Rooftops and Invitations (BB, T/M, Angst/Romance) NOW COMPLETE!!

Title: Rooftops and Invitations

Rating: T for now, M for later chapters

Summary: You can’t stop thinking about him, you can’t stop looking at him. So do something about it.

A/N: Little something I came up with, definitely inspired by Dashboard Confessional’s song by the same name, though I hesitate to label this a song-fic. Looks to be at least three chapters, but I can’t promise an update soon as I’ve been rather uninspired lately. Devilishly hoping that some good feedback and start of Season Four will turn that around for me!
Thank you so much to Kate and Ali (sorry girls, I couldn’t resist!) for the beta prowess – never could do it without ya! And to bertie’s kitty… the Force, I am no match for it!

Disclaimer: Concept of Bones + Characters of Bones + Anything you recognize = Not mine.

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He shuffled the stack of file folders and the bags of food he was carrying into one arm and wiped the beads of sweat from his brow before reaching out to knock upon the wood-paneled door. A heavy sigh escaped him as he redistributed the items and waited. Her approach was nearly silent; he could feel her presence on the other side of the door before he could hear her. Must be barefoot. Only logical… damn heat.

The door swung open to reveal his partner wearing less then he’d ever seen, and he could only hope he recovered well from that fact. His eyes scanned her head to toe, taking in the damp tendrils of hair falling from her loose ponytail, the thin white tank top clinging to her breasts, the fluid maroon skirt billowing around her ankles and yes, bare feet; but it was her eyes and the weariness that he found there that held his gaze. He knew his must reflect the same.

“Smells good,” she softly smiled as she took the bags of food from him and moved towards the kitchen counter. It had been a long day, a long few weeks. Heated foot-chases in nearly 100 degree weather, along with tension-packed standoffs, didn’t leave much time or thought for nourishment. So seeing a fresh-faced Seeley Booth at seven twenty in the evening, wearing worn-in jeans and a form-fitting tee, she attributed the watering in her mouth solely to the bags of aromatic goodness she now held in each hand. When he smiled at her and ‘discreetly’ took in the length and curves of her body, the moistness between her thighs couldn’t be explained away nearly as easily.

He shifted the files again and stepped over the threshold, hoping to feel a significant temperature drop as he moved into the room. It was slight, at best. The air conditioning seemed to chug in Brennan’s apartment, barely keeping up with the sweltering temperatures that had every weather man in the city dragging out their record books.

He walked to the sitting area and placed his batch of files next to her laptop, noting through the orderly stacks that she had started without him. What else is new?!

“Beer?” he heard her call from the kitchen.

“Sure,” he answered, moving towards her across the room.

He helped her prepare the food and drinks in silence, the air heavily-laden with more than the heat and humidity. For possibly one of the first times it wasn’t a tension caused by arguments or attraction between them, but an almost palpable stress surrounding them both like a cloud of persistent gnats.

They’d just wrapped one of the most intense cases of their partnership. Seven bodies recovered in three weeks; some of the worst, most gruesome remains the team had ever seen, a serial killer whose taunts and games rivaled and surpassed Howard Epps’ wildest dreams. The toll this case had taken on everyone remained plainly etched on their faces. Unlike Epps, this scumbag had not directly threatened or attacked the team; no, his escalating sick pleasure and fear was taken out on his victims, each body tortured worse than the last. Each excruciating detail they uncovered made it that much harder to stay compartmentalized, focused. By the end, emotions usually kept in check were threadbare and raw.

They moved to the coffee table to eat and begin to sort through the hours of torturous federal triplicate. It was not either partner’s desire to rehash the last few weeks. Therefore, even the usual comfort found in each other’s presence seemed short-lived. Smiles were few, sighs were many. Words were exchanged only as necessary. And stolen glances revealed the raw nerves and knife-edged feelings, as evident as the snapshots scattered around the work area – seven bodies, contorted from fear and pain, their final screams ingrained and transferred to the psyches of those who had sought their justice.

---

Three hours later found the coffee table shoved to the side, littered with empty take-out containers, crumpled napkins and several beer bottles. Seemingly random piles of paper dotted the blood-red carpet; the organized chaos of the scene only evident to the room’s dual occupants.

Soft sounds of classic rock faded into the background of the scratching of pen on paper, the random click of a mouse, the steady tapping of laptop keys. The inconspicuous whir of the overhead fan caused a ruffle of pages here and there, the room still thick with summer heat despite the slight breeze and persistent hum of the air conditioning.

“How can it still be this damn hot?” Booth shifted in his spot on the floor and rubbed one of his bare feet, trying to restore feeling to the tingling extremity. With an agitated sigh and a flourish of his pen on paper, he passed the FD-302 to his partner, seated above him at the end of the couch.

Brennan took the page and rolled her head around her shoulders, flexing her neck muscles in a futile attempt to ease the ache settling in. “I don’t know. I’ve got the air as cool as it will go.” She shifted her light-weight cotton skirt a little higher in her lap, not succeeding in making herself cooler in the least, but unknowingly giving her partner a nice view of a creamy expanse of thigh.

Unconsciously licking his lips, but ultimately averting his eyes respectfully and rising to his feet, Booth smoothed his shirt over his flat stomach, “Getting another beer. More wine?”

She lifted her empty glass from the side table. “Yes, please.”

He took it and moved off to the kitchen. Her eyes never left his retreating form; watching his bare feet kiss her hardwood, his jeans slung low on his hips, and the tail-hem of his shirt bunched at the small of his back. His sun-kissed neck glowed even more bronze than usual, a souvenir from a rare moment of downtime used to re-connect with his son at the park. She remembered his return the next day, renewed and enthusiastic to “catch this bastard.”

She felt a trickle of sweat gather and slide between her breasts. Damn, it’s hot in here. She rose to her feet and met him as he rounded the kitchen counter. Taking the filled glass from his hand, she said, “I think we need a break,” before taking a sip of the cold liquid and closing her eyes; not savoring the sweet flavor or woody aroma, but relishing the cool stream parting her lips, the radiating chill across her tongue, coating her throat on its way to settle coolly in her belly. She softly moaned her appreciation of the drink as she pulled the glass away.

“That good, huh?” Booth asked, a look in his eyes she couldn’t quite define, yet still managed to send a shiver down her spine.

She turned toward the front door, not bothering with shoes, keys, anything but her refreshing beverage and her intended goal.

“Where are you going?”

“You’ll see,” without looking back to see if he would follow. Her invitation unspoken.

Feeling somewhat like a rubbernecker at the scene of a multi-car pile-up, helpless to resist, he passed the wet condensation of his beer bottle across his forehead as he followed her trail and shut the door behind them.


---


As she pushed open the heavy door at the top of the stairs, the white of her tank top contrasted with the inky sky, the dim light from inside the stairwell creating a perfect silhouette. He stopped mid-step and leaned against the railing, resting his beer bottle on his thigh – for just this moment, indulging. And then she was gone, disappearing into the blackness. Shaking his head to clear it and jar himself into motion, he quickly took the last few steps and caught the door just before it closed completely.

Stepping onto the rooftop, he prepared himself to feel a rough, pebbly grit on the soles of his bare feet… expected it to burn as the dark tar returned the day’s heat. Instead, the surface was smooth, soothingly cool as light-colored sandstone tiles led in a path to a terrace garden. Maybe “garden” was a stretch, but the moonlight revealed a sitting area dotted with ornamental grasses in planters, low-rising brick walls – what he later realized were the fire walls demarcating the individual units - and several wooden Adirondack chairs.

However it wasn’t the roof itself that demanded attention, but a panorama of the city that could literally take one’s breath away. The view to the Northwest encompassed the dome of the Capitol building, the phallic spire of the Washington Monument, and unseen somewhere in between, their Jeffersonian Institute. Elsewhere, the ethereal glow of “big city” and a sea of twinkling lights stretched for miles in all directions.

“This is beautiful. I never even knew this was here.”

“All the tenants of the building share this area. But I can honestly say I’ve never seen anyone up here.”

“I can’t understand why, it’s amazing.” After he spoke, he realized he could understand why she may have only ever been here alone – during the hours ‘normal’ people used this place, she was usually with him or in her lab, immersed in death.

They stood side-by-side for a while admiring the nearly birds-eye view.

In his line of work, it was too easy to look over this city - his city - and feel responsible, like a protector – a mini-God. Only he wasn’t omniscient or omnipresent. All he could do was watch them scurry from up here, but his job was down there, in the thick of it and many times he felt like he was only cleaning up the messes left behind. Obviously, he wasn’t omnipotent either.

Her words broke the silence and it was eerie to him how her voice echoed the one in his head. “It took us longer than it should have… that last victim… we were too slow.”

As she spoke, she watched his profile; he never took his eyes from the distant view, but she saw his jaw clench and heard his sharp intake of breath. Upon his exhale, he faced her and his eyes flickered with emotion – at the surface, anger, on the verge of being unchecked; and just beneath, immense sadness and pain.

The hand not holding his beer came up to rub across his forehead and then clench into a fist at his side. “Clark’s good, but he’s no Zack.” It was the first thing that popped in his head, but it wasn’t what he meant to say. It wasn’t what he meant.

She bristled and wrapped her free arm tightly around herself, half-full wine glass dangling from her fingertips. Obviously. But she thought she knew what he was getting at. They didn’t often mention the more-than-apparent change in their team dynamic, but cases like this drove it home. The well-oiled machine they once were, all six of them, had hiccupped and coughed out one of its own. And replacing a hexagonal peg with a square one didn’t often work.

She would give Clark credit though, he had worked his ass off on this case and eventually led them down the right path. That had to count for something. She was justified in hiring him.

Brennan silently turned to move towards a chair.

“That… that’s not what I meant, Bones. It wasn’t his…” Booth stopped to take a breath and collect his thoughts. Every time he thought of the way this case had unraveled, he wanted to punch something.

He turned towards her. “Bones, this guy was a sick, twisted fuck. I wish I could justify it to myself in any other way, but I can’t. We did what we could with what we had. It took all of us. The same way it always has.” It doesn’t mean I still don’t want to gut the guy. “And now the bastard is on his way to rot.”

Brennan sat in one of the wooden chairs, hiking her skirt to her knees and extending her long legs. Taking a sip of her rapidly-warming wine, she said, “I know Booth.”

He stared at her a few moments as the silence stretched between them. It wasn’t personal between them, but they both felt so affected by this case, that it seemed that way. He watched her until she raised her eyes to meet his.

They were still a good team. This guy would never kill again.

Her soft smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s still hot.”

There was a slight breeze in the night air, maybe a hint of summer rain in the carried aroma, floating above the typical city smell of exhaust and the heavy humidity.

Booth moved to the brick wall adjacent to her and sat, just as a flash of heat lightning lit up a corner of the ebony sky. “Maybe we’ll get a bit of rain… some relief,” he said, setting his bottle on the ground near his feet. Placing a hand on either side of him, he leaned back and looked up into the inky blackness, watching gray clouds temporarily obscure the moon and few brightest stars that the city lights couldn’t dim.

She watched him extend and cross his long legs, openly admiring his feet in the shadows that prevailed over them. His large halluxes, the masculine arches - a flashback to gray-on-black film suddenly illuminated her mind, its revelations as clear to her as if she had been there herself or watched on some sadistic video reel. She had a sudden urge to hold them (him) in her hands, massaging the ache in his soles (soul). She found she wanted to see those feet buried in warm sand in relaxation, running through lapping waves at an ocean’s edge, tangled in crisp white cotton sheets, morning’s first light casting upon the golden brown dusting of hair.

She looked in her glass, as if the wine could be to blame for her meandering and bizarre thought processes. Inebriated after just two glasses? Maybe it was something else that had gotten inside her, impairing her mind and intoxicating her senses.

You can’t stop thinking about him, you can’t stop looking at him. So do something about it.

TBC.
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Thanks for reading! Feedback is much appreciated.

Awww... Go for it, Bren!

You can’t stop thinking about him, you can’t stop looking at him. So do something about it.

very good idea!
go get him Bones!

Title: Rooftops and Invitations - Chapter Two

Rating: M

Beta(s): TemperTemper and ForAReason - once again, major glomps to you both… this whole process would be impossible without you guys.

A/N: Definitely inspired by Dashboard Confessional's song of the same title, though I hesitate to label this a song-fic. Even though we're not quite there yet (O_O, did I just give it away?!), I'm moving this on into the land of M, just to be safe... and we all know the reasons why it's good to be safe. [/PSA] So if you are under the age of consent, or just aren't into that sort of thing, please re-consider continuing this story. Thx!

Disclaimer: Concept of Bones + Characters of Bones + Anything you recognize = Not mine.

Many thanks to those who have read and reviewed so far!
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Even at near eleven o’clock in the evening, the city is far from silent. The squeal of tires at the nearest intersection, a slammed door in the building below, the drone of an overhead jet aiming for a landing before the imminent rain. Scattered voices calling out in laughter or anger or pleasure… it ebbed and flowed, much like the current of the nearby Potomac.

But she heard none of this. She was caught up somewhere between her past and future, her feelings becoming clearer by the second.


Temperance Brennan was never one to say something just because it was what someone else needed to hear. But it was their fifth family notification, just after two weeks of chasing their tails and uncovering more and more sadistic details of how this freak had shifted from mostly post-mortem cutting and mutilation to now nearly all ante-mortem torture. She could no longer honestly answer the common question, “Did my child/spouse/friend suffer?” without causing more pain than she cared to inflict. This madman had doled out enough pain already; she didn’t want to add more to it… unfortunately, in her line of work, it was rare that she could give comfort, only answers.

So she lied.

And the first time she did, Booth gave her a somewhat shocked look, but it dissolved into understanding and ended with a shared tight smile and a gleam of pride.

And that was enough to boost her confidence in listening to what her heart was trying to say.


Before she could stop herself or think too much about potential ramifications, she moved her foot towards that of her partner and ran her toe up along its smooth bottom. She watched as his toes curled and could swear she saw him shiver.

“Bones?” she heard him ask, but her focus was still intently on his feet.

“Ticklish, Booth?”

He flexed his foot and extended his leg the few inches to caress along her instep. “A little. You?”

Her eyes flicked to his and she could just make out his cocky smile from the dimness of the night. Was she really playing footsy with her partner on her rooftop?

“Not really,” she replied coyly.

“Hmm… too bad.” He pulled his foot away and sat forward, reaching down to grab his beer and take a large swig, before returning the now-empty bottle to the ground. Although he had physically put a bit of space back between them, his eyes never left hers and the feeling of connection never fully dissipated.

Angela would call this an “eye-sex” moment. Would they let it pass as every other had before?

Brennan didn’t have to search too deeply to find that she didn’t want to wait and find out.

“At least, not on my feet,” she responded as a sly grin graced her lips.

---

Booth swallowed visibly, and his smile faltered a bit before he could catch himself. What were they doing?

Brennan leaned forward in her chair and placed her near-empty wine glass on the uneven limestone tile below. This action provided her partner with an eye-full of her more than ample breasts pressed against the ribbed cotton of her scoop-neck tank. If it were earlier in the evening, a few less beers under his belt, he would probably have looked away and, truth be told, he did flick his eyes up toward hers for a moment – to see if he was busted. But the temptation to look proved too much… and once he’d succumbed, it was like he was in full missile-lock.

And she wasn’t wearing a bra.

“I’m up here, Booth.”

His gaze flicked to hers again, then back down, then locked onto her indescribable eyes once more… this time staying, and piercing; diving into the depths, swimming amongst her thoughts like only he could. And what he saw there…

Determination. As she reached across the short distance and wrapped her hand around the back of his neck, pulling his head, his lips, hard to hers.

Heat. In sharp contrast to the coolness of her fingertips, still moist with condensation where she had just been holding her glass, now searing into the tender sun-kissed flesh of his neck.

Need. Her lips pressed firmly against his, barely moving at first, then slightly parting and pulling away before latching on… and God, he could feel her hot breath against his lips, in his mouth, the tip of her tongue tasting him like he was the newest delicacy at the most elegant restaurant in town. And the flashes behind his closed eyelids could have been strikes of lightning from the impending storm or… something else. But it was enough to get him moving, involved, participating.

He parted his lips against hers and slipped his tongue into her mouth, gliding across her bottom lip and nearly dying right then from the taste of her mixed with the bittersweet wine still clinging there. He allowed his eyes to drift open, just enough to see her. It is real, it is her.

And she’s your partner. Your partner. What the fuck are you doing? Line crossed equals lives lost. But… oh, God in Heaven. This is Heaven.

Telling the angel on his shoulder to take a flying leap, he acknowledged her fingernails dragging along his scalp with a low moan and continued to devour her mouth willingly. Bracing himself with one hand upon the wooden slats of her chair, the other moved of its own volition along the outside of her thigh, tentatively exploring and coming to rest lightly at the curve of her waist.

Straight to Hell. Straight. To. Hell.

Her hand moved to rest on his chest, but not for long. Fingertips trailed lightly down, grazing past his now-sensitized nipple, one finger stopping to circle it before all five continued on a path toward his...

Fuck.

“We can’t… oh, God, we can’t.” Booth breathed heavily and pulled away abruptly, but not completely, his hand still gripping her waist. At that moment, bowing his head and closing his eyes tightly, he would have sworn to anyone within swearing distance that it was the hardest thing he had ever done - to pull away from the sweetness that was her mouth. And unconsciously, his thumb continued to lightly stroke the ribbed cotton, just above the elastic waistband of her skirt.

“Booth…”

Dammit, Booth, you’re a masochist. “I’m sorry, Bones…” You did just have your tongue down her throat; you could at least call her by her given name. “Temperance, I…”

She reached forward and lightly touched his chin with the knuckle of her right forefinger, raising his eyes to hers. The slight upturn of her swollen red lips, along with her swirling eyes, captivated him and made him see one more thing. Trust.

He could see that moment in their history, the one her action had just mimicked, as plain as if it had happened yesterday. Family. We are all of us, your squints.

However, it was clear to him that, at this moment, there was only one he truly cared about.

“Bones…” released from his lips, entangled with a sigh of frustration. It’s okay, I gave her that name.

As he pulled his hands away from her and sat back, he clenched his fists in his lap. Never more had a grown man wanted to cry – or maybe punch something… yeah, a lot more manly to pound into something than to... Oh, God… straight to Hell.

“Booth, you once told me there was a difference between head and heart, and that sometimes I needed to disengage one and listen to the other. I… I thought I was doing that.” She leaned back in her seat once more and crossed her legs, yet her eyes stayed locked on him.

And he realized that while there was confusion residing there, the one emotion he didn’t detect was fear.

It also wasn’t lost on him that when she said the word “head”, she pointed to herself, and at the word “heart”, motioned to him. He rested his elbows on his knees and scrubbed his face with both hands, a vain attempt to ‘wake up’ to this situation. He templed his fingers in front of his still-tingling lips and met her eyes again.

She was right.

And if he truly was thinking with his heart, he never would have stopped kissing her. They could be well on their way back down to her apartment, her bed… Oh, God.

But someone had to be rational, right? Someone had to keep a cool head… what would happen in the light of day? What if they woke up together, yes, fully satisfied, but also full of regret? What if…?

“Life is too short. Too short to have so many regrets,” he whispered. He wasn’t even sure he had spoken out loud, through the shelter of his fingers.

“You don’t think I know that?” She was no longer looking at him, worrying instead with her hands in her lap.

His head dropped as well, and his focus came to rest on her feet: smooth and slender, toes painted a vibrant red that he would never have predicted.

Is there a scale of magnitude – a Fujita Scale for regrets? Is it greater to regret making a decision that could alter everything? It’s hard not to have a fatalistic view of that choice – a feeling of near-certainty that the outcome of that decision would be to see their friendship and partnership in shards beneath their bare and bloodied feet, an unrecognizable twisted mass of rubble likely to be found in a Midwestern trailer park after an F5.

Would it be worth it? To forever feel the guilty weight of every victim failed due to a decision made in a moment of self?

Or is the far-weightier regret never making that move at all? Never giving themselves the chance to see if they sputter and fall or burn bright and soar…

Taking a deep breath, but still not able to look at her for risk of losing his grip on his thoughts, Booth broke the silence. “Bones, I don’t know the right decision here. But I know that right now, what my heart is saying and what my head is saying are two different things… and, more than anything, I hope that one day they will both be saying the same.” To you. He stopped speaking and looked at her, waiting until her eyes lifted to his. “I’m not sure when that will be…” But I hope it’s soon.

Brennan nodded. “Just so you know… I’m already there, Booth.”

She rose from her chair and moved once again towards the roof’s edge, wrapping her arms around herself and taking in the view – the city once so bright, but now seemingly pale in comparison to the feelings she had finally acknowledged for this man.

His eyes widened as he realized what she had just told him. His chest constricted, his heart raced and the space taken up by his lungs ached for release as he could no longer find his breath. If anyone had asked him days ago, weeks ago… hell, years ago, who was the more emotionally advanced in this partnership, he could easily have answered that it was him. The irony that he was the one mired in what amounted to fear at this proposed step in their relationship was not lost on him.

But there’s just too much to lose.

Isn’t there?

---

Former wisps of clouds had gathered and congealed into a dark gray storm-bearing front that seemed to be making its way steadily toward the city, its singular focus to obscure and darken the horizon and wash clean the soot and grime that had been building for weeks.

A sudden, loud crack and rumble of thunder caused her to jump… then laugh at being caught off-guard. Her partner’s hand, suddenly resting on her elbow yielded the same result… including the tingling electric pulse of the lightning strike that immediately followed.

“We should probably head back inside, Bones. Storm’s coming.”

She tried to catch his eyes as they turned toward the rooftop door, but he kept his gaze averted and instead looked to the sky, the chairs, the doorway… anywhere but her.

She approached the heavy, metal door first, reaching for the handle and suddenly angled her body towards his, effectively blocking his path.

“Any chance you’ll change your mind?”

“Bones.” Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look at her.

But he looked up just in time to see her enigmatic expression and the wink of an eye as she grasped the metal door handle and pulled. And just then, nothing happened.

[/End Chapter 2]

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TBC.
Thx for reading! Feedback feeds.

Awwie. What a great story! Please, MORE!

nothing happend?
like in the door is closed?
they have to stay on the rooftop during a thunderstorm?

that's not good.....the could be hit by lightning......

but they could also have some fun up there.....in the rain.....her top will most likely be see-through as soon as it gets wet.....he won't be able to look at anything else.....

or maybe something totally different will happen
whatever it will be, I can't wait to read about it

awesome story!

holy shit space.........this is rockin...............omg............

oh you so have to tell us what happened...........ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh why oh why do you writers do this to us..........us..........your faithful and loyal fans........you are like the evil cheese.................ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh i must know at once what is happening.........kiss her you fool.........kiss her..................oh for the love of booths socks.............*thud*

Chapter 3

A/N: Many thanks to my fantabulous betas – TemperTemper and ForAReason: this whole process would be impossible without you guys. *smooches* Also many thanks to you awesome reviewers!

Disclaimer: Concept of Bones + Characters of Bones + Anything you recognize = Not mine.

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He watched her pull at the smooth metal handle several times, knowing all along it was futile. They were locked out.

And just to put an exclamation point on the situation, loud rumbles of thunder and bright flashes of lightning were becoming more and more frequent and intense.

“Dammit, Booth! You couldn’t read the sign?”

“What sign? I didn’t see…”

She cut him off. “The sign on the door saying not to let it close completely because the lock engages automatically?” She tugged again. “Dammit!”

“Bones, I didn’t see a sign.” Trying to stay calm, Booth wondered if he’d ever seen his cool, rational partner freak out quite like this.

Rumble. One-one-thousand. Two-one-thousand. Three- … Flash.

“Well, what were you doing, Booth? It takes all of your focus to walk up a flight of stairs?”

So much for calm – he could feel himself losing that tenuous hold.

When my focus was on your gorgeous ass, yeah.

Her eyes widened.

Did I say that out loud?

Fuck.

“What did you-” And she stopped, but he could see the smirk rising to her lips. He was so busted. She turned as if to walk away and he assumed she was taking a few steps to clear her head.

Recovering from the shock of what he’d blurted, and yeah, that couldn’t have gone down much worse, Booth stepped forward to grab the door handle himself. Maybe brute force would do the trick. They needed off this roof - NOW.

He jerked with all his might and still nothing.

Suddenly, without warning, she was behind him… pressed against his back, her hands at the waist of his jeans. “Bones?”

“Booth, you have something I need…” He could feel her breath, hot on his neck.

“I- Bones, I thought we discussed this-”

Her hands moved nimbly towards the front of his jeans, her thumbs lifting the hem of his shirt and sliding along the belt-loops. And as her flesh fleetingly grazed his, he couldn’t stop the twitch between his legs any more than he could stop the impending foul weather.

Before he could even think, her fingers had snaked into both of his pockets, finding and removing his keys from the right one… and then she was gone, striding away from him across the rooftop; leaving him in the assumed position – legs slightly spread and palms flat against the door – of a man in trouble.

Rumble. One-one-thousand. Two-one-thou… Flash.

---

They say knowledge is power.

And Temperance Brennan was brimming with knowledge. She could contribute intelligent conversation about almost anything anyone could ever fathom to discuss… at least about things worth discussing. Facts, statistics, worthwhile discoveries, theories… she could hold her own with the best of them. Hell, she was the best of them.

But tonight, Temperance had just come upon a whole new facet of knowledge.

The knowledge that her partner wanted her just as much as she wanted him.

Her confident stride across the rooftop never faltered. She twirled his keys around her fingers and only slowed once she reached the first brick wall demarcating the units. Pulling up her skirt, she nimbly stepped on top and over the wall.

She could hear her partner approaching behind her. “Bones, what are you doing? Where are you going?” A grunt as he hoisted himself over the low wall. “And with my keys?!”

Brennan came to a halt at the roof’s edge and looked over. She could see her balcony about fifteen feet below. Metal rungs were attached to the side of the building and would lead them to their salvation. The storm clouds were moving in fast.

She looked down at the keys in her hand, and began flipping through the set, looking for the one to her apartment in the dim light. She flipped past a keychain reading World’s Greatest Dad and couldn’t help but chuckle when she encountered a flat disc with an etched skull and crossbones.

“This is not anatomically correct, Booth.”

“Um, no… it’s not,” he agreed, reaching out to try and snatch his keys back from her. She pulled her hand away and his fingers gripped her wrist instead, pulling her a step away from the edge and back towards him. The look in his eyes as her shoulder brushed along his chest nearly scalded her.

Just then, the skies opened up and warm summer rain began to fall. They both looked up into the blackness, as if acknowledging it would make the situation better. They only succeeded in getting their faces wet. Booth released his grip on her wrist and stepped forward.

This storm was coming whether they were ready for it or not.

Rumble. One-one-thousand. Two- … Flash.

---

Looking to the fire escape, Booth conceded, “Fine, but I’m going first…” He didn’t have to finish his sentence or even fully see her expression in the dim light to know that her “alpha-male scowl” was firmly in place.

He shifted past her to the wall and threw his leg over, resting his bare foot on the first rung. “These are going to get slippery fast, Bones. We need to hurry, but we also need to…” looking straight in her eyes, “…Be. Careful.”

“Climb, Booth,” she responded. The I can take care of myself was hidden by an especially loud crack of thunder, but he knew all the same.

Gripping the ledge, he began to alternate feet down the fire escape until his head was just about level with the roof’s edge. Glancing up to tell her to get ready, he watched with wide-eyed interest as she gathered her dark skirt up to the side and tied a knot with the excess material. This turned a rather demure garment into… well, a much shorter, much more revealing article of clothing.

And yes, he’d been seeing her legs all night. At moments, she’d exposed more than what he knew she’d intended. But that was before she’d kissed him; before he’d kissed her back. Before he’d felt how soft the fabric of that skirt was, bunched under his fingertips, a thin layer between him and the supple skin of her thigh…

“Booth, are you going?”

“Yeah… going,” to Hell, his seemingly ever-present inner voice added as he snapped his mind out of that dangerous memory and back onto the task at hand. They, along with the metal bars, were being pelted quite regularly with the now-steady rain.

When he was about halfway down, Brennan gripped the roof-ledge tightly and swung her leg over to rest her bare foot on the metal rung. She allowed the ring of his keys to slip over her thumb to hold them in place as best as she could. The last thing they needed was for her to drop them to the sidewalk fifty-plus feet below.

Booth had almost made it to the balcony railing when he chanced a look up to see how his partner was faring. Holy Mother of… He really did have a first-rate view up her skirt. And it really was a miracle he didn’t fall off the side of the damn building. Only the cumulating factors of the dimness of the night, which prohibited him from seeing quite as much, and the rain that was incessantly striking his face worked together to save him; by forcing him to look away and concentrate on the remaining distance to safety.

Finally reaching the railing, he hooked his leg over and hopped onto the balcony.

Looking back up to his partner, he cleared the large lump out of his throat and called, “Careful Bones, you’re almost here.”

When she was well-within reaching distance, he leaned over the railing and gripped her waist to steady her as she climbed over, feeling the dampness of her thin shirt under his fingers. And beneath that…

Rumble. One-one-thou… Flash.

Once she was safely beside him on the balcony, Brennan moved to unlock the glass-paned door. As she drove the key home, Booth turned to look around the elevated space and suddenly felt his chest constrict.

Oh, what, you heading for the balcony, Howie? Hope you can fly, cause that’s about a fifty foot drop…

He let his fingers drag along the iron railing as he relived that defining moment in his life.

Look who the killer is now, Agent Booth.

A little help here, Bones? I got nothing but dead weight here. Help… me.

“Booth?” she questioned now, laying a hand upon his shoulder, the material of his dampened tee made a few shades darker by the heavy raindrops. He didn’t respond, his eyes looking over the rail to the concrete below.

Are you saying you don’t want me dead?

Yeah, I’m not you.

Oh, really? You’re not thinking of the world with me still in it? Going after Dr. Brennan, your son-

I’m not you.

“Fifty,” he whispered, gripping the rail with both hands, clenching until his knuckles were white and prominent. He wanted to rip the damn thing off the side of her building. “He was a real piece of shit.”

“And yet, you would have saved him in a heartbeat. Because you’re not.”

He pulled back on the rail a bit, flexing his back and neck and letting his head hang down. Then with a deep breath, he stood straight and released the rain-cooled iron, brushing his hands together as if ridding himself of something dirty.

Turning to face her, it astounded him how beautiful she really was. Her hair was damp again, this time from the rain, and tendrils fell from the ponytail at the nape of her neck. She was watching him and her eyes sparkled – like they did when she’d made some new discovery and was excited to share it with him. Had she? Was she? Would she?

Her cheeks were still lightly flushed from their climb down the fire escape – and maybe something more. Her lips were full and dusky pink in the dim light - slightly parted, soft breaths escaping.

Rumble. Flash.

They were standing on a metal balcony, in a thunder storm, likely to be fried by lightning at any moment, but he was like a magpie with a shiny bauble; he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. When he looked at her, he saw life – vibrant, abundant, beautiful. One would think, spending nearly every waking moment with this woman, both of them immersed in death, destruction, deceit… that one would become synonymous with the other. That when he thought of his partner, his mind would flash with skeletons, murderers and decay.

But that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Because she was also his friend, his partner, and his… what? Confidante? Temptation? Downfall? Salvation?

Everything?

Suddenly filled with a mental exhaustion he was too tired to fight, he reached out a slightly trembling finger to graze along her cheek. Tracing down the line of her neck, pushing along a wayward strand of dampened hair, he spoke softly, “When is the toll on us too much, Bones?”

At his touch, her eyes had betrayed her with a slow blink and her breath had caught. But at his words, her gaze was locked to his, the spark of curiosity and concern shining like a lighthouse beacon searching for a wayward sailor. She didn’t speak; for once, simply listened, her eyes silently urging him to go on.

“I mean, how many decapitated heads, exploding bodies, hacked and dismembered corpses will it take before we break?” His eyes shifted focus to her shoulder, following the trail of his trembling fingertips as he explored her wet skin. “We chose this job. And every day we have to choose it again; renew that commitment.”

His gaze locked with hers, momentarily letting the sound of raindrops pinging on metal reign supreme. But his fingers never stilled until they had moved to slide down her arm and encircle her slender wrist, slowly curling into her palm. “What happens on the day that we don’t… or can’t?”

---

[Sorry, had to split it...]

Brennan was fascinated by the powerful emotions clearly affecting her partner right now. What she thought was pain and confusion were etched into the lines of his face, the furrow of his brow. The flashback to their experience with Epps on this same balcony had evoked feelings that she - that neither of them would have expected.

She knew what she wanted. Him – all of him. And though his touch was eliciting bodily responses from her that were beyond her control, it could not be sexual right now. She needed to be his partner, his friend… and yet, she craved more.

She raised her free hand to lightly trace along the deep lines in his brow, left awe-struck as she watched them begin to dissipate.

I'm talking about being there for him. Knowing when a simple touch is enough.

Angela’s voice echoed in her head, those sentiments from so long ago. A simpler time? Maybe, maybe not. She thought things were finally starting to become clear to her. Crystal, in fact.

“What are you saying, Booth?”

“I don’t know what I’m saying… maybe, nothing,” he said softly, then raising his eyes to hers, “Maybe everything.”

And in that moment, she knew it was no longer about Howard Epps, no longer about the last three weeks. It was about the last three years… about them. Their past, present and future. About a choice they were getting ready to make right now that would affect everything.

He was scared. And, truth be told, so was she. But when had Temperance Brennan ever let fear stop her? When had Seeley Booth – until now?

She had to try.

“We’re both head-strong, stubborn people. Fighters. Wouldn’t you agree?”

He nodded, a slight smile gracing his lips – she knew that most of the time her stubbornness could annoy him like no other. But she suspected it was also one of the traits he would never change about her.

“So, let’s fight for this. For us.”

She felt his hand release hers and she thought for a moment that he would pull away, this would be it. They could still move on from this… the line that had momentarily faded could be redrawn and heavily highlighted. Reinforced with bright yellow crime-scene tape and Day-Glo orange cones, if need be.

She would eventually forget the taste of him. Forget the feel of his hand on her thigh. The slide of his tongue in her mouth. His breath on her lips.

Her eyes closed as her body tingled from the memory. She’d forget… it just wouldn’t be soon.

---

Booth’s heart was in the right place. Finally.

His mind seemed to have caught up in the last few minutes and flipped the switch inside him that awakened the voice that was now chastising him for his previous actions. Yes, idiot, this is your work partner. But she is also the most amazing woman you’ve ever met, not to mention brilliant, sexy and your BEST FRIEND. So, what’s the problem?

He didn’t think he knew any longer. This was not how it was supposed to happen. But he now knew, in his heart, it was supposed to happen. He’d never realized that he was such a “planner” before; he always thought of himself as a free-spirit, go-with-the-flow kinda guy. But, maybe that was BB – Before Bones. Lord knows, she could throw a wrench into any well-laid plans.

So, he realized, he needed to prove himself adaptable; able to adjust and cope with whatever she threw at him… same as in their work partnership. Bob-and-weave, and occasionally butt heads, until it worked.

“So, let’s fight for this. For us,” she had said.

And he knew that of everything worth fighting for in this life: freedom, justice, peace – and yes, love – she was deserving of every ounce of commitment, loyalty, trust, and yes, love, that a man could give.

Could he be that man for her? He wanted to be, he yearned to be… did he deserve to be? His self-doubt pulled at his chest, he physically ached with it.

He needed to see her eyes – she had closed her eyes when he released her hand – he needed her to open them. To look at him and show him what her words were telling him.

He placed his hands on each side of her face, his palms gently resting on her cheeks and his fingers threading into her wet hair. Her head upturned and her eyes opened - claiming his, and his hers… both searching, analyzing, acknowledging… finding.

And this time, when their lips met, some would say it was like coming home; but it was no home that either of them had ever experienced before. It was new, but at the same time familiar. It was different, but it was comfortable. And it was hot… damn hot.

Before he knew what had happened, he had her pinned against the cool, wet glass of the door, his hands slipping her hair from its confines and entangling there. Her fingertips were gliding underneath his clinging shirt, sliding over and kneading the toned muscles of his back, pulling him closer into her, unwilling to let him go this time.

He pressed his hips into hers, allowing her to feel what she did to him and how well they fit together in this most intimate of ways. Her gasp against his lips was the break he needed to move across her damp cheekbone and down her neck, the taste of rain and sweet surrender on his tongue. His fingers deftly moved the strap of her wet, and now very see-through, tank down her shoulder, blazing the way and leaving a trail of gooseflesh, like breadcrumbs in his wake.

For a moment, his mouth released her, and he rested his forehead against the wet pane of the door, chuckling as he said, “We are really good at fighting.”

Brennan shook her head, panting a little, out of breath. “We don’t fight, we bicker.”

“For this,” and he pulled back to look deep in her eyes. “We fight.”

TBC.
-------------------------------------------

Thanks for reading - comments are ♥.

OMG!!!!!!!!!!!! 'FOR THIS WE FIGHT'holy shit again....that was freakin brilliant i tell you.......sexy.......sweet.......intense......all around wonderawesomfabulous...............ahhhhhhhhhhh and the whole pushing her up against the glass door..........omg..........ahhhhhhhhh again.......and in a thunderstorm.............the most sexy of all storms..........he can throw his lightning bolt at me anytime.........whooooooooo hooooooooooooo

man space...........i need me some more of this..........freakin hot woman........more more more more SOON

Oh, holly mother of god... That was ... a really good story. I love smut.. yey...

10 points out of 10. Loved it, loved it!

OMG!
that was just perfect!
and soooo hot......
can't wait for more!

SPACE!!

HOLY SHIT WOMAN!! I just read the whole thing from the start and all I can say is huminahhuminahhuminahhothothothothotWOWZA!! That had it all it was sweet and cute and funny and intensely sexy and steamy and everything I love in a fanfic, and I'm so glad I came in this morning to read and oh yah, SO LET'S FIGHT FOR THIS.....FOR US....... that was the most brilliant line I've ever read.....wow you are so good!! You must post more and more and more!!! NOW!! Amazing, perfectly brilliantly AMAZING!!!

Bella

HOT!

i really like your sig too space...........

really wish i had a criss angel sig..........that would be nice........i asked this one member to make me one.......but nothing yet..........i think she forgot about me....its alright.............i will be fine..........

love this story!

nicely done space.....a great read with all those lovely images flashing through my head as I go....

Hey Space,

So what's up? Do you need me to come on down and give you a swift kick in the ass? I need some Spacey Smutt, and I need Booth Nekid, and I need it NOW!! Let's go Space, post it like a MOFO!!

Love ya Sweetie, please post SOON!

Bella

Okay, so I have now gathered my covered wagon, pitch forks, rotten tuna casserole and the flying monkeys.......if you do not post soon, they will be sicked on you!!

GET TO POSTING WOMAN!!!!!

Bella

Oh consider this the start of an OLD FASHIONED MOBBING, even if I have to do it ALONE!!

GOD DAMMIT!!!

Bella

where do i sign up for the mob? *holding torch and pitchfork

No need to sign up, just jump on the wagon!! Holy crap!! Here come the Llamas!!!*they spit!!*

Bella

i think i will stay to the left of of the llamas

I'M WORKING ON IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
omg.

but thank you for the interest.
♥ you all!