A/N: Hello again. I apologize for the delay in posting this chapter, it's the NHL playoffs and that takes up much of my time. As does emotional eating, since we lost tonight's game. Anyway. This is the last chapter, and I just wanted to take the time to thank you all so much for reading and reviewing this story, it's so wonderful, and I'll catch up on my reviews very soon. I hope this last chapter meets your expectations, please let me know what you think, and as always, enjoy.
-MC

We leave early the next morning so I can shower and change at my home, before leaving for Virginia. Both of us are yawning, sipping at hot coffee as we drive along the interstate, recovering from what I realize was our first fight as a couple.

I pause, the searing coffee halfway to my lips. Is that what we are? It occurs to me that we have not spoken about it. I quickly push away the doubt that waits at the sidelines of my subconscious. Booth is not the type of man to sleep with a woman and leave it at that. Still, as I glance towards him, I cannot help but feel the need for clarification. I think perhaps I should wait until the case is over, or at least until we are not technically "on the clock". But his eyes are hidden by his dark sunglasses, and I suddenly (irrationally) need reassurance. Now.

"What is it, Bones?" he asks, his face breaking into a small smile.

Even though I had just opened my mouth to speak before he beat me to it, I feel the need to stall. "What makes you think something's wrong?"

He pushes his glasses back on his head, and the warmth of his brown eyes comforts me. "Come on, I can practically hear your brain working."

"You can't hear someone's brain."

"Bones, quit stalling and talk to me."

I sigh. How does he do that? "It's not a big deal Booth, I was just curious as to…what the status of our relationship is at this time."

His smile widens and he looks at me for so long I'm concerned for our safety. "Are you trying to ask me if we're going steady?"

I stare at him. I know exactly what he means. "I don't know what that means."

"Never mind, Bones. Look, why don't you tell me what you're thinking, and then I can tell you what I'm thinking."

I look at the road in front of me, the white dashes of the highway flying past us with every second. I don't want to waste any more time than I already have. "Well, I think it's safe to say that we have moved beyond a strictly professional relationship."

He nods in agreement. "Yes, I think it's safe to say that having my way with you on your balcony sort of kicked that one to the curb."

I swat at him and his eyes crinkle in the way that makes my stomach flip. "And," I continue, turning my coffee cup in my hands. "I don't want to have sex with anyone but you. I haven't for some time, in fact."

He looks at me again for a long time. "Bones, I think that's the nicest thing you have ever said to me."

I bite back a smile, slightly embarrassed. He reaches across the console and takes one of my hands, threading his fingers with my own. "I don't want to be with anyone but you either, Temperance." The thrill that skips across my body is almost uncomfortable in its intensity, and all from just a few words.

"Alright, so, if you don't want to be with anyone else, and I also don't want to be with anyone else, then…then we should just be with each other."

"Right."

I nod. "Okay then. So…so what do we call this?"

He shrugs. "Whatever you want to call it Bones."

I think for a moment. The word "girlfriend" sounds so juvenile. And "lover" just makes me want to cringe. And then I have it, and it's so simple I don't see why I didn't think of it before.

"Partners," I say, trying the word in its new definition for the first time. The word leaps off my tongue, shining. I look over at him, taking my hand from his to curl my fingers around his neck while he drives.

"We're partners."

XX

We arrive at the restaurant, two officers already on the scene.

As the four of us enter the establishment, the same pale-faced hostess greets us, wide-eyed, and my eyes flick casually to her bare fingernails. Booth speaks with her briefly but my quick calculations of her body mass index and size have already ruled her out as a suspect.

Booth glances at me as she walks to get the manager and I give him a simple shake of my head. He raises his eyebrows. "You sure?"

I raise my own. "Of course I am."

He nods, realizing he should have anticipated this answer. "Thanks, Bones."

"And to think," I muse, "you didn't want to bring me."

He doesn't miss the smug smile on my face, and he gently laughs scrubbing his face with his hand. The two police officers watch this exchange with carefully uninterested expressions.

"Agent Booth," a portly, dour looking man in a cheap suit waves us over. The 'grade A asshole', I presume. Booth introduces us but I am already taking stock of the staff that mill around us, preparing for another day. Booth has asked for the manager to provide us with a list of waitresses that were working with the victim on her last shift. It appears all of them are here, and they are quickly lined up before us as though waiting for the firing squad.

No one speaks as I walk down the line, my eyes carefully taking inventory of height, stature, build. Each woman sucks in a breath as my eyes peruse their bodies, calculating. Soon, of the eight waitresses we were presented with, I have narrowed it down to three. Booth dismisses the others and asks for a more private location to speak to them, not wanting to bring them to the station when we were clearly so close. I have learned from him that the more time you give someone before an interrogation, the more opportunity they have to concoct a believable story. It's best to get them when they haven't had adequate time to fabricate anything.

Booth takes one of the women into the break room with him, a mousy brunette with too much makeup on. In light of our previous argument, I humbly take a seat outside with the two officers and the other suspects. I consider asking them a few casual questions on my own, but I know that Booth would most likely rupture a blood vessel if I attempted to do so. I also have to acknowledge that if I ask them a particularly damning question and Booth isn't here to notice the minutiae of subliminal indicators they may be expressing, the things they're saying without words, we might miss something vital.

Instead I choose to watch them, attempting to note any signs of stress that may indicate their guilt. I will never lose my determination to see what Booth sees. I think it's an admirable thing to aspire to; wanting to understand people. My clear gaze locks on the one sitting across from me. Her hair is platinum blonde, and straightened to within an inch of falling out. Her eyes are a muddy brown, and she shifts in her seat as I watch her. I know people find my stare unsettling, and I also know that it is against the North American social code to stare at someone, but I don't care.

After a time her face starts to turn red. "What?" she demands.

I try to suppress a smile. "Nothing." I continue to watch her. I search her fingernails for traces of red nail polish. She curls her hands into a fist. She's wearing bright red lipstick. I can see that she has drawn the lipstick slightly beyond the border of her lips, to make them look bigger, though the actual result is something rather clownish.

"What?!" she asks.

"Do you like nail polish?" I find myself questioning.

Her eyes narrow. "What kind of a question is that?"

"A simple one," I respond.

She glares at me suspiciously but replies with a shrug, "Yeah, I guess."

"Do you wear it often?"

"Until it starts to chip. Then I take it off for a while."

"Hm." I study my own nails. Nail polish isn't practical for my line of work. But she doesn't know that. The other waitress, an Asian woman with stunning dark eyes and full, round lips, is watching the conversation with fascination. The officers are talking amongst themselves, uncaring. "I can never find anything that doesn't chip."

It seems her defenses drop a little at this, her shoulders lowering just a fraction. "Yeah you have to be willing to invest a little money for a good quality kind," she offers.

I glance at her, then resume inspecting my cuticles, "What kind do you use?"

"I use Maybelline brand. Crimson catastrophe. It looks good with matching lipstick, and for whatever reason I get better tips when I wear it."

My heart has stopped but I don't let it show on my face, or at the very least I try not to. "Oh yeah? I've never heard of that one."

Her face brightens a little at our 'girl talk', and she leans down to reach for her purse. She pulls out a small bottle of cherry red polish. "Here," she hands it to me, "it's good."

I turn the bottle in my hands, willing myself not to allow my fingers to shake. "Do you ever share it with your coworkers?" I ask, my eyebrows raised.

Her suspicion returns, eyes narrowing. "Why?"

I quickly recover, "Well, I'm a scientist, and studies have shown that fungal infections can be transferred between people who share nail polish."

Her nose wrinkles. "Gross. No, I don't share it, it's expensive and I can barely afford it as it is. Though now at least I have a good reason not to. None of the other girls really wear nail polish, it's against health and safety standards since we handle food. I do it anyway because of—"

"The tips," I finish.

"Right," she nods.

"Did you know the vic-, uh, Cory, well?"

"I thought I did," she retorts, her arms cross.

"What changed your mind?"

"I found out she was skimming tips."

I wrinkle my forehead, unfamiliar with the term.

"You know, she was taking money from the tip pool, more than her share."

"How much more?"

"A lot."

"Did you confront her about it?"

"Yeah, of course I did. But she lied, said she hadn't stolen anything."

"I see," I comment, attempting to buy myself some time. I certainly hadn't intended on my casual question turning into something so probative, and now I'm not sure I have the interrogative skills to carry this ball over the border, or whatever that colloquialism is. I find myself wondering what Booth would do. I can almost hear him in my head saying, Sympathize with her, Bones! "That was very wrong of her to do," I add awkwardly.

"I know right!?" she exclaims. "I mean we all work just as hard as she does. I don't know who she thought she was..."

"Indeed. You all do the same amount of work, it's not as though she should be entitled to more," I continue, gathering confidence.

"Exactly!"

"You must have been very upset with her."

"Oh, that's an understatement," she spits. "I was fucking pissed".

"Is that why you hit her? With your serving tray?" I ask, keeping my voice neutral.

She bolts.

I'm cursing myself as I run after her, knowing I should have left the questioning to Booth. She weaves through the tables deftly, and I gain on her as she stumbles on a chair leg. Stunned staff and patrons can only gape as I catch up to her and knock her to the ground by planting my palms on her back and pushing. The forward momentum causes me to fall on top of her, and she grunts as I land on her back.

"Why did you do it?!" I hiss into her ear as I pull her arms back behind her. "It was wrong of her to steal from everyone, yes, but did you ever think to ask her why she was doing it? Her parents were dead," I stressed, leaning on her arm a little until she cried out, "and she had a nine year old brother to support. A brother that now has no family left in the world, thanks to you." I realize I'm hissing through gritted teeth, straddling her back to keep her from escaping, but I can't stop. "I think supporting a younger sibling is much more important than being able to afford another bottle of 'crimson catastrophe', don't you?"

"Fuck you," she grunts, "that bitch had it coming."

I'm fighting to keep myself from striking her when strong arms pull me back from behind. The two officers swoop in and cuff the waitress, whose name I realize I don't even know, as Booth pulls me to my feet. His eyes widen in horror as he turns me around, and I'm confused until I see the crimson liquid splashed across my front. I had still been holding the nail polish as I ran after her, it must have shattered as we fell.

"It's nail polish!" I assure him, "It's only nail polish."

His face washes with relief as he pulls me against him, "Jesus, Bones, you scared me."

I fold into him, even as I'm protesting, "Booth, you're going to get nail polish on your suit."

He rests his head on top of mine as he replies on a sigh, "It doesn't matter Bones. Only you matter."

A thrill ripples through my body at the words, and I am overwhelmed with a mixture of emotions. Mostly I am glad that everything is over.

He releases me, and as I had warned him, his front is covered in a smear of crimson catastrophe red. He throws an arm around me as we watch the officers put the waitress in the back of their squad car. Leading me out of the restaurant, away from the frozen scene of diners and servers that have paused their activity to watch the action, Booth looks down at me affectionately and smiles.

"What?" I ask, my own face breaking into a smile involuntarily.

"I really can't leave you alone for a second, can I?"

XX

"I knew she'd crack."

"What? How?"

Booth and I are in his SUV in the FBI parking garage, enjoying a moment of peace after the waitress's interrogation, and before the hours of paperwork ahead of us. The waitress, Belinda, had admitted to hitting Cory in the head after an argument, and then ransacking her home for the remaining stolen tip money. I look at Booth questioningly as he flashes me a cocky grin. My stomach clenches but I manage to keep my face neutral.

"Because. We let her stew in the interrogation room first." He leans back with his hands behind his head, smug as ever. "It works every time, Bones. I don't know if it's the glare of the lights, or the feeling they're being watched from behind that two-way mirror, but people get stressed being in those rooms. They'll rat out their own grandma half the time, just to get out of 'em."

"You would rat out your own grandmother to get out of the interrogation room? That hardly seems noble."

"What? No, not me, Bones, them. Bad guys. People with a guilty conscience. I'm not saying it works every time, but it helps at least."

"Well, that, and having good interrogative skills," I add.

"Which I also have, thank you very much," he grins. Now I'm not sure if I want to smack him or kiss him. I see the way his shirt is stretching over the muscles of his arms as they are bent behind his head, and I believe that it is the latter. But I won't give him the satisfaction, not when he's already gloating.

"My interrogation skills are also improving. After all, I'm the one that got her talking in the first place," I point out, leaning back against my own seat.

"Yeah, Bones, you also got her running in the first place," he adds.

I scowl at him. "Hey, I caught her didn't I?"

"That's true, Bones."

"Besides, you'd have been proud of me, I was able to sympathize convincingly enough to get her to incriminate herself. It was actually quite exhilarating," I muse, a shiver of excitement rippling through me at the memory.

"I'm always proud of you, Bones," he says softly. I turn to look at him, his eyes smoldering in the dim light of the car, and I swallow thickly. My breathing increases. There is an entirely different kind of excitement running in my veins now.

"I-I told her about a study in which it was proven that sharing nail polish can lead to the contraction of fungal infections," I add triumphantly.

He smiles, let's out a deep laugh that makes my breath catch. "Okay, and?"

"I never read any such study! To my knowledge none exists, I was just saying that to get her to admit that no one else at the establishment wore the same nail polish!"

The smug grin on my face is wiped away as he leans towards me, his breath fanning across my lips. "You really are a genius, Bones," he whispers.

"I know," I reply, leaning forward to press my lips to his. I can feel his hands on my face as we kiss, trailing down to my waist to drag me into his lap. I gasp as I find myself straddling him, our lips meeting hotly, his hands untucking my shirt, my pants.

"Booth," I whimper, "Booth we can't do this here, what if someone sees us?" I'm forcing these words against his lips even as my hands are working at his tie.

"I know," he growls, "I know, I know. But God, Bones, you're so…I want…"

I'm practically writhing against him now. "Me too, me too," I pant, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses at his throat. "We have to stop."

"Yeah," he agrees, sliding his hand up my shirt to run a thumb across my nipple. I gasp and bite my lip. "We'll stop on the count of three, okay?

I nod, my tongue sweeping across his ear. "One," I whisper.

"Two," he pants.

"Three," the two of us groan simultaneously as we pull apart. I sink back onto my own seat, panting, sweating. Looking around I see the windows have all steamed up, giving the world outside a fuzzy, glazed look.

"Whoa," Booth sighs.

"Agreed," I reply, my chest still heaving.

We look at each other and I start to laugh. Booth quickly joins in, his deep belly laugh causing me to laugh even harder, until eventually our muted laughter spills out of the car, echoing through the empty parking lot, and into the night

XX

My eyes are heavy with exhaustion as I sign my name for the nineteenth time that evening. The low lights of my office, and the soft music playing from my computer, only assist in making my chin drop to my chest briefly, before I shake myself awake and add the form to the growing stack of paperwork on the coffee table.

"You awake there, sweetheart?" Booth asks. I attempt to decide whether or not I should scold him for using this pet name, but I am tired, and secretly I enjoy it, so I let it slide.

"Barely," I reply, rubbing my eyes.

"Come here," he says gently, pulling me closer to him on the couch. He tucks me against him, wrapping an arm around me, and my head automatically drops to his shoulder. I bring my legs up across him and curl myself into his lap as I wearily begin filling out another form. "I'm glad this case is over," I say against his chest.

"Me too, Bones. I know this was a tough one for you."

"For both of us," I respond.

The steady rise and fall of his chest is lulling me to sleep again, but his voice brings me back to consciousness. "I called the department of child services today. Turns out Annie Daniels decided to keep Eli. He won't be going into foster care."

I lift my head and look into his eyes. "He won't?"

Booth smiles at me, and I feel its warmth stretching through my body. "Nope. He's gonna stay with her. He'll be alright."

I nod, speechless. My throat is constricting, and I have to clear it before I can respond. "I hope so." He brushes his fingertips across my cheek and I lean into his hand. "Thank you for calling for me, Booth."

He presses a kiss to my lips. "Anything for you, Bones."

"Would you still have told me, if it turned out Annie hadn't kept him?" I ask.

"What do you think, Bones?"

"I think you would have known that I'd want to know the truth. Even if it was hard."

"Bingo," he winks. "Though I might have gotten you drunk first, to soften the blow."

I laugh, the sound of it echoing through the empty lab. I reach forward and press kisses to his throat, and face, and finally his mouth. "I love you, you know."

"Yes. I know," he replies. He has kept his voice natural but his eyes betray him and I see how much it means that I have spoken these words out loud.

I nod, and lean my head against him, breathing in his smell as we return to the last of our paperwork. As I sign my name for the final time, my eyes drift to the pictures hanging on the walls of my office. A black and white photo of Angela and I, taken candidly, laughing.

One of Zack and I, my arm thrown around him in a rare moment of displayed affection.

Another of Booth and myself at a banquet. I am looking up at him, laughing, while his eyes are crinkled shut in mirth as he no doubt teases me about something.

A group shot of our whole team, even Sweets, standing on the platform together.

My eyes wander over these moments, over a plastic Smurf and a toy pig that decorate my desk, over Booth's face as I sit nestled warmly against him, and I realize I have exactly what I had desperately wished for when I was in Annie Daniel's home.

It turns out I had just been looking in the wrong place.

A/N thanks again for reading everyone. Drop me a line and let me know what you think. MC