One Night

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. Unfortunately.

Author's Note: Here is the next chapter of One Night. I have decided to add a bit more emotion and conversation into this one – instead of mindless smut. ;) Not that I don't like mindless smut... it's actually the highlight of my day. But I am also something of a romantic, and I'd like to think Brennan and Booth would base their relationship on more than sex. Is anyone else looking forward to the new episode? I seen an commercial for it last night and I was grinning. I think it will definitely inspire some fanfic from me! Brennan and Booth looking after a baby? Can we all say a collective 'ahhhhh' Anyway, enough rambling from me. It looks like I'm just trying to make my word count higher! Don't forget to review. Enjoy.

Temperance Brennan massaged complimentary hotel shampoo into her hair. The crème was orange scented and promised to clean and revitalise. Instead, as the hot water cascaded over her shoulders and the orange extract perfumed the steamy air, Brennan found herself thinking of the seediness of the situation. She was using complimentary shampoo because she had not thought to bring her own. In her rush from office to hotel, she had been thinking about one thing and one thing only; sex.

Despite the heat of the water, she trembled.

Outside the bathroom door, Booth had accepted their room service, tipped the waiter and as she tried to scrub her skin clean of three sessions of incredible sex, he was watching basketball on television. If it didn't scare her so much, she'd have found it oddly comforting. 

Normal, even. But it did scare her. Having sex with Booth had been better than she had imagined. When he touched her, she had no inhibitions – having his hands explore her body had been pure bliss and she had so willingly opened herself to him. In all her relationships – serious and otherwise, she had always been in control. Her orgasms were good, yes. Fantastic sometimes, but when Booth touched her – when he slid her tongue inside of her or made love her, she stopped thinking – stopped analysing and just existed. Existed in bliss.

She shut off the shower and wrapped herself in a towel, reaching over the porcelain sink with fancy antique faucets to wipe the steam off the mirror. Her reflection was a fright and her eyes went round and wide as she stared at herself in the wet glass. Pinkish spots dotted the tops of her cheekbones and her skin had a renewed freshness. She looked happy and it terrified her.

Wrapping her hair in another towel, she dried her skin quickly and redressed in the bathrobe. A selection of moisturising creams sat in a neatly arranged semi-circle on the counter. Orange extract again, tea tree cleanser, toner and moisturiser – with pretty little leafy logos and melon face-mist. Brennan looked at them each in turn. She had never purchased fancy cosmetics – she cleansed twice daily and wore night cream before she went to bed. Her make-up to work was minimal because she didn't like blocking her pores with heavy foundations.

Perplexed, she took a handful of cotton-balls, squeezed cleanser unto one and wiped her skin.

"Hey, Bones?"



She started as Booth turned the handle and opened the door, comfortable enough now to walk into the bathroom without waiting for permission. This was bad, she thought. She was nowhere near ready for that kind of familiarity.

"Your food is getting cold," he told her, resting against the door frame. He looked comically feminine in the hotel bathrobe and yet devilishly handsome and utterly irresistible. Brennan swallowed hard, scrunching the cotton balls into the palm of her hand. Her smile was strained and his FBI training – the skilled ability to recognise even the most hidden emotions in people – kicked in immediately. He straightened. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing's wrong!" Brennan laughed, but her voice was hollow. Like that of a woman who had just realised she was trapped in a room with a serial killer. She cleared her throat, unable to look at him as his eyes bored into her – analysing her emotions with an incredible knack. She hoped the eyes were the window to her soul. If she didn't look at him, he'd get zilch.

"Something's wrong alright," Booth confirmed, his voice a lowly growl. "Anyway, you should come eat. It's getting cold," he told her again. She nodded, eyes fixed firmly on the mirror. Her pupils were huge, like those of a cornered kitten. Irritated with herself, Brennan eased the bathroom door shut and drew a long, cleansing breath into her lungs. She needed to calm down.

I am still in control, she insisted. The sex wasn't that good! It was terrible what lies she had resorted to telling herself to maintain control of herself. Even worse that sex was all it took to reduce her to a pile of sentimental mush.



"Get a grip, Tempe," she snapped at her reflection. "One night of sex is what you offered. That's all he's getting." Splashing cold water over her face, she tightened the belt on her robe again and left the bathroom, her spine straight and her resolve strengthened. "You should forget what I said earlier," she said by way of announcement.

Booth, feet propped on the stool, glanced vaguely in her direction.

"Sure," he said, his tone lacking commitment – lacking emotion. She frowned, slipping her hands into the pockets of her robe. "Eat," Booth commanded, gesturing the plate of food on the table. Brennan was surprised by the way he spoke. Complete absence of humour, flirtatiousness – complete absence of anything.

Pouring herself a glass of water, Brennan sat on the floor, chewing slowly on the grilled chicken she had ordered while Booth silently sipped his beer. After awhile, it seemed almost as though she could ignore the tension that had formed between them. In the same way she had closed her emotions down, Booth had done the same and she knew that by refusing to acknowledge her moment of weakness – the admission that she'd made – she'd crossed a line in his book.

"Booth?" she began, pushing her food away. He kept his attention focused entirely on the television.

"Not now, Bones, I'm watching the game."

Brennan unfolded herself from the floor, holding her robe tight over her chest. Her stomach felt tight – tense with the kind of sentiment that she was so unfamiliar with. Climbing into the 

bed, she pulled the duvet over her shoulders and pressed her cheek against the pillow. Perhaps if she slept, by morning their one night would officially be over and she could maintain that she kept to her part of their mutual bargain. Surely he couldn't take something she said in a moment of orgasmic pleasure as sacred?

When she woke, a bluish hue was cast over the walls – eerie enough to draw her into full wakefulness. Sitting up, Brennan realised that the armchairs were empty and so were the three bottles of beer on the table. Their plates had been cleared away and their clothes, tossed unceremoniously in their sexual frenzy, were folded neatly over the loveseat. Hers were, anyway.

Booth's clothes were gone and the downy robe replaced his shirt and pants. She pushed aside the duvet, and swung her legs over the edge of the mattress. Surely he wouldn't just have left? She didn't believe Booth would be so calloused as to leave her alone in the middle of the night – regardless of how much she'd pissed him off.

Trembling, she retied her robe where it had opened and rounded the bed to the balcony. The doors were shut but outside, the wall lamps were lit and cast Booth in a yellowy light. In his hand he nursed a half empty bottle of beer and his shirt was unbuttoned. From behind the curtain, Temperance watched him as he scanned the Washington skyline with a grim expression. His thumb circled the tip of the bottle in slow, even sweeps and occasionally his jaw tightened.

Brennan pushed down on the handle and the door squeaked open. With his thoughts shattered, Booth lifted his eyes to her – still so coldly expressionless.



"Can I sit here?" she asked, gesturing to the empty chair beside his. He gave a one-shouldered shrug, scooting his chair closer to the railing. Below, the walkways were empty and the cherry blossoms still in the stagnant night air. "Booth," Brennan said, crossing her legs as she sat.

"Yes?" he asked, his chin resting on the rail.

"I'm sorry."

She wasn't sure if she was or not. Temperance hated animosity – hated the feeling of something being wrong and apologizing always seemed to ease the tension. She wondered whether she was sorry for saying that she didn't want more than one night or sorry that she felt that way. Or neither.

"No you're not. But that's okay. I'm not intelligent enough to be suitable for the great Temperance Brennan... I'm good in bed but-"

"How dare you, Booth!" she snapped, pushing her chair back and getting to her feet. "That is so out of line. And way off the mark, just so you know." He looked up at her, eyes hooded and dark – the moonlight glinted off his irises like polished stone and she thought she saw something beyond anger there. Hurt... and lust maybe. "I'm..." her eyes searched his, her mouth dry. Suddenly she didn't have anything to say that could justify the way she felt. It stung that he would think that she somehow deemed him unworthy of her.

"You're what?" His voice was low. "I know what you are," Booth added before she could rehydrate her dry throat enough to speak. "You're afraid. You're afraid that really good sex 

could lead to a really good something else and you're pushing me away. But just so you know, it could be really good." She felt numb inside as he took a long swig of his beer and turned back to the view over Washington. Something had been finalised in the way he spoke and she knew better than to continue when he was in such a foul mood.

"Are you coming to bed?" she asked instead.

"In awhile," he replied without looking at her.

"Booth..." Brennan touched his arm, his skin hot through his shirt. He stiffened but still refused to look. "Come now," she insisted, her nails pressed firmly against his bicep. A few moments passed and he eventually stood, the bottle of beer clinking as he left it on the tiled floor, stepping towards her with silent footfalls. She trembled inside her gown, peering up at him with eyes as wide as a startled animal.

"For sex?" he asked, his forehead creased. His voice was laden with disappointment.

"No..." she insisted, her heart thudding. "Just give me some time to get reacquainted with sharing myself with someone else... please? Don't be so..." Brushing aside the curly tendrils of rusty hair that had been left to dry naturally, he caressed her neck and cheeks with the sort of tenderness that none of her previous lovers had ever exercised upon her. She realised that she was genuinely sorry – mostly for her own inability to recognise something truly great without needing to sabotage it with her naturally analytical thoughts.

"Okay," Booth conceded, dropping his hands. "Lets go to bed."

-End-

A little bit of angst there. Don't worry, they'll be rolling between the sheets again in no time. Breakfast at 9am, pre-checkout sex and then maybe a resolution for them. What do you think? Let me know. Thank you for reading and also, thank you to everyone who has been taking the time to review my work – both on and on – it's nice to know that there are people out there taking an interest in what I am doing. Even though I haven't replied to every single comment, I want everyone to know I am reading and I really appreciate them all. Thanks!