This is not meant to be a great work of fanfiction-y art, it's just what I would've preferred to have happened at the end of "The Bikini in the Soup".


"Ha ha! Take that!"

"Yeah! Take that!"

The sound of constant bullet barrage rang through out the Firing Range, interspersed with the wild laughter and hecklings of it's only two occupants; FBI Agent Seeley Booth, and Forensic Anthropologist Temperance Brennan, otherwise known as Bones.

Booth and Bones grinned at each other, both firing off another round before she doubled over with laughter.

'This definitely was a good idea' Booth thought, watching his partner's mirth with a toothy smile of his own.

He laughed again, "Bones," he huffed out in between, "Bones, you're holdin' your gun wrong."

"Well, what do you expect," as she came down, "You won't let me have one of my own."

"Hey I thought we were past that." his face suddenly serious.

"I am, I am. It's just...never mind. Just show me how to hold this thing." she gestured with the Tommy.

"First of all; ya don't wave it around like that." he smiled.

"Hey, you're the one who shot a plastic clown." she teased.

"Yeah, yeah, I give. Now, about the gun, you need your hands like this." he held up his own gun to demonstrate. "See?"

"Like this?"

"No, no, like...'this'." he reached out and adjusted her hand.

"Oh. Like 'this'."

"No," he sighed. Moving behind her; he snaked his arms down hers until his rough hands were covering her own smooth ones.

"Like—this."

She grinned in recognition. "Oh, I see! Like this! She turned to smile at him, and suddenly everything stopped.

Their faces were inches apart, and she could feel his hard chest against her back; his muscled arms still enclosing her in an accidental embrace.

Silence hung over the Firing Range like a wool blanket, and Temperance couldn't breathe.

All she could see was his mouth, lips slightly parted, as if he was about to speak.

As suddenly as it began, the silence was pierced by one little word, barely loud enough for Brennan to hear.

"Don't."

It was more of a plea, from a desperate man. One who had already been forced to put his heart back together too many times.

"I-" she stuttered, trying to gain control of her mouth, while he watched her, frantically.

Suddenly she crushed her mouth to his, trying to convey what was so difficult for her normally articulate mind to put together.

For a moment, they both seemed caught up in the kiss. He broke the spell first, putting his hands on her shoulders, he pushed her away.

"No! No, I can't-"

"Booth, I love you. I love you. Please, give me a chance. Give us a chance. Please." she urged.

"But," he paused, "I can't, can't go through that. Not again. What if-"

She was frantic. "No, Booth. I love you. I promise not to break your heart. Not again."

He looked at her desperately. Could he? Could he put his heart into her hands—again? He looked into her eyes, her perfect, clear blue eyes. His mind and pulse raced, his eyes darting around the Range, as if seeking an answer from the targets and gun cases.

Then she was kissing him again, her soft lips taking up his remaining brain power. This kiss wasn't like the first, which was urgent, panicked, even. His heart lurched in his chest as she channeled her promises to him into her lips. His one thought at that moment was how her indescribably soft lips felt on his own, followed by how her body seemed to fit perfectly with his.

And he had his answer.


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