A/N: I'm branching out from my usual hurt/comfort genre and trying something new, but I promise you, it's going to be a roller-coaster ride of high-octane emotion and although you may need some tissues (and possibly a barf bag - you'll know why once you've read this chapter), I promise the ending will be worth it. You might even get some smut thrown into the mix, seems as though the response to 'Searching For Salvation' was so amazing (thank you all for your encouragement, incidentally).

This story aims to address several issues that have pissed me off immensely during Season 4. Just to recap: in Season 2, the jealousy angle was tried and tested to the point where Brennan ultimately made the decision to forsake her relationship with Sully to continue working alongside Booth, and her anguish at Sully's departure was visibly alleviated by Booth's promise that "everything happens eventually." Then, for the whole of Season 3, B&B were celibate and we shippers were left to bask in the afterglow of all those long and lingering looks (usually found at the conclusion of every episode). We were led to believe that B&B had secretly acknowledged their love for one another, and therefore didn't have any interest in dating people who were frankly substandard.

Then, Season 4 arrives and the writers have inexplicably decided to create multiple 'romantic interests' for Brennan. We feel a surge of hope when she tells Ian Wexler that she doesn't want to sleep with him because it will "upset Booth," and heave a sigh of relief when Booth politely rejects Pritch's advances. Then, Mark and Jason arrive on the scene and the honest and straightforward Brennan is made to look like a duplicitous hypocrite by dating both of them simultaneously.

I try to stay true to canon, so this story will deal with Brennan's possible motivations for pursuing other guys when the love of her life is waiting patiently on her doorstep and dropping hints about his feelings left, right and centre… as well as the effect her apparent cluelessness has on Booth; and why he should even be willing to hand her his heart, knowing that he could potentially be just another notch on the bedpost of someone who purportedly STILL doesn't believe in love and monogamy (despite the fact that Bones seemed thoroughly enamoured by the idea in 'Death in the Saddle'). That said, I'm not trying to lay the blame solely at Brennan's feet, and I'll also be delving into her perspectives about her relationship with Booth and his tendency to send mixed messages.

This story is NOT about perpetuating the double standards between the sexes and suggesting that Brennan doesn't have the right to pursue multiple sexual partners, it's about Brennan coming to terms with the fact that she is worth a hell of a lot more than a 'fuck buddy' - even one who can hold his breath for three minutes 'down there' - can provide. I'm going to satisfy her biological urges once and for all: not personally, you understand, although given the opportunity...

Note to self - stop offending people's sensibilities LOL.

Anyhow, I think that was possibly the longest intro I've ever written. I hope I didn't bore you. I just wanted to outline my reasons for delving into a realm I usually wouldn't touch with a barge pole.

Please read and review :-)

Agent Brad Dennison was a guy who liked an audience, and right now he was the centre of attention. The FBI locker room was the ideal venue for boasting about your sexual conquests, and although he was pretty sure that he wasn't the only one to have gotten laid last night, there was a reason why everyone was so willing to give him the floor.

"So I see her in that little black dress, and I'm thinking that someone must have been feeding Booth bromide tablets for the last four years or something, because there is no way – no fucking way – that he's managed to resist jumping that for so long. I mean, she's hot as all hell, right?"

Several heads nodded in enthusiastic agreement, and Brad grinned. Universal approval was a wonderful thing; awe was even better.

"So I take her to Nolita's, because I'm out to impress, but after three hours of listening to all of that anthropological mumbo-jumbo, I'm starting to think that maybe Booth has the right idea after all. I mean, I've had lunch dates with her a few times before, but that was for like forty minutes tops. This was a whole new ball game. Seriously guys, you have no idea how much of a mood-killer all that death and decay can be. The broad just doesn't know when to call it quits. I don't know how Booth can stand to listen to that shit 24/7."

His assertion was greeted with a mixed bag of amused snorts and raucous laughter, and Brad was more than pleased to see that the crowd around him was growing exponentially.

"So I'm sitting there, right, bored out of my skull, and all I can think about is how much the meal is gonna cost me, because trust me, that woman knows how to bleed a man dry. She ordered the most expensive wine on the menu! But then she leans forwards to get out of her chair and says she's going to powder her nose or something, but hell, it's not like I was even listening because suddenly, those puppies are staring me right in the face, begging for attention. And let me tell you now, that woman is stacked. Then she's strutting off towards the restroom, and man, that ass… those legs… it was like a wake up call, right? I'm sat there thinking to myself 'Brad, what the hell is wrong with you? You cannot blow off this fine piece of ass just because she's a bit of a freak… at least not when she's ready and willing to get freaky with you.'"

Brad paused, checking to see whether his fellow Agents were showing an appropriate degree of appreciation for his innovative pun. They were.

"And was she, Dennison?" Agent Brian Robinson hollered from the back of the room, grinning lasciviously. "Ready and willing, I mean?"

"Well, that's for me to know and you to find out!" Brad was determined to make his moment of glory last for as long as possible, and relished the groans of disappointment that ensued. "OK, OK!" he conceded, though he had clearly always had the intention of continuing. "Come on guys, have some patience. I'm getting to the good stuff."

"All right, so at this point, I would have gladly cleared out my bank account if it meant I was going to reap the rewards, but you know what the best part was? She wouldn't let me foot the bill! She insisted on going Dutch, and hell, I wasn't going to complain."

"So she wound up being a pretty cheap date after all, then?" Agent Colin Fitzpatrick quipped, and Brad wiggled his eyebrows up and down in response.

"Oh man, you have no idea." Brad's shit-eating grin widened still further. "Let me tell you now, that woman does not beat around the bush. She invited me back to her apartment and I was expecting the usual lame spiel, you know, 'would you like to come up for coffee' or something crappy like that, but get this… she starts jabbering on about my 'exemplary musculature' and how 'symmetrical' my features are, and I'm like 'what the fuck is this bitch on,' you know? And the next thing I know, she's pulling me into her apartment and muttering something about 'satisfying her biological urges' and then the dress, her panties… everything's gone, and she's just standing there, stark fucking naked, waiting for me to make a move."

Agent Freddy Sinclair led the myriad of catcalls that followed. "Well, we all know she's not backwards in coming forwards," he wisecracked, and all of the Agents who had encountered the irrepressible Dr Brennan in a work-related capacity snickered accordingly.

"So… was it good for you, Brad?" Agent Robinson enquired, utilising a sardonically effeminate tone.

"It was the weirdest fucking experience of my life." Brad shook his head in amazement. "I mean, we all know the ladies love me, right? And I really thought she was going to be the best ride of my life. I mean, she has the body of a fucking movie star, and God, that woman can kiss. You would not believe the things she can do with her tongue, and she has the most suckable tits I've ever seen. I mean, seriously guys, they're perfect. I've never been that hard in my life."

Brad paused for a moment, gathering his composure so the bittersweet memories wouldn't manifest themselves physically. He cast a sweeping glance over his rapt audience, and realised he was the only buoy in a sea of envy. His grin widened still further.

"I'm not ashamed to admit it, guys, all I wanted to do was fuck her brains out, but I'm a gentleman, right? So I start with the foreplay and I'm giving it my best shot - all the stuff that usually drives the girls wild, and she's telling me where to put my hands, what she likes…. and I'm wondering where the hell I'm going wrong, because I'm doing everything she's asking for, but other than barking out orders, she isn't making a sound. Not so much as a fucking squeak. And a guy needs some encouragement, right?" He waited for the crowd to offer their consensus before continuing.

"So I start to go down on her, thinking it might get her warmed up, and the next thing I know she's fucking pulling my hair and yanking me back up again. And then she tells me she 'doesn't like men performing oral sex on her' because it's 'too intimate!' Like me shoving my dick inside her is completely impersonal or something! I mean, have you ever heard anything like it?" Brad let out a derisive snort, and was pleased to hear it echo throughout the room. "But hey, who am I to argue, right? My tongue was fucking glad of the reprieve. And then the next thing I know, I'm flat on my back and she's riding me like a thoroughbred racehorse, tits bouncing everywhere, and she's so fucking tight I can hardly stand the friction. But the worse thing is, I'm watching her face, trying to get a read on whether she's close, and I can't even tell if she's enjoying it or not, because her expression… it was just completely blank, man. It was like she was dead behind the eyes or something. It freaked me the hell out. But then she finally let out this whispery kind of moan, and I knew something must have clicked, because no sooner had I finished cumming, she's climbing off me and collapsing onto the bed."

"So she's a bona fide Ice Queen, right?" Agent Tyler McManus ventured, hoping his cheeks weren't as flushed as they felt.

"And then some," Brad confirmed. "And I haven't told you the best bit yet. I try to put my arm around her, thinking she might expect some post-coital coddling or something, and she just gets up, slings on her robe, and tells me to leave! I was fucking offended, and I told her as much, and then she just gave me this dazzling smile and told me I was welcome to stop by tonight if I wanted to."

"And are you?" Agent Robinson demanded, giving his colleague a sly wink. "Because if you don't, I might!"

Brad shrugged regretfully. "Sorry man, I got first dibs, and I plan to keep her on tap until a better model comes along." He grinned proudly. "She's definitely good for a few more fucks. In fact…"

Brad promptly trailed off as he realised the crowd had started to part down the middle, and he couldn't bring himself to contemplate the cause of the ominous silence that had suddenly descended. His worst fears were confirmed as he caught sight of a glowering Agent Booth advancing towards him and, realising his unassuming smile was having little effect, Brad turned and attempted to flee in the opposite direction. The other Agents, sensing what was about to unfold, tried to block Booth's progress by extending placating hands in his general direction, murmuring ineffective platitudes such as 'he's not worth it,' and 'let it go, Booth,' but their efforts were in vain. Booth forcibly pushed them aside, easily thwarting Brad's attempt to escape by placing his imposing physique directly in the path of the apprehensive Agent, whose eyes immediately widened in consternation.

Brad figured that he'd better start talking fast. "Come on, Booth, don't look at me like that. I didn't mean anything by it, I swear. It's just guy talk, I – "

The first punch, a blistering right hook, landed with a sickening crack, promptly breaking Brad's perfect Roman nose. Blood spattered everywhere, and the deluge only intensified when the second punch robbed the handsome Agent of his two front teeth. They went skittering across the tiled floor, accompanied by an agonised whimper. Wanting to save face in front of the sizeable crowd, Brad nevertheless made a valiant effort to fight back, but his defensive blocks and desperate punches were effortlessly evaded until he was finally felled by a migraine-inducing headbutt.

Brad crumpled to the ground, and Booth levelled a devastating kick to his midsection, but despite the debilitating impact, it still wasn't as forceful as the former Ranger had intended it to be – by this point, three Agents were attempting to haul him away from his gasping quarry.

Booth, however, was like a man possessed, and he continued to ignore their attempts to forcibly pacify him, bringing his cumbersome work boot crashing down onto Brad's vulnerable groin, determined to eliminate the source of his chauvinism. The inhuman howl that ensued still wasn't enough to satiate his bloodlust, and it took another three Agents to successfully restrain him. They regarded him warily, as though he had temporarily lost his sanity, but by this point, Booth was spitting venom.

"Listen to me, you worthless piece of shit. If I ever hear you talking that way about my partner again, I will fucking kill you. You got that?" He glared at Brad with such feral intensity that the groaning Agent briefly wondered whether being physically pummelled was preferable to this kind of psychological browbeating. Booth looked unhinged, and if there hadn't been so many witnesses to speak in his favour, Brad might have been tempted to relinquish control of his bladder. He breathed a sigh of relief when the crowd once again parted, this time revealing the welcome – but decidedly irate face of Deputy Director Sam Cullen.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?" Cullen bellowed, his well-trained eyes hastily surveying the situation. Taking in Brad's bloodied appearance and the fact that it was taking six Agents to contain an overwrought and flushed Booth, it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what had transpired.

"You two – " He gestured to Agent Fitzpatrick and Agent McManus, "Pick him up off the floor and get him to the hospital." They hesitated for a moment, and Cullen wasted no time in invading their personal space. "RIGHT NOW," he roared, and they snapped into action, gingerly retrieving their battered colleague from the far corner of the room and supporting his flagging weight between them.

"And you…" Cullen's voice had dropped to a dangerously low timbre as he pointed a shaking finger at Agent Booth. "In my office. Now."

(Cue drumroll) The next chapter will be up tomorrow. Please let me know your thoughts in the meantime!