Thank you so much for all of the support on this story! You guys are undeniably awesome.

This is the way the chapter turned out, and I hope you're satisfied!

Disclaimer: If I owned Bones, you guys would probably have killed me by now for introducing Hannah to the show.

The Chink in the Partnership

She frowns at him and, as always, turns to logic when she's flustered. "Your argument is specious. I could easily escape from the car if I wanted to. It would have been better if you started driving first."

His brow furrows. "What? Why?"

She levels a deadpan look at him. "I have too much common sense to leap out of a moving vehicle, Booth."

Slowly, he nods his head. And then, before she can move, he jams his keys in the ignition again, brings the engine to life, and pulls sharply out of the parking lot.

"Okay then," he says when they're on the road going forty miles an hour. "Thanks for the tip. Now talk."

Damn it. She swallows again. "About what?"

Her attempt to stall is weak, too weak. Booth blows right through it with a scoff and says, "Start at the beginning, Bones. Start…well, start with when you got to the bar."

"What if I say I don't want to talk about it?" she counters.

"Then we're going to waste a hell of a lot of gas," he replies calmly, "because I'm not stopping this car until you tell me what happened."

"This is illegal," Brennan accuses, glaring at him with her arms crossed. "Doesn't this qualify as kidnapping?"

He snorts, shifting his hands on the steering wheel. "Hey, you blackmailed me once. Me, a federal agent."

True. She still doesn't want to talk to Booth about it, though, so she settles back in her seat with her arms folded across her chest. All right. Booth is stubborn, but so is she. She's sure she can out-wait him any day.

It doesn't take to long to prove her correct. Booth shoots her an irritated look, his hands tightening around the steering wheel and his mouth pressing into a stern line. After another moment, he sighs heavily and his expression softens.

"Is it really that bad?" he asks softly. "Whatever happened—was it really that bad? Is that why you don't want to talk about it?"

No, she thinks, not looking at him. It's because of how you might react if I told you the truth. Aloud, she says, "I just don't want to talk about it, Booth."

He sighs again, eyes narrowing. He takes a breath, visibly restraining himself, and says evenly, "Bones…if you really don't want to talk about it, I won't push you."

He won't push her. Of course not. He's so kind, so kind she almost can't handle it. She wants to tell him, tell him all of it right there with complete disregard to the consequences. She wants to tell him how she's been feeling all this time and how she's so tired—tired of watching, tired of waiting, tired of not doing. But…but as always, her logical side slams down its barriers and stops her from making the possibly very stupid mistake of muddling up the situation further with such insubstantial things as feelings.

She sighs heavily, part relief, part regret. She's relieved that he isn't going to push her, yes, but she's also regretful about exactly that. If only he'd push her, just a little, she might get this metaphorical weight off her chest. Maybe if she tells him, she'll stop shivering every time he looks at her or touches her.

No. No. She can't tell him. He's…he's happy now with Hannah, as happy as she's ever seen him. She can't—won't—ruin that for him.

He hears her sigh and shoots her a look. When she doesn't speak, he growls irritably and says, "Okay, screw that. I can't not know what's going on with you, Bones. What on earth's the matter?"

"Nothing," she says automatically.

"Bull," he answers instantly. "Tell me the truth, Bones. You're good at that. The facts, I mean. So give me the facts."

She crosses her arms again, tucking her bulky cast under her other arm. "The man in the bar—Knowles—looked like he was about to hit his girlfriend, so I stepped in. It's that simple, Booth. You would have done the same."

He looks at her with an eyebrow raised. "Yeah, well, I don't believe you."

She looks back at him in genuine confusion. "Why? It's the facts."

"Fact one: Angela knows something's up with you too, and she thinks it's because you're lonely."

"I'm not—"

"Fact two: you're lying to me."

"I'm not—"

"Bones." He glances from the road to her with a knowing look in his eyes. "I'm an FBI agent. I'm trained to see when people are lying. Give me some credit here."

She clenches her teeth and looks stubbornly out onto the road, away from him. Can't he see she doesn't want to talk? Can't he see that she's just as confused by this muddle of emotions within her as he is?

"Are you mad at me?" he asks suddenly, quietly.

The question startles her enough for her eyes to dart involuntarily to his face. "What?"

"Are you mad at me?" he repeats, clearly troubled. "Earlier in the bar, you said you didn't want me there. And in the hospital, you wouldn't let me in the exam room with you. You've been acting weird all night, and you won't talk to me now. Bones, you used to talk to me about anything and everything in the world, and now you don't. So are you mad at me?"

He doesn't look at her, thankfully, because she thinks her eyes would give her away. Yes, she's angry at him. She's so angry sometimes she can't think logically about things, like in the bar and in the hospital. But anger's only a part of it. She's hurt too, and sad, and a million other emotions she's never felt before. He makes her so confused, and she hates it. She hates him. But she doesn't really, and that confuses her that much more.

"No," she says, keeping her voice level with some difficulty.

His brow furrows in confusion. "What? Then what was that at the bar?"

"A momentary lapse in control," she replies matter-of-factly. "I was under the influence of alcohol, and my thought process was impaired."

He snorts. "You're telling me you got drunk on one beer?"

"One?" She shoots him a surprised glance. "Who told you that?"

"Angela, who else?"

Oh, right. Of course. She frowns and says, "Alcohol can have a different effect on different people."

"Right. We've had drinks at the Founding Fathers a thousand times before and I have never seen you drunk, Bones. Not even close."

She hates it when he cuts down her arguments with facts she can't fight against. She hates it even more when logic fails her.

He chuckles humorlessly at her sullen silence. "Have I finally made you speechless? The great Doctor Temperance Brennan?"

"I've been at a loss for words before," she mutters, turning her head to look out the side window. Usually in his company and usually because of what he says. He has that effect on her, an ability no one else seems to have.

After a moment, she realizes they're slowing to a stop, and she looks over at him in surprise. "I thought you weren't going to stop the car until I told you the truth."

He glances at her wryly. "So you weren't telling the truth?"

She flushes, and even in the dim light, she knows he can see it because a wide smile crosses his face.

"See?" he teases. "I don't even have to ask you questions. You just give yourself away."

She flushes harder and stubbornly turns her face away from him, but secretly, she's glad he's teasing her. The mood has lightened, and she gets the feeling that she might get away with most of her secrets intact tonight after all.

She looks up and sees her apartment building looming dark against the night sky. Before he can stop her, she opens the door and slides out of the car, striding for the building the instant her feet hit the ground. She hears him fumble with his seatbelt and slam the car door shut behind him as he hurries after her.

"We aren't done with this conversation," he calls from behind her. "You're going to tell me what happened."

She's never met a man so persistent. Sometimes she wishes he were like all the others who back off when she puts up her walls and withdraws into safety. But he isn't, and that's what makes him special. It still irritates her to no end, though.

"I won't tell you," she says, almost petulantly. She enters her apartment building and starts for the stairs, knowing that she isn't in the mood to be stuck with Booth in the elevator, even for twenty seconds. She hears him coming quickly behind her, his shoes thumping on the steps.

"Yeah, you say that now," he mutters, "but whatever happened in that bar was big, and something that big doesn't stay quiet for long."

He's wrong. She can stay quiet on this forever.

She reaches her apartment and pulls out her key. But as tired as she is and using her left hand, she can't seem to find the keyhole. Frustrated, she bends down to peer at the knob, trying to find the slot, feeling all-too-acutely Booth's gaze on her back.

Warm fingers gently grasp her own, and she flinches, dropping the key. Booth's eyes widen in surprise, and she turns away in embarrassment. Booth touches you all the time, she chides herself. Stop reacting like this. But it's been a long time, and she's forgotten—or she never truly appreciated—how Booth's touch affects her.

"You sure you're okay?" he asks as he bends down to pick up the key. Feeling foolish, she steps to the side as he unlocks the door for her and swings it open.

"Yes," she says, her voice steady. "I'm fine."

He doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't press her either. He only says, "It's because you're tired, isn't it?"

She looks at him. "What's because I'm tired?"

He shrugs. "What happened tonight. And just now, too."

His eyes catch hers, dark and knowing, and she understands that he's giving her an escape. She can blame it all on being tired, and he'll stop pressing her. As he always has, he understands her limits. He understands when she doesn't want to be pushed. He just doesn't know why—that if he pushes too hard, she'll break completely.

"Yes," she breathes, more grateful than she lets on. "It's because I'm tired."

"Bones," he says softly, his eyes soft and hot at the same time. He hesitates, like he isn't quite sure of what to say or how she'll take it. She waits on the threshold, on one side Booth and bright moonlight, on the other her dark, silent apartment. Eventually, he sighs and says, "Get some sleep, okay? You need it."

She smiles slightly. "I know."

"And…" He looks down at his shoes for a long moment before meeting her eyes again. Before she can react, he pulls her into a tight hug. For a moment, she's too surprised to do more than breathe into his shoulder, eyes wide. And then her scrambled mind jumps automatically to the facts. He's warm, as always, and he smells like pie and things that aren't even smells, like safety and security. Underneath those smells, she can faintly detect some cherry perfume clinging to him, and she shuts her eyes, breathing past Hannah's scent to Booth's pure warmth underneath. His arms are strong around her, his muscles contracting as he pulls her in close, and she remembers the definition of his muscles. He's a remarkably well-formed man, very symmetrically structured with wide shoulders and narrow hips.

"Bones," he asks, his breath stirring past her ear, "what're you thinking?"

She clears her throat and finds her voice. "You have a very fine body."

He chuckles in her ear. "You haven't changed at all."

She can't help but shiver at his proximity. This isn't right. He's with Hannah now. He shouldn't be…hugging her like this. "Booth…"

His arms tighten around her, like he's afraid she'll push him away. "It's okay, Bones. Guy hug, okay?"

She frowns into his shoulder, raising her arms between them. "I'm not in need of any comfort, Booth."

She hears the smile in his voice rather than sees it. "Maybe I need this, Bones, okay? Let's just enjoy it for a moment."

Enjoy it. Push all the logic away and take the moment for what it is. For some reason, she feels like she needs this too, so she pulls him closer to her, raising her arms to wrap them around his neck. Guy hug. Yes. She pretends his touch doesn't stir up a deep ache in her chest, an ache she can't scientifically explain away. She pretends she's happy that they're friends, she's happy this is a guy hug. She hugs him tight and illogically wants the moment to last forever.

"Bones," he says finally, softly, "I'm sorry."

Confused, she turns to look up at him. She can't see his eyes in the dark, but she can hear the sincerity in his voice. "For what?"

"Anything. Everything. Whatever," he says haltingly. "You were mad at me earlier, I know you were. So, whatever it was, I'm sorry. Tell me how to fix it."

Oh. She closes her eyes and rests her head against his shoulder again. "Thank you," she says quietly. Not because he's soothed the ache over her heart or fixed everything with those words, but because he's trying. He always tries for her. She feels a rush of emotion for him right then, emotion so powerful she wants to cling tightly to him and never, ever let go. He's so incredibly kind. Too kind. Too good for her.

She decides suddenly that if he can be selfless enough to drop everything in the middle of the night to rush out and help her, she can be selfless enough to let him go. Stop confusing him, stop needing him. Let him be happy.

Yes. It's what he deserves. It's the most she can do for him, after all he's ever done for her. Give him what he needs.

So she walls away her emotions, shuts them away as best she can. Gently, she pushes him away, and he lets her this time. "Thank you," she repeats, managing to keep her voice steady. "I'll see you tomorrow."

He looks at her in confusion. "What? But I didn't do anything. How do I fix it? What did I do?"

She smiles and answers, "Nothing." Because he really hasn't done anything. She's done it all to herself, falling for him like this and then being a coward to the very end. "You didn't do anything. I'm just tired, Booth. I'll see you tomorrow."

Before he can answer, she steps into her apartment and shuts the door, wondering if her heart—that muscle that has no feelings, no thoughts of its own—will ever stop hurting.

It's still dark when he gets home. The clock in his living room reads four-thirty in the morning, and he stretches with a soft groan, knowing he'll have to be up at seven-thirty sharp to get a head start on the massive pile of case files sitting on his desk. Well, he's functioned on less sleep before. He can handle this.

Stripping off his gun and badge, he sets them on his bedside table and sits down on his side of the bed. He's known for a while now that Hannah is a light sleeper, so he isn't surprised when she stirs and sits up, yawning as she stretches her arms above her head.

"Seeley?"

He flashes her a tired smile in the dark. "You okay if I turn on the lamp?"

He sees her silhouette nod and reaches forward to turn on the light. Hannah winces and squints her eyes, and he smiles apologetically. "Sorry."

She shakes her head with a sigh. "It's okay. Is Doctor Brennan okay?"

He nods, even though he really isn't sure. "Yeah, she's fine." At least physically, she'll be fine. He has no idea what's going on in her head.

"What happened?"

He shrugs. "Some drunk in a bar." He can't go into the specifics because he doesn't know them. He got the feeling that Bones was lying, and he gets the feeling now that she hasn't told him the whole truth about why she hit that guy. There's got to be more to it than that, because he's never seen her fly off the handle like that before for a little thing like an aggressive boyfriend.

Hannah nods slowly, absorbing the information. "Okay. So it's all fine now?"

He nods. "Yeah, it's all fine. Sorry about running out like that."

She shakes her head and lays back down, looking up at him. "She's your partner. You have to take care of her."

"Yeah, I do," he agrees, glad she understands. "But…you're important too. More important. So I'm sorry."

She leans forward with a smile and kisses him. "Thank you. You know I love it when you say things like that."

He smiles tiredly back at her and gently pries her away from him when she leans in for another kiss. "Not right now, okay? I have to get up early." And he's too troubled to be in the mood. Luckily, she nods understandingly and lays back down. He changes quickly and slides under the covers, switching off the light.

The darkness doesn't help anything. He lays there wide awake for a long time, Bones's expression, that look she had, flashing before his mind's eye. He wonders when something changed between them, something so small and slight that he hasn't noticed until too late. Was it when they came back from their year apart? No, he doesn't think so. Everything had been normal when he'd returned, hadn't it? He and Bones had fallen back into their usual, familiar routine like they had never been apart. They were friends before they split, and they're friends now. But somewhere between their reunion and now, a link in their partnership has come loose. He can't decide if it's his fault or hers. Probably both of theirs. He wonders exactly what has come loose and how he's supposed to fix it.

Before he knows it, it's seven in the morning. He hasn't slept a wink, and he probably isn't going to, so with a sigh, he sits up with a yawn.

"Leaving?" Hannah murmurs sleepily from beside him.

"Yeah." He leans over and presses a kiss to her cheek. "See you later, okay? I'll leave some coffee in the kitchen."

Getting up, he showers and dresses quietly, not bothering to tighten his tie as he makes for the kitchen. Tucking his badge and gun into place, he opens the fridge and peers inside. Bagels, leftover pizza, leftover Thai…

Thai. He wonders if Bones even ate dinner last night. Probably not. She's been looking too thin these days, now that he thinks about it. With a sigh, he puts the coffee on and grabs a bagel for himself, making a mental note to stop to buy more bagels on the way to work. He can drop by the Jeffersonian on his way to the Hoover building.

Twenty minutes later, he's on the road in the SUV, tapping his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. He looks over at the empty passenger seat and realizes his car smells faintly of lavender—of Bones. Unable to help himself, he sucks in a deep breath, letting it out in a quiet sigh. He's forgotten how good Bones smells. He's forgotten a lot of things about her.

He swings by the Jeffersonian fifteen minutes later, a bag of bagels in his hand. He greets the security guards and walks into the lab, stifling a yawn.

Bones isn't on the forensic platform, so he makes a wide arc around to reach her office. There she is inside, all bright and early, clicking away with one hand on her keyboard. Her other hand, engulfed in the cast, flips through a packet of papers next to her computer. With a grin, he raps on the doorframe with his knuckles.

"Booth." When she spots him, she smiles, genuine and friendly. Like the night before hadn't happened at all.

He smiles back, wondering if—and how—they've fallen back into their natural partnership again. "Hey, Bones. Brought you breakfast."

As he shakes the bag of bagels, she frowns. "I already ate."

He raises an eyebrow skeptically. "Really. What'd you eat?"

"Yogurt," she answers promptly. Also without meeting his eyes. Liar.

He plops the bag down on her desk. "Well, eat some more. You're looking kind of pale these days." When she doesn't move, he opens up the bag and wafts some of the smell over to her. "Look, bagels. Don't they look good?"

"I can't see them," she says, not moving to look over the lip of the bag. At his exasperated huff, she adds with a sigh, "But they smell good."

He grins. "That's my girl. I got all sorts of flavors. Didn't know what you liked."

She pushes away from her computer and reaches into the bag, picking out her bagel and some cream cheese. He takes out one too and slathers cream cheese all over it, taking a huge bite.

"Mmm, it's good," he says around a mouthful.

She smiles and takes her own bite, smaller and more conservative. He can't help but stare at the way she licks her lips, slowly and innocently without looking at him. Jeez, a few weeks and he's already forgotten the effect she can have on him. She does little things—tiny things, really—that hit him as the most adorable thing he's ever seen, and sometimes he just wants to reach out and crush his lips to hers. God, he's forgotten the lure of her, how good she smells and how good she tastes. He's had exactly three kisses with her before, and her taste is one thing he's never forgotten. Right now, he just wants to lean forward over her desk and kiss the life out of her, kiss her until she's breathless and wide-eyed and—

Good Lord. He jerks his thoughts away, eyes widening. It's been months since he thought of her like that, and the intensity of his desire shocks him. He has—he has Hannah now. He can't be thinking of his partner that way. He needs to be cool and calm and professional with her. No, he needs to be her friend, but he can't be too much of a friend. There's a line, and he needs to draw it clearly, draw it and fence it and build a damn wall over it. He needs to get himself under control.

"Booth?" Bones watches him curiously, her brow furrowed. "Are you okay?"

He clears his throat and forces a smile. "Yeah. Why?"

She shrugs. "You looked distant there for a moment."

He pretends to be surprised. "I did? It's nothing. I'm just a little out of it today."

"How much sleep did you get?"

He laughs, shaking his head. "I should be asking you that. Did you sleep last night?"

"I slept fine," she says defensively. "I slept very well. Did you?"

"Yeah," he lies. "I slept like a baby."

She swallows the bite she's been chewing, her lips curving into a frown. "I never understood that reference. Babies don't sleep well at all. Newborns wake up an average of three times per night."

"It's just a saying, Bones," he chuckles. "Don't try to logic it apart."

"Logic isn't a verb, Booth."

He rolls his eyes and says, "Just eat your bagel, Bones."

And he realizes at that moment that he and Bones have fallen back into their easy rhythm, one that's been missing for at least a few weeks now. He realizes now that he actually looks at her that Bones is smiling with real warmth, and that her banter is more like it used to be again. They're clicking like the partners they always were, and he's elated. He has no idea what happened the night before and why, but he does know that he and Bones are back to normal. Something's shifted again. He doesn't know what, but he'll take it.

At this point, if he and Bones can be friends, he'll take anything.

As Brennan chews on her bagel, she wonders why Booth is here. It's been a long time since he came to her office in the morning without a work-related purpose, just to talk and eat breakfast as friends. A warmth spreads through her as he lounges in the chair across from her, making his usual jokes that she doesn't get and trying to figure out exactly how well she slept the night before. It seems almost like it used to be again, before their year apart. Before Hannah.

"Do we have any cases?" she asks, taking her last bite of bagel and brushing the crumbs off of her hands.

He nods. "Actually, yeah. There's this case sitting on my desk, and the coroner can't figure out too much from it. I'll have them ship the body over here."

"Okay." She thinks for a moment and says, "I don't have much work right now, so I'll be able to devote most of my attention to the body."

"Great." He brushes off his hands too and stands. "Well, Bones, I gotta run."

"Run?" she asks in confusion. "Run where?"

He laughs in that way that tells her she's missed the point. "Go. I gotta go. I have a bunch of paperwork to finish right now."

"Oh." She can't help but feel disappointed. It's the first time in weeks that he's reached out to her, and she'd hoped it would last longer. A glance at her clock on the wall tells her he's only been with her thirty minutes. She remembers the days he spent hours in her office with a pang of longing.

She stands too, forcing a smile. "Thank you for the breakfast."

He shakes his head. "No problem, Bones. I'll see you later, okay?"

She nods. "Okay." Disappointed, but okay. She remembers her decision to let him go and knows it's better this way.

But neither of them moves. Booth hovers in the doorway and looks back at her for a moment, and she meets his gaze steadily. It's that look in his eyes, the one that makes a shiver shoot through her from head to toe, the one that takes her breath away with its intensity. For a long moment, she can't breathe.

Then he offers her a little smile, and her lips automatically quirk up in response.

"Lunch," he says, in that tone that brooks no argument. "No buts. I'll come get you at twelve-thirty. The Royal Diner?"

He's reaching out again, throwing her a lifeline. Despite all that's happened, despite all that's changed, he won't leave her behind.

She knows she's just making it harder on herself. She's supposed to be distancing herself from him so she has time and space to get over her feelings for him. She's supposed to be pushing him away, moving on since he so obviously has too. But at that moment, she doesn't care.

"Okay," she says, smiling at him. "Twelve-thirty." A promise.

"Twelve-thirty," he repeats, a promise in his voice too. A promise to stop ignoring her, a promise to be friends again. A promise to not let Hannah come in between the natural friendship and partnership they'd had.

With one last look at her—a look that makes her shiver again—he leaves her office and disappears around the forensic platform.

Maybe, she thinks as she looks after him, things will turn out all right. Maybe, if things go well, she'll be over him soon enough, and this ache of her heart will be gone forever.

I know most of you were waiting for an explosion of feelings here, and I'm sorry, but this is how it worked out. Don't worry; this conversation of theirs isn't over. They've just ignored/put it on hold for the moment, but this thing's far from being resolved.

Give me your thoughts!