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Previously...

As he creeps stealthily into the steam-heavy space of their shared ensuite, Booth's breath catches and his heart stalls when he looks through the misty shower screen… he can't see much – just a glimpse… but just a glimpse had his world spinning… just a glimpse of the lower half his wife's leg, extended flat over the blood-red covered floor of their shower had the bile rising into his mouth.

…

Booth's body springs to life as he bursts through the ensuite, wrenching open the shower screen.

Perched, on the floor of the shower, Brennan lets out a startled squeal, flicking water up in his general direction, "Booth! What the hell are you doing?"

His knees give out; patella's hitting the tiles as he crawls desperately over to her... dropping his gun on the way. Wide-eyed and terrified, with no regard for what the wet shower spray is doing to his suit, Booth's hands travel gently, worriedly - inspecting her face, arms, hands, trying to determine where the blood-red stain was coming from… it was slipping in bright rivulets down over her breasts, tummy and legs onto the vivid puddle she was sitting in.

As her fright dissipates, Brennan slowly recognises the look on her husband's face – absolute terror. Her tone softens, as she places the razor she was holding onto the tiled floor and reaches her wet hand to reassuringly caress his stubbly face, "Booth? Booth, what's wrong?"

Booth's voice returns tripping over a choked whisper: "Are you? Bones, are you hurt?"

Her brow furrows, confused, "No, Booth. What's wrong?"

His wet hands lift to his head to frustratingly squeeze fistfuls of hair… looking pleadingly to the heavens, he moans, "Jeez, Bones! Were you trying to kill me here? What the hell are you doing sitting on the floor of our shower surrounded by red… red… what?!"

Brows still creased, she explains logically, "Angela maintains that red heads have more fun. Though a completely baseless supposition, I decided to humour her and test out that theory by colouring my hair red. I had an appointment this afternoon but it was cancelled because my hair stylist went into labour and so, being a genius, I decided to do it myself… it is a bit messy though… and the smell…" She turns up her nose in distaste.

"What? Why? Why are you sitting on the floor of the shower?"

She gets to her knees and stands, placing her head directly under the shower head with her eyes falling closed, rinsing the colour out of her hair properly. Red water spatters like bloody rain over his new suit, "I was shaving my legs Booth. I find it easier to sit down when I shave." She opens one eye briefly to look him up and down, "What's got you so pent up?"

He sighs, stands; picks up and holsters the gun he'd dropped into the floor and explains what they'd learnt at the lab - Sweets' interpretation of the facts and the consequent danger she'd inadvertently put herself in when insulting Erik.

Water running clear, Brennan wrings out her hair, turns the faucet off and steps out of the shower to grab a towel. Shaking her head, she offers a throaty chuckle, "So… so you thought… what? You thought he'd murdered me?"

He grumbles defensively, not appreciating the fact that his wife was making fun at him, "Well, what would you think Bones, huh? I walk in to my bathroom; see my wife lying lifeless on the floor surrounded by what honest-to-God looked like a helluva lot of blood… of course I thought that! Geez, cut me some slack would ya!"

Wrapping the towel around her hair, still naked she steps up to him, looking contritely through her lashes, nipples hardening with the thought of what she's about to suggest, "Christine's with Angela," She ran her finger from his tie knot to his belt buckle and finished on a purr, " let me show you how alive I really am Booth."

OK. please don't shoot me... like I said, this whole story came to me in the shower (I was dying my hair bright red)... I honestly believe I gave my 5 year old daughter a heart attack with the bloody mess... poor little darling.

Anyhoo, now for some smut...