When She Ran Away

By: Lesera128 (with the help of dharmamonkey)

Rated: M

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: "After seven months, she just randomly said 'I love you' and then ran away. I couldn't watch her leave again. I couldn't. And, so, I followed." Set at the start of 6x01. By reader request, a sequel to "What I Wish I Could've Said" - Ch 13: "That Time Brennan Called Booth On It." AU.

A/N: Okay, okay. I normally don't do this, but by popular request—and with the fantabulous help of the Booth-whisperer, dharmamonkey—here's a bit of angsty sex for those who wanted me to 'make it right', so to speak. I suppose this piece can be read by itself as a standalone, but it will probably make more sense if you've read the short intro in Chapter 13 of "What I Wish I Could've Said." This monster, spawned by an 1800-word one-shot, grew long enough so that it will be posted in two parts. Normal rules, exclusions, and warnings apply for the ensuing B&B smut that is to be found herein. As ever, proceed at your own risk... and enjoy!~

Part I: When She Ran Away

There was a slight breeze on the Mall that late summer evening. It was unexpected after the heat of the day, the exhausting heat had been so stifling to all those visitors who had come to the Mall. Locals knew better than to venture out in the heat on days like that day. And, so it was usually only out-of-towners who braved the sweltering heat of the sizzling summer day, as the sun beat down on them relentlessly while they traversed the sacred place of holy secular republican memories and the cradle of American civic patriotism.

But, now, at night, now there was a slight breeze that ruffled the eerily still water of the Reflecting Pool. It stirred the still water lightly, as if someone had stood over that one spot in DC, leaned down, and blew softly to cause the slow pattern that broke the glassy surface of the pool. Yes, that breeze fluttered over everyone who was on the Mall that night as sounds of the crickets chirping and other creatures that had begun to sing their nightly song combined with the sound of a rapidly pounding woman's broken heart. Soon, that beating of her heart was mixed with the sounds of her soft sobs as she cried salty tears of regret, loneliness, and desperation to be joined shortly by the impending scuffle of her feet on the concrete of her escape route once she had cast her final parting words of disbelief out into the night's ether.

"No!" Brennan said repeated, this time, more forceful, more insistent, but uncertain what to do but reiterate the logical facts her brain had categorized as an outcome of her actions.

Cause and effect.

The words usually brought Brennan peace. But, now—tonight, tonight they were her worst enemies. The cause she had hoped to initiate—telling Booth she loved him and wanted to be with him, hopefully initiating the effect of him smiling that smile of his at her, the grin that took her breath away—well, it never happened. It never would happen now, because she had been a fool, an idiot.

I've been a fool, I've been an idiot, the words echoed through Brennan's head as she tried to make sense of it all, analytical brain battling emotional heart to regain control of the situation. I can't believe I was stupid enough to think that I could just expect him to wait for me until I was ready. It's been seven months. And, he told me he had to move on—so, of course, he did. He moved on, and he found someone, and her name is Hannah, and she's a journalist in Iraq, and if I didn't know anything more about her than that—and I don't—well, it's enough for me to hate her. God, he's moved on…he found someone, and I'm too late.

Brennan stopped, immediately becoming hopelessly depressed at the thought, but then, a smaller, albeit sharper and more familiar, voice of hyper-rationalism set in as she thought, Well, what did you expect, Brennan? He merely did what he said he was going to do. And, now it's too late. He's moved on, and it's not with you. You lost. You took a gamble, but because you waited, and your timing was off, you took a chance, and you failed. Your gamble didn't work. You lost.

At those words, Brennan felt the maudlin nature of her thoughts creep away as another point jumped into the forefront of her conscious mind. I may've lost, but someone else won. Yes, someone else won—won him—they won him, didn't they? She stopped and paused for a few precious seconds, as she thought of the source of her pain, ruin, and utter disaster: Hannah. God, I hate that name. I hate her. He's hers, and not mine, but... he was supposed to be. He was supposed to be mine. I was supposed to come here tonight, and he was supposed to let me tell him, and then we were supposed to be together. I was finally ready to take a chance—take our chance…and, well, it looks like we did. But, I didn't win, we didn't win. We lost, and because he's not mine to tell him that I love him anymore, everything is wrong. He's not mine, will never mine—

The surge of pain she felt at such a notion almost floored Brennan in its destructive capability as another realization then wrecked her. Oh, God... Booth? This...this isn't how he felt that night—that night in front of the Hoover, is it? Because, if it is—if this is this what I did to him... how can I deal with that? What kind of person am I to have hurt him like this? The thought that she had inflicted such pain on Booth made Brennan nauseous, and she almost wanted to pass out from the pain of it all. Oh, God, no—Booth, I'm sorry. So, sorry. If this is how I made you feel, it's no wonder you found someone else, that you moved on…how could you ever love me after I did something like that? How…? No… God, no…This is not how this was supposed to be… no, no, no—

"I… this is not how this was supposed to be… not how it was supposed to go," Brennan repeated, taking a breath as she shook her head. But, because she knew she at least owed Booth the truth, she reluctantly raised her gaze to meet his. As soon as she did it, Brennan regretted the move. His brown eyes bore into hers, awash in a display of emotion that Brennan didn't, couldn't understand. Oh, God… he's angry at me? Is that it? I don't know how to tell what you're feeling anymore, Booth. And, there's a reason for that…because, you're not mine, and you never will be. I'm sorry, so sorry, but still—you deserve to know the truth. If I hurt you like this, if I hurt you in any way that's like this at all, then... well, I owe you. I owe you the truth—I owe you that much, at least, after everything I've done to you—and probably a whole hell of a lot more. So, here goes—

"I-I… I came here tonight to tell you that I love you—"

Booth stared at her, almost as if she was speaking a foreign language, and he didn't think he'd heard what he thought he'd heard Brennan say.

"—and to apologize for what happened before we left—"

Wait…what? No, she's not…she's not saying what I think she's saying? Couldn't be—right? Booth thought, as he watch Brennan struggling to get the words out. She's not…she didn't…love? Did she just say that she loves me?

"—and to see what would happen after all of that…"

She…loves me? Did Bones just say she…loves…me? She loves me? She loves me. She loves me… the thoughts swirled in Booth's mind.

"—but, if you've found someone else… if you've replaced me… then I-I… none of that matters anymore…I don't matter anymore," Brennan finally said in a strangulated voice that was barely louder than a whisper.

She loves me—wait, what? Booth stopped, his head snapping around to search Brennan's face for some clue at to what was happening. She doesn't matter anymore? What? What is she saying? What…? The confusion and the rapid shifts in truth that Brennan was throwing at him were starting to be a bit much for Booth to process. Finally, managing some type of response, all he could barely manage was to look at her and call her name even though he was thinking much, much more at the time he spoke.

"Bones—" Booth repeated. Stop. We need to just stop for a minute and just…stop. Please—stop.

Shaking her head, as soon as Booth saw the flash in her eye, he knew it for what it was because he had seen it before…on a night—a night that had been as cool and biting as this night was night was warm and mellow—on that night when she had broken his heart not quite 3/10 of a mile away from where they now stood. He knew that look, knew what it meant, and what she was going to do next. And, in that moment, Booth vowed that he wouldn't let it happen all over again.

She's not…I can't…she's not doing this again, Booth thought. I can't…I can't watch her run away again. I can't do it. She's not... she can't do that again. Not again. Not to me, not to herself, not to us. It just can't happen. We can't. No. Not again.

And, as if Brennan were strangely echoing his words, albeit for a different reason, she snapped, "No!" As Booth had predicated, she suddenly felt the panic overwhelm her as she looked away from him, refusing to lift her eyes to meet his gaze. Clenching her fists, she shook her head fiercely, her ponytail swishing from side-to-side. "This was a mistake," she muttered.

Booth felt his own heart constrict painfully at the words: a mistake. What, Bones? Telling me you love me? Do you regret it already? Is that the mistake?

"I never should've come here…" Brennan said, although she didn't really answer Booth's unspoken question. "And, I can't do this anymore," she said softly, almost a sob as it came out of her mouth. And, then spinning on her heels, Brennan turned away from Booth and began to run as fast and as far away from him as her feet could carry her.

She'd made it approximately a hundred yards before Booth caught up to her. He hadn't bothered to call out her name—he knew, by that point, it wouldn't do anything to stop Brennan anyway. Trying to lessen the force of his body's hurtling impact on hers as much as possible without actually sacking her to the ground when they finally made contact, Booth still barreled into her hard as he caught her in his arms. Brennan, who had heard the heavy thud of his standard-issue combat boots on the Mall's concrete sidewalks echoing behind her, was running on pure adrenaline and instinct by the time he finally caught her.

For a second—just a split second—she thought her world was spinning as she felt his warmth jump off of him and pour into her, radiating as a type of electric pulse through the softly weathered, ripstop nylon material of his desert fatigues. She closed her eyes for that split second—just a short span for no longer than the single beat of a heart—as she let his scent wash over her in a way that she knew would never happen again, could never happen again. Because, he's not mine, and now, he never can be, Brennan thought sadly, as a coinciding sear of pain ripped through the middle of her chest, almost feeling as if she had been stabbed with a knife deeply into the middle of her thoracic cavity.

The pain jolted her away from her few seconds of self-indulgence, and Brennan immediately began to struggle.

"Let me go—" she begged. "Please, Booth. Please… Let me go—"

"Bones...stop, please..." he pleaded, his voice cracking as he tried to reason with her. "Stop."

"No—"

In that moment, feeling Brennan so warm and pliant in his arms, her familiar scent—some mixture of her sweat, her milk and honey shampoo, and her amber body wash—the same scent he'd spent months dreaming about until a strawberry scent had started to chip away at its place in his memory, Booth knew he wanted to kiss her. It was a purely self-indulgent instinct—the desire to put his mouth on hers and feel her lips against his own, and to kiss her with every ounce of feeling he had within him—

But, he couldn't help it. He wanted to kiss her, needed to kiss her badly—so very badly. And, Booth leaned in, almost pressing his lips to hers, before a small voice echoed in his mind, reminding him that this wasn't such a good idea. You can't do that, the voice whispered. I know you want to, but you can't do that. Not right now, not yet. If you do, you'll scare her. You tried this once before, and you know what'll happen—she'll run again. He gazed into her pale eyes, glistening brightly with tears under the moonlight, and he knew wherever that tiny voice inside his head had come from that it was right. And, more importantly, he suddenly knew what he had to do. She needs to know she's safe with you, the voice inside him said. Be patient. He remembered what Gordon Gordon had told him that night as they sat at the table in the middle of his busy restaurant kitchen, the night before Booth's marksmanship requalification test. "May I counsel patience on this front? Hope and patience." Yes, he was then certain that he knew then what he needed to do.

And so he just held her.

Booth poured everything he had ever felt for her into that single embrace—the hope, longing, desperation, anger, fear, adoration, panic, attraction, frustration, sadness, hurt, rage, excitement, desire, and love that he felt for her into that one action. His grip tightened around Brennan so hard so that, for a few seconds, she couldn't breathe. She continued to struggle against him, the only thought in her mind being that she needed to get away.

Run, the single word continued to echo in her mind. She mentally chanted it almost as some type of prayer. Run, run, run,

"Please let me go," she whispered, the fight beginning to leak out of her. "Please…let me go."

"No," Booth insisted, although he loosened his grip a bit as she started to stop fighting him. "I can't—not until you let me explain."

"There's nothing to explain," Brennan replied sadly. "I just…please. Let me go."

"No."

"Booth, please—"

"No," he repeated, his voice growing stronger, more insistent. He emphasized his word with a squeeze of his arms around her chest. "No."

"Why?'

"Because," he said. "I…you can't…you just can't do that, Bones. You can't just tell me something like that and then run away."

"But, Booth, it doesn't matter anymore," Brennan said sadly. "It…it just, it doesn't matter anymore. So, please…please—Booth, please let me go."

"No," he insisted. "Not until…not until you let me explain."

Booth opened his mouth in that instant, thinking the words were going to pour forth like a deluge, letting forth everything he'd bottled up for months finally flow free as if in some great confession. But, when he tried to speak, he found he couldn't—all he could do was stare, stare at her. Her breathing was still rapid, coming in short breaths, as Brennan struggled to not start crying again. She was clenching her fists so hard underneath her arms that Booth knew her knuckles were turning white, her nails probably cutting into the soft flesh of her palms, and her beautiful blue eyes were red rimmed and puffy. And, so in that minute, when he needed more than anything to be able to speak, Booth found that he couldn't… and it nearly killed him.

Brennan stared at him for a minute, her head cocked expectantly, and then finally, with another breath, Booth slowly shook his head.

"I can't do this—"

"Then, why did you insist—" Brennan immediately began.

Giving her a curt wave of his hand, Booth then completed his sentence as he said, "I can't do this here—not…not in public with the whole world listening." He stopped and then said, "Can we go somewhere…private? To talk? So I can explain?" She held his gaze for a moment before he added, "Please?"

Brennan saw the pleading look in Booth's eyes, and as if she ever could've said 'no', she slowly nodded.

They went back to her place, just because Booth hadn't been to his apartment in months, and Brennan at least knew that hers was clean and still had all the utilities connected since her father had stayed there, house-sitting for her in the months of her absence. Fortunately, Max Keenan had vacated the premises earlier that morning after he quickly checked in with Brennan, bought her lunch, and then gave her a kiss goodbye before telling her that he would be 'out of town seeing a few old friends' for a few days.

Neither one of them had driven to the Mall, Brennan's blue Toyota Prius still in her apartment's underground garage and Booth's standard black Toyota Sequoia SUV not having been reassigned to him since his reinstatement to the FBI had not actually taken place yet, so they shared a cab ride back to her place. The pair let a heavy silence separate them as each sat as far away from the other as possible in the back of the cab, with Brennan even going so far as to press herself up against the passenger side door. The cabbie seemed oblivious to each of his fares' discomfort and hesitation, and he seemed quite content to be distracted by the alternative rock station that mocked Booth and Brennan with the lyrics of the song that pulsed through the cab's tinny speakers. The song was that was the only noise in the taxi besides each person's respective breathing.

Cause I did enough to show you that I
Was willing to give and sacrifice
And I was the one who was lifting you up
When you thought your life had had enough
And when I get close, you turn away
There's nothing that I can do or say

So now I need you to tell me the truth
You know I'd do that for you
So why are you running away?
Why are you running away?

Is it me, is it you
Nothing that I can do
To make you change your mind
Is it me, is it you
Nothing that I can do
Is it a waste of time?
Is it me, is it you
Nothing that I can do
To make you change your mind

The three-minute cab ride seemed like an interminable span in purgatory. For each of them, it seemed like a period that had stretched on forever, with neither one of them sure when it would end, or, more importantly, what they would do when they finally could act. But, at last, they arrived in front of Brennan's building and made their way up to her apartment. As soon as they entered, climbing the stairs wordlessly, Brennan moved slowly and with unusual hesitation in a clear display of pain and anxiety that shredded Booth's heart. Locking the door behind them, she flipped on the lights and dropped her bag carelessly on the floor. Nodding to him, she bit her lip for a minute before she said, "Okay. We're here. In private. So, please—say what you need to say and leave."

Leave. The single word, the one that she had said with so much raw emotion and such a sense of finality conveyed in a single syllable. It was enough to make him hurt all over. Leave, Booth thought. That's what she said. Explain and then leave. But, how do I do that…?

The question trailed off in Booth's mind, and rather than struggle for an answer to a question that he didn't know how to deal with, he took a breath and began to speak.

"Hannah," he began, for lack of a better place to start. As soon as the syllables escaped his lips, he regretted beginning that way.

Brennan winced at that, the single word he uttered. Booth took a step towards her out of sheer instinct. She remained resolute in her bearing and shook her head slowly. "Please," she whispered. "Don't—"

"Bones, listen," Booth began. "I want you to understand." He watched her pale, red-rimmed eyes well up again with tears. "I have to…Hannah and I—"

"I do understand," Brennan said, her tears—despite her best efforts and promise to herself that she wouldn't start crying again, failing miserably to hold herself together—dribbling down her cheeks anew. "I do understand, Booth. There's no need for you to provide details. You…and this…Hannah. You met someone. You liked each other, and embarked on a mutually beneficial relationship. I get it. You love Hannah, and so there's no room—that is to say, I'm now superfluous. I'm no longer necessary. I've been replaced—"

Unconsciously, Booth ran a hand over his close-cropped hair in a way he hadn't done in many months, because only Brennan elicited such exasperation in him. "Bones...I-I...Hannah...it's not..." He swallowed, agonizing over his words as he tried desperately not to hurt her.

"You don't have to explain, Booth," Brennan said sadly. She tilted her head at him and said, "I know. I…I-I missed my chance. I'm too late, and for that…I'm sorry. I…I won't bother you again. I won't bring it up again. From this point on, I will endeavor to keep things on a strictly professional level so as not to impede your relationship with Hannah or overstep my boundaries—"

"Stop it," Booth suddenly snapped, lifting his head suddenly, his jaw suddenly tight as a brief flicker of anger lit up his eyes. The movement startled Brennan, and he instantly regretted the action. Taking a breath, he softened his tone before he tilted his head to the side and said, "You said you'd let me explain, Bones. So, please…let me explain."

Slowly, although she had to bit her bottom lip to keep from speaking, Brennan nodded her head.

Booth nodded in response and took another breath before he willed the words to come out this time, praying he could say what he needed to tell her in the way he needed to say it at that exact moment.

"Look," Booth began. "You've got to understand...seven months, Bones, seven months went by and I heard nothing from you. Not one word. Not one letter. Not one email. Not one phone call. Nothing."

"I tried," Brennan said quietly. She nodded at him. "I wrote dozens of letters and tore them all up. I composed an email to you every other day I was in Maluku and deleted each one of them. I tried… wanted to call you, but, somehow, I… I-I just couldn't dial the last number," she said.

He looked at her, not used to the unfettered honesty that he saw in her face. Deciding the only way he could reciprocate was by continuing in his explanation, he said, "I was in a war zone, Bones, getting shot at, having the men under me shot at, watching men bleed to death in the sand. Watching men die at the other end of my rifle scope. And…all of it—well, I knew what it would be like going in because I'd been to war before, and I knew it would be hell. But, I hurt, Bones. I really hurt." He swallowed hard again, the memory of those painful months raining over him as he spoke. "I hurt more than I ever thought I would, Bones...because I felt I was all alone."

He paused, stopping for a moment as the loneliness in which he'd been lost for those first few months washed over him, the desperation and negativity of that time overwhelming him as he relived the memory. "God, you have no idea what it was like—how alone I felt for the first few months. As hard as I knew it was going to be before I went, I had no idea how bad it would actually be once I actually got there because—well, because I had to do it without you. One second you were in my life, and the next second you were gone. I felt… I felt like an amputee, Bones. Like someone had cut away the best part of me, and it was suddenly gone. For a while, I didn't know what to do or how to deal with things aside from simply going through the motions. I… I-I was lonely. So lonely. My best friend didn't write, she didn't call, nothing—"

Booth's voice grew thick with emotion as he suddenly said, in a very low tone, "When you—when I never heard from you... I-I thought I didn't matter to you anymore. I thought… that was it. We were done. And, I felt so horribly alone and so abandoned, Bones. I felt like my heart had been ripped out of my chest. I felt so alone. Afghanistan is a living hell, Bones. A living, God-forsaken hell on earth. And, all around me was death and pain, and the one person who made me feel like I was worth anything, who made me believe I could do anything I set my mind to—she was suddenly gone." He snapped his fingers for emphasis. "I was lonely and hurting and...I thought surely that no one would ever want me, that no one would ever love me...so…when Hannah came...yeah, I—it was as if I suddenly didn't have to feel so badly anymore. She was fun and attractive and vibrant and there and… and, she wanted me, Bones." Booth chewed his lower lip and closed his eyes. "She wanted me when I thought no one would ever want me."

He stopped in that moment, unaware that a tear had escaped his eye and run down his cheek in the middle of his emotional confession. Shaking his head slightly, Booth said, "She was there, and Hannah wanted me, and I was lonely, and because I thought it was better to have something than nothing, someone than no one, when…when she pursued me? Well, I…I didn't resist, Bones. I didn't say no. She wanted to be with me, and so I let myself be with her, and she filled a part of the hole in my heart, the hole in my life." He stopped and then looked up at her. "Can you understand any of that?" he asked in a broken voice. Booth gazed at her intently, forcing her to maintain their connection as he tried to make her see what happened through his eyes.

Swallowing slowly, Brennan nodded. "Yes." She paused, stopped, and nodded again. "Yes, I think I understand."

Letting out a large sigh of relief, Booth said, "Oh, God. Good, I didn't think—"

"It's my fault," Brennan interrupted him suddenly. "I understand that, Booth. My actions beginning the night when I hurt you in front of the Hoover Building, and in the period that continued until you met me at the airport before I departed for Maluku, everything that happened in between those two points in time happened because I hurt you. I couldn't—I wasn't ready to give you the answer I needed to give you, and so I brought this upon myself. If you had never felt any of those emotions, never had any of those responses while you were deployed, you never would've acquiesced to Hannah's overtures. So, I understand and accept responsibility for the consequences of my actions."

Booth felt as if she had physically punched him in the gut as hard as she could. Suddenly finding it difficult to breathe, Booth could only shake his head. "God, Bones—no…"

"It's my fault," Brennan repeated. "And, so if that's the only thing that you needed to explain, it's not necessary, Booth. I fully understand what culpability I bear in the course of the events that transpired to bring us here tonight."

And, instantly, in that moment, Booth didn't know how to get Brennan to stop with any words he could think to say. He didn't know how to get her to stop, just stop for a minute so that he could make her understand, really understand. But, when he saw the tears flowing down her face again, her cheeks already wet with a series of crisscrossed streaks, he moved and quickly closed the space between them.

He pulled her towards him, and Booth didn't stop to think as he tilted his head to reach for her lips. He felt her lips, so soft and warm, brush against his as a small sigh escaped from her barely-parted lips. For a moment, he hesitated, his heart and mind both racing as his mouth hovered over hers. He reached his hand up to cup her jaw, his fingers curling under her ear as he closed the distance between them. He pressed his lips against hers and felt her lips move against his as he moaned softly into her mouth. Booth felt the ground spin beneath his feet as her lips grasped at his, hesitantly at first and then, after a few moments, more desperately.

"Bones," he whispered as their lips parted between kisses.

For a second or two, he opened his mouth to speak, but lost his nerve—or, more likely, lost himself in the knee-melting sensation of feeling her lips on his again after so long.. God, she feels...she tastes...so good, he told himself as he felt himself drawn into another kiss. Like I remembered. Booth stopped in that minute, and then quickly, he shook his head as he realized that this kiss was different from all the others, and so, while there was a hint of familiarity, in some ways, this kiss was unlike all the others. It was a new baseline established by this new experience in a world where they both loved each other. I love her. I've always loved her. I've never stopped loving her. I always will love her, and I need to tell her that—so, this is better than I remember, Booth thought. So much better than that. Even better.

"Bones," he said again, stroking his thumb across her cheek as he pulled away again as he made good on his recent vow. "I love you, Bones," he whispered breathlessly, his lips hovering near her ear. "I love you."

Booth closed his eyes and moved to kiss her again, his heart skipping a beat as she brought her lips to his, a scarcely audible sigh passing between them as she pressed her mouth to his.

"No, you don't—"

"Yes, I do," Booth whispered. "I love you. I never stopped loving you—I couldn't. I don't think I know how even if I really wanted to—I love you."

Brennan couldn't help herself as she allowed her lips to part and her tongue to seek out his in a desperate search for completion. Intertwining her arms behind his neck, she pulled him closer to her as she felt her head going light from both a lack of oxygen and her brain feeling short-circuited as the emotion overwhelmed her. Indeed, she felt as if she were being overwhelmed by the tornado of emotions that had picked her up and spun her around to the dizzying heights she now felt as her feet threatened to give out underneath her.

But, then, as so often is the case, rationality chose that inopportune moment to rear its ugly head. Suddenly, she felt a stab of pain as she knew what was happening wasn't right.

Not mine, a part of her whispered. You can't do this because he's not yours, Brennan. He belongs to someone else. It's not right. Stop. Stop it right now—

Reluctantly, Brennan made a half-hearted attempt to pull away.

"I can't—" she groaned into his mouth. "We can't. It's...it's not right."

Pulling away slightly, Booth looked at her with a clearly confused look on his face. "I love you."

"Yes—"

"You love me—"

"I..."

"You love me," Booth repeated.

"Yes—" Brennan said weakly.

"Then, why can't we?' Booth said. "I want to. I assume you want to." A vague smile appeared on his face, then vanished again as his eyes traced over the taut expression that clung to her face. "So, what's the problem here, Bones? What am I missing?"

Slowly, Brennan breathed a single word, as if it were the most taboo and hated word in all of the history of human speech. "Hannah."

Realization dawning, Booth chuckled, immensely relieved at her confession. "Oh, God. For a minute there I thought you were gonna say—"

"But, Hannah," she said, interrupting him again, shaking her head in confusion herself this time.

"No," Booth whispered before he leaned in again as he began to kiss her once more. Knowing that she needed some type of explanation if they were ever going to get past the stage of just kissing as he so desperately hoped they would. And soon, too, he thought with a subtle shift of his hips as he felt himself get harder with each passing second. "Hannah," Booth began through his kisses. "Look, Hannah is nice, a good person, but—"

"Which is why you're with her now," Brennan said, a half-moan, a half-whimper. "That's why you're with her now, and not with me. And, why you're not mine, Booth, why you'll never be mine. And, I know I've got to accept that, but I can't do that if you keep kissing me like that—"

Gently lifting her chin with his hand, he looked at her, his eyes shining brightly as he smiled. "God," he said, "for such a brilliant fucking scientist, you can be an incredibly stupid person sometimes."

Brennan's brow furrowed in confusion. "I don't—"

"I'm not Hannah's," Booth said, pushing his lips to her neck. "Never was, never will be. Only yours, Bones."

"But—"

"Look," Booth said, sighing a bit as he had to stop to waste time talking about a woman that he'd left on the other side of the world with only a minor pang of regret when the thought of the woman who he was returning home to loomed large in front of him. "Hannah... what she and I had, Bones? It was casual. Fun, passionate, sexy, and it served it's purpose. But, when I left, she didn't ask me to wait, and I didn't ask her to come. We parted on good terms. But, we parted. Do you understand that?"

"Are you saying," Brennan began slowly. "Are you saying that you're... you're not with Hannah in a relationship anymore?"

"No," Booth said, shaking his head. "That's done. Over with—"

"Then, why did you want me to see her photo?" Brennan asked.

And, suddenly, Booth deflated a bit as he realized the pettiness of his earlier intended action. "Oh," Booth said. "That."

"Yes," Brennan nodded. "That."

Taking a breath, Booth said, "Honestly, Bones? I thought when we came back here you'd have stories for me about some super genius squint that you fucked for seven months in Machoochoo or so random scuba diver you hooked up with who could hold his breath for five minutes, and I—" Booth paused stopped, and shook his head slowly as he said, "I didn't want to have to face that with having something of mine own to brag about—"

"I didn't sleep with anyone in Maluku," Brennan said slowly. "It was only you, Booth. Every day, every night, for seven months. The only man in my life—in my heart, in my mind... it was you. Just you."

Nodding, Booth said, "I know that, now. But, Bones, I had no way to know that—and, God, I'm sorry. That was a dickish thing to do—"

"Don't apologize," Brennan said softly. "I've done much, much worse to you."

His head snapping up at her words, Booth drew back in that minute and said, "Did you say that you love me?"

Swallowing nervously, Brennan nodded slowly. "Yes."

"And, just so there's no confusion here, Bones, because this is kinda really important." He raised his eyebrows expectantly. "Are you sure?" Booth asked.

Again, Brennan nodded. "Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes," Brennan repeated. "I love you."

"God," Booth said, closing his eyes for a minute and smiled before he reopened them and looked at her with a toothy grin on his face. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for you to say that to me."

"But—"

"But, nothing, Bones—"

"But, Hannah—"

"No," Booth said, pulling her against him. "That's over. Done. Finito. In the past, where it belongs, because I don't love her, Bones, I couldn't…I never could, not the way I love you. Not the way I've always loved you." He stopped and then said, "I love you—you do know that, don't you?"

"But, I don't understand," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "How can you still feel that way after the last seven months? After everything's that's happened? How I hurt you that night? How can you still feel that way about me after Afghanistan and Hannah—"

"I love you, Bones," Booth repeated. His hands slid underneath her shirt and greedily inched up and down the soft skin of her back. Brennan shivered against his touch as he murmured, "Never mind Afghanistan." He leaned into her until their foreheads met. "Never mind the seven months," he said. "Never mind the night at the Hoover. None of it matters because I love you, Bones. You're the only one I've ever loved."

Brennan shivered in that minute, as she tried to process the meaning of the words and the sensations she was feeling. In the end, it was too much for her, and all she could focus on was his one statement.

You're the only one I've ever loved.

At that thought, the thing that had been threatening to happen to Brennan finally did occur when her knees gave out. Wobbly, she fell against Booth, who caught her with a look of askance clear in his eyes.

"You okay there, Bones?"

She looked up at him and shook her head. "No."

His eyes narrowing in concern, Booth tilted his head at her and said, "What can I do to make it better?"

"Us," Brennan said instantly. "I need to know that this is real, Booth. That words...words, they can be ephemeral, right? So, I need...I need you." She nodded once and then added, "I need you,"

Bringing a hand up to her cheek, Booth caressed it gently as he said, "You've got me."

"I know that," Brennan said. "A part of me does, I know. But, I need more than just words."

He inclined his head at her as he asked, "Are you saying what I think you're saying, Bones?"

Laughing lightly, mostly because she was nervous about being rejected when she was so close to finally getting what she so desperately craved and terrified that he'd push her away, Brennan said, "Since I'm unable to read your mind, Booth, you're going to have to verbalize what the true intent behind your query is—"

"You said you needed me," Booth began.

Brennan nodded.

"Need me to do what?" Booth asked, finally laying the words down like playing cards on the table before them. He felt faint for a moment as he thought of all the wagers he'd taken over the years, and how many of them left him empty and defeated. But, his pulse quickened as he hoped this would be the one gamble that, after nearly losing it all that night in front of the Hoover, would finally have a jackpot payout.

"I believe the correct term would be to have sex, Booth," Brennan began. Booth looked at her, interest mixed with curiosity on his face, but he remained quiet, causing her to clarify her statement. "Other modifiers would be intercourse, coitus...or, if you prefer more urban colloquialisms...bang, tap, fuck—" she stopped, and then a softer and more gentle look coming onto her face. "Or," she said slowly. "Make love?"

-TBC-

A/N2: Okay… so, I know that's a very cruel place to leave every one as far as a cliffhanger. So, the bad news is, it's an evil cliffie. But, the good news is, the second part (i.e., the hot angsty!sex smut) is already written (dharmamonkey's seen it, so she can vouch for me). So, if you want to see it, post a review. Lurkers, come forth out of the shadows and into the bright sunlight of review-land. Speak, let your voices be heard. We love reviews, and we would love to hear what you think. So, let us know how we did, and remember...

More Reviews = Happy Writers = Exciting Posting of Part II's Sexy Conclusion in Very Short Order.

So, yes, this is a form of blackmail, but hopefully, it'll be worth it. :)~