HIS

"Yeah, that's why I'm here." And that's why you're here, he thought. When he'd told her earlier in the day that she would be staying at his house that night it was only partly out of concern of her safety. He knew that she would respond to the day's events in one of two ways; she would retreat into hyper-rationalism or she would allow herself to feel emotions in a way she never had before and break down.

Later that night, when the adrenaline stopped surging through him so he could clearly see her standing in his doorway, eyes glistening with tears, he was relieved. While he didn't want her to be in pain, he knew that given the other option, that was what he had hoped for.

But while she was allowing herself to feel emotion, her very literal brain was still stuck on Vincent's words as he took his last breath. Booth pulled her toward him, gently at first, grabbing her hand and encouraging her to sit next to him on the bed. In all of the years he had known her, he had never seen her so emotional. He realized this was the last of her imperviousness slipping away. So when she asked if they could just lay in bed together, even though he knew that crossed the line, he let it happen.

He held her tight, stroking her arm as she buried her face in his chest, body heaving as she tried to control her sobs. It was the closest they had been in a long time, and in many ways it was the closest they had ever been. He felt a warm rush having her so close, his head was swimming with thoughts but his body was reacting too. He was starting to recite his list of saints when she took three deep breaths and turned her head to look up at him. Her eyes were red from crying but the clear blue pierced through him. He leaned down and kissed her forehead. She smiled her crooked half-smile back at him.

"Booth," her voice just above a whisper, "is this what love is?"

"Yes, that is exactly what this is."

She lifted herself up enough so that they were eye to eye. And then at the same time, as though a magnetic force was pulling them together without either of them leading or following, they kissed. He felt an afflux of heat through his body he had felt only once before, the first time they had kissed outside of the pool hall. This time she didn't pull away. And he didn't pull away. All he could think about was how right this felt. He was running his hand up her back, losing himself in the softness of her skin when a desperate thought flashed across his mind, did they need to talk about this first? Should he check in to make sure she was okay with this? Was it a mistake to do this immediately after losing Vincent? But even as the questions swirled through his brain he had to accept reality - they had already gone too far. They were in his bed. She was only wearing a sweatshirt, his sweatshirt. They were kissing, passionately. It was too late to reevaluate the situation. It was too late to give either of them a reason to stop. A reason to say something that might be misunderstood and send them back to Maluku and Afghanistan.

So he settled on, "Bones, I would very much like to make love to you."

She responded by pulling the sweatshirt over her head to reveal the one part of her he had ached to see, to touch, for so long. All of the glimpses, in the Wonder Woman costume, Vegas outfits, Russian circus costume, her formal dresses, that one shirt she wore sometimes, not any of them could have prepared him for the real thing. She was curvy and perfect, a dream, really. But better than a dream because this was really happening. They were in his bed. And now she was sitting on top of him naked. For a second, he caught himself wondering if this was real. Had he been shot instead of Vincent? Was he in another coma, his brain simply processing a book she was reading? He reached up and touched her just to be sure.

She gasped, eyes bright in the early morning light now streaming through the blinds. She grabbed at his shirt and his pants until he was also naked. Then she stilled for a moment and he saw her take everything in as only she could. Her scientific eyes roaming up and down his body. He waited for her to comment on his perfect illium or cranium or some such thing but instead she just studied him, as if she was giving herself one last moment to take it all in or maybe, he feared, one last opportunity to change her mind. For a moment he thought she might jump up and leave. But instead she moved toward him.

And then just as if this was the most natural thing for them, something they had done 100 times before, they joined. Their bodies moved together in perfect rhythm for what seemed like an eternity. Taking turns leading and following and ravishing one another.

When it happened for him, that release of love and energy that had waited so many years to escape was like nothing he had ever experienced. They fell onto their backs and he said, "I was right, this is fate."