Author's Note: Mostly light, airy fun. A dash of humor, a speck of angst, no spoilers and hopefully no offense.

It's a law of unintended consequences.

Booth's alarm buzzes beside him, dragging him from dreams and into the fuzzy grey light of early morning. Beside him, Brennan mumbles something that vaguely sounds like 'shut it off,' which he does, and she burrows more deeply into the blankets with every intention of staying there long term.

"Aren't you getting up," Booth teases, poking her with a finger that starts at her shoulder but then can't help but be drawn up to tickle her along the sensitive rim of her ear.

She swats his hand away. "Don't have to."

"Come on, Bones. Keep me company." He leans down to press a tender kiss on her cheek, then moves to caress the undefended ear, persisting until she shivers a bit and rolls enough to blink one disapproving eye open.

"If I can't go to work, I might as well get to sleep in." With that, her eye closes once more with a snap of determination.

He chuckles, amused with her surliness (knowing why) but also wanting more of Grumpy Bones. It's such a rare phenomenon. "At least get up and have breakfast with me."

"Why?"

"Why?! Because you love me."

She rolls away and informs him tartly, "It's your fault, you know."

That surprises him enough that he sits back with a startled laugh. "How is this my fault?"

Brennan throws the blankets off and sits up with a peevish squint. "You voted for that Republican guy!"

"What?" He sputters the protest and rears back with an undignified snort. "You voted for that pansy Democrat!"

"The goals of the Democrat party are more in line with my political stance than any other party," she defended.

"Right back atcha, Bones."

Of course. They are opposites on absolutely everything and this is only one of the very long list of disagreements they've had to simply accept about each other over the years. Although it annoys her, secretly Brennan admires Booth's tenacious support of his ideals even as she laments what she perceives as a dearth of critical thinking. And although it annoys him to be disagreed with so thoroughly, Booth secretly loves getting her all stirred up because the fire in her eyes has always turned him on and now that they're together, he can act on it.

Which he dearly wants to do right now. And so does she.

They face each other over a foot of bed space, neither dignified with their tousled bed heads and (in her case) rumpled night clothes. His bare chest is pleasing to the eye and she can't help it that her gaze wanders off (only a little), or the unconscious licking of lips that he notices with a smirk. "See something you like?"

Her cheeks flush but her eyes flash and she crosses her arms primly. "None of this would have happened if your party was willing to compromise."

Yeah, exactly like that. If they're going to argue then he is going to reap the rewards. He's unwilling to compromise but he definitely sees something he likes in her stubborn pout. Booth leans over to tug her against him, his hands slipping under her t-shirt to lift it off and for a moment their argument is stalled when he covers her pursing lower lip with his. He will never get tired of this, the way she is so warm and soft under all that hard science and sharp mind, the way she melts into him when he touches her.

She makes soft little noises, her hands sculpting the muscular planes of his body and her mouth alive against his. Hearts accelerate. Bodies tangle together. They heat and play with each other, trading kisses and murmurs and then he utters the wrong thing.

"Compromise is over-rated," Booth whispers against her throat. He thinks he's gotten her worked up enough that she'll let him get away with it (or maybe he's just too worked up to recognize a misstep in time to avoid it). Either way, it's too late.

She stiffens. Sits up again and the arms are back in criss-cross against her incredible breasts, hiding them. He groans in disappointment.

It's the law of unintended consequences.

"That's precisely the problem! Why won't your party-"

He stops her right there. "Wait, no. No, your party should..."

He stops, too.

They eye each other once again from their respective stances, so close but on opposite sides. How many times have they been here before. Some things they just can't compromise.

"It's both our faults," she says with a laugh that is clearly self-mocking. And though she is speaking in the singular she actually means in the plural, 'their fault' being expanded to include the aggregate of an entire uncompromising nation. "I voted for someone who wouldn't compromise with your party's agenda and you voted for someone who wouldn't compromise with my party's agenda. We got exactly what we wanted."

"I don't think anyone wanted this," he disagrees. He's pretty sure he's right about that, but discussing politics is far removed from his immediate agenda. He can't resist trailing a hopeful finger over the soft skin in front of him, hopeful that she'll forget everything but his touch and lean back into him. After all, it's not like arguing is going to change anything.

No such luck. She sighs and glances around for her shirt (which he threw against the end of their bed) and it's not too far to reach so she lunges for it. "I'm going back to sleep."

"Oh, come on," he wheedles. "Spend time with me. I won't get to see you all day."

"You think I like this?" she snaps.

And he knows she hates it. He does, too. He still can't believe gridlock in the Capitol can disrupt their lives this much. For example, usually he awakens to the sultry tones of his partner whispering in his ear, not a buzzing clock. Usually she's already showered, showing off her silky skin and has been awake long enough to have the coffee brewed and waiting. Usually he opens his eyes to see hers, steel blue and sparking, a smile warming them. It's sensory heaven having Bones be the first to awaken. Since the fourth day of furlough, those pleasant starters have no longer brightened his mornings and he misses them.

But not any more than she misses working. Over the last week, Brennan has grown increasingly restless and restive. "What are you going to do today?"

Despite her threat to resume sulking under the guise of sleep, the shirt remains in her hand as she ponders the options so limited by a political stalemate. All she wants to do is work but the Jeffersonian museums and its employees are all on furlough until further notice. The lab is closed, Limbo is locked, her projects on indefinite hold. "I don't know. The house is clean, my book is finished, I've already worked with each of my interns to get their dissertations one step closer to publication. The National Mall and the Zoo are closed. Maybe Christine and I'll do something with Angela and Michael, but there aren't many free options available with everything shut down..."

"You could invite Cam," Booth suggests.

The mention of her boss makes Brennan frown, but not with dissatisfaction. They haven't spoken about it much but she knows things are getting tight. "Cam and Arastoo are starting to worry; Angela and Hodgins as well."

"Yeah," he agrees roughly. Awkwardly. He doesn't want to think about what the furloughs are doing to their friends, especially when he's so helpless to do anything about it. "They need their paychecks."

It has been two weeks now. Two weeks with no government funding at the Jeffersonian. Two weeks without work meant two weeks with no pay. Even if they eventually are paid retroactively, the bills are coming due now. Brennan glances down at her hands and considers the fact that she's the only one of their team with enough financial cushioning to survive without a paycheck. Hodgins lost his fortune, and Angela doesn't like to ask her father for money (but she can in a pinch). Cam is still trying to dig out from the mayhem of a stolen identity. Arastoo is still just an intern.

She has already offered to help Cam stay afloat financially until work and steady paychecks resume, but the proud woman has refused so far. Unable to help in any other way, Brennan has set funds aside, just in case Cam changes her mind.

"Maybe I'll invite them all here to lunch," she decides, and she means all of her furloughed friends.

"I think that's a great idea."

She meets his gaze again, warmed by his approval.

Booth leers at her. "Know what else I think is a great idea?"

"More sleep," she declares and wags the shirt threateningly. "Hey!"

He plucks it out of her grasp and tosses it too far away to retrieve. "You've got all day to sleep," he teases.

They go down into a tangle of blankets and she laughs, a bit breathless. "You're forgetting Christine. She'll be waking up soon."

"Then we'd better hurry."

"Booth!" His lips rake over her throat and down, making her gasp and squirm as she barely manages to hold on to her last coherent thought. "I thought you wanted me to eat breakfast with you."

He laughs against her warm belly. "I've always loved breakfast in bed."

So they compromise: she gets to stay in bed and he gets the pleasure of her company before work. Nothing is solved, of course, but it gets them through another morning.

Author's Note: Inspiration for this is due to the fact that the National Mall and all of the real-life Jeffersonian museums (aka, the Smithsonian) have been shut down this week. If Bones was 'real,' Dr. Brennan and all the squints would be among those on furlough.

Speaking of unplanned furloughs, my Catch in the Contradiction series is ready for a revival; I'll post an update in the next day or so. :)