A/N: Hello all! This story was inspired by a review from mafffhy. It is a sequel to my other Bones fic What is Love? Baby don't hurt me... (even though the events here technically fall into prequel category, things make more sense if you read the other one first; especially things like the case details) Oooh plus then you read it in the order it was written. yay! This lovely angsty bit is the case viewed from Booth's perspective with his experiences with domestic abuse.

*WARNING* There is domestic abuse in this story along with some naughty words

All is Love

It was just another case. Regular. Ordinary. Sure, death, murder, deceit, crime, and punishment weren't normal everyday things to other people. But being an FBI agent in the homicide division isn't normal either. Especially considering we get the most unusual cases that even Steven King couldn't dream up! I mean, glowing bones? How many cannibal cases have I seen? Too many serial killers…and *sigh*…domestic abuse. Like I said, it was just another case…or it was supposed to be.

I knew something was off when she handed me her "bone-topsy" results, or whatever they're called. She's usually a pretty closed off person, but not normally this reserved, especially for a fresh case. For me, at least, it's always easy to tell when she's hiding something from me, or holding back.

"Cause of death was a kitchen-type knife to the back of the skull. The particulates found in the wound are only common to household knives so that they weather well in the dishwasher." Stated matter-factly, like always. But her eyes always tell another story.

"What else?" I asked her, probing. I can read her like a book, but then again she can read me just as well.

"Well, judging by the microfractures around the wound, the knife was sunk to the hilt: judging by her bone strength it would have taken incredible force to accomplish. Whoever"—her eyes shifted—"did this was much bigger and much stronger than her." Her voice almost inaudibly cracked at the end. But I caught it.

"What aren't you telling me, Bones?"

She shuffled the papers in the file around to reveal X-rays. "She has numerous healed fractures. Left humerous, Right and Left ulni, the Mandible, almost all of her phalanges, several ribs and the maxillia have healed breaks and fractures. It's difficult to tell with the decomp, but I'm comfortable saying that she suffered multiple concussions as well in the same time period as her other injuries."

"Healed?" I asked after some time. Her news stunned me. This wasn't your run of the mill "stab-and-slab" case anymore. It was my least favorite kind. Bones just nodded. She already knows what's running through my head. Some people don't know when to shut up in awkward or painful situations. Not so with Bones. She can be annoying sometimes when she can't keep up with my slang or pop culture references, but times like this is why I love her so much.

"Healed," She repeated, after a moment. "All the breaks have occurred post puberty, so judging by the victim's age, that's within the last ten years. Not all the breaks I found were healed, Booth. What I told you were the ones that have been broken and healed, but the maxillia, again, and zygomatic, the temporal, and right radius were fractured and show no signs of healing; indicating that they occurred at or near the time of death." She looked at me. Her face was full of compassion, and pain. Anyone who called Temperance Brennan cold and unfeeling didn't have this privilege that I do working with her. When she works cases like this one, her true self comes out from underneath that intelligence shell she shellacs herself with. It's quite refreshing actually, but I wish it didn't take a case like this.

"How long were Sharon and Robert married?" She asked me, crossing her arms and knitting her brows together until that cute little wrinkle appeared.

"Eight years," I told her.

"May we please pay Mr. Hibbert a visit?"

I grinned at her and we left to find answers.

I can never tell if I'm glad when we catch our suspect. For one, it's great that we put a bad person behind bars, and they can't hurt anybody again. But, the fact that we had to go catch them means that they hurt someone in the first place. Our job is never really satisfying. I only can get that 'good feeling' of it when I can get a drink at the end of it with her. Then again, how much of that 'good feeling' can be attributed just to being with her, or the drink? Someday, I hope she'll realize how much she means to me; how much more satisfying my job is because I get to work with her. She's someone who will sympathize with my pain, but not let it cripple me.

This case tied up so beautifully that any crime-fighter in the world would have been thrilled. Only one suspect to check out and one sweep of his house confirmed his guilt. When Hodgin's little blood-tester kit turned positive on the kitchen knife it should have felt great. When the bloodstain was found under new carpets, I should have been like Happy, that dwarf from Snow White. And when Bones found that diary, I should have crossed over into full Disney Princess mode with talking animals and singing. You get the picture. Less than a week and Bones and I wrap up the case. When isn't that a miracle for a detective? I mean, real detective work isn't like a TV crime show where they solve cases in less than an hour.

The evidence screamed for me to worship it. But it's listening to the murderer's reasons for such awful crimes that ruins the moment for me. Ruins the beauty of a case quickly solved.

"I didn't kill nobody, you fucking pigs!" Hibbert yelled. Son-of-a-bitch was mad we dragged him into the interrogation room. "I got rights ya know? You can't charge me with nuthin' unless you got somethin'!"

I had opened my mouth to yell curses back at him, but Bones cut me off: "Well, Mr. Hibbert it is very fortunate then that we 'got somethin'', as you put it." She threw down the bagged knife that had tested positive for blood and that the lab matched to Sharon's fatal stab wound. "We have this knife with your fingerprints on it. This knife stabbed your wife in the back of the head."

Robert had shut up immediately. So had I. It's been awhile since she had taken such control of an interrogation (and did a good job, I must add).

"This," She slapped down a large photo, "is the bloodstain that mysteriously appeared under your magically new carpet. That blood is your wife's." Another slap of a photo. "This is a homemade fire pit in your backyard; it was used to roast bloodstained clothing," she showed him another picture of the charred remains of cloth.

Robert looked at the pictures. I could tell his spirits were sinking with the weight of the evidence against him. He touched the picture of the bloodstain with awe.

"And this," Bones said, softer this time, as she slid the bagged diary across the table to him, "is Sharon's diary." She waited a minute for this revelation to sink into him. "According to this, she loved you very much." Bones folded her hands in front of her, waiting for his reaction. I gazed at her, I couldn't believe that she took that bull by the horns, the passion and fire that radiated from her!

But Robert was not as happy with her interrogation as I was. He started to cry. Sobbing, just like a little boy. Oh god! They had that little boy, Sean, who had to watch all of that abuse and suffer neglect!

"Mommy!" Little Booth cried. He wasn't older than four. "Mommy! Mommy wake up! Please Mommy! Wake up before Daddy comes back! Mommy!"

Little Booth tried to rouse her from her stupor. Was it the liquid in the bottle, or the bottle that Daddy smashed on her head that made Mommy so sleepy?

"Mommy!" Little Booth tried again, this time, he touched her face like any innocent child would touch his mommy. Most innocent children's hands don't come away covered in blood. "Mommy!"

"Let that bitch sleep, boy!" His daddy had walked back in the door.

"Daddy!" Little Booth yelled. "You hurt Mommy! She got owies all over her head—"

"Eh, Shut-up boy!" Daddy swiftly smacked little Booth upside the head, knocking him into a wall and blackness.

Robert was sobbing, head in hands.

"Tell us what happened, Robert," I finally found my voice; I even shocked myself at how calm I sounded. "We've seen X-rays, we've seen the broken bones; All of us here see the evidence; we already know what you've done to her. Tell us what happened that night."

"I love Sharon," he began.

"Look Daddy!" Little Booth ran up to him with a drawing from class. Little Booth was 7 now and Mommy was going to have another baby. Daddy had stopped drinking for a while.

"Show me what you got there, Seeley." Daddy sat Little Booth on his lap with a big, daddy smile.

"That's you, that's me, that's Mommy, and that's the baby in her tummy." Little Booth said. Happy that his daddy was proud of him.

Daddy studied the picture carefully. "Why are yours and Mommy's eyes purple?" He asked his son stiffly.

Little Booth knew that face. That was the get-up-and-run-and-hide face. "Daddy?" he asked as he slid off his daddy's lap to cower next to the wall. "Please daddy I'm sorry. My neighbor stole the brown crayon...and..and...I only had purple. I love you daddy."

"Yeah, you love me boy? You show me love by revealing Daddy's personal life for your school? Huh? Huh, you little punk?"

"Daddy! Please stop!"

I wanted nothing more than to hit the man sitting across from me for endangering his son; his only son. For not caring about him or loving him. At the very least I want to yell at him the way he had yelled at us. I clenched my fist (turned my knuckles white!) attempting to control my anger. God bless her, it didn't go unnoticed by Bones. She shifted in her chair and let her foot rest on top of mine. The anger let go for a fleeting second feeling that slight weight from her foot: joy for that little physical contact; until I remembered that I was supposed to be listening to this moron.

God, Robert just wanted to control her. That's what their whole relationship was about: him trying to control her. Based on that diary, Sharon would have let Robert control her even without him needing to hit her. She loved him that much even without being ordered. You think growing up in domestic abuse I'd be more understanding of the abuser's motives, or at least be more able to pinpoint why. But not me. I still can't forgive Dad for what he did to us. I can't even use psycho-mumbo-jumbo to validate his behavior.

"Dad! Leave him alone! Jared had nothing to do with it!" 11 year old Booth defended Little Jared. The kid was only four, but he had somehow managed to find every bottle in the house and replace the contents with water or soda. Their father's fury couldn't be matched by any horror you could come up with.

"Daddy, I'm sorry, please…" Little Jared whimpered.

"You boy! You show me no respect! I put a goddamn roof over your heads, feed you, send you to school, and this is how you treat me?" He was wielding the thickest, heaviest belt that he had. It was especially reserved for these rages against his children. He swung it down to hit Jared, but Seeley dodged in front of him and took the blow.

Daddy didn't stop until the rage had passed.

No wonder Mommy left so long ago after Jared was born.

"We're so happy together; why would she want to leave me?" Robert mused.

Happy? Happy?? Happy my ass! No one is happy in a home like that. Then there was a gentle pressure again on my foot, reminding me to keep my cool. This would be over soon.

So, he finally lost it in the end. He couldn't live without her, so he killed her to keep her for himself. Twisted logic, but I suppose after living so long in blind rage it might make sense. But don't tell Bones that.

"Dad, where are you going?" 12 yr old Booth asked his father's back as he was leaving the house with a large duffle bag.

Daddy turned around and gave him a half grin and chuckled.

"I'm going out for a pack of cigarettes," He continued to chuckle until the door shut behind him.

At least I didn't end up dead in a ditch.

Robert hung his head, sobbing; spent from the confession. I couldn't tell if a huge burden was lifted or dropped onto his shoulders. Not that I cared.

Bones and I conferred in the observation room with Sweets, not unlike most cases. We stared at the victim through one-way glass; Sweets told us why and in which ways Robert was crazy; again, not unusual and not like I cared. It had taken all personal strength not to beat up that guy during interrogation.

She and I stayed behind to continue our own personal analysis of Robert, not unlike usual. Unusual was that this time she wasn't talking about how much she disliked psychology or about anything really. She was staring at me with her ocean blue eyes waiting for me to talk. Even when I'm angry, even at her, I am constantly amazed by her beauty; both inner and outer.

"Uh, hi...So um, Sweet said that—"

"What's going on Booth?" She asked coolly. She asked just how my Bones asks any questions: bluntly. No hiding the truth, no masks. Just her.

"Umm…what do you mean?" I asked her back in an abnormally high voice. Dammit. I can't ever hide anything from her.

"I thought you were going to have an aneurysm in there. I mean, I've seen you mad Booth, but…"

"Oh that." I wasn't sure what to say. "Just—some bad memories I guess...You know Bones, it's cases like this where at the end of it all you just want to go home and hug your kid. Make sure they know how much you love them." I stated, staring through the glass at Robert; I think I was trying to set him on fire with my thoughts. If only… "I mean, I guess maybe you don't know—"

I was abruptly cut off by Bones pulling me tight into as much of a bear hug as she could muster. To say I was surprised is an understatement. I'm lucky if I get a compliment once a month from her; let alone outright affection. I reveled in it.

I wrapped my arms around her as tight as I could without the guns crushing her and laid my cheek on her head. All that rage and anger I had felt melted away, I'm sure she felt that release of tension. Her shampoo's smell was intoxicating. Why is it that girl hair products smell so nice? But mixed in was that musty dead smell that never really washed away and became part of her natural scent. I guess it's appropriate though, very fitting. She is Bones…I could just hold her like that forever. Layers of clothing and flesh separated them, but I swear I could feel her heart beat near mine. Every inhale of breath she made was in my arms. Even I would consider this being over analytical, but it wasn't everyday I got to hold her so close. I would never ever get tired of this…she'd call that a hyperbole; whatever that means.

Too soon she pulled away from me, but it would have been bad if I had insisted on holding her longer.

"Go see Parker." Bones: always to the point.

"He's with Rebecca this week, and we have all that paperwork to do—"

"So? She'll understand. And it's only three o' clock anyway. How about I start on it and you join me later?" She said with that smile she saves just for me, even if she doesn't notice that.

"Well, okay Bones…if you're sure—" I started but she cut me off again!

"Bring Thai." She added with a sparkling smile.

I chuckled. "There's always a catch isn't there?"

"It's only a catch if you consider it a negative side affect of our interaction," She doesn't even realize that she's mildly flirting with me. She's cute when she's being oblivious.

"Then it would be a pleasure," I mocked bowed to her as I left the observation room in a significantly better mood.

"See you later Booth," she chuckled as I left, and turned around to face the one way glass again.

"Bones?" She turned back to me. "Thanks. And good job on the interrogation. You rocked it" I gave her that smile I save just for her.

"I don't know what that means, but yeah…" and she returned my smile.

"Seeley?" Rebecca answered the door, quite caught off guard by my sudden appearance. "Why are you here? You don't need to pick Parker up until Friday."

"Hi Becca. I know this is…random and I'm sorry I didn't call ahead." I fidgeted with my keys, unsure of how to ask. I should have been thinking about that on the drive here instead of how relieving it would feel to hold Parker after this week. "It…it was a hard case this week. And I just wanted to see him. Make sure he knows I love him like he deserves."

She caught on real quick after that. "Oh, sure Seeley. How long do you want him? I mean, he has school tomorrow…"

"Oh not long, I actually have to go do paperwork on the case, but can I, I don't know, just take him out for ice-cream or something?" It felt stupid to ask for permission to take my kid out for a sundae, but I gotta play by the rules if I want to stay in the game, you know?

She smiled at me and called Parker from in the house. I could hear his footsteps thudding on the floors long before I saw him.

"Daddy!" His mess of blond curls and energy launched at me and I wrapped my arms around him. Just like when Bones held me, all the anger towards Robert subsided. Ever since she told me it was domestic abuse I couldn't stop churning the idea of what I would be like as full-time father and husband like Robert had been. I mean, it's proven in studies that kids who grew up like that, were more likely to turn out that way. Growing up with my dad, it was hard to imagine putting my loved ones through all of that, but still, how else was a father supposed to act? Pops corrected my views a lot after Dad left, but I had never wanted to be a family man until Becca told me she was pregnant with Parker. I felt true love, unconditional and irrevocable love, the first time I held him, and it's only grown since.

"Dad!" Parker pulled away excitedly. "Can I show you what I did in school?"

"Yeah! Of course Parker, I'd love to see it!" I was never so happy to see him. He ran back inside and I yelled to his retreating back: "Hey grab your shoes! We're going out for ice-cream!"

"Yes!!"

Very quickly he ran back out to me, shoes on and a paper in hand. "What do we got here, Parker?"

"This is me, this is mom, this is Matt"—Becca and Parker's dog—"This is you, and this is Bones."

I was stunned. Bones? A part of his family? I suppressed the tears I wanted to cry when I saw that her eyes were purple, torn between a swell of pride and happiness and the ache of bad memories.

"That's great, Parker! Wow! Wait 'til you show this to Bones! Look you even drew all the fingers too! But…uh…why are Bone's eyes purple?" I tried to sound light-hearted but I wasn't sure how it came across.

"Well, Mike Smith, my table partner, stole my blue crayon so I couldn't make her eyes the right color. But I remembered Dr. Bones and her silly friend taught me the color wheel when I was at work with you once. And Blue and Red make Purple, so, her eyes are almost blue here."

I laughed heartily hugged him again as tight as I could without crushing him (which Bones would say is impossible for a human to do without tools or something like that) and kissed his forehead soundly.

"I love you, Parker."

"I love you too, Dad." His face breaking out into a wide grin. It was like looking into a mirror sometimes.

"You know I wouldn't ever hurt you, right? I want to keep you safe and happy. You know that."

"Duh," Parker said with a cocky attitude he had been developing lately. Kids… "You're an FBI agent. The bad guys would be too scared to hurt me 'cause they know you'll beat them up and send them to jail." Gotta love kids, right? They say pretty awesome stuff sometimes.

The point was, of course, to protect him from the bad guy living in me. Look at today: I was consumed with rage towards that awful guy who beat his family to death. I'm more than positive that I was channeling the part of me that belonged to Dad. Those blind rages that consumed him can consume me at times too. I've learned to control them over the years and channel it into productive energy (it also helps that I'm not an alcoholic, and that gambling problem was kicked years ago). Today, holding Bones and holding Parker, made me realize to the core that I'm incapable of using that rage against the two people I love most. Listening to Parker babble as I drive is one of my favorite sounds in the world. Why would I ever tell him to shut up or go away? How could I ever do anything other than love him?

I don't ever want him to have tortured, haunting memories of his father. I don't want to screw this up. But I don't need to worry.

"Hey Parker, I'm going to see Bones tonight. Do you want me to take your drawing and show it to her?"

"Yeah sure, Dad!" He bounced around in his seat with excitement. "Only tell her I'm sorry that her eyes are the wrong color…"

"Don't worry about it, Park. She's going to love it."

We happily ate our ice-cream in the car at a nearby park. Being a father doesn't get any better than this. I ruffled his hair, to assure myself that he is really there and that I've done a pretty good job so far.

I just hope I can do right by Bones too.

A/N:If this didn't make sense, go read the other one! yay! And then leave a review!
Reviews are very much appreciated. I've been feeling creative lately and have been considering taking Brennan's side of this case, probably like what happens after the events of What is Love? Baby don't hurt me... and what she feels seeing Parker's drawing. idk let me know what you think...

Thanks for reading :)