He slammed his hand into the screen again, causing it to flicker. He knew he was frightening Zack, the kid kept flinching every time he moved. Still, he couldn't help it. Didn't they get it? How could he make them understand?

If the brain trust assembled before him failed to answer the jumbled riddle, he would lose her. She would be gone, forever gone. He would have to sit Parker down and explain that this time was like the goldfish, only worse, because the goldfish didn't lecture him on the chemistry of thought, or argue about driving, or accuse of being an alpha male. The goldfish didn't smile either, in a quiet way that meant he'd earned something.

His mind was moving at a thousand miles an hour, his heart racing even faster. That, however, meant nothing at all, because there was no way, no shot in hell that his mind would crack this code. He scrubbed his hands over his face, pleading with his eyes for one of them, just one, to stop staring and start moving.

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"You know, the rush of adrenaline you described is an integral part of our biological heritage."

Booth rolled his eyes, unconsciously placing his hand on the small of her back as he led his partner away from the church.

"Really, Bones, is that so?"

"Yes. Why would I say it if it wasn't true? The increased heart rate, the perspiration…all mechanisms that our body uses to promote motivation."

"I think we were all pretty motivated without needing to start sweating."

"Angela said that you were quite terrifying."

He didn't know what to say to that. She wasn't analyzing a reaction anymore, she was talking about him, inviting him to explain something he couldn't even begin to understand. He moved to get into the car, and she followed, waiting a moment before continuing her inquiry.

"Booth, she said you punched a computer. Repeatedly."

He nodded slowly, feeling slightly foolish.

"Why?"

He looked at her for a long moment before replying. She had cocked her head to the side, her face twisted into an expression of both curiosity and amusement.

"I…I didn't want to do nothing. And there was nothing I could do. I was useless, just a message-boy who happened to receive the most confusing text ever sent--"

"The text-message makes perfect sense when you read it properly--"

"Oh, well," he continued, "if only someone could have read it properly a bit quicker. Then maybe I wouldn't have had images of me digging up your body running through my head. Perhaps then I could have been more calm!"

She was staring at him, he could feel her azure eyes sweeping over his face. He realized he was gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles had gone white.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to--"

She shook her head, cutting him off. "You didn't. I understand perfectly."

She smiled at him, the smile he liked to think was reserved just for him. It was this smile he would have missed for eternity, the smile that made him forget, on occasion, his own name.

"Of course, you know the fight-or-flight response also involves the tightening of muscles for the possibility of sudden movement, meaning that when you did arrive at the coal field, you were primed for action, which did ultimately prove useful. So, you were good for something…"