Thank you for all the lovely reviews on my first fic, 'At Booth's Door'. I really appreciate every single one! This is a longer one, exploring the early stages of Bones and Booth as a couple. It'll be several chapters. I will try to update regularly, but I'm a busy bee so forgive me if there are any delays. Thanks!

Brennan's tears had subsided, for now. Nestled against Booth's chest, she felt fractionally calmer, though her grief still bubbled at the surface. She focused on the rise and fall of his chest, inhaling deeply, her forehead pressed into the crook of his neck. They hadn't done this before. She enjoyed his 'guy hugs', the warmth of him surrounding her in a protective cocoon that always fell away too soon, but this was different. She was in his bed, her left leg hitched up over his, their bodies angled together. The line they had drawn, the paper they had burnt...this felt like they were putting one foot over that line, disregarding the paper, dipping their toes into something new. Her heart raced, part grief, part disbelief that her partner's heart thrummed directly beneath her ear. Booth hadn't said anything since taking her in his arms, he just let her cry with his arms wrapped tightly around her. But then he shifted and his cheek was pressed against hers.

"Do you want tea?" He asked quietly.

Brennan shivered, his breath raising goosebumps down her left side. Booth felt it, trying not to react.

She nodded, "that would be good, yes."

Without thinking, Booth pressed a kiss to her forehead and then slid away from her, making his way towards the kitchen. Brennan watched him leave from the bed, still able to feel the spot he'd kissed, surprised by his affection. Booth busied himself, filling the kettle, wondering if he'd gone insane. Did he really just kiss his partner's forehead like they were...as if that was...

"Booth?"

He jolted, flying round to see Bones stood behind him. He hadn't heard her pad across from the bedroom. Her brow creased, looking at him intently.

"Jesus, Bones, you scared me," Booth laughed breathlessly.

"The kettle..."

He looked at the sink, the kettle overflowing with water under the steady stream of the tap. What was wrong with him? He muttered a damn it, turning the water off and grabbing a tea towel to wipe the kettle down. The last thing he needed was to electrocute himself. Not after today. He switched the kettle on, and sagged a little with his palms on the counter. Bones immediately reached for him, putting a hand on his back. The gesture made Booth turn towards her.

"You're tired, Booth. You should sleep," Bones pressed him, finding it deeply unpleasant to see her partner looking so worn and grey.

"I could say the same for you," Booth countered, smiling wryly. "I've got some peppermint stuff, I think, some fancy crap from the office. Peppermint helps with sleep, right?"

Brennan shook her head, "it helps with unsettled stomachs."

"Oh," he looked mildly irritated, "well, it's either that or coffee."

She felt like she'd said something wrong, and moved away, sitting at the breakfast bar. The counter in between them suddenly seemed like a good idea, "Peppermint is fine, Booth."

Maybe it was the tone of her voice, but Booth knew that she'd deliberately sat farther away from him than she had to. It hurt his feelings more than he liked. He grabbed two mugs from his cupboard. Sometimes Bones wouldn't notice social cues if her life depended on it, but other times she was so sensitive to his voice that any underlying tone came across clear as a bell to her. She knew him that well, and sometimes it really bit him in the ass. He passed her the mug she always used at his place, a simple white mug with a red and green strip around the base. Brennan liked it because it reminded her of some of Booth's Christmas socks, particularly garish seasonal abominations that he liked to bring out on occasion. The mug always made her smile. She took it as a good sign, that perhaps he wasn't angry with her for some reason. Looking at that mug, Brennan's stomach twisted with anticipation.

Booth watched her from the corner of his eye, and saw the tiny smile on Brennan's mouth. She cupped the body of the mug in her hands. He had no idea why she liked that mug so much, but she always insisted on using it when she was here. A creature of habit, that was Bones. It was one of the many reasons he loved her, and also one of the many reasons he wanted to scream in frustration. He huffed at himself, chiding. Don't think about love. Don't think about Bones like that. Just don't. He sat down opposite her, the small breakfast bar between them. The distance wasn't much, their hands nearly touched. Booth kept his eyes down, eyes on the slim dolphin ring on Bones' hand, feeling the urge to reach for her and entwine their fingers. He stared down at his hands and suddenly saw Vincent's greying face and blood pooling between his fingertips, pressing down, warning him that it would hurt. And then nothing. He pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting guilt.

"It wasn't your fault, Booth. I saw everything," Brennan's voice was firm, and her eyes burned with something Booth couldn't name. "You did everything you could."

"I know, Bones."

Brennan automatically grasped his hand, and their eyes met. They shared one of those moments that Brennan didn't fully understand. She knew it was just two pairs of eyes meeting, looking into the other, but with Booth she saw new worlds. They gave her warmth, took her pain, stirred her heart until her chest was tight with need. No one else could convince her that something so impossible could happen. Before Booth, she would've laughed and derided whoever suggested that a simple look into a person's eyes could show her truth. The kettle boiled behind them. Neither one moved.

"Tea?" Booth asked.

"It could've been you."

She barely thought the words before she spoke, and she knew instantly that she would've appreciated a moment to process them in her mind before sharing them with Booth. But sometimes, real truth didn't have the capacity to wait for the right moment. Hearing those words in her own voice, Brennan was suddenly alert. Focused. Like the moment in a case, when one small piece of evidence decoded and suddenly made sense in conjunction with all the other pieces of bone and particulates. That snap as the web connecting the slithers of information revealed itself, and everything was complete. That happened in the silence between them. She stood, walking round the breakfast bar to where Booth was still sat, and stood in between his legs. Their embrace was instinctive. Booth's head rested on her collarbone and his hands splayed on her hips as Brennan tugged him closer, one arm tightly around his shoulders, the other grasping the back of his neck. She breathed him in, while he pulled her against him properly, his chest flush against her. This was new, too. Booth, past the fear of rejection, let himself disappear into her scent, focused on the gentle curves of her waist on his hands and tried not to collapse completely into her comfort. He felt Bones exhale shakily.

"I don't know what I would have done," Brennan whispered.

"I'm here," he murmured against her skin and pressed his lips to the space just below her collarbone. The pull was too strong, and he noticed the nearly silent sigh that escape her, so he did it again.

"You can't die on me again, Booth," she choked out. "I can't take it. I won't."

Booth pulled away from her, feeling like he was bleeding. He couldn't stand to think about the two weeks Bones thought he was dead. They'd never really talked about it, not in detail, definitely not enough. He saw the pain etched on her face, the panic at the thought of him being gone. He wanted to kiss her, find a way to try and make up for all of it somehow. Knowing Bones, she'd probably punch him if he tried. Booth squeezed her hips gently.

"I'm right here, Bones. I'm not going anywhere. I'm so sorry."

"The blood, Booth." She suddenly pressed her hand against his heart, applying pressure, and they were both transported back to that bar. Booth on the floor, clutching at Brennan's hand, staring into her eyes, trying to stay conscious. What he could remember most was the sound of her voice. He still heard it sometimes, in bad dreams. She started to break down, reliving it, "I couldn't stop it. I couldn't save you."

"You did save me! I would've died without you applying pressure to the wound. They told me that when I woke up."

"But you never woke up for me, Booth," She was furious now, at him, at everything. Yet, she found she couldn't bring herself to push him away. If anything, she clutched at him more tightly. "You were dead. I lost you. I was...alone. That first week, I couldn't leave my apartment. All I had left of you was this stupid t-shirt you used to wear. That was it, after everything. They wouldn't let me see you, see your body, or say goodbye-"

"Bones, I had no idea-"

"You never asked!"

"You never wanted to talk about it! I didn't know how to fix it, and you were just...angry." Booth knew he sounded pathetic, like a cowardly dog hiding from what it had done wrong. She deserved more than what he'd given.

"I'm still angry."

"I know, Bones. I'm so sorry."

Silence again. Booth was relieved to remain in his partner's embrace, and slowly, he returned to his original position. Brennan's breathing began to slow, electricity dancing across her skin from the place Booth's cheek rested on her chest. She would be angry about it for many years to come, she was sure of it, but she felt lighter having spoken about it. And, Booth was here. It was not his blood that had been shed today, there was no hole in his heart. Even though she ached with grief for Mr Vincent Nigel Murray, she couldn't ignore her relief that it was not Booth she was mourning.

Booth felt Bones' lips on his temple. He stayed perfectly still, wondering if he was imagining it. No, this was real. They were delicate, soothing, an apology of sorts for raising her voice. Like a string of stars, she kissed down the side of his face and each one consumed him more and more.

"Bones," her name rolled off of his tongue. A reverent prayer, an affirmation. A plea.

Brennan knew she needed to tell him everything.