Hello. Husbands, children and 50 hour work weeks for large companies conspire against aspiring FF writers. :(

I was thinking about Wendish's review (thank you as always :)) and let's be honest, do I believe that S1 Brennan would *really* have been ready to commit to Booth at this point in time? In my heart of hearts, probably not, certainly not until much closer to the end of the season. So it's a good job we have this sand box to play with! Yay!

Temperance Brennan prided herself on her unflinching ability to avoid intimacy at any and all costs. She'd managed many perfectly adequate sexual encounters over the years with no unpleasant side effects of emotions or feelings getting in the way. Her experience of her parents disappearing, followed by her brother, had started her walls to build, then her exposure to the foster system created an impervious barrier to protect herself. Once that barrier was up, the emotional pain of her work made it necessary to keep it up. Romantic love was an illusion exacerbated by sappy novels and unrealistic mass media portrayals and she would do everything to her that barrier in tact.

But this was very different.

Eighteen months earlier he had swept into her life and turned it upside down, before he disappeared as quickly as he'd arrived, leaving her angry and frustrated. Then six months ago he'd reappeared again and they had hustled each other and fought and flirted almost every day, somehow becoming a working partnership. Somehow he had got under her skin and become someone she cared about, sometimes against her better judgement, but mostly the more she saw, the more she realised the qualities of man he was.

Over the last 5 days she had found herself in deeply unfamiliar territory. Seduced first by the physicality of, and deeply unresolved sexual tension with, her partner; but suddenly more than that, a need to be close to him, to touch him, to love him, in exactly the ways she'd promised herself were false and pathetic. She'd ignored it as much as she could for as long as she could, but after their fling in Jamaica and her subsequent reluctant but overwhelming need for him, it was an oncoming tidal wave of change, and like King Canute trying to turn back the tide on the shores of southern England, it was a hopeless cause to resist.

And yet, Brennan rebelled to an acute degree when it came to anything that could weaken her emotional fortress and the one small part of her that would remain steadfastly stubborn and resolute somehow always held out, if nothing else to show just how stubborn and resolute it was in the face of romance and soppy sentiment.

It was one of these moments where her rational brain and her huge, but concealed, heart were in complete conflict. As Booth had let those those fateful words fall from his lips in a weak instant when his entire universe was her, and only her, settled between her legs, resting on his arms and gazing down at her in a post-orgasmic haze:

"I love you..." It hung in the air, painfully, as he immediately realised his mistake, but by then the words were out there and he couldn't take them back.

At once a huge part of her was joyous at his sentiment, but as she began to celebrate his proclamation, caution won out and Booth was left starring at her uncertain expression. He couldn't read it, however good his usual people skills were. He focussed on her again and gave a puzzled smile.

"I'm sorry Bones, I didn't mean to..."

"It's OK, Booth. Misguided, but sweet."

"Misguided?!" His look turned to one more of shock, but Brennan wasn't having any of it.

"Romantic Love is a construct of poets and the media. What you are experiencing is the remnants of the chemical reaction caused by our recent intercourse leaving you with heightened levels of seratonin." The walls were firmly back in place. It had been so quick. Booth took little time to become exasperated with her.

"But it's not! Hell... I mean, you know what? I did mean it. These last five days have just shown me I should have chased after you that night in the rain in the first place. Fuck it... I love you, Temperance. You are a pain in the butt, but I can't stop thinking about holding you, touching you, kissing you - every fricking minute of the day..." He looked at her intently, searching her face for some sort of useful response.

"I can't respond Booth. Not in the way you want me to." She looked at him sympathetically. "You know we agreed this was it. One last night."

"I don't believe you don't have feelings for me."

"I do. Feelings of friendship, feelings of partnership, and yes, some feelings of lust. But love...? That does not exist. It's a way of selling more greetings cards and more chocolates." She sighed resignedly.

"Lust?! You think this is just a quick fix?! We made LOVE, Temperance! You can deny it all you like but WE. MADE. LOVE!" Booth was almost shaking in disbelief. "That was not some quick, meaningless fuck. I mean... maybe the first time. Maybe even the second time; but from then on in - the companionship, the sex, the cuddling... I do NOT make a habit of just fucking some one night stand in a cave whirlpool, or getting a random blow job in a forest!" It sounded ridiculous as it came out of his mouth and in another situation, he would have laughed at the sentence.

It immediately took Brennan back to that day in the Reich Falls, when all she could think about was getting him inside her, and not just for biological release, but because the thought of him entering her made her feel warm, safe and loved. There was that contradiction again. Then other memories of the holiday came flooding back, and all the emotions she had felt for him came flooding back too. She was left overwhelmed and struggling with herself trying to understand which part of her should be victorious.

Booth searched her face desperately for answers for what seemed like forever as the light just appeared on the horizon and the very first rays of sun were approaching. She caught the slowly colouring sky over his shoulder and her heart skipped a beat as she knew what it meant.

"It's dawn," she said quietly.

"Oh."

"I need time, Booth. I can't process this right now."

"OK." Little steps, he thought. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I need to think."

"Yes."

"Can I just have a few more minutes here?" she betrayed herself entirely.

"Sure," said Booth as he felt his heart break. "It's your bed."

Brennan dropped back down next to him. Deep down the very action of the way he wrapped his arms around her probably made Temperance (the woman) realise how much she really did want him, but the rational empiricist was not giving up without a fight. And they lay there, with his arms around her and her hands wrapped over his. She stared into space as she comforted herself with his presence just this one more time, and he closed his eyes in a silent prayer for strength as he nuzzled her hair.

They drifted off together one more time, and when he awoke again some ninety minutes later, she was gone.

Brennan had woken just twelve minutes before Booth. She extricated herself quickly from his grasp and slipped into her shower to freshen up. She grabbed some clean casual clothes as quietly as she could so as not to wake him, but couldn't resist just leaning over to watch him sleep for a brief moment. She dare not stroke his face.

"Goodbye Booth," she whispered, but he barely stirred.

She left a brief, perfunctory note and a spare key in the kitchen explaining she was going to the lab and he should help himself to anything he needed. As the door gently clicked shut, he woke. The sound entering his mind, reminiscent of a small calibre fire arm being readied, released him from sleep.

Brennan paced up and down in her office. Officially, that had been it. No more kissing, no more sex, no more anything that wasn't what was deemed "appropriate" between the two of them. They were done now. As she had reached the office, she had been resolute, but as the day wore on, so did her resolve. First it was small slithers from the night before creeping into her consciousness: an isolated touch, a caress. These made her stomach flip over and over from its deepest core to the point that she had to stop her computer work to get up and move around. When she thought she had it under control she sat down again to continue; but within minutes waves of an emotion she was not used to washed over her like a tide. She missed him. And however good she usually was at compartmentalising, it just wouldn't go away.

Brennan tried to put Booth out of her mind altogether to allay the feeling, instead focussing on the most specific, obscure pieces of anthropological information that she could bring forth from her immense mental database, but it was no good. His face would reappear, or a thought of them snuggled up together and send her right back to square one. And now here she was, walking around like she had Formicidae in her pants (that sounded approximately correct) because of more of these illogical, irrational feelings. She could not stop it and it was driving her mad. She had a pile of post-vacation correspondence to wade through and little of it was getting done.

Brennan was not sure whether to laugh or cry when mid-afternoon, the call came in of the remains found in a field some fifty miles away, probably an hour's drive each direction in traffic that would loop out to the edge of the city. An hour's drive, just the two of them there, and then back. Protocol was that they would travel together for this sort of crime scene. If she took her own car alone, that would be an admittance that she could not deal with the situation and she would not admit that for a single second. It would be fine, they would be just like normal. She took a cleansing breath and put on her best "happy" smile.

Booth steeled himself. When he'd woken it hadn't taken more than a few seconds to realise the circumstance he was in. He was resigned to the situation. He'd taken the opportunity to take a shower before he left, allowing himself the luxury of showering in the stall she'd just vacated minutes before, complete with Brennan-smelling shampoos, potions and lotions. She was everywhere - obviously unsurprising in her apartment - but as Booth pottered round making himself coffee, getting dressed; he was struck by how "Brennan" her apartment was. He couldn't help but grab one of her sweaters, casually draped over a chair and press it to his face. Knowing no one was there to look or judge him, he inhaled deeply, taking in its scent. This is what he was reduced to now, he sadly reflected. He toyed with smuggling it out with him but decided that might well put him into borderline stalker territory.

A cup of organic coffee later and he was done. He carefully locked up her apartment and took his car to the Hoover Building, where he set about catching up with the paperwork and emails that had built up during their vacation. Three tortuous hours and two hundred and forty-seven emails later and he still hadn't broken the back of his inbox before the phone rang and news of the body in the field arrived. The field agent informed him that Brennan had already been contacted, so Booth thought it best for now to text her:

Body in field. Pick u up?

I know. Yes, you can pick me up.

15 min.

OK. Thank you.

Perfunctory but pleasant, and fifteen minutes and thirty-two seconds later, he was outside her office.

Try not be awkward, Booth reminded himself. He stepped over the threshold.

"Hi Bones!"

"Hi Booth!" Her face had a painted on smile, and the sound of greeting was there, but there was barely any eye contact; Brennan really didn't know where to look without huge discomfort. Immediately reading her and therefore disconsolate from her reaction to his arrival, Booth couldn't bring himself to make any confrontations then and there.

"So... you ready?"

"Yes. Let me just grab my field bag please."

"Don't you have one in my car?"

"This has additional equipment. From the information given to me by your field agent, I may need it."

"Oh." And with that, they were on their way. Booth hung back just a little from Brennan without assuming his usual position with his hand at the small of her back. She noticed but said nothing, knowing it just had to be like this.

Booth snuck an occasional glance at Brennan whilst they were driving. She was distracted and had her head pretty much pressed against the window.

"You OK, Bones?"

"Yes, thank you."

"You just seem..."

'I'm fine, thanks."

"You left me in your apartment this morning."

"Yes, but I also left you a note."

"That's true." Booth paused, considered for a moment and then gently put his hand on her knee, rubbing her patella.

"Don't... please," she said, putting her hand on his to stop the touch dead in its tracks.

"I'm sorry." He pulled his hand away.

"It's OK. It's just... we're partners again, just like we agreed. Partners with a better understanding of each other. Just like you said," Brennan said flatly, almost mantra-like.

"I guess." Oh, I've created a monster.

"And you're OK with that?" Booth pursed his lips and said nothing. "Booth?"

"Fine with it," he forced out. Not that I didn't lay my heart out to be torn into a thousand pieces this morning but I probably forced her into a corner. Idiot.

"OK then. That's good." Brennan responded, reverting to a tone that was far too cheery. And then nothing further was said by either partner until they reached the remains site and they went into full professional mode, where for a full hour, everything was put on hold except facts and flesh and bones and it all felt eerily normal. Brennan barked her usual orders for sending the remaining body parts back to the Jeffersonian and Booth phoned in some information back to his desk staff to start research on the identity of the discovered corpse.

The journey back was no easier. Brennan had clammed up and Booth was painfully aware that the walls had been relaid and getting them pulled down again was, at least for the moment, a pointless task. The radio went on loudly and they both ignored the elephant in the car. Booth from necessity; Brennan from fear.

He dropped her back at the Jeffersonian with a bare minimum of fuss and a brief conversation that they would share information as soon as one of them had a lead.

And that was it for the day. Particulates were taken, bones cleaned and calls made on the leads in the FBI office, but nothing substantial had yet come to light and therefore the phones remained silent. By nine in the evening they had both run out of energy in their respective offices to get anything worthwhile done and both decided to call it a day. They drove back to their apartments where they simultaneously but unknowingly of the others' actions, each opened a bottle of beer and sat miserably on their sofas, contemplating all that had gone wrong. They both fell asleep only to wake up with a jolt couple of hours later to force themselves to the comfort of their beds. Both dreamed: the same dreams they'd had in Jamaica. His of domesticated bliss with her and hers of dreamy and gentle love-making with him.

The next day brought some breakthroughs - the body was de-fleshed and started to give up its secrets. The cause of death soon became clear, and in the meantime Angela had worked her magic on the facial reconstruction and an identity had been discovered. The FBI team were working hard on establishing personal networks and motives. Booth busied himself with paperwork, mainly to forget the gnawing in this stomach that took over every time she popped into his head. There was nothing more he could do than hope and pray that she would have a suitable revelation.

But there was no contact. No texts. No calls. No mails. No visits. Each noted the passing hours with the increasing void in communication.

Brennan took off her gloves and returned to her office to complete her latest interim report. She felt strangely empty but would not admit to herself the cause. Only deep down, (actually, not even terribly deep down at all), she knew - and it continued to drive her to distraction.

The nagging, festering feeling in Brennan's brain continued for hours. It followed her home and deposited itself firmly in her apartment. The apartment where no more than thirty-six hours before they had made love; where he had whispered sweet nothings in her ear, and kissed like it was their last night on the planet.

She went to bed with the feeling still clawing at her, devouring her. Over and over she analysed - but it always came back to the same thing: together, they were magnificent. Sexually, habitually and professionally, they completed each other. Truth be told, she missed that; and she wanted that. In fact she wanted that more than almost anything she had wanted in her whole life. The last two days had shown her that. Without Booth there was a void. Without Booth... she was lonely.

When at 5.56AM the next morning she was still lying in bed tossing and turning, having had a fairly poor night's sleep with her head spiralling round and round to the same conclusion, she finally decided to do something about it. She slipped out of her bed, quickly showered and by 6.14AM was sitting in her car, turning the engine over.

She was ready to give herself to him. Ready to open up. As she reached his apartment block eighteen or so minutes later, she reminded herself of her new resolution. Walking up the three flights to his apartment, she steeled herself as she rounded the corner of the communal hallway.

What she didn't expect to see in front of her, at the end of the corridor, already standing in the open door... was Tessa.

I'm sorry! It wasn't me, was the muse!

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