A/N: This story has been reposted because my brain has found room for serious thoughts again quicker than I expected. Chapter 3 is new, but you may want to familiarise yourself with the story again before reading that. I apologise to those who were reading this before and I promise I will finish it this time.

A/N 2: If you don't recognise them, the lyrics at the start are from Addicted to Love by Robert Palmer.

Rated T (for violence and some sexual references.)

Disclaimer: Bones isn't mine.


Prologue

"You're gonna have to face it, you're addicted to love..."

Forgetting the rest of the words, he hummed some semblance of the tune to himself as he strolled confidently down the brightly lit, clinically decorated corridors of the Jeffersonian. Passing a well-polished window, he glanced briefly to the side and smirked approvingly on seeing that he still looked remarkably good after a long day at work. A cocky smile spread across his face as he thought about what, or rather who, he would be doing that night and he unconsciously repeated the song under his breath, "Might as well face it, you're addicted to love."

Rounding the corner, his smile grew wider as he saw his partner for the evening sitting at her desk with her back to him. Sipping his coffee, he paused to observe her as she stood and leaned forward to retrieve a file from the opposite side of the desk, still unaware of his presence. He watched appreciatively as her skirt rode higher when she bent over further, exposing the backs of her creamy thighs and allowing him a glimpse of the black lacy panties hidden under her demure clothing.

He grinned darkly to himself, feeling a rush of arousal at knowing that she was wearing them for him. No matter how many women he'd been with, he still got a kick out of them dressing up to please him. His grin turned predatory as he looked back over at the woman before him, wondering if he could get her to repeat that position tonight in the privacy of their room, only this time without the panties.

His fantasising was interrupted by the shrill ring of the cell phone in his pocket. Without taking his eyes off the woman at the desk in front of him, he held it to his ear, answering automatically, "Matt Richards."

His heart sank as the unmistakable voice of his wife greeted him sweetly through the phone, "Hey honey, it's me."

Rolling his eyes, he answered without enthusiasm, "Hey Cath. What's up?"

"I was just wondering what time you'd be home," his wife asked timidly. "It's just, I was thinking maybe we could have dinner tonight. You know, since we've not really spent much time together recently."

Matt sighed inwardly. He was fully aware they hadn't spent much time together recently. He had however spent a lot of quality time with Janine from the cafeteria and Anna from the gift shop, and was currently hoping to spend that evening with Sally from Reception. He glanced over at his intended conquest and saw she was now facing him, her brown eyes wide and inquiring.

Flashing her a broad smile, he promptly turned away, speaking quietly so as not to arouse suspicion from either his wife or his mistress, "Listen, sweetheart, that sounds so great, but something's come up at work."

"Again? That's what you said on Tuesday." The annoyance in her voice was evident and Matt cursed himself for not keeping better track of his excuses.

"I know, baby, I know," he said in what he hoped was a soothing tone of voice. "But the damn FBI have been doing security checks all day. All the guards have to be interviewed and they want me to hang round in case there are any problems with anyone."

He held his breath, hoping she would buy it, and breathed a sigh of relief when she replied, somewhat reluctantly, "Well, I suppose you have to do your job."

"I knew you'd understand," he said, trying to keep the elation out of his voice. "Goodnight sweetheart. Don't wait up."

Hanging up before she could protest, Matt turned back to Sally, throwing his empty coffee cup in the trash with a casual shrug, "Damn FBI. They've been pestering me about these security checks all day."

Twirling a strand of hair around her fingers, she smiled seductively at him, "Guess that's what happens when you're chief of security for the whole Jeffersonian."

Matt chuckled slightly at her comment. Every woman he'd been with in the three months he'd been working at the Jeffersonian had made a similar remark about his job. Maybe it was the title, maybe it was the uniform, but whatever it was, it worked like a charm. Just the words "Chief of Security" made them putty in his hands and he was finally starting to get some of the action normally reserved for FBI agents or firemen. The fact he had a wife was only a minor complication.

But his wife wasn't on his mind now. Sally was. All 5 foot 9 of her. Wandered over to her, he slipped his arm easily round her waist and pulled her close, smiling as she blushed at his forward approach. Running his hand up her side, he flicked the top button of her shirt open, revealing a little more cleavage than was previously on view. Laughing, she moved to redo it, but he gently grasped her wrist, holding it away.

"Leave it," he whispered, his tone firm yet playful. "I promise, no-one's going to object." She let her hand drop back to her side and he stroked her cheek softly, "Good girl." Leaning in, he captured her lips with his and could almost feel her melting into his arms. Her hands moved up to his dark blond hair, but he stepped away swiftly before the embrace went any further.

She looked at him with puzzlement and he responded with a slight shake of the head, "Not here. I'll meet you at Motel 6 at 9 tonight and we can be together properly."

Enraptured, Sally nodded, "I'll see you there?"

Answering her with a final kiss on the lips, Matt Richards broke away quickly and headed out of the Jeffersonian without looking back. He knew that Sally would be watching him leave and he congratulated himself smugly as he mentally added her to his list of conquests, somewhat prematurely.

Thinking back to the last three months in his new job, he was suddenly very glad that he'd applied for the position at the Jeffersonian. In all honesty, he was surprised he'd got it, since he'd assumed it would go to someone who was older than his thirty-six years, but looking at the women who worked here, he was incredibly thankful that he had.

His point was further illustrated as another attractive woman walked quickly past him, her light brown hair bouncing on her shoulders as she headed back into the Jeffersonian's Medico-Legal lab. Always the (apparent) gentleman, he gave her a polite nod as he greeted her, "Evening, Dr Brennan."

Unsurprisingly, she didn't acknowledge him, and Matt doubted if she'd even heard him as she dashed back inside, clearly preoccupied with something more important than him. Nevertheless, he couldn't help but watch as she went, impressed that even the science-types at the Jeffersonian were nice to look at.

However, he was fully aware that looking was as far as he could go in some cases, including that of Dr Brennan. Normally he didn't have a problem with women who already had a boyfriend or husband, since he was fairly certain that he would win if it came to a fight. His machismo had its limits though, and taking on a sniper-trained FBI agent, who was reputedly screwing the good Dr Brennan, was definitely further than he was willing to go, no matter how hot the girl was. But that didn't stop him looking.

Eyes fixed on her retreating form, he continued to wander crookedly down the corridor, but was brought back to reality with a jolt as he collided hard with the cart of the elderly janitor who was coming the other way. Straightening his jacket, he muttered an insincere apology before hurrying away again, cursing under his breath as he went and rubbing his bruised hip.

Reaching the parking lot, he took the stairs two at a time, not meeting anybody on his way up. It was now 7.30pm and all the museum visitors had left hours ago, along with most of the employees. Upon reaching level five, he did encounter the parking lot attendant, known to all as "Ticketin' Joe" for his favorite pastime of issuing fines to anyone who parked incorrectly or in a space that was not allocated to them. It was also well-known that visiting FBI agents incurred the majority of these fines, a fact which seemed to increase "Ticketin' Joe's" popularity amongst the Jeffersonian employees.

After a brief conversation with the attendant, who proudly announced that he had issued twenty-three tickets today, Matt made his way over to his SUV, making a mental note to get a parking space nearer the entrance. As he got nearer, he started to feel his head spin slightly. He tried to quicken his pace, wanting to sit down, but his legs felt oddly heavy, as though they had been encased in cement.

Leaning against a nearby car, he took several deep breaths, trying to fight the invisible waves that washed over him and caused his body to sway dizzily. It did him no good. He fell heavily to his knees, his vision swimming before his eyes, and called out desperately, "Help me! Somebody..."

His voice was weak and his intended shout came out more as a feeble croak. Helplessly, he looked around, hoping that someone would come by and find him, but the rapid movement of his head did more harm than good as his sight deteriorated further.

The sharp tap of footsteps suddenly penetrated the thick fog in his brain, and it was all Matt Richards could do to raise his head to the approaching stranger. His brows wrinkled in surprised recollection of the person standing before him but as he opened his mouth to speak, his body finally gave out and he slumped forward on the hard concrete, surrendering to unconsciousness.


Apologies to those who have done so already, but please review if you feel so inclined.