Title: Beyond the Fear

Disclaimer: I wouldn't ask for much money from Fox, if they wanted to hire me. I'd be the cheapest writer on their team.

Rating: This is an M rated chapter.

A/N: Wow! Thanks for all the support. I am really so appreciative of the support that you have showed me. I hope you'll continue to express what you want!

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Sid's cousin was smoking on the porch, his back pressed against the door. As the climbed the steps, Booth's arm comfortably present around her shoulders, the proprietor exhaled a plume of bluish smoke. "Morning," he said, dipping his head. "How you enjoying the coast then? A far cry from the city… hmm…?" Temperance nodded.

"It's certainly different," she agreed, her body brushing close to Booth. "But it's a welcome change." She reached her hand out. "I'm Temperance," she said, and Sid's cousin balanced his cigarette between his lips, extending his hand to her, too.

"Jimmy," he said. "My wife, Gina, she makes me smoke outside." Booth lifted his eyes to the heavy clouds, dark and sombre.

"That must be a bummer on days like today," he said. "Any recommendations on what we could do on a day such as today?" Jimmy dispelled another cloud of smoke, infused with a chesty laugh.

"Booth," he said, "This area of Virginia has the highest population rate, because on days like today, there's only one thing you can do." Brennan felt her eyes widen a little, and she stiffened. Booth's fingers tensed on her shoulder, willing her to remain as impassive as she could. "Seriously though," Jimmy said after another chuckle, "Gina and I set up this place as something of a relaxation spot. City folk like you, probably aren't cut out for a day of doing absolutely nothing." Booth tilted his head back, sucking salty air into his lungs.

"Oh, I don't know," he said, "I think I could probably survive." Brennan nodded as Booth reached across the porch, pushing open the door. A blast of warm air blew out and Jimmy seemed to almost shuffle towards it. Brennan stepped inside, wiping her shoes on the rough bristly mat, turning her eyes to the paintings on the wall. Each signed, G. Tanner, the watercolours depicted scenes of extraordinary beauty along the coast, and one was strikingly similar to the view from the garden. "Must be Jimmy's wife," Booth mused, his hand falling to the base of her spine. Where her shirt had crept up, his fingertips touched he skin, and she was drawn away from the artworks, her attention focused instead on the warmth of his body.

"Angela would be in Heaven, here," she commented as they moved along the corridor, took a corner and arrived at their room. She was already anticipating the warm crackling fire, luxuriating lazily in bed all afternoon.

"I thought you didn't believe in Heaven," Booth said as she dug into her pocket, removing the key. Brennan unlocked the door, mulling over his words.

"Define 'Heaven'," she said, moving across the bedroom, removing her shoes. The room was still comfortably warm, and housekeeping had remade the bed, draping fresh robes over the comforter. The curtains were open, and the view was as breathtaking as Brennan imagined it would be. Behind her, Booth stood against the back of the armchair.

"Heaven is where God lives," he said, sounding like a nine-year-old Church goer. Brennan narrowed her eyes, shaking her head. Wavy auburn strands tossed about her cheeks, and he was momentarily struck by how, even as they knew they would eventually be having sex today, their relationship was still firmly rooted in debate. The knowledge filled him with joy – a kind of joy that was almost clichéd in its intensity.

"Heaven," Brennan said, pulling the drapes across the window, plunging their room into a semi-darkness, "is something purely individual." She crossed the room, kneeling by the fire, gathering kindling into her arms. Booth rounded the chair, kneeling beside her. There was something definitively intimate about their comfortable motions as they built a fire. "Angela's Heaven is painting, art. Mine is culture, worldly experiences. Hodgins…" Booth threw her a sideward glance.

"Women," he finished. "Hot, naked women with massaging oil." Brennan chuckled, striking a match. The area around them was illuminated in a bright, orange glow and he noticed how lovely her eyes were when she smiled. "Although, rumour would have it, and I'm not naming names," he coughed, "Zach," and she giggled, "that Hodgins has the hots for Angela." Brennan shrugged.

"I'm not good at reading people," she reminded him, watching the fire as the flame took hold, spreading across the fireplace. Within moments, the chill of the morning was out of her system and she felt just like she had the night before – comfortable and happy. "What do you think?" she asked, turning her body towards him. His hand slid along her arm, over her bicep, his fingers finding the back of her neck. She inhaled, her breath unsteady, catching in her throat.

"I have the hots for you," he said, shifting closer to her. He urged her face to his, their lips meeting in a tentative dance, as though it were their first kiss. She felt a tingling thrill, at the newness of their touches. She was learning about him, what he tasted like, what he felt like when she touched him – when he touched her. Yet, underneath all the unfamiliar newness, Brennan felt as though he were like an old piece of furniture. Shouldn't she have been worried what he thought when her hair wasn't just perfect? Wasn't that what women were supposed to be concerned with?

His fingers massaged her breast through her shirt and she leaned into him, touching his lips with her tongue, tasting coffee there. She felt him sigh against her lips, a soft, reassuring contentedness that made her feel warm inside, too. As his fingers touched her, she felt a sweep of arousal and her between her thighs began to throb, her breasts suddenly heavy. She touched him, his penis hard against the soft curve of her hand. It amazed her that she could arouse such a powerful desire within him that he would be hard after just a kiss. In fact, she believed he was probably hard during their entire conversation.

"Temperance," he whispered against her mouth. She heard the urgency and felt his fingers slip beneath her shirt. She arched her back, leaning into his touch, his thumb circling her nipple through her bra. Brennan lifted her hand, flicking each button of her shirt, parting the folds. Booth leaned back, raking his eyes over her chest, her heavy breasts, tight nipples and his gaze became hooded. "Come here," he said, and she knelt on her knees, his hands slipping along her sides, his thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. She murmured a whisper, her lips dry.

"Tomorrow…" she began, her throat sounding as though she were almost strangled. He lifted his hand, dropping his finger to her lips.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "Tomorrow is then and this," he replaced his finger with his lips, brushing her tongue with his. "is now." Her breasts brushed his chest and he hurried to undress. Her hands slid over his torso, touching the tight bunches of his abdomen, her fingertips lingering over his belly button. She saw him swallow, his tongue slipping over his lips. When he reached for her, she came without question or hesitation, her arms slipping around him, seeking the warmth that he offered – a warmth so different to that of the fire.

When he undressed her, languid and sultry, the only sounds between them were the crackling coals of the fire, and their breaths, deep and slow. He tasted her throat, drawing her natural flavour unto his tongue, swirling around her clavicle. She didn't want to prolong the agony of her own desire, preferring to have him inside her, to feel the unbridled rapture of her body accommodating his size.

She stroked his penis, gathering a drop of his arousal on her thumb. She tasted him, quite certain that it was perhaps the naughtiest, most seductive move she'd ever made. He watched her, his eyes darker than black diamond, with the same lustrous shimmer. The longer she held her thumb between her lips, the darker his gaze became, until his jaw was tight and his muscles were tense. "Temperance," he growled, his hands finding her arms, clutching tight to her biceps. He saw his fingertip had turned her skin white, yet it made no effort to release her. "Crazy…" he whispered, as if awed by their situation. She nodded, a murmur rising in her throat as she pulled her thumb away.

"I'd like you be inside me," she said, resting her weight on his thighs. He felt her wetness his penis brushed the apex of her legs. She was more than ready for him, and the scent of her, combined with the woody fire almost made him dizzy with want. She parted her thighs further and his hands fell to her hips, positioning her body over him. She sank down over him, sheathing him in her molten wetness, and they released a moan together, the sounds of their mutual appreciation were voiced as needy growls.

With each thrust, she murmured his name and his eyes closed as he imagined being inside her forever. He had felt much the same the night before, and he believed it would always be the same. Being inside Temperance Brennan offered him a feeling of rightness. It seemed as though it were exactly where he was meant to be.

She slipped her hand between their bodies, touching herself, one arm wrapped around his shoulder, holding him against her. His tongue touched her earlobe and she tossed her head back, whimpering, her movements frenzied as she sought out the ultimate release. "Umm…" he whispered, "…never want this to end."

His body tensed, and she felt him loose control of his desire. She stiffened, applying pressure to the hard nub between her legs. His embrace around her tightened and her walls clenched around him as she came, dropping an open-mouthed kiss to his shoulder. He tasted of salt and something uniquely Booth.

When she caught her breath, Brennan slipped off his thighs, her muscles aching. Unabashed by her nakedness, she lay back against the rug. He glanced down at her, a fine sheen of perspiration evident on her lovely, rosy skin. "So," she said, draping her arm across her forehead, pulling a breath into her lungs. "About tomorrow…" he sighed, turning his eyes towards the pulsating flames inside the fireplace.

"Yeah," he said, lying next to her, seeking comfort from her body. "About tomorrow…" It were almost as though neither of them truly wanted to approach the subject. Neither wanting to shatter the illusion of perfection that they had created. Inevitably, it was Brennan who sought out the realism of the situation.

"I think," she said slowly, "that we can continue to conduct a professional and stable relationship and when we're not working…" she paused, sweeping her arctic blue gaze over him. "I think we could seriously give this," she smiled, "whatever it is, a shot." He met her eyes. "I told you at breakfast that I hoped we could work something out. I'm a very determined woman." He chuckled, drawing her into his arms.

"Yes," he said. "That you are."

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So, there's Camille and Rebecca to be dealt with in the real world. How's about it, folks? Should I take them back to DC, or leave them eternally in this world of perfection? You tell me. Hit the button.