Spoilers: Only if you're into bird documentaries.

Disclaimer: This documentary I quoted is not mine...It belongs to the BBC. No joke. I didn't make this up...

Author's Note: Okay, I'm back! I was away for the Christmas week, so haven't had time to update. Well, technically, I didn't have a computer to update. I had enough time to hand write four chapters. Now I just have to type them all, which'll probably take a fortnight. But here's chapter thirteen for now! Enjoy! Thank you to al my reviewers! I love you all!

Brennan sat on the couch with Booth, staring at him in disbelief, eyebrows raised. He sat perfectly comfortably, eyes straight ahead, a smile on his face. She couldn't take it any longer.

"Booth, why are we doing this? It's only just...evening!" She glanced at her watch then shoved it in Booth's face. He finally turned to face her, grabbing her hand in the process, holding it securely.

"Please, Bones. Okay, three things: We are doing this because it's fun," he marked them off with his fingers. "Would you calm down and act like a normal person? And finally, stop sticking things in my face!" For effect, he linked his fingers with her, still holding her hand, and shook their entwined hands in front of her.

Brennan was beginning to get frustrated with him, but could see that he had a point. She decided to deal with both.

"Okay, sorry, but I was just making my point."

"Again," Booth muttered, interrupting. She shot him a look; he held his free hand up in surrender, permissing her to continue.

"And this, Booth," she motioned to the television, "Is not fun. It's purely annoying. You are like a child!" He changed the channel again, making his point. "With attention deficit disorder..."

This time it was a documentary on the mating habits of puffins, narrated by someone clearly in awe of such a practice. Booth and Brennan were silent.

"...The beaks become gentle tools for fondling each other..."

At this, Booth laughed loudly, entertained by this wording. Brennan was torn between fascination and embarrassment. The awestruck narrator continued:

"...Some courtships take up to two years..."

Booth went slightly red as they listened to the narration, eyes glued to the screen, refusing to meet the others'. Brennan tried to extricate her hand from Booth's, clearing her throat quietly.

His grip tightened.

She stole a look at him, intending to tell him off, but as soon as she looked at him, her whole body stopped. She couldn't form words, or move away; he was staring at her so intently. She was frozen.

Booth tried as hard as he could to tell her what he wanted to with his eyes. He knew he was being a coward. If he said something, there was no taking it back. But if he didn't...If he didn't, he could deny anything she saw; he could pretend nothing had happened.

Chances are that someone of her social awareness wouldn't pick up on it anyway. At least, that's what he told himself.

Either way, he was terrified.

Booth took a deep breath, holding it. He raised his free hand to her face, palm molding around her jaw, thumb resting on her cheekbone. Of their own accord, her eyes fluttered closed.

He let out his breath, somewhat unaware that he had been holding it. She didn't hit me..., Booth thought thankfully. She bit her lip. She was lost now...

They sat like this while the TV droned on pointlessly in a completely different world; Booth studying her, smiling slightly when he realized he had her incapacitates, if only for a short amount of time. Before she realizes that I do, he thought unhappily.

But all his thought processes stopped instantly and most pleasurably when she turned her face and pressed her lips to the ball of his hand, apparently not incapacitated enough.

He pulled their entwined hands to his chest, forcing her closer. She finally opened her eyes, too slowly meeting his. She swallowed, still biting her lip as she did so, moving only centimetres closer.

Booth wanted to grab her just then, but he knew he couldn't; he was treading seriously thin ice as it was.

Every ounce of self control screamed at him as he, too, moved towards her, angling her face slightly upwards with his hand on her jaw.

Her breath shook; this was dangerous. Beyond the point of no return, as people say. But when he moved her face, her breath stopped completely. He was going to kiss her.

Booth moved closer still, stopping only an inch away, still staring into her eyes. The both closed their eyes and parted their lips as Brennan moved to close the distance between them, grasping his hand tighter, against his chest.

Suddenly the quiet documentary behind them ended, and a loud ad come on, yelling at them both.

They tore themselves apart, suddenly finding themselves hiding behind opposite arms of the couch. Brennan's eyes were wide, Booth's jaw clenched, both gripped the small hotel-room couch as if their lives depended upon it. In truth, they were trying to maintain self-control.

After about five minutes of staring at each other, terrified, Booth spoke.

"I have to go," he said bluntly, as fast as possible. Booth had made it to the door before Brennan could protest or agree.

As he rested his hand on the door handle he turned around to look at a very stunned and confused Brennan, who was still standing, holding the arm of the couch tightly.

He frowned slightly, debating inwardly, then, to her surprise, he smiled at her affectionately.

"Goodnight, Temperance," he said, closing the door quietly behind him.