Okay, so remember how in part one (or thereabout), I asked if the chapters were too long, and some people said yes and some people said no? Well, I chose to go with the no's on this one. It's a long chapter. LOOOONG. Thanks as always for the fabulous fabulous comments, you guys really are way too kind. Hope you enjoy!

Day Three: Brennan

In Srebrenica, Brennan stood in bodies up to her knees – skeletons whose bone fragments scratched at her arms and tore at her clothes, ripping through her protective suit until she bled right along with the nameless souls beneath her. In Guatemala, she helped excavate twelve children's skeletons and explained to an elderly woman in imperfect Spanish that she would never know which of the small bodies was her grandson, because the crew had neither the time nor the equipment to identify everyone. Traveling alone in Morocco on her way to an archaeological dig, she was held at gunpoint by a policeman whom, she was sure, would have raped and murdered her had she not produced her paperwork and convinced him that he would be caught and killed for such an act.

She had traveled around the world – always alone, always working. Forensic anthropology wasn't just a job for her, it was a vocation. If she believed in God or Fate the way that Booth did, she might say that she was chosen for this work. But Brennan believed in neither of those things; she believed in facts. And the fact was that, from an early age, her father encouraged her natural curiosity in the sciences; this combined with a high IQ and a natural predilection for the sciences pushed her in the direction of forensic anthropology. The disappearance of her parents gave her an insatiable need to put names to faces and provide closure for others that she did not have herself; it was not magic, merely cause and effect.

It wasn't until much later in the day, however, that Brennan began thinking about things like magic, fate, or cause and effect. In fact, when she woke on the second morning of the third day, she was thinking that it felt like Christmas used to feel when she was a small child – when the simple act of staying in bed was torture, because there was simply too much awaiting her in the day to come. She wriggled out of her sleeping bag without thinking about her life or her future or the state of the western world, tossed her sweatpants and sweatshirt aside in order to put on her bathing suit, and quickly redressed. She pulled her hair into a ponytail without looking at herself in a mirror, stepped over a grumbling Angela, nearly tripped on Cam's legs, and rushed out of the tent.

She wasn't greeted with the same rush of activity as the day before, however. Jack and Tripp were crouching at the tree line, studying the dirt beneath their feet. Belle and Sweets were doing collaborative stretching – they were standing back to back, but the fact that Sweets was at least a foot taller than Belle meant the exercises were rendered almost completely ineffectual. Brennan had performed the same series of moves many times in yoga classes over the years, and she wondered briefly if Sweets taught Belle or it was the other way around.

Booth was sitting on the ground, his legs stretched out in front of him – she noted that he winced slightly as he bent forward into the stretch, and upon watching him more closely surmised that his right knee was likely the source of the pain. Occasionally with Booth, she got the feeling that he was humoring her – or felt sorry for her, the way that Russ used to when they were kids. Booth was attractive, popular, funny… People that didn't even understand her invariably fell in love with Booth. Which was why she was planning to let him continue his stretching undisturbed, so that he wouldn't feel obligated to keep her company. But, as soon as he saw her come out of the tent he jumped to his feet – almost as though he'd been waiting for her, which gave her an unexpected flush of pleasure, even if it wasn't an accurate interpretation of his reaction.

"Hey Bones, you look bright and bushy this morning."

She smiled back at him. It was a beautiful morning, the sunrise a deep orange on the horizon and silence on all sides. They were camping in a clearing with several other tents set on raised platforms, all of which seemed to be empty except for the three that their group were occupying.

"Have you been up long?" she asked him.

He shook his head, handing her a mug of coffee. She realized that he'd done the same thing the day before, and wondered if she had thanked him. Too often, she forgot about the social niceties – she'd done the same thing since she was a child, her mind forever running on ahead, too busy to bother with trivial things like etiquette. But, she was coming to understand that those things weren't trivial to Booth, so she smiled politely.

"Thank you – but you didn't have to do that, I could have made it myself."

He shrugged off the comment, but she could tell he was pleased at the acknowledgment. "I was getting some myself – it's just as easy to make two cups as one, Bones."

Angela and Cam emerged from the tent shortly thereafter, both of them looking slightly more put together than they had the morning before. Angela even managed a smile, which Brennan wasn't certain she'd ever seen her friend do before ten a.m.

"Hey sweetie," she said to Brennan, before addressing the larger group. "Who's got my coffee?"

Jack looked up from the geology lesson he was undoubtedly giving Tripp, nodding toward the fire.

"It's over there – watch your hands pouring, it's hot."

She heard her friend grumble something about how the wooing was clearly over, which made no particular sense to Brennan, however she didn't bother to ask the meaning. Instead, she set aside her coffee and took a moment or two to stretch, anxious to get on with the morning's activities. Booth stood beside her while she doubled over at the waist, letting the backs of her hands brush against the ground and her head hang loose.

"Geez, Bones," she heard Booth say, though she didn't look up. "What're you, made of Silly Putty?"

She straightened slowly, enjoying the pull in her spine and the backs of her legs. Once she was upright again, she looked at him curiously as she continued stretching.

"I don't know what that is, but I assume you asked because I'm demonstrating a better range of motion than you, but – "

"Bones, you're demonstrating a better range of motion than Kerri Strug." She looked at him blankly, and he rolled his eyes. "Olympic gymnast a few years back? Broken ankle? National hero?"

She shook her head to indicate that she had no idea what he was talking about, then smiled inwardly when he winced as she bent over backward, performing a full backbend. And all right, that particular position wasn't one she typically used in a warm up routine, but sometimes she just enjoying winding her partner up a bit.

"Good god, Bones, knock it off, wouldja? My back hurts just being near yours."

When she straightened again, she took a moment to look him in the eye. "Yoga and the other Eastern disciplines I practice are precisely why my back doesn't hurt – and yours does. And why you have problems with digestion, stress, and joint pain. When we get back, you should come to a yoga class with me. It would be good for you."

He looked at her like she'd suggested they circumnavigate the globe in a hot air balloon, which was precisely the reaction she'd expected him to have. She liked her partner, but sometimes he could be very predictable.

"Yeah, right – that sounds great, Bones. You might be more flexible than me, but that's just because you're a woman – I'm still stronger, faster, and I have a helluva lot more stamina than you or any of your fruity friends."

She suppressed a smile, an idea coming to mind instantly. Well, two ideas actually – but the first had to do with stamina, was wholly inappropriate, and was quickly squelched before Brennan explored it any further. The second, however, was much more apt for their current situation.

"Faster, huh? Care to make a friendly barter?"

He looked at her in confusion. A second or two passed before understanding dawned, and he grinned. "Wager, Bones – it's wager. And what'd you have in mind?"

"Race to the pier. Whoever hits the water first wins."

"Wins what?"

She thought for a moment. "If I win, you have to come to a yoga class with me."

He looked intrigued, but clearly wasn't convinced. "And if I win, you have to tell me about your rock star boyfriend."

She wasn't sure what else was required to make it official – Russ used to insist they shake hands for almost everything they did, including bets, dares, and random promises. But Brennan wasn't waiting any longer; Booth was still contemplating the terms and she took full advantage of his momentary hesitation, bounding down the path with him and the rest of the group in her wake.

Thankfully, the trail was clearly marked. She flew down paths strewn with orange and red pine needles, stumbling slightly as she made her way down a steep incline of lichen-covered granite, a bubble of excitement held high in her chest. She thought of the foot races she used to have with Russ when they were kids, when everything would vanish and the only thing that existed was the pull in her calves, the wind in her face, the few feet in front of her. And, of course, that ever-present drive to win, always propelling her forward – even in play.

She glanced over her shoulder and was surprised to find that Booth was still several yards behind her, clearly pacing himself – the fact that she'd achieved such a lead this far into the race was unexpected, but she didn't pause to question it. She pressed forward, focusing on her breathing, shutting out everything but the path before her. To her left she could see the ocean now, the sunrise reflected on its surface, seagulls and lobster boats in plain view from the cove.

A few moments later, the pier came into view. She looked back over her shoulder once more with a grin, trying to gauge her advantage over Booth. This time when she turned, she realized that he'd closed the distance between them to just a few yards. The bet was whoever hit the water first, not whoever reached the end of the pier – Booth was pulling off his shirt as he ran, gaining momentum now that they were in the final few seconds of the race. She knew she would lose valuable time if she stopped to undress, so she did what any self-respecting overachiever would do: she pushed herself even harder, not stopping to consider the temperature of the water or the height of the jump or how long it would take her clothes to dry.

She reached the edge of the pier with Booth literally a pace behind her, and pushed herself off with a strangled scream. For a moment she was weightless, that bubble of excitement bursting into laughter in her throat as she hit the freezing water.

First.

Booth came splashing in a second later, landing just a few feet from her. She gasped as the cold water seeped through her clothes, but couldn't stop herself from gloating.

"I win!"

Booth swam over to her with long, sure strokes, shaking his head once he reached her. "You do know your shoes are gonna be soaked for the rest of the course, right?"

"I'll dry them by the fire," she responded quickly, refusing to let his words dampen her spirits. "This means you have to come to my yoga class."

He was treading water just a few inches from her, and for a moment she found herself staring at the drops of seawater that fell down his neck, onto his bare shoulders and chest. She realized from the tiny, familiar smirk on his lips that he knew what she was looking at, but she wouldn't allow herself to look away. Silence fell between them. A moment later, he put his left arm around her, his hand resting at the small of her back – pulling her closer, until her sopping sweatshirt was pressed against his chest.

"We should get out – get you out of those wet clothes," he said, his voice a husky whisper, lower than she remembered it being. At his words, he actually blushed – Brennan watched the tell-tale pink shade creep up his face as he stumbled to recover. "Uh – I mean, you know. Into dry clothes. Because the ones you're wearing are… wet."

She nodded, trying to remain logical – which was proving difficult, as she was still crushed against his chest. "No, you're right. That would be the sensible thing to do."

She'd never wanted less to do the sensible thing. She wasn't entirely sure what was about to happen – if it were anyone but Booth, a kiss would likely be the next logical step. Followed immediately by a marathon of mind-blowing sex, if her body had any say in the matter. But since this was Booth, and thus far they had agreed that neither kissing nor mind-blowing sex were things they did together, she was at a loss.

A moment later, the question was moot because the rest of the group arrived, looking tentatively over the edge of the pier at them. The drop was actually significant – at least fifteen feet, Brennan estimated. She and Booth quickly disengaged, and as they swam for the ladder to climb back up she heard Angela say,

"Okay, holding Bren's hand totally isn't gonna do it this time – I need at least a shot of JD and possibly a dime bag before you're getting me off this pier."

The matter had apparently been resolved by the time Brennan and Booth reached the top of the ladder, because Angela and Hodgins stood hand in hand at the edge of the pier. Brennan collapsed in a heap of leaden clothes, watching as her friend gathered her courage for the leap.

"You promise you won't let go," Angela said to her former fiancé.

Brennan lifted her head to watch them, curious as to what would happen next. She knew the two had broken up some months ago now, but they certainly weren't behaving like two people who'd broken up. Jack smiled at Angela patiently.

"I won't let go."

"Even if I start to drown."

He rolled his eyes a little. "Especially if you start to drown."

Her friend sighed, squared her shoulders, and faced straight ahead. "Oh, fuck it," she said, just loud enough for Brennan to hear her. And with a scream, she and Jack were airborne.

When Brennan was dried off and changed and everyone had recovered from their icy dip, Tripp gathered them together for the morning meeting. The sun was out now, the chill of morning giving way to what would likely be a very warm day. Brennan sat in a circle between Angela and Booth while Tripp announced their plans for the day.

"Service is especially important in Outward Bound – we believe that in order to live full, meaningful lives, we must first learn what it is to give of ourselves."

Which made perfect sense. Brennan's mind began to wander to other service-oriented civilizations over the course of time, but she quickly refocused her attention.

"We don't typically do the community service component of a course until later in the course, but a great opportunity came our way, so we wanted to take full advantage of your expertise."

Tripp went on to explain that they would be taken by boat to a neighboring island in order to assist a free clinic that provided medical and dental services to the uninsured residents once every three months. Brennan tried to explain that she – and Cam, and Hodgins, and even Sweets – were not the kind of doctors anyone wanted around live sick people, but Tripp seemed to think the matter of credentials was inconsequential.

"You're all educated, compassionate people – all you need to be is willing to lend a hand, we're not asking you to do open heart surgery here."

They all acquiesced with no real argument, particularly when everyone learned they'd be allowed to take showers before leaving for the clinic. An hour later, freshly scrubbed and prepared for whatever the day might bring, Brennan followed Booth down to the boat that would carry them to the clinic. A cooling breeze came off the brilliant blue water as they set out, the sun high in the sky and the fresh air intoxicating. Halfway there, Tripp pointed out a pod of dolphins cresting far off starboard – Brennan stood on her toes with her hands on the railing, her eyes locked on the sight. Booth came over and stood beside her, his body touching hers at their shoulders, at their hips, at their calves. They stood together in silence, watching until the dolphins had vanished on the horizon and their destination was in sight. She couldn't seem to stop smiling.

When they arrived, the clinic was already abuzz with activity. A long line of people – including children, couples, and the elderly from this and several neighboring islands – waited outside the Grange Hall where the services were being offered. Tripp and Belle led them to the front of the line, through double doors into a hall that seemed to Brennan's practiced eye to be a lesson in chaos.

"Holy shit," she heard Booth mutter under his breath.

They were assigned to teams. Because of her area of expertise, Tripp seemed to feel that Brennan would be best suited for assessing cases slated for emergency care; she could tell if bones were broken or other, more significant issues might be lurking beneath the surface of seemingly insignificant symptoms. Before Tripp could pull out a hat of names or find some other way to separate them, she grabbed Booth's arm and looked at their instructor firmly, daring him to argue.

"We work together."

There was no argument.

They went outside to join a woman taking down names and contact information. Once that had been done, each patient was directed to a series of exam tables cordoned off by movable shower curtains, behind which Brennan or one of six other volunteers would do a preliminary exam and provide the person with a color coded tag indicating the issue of concern – medical, dental, mental health, auditory or optical – and an additional, brightly colored red tag for those requiring immediate care.

Booth was better at talking to the people; he asked questions and set them at ease, charming the women, joking with the children, talking sports or politics with the men. Brennan felt for broken bones, palpated abdomens, looked inside mouths to find bleeding gums or rotten teeth. One elderly man who reeked of cigarette smoke approached with his hand wrapped in an Ace bandage, looking so ill at ease that even Brennan couldn't miss it.

"Could you unwrap your hand, sir?" Booth asked the man politely.

The man did so, holding out said hand a moment later to Brennan without taking his eyes off Booth.

"You military?" he asked.

Booth nodded. "Yes, sir. Army – you?"

The man grunted slightly, though Brennan couldn't be sure whether it was in response to the question or the pain he had to be feeling – his hand was swollen to almost three times its normal size, with a deep gash across the palm that had clearly been sutured at home . Brennan prided herself on her ability to work through almost anything, but the smell of rotting flesh was so strong that she nearly took a step back. She looked at Booth, but he kept his eyes attentively on the patient; buoyed by his perseverance, she continued her exam.

"This is badly infected – it looks as though the skin might be gangrenous. You'll need surgery to remove the infected areas, and even then I'm not certain the hand can be saved."

Booth's eyes widened at her matter of fact tone, but the man didn't seem surprised. He shook his head.

"Can't lose my hand – fishin' don't bring much money no more, but it's all I got. You can't fish with one hand. Trust me, I been trying."

"What about the VA?" Booth asked, before Brennan could argue her point. "You must get benefits – they should take care of the hospital bills."

"Sure they will – but my benefits got cut last year. I got a wife and a grandson to support, and the Army check sure as hell don't cover that."

He pulled his hand back and started to rewrap it. "I thought maybe I could get some antibiotics and some fresh stitches, and we'd let it go at that. If you can't do that for me, I'll just keep doin' what I been doin'."

"What you've been doing will kill you," Brennan insisted. "The hand's clearly infected – it's only a matter of time before the infection enters your bloodstream, at which point – "

Booth interrupted, stopping her with a look. "Why don't you just go on in and see what they can do for you – this isn't Dr. Brennan's area of specialty, she might be way off base."

She glared at him, but the look on his face convinced her not to argue the point.

"Let us just give you the tags here so they know where to put you, and we'll see if we can get you fixed up."

The man looked unconvinced until Booth added. "You've come this far, sir. A military man like yourself doesn't turn back before the final surge."

Brennan handed the man a red emergency tag and a blue one indicating that it was a medical, issue jotting down a series of notes for him to give the attendant physicians inside. She and Booth exchanged a look that she couldn't quite identify – part mutual respect, part understanding, and something else she wasn't certain she could put into words – before the next person arrived and they continued with the day.

It was past dinner when things changed. The group had gotten together for a rushed potluck meal the island residents had provided, and then Booth and Brennan returned to triage. They'd gotten into an easy rhythm, Booth continuing to press her for details of her 'rock star boyfriend' in between patients, and for the first time since they'd arrived she could see the end of the line of people waiting to see them.

A woman and her two young sons were next. The older of the boys walked in front, his arm in a sling; the younger boy walked behind, his eyes taking in the scene around them. The mother was last. She walked with her eyes straight ahead and her shoulders back, her mouth a thin, humorless line. The boy was supposed to be the patient, but Brennan noted when the woman stopped walking that she winced slightly, her hand resting on her lower abdomen almost reflexively. She looked at Booth, whispering under her breath.

"I want to examine the mother."

He nodded, seemingly unsurprised. Brennan noticed that the tic in his jaw – the one he got when he was upset or tense – was moving. Brennan quickly determined that it would be best to use the son's care as leverage to get his mother on the table.

"Would you mind – we like to do an exam of everyone, just in case there's a symptom you might be unaware of. It's very fast."

She waited for Booth to step in and say something to set the woman at ease, but he was standing woodenly with his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze fixed on the two boys. The woman shook her head.

"I'm all right – we're just here for Sam. He fell out of a tree yesterday."

"It won't take long – we have to, it's part of our jobs," Brennan lied, the matter feeling strangely urgent. The way the woman held herself, as though she was walking over broken glass, made her very uneasy.

"Well, just say you examined me and get on with my son. I'll sign a paper if I have to."

Booth seemed to come to at that point, just barely managing a smile that didn't look like his at all.

"Please, ma'am – it's just a few minutes. Then we can take care of your boy."

Grudgingly, the woman got onto the exam table. Brennan closed the curtain to the outside world, leaving Booth in charge of the two boys. When they were alone and the woman pulled up her shirt at Brennan's request, the anthropologist made a conscious effort not to react to the pattern of old and new bruises coloring her back and stomach. A deep purple bruise with the unmistakable imprint of a boot tread caught her attention, just below the woman's navel.

When Brennan palpated the abdomen, it was rigid – the woman hissed softly, her eyes closed.

"You can put your shirt down," she said quietly. The woman did as she was told, her eyes open once more – but not looking anywhere in Brennan's direction.

"You have internal bleeding," Brennan told her. She didn't know what else to say. Someone else would be better at this – Angela would tell the woman how to get help, where to go. But Brennan didn't know either of those things – she just knew about bones. It was all she was good at.

"I'm going to give you two tags, and I'm going to send you to the front of the line. If you refuse, the bleeding will continue. You'll get weaker. The pain will get worse. And within forty-eight hours, you'll die."

The woman seemed to be waiting for something else – when it didn't come, she looked almost relieved. She took the tags and the accompanying notes, and returned to her sons. When Brennan took the older of the boys in to be examined, Booth stood in the woman's way – didn't touch her, didn't even really block her, but it was clear that she wasn't going anywhere.

"You mind if I talk to you for just a second, ma'am?" he asked, except that the way he said it made it clear that it wasn't a request.

"Booth," Brennan said quietly, but he didn't even look at her. He told the other boy to wait with his brother, and led the woman off to the side. Brennan tried to focus on the thin blonde boy looking up at her, purposely shutting out the indecipherable conversation being held nearby.

"Your name's Sam?" she asked the boy. He nodded, looking straight ahead in much the same way his mother had. "I'm Temperance," she told him, feeling undeniably awkward. Booth was so much better at this part. "Would you take your shirt off for me, so I can take a look at your arm?"

He did so. There were bruises in the pattern of fingerprints around his bicep, and it was clear just from her preliminary examination that the arm was broken. The conversation between Booth and the mother was growing more heated – she could hear Booth's words now, and the boy straightened slightly, his shoulders tensing.

"He's ten fuckin' years old, lady," she heard Booth say. "You don't think this affects him? You think just because he gets straight As and is captain of Little League, this isn't gonna follow him around for the rest of his life?"

Brennan cleared her throat, trying to get the boys' attention once more. "I'm just going to give you this blue tag – they'll take care of you inside. You'll probably have to wear a cast for a few weeks." She looked at the other boy. "Casts – they can be kind of cool, right? I had one once, and my brother drew pictures all over it."

The younger boy smiled at this. "Will you let me draw on yours, Sam?"

Sam nodded, but the tension in his thin shoulders didn't ease and he didn't smile as he carefully put his shirt back on. "Sure, Will. Anything you want."

Booth opened the curtain a moment later. It looked like the mother had been crying, but the FBI agent didn't look sorry in the least. He knelt beside Sam, producing a piece of paper with several numbers on it.

"That number's my cell phone – I'm away from it 'til Sunday, then I'm back again. That's my office. That's a guy I know down in Boston who owes me a favor. That's another guy I know in New Hampshire – he owes me a favor, too." He pointed to each number as he explained, then looked the boy in the eye. "You're the one who takes care of things, right?" he asked Sam knowingly.

The boy nodded, and it seemed to Brennan that something passed between the two – a tacit understanding of something she would never grasp.

"Yeah, you are," Booth said. "If things get out of hand, nobody else is gonna call these numbers – you know that, right? It's on you. It sucks, but that's the way it is. But you call any one of 'em, and I'll have someone at your place within an hour. You understand?"

He straightened and tousled the boy's hair, giving him a smile that even Brennan could tell was fake. The family walked away with their red and blue tags, as well as a yellow mental health tag Brennan had added as an afterthought. She looked at Booth, but this time he didn't look back at her. They waited for the next surge.

That night, it was quiet around the campfire. Booth had been distant since the incident with the mother and sons, saying nothing on the trip back before disappearing for a solitary run around the island once they'd returned. Once he was back, he seemed no more at ease – he was restless and irritable during dinner, arguing with Sweets before falling silent again once they were seated in a circle around the fire. Booth sat beside her as he usually did, but kept himself carefully separate from her. A couple of times over the course of the evening, she would look up to find him looking at her, but when she tried to break the tension with a smile, he'd just look away.

Despite their protests that everyone was too tired, Tripp insisted on resuming the question-and-answer game before bed. He passed the stuff sack to Jack, who laughed aloud when he read the question.

"All right - now we're talkin'." Brennan looked across the circle at Hodgins, intrigued by his tone. "If you could sleep with anyone in this group," he read, "without any consequences, who would it be and why?"

There was laughter around the circle – even from Booth, which made her relax slightly. Hodgins held up his hand to stop everyone. "Hang on, there's more. It says: 'Note: this does not include instructors.' Nice," he said approvingly.

Tripp looked uncomfortable. "I don't know if that's necessarily appropriate – "

To Brennan's surprise, Sweets was the one who spoke up. "We're all adults here – I'm sure we can handle it. Besides, I think the responses could be very telling."

She found herself thinking with undeniable bitterness of the psychologist's experiment between her and Booth, when he hadn't told her that her partner's supposed death was just a ruse. No one else seemed disturbed by his apparent fascination with their personal lives, however, so Brennan said nothing.

"All right," Tripp conceded after a bit more wheedling from the group. "Fine – but if anyone's uncomfortable with the question, feel free to abstain."

"Nice word choice, sweetie," Angela called out amongst more laughter.

Jack turned to Cam, seated at his right. "So – dealer's choice, right? We'll start with the boss lady, and go around the circle from there."

"Somehow I don't see how this kind of information is gonna make us work better," Cam protested, and the group booed loudly.

"Come on," Angela said. "It never leaves this circle – we'll take it to our graves."

Cam nodded. "All right, all right. Anyone in the group, but not an instructor." She glanced at Booth, and Brennan felt oddly predatory. "Well, we've already gone down that road…"

"Yeah, but once you go Booth, you never go back," Booth said with a grin.

Cam rolled her eyes. "Uh – yeah. Okay, so… Hodgins, I guess. I mean, if it was an alternate universe with no ramifications and – "

Jack bumped his knee up against hers lightly. "Oh, stop. You know you want me."

Even Brennan laughed at that. A moment later, she was surprised to feel someone behind her – she turned to find that Booth had resituated himself so that now he was seated behind her with his legs slightly parted, allowing her space to sit between them. She hesitated a long moment, feeling suddenly flushed and slightly breathless – for a moment, she wondered if she was coming down with something. Their eyes met, his still… sad, she thought, a half-smile that seemed even sadder on his lips. She thought of the day he'd had, the friend that he was. Glanced around to see if anyone was watching. Swallowed hard, as though she were daring something far more significant than a shift in seating positions.

While the conversation continued around them, she scooted back until her back was flush against his chest. His arms settled with surprising ease around her. She could feel his heart beating against her back, his warmth more comforting than she would have expected.

"Sorry about earlier," he said quietly in her ear, his breath warm on her neck.

She turned to look at him, and to his great surprise – and hers – she craned her neck a bit and kissed him softly on the cheek. He looked at her for a moment, a strangely shy smile on his lips.

"Thanks, Bones," he whispered to her.

They went around the circle quickly, but despite the subject matter Brennan found it difficult to keep her eyes open. Angela wanted to sleep with Brennan, which caused a huge stir around the fire; Sweets wanted to sleep with Angela, which was apparently a surprise to no one but Brennan, and then suddenly it was her turn.

"Okay you two snuggle-bugs," Angela said. "Let's hear it. Like we don't already know."

"Pass," Brennan said quickly, feeling increasingly uncomfortable with her position. Booth shook her slightly.

"Bo-ones," he said, drawing out the name the way he did when he was annoyed. "You can't not answer the question."

"Tripp said we don't have to answer if we're uncomfortable," she insisted.

Booth snorted. "Yeah, but he has to say that – look, even they want to hear this," he nodded in the direction of their instructors, who did indeed appear interested in the answer. "C'mon, let's hear it – whose bones does Bones wanna jump?"

She considered for a moment, her tension mounting. "But it's not a realistic question – there would invariably be ramifications if any one of us slept with another. We see each other every day. Just look at Angela and Hodgins."

"Hypothetical, Bren. Look it up," Angela said. "Alternate universe. No strings. No morning after. Just bone melting sex, with no complications."

"It's physically impossible for sex to melt bones," Brennan said automatically.

Try as she might, she couldn't see her way clear to answering the question. Though she was sitting up now, Booth was still behind her with her arms on his knees and his hands on her shoulders, tangled together as though this kind of contact was commonplace. It was a ridiculous question. If it were possible, then of course she would be perfectly justified in saying Booth – he was her partner, after all. They'd seen each other in any number of circumstances; it was only logical for her to be curious about exploring something that would otherwise be impossible. But somehow, she couldn't say the words.

"Fine," she finally said. "Hodgins. I'd have sex with Hodgins." She looked at Angela, who was looking at her strangely. "Sorry, Ange."

She was surprised to hear Booth chuckle behind her.

Angela didn't chuckle, though. "All right, fine – sure," Her friend said. "You'd sleep with Jack, before you'd sleep with anyone else here." She threw her hands in the air. "And the delusion continues. What about you, Booth? Let me guess – you're sleepin' with Jack, too?"

Brennan turned to look at him curiously, but she quickly looked away at the grin awaiting her.

"Hell, no. No strings, no complications, no morning after? I'm sleepin' with Bones."

Angela actually squealed with delight at his response, as the rest of the group broke into applause. Brennan had no idea how to respond, but apparently no response was necessary. Booth wrapped his arms around her and nestled her closer, and it struck her as very odd that she didn't find his proximity more… alarming, somehow. She closed her eyes, her head laying back against Booth's chest, his heartbeat strong in her ears. The rest of the group continued, but Brennan found herself too fatigued to join them. As she drifted off, surrounded by her friends' laughter and the feel of Booth's body holding her own, she found her mind wandering back to things like magic, and fate, and cause and effect.

And she slept.

TBC