A/N: Just a quick little chapter on that fateful night booth and bones finally got together, and when Bones finds out she's pregnant. Its my interpretation, because I cant quite find a version I find convincing and accurate enough in my opinion. Not saying mine is, but this is how I imagine that night happening.

Maybe I'll write about when she tells him? Idk…

Anyways, its from Bones's POV, and I tried to make it sound like her. Its kind of angsty, but considering the circumstances of that day they finally got together, its understandable I guess.

Never Had She Felt

Life has a funny way of dealing the cards just right, to leave you with a pair of Aces or with the worst cards in the world. If you believe in fate and destiny, which Temperance Brennan does not, you might believe that things work out because it is supposed to happen that way. But as she sat on her bathroom floor with disbelieving eyes starting blank at the door, she didn't see this outcome as predestined fate, or the universe's way of telling her that this was the right guy for her. It was simple biology in her eyes. The mistake was on both of their parts, but now she had a tiny bundle of cells implanted in the wall of her uterus, rapidly dividing and going through the process of differentiation.

And how was she supposed to tell him? That night had been wonderful, but they had both been hurting from Vincent's death. She had crawled into bed with him, invading his privacy and staining his shirt with her tears. Never had she felt more dependant on a human being in her life, and she hated it….

"Can I just…" She trailed off, and without hesitation he opened his arms to her, laying back onto his bed so that she was nestled into him. He stroked her hair and kissed her forehead, murmuring words of comfort. Time passed slowly to her, all the worries she had upon entering his room still racing through her mind. Yet they weren't driving her mad anymore. Booth had reassured her, and with his heart beating out a slow, soothing rhythm beneath her ear, she felt safe despite the danger they could be in at any moment. The windows didn't scream at her to run for cover, and the dark corners of the room didn't need to be lit for a sense of security. Never had she felt so safe, so comfortable.

His breathing was slow and even, and a long time had passed since the last time he had moved. Temperance lifted herself off of him slightly to gaze at his sleeping face, stubble beginning to make an appearance and lips slightly parted. She wanted to kiss him, an urge so strong and insistent lately that sometimes she had to remind herself that he was Booth, she was Bones, they weren't Booth and Bones; not in the couple sense anyway.

She sat up straight, separating herself from him completely, realizing what they were doing. They were in the same bed, wrapped around each other. It wasn't right, and it was a painful admittance that they didn't do that, so why start now?

Throwing back the covers, she swung her legs off the side of the bed, but not before a hand wrapped around her wrist. "Where are you going?"

"I am sorry Booth," She said, voice raspy from all her crying. She looked way briefly, feeling vulnerable to his penetrating stare. She was not acting like herself, why wasn't she brave and hardheaded like usual?

"For what?" He asked, sitting up as well. He ran a hand over his face, rubbing away the sleep and giving her his undivided attention as always.

"For disrupting your sleep and invading your privacy." She responded stiffly. Booth sighed in an almost angry way, and he got off the bed and intercepted her before she could exit his room.

"You are never a burden Bones." He said gently, and it was hard to find a lie in his words, it sounded so sincere. But that's all she ever felt to him. She was a burden in the field when he concerned himself with her safety over his, she was a burden now in his home because he felt her life was in danger, and she was an emotional burden. Time and time again he had made his feelings perfectly clear and she rejected him because of her imperviousness. She was more strong than impervious now, but she wasn't sure it was enough, not yet.

The only response she could think of, however, was to point out that she had gotten his shirt wet.

He didn't even look away from her eyes. "I didn't notice."

"It must be uncomfortable."

"Nope." He whispered. The silence was suspended in the room with a charged electricity she refused to acknowledge. Never before had she felt this way around another man, always with Booth though- always when it was least convenient and most inappropriate. So she decided to step around him and leave so that she couldn't act on what she wanted; she couldn't help him out of the damp shirt and kiss the scar where he had taken the bullet for her a few years before. She couldn't trace the contours of his abdominal muscles and well defined obloquies, and she couldn't allow her mind to consider anything else she could not do.

Her hand had captured the cold brass doorknob when she heard her name, spoken by his lips in a desperate plea for her to stay. She turned to look at him; his hand cupped the back of his neck as he seemed to be contemplating an excuse as to why she should remain in the room with him when they had never crossed this line before. They had always danced on the line, crossing it by millimeters but always turning back. This would be a solid step forward, it would change everything.

"Bones," he repeated, but he was still unsure of what to say. "I'll change my shirt to a dry one if it will make you feel better." He said lamely. She said nothing, a silent war waging in her mind, but she knew that, metaphorically speaking, her heart would win this battle, she was defenseless against him.

When she didn't answer, Booth tugged his shirt over his head and threw it into a corner. Shocked, her eyes were immediately drawn to his defined, muscular chest, the trail of wispy hair that disappeared leaving more to be discovered. He seemed to realize what he had done after he did it. That was Booth, acting before thinking, and Bones thinking, analyzing to the point of excess, before she made a calculated decision. They were so different from each other.

He reached behind him to grab another shirt, twisting so that his back was in view, and Bones gasped. "Booth, why did you not tell me you were injured?"

An angry red slice, barely healed closed, ran from his right shoulder inward at a slant towards his spine. Bones stepped forward and gazed at it, her clinical mind thinking of the best way to analyze it. She raised a slightly pointed finger as if to poke at it, but he swatted her hand away, insisting it was nothing. She knew what it was, it was a cut from glass, forgotten about with the death of Vincent Nigel-Murray. Booth had neglected himself before, but for some reason it infuriated her now. "You should let me look at it."

"You deal with Bones, Bones. I'll be fine, I cleaned it and everything. Honest." She believed him, he was trained in first aid. She chose to ignore the slight on her intelligence. She might be an anthropologist, but she was also a genius with multiple degrees. She knew how to stitch wounds and diagnose common, and some uncommon, illnesses. She would have been a great doctor if it weren't for her lack of rudimentary social skills. Still, the cut on his back concerned her, and he turned to hide it from her view, bumping into her, apparently forgetting she had moved closer to view his injury. Her hand rested on his bare skin, and it was so mesmerizing.

Bones forgot about lines as she moved her hand down slowly, feeling the smoothness of his chest like an infant in need of tactile simulation; it fascinated her. His muscles rippled beneath her fingers as he shivered, and she snapped her hand back, clutching it to her own chest as if he was going to cut it off. They stared at each other, and she knew what was going to happen. It didn't make it less terrifying, but she held her ground this time. She was strong, but not impermeable. He broke through to her finally, after all these years, and made it possible for her to see the possibility and to understand what he had been talking about for as long as she had known him—love is irrational.

Booth grabbed her hand and pulled her slowly towards him, insistent but still questioning; he was giving her time to decide if she was ready, and she told herself she was. She didn't want to be the same woman who broke his heart before he left for Afghanistan, she wanted to be able to love someone unconditionally, as much as it scared her. She knew this was her chance, the one she had thought she lost. And so, his lips descended on hers, soft at first, but suddenly everything was on fire, it was a kiss years overdue, and their lips crashed together. They forgot about air and balance and all the reasons why it wasn't right to do this on the night of a coworker's death. Booth clutched at her waist, bringing her as close as possible, but she wanted to be closer. His skin wasn't enough; she wanted to get beneath it. Doctor Temperance Brennan was thinking irrationally, illogically and metaphorically, something that never happened, ever. His hand gripped the bottom of his sweatshirt that she wore, and he yanked it over her head, letting it fall to the floor as her knees his the back of the bed and they both tumbled down, Booth landing on top of her and beginning a trail of kissed down the side of her neck, between her breasts and down towards her naval.

She was on fire, she was burning and the farther he went the more intense the flames. His fingers hooked on her pants and slowly he pulled them off her, a hand making a slow path down the inside of her leg while she kicked them the rest of the way off. Somehow his pants joined hers, and he stopped for a moment, earning a small noise of protestation from her. "Are you sure?" He whispered.

"Yes." She whispered to his half shadowed face. The clock read 5:57, and she knew they would be late to work in the morning, but this time belonged to them now. Finally, after all these years, time belonged to them. "Yes, I am sure."

Booth smiled the smile he reserved for only her, and he swooped down for another kiss….

She hated the dependency she felt for Booth not because of the feelings she had come to acknowledge towards him, but because of the way events took hold of their lives and one night of passion couldn't erase a tremulous history such as theirs. They were closer, physically at least. They touched more than they used to, sat closer than before. His smile held something knew she never saw before, and she had seen a whole new side of Booth she could love. However they never spoke of that night, perhaps out of respect for Vincent and the victims they worked with every day or maybe because she didn't know how to talk about it happening and Booth was waiting for her to accept that it did. She did accept it, but now she was growing worried he had changed his mind about her.

Had he not been pleased? She knew without a doubt it had been her most fulfilling and satisfying sexual encounter ever, she now understood the old saying of two becoming one, even if she knew it was not really possible. Almost a month has passed, and nothing was progressing. She was frustrated and snapped easily, but mostly if she put all her energy about thinking of work and Angela's pregnancy, she could forget about it all until she was alone in her bed. Alone. It was a word that had always bothered her, but never as much as it did now. Who knew that one night spent in his arms could leave her feeling empty and cold in her own bed without him as she had always slept.

Now, after experiencing what she could only consider to be morning sickness, she felt dizzy and unsure of herself. Temperance Brennan was none of the things described in that sentence; the only explanation for her sudden nausea and resultant vomiting was that she was experiencing morning sickness, and that she was pregnant. These facts were backed up by the logic that she was over a week late in her usually punctual menstruation. She saw the facts and formed a hypothesis, as she always did in her line of work. The probability of her being wrong, given past hypothesis, is very, very slim. Her phone rang in the other room, and slowly she got onto her feet and went to check the call, knowing that the only person who called her in the morning was the last person she wanted to see at the moment, but also the only person.

"Hello?" She answered, searching for some milk to get the taste of bile out of her mouth.

There was a pause before he responded. "How ya feelin' Bones?" He asked, and she paused, considering telling him that she just suffered from a bout of morning sickness. How could he tell something was wrong through the phone? If Booth had taught her anything about social skills, it was that you shouldn't break big news over the phone. Besides, discussing her potential pregnancy meant they had to discuss that night, and she wasn't sure she wanted to discuss it. She just wanted him. Irrationality was quite irksome.

"I feel…." She almost wanted to tell him that she felt alone and scared, annoyed at him yet happy to hear his voice first thing in the morning. Instead she said, "Fine. How are you?"

"Just great Bones. Listen, we have a case…."

A/n: Reviews are always greatly appreciated =]