A/N: Thank you for the continued interest in my story. I didn't have a lot of time to edit this chapter, so I apologize for any mistakes you may find. If you have time to leave a review, I always appreciate them.

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Her steps left tracks in the fresh snow as Brennan approached the entrance to Booth's apartment. It was hard to see her feet and carry his gift, making her walk more cautiously than she normally would.

Balancing it carefully between her hip and the door, she knocked, then knocked again when there wasn't a response. The key was always an option, but she was already there and hated to make the trip back outside to retrieve it.

Secret Santa hadn't turned out anything like Angela wanted it to, but Brennan was pleased she'd agreed to the gift exchange. The presents were meaningful and she loved what she'd given and what she'd received.

Booth, fresh out of the shower, had a towel wrapped loosely around his hips, when he heard the knock. Grumbling, he grabbed a pair of sweats and pulled them on before hurrying to the door.

His night had been interrupted by dreams, all involving his current girlfriend and partner. Not that he hadn't had inappropriate dreams about Bones before. But then, it was easier to cast them aside in the morning light, knowing there was no chance of his fantasies coming true.

Now, she was inviting him to spend the night and he knew their moment was almost upon them. His dreams were going to become reality, making them harder to ignore when he woke each morning.

"Bones!" he said, shocked to see her at his door. "It's barely six in the morning. What time did you get out of bed? Give me that," he said, taking the package from her. Then, because he could, bent down and kissed her cheek.

Bright blue eyes looked at him from beneath the edge of a gray winter's hat. 'Your present is too big to take to work." Her eyes drifted over his bare chest. "You are very nicely formed," she commented casually.

He watched her eyes travel across his body, making all the time he spent at the gym worth it. Knowing the sweatpants he was wearing weren't going to hide anything in a few seconds, Booth took a step back. "I'm going to get dressed. Make some coffee. Everything is where it usually is." Moving away from her, he headed back to his bedroom.

She was too much of a temptation. When they finally took that final step, it would be a miracle if they ever made it out of their apartments.

The gruff voice made her smile. Taking off the hat and her coat, she went to work. Not unfamiliar with making coffee here, she settled into a comfortable rhythm, occasionally catching the sound of a drawer opening or closing as he readied himself for the day.

It was domestic and homey. Not terrifying as she once feared it would be. She'd accepted during their time apart that making Booth happy made her happy. Today, it was coffee. Who knew what it would be tomorrow.

By the time he returned, the scent of fresh brewed coffee filled the apartment. "I like that suit," she said, handing him a mug. "Crazy socks?"

He picked up a foot and wiggled his toes. "You know it."

Leaning back against the counter, Brennan took a sip from her own mug and looked at him. Eyes traveled down broad shoulders to narrow hips and finally to the floor where he walked on feet that had to cause him pain more days than not. He was handsome and she was happy her fingers were wrapped around the mug, making it easier to fight the sudden urge she had to run them along his skin.

He wondered what she saw in him? The feeling was mutual.

Booth looked down at his suit. "Do I have something on my shirt?" he asked. It wasn't the first time he'd caught her staring at him, but she'd never done it quite so blatantly.

"No," she said, shaking her head. But she didn't offer an explanation either. "Are you going to open your gift?"

He remained where he was. Her mood seemed...off...somehow. "What's going on, Bones? Did I do something wrong? You're giving me that bug under a microscope look." A quick perusal of his memories of the last several days didn't give him any clues. "Are you upset I left last night? I tried to explain."

"Nothing is wrong," she reassured him. Finally, she shifted her eyes from him down to her coffee cup, as if the words she needed could be found there. "Just looking."

"At what?" he asked, exasperated. "What are you looking at?"

Eyes lifted again and now he was gifted with a look that made him feel like a fool. "You, Booth. I'm looking at you."

"I know, but why?" Voice rising, he threw his free hand into the air, remembering just in time the other still held the cup she'd handed him. Normally, he could deal with her literal answers, but it was too early in the morning for this.

The coffee cup she held was placed carefully on the counter next to her. "I," she said in a tone that made him want to take a step back, "am looking at you because you are handsome. I like," she continued, taking a step toward him, "the way your shoulders look in that suit."

Predatory. That's how Booth would describe her slow advancement toward him. She was the predator and he was her prey. What she'd do if she caught him, he'd only ever fantasized about.

There was heat and hunger in her eyes and she wasn't making any attempt to hide it. Swallowing, he waited. He'd assumed, after all their years together, that he knew exactly how she'd act if they were ever in a committed relationship.

If this moment was any indication, he didn't have a clue.

"Okay, Bones. I get it," he said, self-preservation kicking in. "There's nothing on my shirt. You made me nervous."

"You're still nervous," she pointed out, watching as he ran a hand through his hair in agitation. Blinking, the hunger in her eyes disappeared. "Now, would you like to open your gift?" she asked, taking pity on him.

"Yeah," he said. "That sounds like a great idea." Placing his cup down without ever taking a drink from it, he eyed the large package she'd arrived with.

"Tear it open, Booth. I am aware that you want to."

But as he prepared to do exactly that, she reached out and put a hand on top of his. "I made you uncomfortable."

Comments like that always made him wonder. Did she say it for his benefit? Or was she testing out her ability to understand emotions and making sure she was right about what she saw. "Yes, Bones," he agreed, looking down at where her hand rested on his. "The stare was...," he blew out a breath. "You've never looked at me like that before."

"You didn't like it." Cataloguing what she saw as fact, she filed it away to remember. Though she was confused by the idea that he didn't want her appreciating how he looked.

"No. I liked that look a whole lot, now that I know what it means. I like knowing you're attracted to me. Just maybe, not before we have to go to work?" Because now that he knew what that look indicated, he was uncomfortable for entirely different reasons.

Releasing her hand, he tore the wrapping paper free, then took a step back. "You bought me a record player?" Fingers ran along the edge of the gift. "It's antique. How do you always know things like that? And that mine isn't working?"

"The antique portion or the fact that your old player is broken? I want to make sure I'm answering the correct question."

He looked at her, then focused on the player again. "Both."

"My powers of observation would have to fail completely for me to not realize you like old things." Her eyes glanced around the room, lingering on some of the more prominent pieces he had displayed. "As for knowing it was broken, it didn't work the last time I tried to use it." Purposely vague, she hoped he would drop it. Suddenly, she wondered if this gift was a bad idea. Insecure, she bit her lip.

His head whipped around and it was his turn to stare. "When did you ever use my record player?"

"Honesty, correct?" she asked, waiting for a nod. "Twice. I used it twice. The first time, when I came to your apartment during the two weeks you faked your death. The second, when I came while you were in your coma. It no longer worked, the second time." She kept her voice even during the explanation. While she'd understood he might ask these questions, she'd hoped he'd appreciate the gift and not how she came by her knowledge. "I took a chance on you having not replaced it. Though it has been several years since then."

Even she could feel the sudden tension in the room. "It's a record player, Booth." It hadn't been her intention to bring up bad memories and she was angry with herself for not seeing this is what he would focus on.

Stepping forward, he hauled her into his arms. "Why do you do this?" he whispered into her hair. "Buy gifts that hurt you?" Unsure if he was soothing her or him, his hands moved in circles over her back.

"It's only a record player," she repeated, trying to make him understand. "You needed a new one. It didn't hurt me."

"Don't," he said, pulling back enough to see her face. "Don't be the Temperance who hides behind facts. That's not who you are. Secret Santa is supposed to be fun and we've turned it into some painful walkthrough of our past."

"No we haven't," she argued. Was that how he'd interpreted the gifts she'd selected for him? "And I'm not hiding behind facts. The fact is, the ornament I gifted you with, the skull, the stocking, weren't anything from the past. I thought we were building a future. The bracelet is beautiful." Freeing her arm, she held it up so he could see she still wore it.

"But this one-" he said, throwing a glance toward it.

"Is a gift you needed. At least, that's how I saw it. I thought that was the purpose of gifts. You have an extensive collection of records you enjoy and your player is broken. How I learned that fact has no bearing on this gift. You asked how I knew it was broken and I answered. It's you who've made this gift painful, not I." When she fully pulled out of his arms, he didn't stop her. "I wanted to give you something I thought you'd enjoy."

Somehow, he'd managed to hurt her feelings. Whether it was accusing her of hiding behind facts, or not appreciating the gift for exactly what it was, he wasn't sure. But before he could figure out how to explain himself or apologize, she spoke again.

"If you don't like it, I'll give you the address to the shop it was purchased from. There were several others of similar condition there that you could probably exchange it for. Or something else entirely, if you find the record player isn't something you want to keep."

He reached out for her, the hurt in her voice hurting him, but she'd turned away. There'd been a rule with the gifts, wait for the explanation. Which would have been, he was guessing, that he needed a record player. A perfectly practical gift because he liked vinyl records.

Now, she was upset and he wanted to tell her it was wonderful. Unpack it and play a record while they talked over the coffee she'd made. But he was afraid she wouldn't listen.

She knew she was projecting her insecurities onto him and couldn't seem to stop. It was why she hated gift giving. Though she'd considered he might ask questions like this, Brennan was still sure he'd appreciate receiving a new player in order to listen to his music, no matter how she'd come by the knowledge. She'd even pictured an evening where they might listen together.

Now, her mind bounced back and forth between being annoyed at herself or annoyed with him.

"Bones," he tried. "Can we talk about this?"

She shook her head and Booth was surprised she responded to the question at all. "I'm going to go to the Lab and get to work on the remains you had sent over. I"ll call you if I make any determinations that would help you figure out the identity." Then paused and added, "we can talk later. But not right now. I'll be in the Lab all day."

Because she might be walking away, but Brennan didn't want him to think she was going very far.

"Let me drive you," he offered. But his sentence was punctuated by the closing of his door when she let herself out.

"Great job," he chastised himself. Grabbing their cups he rinsed them out in the sink. "She went from looking like she was going to rip your clothes off to just running off. Smooth. Way to show her that you appreciated the gift."

As he passed the record player, he paused to run a hand along the cover. Smooth wood beneath his palm, he marveled at how well she knew him. For all the progress they'd made, it seemed there were still going to be times they didn't communicate well.

"Thanks, Bones," he said, as if she was still in the room. "It's perfect. Why don't I go pull a record out and we'll see how it sounds while we drink our coffee?"

Shaking his head, he sighed. It was ridiculous to say this to an empty room. He needed to say it to her. Instead of coffee, they could listen to something over a glass of wine after their day was over.

Annoyed with how things turned out, he grabbed his car keys and stormed out of his own apartment. He'd give her some space and take some for himself. Then later, maybe she'd take his call and they could talk this out.