A/N Howdy hey! So, uh, I had made a deal with myself that I wouldn't do multi-chapter stories anymore because I inevitably get to a point about halfway in where I want to die. But this one feels different, so I'm going with it. I found the first couple of paragraphs on my computer, and I have no idea when it was written, but I thought I should give it the chance to at least be worked on a little before I toss it aside. So I got to work on it and I actually think it could be a good'un. I'm aware that this has probably been done to death, but I want to have a go at it. Let me know what you think, and I should get some more written today. Enjoy!

Temperance had been having the dream again. The one where they're trapped in the car and can't get out, before the explosion kills them both. Pretty much every night she wakes up in a cold sweat, breathless, and can't get back to sleep again before the alarm rings, the one that would rouse her if she actually was sleeping. Pretty much every night it woke her – only the nights where she drank so much she passed out were the ones where she slept for at least five hours.

But tonight it wasn't the dream that had woken her (although it would have done sooner or later, that was one thing she could always be certain of), but it was the phone's shrill ringing from the bedside cabinet. She let out a soft groan as she rolled over, limbs slightly tangled in the sheets, to look at the clock – the illuminated numbers showed it was 3.41 in the morning, of what day she couldn't be sure of yet. She was used to getting calls from work at this time in the morning. In the dark, she fumbled for the phone and when she felt it under her hand, lifted it close to her face to see who it was calling at this hour. When she didn't recognize the number, she threw it back down on the bed beside her, but the ringing didn't stop. Infuriated that her precious little time devoted to sleep was being interrupted, she flipped on the lamp and rubbed her eyes as they adjusted to the new light that was infiltrating them.

This was not her bedroom. This was not a place she recognized at all. Her bedroom at home wasn't exactly full of personal touches (she was more of a nick-knacks girl rather than family photos, of which there admittedly weren't many), but this place was… sparse, completely devoid of anything remarkable to let her know where she was. The phone had stopped ringing by this point, so she scanned the room once more, concluding that if she couldn't figure out where she was, she could at least try to work out how she had got there. She was still lying on her side, and once she had surveyed that side of the room, she flipped over and found herself nose to nose with a sight which was not one that she had expected at all – Seeley Booth, her partner, flat on his back, sleeping soundly and snoring loudly.

"Oh no," she whispered into the dimly lit room. "No…"

This couldn't be happening – it had to be a dream, right? Because if it wasn't, if she had just had sex with her partner and arguably her closest friend, then she had ruined everything. They had ruined everything. There was no undoing something like that – it would be like crossing a line on a one-way street. Their working relationship and their friendship would never be the same again, and they would be destined to work together in awkward silences forevermore. What the hell had they done?

She shut her eyes again and tried to work this all out rationally. Still unsure of where she was exactly, she tried to think back as far as she could – she remembered leaving the Jeffersonian on Thursday night, going home and packing a bag, and then… Nothing. Why would she have packed a bag? Surely she hadn't planned to sleep with Booth? No, she must have been going somewhere else. After packing her bag, she recalled getting in a cab, and leaving her car parked back at home. She suddenly remembered where she was – she and Booth had been called to examine remains in the wreckage of an imploded hotel, so she had taken a cab to the airport and they had flown here – to Las Vegas.

So she was in Vegas. In a bed with her partner, with what felt suspiciously like an intense hangover. She had to get out. She had to go back to her own room, get in her own bed, and just hope that when he eventually woke up, he wouldn't remember any of the finer details about last night either.

Slowly, she pulled back the bedcovers, relieved to find that she wasn't naked but was in fact still clad in her underwear, and rolled as stealthily as she could out of the bed. If there was a God, she was praying to him right now that Booth didn't wake up. Once she was certain that he was still out for the count, she crept across the room and began the hunt for her clothes. After a little while stepping around in the dim orange glow from the lamp, trying to be as quiet as possible, she had collected her pants and shoes, but was still on the lookout for her shirt – part of her wanted to leave it and hope that no one saw her as she made a mad dash back to her room, if she remembered which one that was, but if he spotted it the next morning that would completely give the game away. Finally, after a nerve-wracking couple of seconds, she spotted it tossed precariously on top of his suitcase on the stand by the TV. She pulled in on hastily and was about to leave when she saw it.

"Oh no," she found herself whispering again, wishing the ground would swallow her up. It was her suitcase her shirt found its way onto, which meant this was her room. She had nowhere to run, and she was trapped in a room with her partner who would eventually wake up. This had to be a very, very bad dream. This simply couldn't be happening.

Temperance sighed and put her head in her hands, trying to come up with some other way to get out of this mess. Feeling something cool pressing against the skin of her cheek, she pulled her hands away again and looked down at them. Her eyes immediately spotted the silver band on her ring finger. Before she even knew what she was doing, she turned around to face Booth's sleeping form, and it didn't take a genius to see one just like it on his own hand. What the hell had they done last night?

If she thought being stuck in a room with her partner after having drunken sex with him was bad, things were about to get a lot worse…

A/N2 Dun dun dun! Review if you can, please and thank you, they give me the warm-and-tinglies!