Just wanted to do a future fic based on Con Man in the Meth Lab. I've already penned a story about that episode; this is just a conclusion, of sorts. Romance, fluff, BB. Rated K+.

CHANGING

The presence of type two and type four Salter-Harris fractures confirms an active lifestyle of the decedent, most likely from hunting for sustenance. According to Wheeless' Textbook of Orthopaedics, we can determine the rate of physeal healing, and also the extent of angular deformity. Note references and external links for…Brennan rubbed the back of her neck, trying in vain to dislodge the ball of tension stuck there. Unsuccessful, she was forced to rise from her desk and stretch. Muscles strained, joints popped, and she groaned in a rare display of discomfort.

She'd been working on the text of her Georgetown lecture for several days, and was just putting the finishing touches on the final section. She hadn't wanted to do this speech; work had been particularly busy, and she wanted to catch up on some paperwork from the last case she and Booth had just finished. The Anthropology department head, however, had been relentless, and she'd finally acceded to his wishes. By this time next week, it would be over, and she could increase her workload at work. A week or so of overtime would see it right.

A yawn interrupted her self-imposed exercise, and she decided she would take advantage of the quiet evening and go to bed early. If she retired now, she could get up even earlier and perhaps finish her notes. She wandered through the apartment, switching off lights and straightening her piles of research. Deliberating, she decided to double-check the door, make sure it was locked. She couldn't remember if she had, and Booth was constantly harassing her to be more aware of her surroundings. She was just turning away from it – she had locked it – when a loud pounding from outside made her jump a foot in the air. Not even bothering to stifle her sigh, she moved to peer through the peephole. She already knew who it was. Nobody else pounded quite like Seeley Booth. But what could he possibly want? Stupid question, Temperance – what does he ever want?

One large, distorted brown eye blinked back at her. "Bones! C'mon, open up! It's important!" As if he somehow doubted that she would open the door, he pounded on it again.

Fighting back a smile, she unfastened the locks and swung the door open. "What's the matter –" She stopped suddenly, staring owlishly at him. "You're wearing a tuxedo."

Booth sailed past her, depositing his black trench on the back of the chair. Shiny black shoes and army ranger cufflinks winked at her while the extra-fine wool suit absorbed the low light in the room. "Yep, I'm goin' in high style tonight, Bones."

"Why are you here? Why are you wearing a tuxedo?" She closed the door and switched on more lights as he shucked his suit jacket and draped it over his coat.

"Got a big shindig to go to tonight, Bones." Restless, kicked high on adrenaline, he paced energetically around the room. "Remember that Army General we helped last month?"

"General Brigson, yes, I remember him. How is he?"

"He's just fine; said he's fully recovered, almost as if it had never happened. That's why I'm here tonight."

"Because of the General?"

"Yep. The General is having a spur-of-the-moment party at the National Gallery of Art, in the Rotunda, and he has invited me as a gesture of thanks."

"Booth, you hate these types of things. You hate them as much as I do. Why are you going?" Intrigued, she studied him carefully. He was clearly excited, more so than she'd seen him in quite some time.

"Well, yeah, normally I hate them. But some of my old Army buddies are gonna be there; they were invited before anyone realized the connection. They're lifers."

"Lifers?"

"Yeah, career men. Guys that made a career out of the Army. I thought it would be a great opportunity to catch up with them – we haven't been together in years."

He became so animated when he talked about his friends, she couldn't help but smile. "No wonder you don't mind going. It's a military thing." She shook her head at him, rolling her eyes when he blasted a grin at her.

Looking at her expectantly, he clapped his hands together. "Okay, so, go get dressed."

She stared at him blankly. "What?"

"Go put your best duds on, Bones. You're coming with me."

Shaking her head, she stared at him as if he'd grown another one. "No, I'm not."

"Yeah, Bones, c'mon, go put something on. I need you there."

"No, you don't. Why on earth would you possibly want me to go?" Mystified, she watched him move toward her, a frown on his face. She gave a brief, desperate thought to going to bed in his face, but decided he'd merely follow her into the bedroom and keep pestering her.

"Well…you're my partner, Bones. I want you to meet the guys. And you helped me with the case; you should come, too." Pouring on the charm as thick as possible, he stepped close, nudging her hip with his. "Come with me, we'll enjoy ourselves. We can poke fun at all the people we don't know, give 'em fake jobs and names. It'll be a blast. There's food, booze, a band…c'monnnn..."

Well…I don't know…maybe it would be fun." She found it amazing that people thought she was stubborn. The man gave new meaning to the term. Completely redefined it. Weakening, but still fighting the urge to give in to his request, she frowned as a thought occurred to her. "Booth, I'm sorry - I completely forgot. I took all my formal dresses to the cleaners two days ago."

"Oh, come on. All of them?"

The sight of his face dropping was almost comical; it was such a marked departure from his earlier expression. Still, she felt bad – she'd been putting off getting them cleaned, and had finally gathered them all up and dropped them at the cleaners. She didn't have anything that would be suitable. When she told him as much, he drooped even further, then surprised her by suddenly brightening.

"You must have something in there that'll work for a dinner party, Bones. Why don't you go dig around?"

"Booth, no. There's nothing in my closet that would be even remotely appropriate for a function at the Gallery of Art."

"I don't believe that, Bones. C'mon, let's check." Before she could stop him or even utter a word in protest, he strode down the hall into her bedroom and yanked open the closet door.

"Booth! Get out of my closet! I told you there's nothing in there!" She tugged sharply at him several times before realizing that he was hell-bent on his mission, and she would have to physically assault him in order to stop him. Miffed, she pushed his shoulder and sank down onto the bed, grumbling.

Several times, he pulled outfits out of the closet, only to put them back when she instantly deemed them unworthy selections. She'd finally stopped participating, and was busy ignoring him, when his crow of success caught her attention.

"I got it! There was one dress, way in the back." With a flourish, he waved the gown in front of her face. "You can wear this – it's perfect." He stopped short at the distressed look on her face. "What's wrong, Bones?"

"I can't wear that."

"Why not?"

"It's not clean."

"It's still in the cleaner's plastic from last time. What are you talking about?"

She shook her head, trying to hide the dismay, the embarrassment brought on by the long fall of black fabric. "I'm sorry, Booth, we'll have to find something else. Put that one back."

Head tilted inquiringly, he moved closer. "Why don't you want to wear this dress, Bones? Why was it buried in the very back of your closet?" At her lack of response, he plunked down next to her on the bed and leaned close. "Talk to me. What's up?"

She didn't want to tell him; was desperate not to spoil his night. To remind him of that time would undoubtedly cast a pall on his evening, and that was something she was extremely unwilling to do. "I don't even think it fits anymore." She glanced at him hopefully. "Maybe there's something else in there?"

"Temperance. Stop. Whatever's going on, it has nothing to do with the fit, or if it's clean, or anything else." Intense brown eyes peered into hers, leaving her nowhere to hide. "Now, are you gonna tell me what's wrong, or do I have to drag it out of you?"

Pinned by his stare, knowing that he was on the scent now and would only badger her until she gave in, she heaved a troubled sigh, sagging slightly next to him. "That dress has some...uncomfortable memories attached to it, that's all. I'd just rather not wear it."

"What uncomfortable memories? Bones, stop beating around the bush and spill already. You're worrying me."

Fighting the stinging in her eyes, she looked away, still feeling the humiliation of that day. She swallowed hard and finally spoke. "It's the dress I wore when I went to the White House with Jared." Unable to sit still, feeling guilty for reminding him of what had happened between them, she rose, moving to stand by the window. "I haven't worn it since that night."

Concerned, he monitored her progress across the room. "That's not like you, Bones. It's almost…"

"Silly? Yes, it's most definitely not a logical reaction, but it remains, regardless."

Trailing her, he came to stand behind her as she looked out at the city. "If you didn't want to wear it, why'd you keep it?"

"To remind me." She hugged herself tightly, wishing beyond everything that he would stop asking her these questions. "Go ahead to the party, Booth; I'm sure all of your friends are there already, undoubtedly waiting to share old war stories. Go on – have a good time." She hoped she hadn't ruined his night completely.

"Temperance. I might have a good time without you. But I know I'll have a great time with you." When she wouldn't face him, he sidled around until he was looking down at the top of her head. "Forget about what happened back then, okay? The dress is beautiful. You'll look beautiful in it." Sensing that she was wavering, he grabbed her shoulders, squeezing them gently until she looked at him. The minute he saw her eyes, he closed the gap, laying his lips gently, tenderly on hers, spinning out the moment. The kiss shimmered in the silence, vibrating the air around them until at last, he broke the contact, pressing his forehead momentarily against hers. He smiled as she leaned into him, her eyes surprised, but warm. "That's over and done with. Let's give that dress a new memory, Bones. C'mon. What do you say?"

Looking up at him, her sadness finally lifting, she smiled winningly and took the dress from him. "I say turn around." When he complied, she hung the hanger off his shirt collar, garnering a spate of good-natured complaints from him. "Oh, stop whining," she commanded as she quickly shed her clothes and shimmied into the gown. "You want me to go, don't you?" Flinging the now-empty hanger onto the bed, she hurried over to her jewelry box. "I just need some jewelry and makeup, and a quick updo, and I'll be..." Catching sight of his dumbstruck expression, she stuttered to a halt, one high-heeled shoe in hand. "What's wrong?"

"Wow, Bones, just...wow." He came to stand in front of her, dropping his hands to her hips. "That is one hell of a dress. Holy cow..."

Her entire body tingled as he eyed her up and down, her cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling. "Really?"

"Uh-huh. I knew there was a reason I came over here to get you," he muttered as he dropped his lips to hers again. "Boy, am I glad I got you."

As always, if you liked it, and want to review, I'd love to hear from you!