A/N - thanks for the reviews - hopefully all my review replies got through despite the website problems - here is the conclusion!

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Brennan's hands shook as she attempted to fit her key into her apartment door. Her clothes were soaked and stiff with the rain, doing nothing to prevent the heat from evaporating off her already frigid skin. When she finally managed to push the door in, she briskly made her way to the linen closet, grabbing two auburn towels and tossing one in Booth's direction as she went into her bedroom. He caught it as he settled several files onto the coffee table and flopped on the couch.

She ran the water in her bathroom and soaked a hand towel before scrubbing her face roughly. When she looked up into the vanity, her face dripping, her hair matted, and her eyes dark and hollow, she was struck with another wave of fatigue. She needed sleep desperately; just one full night's worth. Hell, she would even consider praying for it if she thought it would help. As she tied her hair back in a messy ponytail, she knew that tonight was the worst possible time to hope for rest.

When she emerged in worn-out Northwestern sweats and a tank top, with her face flushed from the hot water, Booth sat up a little straighter. The last remnants of Langdon's blood had been washed away from her skin, but he knew the weariness she had felt prior to the exhilaration of the night's events had returned. She spread the towel around her shoulders and shivered before noticing him staring at her unabashedly.

"What?" she asked sharply.

"You okay?"

"Yes," she said, annoyed. She motioned to the folder. "Let's get this over with. FBI's going to need the official report by tomorrow."

"You mean today," he corrected, eying the clock behind her. "In several hours, in fact, but you know what? I'm fairly certain we can hold it off another day."

She crossed her arms, unwavering.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Well, if you can defy the space-time continuum, go back to one hour ago and try not shooting Langdon," Brennan hissed, the words leaving her lips before she even had a chance to think about it.

Booth's eyes were wide with disbelief. "He was going to shoot you."

"You don't know what he would have done!"

"He was high, Bones, agitated. It was a risky situation and it could have ended very badly. Besides, I only got him in the leg." He had pushed himself up from the couch and let his hands rest on his hips defensively.

"Booth-"

"And he took a shot at me on the dock before you came. Another minute and I know he was going to pull that trigger on you, so I am not apologizing for taking him down," he continued easily. "You know what I did was right. The fact he turned that gun on himself just shows how unstable he was."

She opened her mouth as if to protest, but thought better of it and snapped it closed. Sometime during the conversation, Booth had come in front of her, his head tipped down as he studied her. She locked gazes with him defiantly.

"Do you blame me?" he whispered after what seemed like an eternity, his voice hushed and hesitant. Scared.

"For Langdon's death? I think I was fairly clear-"

"No," he sighed, running a hand across her bookshelf distractedly. "For your father being in jail."

"Of course not," Brennan scoffed. "I blame him, for being a felon."

He crossed his arms, suddenly agitated as he averted his gaze, studying something behind her. "You say that, but I don't know if I believe it. And I don't know if you really believe it either."

"It's the truth," she insisted. "Booth, though at times I may seem resentful or even bitter regarding his arrest, rationally, I know it was out of your control. Certainly, Max Keenan…got what was coming to him." She seemed pleased with herself for the use of the colloquialism, but then suddenly felt crushed by the weight of her own words. She fell silent for a moment.

"I didn't mean that."

"I know, Bones."

"No. It's patronizing to say that you know because…you don't," she said quickly. "I am constantly torn between conflicting feelings. At first, I wanted to hate him for what he did to me and Russ but whenever I tried, all I could think about was our family. And I know that sounds overly sentimental and saccharine-"

"It sounds human," Booth interjected.

"-but it's how I felt. How I feel." She felt like laughing at the naivety of her own words, but nevertheless, continued. "And sometimes I think that it was so much better two years ago when I didn't have to feel anything at all."

"You know that's not true."

Brennan had tried to convince herself of that fact since her father's incarceration, but she knew that Booth was right. She was just frustrated. There were so many emotions, tumultuous and confusing, and she was incredibly unaccustomed to dealing with them. When she looked at her father in prison, she felt anger and betrayal, but at the same time, affection. When she saw Russ for the first time in years, she felt overjoyed but also incredibly lonely, insecure, and abandoned. And when she was with Booth…

"My father…he chose to turn himself in because of me. And the realization of what could happen, even if the trial is months from now, is very…"

"Scary?" Booth suggested gently.

"And now, Langdon's dead, so my dad just looks like he slaughtered the deputy director of the FBI, and since all the cops, agents and lawyers involved in the case are just looking for blood…" Her voice came out level and steady despite the circumstances. A grim smile formed on her lips. "…his prospects don't look very good, Booth."

There. The truth. The emptiness inside her seemed to grow tenfold, threatening to swallow her whole, and she hated the sudden vulnerability she was feeling.

The weariness was evident on Booth's face, but his brown eyes were still brimming with concerned warmth as they watched her. She exhaled a shuddering sigh, and trembled again, the damp towel now beginning to freeze her bare shoulders and arms.

Another step closer and they were standing toe-to-toe, but he waited for any resistance as he brought his hands to her shoulders and pushed the towel back, letting it fall in a puddle at their feet. He ran his hands up and down her arms, smoothing the prickled skin beneath his palms until she felt her entire body humming with warmth. The intimacy of the gesture hit her hard, and she felt strangely stupid, rooted to the ground, completely immobilized. But her apparent compliance spurred his boldness as he let his arms wrap around her waist and pull her flush against him.

She was stunned for a minute. A voice echoed in her mind, reminding her that a steadfast resolve to be independent had served her for 16 years. In any other circumstance, she would have listened to it, but this was Booth. It was always different with Booth.

"I want to tell you it will be alright but…you know I can't say that."

She let her hands hook together behind his back as she buried her face in his neck, inhaling the last vestiges of the rain as it drifted from his skin. His shirt was still cool and wet, but she felt heat radiating from him in waves, and it seemed to penetrate her down to the core.

"Booth…" she began for the second time that night, but her tongue felt thick and sloppy in her mouth, refusing to let anymore words out.

The familiar comfort of his body prompted tears to prick the corners of her eyes and when she closed them, she felt them cause a renewed wetness as they slid down her cheeks. The rain pounded outside with a determined ferocity, and she was glad to be indoors, away from its harshness.

"I'm so sorry about your father."

"Me too, Booth."

"And if you do blame me, even a little part of you, that's ok. I just hope that you and I…"

"I know."

She felt completely drained, and the weakness in her legs from the persistent fatigue was becoming too much. She was certain if they stood like that much longer, she would collapse, or more embarrassingly, fall asleep. Hesitantly, she rested her palms against his chest, which was solid and comforting beneath her fingers.

He released his tight grip, but kept his hands on her hips as he waited for her reaction. She could hear the comforting base rhythm of his heart reverberating against his ribcage. She felt a rush of guilt as she recalled the accusations she had thrown at Booth earlier.

"Why?"

"What?" His voice caught with surprise.

"I mean, I just yelled at you right now, and this can't have been the first time I've done something like that," she said, her voice muffled against the material of his shirt. With a resigned sigh, she asked tiredly, "Why do you put up with me?"

Booth inhaled deeply, his chest rising and falling beneath her head. Her heart skipped a beat as she considered all of his possible answers; some terrified her, and some, strangely enough, disappointed her.

"The same reason you put up with me, Bones."

She dipped her fingers behind his blue-green tie and ran the material through her hand, smoothing out the rumples that had formed when it had dried. She mulled over that statement as she blinked the last stray tears away.

The lamp behind her shed light against her rain-darkened hair, capturing the russet streaks brilliantly and when she looked up again he had bent his head closer.

Despite the severe emotional rollercoaster she had been feeling before, warmth pooled in her belly. His eyes darkened as he let out a slow breath, momentarily recalling that line he had drawn all those many days ago; the line that she was making very difficult to respect.

"What is that reason?" she breathed urgently, suddenly desperate to hear his answer.

She needed something to not conflict in her life, and she knew it was paradoxical to think she could get it from him. Everything in their relationship screamed discord and contradiction. His inherent faith in God, and her decided disbelief in any sort of higher power. The stock he put in psychology, and her staunch empiricism. This man had put her father in prison and would undoubtedly testify at his trial; it was not rational, but she could not will herself to feel any other way.

His gaze swept over her face, lingering on her mouth as his own quirked into a lopsided smile. He lowered his head, tentatively, letting his lips brush against hers before pulling back far too quickly for her liking. She felt a wave of frustration at his vacillation, and a frantic yearning for more of his fleeting touch, but then realized he was waiting again for her consent yet again.

The tie was still entangled in her fingers, cool and smooth to the touch. And when she tugged at it, his eyes widened momentarily, only to drift close when she pressed her mouth to his. She slid her lips against his, pressing herself to his warmth and urging him to do the same as she relished in the pressure of his body against hers. She felt his hand trail up her back to cup the back of her head as he caught her bottom lip between his teeth gently. His mouth was incredibly warm as she swept her tongue against his, and she knew the rain had washed away all extraneous scents and tastes from his skin, leaving behind nothing but the man that was Seeley Booth.

She let her hands explore, sliding slowly from his waist and across his chest. She memorized the curve of each muscle beneath her fingertips, the body that she had become so familiar with in the past three years, but never like this. The breath they were sharing was coming out heavy and harried in the brief moments their lips broke contact. She brought her arms up, letting one hook around his neck for support as she raked a hand through his damp hair. A low groan escaped his lips, only to be swallowed again by her increasingly desperate kisses.

But he pulled away, sifting his fingers through her hair. "I've wanted to that for so long. Temperance, I think I…"

She was grateful for his discretion when she felt exhaustion throbbing through her limbs again. She knew she couldn't keep up with that physical exertion that came with her partner's ministrations and caresses.

He murmured against her skin, "And Bones? I'm also sorry I shot Langdon."

"I'm not. You were right and I know you didn't want to," she admitted finally. "But you know what?"

Booth pulled back, quirking a brow. "What?"

"I am very, very tired," she said with a small smile, letting her hands fall to his. She pulled them towards her bedroom. "And I think you are too."

He let her lead him until were beside her bed and he began to loosen his tie. "How do you know that?"

She sat on the edge of the bed, tugging his hand again insistently until they were both settled on top of her ivory sheets. She thought about it for a moment and pressed her mouth to his swiftly before tucking her head beneath his chin. "Let's just say I feel it in my gut. I mean, I learned from the best."

"Is it telling you anything else?" He pulled the covers up and over their legs. He thought briefly that he would not get a moment of rest if his partner was pressed against his side all night, but he did not care, and tried to will his insistent libido to back down.

"Yes," she smiled, closing her eyes, absolutely ecstatic that her body seemed to be complying and falling into an easy sleep. "It's telling me that this, what we're doing now…this is why I put up with you."

And when he laughed, she sighed, knowing he would be there in the morning, solid, unwavering, and constant, so unlike everything else in their world.

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The End