The Inquisitor

By: dharmamonkey & Lesera128
Rated: M
Disclaimer: So, we're still here, and by now, we know as well as you do that we don't own anything. However, we are looking into ways to take control of this sandbox by adverse possession. *blinks* Okay, not really. But, you get the gist.

A/N: Ladies and gents, we're on the downside of the mountain. We still have a few surprises left to dazzle you with, but we're not gonna say much more and will let you judge for yourselves.

Unf Alert: This chapter contains moments of tingly unfness. Some of you will be disappointed by that. (Nah, probably not, but we needed to say it anyway, so we'd have some plausible deniability.) If you don't care to read about that sort of thing, then don't. If the foregoing doesn't apply to you, please proceed immediately to read this newest installment of what might just be the farthest-out-in-deep-left-field Bones fic to post in a long time.

Chapter 11: Trust and Faith

Booth smiled into Brennan's hair as she nuzzled into the crook where his arm and shoulder met, a kittenish murmur warbling in her throat as she snuggled against him. The summer air was heavy and almost stifling, and though their bodies were covered with a layer of sticky sweat that stuck to one another in any place where his bare skin touched hers—admittedly, each of them more sweaty than could be explained by simply having to endure the heat of a warm summer night—they didn't mind as they basked in the feel of one another.

After several minutes of contented silence, Brennan turned her head and looked up at him, a pleased smile softening her normally severe face. "Booth?"

"Hmmm?" came the hazy, gritty-voiced response.

"Just so you know," she replied. "That was—"

"Very enjoyable," he said, cutting off her sentence as he kissed her forehead gently and then snaked his arm around her waist, pulling her even more tightly against him.

Brennan was quiet for a few seconds. At last, she told him, "Well, yes, it was that, but..."

Booth's forehead creased as a flash of worry passed through him as he processed the meaning of her words. Sitting up a bit—at least, as much as he was able to with Brennan sprawled on top of him—he looked at her with apprehension clearly shining on his face. "But what?" he croaked. "Did you not—I mean, was it not...did you not enjoy it?" His voice wavered with uncertainty before he added, "Was it not...was I not pleasing to you?"

Brennan shook her head and wriggled out of his grasp as she sat up in bed and looked down at him with an arched brow. "You know," she said as she stared at it him intently. "It still amazes me that, even after you've bedded me probably two or three dozen times over the last month, you still have so little confidence in your skills." She paused, and then leaned in close to him to lightly brush his lips with hers. "You have nothing to worry about in that particular regard, Booth." Pausing again, she gave him another smile as she moved back and added, "Believe me, I'd be the first one to tell you if you did."

Flushing a bit at her words—both the very gentle rebuke and implied compliment—Booth stared at her for a long moment. Then, when he saw her staring at him with what he'd come to think of as her 'don't be silly' look, he began to laugh once more. Chuckling a bit, he said, "I suppose I am a bit self-conscious about it, but it's only because I'm used to being sure of my skills in almost every other facet of my life—whether saying mass, arguing in front of the curia or riding my horse. In all of those things, I always know exactly where I stand...but, with you—when I'm with you? I still am never quite certain what's happening or why or what will happen next, and it's all very bewildering to me. When I'm with you, I'm fine. However, when I'm by myself, and have even a single spare moment to start thinking about things, it makes me feel foolish, but I can't help it because the doubts start to creep in—"

She considered his words as he left his final thought unfinished. She then smiled again as she said, "Well, I can't speak to most of what you've just told me, but you must have faith in me when I do share this part, because, it comes to us bedding? Well..." Her grin grew wider as she chuckled. "I'm very satisfied with how things are between us. I'm quite pleased at what you've learned to do to me, with me, and how you make me feel. Even more importantly, I can't tell you how much amusement it brings me to see over and over again how you're such a constant surprise to me. And, that in and of itself, is a priceless gift since there are so few things in this world that surprise me in a pleasant way."

"Surprise?" he asked, curious as to what would specific thing about him would elicit those exact words from Brennan. "I'm not sure I take what you mean. How so?"

"Well," she laughed as she gestured at the small space that separated them. "Take tonight, for example."

"Right," he nodded, still not certain he was taking her meaning. "Mmmm...what about it?"

She blinked at him for a moment and then said, "Well, alright." She paused as she wondered whether she should explain or not, but as he looked at her with such heartfelt sincerity shining in his warm brown eyes, she knew she couldn't ever lie to him. Taking a deep breath, she began, "Well, it's just that..."

"What?" he asked, sensing her hesitation as she tried to explain something that she was obviously grappling with finding a way to convey the information to him. It made him wonder what topic could render such a normally blunt woman tongue-tied. "You know you can tell me anything, right, Bren?"

"I do," Brennan said as she reached out and laid a hand on his chest, lightly placing it over his heart to reassure him. "I do. It's just that—"

"Tell me," he said again, as he brought one of his own large hands up and covered her hand with his own. Giving her a slightly squeeze, he said, "Please? Tell me?"

Brennan, nearly undone by his gentleness, nodded as she took a breath, and then explained, "So, I'm only saying this since you asked why you amuse me because you do things I don't expect."

"Right," he nodded. "I know. So what is it?" He raised his eyebrows in expectation.

"Well, earlier," she nodded at him. "Well, it's just that...you've never taken me in such a..." She hesitated as she struggled for the right word. "Well—you've never been so rough with me before, and I have to admit your aggression surprised me a bit. I wasn't—"

"I'm sorry," he said instantly, feeling a flush of shame crash over him as he cut her off and let his hand fall away from hers, almost as if he'd been burned by her touch. Twisting away from her and sitting up fully, he hesitated for a minute before putting his hand on her shoulder, as he said softly, "I'm so sorry. I am...really. I didn't mean to...it just sort of happened."

He remembered how, just a little while earlier, he'd entered her cell, the same as he had so many nights over the prior month, and how he'd barely closed the door behind him with a hard shove of his sandaled foot before he'd more or less lunged at her, cupping her head between his hands as he covered her mouth with his, pressing against her lips as his impatient tongue demanded admission. He'd kissed her as hard then as he ever had before, his blood roaring in his ears as he felt her slender fingers press into his bony hip, squeezing rhythmically as his tongue laved the inside of her mouth. Moments later, starved for breath, they'd broken apart, and Booth had almost tore his robes off before lunging at her again, nearly tackling her on her low pallet as he peeled her thin linen shift off her body. He'd nudged her legs open with his forearms as he leaned over her, kissing her hard until they were both again left breathless, enjoying one last sweep of her mouth with his tongue as he grunted and entered her with a single firm, swift stroke.

As he began to run through what had just transpired in his mind, he paled a bit as he said, "I don't know what possessed me. I'm so very sorry, God, forgive me. But, please tell me that I didn't hurt you, because I don't know how I'll live with myself if I did. I never want to hurt you, Bren. Never." He then averted his eyes, and braced himself, almost waiting for her words as if he'd anticipated a heavy physical blow to land squarely on him when she finally spoke.

The concern that burned in his face made her heart burst as she saw him worry about what he had or hadn't done to her. Quickly, she reached forward and shook her head, "Booth—"

"What?" he rasped.

"Look at me," she demanded in a soft yet even voice. "Please?"

"I can't," he whispered. "Not if I hurt you, brutalized you, or—" Booth blushed at recalling how he'd pounded into her, his teeth gritted and each of his hard, driving strokes punctuated with a sound that fell somewhere between a grunt and a growl. He could feel his skin burning hot as his blood seemed to bubble with an aggression he had never, ever felt before. As he remembered jerking into her with every ounce of strength he could summon up, supporting his weight on one arm as he pinned her right thigh to the linen-covered straw mattress with the other, he felt as if he'd been a man possessed, his body energized the way he'd never felt it before. That energy had begun coursing through him in the last moments of his encounter with Michael Stires and a part of him felt immensely guilty that the aggression he'd built up in the course of talking with Stires had been expended, burned off in a sense, during his encounter with Brennan.

"Booth," Brennan said softly, as she reached out and slowly tilted his chin so that his sorrowfully contrite brown eyes reluctantly looked up to meet hers. "Please, don't," she told him.

"What?"

"Don't punish yourself," she said. "You did nothing wrong. And, as I've told you many times before, you didn't hurt me, so there's no need to apologize," she told him.

"Really?" he dared to breathe. "Are you certain?"

"Yes," she said. "Really." A crooked grin broke across her face as her eyes twinkled in the candlelight. "What's more, if I didn't want you doing to me anything that you were doing, I think we both know that I'd have no trouble stopping you. Besides—I rather enjoyed it, actually," she said, waggling her eyebrows. "I like that you've finally gained enough confidence to stop treating me like some delicate piece of fine Venetian glass. And, truth to be told, I wouldn't mind it if you came at me again like that the next time."

Booth's face flushed and his mouth broke into a lazy grin at hearing her words. Really? he thought, wincing slightly as he felt his balls hitch at the thought. His ears burned red as he pondered the notion of a woman like Brennan wanting to be taken in a rough, aggressive, dominating, almost animalistic way. He felt his mouth go dry at the possibility. Booth kneaded the inside of his lip between his teeth as he wondered if she would enjoy him nipping or biting at her skin as he rammed into her. Her words gave him nearly free license to try anything, knowing that if he crossed a line, she would be right there to let him know that he'd gone too far. If I am not hurting her, or myself, but giving her great pleasure and taking some for myself, he thought, then there's no harm in coming together this way. Not if she wants it, and I do, too. His mind raced, the ideas and images tumbling through him like a rockslide. And, I do want it. I want her, and it, and us together...in every way possible. I want it so much...so very, very much.

"Hmmm," he said. "Well, if you're certain about that—"

"Damn straight I am," Brennan muttered cheekily.

With a wink, he nodded and said, "Duly noted, then."

"Good," Brennan said as she smiled when she saw the earlier worry that had gripped him had fallen away. "Now, can I ask you about what happened that made you so...well, aggressive earlier, without you going to pieces in the giving of an answer to me?"

Quirking an eyebrow at her teasing, Booth gave her a mock serious look as he deadpanned, "It'll be difficult, but yes, I'll try to keep myself composed."

Rolling her eyes at him, she said, "Fine. Then, tell me—what got into you, anyway?" Brennan paused for a minute before she saw his eyes darken in anticipation of answering her question. Some of the teasing went out of her voice as she said quietly, "I mean, you came in here tonight like the Devil himself or...I don't even know what..." She cocked her head, and seeing the furrowing of his brow and the serious frown that marred his handsome face, she ached to reach out and touch him. Then, realizing that there was nothing to stop her from doing exactly that if that's what she wished to do, Brennan reached out and cupped his face with her hand, stroking her fingers over his stubbled jaw. "What happened today?"

Booth relished in the feel of her touch for a long moment. He then leaned his head to the side, gently pinning her hand between his face and shoulder before releasing it. He drew a long sigh, running his hand through his sweaty hair and looked into her pale eyes once more before answering. "You're innocent," he said. "I mean, of course, I've known for a while now that you're innocent of the charges of sorcery and witchcraft, but, Bren―now...now I have the proof. I can prove you're innocent."

Brennan shook her head and sat up straighter in bed, leaning her back against the wall as she looked at him. "I don't understand," she said quietly. "What do you mean?"

"She admitted it, Bren," he said. "Daisy Stires admitted that she's been giving licorice root to her husband in copious enough quantities that..." Booth grinned awkwardly. "Well, enough of it that he couldn't perform his duties as a husband. Which is exactly what she wants. After all of his whoring, giving her the pox, and how he's taken to having her whether she was willing or no—the violence of it all, when combined with all of the issues surrounding her pregnancies and..." He paused, a moment of sadness washing over him as he thought about the young woman. "And the loss of her children...well, umm...after all of it, she doesn't want him coming near her bed and so she finally decided to do something about it." He stopped for a minute and then said, "I'd intended on telling you all of this earlier—as soon as I came to see you. But, uhhh, I sort of got carried away a bit when we...err, I...well you know." He sheepishly grinned at her as he inclined his head. "When I kissed you hello, I kinda got more distracted than I thought I would, and it sorta just slipped my mind."

Brennan arched her eyebrow at him as she asked, "You forgot, hmmm?"

"Well, yeah," he chuckled. "I was a bit...distracted, if you recall."

"Yes," she laughed, recalling that she hadn't had more than a moment's notice of her lover's arrival before he'd pounced upon her with passionate abandon...and how, when he'd begun to kiss her so fervently, that any thoughts or questions beyond what he was doing to her body at that very moment had gone straight out of her head. "I suppose we both were." She then thought about his earlier words and asked, "Hmmm? Licorice root, did you say?" Booth nodded his head. Brennan sat back and quietly considered his response. "That would work," she said after pondering the idea for a couple of minutes. "Heavy doses of licorice root do have medicinal qualities, it's true. My father's often prescribed them for a number of conditions, most often to help someone ill with a lingering cough. But, if the proper dosages aren't observed, it can also be toxic. I've heard of cases when the consumption of too much licorice puts the body's humors out of balance, and for a man, such an imbalance could make him impotent. And since licorice is so sweet, the taste of it can be pleasant and easily hidden in other foods and drinks." She nodded to herself. "Yes, I think—if her goal was to keep Michael Stires and his distasteful rutting away from her bed, that certainly would be a very excellent way to do it."

Booth raised an eyebrow. "You know...it only bothers me slightly," he chuckled, "that you know so much about the taste of toxic herbs and how to conceal them."

Brennan narrowed her eyes and wagged her finger at him in a silent, teasing warning. "Perhaps you should be more worried than you are."

He closed one eye and looked at her with mock skepticism. "Indeed?" he asked. "Is this how you intend to keep me in line, Mistress? God forbid I fail to please you in some way. I may wake up with itchy feet, a purple tongue and dilated pupils, all because I crossed you in some unspecified way."

She pursed her lips to bite back a laugh. "You better do your best to please me, then, hmmm?" she said with a faint snicker as she gave him a very heavy-lidded look. "Lest you end up back in the infirmary with that phlebotomist monk and his creepy apprentice."

"Hmm," Booth said with a scrunched-up nose. The entire experience in the infirmary still sent a shiver up his spine at the thought of Brother Paul approaching with his lancet-like fleam and shiny bowl.

"Don't worry, Booth," she said. "The last thing in the world I'd feed you is licorice. I'm not that daft." She stopped and then gave him a completely deadpanned look. "If I wanted to keep you from being able to bed me—although I can't imagine a time when I'd ever see that desire ever coming to pass on my part—I'd use something that no one's ever heard of..."

"You've given this some thought then?" he asked with an arched eyebrow.

"I'm afraid I can't confirm or deny that statement with any type of specific response," she blinked at him. However, just as she saw a flash of worry cross across his face—so minute that it lasted only for the briefest of seconds— she smiled at him as she she let some of her teasing creep into her voice as she said, "I've thought about it enough to know that I wouldn't use licorice. Hmmm?"

"Good," he laughed. "Because I've recently remembered I have a distinct dislike of licorice, you know. It's used to make a liquor in Italy called sambuca. I knew a Dominican brother when I was in Rome who drank the stuff like water, though I never recalled him ever complain of any adverse effects." Booth paused with lopsided grin. "Then again, if a tree falls in the forest and no one is there, does it make a sound?"

Brennan blinked at him again, Booth started to chuckle, and then the two of them dissolved into a fit of laughter so hearty that their eyes began to water before Brennan shushed them lest their noise draw unwanted attention. "Enough," she whispered. "Wouldn't it be ironic," she said after a minute, gasping for breath, "If we're finally found out not from sounds we've made as we've bedded, but because you're making me laugh with your bad jokes."

"Oh, come on, Bren," he gave her a teasing look. "That one wasn't that bad."

Shaking his head as his laughter faded away, Booth wiped the moisture from his eyes as his mind returned to the more serious issue at hand, and his facial expression grew more somber as he remembered the conclusion of his second interview with Daisy Stires.

"You know...Daisy? She confessed to doing this, Bren," he said with a nod. "She told me, first, of course, before I heard her confession. That's why, since she told me before the wording of the ritual invoked the seal of the confessional, I can tell you this now. Each of the accusations that has been laid against you and attributed to witchcraft―that you caused Michael Stires to be unable to perform as a man, and that you caused the death of his issue―all can be explained to have occurred due to causes not within your control."

As Booth spoke, Brennan was almost too afraid to ask the question that was on the tip of her tongue. She was afraid, that despite the fact that she knew Booth would keep his promise to help her, something unexpected would happen to take away the vision of happiness that dangled in front of her in the form of her freedom. At last, she knew she couldn't let the question remain unanswered any longer. She took a breath, trying to harden her resolve before she spoke. Booth watched her with a curious look even as she finally opened her mouth to speak. "So...what happens now?" Brennan asked him.

Booth looked at her for a minute as he watched her tuck a strand of her sweat-damp hair behind her ear, which almost demure gesture drew his attention to the place where her earlobe met her jaw. Over the course of the prior month, he had discovered all sorts of little places that had previously held no interest whatsoever for him, but after feeling how she responded when he touched, nipped, or licked such places, he could no longer look on these parts of her without thinking of the way she purred when he touched her there. His gaze flitted from her ear to her pale eyes and back again, his straight-lipped expression breaking into a crooked grin.

"Well," he said in a low, velvet-like voice, reaching up and placing his hand on her slender shoulder. "First, I think I'd like to see if I can please you again by way of celebrating since it's still some time before I must go."

"Oh?" Brennan asked with her eyebrow arched at him. "Would you now?"

"Yeah," he nodded, his voice already growing a bit more gravelly as he smiled at her. "And I think you would, too."

"Maybe," Brennan said. "But, if we do anything more, you can't fall asleep again afterwards." Her brow furrowed a bit at her recall of one night the prior week that she'd sworn had probably taken at least five years off of her life. "Remember? Last week? We can't do that again, Booth."

"You're right," he said with a sigh. "That was a bit too much of a close call even by my standards."

"And, it all started when you fell asleep the last time after...well, after we fell into bed on the second go. Then, when you were sleeping, I started to doze, and we're damn lucky that one of us woke up when we did so that you could manage to get out of here before Angela arrived with my breakfast tray."

"Something tells me the young Mistress Angela's sensibilities wouldn't be entirely shocked to find me here, only that she'd be upset that you were the beneficiary of my attentions and not her," he said. Brennan shot him a glare, that he took some pleasure in seeing as he chuckled with a shake of his head. "Oh, come on, Bren. That young woman's been making eyes at me since I got here some months ago. She likes me, I think. She and the cook, Mistress Bernadette, are always seeing to it that I get an extra helping of whatever's for supper and asking me what my favorites dishes are. And, then, surprise...the next day. Guess what shows up as the choice du jour for dinner or dessert?"

Brennan narrowed her eyes. "So that explains how you so quickly put back on the weight you lost when you were sent away to the infirmary," she said. "But, Booth, you know that's the last thing we need is to be discovered. I'm surprised we haven't been caught already. So I'm serious—you can't fall asleep this time."

"I know," Booth nodded. "Believe me, I know. But, honestly—and I'm not just saying this, despite what you may think—I think I can safely say that I've got no intention of celebrating your impending freedom by sleeping. I'd much prefer using this bed for something a bit more...well, something that will require me to go to confession straightaway, but only if you're interested, that is." He grinned and flashed his eyebrows suggestively.

Brennan couldn't help herself as she felt her heart flutter a bit at the rather debonair side of Booth's personality that had been revealed to her in the weeks since they'd come to know one another so intimately. "When am I not interested in that, hmmm?" she murmured as she leveled a rather heavy-lidded gaze at him.

"Point taken," Booth chuckled. "So, what say you to us pushing anything but what exists between you, me, and this bed here out of our minds for the time being? Because, all too soon you know I'll have to take my leave of you so I can finish preparing that written report of my findings for His Eminence, the Archbishop, that I've begun."

"And, what will you include in that report's final draft?" Brennan couldn't help but ask even as she became rather distracted by the way Booth's tongue kept darting out from his mouth to wet his lips.

"Well," Booth said, looking away from her for a moment as he thought threw an answer to her question out loud. "I've already talked to Daisy, and she's given me permission to include what she told me in her confession in my report to Cardinal Pole, provided I don't use anyone's real names and change some of the more specific details that could identify her in the report. It won't be any significant changes that will weaken the strength of the evidence she's given me against her husband. And, then, at the very end...well, my official recommendation as the Inquisitor charged with trying your case is that you be freed due to a lack of credible evidence that proves you're guilty of witchcraft. Then, after Cardinal Pole acts on my recommendation, which I know he will, you'll be freed."

"Freed?" she asked, tilting her head as she leveled her gaze at him, saying the single word almost as if it were a foreign word with which she was completely unfamiliar instead of it being the simple word in her native tongue.

"Yes," Booth nodded solemnly. "Freed."

She was quiet for a minute, obviously surprised as if the words Booth had just spoken were only now registering in her mind. "I'll be free?" she dared to breathe.

He could only nod again as he realized her disbelief might take a bit of time to change given the several months of incarceration she'd endured at the hands of the Church.

Brennan took a moment to think about what he'd just told her, reflecting on the same answer that he'd given to the same question that she'd asked twice, just to be sure she hadn't misunderstood him. Then, slowly, she exhaled a long and deep breath. Looking away from him, a spot on the far side of her spartan cell suddenly became extremely interesting to her, even though she'd spent countless hours staring at every inch of her room without having found anything particularly engrossing about the spot before Booth had spoken.

At last, she turned to look at him and said honestly, "I know I should be happy—that is, with this news...what you've told me. I know that because it means I can go back to my family, to my life, to the way things were before I came to this place. I'll be free...finally free. It means I can leave this place and never have to think of my imprisonment again, doesn't it?"

"Yes, it does," he agreed, each syllable falling slowly from his lips as he studied her face. "You'll be able to go home, Bren."

"But—" her voice caught in her throat as she spoke. "Once I leave...this thing that's happened between you and me...what will happen to it? Happen to us? Because, I'm not certain I never want to think of my imprisonment again if it means I can't think of you, Booth. Of us...together...what we've said and done and felt here, together. I don't want to forget that. It's...I'm not certain at what point it happened, but somehow...someway, you've become too important to me. What we have...I don't want to let it go, Booth."

"Bren, look—" Booth suddenly fell silent as he watched her face pale and her forehead crease. Her words echoed in his mind.

"I don't want to let it go..."

He felt his skin flush at hearing her words, and he leaned in close, placing his hand on hers and squeezing lightly. His heart began to pound hard in his chest as he felt a sense of panic creep over him. He'd been so single-minded in his focus on attaining her freedom that he'd given no thought to the life that would—or even could—exist for them on the other side of it. Suddenly, in that moment as he felt a sinking sensation in his gut, the distant possibility loomed immediate, and he felt lightheaded at the thought of it. "Bren, I—"

Suddenly, she cut him off as she began to speak in a quick tear. "Listen, Booth. I know...I know we've avoided speaking of the future until now. And, until I knew what my fate would be, I was content to enjoy only what we could steal to share with one another in the here and now. I never even dreamed of being greedy for tomorrow when I was so happy just to have today. But...now, if what you say is true—"

"It is," he interrupted her, a bit of a pain twisting in his gut even as he knew there was still the part of her that had been battered by this experience—that part of her that she kept hidden away from everyone else and never showed anyone lest her vulnerability be used against her—that she still feared that he might find some new way to hurt her. "You know I don't lie, Bren. I meant what I said. You'll be free by this time next week, if not sooner. I swear it."

"Of course," she quickly assured him. "I know that. It's just...my feelings?" She waited at him until he meet her piercing gaze with his own assertive glance. "You understand...I-I...I feel a great amount of anxiety at the present moment, not because I don't think you'll keep your word to me, and that I'll be freed. I know you will. I trust you and what you've said. If you say I'll be free, then I know it. I'll be free. I know it to be just as honest and true a statement as anything you've ever told me. So, I don't doubt that, and I don't doubt your efforts on my behalf to secure my freedom. My anxiety...it doesn't come from my fear of not being free."

"Then, what is it?" he asked, his brow knit low over his eyes as he struggled to sort through the swirl of emotions that roiled in his belly. He sat back and waited expectantly for her to speak, though he had an idea of what she was going to say. "Tell me, please," he said, swallowing the hardening lump in his throat. "Tell me."

Brennan saw the impassioned sincerity shining in his deep brown eyes and then nodded, opening her mouth to ask the question that she knew needed to be asked by one of them, even if the answer might bring them substantial pain. "If I'm freed and allowed to walk out those doors...is it finished between us? Is...whatever it is that's been...that is, this thing we share, between us...once I leave, does that mean it's over? Is it done?"

Booth suddenly felt as if a heavy weight had been placed on his shoulders—he was reminded of the time he tried on his father's shirt of chain mail, and how surprised he'd been to discover how suffocatingly heavy it was—and he felt his breathing becoming more labored as his mind searched for an answer to her question. All I wanted to do was set her free, he thought. For weeks, that's all that mattered, all I thought of—working during the days like a madman to figure out what had happened and how to prove her innocence so that I could keep my word to her and make certain she was treated fairly. He felt his heartbeat pulsing in his ears. Well...that and seeing to it that I could spend every free minute that I could steal away to be with her. I focused my mind on doing what I could in the present, to setting her free, and finding happiness in her. I-I...I didn't think about the future...how it would look for us or what our options might be. Damn it. I was a fool not to think of this before, wasn't I? A young lovesick puppy whose foolishness we shall now both have to confront. Damn it.

He looked down at his lap, swallowed and brought his gaze up to meet hers again. "Do you want this thing between us to..." He paused, struggling to find the right words. "Would you be pleased if it were over? Or...do you want...that is, what we have...do you want it to continue after you're free?"

He reached for her hand and clasped it between both of his, bringing it up to his mouth and brushing his lips across her knuckles. He squeezed her hand in his, closed his eyes and kissed her thumb. After a moment, he opened his eyes again and looked into hers, sparkling as they did in the flickering candlelight.

"Because...I don't know a lot of things in this world, Bren," he said. "But I do know what I want. And speaking for myself alone, I know...I've known for a while now that I don't want this to be finished, Bren, this thing between us. I mean, damn, I don't even know what it is, but if whatever it is means that by ending it, I can't keep you in my life, then I can't think of a moment when I'll ever want it to end. I don't want to give you up. Not now. Not ever. I want you. You know that, don't you? I want you, and I'll always want you. But..." His voice trailed off as a slight frown came over his face. "This isn't just about what I want. What do you want, Bren? Do you still want me? Do you still want us?" He raised his eyebrows and waited expectantly for her answer. He saw his uncertainty cause her to waver slightly, and so he added reassuringly, "Whatever it is, it's okay. You can tell me." He stopped, took a heavy breath, and then looked away as he said, "Even if you think what you need to tell me will hurt me, it's okay, Bren. You don't...that is, I'd understand it if you wanted to put the horrors of the past ten weeks behind you, and never think of me again—"

"No," she whispered, a bit of frustration creeping into her voice as she chided him as gently as she could. "Stop that. You're not listening to me, Booth."

"What?" he asked, a bit taken aback by her admonition.

"I already told you," she said, softening her voice as she smiled tenderly at him. "You're important to me. I want you. I'll always want you. Not everything that's happened to me over the last few months has been a bad thing. In a lot of ways, you coming into my life as you did has almost made everything I've gone through worth the suffering I've endured." She hesitated for several long moments as she studied his half-illuminated face. "It's just...once I leave here, how would this work?" she finally said. "You'd keep me...as what? Your mistress?"

"I don't know, Bren," he admitted. "You know what I am. My profession and my calling...I've never hidden that from you. And, before you, I've never..." He turned away and stared into the flickering light of the candle that burned on her tiny table. "I've never thought I'd ever have to even consider what I would do if I...if I found myself in this situation...that is...well...embracing the affections of a woman. I mean, it's not like I'm not aware that such things exist. I just never thought that I would ever...well, I'd be lying if I said that I haven't met priests and bishops and cardinals that keep families even as they contravene their sacred vows. Although it's not as common here in England, on the continent it's rampant—particularly in Italy."

A faint smile curved the corners of his mouth as he continued. "It's even said that the Holy Father himself held off being ordained once elected pope because he wanted to continue his elicit affairs. It's well-known that his sister Guila Farnese was a longtime mistress of Alexander VI. And, by all accounts, His Holiness is more discreet than his predecessors because he only broke his vows before he accepted the throne of St. Peter's. I remember, one time, when I was visiting the Vatican a few years ago, during the papacy of Julius III, the Venetian ambassador—who's the greatest gossip in all of God's green earth, in case you ever find yourself in Rome and need to know whom to turn to to find out the most deliciously interesting rumors—said that Julius himself bedded a male cardinal on a regular basis. And, now, there are even rumors that Cardinal Giovanni Medici, a very powerful member of the conclave who holds much influence, keeps his mistress and bastard children ensconced in his villa in Rome for all to see. So, it's not like I'd be the only priest who's broken his vows because of the temptations of the flesh on a repeated basis...but, I want to be better than that. I-I just...if we could find some way...I-I..."

His voice trailed off as he sighed heavily. "I don't know what to do here, Bren. I know only that I don't want to give up what we have, but that I'm not sure how to keep it, to protect it...how to keep us together and safe and happy." He swiveled his head back to look at her beautiful face. "I know I want to, but I don't know how."

Several long moments of silence hung between them before Brennan spoke at last. "Yes," she agreed. "Booth, I know. I've...despite how I've tried not to overthink things, it's been very difficult for me. Who...or, rather, what you are...I know what you are. It's never far from my mind. But, even more importantly than that...I know what it means. I know that it means your life is not your own...your wants and needs cannot be your own because I know you're a good man and wouldn't flaunt your sins in God's face. You're many things, but I know you not to be a hypocrite. But, I think...like you, I know I want to keep this thing between us—even though I'm not quite certain what it is—I want to keep it in my life and protect it, but I don't have any answers for you. I just have more questions, because...if we continue things, where does that leave me, Booth? Where does the want of not giving me up fit in your world?"

Booth sat back in the bed, drew his legs up toward his chest and braced his arms over his knees. He took a long, deep breath and glanced away, letting his eyes linger on the dancing flame of the candle on the table near the door. "I don't know," he said quietly, sighing before turning his gaze back to Brennan. "I was a boy when I was sent away from home, given into the Church's keeping. The Church is all...the only life I know." He chewed the inside of his lip for a moment, then continued. "Well, that is, it was the only life I knew before I met you. It's...well..." Reaching up and scratching the back of his head, he rolled his lips together in a firm line and swallowed hard as he tried to find the words to express himself. "The life I had before you, Bren, I can't go back to it. It doesn't exist anymore, not for me. Even if I wanted to, I'm not certain that I could go back to it...back to how things were? I just don't think...that is, I can't, because I'm starting to realize that I'm not the same man I was before. And that's because of you, because of us. And I-I...I want a life with you, I do. I'm just not sure how to..." He shook his head and brought his eyes up to meet hers. "I'm not sure how that can be done..."

Booth closed his eyes and was reminded of the saying, 'Tu es sacerdos in aeternum' ('You are forever a priest'). The vows he took when he was ordained at seventeen were sealed into his soul by the Holy Spirit. Even if he were to be released from his vows, he knew, there was no way to undo that seal. But this thing that has been given to me, he thought, was given to me by God Himself, wasn't it? And since God doesn't make mistakes, I-I...God has led me all of my life, and I have always walked the path He's laid before me. I've never doubted His plan for me before, I just...oh, God. Help me. Please.

"I just don't know, Bren," he said in low voice. "I'm sorry. I wish I knew the answer."

She stopped and then shook her head. Sighing, she said, "I'm sorry. This...this isn't a topic of conversation that lends itself to a festive, celebratory mood, does it?"

Booth blinked and felt the dampness in his eyes as his nostrils burned. "I suppose this conversation was inevitable," he said gravely. "Would that I were not what I am, I wouldn't be facing the apparent choice that stands before me—because we both know this can only go one of two ways, Bren...if we're to find some way to be with one another."

"Yes," she nodded, her voice soft. "I know."

Even as she told him that she knew of what he spoke, Booth knew he needed to speak the words. "I can't leave you, so that means that...I can only renounce my vows and leave my avocation...or, well, as you said, to take you as my mistress, which I don't think I could ever ask of you. I-I...I've seen how the mistresses of such men are treated. It's a life full of slanderous whispers and hurtful ignominy and shameful ridicule. It's dishonorable, and I won't do that to you. Moreover, that's not something that I want for you, so I could never ask you to bear such a stigma on my behalf. But, perhaps...maybe there's something that we haven't thought of. I guess there's a third way. A third option would be to run away, to find a place in this country where no one knows either of us, but to do this would take you away from the life you've built for yourself, and from your family, and I can't ask you to—"

"No," Brennan said sharply, even as she saw him start to punish himself even as he struggled to find a solution to their problem. "It's alright, Booth. Just...stop, please?"

"But, Bren—"

"No," she repeated. "I shouldn't have even brought it up. It's fine," Brennan finally managed to say, quickly waving him off. "I shouldn't be wasting what little time we have to enjoy with one another by making us concentrate on such unpleasant matters. I'm sorry. I was foolish to even bring it up."

"No," he whispered, leaning forward and reaching for her hand. "Bren, please don't—don't apologize because you're right. We have to speak of this. We probably should've discussed it long ago, it's just that in the newness of everything...and being consumed with trying to find a way to free you, I was content to let the matter rest." He stopped, giving her a smile, then said, "But look. We didn't think we'd find a solution to the charges against you, and as insurmountable as that challenge seemed to be only a week ago, look at it now? Together, we did what needed to be done. We found a solution to that problem, just like we will for this larger issue that must be resolved between us, hmmm? I know it, Bren. In my heart, I know we can—you and me together? We'll find a way."

"Booth," she whispered, her voice betraying the hope that she desperately wanted to believe him, but was still afraid to do so lest she be disappointed once again. "I want to believe you. I do, I swear I do. But...what—what if we can't? What if there isn't a solution to be found to this problem that ends with us being happy and together and free? What if...what if we fail? What if we just aren't meant to be together?"

"No," he said, firmly rejecting the mere mention of the possibility she'd just raised. "I don't believe that, and I know you don't either. That's just fear...insecurities spurned on by the Devil talking. Don't do it, Bren. Don't give into the temptation of hopelessness and despair. Because I know, I know, in my heart, what we feel for each other is good and pure and wouldn't have come about unless God Himself had some greater plan for us. So, there is a solution. There is some answer to this problem. We just have to find it. So, what if..." He rolled his lips together in a firm line as he felt a wave of self-loathing pulse inside of him. "What we can do from this point forward is find some type of solution that is honorable and right and—" He fell silent for a moment. "Bren, do you want me?"

"Of course," she responded instantly. "I do. Very much so. But, you know that already."

"No," he said shaking his head at her. "Of course I know you want me. But what I meant was...if I weren't a priest—and could be with you...if I was free to really be with you? Would you...would you want to be with me?"

"I-I...I don't know," she finally managed to say. "I honestly don't know how to answer that question. It's contingent on so many things...and so many variables, I wouldn't even know where to begin to know how to start the process that would eventually let me answer that question." She let out a huff of air, some of the frustration she felt at the entire situation escaping from her lips in that single expulsion of air. After a minute, the touch of hesitancy that had colored her voice was gone. In its place, a slightly wistful tone manifested itself as she asked, "Besides, what does it even matter? As you said, you are what you are. There's nothing that we can do to change that. So, we must cope and find another way to solve our dilemma."

Booth growled and covered his face with his hands. "It needn't be this way—it wasn't always this way," he muttered. His lips moved for several moments as he murmured something unintelligible to himself, then he looked up at her again. "I suppose it doesn't matter, after all, but there's no reason that it had to be this way. Not all that long ago—just a few centuries, really, the Church wasn't so stringent as it's become in recent times about clerical marriages, particularly...in the Celtic countries, that is, where Christian converts cleaved to some old traditions even as they embraced the new ones. In Ireland, for example, it wasn't that unusual for priests to take wives and have children. There are Irish surnames, like McTaggart, McNab and McAnespie, that mean 'son of the priest,' 'son of the abbot' and 'son of the bishop,' respectively." Booth raised his eyebrows and smiled. "I swear it's true—I shared a room with another man, a Dominican brother from Cork named Conal, and he told me all this. But, so that all changed, you see, when it came to be that these churchmen would die and bequeath church lands and property to their children instead of leaving it with the parishes, abbeys and dioceses, thus impoverishing the church in these already poor corners of the continent. And so it was, in the First Lateran Council in the year of our Lord 1123 and some years later, the Second Lateran Council in 1139, that was eventually decided that all priests had to take a vow of celibacy and perpetual chastity. It is these canons, promulgated by the Church four hundred years ago, that some in the Church wish to nullify and have been debating at Trent in the wake of the critiques of the reformers. It..."

Booth shook his head, stopping in mid-sentence, and then let out another grunt of frustration.

"What does it matter anyway?" he asked with a deeply-creased brow. "Complaining about the rules or suggesting that there's anything I can do to challenge them is just pissing in the wind, isn't it?" He sighed heavily less to let Brennan know how he felt than to let some of his rapidly increasing ire manifest and dissipate.

Feeling sympathetic, Brennan reached out and tried to soothe him. "You're right," she agreed. "So, let's think practically then, alright? The simple fact at the heart of this matter is this—as long as you and I are here, in the same place at the same time, then between the two of us, we'll find some way to make this thing between us work. We'll find the answer to our problem—I know we will."

"But?" Booth asked, sensing the condition that always seemed to appear hanging faintly on the edges of her words, coloring an otherwise optimistic declaration.

"But," Brennan nodded, her voice straining a bit as she stated the obvious. "That only works so long, as I said, if we're in the same place. We can find a solution, I know, if we're together, but if we're not, well..." She paused, pursing her lips together to keep her own emotions at bay. "If we must part, I'm not sure how things will fall out between us. So, my next question to you is—to your knowledge, once my case is done, will...will you remain in London? In England, even? Or, will you be ordered elsewhere? Because...if you're here...as I said, it gives us options."

Booth straightened his back and took a deep breath. "I've been appointed to the office of Inquisitor, and was brought back to England at the personal and direct request of the Archbishop of Canterbury," he said. "He asked me to come here for the very reason that I'm an Englishman. He called me here, well, not just because I am an excellent canon lawyer, among the best north of the Alps..." Booth narrowed his eyes and shot her a cocky, self-assured grin. "You know, not just that, but because, being of this country, I know the people and the culture here, unlike my brethren from other places who, no matter how long they sojourn here, will always be foreign to our ways. The Archbishop knew that, if the Church's efforts here had any hope of being successful, it must be an effort led by Englishmen, not by an army of hated foreigners, since the local feeling already runs so high against them and has only gotten worse in the days since the Queen married Philip of Spain. They hate Italians, Germans, and Spaniards, working at the behest of a master in Rome, so—" He fell silent for a moment, then continued. "You understand what I mean, right?"

Brennan nodded silently.

Booth continued, "I have every reason to believe that I'll be kept here, in this very house, and assigned to the same duties that I have fulfilled for the last month and a half."

"So," she said, her voice still soft. "That's good then, right? Because it means...if you are here, well, that is—"

"Bren," he smiled as he sensed that, in somehow, he was somehow making her unduly nervous, and her found her nervousness entirely adorable given how confident she normally was in all other things in her life. "What are you trying to ask me?"

"Well, I know you've said that you want me, and that...together? We'll surely find a way to solve our problem together." She gave him a brave smile. "But, I was just wondering...until we find a permanent solution, would your conscience...wants aside, would you...would you be able to make your peace with seeing me when we could arrange it?" she asked in a very soft voice.

Booth squeezed her hand in his. "Yes," he said. "I-I...I can't imagine myself feeling content without being able to see you." He smiled, licking his lips as his eyes skimmed the outline of her face. "You may not have bewitched me, woman, but somehow you've become woven into my life to such an extent that it seems strange to think back to the life I had here in London before you. I won't do without you...even for a short while. I can't. I just don't think I know how anymore."

"You can't do without me? Really?" she asked, a glint coming to her eyes. "Or, is it, more precisely the fact that I provide you with the option to regularly bed someone, hmmm?"

Wincing at her words, he looked away and rolled his eyes. "It's not that," he said in a gravelly voice, turning back to face her. "It's not just that, and you know it. If all I wanted was to rut with some wanton wench, I could have found a thousand such women trolling the alehouses and taverns of this city. It's not that. It's always something more than that between us, Bren, and you know that to be true. I think—what we have? It's very special...so rare, and so very special. Don't...don't you think?"

"Yes," she nodded. "I do. What you've said is true enough. More than true, even." She was quiet for a minute, and then with a sly gaze, smiled at him as she continued, "So, I suppose once I'm freed we'll arrange the occasional appointment to see one another and talk and reminisce and perhaps just debate philosophy. Aquinas, maybe?"

"Is that what you want?" he asked, his teeth gritted and a slight growl rumbling on the edge of his voice as he struggled to understand why she was teasing him. "Come on now. I've spent a lifetime denying my wants, Bren, sure. But now? After everything we've shared? I know I what I want. But what do you want, when you are free?" Booth narrowed one eye and looked at her with a crooked grin. "Hmmm? Tell me, why don't you. Because I think we both know what it is that you want...who you want."

"You're a very learned man," she said with a face completely devoid of emotion. "I've greatly enjoyed our discussions. I would miss them if they ceased."

"You're teasing me, woman," he said. "But you know this...this thing we have had...it was more than just bodies and sweat, right? We have enjoyed discussions. You must know that the first thing about you that fascinated me was your mind, the way you think, and the way you talk." He shrugged, letting his eyes skate along the line of her shoulders and collarbone, which were illuminated by the dim light of the moon shining through her cell window and the even-dimmer light of the candle in the corner. "The way you challenged me from the very beginning," he added with a grin. "Everything else followed from that, methinks."

Brennan considered his words and then nodded her head. "Thank you," she smiled at his compliments. "And, you're right. I am teasing you...because you need to be teased, I think—desperately and very, very often."

"You kill me, woman," he growled with a vague smile. "Please. Stop teasing me. This is a serious matter—a serious issue you've raised. I need...I-I need you to give me an answer. One that's straight, simple, to the point, and leaves no doubt in my mind where I stand with you so that we can, together, begin to know how to work on this issue of ours...for the future, right? Our future."

Brennan studied his serious face, and then some of the teasing disappeared as she nodded. "Very well. What would you know?"

Booth opened his mouth to speak, then hesitated, his mouth hanging open as he narrowed his eyes and glanced over once more to the flickering taper as he gathered his thoughts. "If I remain here in London, as is my intent and expectation, and if I remain a priest, which is my only option at this point, having taken sacred vows from which I cannot absolve myself even if I wanted to, would you be willing...or dare I say even be interested...in continuing to let this thing that has happened between us to unfold...at least, until we can find some other workable solution to our situation?" He shook his head, as he suddenly felt as if they'd somehow ended up speaking in very large and repetitive circles. "What do you want, Bren? Tell me. Whatever it is, and I'll give it to you. Just tell me. What do you want from me?"

The words tumbled from her mouth as his question, at last, became easy for her to answer. "I-I want...I want there always to be honesty between us," she began. "And, although I know it will never be easy, I would want there always to be an agreement that we would do what we can to please the other. I would...I would never have either of us cause the other pain or uncertainty or doubt. I would have us take what pleasure and contentment where we can, when we can in the times we can share with one another. I would...I would have us take things as they come. And I want you to have trust and faith in me...just as I believe I already do for you. That—"

Thinking back on her words, Brennan felt a bloom of confidence unfurl in her chest as she nodded and smiled at him.

"That's what I want from you, Booth," she said. "Now, the next question is...can you give all that to me?"

"I think we both know I've already started to," he said quietly. "I do have trust and faith in you, Bren," he whispered, stroking his thumb over the top of her hand which he still held clasped tightly in his own. "I always have," he added solemnly. "If I didn't trust you, and have some generous measure of faith that you would never do me harm, I never would've come to you in the first place, that night. You...you remember?"

"Hmmmm," Brennan said again, a bit of mischief coming into her eyes. Her fingers snaked out as she leaned closer to him and, reaching between his legs, which lay slightly parted, took him loosely into her hand. "That wouldn't be the night you came to me because you were going out of your mind, was it? You had some difficulty, I recall, that centered...here." She punctuated her statement with a pointed look. "Something about being driven so mad that it was causing you pain?"

"Yes," he said quietly as his jaw tightened at feeling her fingers touch him intimately again. "Yes," he sighed, closing his eyes to focus as best he could on what he wanted to say to her, despite what she was doing to him. "Ohhh...hmmmm, that is. I trusted you, though at the time I had no idea why." He leaned his head back and swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he bit the inside of his lip. To his great relief, Brennan loosened her grip further as the seriousness of his response weighed on her, though she did not pull away entirely. "I took a leap of faith then, Bren, and that is a leap I continue to be willing to take."

"Do you care for me?" she asked simply, letting her hand fall away as she brought her eyes up to meet his.

"Yes, of course," he said. "I care deeply for you, Bren. More than I think I have about any person I have ever known. And I can only imagine that those feelings will continue to grow and increase as time passes."

"Then, know I care for you in much the same way," she said gently, tilting her head as she stared at him with true vulnerable sincerity clearly discernible on her face.

"Do you?" he breathed, almost afraid to hear her answer. "Do you really, Bren?"

"Yes," she affirmed. "I do. And, perhaps, we can let that be enough for now? I-I would...I would be able to derive contentment from that, I think. Would...would you?"

Booth nodded, unable to suppress a smile at hearing her words. "Yes," he said firmly. "That would be enough for me for now. I-I...well..." His voice trailed off as he felt her reach for him again, slowly curling her fingers around his hardening flesh. He sucked in a sharp breath at feeling her touch him this way, then squeezed her hand once before letting go. As her hand closed around him, he growled in mild frustration, finding himself unable to complete his thought as he became distracted by her touch. "Ohhh," he moaned, a couple of seconds passing before he brought both of his hands up to cup her face in his palms. "That...that would be enough," he said again in a husky voice as he gently pulled her face to his and kissed her.

As he pressed his lips to hers, he felt her mouth open and her tongue slide between his lips into his mouth. As her tongue glanced off of his, he groaned, the sound rumbling deep in his chest as he held her face to his, refusing to let go of her kiss. After that, things between them moved quickly, and no sooner had their lips parted so that each might take a much-needed breath when Booth laid back on the bed, pulling her onto him as he felt her warm body press insistently against his. The sweat on their skin was barely dry when they began again, their bodies bathed in the moonlight that streamed in from the tiny window high on the wall of her cell. She rode him enthusiastically, her long moans peaking in a choked cry before he grabbed her hips and rolled them over, entering her with firm, urgent strokes as his own murmurs became soft moans, finally ending in a loud grunt and a long, quivering groan as he called her name out at the very moment he broke apart and spasmed inside of her. A couple of more minutes passed between them as their ragged breaths finally began to rise and fall more or less normally, and after a little while, he rolled away from her, smiling faintly as a small whine escaped her lips as he slipped out of her.

Eventually, he saw the shaft of moonlight had moved along the wall of her cell, leaving no question that it would soon be time for Matins and that he would have to leave her. Slowly, he shifted in the bed, and moved to stand.

"Bren—" he whispered. "I should go."

"Mmmm," she protested, cracking open a reluctant eye as he peeled her deliciously naked form from on top of his chest where she'd settled after they'd achieved their mutual orgasms. "I'm not going to sleep, I promise."

"I know," he chuckled. "But, you can if you want...I-I just—I can't stay to be your pillow."

Shifting again, she yawned as she said, "I wish you didn't have to go."

"So do I," he said with a smile. "But, as the cock crows, it's best if I go now. That way you can still get some sleep if you want before Angela comes with your breakfast."

"I think," she said, "Strange as it is for me to admit this, but I think I've come to sleep more peacefully and more deeply during the few minutes I steal with you when we've dozed than when I have the entire night to slumber by myself. That's strange, isn't it?"

"No," he replied. "I feel the same way. I've come to hate sleeping by myself."

Reaching down, he began to gather his clothes from where he'd haphazardly shed them on the floor earlier.

She watched him with an appreciative eye as she yawned again. Then, she added, "One of these days, once I'm free...we'll have to see what we can do about seeing if our preferences hold beyond the small clutch of minutes we've been able to steal on occasion to doze off during, hmmmm?"

"Mmmm," Booth murmured, with an appreciative nod. "Yes." As he pulled his robe over his head, something on the tiny table in the corner caught his eye. Letting his robe fall over his shins, he reached over, and touched the leatherbound book. "You know," he said, tapping his finger on the outside of the book's cover. "I think I've seen this several times before now, and I've always meant to ask you about it, but I keep forgetting—"

"Because we keep getting distracted by stripping off our clothes and tumbling into bed as soon as you walk in here?" Brennan asked cheekily.

"Well," Booth said, flushing a bit at her response. "You make it seem like, firstly, that's a bad thing, and secondly, as if it's all my doing. Neither are the case, as I'm quite certain you well know, my dear Bren."

"Perhaps," she chuckled. Then, reaching over from where she laid in bed, she pointed at the book and said, "It was my mother's—her Book of Hours. My father brought it to me some weeks ago so that I wouldn't go completely out of my mind from sheer boredom during the time between my interrogations He wanted me to have something to read to help pass the hours...and he rather enjoyed that pun on its dual purpose thus, I think." She paused and gave him another saucy smile as she said, "At the time he brought it, I couldn't tell him that I had other sources of...well...diversion that had begun to make my time pass more quickly than it had before his last visit."

Booth smirked at her remark, then opened the book and saw the hand-painted illuminations on one side and the beautifully-laid calligraphy on the facing page. "It's a lovely book," he said, carefully turning the pages as he skimmed the Latin prayers, devotions and psalms inscribed therein, smiling as he recalled his initial surprise at discovering that Brennan could not only read, but read both in English and Latin. "Absolutely beautiful, Bren," he whispered as he admired a particular illustration of the Virgin Mary nursing the infant Savior. "Indeed, I don't believe I've ever seen a more beautiful Book of Hours in my life. It's wonderful, really."

"It was a present to my mother from Queen Jane before she died," Brennan explained. "I believe at one point the king had given it to her before she in turn gave it to my mother. My mother told me that it most likely came from the Venerable Margaret's library because of its age and its high level of artistic quality, but I've no way of knowing if that is true or not."

Booth arched an impressed eyebrow. "Well," he said, closing the book's cover, unsure of what else to say. He hated these moments, the last minutes before they had to part ways. It puzzled him that, no matter how many times they observed the ritual of him dressing and readying himself to leave her, it never became easier. In fact, it seemed to become more difficult with every parting.

As she saw him staring at the book, studying it so closely, she wondered if he lingered because of the book. Hoping to make the parting more easy for him, she offered, "You can take it with you if you like, if you'd like to look at it more closely...I'm sure you've read many such versions before...I-I just...that is, if you like it, I'd be happy to let you borrow it."

"Really?" he blinked at her, clearly surprised at her generous offer.

"Yes," she told him. "You can take it, just...promise me that you'll to take care of it. I don't—I don't have a lot of things left that belonged to my mother. My father was never one that was keen on the preservation of such keepsakes."

"Really?" Booth asked again, picking the book up and stroking his fingers over the leather spine. "You're sure? I'll bring it with me the next time I see you, and I promise I'll take the utmost care with it. I'll treat it with the same reverence and devotion as I do with what I think has become the most precious thing in the world to me."

"Oh?" Brennan chuckled. "And, what would that be?"

"You," he smiled.

Flushing a bit at his compliment, Brennan said, "Well, then, by all means. Of course. Take it. Because, as I said before, I have trust and faith in you, Booth. Just promise you'll take care of it and keep it safe and bring it back to me, as I know you will."

Booth grinned, turning the book over in his hands before setting it down. He reached for his black wool hooded cloak and put it on, then he picked the book up again. Clutching it to his chest, he looked at her reclining in her bed and his grin faded into a pouting frown.

"I have to go, Bren," he whispered.

"I know," she said sadly. "I know."

"Come 'ere," he said.

Brennan swung her legs over the side of the bed, pausing briefly before standing up and walking over to him. He opened his arms and she crashed into his embrace.

"Be careful," she whispered into his ear, peppering his jaw with small, light kisses.

"Shhhh," he whispered back. "It's alright...I'm only going to Lambeth Palace in the morning, Bren. I'll deliver my report, and that will be that. It's not so far...certainly not to the far ends of the earth. I should be back tonight," he said, placing a soft kiss on the flat space in front of her ear. He let his lips linger on her salty skin, kissing her one more time before pulling away. "Bren," he murmured, turning her head with a gentle touch of his index finger to her chin.

She raised her face slightly and their lips met again. At first, their kiss was hesitant, as if each of them were afraid to begin to kiss knowing that it was the last thing separating them from the moment that he would have to leave her again. After a few seconds, their reticence evaporated and their mouths came together again, his lips covering hers as she greedily drew his eager tongue into her mouth. She moaned into his kiss as their tongues danced in the warm, sweet, wet space between them, their lips pulling apart only briefly before coming together again. Eventually, he gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze as he pulled away.

"G'bye, Bren," he said quietly, kissing her one last time on the lips and again, briefly, on the the forehead before stepping away from her. "Be good," he told her with a laugh. "I'll see you tonight," he whispered as he watched her nod with glistening eyes.

With one final look at her, he gave her a playful wink and then let the door close quietly behind him as she watched him leave.

A/N: Hmmm. A lot happened in this chapter. These two have acknowledged, to themselves and each other, that their affair is about more than just, as Booth put it, "bodies and sweat." And, while they haven't figured out how to solve the scrummy conundrum of how to be something together since he's still very much a priest, they seem to have decided to make an effort to be together, in some fashion.

Okay, so this is not like any other fic either of us have ever read, and it's quite a bit different than the other stuff that's posting out there. (Who else brings you chapters with deep emotional conversations between B&B, discussions of the First and Second Lateran Councils in the 12th century, along with the sparky bits you all love?)

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