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Chapter Two

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A/N: I'm a massive fan of Mulder and Scully. I think the dynamic they created on screen was definitely part of the inspiration for Brennan and Booth. Unfortunately for me, I got into X-Files fan-fiction long after fanfic began. I am making an effort to write what, in my mind, would be a nice way for Brennan and Booth to exchange their first moment. I really hope you like it. Reviews are so, so welcome. I love them. Please do!

In case you didn't grasp it first time, please review my story. Hehe. Thanks!

N.B.: This chapter contains graphic descriptions of sex. If you're offended by this type of thing, I recommend you don't read. But hey, most people secretly love it! ;)

The archives was a big room, filled with eleven rows of shelves and the back held a row of desks and a photocopying machine. Booth flicked all the lights on, casting a dull yellow glow. He sighed, moving through the shelves, he dropped their lunch on one of the desks.

The musty room was drenched in light, probably for the first time in months. Brennan turned full circle, surveying the room in awe. She sighed. "This really is grim, huh?" Booth nodded, moving to the computer at the far right end of the room, flicking the switch and the machine whirred to life. The monitor flashed the FBI emblem.

"Lunch first, Bones? Or do you want to get started?" She glanced at the brown paper bag, and slouched into the end chair. "Lunch it is." Booth opened the bag, extracting a large tub of mixed salad and a sandwich bulging with beef and mustard. "This is the most manly thing that stupid deli had. The one two blocks away from your place? And it's so over priced, too." Temperance popped the lid, the tangy pungent smell of French dressing made her mouth water.

She knew it was a cliché of image obsessed women, but she genuinely loved the taste of fresh lettuce, mixed peppers, onion and fresh dressing. And as requested, Booth had asked them to be sparse with the olives.

He took a bite of his sandwich, mustard dripping unto the table. "Tacos, Bones," he said though a mouthful, "you ought to try it sometime." Brennan took the disposable plastic fork, plunging it into the bowl. He watched her through darkened eyes, amused. "You're… Bones? Are you actually enjoying that?" She nodded, licking her fork. "The mind boggles, and a very sexist man once said, 'It's impossible to understand a woman'. He was right, you know." Temperance flicked French dressing his way before looking at the blue monitor over his shoulder.

"What do you think we'll find here, Booth?" She asked, dropping her eyes to the plastic bowl before her. She felt, rather than saw, Booth shrug.

"Maybe the truth. Maybe nothing. You have to be prepared for both eventualities, Bones." She nodded, too afraid to admit that she was deeply scared. How gruesome would the truth of their deaths be? Would she be forever haunted by their torment?

Booth tipped the paper bag, extracted a can of soda and slid it across the table. When she caught it, she looked up. "Thanks," she said, meaning more his support than the drink. "Booth? You'll stay with me, right? Until the end?" He popped the can, downing a mouthful of lemon and limeade, pushing the remainder of his sandwich away.

"Baby, I don't start something I can't finish," he said, winking flirtatiously at her. She smiled.

"You're not a man that turns everything into a sexual reference are you, Booth?" He reclined back in his chair, hands behind his head. Where his t-shirt crept, she caught a glimpse of bronzed skin, toned and dusted with a fine sprinkle of dark hair. She felt an involuntary flush at her cheeks.

"You're no fun, Bones," Booth said, stretching. She tried to resist a second glance, but the temptation ate at her resolve, and she flicked her eyes over the taut line of his torso. Angela was right. He was damn attractive, and she hated herself for noticing it.

"What happened with Tessa?" She found herself asking, snapping the ring pull on her own soda. Booth sobered, raking his fingers through his hair.

"That just didn't work out, Bones." Temperance thought the sugary taste of soda was vile. But she drank it anyway.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She asked, flicking the metal tab with her thumb. Booth straightened in his chair, scrunching the wrap from his sandwich into a ball. She noticed how his knuckles turned white when he did.

"Tempting, Bones. So tempting. But no." There was a tone of finality in his voice as he stood, moving towards the computer. Lunch was over, and effectively their conversation, too. Temperance considered pursuing it. But there was hardly any point. Booth was the most reserved man she knew. Or ever had known.

Typing his name and password into the box when prompted, Booth gestured to the seat next to him, indicating that Brennan should sit next to him.

The articles herein are confidential. Admittance to these archives are for employees of the Federal Bureau of Investigation only.

Booth rolled his eyes, clicking 'OK' and shaking his head. "Most people couldn't give a damn what's stored on this computer. Not even the FBI agents." He glanced at her. "I suppose the squints would give a limb to access these files." Temperance shrugged.

"I would doubt it. Everything here is on the Internet these days anyway." Booth lifted his eyebrow, frowning. "Seriously. The World Wide Web, Booth, check it out sometime." He nodded mutely.

"If I wasn't preoccupied with having a life, Bones, I would." She smiled, watching his face for a few seconds longer. He blinked at the screen, his lips turned into an odd smile. Almost a smirk. A self-assured smirk. She realised he was aware of her silent appraisal.

"What's it like, Booth?" She asked, crossing her legs, pulling her chair closer to the desk. Her thigh brushed his.

"What's what like, Bones?" He asked, bringing up a search bar on his screen. His eyes focused intently on the flashing bar that indicated that he should type. Something. Anything.

"Life. Is it all it's cracked up to be?" He typed in her parents names, clicked enter and turned to look at her.

"Yes Bones, of course it is." The search turned up five results, all of which were newspaper articles. He clicked on the first one, and read it silently. It was an article that had been published four weeks after the disappearance. It displayed facts that Brennan had read in her mind over and over again for twenty years. She nudged his knee, and he turned away from the screen, heaving a sigh. "What now, Bones?" He asked.

She was quiet, unsure of what she wanted to say. Nervousness made her nudge his knee again, and again until he looked like he might throttle her. Dropping his hand to her leg, he held it tight, her reflexive jerking stopping. "Are you alright?" She shook her head. Slowly. "What's the matter?"

The light above their head flickered, and together they glanced up. A row away, another flickered too.

"All these years I've been denying myself life because I felt guilty that my mom and dad had lost theirs. I felt that their life was cut short, and why should I be allowed to have fun? In college, my resolve slipped. Alcohol does that. But now… my work has made all that resurface and now I have essentially nothing but an enormous empty gap in my life. I'm a loser, Booth." He laughed, releasing her leg.

"You're a fool, Bones, nothing more." Her brow marred in confusion, and he sighed. "Only you can change it, Brennan. No one else can live your life for you." She looked at the carpet.

"You didn't have to give up your bowling for me, you know," she said quietly. He swivelled in his chair, flicking the monitor off. He suspected that Bones didn't want to search, anymore. Maybe she wanted to get on with her life, and this was the kick in the ass she had needed for so long.

"I don't mind," he answered, as the lights flickered again, and finally extinguished plunging the archives into darkness. Brennan felt her heart flutter, wondering what had happened. Was someone in the room? Wouldn't they have heard the door? "Bones?" Booth reached for her, his fingers tightening around her hand. "Stay here," he whispered, and she heard the distinctive sound of his gun as he slipped it from its holster. "Get down, under the table, okay?" She nodded, although he couldn't see her.

Ordinarily she would have followed, but since her run in with the corrupt FBI agent who had tried to feed her to ravenous dogs, she had felt less like a fighter than before. She was happy for his protection, and crouched under the desk as he moved beyond the shelving.

It was too dark to see even her own hands as she drew her knees to her chest. The room was silent now, as she wondered where Booth had gone. Was someone else there? Waiting on them? She clenched her fists so hard that her nails almost broke the skin.

"Bones?" He was close now, not far in front of her. She reached out, searching. Her fingers touched his shoulders and she crawled out from under the desk, her fingers trembling. "It's alright. I think it's just a fuse." Despite the false alarm, he still whispered. "You're shaking… Bones… what happened?" How was she to admit that her experience had frightened her? Booth would think she was incapable of doing the job. He would cast her aside as a weakling and find someone new, more independent, to do the work.

He took her shoulders, moving towards her, sitting on the rough carpet tiles. "Christ Brennan, are you alright?" She nodded into the darkness again, her heart pounding against her ribcage. She wasn't concerned about the dark, now. It was the realization that she wasn't okay. That being chained up, five seconds from death had left her more frightened that she'd allowed herself to admit.

She was a coward. "Bones?" His voice, soft and concerned, prompted her to reach for him. She yearned for the same comfort he'd provided that day. His arms, crushing her against his body, as though he'd been afraid to lose her. She felt herself fall forward, her nose pressed against his neck, her breathing laboured. He was scared, now, and her throat was too dry to reassure him.

He held her, stroking her hair, confused. He didn't know what to say, because he didn't know what was wrong. She was trembling, her entire body quaking against his. She was aware of how ridiculous the situation was. How had a blown fuse turned her into such a quivering wreck? Did she honestly believe that someone was coming to get them?

Damn her stupidity.

She had embarrassed herself now.

Moving back, she drew her legs to her chest, pressing her forehead to her knees. Tears stung her eyes, as she thought about her parents now. Their wasted life and now hers.

When he moved, shifting closer. She felt his fingers move through her hair. She lifted her head, trembling when his fingertips brushed her scalp. Her eyes searched the darkness for his outline, but she found none. She felt only his breath, hot against her skin as he held her against him, comforting. She yielded to her temptation, melding against his body. She felt his skin, scorching beneath his clothing.

The quake of her body was different now. She shook on the inside. Booth pulled her hair away from her neck, his breath searing against her clavicle. She tilted her head, subconsciously permitting him to move closer. His thumb stroked her temple, his nose nuzzling the nook of her neck. She revelled in the comfort his proximity offered.

His lips were softer than she expected, when they moved across her skin, barely touching. She shifted, instantly aware of how her body reacted. Beneath her shirt, her breasts felt heavy, her nipples hardened to points. She felt her eyes moisten, as he leaned over her, applying pressure to her skin, turning the breathless passing of his lips into a kiss. As he moved, his tongue tasted her jaw. She breathed him in; the spicy scent of his masculinity and something so unique to him.

Digging her fingers into the carpet, she was afraid to move, afraid to touch him in case the spell was broken. He was hovering over her, resting on his knees, his hands pressed to the floor, his body radiating a warmth she hadn't felt before. His tongue made her squirm. She ached to touch him, to feel his skin and confirm her belief that he would feel so damn good.

He pressed his lips to the corner of her eye, where a tear had escaped. She felt his tongue touch the skin, there, and she sighed, tilting her head. He moved closer, lifting his right hand from the floor, brushing her hair aside, caressing her neck. She wanted to encourage him, but her voice was lost.

Just like her mind.

Despite the darkness, she closed her eyes, sucking a shaky breath into her lungs. She felt his lips against her neck again. He was smiling, his tongue dipping into her clavicle, along her throat. He tasted her pulse, lingering there for a long moment. When his mouth touched upon her chin, she almost sobbed. He was torturing her. She exhaled, parting her lips in expectation of his kiss.

Their breath mingled for a moment, sweet, warm and urgent. When he kissed her, she felt the air whoosh from her lungs and her body seemed to melt. He tasted exquisite, his mouth so hot and moist as he brushed his tongue along her bottom lip, urging her mouth open. She fell into him, complying, shifting against legs until their bodies were joined and her fingers were desperately searching his skin.

Booth moved against her, his hands hauling her shirt from inside her pants. She clung to his hair, her fingers bunched around the dark silken strands. His tongue brushed hers, prompting her to hips to move, as if by instinct. His hand pressed there, his fingers slipping beneath her shirt, along her side. She trembled again, his mouth soft and demanding, hurried and sensuous, all at once.

Her sensed were confused, her mind unable to understand the conflict.

His lips never left hers as he eased her back against the ground. She thought she should murmur words of encouragement, explain that she was so desperately enjoying all the things she was feeling. But each time she tried, his tongue touched hers, and comprehensible thought disappeared.

She sighed against his mouth, as his thumb brushed her nipple, encouraging the already hardened nub to an agonising point. He slipped his fingers beneath her bra, the callous pad of his thumb made her body ache. And hum. And tingle. All simultaneously.

He pulled her shirt away, exposing her body to him. She was grateful for the darkness, now. He could touch her anywhere, and never know that she was blushing.

His hands touched her breasts, his knee urging her legs apart. When he reclined back, breaking their kiss, she whimpered at the loss. He'd already made this the best experience in sex she'd ever had, and they were still wearing clothes. God, he was good. Better than she'd imagined. And she had imagined it. So many secret times.

His fingers deftly popped the button on her jeans. She touched him through the foggy darkness, pulling on his t-shirt, slipping under to touch the hardened muscle there. She felt his torso ripple beneath her fingertips and smiled. She had aroused Seeley Booth. He wanted her. Angela was right. There was truth in all the speculation.

Sitting, she pulled the t-shirt over his head, running her fingers over his warm skin, stroking the hard line of his vertebrae, along his shoulder blades, where the tendons in his back quivered, aroused by her touch. She felt his fingers as they franticly worked the clasp of her bra, his breath burning against her forehead. When the clasp gave way, he urgently shoved the garment away, his hands cupping her naked breasts, testing their weight, stroking her nipples until she thought she might not be able to survive the torment any longer.

There was necessity in the way he touched her. Yet Booth was the most gentle man she had allowed beyond the walls of professionalism. He held her close, their naked skin touching, hot and moist. She wrapped her arms around his neck, his lips pressed against her throat again. She felt him move, his mouth touching the swell of her breast, his tongue moving tasting each inch of her exposed skin.

His lips closed around her nipple and she thought his mouth was a furnace inside. She felt his tongue, so dexterous, flick the hardened nub, and for the first time, she called out. An illegible moan escaped her parted lips as she lurched against him. When the air touched the moistened nipple, it seemed to stiffen almost painfully.

With her pants undone, he slipped the zipper down, the sound almost raucous within the silent room. She wriggled, desperate to touch as much of him as she could. All of him.

Booth moved, sitting on his knees, he undid the button on his own pants, discarding them along with the garments they'd already removed. Brennan wondered, in the farthest part of her mind, how they'd come to be in the position they were in at all. It didn't matter. It was the best feeling she'd ever experienced – and it felt trite to try and analyse it.

She knelt before him now, their knees touching. She pressed her lips to his hardened physique, his tongue pressing the line of his torso. He jolted, his fingers tightening in her hair. She held his sides, her mouth dancing over his ribs. She felt his harsh intake of breath, and needed to feel him against her. He wanted her. As much as she wanted him.

His thumbs slipped into her panties, removing the silk and lace, her guilty pleasure, effortlessly. She was entirely naked, in the FBI Archives. It felt dangerous, mysterious and so darkly sexy. She had never been so aroused. He parted her thighs, slipping his finger between her legs, inside her folds. At her ear, she heard him groan, his lips moving against her skin.

"Temperance," he sighed, her name like a melody on his lips. He never called her Temperance. He hardly called her Brennan. It was so personal. Almost erotic. She whimpered, his fingertip stroking her clitoris. She touched him now, pulling on his underwear until he released her. The loss of his touch made her impatient. She squeezed her thighs together, desperate for release. Desperate to have him touch her, again.

When he returned, she felt the length of his erection against her and the urgency between them upped a pace. He sat on his knees and she ran her palms along the his hardened thighs. When her resistance broke, she touched his penis, wrapping her fingers around him, stroking, fascinated. He felt so good. So masculine. God, he was perfect. Booth was perfection. And he was hard because of her.

Temperance circled the tip, satisfied at the droplet of moisture she felt there.

Booth held her forearms, his fingertips pressed tight. His breathing was laboured as he pulled her close, hooking his hands behind her thighs and shifting her body until his penis was pressed between her legs. She ran her tongue along her lips, nestling her face against his neck. Rotating her hips, she felt her womb contract, her body ached to feel the length of him inside her.

Slipping her hand between them, she led him to her entrance, breathing hard, welcoming the intrusion. He stretched the moist velvet walls of her body, moaning her name as her muscles contracted tightly around him, accommodating the glorious length of him. She settled on his thighs.

"Votre chair en ma chair," Temperance whispered, taking his hand in hers. He pressed her mouth to hers, their tongues meeting in an erotic dance that only added to the sensation between their legs.

"Yes," he whispered, guiding his hand between the stomachs, pressing his fingertip to her clitoris. Temperance murmured, moving, until his penis was barely inside. When he circled her clitoris again, she sat, burying him inside her. He breathed out. "My flesh in your flesh," he translated. He moved within her, causing her womb to contract and her body to fill with heat.

He thrust, circling her clitoris, murmuring her name. She felt her orgasm build, as their bodies moved, slick and hot. He felt so good inside her that she couldn't imagine how she'd survived all these years with what she now knew was mediocre sex. Booth was the best. He touched her, made her feel alive.

Made her live.

He kissed her, circling her clitoris, applying pressure until her body shuddered and quivered around him. He groaned, tossing his head back and trusting against her until she felt him stiffen and his penis convulsed spilling white hot semen within her body. With their breathing laboured, they slouched against each other, sated.

Booth kissed her again, as if to reassure her. She burrowed her nose in his neck, inhaling the scent of their love-making. It smelt heady, naughty. She loved it.

"So," he whispered against her ear, "now do you understand?" Brennan frowned against his shoulder, and he seemed to sense her confusion. "Life, Bones. You asked if it was all it was cracked up to be. That was life." Stroking her thigh, he felt her eyes moisten against his skin. "If you want, I can show you other ways to enjoy it."

She didn't need to speak.

He already knew her answer.