A/N : Yay, drunk Booth! I think this was my favorite BB moment ever, with the hug at the end of Headless Witch. I loved how he rested his head on her shoulder, and the very end, when we see their backs… Aw… I hope I won't disappoint you with how I chose to continue this scene!

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Chapter 2 : Single malt ('Soccer Mom in the Minivan')

Seeley Booth was smashed.

Tonight, he had celebrated the end of a thirty-year-old case with agent Sam Reilly who, during all these years, had kept a bottle of single malt for this special occasion – an occasion which, honestly, he had been thinking would never occur. But tonight, they had actually been drinking this scotch, talking about various random things.

Although he had refused politely to finish the bottle, an offer which he knew was far from reasonable, one thing was sure: Booth was in no condition to drive. And when he had grabbed his cell phone, he could have called a taxi, but instead, he had dialled the number of his partner and friend Temperance Brennan, who he knew was, despite the advanced hour, stuck in her office, doing the paperwork linked to the case. Aware of this, and of the fact that he could have helped, he had been feeling guilty, which was one of the reasons why he had called her – for he somehow believed that it wasn't too late to make up for it.

But since they had been sitting on the stone stairs leading to the Lincoln Memorial, his guilty feeling had but grown. Because of him, she hadn't finished the paperwork; he had difficulties keeping up with a conversation, and even more difficulties to talk in a coherent way. To sum it up, he was but a pain in the ass. Not only had she left her office, picked him up at the Hoover Building and bought him a coffee, she was also acting more patiently than ever.

And he was having a hard time acting as kindly and normally as possible, for he had drank just enough to be unsure he still had complete control over his words and actions.

"How much scotch did you drink?"

"Oh, uh… Just enough. You know, I would've invited you, but, Reilly, he just... Well, he doesn't like you."

"I understand", she said, lowering her gaze.

Good job, man. Look what you've done now.

"I'm sorry, was that rude?"

"Not from someone who's been drinking", she reassured him with a smile.

Feeling better, he admired the nocturnal view in front of him. The starry sky, the illuminated Washington Monument reflecting in the pond… It was so beautiful and quiet. But even more beautiful was his partner sitting beside him, and it became urgent to find something intelligent to say.

"God… You know, I love this place. I love it. I love this country."

And I love you more.

"You know, I'll tell you something, if I was working law enforcement back in the day when they threw all that tea, all right, in the harbour, I'm good. All right, I'm good, I would've rounded everybody up, and we'd still be English."

And, obviously, this last glass of scotch had been too much.

She suppressed a laugh.

"You think?" she asked, pretending that his speech had been coherent.

"Yep. Yep, I… definitely..."

He sighed and took another sip of coffee.

"I saw my father."

He turned his head to look at her.

"Wow, I didn't think that you were gonna… do that."

"As an anthropologist, I accept change as the natural order of things. But with him, I didn't allow for transformation. You know, I predicated his behavior based on a set of outmoded preconceptions. It wasn't rational."

He had listened to her, frowning. He tried to concentrate as much as he could on her anthropological vocabulary. He had really meant to, but it seemed that the amount of alcohol in his system made this impossible at the moment.

"Wow, I didn't get any of that", he confessed.

"If I was conducting an objective experiment on my father, observing his behaviour, I'd... have to conclude that he loves me."

He leaned slightly towards her, and he had been about to rest his head on her shoulder, but fortunately, she didn't seem to notice.

"Hmm, why? What happened?" he asked, looking at her.

"We played cards."

Okay. He really didn't catch this either, but it didn't really matter. She had never seemed so happy talking about her father, and her smile warmed his heart.

"Cool."

"I killed him."

He turned his head to her again, grinning.

"Good for you."

They laughed together.

Damn. He had actually done it, this time – leaning his head on her shoulder. He straightened his head to look at her. She was laughing, too. She didn't seem to care. So he did it again, for if he kept staring at her like this, he'd end up kissing her.

"I like this place, too", she stated, not complaining about his shoulder digging into her side.

"Yeah… beautiful…"

He let out a contented sigh and closed his eyes for a couple of seconds.

"Love ya, Bones."

She chuckled. "Yeah, I love you too Booth", she replied, patting his head. "And you're absolutely smashed."

He straightened, put the cup of coffee down on the step and got to his feet. She was fumbling in her pocket to find her keys when she noticed that he was holding out his hand to her. She grabbed it, smiling, and he helped her stand up.

"Okay, let's – "

"May I have this dance?" Booth asked, cutting her off.

She stared at him, puzzled.

"What?"

"May I have this dance?" he repeated, still opening his arms.

She let out a laugh – embarrassed? Amused?

"You do know that alcohol has a depressant effect on your central nervous system, leading to - "

"C'mon, Bones. Have fun, just once in your life!"

"But we can't dance, Booth, there's no music…" she pointed out.

"Let's just pretend, then. C'mon."

She sighed. This was so not a good idea. But it was so tempting, taking the hand he was offering her; and so hard, resisting his patented charm smile. So she did it: she took his hand. And he surprised her when, instead of just holding her hand, he entwined his fingers with hers, grabbing her waist gently to pull her closer.

"Do you hear it?" he murmured.

"Hear what?"

"The music", he specified, as if it was obvious.

"There's no music, Booth - nothing to be heard."

"Wrong. I can hear it."

"Yeah, 'cause you're smashed", she said, insisting on the last word.

"Oh, c'mon, Bones, make an effort. Please. "

"I'm afraid I can't do this without some alcohol in my blood, too."

Humming a song she didn't recognise, he tightened his grip around her waist, pulling her even closer.

She tensed up in his arms, torn between attraction and fear. What the hell was he doing? It wasn't a dance, really. It was a hug, an embrace. Not a dance. She should have stopped this but something was keeping her from pulling apart.

He buried his nose in her hair, intoxicating himself with its scent. A mix of vanilla and coconut, he thought.

Wait… Was he smelling her hair? Yes, no doubt. He was smelling her hair. And why was it that her legs were shaking?

His lips brushing her hair, he gently leaned his forehead on her temple. The sensation of her skin against his sent sparks of electricity through his body.

"I love you, Bones", he whispered. These words were the same as earlier, and yet, they were different. "It's just too bad I had to drink so much scotch to conjure up the courage to tell you."

Again, she could have pulled apart, made him stop, taken her keys and driven him home. But she didn't. She didn't encourage him, either. Stunned by both astonishment and fear, she didn't make a move until the very moment, when his lips found hers. And only when they did, because it was too late anyway, she let her hand slip to the back of his head, running her fingers through his short hair, and allowed him entrance to her mouth. He tasted like coffee, scotch, and something else that seemed specially him.

The warmth and dizziness due to alcohol were but increased by her response to the kiss. God, she tasted delicious. He felt her shivering against him when he let his right hand slip along her spinal cord.

And he congratulated himself that he had refused to finish the bottle of single malt, for he really, really wanted to remember everything in the morning.

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A/N : So, what did you think?