Happy Easter! – here's a little more Christmas story.

. . . if you found any logic in that, you beat me. Anyway.

Never in a million years would Temperance Brennan have thought she would choose to abandon work for a quiet family-type Christmas. But she had nixed Peru, gone to a jail, and was now sitting at home, the evening of Christmas Eve, wrapping the books she had gotten for Russ' little girls. Thankfully she was on very good terms with a number of local bookstores, and one of the managers had pointed her towards several children's books that looked promising, even this afternoon, after most people had long since bought, wrapped, and hidden their own gifts. Amy and the girls had invited her over for Christmas dinner tomorrow, once they realized she was still in town, and since she had started to enjoy their company so much, Tempe had accepted. Amy enjoyed the companionship of another adult, and Russ appreciated her making the effort to get close to the family.

As she smoothed silver-and-green paper over the cover of a beautifully illustrated volume of fairy tales, Tempe slowed, her hands folding the paper with unusual leisure as her mind began to wander. After the hectic events of the past few days she was beginning to let her mind relax, and unfortunately it took the opportunity to dash straight back to the one thing she didn't want to think about, but couldn't avoid.

But it had just been a farce! – she insisted to herself as she taped down the corners into crisp 45-degree angles. It had been a task to accomplish in order to achieve a goal, and she had done it with an admirable amount of professionalism. No, this was all Booth's fault. She had been fine. He had to go and be his normal dense, obstinate self, making her stop and think, and that did nothing but make it difficult. This was simply an instance of being forced to work in circumstances that were less than ideal, with a partner who was less than ideal for the task at hand. All in all, she had comported herself well.

But as she set that book aside and reached for the other, her hand faltered for a moment. Comportment, her ass. Her face had been flaming and her lips had arranged themselves in an idiotic smile that had taken a surprising effort to erase. And that was to say nothing of the way her hands had been trembling and the adrenaline that had spilled into her bloodstream, leaving her abnormally alert and on edge for hours. Truth was, she had been physically affected by the event. Very much so. But he had been too, if the blush in his face and his sudden incoherence was any indication. On the one hand, that was comforting. She wasn't alone in that respect.

On the other hand, it was even more bad news. So Booth . . . might have enjoyed it. Physically. The rush of endorphins was normal, wasn't it? Of course it was. But she had seen, in the glance she'd been foolish enough to sneak as their lips broke apart, the stunned, boyish look that covered his face in confusion and made him look . . . so damn kissable that she'd half-wanted to try one more time. Just to see what would happen. A warm rush spilled through her chest just remembering, soft and comfortable, flowing giddily into her fingers and toes before she could tell it not to, and she sighed and took a sip of wine. This was bad.

Luckily, she reasoned, Booth would be occupied with his son and Christmas, so she would not have to see him for several days. This would give her ample time to calm down, remove herself from the situation, get some perspective, and decide exactly how she should address it. That was the best course of action.

As she ran the idea through her mind and opted to accept it, her phone rang, and she picked it up without bothering to look at the caller ID. Very few people had this number, so there were only a few people it could be. "Brennan."

"Hey, Bones."

She froze, as if by not moving, she could convince him that she wasn't there. How did he do that? She was thinking about him and he called. All it took was a few moments to stop and remember the sudden warm pressure of his lips on hers, the moment that had thrown her for a loop and ruffled her normal calm demeanor, and the phone rang. Did he have some sort of radio frequency that told him exactly when she didn't want him to contact her?

"Is something wrong?" She knew nothing was wrong. His voice lacked the business quality. He was taking enough time with his vowels that his consonants didn't sound so clipped. When they had a case, he didn't waste as much time on his vowels as he was doing now. But she was at a loss for what else to do, so she asked the question, glancing at the clock as she did. Almost 10 at night. Parker would be in bed by now. Which meant that Booth was alone, his son was asleep, and they could talk freely.

Dammit.

"No, no, nothing's wrong," he assured her, his voice warmer than usual. Maybe it was just the cell connection. She usually got pretty good reception at home. "I just wanted to see how everyone liked the Christmas tree."

The Christmas tree – she bit her lip, the warm trace in her veins immediately becoming a flood of warm mushiness. As the lights had lit up and she had seen the creativity of father and son, her chest had ached – like it was starting to do right now – and something, she had no idea what, had tugged at her mind with an almost painful sweetness. And after the little incident under the mistletoe, from which she was still reeling slightly, the ramifications of the Christmas tree were larger than she cared to tackle with any seriousness. So she had pushed it away for the time being.

But of course he was bringing it up now.

"It was wonderful," she finally answered, a smile creeping over her lips even as she groaned internally at her own weakness. How did he know exactly how to get her to talk? "The girls loved it."

"Good." His voice sounded like a smile. "Parker had fun helping put it together."

"I'm sure he did."

"You doing anything right now?"

"Not really. Do you need something?"

"Hm? Oh, no. But I did want to apologize about earlier."

"For what?"

"I wasn't being very mature when you kissed me. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

And there was another stop and freeze moment. He had gone and said the k word, the one she had been studiously avoiding, both mentally and verbally. Because if she didn't say it, then it didn't happen. But he had gone and said it, and her face went red even though he couldn't see it. Because she wasn't very used to having her colleagues' tongues in her mouth.

"It's all right. I didn't give you much warning."

"Yeah." He chuckled. "I gotta admit, I wasn't prepared for it."

"Neither was I," she confessed, a little more at ease. He seemed remarkably sanguine about the whole affair. Maybe he was more comfortable with it than she was, after all. "It was the only way –"

"I know." He seemed to understand her predicament, and her reaction. "It's okay, Bones. I'm not mad at you."

"I didn't think you were."

"It –" he paused, as if he had to stop and prepare his words. "It wasn't bad."

She let out a long, shuddering breath. "No, it wasn't."

"It was okay."

"Yes." Was he really saying - ?

"Bones, I –"

He broke off for a moment, and she realized that he wasn't sure what to say. His voice rang with mild frustration at himself, for not knowing how to continue the way he wanted. But he kept trying. And she was glad, for once, that he was taking control.

"- Look, Bones, I enjoyed it. And I thought maybe you might have enjoyed it too."

She closed her eyes, one hand unconsciously reaching up to pluck absently at her collar, before taking a deep breath. "I did. I mean, it didn't last long, but it was – it was nice."

The noise of a long exhalation reached her ear through the receiver, and in spite of herself she smiled. He seemed relieved. "It was nice."

"Yeah."

"This doesn't – bother you, does it? I don't mean to be unsensitive."

"Insensitive."

"Whatever."

"No, it's fine." Her lips simply would not stop smiling, and she finally gave up trying to tell them to. "I just never thought that I would kiss you under mistletoe in my office."

"You thought you'd kiss me somewhere else?"

"No –" he did not need to know about the very odd, very unexpected dream that had visited her one night. It had begun strangely, the way dreams tended to, but from the visions of her co-workers carefully piecing together a life-sized puzzle of a skeleton on the lab table, which was covered in glitter and surrounded by daffodils, Booth had suddenly appeared and pressed his lips to hers, and she had woken startled with her face buried in a pillow.

"Bones, I'm just teasing you."

"Oh."

"So we can agree that it wasn't a bad experience?"

"No, it wasn't."

"Is it maybe one we can think about trying again?"

She sat very still, not moving a muscle, before quietly replying, "Maybe."

It wasn't a Yes, but he knew her well enough to understand that she would have told him No if she meant No.