They arrived at Booth's apartment after a mostly silent walk, both somehow tacitly agreeing that they needed privacy to patch up the night's misunderstandings. The quiet between them wasn't necessarily uncomfortable, but Brennan's mind was whirling at a frenetic clip, sorting through possible apologies and outcomes as if they were puzzle pieces.

Booth was feeling cautious. Tonight, he felt the specter of his coma dream weighing heavily on his shoulders. If Bones was Bren, he would know exactly how to soothe her jealousy, would be allowed to prove to her undeniably that there was no other woman in his life, in his heart. But in this delicate middle-ground that they were inhabiting, he didn't know the proper response. It was an unfortunate reality that he couldn't rely on Bones to lead him through this maze; she seemed to be lost even more deeply in it than he was.

As with any seemingly insurmountable problem, he decided, he would proceed one step at a time and trust his instinct. And at that moment, his instinct was telling him to find some dry pants.

"I'll just be a minute, Bones. Why don't you make some coffee?" he suggested, slyly alluding to her intoxication.

Brennan found a measure of comfort in the menial task; Booth's kitchen was almost as familiar to her now as her own, and there was a strange sort of intimacy in knowing where another person kept their teaspoons and mugs. Over the years she had somehow developed an odd affection for Booth's things—the everyday items that belonged to him, that were under his care. She even had a favorite mug, which sported a much-faded image of the Great Lakes that had devolved through countless dishwashings to vaguely resemble a group of amoebas. She fingered the ceramic thoughtfully while the coffee brewed, content just to be in the security of his kitchen.

He emerged just as the coffee finished percolating, clad in sweatpants and a soft-worn tshirt. She offered him his cup with an shy shrug and he steered her good-naturedly towards the couch. The silence that had seemed comfortable only a moment ago now morphed into something unsettling. Brennan sought to fill it with more apologies.

"I really can't explain how sorry I am, Booth. I'm so embarrassed..." she murmured.

"I know, Bones," he replied quietly, blowing the steam from the top of his mug.

"I just can't seem to handle myself in social situations the way a normal adult could, which you obviously know already, but... I suppose I thought that I was making progress in that regard, but tonight makes me think that... I don't know," her voice trailed off. "I'm so sorry."

"You already said that, Bones."

"I know. I've apologized, and yet, things still feel... unnatural between us, and that's my fault. And I'm just... I regret that my actions ruined your dinner with your aunt, and I'm sorry that--"

"Bones," he interrupted quietly, swiping a weary hand across his stubbled jaw. "I accept your apology, okay?"

"I can only surmise that you don't," she replied, "because I can see that you're still upset with me."

Booth reached for her drink and set both mugs on the coffee table. Fighting to restrain an exhausted sigh, he took both her hands between his and turned himself to face her more fully. The moment stretched as he planned his words carefully.

"Are you going to just keep saying you're sorry or are you going to tell me what really happened?" he asked gently.

"I've already told you, Booth. I was with Angela, and we were discussing... what I saw when I walked past the diner, and I misinterpreted the situation and I acted childishly," she explained, a note of impatience darkening her tone. Booth's odd behavior was making her nervous and this conversation wasn't going nearly as well as she'd hoped.

"Yeah, Bones, I know all that. I know what you thought you saw, and I really know what you decided to do about it, but I'm asking you why."

Brennan jumped up from the couch defensively and put several paces between them. "I told you why, Booth!" she almost shouted, her nerves strung unbearably tight.

"Wrong, Bones. You told me what and how. I want to know why you came into the diner. What your heart felt, not what your brain thought," he replied with careful control.

He was being so unreasonable, and so obtuse. She spread her arms towards him in frustration. "What do you want me to say? I was angry!"

"Angry. Okay, now we're getting somewhere. Why were you angry?"

"Because fair is fair, Booth! It's not fair that I can't date anyone and you could, okay? So I was understandably, rationally angry."

"No you weren't," he answered quietly, rising from the sofa to slowly move closer. "Not really."

She crossed her arms in frustration, feeling heat creeping up her face at his interrogation. "I'm pretty sure I was," she replied saucily.

"Anger's a secondary emotion, Bones. It comes from fear, or... hurt."

"What are you, Sweets?"

Booth shrugged dismissively. "Maybe we should talk to him about this."

"What? No!" she shouted, feeling the situation rapidly falling out of her control. The sensation of being trapped was overwhelming. Desperately wanting him to just back off, she relented slightly.

"Fine. Hurt. I was feeling hurt, okay? It hurt my feelings to see you with someone else--" she amended, at the slight tilt of his head, "--with another woman at our diner. The way you've always acted with my dates, sometimes it feels like... like you think that I'm so incompetent that I can't choose a decent man. Or like maybe I don't even deserve one. So I just stopped trying, Booth, I stopped dating. It wasn't worth upsetting you. So to see you there...it's conceivable that, yes, I felt... hurt," she admitted.

He nodded patiently, as if contemplating this new information, all the while slowly advancing towards her. She took a few defensive steps backwards until she felt the baseboards meet her heel. She was starting to feel physically crowded, even though he was still several steps away. She didn't entirely like the look in his eyes—something she hadn't seen before—an inscrutable combination of predatory and gentle. Her temperature seemed to be spiking from the stress of the situation and she felt uncomfortably flushed.

"You know that I think you deserve every good thing in the world, Bones. It was them, Bones. They didn't deserve you."

She looked down, trying to halt the sudden pinpricks of advancing tears. It was just that she felt so tired, so beaten down. Somehow Booth always seemed able to find the rawness that she kept so adamantly covered. "It's possible that I was just jealous," she sniffed.

"Jealousy's close, Bones, but not quite right," he said calmly, his eyes studying the stress in her face. He knew he was on dangerous ground; this conversation could end with a kick to the gut and a fleeing partner. He knew he was pushing her into ideas she might not be ready for, ideas she might never want to share with him, but she seemed so close to understanding. So close to knowing how he felt every day.

She closed her eyes, feeling exhausted beyond measure. "I was jealous because..."

"Keep going," he whispered raggedly, his breath suddenly close enough to tickle her brow, the heat of his body near enough to press against her like a physical force.

"Because maybe I have... some type of feelings for you."

"Keep going," he repeated, but this time his words were a desperate plea, his voice raw with need.

"Feelings like..." she opened her eyes, searching his for understanding, hoping he would take pity on her and not make her continue this alone.

"Love?" he whispered, all of his hopes settling in the inch of space between them.

Finding courage in the warmth of his familiar eyes, she nodded hesitantly.

His kiss shattered her heart like a dambreak, sweet and urgent and just as desperate as she felt, a moving caress of his soft lips and hard jaw that stole the breath she hadn't realized she was holding. It felt so free to finally surrender the weight of this burden, to meet the hungry demand of his mouth with her own need. She opened herself to him fully, all her exhaustion suddenly carried away on a wave of pulse-pounding adrenalin. Her nimble brain went staggeringly blank as the only thought she could generate was I'm kissing Booth.... Booth is kissing me... I'm actually, truly kissing Booth.

Booth pulled away from her mouth to trail a molten row of kisses up her neck, finding the soft flesh of her earlobe and taking it gently between his teeth. Her head fell back of its own volition, helplessly languid under the heat of his touch.

"Just one question, Bones," he growled into her ear. "Did you mean what you said about Ian?"

"Who?" she asked foggily, gasping at the sensation of his low voice rasping against her flesh.

"Good answer," he replied with a wolfish grin, finding her mouth once again for a possessive kiss that left both of them dizzily, joyously weak.

AN: The end! I do hope you liked it, and if not, feel free to tell me why so that I may better serve you next time. : ) We aim to please.