Spoilers/Timeline: None/Set in future; B&B in established relationship.

A/N: Many thanks missmargaret for the quick read through

Disclaimer: Bones doesn't belong to me; Title taken from Martina McBride's Blessed.

"If Utley can dig this out the Phillies might be able to get out of the inning with only... yes, he does it. We go into the top of the ninth, Phils trailing the Dodgers by one..." He breathed a sigh of relief, stretching out on the couch as the announcer's voice gave way to a blaring commercial for a Christmas-in-July sale.

"Booth..." She groaned and shifted at her end of the couch. "Didn't I already ask you to turn that down?"

"Yeah, and I did, baby." He grinned, eyebrow lifting as she shook her head at the term of endearment she'd stopped protesting long ago. "It's just the commercials are much louder than the game so when I turn them down it makes it hard to hear the announcers..."

"That's merely a marketing ploy to get you to pay attention to the products being advertised during the breaks."

"It's annoying." He turned, watching as she scribbled out some idea for the research article she was working on. "How's it going over there?"

"Fine." Pen flying over the paper, she looked up at him and smiled. "I enjoy that we can spend our free afternoons like this, both of us participating in something we individually like, but doing so together."

"Me too, Bones, me too." He went back to the game, but was immediately distracted from Rollins making it to base as she chewed on the end of her pen, her hand running down her leg and rubbing against her calf. She paused to make another note on her outline before repeating the process, this time scratching her skin with the edge of one of her manila folders.

"Hey, we just scored!" She pointed to the screen and he nearly jumped off the couch in joy as he saw she was correct; the game was tied.

"We?"

"Over the years, I've observed that you often to refer to the teams that you support in the possessive and... well, I just thought..." She bit her lip, brow constricting as she struggled to find the words.

Laughing deeply, he scooted closer to her and draped his arm across her shoulders. "I love it." He brushed his lips across her jaw. "I love that you want to share it with me even if you don't understand..."

"I think by now I've watched enough games to comprehend the concept—"

"I know, Bones, I meant you don't get the excitement of watching a game, of putting on a jersey for good luck..."

"Oh." She dropped her papers to the coffee table, nails digging in to the skin of her leg. "That is true."

"Mmm." He pulled her legs into his lap, gazing at where she'd been itching, her skin red and splotchy, marred by a few small blisters. "Where'd you get poison ivy?"

"Hmmm?"

"You've got poison ivy." He gestured to her leg, holding back a laugh as her eyes widened when she recognized the rash spreading over her skin. "I don't understand where you picked it up. I mean, you know it to see it, to avoid it out by the hedgerow..."

"I..." She paused, her fingers digging into his thigh to keep her from itching once more. "Oh." Running her hand through her hair, she twisted to face him more fully. "It was at the FBI picnic. You had gone to grab the extra blanket from the back of the car and Parker was playing ball with some of the other adolescents..." She laughed as he scowled at the term. "Anyhow, one of them hit the ball into the field and Parker went to retrieve it, I heard him fall and went to make sure he was ok. Apparently, in my haste to do so, I neglected to pay attention to where I was walking."

Sighing, he leaned his shoulder against hers, simultaneously touched and amused. She really never did cease to amaze him, not in how much she cared for him and his son (her family) or how she could become so focused on work and their life that she completely missed the obvious like... "You've been walking around with poison for half a week without either of us realizing it?"

"That seems to be correct."

Shaking his head, he stood and disappeared down the hall, returning seconds later carrying a small bottle of lotion. He settled next to her once more, motioning her to put her legs on his lap again as he unscrewed the cap of the bottle. "Good thing we bought this just in case."

"Yes, it... Booth, you can't put it on for me! Although it's been several days since I was exposed to the urushiol, I've been irritating it, not letting it dry out, you could contract it yourself!"

She moved to snatch the bottle from him, but only succeeded in grasping air as he leaned towards the other end of the couch. "Stop, you were taking care of our son..." He kissed the curve of her neck as he turned back to her, his hand tipping the bottle over her leg. "Let me take care of you."

"That's so illog— Oh, it feels..." She closed her eyes, body pressing against his as much as possible while his strong hands stroked over her skin, fingers gently massaging the lotion in.

"Good?"

"Amazing. It's almost disconcerting how effective the antipruritic is."

"And here I thought it was just me."

"That certainly helps." Cupping his cheek, she pressed her lips to his before wrapping her arms around his waist. "I'm actually surprised you don't have it already, not after how we spent the past two nights..."

He nodded, placing the bottle on the table and pulling her into his lap. "I probably do and just haven't broken out yet."

"Actually, that's highly unlikely. Rashes usually appear within a day of exposure; you'd already be exhibiting signs of one..."

"Well, maybe..." His hands drifted down her sides, fingers curling into her waist. "You should give me a thorough examination just to be sure."

"Oh, I think..." She turned, knocking the remote off the couch ("Phillies win in ten."), tugging at the hem of his shirt, and he groaned, eyes closing as she pressed her chest to his, their legs tangling. "A correct diagnosis is essential."