A/N

Hello!

I have had a bit of trouble with my muse of late. For various reasons, my creativity has been lacking and I've had trouble pulling myself from the slump.

I found a handful of old, roughly sketched One Shots that had been living dormant in a forgotten folder on my computer. This is one of them. In order to jump start the writer-in-me, who has unfortunately chosen to go into a comatose state for an undetermined amount of time, I decided to blow the dust off, clean it up a bit and put it out there for your enjoyment, or criticism, whichever the case may be.

I never have, and still don't, claim any success in writing from a first person POV. I don't fool myself into thinking I have a knack for getting inside any of our favorite characters' heads and minds. But that doesn't necessarily stop me from dabbling within that framework. I think you'll figure out when this takes place, it's pretty damn explanatory.

I think by now everyone knows I don't own Bones or its characters… If I did, B&B would have *a lot* more affection for each other on screen rather than only in our little FF world.

Ramblings

Amazing

My partner is amazing.

Amazing in every sense of the word. She is the best Forensic Anthropologist in the world, a NY Times best-selling author several times over; an inspiration to all who take the time to know her. Temperance Brennan is a genius unaware of the powerful spell she holds over those who look up to her and blissfully ignorant to the adoring looks that her students, both male and female, shoot her way when they think no one else is watching.

But I'm watching. I am always watching.

My partner is as beautiful as she is brilliant. Why wouldn't I watch? I've been watching her for years. Watching and learning, watching and cataloguing, watching and protecting. She says she doesn't need protecting… Like hell she doesn't… I've never met anyone who finds herself in as much trouble as my Bones. I believe her when she says that she doesn't do it on purpose - I just think she acts on impulse and that doesn't bode well in the game of avoiding trouble.

When Bones and I first met, I was disgruntled by her nonchalant way of dismissing my knowledge and opinions, not to mention her blunt manner of always pointing out when she was right and I was wrong. And man alive, did she hate to concede on the occasions that I was right… She would usually gloss over the outcome, ignoring my taunts about her being wrong, and she'd point out something, anything, that would still prove her to be superior. That's OK, though, I learned to recognize her little qualms and quickly fell in love with her many idiosyncrasies. I learned to appreciate the quiet contemplation that surrounded her whenever she would mentally process something that I had said or done that turned out to be helpful. And I carefully avoided pointing these times out to her. I let her process in her own way, on her own timeline. I could always tell when she succumbed to my way of thinking or when she would finally agree with me - it was always in her eyes. Those crystal-like, bottomless, hypnotic, emotional eyes...

Bones is a woman of many, many emotional layers.

When people learn of her 3-year stint as a ward of the State, they often brush off the long-lasting effects it left behind. I've heard comments made that she 'should be over that by now,' or cruel remarks that she uses that time 'as a crutch' on which to blame her own inadequacies and fears. When I hear shit like that, I can feel my blood boil… I wanna grab that person and repeatedly pound their head into the nearest wall until they fall from my fist, a limp pile of flesh and bones on the floor at my feet, and nothing more... And then, when they complain about a headache the next day, I'd tell them they should be over it by now and to stop using it as an excuse not to work. Fuckers.

Bones kept her history quiet for a long time. I knew most of it, because I read her file prior to asking for her help. But I never let on that I knew. Even when Angela was telling me about Bones' past, I let the artist talk as if it was the first time I'd heard the story. I find that when I let people talk freely, rather than interrupt them with what I already know, I learn a shitload more. I learn about the things that a report can't tell, I learn about the emotion, about the person. In Bones' case, I learned about the mistrust she held for pretty much everyone. I learned that, despite the fact that her file indicated she had excelled scholastically as a ward of the State, she had done so only out of necessity. If she hadn't focused on her school work, she wouldn't have been granted scholarships, thus losing her chances of getting into the universities that she so desperately wanted to attend. Those scholarships and grants helped make her into the person I'm now watching over. Her experiences at the universities, both good and bad, formed the driven, selfless woman that I now love.

People scoff when they hear me refer to Bones as selfless…

Those who don't know her think she is egotistical and arrogant, cold and distant...and they equate those traits to selfish and unyielding. I'm almost ashamed to say that I, too, once thought she was simply full of herself… But then she proved me wrong. She took that test I gave her, dismantled it and threw it right back in my face, along with a helluva right hook. She attacked the case we were investigating with tireless enthusiasm and a vigor that I hadn't witnessed in any of my FBI colleagues. She sought only the truth and justice for our victim, disregarding her own needs of sleep and sustenance in the process. She wanted to give a voice to those who could no longer speak, those poor souls who could no longer tell their own stories. That was when I learned just how selfless Temperance Brennan could be.

That was also when I appointed myself her personal watchdog. I made sure she ate. Hell, I even let her steal my beloved diner fries, and anyone who knows me, knows I love my diner fries…Though I must admit, the first time she reached across the table to snag the crispy, golden piece of deep fried goodness, I was shocked. She was always preaching healthy foods, telling me shit like I was setting myself up to die young and that my penis was gonna shrivel up and fall off if I didn't eat better… And yet there she was, stealing my fries and stuffing them into her mouth, that perfectly delectable mouth, in between bites of her garden salad, lite Italian dressing on the side, please…. I can't help but shake my head and smile...

I also made sure she went home at night. I was shocked to learn that her co-workers didn't find it unusual that she would often sleep at the lab. It seemed whenever she became engrossed in research, regardless of whether it was an active case or a 200-year-old skeleton, she worked through her exhaustion, taking naps on her office couch only when absolutely necessary. Apparently Angela had given up trying to get Bones to go home on most nights. But I'll be damned if I was gonna let my partner work herself into an exhausted stupor. Nope… I would come by the lab, long after all the other offices were dark, and I would drag her out of here, making promises that I had no intention of keeping that I'd leave her alone the following evening. And she let me. Sure, she complained and resisted, but in the end, we shared most of our dinners together.

The more time we spent together, getting to know each other, the more I realized what a warm and loving, not to mention grossly misunderstood, woman Bones is. We became much more than partners, more than friends, even. I shared my history with her. I told her things that I've never told another living soul. I've opened up and admitted my past to her in ways that I'd never done, said things aloud that I'd only re-lived in my tormented memories and nightmares.

And I know she confided in me about things that were so painful for her to remember, that there is no way in hell she would have told anyone else. Bones let me see her fears, her insecurities. She's let me thumb away countless tears as they streamed down her flawless skin. She eventually even let me give her hugs, as long as I qualified them as 'guy-hugs'. But c'mon, now, everybody knows that I ain't huggin' any guys unless its Pops, Parker or Jared… What the hell is a 'guy-hug' anyway? She confessed how painful it is for her to hear that she's considered 'cold'… I can still remember the embarrassed look that distorted her beautiful features when she told me about the first person who told her she was unlovable because she was nothing but 'a cold fish.' I held her for a long time that evening. Right there on her living room couch, she folded herself into an unbelievably tiny ball of Bones and let me envelop her in a cocoon of Boothy-safety. The more times she let me wrap my arms around her, the harder I started to fall. It wasn't long before I realized it was hopeless to fight it. But I knew that she would never feel the same way about me as I felt about her. So, I tamped down those desires and resolved myself to an existence of perpetual-hard-ons whenever we were together.

Over the course of our partnership and friendship, we've both ventured off the path to take care of those 'biological urges' as she likes to phrase it. I've done my share of preaching to her when she gets all squinty and anthropological about monogamous relationships, but I have to admit, there was only so much I could take care of on my own. So, I'm not proud of my relationship indiscretions. And while I hate to even think about my Bones with another man, I understand.

And now I watch her, down there on the platform, giving hell to a junior-intern for fucking up some mass-spec-test with excessive electromagnetic properties, or whatever the hell kinda shit these kids around here do, and I feel an unexplainable swell in my chest.

She's mine. I'm hers. Completely.

No one else knows yet. It's been three weeks since she came to me for comfort in the dark moments before dawn. Three weeks ago tonight was one of the hardest nights of our lives; we lost Vincent earlier that day. But it was also, without a doubt, one of the most important nights of our lives… In those quiet moments as I held her in my arms, stroked her hair back from her forehead and pressed a kiss to her warm, flushed skin, I told her what I needed her to know. It had been too close of a call in the lab… Had I handed the phone to Bones instead of to Vincent, I would have lost her that day. And that would have shattered my world into a million little irreparable pieces.

"I love you, Bones. You don't have to respond, you don't have to love me back, but I need you to know, above all else, that I love you and I have for a long time."

She raised her tear-streaked face from my shoulder and pinned me with a piercing look. Her eyes were wide, she was searching for any indication of ulterior motives; she was studying me. I was about to reassure her that she didn't need to respond, that I didn't expect anything in return. But she surprised me by stretching up and pressing a gentle but firm kiss to my mouth.

"I love you, too, Booth." She whispered against my lips. She shocked me. I never, not in a million years, expected her to respond like that. "That bullet...was meant for you… I don't want... I can't lose you." She choked on her words, tried in vain to swallow her tears.

I palmed her face, traced my calloused thumb along her cheekbone, wiping away the salty streaks marring the perfect canvas of skin. I remember apologizing for my rough hands. She simply snuggled into me, lowering and pressing her forehead against the side of my neck. I knew she was exhausted, weary. It was obvious she hadn't slept while she was out on the couch and the mere action of admitting her feelings aloud, I know, took a lot of courage for her, adding to her stress-induced fatigue.

"Let's sleep, Bones." I threaded my fingers through her hair, feeling her nod and exhale in a soft sigh. The sensation of her warm breath ghosting across my Adams Apple made me shiver and I rolled slightly, so she could still rest on my shoulder, but I was angled enough to look down at her.

It felt so perfectly natural to lay with her in my arms like that… It didn't feel new or uncomfortable, it didn't feel like undiscovered territory. As she drifted off into a much-needed slumber and her weight increased against my body, the one thing that sticks out in my mind above all else about holding her for those few hours was the feeling of completion. My partner was the one person in the world who could make me feel whole. Here I was - an average guy who had a rough start to life but caught a couple o' lucky breaks along the way and ended up in the FBI, partnering with one of the smartest people on the planet. Temperance Brennan was my confirmation. Confirmation that I had done something right at some point in my past...Confirmation that I made the right choice in career. And her presence in my arms, in my bed that night, was the confirmation that we were both finally on the same page.

I knew sleep wouldn't come for me again on that night, but I was beyond satisfied to simply lie there with my partner while she slept. Bones had been on an emotional roller coaster that would've been hell for anyone, but for my emotionally-stunted and sensitive best friend, it was especially hard. I coaxed her to out of nightmares and back into peaceful rest more than once during those dark, early hours and my heart nearly exploded when, in the fog between awake and asleep, when her guard was down and the filter that often stopped her from saying things was non-existent, she mumbled my name, fisted my t-shirt and told me again that she loved me. The fact that she offered the sentiment without my prompting solidified the feeling and I had to catch my breath as I fell harder than I ever imagined possible.

The following morning, there was no awkwardness, no hesitant approaches. Bones let me hold her while I leaned against the counter and we waited for the coffee to brew. And she reached for my hand when we were walking down the stairwell to the truck. When we pulled into the parking garage at the Jeffersonian, she didn't want me to walk her upstairs, insisting that she would be fine. I knew what she was doing, though. She was trying to distance herself temporarily, trying to compartmentalize. But before she slipped from her seat, Bones leaned across the console and pressed her lips to mine, threatening to kick my ass if I didn't come back safe that night.

I knew I had to keep my head in the game, the game of catching Broadsky, but my thoughts were swimming with visions of Bones.

A warm and sleepy Bones wrapped around me. A trusting and vulnerable Bones looking to me for guidance and understanding. A desperate and passionate Bones as she kissed me there in the truck and waved goodbye as she crossed the blacktop. I watched until she entered the staff elevator and waited until the security guard signaled to me that she had arrived upstairs safely.

When we finally saw each other that night, as the group of us bid Vincent a fond and final farewell, it was all I could do to not wrap her up safely and carry her off over my shoulder, locking her away from danger forever. But we managed to wait until we reached her apartment. There was never any question about whose place we were going to once Bones declined Angela's invitation to go out for drinks at Founding Fathers. We were barely inside the apartment when she turned to me and flung her arms around my shoulders, sobbing against my neck and clawing at my trench coat. She was spilling tears of sadness and regret for Vincent, but I knew she was also crying in relief that the day was over, and Broadsky was in custody.

"Shhh… It's OK, Bones. C'mon, let's sit, Baby." I whispered against her loose hair, the moniker slipping out without conscious thought, though she didn't argue. We sat for several long, quiet moments, swaying and touching gently, stealing kisses.

I'm not even sure who started it, who made the first real move, so-to-speak, but before long, all the angst and fears of the day, along with the years of tension that had built-up between us was shattered as the metaphorical dam broke. At some point, how the hell we managed it I'll never know, we ended up back in her bedroom, clothes had been shed along the way and finally, finally(!), I was running my hands over her soft curves and silky skin. It should be illegal to have skin as soft as hers. Her strong, wiry fingers mapped my shoulders and chest, my jawline and along my back, she was cataloguing my skeletal structure, and I was fine with that… I wanted her to touch me; I wanted her to know me.

I cupped her face, that gently square, smooth jaw of hers, and tilted her head up until she was looking into my eyes. For a moment I think I forgot how to breathe, her blues were so wide and clear and honest. "I love you, Bones. And I promise to love you until my dying day."

"I know, Booth," she replied and she pulled my head to hers, slanting her mouth beneath mine.

We made love that night. We broke the laws of physics several times over. We took turns taking the lead and giving in. It was unlike any other experience I've ever had, and I dare say it was the same for her. Tomorrow it will be three weeks since we made love for the first time, but today it's three weeks since I knew for sure that we would be together, since I knew the one person who had the capabilities to enrich my world or shatter me, also loved me in return. And there's no other feeling in the world like this.

And as I sit up here in the lounge, my feet dangling over the edge while I watch my partner at work, I know that there will never, ever be another woman for me. I know she feels me watching her, because she always knows. And like always, she'll give me hell for it.

My partner is Amazing… yes, with a capital A. And she's mine, in every sense of the word.

Postscript A/N

It's no secret that I love that time period when B&B were still finding their ways back to each other, post-Hannah. I know this is a little beyond that, even, but I don't always have control over what gets written. I just type the words as they flow through me.

The other random One Shots hidden away in my folder of madness may or may not end up here, under the Ramblings story heading, not sure yet. Any and all errors are mine; I asked no one to edit me, so I own them - blame me.

If you're following DPO, you'll see that I've noted "temp hiatus" on the summary. I still haven't given up complete hope on that tale, but my muse isn't cranking out the story that was initially meant to be told. For those of you who've patiently waited and left me messages, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. And if you have added it to your watch list, you will get a message when I update it again. :) Tusker left us a couple of weeks ago, and we sure miss him… It's been a rough past couple of months.

peace & love, my friends

~jazzy