Greetings and salutations. Welcome to my latest venture into the land of fanfiction. This story has been rolling around in my head for over a year now but I wanted to make sure I had a definite ending in mind before I started writing. Now that I have one, I hope you'll enjoy the beginnings of this multi-chap fic. For those of you crying out, "What about The Last Time She Got Away?" I have no definite answer. While I would desperately like to finish it, the story has stalled in my head. If it ever is restarted, I'll be just as excited as you will. But enough with the rambling. On to the story.

Need to Know

One

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. A fair trade. Two unbearable evenings made slightly less unbearable by the other's company. But now, staring across the crowded ballroom, Seeley Booth couldn't help but think that this was nothing but self-inflicted torture. Then again, it wasn't entirely self-inflicted. She had helped. In fact, the whole damn thing was her fault. Well, maybe it wasn't so much her fault as Cam's. Yes, he would blame it on Cam. That was the safest alternative.

After all, if it hadn't been for that stupid Jeffersonian fundraiser he would never have ended up in this mess. Instead, here he was, thirty seconds away from hitting at least five different men. And while it would make him feel better, it would only last a span of about thirty seconds before one Temperance Brennan would then proceed to kick his own ass. Not a pleasant scene. Particularly in front of a group of FBI agents, politicians, and the social elite. So, with a resigned sigh, Booth reclined in his chair and watched as a small group of men clamoured for the attention of his partner. She would need to eat soon and then she'd be sitting next to him and he could actually spend some time with her, which he knew would then have the intended effect of making his evening better.

Several seconds later, Bones did indeed excuse herself from the group with whom she had been standing and who quickly dissipated after her departure. Watching the auburn-haired forensic anthropologist make her way towards him, Booth allowed himself the small luxury of appreciating her appearance. At the FBI's Annual Black and White Ball, it was easy to blend in with the crowd but he could pick out his partner effortlessly. Her dress was white, the skirt lightly skimming the marble floor in spite of her black spike heels. A wide, black velvet ribbon with a dangling gold pendant was tied around her neck, making her alabaster skin glow in contrast. However, what had caught the eye of almost every man in the place was the plunging v-neckline at the front of the dress, rivalled only by the matching v-cut at the back. She was stunning and Booth inwardly admitted that the evening was worth it if only for the sight of her in that dress.

Finally reaching their table, Temperance set her handbag beside her place setting and sunk into her chair with a sigh.

"Hey," Booth greeted.

"Hey," she returned.

"Hungry?"

"Starving. Any sign of the food yet?"

"No, unfortunately. Not a single rubber chicken in sight."

"Rubber chicken?" Brennan queried, her brow furrowed slightly.

"It's an expression, Bones. Just means the food at these kinds of things is usually not that great. Don't you remember the salmon from the Jeffersonian fundraiser you made me go to?"

"First of all, you know I didn't have the salmon. Second of all, I did not make you go, Booth. You agreed to go to the Jeffersonian party with me if I promised to come to this with you. It was a fair exchange."

"I wouldn't exactly call it fair. I spent most of the evening trying to keep you from falling over."

"Can I help it if I was jetlagged from my trip to Peru?"

"Umm, yeah, it might have helped if you had slept at some point during your time in South America."

"I slept."

"Oh I'm sorry, it just seemed to me that the two hours a day you got didn't really help you out when I had to keep you from kissing the concrete floor in the lab."

"I was not that bad."

"You were too."

"Was not."

"Were too."

"Was... oh this is ridiculously childish."

"Maybe, but it is entertaining."

"Are you saying you picked a fight with me for entertainment?"

"More as a means of distracting myself from my hunger. Have to say that it worked too."

"I'm glad I could be so accommodating," Temperance said wryly.

Booth shot her a charm smile and then rubbed his hands together in anticipation as he spotted waiters beginning to circulate with plates of food. It was about time.

Waiting for her plate to arrive, Temperance watched people filtering to their own tables. She and Booth were sharing a table with another FBI agent and his wife as well as Dr. Sweets and his latest girlfriend. While Brennan had learned to tolerate the younger man, she knew she'd probably have to restrain Booth from strangling the psychologist before dessert. An evening with her partner was never dull she had to admit. After the other couples had seated themselves at the table, a waiter quickly appeared with a plate of chicken dinners as well as the vegetarian option for Brennan. Lifting her fork, she was about to dig in to her stir-fry when a familiar voice interrupted her.

"Temperance is that you?"

Twisting in her seat, Temperance smiled widely.

"Greg! It's wonderful to see you," she rose from her seat and hugged the taller man with sandy hair. She could feel Booth's gaze on her back but ignored it. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, you know how word gets around about my chequebook."

"Yes, I believe it made an appearance at the Jeffersonian event a couple weeks ago."

"It did. Although I didn't see you there."

Behind her, she heard Booth mutter, "That's because she and the floor were having a private moment."

She shot him a glare and then turned back to Greg, "Yes, I had just returned from Peru and was a little jetlagged. I was keeping a low profile."

Booth watched as Greg's eyes briefly dropped to the neckline of Brennan's gown. Perfect, now his list had gone up to six.

"Well, I hope you won't keep too low of a profile tonight. Maybe I'll stop by your table later..." Greg trailed off as he suddenly caught sight of the laser-intense glare Booth was shooting his way.

"That would be lovely," Brennan prompted and smiled as Greg pecked her on the cheek and then wandered off, ensuring to give Booth a wide berth.

Returning to her seat, she glanced at Sweets whose gaze was fixed on her partner. Turning to gaze at Booth herself, she recognized all the signs of the alpha-male preparing to defend his territory. Somewhere in the back of her mind she wondered if her choice of dress had been the wisest. Angela had helped her in her decision the last time they had gone shopping and now she wondered if this had been her best friend's intent. Thinking about it for a few seconds more she had a feeling that this was definitely what Angela had wanted. Making a mental note to scold her best friend for her meddling, she turned her attention to attempting to improve the situation.

"That was Greg," she said to Booth.

"I heard. How do you know him?" he asked, attempting to keep all the jealousy out of his voice. While Brennan might not notice, Sweets definitely would and he didn't want to spend the next three weeks of therapy discussing this evening.

"He was my lab partner in organic chemistry one year at college."

"You date?"

"Briefly."

"Who broke it off?"

"I did."

"Mmm. He's hoping for a reunion."

"Booth, stop. Eat your chicken."

Booth briefly looked at her as if he wanted to argue more, but catching sight of Sweets' inquiring gaze held back. They could always argue on the ride back to her apartment.

The two spent the rest of the meal talking amicably with the rest of their table and Booth had to admit, if only to himself, that he was enjoying himself. Especially with his gorgeous partner smiling at him radiantly, her cerulean eyes sparkling. It was his favourite smile. While he knew many considered his charm smile the most powerful on the planet, he knew that a single smile from his partner could make him melt. And he did not melt easily.

When the plates had been cleared away, the live band struck up a faster number and Booth watched with trepidation as a small crowd of the most eligible bachelors of both the FBI and the Washington, D.C. elite descended on their table. The corners of his mouth turned down when Greg arrived first and Brennan readily agreed to dance. He knew that Brennan enjoyed dancing and would never be rude enough to turn down any polite invitation, especially from someone who had readily donated to the Jeffersonian and was likely to contribute to the FBI, but Booth was incapable of tamping down the jealousy that surged through him at the thought of her dancing with one of her exes. His eyes followed her back as Greg led her to the floor and he would have continued to watch them with a hawk-like gaze were it not for the sound of a certain young psychologist clearing his throat. He whipped his head around to see Sweets levelling an analytical look at him. He stifled a groan. That look could only mean that he was about to be on the receiving end of some "deep insight".

"Agent Booth," the psychologist began.

"Sweets," Booth ground out, his gaze briefly straying to where he had last seen Brennan, ensuring that Greg's hands were still on Bones' waist and hadn't wandered before he returned his attention to the man next to him.

"You seem a little tense, Agent Booth. Any particular reason?"

"Other than you're grilling me and watching my every move, no, I have no reason to be tense."

"Really? Because it seems to me that every time any good-looking, single man comes near Dr. Brennan..."

Booth cut off the younger man before he could continue in the hopes of preventing a conversation Booth didn't want to have.

"Sweets?"

"Yes?"

"Why are you sitting at this table?"

"Because it was where the seating chart had me."

"Yes, but did you have any influence over the person making the seating chart?"

"I might have made a call and asked to be seated with you and Dr. Brennan," Sweets admitted cautiously.

"Why?"

"I wanted to observe you in a social situation outside of work."

"I thought we did that at ceramics. Not to mention that Bones and I took you bowling."

"True enough, but when we went to ceramics I was a little absorbed with my own problems with April. As for bowling, my memories from that evening are a little fuzzy as you got me stinking drunk. Although I do have vague recollections of Dr. Brennan being frustrated that a strike was bad in baseball and good in bowling."

Booth snorted. Bones had had a rather entertaining rant on that point. Of course, his favourite memory from that evening was the sight of his partner granny bowling, her very shapely behind appearing at a very nice viewing angle. Booth shook his head to clear it of those particular memories and refocused on his shrink.

"Fine. So you want to observe us. That's great. I admire your tenacity. But for tonight could you just stick to the observing and leave the comments and psychobabble for our next session."

Sweets quirked his eyebrow at the word psychobabble but nodded his head in assent. Booth sighed at his victory and leaned back briefly in his chair until the band switched to a slow song. His eyes shot back to the dance floor and his partner. She was still dancing with Greg who had pulled her a little too close for Booth's liking. He made a sound that could only be likened to a growl, stood up, and began to make his way to the floor.

While the song was slow, Greg made the mistake of letting go of Brennan for a spin and Booth seized the moment in the same way he had during their trip to Aurora. Booth caught Brennan in his arms, which he quickly wrapped around her waist. Greg, with a look of defeat, made his way off the dance floor. Booth grinned triumphantly until he looked down and saw the glare that a certain forensic anthropologist was shooting at him.

"What?" he asked, his voice rising defensively.

"Was that really necessary?"

"I wanted to dance with you. Greg let you go. You snooze, you lose."

"Yet more playground wisdom."

"Oh come on, Bones. Is dancing with me so bad?"

"I didn't say that. In fact, I'm almost glad you cut in when you did. Greg has two left feet and he's bruised at least one of my toes."

"Ah. Want me to go kick his ass?" Booth asked teasingly.

"No thanks," Brennan said and then rested her head on his shoulder.

Booth smiled and allowed himself to tighten his arms around her almost imperceptibly. Swaying back and forth on the dance floor to "That's All" with his very lovely partner in his arms, Booth could feel the tension seep out of him and he finally began to truly have a good time. That was until he heard the woman in his arms attempt to muffle a yawn.

"Is my company that bad, Bones?"

"No, Booth, it's not the company. You're actually a very good dance partner. You lead very well."

"Thank you. But you did yawn and if it wasn't the company, then what was it?"

"I was up a little late working with some remains last night."

"And by a little late you mean?"

"Three in the morning."

"And we had that meeting with the judge at seven this morning."

"Yes."

"Bones," Booth began in an admonitory tone.

"Oh, don't worry, Booth. I've run on less."

"You don't have to tell me. I was at the Jeffersonian fundraiser when you came back from Peru remember? I was just going to say that you're slightly better company when you've had more sleep."

"Only slightly?"

"Fine, much better."

"That's more like it."

"You want to skip out of here early?"

"Mmm, two more dances."

"Who have you got lined up?" Booth asked, peering around and desperately trying to keep the jealousy out of his voice.

"Well, I was going to dance them with you unless you have some other women "lined up" as you put it."

"No, I don't have anyone lined up."

"Good. So two more dances?"

"Deal."

Brennan settled her head back on Booth's shoulder and thus missed his pleased grin at the thought that his partner was willing to stay longer just to dance with him. His smile widened further when he remembered that it was because he was a good dancer.

The next song was slow also and Booth had just settled his hands on the expanse of bare skin near Brennan's lower back when he spied an agent from the Bureau making his way purposefully towards the dance floor. Inevitably, he stopped next to Booth and his partner.

"Special Agent Booth?"

"No," Booth said stubbornly. "I have the night off."

Brennan broke away from Booth's arms to turn and look at the newly arrived agent.

"I know that sir, but you and Dr. Brennan were especially requested."

"There must be some mistake," Bones interjected. "Dr. Addy is supposed to respond to any needs for a forensic anthropologist tonight."

The agent nodded, "Yes, but it's Dr. Addy who asked that you be sent for."

Brennan looked at Booth who proceeded to sigh.

"Fine, where are we off to?" Booth asked, sticking his hand in his pocket to retrieve his car keys.

"The Lincoln Memorial," the agent replied and then disappeared back into the crowd.

A slow start I know but I had a desperate desire to write some mildly fluffy stuff before we get into the heavy and cliffhanger-ridden story to come. Drop my muse and me a line and let us know what you think. We'll take anything.