Happy Birthday to Craftyjhawk! When was little my dad used to always say that there were no holidays just holiday seasons because it always seemed like our celebrations were spread out encompassing more than just one day. After reading and choosing a prompt for this very special gift to a special friend I decided hers should definitely be a long birthday season. There will be seven chapters in this story so we can celebrate all week long!

I debated long and hard on what to name this story. Because I knew I wanted it to have seven chapters I got in the habit of calling it Seven Day. I kept thinking, man that sounds so familiar, why does that sound so familiar. And then I remembered. My dear Crafty, a reader and supporter of writers for a long time, recently broke the barrier and started writing her own stories. You can read her fanfics here or can read her original work on fictionpress under the same name (craftyjhawk) if you check her work out you'll see that her first story was called Seven Days...yep, that's right my once great mind has snapped. Of course my working title sounded familiar – it was the title of her work! But it's her birthday now and I still haven't come up with a different title so think of this Seven Days as a tribute to the great and bold Crafty!

A special thanks to my husband, who endures hours of reading and rereading as I write and change, write and change. And to SnowyBones and Givesup for doing the same and being a great beta readers for me.

The prompt I picked was: What if Brennan had said "prove it to me" after Booth's explanation of making love vs. crappy sex?

My dear Crafty, You mean the world to me! Thank you for your friendship and support!

Seven Day: An Experiment in Making Love

Friday Night

She bit her lip as her hand hovered over the door. She'd knocked once before but he didn't answer. He's probably asleep, she argued with herself. I should go. But she hadn't moved. One more time she told herself. If he doesn't answer I'll go home. She tapped on the door, hard and fast then stopped and waited. She was just about to walk away when she heard him crashing through the apartment. Closing her eyes, she squared her shoulders and straightened her clothes as she braced herself for his greeting.

"Bones?" He was still blinking and rubbing his eyes trying to see. "Are you okay? Geez, Bones, what happened to you, you're soaking wet?" Paralyzed she just stood there as water ran down her face and dripped from the ends of her hair. She found herself staring at a sleepy Booth. He stood in front of her in what looked like old sweat pants that hung low on his hips. He'd just finished straightening at t-shirt he'd pulled over his head as he answered the door. She shivered, her whole body feeling the effects of having been out in the cold rain for far too long.

She was about to begin her planned explanation when he pulled her out of the hall into his apartment. "What'd you do, walk here from your place?"

So many times over that last of couple months he'd found himself using every ounce of restraint he could muster to keep from reaching out and touching her. The urge to hold her hand or pull her into his arms almost irresistible. But tonight he was barely awake, it was the middle of the night, and she was standing in his apartment soaking wet and clearly freezing.

Too tired to resist he gently wiped the little streaks of water from her cheeks as he moved the soft wet tendrils of hair away from her face, tucking them behind her ears. She found she couldn't answer, couldn't think, couldn't breath. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself as she tried to get warm.

"Come here." Pulling her through his apartment to his bathroom he grabbed a towel to dry her off and another he wrapped around her for warmth. "Okay, that's better, right? Now, talk to me."

"I was thinking about what you said tonight at the diner." She paused and shot him a look he'd seen so many times in their partnership as she waited for him to catch up. He nodded, encouraging her to keep talking as he leaned back against his bathroom counter. "About the differentiation between making love and, as you put it, crappy sex." Her teeth were still chattering making it hard to talk. "I..." she closed her eyes as she tried to pull herself together and speak. "I, I have changed my mind. I take back my endorsement of your argument." She waited again for an rebuttal from Booth but there was none. His eyes still puffy, the creases still present on his cheek from wrinkled sheets, his body warm and slow from sleep, he just stood there.

So she continued. "I've been thinking about it and a after more careful consideration and the application of the rules of science I had to return to my original belief, that intercourse is simply a biological function. Stimulation releases a succession of hormones and chemicals regardless of emotion." It may be the only time in his life but he found himself squinting as his still sleep addled brain tried to make sense of what she was saying, to see what she was seeing. There was another long pause as she wrapped the towel tighter about her shoulders, it was too wet to give any warmth anymore.

"It's predictable, Booth, even though there is some degree of individuality that applies, one can achieve fairly reliable physical responses by engaging in specific physical acts. Therefore, those who engage in pony play to enhance their moment of sexual climax essentially experience the same rush of chemicals as those that think they are in love." She was eying him, waiting for his response other than the continued raising of his eyebrows. When he gave her none she continued. "I realized, as I was reviewing our conversation, that I have no scientific proof that what you say about making love is correct or incorrect. So, I can only conclude that you are inaccurate in your assessment that making love is superior to intercourse as an act unto itself outside the confines of 'love' or the more extreme experiences of those that engage in sexual fantasy, like pony play, to heighten their sexual experience." She couldn't control the shivering no matter how tightly she pulled the towel or how vigorously she rubbed her arms.

Booth cleared his throat. "So, you came all the way to my apartment in the middle of the night to tell me I was wrong?"

"Well, yes. I didn't want you to think-"

"That I was right. You didn't want me to think I had won that argument when I hadn't?"

"Good, you understand." She showed signs of relief which almost made him laugh. Defensively she added to her argument. "You have no proof that there's a difference between what you call crappy sex and making love. I'm not exactly sure how you would quantify an experience of emotions or label something as love, though, I have been trying, with no success, to devise a way to measure and chart-"

"You've never felt a difference?" It was an honest question and a heartbreaking realization. Booth was pretty sure she hadn't felt it, or more accurately, hadn't allowed herself to feel it. "Even with Sully?" He regretted asking it the moment it left his mouth, cringing just a little as he waited for her response.

"I believe I told you and Gordon Gordon that the sex was incredible, very satisfying." Her eyes danced as her smile clearly registered some memory of her time with him. "While I have felt a difference between sexual partners I would have to attribute that difference to skill level not love or lack of love. Sully was a very skilled lover." Ouch, he thought. Okay, maybe he deserved that one for bringing up Sully in the first place. She shifted her weight and straightened herself. With an air of confidence only she could command she laid it on the line. "To win the argument you would have to provide me with some sort of proof that there is indeed a difference."

The corner of his mouth threatened to turn up into a satisfied grin. "You want me to prove it to you? Is that what you're saying?"

She'd moved as she was talking, so she was standing right in front of him in the tiny bathroom. "Scientifically. Yes. I'm proposing an experiment based on the hypothesis that, metaphorically speaking, two people..." With a slight shake of her head, she abandoned her own thought. "Really, if I understood you correctly, what you were saying at the diner is that the sexual experience is enhanced based on the mutual desire to connect emotionally versus those who engage in the sex act without a previous emotional connection or desire to have an emotional connection." He watched her mind work the complicated problem out loud. "I'm not really sure what system of measurement would be best. I need your help in clarifying the parameters of such an experiment." He stood, leaving nearly no space between them. She didn't flinch or move, in fact, she stared him straight in the eyes, her voice softened as her heart picked up speed at his proximity. "And of course I would need your assistance in running the experiment."

Her eyes still locked with his, the rise and fall of her chest betraying her erratic pattern of breathing. She almost hated that he had this effect on her but at he same time she found this aspect of their partnership and friendship so exhilarating, so enticing, she couldn't help but crave feeling it over and over. Maybe that's what had captured her tonight making it impossible to sleep. Maybe that craving, aroused by their conversation at the diner, had possessed her to drive to his place in the middle of the night. It ate at her as she walked around his neighborhood in a driving rainstorm wrestling with her desires, trying to talk herself out of going up to his apartment. But, here they were, like magnets held too close together. He had become almost irresistible to her, she was pulled to him.

He didn't answer her directly. His eyes darted around as he took in every inch of her soaking wet self. In their game of chicken he dodged. "You need to change out of those wet clothes. You'll never get warm like that." He slid sideways past her and out of his bathroom.

She fought her own fears. This had been a huge mistake, overwhelmed by surety that she'd completely disrupted their tenuous balance, she closed her eyes again and opened her mouth and spoke out loudly to the empty room. "I'm sorry, Booth, I was, this was, I was wrong in..." Stepping out of the bathroom to leave she ran straight into him, almost falling over in the process. He had a pair of gray sweats in his hands.

"They'll be too big on you but they're dry." He set the clothes on the counter. It was no secret that Temperance Brennan was not good with emotions but even she could label this moment as awkward. She took in a nervous breath, she'd created this between them and didn't know how to get things back to normal. Quickly she looked down and away from him as she moved to tuck a think curl of wet hair behind her ear. His hand chased hers, then finished the job for her as he smoothed her hair and traced the edge of her ear. Continuing their trail, he let his fingers slide down her jawline until he caught her chin and brought her eyes back up to his. "You change." Lingering for just a moment their eyes engaged in a familiar dance, saying silently what they couldn't say out loud. "Then we'll talk about this experiment you're planing, okay?" He nodded and waited for her to nod back, then pulled away. "Do you want something to drink?" Hollering back towards her over his shoulder as he left her standing alone in his bathroom. "Something warm?"

Standing almost paralyzed by his quick departure she took a moment before she closed the door. She striped herself of the cold wet clothes and toweled dry. She stared at the neat stack of clothes that Booth had left for her. An old gray folded sweatshirt that sat neatly on top of sweat pants. He was right they were too big. Cinching up the drawstring she tied them tightly in an effort to keep the soft pants up. They were dry and warm and smelt like Booth. Taking a deep breath she set her hand to the door. There was no turning back now, for better or worse, it had all been set in motion. Twisting the knob she left the wet clothes and bathroom behind.

From that very first case when he walked in and saw her teaching that class he knew his ship was sunk. Then he worked with her and she captured him entirely. She was fiery and bold, so damned independent. Without even skipping a beat she'd propositioned him when he fired her. And he knew, even then, that there would be something between them. It would be passionate and intense and he would never be able to resist it. But she could, she could walk away from him without a second thought which she proved that very night as she hopped into the cab and drove off leaving him standing in the rain. She held all the power and he knew it. He chuckled under his breath as he moved around his kitchen boiling water for tea. Tea he would never buy for himself, it was something he kept on hand for her.

By the end of that first case all that fiery passion had turned to anger directed entirely at him. She'd slapped him across the face then stormed off leaving him behind again. It would take a year of maneuvering to get her to work with him. It was shaky, that second time they worked together, but he wasn't going to give up, wasn't going to let her walk out of his his life. From then on if she ran he chased.

Neither of them brought up that night filled with tequila and almosts. But there were times when it was all he could do to keep himself from pushing her up against the nearest wall and letting his mouth cover hers. What stopped him? He'd gotten to know her well enough to know that if he pushed and she responded it would mean something totally different to her than to him. Eventually it would end, she didn't do long term commitment, he would lose her and most likely their partnership. It hadn't been a risk he was willing to take.

Something changed though, last year, when she dated Sully. It was then that he really came to terms with his feelings for her and lately he wondered if maybe she had feelings for him beyond that every present sexual tension. She listened to him, asked him questions and took his opinion under advisement. Their partnership had grown into a friendship, and seemed to be fated for more.

But this, an experiment? He was pretty sure it was a safe scientific way of saying she wanted him as much as he wanted her. He should tell her no, walk away, but, he wasn't sure he could. Each day it got harder to resist the urge to reach out and hold her hand, run his hand along her cheek or brush her hair back off her shoulders. Each day the little interactions they had didn't seem like enough. He wanted more. Maybe if he worked it right this could lead to more. It was dangerous, there was no doubt, and if she wanted to walk away at the end of the experiment and pretend like nothing happened he would have to accept it. Accept it or find her another partner. The gambler in him knew he would take the risk, there was no question. He brought the tea into his living room, set it down on the coffee table, and waited for her to come out.

"I figured you might like some hot tea. It'll help you warm up." He pushed the mug of steaming Sleepytime tea closer to where she was sitting at the opposite end of the couch. Pulling the cuffs of his sweatshirt down low on her hands she picked up the hot mug and blew across it.

She was beautiful and he couldn't help feel his heart twist just looking at her. He expected her to pick up the conversation where they'd left it in the bathroom but she didn't. She carefully sipped at her tea as she peered over the mug at him. He supposed that she was waiting for an answer. Would he or wouldn't he engage in her experiment and prove to her that making love was indeed different?

"You still look cold, Bones, do you need a blanket?"

"I'm fine, Booth." Lifting her tea just a little for emphasis she thanked him for making it for her and assured him that the tea was helping. There was an awkwardness settling in as they danced around the subject they both knew needed to be addressed.

"I was thinking-"

"You don't have to-"

They laughed, they had both spoken at the same time, then both apologized, then both yielded to the other person.

Booth came back to it first. "So, this experiment..." It seemed like the finale of a fireworks show in Booth's head right now. There were so many reasons this was a terrible idea and yet he opened his mouth and that was not what came out. "So, what exactly did you have in mind?" He couldn't help it, there it was, his first step down the rabbit hole.

She didn't want to say it out loud, not directly, so she couched it in scientific terms. "I believe that the only way to come to a absolute resolution of the argument is for us to perform a rigorous experiment setting out to prove, by establishing specific scientific requirements and markers being either met or unmet, that emotions, particularly love in this case, has no influence on sexual pleasure. Or if I were to be proven wrong, and the markers were met, love does influence sexual pleasure and according to you breaks the laws of physics creating a sense, albeit not actual, of oneness. Thus establishing a concrete difference between, as you put it, making love and crappy sex."

Feeling the weight of the moment, he moved a little closer to her on the couch. Now, his long arm stretched out across the back of the couch. He could barely reach her shoulder. His fingertips fiddled with the seam of the sweatshirt he'd given her to wear. A stillness took over the moment.

"You want me to make love to you." There was an absolute seriousness to his tone. It had to be stated clearly, not hidden in her lofty scientific terms. If they were really going to do this, he needed her to acknowledge what she was really asking.

"In pursuit of a scientific resolution to your argument." This was awkward for her, he felt bad for that, but it needed to be said, clearly defined for what it really was. She continued cautiously. "It has yet to be determined whether it would be classified as making love or that there is in fact a difference. That would be the purpose of our pursuit, but, yes, essentially that is what I'm asking."

She took another sip of her tea as she waited for him to respond.

"So, how would this work?"

She set down the cup and moved a little towards him on the couch. "Well, what makes the difference between crappy sex and making love? We would need to specify those traits so that we can measure the difference."

Without hesitation he answered. "Connection, Bones, when two people share a connection, when they care about each other. When the sexual experience becomes about giving to the other person, a way of sharing their feelings for that person through touch, having sex becomes making love." Looking down he realized he'd picked up her hand while he'd been talking. "You're still cold." Wrapping his hands around hers he tugged on her pulling her closer bringing her hands up towards his mouth he blew his warm breath on them and rubbed them gently.

"We need a control." It was almost blurted out. "We would need to engage in a sexual act without this established connection."He'd dropped her hands in shock when he'd realized she wanted this now. Her fingers fell to his chest immediately drawing patterns as she talked. "So we can compare and chart the difference."

"No, that won't work." He stilled her hands by placing his overs hers and holding them to his chest.

"What? Why?" She tried to pull away like a sullen child but he held her there.

"We are already share a connection, Bones, you and me, from years of working together and we're friends, good friends. I could never just have sex with you. Besides, I wasn't done, making love is more than just connection. It's about allowing yourself to be vulnerable." He knew that would be a hard one for her and watched her reaction carefully.

"I should probably write these down." There it was, distancing and avoidance, he watched as she raised her guard.

"You don't need to write them down, you're brilliant, you'll remember. Connection, Bones, giving and accepting love, allowing yourself to be vulnerable. You'll have to be comfortable with me touching you in simple ways, like just holding you. It's not as simple as just jumping in the sack, but, you already knew that."

She did know, she'd already considered it heavily as she'd walked around Booth's neighborhood in the rain. She knew what she wanted to propose to him went against his beliefs. Some people can't sleep together, he'd told her once, too many strings, too much at stake, too much to lose. She'd walked for at least an hour weighing the possibility of strings and stakes and loss before deciding to go forward with her plan unable to hold back her desire to be with him any longer. After all, she was a scientist and he tempted her with this notion that there was something out there, something more than what she'd ever experienced. How could she resist the need to experience it for herself? He had to know she couldn't resist.

"Yes." She looked almost pained as she responded. "Booth, if you don't want to do this, if it's asking too much..." She let her voice trail off not really wanting to tell him he didn't have to do this for her, with her, but not wanting him to back out. "In the end, regardless of the results we would agree to walk away. We need to agree no commitments, no strings, just the satisfaction of having completed the experiment and knowing, scientifically, the difference, if there is one."

Booth grabbed her hand. "You're still cold." He whispered as she he turned her around and pulled her back against his chest wrapping his arms around her. She was still stiff in his arms as he gently moved her damp curls to the side and nuzzled into her neck. "And you agree, that for the sake of the experiment, that you'll let me in, let me hold you, and love you." His words whispered along her skin sent rivers of chills running down her extremities. Biology she reminded herself, it's the function of nerves to do that, to respond to stimulus.

"Yes, for the duration of the experiment. I will, I'll try. I understand you're anticipating some build up to the actual act. When do you plan on carrying out..." Dammit, he was making it hard to think and even though she was trying to remain distant she felt herself relaxing into his arms. "How much time do you need before we..."

He saved her. "I can't say. I'll know when you're ready, You'll know, it will happen when you're ready."

"Booth." She was protesting even as she settled down into his arms. "This cannot go on indefinitely. We need to be spe-"

"I won't give you a date and time, Bones, it doesn't work like that." Ready or not he was pretty sure there was no way they'd make it past a week anyways. If there hadn't been so much at stake he'd have taken her up on her offer of a control experiment, right there on the couch, right then. But he needed the time, he needed her to be open to him, to let him in, so he could give her something she wouldn't want to end in a week, something she couldn't live without. "But how about this, how about we give this a week, seven days."

"I can accept that." Finally feeling warm and safe, wrapped up in Booth, she was having a hard time staying awake. She sounded so sleepy. Booth scooted them down on the couch so they were more comfortable and pulled a blanket he kept on the back of the couch over them. She fell asleep in his arms mumbling "seven days" over and over confirming their agreement.

A/N: Please leave a review and let me know what you think! I am terrible at guessing! And drop by and wish craftyjhawk a happy birthday on twitter!