A.N. Thanks for reading my stuff even though the real deal is back! (YAYAYAYAYYYY!!!!)

Chapter 9
Soft Science Is Not Sweet

Booth was trying hard to keep his mouth shut. Not that he was scared of the man in front of him, but that man, being his boss's boss, could easily take his badge and his gun away. So every time he went to say something, all that came out was, "Yes, sir" or, "I understand, sir."

"You assured us, agent Booth, that Dr. Brennan was capable of handling the situation."

But when you attacked his Bones...

"She wasn't the problem, sir."

"Oh! Then, you were?"

Keep it cool, Booth.

"Dr. Sweets guaranteed you two were fit to work as a team. That's not what we've..."

"Speaking of Dr. Sweets," Booth interjected. As much as the psychologist was getting under his skin most of the time, he didn't want to get him in trouble. But he kind of had to. His partnership with Bones could be on the line here. "He had eyes on the scene. He could have alerted us! He should have..."

"Are you telling me, agent Booth, that you need a shrink by your side to do your job?"

"Of course not, but..."

"One more mistake like this, and your badge is mine."

Gulp.

"Yes, sir," he whispered.

Booth was waiting for him to continue. But there was only silence and mean stares. Was he supposed to leave? Was everything ok? Could he go back to work?

"And since you love that shrink so much, you and your doctor will see him once a week for a month. And he will report directly to me. You're under evaluation... again."

"Sir..."

"That will be all, agent Booth."

He fled out of there as fast as humanly possible.

***

Waiting in the hall of the federal building, Brennan reviewed what had just happened. She had been so nervous and so excited, so eager to catch the bastard, that she had compromised the whole thing. That kiss... was not a kiss. It was the only logical way Booth had found to keep cover. She was the one who had turned it into something more. Right?

She sighed and buried her face in her palms for a second. No matter how she tried to spin it, the outcome was the same: they had screwed up. And where was Sweets during that moment where the suspect had fled? Don't put this on him. It's all on you.

She heard a door shut and her head spun up. As soon as she saw him approaching, she was on her feet, terrified.

"So?"

"So what?" he asked, making his way out of the building.

She followed his fast pace. "Are you in tro... Are we ok?"

Booth was infuriated. With himself. Never, in all his years as a sniper or as a cop, had he ever screwed up like this. Shooting a clown didn't even register on the scale of mistakes of this magnitude. He wanted to distract her, sure. But kissing her? Really? That was incredibly stupid. He knew what it would do. He knew he couldn't just give her a peck. The second she had sighed into his mouth, he had lost it. All he could think about was to do her on the brick wall, right there in the alley.

Finally outside, Booth tried to remember in which parking lot he had left his car. He looked right, then left, then decided to go left.

"Booth! Are we ok?" she asked again. He was visibly upset. More than she had ever seen him.

He realized he was going in the wrong direction and turned the other way, almost bumping into her. He could hear her talk, but he was just too pissed to...

"Booth!" she almost yelled, grabbing his arm to make him stop. She searched for his eyes, never letting go of him. "Answer me. Please."

He locked eyes with hers. They connected like they always did.

Are we ok?

"We're good."

"But what did he say? Are you on probation or..."

"We are under evaluation."

"Again?"

"Once a week with Sweets. But we're still partners."

She let her hand drift down his arm. To his hand. And laced her fingers through his.

"I'm sorry I screwed us up," she murmured.

Booth frowned. He squeezed her hand in his.

"You're sorry? I'm the one who... I'm sorry I kissed you." I'm sorry I kissed you at the worst time ever.

"No! I'm..." She cleared her throat and realized they were holding hands. She drew it back. "I couldn't stop looking over at Turner. You needed to divert my attention, and you found a logical way to do so."

He dug into her eyes, searching for the truth. Did she really think he had kissed her... for the case?

"Right?" she asked.

She had doubts. She didn't know anything anymore. She needed him to reassure her. To tell her they would still be able to work together. That they were the greatest team. They needed to be ok. It didn't matter what her body was telling her.

Booth saw a hint of fear in her eyes. He knew the timing still wasn't right. He knew she wasn't ready. He wasn't ready either. But what if he told her? What if he said, "No. I kissed you because I needed to. And you liked it as much as I did."?

"Of course. But I should have seen Turner escape us. I'm the trained FBI agent."

She knew it was her fault. If she hadn't...

"I'm sorry I kissed you back," she replied, softly. He wanted to distract her, but she had no excuse. Other than the fact that his large hands on her waist were pulling her so close that her body had no other choice than to brush against his. Over and over. Mammal instincts. And a more than clear potential sexual compatibility. She tried to stop thinking about it. Flashing back to that moment wasn't doing them any good.

Booth blinked a few times. She admitted she had kissed him back? He was glad it wasn't all in his head. But now he would have to work even harder not to do it again. Ever.

***

Brennan had never been to the principal's office for reprimands, but she imagined that's exactly what it felt like. She clasped her hands together and fretfully examined her nails.

Booth was boiling. Why was it that they had to couch it every week, whereas that sweet Dr. Junior, here, could still do his job like he had done nothing wrong? He loosened up his tie.

Sweets was nervous. How was he supposed to make them deal with this when he, too, was in the wrong? That kiss had taken him by surprise and he had been incredibly unprofessional. How was he supposed to guide them, now? Now that he had, maybe, lost his last shred of credibility to them? He tried something he was good at: ask questions.

"So!" He clapped his hands together and the notepad on his lap almost fell to the floor. He caught it just in time, but it was too late. Booth was already smirking, sitting a little taller than a few seconds ago. "How are you?" he continued anyway.

"We're fine, Sweets."

Brennan nodded. It was weird how, as soon as they set foot into the psychologist's office, they always became a 'we'.

"Did you two talk about..."

"Already forgotten," Brennan lied. She didn't need to look at her partner to know he was probably staring at the floor or at his shoes. Then she felt he was looking at her, but she didn't turn to him.

"Of course," Sweets let out. "Yes. That's to be expected. And how do you feel about it?"

The question was aimed at Booth.

"About what? I feel nothing."

"Nothing?" Sweets confirmed, sceptical.

"Nothing."

"No emotions, whatsoever?"

Booth was losing patience. Brennan crossed her legs and sighed. As fun as watching those two going at it usually was, she had no intention of spending the next hour this uncomfortable. She bit her lips together and tried the pointless breathing exercise Angela had shown her. It didn't work, but at least, it gave her something to concentrate on.

Booth continued.

"Nope."

And Sweets pursued.

"You lost a suspect, and you feel nothing?"

Oh!

"Oh! About that? I'm pissed."

"Now you're angry."

"That's what I just said."

"You just said you felt nothing."

"I thought you were talking about something else," Booth cleared up, ticked off.

There you go. Right where I wanted you. Sweets leaned forward.

"Then what don't you feel anything about?"

"I feel nothing about nothing, alright? Where's this going exactly?" Booth cracked.

Sweets leaned back into his leather chair and said, "I think that's a question we all would like an answer to."

Brennan intervened before Booth could jump up and strangle the young doctor.

"Look," she said. "We all know this was my fault. So can we just, please, move on?"

Booth couldn't bear the thought that she would blame herself. But she had gotten the shrink's attention and gotten him off his back, so he stayed quiet.

"I think we all share equal responsibility in letting the suspect evade us," Sweets admitted. He knew he was risking a lot by saying so, but they were both so guilt ridden, he had to be honest.

"Damn right," Booth mumbled.

"But let's put this aside for a moment and focus on the real issue."

No, no, no, no, no.

No, no ,no, no.

"You two kissed."

BAM! There you go.

"How is this the issue?" Brennan asked. But Sweets didn't answer.

"For the second time," he said, instead.

Keeping tabs on us, much? Booth thought.

The atmosphere in the room was heavy. And they had to force themselves not to look at each other.

"I sense a great deal of frustration here," the shrink said, tracing circles in front of him with his arms. "And we... You have to address it now."

Address what?

Right now?

"There eventually comes a point where you can't just sweep this under the rug anymore."

What rug? Brennan frowned.

Sweep what? Booth frowned.

"What are you talking about?" Booth said, hoping he was still able to intimidate him with his tone, just trying to buy some time to put his thoughts together.

"You really need me to verbalize what's going on?" Sweets asked.

No.

Yes.

Brennan spoke up. "You can verbalize all you want, there's nothing going on. I don't know why you are so keen to find some meaning in everything we do or say or don't do or don't say, but we are fine. Right?" she turned to Booth.

"Exactly," Booth agreed. Not really. Was the hour over soon?

Sweets sighed. No one was more stubborn than those two put together.

"Ok. Let me just..." He got up, walked behind his desk and dropped the notepad on it. "You two are great at your job. And because of what your line of work entails, you are experts at compartmentalizing. And that's super. You have to be able to do so. The thing is..."

He saw them cross their arms over their chest at the same time. They would stop listening in a matter of seconds. He had to make them understand how their actions – or lack thereof- were potentially dangerous.

"The problem with compartmentalization is that the mind still needs to release the energy associated with a compartmentalized thought."

Had they understood a single word he had just said? Didn't look like it.

"And it results in avoidance," he explained. "You both fight a lot."

"We've always argued!" Brennan said. "Why is this relevant now? You're just taking things out of context so they fit your theory."

"But you agree with me that the arguments are more and more frequent and even more heated then usual?"

Booth and Brennan exchanged a look.

"What you are doing is called "reaction formation". It's the 7th coping mechanism."

"You're just making this up," Booth said.

But Sweets continued.

"You are converting dangerous thoughts..."

"Dangerous thoughts? What are we? Psychopaths?!" Booth exclaimed.

"... or unwanted feelings and impulses into their opposites."

Booth making jokes just proved his point. He was so uncomfortable with the truth being laid out in front of him that he turned everything upside down to make it sound ridiculous.

Booth laughed. Brennan imitated him and tried to sum up his crazy rant.

"So, basically, you're saying that we bicker because we don't want to bicker?"

Sweet shook his head. They were trying to baffle him.

"No, not at all. That's not what I'm saying. I'm saying that you are avoiding the underlying problem by turning it into something else. You are getting too close for comfort, so you push each other away by arguing incessantly."

"Of course we are close," Brennan said. "We're not avoiding that. He saved my life, I saved his life, we are together all the time. Why is this a problem all of a sudden? Isn't that what makes us a great team?"

"It's not the..."

She continued. "I wish you would stop trying to overanalyze everything. Why does this... kiss... have to be a big deal? We lost a suspect. Fine. We're both incredibly pissed about that, but talking about it for hours won't solve anything. Booth kissed me simply because it was the only logical thing to do to force me to look somewhere else without blowing our cover."

Sweets smiled.

"Exactly," Booth echoed. "That's no formation reaction or whatever mumbo jumbo you're trying to prove."

Sweets was still smiling.

"What?" Brennan said, getting worked up.

"You do that a lot," he simply said.

"What did she do?" Booth wanted to know.

"That's the 10th coping mechanism."

"Here we go again..."

"Intellectualization," Sweets described. "It's just the overemphasis on thinking when confronted with an unacceptable impulse, situation or behaviour without employing any emotions to help mediate and place the thoughts into an emotional, human context."

"He's just trying to confuse us," Booth told Brennan. But she was listening to the psychologist. Surprisingly, he had caught her attention.

"Rather than deal with the associated emotions that are too painful or scary, you intellectualize to distance yourself from the impulse. It's basic stuff."

"Well, this was interesting," Booth said. The second he had seen the doctor had strummed a chord with her partner, he had jumped onto his feet. "Come on, Bones. We have work to do."

Dazed, Brennan went to get up to, but Sweets held up his hands.

"Sublimation! Excellent. That's the 13th coping mechanism."

"Aw! Come on!" Booth cried, sitting back down.

"You are simply channelling unacceptable emotions into more acceptable ones."

"I'm not..."

"You are refocusing that unwanted energy," Sweets carried on, "into something productive. Work."

"And that's bad because...?" Brennan asked.

"I'm not here to judge. I'm not saying it's bad or good. I'm just saying it is. Dr. Brennan showed major signs of sublimation when she thought you were dead. She threw herself into her work. That's a textbook defin..."

"Yeah, well, he's not dead, is he? And we do have to work."

"Sure. But you can't keep going like this forever."

"Great. Thanks," Booth grabbed her arm, and they both got up to leave.

Sick of all this, Brennan turned to the young man. "And what do you suggest we do? You think there's something wrong with us, you want to fix us, tell us what to do."

Just sleep together already!

"Just talk about it already!"

"Talk about what?!" Booth whined.

"I can't give you all the answers. You have to find your own..."

"Yeah, right. Great chatting with you."

They shut the door behind them, but neither of them felt the relief they were expecting. They both still felt like they were walking on a wire. On a line.

"Well... that was..." Booth started.

"Ridiculous?"

"Among other things."

"Yeah."

"And it was..."

Awkward?

Infuriating?

Uncomfortable?

Totally.

"And we have to do this every week?" Brennan checked.

"Yes."

"For how long?"

"A month."

They walked to the elevator, still holding their breath, it seemed. Booth pushed the button, Brennan let him.

What did they all want from them? They had been doing the exact same thing for over 4 years, right? What had changed? What was so different? Why couldn't they just stop thinking and just go on as usual? She hated psychology.

***

That was the 11th time she had checked her watch. Maybe she was late for a date. It had been a long day. He could finish up the report by himself.

"You can go if you want to," he said. "I can write the rest myself."

She looked up at him and took the pen she was holding out of her mouth.

"I'm not letting you do this alone. We both lost the suspect. It wouldn't be fair for you to be the only one trying to come up with good excuses as to why..."

He smiled.

"You know, maybe Sweets should help. It's his fault, too," she proposed.

"I think he's helped enough."

"You're right."

She re-read the last paragraph they had come up with in silence. Her mind wandered. She furtively glanced at him. He was looking for another pen in his drawer. Cursing had how messy it was. Like it was anybody else's fault but his. Had he always been that... adorable? She squeezed her eyes shut. What the hell?

"What are you thinking about?" he asked.

"Nothing," she quickly replied.

Booth laughed. "You know... it is scientifically impossible not to think. Your brain is always processing millions of information in a mere second."

She shook her head, laughing at his failed attempt to imitate her.

"Nothing important," she rectified.

"Which would be?"

But his phone rang, so she shrugged. Instead of picking it up, he pressed the speaker button.

"Booth," he answered.

"Finally! Where have you been, man? I've been trying to reach you all day."

"Hello to you too, Jerry."

Brennan mouthed "Who's Jerry?" but Booth didn't read lips very well, it seemed.

"Ok, so there's this club grand opening tonight and I've got two V.I.P. passes..."

"No," Booth quickly refused.

"What?! You can't say no. Last time you promised you would not say no to me ever again."

"I'm wiped, pal. Next time, ok? I promise."

"There won't be a next time! This club is hot. And you're coming with me."

Brennan saw Booth work really hard to find an excuse.

"Aw... I don't... We're too old for this," he said.

The guy laughed over the phone.

"No wonder you haven't had sex in so long!"

Brennan's eyes went up to his face just in time to see him turn red.

Booth avoided her gaze and snorted loudly.

"What?! It hasn't been that long," he rectified.

"Not that long? For whom? A priest? You told me it had been..."

Booth fumbled with the phone and succeeded in taking it off speaker before Brennan could hear the rest.

"I don't tell you everything I... No! That's not... You're an idiot."

He stayed quiet for a moment, still avoiding looking at her. Brennan crossed her arms over his desk and tilted her head. She squinted at him. How long had it been, exactly?

"Yes, she is here," Booth tried to whisper. But she heard, frowned and smiled with curiosity.

"Whatever. I'm not going. I'll call you later." And he hung up.

Booth waited for her to talk. He knew she would have plenty to say.

"Do I know Jerry?" she began.

"No."

"But he knows me?"

"No. Why would you..."

"He asked if I was there."

"We weren't talking about you."

"You're lying," she said, unsure.

"Can we finish this, please?" He pointed to all the papers spread on his desk. But she didn't stop staring at him.

"How long has it been since your last intercourse?"

He squirmed, as expected.

"Do I ask you about your sex life?" he said, exasperated and a little... fine! Very embarrassed.

"What do you wanna know?" she bluntly let out, hoping he wouldn't chose this precise moment to surprise her with a new and open attitude. She did not want to have to tell him she had never slept with Cal. That they weren't even together anymore.

"I don't wanna know anything! You... your business. Me... My business."

"Fine."

She grabbed the report again, and handed it to him.

"Your turn to write," she told him.

He took it, careful not to brush her hand in passing.

He recapped what they had so far and tried to come up with a proper conclusion. But she couldn't let it go.

"Booth?"

"Don't even think about asking what you're about to ask."

"I wasn't gonna ask anything!" she lied, defensively. He looked at her. And saw that she was trying to come up with something else. As long as she didn't say anything about biological urges, he would be fine.

He went for a preventive strike and almost shouted, "I have plenty of sex on a regular basic, ok? I just don't go around telling people about it."

As she said, "I haven't had sex in a while either."

They shut up and locked eyes.

Why would he lie about his sex life? To prove that he was not pining for her? To prove that he was a real man?

Why did she need to confess something like this? How could he always make her say stuff she didn't want to say?

"You have?" she asked. With whom??

"You don't have to sound so surprised," he mumbled.

"Sorry. It's just..."

"You didn't sleep with Cal?" Poor guy. He must be dying from the inside.

She repeated his last sentence. "You don't have to sound so surprised."

Here they were again. Stuck in awkwardness. Unable to talk their way out of there.

"Why are we talking about sex?" Brennan enquired.

"You brought it up."

"No I didn't! You..."

I sense a great deal of frustration here, Sweets voice echoed in their minds.

"Let's just..." Booth gestured, bringing their attention back to his desk.

"Yes."

She put the pen back between her teeth.

------------

TBC ...Thank you for making me want to write more every time I post a chapter! Some more heat coming up. Real unavoidable heat. Reviews make me happy. I don't want to blackmail you but... Make me happy, ok?