Little Black Dress

Booth walked through the nearly empty parking garage, the smell of cold cement and exhaust familiar and oddly comforting. Her text messages had been brief but painfully disappointing.

Booth

She always sent that one first, as if she needed to get his attention. She still didn't seem to realize that she'd had his attention from the moment he walked into that college lecture hall and his eyes fell on her for the first time.

May not make it over tonight have to stay very late at the lab

Booth had talked about this upcoming anniversary for at least a month. He wanted to plan something special to mark the occasion but she'd insisted that it wasn't important. Anniversaries in general weren't important. It seemed like a silly habit. As if marking the passage of time together had some bearing on whether they would have a future. It was superstitious and unnecessary. Unnecessary to her anyways.

He felt differently, it wasn't some kind of superstitious act meant to secure the future it was a celebration of how far they'd come. They'd come pretty damn far, especially for them. It was the one year anniversary of the night she showed up soaking wet on his doorstep. She'd boldly proposed an experiment to prove once and for all whether there was a difference between making love and crappy sex. Her insistence that they not mark this anniversary seemed like fear to him, her fear. Celebrating would make the last year too real for her. More importantly it would shine a light on just how intertwined their lives had become.

Increasingly agitated as the week went by he watched her wind up and distance herself more and more. He decided to keep things low key, for her sake. He arranged to send her flowers and opted for a simple dinner in and a quiet night together. Her text came immediately after the confirmation email that the flowers had been delivered. It served as a painful reminder, his suspicions must be right. He would dial it back a little more for her. Maybe he would drop by the Jeffersonian later, maybe he'd steal her away for a bite to eat at the diner. That was normal for them, public, safe, they would have to keep their hands to themselves if they went out like that. Sweets, Cullen, the FBI, still didn't know about that change in their relationship status. At the diner she could pretend they weren't together rather than sink into the deep abiding knowledge that they were and that they had been for a year.

Her office was empty when he got there, just one desk light on; shining a single light on an envelope below. It was addressed to him.

Booth,

This is for you. You can use my private bathroom to change.

Bones

Therewas nothing there by the note. He went to check the bathroom. Hanging on the wall hook he found a suit bag, below it a shoe box. Everything was neat, perfectly laid out from the trouser socks and sock garters on top of the shoe box to the fedora with the striped ribbon on the stool next to the ensemble of bags and boxes. He poked his head back out of the bathroom to look around. Her office still dark, the lab completely still. Ducking back into the bathroom he followed directions and changed.

Running late she'd wobbled on the thin heels just as she had the first time she wore them. Feeling unbalanced in more than one way she bent low to the ground and worked the combination to her home safe. Temperance Brennan had never done anything like this, never planned anything for a lover and friend like she had planned this night. Despite all her efforts to stay calm, her heart raced and her hands quivered as she pulled the old boot box from the safe and dug in it frantically. Staring down at the items in the box she took a deep breath, grabbed the item she'd been looking for and shoved the whole mess back in the safe without even closing the box properly. She didn't have time.

Grabbing a long trench coat she pulled it on and tightened the belt firmly around her waist. This was it, she was ready. She raced back to the lab.

Nothing could prepare her for the look of pure pleasure in his eyes as he swaggered out of the bathroom unaware of her presence. It stole her breath. The smile that lit up his face, showed off the beautiful lines around his eyes that seemed to have deepened over the last year of smiles and laughs they'd shared together. Frozen, she stood unable to move. They stared at each other locked in some dance that took place in the space between them; broken only when his eyes reached the small black bows on her heels.

Pulling her eyes nervously away she straightened the ties of her long bulky trench coat without saying a word. Then he in one seamless movement he appeared there, in front of her. His hands fell on hers, gently moved them aside as he worked the knot of her coat as if it had been the bow to a present. He unwrapped her. Finding below the coat the little black dress he'd picked out for her when they were undercover in Vegas. The same dress that only a year ago he'd asked about on the floor of her apartment surrounded by the memories, good and bad, that made her the woman he loved.

Breathy and light headed the pair pressed into a long passion filled kiss, pressed into their past, into this moment.

"We're going to be late." She spoke nervously against his lips unwilling to separate from him, carried away by the feel of his hands on her.

"To where?" Feeling the same pull to be close to her he held on as he kissed down the long slope of her neck and shoulder. Going out seemed like a terrible waste of time, he wanted to be here, be at home, at a hotel, just about anywhere but a public place.

A breathy whisper finally escaped with great effort. "Bohemian Caverns, we have reservations in twenty minutes." She sounded torn and disappointed which only magnified as he pulled his warm strong hands from her and stepped back.

"Reservations?" Moved by the amount of planning and care for detail she'd taken he pulled her back into a long solid kiss.

Their drive through the rainy streets brought back memories. She'd planned several surprises for the evening and while everything had come together far better than her expectations she was still nervous about the last one.

"You okay, Bones?" His tender voice broke through her worry.

"Yes." She smiled sweetly back at him as she let out a long held breath and squeezed his hand. "Yes. I am more than okay, Booth." The fluid white curve of piano keys that lit up as an overhang to the Bohemian Caverns' heavy wood doors came into view.

What followed was a whirlwind of splendor. The caverns, carved out cave structures that surrounded the band and performers had small private inlets with tables and chairs. She'd used her name and pull to reserve a private alcove just for the two of them. The undeniable magic of the dimly lit room with stalactites dipping low from the ceiling and cool blue, green, and purple lighting carried them away to another time and era. While the warm jazz melted away her anxiety over another surprise she had yet to share. It was perfect, and he told her so about a million times in a million ways. The food, the music, the dancing, even her long explanation of the history of the club as they looked at old black and white photos from the 1920s when it had been the Crystal Caverns, it had all been perfect. So perfect and transfixing that the thought of leaving had been hard for either of them to consider, both afraid to break the magic of the night.

But the last long slow dance, the feel of his hands as they slipped lower and held her tighter pushed them towards the ultimate end to their evening. Their needs and desires had become more demanding, louder than the music. The drive from the Caverns to his apartment ended up closer than the drive to hers. They drove to his barely stumbling through the door as the need to be together overwhelmed them.

She'd planned for this end of the evening as well. Booth stopped short when the dimly lit living room revealed a fine set of champagne flutes and a bottle chilled on ice. Holding her hand he looked back at her with a sincere look and shock and appreciation.

"Bones, I, I just don't even know what to say. When did you do all of this?" He asked as he helped her out of her coat.

"This? This I did on my way back to the lab this evening. It's really not that much, Booth." But it was; it was that and much more to him. It was everything to him. Every little detail had been intended to make a perfect night for him from the clothes she bought for him that matched exactly the clothes from Las Vegas, to her little black dress. It had all been perfectly set in motion not because she felt that anniversaries were important but because she knew they were important to him. He pulled her into his arms. There was no way to tell her how much each little detail meant to him, how they added up to a strong future in front of them.

Champagne poured, glasses full, they made their way to the bedroom. Playfully he whispered every thought, every desire that little black dress had inspired over the years as he acted on them. He stopped suddenly, surprised by the sound of paper crinkling.

He chuckled. "What's that? Is there a wad of money in there you've been hiding since Vegas?" He felt as her heart rate jumped, her breath became short and shallow. She didn't answer. Her serious eyes just stared back at him. There was something there, there must be given her reaction. He wrapped his arms around her unzipping her dress just a little as her head fell heavy on his shoulder for support. Pulling back he let the bodice fall loose between them revealing a small folded piece of paper wedged in her cleavage.

Studying her eyes carefully for permission he reached for it as he swallowed his own trepidation. This was part of the gift of tonight; he knew it without a word being spoken. It was dirty, heavy paper, folded carefully, and he recognized it immediately. This was the paper she'd taken from him last year, the paper she'd told him she wasn't ready to share. He realized then, this had been the real present of the evening, everything else, every incredible detail had just been wrapping for this moment.

He staggered backwards and sat on the edge of the bed. "You're sure?"

Closing her eyes she nodded, yes.

"You know you don't have to if you're not ready?" He'd felt how anxious she'd been from the moment he'd been alerted to the paper.

Coming to sit next to him she finally spoke. "It's yours, Booth, it was always yours."

Reaching he laid a soft kiss on her temple then turned his attention to the paper, gently unfolding it. He knew the minute he opened it what it was. One of the pages from the beginning of her book, her handwriting wedged around printed text. Struck by the wobbliness of her writing he knew how nervous she must have been when she wrote it. So many cases, so many files, her handwriting had always been so perfect and uniform. Not on this note. There had been an obvious difference, she'd been locked in a car, buried alive, left to die. These were the last words that she thought she'd ever send out into the world. A note that would have been found on her body if they'd died before they were found. The weight of it all was profoundly heavy. The fact that it had been written too him, that she had chosen him, even more so.

She hooked her arm through his and leaned her body on his side as he read silently. Watching his breathing change as he read, she held him a little tighter. Carefully she wiped a stray tear as it fell on the precious paper and began to roll. It was a confession of love, her love for him and an acknowledgment of his adoration for her. It was her heart poured out into simple words long before there was any talk of an experiment about making love. Proof that what he had felt building between them, what had sought expression through her insistence on that experiment had been real. More real than he realized last year.

He was overwhelmed by the sudden realization that she had been conscious of it too. As it turned out she had been the brave one, impatient, unwilling to wait any longer, she found a way to let him know. Through that silly experiment in making love she gave him a way to let her know how much he loved her.

Reverently he set the precious piece of their history on his bedside table. He stood and pulled her up to stand silently in front of him, his eyes fighting to say what his mouth found no adequate words for. She smiled stepping in just a little closer; tenderly, she wiped the few stray tears he couldn't hold back. He let her undress him, a long slow sensual process of undoing all the preparations for this perfect evening. Each item that fell to the floor left him more tightly wound, more anxious for his turn. She knew it too, her sly smile acknowledged his torture as she watched his hands open and close anxious for their turn to touch her.

Impatient, he finally moved, first he pulled the zipper all the way down, letting that perfect little black dress pool at her feet. Then held her hand as she stepped out of it and into him. Each movement they made, each touch, each kiss, proved all over again that they indeed had found the difference between making love and crappy sex. They'd found it together, found it in the tender expression of their love for one another, found it in the hard and often tense times, in passionate uncontrollable times, as well as the simple day to day times. They'd found it and would hold tightly to it as they built this life they shared together.

Tonight she found it in the comfort and safety of his arms as they found their way into bed among the soft familiar sheets. They found it as he fell into her, into the perfect fit that was undeniably them. He found it as he watched the peace wash over her as she accepted every bit of him, clung to him. Nothing compared to this feeling, this place they found each other in. Anxiously she pulled him lower, closer as he began to move within her. She had to reach him before she got lost in him, in them. She pulled at him until her lips found his ear and whispered softly but with every bit of her heart. "I love you, Seeley Booth. I always have and I fear I always will."

oooooOooooo

A/N You know...this second epilogue just wouldn't leave me alone – it just begged to be written! There is one more but it lies in between these two and I am not sure I'm going to finish that one. Let me know what you think. Do you like Caught better than Little Black Dress or maybe the other way around?