Pairing: Booth/Brennan.

Rating: T.

Spoilers: "The Blackout in the Blizzard," but also everything up to Season 6.

Summary: Brennan risks losing the last of her imperviousness. Booth finds little about which he can be angry.

Disclaimer: I don't own Bones or "Animal" by Neon Trees. Obviously.

Author's note: This is my offering of completely unrealistic fluff to ease the pain of another three-week hiatus. I was inspired by Michaela Conlin's EW interview that had a B&B shipper plug in it. I wrote this while listening to a playlist that solely consisted of "Animal" by Neon Trees and the Caitlin Hart & Jake Coco cover of it. Enjoy!

The World is Quiet (Hush, Hush, We Both Can't Fight It)

By bantam-shine

In the hours after they released their wishes into the universe, Booth and Brennan polished off a six-pack of beer and ate their way through two buckets of peanuts and popcorn. With each passing second, they leaned closer, only separated by the stadium seats' armrests. Booth yawned exaggeratedly, stretched, and wrapped an arm around the back of Brennan's seat. She narrowed her eyes at his adolescent move, but rested her head in the crook of his shoulder anyway. She stifled a sigh as he pulled her closer, rubbing her arm under the pretense of warming her up.

Brennan glanced at her watch. "It's late —"

Booth opened his mouth to protest.

"— and judging from your emphatic yawns, you're exhausted." She said drily, suppressing a smile.

Extracting herself from Booth's half-embrace, Brennan gathered the peanut shells and rogue popcorn kernels into a bucket and headed to his kitchen. Booth grabbed their empty beer bottles and followed close behind. She flipped the bucket over his garbage and set it beside his refrigerator, while he tossed the bottles into the recycling bin she had forced him to get.

Since the night Hannah rejected Booth's proposal, Brennan tried to fulfill her promise to be just his partner. Yet, on Valentine's Day, she smuggled tommy guns out of the Jeffersonian and into the FBI shooting range to cheer him up. Booth tried to keep his distance from her outside of work. On their day off, however, he joined her for a run and offered to accompany her to a lecture on the Peloponnesian War. (He was interested in war. After all, he was a soldier — thank you very much, Caroline!)

They playfully shoved each other while taking turns washing their hands at the sink. Booth wiped his hands on his jeans. Still, Brennan offered the dishtowel to her partner. He let it drop onto the counter and took her hands in his. (Both remembered a spring day last year when Brennan left the diner to make amends with Angela. Booth caught her hand and held it for just a little too long.) They stared at each other for a moment, then at the stadium seats.

Though they had to solve a case while trapped in an elevator during a blizzard (under Sweets' meddling eye), they considered the day an excellent one. After seven years of evading the subject of them, they finally discussed sex, their feelings, and the prospect of being together. No metaphors or indefinite pronouns. No claims of not knowing what something meant. No "atta girl" attached to a declaration of love.

Instead, Brennan did the unthinkable and casually mentioned that it was natural that they thought about making love. For once, Booth didn't change the subject and discussed how compatible they would be, considering how passionate they were about their work. And while both referred to their feelings in the past tense, they didn't even sound convincing to themselves.

"Booth."

Their eyes locked once more.

"Yes?"

Brennan closed the gap between them, their shoes toe to toe. Booth steadied his breathing as her breasts brushed his chest. He ignored the fact that her mouth was mere millimeters away from his and focused on what his partner said next.

"I have a confession to make."

"Oh?"

"I have gathered sufficient evidence that I am a strong substance."

"How's that a confession, Bones? You've always been strong. We talked about that earlier."

"That is to say – I have gathered sufficient evidence that I am a strong enough substance to risk losing the last of my imperviousness."

Booth's eyes widened.

"I no longer fear that you will abandon me. I no longer believe my heart is closed; it took my heart getting crushed to understand that. I understand now that when you said you wanted to give us a shot, despite our best efforts, we had already been a couple for quite some time. We just hadn't made love."

A nervous chuckle escaped his lips. "Well, when you put it that way —"

She smiled reassuringly.

"Over the years, you have reassured me that I am worthy of love. Apart from the aberration we will not discuss, you have been my constant and best friend. Once we put that initial case aside — the flirtation, the tequila, and first kiss in the rain — we became legitimate partners. Somehow, drinks after cases and takeout while doing paperwork led to conversations in which we shared stories — secrets — no one else knows. You showed me that logic can be fallible and that sometimes, as irrational as they may be, feelings should never be dismissed.

"That night on the steps of the Hoover, I realize that you were in shock when I turned you down —"

"I should've explained what I meant. I didn't want you to change. I just wanted you."

"I know that now, Booth." Brennan squeezed his hands. "I would like to risk the last of my imperviousness because I know we are not a gamble. Even when obstacles – metaphoric or literal – stand between us, we find each other, again and again. We are the center. We always hold."

Booth sighed with relief, gently releasing her hands so he could clasp his in the small of her back. "Bones, since we're confessing, I hafta tell you something, too."

"Oh?" She looped her arms around his neck.

"I've found I don't have much to be angry about."

"Really."

"Yeah, I mean — I realized that you, the most objective person in the world —" He paused, expecting her to interrupt him.

"In a hyperbolic sense. Go on."

"— I realized that you, the most objective person in the world, think I'm a good man. Over the years, you've helped me reconcile my cosmic balance sheet. You inspired me to quit gambling and strive to be the best person and agent I could be. You've given me concrete examples of how I'm a good father and grandson. As much as you thought you needed reassurance that you were worthy of being loved, I needed it, too.

"We both had pasts that left us jaded, Bones. We just coped with things differently. But you're right — somehow, we evolved from coworkers who were insanely attracted to each other to partners to best friends. Rescuing each other from the Gravedigger and every other psycho killer should've clued us in that we cared about each other as more than friends.

"That night at the Hoover, I shouldn't have let the sting of rejection make me blurt out that I needed to move on. Because let's face it, Bones, there's no moving on from you. You've always been the standard. You always will be. That's why no aberration could ever keep us apart. That's why I'm not angry. Because there was a time when you would never use the words making love seriously and I would never openly talk about sex with you. But today has proven how far we've come."

With that, Booth's mouth met Brennan's. They kissed with abandon, mouths melding, and tongues tangling. Their lips tasted like beer and snacks one would purchase at a baseball game, not tequila. There was no mistletoe hanging above them, just the kitchen light. Though they were dressed in winter clothes, they were sheltered from the blizzard, not shivering on the steps outside.

Booth's hands slid from the small of Brennan's back to cup her butt. She laughed against his lips, breaking their kiss. She leaned her forehead on his. He winked, then scooped her into his arms and carried her into his bedroom. Reverently, he laid her in the middle of his bed. She moved to take her socks off, but he swatted her hands away.

Booth slowly removed her socks, tossing the pair onto the floor beside his dresser as he toed his socks off. He pulled her towards him so he stood between her legs and slipped her cardigan off. Simultaneously, they unbuttoned each other's shirts, throwing them aside. She yanked his undershirt over his head and threw it atop the pile that was accumulating on the floor. Carefully, he removed her jewelry and set it on his dresser. Her eyes twinkle as she unbuckles his cocky belt buckle and pulls his belt off. They shed their pants and lay facing each other on his bed, wearing only their underwear.

Brennan lightly rakes her nails up and down Booth's chest, observing how his heartbeat and breathing quicken.

"Nice boxers, Booth."

"Thanks, Bones. They were a birthday gift from a sexy anthropologist who thought the pie pattern was amusing." He admires her gracefully curvy form, his hand trailing down her side to rest on her hip, toying with the hem of her panties. "I like the lace. And the boy shorts."

"It's one of my more sensible sets." She gasped as his fingers dipped beneath the hem, then huffed when he stopped. "Tease."

Brennan took Booth's face in her hands and kissed him deeply. She nudged a leg between his and hiked her other leg up to his hip. He groaned, skimming her leg with the backs of his fingers before wrapping it firmly around his waist and stroking her back.

Booth rolled on top of Brennan, grinding his arousal into her. She sighed as he kissed down the column of her throat, dragging his teeth along her clavicle. He kneeled above her and moved toward the foot of her bed. He kissed the sole of her foot, slowly kissing and licking up her leg to her inner thigh. She groaned, her hips lifting off the bed, when he clucked his tongue.

"Patience, Bones." He winked.

Once their underwear was shed, they slipped under the covers on Booth's bed. Brennan mapped the planes of his back and chest with her hands. She marveled at the strength of his arms as he hoisted himself over her. He memorized her curves, tracing them deliberately.

Trembling, they join together. This was not how either of them imagined their first time. Booth always figured they would be fighting, suddenly start kissing each other ravenously and have a dirty fuck against a door. Brennan often posited a similar scenario, except she favored an uninhibited romp on the floor.

Instead, Booth and Brennan established an indulgently languorous rhythm. They relished every touch and savored every kiss. After they collapsed in an exhausted heap from the intensity of their simultaneous orgasms, he spoke first.

"Bones." Booth swept her bangs off her forehead and dropped a kiss there.

"Yes, Booth?" Brennan rolled them to their sides.

"Remember that night we had drinks after the polygamist case?"

"You spoke of how you can love a lot of people in this world, but there is always one person you love the most."

"Yeah, well — you're that person, Bones."

"I surmised as much." She smiled shyly, "You're that person for me, too, Booth."

Hours later, Booth stirred beside Brennan. He kissed the nape of her neck. Instinctively, she tugged his arms tighter around her, her legs rubbing against his.

"Bones, you awake?"

"I am now."

"I've got another confession."

"We seem to have no shortage of those today."

"I peeked."

"At what?"

"Your paper wish."

"Booth! I told you not to look!"

"I know, Bones. I'm sorry. But I had to know if we were on the same page."

"I thought that was the point of the whimsical exercise; we were supposed to leave it up to fate."

"You always say fate like it's a disease."

"Considering you didn't even leave our paper wishes up to fate, which you claim to believe in wholeheartedly, I am curious to hear your defense."

"Ignoring that comment and confessing now — we wrote the same thing."

"I highly doubt you wrote, As soon as possible, given the stipulations I posed."

"Well, I wrote ASAP."

"So the sentiment was the same."

"Bones. We wrote the exact same thing."

"I will concede that you abbreviated the first portion of what I wrote."

"Can't you just let me have this one?"

"According to you, fate has this one."

"I can feel your eyes rolling at me in the dark."

"We could have this argument for hours. May I resume my REM cycle now, Booth?"

"Sure thing, babe."

"Don't call me babe."

"That's what you used to say when I first started calling you Bones."

"Goodnight, Shoes."

"Goodnight, Bones."

The End