Author's Note: I've been writing and rewriting this chapter for so long it's all beginning to sound like gibberish when I read it. I hope it sounds a little better when you read it, and that you react with appreciation rather than derision. But go ahead and let me know what you think either way. I can take it.


Brennan tiptoed out into the darkened living room. The only light was the dim glow of the now dying fire. On the sofa bed, Booth still seemed to be asleep, but he was moving restlessly. Then his voice came again.

"Bones!"

This time it sounded different. She was definitely no expert at reading people's feelings from their voices, but now Booth's voice had a despairing, hopeless sound to it. Whatever dream was causing this, she sincerely hoped that he would never again have to experience anything like it. After all he had been through, he deserved some peace of mind. It seemed to Brennan that the only way to help him was to wake him, but she knew she had to do it slowly and quietly, without getting too close to him. She inched closer, saying his name softly.

"Booth . . ."

There was no apparent response from the figure on the bed. Worse, based on the sounds he was making, Brennan thought that in the dream he must be in pain, or crying. She couldn't stand it. She had to do something. Without thinking, she moved to stand beside the bed and leaned over him in concern, her only thought to help her partner.

"Booth, it's me . . . Temperance."

He moved so quickly that she didn't have time to react. Without quite knowing how she got there, she found herself on the bed with Booth. His arms were around her in a desperate grip and he was muttering her name over and over in a hoarse, low voice. Instinctively she tried to comfort him by putting her arms around him and saying his name softly. Intent as she was on trying to bring him out of his nightmare, she was shocked by his reaction.

Something seemed to change in the way he was holding her. Whatever he was dreaming had changed from pain to . . . something else. His hands moved to slide up under the back of her tank top as easily as if he had done it a thousand times before. Like a blind man's hands in unfamiliar territory, they moved hesitantly at first. Then they seemed to grow more confident, and soon began tracing slow, sensual patterns on her naked skin. His head moved and his mouth began to move from behind her ear slowly down the side of her neck. At first motionless with shock, Brennan couldn't think what to do because what was happening did not seem possible. For a few seconds her brain was unable to function properly. One part of it was still telling her to wake Booth up and try to get him to discuss his nightmare. But the other, more insistent, more dominant part wanted Booth to continue because what he was doing felt so good—so right. She couldn't understand what was happening to her. She was confused by the feelings he was arousing. It was as though she had become part of his dream, and with him there in the warm darkness she could let go and let herself feel all of the things she had been denying for so long. Or was this happening because she was the one who was dreaming? She closed her eyes and concentrated, determined to find the answer to that question.

Booth's mouth was moving with tantalizing slowness along her clavicle. It did not make Brennan feel like she was floating in a dream. Instead, she wanted to grab his hair and move his mouth lower, where she needed it to be. She wanted to feel his mouth on hers until they were both breathless. And she wanted to slide her hands under his T-shirt and explore the muscles of his back, while her mouth moved down his chest to. . . what was she thinking? This was Booth. He was her partner, not her lover. He was dreaming, but she wasn't. She had to figure out how to stop this before Booth suffered even more psychological damage. She was supposed to be the rational one, and she knew that somehow she had to think. But his mouth was moving back up the side of her neck to the delicate skin under her jaw, and his hands were sending delicious, pleasurable sensations through every part of her, and she knew that she wasn't dreaming. The reason her body didn't want her to think was because she didn't want him to stop.

When his mouth finally covered hers she couldn't help herself. She kissed him back. His tongue slid between her lips and mated with hers. He moved his hips restlessly against hers and left her in no doubt about what he wanted. She couldn't ever remember wanting someone this badly this fast. One kiss from Booth and she went up in flames, but she wanted more. She wanted to touch him the way he was touching her. She moved her hands to his waist and her fingers found the smooth, hard muscles beneath his shirt. Her hips lifted urgently against his and her nails dug into his back at the feel of him so close to where she wanted him to be. On that thought her hands fumbled with the waistband of his sweatpants, just as his mouth touched her breast. The moan in her throat was low and involuntary, but she felt Booth react almost instantly to the sound.

For a moment his body was motionless--it felt fused with hers as though separation was impossible. Then he moved off of her so fast, he left her gasping. She could hear him stumbling across the room, breathing hard. It took her a stunned few seconds before she could turn her head to look at him. He was leaning against the wall with both hands, eyes closed, and his chest was heaving as though he had run a race. He looked exhausted, distraught and totally devastated. Instinctively wanting to help, she got up and moved toward him.

"Booth . . ."

"Bones, please, just . . . give me a few minutes, OK?"

"Booth, why don't you sit down and I'll . . ." she began, reaching again for his arm.

"Damn it, Bones! Just leave me alone!"

"All right. There's no need to shout. I was only trying to help," she said quietly, moving back to sit on the bed. She tried, but wasn't entirely successful in keeping the hurt tone out of her voice. He wasn't the only one whose body was aching at being deprived of what it wanted.

Booth turned his face away from her and closed his eyes. The hurt look on her face made him feel awful, but the last thing he needed was for Bones to see the effect she was still having on him. If she touched him again, it would make matters even worse. His mind still couldn't quite believe what his body was telling him had happened. One minute he had been having one of his recurring dreams about Bones, and the next minute he woke up on top of her. God! She must really be disgusted with him. She was his partner, not his lover, and the first chance he got he was practically humping her leg. He wouldn't have any trouble getting her to agree to end their partnership after this.

He willed himself to get back to the quiet, patient, calm place he needed to be in to function. He used the same method he had used countless times when he was a sniper. It had never failed him, and after a few minutes he began to feel calmer. But his brain still couldn't seem to formulate a coherent sentence. At this point he was so punchy from lack of sleep he was beginning to have trouble figuring out if he was awake or dreaming, and that in itself was a danger sign. Hell, maybe he had lost his mind and it was only a matter of time before he completely lost his grip on reality. Then he'd wake up in a strait jacket and find that six months had passed. He rubbed his hand over his face and tried again to pull himself together. He heard the soft sounds of Bones changing her position on the couch. He could feel her eyes on him, watching and waiting--that much definitely seemed real. No doubt she was examining all of the pertinent facts and trying to come up with a logical theory for his behavior. Too bad there wasn't one. He and logic had parted company sometime around Monday, when he had seen her in her office kissing Sully passionately, oblivious to Booth and anyone else who might happen to see them.

Booth winced reflexively at the pain in his gut that image always brought. Although he had tried to blame his problems on his combat nightmares and Epps, deep down he knew what the real trigger was: he was never going to be with the woman he loved because she loved someone else. Epps' death at his hands had bothered him, sure, but it was realizing that Bones was happier with Sully than she would ever be with him that had caused his current meltdown. Then there were the events of tonight. He wished he knew how to say what he had to say. After what he had done what could he say? So much for ending their partnership and retaining her friendship and respect. He had never felt less like facing her, but he didn't really see any possible excuse for delay.

He was finally able to walk past her to the other side of the bed and sit down in the rocker without embarrassing himself. He turned on the lamp as he sat down, although he knew it would probably be easier for him to say what he had to say in the dark. This was going to be the most difficult thing he had ever had to do during their time together, but he owed it to her to be honest. He braced himself for what might possibly be his last conversation with Dr. Temperance Brennan, and began to speak.