A/N: References to the last two episodes of season 3 here. Honestly why did I rewatch them? Why would I torture myself like that? Why? Why? *goes off to watch other heartbreaking episodes because i have a deluded idea that it'll get me through exams*


Stand still.

He can feel every muscle in his body, stretched tightly over bone, tensed no matter how hard he tried to relax. He could feel his lungs burning in his attempt to hold still, his fingers aching to clench, to reach, to pull.

To touch her.

She is so close.

He doesn't understand the way she stands, her jaw tightened, arms crossed over her chest. The part of him he is trying to distract from the sight of her compares the woman he is seeing to the woman he was imagining when he got dressed this morning. He wasn't quite sure what to expect of her. He'd made sure to put her on the list of people who had to be told, even though the FBI had warned him to tell the least amount of people as possible. Sweets had been on the list, obviously, since he was the one who had to tell her. And she was on the list, even though they warned her she shouldn't be. "She's just your partner," they'd argued. "She doesn't need to be told."

But he remembers the way her hands pressed against the wound in his chest, the way her eyes watered and her lips twisted in an effort not to cry. He remembers the way her voice rose and fell, between nearly shouting at him and whispering painfully.

He shakes his head as imperceptibly as possible. The memory makes him want to give up the charade; reach out and pull her close. Part of him was hoping she wouldn't be there, worried she would betray him by not grieving enough. He imagined her looking for him, betraying him by smiling or even going so far as waving at him.

The other part of him worried she would take the opposite stance. She'd grieve too much, cry too hard, yell at God. It was bad on one hand because she'd cause a stir, possibly enough to get his target to leave. But the main reason it was bad was because, even knowing she was acting, he would not be able to control himself if she sobbed. He'd give himself away, if only it meant he could hold her.

But this reaction...it was nothing like he expected. She was on the defensive, which meant she was hiding something. The way she spoke, angered, in short bursts...it was as if she didn't know. Was she really that good of an actress?

His target stepped forward, and he focused again. He could think about her...talk to her...later.


"You should've told me personally."

He hasn't thought about that day for years, but something has brought the memory to the front of his mind. Yawning, he rolls, stopping when his knee bumps into her.

Moving as carefully as possible, he stretches out beside her, placing his hand on the soft curve of her belly. It's much too early to feel their child moving, but sometimes he likes to imagine he can. His arm stretches, reaches around her to softly curve around the top of her head, gently replacing her pillow with the crook of his elbow. She sighs in her sleep, shifting slightly, but the hand on her belly stops her from rolling onto her side.

He's imagining the way she looked at him, the pent-up anger in every cell in her body. She'd hated that he hadn't told her, that he had hidden behind protocol, and yet hadn't minded that Sweets had made a "professional opinion". It felt strange to him, that Brennan hadn't cared about his opinion but had cared so much about Booth not telling her, but it had also made him happy in a way it shouldn't have. He'd loved that he had mattered so much to her, that she wished that not anyone, but he in particular had told her.

He imagines the way she spoke, the vehemence in her voice just barely overlaying the pain. He sees the way she looked at him, the anger masking the betrayal, and wishes for the millionth time that he'd done more, to make sure she knew, to make sure she was okay.

He startles back into reality as he feels a soft kiss press against his bicep. He allows his hand to slip to her hip as she rolls onto her side, curling closer to him. "Why you awake?"

He smiles at her slur, his hand slipping downward to rub up and down her back, fingers stretched, from the spot between her shoulder blades down to just below the small of her back. "Thinking."

She yawns and murmurs, "'bout what?"

"Nothing. Everything."

She looks up from where her head is cradled in his arm, eyes opening sleepy and with annoyance clear as the blue. "Booth," she says warningly as if she can't stand him messing with her mind at three in the morning.

He chuckles, and she curls closer as his fingers curl into her hair, palm cupping the back of her neck. "Don't want to bother you. You need your sleep."

"Can't sleep anymore unless you tell me."

He looks down at her, and this time when she looks up her eyes are mischievous. He wrinkles his nose at her, kissing her forehead and allowing his lips to linger as he debates what he should do. Telling her would calm her nerves and rile her up at the same time, but it's no use lying or arguing with her now.

"Remember my funeral?"

He tries to sound teasing, sarcastic, but it doesn't work. Her eyes sober, and one hand reaches out and slips down his side before burrowing under his shirt, sliding up until her fingers press against his scar. He is amazed at the way she knows his body so well she can find the scar without looking, but at the same time he's not surprised at all. This is her, after all.

"I was surprised that you were so angry at me, and not at Sweets. It kind of annoyed me, but at the same time..." he presses her closer to him, "I was happy. I was thrilled that you cared about me so much, that you wanted me in particular to tell you that I wasn't dead." He shifts against her. "I wanted to, you know. So much. I remember...I remember the way you looked at me, just before I passed out, and I...I wanted to hold you. So much, so much."

She pulls away, sitting up slightly, and her other hand slips under his shirt to join the other, pulling upward until he helps her pull his shirt off. Smiling through the tears, she pulls him closer, enjoying the feel of his warm, bare skin on her cheek, the sound of his heart reverberating in her ears. "Hmm...I was so angry at you because it was easier."

He presses his lips to her hair, breathing in her scent. "Easier than what?"

"Admitting. Admitting that...I felt...more than what a partner should feel, and...you weren't ever going to know. That was all I could think of, that first night after. That you were never going to know. And then suddenly you were alive, and there, and I wanted to tell you but I couldn't. So I got angry. I yelled at you, I shut you out, because I couldn't have you. That was the only reason why, Booth, you have to know that."

He doesn't notice that he is crying until her lips press against his cheek, moving down the tear tracks. Her hand slips over his skin and she curls deeper into him. "That was the moment I knew, Booth. I'd...well, I'd kind of suspected before, knew that there was something more than friendship, but I didn't really...know, until I realized I'd never be able to be with you. But when you came back, I got scared again."

"You shouldn't have been," he murmured. "I'd never let you get away."

His hand slips down to her belly again, fingers spread wide over the barely noticeable swell. "I'd never let you go. I will never let you go."

He falls asleep with the feel of her smile on his shoulder.