Author's Note: Because I enjoyed rewriting the end of Cinderella so much, I thought I'd take a stab at another of my favorite episodes. I love love love The X in the File. I love the bit characters, I love the MRI scene, and I love the "aliens are nice anthropologists" convo at the end. It's one of my favorites. I've probably watched it a hundred times, and every time I'm disappointed that they don't start making out. So I fixed it. I hope you like it!

Reclined on the hood of the rental car, Booth plucked the flask from Brennan's fingers and took a sip. The only sounds emanating from the inky darkness surrounding them were chirping insects and the occasional rustle of small animals.

"I think this is the best place we've ever had drinks after a case, Bones."

"It is beautiful," she agreed. She took another drink from his flask and licked her lips. Booth tried not to watch. "But…shouldn't we be going home?"

"C'mon, Bones. How many times have you had the chance to check out a desert sky?"

After a few minutes of comfortable conversation, Booth remarked, "Maybe aliens are anthropologists. Maybe they just wanna study our religion and…sex…and love, and our funny languages and line dancing?"

The way he said sex made her entire body pulse. "That's an interesting possibility I hadn't considered."

"Well, living creatures, they like to reach out, Bones."

She flushed slightly at the thought of reaching across the narrow space between them.

"Living creatures like to reach out and eat each other," she countered, and Booth wondered for the millionth time if she said things like that to him on purpose.

He was quiet for a minute before he asked, "Did you ever do this as a teenager?"

"Do what?"

"Go somewhere secluded with a boy and just look at the stars."

She looked away from him. "I suppose you have a story about taking some girl out to look at the stars?"

"Why do you say it like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you're annoyed with me."

She looked at him appraisingly. "You are always reluctant to discuss your current sexual activities, but you seem to enjoy bragging about the sexual conquests of your youth."

"Whooooa! First of all, did you just call me old?" He took a long pull, but didn't break eye contact, and she had to fight to keep her eyes off of his lips.

"You're nearing forty, Booth. In a modern, industrialized society, that is not 'old.' Statistically speaking it's likely that you still have at least thirty years of life ahead of you, unless of course you—"

"Got it. Thanks, Bones." He cut her off. "But, what do you mean, I like to 'brag about the sexual conquests of my youth'?"

"Well, you've told me about taking the girls under the bleachers and—"

"Hold up. Wait. Just…" He looked down at his hands. After brief consideration he looked back up at her, his face troubled and uncertain. "Do you think that I'm…disrespectful when I talk about girls I—" he cleared his throat, "knew when I was younger?"

Looking stricken, she tried to reassure him. "Booth, I didn't mean to imply that you treat women badly. I don't believe that. You are the best man I've ever known."

He smiled faintly, somewhat mollified. "I thought that 'best' was a superlative that was highly unprovable?"

"Well, with respect to establishing that you are the best FBI Agent, it is. I don't know all FBI agents. But I have known many men, and I can state with confidence that you are the best of them."

"Wow, that's…" he trailed off. "Thanks, Bones."

She smiled. "I wouldn't have said it if it weren't true."

He shook his head, feeling warm and slightly fuzzy from the alcohol. "So you say. Maybe you just brought me out here to get me drunk and have your way with me," he teased. In the back of his mind he wondered what the hell had happened to the filter between his brain and his mouth.

Her eyes were wide with surprise.

Smiling sheepishly, he said, "I may have had a little too much to drink." He held up the flask and examined it. It only held six ounces, and it still felt nearly a third full. Plus they'd been sharing it, but he felt much more drunk than that amount of scotch would explain. "How much have I had?"

"I'm not certain. I refilled it once."

"You refilled it?"

"It was empty," she shrugged. "And the bottle that the sheriff gave you as thanks for helping with the case was in the trunk, so..."

"When?"

"When you went to urinate."

"And how much have you had?"

"A few sips."

He groaned. "No wonder I'm drunk."

"Should we head back to town? I can drive."

"Nah," he shook his head. "Not yet. Here," he handed her the flask. "You've got some catching up to do."

"No, thank you. One of us needs to be able to drive tonight and function properly tomorrow so that we can go home."

"Mmmm…" He closed his eyes, but they snapped back open a moment later. "You never answered my question."

"What question was that?"

"Did you ever sneak off with a boy to look at the stars?"

Looking sad, she answered, "I'd rather not talk about it."

He scooted closer to her and turned on his side, bracing his elbow against the windshield. "I'm sorry, Bones. I didn't mean to…I was just making conversation."

She was looking up at the stars and when she turned towards him, their faces were only inches apart.

"I want to kiss you," he whispered.

"What?" She looked surprised, but she leaned fractionally closer and her lips parted.

"Kiss me," he breathed.

Against her better judgment, she pressed her mouth to his, and curled her hand around his bicep. The kiss began softly and slowly, but as soon as he opened his mouth they began devouring one another. When she bit his bottom lip gently, he groaned and pulled her hips against his.

His lips trailed down her neck and his hand inched under her shirt, and she knew she should put a stop to this.

He was drunk.

She didn't have that excuse. But his touch was intoxicating and addictive, and she just didn't want to stop.

He rolled onto his back and pulled her on top of him.

It had been a long time—a very very long time—since she'd had sex, and during that interim she had fantasized about him more times than she could count. That, combined with the taste of him, the solidity of him under her, his hands exploring her, pushed her over the edge almost immediately.

He stilled. "Did you just—"

"Oh," she panted. "Sorry, I—"

"God, you are so fucking sexy," he growled, kissing her again. "I have wanted you for so long."

He unsnapped and unzipped her jeans before slipping one hand down her back, cupping her ass through her panties and pushing her against him. "Oh, fuck, you are so soft and you feel so good."

"Booth." She needed to slow this down, but everything about him was distracting her. "Booth," said sharply.

He froze. "What's wrong?"

She sat up, straddling him, thinking how unfair it was that he was so gorgeous. "We don't have any contraception."

"Contra—oh. Oh."

She climbed off of him and he sat up, scrubbing a hand over his face. Suddenly awareness dawned on his face and his spine stiffened. "Shit, Bones, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"Booth." She put her hand on his arm. "Look at me."

Guiltily, he raised his eyes.

"You didn't do anything wrong. In fact, that was the best orgasm I've experienced in years."

His mouth dropped open. Speechless, he allowed her to pull him off of the car and towards the passenger door.

"Let's go back to the hotel," she suggested. "Surely there's a drugstore open on the way. It's not even ten o'clock yet." She raised an eyebrow. "If you can make me feel that good clothed, I'm anxious to see what you can accomplish naked."