Whoo boy! Another late one for me. Everyone should thank Starbucks for these last few chapters, because if it wasn't for their coffee, I'd never have finished them. Mmm, caffeine. Also, thank you to all of you who have so faithfully read and reviewed this story - your lovely words are better than caffeine, and that's saying something, for me! As always, I hope you enjoy this, and please forgive me for any typos or sleep-deprived oddities...

THE BET

"Goddamnit! The internet's down again!" Hurling a snarl toward the door and anyone within hearing, Booth sprang out of his chair and stalked out into the bullpen, glaring around as if he expected to find some poor foolish soul with a pair of scissors and a cut wire. But all heads had quickly dropped at his shout, and his team as a whole appeared to be extremely industrious. It was just their bad luck that he'd worked in his own bullpen before the last promotion. "Don't even bother trying to look busy, because I know you're not. Bruce! You've been flapping your yap all afternoon about the diner running out of your favorite dessert. Get over here."

"Yeah, Booth?" Detaching himself from his desk and a hastily aborted game of solitaire, Bruce answered the barked summons and bopped blithely over to him. "What's up?"

"Get off your ass and go up to Tech Support. I want someone down here in ten minutes to fix whatever the hell's wrong with this piece of crap system."

Doing his best to placate him and avoid a reaming, Bruce grinned and saluted. "Sure thing, Booth. I'll call 'em right now –"

"No, Bruce. Don't call them, go up there, physically. I want you to bring someone down here – drag them if you have to. This is a government agency, and if they can't keep the fucking computers operational then the wrong people are working up there." Leaning close, he narrowed his eyes. "No stops along the way, Bruce. Ten minutes." Satisfied when Bruce's smile faltered and faded, he relaxed fractionally, raising a single threatening brow. "Look sharp..." Scowling, he shouted after Bruce's rapidly retreating form. "If they don't come down, I will be the next one up there!"

The chorus of chuckles behind him immediately ceased as he swung around and paced back to his office. At the rate he was going, by the time he and Bones left tonight he'd have to get out of town anyway to avoid murder charges. Without a thought for any collateral damage, he caught up his autographed baseball and heaved it at the wall. The muffled thud only made him feel marginally better, and he dropped back into his chair, pulling angrily at his hair. His day couldn't have gone worse. Hell, his week had been a total disaster so far. A case lost in appeal because DCPD dropped the ball on chain of custody. A dent in the Tahoe when it came back from the motor pool. Phones that wouldn't shut up and internet service hiccuping like a New York drunk. Sighing, he dragged his hands wearily over his face. He might as well be honest with himself and face facts. Any other week he could have dealt with shit like this. It was like this all the time. But he hadn't seen Bones in three days, and he felt like someone had lopped an extra inch off his admittedly short fuse. A quick cup of coffee, a rushed lunch or short stop at the lab, and he'd have been set up for the rest of the week. But he knew she needed some time, and so he browbeat himself into staying away. It was just too bad that the poor schlubs out there had to suffer because of it. Yeah, well, life sucks all around. They'll just have to cowboy up and deal with it.

Wishing desperately for the day to be over, he tried to open the inter-agency database again. Nothing. Grimly, he eyed the acre of paperwork edging furtively toward the edge of his desk. How the hell was he supposed to finish all that shit before he left if he couldn't access any of the data? His phone picked that moment to start yelping again, and he only barely checked the overwhelming urge to chuck it through the window. He just wasn't going to answer it. It was bad enough that he was doing all the paperwork for the cases because he was trying to leave Bones alone. If he had to talk to one more moldy bureaucrat he'd wind up saying something that would have him working out in the pen again. Checking his watch, he flopped back in the chair and closed his eyes. Five minutes. Five more minutes and he was going up there, and someone's ass was gonna be grass. Luckily, he'd already sent Bones the email with their time schedule before the system crapped out. As skittish as she'd been the other day, he didn't want to call her unless it was unavoidable. And if he'd had to send over a messenger he'd just have looked like an ass. Which he was anyway for sitting here and mooning over her like a fool. Okay, that's it. Desperate to find something non-computer to do until the temperamental system started working again, he shuffled his paperwork around on his desk until he caught sight of the wall clock. Fifteen minutes. Perfect. A feral grin darkened his face, and roughly he shoved his chair back, starting briskly for the elevators. This was exactly the distraction he needed. There was nothing like handing someone their ass to help brighten up the day. Time for some fish and chips.

*****

Working with scientists was bad enough, Angela mused. All that gore and quantum physics and pond scum. But working with them and dealing with them? Deadly. Painful quit-your-job-and-join-a-nunnery deadly. You'd think with all that brain in there and all their talk of being more evolved that they would at least be a little humble. But some of the biggest egos she'd ever met promenaded up and down the halls of the Jeffersonian, preening as if they were wearing ermine and velvet instead of serviceable cotton lab jackets. She snorted disdainfully. And they call artists egotistical and arrogant. I can't believe it's only Wednesday. I wish this week was over. With a long-suffering sigh she ascended the stairs to the platform, heading toward Zach and Hodgins, who appeared to be having a spat of their own.

"You've been acting funny all week, Zach. You've been staring at me. You've been staring at Angela too. Why are you watching us?" Hodgins planted his hands on his hips and stared down Zach, who was clearly intent on his job and only sparing a fraction of his attention for his co-worker.

Without looking up from his work, Zach responded, his posture making it appear as if he was speaking to the slide sample. "I'm not staring at you now. Why do you think I would want to watch you?"

"I don't know, but you're gonna tell me, or I will make your life miserable, I promise you." When he caught sight of Zach's bemused stare, his annoyance level amped up several notches. "Zach..."

"We probably shouldn't do this now." He cast an uneasy glance around the large room. "Dr. Brennan could walk in any moment."

Hodgins hissed and flung his arms out impatiently. "What's that got to do with anything?"

Leaning forward as if to impart a great secret, Zach began speaking earnestly, his voice just above a whisper. "She's been in an extremely inconsistent mood this week. I don't want to get in trouble. I would hate to be subject to any disciplinary measures."

"Listen, buddy, Dr. Brennan's the least of your problems. You should be worrying about what I'm going to do to you, not Dr. B." He frowned threateningly. "And don't give me that confused stare. It's not gonna work on me, because I know. I know that you know very well what I'm talking about. So spill. Let's hear it."

Blinking owlishly at Hodgins, Zach clutched the slide to his chest and stared mutely at him.

With a frustrated growl, Hodgins opened his mouth to yell, but spotted Angela approaching and thought better of it. "We are not done – I'll talk to you later." Spinning on his heel, he beamed at Angela as she steamed up to him. "Hey, you got my filamentous algae from Dr. Leptara! Thanks, babe."

"Yeah – you're welcome." Without a moment's pause, her lips firmed and she punched Hodgins squarely in the chest.

While Hodgins wheezed in surprise, Zach quickly moved to the other side of the examining table and relative safety. Angela was famous for being rather arbitrary when meting out punishments. It was always sensible to have both a safe area to stand and, failing that, a clear escape route.

"Ouch! What the hell!" Wondering what he could possibly have done, Hodgins stared wide-eyed at her and rubbed his chest. "What was that for?"

"That's for the fistfight I had to break up between Dr. Leptara and Dr. Gilles." She swung quickly back to him, enjoying his quick flinch just a little too much. "Next time go get your own algae, Jack."

"What happened? Are you okay?"

Sighing, she quickly relented, her temper rapidly dissipating. She could never really stay mad at anyone for long. Besides, the humor of the situation was growing on her. "Oh, I'm fine. I got there right after Dr. Gilles' immature Goliath Butterfly escaped and flew into the Herpetology Room."

"Uh-oh." Having determined that he was no longer in immediate danger of bodily harm, Zach sidled closer, very much intrigued by Angela's story. "Herpetology is not a healthy environment for a butterfly."

"You don't know the half of it. Apparently, Dr. Leptara's Argentinian Horned Frog ate the butterfly." She lifted a brow in shock. "My god, you could hear the outraged howls from the elevator! And then..."

"Wait a minute." Hodgins quickly held up his hand as he began to realize what was coming. "The Goliath is a toxic butterfly, so..."

"Yeah, exactly. About sixty seconds after eating the butterfly, the toad keeled over." She fought desperately against the smile, but it finally won out as the absurdity of the story became even more apparent.

Hodgins snorted in unholy amusement. "Can a toad even keel over? I mean, they're really low to the ground. Wouldn't it just kinda...sag?"

Aiming a trenchant stare at him, she crossed her arms. "Keel, sag, whatever, Jack. The toad was dead, and I walked in on our two lovely scientists swinging madly at each other and screaming about which of the poor departed darlings was rarer."

Pleased that for once the conversation was about something he understood, Zach piped up helpfully. "That would be the Goliath Butterfly, Angela."

"Thank you, Zach. Anyway, Dr. Gilles is screaming about how the butterfly was aposematic or something, and that the toad should have known not to eat it, and Dr. Leptara is shouting that they're from different parts of the world, so how could the toad know that the bright colors were a warning..." Finally losing control, she pressed her palm to her mouth, shaking with laughter until her eyes streamed. "Oh, I'm so glad that amusing things happen around here to balance out all the gore and blechiness."

His face red from laughing, Hodgins dropped onto a nearby stool and slowly wiped the tears off his cheeks. "Man, it sounds like the start of a really bad joke...'the Herpetologist and the Lepidopterist exchanging blows over a dead toad and butterfly..." He caught Angela's eye and promptly began giggling again. "So tell me – how did you break up the fight?"

"I tossed the water from the toad's habitat on both of them. They were soaked!"

Zach shifted from foot to foot, casting his eyes nervously toward the offices. "We probably shouldn't engage in this much jocularity on the platform. I'm sure Dr. Brennan wouldn't like it."

"Wouldn't like what?" Brennan's voice cut sharply through the amusement like a machete through underbrush. Having mounted the stairs when they were laughing, she stood directly behind them, crisply snapping on a pair of nitrile gloves in the sudden and dramatic silence.

"Oh nothing, Bren, just a little altercation in Herpetology. It's not important." Rolling her eyes at Hodgins as Brennan swept past, Angela caught up her clipboard and dutifully followed her friend to the third exam table. Oh man. She'd known this was coming. Brennan had been noticeably standoffish on Sunday when she'd called her, and had disconnected after only five minutes. And that was only the beginning. All week she'd been uncommunicative and short-tempered, obsessing over work like she hadn't for years. But the capper had been when she'd refused to go with her for lunch yesterday. Too much work, she'd said. Busy. Yeah. Too much brooding is more like it. She wasn't sure what had happened between the two of them, but she was almost positive it had started Saturday night on the dance floor.

"We really don't have time for office gossip today. There are numerous things still to be done before Booth and I leave for Warm Springs this afternoon. Zach, I need you to analyze the bone density of the femur head and the ilium. We need to determine if the wear to the bone is due to standard repetitive motion. Dr. Hodgins, your algae will have to wait. There appears to be some type of biological debris embedded in a groove, deep inside the fourth dorsal foramen. Please retrieve three specimens for examination." As she spoke, her tone curt and clipped, she handed the bone in question to him and bent back over the remaining pieces without glancing to see if either of them were doing her bidding.

"And, uh, what do you need me to do, sweetie? Because I'm pretty sure I'm not going to get much out of this one small shard of skull." Propping her clipboard on her hip, Angela looked over, hoping to lighten the atmosphere a bit. And keep the explosion she was sure was on the way under wraps for just a little longer. Maybe if she could get Brennan through the morning she could coax her out for a quick lunch later on. Hell, if coaxing wouldn't work she'd resort to dragging. Or blackmail. That's what friends are for, right? But the mute stare she received in reply was not promising. Ah, well. It appeared that today was a day for fireworks. Accepting their fate with a shrug and a pasted-on smile, she watched Brennan drag her gloves off and thrust them into the waste container before striding purposefully off the platform with nary a glance at her coworkers. Oh, no you don't. She was headed back to her office, where she'd only sit and stew and think up new and horrible jobs for them all. This had to be stopped. Well, it was her best friend, so it was up to her to fall on the Brennan Grenade. With a dramatic, long-suffering sigh she briskly tailed her off the platform, intent on bearding the lioness in her scientific den.

Hodgins watched her leave, sparing an admiring, longing glance at her retreating form. When she disappeared from view, his mood rapidly changed and he whirled, stalking over to Zach and hurling an accusing finger at him. "You. No more avoiding my questions. I want to know why you've been looking at me so strangely all day, and I want to know now."

"I saw you and Angela copulating Saturday night."

Several intense emotions crossed Hodgins' face as he struggled momentarily to activate his vocal cords, not the least of them astonishment and anger. "What the hell are you talking about, Zach?" In an instant he was nose to nose with the younger man, bristling indignantly. "Were you spying on us? Because if you were..."

"No. I much prefer continuing my studies and completing extra work from the lab to walking outside at night. I rarely leave the house unless I have to, and then mostly for work."

"Well then how –"

"The lab you installed in the attic has an exemplary view of the East Lawn."

Several tense moments passed while Hodgins glared at Zach, clearly planning some untimely demise. "Dogs. Big, snarling, vicious dogs. I'm gettin' 'em, I swear it."

Zach stared passively at him. "I appreciate the warning, but in actuality it seems that if you insist on engaging in sexual intercourse on the grounds, the dogs will pose more of a problem for you than they will for me." Considering the conversation over, Zach turned briskly to the forensic macroscope and began carefully mounting his slides.

His face a study in vexation, Hodgins clenched his fist, and then slowly released it as he managed to regain control. "Fine. But I'm boarding up that window this weekend." Spinning sharply on his heel, he stormed off the platform, intent on terrifying some other hapless grad student.

Bent over the slide, Zach focused the viewpiece as a small smile surfaced.

*****

Her thoughts as black as the gloves she'd just discarded, Brennan dropped smartly into her chair and logged onto the computer. When she heard the door open again, she didn't even turn around. "I'm very busy right now, Angela. Whatever it is will have to wait."

"Oh, no, I don't think so, Brennan. We need to talk, and now. I'm not taking no, or whatever else you're going to say to put me off, for an answer." Silently turning the deadbolt, she ignored the chairs and stood at the edge of the desk, hands on hips. "You need to tell me what's going on."

"Nothing's going on, Angela. Nothing except that I'm trying to complete a sufficient amount of the backlogged work in order to make my absence more tolerable." Busily typing an email, she gaped, stunned, when Angela yanked her chair around to confront her.

"Well, I can tell you right now that your absence would not only be tolerable, it would be greatly welcomed. It's been a long time since you treated the team like inanimate objects. I'd forgotten just how insulting it is." One sensuous brow arched in equal parts annoyance and amusement. "At least before it was because you were ridiculously driven and slightly oblivious. Now you're just being selfish."

Caught off-guard by Angela's uncharacteristically harsh words, she could feel the emotion surging up, tightening her throat and making her eyes sting. She dropped her gaze to her lap, wishing desperately for an urgent summons somewhere else. Anywhere else. "I'm just extremely busy, Angela. I apologize if I've been a bit focused."

Satisfied that she'd snapped Brennan out of her standard walls-up mode, Angela quickly sank to her knees in front of her and grabbed her hands. "Oh, honey, don't be upset. I'm not mad – I'm sorry, too. Talk to me, Bren. I know that what's been going on with you has nothing to do with work and everything to do with Booth. Something's wrong, I know it. Please tell me."

Feeling unusually edgy, she seized a rubber band from her desk, twisting and pulling at it. "I don't know how to explain it. I'm not sure what's wrong. Well, I know what's wrong, but I don't know how to fix it." Confusion and pain flitted across her face. "I think I know what's wrong...but maybe nothing's wrong."

Sitting back on her heels, Angela stared at her as if she'd suddenly announced that she hated anthropology. "Well, that has to be one of the least concise things you've ever said. This calls for more comfortable seating. C'mon, let's go." Determinedly she dragged Brennan over to the couch, dropping down and pulling her close. "Okay. You have my undivided attention, my unwavering support, and my sympathetic tear ducts. Continue."

The words coming slowly, she dispiritedly began to relate her story. "Booth and I...we...we sort of made a bet."

Angela's eyes flared wide. "Wait a minute. You made a bet with Booth – a recovering gambling addict. Are you serious?"

"Not for money or on sports or anything like that. Not a real bet. But...yes."

"Okay, well if it wasn't for money, and wasn't a 'real' bet, what was it about?"

Anticipating her friend's reaction, Brennan winced inwardly before continuing. "He bet me that he could convince me within three months that sex alone wasn't enough. That I'd want romance as well as sex at the end of that time."

Unsure if she should laugh, cry or shout, Angela gaped at her friend, stunned speechless for the first time in her very worldly life.

Glancing over, Brennan tried to decipher her mood but couldn't manage it. It was hard to tell sometimes, with Angela. Those dark eyes could be surprisingly guarded. But an instant later she had her answer when Angela sprang up from the couch to pace agitatedly in front of her. Her faced was flushed, her expression ripe with temper. "You're mad at me."

Whirling around to face her, arms akimbo, Angela nearly snarled at her, angry tears leaping into her eyes. The unwavering support she'd promised was instantly thrown aside as she struggled with her emotions. "You're damned right I'm mad at you. I'm furious with both of you." Unable to stand still, her long legs scissored jerkily as she moved back and forth.

Brennan cautiously chose her next words, disconcerted by the extent of Angela's distress. "I don't understand. You've been so happy that we're involved. You tried to get us together for years. What's changed?"

"What's changed? Let me tell you what's changed. Making a bet like this was the worst thing you could possibly have done. In one fell swoop the two of you trivialized both your beliefs and Booth's feelings. That's what changed. What the hell were you thinking?"

Unconsciously rubbing at her aching throat, Brennan swallowed hard. "I...I don't know. I realized I was sexually interested in Booth, and I thought he returned the sentiment. But he also wanted an emotional connection, and I...wasn't comfortable with that. We disagreed about it, and then...I'm not sure what he was thinking, but he bet me."

"And that disturbing occurrence didn't raise any warning flags?" Before Brennan could answer, Angela testily waved away the question. "Never mind, of course it didn't. So, what – the two of you spit over a line, signed papers? What's the time limit? Is there a moratorium on Sundays and holidays?"

Brennan winced again, outwardly this time, and dropped her gaze to her knees. "Of course not. It's not like that."

"Isn't it? So, who's winning? Shall I start an office pool?" Her tone was painfully cutting; her face a mask of stone.

"Angela. Please...I don't understand..."

"Exactly. You don't understand. And apparently neither does Booth, to my great surprise and disappointment. I thought for sure he'd have more sense." She heaved a huge trembling sigh. "Let me try and explain this to you." Crossing her arms, she held herself tightly, as if she could physically contain her volatile emotions. "You know, it's not like you can order up someone like Booth on a menu...'Oh, I'll have the tall man, well-done, but leave off the romance, please'. It doesn't work that way...men like Booth are one in a million. They don't come around every day. And they cannot separate sex and emotion. The two things are one and the same to them. What if you win this bet? What do you think will happen to the wonderful connection the two of you have always had?" Brennan opened her mouth to speak, but Angela merely held up on impatient hand. "Wait. I'm not done. You're also one in a million, Brennan. Why do you do this to yourself? Why do you always sell yourself short, deny yourself happiness? The two of you could have something so special, something real. Instead, you decided to make it all just a game. Something to be won." She turned sadly away, the first tear escaping down her cheek. "Something to be lost."

At Angela's words, Brennan felt the tension in her stomach tighten painfully. They'd casually affirmed their intent to remain friends and partners in the beginning, regardless of what happened. But what if that was impossible? What would she do? She didn't want to get hurt. But she also didn't want to hurt Booth. He was her best friend. Feeling suddenly old and decrepit, she flicked her fingers under her eyes and dashed away the dampness that threatened to fall. "I didn't mean it like that, Angela. It was just...the attraction was so strong, and Booth wanted me too, I know he did. It seemed the most expeditious method of getting what both of us wanted."

"Of getting what you wanted, you mean. You never had any intention of accepting romance from Booth. You agreed to enter into a bet with a gambling junkie, a bet with your best friend, that you never intended to honor. Where's the logic in that? And why is Booth's romance such anathema to you, anyway?"

"Not just Booth's, Angela." Her eyes wide and pleading, she wrung her hands tightly together, her knuckles whitening painfully. "I don't want romance from anyone. Not ever again." Her intense stare lanced across the room, and she watched Angela jerk and gasp in realization.

"Sweetie. That's what's bothering you. I know that was such a bad time for you, but I thought you were just avoiding romantic entanglements because you were so focused on your career after college." She quickly crossed the room and sank down next to Brennan, embracing her fiercely. "I'm so sorry, I didn't understand. Have you told Booth?" The ensuing silence provided her with her answer. "Bren, you need to talk to Booth. Talk with him, explain everything."

"I don't think I can, Angela." She turned raw, red eyes on her friend. "It's so difficult..."

"Which is why you need to say all of it out loud." Ignoring Brennan's rigid posture, Angela swept her up in another loving hug. "I know you don't believe me, but it really will help. Now I want you to listen to me. You've never let anything in your past stop you, not ever. Don't give in now. And try to remember that what happened is all in the past. Ancient history, sweetie."

"Even Rafiq?" Although she'd closed her eyes so as to not see Angela's expression, she could feel her response in every furious inch of her friend's body.

"Even Rafiq, may he never walk without a limp for the rest of his days. You overcame what happened, rose above it all– nothing is more important than remembering that. That's why you need to talk to Booth. You need to be honest, really honest, with each other. Neither of you can make the right choices in your lives until you've done that." Patting her affectionately on the back, Angela leaned away, smiling wetly at her. "Don't make me get rough with the two of you. The whole point was for you to be together – the right way."

A sudden nauseating wave of grief swamped her, and she stared morosely at Angela. "I don't know if I can do that."

They weren't just talking about the honesty now, and each realized the other knew it. Angela fought off the urge to weep and held her hands out in a show of support. "Then he deserves to know that, too. Just try to be sure before you speak, and take care when you do. You're a bridge-burner, Brennan. Be careful you don't destroy the very span you need to cross the most." Feeling keenly the need to lighten things up just a bit, she smiled shakily and reached out for the rubber band Brennan still had twined in her fingers. "Now, you'd better give that to me. Something's going on between Z-man and Hodgins. I have a feeling Jack is going to need to wear this for a while."

*****

At last. Booth let go of a sigh and threw off all the tension that had accumulated over the past few days. He lowered the window, enjoying the flow of crisp air into the truck. Knowing that once Brennan was with him they'd be arguing constantly over the radio selection and volume, he grinned and jabbed a button, and Led Zeppelin launched out of the speakers. Singing with Robert about Valhalla and the Hammer of the Gods, he sent the Tahoe sailing toward the Jeffersonian. Fucking finally. It was all behind him now, all of the annoyance, all of the clusterfucks, all of the politics and ineptitude. Now they could just go work. He thought vaguely that he'd be torn to pieces when the time inevitably came for him to be a full-time desk jockey. It had always been all about the fieldwork for him, from the very first case. Following leads, getting that snapping feeling in his gut, that crawling sensation up his spine when one lead just felt better than the others. Conducting interviews and creating a cohesive picture from all the statements he collected from all the people. Weaving a labyrinth of facts and details and words around a suspect until they gave themselves away, or ratted out their accomplices, or just flat out confessed. He loved it. And his job had only gotten better since Bones had started working with him. She'd forced his hand in the beginning, and he'd been furious at being outmaneuvered. Thank God she'd done it. Not only was their close rate astronomically high, but he also got to spend as much time as possible with her. He'd spend it all with her, if she'd let him. He was hopeful that someday soon she would let him.

Pounding on his horn good-naturedly, he wasn't even able to drum up the typical annoyance for the cross-town commute. He was just gonna stop in and chase Bones from behind her desk, or away from the exam tables, or out of the depths of Limbo, and they'd be on their way to Warm Springs. He'd wanted to get away from D.C. with her for a while now, and this trip was the perfect opportunity to be together far from prying eyes. Not that this was a romantic trip. Far from it, as a matter of fact. They had to get a shitload of work done in just a few days. But he really wanted it to just be them for a little while. A blinding grin lit his face as he rounded the corner and spotted the Jeffersonian looming in the distance. Yep. Another thirty minutes and we'll be outta here. He depressed the accelerator, sending the truck rushing forward.

He couldn't wait.

Just a little glossary term for you. Fish and Chips is a term used by the U.S. Army Infantry and the Army Rangers. It's an acronym for Fighting In Someone's House and Causing Havoc In Peoples Streets. Rangers lead the way!