Hello!

A dark little cloud was looming over my head today, making me feel a little down, and my Muse burped this up... It's rough, I know, but I wrote it in an evening, so I ask you to go easy on me... And, I already know that Brennan is a bit more OOC than I usually write her, so I thought it was important that I let you know this up front.

As usual, no beta, so the errors are mine.

There's no specific time or place in the show for me to insert this for reference - just that it's pre-relationship, pre-Maluku/Afghanistan.

Disclaimer: it's hard to believe, but true, I still own zip, zero, nada, nothin'.

He sat at the bar, slamming back shot after shot of top-shelf whiskey. He should

have been savoring the rich flavor of the expensive liquor, as it was intended to've been enjoyed, but he was too pissed to enjoy anything. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that it would have been smarter to have ordered the cheap shit, but when he stormed into the bar a couple hours earlier, he hadn't been exactly thinking straight. As he attempted to focus on the liquid sloshing in the tiny glass, he tried to remember how many shots he'd already consumed.

Fuck, he mumbled to himself. God only knows how much my tab is by now. He threw his head back, opening his throat and swallowing the fiery liquor. His intention when he walked in there that night was to get good and drunk, and from where Special Agent Seeley Booth sat slouched against the far corner of the bar, he came to realize, through his foggy consciousness, that he'd accomplished his task, with quite a high degree of success.

After pushing his glass to the far edge, signaling the bartender for another, he reached for his wallet. Once his tiny glass was topped off, he handed George his credit card, afraid to ask how much was about to be charged, so he didn't bother. He spun his finger in the air, making tiny circles. "That's a wrap, Georgie." He tossed back his final ounce and closed his eyes, welcoming the warm sensation as it spread through his chest.

"So, Booth," George eyed the Agent as he handed over his credit card. "Where's your partner tonight?"

Darkened eyes glared up from beneath angry eyebrows. "She's on a fucking date," he growled through clenched teeth. "Not that it's any of your damn business, Georgie..." Booth shoved his credit card back into his wallet with a grunt and signed the slip that was placed before him, adding a handsome tip for his friend.

"A date!? What the hell, Booth? I thought she was dating you!" George was genuinely shocked. After watching the partners come to his bar on a regular basis for years, he would have bet money on them being an item, regardless of their constant rebuttals and claims that they were 'just partners.' He watched as the pair grew closer over time... He quietly observed as the agent laid claim to his 'partner' time and again with a possessive hand on her back or by physically placing himself between her and any other male patron who ventured too close for Booth's liking... He was silently fascinated at the way Dr. Brennan would watch Booth, studying him as if he were a science experiment and then lean close to him to speak, a sparkle in her eye all but revealing that she wanted him to take her home and promptly to bed to perform other types of experiments... And George knew, that although the woman was a genius, she turned to Booth whenever something was said that she didn't understand... Many nights, when the bar traffic was slow, the weathered barkeep would stand in the corner, drying tumblers and wine glasses, and just watch the interaction of his two resident-crime-fighters, as he had mentally dubbed them.

"How many times do I gotta tell ya, man, we're just partners." Booth pulled out his phone, speed-dialing a local taxi company for a ride home.

"Just partners my ass, Booth. I've seen you two... You're more than partners. What the hell kinda shit are you tryin' to pull on me?"

"I ain't pullin' no shit, George. Bones is on a date. With a scholar... someone who is intellectually stimulating to her... Some asshole who has no fucking idea how special she is, because all he can see is her line-up of degrees and an amazing pair of tits." His anger was apparent, his voice turned dark and threatening as his often-carefully-disguised Philly accent started to creep to the surface. "Someone who don't deserve to be out with her tonight." He sighed. "And someone who'll probably end up in bed with her and not even realize what a fucking privilege he should consider it..." The agent's face went from pissed, to frustrated, and finally to resignation. "Someone who's not me... Someone who's book-smart, not street-smart."

George stood in awed silence, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, as Booth ranted. "Go after her..."

"If I interrupt another one of her dates, she'll probably break off our partnership. After she promptly kicks my ass." Booth lifted his empty glass and held it up, watching as the muted light from the overhead prismed through it's grooves. "I couldn't function if she wasn't my partner, man… Not happily, anyway. I gotta take what I can get. And if all I get of Temperance Brennan is an incredible partnership, then I gotta deal with that." He slid the glass back to George as he pushed up from the stool, certain his cab should be here by then. "She doesn't see me the same way I see her. I have to accept that."

George watched as the agent made his unsteady way to the front door and exited into the inky darkness. Shaking his head at the utter foolishness of one of his favorite patrons, he started extracting glasses from the tiny dishwasher beneath his bar.

B/B/B/B

Temperance Brennan hurriedly pushed her way through the glass doors of their local hang-out and looked around. When she didn't see Booth in any of his typical seats, she made her way over to the wrap-around bar and waited for George to finish serving a customer on the opposite side. When he turned around, his eyes grew wide in surprise and she waved him over.

"Where's Booth? His truck is outside, down the block." Her face was flushed, like she had been in a great rush to get to where she now stood.

"Dr. Brennan," George raised an eyebrow. "I thought you were on a date?" He ignored her question completely.

"I was... Wait. How did you know that?" Her forehead creased at the unexpected observation.

"Oh, uh, Booth mentioned it..." He shrugged one shoulder and tried to brush off the guilt he felt at having thrown Booth under the metaphorical bus.

"So Booth is here?"

"He was. He left about 25 or 30 minutes ago." George glanced up at the clock on the wall and amended his initial estimation. "Maybe closer to 40 minutes."

"But his truck is still parked outside." The scientist argued the point, not following the logic of Booth not being in the immediate vicinity.

"Yeah, he, uh... He took a cab. He wasn't in any kind of condition to drive." The bartender smiled apologetically. "He was hittin' the whiskey pretty hard, Doc. Finished off two-thirds of a bottle of my very best in the process." George held up the mostly-empty top-shelf liquor bottle as evidence.

"Booth was drunk?" Brennan hadn't seen her partner too drunk to drive in a very long time. The last time she could think of was when he'd had two of his weekends with Parker taken away back-to-back. "And he finished that much?" She pointed to the relatively large bottle in astonishment and watched as George nodded slowly. "George," she continued. "Let me pay for the bottle. Booth can't afford that..." She was already digging in her messenger bag for her wallet.

"Nah, don't worry about it, Doc. I only charged him twenty bucks. I couldn't charge him what he actually owed... I know government employees don't make that much, and he's got a kid an' all..."

Brennan continued to dig in her bag, now searching for her set of spare keys (which she wasn't supposed to have, but argued with him about for months) for his FBI-issued vehicle. She had chosen to take a taxi to get there, so her decision to take his vehicle to him was instantaneous. Without looking up, she spoke again. "George, if you don't get paid what you're due, if can hurt business. That is not congruent to remaining in business..." She raised her eyes and pinned the man with a knowing look. "And if you don't stay in business, where will we go to have a celebratory drink after closing a case?" With as much coolness as she could muster, she spoke again, trying to sound nonchalant. "Why was Booth here getting drunk?"

"Oh, Doc, you're gonna have to ask him that..."

"But he told you?" Her eagerness for the truth almost caused to her lose her composure, but she managed to keep calm.

"Yeah, I managed to get him to talk a little. But really, it is something that you should discuss with him directly." George pleaded silently with his eyes for her not to drill him too hard. It was no secret that Temperance Brennan had a way of getting what she wanted out of people, especially men.

"Is Parker OK? Was it about his son?" A momentary bout of panic rose within her, fear that something had happened to Parker and Booth had been too distraught to call her. Or too angry with her.

"Oh, no," George offered helpfully. "He didn't mention his boy. I suspect he's doing alright." The man reached up and took down a wine glass, filling it partway with Brennan's favorite Red.

"Well, if it was not about Parker..." Brennan thought aloud. "And Booth is not currently in a relationship with anyone who would have caused him pain..." She watched as George purposefully avoided eye contact. "And we don't have any unsolved cases metaphorically hanging over our heads..." She mentally congratulated herself that she was starting to improve on her people-reading skills. She knew the bar owner was avoiding her. "It's about me."

George couldn't stop his eyes from flying up to meet hers. When he saw the smug grin threatening to break free across her lips, he knew he'd been had. "Doc... You really need to speak with Agent Booth." He watched as she raised her glass to those sweet lips and smiled around the rim of the glass.

"He is upset with me..." She said matter-of-factly. "We argued earlier."

"Please Dr. Brennan..." George placed his rag on the polished wooden bar top. "He probably isn't in any shape to talk tonight. But maybe you guys can talk this weekend...and hecan tell you what's going on." Deciding to attempt to divert her attention from her partner, he changed tactics. "What's going on with you, anyway? What happened to your date?"

Brennan lowered the glass back to the bar and watched the crimson liquid swirl ever-so-slightly. "I, um... I needed to see Booth... about something."

Seeing confusion on the attractive woman's face, George felt his heart go out to the genius. "Oh... I hope everything is alright."

"He said something to me. And it kept playing over and over in my mind when I was with Charles this evening." Her blue-gray eyes lifted for a split second before lowering back to her glass.

"Well...what did he say?" Now the barkeep was very interested in what happened to cause the anthropologist to abandon her date to come in search of her partner, who'd been drinking to try to put this very woman out of his thoughts.

"Well," she hesitated. "Booth likes to keep what's between us, just between us. So I can't really tell you..." She took another tiny sip. "But, I definitely need to see him." She pushed up from the barstool and placed a couple one-hundred dollar bills on the bar. "That should cover Booth's binge as well, George."

"Doc, no. That's too much..." He tried handing the money back.

"No it isn't. I know those shots are almost $20 each..." She smiled at his attempt to refuse payment. "But thank you anyway. Goodnight, George."

As he watched her spin on her heel and stalk towards the door, a set of keys dangling from her hand, George nodded to one of the bouncers to keep an eye on her until she got to the truck safely. Once he saw his security return, he refocused his attention on the few remaining patrons scattered around his bar.

B/B/B/B

Brennan was not surprised when her knocks went unanswered, so she used her own key to let herself into Booth's apartment. Stepping into his space, she quietly moved down the short entry hall, noticing the fake books that disguised his gun safe were moved aside. His wallet, gun and badge were placed inside, but it was still open. Reaching into the bookcase, she closed the little door and punched in the code that would secure the box, and then she moved the books back into their rightful places. Continuing into the living room, she found her partner snoring softly, slouched down in his lounge chair. The anthropologist stood in the archway leading into the room and just looked at her partner.

It was obvious he must have gone drinking straight from the office, because he was still dressed in his suit. Well, most of his suit, anyway. His tie hung loose, having been pulled straight from the impeccable knot that Booth always ensured was set at the start of his day, but which was oftentimes loosened by 10:00 am. The typically starched and neatly pressed oxford shirt was unbuttoned almost all the way. Disheveled, wrinkled and opened, it exposed his snug white undershirt beneath, which, much to the scientist's pleasure, hugged his torso like a second skin, outlining the definition of his chest and abs pleasantly. Brennan quietly stepped closer, hesitant to wake him, but unable to stand still.

As she crossed into the room, the anthropologist stooped to collect Booth's suit jacket from where it laid, crumpled on the floor, courtesy of an obviously failed attempt that her partner made to toss the dark gray article onto the armchair just inside the walkway. Shaking out the creases as best she could, Brennan then smoothed and placed the jacket across the back of the chair. When she turned back to face her partner, her eyes travelled down to his feet, noticing that he had fallen into his chair and passed out while still wearing his shoes. With a tiny smile, and never once second-guessing her movements, she approached and began carefully untying the thin black laces.

During their first year as partners, and as an unfortunate result of an explosion meant for her, but for which he suffered in her place, Brennan had studied her partner's full body x-rays. She was horrified to see the evidence left behind from his time as a POW when he was an Army Ranger. As she carefully pulled his shoes from his war-torn feet, she remembered the sickening feeling that developed in the pit of her stomach when she'd studied his injuries. Since that night, her partner had confided a lot in her in relation to his past, but she will never forget the shocking truth at seeing it for the first time as he laid in a hospital bed, waiting for test results from the ER attending doctor.

She was reminded what a strong individual her partner was. As a child, he was beaten mercilessly by his alcoholic father, often accepting his brother's punishments as well as his own. During his time in the US Army, he'd endured two terrifying imprisonments as a POW. And since embarking on their partnership, his body had been through metaphorical hell, as well. She shot him (which still haunted her nightmares), he'd been tortured by a crazed mobster, took a bullet that was meant for her, pulled her from a totaled taxi after a bomb caused the accident, despite his own injuries. Her fleeting thoughts brought her back once again to the night she learned of his battered feet - he was blown up in her kitchen by an explosive meant to silence her, and then he checked himself out of the hospital to come save her from Kenton, the man who'd planted the bomb to begin with. Grabbing the throw blanket from the back of the couch, she spread it across his legs, watching his handsome face as he slept. Inexplicably, the scientist found herself struggling to maintain control of uninvited tears that were threatening to spring free.

Attempting to shake off her sudden emotion, she moved around the side of the chair to turn off the lamp. Noticing that his cell phone had fallen off the edge of the end table, she picked it up and looked at the screen. She was surprised to see that Booth had been typing a text to her but it remained unsent. Hesitating only a moment, her curiosity got the best of her and she opened the text.

Hey Bones. You're so much more than an egghead. I adore your egghead. I love your beautiful brain. I'm so sorry I hurt you and even more sorry that I was an ass about your date. I hope you had fun. Missed you tonight.

Brennan stared at the phone, a feeling of confusion washing over her as she silently recalled their fight earlier that day when she told Booth about her date.

Knowing what a prude he could be, she purposely set out to tease and embarrass him by mentioning her biological urges and her plans to satisfy them that evening. As usual, he got angry with her. He started out by clenching his jaw and giving her the silent treatment that he so often did when he stewed over something she has said or done that he finds shocking. Brennan continued to push his buttons, telling him that if he would just find someone with whom he could satisfy his needs, he would be much less cranky. And that's when he metaphorically blew his stack.

"You know what, Bones? I don't need to know about your sexual exploits! I don't need to know what losers have the privilege of sleeping with you. I don't want to think about what assholes don't value you for the woman that you are. And I certainly don't want to imagine you and Dr. Egghead doing the nasty tonight. He doesn't deserve to be with you, I don't care how many doctorates he has." His anger was evident by the tick in his tight jaw. His face was flushed and his eyes dark with frustration. "He isn't going to value you or the precious gift you're giving to him. And you shouldn't cheapen yourself to casual affairs like that." By then, he seemed deflated, his shoulders slumped, he shoved his hands into his pants pockets.

"How dare you!? I do not cheapen myself, you arrogant bastard!" She rarely resorted to name-calling, but there were times that Booth just made her so angry that she couldn't think straight. "And what the hell do you mean 'Dr. Egghead'? Is that what you think of people with multiple degrees, Booth? Because if you do, then you must think I'm an Egghead too, because I have more achievements than Charles does! Is that what you think of me? Of Hodgins? How about Cam?"

"By being so casual about 'satisfying your needs,' you're degrading the person you are, Bones. You deserve more! You deserve better! Men like that… Men who go out with you just to get their lay… Men like that aren't worth your time. They don't know you..."

"You don't know what you're talking about!" She fisted her hands at her sides, her nails digging into her palms and leaving little half-moons in her flesh. "And you avoided the question, Booth! Do you think so little of me that you think I'm an EGGHEAD!? I might not understand a lot of social colloquialisms, but I certainly recognize that is insulting!" Her volume was skyrocketing to levels she hadn't experienced in years.

"Of course I think you're an Egghead, Bones. But you're my Egghead!" His jaw was tight again, his teeth were grinding against themselves as he invaded her personal space, going nose-to-nose with her. "You're my little nerd, okay?!"

"Take that back, Booth!" She threatened him, pressing a pointy finger into his chest.

He pulled back and turned away from her, putting a few feet of distance between them as he flailed his arm. "And I hate that you give yourself to these pricks who don't appreciate you!" He was screaming at her in an equally loud and harsh tone. "They don't deserve you!"

"I am not your anything, Seeley Booth!" She could only focus on the possessiveness that he had interjected into their argument. "You think that just because we're partners and friends that you have the right to claim me!? You think you have the right to coin me as an egghead and nerd?!" The reality of his statement weighed on her suddenly, leaving her baffled. Rather than honing in on the fact that he claimed her as his, she focused on the insulting names. She suddenly felt the onslaught of tears stinging the backs of her eyes. "I never thought you would be so mean to me, Booth."

Immediately sorry for losing his temper he reached out for her. "Bones, no, that's not it… I didn't say it to be mean."

She pulled away from his hand, not wanting his touch, not wanting to be pulled into a guy-hug. She backed away, warily eyeing him, but no longer fighting the tears. "I'm sorry that I misunderstood our partnership, Booth. I thought…" She swallowed thickly. "Well, it doesn't matter what I thought."

"No, no, no, Bones." He drug his hand down his face, realizing he was going to have to admit his feelings, otherwise she wasn't going to understand why he was so upset. He dreaded the thought of confessing his love for her, and scaring her away for good. "Listen, Bones…"

"No. I don't want to listen to you, Booth. This Egghead has other things to do." She turned and stalked away from him, leaving him in the middle of the Jeffersonian rose garden, where they'd gone to sit and drink their coffee. She was furious, she never expected her partner, the man she considered more than a best friend, would turn on her like that. She had only been teasing, just trying to get a playful rise out of him. And the claim that he placed on her, claiming that she was his, she couldn't decide whether she should be angry or flattered. And the mere fact that she was struggling with her feelings towards his statement made her even more enraged. I don't need his fucking approval and I certainly don't need him… he's the one who drew the damn line, she muttered to herself and she stormed into her office, slamming the door closed behind her, letting the entire lab know that she did not want to be disturbed.

Closing the message folder on Booth's phone, she shifted her gaze to him. She stood silently watching him for several minutes, allowing her eyes to travel over the chiseled surface of his sleeping face. His brow wrinkled and a sad, remorseful groan emanated from the depths of his chest, making it clear to Brennan that he was entering into a nightmare. Reaching out, she pressed an open palm across his brow, softly stroking his skin until his features relaxed. When he was once again peaceful, she moved over to the counter in his kitchen, where she plugged his phone into the charger.

For a few still moments, she contemplated her next move. She knew there would be no talking tonight, she would not get her answers from him, even if she woke him up. But she wasn't ready to leave his apartment, she didn't want to leave him alone. If she was being honest with herself, she didn't want to be alone.

Kicking off her shoes, she made herself comfortable, going so far as to go back into his room to borrow a pair of socks from the drawer where she knew he kept them. Re-entering the living room, Brennan walked along the built-in bookcases and looked at the various items her partner had displayed. Most of his books were haphazardly shelved, seemingly lacking any sort of order. Military history was filed next to collections of The Far Side. His expensive comic books, aka graphic-novels, were lined up beside true crime studies and biographies. On the top shelf, however, was a collection of her books, both hardback and softback, each of which she had inscribed to him. She noticed that her novels were the only books on this particular shelf, and that they were all in chronological order, book-ended on both ends with framed photographs of the two of them at various functions. She remembered the case they'd worked in which a student, Hector Olivos, had been found dead, and they searched his room. Booth told her there was a method to a guy's shelving order of items. He had insisted that for most guys, himself included, the most important items would always be up top… Brennan inhaled sharply, realizing the significance that her works occupied the coveted location in Booth's collection.

She reached up and withdrew the picture from the far right end, wanting a closer look at the photo he deemed worthy of framing, and she realized it was sitting on top of another book. Stretching up to her tippy-toes, the ever-curious scientist noted that was a photo album and she pulled it down, as well. Taking the frame and the book over to the couch, she sat at one end, curling her legs beneath her body. She took a few minutes and studied the photo that he'd used as an anchor. It was a shot of her and Booth when they had been 'photo bombed', as Booth explained it, by Parker. The two of them were laughing in the background and Parker's messy blond curls and playful light brown eyes were filling up the bulk of the frame. She remembered the day, it was during the annual FBI family picnic, to which the three of them had attended together. She smiled at the memory and realized, with a fleeting thought, just how much Booth and Parker had become her family, more so than her own family, even.

It seemed, as she considered the many framed pictures filling the walls of Booth's hallway and his book shelves, that he considered her family as well. He had random photos of her scattered among those of his son, grandfather, brother and parents. She chuckled as she realized that he even had a couple group shots of the Squint Squad alongside his FBI team and a few from his days in the Army.

Placing the frame on the coffee table, she leaned back again, glanced at her still-sleeping partner, and opened the album. It contained newspaper articles going as far back as their first case. There were photos from some of her book signings. He also had several pictures of the ceremony when he'd been promoted from Field Agent to Special Agent. It was still early in their partnership, but he had invited her to attend and she was glad she did. When he was up accepting his new badge, certificate and plaque, she sat with a very young Parker and immediately bonded with the boy. He was so proud of his Daddy, and Brennan realized that she, too, was proud of Booth on that day. At that point in their partnership, they were still getting to know each other in many ways, but even then, she felt pride at being partnered with Seeley Booth.

As she flipped through the pages, she found snapshots and programs from some of Parker's science fairs, various sports games and matches and school field trips to the Jeffersonian museum. It didn't escape her keen eye that she had been present for each of the events, even if she hadn't been pictured in all the photos.

At the back of the album, she found several sheets of paper tri-folded and clipped to the back cover with a black binder clamp. Not at all feeling like she was intruding, she simply extracted the papers and proceeded to read them.

The first page was written on CIA National Clandestine Service letterhead, which caused Brennan's forehead to crease. The correspondence was dated just two weeks earlier.

Special Agent S.J. Booth,

Your prior military service, in conjunction with your extensive successful career as Special Agent In Charge of Major Crimes within the FBI, have been brought to my attention and I wanted to take this opportunity to reach out to you. Individuals of your honorable integrity and obvious skill-set are a rare and valuable asset to the United States of America. The differences you make on a daily basis are crucial in the fundamental functions of American society.

The CIA is the premier agency responsible for providing global intelligence on the ever-changing political, social, economic, technological and military environment. Here, the paramount goal and mission is to protect the national security of the United States.** With this in mind, I am please to invite you to my office to discuss a position for which I believe you are a perfect fit. You come to me highly recommended by several well-respected and trustworthy sources, and I am confident we can come to an acceptable agreement that will be mutually beneficial for you, the CIA and the United States of America.

I would very much appreciate an afternoon of your time to discuss this possible career opportunity in which you can continue to protect the American people, utilizing your advanced skills to their utmost potential. I can be reached at (202) 555-2421. I look forward to hearing from you at your earlier convenience.

Sincerely,

Jonathan Tubbs

Deputy Director NCS

Brennan felt her mouth go dry at the idea that her partner, her best friend, was possibly considering ending his career at the FBI, and essentially severing their partnership. The timing of this letter corresponded with recent events over which Booth seemed to have become especially irritable. They had been arguing more often, his temper seemed to have been easily triggered. She didn't know about this job offer, and it was becoming apparent to her that the opportunity that had been presented to him must be weighing heavily on his mind. The dread that had arisen in her chest settled in her gut and she almost doubled over in panic. She had come to depend on Booth a lot more than she liked to admit and, if she was to be perfectly honest, the mere thought of losing her day-to-day interactions with Booth caused a swell of panic to wash over her entire body. Quickly, she flipped to the next page in her hand. It was dated just six days ago, nearly a week after the initial offer had been extended to Booth.

Director Tubbs,

Allow me to express my sincere appreciation for your generous offer to meet regarding opportunities available within the esteemed CIA substructure. There sheer fact that you would take time to review my military achievements and career accomplishments is an honor.

However, I respectfully decline the invitation at this time. My current position within the Federal Bureau of Investigations is both fulfilling and rewarding. I am extremely satisfied with the employment path on which I find myself, assigned as the FBI liaison to the invaluably talented staff of the Jeffersonian Institute's Medico-Legal Lab, and in particular, in my partnership with the indispensable Dr. Temperance Brennan, with whom I am certain you're familiar.

I feel honored that you would attempt to recruit me to contract with the CIA, and if my situation were different, I would not hesitate to accept your invitation to meet. I wish you all the best as you seek the appropriate person to fill the available position within the NCS and I look forward to possibly meeting you in the future, under different circumstances.

Sincerely,

Special Agent Seeley J. Booth

Federal Bureau of Investigations

Brennan couldn't stop the relieved sigh from escaping her lips as she slouched back into the corner of the couch. She re-read Booth's reply letter to Tubbs, and she let her eyes hover over his unveiled compliment to her skills. She found that she was impressed at Booth's letter-writing skills and reminded herself that he had an ivy-league degree, though he often 'played dumb' to learn more from suspects. Sometimes, she knew, he even dumbed-down when he was around her and the team. She didn't fully understand why he did it when he was with friends, but there was no denying that he did so.

With a gentle smile curling the corners of her mouth, she turned to the next page, expecting to find further correspondence from the CIA in response to Booth's rejection to their offer. It was, instead, an email chain from Booth's personal email account which he'd printed. She couldn't help the tiny chuckle that escaped her throat. Booth hated technology, hated computers and often printed hard copies of the documents he wanted to keep, rather than saving them in a secure folder which he could access any time he wanted. Her eyes immediately scrolled to the first email of the chain, which of course, was on the bottom of the page. It was sent from a man she had only met once, but about whom she'd heard plenty of colorful stories from Booth.

Booth - I heard that Tubbs contacted you, but he said you didn't want to meet. What's up? This could be a great opportunity for you. I could use a partner I already know and trust… C'mon, man, don't let me down! ~Danny

Danny: I figured you were the person that passed my name across your boss's desk. Hey, I appreciate it, but I really am happy at the FBI. I'm confident that I have a stable future here and I work with a fantastic team. Thanks again, and I hope I didn't make things uncomfortable for you, since you recommended me. But really, this is where I want to be.

-Booth

Booth - Hey, I understand, and no, you didn't make any complications for me. Tubbs understands too; but hey - can't blame a guy for tryin', right? Besides, I know I'm no competition for that beautiful genius partner of yours… If I had to choose between your bone doctor and you, I'd pick the doc too. Maybe I'll tell Tubbs to recruit her… I know she already does freelance jobs for us, but I wouldn't mind having a brilliant partner like her either. Keep us in mind for the future, though, just in case your job there ever goes south. I dare say there's always room here for a guy with your talent. ~Danny

Danny: Thanks for the compliment, but keep your grubby head-hunting paws off my partner or else I'll have to hunt you down. You start trying to recruit Bones and you'll be ending the friendship you and I have enjoyed through the years. Yeah, I'm yankin' your chain - to an extent… Stay the hell away from Bones. I'll kick your ass.

Take it easy,

Booth

PS Fed Cases face off with Champ Ice Agents in less than a month… Keep it clean on the ice, I'd hate to have to check your scrawny ass in front of all your girlfriends.

Bring it, Booth. Just make sure you keep your eyes wide open so you can watch my sweet little biscuit land between those Fed pipes - over and over... They don't call me The Sniper for nothing…

~D

PS I wouldn't be the one trying to recruit your partner… all recruiting is done higher up the food chain… just sayin'...

Brennan frowned at the last correspondence, wondering what it all meant. She was certain that the verbiage was coded hockey-speak, but she didn't understand how it all translated. The anthropologist used all the logic she could muster and the only thing she could decipher was the possibility of the 'biscuit' being the puck. She couldn't understand why hockey needed a sniper and she worried that her partner had someone who was watching him through a Sniper's Lens. Silently, she vowed to attend the popular rival game between the FBI & CIA, and she would carry her gun, just in case.

"Don't think so hard, Bones. Your face gets all squishy." His slurred, gruff voice startled Brennan and she jumped a little, sending the photo album from her lap to the floor with a loud slap. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare ya." Booth's forehead creased. "What are you doing here, Bones?" He tried to sit up, but his head protested against any sort of movement, so he squeezed his eyes shut and gripped the armrests. "Ah, shit…"

Pushing up from the couch, Brennan rushed to her partner's side, grasping his arm with her wiry fingers. "Booth, you've apparently ingested a lot of alcohol," she handed him the bottled water she'd brought into the living room. "Here, drink this. You're dehydrated."

After downing half the bottle, Booth peeled open one eye and looked at his partner standing next to him, still dressed from her date. She was wearing a gray and pink dress, and as he took in her appearance, Booth decided with a goofy grin that Brennan needed to wear pink more often. But before he could compliment her, she was speaking and tugging gently at his arm.

"Booth, you should get up and go to your bed. You shouldn't sleep in the chair, it's not good for your back." Her concern was overflowing and her innate need to help him was overwhelming. "Here," she took his hand and wrapped it around her forearm so she could help him to his feet, "I'll help you up."

"Bones," he refused to grip her arm, not wanting to hurt her. "I'm fine. I'll be fine…" Cocking his head sideways, he started to speak. "Bones, what are-"

"No, you're not going to be fine in the morning." She insisted. "Here, finish the water and I'll bring you more." She was fluttering around his apartment and out into his kitchen in such a rush it made him dizzy.

He was confused as to why she was there, but Booth was far from displeased since she was there with him rather than on a date with some guy he'd never even heard her mention before that afternoon. Unless something happened… something bad… that would definitely displease him. He was on his feet by the time she was flitting back into the room and the fear that had driven him from his chair faded when he watched her move through the dimly lit room. She stopped in front of him and handed over a bottle of water, which he took and drank while looking at her from the corner of his eye.

Swallowing the liquid, realizing that she must have been right, he was definitely dehydrated, he grinned. "Thanks." Her reply was a gentle smile, the kind that melted his heart every time.

"You look real pretty, Bones." His eyes wandered down her torso again, admiring the form-fitted dress. "That was one lucky sonofabitch who got to see you like this tonight… This is nice." His hand seemed to have a mind of its own and he reached for the loose three-quarter sleeve, rubbing the soft material between his calloused fingertips. His own mention of her date jolted him back to reality and he creased his brow. "Speaking of which, what are you doing here, Bones? Did everything go OK?"

"No, I…" She fumbled her words. "I mean, yeah, dinner was fine. I just…" She took a deep breath and shifted her weight, tilting her hips to one side, letting her gaze dart around the room erratically.

The first full sentence Booth had managed to utter tonight through his drunken haze was a compliment to her… He told her she looked nice. She wasn't certain Charles even noticed that she'd dressed up for their date… He was so focused on himself, so busy telling her about his new experiments that not only did he not let her get a word in edgewise during the course of their evening, but he didn't even seem to look at her. She was certain, however, that if she hadn't said goodnight at the restaurant, he would have expected her to take him to her bed, he'd even hinted as much during dessert. Regardless of how logical, and rational, and compartmentalizing she fronted herself to be, the hard truth was, Temperance Brennan was a woman, first and foremost. Just a woman. And, like all women, she wanted to know that the effort she put forth in her appearance was pleasing to the person she was attempting to attract. She wanted to hear, even if she brushed it off, that she was desirable. And most of the time, the men she chose to go out with didn't bother with such niceties.

"I wanted to… well...I thought that…" The pale blue-grey eyes finally settled on him, but not on his eyes. Instead, she stared at his chest, following the gold chain of his religious medal down to where it disappeared beneath his undershirt, as she tried to choose her words. "I went to the bar, looking for you…"

Knowing that he had been the one to cause their argument earlier, and assuming that was the reason she was so befuddled, he wanted to put things straight again. Booth raised both his hands and cradled her face, tilting it up so she would look at him. "I'm sorry, Bones. I never should have said those things earlier. I didn't mean to hurt you."

She fought unshed tears that were building up and struggled against the familiar sting in her sinuses, indicating she was about to lose her carefully constructed control. "Booth…" His name came out strangled, higher pitched than her voice normally was. Finally, she raised her big blues up to meet his.

"No, Bones. It was uncalled for. I never should have said anything, it wasn't my place. It's none of my business." His thumb caught a single disobedient tear that fell loose from her lower lid. "You're not an Egghead." A second tear was swiped away, followed closely by a third. "You're my partner, my best friend…My…" He took a quiet breath. "You're a brilliant, independent, beautiful woman, Bones. And I just…" He felt himself growing emotional, a side effect of the alcohol and his own nervousness at scaring his partner into running away, he was sure. "I just want you to be happy… I want you to be treated like the special person that you are."

She rolled her lower lip into her mouth, biting it in hopes of stifling the turmoil that was suddenly wracking her body. Brennan couldn't speak, she couldn't acknowledge his words, his sincere sentiment. In the absence of her speaking ability, she did the one thing that she knew would take away the hurt. She leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his waist and rested her cheek against the front of his strong, supportive shoulder. When his heavy arms embraced her fully, she sighed and slid her fingers into his belt loops as if to keep him close.

"I'm sorry, Temperance." His voice was low, whispered against her hair.

Brennan shook her head against his chest. "Don't apologize, Booth… You were right." A sob escaped without permission and before she could stifle it, she knew he'd heard it. "You were right…" She felt him slide his wide hand into her hair, holding her against the side of his neck, and she let him. She let him press a kiss to her forehead as she continued, no longer crying, but definitely sounding like a lost child. "He didn't even bother to ask how my day was… And I don't think he liked my dress." Now she knew she sounded like a pouting child who didn't her way. But in the safety of her partner's arms, the scientist inside reminded her that the extyensive evidence she'd collected over the years proved that Booth would understand her mini-meltdown. And that he wouldn't hold it against her...

"C'mon," he unwrapped one arm and turned them towards the couch. He sat, pulling her down with him. His intent was to tuck her against his side, her head on his shoulder, but she obviously had other plans. Rather than taking the cushion next to him, Brennan turned and sat sideways across his lap, her back against the overstuffed arm and her head on his shoulder. When she pulled her feet onto the sofa, Booth's eyes caught something he hadn't seen earlier. With an easy chuckle, his loose hand settled on her toes. "Are those my stripy socks, Bones?"

She giggled and sniffed at the same time, nodding against his neck. "My feet were cold."

He couldn't stop the satisfied sigh that escaped his lips, knowing that his partner was so comfortable with him that she literally made herself at home in his apartment. "Are they warmer now?"

"Yes. Thank you." Her tears had stopped, her racing heart had calmed and she closed her eyes as his hand gently massaged the arches of her feet. "Hmm…"

After several quiet moments, Booth made a quiet vow to his partner. "Your next date'll be better, Bones. I promise."

"How can you be so certain?"

He smiled and rested his chin on top of her head, noticing the picture frame she'd moved and the little memory book she'd nosed through. He closed his eyes, knowing it was a ballsy step, but forcing himself to take it anyway. " 'Cause I'll pick you up at seven-thirty tomorrow evening. We'll go out."

"We always go out on Saturday nights, Booth," she retorted, though she felt her heart start to pound at the implication.

"Not like this, Bones." He turned his head and rested his cheek on her silky hair, watching his free hand as it still rubbed her feet. He flexed the fingers of his other hand where rested on her hip, holding her in place on his lap. "Go on a date with me. I promise you won't be sorry."

Brennan closed her eyes and exhaled sharply. "What about," she pulled her head away so she could look up at him. "What about the line?"

"I was an ass to draw that line, Bones."

She searched his deep brown eyes and nodded gingerly.

"You agree that I was an ass?" He flashed a crooked smile and winked.

"No," she laughed and let her head fall back to his shoulder, bringing her hand up to rest on his undershirt-covered chest, covering the spot she was certain contained a scar that he had from protecting her. "Yes," she whispered, barely stifling a smile. "I'll go on a date with you, Booth."

The agent hummed happily, squeezing her foot. "Good," he resettled his cheek on top of her head. "Now, I think I need to pass out again… I drank a lot, Bones… I don't even know how much..." He grinned at the feel of her on his lap and tightened his arm, not wanting her to leave.

"So I heard…" She rolled against him a little and caught her breath when his hand moved from her sock-covered feet and settled on her bare legs, cupping her outer calf and pulling her closer. As much as she wanted to remain like that, she worried about her partner's back. "Booth," she tapped her fingers against his suprasternal notch. "Don't fall asleep here. You need to go to bed. Your back…"

"Is fine. My back is fine."

"Well, of course it feels fine now… You're still drunk." She arched her neck so she could look up at him. "Tomorrow it will not feel fine…"

He opened his eyes and sucked in a sharp breath. Her eyes were so clear, so much calmer than they had been just moments before; so trusting. He craned his neck and pressed his lips to her cheek, wanting to kiss her mouth, but not daring to do so. When he felt her fingers furl against his shirt, he broke the kiss but kept his mouth against her soft skin. "Thanks for always looking out for me, Bones."

His slightly chapped lips, the warm breath against her face, ghosting back against her ear, sent shivers through her body. "Well," she managed to utter. "I want your back to be fine, so you can take me on our date..."

He desperately wanted to ask her to stay with him, to sleep with him… Just sleep. When they made love for the first time, he didn't want the numbing effects of alcohol in his system, he wanted to be completely sober, completely hers. "I promise to give you a good date, Bones."

"I know you will, Booth." Her faith in him (though she would never call it faith) was complete, it was unyielding. Wanting to remain near, but knowing that being too near, in their current state, would result in them having sex, she took a chance. "Do you mind if I stay? In Parker's bed? It's kind of late and…" she shrugged, looking for an excuse that didn't sound too needy.

He didn't need a reason, an excuse. "No," he replied immediately. "I don't mind. Stay. Parker's sheets are clean, I just changed them after he left last weekend. Your emergency toothbrush is in the medicine cabinet." His eyes had darkened and his cheeks grew flushed. "Stay."

She nodded and slowly began extracting herself from his grasp, unable to hide the smile, and truthfully, unwilling to try too hard. "Can I borrow a sweatshirt?"

"Yeah," he pushed up from the sofa. "C'mon back," he started back towards his bedroom, talking as he walked. "Clean towels are in the closet, wash cloths are under the sink. There's an extra blanket in the top of Parker's closet." When she didn't respond by the time he reached his bedroom door he turned back and found her standing in the hallway, looking at a picture.

"You really like photos, don't you, Booth?" She asked without looking away from the collage.

"Yeah," he grinned and leaned against the doorjamb. He watched her for a quiet moment before turning into his room to retrieve something that would serve as acceptable sleepwear for his partner. Once he made a decision, he rejoined her in the hallway. She had moved on to a different group of pictures, one that contained shots of them together with the Jeffersonian team. Standing close behind her, he rested one hand on her hip and remembered the times that the various photos were taken. "They help me remember that I've done some good things in my life… They remind me of good times… And of all the good people in my life…" As he said the words, he brought his cheek next to hers as their eyes settled on the same snapshot.

"There are a lot of me up here, Booth… Even on the other wall… with your family." Her voice quivered nervously.

"Next to Parker," he dropped an innocent kiss on her shoulder, "you're the most important person in my life, Bones. Have been for a long time…"

With a sudden urgency, Brennan spun around. "Booth," she wasn't exactly sure what she wanted to say. His confession wasn't exactly a surprise, but it was still surprising to hear him say it out loud. "I…" Her brow wrinkled. "Maybe we don't have to limit ourselves to having a date tomorrow night. Maybe we could, well, spend the day together." She looked down at her hands anxiously, and within the span of a split second, her mind was flooded with thoughts about his anger when she had planned a date with another man, the offer from the CIA that she had read without permission (he hadn't shared the information with her), the invitation he extended to take her on a date… In the next instant, she realized that ever since partnering with Booth, her life had changed in drastic ways, perhaps most importantly, her outlook on life had evolved. She knew, without a doubt, that he had been the catalyst to her extensive evolution. "There are some things I'd like to talk about, Booth."

"Yeah," Booth was just thankful that she hadn't changed her mind about their date, or about staying the night. "Yeah, Bones, that sounds like a plan." He handed her the sweatshirt and grinned. "Thanks for coming by tonight, Bones."

"Goodnight, Booth," she stretched up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Thanks," she motioned to the shirt and backed away slowly, heading towards Parker's room.

"Night, Bones. Let me know," he jerked his head towards his room, "if you need anything."

Postscript A/N

** A portion of the recruitment letter sent to Booth was extracted / compiled from CIA website

I don't know if this will lead to any other chapters or not. I might just leave it here, knowing that our favorite duo is going to have a loooong talk in the morning. What do you think? Wanna just go with whatever your imagination conjured up or should I beat my Muse into submission for a wrap-up chapter?

We all know that Booth hated seeing Brennan go on dates with other guys, ever since the very beginning. And I don't think it would be too far of a stretch to imagine him drinking himself into a stupor over just such an event.

I promise to get back to DPO as soon as I can wrap my head around something with an actual plot involving a case needing to be solved. With my working hours, at the moment, I'm just happy to be able to write little drabbles like this.

Please let me know your thoughts!

Peace & love, my friends

~jazzy