A/N: I know it's been like forever since I've written something, and everyone's probably forgotten about this little story, but over break I was determined to write! So, as a result, you get this: the brain child of next week's preview and my lack of things to do at midnight. ) enjoy!
Disclaimer: Oh, did I forget to mention? My name's Hart Hanson.
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The dictionary defines mistletoe as "a European plant, having yellowish flowers and white berries, growing parasitically on various trees, used in Christmas decorations." Temperance Brennan never knew that it could change her life.
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"Because, sweetie, it's Christmas. This place," Angela raised her hands and looked around at the dimly lit lab at the Jeffersonian, "needs some spirit!" Tapping her foot against the cool ceramic, Angela crossed her arms defiantly across her chest. Her eyes silently dared her best friend, brilliant forensic anthropologist Dr. Temperance Brennan, to tell her 'no'. With a sigh and a quick roll of her eyes, Brennan agreed, turning back to her lab table while a squealing Angela scurried off to string up twinkle lights and hang mistletoe above the doorway to Temperance Brennan's office.
"Doctor Brennan." The voice of Caroline Julian caused Brennan to look up from her remains once again. Was she ever going to identify her World War I victim? "I assume you have the paperwork done for the Moyer case? I would like to put the son of a bitch on trial at some point in the near future."
"Yes, it's right in my office." Caroline followed Brennan into an office now complete with twinkle lights, mistletoe, and a miniature Christmas tree in the corner. Not looking up as she walked through the door, Temperance Brennan was startled to find her partner, FBI special agent Seeley Booth, standing in her way.
"Whoaaa there Bones, nice to see you too," he laughed as she walked straight into his chest. "I've been looking for you."
"Booth, what are you doing here? You know I'm working on my World War I victim, and yes, I did eat breakfast." Silently watching this exchange, Caroline stood with a smirk on her face. She glanced from Booth, to Brennan, to the mistletoe hanging above them in the doorway. She cleared her throat loudly reminding them of her presence. With a single finger, Caroline pointed upwards.
Mistletoe.
Both heads looked up, and quickly back down again. Booth, chocolaty brown eyes growing large and looking anywhere but back at Brennan, began to fidget around in his pockets. He had imagined their first kiss countless times—he imagined it happening during an argument, an argument that got so heated he couldn't help but push her flush against the wall and silence her with a passionate kiss. He imagined a soft, gentle kiss that was comforting after her father had disappointed her yet again. What he hadn't imagined, was this. He hadn't imagined Caroline Julian having to push him towards her, or having their first kiss take place under forced pretenses. He wanted her to want to cross The Line, not be thrown across it. He wanted to kiss her right.
Not like this.
But, as it seemed, he didn't really have a choice. And a kiss with Temperance Brennan was a kiss with Temperance Brennan, whatever the conditions. It may not have been exactly how he imagined it, but he would make this the perfect kiss. It would be worth the three years of agony he'd had to live through, three years of agony where he stole hugs where he could get them, took any excuse to touch her, hold her. His eyes flicked across her face; her steel blue eyes and porcelain white skin seemed to glow under the twinkle lights. Slowly, ever so slowly, he leaned forward. And in his wildest dream come true, she was leaning forward to meet him. It seemed to take the lips hours until finally, finally, they met.
They crossed the line.
It was a sweet, passionate kiss. Three years of pent up desire, passion, and tension were buried in that kiss. Three years of "guy hugs", three years of wanting and waiting. There was no short, simple, swift peck of the lips, followed by flushed faces and forced, awkward laughs. No, there was none of that. There was Brennan, clutching Booth by the lapels of his suit jacket, her mouth moving against his in perfect rhythm. There was Booth, his arms wrapped tightly around her small figure, a hint of a boyish smile evident on his lips as he kissed the woman he loved. His partner, his best friend. His Bones.
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To Temperance Brennan, mistletoe had always just been a plant. Now, when she looked at the doorway to her office, a smile spread across her face. Mistletoe had erased the line, had been the magnet forcing her and Booth together. Finally. I'll have to remember to thank Angela for that.