Notes: Thanks to Bre, my beta, even if she won't tell me what she thinks of the chapters until she can do so publically. Only one more part after this one. That actually makes me kinda sad. :( On another note... I hope everyone gets the "striped socks" reference... wink wink

Part V

Brennan slept a deep, heavy sleep filled with dreams of gorgeous brown-eyed men in impeccable suits and striped socks.

When she awoke, she rolled over and glanced at the clock. It was a little after nine – she had slept for nearly 10 hours, and Booth was right; she did feel better.

Suddenly, her dreams came back to her. "Striped socks?" she wondered aloud. She shook her head, loose tendrils of hair clouding her vision.

She was definitely vastly improved from yesterday. She had some congestion and the remnants of a headache, but no fever. And though she wasn't exactly hungry, she wasn't nauseous by any means.

She got out of bed and padded into the living room. She figured Booth would have called by now, but her home phone had no messages and no incoming calls on the caller ID. She checked her cell phone, which read the same.

"Well, maybe he thinks I'm still sleeping," she rationalized.

She made herself some tea and toast and sat on the couch. She debated watching the rest of the Star Wars movie, but it didn't seem right without Booth there. In fact, her entire apartment seemed oddly quiet. She shrugged off the feeling and picked up an anthropology journal and began reading.

An hour and a half later and Booth still hadn't called. Brennan pouted. "He said he was coming, right?" she said to the picture of Sue Black, smiling up from the journal. "He said it was a date. He wouldn't stand me up for a date. Not that it's a real date. It doesn't matter any way, I'm fine." She paused and rolled her eyes. "Said the woman whose talking to a picture of a Scottish anthropologist." She threw the journal onto her coffee table, leaned back on the couch and closed her eyes, thoughts tumbling through her head.

Then it hit her. "Uh oh."

She tried calling his cell phone – no answer. His home phone – the same. This wasn't good. He was an FBI guy. He always answered his phone.

She showered, dressed, and was out the door in 20 minutes. Fifteen minutes later she pulled up at his house. She knocked on the door, but heard no response. "Booth?" she called out. "You in there?" She tried to peek in the glass of the door, but it was frosted and she only saw several blobs of darkness, which may or may not have been Booth.

She snorted in frustration and tried the doorknob. Locked. Of course. And she doubted Angela had a key to his place… She walked around to the side of the house and looked in the garage, spotting Booth's car. "Well, he must be here," she mused. She tried the door at the back of the house, off his kitchen, and found it open. She fought the urge to sing the hallelujah chorus.

"Booth?" she called out, making her way through the kitchen. She saw few signs of inhabitation, other than days-old dishes in the sink. She continued through the living room where she saw telltale signs of sickness: a box of tissues and a thermometer. This wasn't good.

"Booth? Where are you?" she called again, hearing a faint noise in response. She traveled up the stairs. She found him face down, shirtless, and lying on top of his covers.

She sighed. "I was afraid this would happen," she said, walking over to him. "You shouldn't have kissed me."

"It was worth it," he said, and rolled over. Brennan felt herself flush. "Besides, I spent the entire day with you. I seriously doubt one little kiss at the end of the night clinched it for me." He draped his arm over his eyes. "I never get sick."

"Yeah, well neither do I," Brennan responded. "But I'm feeling much better today, so that's good news for you."

"Marvelous," he muttered. "Took you long enough to get here."

"I was expecting a phone call!" she exclaimed, indignant.

Booth chuckled. "I'm just giving you a hard time."

"I see I'm not the only one who's petulant when sick."

"I'm like this all the time," he grinned.

"True." She stood by his bed, just staring at him. "I'm not exactly a caretaker. I don't really know what I'm supposed to do. Do you want, um, anything?"

"Nah. I've got everything I need right here."

Brennan looked around the room for a moment before she realized that he was referring to her. "I see you're also rather flirty when you're sick. Or when you're around sick people."

"What can I say, Bones? You bring out the best in me." She scoffed. "And you're fun to flirt with."

"I am?"

"Yeah, because half the time you don't even realize I'm doing it."

She crossed her arms in defiance. "I'm not blind, Booth." She walked around to the other side of the bed and sat heavily. "I may not know every pop culture reference you throw my way, and I may not be as psychologically in tune with humanity as you are, but I can recognize sexual compatibility when it's right in front of me."

Booth propped himself up on the headboard. "Compatibility?"

"What?" she whipped around to face him.

"You said 'sexual compatibility' – not 'sexual chemistry,' which is what I would have expected. So that means you think we're compatible."

She flushed slightly and crossed her arms again. "It means… I am aware… on a hormonal level we… appeal to each other."

Booth smirked. "I wish you were sick again."

"Why?"

"Because for some reason when you're sick, you let your guard down. It's like your physical defenses are down, so you allow some of your emotional defenses to drop, too."

"For example…"

"Yesterday, you told me I was hot. And you wanted to cuddle. And we talked about emotional stuff. And you let me kiss you."

"First of all, I didn't let you kiss me. It just… happened. Second of all, I had a fever. I was weak."

"So you're saying now that you don't have a fever, now that you're not weak," he sidled across the bed toward her, stopping just inches from her face, "you wouldn't let me kiss you?"

"Well…" She stared into his eyes, and Booth saw her features soften. "When's the last time you threw up?"

Booth groaned, flopping back onto the bed, dragging her down with him.

"What are you doing?" She fought against his embrace, but his arms were tight around her.

"I'm the sick one. It's my turn to cuddle." She relaxed almost instantly, and soon found herself lulled by his rhythmic breathing.

Whee! I love flirting. Too bad I don't get to experience much of it in my real life! Please - clicky the feedback! CLICKY!