All my love to Linda (1cosmicgirl) and Michelle (BlueMoonFan) for betaing!

II. Spirit in the Lab

"We cannot spike the eggnog, Bones."

"Why not? Hodgins used to do it all the time."

"Yes, and there was a reason why he stopped."

"The Fourth of July Fiasco is time-barred."

"You really wanna do this?"

Abandoning the pure alcohol in the flask, Brennan smiled at Booth sweetly.

"Yes."

"Why? This is crazy."

"Look, Booth, Angela isn't wearing elf shoes anymore. Zack and Dr. Goodman are gone. So much has changed. If we want to re-enact our first Christmas together, we have to adopt drastic measures."

"Jeez, I should be glad you didn't decide to poison us," he muttered between clenched teeth.

Her face softened.

"This is the Christmas party we never got a chance to go to."

"What about Christine?"

"She's building a snowman with her grandfather right now. Booth... we could always call a cab."

"Alright. Alright. You really wanna do this?"

"Absolutely."

-BONES-

"Man, this eggnog is really good," Hodgins exclaimed while taking another gulp; while, on the table in the middle of the room, the Jeffersonian interns were performing a very heart-felt version of "Santa Baby".

Cam was holding a candle in her hand, cheering them on, well, cheering Arasto on, but hardly anyone noticed that anymore.

"I can't tell you the last time eggnog was so good."

Sipping very carefully at his own glass, Booth regarded the unsteady man in front of him.

"Where's Michael?"

"Angie's dad's in town. Probably getting him a tattoo or something like that."

Booth's eyes widened.

"Just kidding. He's fine."

"So, hypothetically, if this eggnog was spiked..."

"Dude, I knew it! You?"

Booth shook his head slowly.

"Dr. B? Kudos, man."

"Kudos? What for? This is crazy!"

Hodgins patted Booth's arm.

"There's nothing better than a crazy woman who's willing to go home with you. Apropos... Where's mine?"

"Last time I checked, she was losing her jacket in the strip poker game with Santa over there."

Hodgins rubbed his hands.

"That's my cue to leave."

"Yeah, go. You should stop her."

"Stop her? Are you nuts? I'm gonna bet on her."

Shaking his head, Booth watched the other man rushing away, finally downing his own eggnog.

"Damn, I need more," he uttered, taking in his surroundings...

He knew the man that was dressed up as a reindeer and recognized the woman sitting on his back as well. They were squints, reasonable squints, but tonight, it seemed as if they had locked away their brains along with their lab coats. The choir on the table had lost one man; apparently, Fisher had passed out, but one intern Booth had never seen before was already giving him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation while another woman was decorating him with tinsel.

"Booth! I was looking for you!"

And there she was, the source of all evil, looking way too sweet, way too innocent in her black-skirt-green-shirt ensemble. Her hair fell onto her shoulders in soft waves, and she wore an almost angelic looking smile.

"Bones! How much eggnog have you had?"

"Three glasses. Maybe four. I'm perfectly sober."

"Of course you are."

"Come, I need your help."

Grabbing his hand, she dragged him with her.

"Bones, you know what? I'm kinda glad we never made it to the party back then. I don't think I could've handled it."

"What? Why?"

"Your best friend is currently engaged in a strip poker game."

"She's winning."

"Okay. Soooo... Santa will be naked soon?"

Furrowing her brow, she looked up at him.

"I see your point. Still, I need your help to photocopy my butt."

Silence. Then:

"What?"

She shrugged.

"It sounded funny when Angela mentioned it."

"And... what exactly are you going to do with the copy?"

Lifting herself onto her tiptoes, Brennan grazed his ear with her lips.

"Frame it for you?"

He gasped, but shook his head.

"Bones, you can't do that."

"I know, I need your help to get onto the copying machine."

"Seriously? Seriously. Alright, Bones, come on," he finally sighed.

And, wrapping one arm around her waist, he lifted her easily onto the machine, lingering for a moment just because her scent, so intoxicating and familiar, had hit his nostrils; lingering just because he could. His nose grazed her cheek, his lips followed shortly after; just a shadow of a kiss.

In the semi-darkness of the room, eyes found each other, two people forgetting the world for one breathless heartbeat.

"I think you should lift your skirt," he finally rasped, stepping between her legs, and she lifted first one buttock, then the other.

A soft gasp left her chest at the cold touch of the glass surface, and she regarded him with slightly parted lips. He was close – when had he come so close? His sturdy frame was looming in front of her, his breath warm on her face, and, still, his arm was circling her waist. His jeans were rubbing against the insides of her thighs – so soft, so rough – and then he came even closer, pressing himself between the vee of her legs, this spot that was made for him.

And she saw him: peace and something else in his eyes, dark stubble on his cheeks, the strong line of his mandible, the cockiness of his smile. And she felt him: his hand so warm and self-assured around her waist, his body firm between her legs. And she smelled him: Booth and winter and a just hint of eggnog.

Her belly trembled with sudden excitement, or maybe that was the eggnog as well, and something moved in her chest. He was so close, but, still, he could never be close enough. And then her hands were clutching his shirt, reducing the last inches between them to nothingness, as he fell into her kiss. Her lips parted immediately, tongues finding each other without delay. It was as deep as a winter night, their kiss, as deep as the freshly fallen snow, but it was burning, oh, it was burning.

Her lips were burning where his rough skin was scratching her, her chest was burning where she was so in love with him, so in love, her lower belly was burning where she ached for him. He licked and sucked, nibbling her bottom lip, caressing her tongue with his, and, with eyes wide closed and her arms firmly locked around him, she was taking and giving and responding.

His hand slid between their bodies, and, anticipating his touch, she sighed into his mouth, but a sudden glimmer of light hit her by surprise. That and a low buzz. Breaking the kiss, she smiled against his lips, staying perfectly still as long as the machine was working.

"We shouldn't forget the copy," he finally murmured, lowering his lips to her neck.

Tugging at her shirt, he exposed a patch of shoulder, sucking hard, and her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him right there in place while he was marking her. She bit her lip, trying not to moan, and a primeval heat was building deep inside.

She wanted him. Here, now, always.

Hands flew to his jeans, opening buttons with nimble fingers, and he groaned into her flesh, releasing her reddened skin with a last lick.

"Bones... oh..."

His words were lost in a low moan, as she closed her slender hand around his hard shaft, squeezing without warning.

"Happy belated Christmas, Booth."

"Be... belated? It's not Christmas yet. Not late...," he uttered, finding out that forming coherent sentences was quite a task when she was stroking him like that.

"This is for our first Christmas," she clarified, reaching between her legs and tugging the black lace of her panties aside, pulling him into her drenched heat before he could even blink.

Heat. Snug heat. Warm, wet, tight. Silky. Love. Want. Need. Hot. Oh God... yes.

Words were swirling in his head, but he couldn't quite manage to get them past his lips. Or maybe he could, but he didn't really know. All he knew was that she was cradling him with her whole body, sucking him into her passion, and it was kind of mean that he hadn't even gotten a chance to touch her, but he wasn't foolish enough to complain; not when she was all around him, wanting him so much.

Eventually, his smart hands found their way to her buttocks, cupping her sweet roundness, and he was pulling himself deeper and even deeper into her body.

In and out he moved, and friction was building, as heat met heat.

And, while he was teetering on the brink of something grand, his senses registered fragments. Her husky voice whispering into his left ear, the luscious swell of her breasts against his chest, the warmth of her cheek as he pressed his lips to it, a musky yet feminine scent lingering in the air.

Fragments that were her, that were them, that were making love.

And he wanted to tell her how much he loved her, how much he desired her; wanted to tell her that the snow was whiter with her by his side, that Christmas lights were brighter and the world a better place, just because she loved him.

He'd have to tell her later.

Right now, he could only hope that she was close, was close as well, because his whole body felt as if it was about to burst, and he was snapping for air, as he was drowning in pleasure, was drowning in her, her body just so goddamn warm and perfect and wet around him.

And it was almost too much; his tongue in her mouth, her legs around his hips, his cock so deep inside of her, two people joined on so many levels, but then she tensed in his arms, shuddered and cried out, and, oh thank God, he let go almost violently, coming with her and for her and because of her.

Right there on the damn copying machine.

Without giving a shit about it.

He might clean it later, though.

-BONES-

Everything seemed more peaceful from the upper floor, the party reduced to mere background sound, the lab beneath them glowing in ethereal light, and, with dangling legs, they were sitting side by side, just like so many Christmases ago.

Turning his head, he took in her mussed up hair, her swollen lips, and something tugged at his heartstrings, as he was, once again, so utterly grateful that he was allowed to know her, finally know her.

"Bones?"

She squeezed his hand.

"Yes?"

"That was fun."

A naughty smile bloomed on her face, and he thought about the copy so safely hidden in his wallet.

"Yes, it was."

"Our first Christmas wasn't that fun."

Gnawing her bottom lip, she looked at him with calm eyes.

"I know. I wish it had been, though."

"I really wanted to be with Parker. I didn't even like you squints that much. And you... you were so untouchable with all your beauty and grief. I didn't even hug you..."

"Nonetheless, you touched me. Booth... back then, you told me something. 'Maybe the real gift is when you accept something with a little grace.' I... I opened my parents' gifts that night. Because of you."

Lifting their joined hands to his lips, he kissed her knuckles.

"Last year... I had a gift for you," he finally admitted, swallowing hard, and her heart stopped a little bit.

"A gift? You never gave it to me."

"I couldn't. One more unopened Christmas gift ..."

"Oh, Booth..."

Tilting her head, she placed it on his shoulder.

"I'd love to open your gift. No more unopened presents. No more sad memories."

His own head came to rest on top of hers, stubbly cheek pressed to soft hair.

"I like that a lot, Bones."

They fell silent for a while, enjoying each other's proximity, each other's warmth, and, while so content in the present, moments of the past came by, the happy ones you like to cherish as well as the ones that did still hurt. But, in the light of a new Christmas, they hurt less, seemed less sad and less frustrating.

"At least we didn't catch the lung fungus," he finally said, and she chuckled.

"Also, you're quite cute when you're drugged."

"The shiny lights were very beautiful."

"We found out the truth about careful Lionel. That was good."

"Yeah. And we found out some pieces of truth about each other," he added.

A son she hadn't know about. Loneliness he couldn't even begin to grasp.

"Maybe we needed being locked up," she finally said softly, and he wanted to hug her very much. So he did.

"Maybe."

And with his arms all around her and his face in her hair, she remembered that, nine years ago, even after 24 hours in lock-down, he had been the first person she had wanted to see.

Had been and still was.

To be continued...