Once again, I am having computer problems. I spent the last couple of days deciding whether I should continue to attempt to fix my laptop, or simply give in and hurl the entire kit out the window. As you're getting a chapter, my better instincts have prevailed, thank goodness! I definitely can't afford a new laptop. Sigh. Anyhoo, I hope you enjoy this new chapter, and if you do, you know what to do!

THE BET

"Damn! I didn't know it was supposed to rain!" Booth shook like a dog, flinging off droplets as he followed Brennan into her apartment. The rain had started shortly after they'd returned to the truck, and was getting stronger every minute. "You didn't get too wet, did you?"

"No, hardly at all, thank you. Just my feet. You didn't have to hold your coat over me, though, Booth. Rain doesn't bother me." She carefully toed off her drenched shoes, rotating her ankles in silent relief. "How wet are you?"

"Ah, it's not too bad, really. Mostly my shirt." Draping his soggy coat over the doorknob, he shook his head at the beer she held out to him. "No thanks, Bones. I'm actually a little chilly. Got any coffee?"

"Yes, I bought some of the dark roast Kona we had last month. I'm going to change into something more comfortable. You know where everything is…help yourself."

He watched her for a long moment as she walked away, and then shook his head, grinning, and pulled out the coffee grinder. She'd caught him off guard there, for a minute. When she said she was going to change, an instant, knee-jerk vision of her shimmying across the room in matching lingerie and high heels had popped into his brain. Ha. As if Bones would ever do anything so cliché. She was too much the individual, had way too much aversion to artifice to appear like that. Although - Bones in lingerie, hell, nothing wrong with that. No. What he'd really like to see her in would be…

"Um, That smells good."

He glanced over, paused in the middle of pouring his coffee. Yeah. That's how he liked to see her. No pretensions. Hair in an abrupt ponytail, face scrubbed clean, easy, comfortable t-shirt and lounge pants. Big…bulky leopard-print slippers? Choking on the laughter, he watched her scuff noisily toward him.

"What's wrong? Why are you laughing?" Confused, she came to him and, regarding him frowningly, took her mug from him.

"Nice slippers, Bones." The idea of Temperance Brennan, so rational and practical, willingly wearing wubby slippers amused him tremendously. It was so illogical. "They're you, they really are."

She looked at him slightly defensively and bumped her toe stubbornly against the bottom of the cabinet. "What's wrong with my slippers? They're warm, and my feet were cold."

Composing himself, he crossed his arms, leaning against the counter as he admiringly studied her feet. Her very fluffy feet. "Nothing, really. They're very cute. It's just – not like you to wear something cute."

"They're actually quite practical. Angela gave them to me last Christmas." Carefully blowing on her coffee, she followed him to the couch. "I find they warm my feet better than a pair of socks."

And Angela gave them to you. He knew she would never have worn them, warm or not, if they hadn't been a gift from her best friend. A small grin remained on his face. She showed her true self, all the time, with the small things. She thought she didn't, but he saw them. Thought she was impervious, but he had discovered a few important chinks. "I'm sure you're right – they do look pretty warm." He settled on the couch near her, and they nursed their coffees in companionable silence for a few minutes.

The rain pounded harder and louder on the windows, creating a soothing atmosphere that each, for their own reasons, was reluctant to disturb. Finally, she shifted toward him, tucking her legs under her. "Do you have Parker this weekend?"

"Yeah – I'm picking him up early on Sunday, taking him to his soccer game in Leesburg. You should come, it'd be fun."

"Thank you, but I won't have time. I have the seminar, and I can't take a chance on being late."

Finishing his coffee, he cocked an ear, listening to the rain sheeting down. "Man, I hope this rain stops by then. He'll be so disappointed if the game is canceled."

She smiled into her mug. "He'll be disappointed?"

"Well, you know, he practices all the time, and he's getting really good." He noticed the look in her eye and sighed wearily. "I know how you feel about the whole sports thing, Bones, but you know, he loves it and –"

"I think it's great."

"Wait." He gaped at her. "What?"

"While I dislike the importance society places on professional sports, and detest the pedestal talented players are placed upon, I believe that informal sporting events are a good way to introduce the concept of physical fitness to young children. The frivolous nature of the activities is particularly suited to the attention span and cognitive development of children. Anthropologically, sports are also an excellent means of fostering the parent-child relationship. Parker is fortunate to have a father who not only encourages the physical activity, but actively participates in the traditional proceedings."

Stunned by the length and direction of her speech, he studied her closely. "You never said that before." And he hadn't realized, really, how much it had stung, what she had said before about sports, until just now.

"Well…" Sighing, she tried to explain. "When we were investigating the murder of R. J. Manning, you weren't being objective…I just didn't…"

"That's okay, Bones, I get it." He grinned, a bit sheepishly. "I know I was a little gung-ho about the whole thing. But it really isn't all bad."

"I know. It's good that Parker is being encouraged to be physically fit." Another, darker smile flitted across her lips, and she quietly set her mug on the coffee table. In one single, lithe, movement, she sprang atop him, straddling his lap. "Especially since his father is so extraordinarily fit."

He opened his mouth to speak but found her lips firmly fastened to his before he could utter a word. His hands streaked up of their own volition and gripped her hips, squeezing and stroking her lovely roundness. "Bones," he managed hoarsely, when her teeth scraped and nipped insistently at his throat, "Bones, whoa, slow down."

"Why?" Firmly gripping his hair with her hands and his hips with her knees, she looked down at him, blue eyes lasering into brown. "We both want this, and I don't want to wait anymore. For that matter," she hissed, grinding wantonly against his hardness and prying a curse from him, "it seems you don't want to wait anymore, either." She dropped her open mouth to his again, sucking and nibbling and nipping until he groaned in desperation. Her internal furnace was stoked, the heat spiraling upward from her center to the ends of her fingers, the tips of her toes. At the feel of his arms tightening around her, pulling her tightly to him, she groaned in satisfaction. The friction was nearly overwhelming, and she wanted more. "The bedroom. Hurry." She leaned back and grabbed his collar, pulling urgently. "I want you."

"Just hold on a second - please. Let's take this slow." When she would have reached for him again, he grabbed her hands, holding them to his chest. "We just had our first date tonight, Bones. I don't want to rush into anything."

She blinked, staring mutely at him. When her anger began to rise, she let it loose. "Alright, what the hell is this, Booth? This is the second time you've stopped me. What's going on? And don't try to tell me you don't want this, because you and I both know better."

Behind her ire was hurt; knowing her, he was sure of it. It was the last thing he wanted. He needed to be honest with her. "Look - I just – I want this date, this first date between us, to be perfect. And it has been. I want you, God, do I want you. I'm not denying that. I just think if we do this, now…" Here he hesitated, reluctant to complete the sentence. "I just want us to get to know each other, first."

"Get to know each other?" Her face registered complete incredulity, quickly overtaken by confusion. "Is this a joke? We've been partners for over two years, friends for nearly that long. How much more do you need to know?"

"I'd like for us to at least have one date before we jump each other. I'm trying to be a gentleman, Bones. Let me be a gentleman." He was having a lot of trouble, right at the moment, remembering the whole gentleman part. She was still in his lap; her anger and frustration was not a deterrent in any way. Not in the least. If anything, it only made him want her more. Somehow, she must have sensed his indecision, because she smiled, leaned in again, and dropped her hand against his jeans, stroking him casually. Dimly, he felt his blood rush to vacate his upper body. Work or play, her hands were always absolutely fucking brilliant – she was killing him.

"Don't be ridiculous, Booth. That's just an antiquated notion, and completely unnecessary at this point. In fact, it's you who should be worried; I can assure you, however, that I'll respect you in the morning. Now," she whispered indulgently, lips brushing against his once more, "are you going to play nice, or do I have to get rough?"

At those words, at the thought of her actually using force, what little willpower he had got up and hastily left the room. He crushed her to him again, hands dancing, stroking, lips and tongue caressing and tasting. Her nimble fingers had his pants open and him in hand before he knew what was happening, and he moaned brokenly at the nearly overwhelming sensation. "Oh, fuck, Bones…" He jerked, hips involuntarily surging, head falling backward at the feel of her soft touch against him. Unable to help himself, he pushed into her hand, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head.

"Do you like that, Booth?" Working her hand deeper, she gripped him more firmly, amazed at how little room there actually was within the confines of his trousers. The throbbing inside her increased, the beat becoming louder, deeper, and she squirmed against him, attempting to give herself some small measure of relief. "Do you want more? All you have to do is ask." She began to rotate her palm against him, viciously thrilled when he bucked under her. "Ask."

He couldn't fight her anymore; didn't want to. He wanted this, wanted her so intensely he was in actual physical pain. "Yes," he breathed, his hot breath ghosting over her, "I want this. Don't stop." Don't stop don't stop don't stop, his gut and his mouth and his hands chanted, overriding his brain. His hands streaked under her shirt, stroking her back, dipping under her waistband to caress her softness. She was vibrating against his leg, trembling enough that it drove him near insane. Then she vibrated again, and he paused. Vibrated a third time. Fuck fuck fuck! "Ah, Bones, Bones, stop…"

Incensed, she reared away from him, ready for blood. She'd fucking kill him if he tried to stop again. Absolutely kill him. "What? What now?"

Chest heaving, his eyes met hers piteously. "It's my phone. Fucking A – I have a fucking phone call."

"You've got to be kidding." Dismayed, she glanced down as his pocket buzzed yet again. "No. This is just not possible." When he only stared silently at her, she sighed, relenting. "Answer it." She knew he had to; if her phone had rung, she'd have answered. One of the not-so-lovely perks of being indispensable to the FBI.

"Yeah. You, uh, wanna…" He nodded down between them, where her hand was still inside his pants, wrapped around him.

"No." She smiled; a very feline smile. "I don't." He stared at her in shock, and she lifted a brow in amusement. "Better answer the phone, Booth."

Left with no choice, he awkwardly dug for his phone, grunting when his motions caused her grip to pull against him. "Oh, shit…what?" he barked into the phone, struggling to concentrate on what was being said. "Goddamnit, where? No, no, don't bother – I'll tell her myself. I'll call you when we're on our way." Flipping his phone shut, he looked at her in disbelief. "Shit. We have a call." He could see his disappointment was reflected in her face as she sagged slightly against him. "In Tenleytown."

Finally defeated, she shook her head and reluctantly pulled her hand free. "I'll go get changed. Give me ten minutes, and pull my kit out for me." Just as he was moving to help her up, she leaned in again, crowding him. "If I didn't know better, I might think you had something to do with this dead body." Her eyes hard and determined, a sharp smile on her lips, she dropped a quick, fiery kiss on his mouth. "I haven't forgotten about our wager. This isn't over, Booth. It's only beginning." Satisfied with his response to her statement, knowing she'd have to be content with that for now, she gracefully stood, walking out of the room with a single, hot glance backward.

Oh, God. He was never going to survive this. What had he done? He shifted restlessly, zipping his pants and trying to catch his breath. By introducing the bet, he'd roused her innate competitive drive, and made things just that much harder for himself. For the first time, he was actively grateful that there was a body to examine. Springing to his feet, he began to pace in an attempt to calm his body, which obviously hadn't gotten the same phone call he and Bones had. He gave a brief thought to jumping out the window, but that would mean he would lose the bet, and that was not an option. Seeley Booth didn't make any bets he wasn't sure he could win. He might be a reformed Vegas gambler, but he still gambled every day – at work, with his family. He gambled with suspects, playing cat and mouse until they made a mistake, or when he chased after them down dark alleys and through wooded areas. He gambled every time he kept Parker, balancing work and home, trying to be the perfect Dad when he knew without a doubt that he was far from perfect. Now, though, for the first time in a long time, he'd voluntarily taken a bet that he simply couldn't afford to lose. He just had to pray that luck was on his side.

Comments? Thoughts? Questions? I'm always glad to hear from you!