Hello! I'll get back to "Blue Eyes" tomorrow, but for now, here's a four-parter for you to enjoy. And if you like it, leave a review for me :)

Enjoy!

Gum :)

The End of the Line

Part 1: The End

In retrospect it always seemed like it should have started some other way- perhaps with a horrific child abuse case or the passing of Max or Hank- but it didn't. Instead, it began like a hundred other nights; with a man and a woman and a diner.

"So," he reviewed the paper in front of him, "Cam's bringing the mashed potatoes and carrots-"

"Cooked carrots," she corrected automatically.

"Same thing," he shrugged, opening his mouth to continue.

"No," she shook her head insistently. "A carrot's nutritional properties are altered by the cooking process."

"Thank you, Professor Bones," his voice dripped with so much sarcasm even she could pick up on it.

"You're welcome," she picked up on it, but chose to respond smugly instead, reaching well over to his side of the table to snatch up a fry that lay in a basket between them.

"Anyway," he returned his eyes to the list, "Cam's doing that, Angela's covering the bread angle, Hodgins signed up for green bean casserole, and Sweets," he chuckled to himself, "is bringing sweet potatoes."

"That's no more humorous now than when you assigned it to him," she rolled her eyes.

"Aw, come on," he turned up the smile wattage, "I saw you giggling the first time."

"I was not!"

It was his turn for an eye roll, "You and Angela were giggling like little girls. Putting your hands over your mouths didn't stop your shoulders from shaking."

Suddenly her cheeks pinked ever-so-slightly and she became entranced with her lukewarm mug of coffee.

"What are Max and Russ bringing?" he asked, even though the list was right in front of him.

"Stuffing and cranberries that Amy jellied herself," she answered, embarrassment fleeing. "My father's stuffing is excellent."

"Yeah, well, so is Pops' pumpkin pie," he bragged. "I know you don't like your fruit cooked, Bones, but you've gotta try some of it!"

"Technically," she said slowly, "pumpkins are vegetables."

"So you're having pie?!" he looked shocked.

"A small piece to commemorate the holiday, yes," she nodded, then scowled when his stunned expression remained. "I'm not completely backwards in my observances of cultural festivities, Booth. And you should know my mother baked very good pumpkin pie from scratch as well."

"Yeah, well," he turned the conversation before she could get really mad at him, "you're still gonna have to bring the fake turkey if you want it."

"Tofurkey," she supplied the correct word.

"Whatever. You're still cooking it and taking home the leftovers when nobody but you eats it." He smirked, "I, on the other hand, will make the turkey. Oh, and don't forget the mac 'n' cheese, Bones."

"As if you and Parker would allow me to," she intoned drily.

"Can't help it if the boy has good taste," his eyes sparkled with pride.

Inventory reviewed, they discussed what time he would pick her up at her apartment the next morning to do their shopping. He teased her about not having naked men running around when he arrived and she came back with a rejoinder recalling that she had once endured Tessa answering his door in little more than his dress shirt, so they were even on that count. They split the check down the middle and stood to leave.

The silence was almost awkward when they realized that she had driven over from a karate class so he would not be dropping her off at her apartment per their usual arrangement. She was attempting to compose an appropriate farewell when he impulsively took her hand and led her outside. She shivered in the crisp air and found she didn't object at all when her hand remained encased in his warmer one. Seconds later, they were beside her car.

"Well, uh, I'll see you tomorrow, Bones," he smiled, his large frame effectively blocking the coolness of the night air.

"Good night, Booth," she offered a genuine smile in return.

Neither one of them was ever sure who moved first, but either way their lips met in the middle. What started as an involuntary peck deepened rapidly to something that was very voluntary and involved tongues that sparred just as well this way as they did verbally. When they parted several flotillas later, both sported dilated pupils and heaving chests.

Shyly, she slid the hand that had become entangled in his hair down to his face, cupping his jaw in a way that was both intimate, yet familiarly comfortable. Similarly, his hand traveled from her hip to tuck away an errant lock of hair that had fallen between them and came to rest in the crook of her neck. A horn blared on the street behind them, bringing reality crashing back around them.

Muttering something too low for him to pick up, she drew away from him, slipped into her car, and was easing into traffic before he realized what was happening. Whatever it was, he thought, things would never be the same again.