A/N: Now, some of you appear to be getting awful anxious-face for the smut. You have to settle down. You think this is hard for YOU? Imagine how B & B feel! They've been going YEARS off of longing looks, tempting touches, and hot bickering, and NOWHERE in there has Hart seen fit to let them go at it like the animals they are! You should just feel lucky that Hart isn't a member of 5 Steamboats Shipping Co.

Now. Here's a little something for you. Give us a little lovin' back! :-

3:35 pm

He dropped the cards on the table, his head falling into his hands. "Bones. Please. No more King's Corners. I'm begging you."

A smile twitched at her lips. "You shouldn't have taught it to me, then. I happen to think it's quite enjoyable." She paused, looking around the cabin. "Do you see anything else to do?"

Massaging his temples, he let out a sigh. "I could use a drink."

She gathered up the playing cards, shuffling them again. "Well, have some of that scotch."

He snapped his head up. "What scotch?"

"The scotch that's on the counter by the coffee press."

His chair scooted back loudly as he stood up, striding quickly over to the bottle she'd pointed out. "Excellent."

She continued to shuffle. "If you get drunk, how are we supposed to be "connecting", Booth?"

He couldn't bite back his smile. "I'm not gonna get drunk, Bones. I'm just going to have a drink." He pulled a dusty glass off a shelf, crinkling up his nose. "Is there any dish soap?"

"Check under the sink."

He washed his own glass, than glanced at her. "You want some?"

"It's a little early, isn't it?"

He sloshed some scotch in the glass. "It's five o'clock somewhere."

She frowned, about to open her mouth, and he plunked the glass on the table, dropping into his chair. "It's an expression," he teased.

"Oh."

He leaned back in the wooden chair at the table, nodding to her ankle. "How's that feel?"

She shrugged. "A little achy. The swelling's gone down a bit. Now it's just cold."

"You want your sock back?"

Shaking her head, she started dealing cards. "It's a little tight - kind of uncomfortable."

"You want some more Tylenol?" he asked, sipping at the scotch. It was actually quite good - apparently Sweets' dad had good taste in liquor.

She tossed him another card. "How about poker this time?"

Not unless you want to play strip poker.

Something about the scotch in his mouth made his mind immediately betray him, and his body wasn't far behind. "Bones. Enough with the cards."

She sighed, dropping her hand. "Fine. What do you want to do then? We can't just sit in silence."

He tapped his fingers on the table. "How about... truth or dare?"

She scrunched up her face. "I have a sprained ankle. If that game entails what I think it does, I don't think I get very much choice." Shifting in her seat, she moved her ankle where he'd propped it up on a third chair and winced.

"Here," he said quietly, shoving the glass across the table. "Dull the pain a little."

She hesitated, but then lifted the glass. He could hear small pings against the windows - it was starting to rain. Pausing, the glass against her lips, she looked at the windows. "Hope the roof doesn't leak."

"Okay, fine. You don't like truth or dare. What do you want to do, then?"

She considered this for a moment, handing back the scotch. "Close your eyes."

"Bones..."

She tilted her head. "Awww, c'mon, Booth. Humor me."

He swallowed. His gut was reacting, and he had no idea why. "Fine." He let his eyes flutter closed, his arms crossing across his chest. "Now what?"

"Russ and I used to play this on car trips. Kept us from driving our parents crazy. Call it a... test of observation."

His shoulders dropped. "Bones, this is -"

"What am I wearing?"

He paused, his nerves still pinging slightly. "A t-shirt. And jeans."

"What color t-shirt?"

"White."

"Anything else about it?"

He shifted slightly in his chair. This felt dangerous somehow, but how was he supposed to tell her that. It sure seemed innocent enough. "It's v-neck," he said quietly.

She was quiet for a minute. "What color were my socks?"

He frowned, trying to place the memory. "I don't know."

"My jacket?"

He didn't know why he couldn't remember. "The green one?"

She laughed. "No."

He started to open his eyes. "Bones -"

"Eh! No peeking!" she said quickly. "This isn't that boring, is it?" She didn't wait for an answer. "What about my eyes?"

"What about them?" he asked cautiously.

"What color are they?"

He uncrossed his arm, reaching out carefully in search of the glass, guiding it to his lips blindly. "They're more than one color."

He could almost see her frown, even with his eyes closed. "What do you mean?"

He couldn't help himself. "They change," he murmured. "Depending on your mood. When you're working, when you're focused, they're cobalt." He took another sip, swallowing. "When you're angry, they're darker, more like navy. When you laugh they're lighter - almost sky blue." He took one more sip. "And sometimes, when you look at me, they're..."

"They're what...?"

The scotch burned down his throat, and his eyes popped open, meeting hers across the table. Several of the lanterns were lit in the room due to the darkening skies, and he could see them clearly, the color of them rarer than the others. "Cerulean," he said quietly.

She reached for the glass, taking a large swallow herself, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. It didn't seem to matter what she did anymore, what gesture she made, how she moved her body. It was all sexy to him, all the time. Her hand fell away, and her lips shone damply, and he took a deep breath. Jumping up, he grabbed the bottle of scotch, not bothering with another glass.

Maybe, when it came to games, they should have stuck with cards.

4:28 p.m.

"Wait, wait, wait. I've got it now."

"Well finally."

"I had to think of a lie!" she exclaimed. "I don't do that very often."

"Maybe you should practice more, like a normal person," he grinned.

"Shh. Okay. I learned how to dance the Macarena in Spain. I won first place in the Greek mythology bee in 7th grade. And I cheated on a test in college." The scotch she had been sipping seemed to be warming her blood, and it wasn't an all-unpleasant sensation.

He was lounging as much as one could lounge in a hard, wooden chair. "That's an awful lie! C'mon, Bones, you can do better than that."

"Which one?" she insisted.

His eyes rolled. "Everybody knows you would never cheat on a test. That's the lie."

"Ha!" she cried. "Wrong. The second one was a lie. I didn't win first place in the mythology bee. I won second place."

"Whaaaaat? That's so obscure," he moaned.

She grinned like a hyena.

"So you mean to tell me you cheated on a test? Temperance Brennan," he scolded.

She flushed a deeper shade than the scotch had already made her. "It was a take-home test. We were supposed to work alone. And my friend and I worked on it together."

His mouth dropped open. "Oh c'mon! That's not cheating! That's good sense! That one doesn't count."

"It was against the rules," she insisted primly.

"You badass," he deadpanned.

This time she didn't resist; she stuck her tongue out at him.

He looked mock-offended. "Don't you stick that thing out at me, Dr. Brennan. Or I'll..."

"You'll what?" she challenged, before it struck her that there were plenty of other activities that involved her tongue and him, that played through her head late at night.

He seemed to turn redder, too. Oh, God. Could he see what she was thinking? Of course not. That wasn't possible. But right now, she felt completely transparent, and she squirmed in her seat, looking down at their abandoned cards.

If he could see through her, he was merciful, either choosing not to answer her hypothetical question, or not being able to think of a witty reply. He cleared his throat. "It's getting kind of cold in here, don't you think?"

Actually, it seemed to be growing warmer by the second, but she was relieved for the diversion. "Yes. Should we start a fire?"

"And by 'we,' you mean me?" he teased.

"I'll offer moral support," she promised.

"What would I do without you?" he said, smiling, as he stood. "Let me put my shoes back on."

"Maybe you shouldn't be playing with fire while you've been drinking," she called after him over the increasingly loud sound of rain on the roof and the windows, while he maneuvered over to the spot where he had dropped his shoes by the armchair. She couldn't seem to stop smiling. How she had missed the easiness of the two of them together. Maybe Sweets was right. Aside from the incident with her ankle, this little trip had been doing wonders for them. Then:

"Shit!"

She nearly jumped out of her skin. "What? What!"

"Look at this!" He came back to the kitchen area, holding a shoe in his hand, and turned his back to her.

She burst out laughing.

"There is nothing funny about this, Bones," he said indignantly. "Apparently, there is a leak in the roof. Right over the damn chair."

"Ow. Stop... making me laugh, Booth," she gasped between giggles. "It hurts my foot."

"Your foot? What about my ass!"

"I'm sorry about your wet ass," she said, as mournfully as she could manage before breaking up into laughter again.

"I should make you build your own damn fire," he grumbled, taking another gulp from the scotch bottle before heading back to the living area, unbuckling his pants along the way. They were halfway down his hips before she forced herself to turn her head.

Don't you even dare look, Temperance. It reminded her of the police speaking to the gawkers at some of their more public crime scenes. Nothing to see here, folks. Except in this case, there was plenty to see.

She made small talk with him while he fussed around with the fireplace, and she examined her ankle. The throbbing was starting to return; she'd need more Tylenol soon. And possibly an amputation. She smiled at her Angela-like dramatic thought.

After several minutes, he entered the kitchen again, sweatpants in place of his wet jeans. "Come see," he said, taking her arm to help her up. She swung her leg off the chair carefully, leaning on him while he wrapped a protective arm around her waist. "You okay?"

"Yes," she said, hobbling as he moved her towards the other room.

"What do you think?" he said proudly. He had gotten the fire burning strong and high, crackling almost as loudly as the sound of the rain outside. In front of it, he had laid out one of the extra quilts from the bed, and had piled up all the pillows he could find around it.

"For me?" she asked, touched.

"Yup. Come sit down." Taking those few extra steps, he took her shoulders and helped her ease down onto the blanket, propping her up with the pillows at her back. "How's that?"

"It's..." It's incredible. No one has done anything like this for me, or taken care of me this way, since my parents left. And I don't know why you are doing it for me now, but sometimes it makes me want to cry. "It's really nice, Booth. Thank you."

"You're welcome." He was kneeling beside her, fingers tracing over the swollen foot again, with that concerned look on his face being lit up by the glow of the fire.

"Hey Booth?" she asked suddenly.

"Hmm?"

She thrust her leg out towards him. "I dare you to fix it."

He chuckled, capturing the injured foot in his hand gently. "I thought we weren't playing truth or dare."

"I thought it was worth a try," she sighed.

"It hurt that bad, huh?"

"Pretty bad," she admitted.

She wasn't sure what she had expected him to do. But it wasn't to lift her bare foot and lower his head, brushing his lips against the tender skin of her ankle. His mouth lingered there, unmoving, but warm. At the spot where he touched her skin, the throb turned into a tingle. She repressed a gasp. As he finally lowered her foot to the blanket, he looked at her intently.

"What is that supposed to do?" she managed after finding her voice. Her heart was pounding.

"Fix it." He shrugged. "The Tylenol, the cold water, and that... it's about all I've got." She could see the flames reflected in his eyes.

Unable to tolerate the intensity of his gaze, she glanced down at her foot. Miraculously, the thing felt better... the spot that was slightly damp from his lips almost felt as if it were humming. Looking back up at him, she felt more able to speak. "Thank you, Dr. Booth."

He seemed to be having trouble returning her smile. "Well." He stood suddenly. "I think Dr. Booth needs a bath after all his strenuous activity today." He took a step back. "Will you be okay out here?"

"I think I've got everything I need," she said softly, watching his retreat. Had she done something to make him nervous?

"Okay." Grabbing his bag, he made towards the bathroom. Before closing the door, he turned. "Feel better, Temperance."

She watched the door for a little while after it shut, then sighed and settled back into the pillows he had arranged for her, letting the heat from the fire warm her toes and her feet and her ankles. The ankle that had so recently been the recipient of one of the most tender kisses that had been bestowed upon her in her life.

Maybe they shouldn't have had that scotch. It was becoming hard enough to think clearly about everything that was happening in this cabin on this day.

5:22 pm

He filled his lungs completely, holding the air in for a moment before letting out a slow, steady breath. His back was against the now closed door of the bathroom, and finally having regained his wits, he pushed off and headed towards the old, clawfoot tub.

Taking a peek, he was surprised at how clean it looked. Someone must have been here fairly recently. Turning the old spigot to the left, he prayed for hot water, and finally, after a good two or three minutes, the water started to warm until it was steaming. He ran a hand around quickly, rinsing the sides, and when he was satisfied it was clean, he turned the water back on and dropped in the stopper.

Truth was, he was sore from carrying her all the way back to the cabin, and his muscles were already anticipating the warm water. Stripping out of his sweats quickly, he hung them on the hook on the back of the door and grabbed his towel. The water had actually grown quite hot, and he hissed when he slipped a foot in the tub, his skin immediately turning pink. Still, once he was settled, his shoulders resting against the back rim of the tub and his feet against the other, he allowed himself another deep breath.

Part of him was as stressed now as he'd been in the car this morning. In some ways, he realized, it was nearly as nerve-wracking to get along with her as it was to be nose to nose in an argument. Because in both extremes, he felt the threat of losing control. He'd already proved unable to keep himself in check the night things had gotten out of hand in her apartment. She had the remnants of a bruise on her neck to prove it. She'd pushed just so, pricked his temper in only the way she was capable, but he knew that a piece of him had just been waiting for that push. Three years, and it was the first time he'd cracked.

Picking up a bar of soap, he lathered it between his hands, and then over his forearms. Today was different, but the result was still the same - he'd been unable to control his reaction to her. And this time, rather than fury igniting the spark, it had been her smile. It had been the walk in the sun with her, had been the feel of her body pressed against his while he'd carried her home. And finally, it had been the afternoon games, the low and steady cadence of her voice, the flickering lights in her eyes, the steady drum of the rain. And he hadn't been able to keep from kissing the tender skin of her swollen ankle. A kiss to make it all better, his mother had always said. He remembered her dropping quick, sweet kisses to a bruised knee or a scraped elbow. As silly as it sounded, it had always taken the sting away.

But it had been her eyes that had caused his swift retreat to the bath. It had been the slight parting of her lips as she'd gazed at him, and he'd realized in that moment, just by looking at her, that it had been years, almost forever since anyone had touched her like that; taken care of her.

He wanted to be that person for her - she deserved that kind of tenderness and care. And no matter how "compartmentalized" and "self-sufficient" she claimed to be, in that moment, he had known better. Because everyone needed to feel that someone would take care of them, would come to their rescue. Since the tender age of fifteen, Temperance Brennan had tried to fill that role all by herself for herself. It wasn't fair.

And he'd tried so hard to do that for her, to be that person for her. In the years of knowing her, of being her partner and friend, he'd never seen a shortness of lovers. Her "urges", as she put it, were satisfied when it was necessary. And he hated to think of it in those terms. Sex could just be sex, sure. But it could also be one of the most intense, intimate experiences one could have with someone else - he wasn't sure she knew that. As frustrated and hot her statement in Sweets' office had made him, it also hadn't surprised him. If the men she slept with were merely people she saw as providers of some sort of... service, how could she possibly let go enough to experience what it could really be like?

And he'd yet to see any of those men take care of her, to look out for her in the way that really mattered. And it wasn't about her being a woman and the fact that he was a man. She looked out for him, had his back. He'd grown to depend on that trust, that knowledge that if he was in trouble, someone would notice he was missing - his partner would come looking.

But it was all starting to fall apart - all because he couldn't keep his feelings and his attraction to her tightly in check. Over the years, there had been times he'd been tempted to slip, had imagined what would happen if he took that step forward, if he kissed her. Sure, he fantasized. She was beautiful, and he was a man with two eyes and half a brain. But these specific day dreams, the ones he'd been having continually the last few weeks - he was smart enough to know the difference.

They weren't just about sex.

He had finished his bathing, and the water had grown cold. Lifting the stopper with his toes, he sat for a moment while the water drained loudly into the old pipes. He'd clean out the tub for her, run her new hot water and let her relax. The warm water would probably feel good on her bruised ankle.

Pushing himself to his feet, he wrapped a towel around his waist and rinsed out the tub, turning the water back on, the steam once again filling the room. Slipping back into his sweats, he opened the door cautiously, trying to be quiet, and when he peeked in the living area, she was curled up in front of the fire, her dark lashes against her cheeks.

His mouth went dry at the sight of her asleep, her skin flushed from the warmth of the fire, her hair curling over her shoulder and across her cheek. At least, he assumed she was asleep. Because after only a moment or two, her eyes opened and burned into his, and he had to remind himself to breathe.

6:01 p.m.

He had drawn a bath for her. A fucking bath.

The same man to and for whom she had professed her hatred just mere hours before.

Her I.Q. was in the 99th percentile, and she still could not wrap her mind around the nature of her relationship with him, couldn't quite come to any satisfying resolution about what she felt for him. Sometimes, she felt like she had got it... her partner, who received the brunt of her caring, her admiration, her respect, and her frustration. It made sense to her.

Then were the other times, like when she opened her eyes from their rest in front of the fire, and saw him standing in the entryway, his still-damp chest glistening in the glow of the embers and his eyes shining as he fixed upon her the gaze that, as far as she could tell, he reserved only for her. Those times, when it felt like her heart had literally stopped beating (impossible) and her lungs stopped functioning (equally unlikely), she could not tell what she felt anymore.

Except that it felt to be almost too much to bear.

It had taken some time to maneuver her way into the tub. The buoyancy of the hot water had helped, and she had needed to put nearly all her weight into her arms to hold herself on the bathtub's edge to lower herself inside without putting pressure on her injured foot. Booth had told her to call if she needed help, but she was determined not to need any more help today. Once she had settled, though... heaven. Figuring she wasn't in a hurry for anything anyway, she postponed her washing, allowing herself the luxury of just lying back in the water and letting the heat work its magic.

It occurred to her that the piece of furniture on which Booth had intended sleeping was soaked through, having been unfortunately positioned directly under the leaky roof. Her entomologist colleague might have developed a theory that nature was conspiring against them. She smiled at the thought of her friend's eccentricities. It had taken some time for her to adjust, but now, she couldn't imagine Hodgins any other way.

Briefly, she wondered what Angela and Jack were doing on this day and night. Were they talking, revealing themselves to one another, getting to know one another again, like she and Booth were? Were they pacing themselves, taking things slow, taking care to avoid missteps, or were they falling into their old ways of being, instinctively remembering what felt good and right? Were they arguing? Were they making love again? It was out of her hands, now. If it had ever been in her hands to begin with.

Now, all that energy she had put into her friends' marriage was directed towards herself. And, on this day, towards Booth. Feeling uncomfortable contemplating that, she began washing herself, her soapy hands gliding over her smooth skin. It had been a long time since she took a real, honest-to-goodness bath, and she had forgotten how relaxing it could be.

She was almost disappointed when she was done washing her hair and her body, and the water started to cool. Sighing regretfully, she leaned forward and pulled the plug, allowing her skin to cool as the water level dropped from her shoulders, down to her elbows, past her hips, and finally disappeared down the drain.

Big mistake.

She had underestimated how much the water's buoyancy had helped her keep her weight off her hurt foot. When she attempted to stand one-legged, she fell the first time, back onto her bottom. "Shit," she cursed, as softly as she could. If Booth heard her yelling, he'd be bursting in there in a heartbeat. Clasping tightly to the sides of the tub, she used her arm muscles to lift herself onto her good foot. Mission accomplished.

She was self-satisfied until she realized the next task was even more impossible. The sides of the tub were high. She'd have to stand on her injured foot to climb out, one way or the other.

Again, she cursed. Tentatively, she tried to put weight on the bruised ankle, and immediately bit back a yowl.

Leaning on the side of the tub with her hands, she contemplated her options. She could try hopping out on her one foot. With her luck today, she'd probably fall and break the other one.

That was it. Her only option. Oh God.

Sucking up all her pride and everything in her that screamed she should be able to do this herself, she took in a shaky breath before she called out.

"Booth!"

Honestly, despite the fact that he'd offered, when he heard her calling for him hesitantly through the bathroom door, his stomach flipped.

Standing up slowly from where he was sprawled in front of the fire, he paused at the closed door. "Bones?"

She was quiet for a moment. "I may need your help," she said, her voice small.

Oh, god.

She kept speaking. "I... I stood up on my own but... I don't think I can step over the rim of the tub on one foot."

Taking a deep breath, he pulled his lower lip between his teeth. "Okay," he said quietly, trying to sound casual. "Can you... can you reach the towel?"

Again there was a pause. "No. It's on the back of the door where you left it."

Right. Okay. Absolutely no need to panic. Bones is just naked.

"I'm going to turn my head and hand it to you, okay?"

"Okay."

Slowly, he pushed the door open, trying to avert his eyes. He saw a slight blur of skin, and he quickly turned around, grabbing the towel and holding it out to her. Her fingers brushed his as she took it from him, and his chest hitched a bit with an unsteady breath. He started counting silently in his head, and before he reached ten, she gave him the okay.

He turned slowly, his eyes falling on her damp shoulders, her hair slicked to her throat. She looked equally nervous, and he stepped towards her slowly, his tongue sneaking out to sweep over his lower lip anxiously.

"Okay," he said quietly. He dipped down and slipped one hand behind her knees, the other coming around her back as she looped her arms around his neck. Lifting her gently, he tucked her against his chest, the towel that was clasped at her breasts coming instantly unfastened. Flushing, he averted his eyes while she quickly moved to try and cover herself, but with one arm looped around her neck, she wasn't very successful.

The backs of her thighs were warm against his forearm, and she let her head drop against his shoulder as he made his way out of the bathroom. "I feel like you've been carrying me all day," she murmured. "I'm sorry."

"You're injured," he managed, his heart beating more rapidly at her nearness and half-nudity. "It's okay to need help sometimes, Bones."

"I know," she whispered, her head tilting slightly, her nose pressing against his bare shoulder.

She smelled of soap and woman; beads of water still present on her shoulders and chest, dampening his arms under her legs. He wanted to capture them with his tongue, to press his mouth to her skin, and he took another deep breath. She was going to think he was having a heart attack if he wasn't careful.

He was about to turn to the bedroom when she shivered. "Do you want me to put you by the fire? I'll go get your clothes. Might be warmer than the bedroom."

She nodded, her face still pressed against him. He wasn't sure if she was drowsy, shy or just quiet, but he made his way back to the pile of blankets. And it was at that moment, as he bent down, kneeling to set her gently in the cocoon of quilts and pillows when she finally raised her head, their eyes meeting, and what he saw stunned him.

All the anger, all the fury and the resentment and the frustration that had been between them the last few days had evaporated, and what he saw was just... Temperance. And her eyes were full of trust, and the openness, the willingness and vulnerability he saw was breathtaking. Her lips parted, shining damply from the firelight, and he wanted so badly to kiss her, to press his mouth against hers.

But the other night... it had ended so badly. It had driven such a wedge between them, and he couldn't afford to make that mistake with her again. He felt as if he'd spent the last few days scrambling to hold onto her, to keep the partner he'd finally reached, grown to need, to stay with him, to not retreat back into her self.

He slid his hand from beneath her legs gently, his arms bracing himself above her, but she made no move to remove her arms from where they were locked around his neck. He wanted so badly to believe he wasn't wrong, but his fear was paralyzing him.

"Bones," he rasped. "I just... I feel a little..." He sucked in a breath. "Do you -"

But she came to his rescue, just like she so often had in the past, and before he could think, before he could take another shaky breath, she was kissing him.

It was nothing like the wild, aggressive collision that had occurred in her living room only a few nights before. She tilted her head, her lips parting gently against his, and his eyes fell shut in surprise, his own mouth opening to the simple brush of her lips.

His heart seemed to stall in his chest, hanging for a second with no breath, no blood to power his body, and then it all returned in a rush and one hand came up, fingers sliding into her wet hair as he returned her kiss. The hesitance that had lingered in the first few moments dissipated, and as she caught his upper lip between her own, he tilted his head, deepening their contact.

His tongue slid against the ridge of her lower lip and her fingers curled into his hair, tugging him to her, and he followed her down to the nest of pillows, sinking into the warmth and taste of her. She shivered, but he knew now that it wasn't from the cold but from the heat of him against her, and at the velvet touch of her tongue inside his mouth, he finally moaned.

She cuddled him between her hips, one knee coming up to press against his waist, and the towel between them had again come untucked, leaving the tops of her breasts pressed against his bare skin. He was trembling, overwhelmed with sensation and only able to simply feel. Every cell in his body was reaching for her, responding to her, and when he finally pulled back to suck in a much needed breath, she protested slightly, following him, arching her back.

His eyes fluttered open, and hers were blazing, and he was once again drowning in that cerulean blue.