Disclaimer: I own nothing Bones related except my imagination. (8/7/16)

Booth pulled his SUV into the driveway of the house he shared with Dr. Temperance Brennan and felt the quiet peace of finally being home settle pleasantly around him like a warm blanket on a cool winter morning. A glance at the clock mounted in the dashboard indicated it was well after nine o'clock. That meant the kids would be tucked into bed and already sleeping. Possibly his wife, too.

It had been a real bitch of a day and he was beyond exhausted.

As was often the case, earlier that morning, Bones had discovered some anomalies in the skeletal remains of an eight year old little boy whose body had been delivered to the Jeffersonian lab a couple of days earlier. Anomalies that, coupled with other evidence her team had discovered, allowed them to confidently recreate the scenario leading to the demise of the young boy and identify an abusive uncle as the boy's killer. As a result, Booth had spent the latter part of the day sitting behind his desk in his office up to his elbows in paperwork. There was no way he was going to let this son-of-a-bitch get off on a technicality or because the evidence wasn't documented and recorded properly. Booth checked over everything for completeness and accuracy, double checked it, and triple checked it again. Tomorrow morning, a nice big pile of neatly typed and highly organized files would be dropped on Ms. Caroline Julian's desk so she could do her part to ensure the guilty bastard spent the rest of his life behind bars.

Booth heaved himself out of the truck with a sigh, his feet feeling like leaden weights at the ends of his legs as he shuffled towards his front door. There was definite satisfaction in solving the case and knowing the killer would be brought to justice, but it was tempered by the sadness of knowing a young child's life had been futilely cut short because of one man's selfishly unforgiveable actions.

Cases involving kids were always the worst, he thought, flipping his keys around in his hand to find the one that would get him into the house. While he had his own demons to wrestle with when he looked at the remains of a child, he knew cases concerning kids really gutted Bones too. She'd become cool, unemotional, and distant – treating the body and everything else about the investigation as clinically as possible as though she could erect a fortress around her heart that way to actually protect it. But Booth knew that the more remote she acted and the bigger the words she threw into her speech was directly proportional to the suffering she felt inside. He was looking forward to just wrapping her up in his arms and holding her close until the wonder and confusion over how someone could turn a helpless child into a victim faded into the background until the next time such ugliness reared its head again.

Brennan looked up from where she sat on the sofa, bare feet propped up against the coffee table and laptop balanced on her thighs, as Booth entered the house. "Booth."

She said his name in that way that was uniquely hers – it was a familiar greeting, a soothing caress, a warm welcome, and an invitation to linger all rolled into one. Just hearing his name on her lips was enough to remind him that there was goodness and beauty in his life to help balance the evilness and the ugliness that sometimes felt a little overwhelming. He felt better already.

"Hey, Bones." Booth tossed his keys into a nearby bowl and threw his suit jacket over the back of the nearest chair. "You're still up. With the hours you put in the last couple days, I half expected you to be in bed by now."

"No, not yet. I'm reviewing an article that has been submitted for publication in The Journal of Anthropological Archeology for technical accuracy and writing style. It always astounds me how many highly educated and supposedly intelligent scientists struggle with writing sentences that adhere to the basic rules of English grammar."

"Yeah." Booth didn't think he'd understand half of what was written, regardless of how good or bad the grammar was. "Whatever you say, Bones."

Brennan's eyes took in Booth's haggard appearance. There were periorbital dark circles under his eyes and his hair was mussed like he'd run his fingers through it many times. His tie was loose around his neck and the top few buttons of his shirt were open. Most telling, his shoulders drooped like the weight they'd been carrying had finally worn them down.

"You look tired." She slid her laptop onto the coffee table and stood up, reaching out for his hand and pulling him towards the sofa. "Did you eat anything for dinner?"

Booth let her lead him and dropped down gratefully onto the couch, kicking off his shoes. "Yeah. Aubrey brought by some food and kept me company for a bit while we finalized the details of the reports." He leaned his head back against the sofa and closed his eyes.

"How about a cold beer?"

"That sounds great. Really, really great."

Brennan hopped up to grab a beer from the refrigerator. When she returned, she handed Booth his beer but stayed standing behind him. Reaching out, she began to massage his scalp. She applied gentle but firm pressure in a circular motion starting at his temples, then moving forward and back, up and down, until he could feel the magic of her fingers relieving the stress from his entire cranium, forehead to nape.

"Aaaaahhhh," Booth groaned. "That feels absolutely fantastic."

Brennan smiled, happy she could use her knowledge of the human body to do something so simple to help him relax. She continued her massage and they chatted softly while Booth slowly drank his beer.

"Did you get the paperwork all wrapped up?"

"Yeah. It's all bundled up and ready to go to Caroline. How were the kids tonight? You know I hate when I miss their bedtime."

"The kids were fine, but Christine was asking about you. She still gets nervous sometimes at night when you don't come home. She read that story about baby animals to Hank after their baths and he kept pointing to all the animals and saying 'duck.' I think it frustrated her at first, but then it became a game between them and they had fun together. She's reading quite well for her age."

"Of course she is, Bones. Look at how smart her Dad is," he teased.

Brennan tugged sharply on a tuft of his hair.

"I meant Mom. Look at how smart her Mom is."

Brennan rolled her eyes at him, even though he couldn't see with her standing at his back. "While my IQ is obviously highest, she is fortunate enough to have TWO exceptionally intelligent parents and we've both spent a lot of time reading with her. I think we each deserve some of the credit."

Booth chuckled as he finished his last swallow of beer, then sighed. "I'm beat."

Brennan plucked the empty bottle from his fingers and headed back to the kitchen. "Why don't you go on ahead to bed then."

"You coming?" he asked as he stood up.

"No. Not quite yet. I want to review a little more of that article I was working on when you came home."

"Right, for the Journal of Geniuses."

Brennan frowned at him. "That's not what it's called, Booth."

He smiled. "I know, but it should be, 'cause you're a genius. C'mere."

Brennan stepped towards his outstretched hand and let him pull her into his embrace, her arms naturally slipping around his waist as his arms wound around her shoulders. He kissed the top of her head as she nuzzled in to his neck. "Mmmm. I needed this. Just to be able to hold you," he said, pulling her even closer.

Her arms tightened around him. "Me, too," came the softly voiced confession as the strong front she'd been portraying for the past couple days finally gave way to a shuddered sob and the tears she'd held inside ever since she first saw the body of the young boy were finally allowed free, dampening Booth's shirtfront. Seeing the bodies of children on her examination table had never been easy, but since she'd become a mother several years earlier, she couldn't help but draw parallels and think about how devastated she'd feel if one of her children were ever such a victim.

They stood that way for several minutes, giving and taking comfort from each other, before Booth finally gave her one more squeeze. "I'm gonna head off to bed. Don't stay up too late, okay?"

"No, just a little bit more. I'll be in shortly."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

Booth gave Brennan a quick kiss on the lips. Then, he pulled away and headed towards the bedroom. Brennan sat back down feeling much lighter at heart after giving her sorrow an outlet and reached for her laptop.

For the next half hour, she could subconsciously hear Booth in the background getting ready for bed. She heard him opening and closing drawers as he took off his work clothes and gathered up his pajamas. She heard him start the shower to rinse away the grime of the day, singing tunelessly as he washed. And, just as she was adding a few final notes to the paper she was reviewing, she heard the water in the sink running as he brushed his teeth.

Booth could barely keep his eyes open. The long day, cool beer, gentle scalp massage, and steaming hot shower had all combined to make him very sleepy. Wearing boxers and a t-shirt, he climbed into bed and turned off his bedside lamp. He wanted to just sleep for a week.

And then he felt it on his bicep.

That annoying little sharp, gritty feeling poking into your skin.

Like when a small pebble gets stuck in your sandal at the beach. Not painful per se, but certainly distracting and uncomfortable. Enough so that he couldn't just ignore it.

Booth sat up, turned on the light, and spied the peanut butter cookie crumb stuck to his arm. Brushing it away, he turned out the light and lay back down.

Then he felt it again. Another crumb.

With a growl of frustration, he sat back up, turned the light back on and hopped out of bed just as his wife was entering their room. "Booones," he growled at her as he yanked the covers down towards the foot of the bed.

"What's wrong, Booth?"

"What's wrong? What's wrong? There are cookie crumbs in our bed, Bones. That's what's wrong."

"Oh." Brennan leaned over the bed, brushing the surface of the sheet with her fingers in an attempt to clear it off. "I'll put clean sheets on the bed in the morning."

"I'm tired and I just want to go to sleep without feeling like I'm being rolled up like a pastry. Why do you have to eat cookies in our bed anyway?"

Brennan shrugged, ignoring his irritability. "Sometimes I like having something sweet to nibble on while I read. If there are crumbs in the sheets from last night, that's as much your fault as mine."

"My fault?"

"Yes."

"How is it my fault? They're your cookies."

Brennan bristled indignantly. "If you'll recall, I was peacefully reading a magazine and minding my own business on my side of the bed when you –"

"Oh. Right."

"- attacked me and –"

"Stop! I remember, now."

"- started doing that irresistible thing that I enjoy so much –"

"Stop. Stop. Stop. You're right." Booth held up both hands, palms out.

"- and you didn't even give me a chance to set aside the cookie I still had in my hand."

Booth sighed. "I'm sorry, Bones. I'm just tired and cranky. You're right. If I hadn't . . . you know, and then you hadn't . . . and we didn't . . . " Booth waved his arms over the bed as the tips of his ears turned red.

Brennan leaned into him and gave him a kiss, a tender melding of their mouths which reassured them both that there were no hard feelings. As she pulled away, she smirked. "Personally, I thought it was worth a few crumbs."

Booth smoothed his hands over the sheets one more time before crawling back into bed and pulling the covers back up. "Well, I suppose we wouldn't have nearly as much fun if we were always worried about keeping the sheets clean. I love you, Bones, peanut butter cookies, crumbs, and all."

A/N: Hmm. This one was not nearly as upbeat as I imagined starting out, but I'm afraid that if I waited for new inspiration to strike, I may never finish this challenge. Alas, you get what you get. Hope you enjoyed it!