A/N: Watch for another update this evening. I'm going to try and finish the story out tonight, but at least this installment will keep you going until then. (It also gives you something to read in case I oversleep and/or don't get it finished today like I'm hoping. These pain meds are making me very sleepy. Thanks for all your very kind comments and your patience.)

Over the years, the partners had taken turns delaying the inevitable. First there was Booth, with his concern about FBI regulations. Then when his mind changed, Brennan climbed into a taxi, choosing not to turn this particular relationship into a drunken one-night stand. Booth's own reticence for one night stands; Brennan's insistence that she wanted nothing more; all those little moments when it should have happened, could have happened, should have happened, would have happened if only they both hadn't been so damn stubborn—it was like a twisted tango, complete with discordant music and really, really bad timing that would have had Cupid and Aphrodite gnashing their teeth.

In similarly clueless fashion, the dismantling of that mutually bricked wall between them began on the steps of the Hoover Building. Raining emotional bricks sent them running for cover and plaster dust then clouded their vision long enough to send them to opposite corners of the world and into the arms of others before the partners finally began to match each other's dance steps. All in all, it was fitting that a shattered mug and disagreement over music were the final blow to everything that stood between Booth and Brennan.

The initial kiss tonight was clumsy—just his mouth mashed against hers in an obvious bid to stop her from continuing to say things he didn't want to hear. When she didn't pull back immediately, Brennan could feel Booth's automatic hesitation. His lips barely moved as he tested the waters for metaphorical shark fins. Unwilling to miss this moment, Brennan finally gave herself permission. She grabbed both sides of his head and dove in. His lips were soft as they had always been and deft as ever, as soon as they recovered from surprise. They parted under hers, allowing her access to the hot recesses of his mouth.

Her sharp mind went fuzzy as his tongue touched hers, doing that little thing that only Booth did, which she couldn't come close to describing but that sent all her senses into a tailspin. Oh, God, he tasted sweet. Like hops and pizza sauce and mi krob, stolen off her plate. Like Seeley Booth, more than anything, just as she remembered him from each of their previous kisses.

Then he was in her own mouth, as she was in his—him, gliding over the ridges of Brennan's teeth, her, exploring the inside of his cheeks. She discovered for the first time the tiny raised scars took a muffled guess after exploring them carefully.

"Torture?"

Booth muttered something abrupt in reply, definitely not wanting to stop the kiss to have a conversation.

She was sure of her hypothesis, and the image of her partner biting into his cheeks to keep from screaming sent a shock of irrational despair through her veins. She could have lost him then, before they had ever met.

He placed his own hands over hers, holding her face so he could kiss her harder yet, warning her not to even think of stopping things yet. Brennan's tongue thrust assertively against his in retaliation as she thought about how she might have missed the chance to ever know his wide grin and goofy sense of humor, potent mix that it was of alpha male mixed with little boy mischief.

Booth dragged his teeth across her lower lip and Brennan retaliated, realizing she might never have seen the ridiculous socks, which, thankfully, he was now wearing again.

She hooked her fingers in his cocky belt, dragging their hips into a deadlock to where she could physically feel the arousal she was now tasting. She ground against him and he pushed back, dropping his hands to cup the curve of her backside. As she was momentarily distracted, their teeth clashed painfully.

Booth's kiss stopped for just a second, his eyes opening to make sure that she was okay.

She didn't want to think about never knowing his kindness, his inviolable code of honor and irrationally steadfast belief in them.

"Bones?"

She dragged him back in, willing him to forget the minor cut on her lip and the uncertain diagnosis now tormenting both of them. This time he was more careful when their mouths met. His hands moved back to safer terrain at the sides of her waist and his exploration of her mouth turned gentle. Caressing.

Brennan didn't want that tonight. She needed the aggressive side of her partner this evening; the side that would kill to save her.

Anger built in her at his continued care, until she finally yanked back, furious at the tears filling her eyes all over again. She hated the concern on his face.

"Don't treat me like I'm going to break."

"Whoa. Hey." Booth frowned.

She slapped the hard wall of his chest and simultaneously tried to pull away. To her surprise, he didn't let go. Instead, he backed her against the kitchen counter and held onto her shoulders tightly.

"There's nothing fragile about you, Temperance." Booth's eyes darkened until they looked almost angry. "I don't know at what point something's finally gonna make you break, but cancer—or waiting to find out about cancer—isn't it."

"But I'm afraid!" Brennan cried, giving voice to her weakness for the second time that evening and hating the flood of renewed tears rolling down her face.

"Who wouldn't be, faced with what's been hanging over your head for the last two weeks?" He leaned in and glared into her face. "Bones, I was afraid every time they walked me into that torture chamber. Does that make me weak?"

He knew she knew, but they had never discussed his experiences being tortured.

"Does that make me weak?" he demanded again. "The fact that I was afraid of maybe having my eyes put out or my fingers cut off? Or worse yet, just vanishing, so nobody would ever know where to visit my grave?"

"You had a rational reason for being afraid."

"Newsflash: So do you," Booth snapped, releasing her shoulders and bracing a hand on either side of the counter. "Tell me what you need, Temperance. I'll give you anything you want, except walking away. I'm not going anywhere anytime ever again. So stop pushing!"

"I want to live."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

He was a hypocrite. That much, Booth knew. Here he was telling her it was okay to be afraid when he was also shaking in his stripy socks and had no intention of letting her know. She was scared, so Booth couldn't be. End of story. An idea presented itself that he acted on without over-thinking.

"Go grab a change of clothes."

"Why?"

He shoved his hands into his pockets, trying hard to behave. "You wanna live—let's do some living. Just get whatever you need for a couple of days."

Behave wasn't in Brennan's prodigious vocabulary. She dragged her nails across his chest, starting at the top of his neck and working down toward where her hand still had a dangerous grip on his belt. "We have work tomorrow," she murmured into his neck, where she leaned in to sample his skin. Her teeth matched the play of her nails, sending his libido into the upper stratosphere.

"We're playing hooky." He was unable to resist leaning in for a quick, hands-free kiss. That was easier said than done—once his lips were in close range, Brennan didn't exactly like the idea of letting him get away again.

She played with the clasp of his belt and kissed him heatedly, turning up the thermostat with every swipe of her tongue over his. "I don't know what that means."

He gasped as her hand dropped way lower than his belt. "It means—" He grabbed her hand and wrapped his fingers around it tightly, raising it from the danger zone to a safer spot on his chest. "This isn't happening in your kitchen."

Brennan raised an eyebrow. "Given how traditional you are about such things, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised at your preference for having sex in an established venue."

Booth scowled. That definitely sounded like an insult. "Would you just go get some clothes already?" he demanded, stepping back and raking his hands through his hair. "And don't go making assumptions about my sex life, huh, Bones?"

"You are correct. My assumption was based on faulty evidence—I had forgotten about your dalliance under the fig tree, which would actually imply that you are somewhat of an exhibitionist."

Booth's jaw tightened until it hurt. "That was low, Bones. Way low. Why would you even go there?"

Brennan lifted the melting icepack from the counter and turned to place it back in the freezer. "I suppose I'm somewhat jealous of never having experienced anything similar with you. I'm … sorry."

Only the knowledge that she was hurt kept him from yanking her back out of the freezer and against him. He waited until she closed the freezer again, then reached out and carefully turned her shoulders toward him.

"Don't ever compare yourself to Hannah again. When it happens between us, Bones—and it's gonna happen, if you'll just go get your damn clothes already—it'll be better—way, way better—than the fig tree."

"How do you know it will be better than the fig tree?" she insisted, typically tactless. "What is the scale you are measuring your sexual experiences by?"

"The fig tree wasn't that great," Booth admitted sheepishly. "The ground was rocky and there were ants—a lot of ants, actually—way too many ants all over piles of rotting figs. Wow." He shook his head at the memory. "That, and … the connection between Hannah and me—it was missing."

"Ah." Bones nodded sagely, as though things now made sense to her. "You had only known Hannah a short amount of time. It wouldn't have been long enough to forge the emotional connection that you consider so vital to sex."

"The connection was never there," Booth corrected. "Not under the fig tree or anywhere else. I don't know, maybe I never gave it a chance to be there, but it wasn't."

Brennan seemed to accept this. She thought for a moment before commenting, "We have a connection." Her words were edged with a question mark.

"Since the first five minutes." Booth wrapped one arm low around her waist and pulled her into him. "The connection's always been there between us, Bones, from day 1. Hannah was a mistake. This … isn't."

He waited for her to ask why, but she didn't. A small smile touched her lips and he held back a sigh of relief.

"So where are you taking me to have sex?"

"I'm not taking you there to have sex." He rolled his eyes. "I mean, I am, but I'm not—that's not the reason—" he ended with a sputter that was typical to their conversations. "Geez, Bones. You're making me out to be a pervert or something!"

She pursed her lips, indifferent to his aggravation. "Why do we have to miss work for it? Where is it?"

"Just let me surprise you, Bones. Okay?"

"Just one day?" she asked suspiciously.

"Just one," he promised, grinning playfully. "Unless you decide you want to stay longer."

"I won't," she said firmly, pulling away and starting down the hallway. "I've already missed enough work already."

"I'll take that bet," he called after her. "You'll never want to leave after you see this place."

"You're a degenerate gambler. You shouldn't be betting!" she yelled from the bedroom. "Will you get my iPod? I want to listen to music wherever we're going."

"Only if you promise we won't listen to Heart," Booth countered, going into the living room and scanning the scene for the small musical device they'd been tussling over earlier. He refused to think about how their tussle had ended.

"I like their music," Brennan complained.

"Bones, if you want to listen to power ballads," he located the iPod and picked it up, testing it for power. "Try Journey. Chicago. Boston. Kansas. They had some monsters in their day."

Brennan emerged from the bedroom in a fresh set of clothes with a small travel bag in hand. "Why would I want to take a trip to any of those states to listen to music, when it's readily available on my Shuffle?"

Booth winced. "C'mon, Bones. You've never heard of Chicago? If you leave me now …"

She looked at him blankly.

"No? Seriously? I'm gonna take you by surprise, and make you realize, Amanda? No? You have to know Don't stop believin' …"

"The last lyrics seem more familiar."

"They'll be a lot more familiar by the time we get where we're going," Booth muttered, heading for the door. "Chop chop, Bones. Three hour drive, not much traffic at this time of night … if we hurry, we can make it there by sunrise."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

A/N: Sorry if the writing isn't great or there are a lot of typos. I hate being all doped up. I'm hearing that people are having trouble reviewing this chapter, maybe because they commented already on "Not an Update." If so, feel free to PM. =)