This is a bit ... rusty. But hopefully, you will enjoy it :)

They had only been working together for a few months by the time Booth's birthday rolled around.

"So," Angela asks, leaning back in her chair with a raised eyebrow, "are you going to get him something?"

Brennan considers for a moment, then nods. "We work together almost every day. I assume he would appreciate the gesture."

Angela's lips play into a coy smile that Brennan chooses to ignore. "You have a gift in mind?"

Brennan shakes her head. "I know he likes hockey and that he has a gambling problem. Beyond that, not much else. For such an extroverted man, he is quite reserved about his past and his life outside of work."

"I'm sure he's not even expecting a present in the first place," Angela says. "I think he would enjoy anything you got him."

After a few days of contemplation, Brennan had settled on a tie, one that was gaudy enough to be considered 'Boothy' but not gaudy enough for his boss to send him home for not following the dress code. She smooths her thumb over the sleek wrapping paper as she sits in his office, waiting for him, briefly wondering why she feels so nervous.

He walks in, almost striding as he breaks out into a smile at the sight of his partner. "Hey, Bones." Her nose scrunches; she's still not used to his nickname for her yet. "What are you doing here?"

She stands up and shoves the wrapped box into his chest, more aggressively than she had intended. "Happy birthday, Booth."

His eyes flare bright with surprise before melting into a soft warmth, his smile growing. She's not sure how he can smile that wide, but he does. And, somewhere, buried at the back of her brain, she knows he only smiles this wide around her. She fights off the blush that's creeping up her neck, focusing on the cadence of his voice instead.

He says: "Bones," tone still laced with shock, "you didn't have to do this."

"Yes, I did." She states, her words stark and void of any feelings she may harbor. This is casual, she reminds herself. It's her being kind. "I'm your partner."

"And my friend." He says as he begins to unwrap the box, missing her eyes widen slightly and jaw falter.

She isn't the type to consider people friends. After all, she only has one: Angela. And she simply considers Angela her friend because Angela calls Brennan her friend too. Beyond that, relationships are limited to coworkers, acquaintances, respected colleagues in the anthropology field.

Now she has another friend. Her pulse picks up a beat.

Booth pulls back the lid, revealing the tie. He picks it up to inspect it better before turning to look at Brennan. He's grinning again, and it almost appears as if he wants to pull her into a hug. Instead, he gives her a small squeeze of the arm and warmly says, "Thanks, Bones. I love it."

"You're welcome, Booth." She finds herself smiling. "So, did you have a good birthday?"

He unties the tie he was originally wearing and starts putting on the one she got him. "Better than good."

After four years of friendship—dare she say best friendship—there had not been much that Brennan didn't know about Booth, and vice versa despite her efforts to stay well-guarded. Although neither weren't the types to reveal everything to each other, things tended to slip out during late nights over Thai food and beer. But they also knew that the other would keep these private moments to themselves, thus strengthening their bond.

The one thing, however, that Booth keeps well publicized is his love for hockey. His name is near synonymous with being a Flyers' fan. It had seemed only common sense to Brennan to give him a gift that encompassed his prideful obsession.

"Bones," Booth laughs, "where are you taking me?"

Brennan keeps her hands over Booth's eyes, leading him with the nudges of her body pressed tightly to his. She moves one hand to cover his entire view as she fumbles for the key in her pocket before leaning around him to unlock the door. With the kick of her foot, the door swings open. She pulls back her remaining hand and tells him to open his eyes.

"Bones," he asks, looking at the empty rink, "what is this?"

"Happy birthday, Booth." She says, watching his look of surprise turn into one of joy. "I rented out the entire rink for you tonight."

The corners of his eyes crinkle as he breams. "Wow, Bones, I… I don't know what to say. I mean, how did you even pull this off?"

She shrugs. "I gave the owners an offer they couldn't refuse." She brushes past him as they near the rink. "I'll be right back. I need to grab something."

Booth props himself up against a glass panel looking onto the sleek ice. Brennan reappears holding a neatly wrapped box in one hand and a hockey stick with a bow on it in the other. Booth is beyond smiling at this moment; he's nearly glowing. And Brennan can't help but grin at her being the reason for it.

Booth tears at the gift and soon unveils a pair of hockey skates—expensive hockey states. He's practically flabbergasted, unsure of how to handle this showering of presents.

"Bones," he weakly protests, "this is all too much."

"With the sales if my most recent book, it's barely a dent in my wallet, Booth." She reassures, watching his eyes perk up a little. "Now put on your skates and try out the stick. The man at the store I got them from said they were the best that money could buy."

Somehow, Booth manages to coerce Brennan into skating along with him. She's improved somewhat since the first time he ever took her; she doesn't fall when she first steps onto the ice nor when she shakily begins to glide her way towards Booth. She grabs onto his solid arm when she reaches his side, giving her legs a break from their wobbling. But when he turns and looks at her with soft pride, her legs teeter the line of standing straight or giving out completely.

"Look at you," he says, smiling, "you're really getting the hang of it."

She's still gripping tightly onto his arm. "Maybe."

"Now it's time to take it to the next time." His eyes flicker towards the hockey stick in his opposing hand. "I'm gonna teach you how to take a shot."

"I'm fine with just skating," she assures.

He ignores her. "C'mon, Bones, it'll be fun."

"Booth..."

He works his way out of grasp on him and places the stick in her hands instead. He gently pushes her fingers into the correct holding position. The air of the rink is cold—her pink cheeks being the proof of it—but his fingers are warm against hers and she finds herself leaning against his chest as his body molds around her.

His hands settle in line with hers. "Now," he says, "we're going to bring the stick back and transfer our weight to our back foot." The stick begins to cock back as they lean away. He continues: "Then we're going to slightly rotate our wrists toward the direction we want to shoot the puck, transfer our weight forward, and follow through."

He leads the motion as the stick makes contact with the puck in front of Brennan. The puck smoothly slides down the ice. She finds herself smiling when she barely turns her head to look at him, ignoring how their cheeks are near touching, his lips almost making contact with her cool skin.

"See," he breathes out, "it's not hard at all."

He skates away to pick up the puck. She brings her fingers up to her cheek, feeling the heat of where he was only seconds ago. He's like a fire, flames licking against her skin. But somehow she's not burning. She's basking in the warmth.

It's the fifth time that they're shooting the puck together that Booth starts going on a ramble about how much she'd love hockey if she went to a Flyers game with him. How she would enjoy the team aspect of it, the physics behind shooting a wrist shot versus a slap shot, the excitement you can feel when sitting in the crowd.

She hears him expel a breath, one leading to another tangent when she says, "Shut up, Booth. I'm trying to play hockey."

He softly laughs, then asks, "Can I say one last thing?"

"Yes."

He smiles against her earlobe, whispering, "Thank you."

It's the first time they've celebrated his birthday as a married couple.

She gets up early to make a blueberry pie, deciding that even though pie is not a breakfast item, he deserves the treat. The kitchen smells like blueberries and cinnamon and nutmeg when he traipses downstairs, already wearing his infamous wide smile.

"I was disappointed to wake up by myself this morning," he says, "but whatever you're baking smells good."

Brennan's response is cut off by the beep of the oven. She pulls out the pie and places it on the kitchen island right in front of Booth. His eyes widen and he looks about five seconds away from salivating.

"I made you a blueberry pie for breakfast." She gestures to the dish.

"For breakfast?" He asks, his eyes still stuck on the pie as though if he looks away, it will disappear.

"It's your birthday." She circles around the counter top and presses a light kiss to his cheek. "Seems only right to indulge you a little bit."

He draws her into his arms, kissing her soundly on the lips. "Thank you for the gift."

She pulls herself back and shakes her head. "That's not your gift."

"No?"

"No."

Brennan walks out of the kitchen and picks up a pile of papers off of the coffee table in their living. She walks back and places it down on his lap.

He gives her a confused look. "This is the manuscript of your latest book."

She nods. "It is."

He still looks at her strangely, unsure of what to make of it.

She says, "Read the dedication."

Since the beginning of their partnership, she's dedicated each book she's written to Booth. Occasionally she had added in Angela when Angela helped Brennan out with some love scenes. But typically she solely dedicated her novels to Booth, seeing that he was her partner and deserved the acknowledgment.

Her dedications never were particularly personal or overly sentimental: she tended to thank Booth as her friend and partner and kept it at that. No stranger reading her book needed to know the true extent of how much Booth meant to her. The book was there was entertainment, not as a look into Brennan's life and inner feelings.

Booth gently peels back the title page and lands on the dedication. His fingers smooth over the printed text as he reads out loud: "To my husband, who has taught me that just because something isn't rational, it doesn't mean it isn't worth it. I will love you always."

His breath hitches. She tries to meet his eyes, but he keeps staring down at the dedication, scanning it over and over again.

"So," she says, slowly, "what do you think?"

When he finally looks at her, his brown eyes have a glossy sheen of unshed tears. And then suddenly, she's in his embrace; her home. His arms are tight around her back as his chin rests on her shoulder. He softly murmurs, "This is the best gift I've ever received."

"Better than when I got you all that hockey gear years ago?" She asks.

"Better than that."

She teases. "Or how about the first gift I ever got you? That blue tie you still wear?"

He laughs, "Better than that, too."

He releases her from his embrace and looks her right in her eyes. She doesn't think she's ever had someone look at her with such intensity, with such adoration, with such love. His hands cradle her face, his thumbs smoothing over her cheekbones.

Her voice strains against her throat, raw from the emotion that sits at every nerve ending. "Happy birthday, Booth."

He softly presses his lips to her, his fingers still supporting her jaw. Her hands move over his chest, his rib cage, wanting to hold all of him at once.

His mouth is only a breath away when he says, "I will always love you, too."

I kind of want to do a version of this fic but with Booth giving Brennan presents. We shall see.