A/N: This story has been nibbling at the back of my brain since the beginning of the season, but it probably wouldn't have seen the light of day if it hadn't been for the lovely sunsetdreamer, who agreed with me that it was a pretty crazy idea, but still encouraged me to go through with it. I'll do my best not to make her regret it ;-)

Story title inspired by a line from Kris Kristofferson's song Me and Bobby McGee – and yes, I'm aware that's not quite how the line in question goes...

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Booth hacks away at the ossified layers of faded paint and yellowing wallpaper and does his best not to inhale the musty-smelling cloud of dust and flakes that rises up every time he brings the scraper down. His arms are aching, he's covered in dirt and plaster dust, but he's humming under his breath, and if he's honest with himself, he has to admit that he hasn't been this happy since the day they moved into the house. It's a moment of pure self-indulgence, because there's still plenty of work to do in the master bathroom and the bedroom, and he hasn't even gotten started on the nursery yet – but there's no way he could have resisted when Bones placed a cool hand on his shoulder and told him firmly, "Go play in your man cave, Booth, I've had enough of you getting underfoot while I'm trying to work" before bodily shoving him out of the kitchen.

He takes a step back and casts a critical look around. There's still a long way to go until the room will look even remotely like he's picturing it, but the mere image in his mind is enough to leave him giddy with excitement. He draws a deep breath, inhaling the faint aroma of almonds and cinnamon that mixes with the stench of mold and age-old dust, and he can't help the smile that spreads over his face. Temperance Brennan, world-famous anthropologist and best-selling author, is busy in their kitchen, in their house, indulging in the baking spree she's been on for most of the past week because she's pregnant with his child and has gone into what Angela calls the "nesting phase" of her pregnancy. Life doesn't get much better than this, and the thought makes him tackle the wall in front of him with renewed energy.

After a while, he hears the stairs creak under the heavy, careful footfalls that have replaced her once energetic gait, and he turns around when the door opens, letting in a fresh wave of spicy fragrance. Bones sticks her head into the room as if to check on his progress, but the tender little smile on her face tells him that's not the reason for her visit.

"Hey." He meant to sound soft and playful, but some of the dust must have gotten into his throat after all, so the greeting comes out a little hoarse.

"Hey to you too." She doesn't come in – she has made it clear that she understands the anthropological significance of a space that he can claim as his own, even though Booth suspects she isn't too fond of the gloomy basement room anyway. "In case you're hungry, the pie will be done in a couple of minutes."

"Aw, Bones, you made pie?" Booth walks over to her and wishes he wasn't covered in dirt because he would very much like to kiss her. "That's great!"

"That remains to be seen," she answers with a frown. "I found this recipe for a cherry and marzipan pie on a website Angela recommended, but it was more difficult to make than I initially assumed, and I can't be sure yet whether the result will be of adequate quality."

"Come on, it smells great, there's no way it…" Booth pauses and clears his throat; it's only now that he notices how raspy his voice has become. He reaches for his water bottle and takes a sip; the water is cool and soothing, but his throat still feels uncomfortably dry.

Bones eyes him carefully. "Are you okay?"

He shakes his head and takes another gulp of water. "I'm fine – it's just the dust, I guess."

"You should wear a protective mask during this kind of work." She takes a step towards him, obviously forgetting her anthropological man cave rules, and brushes a few paint flakes off his shoulder. "There could be toxic metals in the old paint, certain kinds of mold are highly toxic as well, and the smaller particles –"

"Bones, I said I'm fine." As sweet as it is that she's worried about him, he'd rather not have her try out her maternal instincts on him while there's no baby to take care of yet. However, his throat has now started to itch like crazy, and Booth lifts the bottle again to wash the last of that damned dust away. The moment the water hits the back of his throat, he starts coughing.

"Booth?" Her tone is alarmed, but Booth can't focus on it; he can't get the sudden coughing fit under control, and the harder he tries to draw a deep breath, the tighter his windpipe seems to become. His throat is on fire, the burning pain quickly spreading downwards, and then grey dots appear in his peripheral vision, closing in further until he can see nothing but a swirling mass of light and dark patches in front of his eyes. Panic settles in as he realizes that he's not getting any air at all – something alien and painful is lodged in his throat, and he's choking on it, no matter how hard he struggles for breath.

He hears a voice shouting, but the words don't make sense; something heavy is pressing on his chest and shoulders – why is he suddenly on his back? – until it's impossible to move, and then a sharp pain slices through his throat, leaving him retching and gasping for air. The pain is so intense that his vision darkens further for a moment, but at least he can breathe again – his windpipe feels raw and brittle with every breath, but the panic subsides a little, even though his heartbeat is so loud in his ears that he can't hear anything else over it.

There's a hand on his face, warm and gentle, and Booth desperately tries to pull himself together. Whatever just happened, it must have given Bones one hell of a fright, and he needs to let her know that he's okay. He's still deaf from the thundering sound of his own heartbeat, but his vision is slowly beginning to clear, and at last he manages to open his eyes – wait, when did he close them in the first place? – and to turn his head towards her.

The light makes his eyes hurt, and Booth has to blink a few times, but at last the outline of the woman bending over him swims into focus. He blinks again, squinting against the sudden brightness, but the image he sees remains unchanged. Blond hair, porcelain skin, pale blue eyes that are wide with an expression of… fear? shock? disbelief? as she stares at him and then hastily steps away. She's wearing something shapeless in a sickly green color that he has never seen on her before, but there' still no mistaking her.

Booth opens his mouth and tries to speak, but the only sound his abused throat can manage is a low, hoarse groan.

"Hannah?"

"Booth!" Someone is shaking him, none too gently, but at least he can hear clearly again, and the light isn't hurting his eyes any more. "What did you just say?"

"I – what?" His throat is still a little sore, but he notices with immense relief that he can breathe normally, and that it's no longer painful to speak. Like a fog lifting from his brain, the nauseating feeling of disorientation fades, and he finally realizes that he's in his bed with a visibly upset Bones hovering over him, her eyes glittering almost dangerously in the dim light of the bedside lamp.

"Bones, I – how did I get here? I thought I was… I mean, we were in the basement…"

Her expression becomes puzzled. "Yes, we were – and then you had way too much pie, and we went to bed. You woke me up a few moments ago when you started coughing again."

"Sorry." Booth sheepishly indicates the water bottle on her nightstand (there is no nightstand on his side of the bed yet because he hasn't gotten around to assembling it). "Could you hand me that?"

"Get it yourself, my current girth makes it impossible for me to reach that far without a considerable and very uncomfortable shift in my position." Her tone is icy, and Booth winces as he gets up and walks around the bed rather than just reaching across her belly, because he might risk an elbow in his kidney if he tried that right now.

He's still feeling a bit out of sorts, but he does his best not to let her notice it as he gulps down a few mouthfuls of water. "I guess you were right about the pie," he tries to joke as he crawls back under the covers, "I must have dreamed… it was pretty strange."

"I'll say." He clearly hasn't managed to brighten her foul mood, although there's a hint of hurt in her stern expression. "It must have been a very interesting dream, too, considering that it made you moan your ex-girlfriend's name."

Oh fuck. Booth does some very quick thinking, which isn't easy given that he's still a little groggy. "Bones, I wasn't moaning anything, it was just –"

"– a dream, I know." She definitely sounds hurt now. "I'm fully aware that you have no control over the activity of your brain during REM sleep, and that the male libido..."

"Whoa, hold it right there!" he cuts her off. "It wasn't that kind of dream, okay? It was pretty unpleasant – like I couldn't breathe or something, and…" He realizes too late that he probably shouldn't have let that slip, but at least the look she gives him now is concerned instead of accusing.

"I told you it would have been safer to wear a mask while stripping the walls. The dust you inhaled –"

"Fine, fine, you win." Booth knows when it's better to give in. "I'll wear the damned mask next time. Can we go back to sleep now?"

"I'd like to know about the rest of your dream." She doesn't sound mad any more, merely curious, but there's a tense undertone to her question. Booth is a little wary of opening this particular can of worms, but he actually likes the idea that Bones might feel possessive enough about him to be jealous of a shadow from the past.

He isn't going to tell her that, of course, so he merely shrugs. "There isn't much I remember – I opened my eyes, and she was standing there looking at me. She didn't look too happy to see me either, and before you ask, yes, she was fully dressed."

Bones' eyes narrow. "I wasn't going to ask that."

"Of course you weren't." Booth shoots her a knowing grin. "It was something baggy in an awful color, too – like hospital scrubs or something like that."

She raises her eyebrows. "This had better not been a Naughty Nurse kind of scenario, Booth."

"Oh, come on." He scoots closer to her and lowers his voice to a seductive purr. "The only person I would want to play Naughty Nurse with is you, and you know it."

"That's not an option at the moment." He's very familiar with that matter-of-fact tone – something is still bothering her, and she's trying to hide it behind a façade of clinical detachment. "Even though my current condition may be very satisfying for you on an emotional level, I'm aware that the massive changes to my body have considerably lessened my sexual appeal, and it would only be natural for you to…"

"Okay, enough." This is one of the occasions when patience will get him nowhere with her. "What happened to that Dr. I'm-gorgeous-and-don't-I-know-it I used to work with?"

Her smile turns out a little crooked. "She got pregnant."

"Which only made her more gorgeous." Booth bends down and presses a kiss on her belly. "Stop giving Mommy body image issues, little one."

Bones lightly swats him on the shoulder. "Have you been talking to Sweets again?"

Booth flops back onto his pillow and sighs. "You know how he is – he's pretty much impossible to avoid now that you can't go into the field any more, and I can't threaten to shoot him all the time just to make him shut up."

"I concede your point." She turns to switch off the bedside lamp and then says into the sudden darkness, "Just as long as you don't listen to him about anything important…"

He resolutely clamps down on the onset of very unpleasant memories. That part of his life is in the past, crazy dreams notwithstanding, and he refuses to dwell on it now that the fates are finally smiling on him. "Nah, I've learned my lesson in that regard."

"Don't you forget it," she murmurs, and Booth chuckles under his breath as he closes his eyes and gets comfortable.

"I won't."