Disclaimer: I don't own Bones.

A/N: Okay, I know. You were expecting Two Bodies in the Lab or a follow up to Aliens or something right? Nope, another fan favorite: Bikini in the Soup. WHAT? Hee hee! I love foiling expectations. Oh, and also Hole in the Heart. Hope you like it. 3sq 9/29/13

Also, a giant thank you to _dharmamonkey for the quick beta and E street!

The One in Which Angela Talks for Sixty Seconds Longer than She Originally Did

"So...this is a tough one, huh? Tonight?"

Booth, focused on the wedding planner's pink wedding planner computer screen, barely registers Angela's words as a question. They are sitting in the bullpen at the Hoover and she is perched above and next to him on the table. Doesn't she ever sit down in a chair? "What?"

"You know...Valentine's Day. I mean, you just broke up with Hannah…it must be hard."

He cuts her off. "Not really." She starts to say something else. "It's over, okay? Hannah and I are done. I've moved on."

"Okay, so what are you going to do?"

"Nothing. Valentine's Day is not a holiday. It's made up by these greeting card companies and... florists." He makes his voice as cool and matter of fact as possible, hoping against hope she'll take the hint. "Angela, can we just focus on the case here?"

"Fine, Booth. I'm just saying, that maybe you should find somebody else who's doing nothing, and do nothing together."

Since Hannah...left, he's gone back to basics. Angela's words, other people's expressions of concern, just divert him from that. He doesn't need it. He is focused on work, on Parker, on staying fit, being part of his hockey team, and March madness coming up. That's it, that's who he is right now. Bones, strangely enough, seems to understand this best. "Angela, I'm fine." He nods toward the computer. Surely something will happen soon. She'll break into some encoded file or something. It'll happen soon. He glances up at her. She has fallen briefly silent as she tap-tap-taps at the keyboard.

"There. Let's try that." He glares at the screen. C'mon, c'mon…now. Or...now. Nothing.

Angela starts talking again. He hopes that if he doesn't respond, she'll stop. She's saying something about how he can't avoid getting back out there forever and that going to the gym on Friday nights is a little bit pathetic. And that spending too many nights at the all night Classic Movie Theater on E St. isn't doing someone else who is avoiding relationships any good either. He almost ruins it all by smiling when she suggests that he is going to some secret FBI batcave instead of going clubbing.

It has probably only been sixty seconds since he started begging the computer silently to give up its secrets, but it feels like the longest 60 seconds of his day so far. Finally, finally, a new dialog box—he isn't entirely clueless—pops up and Angela stops mid-sentence to pour over the new information with him. Their wedding planner has left an electronic letter pointing the finger at her husband, should anything happen to her.

Booth jumps up, thanks her, and runs away heads to his office to follow up on this new lead. He can feel Angela's eyes boring into his back as he walks away. Maybe she has been visiting some kind of superhero batcave.

His conversation with Brennan later is much more reassuring, although he is uncomfortable with the way that men keep calling to ask her out. Secret Service agent? He isn't ready to think about dating...anyone..yet, to go there yet, but he isn't ready to watch Bones parade her lovers in front of him either. A tiny voice tells him that he is being unfair. She wouldn't do that.

"I find it a little bit insulting that they think that I'd be available at the last minute." Bones sounds feisty and irritated and he wants to smile.

"Well, you are."

"Yes, but they don't know that! And it's by choice - like you. It's a ridiculous holiday. The banks don't even close."

At least Bones understands. "I agree with you there. It is a ridiculous holiday. I think I'll just end up at the shooting range. I mean, it seems fitting."

"In honor of the St. Valentine's Day Massacre?"

Again, she makes him smile. "You know I never thought of it that way. But yeah—yeah. That's right."

"Sounds like fun." She looks right at him, in that way that she has, no pushing, no mind games. She takes him like he is, for who he is, where he is right now. He's grateful for that.

"Bones! What are you doing here?" She wheels in some kind of...casket? No, it's too small. Some kind of case on a rolling cart.

She gestures, still in her work clothes, blazer and slacks. Her face shows calm but he has known her long enough to recognize the spark of excitement in her eyes. His stomach drops. What is this? He is not up for more talk about Valentine's Day, thought they felt the same about this—

"Just…" she gestures again, "just open it." He does so, quickly, already bracing for—

And can barely hold back a shout of laughter. Goddamn Bones. She has brought him freaking tommy guns. Unbelievable. "No…."

And this is the best fucking Valentine's Day ever. For twenty minutes, he and Bones ham it up and shoot the bad guys from the 1940 's. Even after they use up all the ammo she brought, they stay a little longer, bring out their usual weapons for target practice. She really is very good. He's better, of course, but he'd be useless if he wasn't better than her at something.

This is one of the only nights of the year that no one else is using the range and it closes early. Time to go. Booth helps Brennan clean and repack the tommy guns. When he closes the the lid on the last case, he lets a little of his gratitude show.

"Thanks, Bones." He meets and holds her eyes with his. Booth is sincere and tries to tell her without words what her understanding, her acceptance of his state of mind, means to him.

She seems to understand. "Sure, Booth." That little crooked smile of hers makes him smile.

"You just gonna go home now?"

She nods firmly. "Yes. I think will spend the night in." She doesn't elaborate or linger. "See you tomorrow?"

"Sure. Breakfast at the diner?"

"Yes. I'll meet you there, Booth. Good night." Her hair is longer than when he first returned and it hangs, dark and straight and shiny, her bangs long where they sweep across her face. Her eyes are bright in her pale face. Does she seem tired? He wonders at it a little but it is the end of the day after all. He's going to go home too.

"Good night, Bones. Thanks again." He says softly as she walks away from him, toward the exit to the street. She has arranged for someone to retrieve the guns tomorrow morning.

She glances back, her mouth compressed into another small smile. "Sure, Booth. Anytime." And then she is gone.

Eight o'clock. Valentine's Day. He's home. There is a game on. He has beer. He's not hungry but if he gets hungry, he'll order something. It's a good night, right? This is the way to celebrate Valentine's Day.

He wonders what Bones is doing. Maybe he should have asked her over. But he didn't want her to think...anything. But Bones doesn't. Angela does, not Bones. So maybe he should call her, see if she wants to join him. But maybe he shouldn't. He is probably not very good company. He looks at his phone. He can't decide. Fuck, what is he, a girl? He picks up the phone.

She's not home. Or she doesn't answer, at least.

Well, that's that then. Maybe she changed her mind, went out with the secret service agent after all.

Just in case, he calls her office phone even though she probably would have picked up her cell phone had she been at the office. She doesn't pick up the work phone either.

The thought of Angela brings to mind her irritating chatter of this morning. Criticizing what he does in his free time. Wait, didn't she say something about a classic movie theater, about someone spending her free time there?

Booth turns off the TV and grabs his keys.

He sees her right away.

Unlike most movie theaters, the time between shows is not being filled with loud advertisements for tv shows and cars. The lights are on and while there are ads for local services showing on the big screen, there is no sound to accompany them. She is sitting in the middle of the third row. Her posture is the first giveaway. No one else sits quite as straight, and while she has changed into a sweater, her hair is still down. Why is she sitting in the third row? The place isn't packed, but they are playing Wuthering Heights, of all things. One in a string of romantic movies in honor of Valentine's Day.

Booth is sitting down next to her, settling his water bottle and popcorn on his lap as she looks over at him in surprise. He didn't know what kind of reception to expect but she smiles at him happily. "Hi." There is a question in her greeting, the tone of her voice, the tilt of her head.

"Didn't feel like sitting home. I heard you like to go to the movies."

"Who...Angela." But she is still smiling, not mad.

"She might have mentioned something." He holds out the bag to her. She takes a handful of popcorn. She reaches and then offers him Raisinettes. She laughs when he makes a face.

"Fruit doesn't belong in candy." Her expression changes then. Her acting has gotten better, but she really is an open book to him. She looks undecided and a little secretive. And now he raises his eyebrows at her in inquiry.

"Bones?" Her mouth twists in amusement, at herself apparently, and reaches again. More boxes appear before him. Junior Mints. Milk Duds.

"Hah!" He is full out laughing now. A candy hound. Who would have guessed. He doesn't comment though, just takes a handful of Milk Duds.

They both settle in, looking forward at the screen of advertisements as they talk. "You really like Wuthering Heights, huh, Bones?"

She glances over at him, quickly, her face confused. "How did you come to that conclusion?"

"Well," he gestures at the screen before them, "we are about to watch it and also you used it earlier when we trapped Greg Bovitz."

"Oh, yes." She relaxes in her seat again. "Well, I actually do not like Wuthering Heights. The main characters are unrealistic and irritatingly melodramatic. Once I got home, I decided I would rather be out and I like old movies, but this is not one of my favorites."

Booth didn't respond to her assessment of the movie. "I saw that they are showing movies all night, for Valentine's Day."

"Yes. I actually," she shoots him another look, "really want to see the next movie but it won't start until eleven and I'm not sure I want to stay up that late."

"What is it?" Booth hasn't checked the list.

"The Philadelphia Story."

When he doesn't respond, she turns her face to him again. Just to see her smile again, he announces in a cheesey poncy accent, "Doggone it, C.K. Dexter Haven. Either I'm gonna sock you or you're gonna sock me." And now Bones laughs.

"And why are we sitting in the third row?"

"You joined me, Booth. You have to sit where I want."

"I'm just wondering, Bones."

She shrugs. "I don't know, really. I just like it here, close to the movie."

As he sits there next to her, a smile on both their faces, Booth feels something in him ease. He can breath a little easier somehow but before he feels the unwelcome need to analyze the feeling, the lights dim and a last glimpse of Bones' face shows the eagerness of every kid in every movie theater everywhere. Pleased, he settles in to watch.

The movie is just as torrid and overdone as the book, not that he actually read the book—he does read but 19th century romances are not really his thing. Nevertheless, it felt really good, sitting next to her in the dark, watching a movie. He thought about what it would be like to take her hand, to drape his arm across her shoulders, as he had done to so many girls and women in the past. He couldn't really picture it. Bones in a movie theater was disorienting enough. Her hand would be warm and strong in his, though.

"Well?"

She looks at him, blinking in the new light. "Well, what?"

"Stay for The Philadelphia Story?"

"Booth, we have work tomorrow."

"So we're tired. We'll live. Or better yet," he smiles a full-on charm smile at her and it grows wider when he sees her face get suspicious, "let's call in sick tomorrow."

"But we're not sick."

"No, but we'll be tired. And we never do anything like that. No one would expect it, or care if they did. C'mon…" He leans and bumps her shoulder with his. "Be wild. It's St. Valentine's Day Massacre Day."

She smiles at his foolishness. "We'll see. But yes. Let's stay and watch the movie." She rises and takes herself off to the restroom.

When she gets back, he says to her, only half joking, "If you get tired, you can sleep on my shoulder if you want."

Missing the double-voicing, his reference to the long tradition of girls cuddling up to a boys in movie theaters under the pretense of sleepiness, Brennan dismisses his offer. "I will be watching the movie, Booth. If you get sleepy, you may use my fleece as a pillow." She hands him the jacket. He looks at it and bemused, leaves it in his lap.

In the end, it is Booth who falls asleep and when he wakes, it is because the lights come on. His eyes come to rest immediately on her face in profile, watching the credits. He is filled with the certainty, though, that just before he woke, she might have been looking at him, not the credits at all.

He can hear the roughness in his voice as he asks, "What time is it?"

"It's 1:14, Booth. You missed most of the movie."

"I guess I was more tired than I thought." He rubs his eyes and stands, stretching. "I feel pretty good now though. What's next?"

"What? Next is home. And bed." She rises too, reaching for her fleece. He holds it out for her to put on, and she turns, allowing him to help her into it.

"Bones, aren't you hungry? I'm starving."

A bubble of disbelieving laughter from Bones. "Booth, it's really late."

He resists the urge to sling his arm around her, but does usher her up the aisle before him, his hand resting in the small of her back. "Bones, let's go to the diner. Come have breakfast in the middle of the night with me."

Apparently he hasn't lost his touch, despite recent months of self-doubt. "Fine, Booth. Far be it to me to quash your enthusiasm on this made up holiday." Her tone isn't as acerbic as her words, though, and she lets him walk her to her car and then he follows in his. At the diner, they eat with several other regulars, late-shift workers mostly, but also their regular waitress. She laughs as Brennan orders a second order of fries "in honor of the ridiculous holiday", and brings Booth pie on the house for the same reason.

It is pushing 3 am when Booth double-parks the truck and walks Brennan up to her apartment. He takes the stairs two at a time and jogs in place at the landings. Finally, in response to his jaunty walk down the hall, Brennan observes. "Booth, you are surprisingly energetic for 3 in the morning."

"You know, Bones, you're right. Must be that little nap I had. Maybe we should go see the sunrise somewhere—"

She cuts him off. "No, Booth. I am going to bed." She laughs at his crestfallen expression, knowing he is hamming it up. She unlocks the door and then stands in the crack, pushing him playfully away. "Go. Go home." He takes the hint and walks down the hall, waving a hand behind him goodbye. At the stairwell door he turns. "Still on for breakfast, Bones?"

He is glad to see her still standing there, in her door. "Yes, Booth. But we had better make it lunch."

His hand is on the door to push it open but still he doesn't move. "Good night, Bones."

She, too, has not moved. "Good night, Booth." He can't see her expression from this distance and wishes he could.

[Several months later]

I know the words are only true in my head, not my heart, but I also know that it is important to say the words, now, to these people.

"I don't blame myself for this, Sweets. I blame the guy who pulled the trigger."

After a long silence, Sweets says, "Okay."

"You still have blood on your hands."

Bones. I don't know what to say to her, at least not while everyone else is here too. I know her better than anyone on Earth, and I probably know more about this kind of loss than most people too. Since Vincent bled out under my hands, I have been worried about her. What she says to me now barely registers, as does Angela's response.

"She means literally, Booth."

I tell them to go home, to take a little time. I reassure these people, my people, best I can, but the pressure to get them out of there, get Bones somewhere safe is a runaway freight train in my head, the noise of it bearing down, loud and smokey, screeching wheels and warning whistles.

Bones and I are alone finally and I stop her from following the others out of the conference room.

"Bones. We're staying at my apartment tonight." She starts to object. I knew she would. It's her turn and she wants the comfort of her own apartment, but I need...I need to keep her safe. I can only do that at my apartment. I have weapons, have the exits mapped...it's just safer.

She gives in, nodding briefly. "Okay."

Then...she surprises me. She leans in and kisses me. Closed-mouthed but intense, full of longing and mutual comfort. I take it, let my mouth move under hers in response and reassurance. I cup her face with my hands and just feel. The taste of her, her breath. This is the first time she has kissed me in public. I am grateful to not have to wait until we are at my apartment. Finally she ends the kiss but stays only a breath away, our faces so close that we keep our eyes shut rather than feel dizzy. I murmur against her mouth.

"I am so sorry, Bones."

"I...I…" she stumbles over the words, "I just can't quite believe it. I know it isn't rational but I keep thinking that it didn't happen, that it couldn't have happened."

"I know...Bones." I want to use an endearment. We made love just this morning, and now someone really important to her has died. But we haven't gone there yet. Our relationship is still so new, still unshared with anyone. So I settle for leaning back a little, opening my eyes and stroking the side of her face with my fingers; I smooth her hair.

She breathes in, then exhales tiredly, leans forward to press against my face one last time. "When can we go?"

And I am glad, so glad, that we got to this place together before this terrible thing happened. Glad that when we get to my apartment, Bones hangs her coat from the hook she uses and leaves her bag under it. Glad that she has a toothbrush and a few weekend clothes in a drawer in my bedroom. There aren't any nightclothes in the drawer though. She either doesn't wear any or she wears one of my tshirts, depending on how our night goes.

We don't make love that night, but she crawls onto my lap and cries and cries. Our bodies know each other now and there is a lot of comfort to be found in this fact. I hold her and stroke her back and make her drink a big glass of water when the worst of the storm is over. I need to take care of Broadsky tomorrow, so while she doesn't think she can sleep, I know the trick of it. Know that I can close my eyes, sleep the few hours I need. I bring her with me under the covers and curl around her, hoping that my sleep is contagious or that at least, she'll rest.

"Booth?" Her voice does sound sleepy.

"Yes, Bones?"

"I am glad that...well, I am glad that we are together right now. I don't know how...how…" she takes a deep breath, her muscles convulsing a little and the air shuddering through her from her earlier crying.

"I know, Bones." I nuzzle my face into her neck until my lips touch skin rather than silky hair. "I am glad too. Go to sleep, if you can. Okay?"

Her hand squeezes mine. "You too, Booth. Good night."

"Good night, babe." I am half asleep already and can't be held responsible for what slips out of my mouth. She doesn't protest.