A/N: There's a small detail about Booth's past in this chapter that I've "recycled" from an earlier ficlet of mine because it fit so well here. Just in case someone gets a feeling of déjà vu ;-)

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Bones comes home later than usual that night, which doesn't help Booth's quickly deteriorating mood. By the time he hears her key turn in the lock, the initial shock about Cam's revelation has long worn off, and he's so furious that he doesn't even wait until she's out of her coat and boots before he confronts her.

"When, exactly, where you planning to tell me?"

It takes her a second to get what he's talking about, and the quick succession of different emotions flitting across her face would be fascinating to watch if he didn't feel ready to strangle her. Bewilderment is first; then, with dawning comprehension, comes a moment of alarm that is quickly reined in, and before the usual mask of detachment slips into place, he catches a second of something that looks like resignation.

"I forgot to warn Cam that you didn't know."

Booth's jaw drops. "That's all you have to say about it – whoops, should have told Cam to lie to you too? Don't I at least deserve an explanation?"

Bones calmly removes her coat, steps out of her boots and puts her purse away before she faces him again. "I didn't tell you because I assumed it would upset you."

"And you thought that it wouldn't upset me when I found out that you'd kept this from me? Out of curiosity, when were you going to tell me?"

"I don't know." She hesitates for a split second, and when she continues, she doesn't sound quite so clinical any more. "Your current condition doesn't allow for long-term planning. It's next to impossible to predict what's going to happen from one day to the next, so I… was going to play it from the ear."

"By ear," he corrects automatically, and then wonders if she got it wrong on purpose to distract him. It doesn't seem possible that a woman who writes best-selling novels can't manage the simplest colloquialisms, does it?

Then what she said before the botched expression begins to register, and it puts a dampener on his indignation because he knows her well enough to understand how ill at ease she feels with everything that doesn't follow the rules of her beloved logic and rationality. Cats take to water more naturally than Bones to unpredictability – and as much as he hates to admit it, there really hasn't been anything predictable about his life since he woke up from the coma.

She seems to notice the shift in his mood (since when is she able to read him like that? Or has she always been and he didn't notice until now?) and obviously sees it as her chance to explain herself. "I assumed that you would feel left out if you knew that the trial was being prepared without you, and I wanted to spare you that." When he doesn't answer, she adds, as if presenting an irrefutable closing argument, "I was only trying to protect you, Booth."

Just like that, the anger is back; he has always hated being patronized. "That wasn't your call to make!"

"Like taking a bullet that was meant for me wasn't yours?" Great, now she sounds pissed off too, and the part of him that's spoiling for a fight is eager to jump at the chance, but for once his rational mind wins out. If he takes the bait, all it will lead to is another round of yelling that won't resolve anything.

Booth deliberately takes a step back, crosses his arms and silently counts to ten before he opens his mouth again. "Okay, point taken. Will you at least tell me now what's going on? I have a right to the truth, Bones."

"Very well." She crosses her arms too, mimicking his stance, and for a fleeting second he wonders what Gordon Gordon would have to say about it. "Caroline was planning to charge Heather Taffet with our abductions – yours, mine, Hodgins' – together with those of the other four survivors, and with the kidnapping and murder of the Kent brothers, but all the evidence we had gathered with Jared's help got thrown out during the first evidentiary hearing because…"

She falls silent when she notices his expression. "Booth, are you okay?"

"Fruit of the poisoned tree." Booth finds himself struggling with an odd feeling of déjà vu. "The evidence got thrown out because the warrant was obtained illegally."

Bones pales visibly, but she nods. "That was less than two weeks after your surgery. We were left with no evidence, so Caroline was hesitant to take the case to court. We were still trying to decide how to proceed when –"

"– you found the boy." He has no idea why he said that, but the images begin to solidify in his mind as he speaks. "Terrence Gilroy – the only one of her victims whose remains were still missing."

"Yes." She has found her composure again. "You obviously heard me when I told you about it at the hospital."

"You talked to me about the Gravedigger?" Booth isn't quite sure how he feels about that.

"It was a difficult time for me." He can see that the admission costs her some effort. "If we took our cases to trial, there was a high probability that we would set Heather Taffet free, and I couldn't allow that. You were in a coma and unable to give me your opinion on the matter, but I still went to talk to you about it because I… I felt that you should hear it." She sounds as if she were confessing something shameful, and he doesn't miss the slight blush that's creeping up her cheeks. "I should have considered that you might understand me. I apologize if I caused you distress by triggering traumatic memories at a time when you were defenseless, but – I was so used to discussing all my problems with you, and…"

"It's okay, Bones." He doesn't want to hear this now, doesn't want to feel his heart break for her while he's trying to stay angry at her. He knows she went through hell, but this isn't about then, it's about now. "The boy – Terrence Gilroy… she led you to him, right?" At her blank look, he adds, "Heather Taffet gave you a hint where to find him, didn't she?"

Bones frowns. "No, of course she didn't – why would she lead us to another victim of hers? The remains were found by a construction crew during the excavation of a foundation pit in –"

"Nottoway County, Virginia?" Booth his struck by the weird sensation of being in two places at once – because a part of him is now standing next to her in a freshly dug hole in the ground, staring at a rusty old fridge that holds the remains of a ten year-old child.

"Yes." She doesn't sound surprised any more that he got it right. "Terrence Gilroy's remains provided us with enough evidence against Taffet for Caroline to decide that it was safer to take only his case to court, which would also allow Hodgins and me to act as expert witnesses. Hodgins wasn't happy, but Caroline and I agreed that it was the rational way to proceed, considering that we had no admissible evidence for our own cases and that you wouldn't be able to testify at all."

He knows that what the said is factually true, and yet the calm statement stings. "So you and Caroline had already written me off."

From the way she pales again, that stung too. "I never lost sight of the fact that there was a realistic chance you would wake up again. However, I knew that even if you woke up in time for the trial, Caroline wouldn't allow you to testify against Taffet."

She sounds almost pleading when she continues. "Booth, when she kidnapped you, you hallucinated about a dead friend of yours, and just a few months later you were diagnosed with a brain tumor. Can you imagine what the defense would have been able to do with that?"

She's right, of course, but Booth still feels like she punched him in the gut. His mind is awash with memories of her clinging to him as he held her and promised her that they would see this nightmare through together, that he was her partner and would be with her every step of the way. It wasn't enough then, of course, because she was already slipping away no matter how hard he tried to hold on to her – and it looks like it means even less now because she decided she didn't need him for any of it in the first place.

"I'm coming with you tomorrow."

She seems about to protest, but thinks better of it. "If that's what you want, Booth. And now excuse me, it's been a long day, and I need a shower."

She doesn't look at him again as she disappears into her bedroom.

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Almost without conscious thought, Booth follows her right up to the closed bedroom door. Something happened just now, something that feels both strange and oddly familiar – maybe because this felt like the first real conversation they've had ever since they started sleeping together, or maybe because he can't shake off the memory of what happened the last time he let her walk away from him after an encounter with Heather Taffet. He can't help feeling that there's something he should have said, or done, something that would have gotten through to her – but considering that she's been retreating further and further into her shell during the past weeks, he has no idea what it could possibly have been.

On a whim, Booth opens the door and enters her bedroom. He hasn't set foot in it since that night, and he may very well regret that he's doing it now without her permission, but it's suddenly important to be here, in her sanctuary that doubles as her fortress whenever she wants to keep him at arm's length, although he'd be hard-pressed to say whether he wants to prove it to her or to himself that he's a part of the entirety of her life.

The room is empty anyway. Her clothes are strewn all over the floor, which seems strangely out of character for her, and he can hear the shower running through the closed door to the master bathroom.

As soon as the sound registers with him, his brain is filled with a very different kind of images. A couple of mind-blowing nights weren't nearly enough to satisfy his desperate hunger for her – if anything, they intensified it because the reality of her surpasses his wildest fantasies. He knows he should focus on finally getting her to talk to him, but all he can think of is her, wet and soapy and gloriously naked, just a few feet away – and the sad truth is that there's only one kind of closeness between them that she tolerates these days while everything else will make her freeze him out at best or run for the hills at worst.

And yet – if this is the only way he can get close to her, at least he'll make sure that it happens on his terms this time, that he's the one to invite himself into her bed after weeks of her inviting herself into his.

Within seconds, Booth's clothes join hers on the floor, and he gets on the bed in a half-upright position with his back against the headboard so he'll be facing her when she opens the bathroom door. He takes care to make as much noise as possible as he gets comfortable; then he pulls the sheets up to his waist, crosses his arms behind his head, and waits.

He's sure she must have heard him because the splashing sounds of the shower have stopped, but she doesn't come out of the bathroom. There are footsteps, and the sound of the tap being turned on and off several times, but it's obvious that she has decided to take her sweet time getting ready whether he's waiting for her next door or not. Maybe she hopes he'll go away if she makes him wait long enough, although that doesn't really sound like Bones – and she'll know it's not like him to be deterred that easily either.

It takes almost half an hour until the door opens, and the sight that greets him makes his breath catch in his throat. She's wearing a silky, emerald green bathrobe that he has never seen on her before; the color turns her fair skin into porcelain, and the shiny material flows around the curves of her body like water. She doesn't act surprised by his presence, merely inclines her head a little as if in mild curiosity, and even though she's looking straight at him, her eyes don't give away what she's thinking.

She approaches the bed, moving with the grace of a cat on the prowl, and pulls the sheets that cover him away in a single, swift move. It takes him by surprise, but he remains motionless as she looks him up and down with the same kind of intensity she would muster for the bones on her table. He's a little embarrassed by the scrutiny – his arousal is very, very noticeable, and even though he knows he's got nothing to be ashamed of in that area, he isn't used to being appraised like that – but stays perfectly still and holds her gaze in a way that will probably look like a challenge to her.

Her eyes never leave his while she lazily unties her robe, revealing an expanse of bare, creamy skin, and Booth drinks in the sight of her as she puts a knee on the bed and crawls towards him on all fours. He still doesn't move, even though she's already on top of him with her knees straddling him and her breasts only inches away from his face. She's still wearing the robe, although the only thing it covers now are her arms and shoulders; it flows around her like a cape, and when she raises her arms and braces them against the headboard, the soft fabric encompasses them both in a way that almost feels like she's creating a space that is separate from the rest of the world and only belongs to them.

Then she presses her hips against his, covering the underside of his erection in her wetness, and every attempt at putting a romantic spin on this goes right out the window as all of his senses go into overdrive. Holy shit, she's dripping wet already. He desperately wants to kiss her, but that would mean breaking eye contact, and there's something in her gaze that holds him transfixed. They've been in this exact position, right here in this bed, once before, but now she's looking at him like she sees him, like there's nothing in the world that's of interest to her right now but him.

He reaches for her, and her lips twist into a feral smile when his hands begin to roam over her body. She raises herself up a little as she leans forwards, and even though it makes the delicious pressure of her core against his cock disappear, it also buries his face in her chest. Booth forgets about eye contact as her breast fill his entire field of vision, close enough to taste and kiss and suck in all those ways that he knows will drive her crazy. She sighs, and moans, and then cries out, and when she bucks into him, rubbing her slippery heat against his stomach, he knows he's going to lose his mind if he doesn't get to be inside her right now.

He lets out a whimper of protest when she takes his right hand and guides it between her legs. They both know she's more than ready, and he doesn't want to waste any more time – but obviously she wants him to get her off first before he gets his turn, and at the moment he would do pretty much anything she asks of him as long as it means he'll get to fuck her afterwards.

She groans when he pushes two fingers into her; with his face still nestled between her breasts, he can feel the vibrations deep in her chest, and it makes him wonder how it will be to feel her come like that, with every moan and cry amplified against his skin. If this is what she wants, he's determined to give her the best orgasm she ever got from anyone's hands on her. He presses his thumb against her clit, setting a rhythm of slow, sure strokes in tandem with the movement of his fingers inside her, and she groans again, this time much louder.

Her weight shifts a little as she lets go of the headboard, but Booth is too preoccupied to pay much attention to the way she seems to fumble with something in her pocket. He startles when he feels her hands on his cock that is nestled against her buttocks, and the sudden, delicious contact is too much of a distraction at first to get what she's doing. Dawning comprehension comes with the unexpected, and rather unwelcome touch of latex against his skin – she's reaching behind her to put a condom on him, and from the wet sounds of slick rubber it's one of those pre-lubricated ones. She told him that she's on the pill, and he has literal first-hand knowledge that lubrication really won't be an issue for her, so –

Then he realizes what she's doing, and he feels like his heart stops for a second. Jesus Christ, she wants me to fuck her up the ass.

In an instant, his body is on fire. This has been one of his most secret fantasies ever since Rebecca's experimental phase – they only did it once because she didn't like it much, but it felt absolutely incredible, and even though he never had the nerve to ask for it with any of his later girlfriends, it was the kind of experience that stays with a guy for the rest of this life.

God, she's really doing this – she grabs the headboard with both hands and positions herself, and his mind goes completely blank when she sinks down on his cock, taking him in inch by torturous inch. The only thoughts he's still capable of are tight and hot and God, Bones; he digs the fingers of his free hand into her hips and, on pure instinct, plants his feet on the mattress and bends his knees to push up and into her. Before he really knows what's happening, he's sheathed fully inside her, and she makes a sound deep in throat that could mean pain, pleasure, or both as she starts moving.

He still remembers how slowly and carefully Rebecca made him go back then, but Bones doesn't seem to have any such concerns, and the realization that she must have enough prior experience with this to be comfortable now sends a blinding flash of jealousy through him. Christ, he hopes he'll never find out who the jerk was who got to know her like this before him (if it was Sully and his freakishly oversized dick he'll have to hunt him down and kill him) – but then he's struck by the thought that she must have prepared herself for this when she heard him come in, and the image of her standing naked in front of her bathroom mirror with a bottle of Astroglide and her fingers up her ass makes him lose the rest of his self-control.

He bucks into her as she rocks back and forth, setting a mind-blowing rhythm of impaling herself on his cock and on his fingers, and he tightens his grip on her, working her clit and that sweet spot deep inside her to make sure she's right there with him because there's no way he's going to last.

Nothing has ever felt like being inside her now. All the blood in his body seems to rush towards his groin; his balls are tight and heavy, and then she clenches around his cock as he feels the muscles that grip his fingers inside her begin to flutter. His orgasm hits him like a freight train; he cries out, and so does she as he thrusts upwards one final time and clutches her to him as he starts pulsing into her in a wild rush of sensation. They've never managed to come together before, but now her whole body tightens as she spasms and quivers deep inside, and then they're both right there, tumbling over the edge together, their moans and cries intermingling as they both let go.

He comes so hard that he almost blacks out – he has always considered it a stupid figure of speech before, but now grey dots are filling his field of vision, and the sounds of his racing heart and of the blood rushing in his ears are louder than even their voices were just seconds before. Bones collapses on top of him, utterly spent as well, and it takes her a moment until she's able to disentangle herself from him. The cool air hits his overheated skin with almost painful intensity – he wants her back, wants the warmth of her touch, the firmness of her body back against his own, but he feels completely boneless and barely able to move.

All he manages is to turn his head and look at her. She's lying right next to him, her sweat-soaked bathrobe tangled around her and her hair sticking wetly to her flushed face, and she has never been more beautiful to him than she is right now. To his amazement, she doesn't turn away; her expression is open, almost vulnerable as she holds his gaze while she's gasping for air just like he is.

"Wow."

His awestruck tone makes her burst out laughing. It's like the spell of silence that kept them apart for so long has been broken, and suddenly there's a spark between them, a tentative, precious connection as they look at each other, panting and laughing breathlessly as if they both couldn't believe what just happened.

A damp strand of hair falls into her face, and without thinking, Booth reaches out and brushes it away. "We're good together, aren't we?"

The words are soft, barely above a whisper, and yet they seem to ring in the sudden silence. Her eyes turn overly bright, and for the second time today, he gets to witness a rapid succession of conflicting emotions – joy, hope, fear, pain, sorrow, all flashing across her face too quickly to be sure of any of them. Then her expression shutters, leaving nothing but the blank look behind that he has come to dread during the past weeks.

She hastily pulls away, gets up and disappears into the bathroom before he has time to fully process what's going on. A few seconds later, he hears the shower running, and Booth flings an arm across his eyes and feels like screaming with frustration.

After a moment of pulling himself together, he scrambles to his feet as well and, ignoring the protest from every muscle in his body, staggers out of the room without bothering to pick up his clothes. Let her stumble over them when she finally comes out of hiding – maybe they'll remind her that she can't just wash away every trace of him when she's done with him.

There's no denying that he needs a shower too, but when he finally makes it to the guest bathroom, he turns the temperature to the lowest possible setting and then stays under the icy spray until his teeth are beginning to chatter. His knees feel like rubber, and he's ready to collapse on the spot, but there's no way he's going to fall asleep now so she can go back to pretending in the morning.

He has no idea what's going on with her, but he knows that something happened between them tonight, and he isn't going to give in to his exhaustion until he has finally gotten some answers because he can't take this twisted dance any more.

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He fully expects to find her bedroom door locked, but to his utter surprise, the door is open when he steps out of his room. The cool breeze wafting through it into the living room tells him that she opened her bedroom window in spite of the chilly night outside – as if she were trying to get rid of the lingering smell of sex together with the memory of it.

That's when he spots her, curled into a ball in one of the armchairs in the semi-darkness of the living room. She's got her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them; instead of the green bathrobe, she's wearing a ratty old t-shirt and a pair of baggy sweatpants, and she looks so lost that he briefly wonders if she can't bring herself to return to her bedroom and isn't sure where else she's supposed to go right now.

"Hey." He keeps his voice low, but she startles nevertheless, and for a moment, her eyes go impossibly wide when he steps closer.

"Bones, we need to talk."