As the temperature in the SUV became increasingly colder, Booth reflected bitterly that the temperature was beginning to match the atmosphere. It had been nearly an hour since Brennan had last spoken to him or looked at him. Meanwhile, Booth had been watching her helplessly, trying to formulate in his mind the words to make everything alright again.

It was a small consolation to Booth that Brennan was no longer crying. He wondered if she knew that not allowing him to comfort her was the worst punishment she could have given him. The unhappiness on her face was still upsetting him but he forced himself to give her space. Her chin rested on her knees and her face had a guarded look on it that suggested that any attempts at contact would not be well received at the moment.

Booth let out his breath in a ragged sigh as he noticed that Brennan's skin was covered in gooseflesh and her hands were clenched to keep them from trembling. They were both still in their underwear and Booth pondered dubiously if there was any possible way to tell Brennan to put her clothes back on without getting snapped at. Just as Booth was working up the courage to talk to Brennan, something happened that Booth never would have expected in a million years.

Brennan apologized.

"Listen Booth," she started out, turning to him in earnest. "I'm not angry with you or anything. I'm sorry I yelled. I was just… frustrated. I know there's something between us that we're going to have to talk about eventually, but right now I don't care what happens as long as we're still friends in the end. I don't want to lose you because of something like this Booth."

Brennan met his eyes for the first time an hour. Booth saw anxiety in her face as she stared at him, chewing her lip, and Booth felt his lips twitch up in a soft smile.

"You been rehearsing that in your head the past hour?" Booth teased gently.

An embarrassed smile crossed Brennan's face as she nodded, and Booth laughed, relief coursing through his body. Brennan recovered from her embarrassment quickly and assumed a clinical tone.

"Besides," she said matter-of-factly. "Now is not a good time for any sort of physical activities. The integumentary system produces sweat in response to physical exertion, the goal of which is to dissipate body heat through evaporation. In conditions such as these, the sweat can freeze or cause the body to become dehydrated, making the body more susceptible to hypothermia."

Booth stared at her in shock, before bursting out laughing again. This time Brennan joined in and Booth felt like he had regained a missing piece of himself. As their laughter died off, Booth looked at her affectionately.

"Well then," he told her softly. "I forgive you if you forgive me."

"It's a deal," Brennan agreed with a smile.

Booth basked in Brennan's smile for a moment, feeling the coldness that had gripped his heart the past hour, melt away. He hadn't lost his friend. A sudden realization swept through him and he turned to Brennan, his face serious.

"Look at us Bones," he said solemnly. "We crossed the line and we're still friends. We didn't ruin everything, we don't hate each other, the sky didn't fall on our heads…"

Brennan nodded in solemn agreement.

"Maybe when we get out of here, we should rethink some things," Booth concluded. "Maybe we were underestimating ourselves before. Maybe we could make this work."

They were both quiet as they pondered the possibility, the only sound being the slight chattering of Brennan's teeth. Alerted by the noise, Booth clapped his hands together, efficiently destroying the meditative atmosphere.

"Firsts things first," he said pertly. "Put some clothes on, Bones."

Brennan glared at him as he plopped her bag heavily into her lap.

"Come on Bones," he wheedled. "I'm sure you know the importance of insulation to prevent loss of body heat."

She grudgingly began digging through her bag for clothes.

"I hate it when you're right," she grumbled.

Booth barely restrained a self-satisfied smile as he pulled on clothes from his own bag. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Brennan pulled on jeans and a sweater, chastising himself for mourning the loss of half-naked Brennan. She looked over when she was fully dressed, and he could tell from the half-amused, half-reproachful look in her eyes that she knew he had been watching. Booth cleared his throat and quickly finished dressing.

"We should probably put something in our stomachs too," Brennan said briskly, happy to suggest it before Booth had a chance.

They both climbed into the back and sat their food supply between them, surveying it with unenthusiastic eyes. Brennan picked up the can of beans and examined it with distaste.

"How old are these Booth?" she asked, wrinkling her nose.

Booth scratched his head embarrassedly.

"They've been in my FBI bag since…well since I've been in the FBI," he admitted.

Brennan sat the can down disgustedly.

"Come on Bones," Booth said, in defense of his can of beans. "Canned food doesn't go bad, right? It's just as good now as it was when it was bought."

"You eat it then," Brennan said with a challenging smile on her face. "I'll take the airline peanuts and Milkway bar."

Booth shook his head vehemently.

"No way Bones," he protested. "We split everything fifty-fifty."

He began divvying up the food. Brennan rolled her eyes as he carefully scrutinized the two pieced of the candy bar and then counted out the peanuts to make sure they had exactly the same amount. He put the can of beans aside.

"We'll save these for when we're really desperate," he said, giving them a little pat. "For now… bon appetite Bones!"

Stale candy bars and old peanuts had never tasted so good. Booth picked a hair and a bit of fuzz of his chocolate and smiled fondly at it. It felt like years ago that he and Brennan had eaten dinner back at the hotel. In fact, it felt like they had been holed up in their little SUV igloo for ages. When the two of them finished eating, they both took a swig of the flat, tasteless soda and sighed.

"I could go for a nice, juicy steak right about now," Booth groaned, pressing a hand to his stomach. "How about you?"

Brennan tilted her head as she considered his question.

"Vegetable lasagna…" she said decisively.

Booth made a face.

"What about a hot drink?" he suggested wistfully. "Bailey's hot chocolate…"

He sighed dramatically.

"I'd rather have tea," Brennan stated.

Booth shook his head regretfully.

"You just don't know how to live Bones," he said, shaking his head.

They fell quiet again and it struck them how little they could do in their current situation. Though he didn't let on to Brennan, Booth was beginning to feel anxious. It had been almost twelve hours since they had left their hotel and they were still trapped under the snow. Brennan seemed to sense his mood and she leaned in, frowning.

"I've been thinking Booth," she began warily. "All the flights have most likely been delayed by the storm. It could be a long time before anyone notices that we're missing."

Her eyes were wide as she said this and Booth reached out to pat her shoulder comfortingly, glad that she was allowing him to touch her again.

"Even so," he soothed. "Someone is bound to see the flares. All we can do now is keep putting them out and stay calm. Panicking never got anyone anywhere."

Brennan took a deep breath and nodded curtly.

"We should put another one out now. It's been over four hours."

Booth agreed, and grabbed the bag of flares as Brennan examined the windows. It seemed that the snow and ice were no longer falling, but the final accumulation of the snow ended mere inches from the top of the window.

"Booth," Brennan stated. "There's no way either of us are fitting through that gap."

Booth considered the situation thoughtfully, and then lit up two flares anyway.

"We'll both stick our arms out the window and throw the flares as far as we can," he decided.

They both completed the aforementioned task and then slumped back into their seats. They both were beginning to feel their own sheer helplessness. Booth hated the feeling more then anything. In his head, he began formulating a plan.

If help doesn't come within the next four hours, he thought. I'll bundle up, dig myself out, and go looking for help myself. Bones won't go for it, but that's the plan.

Satisfied, Booth took another swig of the stale soda. Brennan was beside him, folding the crinkly peanut wrapper into a tiny square. Her face was a mixture of worry and boredom, a reflection of Booth's exact feelings. Just as Booth was trying to remember whether or not he had a pack of cards handy, the overhead light in the SUV flickered and died, plunging the duo into complete darkness.

A/N: Not the longest chapter, nor the most exciting one, but I'm just trying to move things forward. I'm planning on two more chapters. Thanks again to everyone who reviewed.