A/N Wow, you guys (although I think the majority of fanfiction writers are female, correct me if I'm wrong) are all INCREDIBLE! I love you all! This chapter is deeper than… a deep thing. See, writing this has used up my allotted creativeness and thinking power for the next couple of weeks, so that's as good an analogy as you're going to get. This chapter's title breaks the mold slightly, as it isn't named for a particular song, but rather an entire album by Ryan (not Bryan) Adams. If you haven't heard of him, I urge you to check him out, because he is amazing. Just like you!

She was barely awake, and barely dressed, pottering around his kitchen attempting to make breakfast while he was getting ready to leave for work. For her, this was a rare day off, and she wanted to make the most of it. That usually meant sleeping a little later than she normally did, but this morning he had woken her up as he rummaged through his drawers. He seemed preoccupied with something, but she knew when he was like that that he didn't want to talk about what was bothering him.

He came out of the bedroom, pulling on his suit jacket, and gratefully took the cup of coffee that she was holding out to him. Taking a long sip, he picked up his cell phone from the kitchen counter and went to kiss her goodbye.

"I'll see you later tonight. Don't forget, I have Parker this weekend."

"Have you told him yet? About us?"

"No." He paused and seemed to struggle with what he was about to say next. "And I won't until I know for sure that you're in this for the long haul. So while I'm out I want you to think about that, OK?"

She whipped round to face him, stunned at what he had just said to her. "What?"

"Don't act like you didn't hear me!" he called over his shoulder as he moved down the hallway.

Before she could answer him, preferably with something witty, he was out the door.

She assumed that he wanted to hear her say that they would be together forever – even though, rationally speaking, neither of them could possibly know that for sure. It was impossible to predict where they would be in ten minutes, let alone ten years, or longer. Of course, she could tell him whatever it was that he wanted to hear, but she had been led to believe that lies were not the best foundation on which to build a relationship. Although, they wouldn't be lies, per se, just reassurances.

Or maybe he would settle for knowing how she felt about him? Surely once he knew that, he'd realize that she wasn't going anywhere.

How did she feel?

This was a question she had never really pondered before – of course, she knew how she felt, but it was ineffable – there was a definite difference between recognising those emotions and being able to describe them. Even at her most eloquent, it seemed impossible to her that she would ever be able to comprehend and express the way she felt about her partner. And she was a writer, for crying out loud! It was her job to articulate sentiments such as love.

She halted her train of thought and sat bolt upright. Was it love? Further to the point, what exactly was love?

It was probably a word she used all too often – to describe a particularly enjoyable meal or a favourite outfit – without any thought to the implications. She was pretty confident that the way she felt about him was different to the way she felt about cheesecake.

As far as she knew, she had never been in love before. She had loved, of course – her parents, her brother, even her friends – but that was different. Her feelings for Booth were incomparable to the way she felt about her father or Angela. It was an entirely different entity.

She knew that he loved her, but she couldn't very well ask him to describe exactly how he felt so she could determine if she felt the same. Only she could know if she was in love or not. But that just brought her back to the beginning of her sad little loop of frustration. How could she know if she was in love, if she couldn't figure out what love was?

She tried to be logical, working through this puzzle like she would a case at work, like trying to identify a murder weapon – if you didn't know what it was outright, then you ruled out everything that it couldn't be. Maybe her feelings could be clarified by her determining how she didn't feel. She definitely didn't hate Booth. She liked him, of course she did – she more than liked him. She cared for him, but that alone didn't equate to love.

Scientifically, she knew love really just boiled down to a natural cascade of chemicals and hormones. Which, in itself, made loving someone a natural bodily function, just like breathing or sweating – so why did people make such a big deal of being in love?

Her heart was just a muscle, after all – muscles didn't determine feelings or emotions, so to her the notion of her heart being to key to loving someone was ridiculous. And besides, when she saw him or her gave her a knee-weakening smile, those feelings weren't felt in her chest, but in the pit of her stomach when it seemed to do somersaults and tie itself in knots, or in her mind when it raced with anticipation. In fact, the only thing he seemed to do to her heart was make it race. She had never had someone consume her in so many areas of her life; her work, her home life and her imagination. It had been that way even before they were married – there were times when she would come home from a long day at work and just wouldn't be able to shake him from her mind, and she had never really understood why. She began trying to find any excuse to get him to stay at the Jeffersonian a little longer at the end of the day, or to spend time with him outside of work. During the minimal amount of time that she allowed herself to think about what the hell she was doing, she told herself it was just because she valued their friendship – she trusted him with her life everyday, and he did the same with her. She shared far more of a bond with him than with Angela in some respects. But deep down, when she sat at home alone or worked well into the night and could only think of one thing, she realized that what she felt for him was more than friendship.

Then it dawned on her as she sat alone in his living room, on his uncomfortable couch, wearing one of his t-shirts. She had loved him all along and didn't even realise it.

"Shit," she said softly, although it seemed to echo in the silent room. Getting up slowly, she walked back into the bedroom and retrieved her cell phone from the nightstand. She had two things she needed to do – make a call and send a text – but she wasn't sure which should come first. Sighing angrily at the choice she made, she dialed the number and perched on the edge of the bed, waiting for him to pick up.

"Hello?"

"Dad... I need your help."

Booth stepped into an elevator at the Jeffersonian, pressing the 'lobby' button and waiting for the doors to close. Just as they were about to, a hand shot in between them and pried them open again. Said hands belonged to Cam, who scowled at Booth as she stepped in beside him.

"Did you not hear me yelling 'hold the elevator'?"

"No, sorry," he mumbled.

She shook her head and turned on the fake cheer. "Well, good morning, Booth! How's Mrs. Booth?"

"Very funny."

"Well someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning!"

"I've got a meeting with Cullen in half an hour. He doesn't know that me and Bones are married yet, but I guess I'm going to have to tell him. It's just…"

"What?"

"He's going to say we can't work together anymore, I just know it."

"You know why you can't work together anymore."

"You're on his side?!"

"No, I just know that it's against department policy for you two to continue to be partners."

"Come on, she's the most rational person any of us know, if she can't compartmentalize our relationship while we're at work, then no one can."

"You're right. She is rational – but you're not. You let your gut and your emotions lead you. Can you honestly tell me that, in a life or death situation that you were both involved in, you wouldn't throw protocol out of the window to protect her?"

"No, I can't. But that's what I would have said before we were married, too. And honestly, if it was you or one of the squints I would say the same thing."

"Well, that's very sweet," Cam laughed and shook her head. "Just don't let your boss hear you say that."

"Look, I'm going to tell him eventually. Just not yet. He doesn't need to know yet. We can handle it."

"I hope you're right," she replied as the doors opened, stepping out onto the second floor and leaving him to his dilemma as he rode down to the lobby.

A/N2 There won't be an update for the next couple of weeks, as I am off to New York with my good friend, fellow writer and official CSI/Bones comrade, Natters999. Also, I am making a conscious effort to restrict my author notes. I ramble too much. That is all.