AN: Thanks a lot, and I mean A LOT, for the support. Specially to those who helped me with grammar and spelling. You all plastered a smug smile on my face.
I hope you like it, but if you don't, that's cool too. I still have a few more chapters on my computer, though... That said, here it goes.

Disclaimer: No, Bones is not mine.

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When she got to the door, she knocked.

"It's open," he shouted.

A sting in her gut. She entered, went through the kitchen, the brown bag sat there, still closed. She looked at him by the window looking at her.

"You shouldn't leave your door open, it's not safe... you'd give me a lecture if I left my door unlocked!"

"I'm a federal agent, I can take care..." But then again, that wasn't true; the grave-digger had gotten him from his apartment.

"Still, it's not safe," Brennan said, purse in one hand, bottle in the other. They stood like that for a moment. Brennan was trying to read him.

Booth knew it; she was studying him and failing horribly. That gave him a sense of superiority that, even when childish, was very rewarding. "You ok?"

"I'm not drunk if that's what you're asking."

"You are a little drunk," He smirked. She didn't know why he would smirk.

"I am just...a bit intoxicated, that's all."

"Why don't you sit and I will get you some coffee?" He said, still smiling.

"I haven't decided if I want to sober up or get drunker." She blinked and looked down, as if her phrase could carry more than the words that
formed it.

"I'll get you a coffee and a glass, you can decide later."

"I should get you stuff, you're not well enough to move around."

"You kidding? You fixed me up! Hehehe!" He clapped his hands and started to make his way to the kitchen.

As if bolted to the floor, she didn't move, just turned, leaving enough space for him to pass. He did and nothing happened. Brennan could not be
certain if she had been expecting something, but if she had, Booth just passing by wasn't it.

So she sat on the couch. Purse on the floor next to her, bottle of vodka on the coffee table, elbows on her knees, back slightly hunched. Why was she here? Oh, yeah... to sober up... or get totally drunk.

She heard the grrrrrrr of the coffee maker. Not knowing what else to do, she drank straight from the bottle. Not her usual behavior, but it was becoming difficult for her to deny that the last few hours had had an effect on her, even if she wasn't sure of what said effect was.
She licked her upper lip and drank again.

"It seems that you made up your mind," Booth added wiggling the glass, "and you don't need this." She reached out and took the glass. Booth
held on to the coffee mug. Brennan poured another shot and without looking at him, drank it. Her eyes widened; it burnt, it stung, it was making a hole in her stomach.

"You drunk enough?" Booth was walking slowly towards her.

"Enough for what?" she asked, both vodka bottle and empty glass gripped tightly.

He made an I dunno face she didn't see and replied "Whatever you're here to do."

"I am here so I don't DUI." Brennan said; her eyes fixed on a spot between her feet.

"So you are staying after all?" He sat on the coffee table and sipped his coffee. "I thought you had to be somewhere?"

"You know I didn't." She poured again, shot number maybe nine. But she didn't drink it.

He knew, she had said earlier that she'd go to "Mama's" and get him soup. And she'd made no comment about leaving until Agent Perrotta came. But he wouldn't ask why she had left, his previous statement had been forward enough to earn him an angry look she hadn't delivered.

Brennan leaned forward and left the glass and bottle on the table. "Do you have beer?" Her voice was soft, quiet.

"Bones, you shouldn't mix your buzz." A hint of worry dripped in his words.

"Do you?" She repeated disregarding his advice.

"Of course." But he didn't get up.

Brennan walked quietly to the kitchen and got one for her self. She twisted the cap, tossed it into the trash, and resting on the door frame, took a sip.

"You shouldn't sit there, it offers no support to your lower back," she drank again.

"You can fix me all over, right?" Booth gave her a knowing smile.

"You should see another doctor, one competent enough not to misdiagnose you." She was looking at him now, into his eyes. Nope, she could not read him. Was he trying to charm her again? She had no idea.

Booth saw her effort, her confusion. What was it about? "What sorrows are you drowning?"

"Hmm?" she raised her eyebrows, mouth full of beer.

"We've covered this, Bones," seeing her like that always got him a bit amused. "People drink when they are really happy or when they don't want to think about something, and that's called drowning their sorrows."

"If I had sorrows to drown, why would I tell you what they were? And... I have drunk in numerous occasions without a particular reason."

"When you have one drink, a beer or a glass of wine, that's just because. When you have a bottle of vodka in your purse," he shook his head and narrowed his right eye. "That's something else."

"Don't talk to me as if I was an idiot. I don't like when people do that, it's condescending."

"Like you never do that to me?" It was an innocent banter.

"When I do it, I try to explain things to you, scientific facts you ignore, or I give you the accurate meaning of a word." She sipped again, glad that
the focus of his inquiry had changed.

"Well, when I explain things to you, I try to give you an accurate meaning on people's behavior." He grinned again; he loved twisting her words to make his point.

"There's no accurate meaning on people's behavior... the accuracy is in the actions, not the meanings. People can do the same thing for a number of reasons. Or, for the same reason, do very different things. The only thing you can be sure of is what they did, not why they did it. That's why psychology isn't a science."

He snorted. "You know that many people resist psychology because they don't want to confront their feelings, thoughts..."

"Ha!" index finger in the air "Most important word being many, many is not all, and if you can't standardize a rule to the entire study group,
humans in this case, then there's no rule. It'd be like saying, you know many apples fall from the tree? What do the others do? Not fall; rise into the sky; elude gravity?"

He chuckled "I'd like to see that tree!"

"Actually, you'd like to see those apples." She corrected him.

"Whose apples?" Booth simply couldn't resist the chance and started to laugh before she could answer.

"The tree's," She sipped and watched Booth laugh openly. "How much Vicodin have you had?" But his laughter was infectious, metaphorically
speaking. And it caused a low, throaty, velvety sound in her, a soft laughter she accompanied with a slight shaking of the head.

"Oh, I had a few." With an enormous effort he got up.

"Told you that you shouldn't sit there."

"Yeah, thanks for the help." He said, pain tainting his voice, as he attempted to sit on the couch.

Enough, she had had enough. "Don't sit; let me feel your spine." She said stepping closer to him.

He turned his back to her, because it was pointless to argue when she was like this, but mostly because he felt the need to reassure her that he really trusted her. "Don't do anything weird, ok? Don't crack my neck or anything."

Leaving the beer on the coffee table she replied, "Don't be such an infant; I'm just going to feel your column."

Booth almost broke into laughter, but the chance to offend her stopped him. Brennan placed her index finger and thumb on the base of his head and started her way down, vertebra by vertebra, assessing the distance between them. Though meant clinically, the touch was electrifying.

She stopped "Hunch a little," She told him. With one hand on his chest, and the other pushing his back, she again ran her fingers through a particular spot. "It seems that the T7 is slightly in retrolisthesis."

"English, Bones, English…"

"T7 is a little displaced outwards; does it hurt when you do sit-ups?"

"Hmm?"

She pressed, "Here, does it hurt when you exercise?"

"No, it hurts now," A whiny voice replied to her.

"You're probably too muscular to notice."

Booth smiled half smugly and turned his head. "Yeah, I am."

She used her left hand to turn his head and then straighten his back, without a word. She continued her exploration, both thumbs doing a little probing and poking. "And here's the one causing you trouble."

"Ouch! Bones what are you doing?" Booth almost stepped away.

"Bend over," her hands resting at the sides of his waist.

"Could at least buy me dinner…" he said under his breath.

Not acknowledging his joke, Brennan pressed one hand and moved it up his back to his neck. "Come on, don't strain your self. Head first."

He complied and, guided by her hand, he let his head fall slowly and heavily with his neck, then his torso. When it became painful enough to shadow the pleasant aspect of the contact, he said, "It hurts."

"Ok, stop," Booth formed, at best, a 90 degree angle. Her hands examined once again the lumbar section, then the sacrum, though not the entire body of it. After a few seconds, she spoke. "Right now the pain has to be muscular, meaning you're too tense. Stay like this for a
minute." Brennan grabbed her beer again and drank big gulps. She put it on the table. And again, she ran her thumbs along the sides of his spine, up to the base of his neck and back to his waist, where she rubbed deeply, but not strongly.

An "Aw..." mix of pain and pleasure grew on his throat. "That's good Bones…"

"Mhm," It certainly was. Her blurry mind had acknowledged the sensation long before he voiced it. "Now very slowly, straighten up, one vertebra at a time. Let your head hang." She guided his moves with one hand on his back, the other on his side. "Breathe," She ordered. She never understood why people forgot to breathe when stretching.

When he got to the straight position, she placed one hand at the base of his head and the other under his jaw, and pulled upwards a little.

"Wha?"

"Relax, Booth." He did, and then she added, "Go down again, one at a time," one hand on his head, the other following the bending back. "Much
better." She smiled to herself. She rubbed his lower back again, made her way up to his shoulders, and commanded, "Up, slowly…"

Had it not felt so good, he would have complained, and stopped this... unnecessary and slightly disturbing contact. But the truth was his back was better; the pain that had followed his boyish sitting on the table seemed to be going away with her techniques. "Oh, God, this is much better…"

"Get down on your knees," She ordered, once again, finishing her beer.

"Why?"

"Do you trust me?" It wasn't a question as much as a statement as she said it in a very low voice that could have been mistaken for insecurity.

Without another word, he got on his knees

"Sit on your heels, now lower..."

"One vertebra at the time, head first, got it," Booth repeated as he did it.

"Rest your head on your hands, don't lift your shoulders." She knelt behind him. With the heels of her hands, she ran the length of his back, and then she outlined his neck with her thumb and index finger, again along the length of his back. She did so three times, and in each he could almost feel the vertebrae separate a bit.

Booth suspected that he was enjoying this a little too much as another little groan escaped from him - breaking the faintest of smiles on her.
As if waiting for a sign he had just delivered, she stood, feet spread at each side of his hips. "Be relaxed," She whispered the order as she started to move.

He felt Bones' hip on his lower back and then her torso resting on top of his back. He started to flinch and she muttered "Be relaxed, it won't
hurt."

Of course it wasn't going to hurt! Her one hundred and something pounds he could take any day. Bad choice of wording, he thought, tightening his closed eyes.

He could feel her all over him. Her head was sideways on his left shoulder with her arms at each side of him. The entire weight of her body rested onto him.

"Now breathe with me," Brennan whispered. He did.

She felt his chest rise and fall, at the same slow pace she was breathing. "Try to get the air to your diaphragm, as if you are trying to push my
stomach." She spoke softly, partially because it was a very relaxing exercise and partially because the alcohol was taking its toll on her system.

Booth did his best he could under the circumstance. Again, she felt the change. "Good."

They remained like that for a few minutes. Every time he exhaled, she was sure his muscles were stretching a little bit more.

Her mind drifted to her earlier conversation with Perrotta. Shouldn't be any physiological alterations here, if Perrotta was right? Shouldn't this be
awkward too? But she was relaxed, her body so toneless that for a second she thought she might melt into Booth's back.

Brennan was almost content when she slid down his back until she was sitting on her heels, her knees by his thighs. That had been delicious.

For Booth, that had been odd. Different. There was never such full contact with her unless risk of death demanded it - let alone having Bones sliding from him. Maybe having a drunk Bones at his house late at night, massaging his back in such a...nonchalant manner wasn't such a great idea. Bones and her stupid lack of social conventions such as "do not lay on top of your partner," were going to make his night a sleepless one.

"Come back up," She said.

Booth did, slowly, like before, head last. She once again ran the length of his back with one hand, helping him acquire a proper alignment, which was really not necessary since the mere touch of her fingers on his lower back seemed to have achieved the straightening.

"Better?" She asked softly.

"Much." His voice came out husky, but he did a good job covering that up with a cheery "thanks!"

"Don't make any sudden movements," She instructed standing up, while rationalizing his huskiness into the very soothing nature of the exercise.

"Really, this is much better... See, you do magic with those fingers of yours." Booth gave her a lopsided smile, as he rose.

"It's not magic, just a few elongation techniques with which you should get acquainted."

"You less drunk?" He strolled to the kitchen again, his cold coffee in hand.

"No, I can't say I am." If anything, after having her head hanging down, she felt even drunker. Correction: not drunker, fuzzier. Had this simple exercise been so...pleasant before? She had done it many times, but she had never... "Ahrg..." a sudden feeling of anger rushed through her. What had gotten her mad at herself now? Oh, yes, Perrotta and her theory. She would have punched herself had she been alone. Instead, she headed to the bathroom.

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It's not nice to ask, but you'd make me a very, very, very happy girl if you reviewed. And, just so you know, I think chap. 3 is better (I like it better). :)