If they had wondered what the morning would be like if they ever had sex . . .

If Booth had wondered if she'd make him breakfast or make him leave . . .

If Brennan had curiously considered whether he would slip away into the night or laugh his way into an invitation to stay longer . . .

If they had wondered about it all, neither had ever factored into their random musings the reality of a long stormy day spent mostly within the confines of a bed that might have graced a Pasha's harem. While thunder shook the windows and rain beat a steady tattoo above their heads, lightening burst into the room like the flash of a camera branding images into their memories.

When every pillow had been thrown haphazardly out of easy reach . . .

When the sheets were knotted somewhere between the mattress and the bed posts . . .

When the only place she had to lay her head was against the crook of one firmly muscled shoulder and the only cover shielding him from the cool breeze brought in by the rain was a slim pair of impossibly long legs lying over his . . .

Well, there was nowhere left to hide.

Brennan considered herself an accomplished lover. She was Temperance Brennan and she knew everything about the human form. A touch in a specific spot earned a specific result. Movement enhanced friction. In her previous experience, the intellectual connected with the physical and the results were satisfactory to both parties. She enjoyed sex, and as that sweet kiss in the middle of their dance on the balcony began, she comfortably expected to enjoy having sex with Booth.

She was wrong.

Booth wasn't interested in comfortable and he didn't allow her to set the pace, or to push them down familiar paths from Point A to Point B to an acceptable climax and a nap in each other's arms.

In the dark hours of the night and through a day colored in shades of gray and given its own sensual soundtrack by a helpful Mother Nature, he taught her what she didn't know she didn't know about making love. He wouldn't let her fall easily into her version of bliss. He wanted her to crash through the safety net in which she wrapped herself and shatter in the fire waiting below.

Brennan assisted unwittingly as Booth shredded the barriers she'd constructed. She was Temperance Brennan and it never occurred to her not to ask for what she wanted, not to teach him what brought her pleasure.

"Here," she whispered, guiding his hand.

"Like this," she said, cradling his head in her hands and tasting herself on his lips as her tongue swept over his as a private lesson for a more intimate caress.

He listened and learned and used her instructions to strip her soul bare to his gaze. He burned with her as he learned the secrets her body tried to hide. He drew out every response until her yearning became his physical ache . . . And he kept pushing, demanding more and more until finally . . . finally . . . she jumped into the abyss and took him with her.

The day that followed the night faded into darkness again. The storm departed, leaving the patter of water dripping from the eaves to mix with the sounds of birds and animals. When the need for food and sustenance replaced their hunger for each other, Booth asked Jerrick to drive him into the small village in search of dinner.

Brennan took advantage of his absence by filling the bathtub with water as hot as she could stand and soaking there, letting the heat and steam ease the ache of tender muscles. When she got out, she cleared fog and mist from the mirror with the swipe of one hand and stared into eyes she didn't recognize.

She was Temperance Brennan and she was terrified.

So she did what she always did . . . she rationalized her fears into something meaningless.

Booth returned with dinner and they dried the tiny table on the damp balcony and sat across from each other. She ate slowly and they were quiet until finally, she gathered her courage and smiled.

"Last night was . . ." She paused and forced a laugh. "I had no idea you were so . . . talented."

Booth was waiting. She was Temperance Brennan and he knew her and when he heard her words he recognized them for the ploy they were.

"Don't," he said, his voice tight. "Don't do that."

Brennan watched her fork push grilled vegetables around the plate. "Don't do what?"

He wouldn't allow her to hide again. "Don't turn what happened between us into just my skills as a lover."

When she risked a look at him, his jaw was hard and his eyes dared her to deny the truth.

"It wasn't just technique and lust. It was us, Bones. You and me. Us. "

But she was Temperance Brennan and she needed more than pretty words.

She put down her fork. "What are you suggesting, Booth? That it was more than just . . . just sexual compatibility? That we're special? That it was a . . . a message from the universe? A sign that we're meant to be?" Knowing he watched her carefully, she arranged her face into an expression of scorn. "Because I don't believe in messages from the universe."

His sharp ears caught what she didn't say.

"I don't know about messages from the universe," he admitted. His eyes never left hers. "But I do know that some things are meant to be. My grandmother has been dead for thirty years but if you ask Pops, he'll tell you in a heartbeat that he still loves her. Something like that? Love like that? It's meant to be."

This time, her tone was defiant. "Are you trying to say that you're in love with me?"

Booth read the hesitation in her eyes and the wariness behind the question. She was still and tense, as skittish as a nervous fawn approaching an outstretched hand, ready to bolt at the first hint of danger.

He felt the weight of the rest of his life hanging on his next words, so he did the only thing he knew how to do. He told the truth.

"I don't know."

She blinked and he knew she'd expected a passionate declaration and promises of forever that she could have waved away as impossible to make.

"I don't know," Booth repeated. "But I can't say I don't love you, either." He laid himself open, allowing her to look deep into the truth of his heart. "What I do know is that I want to find out what happens next."

Her eyes began to shimmer with tears. "I'm not good at relationships, Booth. I don't know how to be in one, how to act or what to do or what to say. I'll just . . . I'll just ruin everything."

With a supreme effort of will, he refrained from pulling her into his arms to offer the temporary comfort of his touch. This moment, he knew, was too important to be swept away with an embrace.

"Maybe I'll ruin it," he said instead. "Hell, Bones, the longest relationship I've had is with Parker and he's four years old." He leaned forward and touched her cheek. "Life's a crap shoot, baby. Nobody knows what's coming next. We could get on that plane in a few days and end up at the bottom of the ocean . . ."

"Statistically speaking . . ."

He laid a finger across her lips. "Statistics tell you what's already happened, not what's coming." His gaze held hers captive. "What just happened with us? Last night? Today? It's like a big shiny present sitting on the table, all wrapped up in bright paper and a big red bow. Right now, it looks pretty good but I want to take it home and open it and see what's inside. I want to know what's in the box, Bones." His index finger stroked her cheek. "I want to find out if it's as beautiful inside as the shiny paper outside."

He saw her throat work as she swallowed. "What if it's not?" she whispered.

"Then at least we tried, Temperance." Her breath caught as he spoke her given name. "At least we tried."

"If I say . . . If we . . ." She found herself struggling for words and closed her eyes. She was Temperance Brennan and everything had a history and a beginning. All she had to do was find theirs. "How do we try? What happens next?"

His smile spread with real warmth and for the first time since she'd left the security of their bed, the knot of terror clenched in her stomach loosened. Her eyes filled again.

"What happens next?" With one thumb, he erased the single tear that escaped. "What happens next is that in a few days, we get back on a plane - and it doesn't crash," he added, in a teasing tone that allowed no interruption, "and we go home. And then, I want you to meet Parker. And Pops." His brown eyes sparkled as he chuckled. "He's going to love you. And in between, maybe you'll spend a few nights at my place and maybe I'll leave a toothbrush at yours and before you know it," he reached for her hands, "one day at a time, we'll figure out together how this works."

Brennan looked at him skeptically. "That's it? That sounds too easy."

"Do you know how to eat an elephant, Bones?"

She frowned. "Why would you want to eat an elephant? The flesh is fatty and bitter. I really don't recommend it."

Her earnest expression made him grateful there was a bed only a few feet away.

"You eat an elephant one bite at a time," he replied, as he stood up and reached for her. "One bite at a time."

.

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I like elephant ears, though. Hot, thin, crunchy pieces of fried dough covered in cinnamon sugar. How is that related to this chapter? It's not. But now I want elephant ears.