A/N: I've never written a fanfic for Bones before, nor have I ever attempted a multi-chapter fic, but here goes. The 100th episode inspired me, and so the intent is to follow B&B through the rest of the season, seeing how the "subtle shifts" in their relationship play out. I'll keep going through the season finale, but no matter what happens on the show, they will be happy in my fic instead of continually torturing themselves. Also, this chapter is a very mild T, but there will be more graphic stuff up ahead, so I'm rating it M to be safe.

A quick note about the chronology: it begins post-episode at a random bar, and then transitions to the closing scene of the episode. All dialogue stolen from the show is the creation of the writers of Bones, the rest is me.


Later that night, a random bar

He still can't pinpoint what exactly pushed him to open his mouth. Five years of carefully crafted restraint blown out the window in a single, reckless moment. But he had been so sure, so confident that her answer would be "yes." He had so many signs – not just the hugs and the touches and the easy camaraderie they shared, but her own words – hadn't she stood right in front of him, Jared and Padme and said that he'd taught her to believe that love might be real, that it might not just be a chemically and hormonally induced biological imperative? He'd always been a damn good gambler on his good days, and all the signs had pointed to luck being on his side.


Her first inclination something is happening is the sound of his footsteps stopping, and so she adjusts her steps to match his, slowing and turning. Perfectly in sync, just like they always are. His first words puzzle her: "I'm the gambler." She looks at him, her mouth quirked up in a half smile as though she is about to make some lighthearted remark before realization dawns. Sweets. Stalemates. Breaking them. Booth being a gambler. Her mind is whirring, and then he continues, confirming her deepest fears. "I believe in giving this a chance. Look, I want to give this a chance." Her expression falls rapidly as her whirring mind processes the implications of what he was saying. What are you doing, Booth? her mind screams. Stop. stop now, before you say something we both regret.


He sees the half smile fall from her face, watches as she disbelievingly asks "what, you mean us?" If he didn't know better, he'd guess she was giving him one last chance to take it back, just like he'd taken back his "I love you" all those months ago. But it wasn't going to work. He was a gambler, and he had put up every chip he had, and he was going for broke. He steps in towards her, closing the distance between them, trying to pull her back in quickly, because he can see he is losing her. The first refusal didn't surprise him, he can read her well enough to know she would think this a terrible idea, and so he arms himself to counter whatever argument she could muster.


Her brain is in panic overdrive, grasping for the first excuse that came to mind. She could not let this happen. They could not go down this path. She wouldn't let them. She has to make him see reason. He's going with his gut right now, and that is dangerous territory.

"No!" she hears herself say forcefully, "the FBI won't let us work together as a couple-" The mere thought of it makes her eyes start to shine with unshed tears.

He cuts her off equally forcefully, as though he had known what she was going to say, but then again, she shouldn't be surprised – their partnership has thrived on this rich understanding of the other person, finely honed over the years.

"Don't do that – that is no reason –"

And then for a few, glorious seconds, her mind goes blank.


He still wasn't getting through to her. Time to pull out all the stops and show her why she should say yes, why this could be so good, so perfect, so amazing. And so he reaches out, grabbing her by the arms, and kisses her. He pours himself into the kiss while keeping himself as restrained as he can – this is not like that night outside the bar, where it had been all softness and heat, nor is this like the time under the mistletoe, which had started off chaste and suddenly morphed into something more urgent. This kiss was love, it was about silencing her fears, telling her what he could not in words, that he would always be there for her, if only she would give him a chance.

For a moment, he believes his plan was working. She is still in his arms, kissing him back, one hand placed on his lower back to steady herself as he pulls her in tight against him, the other resting on his chest. And then, just as suddenly as he'd begun to hope, he finds himself being pushed away, her hands smacking against his coat as she shoves him.

"No!" she exclaims.

He feels himself getting desperate, hears that desperation creep into his voice as he asks "Why? Why?" pressing her for an answer, trying to make sense of why she was running away, why she was denying what they both knew they felt for each other.

Never in a million years would he have guessed her rationale.

"You – you thought you were protecting me, but you're the one that needs protecting."

"Protecting from what?" he asks. His confusion is written across his face. For someone who prides herself on her cool rationality, she isn't making much sense right now. Her expression worries him – not only does she seem on the verge of breaking down, she looks positively distraught.

"From me!"


She can't bring himself to look into his eyes, knowing that she will lose her resolve if she does. She knows it has to be done, the rational part of her brain recognizes this fact, but how the pain caused by saying these words to him takes her by surprise. She isn't afraid of him leaving her. He had demonstrated time after time that he will be there for her, to rescue her, save her, protect her, comfort her. Repeated experiments producing a consistent result have made her certain of this fact. No, what she fears is breaking him, hurting him with her inability to love, with her coldness (again, if everyone remarks upon an observable trait, there has to be truth in it). If she breaks him, she would never forgive herself, and she cannot risk losing the most important relationship she has ever had. So she continues, laying out her rationale, all the while staring down at his jacket lapels.

"I-I don't have your kind of open heart"

She forces herself to look up at him, tears beginning to obscure her vision. She has to make him understand, trying to love her is the biggest mistake he could make.

"Just give it a chance, that's all I'm asking." He looks at her, refusing to be swayed by her logic, bent on persuading her. Why wasn't he understanding her?

"No, you said it yourself: the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and expecting a different outcome."

She looks up at him again, her voice steadier now, her rational mind asserting control over her emotions once more. Her argument is beginning to sound convincing even to herself.


"Well then let's go for a different outcome here, alright? Let's just – hear me out, alright?" His voice comes out harsher than he wants, his frustration at not making her see why she could, why she should trust in him, trust in them, trust in herself to make this work, fueling his panic. He can't lose her, not after putting everything on the line like this. The gambler has one last trick to play.

"You know when you talk to older couples who, you know, have been in love for thirty, or forty, or fifty years, alright, it's always the guy who says "I knew."

The expression on her face is full of love and sadness all mixed together, and it's enough to tear at his heart. He softens his tone and hears himself say,

"I knew. Right from the beginning."

He hadn't realized it until the words come out of his mouth, but it's entirely true. Somehow, standing on that bar stoop in the pouring rain, confessing to her before lowering his lips to hers, he knew. He knew that this beautiful, intelligent, infuriating puzzle of a woman had gotten under his skin, that no matter what happened, this wasn't the end for them.

To his dismay, she shakes her head firmly in a dismissive way, breaking eye contact with him again.

"Your evidence is anecdotal."

What the hell is that supposed to mean? You can't prove a feeling, and she clearly doesn't believe that these unspoken feelings that have existed between them for five years could lead to the kind of love that people write songs about, the kind of love that comes along only once in a lifetime, the kind of love that changes, has already changed you for the better. Not for the first time, he wishes he could turn off that rational scientist brain of hers, but he stands his ground.

"I'm that guy. Bones, I'm that guy. I know." he repeats again, soft, certain, giving it his all to convince her.


Inside, her heart physically hurts. If only she could trust herself to love him, to experience this ephemeral feeling that she so desperately wants to feel but isn't capable of having. But she can't, and so she makes her case once more, laying her faults out for him in his language, using words he will understand.

"I – I am not a gambler, I'm a scientist," she says, her voice cracking slightly. She cannot convince herself, in the absence of evidence to the contrary, that this relationship will be different, that it can be different. She cannot trust herself in the absence of such evidence not to break Booth's heart and single-handedly drive him away and destroy the one constant in her life.

"I can't change. I don't know how. I don't know how." This last word is cut off by her voice giving out. Keeping her emotions under control is proving difficult, and at this moment, they are nearly besting her best efforts at restraint.

He opens his mouth to say something, but finally, he is silenced. She has succeeded, but at what cost? The look on his face is one of deep sadness, and she has caused it. At that moment, she hates herself.

"Please, don't look so sad," she pleads with him.


He has put his heart on the line and failed. He has gambled everything he has in him, and has lost, and now he is worn out. Worn out, weary, and burdened by a deep sadness at having failed to convince this woman whom he loves with every fiber of his being to see that she loves him too, that she can love him. And then he hears her voice, pleading with him. "Please, don't look so sad."

"Alright, ok," he mutters as he leans back against the ledge. He would like nothing more to let loose, to let himself fall to pieces, but he can't, he won't let himself. Even now, kicked and down, he still cares too much about her to cause her intentional pain. It doesn't matter that she has just caused him the deep kind of pain that would send a lesser man running to the nearest bar to drink himself into a stupor.

He discreetly wipes the tears that have formed in his eyes away as she sits down next to him. If he had it in him, he would wear her down, tell her the thousand and one ways in which she has already changed, tell her all the moments he has seen her heart, caring, compassionate, warm, and yes, more than capable of love, but he has nothing left. He can't find it in himself to tell her that he loves her, all of her, for who she is, that if she changed to fit some idea of what she thinks he wants, she wouldn't be his Bones. But he cannot fight any longer, not now. It is too raw, too much, holding himself together in her presence, and he cannot bring himself to convince her that she is wrong again. So he takes the easy way out and gives in to her, her and her false assumptions about herself, about them.

He turns to face her.

"You're right." His voice is steadier now, calm, as though this whole conversation never happened, as though his heart doesn't feel as though it might never heal from this ache. Wryly the thought occurs to him that compartmentalizing is meant to be Bones' specialty, not his.

"You're right," he repeats, in a whisper, shrugging his shoulders and looking away because those wide blue eyes of hers, shining with tears, are a little too much to look at right now.


He looks back at her, and she not only can she see his pain, she can see the effort he is making to hide it from her, and she hates herself even more. She takes a breath. Now comes the moment of truth, to see whether they have been broken beyond repair. To test whether her assumption that hurting them both in this way will save them from greater hurts later on and keep them in the comfortable, secure balance they have created for themselves over the years.

When the words come out though, they sound more scared than she realizes.

"Can we still work together?" She looks at him, her fear written all over her face, and he looks back at her for a long moment, clenching his jaw, and she feels as though her heart might break even more than it already has, assuming hearts could break, which rationally she knows they cannot. Rationality though, fails to explain the deep, twisting pain in her chest, the pain that's making it hard to breathe as she waits for his answer. The silence goes on for long, excruciating moments.


He hears her question, sees the frightened little girl inside her seeking reassurance that he isn't going to walk away from her even though no sane person would blame him for doing so. He just can't freaking believe his luck, that out of all the emotionally screwed up people in the world, he has to fall for the one who has a pathological fear of abandonment, and he can't hurt her. It isn't a question of being selfish and callous and protecting his own heart, of causing her the same pain she has caused him by rejecting him. It's a question of him having too much heart, too much fucking honor, to say no and crush her, send her back into her shell.

But it's too much to force the words out just yet and so he looks away, silently nodding his head in affirmation before finally letting out a resigned "Yeah." He gazes up into the inky black sky, unable to look back at her just yet, to let her know the full cost of that one word.


She senses how difficult it was for him to utter that single, solitary syllable. She might not be able to read people, but in this moment, she can read Booth perfectly, and though it sounds trite, she really does mean it when she says "Thank you."She is thanking him for not hating her. Thanking him for being the better person of the two of them, as she has always known he is, thanking him for still willing to be her partner even though she has just broken his heart. She is acutely aware of this last point, and it hurts her. She too looks away, staring down at the ground.

She hears him take a deep breath and then hears the words she has dreaded hearing all this time. The irony is, she should be glad to hear these words because it means her plan has worked.

"But I gotta move on," he says. "I gotta find someone who's going to love me in thirty years, or forty, or fifty." There. He has said it. He accepts her logic, accepts that she is not capable of loving him like he deserves to be loved. This is what she wanted. Right? Then why does it hurt? Why is she wiping tears from her face?


Telling her that he has to move on is easier than he expects, but a little part of him hates that she has given up on them without trying, hates that he doesn't have it in him to prove her wrong. He lays out how it's going to be, that he will move on, that he will try, at least, to give his heart to someone else (even though he knows deep down this is probably never going to happen). What catches him off-guard is the tiny, sad sound of her voice saying "I know."He can hear that she is hurting, and he wonders how she can't see her reactions in this situation as proof that she is capable of love, proof that she has a heart. But it doesn't matter. This conversation is finished now, and he refuses to let his mind engage in that line of thought any longer.

He hears her sniff through her tears, and then watches her get up and start to walk away, distancing herself from him. He can't let that happen though, and so he hops down off the ledge and goes after her, secretly a little pleased that she hears his footsteps and turns, waiting for him to catch up to her. She may have pushed him away, but she does care.


She can't stay next to him any longer, the stark truth of what has transpired between them suddenly sinking in with full force. Wiping her tears from her eyes, she begins to walk, putting distance between the two of them, reconciling herself to the fact that this is their new reality. Distance where once there was intimacy. A painful but necessary choice. Yet, she can't deny that her heart skips a beat when she hears Booth's feet land on the ground and begin to follow her. He still cares. He is unwilling to let her just walk away, and for that she is grateful. A small smile is on his face as he catches up to her and closes the distance between them, and she looks at him for a brief moment before looking down at the ground and smiling slightly as well. All hope is not lost.

As if on instinct, their bodies move closer together, and she leans against him for a moment, wanting to feel the reassuring solidness of him, of Booth, of his continued presence in her life. This brief contact is not enough, and so on impulse she lets herself slip her arm into his to bring them closer together, to regain a little of those dozens of tiny touches and brushes she has grown accustomed to in her day-to-day life. When he does not pull away, she rests her head lightly on his shoulder, and breaths a silent sigh of relief as he puts his head against hers, resting it there for a moment as they walk onwards into the night, into new, uncharted territory.


The feel of her arm slipping into the crook of his own surprises him, especially given the intentional brush of her body against his a moment earlier. It's very unlike her to initiate physical contact between them, but he's perversely grateful for it, knowing too well that this may be one of the last times they will touch each other freely. As he rests his head against hers, he lets himself enjoy the moment before tomorrow dawns and he must learn to navigate a new reality, one in which the two of them must redraw the lines of what is appropriate or not. It is bittersweet, but for now, the feel of her arm in his will suffice.