A/N: So I watched 'The Witch in the Wardrobe' yesterday and there's something Booth says during that episode that inspired this one-shot. I'm sure you guys can figure out exactly what that something is. I couldn't get it out of my head so I decided to write it down. Enjoy.

Booth was lying on his back in bed, his arms bent behind his neck, propping his head up slightly. His eyes were closed, but he wasn't sleeping. He used to be kept awake by haunting nightmares of his past, but these days, he saw her. Teary ice blue eyes stared right into his soul as elegant hands pushed at his chest. The sting of rejection, by now, was a familiar feeling, but this time, it was painful enough to keep him awake at night.

He rolled onto his side and stared at his clock, green neon numbers reflecting just how late it was—12:47 AM. He was exhausted. Paperwork would do that to you. There hadn't been a case since the crazy ass witches—Wiccans. Her voice invaded his thoughts. He closed his eyes, trying to will it away, and let out a breath. When he blinked his eyes open away, only a minute had gone by, though it felt like more time had passed. He drifted his focus to his cell phone, which lay right beside the clock on the nightstand. It was late. She would be asleep, he reasoned, but he found himself reaching for it regardless.

He sat up, leaning back against the pillows while he clutched the phone in his hand. She would be asleep, he reasoned once again, but he dialed her number anyway, as if he had no control over what his thumb was doing. He counted the rings until her recorded voice pulled him back to reality. He hung up almost immediately and tossed his phone next to him on the mattress. She was asleep, that was why she didn't answer. It was nearly one o'clock in the morning. But suddenly his chest tightened, his breathing grew fast and forced, and he straightened up—what if she wasn't asleep? What if she was in danger or hurt?

He grabbed his phone and jumped out of bed. He quickly got dressed, trading his sweatpants for the pair of jeans he had changed into after work. His mind raced with possible explanations for her not picking up the phone, but he always came back to one—she was in danger. It wasn't that much of a leap. He grabbed his wallet, keys, and rushed out of his apartment, not stopping for anything.

Booth made it to her apartment in record time. He stopped at her door and leaned forward with hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. He stood up straight and noticed that her door was shut, so there was no alarming sign that she was in danger, but in his line of work, he knew that meant diddlysquat. He knocked—once, twice, three times.

He started to panic even more. He had tried to calm himself down on the drive over here with no success. He kept telling himself that she was just asleep, but then he remembered her saying that her phone was always on her nightstand, right next to her. She would have heard it, even if she was sleeping. That left two options: she was ignoring him on purpose or she was in some sort of trouble. He quickly dismissed the first option for the fifth time that night. If anyone was going to be ignoring anyone, it'd be him ignoring her. She rejected him, after all, but he was trying his best to pretend that the conversation they had and the kiss they shared outside the Hoover never happened.

Still getting no answer, he unlocked her door with his emergency key and walked inside her apartment. It was dark, save for a dim lamp, and it was hauntingly quiet. Everything was immaculate, just as it always was. There were some magazines on the coffee table that were haphazardly arranged, but other than that, nothing was out of place. "Bones?" He called out to her, making his way through the apartment, panic still rising in him. "You here?" He looked around, there seemed to be no signs of life, but then again, it was after one. "Bones," he called again, his voice louder, shakier. With his mind on overdrive and his nerves taking control of any rational thought, he pushed open her bedroom door, which was already slightly ajar. He poked his head into the room and looked at her bed. It was empty, but there was evidence that she had been lying there at some point tonight.

Her phone was right where he thought it would be—on her nightstand, right by her head had she been sleeping. His eyes drifted to the floor and zeroed in on the broken glass on the floor. And was that—? Blood. It was blood. "Bones." He whirled around, his rapid heartbeat making it difficult for him to think straight. "Bones? Oh God, please, no."

Since he was running every worst case scenario through his head, he didn't notice the bathroom door opening. Light poured into the room and steam filtered out, but again, he hadn't noticed. He was pacing back and forth now, his head bowed, his hand clutching his phone. "Bones," he whispered over and over again.

"Booth?"

He jumped and turned around. His eyes widened when he saw her. "Bones."

Brennan adjusted the white plush towel that was wrapped around her body and stared at him, confused. "What are you doing in my bedroom?"

He blinked, his eyes taking her in. He licked his bottom lip and tugged on his jacket. "I called. You didn't answer."

She crossed her arms over her chest and nodded, though that still didn't explain what he was doing in her apartment, standing in her bedroom, looking like all the blood had been drained from his veins. "I was in the shower."

"I—I see that." He shifted. "I should, uh, I should go." He turned around and started walking towards the hallway.

"Wait."

He stopped and faced her again, waiting for her to speak again.

"You never answered my question. What are you doing here?"

"Oh, um, when you didn't answer, I panicked. I know it's late. I'm sorry."

"I didn't mean to worry you. I couldn't sleep, so I thought a hot shower might help me relax. My phone was out here," she explained, motioning with her hand towards her nightstand.

"Yeah, I got that. Sorry." He paused, looking at the broken glass on the floor. "Did you cut yourself?"

She followed his eyes and nodded. "I knocked over my glass of water when I got out of bed. I cut my hand on a shard of glass as I was cleaning up the mess. I'm fine. It was just a flesh wound," she said, touching the bandage on her palm.

"I don't know why I came all the way over here. I just, you didn't answer."

She started walking towards him, momentarily forgetting that she was only wearing a towel. With her arms no longer holding it up, it loosened and slipped, falling to her ankles before she could react and catch it.

He blinked, unable to keep himself from taking a peek. His partner stood before him, in all her naked glory, damp, soft waves framing her face.

She scrambled to secure the towel back around her, but it was too late. He had already looked; he had already seen her, all of her—her creamy skin that glowed in the yellow light flowing from the bathroom, her full breasts, her flat stomach, and the feminine curve of her hips. He closed his eyes and took a few steps back, running right into the doorjamb.

She just stared at him, pink rising to her cheeks, keeping a firm grip on the towel. "Booth."

He opened his eyes and found her staring at him, biting her lip oh so adorably and almost seductively, but that could be his mind playing tricks on him.

She was waiting for him to say something, anything to make this situation less awkward.

"Um, uh, wow, you—I have to go. I'll, uh, I'll see you tomorrow." Well, so much for making things less awkward.

She nodded. "This never happened, correct?"

Oh, it happened. It definitely happened. "Yeah, this didn't happen. Night, Bones." He stumbled out of the room and left her apartment in a hurry.

Hope you liked it.

I might do a follow-up to this chapter if you guys want it.