping into that couch with her, pulling her tight against him, and letting himself sleep in the way he should have this bright Saturday morning.

Shaking away his ridiculous fantasies, Booth turned away from the living room, and headed towards the kitchen. What he needed now, more than anything, was a strong cup of coffee.

---

When Brennan's eyes slowly crept open, she gasped slightly and bolted up, immediately searching for the time. 9:00 AM. She panicked for a brief moment, before the smell of coffee and waffles filled her senses, and it dawned on her: it was Saturday. It was Saturday because yesterday was Friday. Friday as in, her thirty third birthday. The same birthday she decided to go "all out" in celebrating. The same birthday that left her with this splitting headache and one of the worst hangovers she had ever experienced.

The blanket fell as she brought a hand to her head and groaned slightly. Well that explained the hangover, but what about the breakfast?

Her eyes widened as they shot towards the kitchen, as Booth's unmistakable whistle floated out towards her.

I didn't—We didn't—

Frantic, she lifted the blanket, desperately hoping there were clothes under there. Breathing a sigh of relief, she threw the blanket off and rushed towards the kitchen, stopping abruptly at the counter as the throbbing pain in her temples finally caught up with her.

"Oh whoa there, Bones, way to scare a man while he's sautéing veggies!" Booth had a kitchen towel slung over his shoulder, and were she not absolutely petrified of the reason he would give her for standing in her kitchen and cooking her breakfast, Brennan would have smiled and found the whole scene quite cute.

"I didn't—We didn't—Me and you…We…" The words didn't want to come out of her mouth, and the growing grin on Booth's face didn't calm her fears in the least.

"We didn't…What, Bones?"

"We didn't …"

"Have sex?" Booth finished her thought flippantly, turning back towards the omelet he was working on. "No, no we didn't."

"Oh thank God," Brennan sighed, covering her face with her hands.

Booth couldn't help but feel at least slightly offended at the sheer relief in Brennan's tone. Was the thought of them actually having sex together really that bad? His jaw clenched even though his mind told him it was stupid to even entertain such thoughts. This was the way things were, and her response was completely normal, given their circumstances. Completely normal. His jaw only clenched more at that feeble attempt at rationalization.

"Booth, I can't remember anything from last night," she groaned, pulling herself onto a stool and leaning on the counter, "and I don't think I've ever been so hung over in my life."

He forced a laugh as he shook the frying pan in front of him.

"Well, given what you went through last night, I gotta say, I'm not surprised."

"—Wait, if we didn't…you know…then why are you still here?" She lifted her head from her hands and stared at Booth in bewilderment.

Why was he still here? The answer seemed a lot clearer when she was still asleep.

"Um…Well…" He stumbled over his words, unsure of what possible excuse he could give other than the fact that he wanted to see her wake up and cook her breakfast and just be around her. No, that excuse didn't seem wise at all.

Furrowing her brow, it suddenly dawned on her. "Oh wai—Wait. I think I do remember something…" She gasped before hiding her face in her hands once again. "I vomited last night, didn't I?" Her voice was muffled, and he just chuckled.

"Yes, yes you did."

"And you stayed to make sure I was alright."

"Uh…Yeah. Yeah, that's exactly it."

"Please tell me I didn't vomit on you."

"You didn't vomit on me."

"Oh thank God," she sighed, now running her hands through her hair.

"…That much." Booth finished with a laugh as Brennan's eyes grew wide.

"I am so sorry, Booth—"

Reaching for a plate, he slowly eased the omelet from the pan to the dish. "Hey forget about it. I've been through worse. But now that we've got all that straightened out, let me give you this—" he reached for the coffeemaker and poured a mug, then handed it to Brennan before nudging two aspirin towards her, "and tell you what the Chef Booth has prepared for you this lovely morning."

---

AN: Sorry for the delay! Once again, thanks for all the great reviews and all your interest in this little piece! I've got a couple more chapters up my sleeve, so stay tuned!