A/N: So my darling readers, today we're going to do the reverse birthday thing! I'm turning 22 today and you're getting the last Bones chapter. Alright? Alright! So final chapter now, epilogue later - late afternoon/evening in Berlin Time. See you on the other side!

Disclaimer: This is waaaay too explicit for Austen

Soundtrack: The Graveyard by the House and All I Ever Wanted by The Airborne Toxic Event

Chapter 35: Strawberries:

The first thing she felt was the warmth.

She felt the sheets, tangled around her legs and between her feet, cutting her body in two halves, where the edge of the blanket ran across her lower back.

She felt the rays of sunshine dancing over the bare skin along her spine, tickling and teasing. She kept her eyes closed, felt the more compact warmth of her hair covering her neck and shoulders.

She was aware of her hands under the white pillow, just as much as she was conscious of the smooth and soft fabric under her cheek. She turned on her side, lightly lifting her knees to her chest, suddenly becoming aware of the fact that she was naked.

And then it took all her willpower not to rip her eyes open, jump out of the bed and grab her clothes like some sort of saving anchor.

What the hell happened?

She felt the prickling in her throat and down her stomach, as if she'd drunken the adrenaline that was now surging through her veins.

She breathed in and paused, slightly panicked, when his scent hit her nose. A mix of cigarettes and citrons even though she knew he didn't smoke. None of them did.

Something like regret crawled up her fingers, her calves, her throat, centred itself in the lump in her throat she'd gotten to know so well in the past few months.

What had she done?

A different kind of warmth suddenly touched the sensitive skin on her back, danced like the sunlight before with the slight difference that it was no light touching her, but skin on skin and bones against bones.

And the goose bumps it aroused were as real as the hand on her back, drawing patterns.

"I know you're awake," she heard him mutter sleepily and suddenly there were no more patterns drawn on her back, instead a finger poked her rather reproachfully in the side.

"Ow!" She jerked back and buried her face in the much too brightly coloured pillow to hide her smile. "Jerk."

"Told you that you're not sleeping."

"Not anymore," she groused and glared at him between messy strands of hair and still half closed eye lids before she – head first – burrowed herself into the crook of his shoulder with an almost petulant grumble and stayed there. His hand found its way into her hair almost automatically and she sighed contentedly when his fingers started moving along her scalp.

This here is good, she reminded herself. This is safe.

"I'm counting," he remarked quietly after a while, eyes locked to the ceiling and Lizzie couldn't quite grasp what could be so incredibly interesting about a sleek, white surface.

"Oh goodie," she mumbled. "You made it to preschool-level. What fun stuff are you counting? Apples? Pears? Sheep? Perhaps remaining brain-cells? You really should take up a new hobby. Crossword puzzles are supposed to be interesting, I hear."

"Oh believe me, I got my own personal crossword puzzle 24/7."

"How frustrating." She rubbed her nose against the skin of his neck and sniffled a bit like a small cat. "That you haven't solved it after all that time."

"It's surprisingly entertaining and never gets boring."

"How good for you that found the washing program to be suited to your tastes." She patted his shoulder – or what she thought to be his shoulder. It turned out to be the side of his ribcage, but with squinted eyes and hair obscuring her view it wasn't an easy feat for sure.

"I'm still counting," he started up again and this time she opened both eyes. It wouldn't do to try poking him in the side in annoyance and then hit his eyes due to her temporarily limited eye sight – or other… vulnerable body parts.

"What for heaven's sake has you quite so fascinated that you turned into the Count from Sesame Street?", she asked irritated and frowned.

"You. Apparently." He grinned and she reached behind herself to throw a free pillow at his head. There were a lot of pillows on this bed and she had no qualms about using all of them as ammunition.

"Cheesy."

"Amazed is more like it." He threw back the pillow. "I'm counting the seconds until you jump up and go hide in the bathroom." She stiffened and hid her face in his shoulder. "I'm quite surprised that hasn't happened yet."

"Thought about it," it sounded rather pathetically after a while.

"And?"

"I'm still here." One bright green eye glanced at him between messy curls. "I'm holding out," she announced with pride and defiance and pushed her chin forwards with equal sheer pig-headedness.

"You're holding out?"

"I'm waiting for the panic to recede." She nodded as if trying to convince herself of the statement's truth. "I didn't invite her and it's quite rude to intrude on people like that. Hospitality or not."

"And what's the time frame for that battle of wills?"

"Don't know yet. She's rather persistent."

"Indeed… So while we wait-"

"We wait?" A smile started to tug on the corners of her mouth and she pushed the curls out of her face to get a better look at him. Darcy grimaced and sat up to lean against the headboard.

"Of course we wait. I'm not Richard. Threesomes are not really my cup of tea."

"How disappointing."

"You'll have to get used to it, I'm afraid."

"Apparently." Lizzie grinned, a flash of teeth and the tip of a tongue and he glared at her playfully.

"So while we wait-" he tried again and Lizzie, that prickling feeling of warmth curling in her stomach, imitated him and sat up, too.

"You keep using that word. 'We'." She stretched a bit in that dusty-soft light and bit her lip when she saw his eyes linger on her.

"Don't you like it? It's a socially highly accepted pronoun. But if you're not fond of it we could make up a new one. We could be two snowflakes, all hip and trendy and unique and-"

He was interrupted rather suddenly when Lizzie nodded with an amused "Hmm" and straddled his legs.

"Like crocheted jewellery?" she asked and he laughed, pressing his lips against her sternum.

"That's what you said." His strand stroked warmly over her side, over the arches of her ribs, the dip to her waist, the swell of her hips. "There I am talking over the linguistic possibility of creating a specific pronoun just for us and you reduce it to cheesy garage sale accessories."

"You started it with the kitsch and again there's-"

"What? The kitsch?" He threw back his head. "We should get a restraining order."

"No. This thing. 'Us'. You used it again. And I believe that won't be possible on a day like this." Lizzie ran her thump over his forehead, his cheekbones. She reached his mouth, that curling smile and pushed a finger between the slightly parted, cherry-stained lips. She felt the smooth surface of teeth, the sharp line of a canine tooth pressing against the tip of her finger and she hissed, grinning slightly at the subtle pain.

"Well, you did storm in quite Hollywood-like," he said quietly, his eyes dark while he watched her push the searching finger in her own mouth. "Very dramatic."

"That's what I said. We invited him in our life. We can't just throw him out again. That might just traumatise him something dreadful."

"And again, you're talking about threesomes." His hands wandered lower, grabbed the curve of her arse, pulling her closer. "Really, Lizzie, are there a few fantasies you'd like to share with the class?" His voice vibrated against the thin skin of her neck where the artery was pulsating, the shadow of a beard scratched, her hands clawed at his hair and the he caught that delicate skin with his teeth – Lizzie's breath hitched, stumbled, fell –

He licked the sore spot.

"Well, you turned this into an orgy, Professor," she whispered, her voice scratchy but with a hint of her usual impish smiles.

"And we're back again to various fetishes."

"There! Again!"

"Well, I'm afraid you'll have to get used to it."

"To the lack of threesomes?"

"And the missing orgies. I'm afraid I'm not very good at sharing," he said smirking, leaning forward and she let herself fall backwards onto the bed with a laugh.

"Shocking," she said, biting her lip as if to pin her smile there and closed her eyes all the while lying there in the warm afternoon sun, completely and utterly naked.

"Tremendously so. I was an only child until I turned thirteen. I'm very selfish and insist on that 'We'." His breath tickled her skin and she stroked his propped up arms on both sides of her upper body. The skin there was warm, solid and didn't burn.

She closed her eyes even tighter.

"Hmm. And purely hypothetically…," she started, squirming a bit when his three-day beard scratched the soft skin beneath her navel.

"Of course."

"If there were a 'We'… what exactly is it that 'We' would do?"

"Well…." He kissed one hip bone. "We'd wait."

"You're killing me, Darcy. So adventurous."

"Shht." He sat up, running his hands over her sides, under her hips down her thighs and held her knees. Open and wide apart. "Not so eager, my dear. We'd wait until all these unwelcome guests have said their goodbyes."

"You really want to wait until the kitsch is gone?" She pressed her hands in front of her eyes, trying not to think about what he might see at that moment. She was no prude, not by any definition of the word, but there was just no more literal interpretation of the phrase 'laid bare' than lying there with her spread legs in broad daylight.

"Perhaps he can stay. As long as he's quiet and closes his eyes. I'm not an exhibitionist, you know?"

"Good to know," she whispered.

"Well, the kitsch can stay but the panic has to leave, I insist and until she does just that-"

"That could take a while, you know?" He'd placed her feet on the tangled duvet and was now rubbing her right knee cap reassuringly with one thumb.

"I'm a very patient man, Lizzie." He kissed the side of her shin. "And until the panic leaves we're going to have breakfast. All right?"

"Breakfast?" She opened her eyes a bit, bright green in the glowing light. "It's almost dinner time."

"It's always time for breakfast."

"I still can't believe you did that."

He still looked bewildered, alternately staring at Lizzie and the phone in her hand with a blank, almost overwhelmed expression in his eyes.

"Well, I can't believe that you drove the four hours to London to perform the surgery on my sister without saying a word and then wanted to just disappear like a bad James Bond double." She licked the marmalade from her lips and smirked – sharp teeth and tongue and all that.

"After you stormed out of the house like a woman possessed there wasn't much left I could do now, was there?"

Now it was Lizzie's turn to sit there gaping, the marmalade in the corner of her mouth half-forgotten. "Not much left?" she finally managed to get out before she broke out in surprised laughter and almost tumbled over in her fit. Darcy held her up at the knees.

"You sound almost petulant, Darcy." The way his name fell from her lips didn't sound mocking, not biting and provoking anymore, but almost… loving. Lizzie kneeled in front of him, cupping his face with one sticky hand, felt the movement when he smiled and couldn't help but reciprocate. "A bit like the Groveland-Twins after a misshapen experiment and an exploded cupboard. And I'm not talking about the older pair."

"You compare me to primary school kids?" He just looked up and it was as if everything was suddenly a bit warmer, the room a bit brighter and Lizzie knew that here – on the living room floor in the middle of this haphazardly put together picnic consisting of toast, coffee and marmalade – that this was the place where she wanted to be.

"For what it's worth – I'm glad you came." Thank you remained unsaid, was implied and engraved and like a plea in her eyes to understand how important that had been for her. How important he was.

Perhaps, she thought, perhaps one didn't need destiny or star written prophecies for this. Perhaps only a decision was required, a simple I'm-here-do-with-it-what-you-want, a loud I'm-not-bloody-going-anywhere-you-daft-sod. Perhaps sheer obstinacy was all it took.

"That's good. Even though I have to deal," he shot an annoyed glare at this phone, "with that now."

Lizzie's mouth curled into a smirk. "Well, you're friends with Richard now and sort of obliquely with Anne, too. For all that she uses Wentworth's account to stalk people on the regular, one might think she'd overcome her aversion to social media."

"May I ask how it came about that I'm now publicly linked to London's biggest drama-queen?"

"Well he accepted your request."

"My request?" Darcy looked at her as if she'd lost her bloody mind. "Pray tell, when did I request anything from Richard and what did I promise the devil in exchange?"

"Friendship of course."

He shot her a quelling look. "My soul wasn't enough?"

"No, that one's already mine." Her teeth flashed up. "Richard and I have a deal."

"As if that weren't bloody terrifying enough…"

"The both of us are also in a relationship." Her smile was impish and determined and she informed him of that fact just as much as she was asking for it – with her chin raised and a slight warning in her voice that resistance was futile.

"Well, I bloody hope so." Darcy sounded amused. "It would be more than just a bit nasty if Richard had to resort to his 'lock them in a closet-plan' to beat enough common sense into our impossibly dense brains." He quirked a brow. "His words, not mine."

"His closet-" Lizzie stopped and dropped her head to rest on his shoulder. "Christ, I don't want to know how that might have played out…"

"Richard's mind is a scary place," Darcy agreed and Lizzie laughed and kissed him – marmalade on her lips and all that.

"Thank god for Facebook," she then said. "That's the easiest way. Too many people being way too curious and all that… I mean, just look at Richard! Not even mentioning the fact that they probably all have bets running about us and I don't want to keep Anne from her winnings any longer."

"Anne?"

"A word of advice." She pulled him closer to her, buried her hands in his hair. "Never bet against Anne. Unless it's about her own love life. She's dreadfully oblivious when it comes to that."

"Any other recommendation?" He grinned, swiping marmalade from her lip.

"Never bet against me."

"And?"

"Never bring anything sharp or explosive into the Groveland household."

"I thought you'd be more afraid."

He said it quietly into the relaxed silence and the words seemed to dangle in the air. They were lying on the carpet in the living room, half dressed in mismatched, inside out T-Shirts while the last, golden light wandered through the room and then made space for the night.

"I was." There was a stubborn streak around her mouth in the way she pushed her jaw forward and he traced the line of her chin, the hard bone under the delicate skin.

A silent question.

"It was something I could fight against," she then said. "Something tangible. Something that had a beginning and an end and that I could compartmentalize and take back for myself." She traced a line from his sternum to his navel, pressed her forehead against his shoulder for a split second.

"Don't think it's easy. Or that it will be." Lizzie looked at him and something was burning there in these green eyes. "Don't think that I'll stop screaming or being difficult, don't think that this is the endgame-"

Darcy propped himself up on one elbow and kissed her.

"I wouldn't dream of it," he said quietly, tugging at one errant curl of hair.

"I'm serious." She bit her lip. "I don't do things halfway and I'm here and that is… that's about as serious for me as it can get and-"

"Do you really believe it's not the same for me?" he asked with the same intense expression. "That this isn't bloody terrifying for me? I'm neither easy nor uncomplicated just like you and we'll probably smash each other's heads in, but-"

"Very reassuring," Lizzie muttered and Darcy let out a small laugh.

"But," he repeated. "I also know that we both are two of the most pig-headed people in all of England and if we – if we decided to make this work then… then we'll make it."

"Despite blood, gore and smashed skulls?"

He kissed her finger, the one resting on his lips. "With skin, bones and blunt guts."

A/N: Hope you liked it - until the epilogue!