A/N: I'm reopening this fic from complete to in-progress! I decided that even though the previous two chapters work well on their own, I really want to take this story that explores the theme of no regrets through to the end of S6. I'd love to hear your feedback and reviews, and if you're interested in being a beta for the forthcoming chapters, let me know; I could use some preview readers!

This chapter jumps forward to the moments before Booth speaks to Brennan on the steps of the Hoover in "The Parts in the Sum of the Whole"/episode 100. Big ol' spoiler warning if you haven't yet seen it!

Disclaimer: I don't own Bones, FOX does, and I thank them for it.

Chapter 3 - The Gambler

"You. Its gotta be you, because you're the gambler. For once, make that work for you," Sweets had said, and now Booth had to live with the therapist's goading words. Had been the gambler, Booth wanted to say. He had been the gambler, until Brennan came along and helped him, however unintentionally, return to the straight and narrow. He hadn't gambled in a long time, but he felt the old familiar tingle on the back of his neck, and his mouth felt dry—symptoms he recognized from his days in recovery. Sweets was his therapist, for crying out loud. Recommending to a recovering addict that they participate in their problematic activity was presumably not the most appropriate course for him to recommend!

Booth, knew, too, that itch to gamble meant one thing, that a desperate feeling of regret would follow, even if he won. His last few trips to the pool hall had been tinged with such self-loathing as he fought the need to bet. Even the times he won were touched with a feeling of guilt. He'd felt a bit sick, and he wished it hadn't happened.

Booth shoved those memories aside with resolve. Gambling or not, he didn't think he could ever regret asking Bones to be with him, to really be with him in the way he'd been dreaming of for years now. Even if she turned him down—and he admitted it was a real possibility that she would—he couldn't possibly regret taking the chance, speaking the words. Could he?

Sweets was right about one thing: asking Brennan to be with him was a chance he had to take, one he just might have to take right then, before the mood of their reminiscence passed away.

"The diner?" she asked him as they stepped outside the therapist's office, continuing their conversation from inside. He wasn't sure if he was really hungry. He had just known that he needed to get out of that office. Sweets' eyes had bored into his, challenging him.

"Yeah. Let's go," he said.

As they walked down the hall, Booth's mind raced. He hadn't really planned to say anything to Brennan, not yet, not until he felt she was actually ready. He fiddled the poker chip in his pocket as they headed to the elevator. They'd grown so close in the last few months. The years of their partnership had had its ups and downs. Mac n' cheese. That had been one of the earlier highs, a wonderful moment. Booth could have sworn that Brennan hadn't let herself be so downright flirtatious with him since the Gemma Arrington case.

Gemma Arrington and that case! he grumbled to himself and shook his head. Brennan was silent walking next to him. He glanced at his partner beside him and he knew that Brennan would tell him, if she could hear him thinking, that to speak of any emotions so soon after their meeting with Sweets was a highly illogical choice, and yet with every step, it appeared to be the only one he could imagine doing at that moment. Hell, he couldn't lie to his partner, his friend, the woman he loved, anymore, which was exactly what he'd been doing, exactly what he promised so often that he wouldn't ever do. It needed to end. He couldn't hide his cards any longer.

As they had talked through the case with Sweets, some of the mood of that very first case returned. The way their eyes met just a moment too long in a shared recollection, how nice she smelled just sitting next to him… he remembered noticing that shortly after meeting her and finding it strange that a woman who spent her days with very, very old bones could have such an attractive scent.

They stood by the elevator, waiting for it to reach their floor. Booth felt his leg fidgeting. He resisted his usual urge to hit the button repeatedly. He glanced at Brennan and saw she was looking at him curiously, but when his eyes caught hers, she looked down at her shoes. In an uncommon gesture of anxiety, she stepped forward and punched the elevator button once, then twice again. Booth knew she never did that; she had reminded him time and time again of the futility of hitting the buttons more than once. "The elevator car will come to our floor according to a carefully programmed system. Pushing the button more than once won't make it arrive any faster." She often smiled even as she said this, and once she'd told him "You're like a small child with your eagerness to push the button. In a good way."

Once the car finally arrived, they rode down in an awkward silence. Booth was lost in his thoughts, but not so lost that he couldn't feel Brennan's eyes glancing at him sidelong, just as his continued to do.

"He thinks he knows us so well," she said simply, as the lights ticked off the final few floors.

Booth laughed, but it came out sounding forced. "The truth is, he doesn't know the half of it, Bones," he said with another glance at his partner. The elevator came to a stop at their floor and Booth waited, his arm on the door to keep it from hitting Brennan as she stepped out.

He mulled over Brennan's words that day. Had she given any hint, any reason to hope? In fact, she hadn't, not really… not if Booth was honest with himself. She'd made it very clear over the course of their meeting with Sweets that she didn't reciprocate, or at the very least, wouldn't acknowledge having feelings for him.

"What did you think we were going to talk to him about?" she'd asked him on the way to Sweets' office, when it became clear that they really might not have the same discussion in mind.

Now the cat was out of the bag, and Booth cringed visibly. "The whole, uh, love thing?"

"Love thing? Oh, his conclusion we're in love? I don't care about that." She kept walking quickly, not looking back. He wished she would stop walking away from him.

Booth shook his head as he thought over the past few hours. They'd spent several hours with Sweets, filling him in on not only the case, but what it had been like to meet each other. They'd glanced back and forth, holding entire conversations with their eyes about just how much to tell the younger man. She'd smiled that coquettish little smile again, the on he saw so rarely that had been on full display until things went very, very badly at the end of the Arrington case.

"We're not in love with each other," Brennan said to Sweets after a couple hours of conversation had passed. Her voice was still definitive. Booth had taken in her words in, apprehension and dismay overwhelming him as his face fell. He was glad Brennan hadn't seen the look on his face just then – but Sweets had seen it. Sweets saw how Booth's world crumbled around her at her fervent denial, and that was the moment Booth knew that he'd go against everything his gut was telling him, and tell Brennan how he felt. No more waiting. No more holding back, telling himself to go slowly. It was now or never, Sweets seemed to say. Do it, or you might regret never saying anything at all.

He'd known for some months now that his feelings weren't only inspired by his coma; they were real, and they had been real, possibly for a very long time. He couldn't pinpoint the moment he'd fallen in love with her, because there had been too many little moments over the years to possibly count them. He'd only been waiting for the right moment, a moment when Brennan was open enough for just long enough to let him in, finally, through the last of the defenses she still kept so carefully around herself.

He had to think quickly, make a choice. Maybe Bones had felt it too, he thought, maybe she felt the energy between them as they remembered that case. Perhaps that energy, combined with the knowledge she'd gained from several years, now, of working with him and being his friend, would be enough for her to let him in.

Brennan spoke as they continued past the opposite side of the security clearances that barred the entrance. Her words gave voice to an ongoing tirade against psychology that must have been occurring in her head. "He takes a few of the things we've told us about our pasts and uses them to construct theories about our interpersonal dynamics. How can that possibly provide a logically formulated analysis of the situation?" She sounded frustrated, on edge. Booth wanted to talk abut the real issue, "the, uh, love thing," and he could tell Brennan was stalling, trying to keep the subject on something else without being too obvious about it. The odd tingling on the back of his neck hadn't gone away, and his mouth didn't feel any less dry. Now he felt nervous on top of the old heady sensation that always came over him whem his hands poised to throw the dice or pick a card.

"Bones, look, I agree with you, but please don't ignore the elephant in the room, here." He kept pace as she walked quickly toward the doors. He felt his heart start to hammer in his chest.

"What elephant? We're currently in an entryway, Booth." She stopped, and struggled with her coat and her bag.

"It's an expression, Bones." He sighed, but tried to smile. He reached to help her put on her coat as he had done so often. This time his fingers lingered just the slightest bit longer on her shoulders as he settled the fabric gently down. It was the closest to a caress he'd dared in a very long time. She felt solid and real under his fingers.

If she had noticed, her posture didn't betray it. Instead she looked up and back at him as she realized she had repeated her frequent error of taking turns of phrase literally. "What does it mean?" she asked. He could see that she seemed more comfortable with his explanations of common phrases than with the discussion about Sweets or his book. Coats and jackets now neatly arranged, the partners pushed the doors open.

"It means that while I hate the psychology, too, I think we really need to talk about what Sweets suggested." They stepped outside. The early spring afternoon had given way to darkness; they had been in Sweets' office for a long time, apparently. A slight wind blew and the air felt chilly. Booth shoved his hands in the pockets of his pants, touching the poker chip with a finger.

"Oh, the expression means that we're ignoring the real issue!" Brennan responded, understanding dawning on her features.

"Yes, Bones, we are—that is, if it's the same issue," he added, remembering their earlier confusion of terms. They started to walk down the stairs. Booth glanced at the sign they'd walked past so many times: Nothing happens unless first a dream… He would do it. He had dreamed of it so often, in his sleep and waking thoughts. He would cast the dice, he would lay his cards on the table. This was the moment. Just as he'd so often known when to fold and when to hold, and ended up with the right choice, he knew that if he didn't speak now, the words might never be said. His heart thudded in his chest.

"In his book, Sweets wrote that being abandoned by my parents made me convinced that all meaningful relationships are doomed," Brennan said, apparently thinking that this was the point they'd been ignoring.

"And he wrote that I got 'white knight syndrome' because of my physically abusive, alcoholic father." The pounding continued. He couldn't let her distract him.

"Hate psychology," she said briefly. Booth stopped walking as Brennan continued a pace or two ahead of him.

Booth paused and opened his mouth to speak, looking toward his partner. He had a fleeting regret that he hadn't had time to think this through properly, to come up with the right words, the words that would keep her there, listening long enough to give them a chance. He began to speak in short sentences, grasping for what to say.

"I'm the gambler." He looked at Brennan and a small smile crossed her lips, a light in her eyes. "I believe in giving this a chance." He looked at her uncertainly, wondering how she would take what he said. The line he had once drawn between partners and friends moved and shifted under his feet, and disappeared as he stepped inside her personal space, closing the distance his pause had created. "Look, I want to give this a shot."

"You mean us," she whispered breathlessly. Her eyes flitted to his lips and back to his eyes. He nodded, still uncertain, waiting for her to say more…

The next chapter, obviously, begins where this one leaves off, and you'd better believe that they continue the conversation past when our screens fade to black!

Please R&R! I'd love to know what you think, good, bad, ugly!