Title: Beyond the Fear

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.

Rating: This one is an M.

A/N: Thank you so much for all your lovely reviews. I have been so pleased with the response to this. I hope you will continue to enjoy – especially my little piece of exhibitionism in this one.

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He wore a dark grey t-shirt and jeans – a casual look that she was sure she could easily become accustomed to. Cradling a cup of coffee in a Jeffersonian mug, his eyes were dark and distracted, his gaze ravaging the laboratory as he searched for Camille, seeking to vent his anger on her. She had been curiously absent all afternoon, and Temperance had the distinct feeling that she was purposely staying away. All notions that Brennan had of giving Dr Saroyan what she wanted had been strategically coaxed away the night before by Booth.

"This is all my fault…" Angela moaned, burying her head in her hands. "I thought she knew…" Booth leaned against the steel gurney, his legs crossed at the ankles. Brennan ran her gaze along his legs, over the solid muscles of his thighs, to the subtle bulge between his legs. She hated that she was more aware of him, yet the tingle of her skin made her almost euphoric.

"It is, kind of," Booth agreed, sipping his coffee. Angela shot him a look, and he shrugged. "Well it is," he sighed. "It's going to take forever to actually make anyone believe we're capable of doing this," he gestured to the space between his body and Brennan's, "and this," he finished, gesturing now, to the lab. "Work and play, in the FBI's eyes, to not to hand in hand." Brennan watched him trail his fingers through his hair, digging his scalp. "Has anyone seen Camille?" he asked, placing his cup on the counter. Brennan dropped her hand to his arm, her fingers pressed firmly against his bicep. "I'd like to speak with her," he almost whispered, turning his body away from the others. "I can't imagine what possessed her to do this…"

"Agent Booth?" together, they turned, finding Dr Goodman at the top of the steps, his arms folded. "I didn't expect to see you here. How are you…?" His eyes shifted between them, quizzical, and suspicious. Brennan slipped her hands into her pockets, her feet shifting. The last thing she wanted to do today was answer awkward questions about her relationship – simply because she felt certain it was no one else's business.

Booth stepped forward. "I'm sure you didn't," he said, his tone hard and firm. "I was just here to finish off some case reports, tie up some loose ends. Since," his eyes shifted to Brennan, "Temperance and I will be working indirectly with one and other now, we felt it best to ensure all our outstanding reports were signed off." Goodman sighed, lifting his palms.

"I apologise," he said, "and I understand your frustrations, Booth," he said. It was Temperance who moved forward, her shoulders pushed back, her chin held high indignantly.

"I thought you were my friend," she said, sounding rather petulant. "Why didn't you request a meeting? Why go straight to Cullen?" Goodman rocked backward, lifting his eyes to the metal structure above his head.

"You have to understand Temperance, I do not have time to play mediate these office dilemmas. In the Jeffersonian there are more departments than just anthropology…" he sighed, his expression telling of his guilt. "I am sorry, but I am obliged to act upon professional recommendations. As director of this inst…" Booth shook his head.

"You know, it doesn't even matter," he said, his tone decisive. "Sooner or later, you'll need to put us back together. It's inevitable. We're the best." To anyone else, Brennan knew he would have sounded egotistical, placing too much credence in his own abilities. But the truth was, their success rate was high, and their partnership was solid – forged by trust and respect. They were efficient, logical, and productive. Goodman blinked. "And I don't believe your hands are tied," Booth added. "You're focused only on the reputation of your institution, so much so that you'd give Dr Saroyan a job instead of Brennan and separate a perfectly functional partnership out of fear of… what…?" he shrugged, shaking his head.

"I don't believe Dr Goodman is under obligation to explain himself to anyone," everyone turned to where Camille stood, briefcase in hand. Her hair had been pulled back from her face, looped neatly at the nape of her neck. She swept her gaze across the platform. "I made the recommendation," she said. "Based purely on what I deem best for this department." Hodgins slipped his gloves from his hands, tossing them aside.

"Is she the reason for what you said, Angela?" he asked, and Angela shook her head, slowly.

"No," she whispered, her voice a low hiss. "It would be better if we discussed that another time." Camille raised an eyebrow, turning back to Goodman.

"I'm prepared to face the consequences of my actions," she said slowly, "and if looking out for the best interests of this department will make me enemies, I'm not sure I want us to be friends." Booth stepped forward, moving away from the crowd. He took her elbow, directing her roughly towards the entrance. He swiped his card, and she shook him free. "Excuse me," she hissed, turning to glare. "Careful where you put your hands, Seeley," she snapped.

"You're looking out for no one's best interests but your own," he whispered, his voice hoarse as he stepped outside of the building, a blustery wind whipping at his bare arms. "You need to stop this, Cam," she blinked, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "It's immature and petulant and personally, I imagined you were above this kind of game." Her eyes flew to his.

"Work, Booth," she said slowly. "I'm interested only in maintaining a high standard within the Jeffersonian. That's what I am paid to do." She stepped away from him. "It's got nothing to do with you. And to think it is, well, that's just egotistical on your part, isn't it, Booth?" She strode towards the doors, her back stiff and her spine straight.

"Good," he called after her, his fingers hooked into his belt. "Because what I feel for her goes far beyond any consideration I'll ever have for this institution. Or the FBI." Camille stopped, watching the forensic department through the glass. Goodman was gone and Brennan was talking to Angela, her shoulders slumped, her lab coat unbuttoned as she toyed idly with her necklace. "And if you are playing a game, it isn't going work." She cleared her throat, striding on, the doors breezing open as she left him outside. As she continued on around the platform, Brennan and Angela were silenced, turning towards the doors. Brennan caught his eye, her silent question speaking volumes as her fingertips touched the sunstone beads of her necklace.

He shook his head, and she swiped her card, descending the stairs, coming towards him. He felt cold, knowing that he probably had not helped the situation by antagonizing Camille further, get he was inexplicably defensive when it came to Brennan and he felt as though he was obliged to defend his feelings. She stood before him, her aquamarine eyes filled with unspoken words. He slipped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her against his chest, despite knowing he shouldn't show such blatant affection towards her. "It'll be alright," he promised. "Sooner or later, they'll realise they've made a mistake." Brennan shifted against him, pressing her cheek deeper into his chest. He smelt of her soap that he'd used in the morning, a mixture of tea tree and pine. "They have to." His fingers moved over her spine, and she tilted her hips towards him, brushing his crotch. "I shouldn't be…" he sighed, knowing that his arousal went against everything they were trying to prove.

"I know," she agreed, shaking her head, circling her hips against his anyway. "I'll be finished about six tonight," she told him, her arms slipping around him. "Do you want to come by?" He nodded against her hair, his lips skimming her brow.

"That would be nice," he whispered, kissing her temple. "I'll see you then." When he released her, her arms felt empty and she wished they had never climbed from bed at all that morning. Each minute he wasn't touching her was another moment she was distracted by her desire to be touched. "Do you want me to bring anything?" he asked, digging into his pockets for his keys. Brennan shrugged. "Food? Some wine?"

"Whatever you like," she said, turning away from him.

"Temperance," he called, looping his key over his finger. "I'll miss you." Her heart swelled, for she had not been told for so many years that she'd be missed. Not by anyone. It made her painfully aware of her own feelings and how much he meant to her.

"I know," she said, still too afraid to admit to him how important he was. "I'll see you tonight."

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Temperance suspected that there would be tension in the lab, but she was not prepared for the chilliness that blanketed everyone, casting a sombre mood throughout every crevice of the building. All afternoon she'd stayed in her office, preferring not to ensure the hostility between Angela and Hodgins, she and Goodman and she and Camille. It felt as though they were high-school children, stuck in some petty game.

As she slid her key into the lock, she started, a strong pair of arms slipping around her waist, pressing her body against the door. She felt his hot breath against her neck, and she tilted her head, offering her flesh to him. His moist lips found her earlobe, and he suckled there, his hips pressed against her ass. She sighed, feeling his hands on her hips, drawing her back towards him. She ground against his body, her head dropping back against his shoulder. His fingers found her breasts, his hands kneading her flesh, and beneath his palms, her nipples hardened. She felt the worries of her day wash away under his ministrations, and as one hand slip into her bra, stroking her naked skin, she murmured his name, quite sure that such activities were considered indecent in the hallway.

His thumb and forefinger pinched her nipple, bringing the hard nub to a tight point, puckered and urgently pressing. She sighed, her lips brushing his jaw, her tongue tasting the rough stubble she felt there, and his free hand slipped into her pants. "I've wanted you all day," he whispered, his fingers touching her folds through her panties. She bucked into his touch, so easily manipulated by what he could do to her. The night before, he had soothed away all her worries, bringing her to climax three times before allowing her to sleep. When he stopped, she was unconscious within minutes, her body fatigued. Now, as his fingers slipped into her panties, parting her folds, stroking her clitoris, bringing a new wave of warm wetness. Somewhere down the hall and around the corner, Brennan heard a door slam and she jerked. His finger suddenly poised at her entrance.

She lifted her body, her fingers clenching his hair tightly, her lips parted as she offered breathy encouragements. With her other hand, Brennan flicked open her button, circling her own clitoris while his fingers slid into her body, stretching her muscles as she rocked against his hand. "This is so bad…" she whispered, his index finger curling inside her, pressing against her spongy inner walls until she bit out a harsh cry, her teeth biting hard against her lip. She tasted the metallic flavour of blood on her tongue and when she turned her head, his mouth was on hers, stroking the crevices of her mouth while his fingers, combined with hers, brought her higher and higher, urging her towards climax. His tongue soothed away her infliction and her hips began circling, round and round to a rhythm created by his strokes.

When he stroked faster, she tensed, clenching her muscles around his fingers, waves of intense pleasure flooding her womb. He pressed the pads of his fingers against her walls and she cried out, biting hard on his lips now, too. His arm tightened around her, holding her against his chest, urging her orgasm on.

Her limbs felt like liquid when he removed his hand from her pants, his fingers covered in her warm nectar. She caught the scent of herself, heady and prominent, lingering in the hallway. She smelt sex, and it excited her further. Turning in his arms, she pressed her mouth to his. "Is this a prelude?" she asked, sounding hopeful. He smiled, dropping a kiss to her nose.

"Well," he whispered, touching his fingers to his lips, tracing his tongue where her wetness and touched, "where my fingers just were, I want my mouth to be." She visibly trembled, brushing her breasts against his chest. "Open the door, Temperance," he ordered, his eyes suddenly dark with desire.

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