A/N: Please see the previous chapter for the usual disclaimers, et al.

Sleep was difficult that night - Brennan tossed and turned in her bed, twisting the sheets around her bare knees, her hair tickling the sensitive skin at her nape. She flitted in and out of her dreams -

She was at a wedding, the strobe lights glittering in the darkness, strains of an unfamiliar waltz surrounding her. She was wearing a heavy dress, weighed down by beads, flowers entwined around her wrists and ankles. She turned helplessly on the dance floor, panic rising in her throat as she begged the others to free her from her arboreal bonds. Faces pulled into focus - friends, family, even her high school classmates - all clapping and laughing as if nothing was wrong. She whirled around, searching for Booth. He could help her. But he was there, in the corner, dapper in his navy three-piece suit, dancing with a blond woman with wavy tresses, his arms around her waist, ignoring Brennan's pleas as it spilled from her lips -

- and then she was back in the car, buried underground, except that it wasn't Hodgins beside her, it was Cam, and the pathologist was bleeding out on the upholstery of the car, her pallid face sweaty as the oxygen was slowly depleted from the car. "I knew it," Cam said, her voice ragged. "He cared about you more than he cared about me."

"No, no, no," Brennan cried, struggling to reach the back seat. She had a first aid kit in the car, she could staunch Cam's wounds until Booth managed to find them. But it seemed that the back seat of the car moved farther and farther away from her grasp, until she was left clutching empty space, Cam's accusing dark eyes boring into her -

- and then she was in Booth's bed, her skin flush with sweat and lust, as his lips traversed her body, his hands memorizing every inch of her. She was moaning out his name as he positioned himself above her. She reached up, wanting to pull him closer, to feel him flush against her naked body. But her fingers touched something heated, wet. She looked up to see a bloodstain spreading across his chest, like a puddle of oil, spiderwebs spinning out of control, and he was looking at her with dark eyes as the bullet wound gaped open and he could see his heart -

"NO, NO, BOOTH NO!" She sat up in bed, wildly clawing her way past the blankets as she gasped for air. Her heartbeat hammered wildly in her chest, as though an entire tribal dance was taking place inside her ribcage. She grabbed fistfuls of her blanket, trying to slow down the panicked rhythm of her heart. Deep, cleansing breaths, Temperance. She could still feel the crowding darkness of the buried car, the sticky residue of Booth's blood underneath her fingernails.

Without even thinking about it, she grabbed the phone off the nightstand and pressed "1" on the speed dial. It rang three times before someone picked it up.

" 'lo?" His voice was low, muffled, tinged with sleep.

"Booth." He's alive. He's alive. He's here. He's alive.

"Bones?"

"I - " She was at a loss for words. What does one say after having nightmares about their partner?

"You had a bad dream." It was a statement, not a question.

She nodded mutely, trying to fight back the sudden onslaught of tears. She never cried over the phone - not when she received the phone call from the sheriff's department informing her of her parents' abandoned car somewhere outside Ohio; not when her case worker called to tell her she was being moved to yet another foster home; certainly not when she learned of her partner's (thankfully fake) death. "Booth, it's okay, I'm - "

He cut her off. "I'm coming over."

"It's four in the morning."

"I have to pick you up at seven anyway. You don't mind me being there a bit early, do you?"

The prickling at the back of her eyes started up again. "No, I don't mind at all."

Thirty minutes later, she was standing barefoot in the kitchen, firing up her percolator, her hair twisted up in a rough ponytail. Her only concession to Booth was to put on a pair of sleep shorts so that she wouldn't be padding around in her over-sized shirt and panties. She leaned on her elbows against the counter, haphazard thoughts swirling in her mind. She was never one for psychology, but even she could admit that there was a deep-seated connection between the maelstrom of unfamiliar emotions running through her these past few weeks, and the disturbing sequence of dreams that her unconscious had foisted on her. While she wasn't one to put much stock in the symbolism behind dreams, there was something about the ones tonight that made her shudder. Not since Booth was kidnapped by the Gravedigger did she have such vivid, chilling nightmares.

As if she had dreamed him up, she felt his strong arm wrap securely around her waist, his body warm from sleep as he enveloped her in a hug.

"You're here," she said.

"I'm here," he replied.

He held her for ten seconds, fifteen, twenty. Beginnings and endings, she thought, wrapped around each other like an ouroborous. Everything comes full circle. Finally, she took a deep, shuddering breath, and gently disentangled herself from his embrace. He was wearing jeans and his leather jacket, his hair still sticking up every which way. She looked down at his feet - for some odd reason, it brought a smile to her face when she saw that he was still wearing a pair of red-white-purple striped socks and his bedroom slippers. "Booth," she ventured. "You're not wearing shoes."

He looked down at his feet, as though noticing for the first time his attire. "Er... I have a pair in the SUV. Plus this pair keeps my toes toasty warm." He gave her the patented Booth grin - half-teasing, half-amused, almost masking the care and concern he had for his partner. His everything, if it came down to that.

"I have coffee," she said, reaching up on her toes to the overhead cabinet and pulling down two ceramic mugs.

"Thanks, Bones."

Silently, they moved around each other in her kitchen: he assisted her in locating the creamer and sugar, and piled both mugs on a small wooden tray and brought them to the living room. Following her lead, he took note of her sleepwear - a black T-shirt that did nothing to hide her figure, the edge of pale pink sleep shorts peeking out from underneath the hem. She rarely allowed him to see her like this, and he savored the bond of trust that still seemed to exist between them, even though his gamble had failed.

They tucked themselves on opposite ends of her couch. She looked at him in askance, her blue eyes pale in the lamplight. Sit beside me, she seemed to say. She was leaning against the armrest of the couch, her legs folded underneath her, her coffee mug cradled in her hands. He took a sip of his, allowing the strong flavor to work its way through his system. He needed to be awake for this. "You want to tell me about your dream?"

She sighed. "It's starting again."

"What's starting again?"

She took a deep breath. "After the Gravedigger took Hodgins and myself, I kept on having these dreams. Dreams of being buried alive - in coffins, in the car, the beer vat, even a tanker truck - and it was getting progressively worse and worse. I... scheduled some sessions with Dr. Wyatt in an effort to handle them and to return to a normal sleep cycle."

"You hate psychology, Bones."

"And I maintain that it's a soft science. However, I respected Dr. Wyatt's expertise and his candor, and he assisted me in confronting these nightmares. Within a few weeks after our regular sessions, the dreams lessened, and he deemed me fit enough to work through it on my own."

He edged closer to her. "I wish you'd told me, Bones."

She nibbled on her bottom lip - a habit he'd noticed she would do whenever she was nervous. "I... I didn't want you to perceive me as weak, Booth. I know, now, that it's not weakness to confide in one's friend feelings of fear and inadequacy, but during that time, I was very much afraid that you would stop taking me out on the field if I was unable to compartmentalize properly." Brennan tilted her head and looked at him sadly. "Plus, what would you do? You couldn't very well rescue me from inside my own head."

"But I would've stayed with you, you know. Reassured you. Helped you get past it."

"It was something I felt I needed to do on my own. Overcoming my demons, so to speak." She took a drink of her coffee, then set it down on the small side table beside her. "The dreams started again... those two weeks I thought you were dead."

"Oh Bones." He shifted towards her, until his arm was resting on the back of the couch, his fingers brushing against her shoulder. "I'm so sorry."

She brushed away his apology with a wave of her hand. "At that time, I wasn't sure why I reacted so strongly - and perhaps that was when I realized that I cared about you more than what was normal for partners. Granted, I'm not sure how much of it was because I thought you were gone, and how much of it was because I couldn't properly mourn you. But I kept on dreaming about you - about all that blood between my fingers, and..." Her voice hitched, and she lowered her head, unable to continue.

"Oh, baby." It slipped from his lips effortlessly as he gathered her up in his arms and pulled her to his chest. She was small, curled up in his arms like a fragile bird, a delicate sculpture made of bone and blood and heart, and Booth could feel her shuddering in his arms, shaking with silent tears. He stroked her back gently. murmuring nonsense words of endearment in her ear.

"I'm so scared of losing you."

"I'm not going anywhere, Bones."

"But you are. I told you to move on." Her voice hitched at the words. "I don't want you to leave me."

"I'm never going to leave you, baby, shhhh." He pressed a soft kiss on top of her head. "Don't cry, Bones, I'm here."

"But I saw you," she babbled, a fresh wave of tears spilling from her eyes, "you were dancing with a beautiful blond woman, and she was taking you away from me, and - "

"Shhhh." His heart was breaking for his partner, his love, his Bones. "There aren't any blond bimbos trying to take me away from you. I'm hooked on you, Bones. I can't leave you, even if I tried."

"You'd leave me. Someday, you'll realize I'm holding you back from what you want."

"As cliche as it may sound, all I want is you."

"You don't want me."

"if I didn't want you, Bones, I wouldn't be here with you."

She looked up at him, her cheeks tear-stained, her eyes a watery blue. "I don't have your open heart, Booth."

Patterns. Patterns swirling, repeating, continuing on. What was it that she had said? He must be insane if he thought that this would work. She'd already said no. What made him think that she would say yes this time around?

"Bones," he said, choosing his words carefully. "You are the most open-hearted person I know. You give yourself completely to everything you do. Nobody else I know would present themselves as the prime suspect just to save their father from jail; not everyone else will drive to the desert just because their best friend asked them to. You are better than what you think you are, Temperance. Believe me when I tell you that you are the best kind of person there is, and that I love you. All right? Understand that I love you because of the person that you are right now, and the person you will be in the future."

His heart thudded in his chest. Love. There it was, out in the open, for the world to see. He loves her - no conditions necessary, no caveats or disclaimers appended to the statement.

She tucked her head in the curve where his neck and shoulders met. "Sleep with me, Booth," she whispered.

A/N: So far, so good? Ready for the next part? then go and clicky-click the review button and let me know what you think. :) I'd love to hear your thoughts!