Disclaimer: I don't own Bones or these characters...just borrowing them for a bit.

Author's Note: Originally, "In the Wee Small Hours" was supposed to be a missing-scene one-shot. However, the finale left us with a lot more questions than it answered, and I couldn't resist trying to fill in the blanks myself. Right now, I'm planning to take this through the end of the finale…but you never know…

Reviews are very much appreciated, as this is my first Bones fic!

The Holes in the Heart of the Change in the Game

Chapter One: In The Wee Small Hours

In the wee small hours of the morning
While the whole wide world is fast asleep
You lie awake and think about the boy
And never ever think of counting sheep…

All cried out.

She had heard that expression before, but never understood it; if sufficiently hydrated, the human body could continue to produce tears indefinitely. Perhaps this was what it meant—the exhaustion she felt after sobbing in Booth's arms for the last half hour. She sat up slightly. "You might want to change."

"What?" He looked up at her, confused.

"Your shirt—it's all wet. That can't be comfortable."

Feeling less than at ease herself, she hoped Booth would get up, pace around a little, root through his haphazard clothing-storage system for a dry shirt. And give her an excuse to escape back to the couch.

Because, really, what was she doing here—in his bed? What had she been hoping to find, when she came through the door?

Comfort, she told herself. That was all. She was just looking for someone to share the burden of Vincent's death, to reassure her that she wasn't responsible for the terrifying loneliness of the last moments of his life.

Booth slid a corner of the pillowcase over the damp blotch on his sleeve, and settled her more firmly against his side. She had to admit it felt...good...to lay there, surrounded by his warmth, the hard line of his biceps secure against her back. Safer...from Broadsky, anyway.

And yet far more vulnerable than she'd been on the couch. Logically, she knew that the heightened emotions associated with trauma caused people to take risks, to be more open than they might be otherwise. The whole "what-if-the-world-ends-tomorrow" argument. Carpe diem.

If the world—their world—did end tomorrow, what would she want to tell Booth?

She didn't know.

They were quiet for a long while. Brennan listened intently, waiting for his breathing to assume the heavy regularity of sleep.

"Are you scared?" she asked, finally.

"For myself? No...but, Jesus, Bones, he took out Vincent in the middle of the lab. He knows who I work with, who I'm close to. So for Cam, Hodgins, Angela, even Sweets—yeah, I'm scared. I can't be with all of them all the time. That's why I've got to finish him—tomorrow, if I can."

The silence stretched again. Then—"Me," she said.

"You what?"

"You didn't mention me—on the list of people you're close to."

"Nope."

"But—why?" she spluttered, pushing herself up. Her elbow accidentally dug into his spleen.

"Oof!" he groaned, removing the offending appendage and propping himself on one arm. His eyes glinted in the grey predawn. "One: in the morning, you're going straight from here to the safe room at the Jeffersonian. And you're not leaving until I've got him."

She opened her mouth to protest, but stopped abruptly as his finger traced her cheek. "And two," he continued, his voice low and soft, "You're my strength, Bones. With you beside me, I don't have to be scared."

Tears pooled in her eyes again—not, apparently, cried out after all. Booth leaned forward and kissed her, gently, lips barely touching hers.

Courage, fear, love, anger, the finality of death and the hope of a new beginning all collided in her thoughts. In an unprecedented move, her mind stubbornly refused to work, to analyze, categorize, explain.

"What does all this mean?" she asked helplessly.

Booth's answer was to kiss her again, mouth claiming hers until she stopped thinking altogether, falling back on the bed and pulling him with her.

Finally, they broke apart. Her heart still hammered an accelerated rhythm and she could see Booth's chest heaving against the thin t-shirt. His face wore an expression she couldn't decipher—desire was there, certainly, but there was something like regret, too.

"When it's over with Broadsky," he panted, "I'm gonna show you exactly what all this means."

Collapsing onto his pillow, he drew her back into the hollow of his shoulder. One hand stroked her hair, silently soothing. "Until then...get some sleep, Bones."

And to her surprise, she did.

TO BE CONTINUED

Thanks go to Carly Simon for the song lyrics, and to diane for superior beta services.