"I hear the endless murmur

Every blade of grass that shivers in the breeze

And the sound that comes to carry me

Across the land and over the sea

And I can't look up

Fingers of love move down

And I can't look back

Fingers of love move down"

- Fingers of Love, from Together Alone, 1995

Oh, I love these late S6/early S7 glimpses just a little too much. This one set between 6x22 and 6x23... This one a bit longer than the others. Thanks to Jen for the read-through.

They lay quiet, not moving in the moonlight that stippled through the blinds across the plain sheets, now crumpled and providing inadequate cover for their cooling bodies; but merely observing each other at close quarter. Looks caressed where hands were still. Booth's eyes crinkled into a smile as he took in the gentle curves in front of him, breasts disappearing promisingly into the crease of the sheet. The early morning traffic of the city leaked into the room without directly disturbing them, but the quiet hum of the world outside reminded them of where they were.

Brennan took a breath as she stared at her lover, the newness of the their relationship still feeling like the sun drying the rain away after a storm. Her brain shifted between modes of rest and analysis. There he was, right in front of her, the culmination of her growing emotional evolution of the last seven years. All that time they'd found ways to skirt around each other without tackling the real issue, and then in the space of twenty-four hours they'd gone from holding back to letting forth. That had been three weeks ago and now, twenty-one days (and passionate nights) later, they'd barely been apart for more than a few hours. Somehow, despite the small corner of her her brain that held reservation and fear of engaging in equal measure chattering away nervously, it was totally drowned out by the larger part grinning inanely and repeatedly pummelling the traitor in that small corner over and over again until the chattering ceased.

Poor Vincent. His loss, and the nature of it, still saddened her, although she couldn't quite stay truly miserable for any length of time. The reason for this was lying on his side gazing lovingly at her as the sun was still yet to rise above the horizon. She still felt a little guilty at not feeling the depth of negative emotion that she should based on the size of the loss involved. Brennan knew that she and Booth had become an inevitability after they'd been snowed in some months before, but the fact was that despite the situation, something quite wonderful had come out of it at that specific time that made the death almost bittersweet. She was one to consider ephemera as a fact of life for so long but she'd never considered it would work in her favour. They dealt in death every day, but for the first time in her adult life, each fleeting individual moment had conspired and merged to gift her something precious, and even after these passing weeks of stolen kisses during the day, and hot sticky nights entwined about each other - losing their breath, their hearts and their minds in the process, she couldn't quite believe it. It needed to feel tangible. She needed a physical anchor for these emotions as they gripped her right in this moment of clarity. So she reached out.

Running her fingertips over his five AM shadow. Booth closed his eyes again but his contented smile remained, unabated by the temporary loss of sight. From each movement he felt her love, and with his eyes closed this was amplified by the graceful intimacy of her touch. She was touching him the with reverence with which she touched her bones. If he hadn't been in love with her for so long already, it would have been quite overwhelming; instead it comforted him.

She broke the near silence with his name a question that was barely above a whisper.


"Mmmmmm." She felt his legs stretching out next to her like an awakening jungle cat.

"What are you thinking about?"

"I'm thinking about how nice your hands feel stroking my face." He cupped her hand with his own and brought them down to his lips, where he kissed each finger in turn before pulling her in toward him, maintaining the hold on her hand. They lay very close together now, almost nose to nose. "And what are you thinking about?"

"How much I don't want the alarm to go off this morning", chuckled Brennan. And it was true. She really didn't. She could happily stay in bed for much of the day and she could not remember the last time she had felt that way when she had not felt unwell. Usually her sexual encounters had been... fleeting. Even when she'd been dating Sully, the use of the bed was mostly the means to an end. But, there now in front of her, was a cast-iron reason why everything before in the category of "sexual relations" had suddenly rendered itself meaningless. Booth always talked about her being the 'standard'. It dawned on her that he was hers.

Brennan knew they had some time left before their ears would be assaulted by the intrusion of her alarm clock. Booth's suggestion of a wake-up by a classic rock radio station some years ago when they'd been on their first undercover mission together was marginally less painful than her previous use of a shrill, if not at least successfully functioning traditional alarm. She was grateful for that right now because after Booth's input, at least when the alarm went off, he would sing badly out of tune at her, soon reducing her to fits of giggles. He did it almost every day already, except a few times when they were already awake and in the middle of... she smirked at the memories - he'd been too far gone to even remember his name, let alone sing a song.

Booth noticed her changed expression but before he could ask her about it, she had already closed the small gap between them and kissed him. There would probably not be any singing this morning.