AN: Let's do something a little different with this one... Because haven't you wondered how Brennan is reacting to the songs Booth's chosen for her?

The "present day" is set between The Ghost In The Machine and The Shot In The Dark. As for the past, there's a tiny line from the end of the episode I've taken great liberties in interpreting for this story. This story is a complement to my old one-shot, Even Heroes Need To Be Held (over in The Bites of the Partnership Pie) so for those who had wanted that to continue (three_squares), here you go at last. For those who never read it, it's primarily Brennan's POV on events in this chapter.

Tag To: The Hero In The Hold

Nope, still do not own Bones. I do not own Matthew Good's "Song For The Girl" either. But you should, because aside from the obvious songs, it was the easiest addition to the original outline. Hell, buy the whole Avalanche album.

2013

I can't breathe.

It's the first thing I am aware of, the paradox of it: I am standing in the open air and I can't breathe. Bones explained it to me once, the idea of symbiosis as a metaphor for our partnership. What it boils down to in my head is that we are a unit, codependent to an extreme. We don't work when we aren't working together.

I'm staring down into a gaping hole that might as well be the Grand Canyon and I can feel every second passing, feel her gasping for air. How the hell do I know where to look? I don't have time to be wrong. She ran out of time almost an hour ago. I swallow hard and scan the earth wildly, praying to every saint and God and the Virgin Mary, praying to everything that I find her.

And then, I see it: a burst of dust spirals into the air and I just know she's the cause of it. And I run. I run even though my feet are on fire. I run even though my lungs are hot and raw like the desert, because it doesn't matter.

I can't survive without her.

And I'm digging, clawing the earth with my bare hands, tiny pebbles cutting into my nail beds. I can hear others coming to help, hear the muffled speech around me and sirens, but what I'm really listening for is her voice, her breath. Proof of life. And I have it: I have her hand. I know how it feels to hold it, and I'm relieved as I pull her free of the debris.

Her blue eyes stare accusingly, forever wide in death. And I begin to scream.

"Booth! Booth, wake up!"

I thrash wildly, my fist cocked and ready to strike until I recognize the voice calling me back from hell. "Bones." It's a prayer from a sinner's lips.

"You're safe. You're awake." Her hand reaches up, swiping away the heavy sweat on my forehead. "You're with me."

I hate this. Hate how weak I feel when I come back from the nightmare world on the other side, the one where up is down and love is gone, where everything and everyone I care about is impossible to protect. I don't actively remember these morbid anniversaries but she does, and my brain does, somewhere inside. The nightmares always return three days before and continue until the day is gone. Another year, another reminder of the time I almost died in a decommissioned ship.

But she understands and I burrow my face into her lap, clinging to her legs for dear life. I sob involuntarily and she murmurs reassurances, running her fingers in light circles along my back. I focus on the circles, on the perfection of them. My Bones. She's perfect at everything she does, including this. Inhale her scent; exhale the nausea and fear. Adrenaline crashes over me and I shudder.

"Was it me or you this time?" she asks gently.

"You."

"I thought so," she replies softly. "It's always worse when it's me."

I roll over, searching for her face, for her eyes. I need to see the life in them and I do. I do see. All of the love and concern I ever dreamed of finding in a woman is there. Intuitively, she leans forward, meeting my gaze head on.

"You saved me, Booth. I'm here."

"You're here." I echo her, needing to hear it again.

"We're here. Together." She smiles, just a little. "Your respiration is slowing."

"Because of you, Bones. Just you."

She shakes her head firmly. "You're doing the hard part. I know how difficult it is."

She does know. My heart aches at the reminder that we do this every November, when she slips into her own version of hell in the night. She doesn't wake up like I do; the loop continues, endlessly, until I shake her harder than even the laziest soldiers I've ever met. Her jaw will clench, her fists curled tight enough to mar her palms with bloody half moons. I asked her once what she did before we became us and her reply crushed me:

"I didn't sleep at night. The darkness was too much."

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asks.

"No. No, I don't... I just... I want it to stop."

It infuriates me that Taffet holds this power over us, even in death. It infuriates me more to think of the ones who never escaped her clutches.

"Can you sleep?"

I shake my head. "Not yet. Get some rest. I'll go downstairs, watch TV -"

"No." There is no room for argument in her tone. "We stay together."

I lay there for several long minutes, focusing my mind on the endless circles she now draws upon my heart. In her lap, in her arms, there's a safety I've never known anywhere else. The closest thing was being inside Pops' home, where my dad couldn't get at me anymore. But this... This is different. Special.

I once asked her if she understood why I always need to touch her back, have always needed it. She guessed it was an unspoken sexual gesture mixed with my alpha male need to protect. And yeah, it is, partly. But it's also been a touchstone. A safety net. Here you are, I tell myself. I have you at my side. And that's how I know I can handle anything thrown at us.

She's home. She's where the world fades away without booze, without music.

Music.

"Bones?"

"Hmm?"

"Have you listened to track five yet?"

"Of my mix tape?" I nod and she shakes her head. "No. I like to save them. I want it to last as long as possible."

I chuckle; I can't help myself'. "You know it won't self destruct after you finish playing it, right?"

"I'm very aware of how recordings work, Booth!" she retorts. "But I like having them for long days, or hard ones... And I like to fully consider the meaning behind each song you've chosen before moving on."

My hand reaches up to graze her cheek. "Hey, hey, don't be angry. I didn't mean to upset you." Her lower lip pouts slightly and my thumb caresses it back into its proper place. "I asked because... I want to tell you the story. Tonight."

"But I haven't heard the song yet."

I smile. "This is one time where I think you're better off knowing the story first. And considering why we're wide awake at -" I glance over at the clock and wince. "- oh, three twenty-two in the morning, it's a good time to tell it."

Her brow furrows as she digests my words. "I don't know what that means."

"The Gravedigger," I reply softly as I sit up and beckon her into my arms.

2009

Time is running in every direction, or so it seems.

One minute, he's back inside the damn metal deathtrap, looking to Teddy to help him break free and get back to his life. Back to her and Parker. The next, the city streets are whirling by in Technicolor and he's dizzy from counting cars. She's there in that helicopter; now she's driving down his street.

It hurts his goddamn head and he flinches as the head rest of the car seat bounces him like a ball. They've stopped outside his apartment, he realizes.

"We're here," Brennan says.

He glances over at her, still in disbelief that she never changed out of her dress. It's streaked in dirt and sweat and she'll probably just throw it out. She can afford another one. He asked her about it in the helicopter, asked why she didn't change clothes.

"There was too little time on the clock."

Nineteen hours... for her, it was too little time. Maybe she's right. The ship had exploded just moments after the rescue. He'd clung particularly tight to her as they flew away from the blast, the sound too close to days past. Too much like his time with Teddy... Which was something else he could never explain to Bones. Not fully.

"You don't have to stay here," she blurts out, making him aware of how long he must have been sitting in silence. "I mean, I'm certain that the place is a mess. The FBI isn't tidy when they process... a room."

He opens his mouth to speak, but only silence spills forth. He bows his head, shaking it in frustration.

"You need something to eat. And you love my couch. You can sleep on it." She forces a smile for his sake and he is touched that she is trying so hard to take care of him, to make it okay. "Booth?"

"Yeah. Your place." He quickly adds, "But please tell me you'll make me real food. Tofu vegetable souffle isn't food. It's punishment for rabbits."

"And fast food burgers are real food?" she scoffs, pulling back into traffic. "Do you have any idea of how terrible they are for you? That documentary about McDonald's was only a cursory look."

"I don't go to McDonald's, Bones. I go to the diner."

"Your cholesterol must be through the roof," she mutters.

"It's fine!"

The traffic light turns red. She turns towards him, clearly worried.

"You have to stay that way. Fine."

"Okay," he murmurs.

"Because I couldn't bear it if you weren't fine," she states emphatically. "And you really should have stayed in the hospital overnight," she gently chides him, almost an afterthought.

"Don't need a hospital. I have you."

Silence again, but a comfortable one. He's always comfortable with her, but even more so today. In the back of his head, he is haunted by Teddy's request for Claire. He has somewhere to be tomorrow. No hospitals.

He watches her drive, taking note of the tension in her arms, the way she trembles slightly as she switches gears. She shouldn't still be this worried. He's fine. A little battered and dirty, but fine. Like you'd be any more relaxed. Like you were relaxed at all when she was taken. But that was because he... Well, he cares too much. He is the Heart Guy. She is the Brains of their operation.

So why is she still filled with fear?

The time is moving again: the car is moving; now it's parked. They're driving; they're inside her apartment. He stands motionless, surveying her home and reassuring himself with its familiar blend of stylish modern furniture and priceless artifacts from her many digs abroad. Home.

"Did you want to change?"

"Change?"

"You have clothes here. From that night when it rained."

He remembers now. "Right. Yeah, that sounds good."

He follows her to her bedroom, remembering the way her hair clung to her cheeks. A freak thundershower had caught them off guard on a walk around her neighbourhood. They'd wanted more scotch for their celebration - which case it was they'd closed, Booth couldn't remember. He'd been lucky enough to have his gym clothes in the Sequoia. She'd changed into a silk tank top and yoga pants, and he'd had to talk himself out of a raging hard on in her bathroom.

His clothes are neatly folded as she passes them to him, suggesting a shower. God, I've gotta help her relax. She's so freaked out.

"You trying to say I stink, Bones?" he jokes.

"Maybe I am," she replies with a half-smirk and a nod towards the bathroom. "The heat will help your back. I'll go see what I can find to cook."

He watches her disappear around the corner before stepping inside the bathroom. Stripping quickly, he sniffs the white dress shirt and gags. How did she manage to hug him for five minutes in this thing? It needs to be burned. Yeah, that deposit is long, long gone. He's pretty sure there's no kidnapping clause in the rental agreement,

He adjusts the temperature to near scalding and steps inside, tilting his head back with an exhausted sigh. As usual, his partner is right: a shower is exactly what he needs. A bar of soap is on the side of the tub and with a sniff to ensure it's not a girly scent (nope, unscented and probably organic), he lathers up.

For some reason, this is the moment when it hits him: I could have died today.

It's not like he's never come close to meeting his maker before. He's a soldier and a cop; it comes with the territory. But this... He runs the soap delicately over the tiny burn marks where the Taser lashed out with its electric tongue, wincing at the rawness of the flesh. I could have drowned, or blown up. If it wasn't for her...and Teddy...

How the hell does he make sense of Teddy?

He touched him. But he's dead, dead and long buried. He carried his body back to the rendezvous point himself. It's all impossible. A miracle, maybe? Booth mulls this over briefly, interrupted by Teddy's voice.

"What? You've never loved somebody and didn't say it to them?"

No, no he hasn't ever done that. Never lived that lie. He's not living it now, right? Because it would be pretty goddamn stupid to even fall for Temperance Brennan. She's not interested, or else she would simply say so. She's honest to a fault. No, he doesn't love her, and while he's telling himself what he needs to believe in the middle of this emotional shit storm, she didn't look at him in that helicopter in a way that made him wonder if maybe...

Maybe I'm wrong.

No. No, he's not. They're partners, close friends. Bonded. But Teddy is wrong. He has no I love you to tell anyone.

Which truth is worse to face: that he nearly died without anyone to share his life with, or that he nearly died without telling that someone about how his entire world revolves around her?

A single sob slips from his lips before he can hold it back and he curses silently. Because she'll know somehow. She will. He thumps his head against the tile wall in frustration. Stupid. The tears begin to fall. So pathetic.

The door opens, the knob connecting with the wall behind it. "Booth? Are you okay?"

She knows.

"F-fine. Just slipped a bit."

He wills her to believe the lie. But then he thinks of her in that goddamn car underground and thinks of the toy submarine he was rammed into, and it's too much now. He knows what it feels like and he wants to undo it, erase it from her memory. He buckles forward with a sob and a shaky breath to steady himself. He can't stop crying. Why can't he stop crying?

A hand slips behind the curtain with him, deftly shutting off the water. And then, there is a towel.

You're too good to me, Bones.

Gingerly, he accepts the towel, relieved that she remains outside the curtain, has even walked away. He's not helpless. He's not. The tears are wiped away quickly, the towel tucked neatly around his waist. With a sigh, he pulls the curtain aside and jumps slightly.

He should have known she wouldn't leave, but the sight of her staring at him intently is too intimate, too personal.

"There's no need for modesty. I've seen everything before."

"Don't remind me," he grumbles as his cheeks begin to burn.

There is a second towel in her hands and the time begins to shift on him once more. Standing on her bath mat, he is unable to protest her decision to dry him off herself. She begins with his arms and then his back - carefully, she pats, avoiding his old injury - before moving to his chest. Her breath is warm on his skin as she works. She is still in her dirty dress and earrings dangle along her neck; her make-up is smeared.

She has never been more beautiful.

Her touch lingers on the scar that tells the story of the time he proved he would die for her. He thinks of her in the ambulance, and how she sang for him. She's never sung again, not even in passing moments in the car. He knows if he asked her right now, she'd sing for him.

Maybe that's love.

"Thank you." It's scarcely a whisper.

She gestures to his clothing and awaits his reply.

"I can get dressed myself."

She nods. "Okay. I'll be in the living room."

He watches her depart, shutting the door to a crack. He is overwhelmed by her kindness and is struck, as he often is, by how privileged he is to see this side of her, this gentle vulnerability she keeps locked away from the world. She's asked no questions and he is grateful. He cannot admit that the thought of being alone steals his breath away. He needs her, and she is here.

He pulls on his jeans first (commando by necessity), then his t-shirt, and is immediately aware of her scent. He pulls the fabric to his nose, inhales deeply. She's worn this shirt before him. For the first time since his ordeal began, he genuinely smiles. In the darkest corners of his mind, he has imagined her sleeping in this shirt, but he is stunned to find out that she has likely done just that.

Maybe she needs him as much as he needs her.

She is poring over her collection of take out menus when he reaches the end of the hall. She's changed into a cotton pajama set - tank top, drawstring pants - but her make up is still smeared, her hair still a messy version of what was surely a stunning updo twenty-four hours ago. Food. He should be hungry. Why isn't he hungry?

His knees begin to buckle and he fights the urge to cry once more. He is so tired. Tired of being the tough man. Tired of being alone. Terrified of it, if he's honest with himself. Tired of being Booth. He sinks into the couch, looking to her for answers because he doesn't have them anymore.

Tell me what to do. Tell me I'm safe. Tell me you can handle this. I can't do this tonight. I can't be me tonight.

She meets his gaze fearlessly and lifts her arm without a word. An invitation he accepts gladly. His head rests in her lap and her arm comes to rest on his. The tears betray him again, falling without fanfare onto her leg. If she notices, she says nothing.

Mercifully, Booth falls into a dreamless sleep and time takes a break.

Outside the bedroom window, lightning cuts across the sky. It's enough light to see that Bones is tearing up as I recall that night four years ago.

"I was scared," she admits quietly. "I remember Angela said something about how I loved you and I should hand the evidence over right away. I wasn't willing to hear it. But I knew she wasn't wrong. And you were so... small. You've always been so formidable."

"I wasn't that night. I was nothing."

"No, you were something. Just more... open." She lifts her hair off of her neck, loosely twisting it to fall over her right shoulder. "Not that we haven't always had that... The sharing. But you've never leaned on me for a prolonged time. Minutes, not hours. Maybe I'm not making sense."

"You make perfect sense, Bones."

"And for everything you'd endured, you were still relatively composed," she continues.

My lips press to the top of her head as I sneak an inhale of her hair. Vanilla. Honey. Earthy and sweet. A fitting complement to the woman I've made my life with.

"I'm able to keep it together because I have you." The roll of thunder signals the beginning of a storm, and I can't help but chuckle at the synchronicity of it. "A storm. Just like that night."

She frowns, nuzzling closer to my chest. "I remember that part was a little less.. calm."

Maybe she's right about that. But I was in good hands. I still am.

Booth wakes up with an incoherent shout, gasping for air. Eyes wide, he scans the room, seeking the source of the threat. Hands are reaching and grasping and he realizes he's gripping her thigh in a highly inappropriate place.

"Booth, what's wrong?"

Gun shots. Explosions. It's all he can hear. It's what drew him back from the blackness of sleep. He struggles to his feet too quickly, winces as his back seizes. She, too, is on her feet, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him violently.

"Booth, talk to me! Please!"

"Didn't you hear it?"

The lightning that cuts across the window at that moment leaves him ashamed.

"Booth?"

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, slowly lowering himself onto the couch. "Thunder."

She studies the window, the way the rain rat-tat-tats on the pane, and crouches beside him. "You thought it was something else."

He nods shakily, watching his hands tremble against his knees. His PTSD is on a hair trigger tonight and it's so fucked up. He hasn't been this bad in years and for her to see him this way...

"I have nightmares. About the car."

"Have. As in present tense," he clarifies.

Brennan nods beside him, reaching for his right hand. "Not as often now, but they still come. I can smell the perfume, smell the chemicals of the air bag and Hodgins' blood. I can feel the way the air grew thinner, how it hurt to breathe and it hurt not to. And sometimes... It leads to other places. Other memories."

She understands. It is such a relief that he collapses forward and hugs her. She wobbles slightly, but she holds steady. She holds him back.

"You didn't leave me alone when it happened," she murmurs. "You never leave me alone. I promise I won't leave you alone."

"I can't do it tonight," he confesses in the dark.

"You don't have to." She draws back, cupping his cheek in her palm. "Let me help you. Okay?"

Another roll of thunder and he flinches in spite of himself. Humming softly, she joins him on the couch and gestures to his feet.

"Put them up here," she commands him.

"Bones, no..."

"I won't hurt you. You trust me, right?"

He does. But he is so defenseless now, and a gesture like this could lead to him admitting something best left unsaid. She asks again and he can't deny her: his legs swing up and she massages his ankles lightly. It's heavenly.

"I remember the x-rays," she explains quietly. "I know where the pain would be localized. But you need rest and if I can't help you calm down, I'm going to insist on the hospital."

"No. No hospitals," he growls.

"Close your eyes, Booth. Close your eyes and listen to me, okay?"

Warily, he shuts them, plunging his world into darkness. He misses the sight of her already.

Her hands gently took hold of his right foot, lightly running circles along the sole. "I want you to think of your son. I want you to think of a day you were proud of him. Can you do that for me?"

"Yeah... Yeah, I can... " He thinks back quickly through his memories of Parker, smiling to himself as a recent one comes to mind.

Her thumb gently presses into his big toe, a steady pressure as her other hand gently massages his ankle. "Tell me?"

"A few months ago, Parker comes to visit me. And Becks calls in advance and tells me not to freak out, but that 'my son' needs a talking to from his father... Mmm... And so I'm thinking, 'What did he break? What stunt did he pull on his bike?' And he broke something all right, but not on his bike."

The thunder rolls anew, but it is less... intense. Less daunting. He flinches only slightly, Bones murmuring for him to continue his story. Her fingers curve around and down, following the line of his big toe into the core of the foot, pressing firmly, but carefully.

"So Parker broke two fingers on his right hand and he had a serious black eye. I take one look and realize the kid's been in a fight. I raised him to use his words, Bones. You know that. But I also told him not to back down from an attack, but to defend himself if he had to. I asked him if he started the fight. He says, 'Kind of'."

"This story doesn't seem to be in line with what I asked of you," Brennan interjects as she switches feet.

Booth feels his eyes roll back as the pressure sinks into the centre of his left foot. It's therapeutic, like a deep tissue massage he had once for his back, but it's also making him strangely drowsy. Shaking his head slightly, he continues.

"It is. Just... just wait... So I ask him to explain, and Parker says, 'Dad, they were hurting the kid in my class. You know, the one I told you about.' And I realize he means the autistic student they're integrating into mainstream schooling. Bones, it was hard not to start smiling then. But I wanted the details first... Oh, that's nice." He groans happily as she works up through his toes, opening his eyes. "Where'd you learn that?"

"During a dig in China, I became acquainted with an anthropologist whose mother practiced reflexology and acupressure. I asked her to teach me a few things, primarily out of skepticism. Not all of them are beneficial, but this is." She smiles shyly as she adds, "I brushed up recently, believing it might help you."

Booth swallows hard, choking down the tangle of emotions that define his relationship with his partner. "That's... wow."

"Your story?"

"Yeah, right... So Parker says these two jerks in his class were bullying the poor kid, grabbing his bag and shoving him around, called him a retard. Parker got ticked off and snatched the bag back. Bully says, 'What are you gonna do about it?' Parker decks him in the nose."

"Parker did this? But he's such a sweet and gentle young man!"

Booth sighs happily. "He put up a hell of a fight before the teacher saw and ran out to stop them. Got suspended for a day."

"What for? He was clearly defending someone he saw in duress."

"Yeah, but fighting is wrong, all the same. You decked that judge and it caused all sorts of trouble," Booth reminds her.

"I'd do it again," she replies petulantly.

There's a hidden meaning in her words, in the heaviness of them, but Booth refuses to explore it. He clears his throat and continues his story with a small yawn.

"The other guys got three days and additional detention. Me, I bought Parker two Xbox games he wanted." Booth chuckles. "I explained that it's always better to try and stay within the law, to resolve things the right way, but I was proud of him for not taking the easy way out and turning a blind eye. Which was when he said he did it because it was what I would do, if someone was in trouble."

"Oh, Booth..." Brennan pauses in her massage, her hands resting on his shins. "As if I haven't told you before, your son is very much like you. You should be very proud of him."

"I am. I really am." He opens his eyes as he reaches for her hand, squeezing it gently. "I have no idea how you did that, but thank you."

"You're very welcome. I merely activated pressure points associated with the thyroid, parathyroid and brain, eliciting a calming effect through the trigger of neurochemical reactions."

They sit in comfortable silence, sheets of rain pelting the south side of her apartment with a particular viciousness. His head slouches against the back of the couch, his legs still stretched across her lap. She tugs the twist in her hair loose at last, unleashing a cascade of loose curls. He licks his thumb and rubs away an errant streak of mascara marring her left cheek. Her lips form a silent 'O' as she makes the connection.

"I must be a mess. I'm sorry. Is it unpleasant?"

"No," he whispers hoarsely. "Not at all."

"Okay."

She passes out first, her head nodding forward three times before she finally submits to the exhaustion they both feel. Booth gives her ten minutes to tumble deep into dreamland before he swings his legs gingerly to the ground. A flash of lightning illuminates her hair, lending an intensity to the auburn shade - like flames kissing her cheek. His back complains as he scoops her into his arms and carries her down the hall to her room. She doesn't stir even as he gently tucks the blankets around her.

"Thank you," he murmurs.

He tries to return to the couch, but being alone... He can't be alone. But she'll understand, he reasons. Stretching out beside her on top of the covers, he finds a brief peace...

2013

"Why didn't you sleep under the covers?" she asks.

I shrug. "It didn't seem right without asking you first."

"You didn't need to ask. We're partners."

"Yeah, but back then... We weren't together."

Bones rolls her eyes. "Angela says we were. We just didn't know it."

"Well, maybe Angela doesn't know as much as she thinks," I counter, more to goad her on than an actual belief in the statement.

She's angry now- not seriously pissed, but definitely annoyed. With a grunt, I reach for the iPod on the night table beside me and scroll through my playlists until I find it: her mix tape. I pass her the right ear bud with a soft smile.

"This one was an easy choice," I tell her. "You know, other than our song."

I press play and tuck the matching ear bud into my ear. As we listen, I find myself pulling her closer still. The songs have changed over the years - there was a time I angrily threw on "Wicked Game" in a salute to the misery of Afghanistan - but this one's been there from the start.

"This lightning's fine
She picks up these tired parts of mine
Who's carrying you tonight?
She carries me all of mine..."

I watch her now, watch as she receives another love letter from me. It's the first time I've been able to witness her reaction to a track, aside from our song, and it's enthralling. So many emotions seem to cross her features: curiosity; appreciation; love. I get it now. I get what she means by wanting to savour each song.

She's really listening to what the music is saying. And isn't that why I began this thing three years ago?

(Okay, I was also looking to outdo Hacker, but that was an excuse, really. Motivation to confront how I felt.)

"Up again, down again, out of your head
When she's beside you, you're nearly not so dead
Up again, down again, out of your head
When she's beside you, you're always at your best..."

"It's beautiful, Booth."

"Like you."

She flushes as she nestles closer. "You truly mean all this?"

"I'm a better man with you beside me, Bones. Have been from the very start."

Truer words have never been spoken. I'm a better cop - more dedicated, more dogged, more attentive to the details and getting it right. I'm a better father, too: calmer, more open and sure of myself. But most of all, I'm a better person: no gambling; (almost) no drinking benders of the college scale; and I'm more willing to be patient with myself and others. I would have once found it laughable to be friends with scientists and artists. Now, I count myself blessed to know each person at the Jeffersonian.

Okay, maybe not Daisy. But she did keep Sweets from prying into our lives for a while, which was nice.

She is my anchor and my guide. She challenges me and calls me out when I need it most. She's the only person I have ever been myself around, 110%.

"This lightning's fine
She picks up these tired parts of mine
Who's carrying you tonight?
Every now and then, baby
Ain't it good to be alive?"

She reaches up for me and I meet her halfway. Her kiss is gentle and sweet, almost tentative. It reminds me of the beginning of us, that blissful time where we were getting used to the freedom in abandoning the line I'd foolishly drawn between us. Intense lust collided with anxiety as we caressed and made love. There was so much to lose, should we both be wrong about our decision.

We were stupid to doubt it. I fell even more in love with her in those early days, much to my surprise. I could have proposed, I was that sure. But I didn't. I haven't. I learned my lesson at the Hoover.

"I love you."

I will never get tired of hearing that. I'll never not feel a little wonder when she reminds me that she's chosen me.

"I love you, Temperance Brennan."

The need overtakes the last vestiges of night terror. My hands have a mind of their own as they pull her on top of me. With a murmur and a grin, she tugs off her top, tangling the ear buds in the process. We laugh as the wire and silk mess hits the bedroom floor, the iPod hurriedly pulled free and dropped on the table beside her.

"You're not too sleepy?" she asks.

"Never," I growl.

If there's anything I've learned in this world, it's that you just don't know when your time is up. You can't know when today will be the last time you'll be able to tell someone how you feel. A last smile; a last kiss; one last time to make love to the person you would give your life for without hesitation.

I turned her down hundreds of times, mostly by talking myself out of the possibilities. I will never say no again.

Instead, I say yes: to the taste of her skin; to the swell of her breasts; to the soft gasp as she lowers herself onto me. I say yes to the way she leans forward to kiss me; yes to the way she fits perfectly with me; yes to how she senses that tonight, I want to finish on top and simply rolls with me. I say yes to loving her, but more importantly, I say yes to her loving me.

Like she says: symbiosis. I can't live without her.

I've trimmed the original outline and from my best estimation, we have 12 chapters to go.

Come, say hi... I'd love your thoughts on this, on the episode itself... It's been a very, very long time so this was nerve-wracking to write, fine tune and ultimately post. Next up will be a moment we've seen (or so we think) or one we haven't. If you have a preference, let me know. And thank you, for still being here, and thank you if you're new to this collection for giving it a shot.