I'M NOT READING THIS THROUGH BEFORE POSTING SO PLEASE POINT OUT ANY ERRORS YOU MIGHT FIND. Seriously, I'll take anything you can give me. Right down to the accidental 'your' in place of 'you're'. It might seem inconsequential to you, but it matters to me. Thanks!

Chapter 8

The Plan in the Provocation

Alright, I know I'm a day or two late, but I've been really sick, so you'll have to forgive me. Also, I may have built it up too much because of the extended wait, but this chapter is long. As in really long. So that should help too. Let's just say this installment creates a platform from where a lot of interesting storylines can be launched. The story's going to get a lot better, trust me.

Before we begin, I just want to say a big thanks to all of you-without your support, your kind words of encouragement, and most importantly your patience, this fic would probably not get written.

As for the finale, I'll just say the same thing that I have to say about the Federer match-What the fuck! Tragedy all around, but I'm so glad they're taking risks again, and I hope this one pays off. In all fairness, it was probably the best episode of the season, and certainly better than anything in season six. Leave me your thoughts if you're up for a discussion!

Anyhoo, here's your update, with last week's A/N and all (I started that one with an apology for the delay, too -_- Gosh, how horrible am I?):

A/N:First off, I am so, SO sorry about the extended wait. (Particularly because most of this chapter was written about a month ago and I've just been putting off writing the end *sheepish smile*). To be honest, I've been insanely busy, what with applying to colleges and covering the national AIDS summit-and then living it up with friends to compensate for all the wasted hours of hard work. The good news is, I've received an offer of admission from Toronto as an anthropology major (which I'm beginning to rethink) and since U of T was far and away my first preference, I'm relatively (read: completely) free of any obligations and unwanted demands on my time.

As of right now, I'm PMSing like crazy, no bra in my size is available in the Indian market (I'm not kidding here. If anyone knows of a website that ships overseas, please do share) my already bad skin has broken out all over, and I just alienated one of the few people on the planet who'll ever be able to tolerate me in all my insane glory and is still 'dazzled by the truth of me' because I can't bring myself to feel. Atleast now I feel like crap. I know it seems like this is said too often, but thank God for ice cream. Oh, and I forgot the worst bit-I lost my 400$ Ipod touch which I loved more than anything else on earth because I stowed it in my bag at the last minute and went out for a boring night with friends which didn't involve nearly enough alcohol. A lot of this story has been written on that little guy, and now he's gone *sniffle*. Lost. Destroyed. Or in the worst imaginable scenario, the cruellest twist of fate-fallen into the hands of someone who has no idea how to use him. Let's take a moment to say a final goodbye, please.

Shout out: To everyone who has left kind words in your reviews of the story and death threats disguised as requests for updates, I want to thank each and every one of you. I love all of you guys equally, and none more equal than others.

Dedication: This one is dedicated to all the ice cream companies out there who know that their target audience is made up of depressed and hormonal teens in desperate need of a pick-me-up and exploit this fact ruthlessly.

Booth and Brennan's house, 7 PM:

There were still a few hours to kill before the party (Booth was already dreading all the cleaning up they'd have to do the next day, what with the half-eaten plates of food and drunken teenagers that would be lying around, waiting to be thrown out) and Angela had just called to inform them that she had invited 'a few more friends' over to join in the fun. He sighed and closed his eyes, allowing his head to fall back against the sofa. You knew you were in trouble when Angela Montenegro told you that the guest list had run longer than she'd originally anticipated. Really, why had he agreed to this?

'Booth?'

Oh, right. That's why.

'Yeah?'

When she sank down next to him but didn't lean into the arm he'd extended across the back of the sofa, he opened his eyes and looked at her.

She was perched on the other end of the couch, fidgeting uneasily.

'I was wondering…that is, I had something to ask you.'

Ho boy. There was no way in hell he was saying no to that. The soft, husky voice and the wide electric blue eyes that went with it were going to be his undoing one day. Soon. Ah, who was he kidding? He was already too far gone to do anything about it. When she didn't continue, Booth gently prompted,'Bones?'

'Uh…oh, yes.' What she getting all flustered about? Bones didn't do flustered.

'Bones, if this is about the drinking thing, I'm sorry, but I draw the line at beer. A lot of these kids are still in their teens, and if I'm going to corrupt them before they reach the legal drinking age, I'm not going to do it with hard liquor. Now if they happen to bring along-'

'It's-it's not that'. His eyes widened in surprise at the raised pitch of her voice, and he noticed she was fidgeting even more furiously now. Bones doesn't fidget.

'OK, Bones, I gotta be honest with you, I'm starting to get a little worried here.'

'CanIaskMichaeltocometonight?'

The words came out in a rush and he didn't catch a single one of them.

'What?'

Brennan took a deep breath and determinedly made eye contact before speaking again.

'Do you think…maybe I could invite Michael…to come to the party tonight?'

Booth clenched his jaw and forced himself not to say anything. Like over my dead body. Or no chance in hell. Just a simple no would suffice.

'Sure'

But he had to remind himself that-while he was seemingly incapable of denying her anything at that point, in any case-he also had no right to deny her this.

Brennan beamed at him happily. Booth sighed inwardly but cracked a small smile. She looked so relieved. Too relieved, as a matter of fact. His smile slipped.

'Listen Bones…are you sure it would be, you know, appropriate? I mean, he is a teacher, right? And-'

'Assistant teacher.'

'Right. Right. And there are a lot of kids coming here tonight who may not be…comfortable…with him being around, you know, 'cause…

Brennan cocked her head to the side and eyed him curiously. 'If you're implying that the other guests might be uncomfortable in Michael's presence because of his age and status in a position of authority, it is highly unlikely that would be the case. In fact, I'm quite certain many of Angela's friends and other students who will be in attendance-including you, Booth-are around the same age as Michael.'

Booth grimaced.

'Yeah, but…' he trailed off with a sigh.

'Would you rather I didn't invite him?'

She looked so small and vulnerable sitting there, blue eyes blazing and arms crossed in that same defensive posture she always adopted when she was readying herself for a forthcoming argument. And he knew better than anyone that Bones could hold her own in a fight, but she seemed almost afraid of his reply. Ah, hell. What's the worst that could happen? He was going to be around tonight in any case. Watching the professor's every move.

'It's your house, too, Bones. I can't tell you what to do.' Even if I would very much like to right now.

'While the second part of that statement is true, technically-'

'Bones. You know what I mean.'

'Oh. Yes. I suppose I do. '

Although the conversation seemed to be over-and Booth wasn't remotely pleased with the direction in which it had been headed in right from the start-this did not seem to quell Brennan's apparent nervousness. She absently scratched her nose and then developed a sudden interest in a non-existent stain on the denim fabric against her knee. Booth waited her out.

'There's one more thing.'

There we go.

'You see, it's about Professor Stires…'

On second thought, he really didn't need to hear this after all.

'That is, Michael, he's…'

A douchebag?

'I know you don't approve of him, but-'

'I don't'. Booth finally interrupted her out loud.

'Well, he's asked me to…'

No, no, no. Please don't complete that sentence. I beg of you, do not complete that sentence.

'…be his date to the unveiling of a museum exhibit next week…'

A whole bunch of expletives ran through Booth's head, but none of them seemed adequately… adequate, so he just settled for squeezing out an 'I see' between clenched teeth.

'And-'

'You said yes.'

'Well…yes, but how did you-'

'Really not the point here, Bones.'

'I wasn't aware that there was any one singular point to this conversation.'

Booth had to grind his teeth together to snap back a retort and barely managed to remain silent. He really needed to get a grip. It wasn't like he was jealous, or anything. He'd felt jealousy before, he had-and it sure as hell hadn't felt like this. He'd been jealous of his brother, on occasion-he'd wanted that bike he got for Christmas, he'd wanted the stamp of approval his father had always reserved for Jared's accomplishments, he'd wanted to be the one who came out on top in Joseph Booth's eyes, just once; he'd been jealous of friends who had nicer toys, and family dinners, fathers who didn't beat the crap out of them after dark and the mothers who didn't abandon them without a backward glance…yeah, he'd experienced jealousy before, but he'd never felt anything like this. Hell, he hadn't thought it was possible to feel like this. It was a strange feeling, and he wasn't sure if he was equipped to deal with it.

While Booth remained lost in thought, brow furrowed and frown firmly in place, Brennan gave up attempting to read his mind and instead took the time to study him. She had never quite understood the appeal of staring at one person for an extended period of time-without focussing on their underlying skeletal structure, at that-but in that moment she realised she could simply look at Booth for any (im)permissible length of time. Booth was…beautiful. Brennan laughed inwardly as she wondered how he would react to being described that way. She wasn't sure how else to put it, though- it went far beyond pleasingly symmetrical features or well defined musculature. Beautiful came closest to the mark. She understood, ofcourse, that beauty was almost entirely about perception, and her perception of Booth was coloured by…a lot of things, but...she decided to abandon the exhaustive thought process and just look. She took in the rigid line of his posture; the firm set of his jaw, resting on long fingertips that were pressed together; his elbows propped on his lap, muscles bunching even as he leaned forward; that brooding, intense look that was so typically Booth…he really was a fine specimen of the human form. There was no use denying it. Might as well accept it and move on. With a frown of her own, Brennan thought back to the…exchange…they'd had a few hours earlier. Unbeknownst to her, Booth was thinking of exactly the same thing. He'd just come back from a trip to the supermarket (his second of the day, with the difference being he'd made this one with the intention of loading up on snacks for the party and not as an excuse to get away from Brennan and the impure thoughts her presence seemed to inspire) and he walked into the kitchen to find Bones absently stirring something over the fire, humming to herself along with the loud music from the stereo. He freed his arms which were laden with bags and moved towards her on autopilot-the smell of good food and Bones was an irresistible combination-lightly placing his hands on her waist as he stepped up behind her to warn her of his presence. He couldn't help nuzzling his nose in her hair and inhaling deeply when she started at the sound of his voice at her ear. His deep chuckle rumbling against her back caused Brennan to shiver as she closed her eyes for a moment and leaned against him imperceptibly. Booth hummed deep in his chest and began swaying her lightly to the new tune that was playing-the loud beats had given way to soothing strains of bluesy music and Louis Armstrong's deep, rumbling voice. He sighed. Being this close to her was intoxicating and always made him feel dizzy and thoroughly dazed. He supposed the lightheadedness-what with the blood pounding in his head and the music pounding outside of it-was to be blamed for the brief lapse in rational thought as he uttered his next words. 'God, you smell so good.' He could only hope that Brennan hadn't heard him over the music. Or assumed he was talking to the food. Or something. Thankfully, Booth's own eyes had slid shut by this point, and he missed the sight of her flushed skin and parted lips that might have crumbled any self-control he had left as her head lolled back lightly against him. As it was, when he opened his eyes and they focussed on the gorgeous expanse of her neck right there in front of him, he almost lost it. Almost. He managed to restrain himself, however, and was about to back away when he realised the music had stopped…and he felt himself being drawn towards the exposed length of her nape as if by an invisible string. She was still tantalisingly close…and closer still…and he just had to brush his lips against the soft, smooth, silken skin. Had to. It needn't be a big deal, he reasoned-it wasn't like he'd never kissed her on the forehead or the cheek. The nape of her neck was just another part of her…gorgeous body, just…two inches away…and the sound of the oven beeping-suddenly loud in the silence-jolted him out of his reverie. Quickly dropping a kiss to the top of her head as the next track started up, he took a step back-and then another, and another-as if that had been his intention all along, and turned the oven off. By the time the music started up again, he was back to unloading the bags.

Pretence is the key to achieving normalcy. God, but the worst part was they weren't even pretending anymore. They were just in denial.

Brennan's voice snapped him back to the present.

'Anyway, I just thought I should…tell you.'

'Well, now you have.'

Less than impressed by his impassive and seemingly unconcerned demeanour, Brennan huffed in irritation. She had no idea why she had been so anxious about telling him in the first place. He was right-he couldn't tell her what to do, and she had every right to date whomever she liked. He clearly didn't care, if his reaction was anything to go by.

Meanwhile, Booth was trying very hard not to react to the…news. By, say, pinning her to the couch and kissing her senseless. Or branding her with his teeth. Or peeing to mark his territory. Or something. He shook his head and finally focussed on Bones again-not that his attention had ever really wandered. But they had a problem to deal with, and none of the solutions his brain was (un) helpfully providing him with at the moment were remotely viable. Brennan looked pissed as hell and was obviously trying to remain aloof, but he could tell the anger was just a façade to mask a deeper hurt. Booth sighed inwardly. Stop being such a jackass, Seeley. He knew what he had to do. At some level, he recognised that this was a huge deal for Bones. Her first official date. Even if it was with that low down, good for nothing, know-it-all, pompous, arrogant jerk. And he'd just as soon put his foot down if he had the chance.

When he still didn't venture anything further on the subject, Brennan moved to stand. Before she could rise to her feet, however, a hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, gently pulling her back down.

So he was going to be that guy. The guy who screened her dates and decided which ones weren't good enough for her, and put the fear of god into the ones that were. As far as he was concerned, no one would ever be good enough. And he knew he felt that way for a variety of reasons-not just the ones that were becoming steadily more obvious even as he still refused to acknowledge them.

He looked into her eyes and drew a deep breath, but then quickly glanced away. There was no way he could meet her eyes and pretend he was OK with this. The worst part was, Michael wasn't even some dumb jock. He was older, more experienced with women, and undoubtedly on a higher intellectual plane than any of the other boys her own age. That last bit in particular seemed to hold more importance than he would like it to, when it came to Brennan-even if she wasn't consciously aware of the fact herself. Booth, on the other hand, was very much aware that in many ways he would never be able to provide Bones with the kind of intellectual stimulation she required; and had their relationship been any different, or their bond a little less powerful, the awareness would probably have generated a fear that could have plagued him until his dying day-that she would one day grow bored of him and decide her time could be better employed engaging with other people who shared her unique talents and abilities. He chanced another glance in her general direction before opening his mouth to speak. She was looking at him expectantly, her expression guarded and her eyes defensive. Booth sighed inwardly.

'Listen, Bones, I…

This was so completely unfair. To her-and at some level, he recognised, to him. He couldn't put his finger on why exactly that was the case, but he was feeling a wide range of things he didn't understand. Anger, resignation, pain, sadness, and an almost paralysing fear. And something else he couldn't identify. It was terrifyingly familiar and reassuringly new all at the same time. He didn't understand it. He didn't know if he was ready to understand it. But whatever it was-both ominously mysterious and also comfortingly sure-it seemed to keep him grounded in the face of the powerful onslaught of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

'What do you want me to say?' The question was loaded with meaning, and his voice sounded hoarse and almost defeated, even to his own ears. Brennan opened her mouth to speak, her brow furrowed in puzzlement, when he finally looked up and met her eyes, silently communicating the message. Tell me what you want me to say and I'll say it. Because she sure as hell didn't want to hear what he wanted to say, any more than he wanted to say it.

The range of emotions flitting through his warm brown eyes convinced her that he was not completely indifferent to the information she had just relayed (as she had initially believed him to be) but she wasn't quite sure what to make of any of them.

'I-I don't know'. And it was true. 'I just…I suppose I'm feeling a little anxious because I've never dated anyone before, and I feel as if it's about time I should…and Angela says I'm too selective and I should be open to the possibility of making mistakes before finding 'Mr. Right', who as I understand it is an embodiment of all the qualities one would desire in a perfect mate, although I'm not exactly sure-'

Booth's head snapped up. 'Is that what this is?'

'-if this is what she…' Brennan trailed off confusedly. 'What do you mean? Is what…what this is?'

He turned to face her, suddenly feeling a whole lot better about the whole thing. This wasn't about the professor, it was just about…the idea of a guy. Any guy. He scowled. Did that mean…He forced himself to get back on track. 'Bones, hey…you don't have to rush in to this, you know? This dating thing's really not all it's cracked up to be-'

Brennan snorted. 'Booth, you are hardly one to give advice-'

'I'm an idiot. I'm an idiot, OK?'

'Actually, you're quite intell-'

'Bones.' Booth drew in a deep breath and took her hands in his before she could launch on another spiel that began with 'anthropologically speaking'. For that one moment, he couldn't help the way his focus shifted to the feel of her soft, delicate palms in his own larger, calloused fingers, and he absently rubbed a thumb across the back of her skin, subconsciously cataloguing her reaction. The pretty flush that rose to her cheeks, the slight hitch in her breathing…Then he shook his head and tried again. Stop imagining things, Seeley. 'Bones. You're still very young. You have plenty of time to date plenty of losers-' or not date at all-'but does Michael Stires have to be one of them?'

Brennan's eyes narrowed and her face flushed in anger. Uh oh. Wrong tac. 'He is not a loser, Booth. And taking into account the fact that you haven't spent longer than five minutes conversing with him, I would hardly consider you qualified to form any sort of opinion of Michael.' There it was again. Hearing that name from those lips made him grind his teeth together. And feel like he was biting down on a bunch of lemons while he was doing it. Right after swallowing a glass of vinegar. If he didn't know better, he'd say she was doing it on purpose. But he wasn't jealous, ofcourse. Bones attempted to pull her hands out of his, snapping him out of his reverie. She was glowering at him crossly-and looking adorable doing it-but he held strong and tried a different approach. 'Look, Bones, you're right, I don't even know the guy. I have no right to call him-well, anything. But, I mean, he's your professor, for crying out loud.' He gave a small chuckle, but Brennan didn't look amused. He sighed. 'It's just that-Bones?'

She just huffed and turned away from him crossly.

'Bones?' He attempted to tug on her hands but she simply pulled hers back in response.

'Look, Bones, I'm sorry-' she continued to attempt to wriggle out of his grasp, but he didn't let go.

'C'mon, Bones. Seriously?'

She was now writhing against him fully, and Booth, in an effort to keep her from getting hurt and also from escaping, finally pinned her to the couch in frustration. Trapping her beneath his body but also holding most of his weight off her, he raised an eyebrow at the mask of defiance that he could already see was slipping. 'Where you gonna go now, huh?'

She shoved against his chest once for effect-none too gently-and his eyes narrowed in acceptance of the challenge.

'Oh, you asked for it, Bones.' Before Brennan could process the meaning of the words-delivered in that soft and deadly tone-one hand snuck beneath the hem of her shirt and began tickling her side.

'Booth!' She couldn't help the way she arched against him or the giggles that burst forth from somewhere deep inside of her.

'S-stop!'

He continued to tickle her mercilessly, loving the way she squealed with laughter and writhed against him. 'Hm? Sorry, what was that, Bones? Didn't catch it.'

'S-stop! P-' she trailed off, giggling uncontrollably. 'P-please!'

'Say Booth is the best and I'll stop'.

'No!

'Say it'.

'No!'

'C'mon, Bones. Say Booth is always right and he makes the best club sandwiches and I'm going to stop trying to make him give up red meat 'cause tofurkey was not made for humans.'

'Never!'

'Never say never, Bones.' He stopped for a few seconds to let her catch her breath and then continued his assault on her ribcage.

'Ready to give up yet? You just have to say it, Bones. Say I-'

'No'. Suddenly, she wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck and jerked him fully against her, momentarily immobilising him. He felt the breath get sucked out of him at the suddenness of the move and the unexpected proximity. Ofcourse, he could have freed himself or switched their positions in an instant if he wanted to, but he was too distracted to consciously acknowledge that he should-and he didn't want to, so there was that too. Brennan was looking up at him through hooded eyes, traces of a mischievous smile still playing on her lips. Booth shifted slightly and instead of analysing their position or cataloguing his own response to her, he took a moment to just feel. For an instant-or an indeterminate length of time-he lost himself completely. They were both breathing heavily from the struggle, and with the decreased supply of oxygen to his brain, Booth felt himself leaning closer, focussed only on meeting those gorgeous lips of hers with his own. The temptation was almost too much to resist, but he managed to pull it together just in time, instead leaning forward so their foreheads touched lightly. He realised belatedly that his eyes were shut and opened them to find Brennan looking up at him silently. Without breaking eye contact, he removed his hand from under her shirt with deliberate slowness, letting it brush against her side on the way out. Then he reached out and started tickling her neck, dispelling the intensity of the situation, using her lapse in concentration to pin her hands behind her head as she made a half-hearted attempt to kick him off.

'Booth! No tickling.'

This time he stopped with little protest, and they both paused to catch their breath as their laughter died down completely. The length of his body was pressed fully against hers, and the feeling was incredible. She smiled languidly and stretched beneath him, and he almost whimpered. He shifted so his elbows were propped on either side of her face, and looked down at her. Their smiles slowly slipped, and then vanished altogether.

'Hi'. His voice was deep and husky and almost unrecognisable.

'Hi'.

He reached out and gently brushed away a stray strand of hair that had fallen across her face during the tussle. He wasn't thinking, and he couldn't help the words that came out of his mouth next.

'Don't go out with Michael.'

'Booth'.

'Don't go out with him.' The words came spilling out. 'Please.'

'Why?'

There were far too many answers to that question, but he was somehow incapable of verbalising any of them. He quickly cast aside the first reply that came to mind and picked up another one.

'He-he's too old for you!'

'How many times do we have to go over this? He is not too old for me!'

'Yes he is'.

'He's 23, Booth.'

Booth stopped. Michael was 25. In the silence, they both realised what had just been said-or not said-and Brennan rushed to cover it up even as Booth stiffened above her. So that's what this was about.

'What I mean is…he's 24, going on 25. Or 25. Already. Really, age is just an insignificant variable that is often attached with too much importance in today's society…'

She looked absolutely mortified, and Booth still didn't say anything.

Brennan was still in the same state of mind and casting around for a way to climb out of the metaphorical hole she seemed to have dug herself into when he reached out and lightly traced her full bottom lip with his finger and his eyes, effectively silencing her. For a moment, Booth forgot himself, entranced by the sight of her full red lips-and Brennan continued staring up at him, eyes wide and chest heaving, waiting for him to make the next move. 'Just…don't go out with him'. And then he moved off from on top of her. The loss at the contact was palpable, but he shifted to a sitting position and went to check his cell phone, allowing her time to recover as she sat up as well, making sure not to brush against him. She absently raised a hand to her lips and smoothed her hair back. She decided it was no use berating herself for a momentary lapse in rational judgement, and quickly brushed aside the flush of disappointment that she hadn't been able to avoid. In fact, after that little incident in the kitchen when Booth had (once again) turned her mind-and knees-to mush and then walked away thoroughly unaffected as if nothing had happened (leaving her to clutch the counter for support just so that she remained standing) Brennan had realised she had some very important decisions to make. There was no use pining after something she clearly couldn't have. It was irrational, and counterproductive to want Booth when he would obviously never want her the same way-and Temperance Brennan didn't do irrational. So when Michael had called and asked her to accompany him to the exhibit that evening, instead of turning him down like she had numerous times in the past (and like she would have done again if Booth so much as gave her any indication that his opposition to the idea of her dating Michael stemmed from anything other than his protective brotherly sentiments towards her) her mind was made up. She was going to go on a date with Michael Stires. Even if Booth didn't like it. Especially if Booth didn't like it. Brennan recognised that some part of her enjoyed watching Booth squirm and fume at the mention of Michael's name, even if it was only because he didn't want to accept the fact that she was a grown woman now and capable of being desirous in the eyes of other men, particularly ones who were in a similar ballpark as him-if only in terms of age.

Meanwhile, Booth wanted to kick himself in the head. He was more than a little frustrated at Brennan, too-but dammit, he really should have seen this coming. He knew that she would go to just about any extent to express her defiance if she disagreed with him on something. He shouldn't have pushed this age thing so much. It wasn't even that big of a deal. A few years or half a decade here and there didn't mean anything anymore-she wasn't twelve, for God's sake. He knew why he'd done it, though. Why he'd brought it up, again and again. And if her little slip up earlier was any indication, she did too. Goddamn it. For the first time in a long time, Booth wished Russ was with them. He didn't want to be the guy who acted like her big brother when the real one wasn't around. Hell, he wanted to be the guy that her brother offered to beat up if he ever hurt her-while being content in the knowledge that he never would. But he couldn't be that guy, and there was no use hoping otherwise. He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, then chanced a glance at her. She was looking at him expectantly, arms crossed primly in her lap, face cool and impassive. He broke the stalemate first.

'Look, I just have a feeling about-'

She arched a delicate brow. 'In your digestive tract?'

Booth rolled his eyes. 'Yes, Bones, in my gut.'

'I do hope you're aware that it isn't possible-'

'Bones.' They both knew what she was trying to do, and even if he had it coming, he had to get his point across first. Then he should probably let her have at it. He groaned inwardly. It wasn't often he was treated to the Temperance Brennan superiority special, and he was secretly grateful for it. They had long ago accepted that they each had different…(fortes? talents? areas of expertise?) specialties, and while they questioned (and criticised) the differing methods and approaches they both had to the same things, neither one of them ever tried to pit their abilities against the other person's. It was one of the unspoken terms of their relationship that helped maintain the balance of it, in any context.* Booth took a deep breath, and then let it out slowly. 'I just have a feeling this guy's bad news-wait, let me finish'-he held up a hand when he saw she was about to interrupt, and chose his next words carefully. 'I'm sure he may be an OK guy and all of that'-or not-'I just think…I think he's not the right guy for you, that's all'.

Brennan's brow furrowed in consideration. 'I-'

'Please, Bones. You know I have a feel for people and say what you like but you've got to admit there's something to be said for going with your gut once in a while. And I know-I just know-that this guy's bad news. Call it…instinct, if you will. I just-I can't see you get hurt.' He said the last part softly but firmly, and Brennan softened in turn.

'Booth…' she trailed off. 'You know that I-'

'You don't have to say anything'. He took her hands in his. 'All I'm asking, as someone who cares about you'- he lightly pressed her hands and this time she didn't pull away, momentarily distracted by the startling intensity in his eyes -'is that you think it over before making any hasty decisions'. He gave her hands another light squeeze before releasing them.

Brennan nodded. She could give him that much. He really did care about her, he was a good judge of character-and most importantly, this really seemed to matter to him. 'I suppose I can do that. And…I will file your suggestion regarding Michael under advisement'.

'Thanks, Bones.' Booth gave her that lopsided grin she loved so much and she couldn't help the blush that rose to her cheeks. Just then, the doorbell rang and he pulled her to her feet but let go almost instantly, disguising the move by rubbing his hands together in anticipation. 'Well, then. Let's go greet our guests, shall we?'

A few hours later, the party was in full swing and Booth had to admit that things were going pretty damn smoothly. The evening was well underway and no one had broken anything or thrown up anywhere-that he was aware of-and Michael had yet to show up. Apparently the good professor was away for the weekend, visiting with family in…he hadn't really listened for the details. All that mattered was that the guy was thousands of miles away from his Bones. He could be in Bora Bora for all Booth cared. Where was Bora Bora, anyway?...He should ask Bones. His Bones. He wondered if he was allowed to think of her that way. Ofcourse he was. She was his…his…have another beer, pal. It didn't mean that he was…thinking of her in any way that he shouldn't be. Or anything. He wouldn't dare mention it to her, either-he didn't need to listen to another spiel on how his alpha male tendencies made him possessive and dominant… dominating…domineering…what was the right word again? Another beer sounded just great. Downing the last of the one he already held, he headed into the kitchen on autopilot. And spotted her standing there. She looked almost unnaturally good, dressed in a simple black dress that she'd traded in for her jeans and t ensemble after much nagging on Angela's part. The doorbell that had interrupted them during their earlier…conversation…had turned out to be Ange, who had ofcourse arrived before the rest of the guests to do some last minute 'in-anticipation-of-damage control'. Apparently this involved whisking Brennan away for half an hour, twenty minutes of which were spent-he was later informed-trying to convince her to 'change out of the rags she was wearing' (Angela had also taped an 'if you want your man to drool all over you' to the end of that sentence, and attempted to motivate Brennan into complying by using various incentives, including the promise that it would 'blow Booth away'. But Brennan had sagaciously decided he didn't need to know that part.). Eventually, Ange had simply applied some smoky eyeshadow and a subtle shade of lipstick and released Brennan, grumbling about being deprived of the chance to 'work her magic'. She was quite satisfied with the end result though, and Booth had to admit that while he generally thought make-up was fully unnecessary-especially on Bones-Angela had succeeded in achieving what he supposed was her original objective-as a result of her handiwork, Bones not only looked sexy as hell but a lot older than usual. The form-fitting black cocktail dress was neither too short nor too deep cut, but it looked gorgeous on her, moulding perfectly to her curves in all the right places. Booth remembered picking it out for her himself when they'd gone to look at dresses for her graduation ceremony. She hadn't gone to the after party, but he couldn't have been more glad he told her to 'keep it-just in case'. Booth decided he loved that dress. Hell, he wanted to be that dress. Easy there, cowboy. He stopped in the doorway and gave her a slow, unintentionally seductive smile-that unbeknownst to him wasn't lost on Brennan. God, she looked so beautiful. She was standing against the fridge, blushing prettily and biting down on her lip, and…there was another guy standing next to her. Close. Way too close. Booth was momentarily paralysed with rage as a flash of red obfuscated his vision. If he was thinking clearly-or at all-he would have laughed at the hilarity of his reaction. Who knew you could literally be blinded by rage? And they said you only saw red in the movies. Ofcourse, had he been paying attention to any other insignificant details, Booth would also have been thankful that he had set his beer bottle down on the counter because he surely would have broken it, given the way his hands had curled into fists inside his pockets. The guy leaned closer and Brennan laughed politely at what he'd said, clearly oblivious to the fact that he was flirting with her. She discretely looked at Booth once more over his shoulder while the blonde douchebag kept talking and propped an arm against the fridge near her head. The guy clearly wasn't getting the memo. Booth started towards them. Then he stopped. Brennan had turned her attention back to the jock and was laughing throatily at something he had said, going so far as to rest her hand briefly against his chest. She was determinedly avoiding Booth's furious gaze now. So maybe she wasn't so clueless after all. He couldn't believe her. She was acting like he wasn't even there. She was flirting with a guy. Openly. In front of him. A guy she clearly hadn't been interested in under a minute ago. He knew her, he could tell. What the hell? Blondie was clearly thrilled that Brennan was finally responding to his advances, and he moved his hand from the fridge as if to place it on…Booth didn't wait to find out. Stalking forward, he grabbed the kid's shoulder and turned him around none too gently so he was no longer practically on top of Bones. Yep. Time to get all alpha male on his ass. And reclaim what was rightfully his, the niggling voice in the back of his head that he was repeatedly trying to ignore gleefully chimed in. Looking down at Brennan, he could have sworn he saw a flicker of relief beneath the annoyance she was projecting. He smiled.

'Hi.'

'Booth!'

'Hey, baby'. He turned to the blonde jock who was gaping at him stupidly and angled his body between him and Brennan. He released the kid's shoulder from his deceptively tight grip and flashed him a smile that bared a set of perfect white teeth.

'I don't think we've met'.

'Booth, this is Josh; Josh, Seeley Booth'. Neither Booth nor Brennan were actively involved in the student community in college, but Booth's reputation was already well established in the short time that he had attended Northwestern. He was well liked by the boys and more than well liked by the girls, and it was common knowledge that he was insanely protective of Brennan. And that he was an undercover secret agent with the FBI and had hidden superpowers. Or something. Josh's eyes widened as he realised he shouldn't have had that one extra beer, and he really shouldn't have hit on this one extra girl. He actually seemed to shrink to half his size in the face of Booth's slightly menacing smile.

'H-hey, man. Nice party'.

Booth seriously considered telling the kid to beat it, but then decided that Josh already looked positively terrified and it wasn't worth the risk of being called on it by Bones. Instead, he extended his hand for Josh to shake and tightened his grip just enough that the boy's eyes widened further in abject horror and he was visibly trembling. Message received. The moment Booth released his hand, the kid bolted right out the door.

Brennan leaned back against the fridge and regarded him wryly.

'What?' Booth asked innocently.

'You didn't have to do that, you know.'

'Do wha-'

'Booth'.

Booth raised a hand to his chest in a pledge of mock sincerity. 'I have no idea what you're talking about, Bones.'

She just continued looking at him coolly with those iced blue eyes. Booth scoffed.

'Please, you didn't want him here any more than I do'.

'I may have'.

He rubbed a hand over his face and locked eyes with her. Why are you doing this to me? She knew how to push all his buttons in ways that shouldn't be possible-and most of the time she didn't even mean to do it-but not this time. This time she was just goading him. He swallowed his anger with considerable effort and cocked an eyebrow. 'Well it's not my fault the kid intimidates easy.'

Brennan snorted and raised her chin defiantly. 'He's not easily intimidated, you intimidate easily'.

'That's not my fault either.' The words bordered on a growl, and his voice was rough, sending shivers down Brennan's spine.

Before Brennan could form a retort, Booth realised their position-chests heaving, lips mere millimetres apart-and pushed away from where he had her caged in against the fridge door, a hand on either side of her head.

Fuck. He turned quickly under the guise of picking up another beer, and ran his hands through his hair. 'Want one?' Brennan shook her head no but he missed it because he wasn't ready to turn around and face her just yet. If he hadn't been so distracted he never would have offered her a drink in the first place. He picked up a bottle for himself and popped the cap on the counter, rubbing his free hand across his face.

'Angela'.

Just then, he noticed the artist standing in the doorway, looking a little tipsy and more than a little suspicious. Booth set his beer down a little harder than strictly necessary. He wondered how long she'd been standing there. Tiredly, he realised he didn't care. There were a few other couples in the kitchen, and a small group sitting on the backdoor steps smoking cigarettes. Or what he hoped were cigarettes. When Booth returned his attention to her, Angela was still squinting at him strangely. Then she abruptly stopped scrutinising him and flounced towards the ice bucket, waving an empty plastic cup in the air and giggling slightly. 'You kids don't mind me now, I'm just here for a refill'. So she was more than a little tipsy then. Good. Concluding that Angela must have come to a decision about what she thought she might have seen, Booth raised his drink to her in salute before taking a deep swig and turning back to Brennan. He'd just made an important decision of his own.

Booth approached Brennan where she was standing against the fridge, cradling a wine glass in her hand and lost in thought. She was biting down sexily on her bottom lip as he drew nearer, eyes cast downward, and looked up at him only when he came to stand over her. She had clearly been trying to get a rise out of him by flirting with that jerk, and he was giving her exactly what she wanted. Well, not this time. This time he was going to take control. Here we go.

Booth was regarding her silently, his head cocked to the side. Brennan could have sworn she saw his eyes glinting with…something she couldn't quite identify. She studied him for a moment. He didn't seem to mind, and his own eyes darted around her face as if cataloguing every minute detail or change in her expression.

'Just how many beers have you had Booth?'

He looked at her in a way that suggested he wasn't even going to dignify that with a response. She knew that Booth hardly ever drank more than he could handle-and he could handle a lot. She reckoned it must have something to do with his father's alcoholism.

'You know, I'm not sure how I feel about you drinking'. His tone was partly serious, and the hint of a frown played upon his lips, but his eyes didn't lose their twinkle of amusement. Brennan grinned in defiance and tipped her glass between them, lightly swirling its contents.

Wordlessly, Booth reached out to take the nearly empty glass from her hand when Brennan's fingers shot out and closed around his on the stem. He looked at her questioningly but she simply tossed back the last dregs of the dark liquid, all the while keeping her eyes focussed on him over the rim of the glass. He had yet to let go of the flute so their fingers were still intertwined on the stem. Booth's gaze was riveted on her lips as she slowly licked a stray drop of wine that was threatening to trickle down her chin, and lower still…Brennan abruptly released the glass, causing him to look up sharply from his perusal of the probable natural progression of the drop at the sudden loss of her touch.

'I'm not sure you're supposed to feel any way at all'.

Well, he certainly wasn't supposed to be feeling the way he was now. Wait, what? How did she…oh yeah, they'd been…talking…about something. He was so turned on he couldn't think straight. Stick to the plan, man. Stay in control. Brennan coolly raised an eyebrow at him and Booth grinned, reaching out to place the offending wineglass (that he had been monumentally jealous of just moments earlier) on the counter behind her. Then he came to stand over her again, pressing closer this time and allowing the cold surface of the bottle he still held to graze her side as his right hand came to rest against the plastic of the fridge at her back. Her eyes widened but she made no other acknowledgement of his proximity. Booth smirked slightly and propped his other arm above her head, leaning closer. Much closer than that idiot Josh had been a couple minutes earlier. Brennan's hands were now pressed against the fridge behind her, sandwiched between her back and the hard plastic, and her palms began to moisten with sweat even against the cold surface just as her mouth went dry.

'Hey, Bones'. His voice was sinfully smooth and washed over her like a caress, just as he reached out a finger and traced the line of her jaw. His eyes darkened as he noted the shiver that she couldn't repress.

Brennan swallowed thickly and cleared her throat as her knees buckled against his taller frame.

'H-hello'.

Oh yeah, he still had it. It had been so long since he'd openly flirted with someone while harbouring a real agenda that Booth wasn't sure he remembered just how to go about the whole thing. And Bones had him so unnerved he was bound to lose his already tenuous hold on his self-control at some point if he kept this up, and that was something he couldn't afford to do.

'Looks like tonight's going quite well, huh?'

Blushing, Brennan nodded. 'Yes, everyone seems to be having a good time'.

'Are you having a good time, Bones?' His voice was still low and rough, and Brennan supressed another shudder. She could feel his breath on her cheek. She wondered what had gotten over her. This was Booth. Her Booth. The same Booth who had always looked out for her and was there for her when no one else was. The same Booth who made her feel like no one else mattered, even when they were around. Granted, 'that same Booth' was also gorgeous and rugged and manly and handsome and disarmingly charming. But she had been in closer proximity to him on numerous occasions-she'd fallen asleep in his arms for God's sake. Repeatedly. And yet she couldn't help the deep flush that swept over her when he leaned closer, or the fluttering in her stomach when he smiled that sexy, unassuming half-smile, or the way she felt warmed from the inside out when he…God, he smelled so good. She inhaled deeply. If this was what alcohol did to your senses, it truly was intoxicating. She should drink more often. Belatedly, she realised Booth was still talking. She blinked at him confusedly.

'W-what?'

It was most unfair. He didn't even wear cologne. 'Because it smells like perfume, Bones'. And to top it off he had to go around looking like that. He raised an eyebrow at her as if he could read her thoughts. Don't be ridiculous, Temperance, psychic powers do not exist. No one can read minds. It sometimes felt as if Booth could read her heart, though. Seeing into souls was ofcourse a fanciful concept, but-'Temperance? I asked if you were having a good time', he repeated slowly. OH my. The way he said her name always made her melt. She scrambled for purchase.

'Hm? Oh yes, I am. What about you?'

His grin was equal parts wolfish and sincere. 'I am now'.

'Y-yes. Angela seems happy with the turn out. It would appear that…'

'Are you?'

'I-What?'

'Are you happy with the turn-out?' She knew what he was really asking-whether she was alright with the fact that Michael wasn't at the party. In truth, she was extremely relieved that he hadn't been able to make it. It was that horrid time of the month for her, and she was achy, and bloated, and hormonal, and she didn't feel like male company. Except for Booth, ofcourse. Booth she wanted to keep around. Always. His presence inspired a number of emotions in her, but it was always…comforting. And she needed that right now. It was strange how he could go from 'sex on a stick' as Angela described him, to a warm, cuddly teddy bear. She smiled softly, eyes downcast, and suddenly realised she had been tracing random patterns on the front of his shirt on his rock hard abs. Booth, ofcourse, had realised this a long time ago and was finding it very hard to concentrate on what he was supposed to be doing. When Bones continued to stare at the ground and didn't meet his eyes, Booth tipped her chin-up with his finger. 'Baby, what's wr-?'

'Yes.'

His brow furrowed in confusion.

'Yes, I am most satisfied with the, uh, turnout. And the present company'. She was playing with his collar as she said this, and Booth grinned down at her. She looked so innocent and happy that his heart soared. He thought it might actually beat out of his chest when she smiled up at him and said those words in that earnest voice. Screw the plan.

Then she leaned back against the fridge slightly and bit down on her bottom lip in that way that made him want to pound into her madly until she begged for mercy and all thoughts of innocence flew out the window. Brennan traced a finger down from his collar across the first few buttons of his shirt…and then brought it to rest on his chest, above his heart.

'I find that I enjoy the taste of wine a good deal more now than I did when I was seven and my mother poured me two drops in a sippy cup.'

'Yeah?'

Booth softened completely. She hardly ever talked about her parents.

'Yeah'. She smiled.

'I find that I am feeling slightly intoxicated right now'.

Booth chuckled. So long as she'd had only wine-

'I tried a few sips of Josh's gin and tonic as well. I think he might have been trying to get me drunk in the hope that I would engage in sexual intercourse with him'.

Booth went stiff all over. 'Why that little-'

Before he could go beat the guy up for-for what, offering Bones a sip of his drink?-Booth reminded himself that he had a mission to accomplish here and that was far more important than some punk footballer. Stay focussed.

'Booth, it's entirely normal for the teenage male to seek out a potential partner from a random selection of available-'

'You're not just any random girl, Bones.' Dammit, he was spiralling out of control again. He took a deep breath and steered the conversation to more neutral territory.

'So Angela really seems to like this Hodgins guy a lot'.

'Yes, she does. She actually…'

He stepped against her fully, placing one foot on either side of hers, and with the same deliberate slowness, reached out and brushed an errant strand of hair behind her ear. His beer bottle had disappeared somewhere, but his fingers were still cold from grasping the chilled surface. Her eyes fluttered to half-mast and she gasped softly. Somehow he seemed to be supporting most of her weight.

'Don't go out on Saturday night'.

'What?'

'Don't go out. Stay at home-'-he leaned forward so his mouth hovered just over her ear, close, but not quite touching. His voice was like the most sensual caress, sinfully rough and smooth at the same time. '-with me.'

Brennan tried valiantly to reach into the logical part of her brain-that seemed to have stopped functioning-and find any reason she shouldn't stay home with Booth and go out with-with…Booth nuzzled his nose imperceptibly against her hair, but she felt it anyway and gasped noiselessly. With…Michael. Right. She was supposed to go to the museum with Michael. Aha! The museum.

'I really do want to see that exhibit, Booth'.

'I'll take you.'

'You'll be bored'.

'Out of my mind. But you'll be happy?'

'Yes'.

'Then I'll go'. His lips were distractingly close and his eyes were almost unbearably intense. 'Say you'll stay, Bones'.

'OK', she breathed, still lost in his chocolate eyes. What was she agreeing to again? She was quite sure she would have given into anything at that point.

'OK'.

Brennan had recovered somewhat by this point and she stood up straighter, embarrassed at the way her knees had actually weakened moments earlier. And with his hand at her waist-and his body pretty much pressed up against hers-Booth had to have felt it too. In fact, she was quite sure that if he hadn't had her pinned to the refrigerator (had she been thinking clearly-or at all-the very sound of that would have given her pause) she would have fallen to the floor as a result of her knees giving way entirely.

Ofcourse, standing straighter also had the (un)fortunate effect of bringing her even closer to Booth and putting them at nearly eye-level, given that he was leaning over her and she was wearing heeled boots. Booth was thrown by this new development. Brennan's pupils were impossibly dilated and his own eyes had darkened to a charcoal black. 'Bones…' As was often the case their eyes met, he could not look away and found himself drowning in the cerulean depths. God, there was no way he could keep up this charade if he looked into her eyes. He felt a momentary stab of guilt, but he quickly pushed it aside and it was gone as quickly as it had come. That wasn't the least of his problems, though. Guilt was by no means the predominant emotion he was feeling. But there was no way he was giving in to the insanely powerful urge to close the infinitesimal distance between them when Bones wasn't in full control of her faculties, and that made it infinitely easier to pull away. The hand that was at her waist dropped quickly, and he stepped away from her, calling upon will power he didn't know he had. As soon as there was some distance between them and rational thought and sensation returned, Brennan fled the kitchen, mumbling something about using the bathroom.

Booth stuffed his hands in his pockets and sighed, looking at the floor. He was about to turn around to get another drink-preferably something harder, this time-when a voice stopped him in his tracks.

'I saw that, you know'.

Crap.

'Angela'. The pretty brunette stood a few feet away, brow arched, a plastic cup in one hand and a keg tap in the other.

'Don't Angela me, Seeley Booth. That was underhanded and manipulative.'

Booth hung his head and went back to staring at the floor, shamefacedly.

'I love it!'

Booth's head snapped up.

'What?'

'You just seduced Brennan out of going for a date with Stires.'

'I didn't seduce-'

'Save it, Booth. God, that was so hot I almost got singed across the room.'

Booth flushed.

'You know, if anyone else had done that to her, you'd have ripped them apart by now'.

'I know'.

'Or atleast caused some heavy bodily damage that would eventually lead to a slow, painful death.'

'I know', he repeated quietly.

'Hell, if you were anyone else, I'd beat you up'. Sensing that he already felt awful enough without her assistance, Angela hopped down from the counter she had perched herself on during the course of the conversation, and turned to fill her glass from the beer tap sitting beside her.

'You should be proud of yourself, G man, you really turned it ON back there'.

Angela winced. Probably not helping. Booth, however, raised an eyebrow questioningly. 'G man?'

Angela turned and winked at him, mischievous grin in place. 'Rumour has it that you're an undercover Special Agent with the FBI'. She said the last part with mocking gravity, and Booth did a double take. 'What? Do I really look that old?'

'Honey, if you're going by the cops on the TV shows-and these kids probably are-I'd hardly call 'old' their defining characteristic'. She was finally done filling her cup, and she hastily wiped away the spillover that she had been too distracted to take note of. 'Now if you don't mind, I'm going to go photocopy my butt and send pictures to everyone on campus.

With that, she gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder and exited the room. 'Hang in there, Booth. It'll get better'. Booth just grunted in response. A few seconds-that felt like hours what with all the thinking and self-bashing he'd filled them with-later, Angela popped her head back in. 'But seriously, Booth, you'd better figure out your shit fast. This is my best friend we're talking about here'.

And damn if he didn't understand that sentiment all too well.

*'The balance won't change, but the context will' is a quote from a recent Hart Hanson interview, part of his response to the question of how BB's relationship would change going into baby season. I thought it was quite beautifully put, and Stephen Nathan seems to agree.

A/N: Let me tell you, I do not enjoy being alive at this time of the month. I'm willing to bet atleast 99% of my readers-if not the whole 100-are female, so I'm sure you can sympathise. Please do correct me if I'm mistaken, and you happen to belong to a different species. I would genuinely like to know, if only out of curiosity.

As for the custom bra site, I wasn't kidding. I really would like to know a few good ones. Remember, 32DD people. If you know a website that ships Booths, I would be interested in hitting that up to. I can ensure that all possible measures will be taken to ensure his happiness and continued gorgeousness-ahem, I mean good health. I will also occasionally put him on display so that his beauty can be shared and appreciated. Don't forget to consider that this will be beneficial to all interested parties.

Yours sincerely,

S

P.S: How many of you really read these, anyway? x_x