~ A Storm Named Temperance ~

Dr. Temperance Brennan did nothing less than storm fiercely out of the elevator and into the bullpen outside of Booth's office. Fisting a folded piece of paper, arms swinging in consternation.

All heads turned immediately in her direction. Some whispers floated and mixed, making them indistinguishable. Others were plain, uttered quietly, but intended to be heard. Someone, though no one would admit to it, hummed the theme of the wicked witch from The Wizard of Oz. The agents and techs tried not to laugh. Their mistake was in thinking that she didn't hear them. Her hearing was exceptional, just like the rest of her. She didn't stop, didn't react, they and their petty opinions weren't her concern at the moment.

They watched as she assaulted locked office door. Shaking it violently as if that would turn a magic key and unlock it or, more importantly, make Booth appear. Pounding it in frustration and pure unfettered anger, she roared at the door. He was gone. She hadn't counted on that. He was supposed to be there, to be a voice of reason, to calm her down. She turned sharply on her heel and glared at the small groups of agents, who quieted suddenly and looked back at her in fear.

Letting out a loud huff of air, she stomped back to the elevator.

Fine, she thought to herself, I'll deal with it myself. Her finger reached out poking violently at the button for Sweets' floor. She sunk back in the elevator and crossed her arms over her chest as she watched the floors light up and pass by.

Her thoughts raced. Since her interns death, there's no doubt it had been difficult. She juggled her grief, her new relationship with Booth, the one no one knew about, with the exception of Angela, the anxieties and fears associated with having her stronghold, her safe place breached in such a devastating way. But, she was dealing with it, coping. Then, she comes into work and finds this "official" letter. It was one thing too many. She would cope with the rest, some of which she had to, some of which she wanted to, but, she would not do this. This was asking too much.

By the time the elevator reached his floor, her nose was nearly plastered to the doors, waiting for them to open. She pushed her way down the hall, more determined than ever to make this go away. Passing an angry secretary who demanded she wait, yelling at her, Dr. Sweets was with a client or patient or whatever she called him. Throwing the door open until it slammed into the wall of windows that held it up, she went straight into her argument.

"I will not comply, Sweets. You have no jurisdiction over me. You, you, you can't do this to me, to Booth, just because you want to play with our minds again. Is this because we refused to do partners therapy in the blizzard? Because Booth got angry with you, is that why you're doing this?" The young psychologist tried to answer, but she kept going. "It is, isn't it? You didn't get your way, we said no, and so you found a way to try and force us back into this office."

"Dr. Brennan." Sweets tried to speak calmly and not react to her tirate. "Why don't you sit down and we can discuss this?"

"No. No, I won't sit down in here. I don't want to sit down, not now, not today, not again." She felt her own ability to reason, to speak clearly, faltering as her heart pounded at an exponentially higher than normal rate. "How dare you use Mr. Nigel-Murray's death to your own advantage. Is this another experiment? You, you just think you can run more experiments on us." She was so angry, so full of rage, so focused on Sweets that she hadn't seen him standing at the window or the torn of pieces of an identical letter strewn across the coffee table that divided Sweets from his patients.

"What the hell? More experiments? More? What experiment are you talking about, Bones?"

The whole world came to a screeching halt. Booth and Sweets both stared at her in silence as they waited for her answer, an answer she had no intention of giving. Booth saw her eyes widen, marching to her side, he grabbed her by the upper arm and literally pulled her from the office, as he called back to Sweets over his shoulder.

"This isn't over, Sweets."

Bypassing the elevator, he pulled her into the stairwell and down the stairs. Taking the stairs at a crazy pace until they hit the third or fourth landing down when he yanked her to a stop.

"Where are you parked?" He barked at her, his entire being pumping with adrenaline.

"Taxi." She spit back.

Tugging again on her arm, they kept heading down the stairs. "I'll take you back to the lab."

Normally, it would have seemed like such a kind hearted offer, but she knew him. He needed to get away from the Hoover to calm down. They were almost to his truck, when he pulled her sideways behind a thick cement support pillar effectively pinning her with one strong arm on either side of her. Pushing his body forcefully up against hers, the roar of his heavy breath in her ear, she could feel her heart race as it kept pace with his. She couldn't help the moan that escaped her.

"Temperance." He let his lips fall forcefully on hers in open, uncontrolled kisses, barely able to breathe much less talk in between. "Do you know, any idea, how…" He couldn't finish, his attention moved from her lips to her neck. "Turned on, you make, what you do, when you're mad." He groaned almost painfully as he paced his words unevenly between guttural sounds of pleasure and assaults on her neck.

"Booth." A half-hearted protest at best as she fought for some control. This wasn't the best way to keep their relationship secret, regardless, she found herself giving in. Reaching for his belt buckle, she tugged and pulled him closer. Then, watched with satisfaction as his eyes rolled and his head fall back. It was time for that string of expletives she'd discovered he reserved specifically to indicate the level of his own arousal. He had completely lost control of the situation as he felt her nimble fingers successfully working to undo his belt buckle.

"Okay, stop, because, we should stop now, you know, because, because." For the life of him he couldn't think of a good reason to stop.

"Because we'll get caught." Enunciated perfectly, said so seductively and clear, he moaned painfully and let his head fall on her shoulder. "Caught." She whispered it in his ear as she kissed her way down his neck, his moans went from painful to pitiful. "Right here in the Hoover parking structure."

He pulled away, batting at her hands as she fought to unhook his dress pants. Finally getting some distance, he laughed, shaking his head at her as he tucked his shirt back in, rehooked his pants, and fixed his belt. Grabbing her once again by the upper arm, he pulled her towards the truck ignoring her giggles, depositing her in the passenger seat and closing the door.

The sound of the doors closing snapped them back to reality and reality brought an ominous feeling with it. They drove in silence for several blocks before he couldn't bare it anymore.

"So, Sweets experimented on us?"

"It was a long time ago."

"You never told me." A touch of hurt echoed in his voice.

"You would have killed him."

"Probably." Taking her hand, he gave it a little squeeze then lifted it to his lips for a quick kiss. He caught her biting her lip nervously, eyeing him carefully. Always in a state of careful consideration, this lady he loved, always thinking it all the way through to the end before acting.

"When you died for those two weeks." She added softly.

"I didn't die, Bones, you know that."

"I didn't know it then, Booth, to me you were dead." The words stung. They'd never really talked about it, after everything happened with Zack, it had been dropped and carefully avoided until it was so far in the past that it never came up. "That's not the point. The point is he took my name off the list of people to be notified to quantify my reaction to your death for his book."

Booth was silent. She watched as his knuckles clenched the steering wheel, as his eyes darted between her and the road, as his jaw began a feverish pulse.

"You're right, I would've killed him." He looked over at her at the next red light. "We'll talk more about this, okay? Tonight." He nodded at her and waited for her to nod back in understanding. Her eyes were wide with concern, but the light changed and they turned their attention back to the road driving the rest of the way to the Jeffersonian in near silence. Lingering when he parked to let her out, he could feel her anxiousness rise up. She forced herself to verbalize it, needing his reassurance and comfort.

"What are we going to do about Sweets, Booth, about the order for partners therapy?"

"We'll talk about that too, okay, tonight?" Looking her straight in the eye, giving all the confidence and protection he could offer. "I promise, we'll get this thing with Sweets worked out, but for now we just stick to the plan, right? No one knows." Squeezing her hand, he reminded her. "This is ours." Then laid a quick, gentle kiss on her forehead. "Just between us."

Her smile was all he needed. She hopped out of the truck and made her way into the Jeffersonian, down the twisted halls to the Medico-legal Lab, and into her office with Cam on her heels.

"Dr. Brennan." Bones would never show it outwardly, but she cringed internally at the snide, authoritative edge Dr. Camille Saroyan took with her. "I just got off the phone with Dr. Sweets."

"Cam." She addressed her informally. It was both an effort to stop what she knew was going to be a long, explanation followed by an order she had no intention of following and to put the conversation on equal ground, more like peers talking.

"Dr. Bren-"

She held up her hand. "I don't wish to discuss it, not here, not in Sweets' office, not anywhere."

"Well, you're going to have to, Dr. Brennan, you don't get a choice in the matter."

Looking past Cam, her eyes darted around the forensics platform, up to the plywood covered hole in the ceiling. It had been two weeks and yet the images that flashed in her mind of that day were just as vivid and real as the day they happened. The plywood cast a dark shadow across the floor of the lab, stretched and distorted the way shadows are. They stood on the edge of that shadow as it seemed to taunt and threaten to pull her in. Why did the ordering and replacement of the glass have to take so long?

Absently, she grabbed her labcoat. "We don't have a case right now, I'll be in limbo if you need me." She couldn't stay there, couldn't be swallowed up by it. Bolting out of her office and the center of the lab, her boots, solid and firm, pounded loudly as she went. That was where she placed her focus, concentrated, counting her steps as she moved quickly to calm herself. She didn't hear Dr. Camille Saroyan call after her.

"Ignoring me won't change my decision, Dr. Brennan." Her voice started out loud and authoritative, but quickly quieted and trailed off into almost nothing. Flustered, she rolled her eyes, turned on her heel, and worked her way back to her office, shaking her head in disgruntled acceptance. She'd try Booth, maybe he could talk some sense into her.

Closing the old heavy doors to bone storage behind her, Brennan backed herself up against them and took a moment to catch her breath. She would find solace here, this was what she needed. This and Booth, between the two she was sure she could work through the loss of her intern. Psychology, therapy, Sweets, he wasn't the answer. He was danger and at the moment the center of her greatest fear. That she would gain Booth as a lover and lose him as a partner. It was an unbearable thought. Swallowing hard, she counted to regulate her breathing as she tried to choke back the tidal wave of emotion associated with it.

She managed to stay tucked away safely in limbo for the remainder of the day avoiding everyone. Processing the problem, she turned and twisted it until she'd viewed it from just about every angle. It seemed the order for therapy was unavoidable. The problem, she concluded, was the eventuality of revealing their relationship to Sweets and their co-workers, beyond Angela, who already knew. Sweets, as he had so eloquently pointed out over the years, had power and pull over whether their partnership survived or was dissolved. There had to be some way to leverage that pull to their benefit, rather than have it hang over their heads like a guillotine. Admittedly, she couldn't think of a way to make that happen right now. Her concern, as the day wore on, centered on whether she'd made it worse by her display of anger and resistance.

Booth would tell her not to worry, she reminded herself, that it would all work out. She wondered at times whether he understood, sure that things working out would require their action, their control, rather than happenstance or carefree avoidance on their part. This was one of the many ways in which they approached life differently. That used to scare her, used to be evidence of why they wouldn't work. Even though it had only been two weeks, minus the previous years of interaction, she had come to see that their differences created a sort of balance that suspended both of them between their opposing attitudes and attributes. She craved that balance today, needed his voice, his strong arms, calming words, tender looks and explanations to find it. Waiting for work to be over seemed unbearable.

She made it. In fact, she'd done such a good job in losing herself in her work that she was running late to meet Booth at his apartment. The emptiness of the lab surprised her when she finally came up from bone storage. A quiet that she usually only saw in the middle of the night had usurped the early evening. Gathering her belongings from her office, she fingered the crumpled demand for partners therapy letter before casting it away for good. Enough was enough for today.

She left.

Greeted by a curious sight, she set her belongings down and locked the door of Booth's apartment behind her. There was a candle lit and flickering in the tiny book case that hid his gun safe. Another on an end table by his over stuffed chair, on the coffee table, on the antique liquor cabinet, one she could barely see on his dresser. She followed the path of candles all the way to the bathroom where Booth's old record player filled the steamy air with the low liquid tones of jazz. Followed them right to the tub where Booth waited for her, already submerged in hot steamy water. Balance, without even a word from him, she felt balanced.

"You're late." There was no ire in his voice, only concern.

"I lost track of time." The words tumbled out as she fought to keep herself upright and make short work of stripping with only one goal in mind, join Booth.

Stepping gingerly into the bath, she felt his hands steady her then travel up her thighs as she sank into the water, settling between his legs. He asked her something else, maybe more than one thing, but her mind had wandered wrapped, like her body, in his comfort. His small chuckle brought her back, the smooth movement of his hands under the water sent her adrift again. It took sometime before her body and mind reconnected, unintentionally jolted by Booth's admission.

"Cam came by my office this afternoon."

~ooo0ooo~

A/N Admittedly, this chapter scared me. Especially after such a resounding vote of approval and so many encouraging and wonderful reviews and comments. I hope this chapter didn't disappoint. Please let me know what you think, I'm anxious to know.

Special thanks go out to my dear craftyjhawk who still has patience and commas enough to deal with me :)