FBI Special Agent Seeley Booth had seen more than his more than his fair share of dead bodies. Thanks to his tour in Iraq as well as his work as a field agent with the FBI, violence was just part of the daily routine. Blood, guts, and gore were just a part of his job.
There had been corpses with blood oozing out of half-decomposed skeletons, organs cut out, some incinerated, dismembered, beheaded. His partnership with Dr. Temperance Brennan had taught him one thing over the course of four years: that bodies could get pretty gross.
This was the kind of stuff that would've given the likes of Wes Craven or Stephen King nightmares. The kinds of things he saw in the field were ten times worse than any horror movie. But even as a kid, the bloody scenes never bothered him in the horror movies he'd watched with Jared sometimes when his mom let him. He never once got squeamish at the gross parts, or even at a crime scene. In fact, if truth be told, he was actually kind of fascinated.
If Booth were being truly honest with himself, he had to admit it was more than slightly twisted. If Sweets got wind of this, he was pretty sure that the psychologist would have a field day with that little tidbit of info. If he told Bones, she'd probably launch into one of her usual spiels about the human fascination for the grotesque and how it fed some sort of need to feel better about ourselves because we're not them when in reality, we were escaping the real issue at hand that a life had been lost or some sort of mumbo-jumbo like that.
That's not to say that he didn't feel sympathy for the victims and their families. The young victims always got to him, especially if they were close to his son's age or if it was a case that hit close to home like deaths that resulted from abuse. He was always gratified when he and Bones could bring their victims justice. That was one of the reasons that he loved his job.
Yes, a life was lost and that was a horrible thing. No, nobody deserved the fate of being a mangled mess left to rot for so long that they were decomposed beyond recognition, which was usually the case with the victims he and Bones dealt with.
But despite the tragedy, despite the horror, despite the injustice, his inner nine-year-old always won out. Whenever he and Bones got assigned a new case, the excitement always took over because at the end of the day, the blood-and-guts stuff was just plain cool.
So when he christened the roadside with the half-digested pancakes he'd just eaten at the diner not twenty minutes before, he was more than a little surprised. Especially since the body in question was only a skeleton. Nothing too gross about that.
"Booth?" Bones asked, brow furrowed with concern. "Are you okay?"
He nodded. "Remind me never to order the pancakes again," he said.
"I wouldn't be so quick to blame it on the pancakes if I were you," she countered.
"That diner isn't exactly the cleanest place in the world, Bones. Maybe Sid forgot to wash his hands."
"Sid cooked *my* food and *I'm* not sick," she retorted. "It's not Sid's fault."
"What else could it be?" Booth demanded in an irritated tone.
"Well, maybe if you didn't drive like a psychotic maniac, you wouldn't be suffering from dyspepsia brought on by kinetosis."
"English, please," Booth said, rubbing his forehead. He wasn't sure if it was the squint-speak giving him a headache or what, but his head was throbbing and muscles he didn't even know he had were hurting like hell.
"Motion-sickness," she was studying him closely now. "Booth, you're pale. Are you sure you're all right?"
"Must have wrenched my back or something working out," he said. "I need a couple of ibuprofen or something. I'll be fine."
*~*~*~
"Driving like that will only make your stomach worse," Brennan chided.
"We are on our way back from a crime scene. It's okay to drive like a psychotic maniac if we're doing our job, Bones," he reminded her.
He shivered. "Is it cold in here to you?"
"Are you making a metaphor because of the comment I made about your driving?"
"Nobody likes a back-seat driver, Bones," he said. "But no, no metaphor. It's freezing."
Brennan shook her head. "It's seventy-two degrees Fahrenheit. That's forty-two degrees over the freezing point according to the thermometer on the dash. It's well within the parameters of room temperature."
Booth sighed. "Well, I'm cold," he said, turning off the air conditioner.
They pulled into the parking garage. Booth got out of the car, and suddenly felt as though the world was spinning. He leaned against the SUV as he waited for Brennan to get her kit out of the back. By some miracle, he was able to put one foot in front of the other and make it inside.
"Whoa, Booth!" Angela exclaimed as they entered, face filled with worry, "I never thought I'd say this…but you don't look so hot."
"Bad pancakes," Booth explained. Then he threw up again, this time all over Angela's shoes.
"Not the Jimmy Choos!" she cried, kicking them off and holding them as far away from her body as physically possible. "Do you know how long I had to save up to afford those?"
"Sorry," Booth replied meekly. "I'll replace them," he offered.
"Booth, go home!" Cam ordered. "There's a bad flu bug going around and…"
"I don't have the flu!"
"I won't risk having you getting me and my team sick. Dr. Brennan can take care of the interrogation once we finally get a lead on this case."
Booth snorted. "Bones? Interrogate?"
Brennan looked offended. "I'm not *that* bad."
"Sweetie," Angela said. "I love you, but you kinda got the people-skills of a bole weevil."
"I have people skills!" Brennan protested.
"Booth go home," Cam repeated.
"I would," but everything's kind of…spinny right now."
"Spinny?" Brennan echoed, even more worried than she was earlier. She felt his forehead. "He's burning up!"
"That's it." Cam said. "Dr. Brennan, take Booth home. I'll keep you posted on our findings."
Booth handed her the keys to his SUV.
"Now I know you're sick," she said with a grin. "You're letting me drive."
"Yeah, well, don't get too comfortable," he said as they pulled out of the parking garage.
*~*~*~*~*~*~
Brennan found some Tylenol in Booth's medicine cabinet and it didn't take much coaxing to get him to take them and get into bed, but despite her efforts, Booth's fever had climbed to one hundred and two degrees.
He finally managed to dose off. She took the opportunity to slip out to get some chicken broth and a couple of ice packs at the nearby Walgreens. She was glad when she found the key still underneath the fake rock.
"Bones!" Booth cried out. "Bones!"
"What is it Booth? What's wrong?"
"Where did you put the unicorn?"
"The what?"
"The unicorn! It was right by the bed. It wanted to keep me company."
"Ssssh," she said, putting a finger on his lips. He kissed her fingertip lightly, sending shivers up and down her spine. She wanted to argue that unicorns are mythical creatures and didn't actually exist, but she decided to let that one slide. "I need to get your temperature. Keep this under your tongue."
"Will you keep me company?" he pleaded, as soon as she removed the thermometer. His eyes were glazed over and she knew the now hundred-and-four degree fever was making him delirious, so leaving him alone in this state was out of the question.
"Of course I'll keep you company," she said. "But first I have to get your fever down.
"That's good Bones."
"Bones?"
"Yes Booth?"
"The cookies need a helmet."
"I'll take care of that," Brennan said, deciding it best just to humor him for the time being.
"Bones?" he called out again.
"What is it Booth?" she answered, letting out a harassed sigh.
"I love you," he said.
She felt the floor drop from beneath her feet. It was the fever talking. It had to be. She knew there was respect there. She knew he cared about her. But love?
That was something else entirely.
"Hold that thought," she said. "I've got to get your fever down," she said and headed for his bathroom.
The ridiculous dual beer can hat was beside the tub, along with the rubber duckie and a comic book. This time, it was something called 'The Watchmen.' She turned on the cold-water faucet, flipped down the toilet seat and whipped out her cell phone.
"Ange," she said in a whisper.
"How's Booth doing?"
"He's got a fever of 104."
"Oh my God. Do you need any help or anything?"
"Andhejusttoldmehelovesme," Brennan said it as though it were one word.
"YES!!" Angela cheered. Brennan had to hold the cell phone away from her ear. "It's about dang time!"
"What?!?!"
"Sweetie, there was a pool going. We've *all* seen the way you two are with each other…the way both of you are when one of you is in trouble. It was only a matter of time. So, um, one question remains. What are you calling *me* for? Why aren't you in his bed right this second doing the mattress mambo?"
"Angela, he also wanted to know where his unicorn was and wanted me to put a helmet on the cookie."
"Some people have strange euphemisms," Angela answered.
"What do I do, Angela?"
"I say run with it. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars and," Brennan could tell by her voice that she had broken into a grin. "don't do anything I wouldn't do."
"He's sick! He's not going to remember anything after the fever goes down."
"So what's the problem? Oh wait, I know what this is about. I know you, and I know how you are with feelings. Feelings are scary. Just…trust me on this one and let yourself be happy for once, Bren. Don't over-think this one. Whatever happens, happens. It's worth the risk."
"You can say that after all that happened between you and Dr. Hodgins?"
"Sweetie, despite what happened, I don't regret a single minute of my relationship with Jack," she said softly and sighed. "Sometimes it doesn't work out. Sometimes you get hurt. Sometimes you don't get the fairy-tale ending. But that's life. You've gotta take the good with the bad. But no risk, no reward."
"Thanks Ange, I've gotta go," she said quickly and hung up abruptly.
"What are you doing out of bed?" Brennan demanded.
"Looking for my unicorn," Booth said as though it were the most logical explanation in the world.
"That's it, I've got to get your fever down." She didn't trust him for a minute in the bathroom. He was still experiencing dizzy spells. That could've been disaster. "Booth," she said, turning off the water. "come here and sit on the couch."
She found the thermometer on his nightstand, shook it down, and put it in his mouth again. Then she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "I love you too, Booth," she whispered. She took the thermometer out, glad to have a reason not to look at him. "104.5. Any higher, and you're going to the Emergency Room."
She went to his freezer to get the bag of ice she bought at the drugstore and dumped half of its contents in the tub.
She was shaking like a leaf. She could control her hands enough to open the bag.
There.
She said it.
Out loud.
To him.
Of course, he was delirious and probably wouldn't remember it when the fever broke, but at least that was something.
She'd written it before on that note she'd scribbled while she'd been trapped in her car with Hodgins three years ago.
She never intended to show it to anyone.
She didn't even show it to Hodgins, even after he professed his love for Angela that day. As far as she was concerned, an actual unicorn would be standing in his bathroom before anyone, least of all him, knew the truth about how she felt.
But now he said it. It was the scariest thing she'd ever done. And with any luck, he wouldn't remember it.
"Find the unicorn yet, Bones?"
"It's in the bathroom," she half-whispered. She swallowed the tears that were threatening to flow freely. "Why don't we visit it together."
"Okey-dokey," Booth said with a giggle. "That rhymed."
She knew he had to undress to get into that bath, and he was in no shape to do it himself.
She could do this. She was a doctor. He was her patient.
"Just breathe," she told herself.
Booth's own chest rose and fell, obviously thinking the command was for him.
Ever so slowly, with trembling hands, she unfastened the buttons on his shirt one by one. She tried not to let her fingertips brush against his bare abs as she lifted his undershirt over his head, but you might as well have asked the waves not to roll on the sand. She unfastened the 'Cocky' belt buckle. With a clank, it fell to the floor. Then the pants followed. She hoped she wasn't pinching anything with the zipper. She decided she'd leave his boxers on and she helped him into the tub.
"Brrrr!" he said, shivering. "I didn't think unicorns liked the cold."
She heaved a sigh of relief as she realized that he was incoherent. She just took the biggest risk of her life, but one look into his gorgeous brown (and currently glassy) eyes confirmed that he was delirious.
No harm, no foul.
After ten minutes of the ice bath, she helped Booth out, dried him off, and found a t-shirt to pull on over his head and helped him back into bed. His fever was on its way down now at 103, but she wasn't taking any chances.
She found a blanket and pillow in his closet. Her gaze lingered on his face for a few moments before she closed the door.
She'd finally said it. She'd let the words leave her lips. He had heard it, and if she was lucky, he wouldn't remember tomorrow. She allowed herself the luxury of brushing her fingers softly across his cheekbones and down his jaw line. He still felt warm, but the fever was definitely, finally, coming down.
She closed the door behind her and made herself as comfortable as possible on his couch.
She dreamed the things she never even dared to want before
