A/N: This was originally going to be a one shot. After I posted incorrectly (I'm new at this), I got the idea for a series. This chapter takes place sometime after season 12, episode 1. Inspiration from the opening sequence of season 6 "The Shallow in the Deep".

I don't have any claim to Bones.

On a bright sunny, Saturday James Aubrey was almost half way through his 14 mile training run when it all went south. He had been happily chugging along at a steady pace allowing himself to be lost in the rhythm of his breathing and thoughts of a certain red headed anthropologist when he stepped in a pothole, twisting his ankle. "Damnit!" he thought as he staggered and narrowly avoided a face plant on the pavement. He regained his balance and gingerly stepped on his sore foot, testing the damage. It held his weight and wasn't tooooo painful, but he recognized that his run was over for the day unless he wanted to risk further injury. He was also further away from home than he wanted to walk on a sore foot. He had his cell phone, but Jessica was at a seminar this morning. He debated calling other friends to his rescue, but figured out he was only about a quarter mile from the Booth/Brennan household and with a little help from the Mini Booth, he could probably parlay his injury into pancakes or French Toast. Smiling at his new plan, he changed direction toward their place.

He rang the doorbell 5 minutes later. Dr. B greeted him with baby Hank on her hip. "Uncle Aubrey" shouted Christine as she launched herself in his direction. He swung her up into a quick hug. "Ugh! You're all wet" she said. "Yea, sorry about that. And sorry to drop by like this Dr. B, but I twisted my ankle on my training run. Was hoping Agent Booth could give me a lift home."

"He probably can when he awakens, it's his Saturday to sleep in" said Dr. B. motioning him to enter the house. "But he needs to wake up soon because I'm hungry" said Christine.

"You are training for the Marine Corps Marathon is that correct?" Brennan asked as she headed towards the laundry room.

"Yes, I tried to get Booth to join me but his response was that if God had wanted us to run 26 miles He wouldn't have invented cars."

"Well it's 26.2 miles Aubrey, and Karl Benz is credited with the invention of the automobile. In any case, it is highly unlikely that Booth could withstand the rigors of running a marathon. Here, put these on." She handed him a pair of Booths sweat pants and a T-shirt. "You'll get chilled in your damp clothes. Go change and we'll get you an ice pack for your calcaneous.

Aubrey was a little confused by her comment as he walked to the bathroom to follow orders. Booth had no trouble passing the FBI fitness tests. And while he often teased Booth about his age, but he had no doubts that the senior agent could kick his ass if he desired, although Aubrey would inflict some damage as well. They were about the same height Booth had about 50 pounds on Aubrey, most of it muscle. This was emphasized as he put on the dry clothes. He felt ridiculous - the T-shirt was 2 sizes too big and if the sweats hadn't had a drawstring they'd be down around his ankles. He walked out of the bathroom intending to ask for clarification when Booth walked into the kitchen.

Walked was not actually the appropriate word. He shuffled, hunched over like a 90 year old, grimacing with every step. Still half asleep, he didn't notice Aubrey there, intent on getting to the coffee pot. Aubrey was about to ask what the hell happened to him when he felt Christine tug on his hand. He looked down to see the Mini B holding a finger to her lips. He glanced over at Dr. B and she shook her head ever so slightly. Booth stiffly reached for a cup, and turned it upright on the counter. He tried reaching for the pot but stopped midway.

Leaning on the counter, he rolled the toes under on first one foot than the other. His brightly colored socks muffled some of the cracking sounds, but Aubrey still winced at the sounds of joints popping. The knees came next, then the back and the neck. Each pop was accompanied by a small grunt of pain. Moving a little less stiffly, he stretched his arms in front with fingers interlaced. Knuckles and shoulders creaked in protest. Then the feet again, plus a couple circles of the ankles. Finally he rolled his shoulders a couple of times, exhaled and then grabbed the pot. He filled his mug and took a quick hit of caffeine. Evidently that was the cue that it was now safe to approach since Christine ran towards him - "DADDY!" He leaned down to hug her smiling, as she grabbed his leg he tousled her hair. "Good morning Princess! Good morning Tiger" he said reaching for his son, while kissing his wife. It was then noticed Aubrey and his smile faltered a bit. Aubrey desperately wanted to find a rock to crawl under. Aubrey counted himself as one of Booth's small circle of friends but he had no doubt that the morning bone cracking was a ritual that his partner would have liked to keep private.

Thankfully Christine began to chatter non stop reciting the activities of her morning, including the description of Aubrey's misfortune. This required her daddy's full attention to respond appropriately. Dr. B used the diversion to get Aubrey settled on the couch with an ice pack and a cup of coffee. As breakfast preparations were started, the merits of French toast vs. pancakes were discussed. Christine successfully lobbied for pancakes. That decided, the next topic of discussion between Booth and the little girl was whether or not doubling the recipe would be enough since Uncle Aubrey was joining them. Aubrey made a token protest about not eating as much as everyone seemed to think. However, no one, including himself, really bought it. Christine assisted in making the batter and then carefully supervised her father as he cooked.

Breakfast was a lively affair. Dr. B. was teaching Christine German so they were identifying all the items on the table, Booth and Aubrey discussed sports and motorcycles-Aubrey was thinking of buying one and Booth was trying unsuccessfully to contain his jealousy. Hank was just learning to feed himself with varying degrees of success. He was further along in his mastery of food throwing. The bowl of fruit and platter of pancakes were soon empty. Feeling very full, Aubrey declared his ankle well enough for dish duty. Booth "de syruped" Hank while Dr. B helped Christine with her hair. Once both kids were clean, Christine entertained Hank by building block towers for him to knock down, and while Booth was getting dressed, Dr. B came to help with the clean up. Unable to contain himself any longer he asked "Does Booth always move like that in the morning?"

"Not always". His momentary relief at the answer disappeared when she continued "it depends on how long he sleeps. He didn't wake up in the middle of the night last night, so the build up of synovial gas was higher than usual."

"So, the longer he sleeps the more pain he's in when he wakes up?"

"Yes."

"That seems like a lousy trade off."

"With all the broken bones Booth has sustained in his life, it is rather remarkable that he's still able to be as physically active as he is. Although there is little doubt in my mind that some of his physical capabilities are a direct result of his stubborn personality trait."

Aubrey turned back to the dishes lost in thought. He had to agree with Dr. B's assessment of her husbands stubbornness. He thought back to the info that Sweets had given him when they were working to get Booth out of prison. Sweets had thought that if Aubrey understood Booth more, he'd work harder to clear his name, so had shared his file and manuscript on Booth and Brennan. Most of it was psychological mumbo jumbo, but there had been some notations of medical leaves of absence. Sweets had also noted that Booth had an abusive alcoholic father and had suffered physical and mental trauma during his time in the army but that the agent had never discussed his life prior to joining the FBI in detail. All those notations were one thing on paper but seeing the results in person was another matter entirely.

He recalled several late nights at the Hoover building where Booth would lean against his desk or sit on the edge of the conference table rather than continue to stand. On those occasions, the senior agent would flex his feet repeatedly. Aubrey had attributed the movement to Booth's overall fidgety nature, but now understood that the agent was trying to relieve the pain in his feet. There were also times after long hours of sitting that Booth was slow to stand. He'd shrug it off to a tough workout that morning if anyone commented on it. Aubrey thought back to last month when a suspect had tried to run away. The agents had cornered him in an alley when he went on the offensive. A few punches were dodged, a few more hit their mark before the suspect was subdued. The next morning, Aubrey was a little sore and Booth was exceptionally short tempered. Aubrey had figured that the irritation was due to letting the perp even lead them on a chase but it was more likely his mentor had been in pain.

Dr. B. interrupted his thoughts. "Aubrey, I hope that is not pity that I'm reading in your expression, I am well aware that nonverbal communication is not one of my strengths. But I am confident that Booth would not appreciate it."

"Not pity Dr. B, just concern."

Further conversation halted as they heard the door to the bedroom slide open, and Booth came back into the kitchen. Dishes finished, Aubrey said good bye to the kids, thanked Brennan for the hospitality and climbed into Booth's car. They drove in silence for a while when Booth finally said, "Ok Aubrey, what's on your mind? You are never this quiet unless you're eating."

Aubrey ignored the jibe. "So, you can tell me it's none of my business, but based on what I saw this morning, I have to ask, are you ok?"

Booth sighed. "Yea, I'm fine. I know it's not a pretty sight, but I'm used to it. It just takes me while to get moving in the morning."

"So, what the hell happened to you?"

Booth stared at the road, gripping the steering wheel with exceptional concentration and Aubrey figured he would not be getting an answer.

Finally Booth spoke. "It's mostly from my first stint in the army. I had almost a week in the company of the Republican Guard. After I was rescued, I spent a couple months in various Army hospitals. I don't remember much about the first month - it was pretty much waking up from surgery and being told to go back to sleep. The second month was spent waiting for screws and casts to be removed and being told to be patient. Had another month doing physical therapy as an outpatient. Most of the damage was to my feet, but they also did a number on my back and messed up my right leg." His tone held no emotion but Aubrey noted that Booth was losing another layer of his molars clenching his jaw. "Between that and some other incidents, I've broken a lot of bones, some of them multiple times. Bones is annoyingly right when she says that my skeleton can no longer hide the abuse.

"Is there anything they can do?"

"Not really. I have exercises I do to try and keep everything in alignment, then there's ibuprofen, ice packs and the jacuzzi. It looks worse than it actually is."

Aubrey knew a lie when he heard it, but decided that there was no reason to push his friend further. Booth was obviously uncomfortable with the discussion. Besides, they'd arrived at his place.

"So, are you having second thoughts about going out in the field with a beat up old guy?" The question was asked casually, but Aubrey knew that Booth would take his answer seriously. There were too many things that could go wrong in the field and you needed to know that your partner had your back. Your partner also needed to know that you had his back. Mutual trust was a requirement of the job.

He thought about what he had seen this morning. He also thought of all the stuff he had learned in the 2 years of working together, and the way that Booth protected his "family". He came to the conclusion there was no other agent he would rather have backing him. "Nope. Just make sure you've had your coffee first. Thanks for the ride Booth."