This will be a series of oneshots/drabbles/post-eps/etc. Basically, a bunch of random Booth/Brennan fluff/angst/humor/etc. all in one nice little fanfic. I don't know how much I'll update, definitely not regularly, but every now and then you might find a new piece here. This is my first shot at fanfic for a TV show, and for Bones, so hopefully it will get better. The title probably won't make sense to anyone but me, but I guess I was thinking about Booth and Brennan's back-and-forth relationship and the fact that these shots will be going back and forth between length, genre, etc. Any reviews and constructive criticism, as always, will be very much appreciated!

So in this first chapter, I don't really know where they are. They're just there. Roll with it.

Words: 2254
Spoilers: A little of Brennan's childhood
Time: Any time after Season 1, you can pick what you think fits best.
Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Romance

Disclaimer: This will be the only disclaimer I put up for this fic; I don't like having to write them for every chapter. You all know the drill - for this and all later chapters, Bones and all its characters belong to Fox, not me. Any references to any things that are obviously not owned by me are, shockingly, not owned by me.

EDITED

She hated the dark. Hated it.

So why the hell was she forcing herself to sit out in the middle of a pitch-black night? It wasn't logical or rational and she was unbelievably edgy.

Brennan sat down on the cold bench, wrapping her arms around herself and shivering, even though the air was warm. Stupid. It was nearly midnight; thick trees cut off the glow of lights from the city and the stars, making her remember.

Remember loneliness, loss, fear, cold.

A slight breeze ruffled the leaves, and it covered the noise of approaching footsteps. At least, that was her excuse, when a hand rested on her shoulder and she instinctively slapped it away, caught by surprise.

"Whoa, Bones," came a familiar voice from the darkness. "It's just me."

Of course. Who else would find a way to be present and irritating the one time she wanted to be alone? Booth. But currently, it was a little difficult to fool herself into believing she didn't appreciate his presence. "Booth, what are you doing here?" she asked with a sigh, leaning back against the bench.

"I could ask you the same thing," he replied cheerfully. Brennan felt him, rather than saw him, as he passed in front of her and flopped himself down on the bench. He sat close, their legs touching slightly, and slung a comforting arm carelessly around her shoulders.

"Booth," she said warningly. He didn't bother to respond, just inched closer and closer as the seconds wore on. In spite of herself, Brennan smiled.

At last he spoke, tilting his head to speak into her ear. "You were shivering when I came up." He paused, moved away a little, tilted his head back to her ear. "Want my jacket?"

"No," she replied stubbornly, pulling away. "I ask when I want something, Booth. And it's not cold."

"Ah, but you were still shivering," Booth grinned, taking his arm off her shoulders and putting both hands behind his head. Stretching casually, he glanced sideways at her. "Why are you here? It's late, it's deserted, it's dark - "

He goes right to the point, doesn't he?

"Why shouldn't I be here?" said Brennan - just a little defensively. "It's perfectly legal and you know I am perfectly able to take care of myself - "

"And you're still not telling me why you're here."

Looking down, Brennan wondered – like she must have done at least a million times before - how Booth could read her voice so well. Subconsciously, though, she realized with a smirk, she was doing the same thing to him – picking up tiny little cues in his voice that told her he was worried, wanted to help, and still look like an enormously charming ladies' man. While throwing a glance back up at him, Brennan tried – and probably failed, knowing herself - to imitate his no-nonsense, easy-going manner.

"No reason. Just wanted to sit out here."

Right. She was talking to an FBI agent. Saying "no reason" would be completely unacknowledged and irrelevant.

Predictably, Booth snorted and settled back on the bench. "Yeah. In the middle of the night? Come on, Bones, you can do better than that."

Brennan glared at him, but the effect was completely ruined by her reemerging smile. Even through the cloaking darkness she could see him flashing his best charm smile back – did he ever do that to anyone but her? Surely, by now, he'd realized. It didn't work.

"Don't think you can charm me into telling you."

"Oh, I try, Bones, I try," he said, grinning even wider. As he leaned forward, his features became discernable through the darkness, just inches away from hers. His eyes twinkled with amusement and he raised an eyebrow. "And you know what? It usually works."

"It does not," protested Brennan, slightly annoyed. Because he was wrong.

"Does too."

"It does not!"

"Does too."

Brennan opened her mouth to reply again, then closed it - they were just falling into their usual pattern of never-ending arguments. Acting like five-year-olds.

Laughing and shaking his head, Booth leaned back, away from her. Another few silent moments passed, until Booth broke it again.

"Really. So why are you here?"

Glancing again at him, she hesitated – tell or not? Trust wasn't the problem - it was her own illogical mindset: that saying it aloud would cement it in reality, as if it wasn't already. As real as illogical things can get. At this point, Brennan wanted it to all be in her head, as much as she hated psychology. She knew from experience, though - she had to tell someone.

"I don't like the dark."

Booth didn't answer at first. Filled with a sudden fear that he would laugh, Brennan crossed her arms and glared defiantly at him. Don't – you – dare.

"You… don't like the dark?" he asked, just to clarify. "You're scared of the dark?"

"No, not scared," she contradicted instinctively. Though that was pretty much it. Backtracking, she waved her hand dismissively. "Only when there's no one else around and it's pitch-black."

Booth stared at her, scrutinizing her closely through the night, trying to make out the finer points of her features. "When you're alone?" he repeated, and she nodded. Trying to make the situation lighter, he joked, "What, do you sleep with someone every night to keep you company?"

"No," she responded scathingly. She didn't even need to think about how completely illogical that would be. "I leave the hall light on. Then it's not pitch-black darkness. Just darker."

"Sure you do-"

"Booth-"

"Every other night?"

"My sex life is none of your business," she said icily.

Booth just grinned.

It only irritated her. She chose to ignore the sexual half of the conversation – dangerous territory when it came to Booth. "It's a rational fear. Darkness is uncertainty, a lack of control, an unknown. Technically speaking, darkness isn't even a thing, it's just a lack of light - "

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," said Booth hurriedly. He squinted at her closely. "There's something else, isn't there?"

She was not going to get off easy. Brennan had known that from the moment he'd turned up. Another one of the many complications of having an FBI agent as her closest friend – he was too damn observant.

Fine. Since she gave him half of it, might as well give him it all. He always seemed to know exactly what to do, so maybe it was worth it to let the memories flood back.

"The day my parents left, Russ was out with friends and stayed out a few days. He was always a party guy."

"And a felon," interjected Booth.

Brennan glared at him. "My parents said they'd be back by lunch; I had the house to myself all morning," she began, speaking to the ground. As soon as she had mentioned her parents, she felt Booth lean in closer, his warmth comforting. See? He always knew what to do. How did someone learn things like that?

"But they didn't come back for hours. I tried to contact them, or Russ, but I couldn't get to anyone. I paced for hours by the window and never saw them. I should've stayed in the house, and kept the lights on, but - "

"But you are not the kind of person to sit and do nothing." Booth finished her sentence – a habit she didn't know if she loved or hated. It varied. He didn't press her for more, simply waited until she was ready to continue.

"I started to head down our street the way they had gone. It was nearly midnight, but I guess I didn't care. We lived in a rural neighborhood, so there were no lights from the city, and everyone's houses were dark. I kept walking down the street, in the middle of the night in December." Here Brennan stopped and tried to grin, failing. "Which was really not an intelligent thing to do."

Booth raised his eyebrows. You think?

Pausing – she had to get her thoughts together again – Brennan sighed. "That was when I just knew that they weren't going to come back." And I don't "just know" anything.

Except that.

She felt like a five-year-old. Scared of the dark. "It's silly," she explained, trying to be as cool as possible. "So sometimes I come here for a while. Don't laugh."

"It's not silly," Booth spoke at last, his tone gentle. He reached out with a hand and held her chin tenderly between two fingers. In the dark she could just make his features, partially based on countless memories. "Perfectly rational fear, right? You've got nothing to be ashamed of. Besides, you don't need to come out here, anyway."

Booth couldn't be that dense?

"What? I just told you-"

"But you've got your nightlight, don't you?" he said, grinning and slinging and arm around her shoulders. Brennan punched him playfully in the chest. "Just teasing," he said quickly.

"Sure, sure." Brennan closed her eyes, bumping his shoulder with her head. It was all very unusually impulsive.

Booth's arm tightened reassuringly, and his eyes never left her face. "And you've got me."

"What?"

"You've got me," Booth repeated, taking his other arm and finding Brennan's hand, resting on her thigh. He laid his hand softly over hers. "Bones, you're not going to be alone again."

Did this scare her as much as the dark? Brennan knew it should – but it didn't. Not with her partner. Sighing, she relaxed into the bench, letting her head rest on Booth's arm. "Thank you, Booth."

"It's nothing," he assured her, squeezing her hand. "It's what we do, right? Look out for each other. Help each other. Partners."

"Partners," she agreed quietly. Just partners. Slipping her hand out from under his, she curled it into a fist and held it up. Booth stared at her for a second, obviously surprised, then laughed and bumped his fist against hers.

"Hey, I didn't know you knew that."

"Zack taught me. He said it was widely recognized gesture."

"Zack taught you?" Booth said incredulously, laughing even more. "That's priceless."

"Priceless?" Brennan repeated, confused.

"Come on, haven't you seen the commercial?" Booth asked. "You know, the whole 'tickets to the movie, eight dollars; popcorn and sodas, ten dollars; getting the shit scared out of you with your best friend, priceless?" Brennan didn't reply. "Nevermind."

"I'll get a TV this weekend," she said suddenly. Why not? It wasn't like she couldn't afford one.

Booth gently shook her shoulders in delighted approval. "Finally, Bones! It's about time you got up to date on American culture. You're an anthropologist, right? You should know these things."

"Exactly," she agreed, happy that he understood more than just plasmas and sports. "Will you help me pick one out?"

Booth laughed, shaking his head. "Did you think I'd let you go alone? I'm going to get you the best TV there is. High-def, surround sound, the works. And then," he concluded, sitting up straight and giving off a distinctly "male" air, "I'm going to come over to your place to watch games and old movies, and you are not going to stop me."

Okay, maybe he didn't understand much more than plasmas and sports. But still. Brennan laughed too, enjoying his company – and it was a nice thought, even with the prospect of incomprehensible sports.

It was probably time for her to get back to her apartment – it was, what, fifteen past twelve? Smoothing out her pants and thin jacket, Brennan rose. "It's probably time for me to get home," she said, squinting around: the way she had come seemed to have disappeared. Even if that was impossible.

Booth rose beside her, settling his hand in its usual place on the small of her back. "Let's go, then. I'll walk you home."

Not a question. A statement, noticed Brennan, too tired to really care.

"There's no need," Brennan lied instinctively as he started to walk, gently guiding her along with him. She wasn't helpless. Ever.

"You just told me that you're afraid of the dark when you're alone," explained Booth patiently. "So I'm not going to let you be alone. I'll be here."

"Not afraid," Brennan muttered defiantly. Somehow Booth knew exactly where to go – he had to have exceptional night vision, having been a sniper, because he couldn't possibly have been around her apartment enough to know the area so well.

All the same, when they reached her apartment she had decided she should try to say something. Booth, however, beat her to it.

"Hey, thanks, Bones," he said quietly, looking right at her with warm, dark eyes.

"For what?" she asked, smiling very cautiously. "You helped me, Booth."

"Thanks for telling me," he explained. His mouth curved into a tiny charm smile. "It means a lot, you know."

"You've told me things," she said, with a casual shrug. "And I trust you. We're even."

Booth shook his head, laughing, and turned to leave, glancing just once over his shoulder.

"Goodnight, Bones."