A/N-So I know I'm way too late to this fandom, but a few years ago I started this fic. I'm publishing it for my lovely friend MK, who is such a wonderful and supportive friend. I hope someone else out there enjoys it.

This begins during "The Hole in the Heart" and adds a few storylines during that time. It is supposed to keep to cannon (and hopefully I didn't mess anything up). Italics are memories. This fic is "M" for a reason (although hopefully there's enough plot to keep it interesting). Some chapters are "M-ier" than others. I believe this will go about 6-7 chapters in total.

Thank you in advance for taking the time to read.

Disclaimer: I do not own the show or the characters.

Chapter 1: The Letter

As Booth waited in his office for information on Broadsky, his mind kept replaying flashes of the previous night. One minute Brennan was crying and he was consoling, and the next moment, his thumb was softly brushing her cheek, and then she kissed him. The second her lips touched his, his whirling mind went silent with one glorious shush. There was nothing in the world but the two of them.

The filmed memory was flashing in his mind almost constantly.

Her fingers formed a linear procession up the center line of his abdomen and spread out once they reached his chest. Her palm pressed over his heart before her fingers, fingers that he'd seen studying the tiniest breaks, kerf marks and scores in bones a thousand times over, touched his body with the same fastidious scrutiny. She touched the dimpled scar where he'd taken a bullet for her, something he would do a million times over if called upon.

She shifted forward, lying down on top of him and pressing her soft, clothed breasts against his bare chest. His hands slipped over her waist, lifting the sweatshirt she wore only a few inches, but enough to feel the hot line where her skin touched his.

His body flushed as he felt his heart pumping in overdrive, the pulse echoing through every inch of his body. He responded to her immediately in spite of his tiredness and the caution he usually embraced whenever she was involved. She mattered to him too much to make a mistake, but he knew there was no way this was a mistake. He wished he felt just a little more controlled, but he was rock hard and ready for her almost as soon as they started. He tried to shift her body so she wasn't rocking against his obvious erection.

She leaned down, whispering in his ear, "There's no need to feel self-conscious. I'm quite aroused, too. I have to admit I'd be somewhat disappointed if you didn't respond physically to this situation."

"I'm just trying not to rush this," he replied, knowing that even though she insisted she wasn't good at reading people, she seemed to read him very well at times.

She directed him, taking charge, moving his hands over her, helping him remove her shirt. As much as he often enjoyed the undertone of Bonesy bossiness, he was a man, and he certainly wasn't going to lie there idly. He was going to make love to her.

He stopped to look at her, to make sure her consent wasn't faltering, and a smile, a genuine smile, actually flashed across her lips as they looked into each other's eyes, and he felt his heart thud slightly out of rhythm with excitement. Her eyes were still damp and red, and the vulnerability she seemed willing to show only to him made him want to protect her even more than usual.

He rolled her under him, wanting to feel her body trapped between his and the mattress, a thought that had crossed his mind more times than he could count over the years. She twisted part way out of her pants while his mouth found her neck and then her breasts. As he sucked a nipple into his mouth, tugging firmly enough to make her moan, she finally kicked the pants off of her foot before she grabbed his head and held him against her.

He already knew what she'd say if she could hear his possessive thoughts, but he didn't care. He hated every man who'd ever been this close to her, and silently prayed that no other man would ever be with her like this. He was the man who belonged here, and she was the woman he belonged with.

He couldn't believe the sensual way she was rocking against him from beneath, her nipple in his mouth, her nails scratching at the back of his head, her sounds filling his ears. He loved all of it.

She rolled him over, stunning him with a sudden move that made them both smile and giggle softly. She tightened her legs around his hips, and he closed his eyes as he felt her dampness on his lower abdomen through her panties. His eyes turned more fiery, the tenderness muted by desire, but present nonetheless.

She sat back on his thighs, gently tracing the ridge of his still-covered cock with her fingers. The touch was feathery, enough to entice and suggest, but not nearly enough to meet his need. Suddenly he felt as if he were comprised entirely of needs and desires, the heavy weight that built in his lower abdomen was impossible to ignore. The pressure was building, craving that perfect counter pressure to alleviate the ache. She roughly yanked down his pants as if the time for politeness had run out long ago.

As soon as she settled on him again, her hands returned to his body, her flattened palm applying just enough additional force to make his eyes close and jaw go slack, his lips parting slightly as a result, but his hands never relinquishing a second of contact with her skin. He'd had enough foreplay, hell their whole relationship had been foreplay in one way or another, and resistance was becoming downright painful. He lifted his torso from the bed, carefully but impatiently ridding her of her panties before their bodies smashed together yet again. Tenderness had suddenly been joined by something more feral and passionate.

Grasping the back of her head, he held her as he kissed her, feeling the way she was brushing her wet slit along his shaft. After luxuriously tempting him, adding to the anticipation, she lifted higher and guided him inside. As his tip pierced her body, he listened to her cry out with appreciation, then moan softly as he pushed patiently into her until he was completely buried in her body. Her eyes were closed, her inner muscles quivering around him while her body accepted his presence.

He stared at her face, the way her forehead wrinkled and eyes clasped shut, her lips parted as she breathed more heavily. He had to close his eyes because watching her only made self-control more difficult. With his eyes closed, he concentrated on the slow, sensual pace she was setting, the feeling of her hips in his hands as he felt the waves of her body.

As she came, crying out, "Fuck me, Booth…please don't stop. Please…don't…stop," he knew the addiction had already taken hold.

After that he tried in vain to go on forever, moving her under him and slowing his pace. He knew damn well he said her name when he came, and again before his mouth gratefully found hers as soon as he could control his limbs again. He only noticed that she had come again when he felt her tremble as he slid down her body, his hips resting on the bed between her knees and his head on her stomach, trying to remove the bulk of his weight from her frame.

She didn't pull away when they were finished. She stared at his ceiling, placed her hand on his head, holding him against her. "What?" he asked, drained, lifting his head to see what she was thinking.

"I've heard it hypothesized…that when an event is long anticipated and frequently fantasized about, the actual realization of that fantasy can prove unsatisfactory."

"What are you trying to say, Bones?" he asked, already a bit wounded.

"This experience certainly did not validate that hypothesis. At least not for me."

"Oh?" he grinned, eyebrows lifting. "Is that your squinty way of trying to say it was good?"

"Not exactly. I am trying to say that it was exceptional. A truly superior session of sexual intercourse. Extremely satisfying."

"Truly superior and extremely satisfying?" he proudly asked.

She nodded her head, smiling back at him. "I'd say. We're well matched physically, as I often thought we'd be. Also our knowledge of partner responses and body language—"

"That's not what made it superior. I think you know that, but you want to hear me say it anyway," he interrupted.

"Let me guess," she teased, "it was superior because you're some sort of aficionado or—"

"It was superior because we were making love," he interrupted. "But, like I said, I think you already know that."

Although she mounted a momentary silent argument, it was obviously out of habit alone. The practiced words accusing him of the need to assign deeper meaning to sex never emerged, and instead she shrugged. "In that case…" she cautiously replied, "I will say that I'm inclined to agree with your previous assertion that lovemaking is a more satisfying experience than ordinary sexual intercourse with a partner with whom you do not share a deep emotional connection."

He lowered his head back to her abdomen and sighed, sated and sleepy. "You know," he said, talking against her skin, his light stubble scratching, "I'd gloat about the fact that I was right if I wasn't exhausted."

She patted his head and smiled, "I suppose that benefit, although unintentional, is a desirable byproduct of fantastic sex—" she paused as he looked at her again. She corrected, "…a desirable byproduct of fantastic lovemaking."

Cradled between her legs, her fingers absently moving through his hair, the rise and fall of her stomach rocked him into a deep sleep.

A voice in his office doorway pulled him from his memory and back to reality, but certain truths remained. He loved her. There were so many more things he wanted to do with her, so many experiences left for them to have, so he knew he had to get Broadsky and then see if he could find a way to hang onto her.

Brennan was staring at the bones, wishing she could just focus but feeling her brilliant mind being pulled in a hundred different directions. She kept replaying the previous night, remembering how incredible the sex was even though they were both so exhausted. She remembered with all her senses, his smell, the way he felt, how he looked, the taste of lips, even the way he sounded when he groaned as they rocked their bodies in unison.

She hadn't looked at him, not since he'd been inside her, and it was obviously making him crazy. He wasn't there for physical release, neither of them were, and he couldn't bear it if she tried to tell him later that they hadn't shared a connection deeper than a simple biological need for release. They were making love, and he needed her know that, to really understand what that meant. He lowered his forearms to the crease where her hips and thighs met and pushed down, keeping her still. Her eyes quickly opened as she sought answers.

"Why are you stopping? What do you want?" she rasped, circling her hips with him buried deep inside her.

"You," he groaned at the feeling of her. "Just you. You're all that I want."

"I'm right here, Booth," she chuckled, a hint of impatience tinging her words. "So you don't have to stop."

He effortlessly lifted her with his arms, allowing the friction between their bodies to return, and she closed her eyes again. "Hey," he whispered, stilling her. "Look at me. This isn't just sex. You know that, right? You understand?"

She stared into his eyes, carefully at first and then more assuredly. Resting her arms on his shoulders and her forehead against his, he started to move once more. The connection was deep and raw as their bodies joined, eyes locked on each other, then she confirmed, "I know. I understand."

Part of her was disappointed that they hadn't had more time. She could do some things that might really drive him crazy, but the previous night hadn't been just sex. Booth had been right about that. The sex was incredible because of their connection. She felt her body begin to respond to the memories and decided to try to focus on the case. If she really became aroused again, she'd be distracted. Of course the fantastic sex wasn't the only thing on her mind. She had to admit, she was worried about Booth, actually terrified. There was so much on the line. Parker's father, the man she loved, the agent people respected, the man who helped bring so many to justice, could so easily be lost, and she wanted nothing more than to get answers that might help him. Their conversation as they parted that morning played in her mind.

She said, "I hope that you'll have no problem apprehending Broadsky."

"Are you wishing me good luck?" he accused impishly.

"No. I do not believe in luck. And, even if I did…you don't need luck. Your above average skills as a sniper and an agent mean you are perfectly suited to the task. You are the best, most capable agent I have met. I believe you will prevail."

"Thank you." He started to walk to the bathroom and turned back, looking around as he thought. Then he stretched out his hand, "You may not believe in luck, but I do."

"Of course you do. What's your point?"

"I think…the least you can do is give me a kiss…for good luck."

She smirked shyly but stood. Although he'd already slipped his pants back on, she was still completely naked. She lifted on her toes and pecked his cheek, but didn't pull away afterwards. He smiled at her, leaning down and brushing her lips, finding the quick and easy way with which she returned the affectionate kiss. When they finally stopped, her eyes were fiery, and he said softly, "Can we continue this tonight?"

"Yes," she nodded firmly. "Tonight."

Standing in the lab over Leishenger's bones, she closed her eyes and stated, "I need Booth to come back tonight," and she wondered exactly what that statement was. She didn't believe in prayers or wishes, so why was she even saying it? Speaking a desired outcome aloud did not make it any more or less likely to occur. Finally she decided that, even if it was irrational, it wouldn't do any harm to make her desire clear, "Universe, I need Booth to return safely. I need him to succeed and I need us—" her chin quivered a little and she stopped. Looking down at the bones, she picked up the skull and leaned down, studying it carefully until Angela interrupted her.

Brennan hadn't planned on telling Angela, but it slipped out. Suddenly the encounter felt more real, for some unknown reason. After Hodgins rushed in and Angela swiftly dismissed him, she immediately resumed questioning. "So…? Dish!"

Brennan stared down at the skull in her hands, "These markings—"

"No. No. Do not do this to me. I have been waiting years for this. So put down that skull, and give me some details."

Brennan was shocked by Angela's insistence, "What do you want to know?"

"Details, Brennan! Girl talk! The scoop! I'm assuming there was more than cuddling…like nudity and orgasms?"

"Yes," Brennan blushed deeply and added, cautiously, "Well...we…made love."

The artist shook her head, trying to literally shake off her surprise. "Okay, sweetie, umm, two things. First of all…you're blushing. You've regaled me with some pretty detailed accounts of your sexual exploits in the past without turning so much as a slightly pinker shade of your normal skin tone, but you mention last night with Booth, and you're practically crimson. Secondly, you have never used the term 'made love' without following it with a rant about how that phrase is inaccurate and misleading and—"

"That is the term Booth prefers."

"Sweetie, Booth isn't here right now."

"I know that, but…it's difficult to explain. It wasn't the most vigorous or lengthy sex I've ever had…after all we were tired and unfortunately I didn't go to his room until nearly sunrise so our time together was limited…but it was, by far, the best and most satisfying sex I've ever had. So I used that term, as ridiculous as it often is, to try to convey the unique and superior nature of the experience."

"The best? Really?"

"I can't even imagine how good it could be if we continue to engage in intercourse in addition to our usual interactions as partners," Brennan thoughtfully replied.

"Well, that sounds more like the Brennan I know. What do you mean 'if'? You're not actually considering going back to the way things were or—or continuing your partnership as if nothing happened."

"That is most certainly not what I want."

Angela stepped around the table, her hand touching Brennan's arm, "That man…he loves you. He has for a very, very, very long time. And you, whether you want to admit it or not, have loved him for a very, very, very long time. You do not have to protect yourself from him…so when this Broadsky thing is all wrapped up, you take that man home, lock the door, turn off your phones, and screw each other's brains out until neither of you can form a coherent sentence."

Brennan smiled softly and nodded, "I would very much like the opportunity to do that."

"Good. And get over this whole weird shy thing…next time I'm going to need better details."

As Angela walked toward the door, Brennan returned to her examination of the remains, and she said, "If you were wondering, Booth is…very well formed in…absolutely every way. But he also possesses a skill set that makes wonderful use of those…formations."

Angela grinned, nodding, "Yea, I'll bet he does."

"Angela, I believe I'm frightened," Brennan said with sincerity and confusion.

"Of Booth?"

"More of a lack of Booth. What if something happens to him? What if Broadsky—"

"Not gonna happen. There is no way Broadsky is going to get the best of Booth. That man has finally caught the woman he loves. I honestly think he's unstoppable."

Brennan was considering a logical retort, but instead replied, "I hope so. I should get back to the bones…I need to help in any way I can."

Booth was confident that he'd survive his fight with Broadsky, but as many soldiers do when at war, he wrote a letter to Brennan that he tucked in his pocket just in case he failed.

When he went to find Broadsky, he shut down every part of his brain that was not directly involved in the operation at hand. The best way to get back home was to be the soldier he was and do his duty. But the moment Broadsky was locked in a cell, Booth felt an unmistakable joy. He wanted to go find Bones, but he knew FBI regulations couldn't be put on hold for anything or anyone. He had a report to write, statement to provide, and forms to fill out since he'd discharged a weapon. Even all of that paperwork couldn't wipe the smile from his face.

Booth was relieved when Brennan showed up for the Squints' goodbye to Vincent. He told everyone, assuredly, that she'd be there, but part of him worried. They'd spoken only briefly after Broadsky had been apprehended, and he wasn't sure if a day full of thinking might alter their plans for the night. In truth, he was concerned that she might withdraw, that she'd make some rationalized excuse to pull away. Emotionally, things had been more than overwhelming. She was dealing with loss and Booth wondered if the realization of how she felt for him might be even harder to accept.

The moment he heard her voice, he wanted to run up to her and pull her in his arms, but he knew it wasn't the time and place. This gathering was for Vincent, and for his friends to take a moment to mourn his loss and say goodbye. When Bones smiled subtly but tenderly, he felt like everything was going to be alright, and when she looped her arm through his, offering a personal touch in spite of the fact that they weren't alone, he was even more certain. As he saw Angela grinning like a kid who just received exactly what she wanted for Christmas, he knew Bones must have told her what had happened. Even though it made him feel a sudden rush of embarrassment, he knew from the way Angela watched them that whatever Bones had said must have been good.

"Come on, guys," Hodgins said, waving the group back toward the lab.

"I'm sure everybody is really tired," Angela said, offering a preemptive excuse on behalf of her friends.

"Not too tired for a drink! One drink! For Vincent," Hodgins argued. Booth looked at Brennan, both of their expressions clearly conveying a desire to get out of there. "Guys," Hodgins pleaded, "I came up with a beverage menu just for Vincent. You have to stay for a few minutes."

Cam looked at the small printout menu that Hodgins presented and began to read with a chuckle, "Vino Delectable…or Amends on the Beach—"

"Right. Since he had to make amends for gossiping about sleeping with so many of the lovely ladies of the Jeffersonian…get it?" Hodgins explained.

"We get it," Angela chimed in.

"—or the Irrelevant to the Case," Cam finished reading the menu.

"That one is sans alcohol," Hodgins added. Taking Angela's hand, "Something for you, baby."

"I'll have the vino," Cam requested, surrendering.

"I'm not drinking something called Vino Delectable. I have standards. Do you have anything for an actual man to drink?" Booth asked. "Like beer?

"Try the Amends on the Beach," Hodgins negotiated. "After all, your partner was one of the women Vincent had to make amends to."

"Wait," Booth turned, quickly facing Brennan in search of an explanation. "You and Vincent?"

"He told people we had an affair," she replied.

"Vincent lied, Booth. He told his friends he slept with all of the females here in the lab," Angela explained, hoping to head off any potential hiccups between her friends before they happened.

Booth took the drink Hodgins practically forced into his hand, but once he tasted it, Booth seemed to enjoy it. Brennan and Booth took a spot on the sofa in her office. He placed his arm across the back of the sofa just so he could have it around her. Although such a gesture was not all that uncommon, his fingers hung loosely at the end of his hand, grazing her shoulder, and things between them were somehow different.

Hodgins had found video of Vincent online, and played it for the group as they watched. They laughed, many of Vincent's factual ramblings during his chess club seemed to make his opponents crazy. "It's an interesting strategy," Sweets commented. "They actually seem distracted. It makes you wonder if he was doing it intentionally or if his—" Sweets paused as everyone stared, and then, noting their irritation, changed course, "—it's just interesting. Lots of…lots of facts."

As they watched, Brennan crossed her arms in front of her, allowing her fingers to land against Booth's side, the desire to touch him outweighing any other factors. She began to run her fingers gently over his shirt, the feeling of her warmth passing through his clothing with greater heat than was probably possible. Her actions felt oddly possessive, even if only mildly, and Booth didn't mind that at all. She'd made the first move the night before, and he was dying to get her alone so he could have a chance to seduce her, to take his time.

The previous night wasn't really the way he'd imagined their first time. He'd always thought he'd take his time, drive her crazy, make her come at least three times, and then hold her in his arms until they could make love again. Still, he didn't have any regrets about the way things had happened. It had been passionate and emotional and intense, and in that way, it was perfect. But he wanted to show her that he was a man who could be all she needed. And deep down, he really just wanted to have her again. He wanted to love her and feel her love him. Her fingers were still moving, just along his side near his chest, and even that little touch was starting to turn him on. He coughed and shifted in his seat, suddenly brought back to the conversation at hand, hearing Hodgins, Cam and Sweets talking contentedly. He didn't hear Angela conversing though, which was odd. He scanned the room for her, and when he found her, she was sitting across the way, watching them, looking as though she couldn't pry the smile off her face if she tried.

Awkwardly he met Angela's eyes, and crookedly smiled back, and they nodded at each other. "Well," Angela said loudly enough to get everyone's attention, "I'm exhausted! We all really need to get home."

"We do?" Sweets asked. "I was—"

Angela interrupted, "Hodgins was up almost all night. I barely slept. We've all been through so much. Brennan's been working for weeks on end without a break and Booth actually tracked and took down a trained killer today. Can't you see how tired they are?"

"You're right," Cam agreed, "we'll clean up here. You guys head home."

"Oh but—" Brennan began to argue.

"I'll close up your office," Angela assured, taking her friend's hand and pulling her up from the sofa.

Booth followed, and Angela finally put her hands on their backs and pushed them gently toward the doors. "Thanks, Ange," Brennan said, turning back to hug her friend.

"Make sure she gets home and goes straight to bed, big guy," Angela said to Booth. "Now you two get out of here. And, Brennan, so help me, if you are here in the morning, I'm going to kick your ass."

Booth looked at Brennan, "You ready to go?"

As they started walking out, he could feel Angela's eyes watching them leave.

They walked together, the chilly night air and urge to be alone prompting them to walk more quickly. "Realizing that they never really discussed their plans in any detail, Brennan asked, "Would you like to go to my apartment tonight? It—it's closer."

He paused and turned toward her and nodded, "Sure. Look…there's something I need to say."

"Okay." She stopped and gave him her full attention.

"I know you have some pretty strong feelings about marriage and monogamy—"

"I've changed a lot, Booth. I see the value in monogamy. While I think marriage is an antiq—"

"Please. Let me finish." She nodded, and he continued, "If you and I are going to continue seeing each other…in an intimate way…I need you to know that, there will be no other women. I'm a one woman man. But I think you know that."

"I do."

"But I can't share you with another man, Bones. I don't care if that means I'm old-fashioned or uptight, because I just can't do it. I won't. Do you understand?"

"I understand. You're the only man I've wanted for quite some time. But, in order to be perfectly clear, I will also say that I won't see other men as long as I'm seeing you."

"Okay," he smiled.

"Does this mean that you are willing to continue to have a sexual relationship with me?"

"Yea. Absolutely. Of course."

"I am pleased to hear that, for many reasons." She stepped closer, tugging on his trench coat playfully. "I was hoping I'd get to fuck you again."

"God, Bones, keep it down," he admonished, looking around.

"No one's out here, Booth. It's late. What has changed? When I used that word last night, you seemed to like it very much."

"I did," he responded, taking her by the arm and encouraging her to continue the walk to her apartment.

"Well I know you dislike it when I use the word 'intercourse' and now for some reason you don't like the word 'fu'—"

"Wait, stop. Listen. It's a matter of context, Bones. The things we say in a private, intimate moment between the two of us aren't necessarily the things we say when we're in public."

They walked for a short while and then she said, "You are very particular about sexual nomenclature. So if both 'intercourse' and 'fucking' are off limits, what terminology would you like me to use in public? 'Sexual acts'? 'Intimate relations'?"

"Why exactly will we be discussing our sex life in public?"

"We're alone right now although technically in public. And I think it is of the utmost importance to share frank and honest conversation about our sexual desires and boundaries. Communication is very important. Or so I've been told."

"It is. I can't argue that."

They walked in contented silence together until her apartment was in sight, and she said, "For future reference, is 'fellatio' an acceptable non-intimate moment term or do you prefer 'oral sex'?"

Booth covered his face with his hand, feeling a warm rush of embarrassment across his skin. "Tell me, Bones, exactly why did you feel the need to clear up that mystery right now?"

"Well, I was just considering the prospect of oral sex."

"Y-y-you were just thinking about that right now?"

"Oh yes. I enjoy oral sex very much, whether I'm the active or receptive partner—"

"Okay," he said as they passed someone else right near her door. "Can we continue this conversation in a moment?"

They got in her elevator and she said, "So do you enjoy oral sex or is that one of your hang-ups?"

"Me? What? No! That…that is not a hang-up. The hang-up is discussing it in public but…" He smirked, reading her expression, and then he said, "Bones! Are you messing with me?"

Staring ahead in the elevator she said, "I was quite serious. I really do enjoy—" she stopped when he turned her to face him.

"You were trying to make me squirm. You were messing with me! Weren't you?"

"Maybe a little," she chuckled, her eyes glowing mischievously. She smirked at him, her gaze following down his tie as she said, "But mostly I really was thinking about how much I'd love to suck your cock."

He grinned back. "Were you?"

"Interesting that you don't seem at all flustered by that terminology," she sort of gloated. "Sweets would say that is very telling."

"It is not telling! I'm okay with it because we're alone," he insisted. They stepped out of the elevator and, while she opened her door, he whispered, "I'm not a prude. I'm just private. Things between us should stay between us."

As he stood in her apartment, looking around like he hadn't been there hundreds of times before, she grabbed two beers. He took off his coat and draped it over the back of one of her dining chairs. She stood in front of him, holding one beer out for him. Her attention turned toward something on the ground, and she swiftly stooped to retrieve the white envelope. "This fell out of your coat," she said, noting when she turned it over that it was addressed to Dr. Temperance Brennan—Jeffersonian Institution. "What is this?"

"Oh, uh…" he quickly reached for his coat, searching the pocket where the envelope should have been. "That's mine."

"It's addressed to me," she replied jovially, holding it tightly in her hand.

"But it's mine. Give it back to me. Please," he said, without a hint of levity.

She looked at the letters on the front, one finger running over her name written in his handwriting, feeling the indents in the paper left by the pen. "Okay."

He took it, folding it twice and tucking it in his wallet, which was so overstuffed with the letter that it was difficult to close. He took a long drink of his beer, taking a moment to clear his head, and then reached out for her arm, his fingers brushing down the back of it until he their fingers met. Taking her hand, he said, "Can I still stay?"

"Of course," she smiled, although she was obviously still thinking about the letter.

He took her hand and held it against his chest while he wrapped his free hand around her hip. "Why don't you show me your room…then we can get back to our previous conversation. Something about sexual cloven-nature?"

"Nomenclature," she corrected. "But I'm sure you know that. You're trying to distract me."

"Is it working?"

"Possibly," she calmly responded. Her fingers carefully loosened his tie and then tugged him down for a kiss. Within moments, Booth was lost in the kiss, wrapping his arms around her as he untied her jacket. When she pulled away, he stumbled forward a step, a stupidly happy grin on his face until he realized that she had a concerned expression.

"I swear I can hear you thinking," he accused.

"That's impossible."

"What's wrong?"

"Why won't you tell me what was in the envelope?"

"Because I'm here and it doesn't matter."

Her brow furrowed with question and she said, "I believe you are being evasive."

"Can you let it go, please? I've been waiting a long time to be able to hold you. And kiss you. And make love to you. I don't want to talk about that right now."

"You're right," she answered with an understanding smile. "You can explain tomorrow."

"Seriously, Bones, it's not important. A lot of soldiers do it before they go into battle. It was a letter for you in case Broadsky got a jump on me. But he didn't. So none of it matters because I got him, and now I'm here with you."

"Oh. You mean a message in case you were killed in action?"

"Exactly. It's not a big deal."

"If it's not a big deal, then why can't I read it? Just because you're alive?"

"Thanks, Bones," he wryly replied.

"Believe me, Booth, if I had to choose between you and a letter, I would most certainly choose to have you."

"That's a bit better."

"You really thought you might die?" she asked, the gravity of their recent situation and losses washing over her again.

"If there was even the slightest chance…I didn't want to leave this earth without telling you certain things."

"Oh," she said with calm acceptance.

"'Oh'? That's it?"

"Yes. I don't want to read a letter that requires your demise. I just—" her voice began to crack and an unexpected tear slid over her cheek. "I don't know what I would have done if you had died."

"You'd be fine," he started, but when he saw the pain on her face, he held her close and said, "But you don't have to worry about that. Because I'm right here."

"I do not want to consider a world without you. I care for you very much. And I believe you care for me."

"Absolutely I do. So, so much."

She tugged his tie and said with subtle suggestion, "Show me how much? If you aren't too tired…"

A flicker of realization crossed his face before he responded, "I'd love to."