A/N: Reposting this because I had to fix a few things. Anyway, first AU story ever! To be quite honest, I don't know how far I'll take this one but I have to say that some pretty good arcs crossed my mind as I typed this chapter and I've already figured out how every character—and that includes Jared—could fit into the story.

Which takes us to my next point. I know the Golden Era of detective stories was during the 20's and 30's but things were kinda difficult back then (even more difficult than in the 60's, ehem) when it came to women working outside the house and other stuff too, and even though I'm excited to take all of these characters and put them in a decade where they won't have so much "freedom" as they have in the show, I also wanted to give most of them their original professions or at least the closest thing to them because that's a huge part of who they are.

However, there will be significant changes in the way some of these characters behave in the beginning, but I promise that, for your sake and mine too, I'll do my best to remain in character. As for the pairings … there is going to be a whole bunch of surprises, and for those of you who care, Brennan and Booth are endgame in this story. So bear with me for a while, yeah? And let me know what you think! ;)

Disclaimer: I don't own Bones or any of the characters.

—&—

The mist had already started to cover the streets almost completely by that time of the evening and the blinking lights from the lampposts were doing a pretty lousy job when it came to putting up a fight against the imminent darkness that had begun to take over the city. The last couple of weeks had been, to say the least, exhausting. Waves of weariness were already washing over him and settling between his shoulders and, if somebody had bothered to look closer, he or she would have seen that the bags under his eyes were even darker than usual those days.

He was tired, there wasn't a doubt about that, but at the same time he could also feel something new and familiar growing inside him. He recognized it — it was the feeling he always got when attempting to a fresh start, that icy, cool combination of expectations and dreams. Refreshing, new. But … last time he'd felt that way he'd been heartbroken. A heavy sigh escaped his lips and tarnished the window glass as the events of precisely one year ago flew slowly through his already occupied head.

"… Mr. Booth?"

He nearly jumped when he was suddenly dragged back to reality. His gaze wandered from the window to the doorframe where his secretary was standing — her hair in a strict ponytail and her big eyes uncertain behind the pair of dark-framed, edgy glasses she always wore to work.

"Mr. Booth?" she repeated. "There's someone here to see you."

He let out a groan and loosened his tie as he left the spot by the window and headed back to his desk. "Daisy," he said softly, and shoved the last of the folders inside his black, squared and rather full suitcase, "I believe the sign hanging on the front door makes it very clear that we're," his thumb pushed the clasp of the suitcase shut, "closed for today."

"Yes, I know," Daisy hurried to say, "but she says she won't—"

"I said I have no intentions of staying long."

The raspy, calm voice came from behind his secretary and, one fraction of a second later, a woman slightly taller than Daisy walked around her and into the office with clicking, determined steps. She stopped a few inches from the doorway and studied the messy room as the detective eyed her openly: her thin body was wrapped in a long, beige trench coat with strips that accentuated the small waist; a hat in the same style as the coat covered most part of her face and gave her some sort of intriguing anonymity and she was wearing a pair of heels that made her milky legs look never-ending even though the only part of them he could see right then started by her knees.

His eyes traveled up from her legs and when they finally made it to her face, they were met by a piercing, clear gaze that was already fixed on him, expectant. She was staring right into his soul, and he couldn't help but gulp in an attempt to regain control of the situation.

"You may go home now, Daisy. Just leave the keys on your desk," he instructed, his eyes never leaving the other woman. "I'll close tonight."

The young girl nodded eagerly. "Yes, Mr. Booth."

He followed his employee with his gaze as she began to leave the room and the woman remaining in the office took the opportunity to do her own brief examination. Since his eyes were fixed on his secretary at the moment, she decided to focus on the breadth of his shoulders, the way the suspenders pressed the dress shirt against his torso and the strong jawline she could discern all the way from where she was standing. Not to mention, the way he was standing was very, very—a noise from the door brought her back just in time to meet his eyes when he turned to face her again.

Having completely missed the fact that he was literally being studied, he stepped closer to her and took her soft, warm hand in his. His lips placed a light kiss on her knuckles as he introduced himself. "Private Detective Seeley Booth," he said and let slowly go of her hand.

Her eyes went slightly wider under the shadow of the brim of the hat. "I'm aware."

"And you are…?"

"Very pleased to meet you," she replied, a polite smile forming on her lips.

He smirked. That was a smart response to use if she wanted to remain anonymous—which obviously was the case—and he wasn't going to be the one to push her any further, not now at least. Besides, if he wanted to find out who she was, he could do it in a heartbeat. However, and for some reason he couldn't yet figure out, he was more eager to know what she wanted from him than finding out anything else.

"Please," he gestured towards the chair placed by their side with his right hand, "take a seat."

She gave him another smile. "That won't be necessary. As I said before, I don't plan on staying long"

"Well," he rounded his desk, sat down on the dark big chair and leaned back, the top of his fingers playing with each other. A grin crossed his lips before he spoke again. "What can I do for you, then?"

"I need you to find someone," she told him, more than glad to skip the small talk. Her fingers pulled out a photography from her left pocket and after laying it down on the surface of the desk, she slid it towards him. He took the picture in his hand and squinted at it for a moment before putting it down again. "His name is Max Keenan," she added.

The detective stared at the photography laying on his desk for another moment. The blacks and grays had already started to fade away, and there were bright, white spots in the upper left corner of it that made it impossible for him to discern how the image continued underneath them. But the face of the man in the photo was incredibly clear — almost untouchable, almost as if she'd made sure that his calm expression stayed as sharp as possible. His eyes flickered from the photo and to the woman standing by the other side of his desk.

"Anything else you can tell me 'bout him?"

She shook her head, ever so slightly. "I'm afraid not, but I do know that he was last seen outside of Washington a couple of weeks ago."

He scoffed. "Well, that surely narrows it down, doesn't it?"

"I'm certain you'll be able to do a very satisfying job, Detective," she said and, just as she'd done with the picture a few moments before, she fished an envelop from the pocket of her coat and slid it towards him.

He raised an inquiring eyebrow at her before grabbing the envelop and opening it, his eyes going involuntary wider at the sight of the ridiculous amount of bills lying inside. There were no doubts that she really wanted to find that man. She simply smirked at his reaction and made a move to turn around and start leaving the office.

"Wait, where can I find you?" he blurted out as he pushed himself off the seat. When he saw a small, content grin made a not at all discreet appearance on her lips, he cleared his throat quickly. "In case I have some results, I mean. You won't tell me your name, miss, so who shall I look for when something comes my way?"

"I'll contact you," she assured him and took another brief look at the office. After a moment, her gaze went back to him, determined. "One more thing, Detective," she added. "I trust you to handle this with the amount of discretion it deserves."

He eyed her one more time. "No worries, miss. I've got no plans to rattle your cage."

A small frown formed between her burrows, but she made sure to rapidly replace it with a slightly cocky lifted eyebrow. "I don't know what that means," she said, bluntly.

"It means that ain't something you have to worry about."

"I'm sure it isn't."

"Swell."

"Good."

"Great." He straightened himself and nodded towards her. "So, no name?"

"No name," she echoed.

And then, the corners of her lips curled up into a playful smile and her eyes gained a mischievous spark before she turned around and left both him and his office.

The detective remained on his spot by the desk for a moment, his mind re-playing the meeting he'd just had with the mysterious woman. He grabbed the photography again and studied it one more time before opening the drawer of his desk and placing it inside. He would take a look at it first thing the next day — plans for the night had already been made hours ago.

Outside, the woman who had just left the detective's office walked across the main street and in to a small, poorly illuminated alley. She spotted the car waiting for her a few meters away and increased the pace until she was close enough to open the co-driver's door. Her eyes casted quick glances to her surroundings before she ducked and got into the car, and the second she let head fall back on the headrest, a deep breath escaped her lips and her eyes went shut.

"Well?" came the inquiry from a dark-haired young woman sitting behind the steering wheel. "Did you have any luck?"

She opened her eyes slowly and straightened herself in the car seat. "If by luck," she began, taking off her hat in one swift move and letting her silky, auburn hair fall down her shoulders, "you mean if he took the case, then yes. I followed your instructions and the results achieved were rather satisfactory."

"Oh god," she said, shaking her head. "You should've let me talk to him."

She gasped slightly. "No—I, I have to say I find your lack of trust in my acting skills quite disturbing. Besides, you have already done more than enough."

"You know he's only doing it because he's new in town," the other woman said, and then let out a brief sigh. "Poor man's got no idea what he's getting into."

"It's highly improbable that anything will happen to him, Angela."

At her words, she shot her friend a look of disbelief. "How can you be so sure?"

"Because all Seeley Booth has to do is find Max. I'll take care of the rest. Nobody has to know." Another incredulous look. "Nobody will know. Except for you, of course, because I already told you everything."

She chuckled. "Obviously." An earnest spark took over her eyes and she bit her bottom lip in hesitation. "I know it's a little bit late to say it, but please promise me you'll be careful. I haven't figured out the reason yet, but you tend to put yourself in some pretty tricky situations, sweetie."

If there was something she wasn't ready for at the moment was discussing the subject her friend was trying to bring up. She tilted her head to the side and gave the other woman a warning look.

"Ange…"

"I say it out of love, Brennan," she promised. "Now let's get out of here, this tiny alley scares me even more than your brilliant, yet sometimes twisted mind."

"I am quite brilliant," she said with a smirk. Her eyes traveled then to her friend who was taking a last look through the rearview mirror. "Thank you, Ange. I know how much you loathe lying to Jack."

She smiled warmly and brought her hand to her friend's, giving it a light squeeze in the process. "I wouldn't be doing it if it weren't for a good cause, sweetie."

A few seconds later, they were driving out of the alley and away from that inexplicable dark part of town.

The bar was so crowded when he got there that it took him an infuriating amount of time to get through the tables, the people and the smoke emerging from their thin cigarettes. When he finally made it to the counter, he was welcomed by the whiny voice of a young man talking to the bartender across the counter. The first was giving him his back, but he could still see his troubled, tense body language, and the latter seemed to be listening attentively despite the terrible noise that surrounded them both. With an amused shake of his head, he sat down just in time to hear a glimpse of what the conversation was about.

"I just love her so much," the young man said, his fists clenching in the air as if trying to hold on to something invisible. "I just—I love her. Why is she doing this to me?"

The detective glanced briefly at the young man sitting next to him and let then his eyes wander to the bartender. He tilted his head to the side and asked the question he knew he would probably regret asking.

"What happened now?"

The man by the other side of the counter was about to answer when he was interrupted by the younger one sitting next to the detective. "It's over!" he exclaimed. "She–she looked me in the eye and said 'Lancelot, we're over.'" He blinked several times, shock written all over his young face. "Just like that. Over. She said I'm always telling her what to do but I—I'm thinking of her best, you know? Because—I'm a psychologist, for god's sake. I sh—I should be … she's so … I'm a psychologist! Telling people what to do is what I do, right Booth?" He turned to look at the detective. "Has she said anything to you?"

"No. Why on Earth would she?" He chuckled and patted him on the shoulder repeatedly. "Y'know, Sweets, we have to start talking about something else besides what goes on between you and my secretary."

The bartender let out a small laugh as he slid one bottle of beer toward an old man sitting a few seats away from them. "Good luck with that, Mr. Booth," he said with a shake of his head. "Sweets' been real gone when it comes to that chick for ages. And no matter how bad it gets, they always end up getting back together."

"Power of love, my friend," Sweets said nodding vehemently. "Power of love."

The bartender gave a loud scoff. "Love?" he repeated.

Booth raised an eyebrow at the sarcasm that flew through the other man's lips. "What's the matter, Bray? You've never fallen for the charms of a dangerous girl?"

He simply chuckled, and put then away the rag that he'd been using to dry the glass trapped between his hands. "Maybe, Mr. Booth. Maybe."

Sweets scoffed and dismissed the blond man with a wave of his hand. "Of course he has." He turned to look at the detective. "He just doesn't wanna tell. It's been going on forever and Wendell still doesn't want to say who Mystery Girl is." The young man's eyes wandered up to the bartender. "What," another scoff, "you afraid you're gonna jinx it?"

"That's it, kiddo," Booth chimed in with a chuckle as he pushed himself off the seat. "I'm afraid you've had one too many. Time to get you in a cab."

"What?" the psychologist exclaimed in a pitched voice. "I'm fin—I'm perfectly fine. What makes you say that?"

"Maybe the fact that you're trashing whatever Bray here has going on in his life just because your relationship has more ups and downs than a freakin' roller-coaster."

Sweets ignored the detective's comment and jumped off the seat. "All right. But she's the one," he said, putting clumsily on his coat and hat. "I know Daisy is the one."

"Then you've got nothing to worry about," Booth promised with a genuine smile. He put then on his hat that he'd taken off when he first got there and started to push Sweets through the crowd.

"You're leaving too, Mr. Booth?" Wendell called after him, a little bit surprised.

"Yeah, I've got somewhere I gotta be in a while. But I'll come by tomorrow, Bray. And lose the 'mister', yeah? Makes me feel older than I already feel with you two."

In one swift move, Sweets turned around and leaned on the counter one last time. "Just tell me already," he pleaded to the blond man. "I can—I can keep it in my shrink vault, okay?" he said, his forefinger pointing to the side of his head. "My–my drunk shrink vault."

Wendell shook his head, amused. "See ya' tomorrow, Sweets."

"No name, then?" the psychologist asked disappointed.

The young, blond man grinned at both men standing on the other side of the counter, ready to leave. "Nope, no name."

"All right, let's go," Booth said, clapping his hands a couple of times to hurry things up.

The psychologist nodded and started to walk through the crowd, making his best not to lose balance while doing it. "Gee, this place is like Antsville!" he exclaimed before they finally made it out of the bar.

Careful not to be heard, she pushed the door shut and disposed of her coat and hat. After hanging them by the entrance, she headed to the kitchen, poured some scotch into a small glass and knocked it back one single, large sip. Usually, she wasn't one to drink without having a good reason but after the step she had taken that day, she truthfully believed she had one. A deep sigh escaped her lips before she made her way out of the kitchen and up to the second floor of the house, but just when she was about to go into her bedroom, a sleepy voice stopped her mid-tracks.

"Hey," he greeted her, dragging the word in sleepiness. "Where have you been?"

She turned around to face him and smiled at his tired features. "I had something to do. Go back to sleep now."

Purposely ignoring her last sentence, he glanced at the old cuckoo clock hanging on the hallway wall. "Something that couldn't wait until tomorrow?" he wondered, lucidity starting to kick in. "It's really late."

"Not now, Russ," she said tiredly. Her body turned away from him and her hand clenched around the doorknob. She was ready to open the door and disappear inside. "We can talk about it tomorrow."

"We won't talk about it tomorrow, Tempe. You're just saying that to get rid of me." She was about to protest but he shook his head and held a hand in the air, indicating her to wait. "Just listen to me, all right? You've been acting strange ever since I came to D.C. It's been weeks of secretive calls and late night trips to God knows where. I … I need to know what's going on." A pause was made in which he took a deep, encouraging breath. "It has to do with him, doesn't it?"

Her lips parted in hesitation as she was standing in front of the only man she knew she could never lie to. His gaze was determined and piercing and though he tried to hold it, she had to look away at last, something that only fueled his suspicions.

"No," he shook his head, refusing to believe it. "No. God, Tempe, no."

Her eyes traveled back to his. "Russ, I—"

He stepped forward, invading her personal space. "Whatever you're doing, stop with it. We already lost them, I won't lose you too."

A fearless spark took over her pale blue gaze. "We didn't lose them, Russ, they left," she pointed out angrily. "No matter what he says happened, they both left fifteen years ago and we didn't hear a word from him until he suddenly decided to show up and I …" She extended her arms to the side and let them fall back down again. "I need to know the truth."

"The truth about what?" he asked with a humorless laugh.

She shot him a harsh look. "Why now, Russ? Aren't you curious? Why did he contact you now, after fifteen years of being on our own …" In spite of herself, there was a change in her expression — it turned from harsh to incredibly fragile. Vulnerable. "What happened to Mom, Russ? Doesn't the lack of knowledge bother you at all?"

"Of course it bothers me!" he shouted, exasperation running throughout his voice. "God, I … look, I'm not—I'm not thrilled about it either. Do I have questions? Sure. Do I want explanations? Like hell I do! But right now, I couldn't care less about him. If we are to believe him, Mom's gone already, so you're everything I've got left and I refuse to let you put yourself in any more danger."

"Russ …"

He made strong emphasis on every word his lips uttered next. "I don't care about him." Part of him was expecting her to interrupt him, but she just looked at him expectantly. "However, I do care about what he told me that day because it was about you. And whether I like it or not, he's right." She snorted, but he decided to ignore it. "What you're doing is—"

"None of your business," she cut him off sharply.

He shook his head. "Insane. But I'm tired of trying to talk you out of it, so please let's not discuss that tonight."

A small, grateful smile formed on her lips but her features roughened once again as the next question hit her. "How did he even manage to find out?"

He simply shrugged with his shoulders. "No clue."

"And how can I be sure that you're not lying to me now?" she inquired without even blinking. "You already lied about everything else."

Without giving it a second thought, he took her hand in his and his gaze flickered between it and her eyes as the courage to say what he needed to say gathered inside him. "The only reason I didn't tell you about our real names was because I thought it was better that way. I thought about telling you the truth of who we were million times and even more so after they disappeared, and I would've done it if it weren't for the promise I'd made to Dad. I thought I was protecting us, but more important, I thought I was protecting you."

It was almost ridiculous how hard she wanted to believe him. "Do you really expect me to believe that he didn't give you a proper explanation when you met with him a few weeks ago?"

He shook his head. "All he said was that it was still too dangerous. Hell, he was gone before I could even convince myself that I wasn't hallucinating. I thought they were dead, Tempe, both of them. I know you did too," he stated. "I was … when he showed up at my door two weeks ago I was as shocked as you were when I came here to tell you about it."

Hesitation washed over her, both her brain and heart trying to dictate over her actions. At last, she loosened her hand from his grip. "I'm tired, Russ." She shifted position, unsure of what to do next. "I—I would like to go to bed now." She kissed him lightly on the cheek, turned around and pushed the door of her bedroom a little bit open.

"When I didn't ask for you," he blurted out, causing her to freeze by the doorframe. "After they left … when I let the system take care of you, Tempe, I thought I was … I truly did believe you would be better off without me. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Good night, Russ," she said in a whisper, her eyes fixed anywhere but near him.

In a matter of seconds, she had gotten inside the room and closed the door softly behind her. He let out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding. "Sleep tight, sis," he murmured before turning around and heading back to the guest room.

The steps approaching him were slow and clicking but he didn't look up until she stopped just by the seat across his.

"Look at you, big guy," the woman said lovingly as soon as their eyes met.

A wide, wide smile formed on his lips. "Camille," he said, the same fraternal love that had ran throughout her voice seconds before now running throughout his.

He pushed himself off the chair and pulled her into a hug that she reciprocated wholeheartedly. Although he didn't quite know the reason, it felt incredibly good to have a piece of his past hugging him back as tightly as she could. After a few seconds, and once both felt they could let go, they say down across each other. Her smile was as wide as his was and he couldn't help but feel a wave of warmth washing over him during the entire dinner. He told her about the past year, about New York and how he used to work with the Police Department every now and then. She smiled, nodded and laughed at his anecdotes, and then told him about life in Washington: the pros and cons, the harsh winters and lovely summers and everything else she could think of. By the time the waitress in a pale pink dress and ponytail came with their cups of coffee, it would have seem they had nothing else to talk about. However, both of them were fully aware that that wasn't the case.

The brown sugar dissolved rapidly after he'd poured it into the steaming beverage, and she, who took hers black and without any sweetener whatsoever, stared at him longingly, as if trying to replace his current, glad expression with the one he had the last time she'd seen him almost a year ago.

His eyes traveled up when he noticed the silence that had settled itself between them.

"What?" he asked with a smile.

"I'm just—" She dismissed her initial answer with a wave of her hand and brought the warm cup up to her mouth. "I can't believe I'm actually having dinner with you after all this time. Seeley Booth has finally decided to honor Washington D.C. with his presence," she joked, and took a sip of her coffee.

"Well, you would've had more time to adjust to the idea if you'd met up with me sooner, huh?" he replied grinning.

She gave a light scoff. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm quite busy these days." As she shifted position in the chair, a glimpse of concern flashed across her soft features. That was all it took for the air between them to change. "How are you, big guy?"

"What do you mean?" he laughed briefly, "I already told you how I am."

"No," she denied with her head, "you told me about work and the dogs you used to see when walking through Central Park. You've been basically off the map for the past year, Seel. You can't possibly expect me not to have questions."

True, he had expected her to have questions, but he had also hoped she would wait until next time they met to demand answers. However, that was just him fooling himself because he knew her all too well to know that she was a woman who didn't wait.

He sighed heavily and leaned back on his seat, the back of the chair hard and cold against him. "Yeah, I know. I just … I needed some space, Cam, you know? To take a step back and breathe a little. Gain some perspective."

She nodded in comprehension. "Have you talked to her?"

His lips parted, the word 'no' ready to slip between them, but then the weight of it and what it really implicated hit him so he fixed his eyes on the cup of coffee instead, automatically giving her all the answer she needed.

"Seeley …"

His gaze snapped up to hers when he heard the reproach in her voice. "What do you want me to do, Cam? We broke up. That's normally something that leads to losing contact, it's as simple as that."

"She was devastated."

"Yeah, well, so was I, remember?" he pointed out, more bitterness than intended running throughout his voice. He didn't like to be taken as the bad guy at all. "Rebecca was the one who broke the engagement off, not the other way around."

She looked at him earnestly. "It doesn't mean she stopped loving you."

"Right," he gave her one single nod of the head, "she just didn't love me enough to marry me." She was on her way to say something, but he cut her off by shoving his napkin to the other side of the table. "I–It doesn't really matter anymore, all right? It's in the past, it's all in the past."

Luckily for both of them, she knew when not to push him any further. She stirred the coffee using the small teaspoon, wondering if the next subject she had in mind would push his buttons even more or if the meeting was going to end on a pleasant note. At last, she decided to just go with it. "So, tell me now," she began, causing him to look at her in curiosity, "should I get used to seeing you around?"

Confusion flew across his face. "What do you mean?"

"I know you moved here only a few weeks ago, but I also know you are sort of a fan of first impressions." His brow furrowed and she beamed at him. "Is this move to D.C. something along the lines of New York or are you staying?"

He couldn't help but smile. Feeling missed—and in a way, loved—was a privilege he had thought he wouldn't get back in a while. "Actually," he said leaning forward on the table, "I think I might stay."

Her smile got wider and so did his, and just when his gaze was traveling down to the cup of coffee, the fresh memory of milky legs, intriguing anonymity and piercing eyes flew through his head at the speed of light.