Spoilers: Oh my. This is my fiftieth story! I do believe that my friends and I are making cupcakes. So one for everyone who reviews! Or has ever reviewed one of my stories. Ever.

Disclaimer: I love you all.

Author's Note: Dear God. It feels like forever since I've published a Bones fic. Heck, forever since I've posted anything. More, though, it feels like forever since I've written anything, and that makes me rather sad. But. The show must go on, and I hope beyond hope that you all enjoy this. I hope it's not too terrible, too. It's one-thirty in the morning, and I'm just about to fall asleep on my keyboard. And I have a Biology test tomorrow. Fantastic.

But reviews will make my life happier!

He couldn't believe that he had never seen it before.

Not once before this moment had the thought even occurred to him. It was blatantly obvious, if he thought about it now.

All this time, Booth had held himself in check by telling himself that she was the oblivious one, that she was the one who hadn't figured things out.

And all this time, he'd been wrong. It hadn't been her at all. She'd known. She'd been perfectly aware, absolutely conscious, and he hadn't realised. One thing he knew now was that she was a much better liar than he had ever given her credit for.

Maybe liar was too harsh a word – perhaps performer was better, even actress would have worked.

In denial, his more cynical mind piped in.

But he didn't want it to be denial, because denial meant that she didn't want the feelings. That she couldn't handle the feelings; thought things would be easier without them. It didn't matter whether or not things would really have been simpler; for once in his life it was the theory that was important.

The beginning of their partnership had been mostly his own attraction. He had lusted after her, really, and that hadn't made things easy. But in the beginning, she hadn't been attracted to him. He knew that. Knew that he hadn't been a challenge for her, wasn't something to conquer or to solve; he was neither complex enough nor simple enough for her.

He'd seen it almost as an insult at first – she had been the first woman to turn him down since Rebecca, but marriage was an entirely different thing. But after a while he'd started to see it as a challenge. How far could he push the boundaries before she realised? Before she kissed him, or hit him, or shot him?

It had taken him a while to figure out just how stupid that really was. Because in the beginning, they hadn't needed excuses, and now that was all they seemed to have.

She'd slowly started to like him, though – to value him, perhaps even to trust him – and his own attraction had changed with that. Had sort of mutated into mutual respect, mutual friendliness; partnership. He'd started to see her as more than a scientist just as she'd started to see him as more than biology.

And it had been good.

Finding her father had been a feat. Not in the literal sense – he'd found them, really – but in the emotional sense. And he felt like a teenage girl for thinking it, but he couldn't help it. He'd known from that one moment in McVicar's barn that she needed him. More than she knew, more than either of them had ever realised. But it had never, in his head, translated to anything more.

Looking back now, though, the first thing that really should have tipped him off– alarm bells and glaring lights, tipped him off – was Cam.

She'd shown up and taken the job that Brennan had assumed was rightfully hers. And while he'd agreed with Brennan on some level – the level of respect and professionalism – he'd been relieved to know that she was remaining in the field, with him.

But he knew now that her jealousy of Cam hadn't, in fact, been one of professionalism. At least, not entirely. She had been jealous of him; jealous of Cam having had him. Angela had told him about Brennan's reaction to finding out about their past relationship, and at the time, he had thought that it was because she didn't condone relationships with coworkers.

Ironic, really, that his Line was a hell of a lot closer to the mark than he'd thought.

The Line was originally drawn for himself, not for Brennan, because he'd never expected that she needed it. That look in her eyes when he'd drawn it, though… What he'd thought was sympathy had really been empathy; knowing, rather than understanding.

There were some things that he just couldn't believe he'd missed – they seemed so obvious, now.

The way she looked at him, sometimes, was so similar to the way he looked at her – tried not to look at her. That smile she gave him and only him: the coy, almost flirty smile that told him that she knew something. Only now, he knew what that something was.

She may not love him; but she wanted to.

And that was more than enough.