Chapter One
Brennan's Revelation

The light we see from the sun starts out millions of years before the warmth of those rays registers on the human body. Were it any closer, those rays would burn and destroy humanity and the earth as we know it. Therefore, it is good that its light takes the time it takes. It is good that what we call a sunny day is made from light that has been in existence for millions of years, racing towards our acknowledgment of it. Each single ray that bursts forth from the sun provides heat and light for us and our planet. Our entire world is shaped by this light it receives, light that started so long before we knew it was coming. I am thinking about this as I contemplate the fact that I am in love with Booth, and have been since the moment I saw him. Only, I didn't realize it… I had to go away to understand…and now…now I have to live with this knowledge unspoken.

When did I stop believing in love? That is another thing I've been considering. As a baby, Dad said I would cry whenever I was picked up, but he was determined that I get over it. He would pick me up every hour and hold me for ten minutes – even if I screamed the entire time. If he didn't, he made my mother do the same thing. By the time I was three months old, I would hold out my arms and cuddle on Dad's shoulder. As a child, I knew my mother and father loved each other, and that they loved me and Russ. I never walked in on them having sex, but I certainly had seen them kiss – tongues, the works. I would see and hear the children in my junior high school giggling about who was in love with whom, see boys and girls holding hands. They looked happy, but then there were times I'd walk into the bathroom and there would be a group of girls comforting a girl sobbing over some boy who had broken up with her. I never said anything, and mostly they never said anything to me.

In high school, there was kissing in the hallways, in cars, and at school dances, I didn't really go to them much. Dad said it was good for me to go, but mostly I'd hang around outside, dancing to the music by myself (It only took a couple of times for me to realize that my classmates thought I was a terrible dancer, and were laughing at me.) or watching them dance to a slow dance. The boy would put his arms around her, their bodies so close…

I observed the rituals. The ones where the boy really liked the girl, and the ones where he didn't really, he just wanted her to have sex with him. I knew I didn't want to be a girl that boys just wanted to have sex with. I wanted a boy to look at me like I was special, beautiful…in high school they never did.

Then, mom and dad were gone. Russ went away, and I went into foster care. It was bad. In a year I must have stayed with eight different families…. I graduated at sixteen, but I couldn't go anywhere. Legally, I was a ward of the state until I was 18. I'd been offered scholarships to many different schools. I'd scored a perfect SAT and ACT, and passed all AP tests that would let me skip my entire freshman year. Only, I was moving around so much the paperwork which would have let me know those things never caught up to me.

It wasn't until my "grandfather" signed me out of foster care that I found out about the colleges and AP scores. Today, I'm pretty sure the man was a friend of my father's, but I've never asked him about it. I knew he wasn't my grandfather, though. I knew my grandparents were dead. However, this man knew a lot about me, my parents, and my brother. He acted like he cared about what would happen to me – and he'd found out about my college opportunities. He took me away on a plane to his house in the mountains of Colorado. We didn't talk much. I had become even less of a talker since foster care. I remember him showing me the stack of pamphlets to colleges and saying I could go to anyone that I wanted – because they all wanted me.

It was a heady feeling. I'd never felt wanted by anyone besides my parents and brother – and they had all left. These schools wanted me…because I was smart. I was used to people not wanting me around because I was smart. Once I'd picked out schools, and applied, we talked about what would be happening next. I understood I'd never see this man again once I left for school. He taught me how to keep a checkbook, read bank statements, grocery shop…he created a bank account for me, and said there would be 1500 dollars put into it on the first of each month for the next 10 years, and that he would keep in touch by mail.

That September – I went away to school – as a sophomore. I quickly was bored. I hadn't minded so much in high school, but in college there was so much free time. I shocked my professors by handing in all the work for the syllabus within the first month of class…all perfectly correct – and often beyond what was being asked. That's when I was sent for IQ testing. Believe it or not, it had never been done before. By the end of the semester, I had completed all the course work for my sophomore and junior year. I was on track to graduate that May. That spring I met Michael…I wasn't yet eighteen.

It was Michael who took me with him to Waco – suggesting it as a good senior project for me. I don't think he expected me to do as well as I did. He had no idea how long I'd been studying dead bodies of all sorts since I was a child, and I had an ability he didn't – I can look at a skull's structure and see the person's face as if they were standing in front of me. I don't actually know why that is. I mean, yes, there are certain facial markers that tell certain things, but I can look at a skull, and then look at a photo, and see if they matched. I just can. Usually when trying to identify a body, you don't know the possibilities of who it could be. At Waco there were pictures of most of the people in the compound. It got so people would skip Michael and come directly to me with skulls and pictures. I was so happy and proud that I could do something that really helped, I didn't notice Michael wasn't too happy. Especially when there was a story about me in some newspapers…. I wanted to impress him, to not have him regret having brought me along. Eventually he must have…but that was much later. He became my advisor for my combined Master's and Doctoral program – and he took me everywhere. Every dig, every tragic happening in the world, Michael went – and I went as his student. He was always pushing me, supporting me, and…competing with me.

However, he wasn't the only professor to affect my life. My Asian studies professor, Dr. Wu, amazed me. He was 70 years old, but his appearance was that of a man of 50. I remember arguing with him over the existence of chi – that the idea of some mystical force was illogical, and that the feats performed by martial artists could all be explained by science. He surprised me by agreeing that it was so, but that most people would not do the experiential research to prove it. Would I be interested in pursuing some of that research? He became my first martial arts instructor, and I began to feel, for the first time in my life, the energy flows within my body: the sensation of blood pulsing in my veins, my breath in my lungs, I could picture each muscle and bone when I moved. I had studied the dead for so long, but Dr. Wu gave me a study of physical life: my own. I became aware of how I moved in space, and the klutziness I'd had most of my life rapidly started to disappear. I became physically stronger, but also my ability to be in the world improved. I started noticing other people and how they moved in the world - especially the women Michael dated. I would watch them, how they dressed, wore their hair…

I had always noticed Michael's body. I had been noticing the male figure since about 13. My mother had placed the book, "Our Bodies, Our Selves" in my room when I was twelve – along with a note inside that said, "Don't tell your father." Of course, I had already read "The Alchemy of Love and Lust," by Theresa Crenshaw, MD. Thus, I already knew the various reactions I experienced when looking at or thinking about certain boys were hormonally induced. I learned how to pleasure myself as well; there were many books on that subject. The classic Betty Dodson's "Sex for One," was the clearest in the "how to" area of knowledge, but I also recall reading, "The Woman's Book of Orgasm: A Guide to the Ultimate Sexual Pleasure" which I found in mom's nightstand while searching for a pencil.

However, I had never dared to actually approach a male sexually. For most of my life I'd felt too awkward, different, and unattractive. Dr. Wu, and martial arts gave me an entirely sense of myself. I realized being tall didn't mean I should slouch. I had thick, long, wavy dark hair and blue-gray eyes that were wide, and spaced symmetrically correct on my face – neither too close nor to far apart. I was a 34 D cup bra, which meant I had larger than average breasts – but not obnoxiously so. When I relaxed my face and smiled – which took practice – I had a lovely smile. I actually was pretty. It seemed that perhaps I could in fact attract a mate. Still, I knew I was late in my experience. I would need to practice and learn how to apply the knowledge and techniques I had only read about in books from my high school days, as well as more recent titles such as "Sexual Behavior in the Human Male" and "Sexual Behavior in the Human Female" - both by Alfred Kinsey, and several specific manuals on how to arouse and release sexual pleasure in a male. In deference to my martial arts training, I also perused the Kama Sutra.

Michael was my mentor in everything that pertained to my eventual career. I suppose I could simply call him my mentor. Our discussions were exhilarating, and as we argued points I could feel the heat in my body rise, anger and laughter mixed together. His body was very fit and muscular. Sometimes, out on a dig, he would strip off his shirt and I would momentarily be transfixed. I thought he didn't notice, but the fall before I was to defend my doctorate we were in Costa Rica, and he was stripped down to nothing but shorts. His chest glistened with sweat and for a moment I couldn't think. "Tem-pe." he called out, laughing. "Like what you see?"

I know I blushed, which made him laugh more. He came over to me and tilted my face up to his. "You've never had sex have you, Tempe?" I couldn't breathe, and shook my head. He smiled that seductive smile I'd seen flashed at many a woman before.

"You want to though, don't you? That's why you're always staring at me when I strip… gets all those hormones firing."

Mortified, I tried to look away, "I'm sorry, Michael, I –"

"Don't be. You're a beautiful woman. I can't touch you though – not until you graduate, ok?"

"When I graduate?"

"Yeah, I think a very special graduation present is in order for you."

The look in his eyes and the bulge in his shorts made his meaning very clear. I smiled back at him. I understood.

"Well, that is absolutely an incentive to have my dissertation letter-perfect in March." I couldn't believe I got that out, nor the next thing, "the thought is making those hormones of mine cause very copious glandular secretions in my vaginal area." I remember his sudden sharp intake of breath, the jerk in his already bulging shorts. I wanted more. "Does the rule include touching yourself, Michael? I've never seen that either."

He actually groaned aloud. "Temperance! I have NEVER been overtly sexual with a student of mine."

I hadn't been lying about the glandular secretions, and seeing his discomfort was causing more of it, more than even my own masturbation sessions. "What if I wasn't your student anymore? What if I decided to change advisors?" I took a step towards him, unaware of doing so.

"You want it that badly, Tempe?"

Nor did I realize I had reached out towards him until my fingers touched his chest, grazed his nipple. "Yes…."
His hands encircled my waist and waves of heat coursed through my body.

"So…you're no longer my student?"

Our bodies were pressed together; I could feel every inch of him, more so as his hands slid down, grabbed my buttock, and ground my hips into his, a gasp of pleasure – unbidden – came from my lips. "Not for anthropology."

Michael chuckled – right before he kissed me – I'd never been kissed before either. His tongue invaded my mouth, awaking sensations I'd never experienced – there really isn't a way to simulate the sensation of being kissed. The combination - his chest again my breasts, his incredibly stiff penis nestled deep in-between my thighs, pressing against my vulva through my shorts, his tongue caressing mine, and every inch inside my mouth – completely overwhelmed me and moments or minutes into it I screamed in orgasm against his mouth.

The next thing I remember is my head tucked against his shoulder, his hands stroking my hair, his voice, husky and soft, whispering, "Tempe, Tempe…" into my ear. My shorts were sticky and damp and I realized he'd had an orgasm also. It was heady to know it wasn't just I that had been overwhelmed and lost control. Still, I felt a little embarrassed. I felt his lips brush my temple and I pulled away a bit to look at him, "I couldn't…"

His eyes were still dilated, but they gleamed with a possessiveness I'd never seen before. Who knew eyes could own a person?

"You'd never even kissed before…it's what pushed you over." his fingertips slid down my cheek, brushed my still swollen lips. I nodded, not quite meeting his eyes. He kissed me on the forehead and held me close again.

"Graduation day, Tempe. I don't want you hormonally distracted just as you're finishing up."

I whispered "ok" as he stroked my back.

"Peterson can advise you the rest of the year. You're way smarter than him, but he knows how to navigate the hoops and bureaucracy better than anyone, and he's excellent with paperwork. He'll make sure all your 't's' are crossed."

"He's an editor?" I could feel him holding back his laughter.

"No…he'll make sure that all the papers you need to file are done correctly and that you cover all the points that your committee wants – including his."

"Oh." I let go of him a bit.

I knew he was right. After what had just happened, he couldn't be on my committee. If anyone every found out about us it would taint the legitimacy of my work – and my career.

"Don't look so sad, little protégé, remember your graduation present."

He grinned a wolf's grin, and I grinned back. Suddenly though, he got serious. "Tempe?"

"What?"

"You know that romantic love is just hormones and chemistry, right?"

I hesitated a moment and then laughed, "Of course, Michael. You've seen my IQ."

Michael laughed, "Yes, I have, Tempe, I certainly have."

Perhaps that is when I stopped believing...

Chapter Two
Booth:
The Silence

I don't know when I started to register it. Came back to D.C. to help Cam, and had to leave Hannah in Afghanistan. She's a really hot woman, and I wasn't thrilled to be leaving her. Still, no one was more surprised than me when she showed up in D.C... I'd already been lording it over Bones, flashing Hannah's picture around to anyone who would look. Yeah, it was a crappy thing to do. Furthermore, when Hannah first got here, I got a kick over her kissing me in public and getting to walk into work late talking about how great she was in bed. I wanted to hurt Bones. I wanted her to see what HER fear had cost her. Because I knew it was fear. It wasn't that she didn't want to be with me, just her fear that she couldn't do it right: That somehow she would do something to hurt ME. I knew the unspoken as well. She feared she would hurt me – and that would make me go away. Funny how she saw it as it being her fault if it didn't work out. Should have told me something. At the time though, I was pissed. Listening to her, seeing her tears, all I could think was, "You're scared? Like, you think it wasn't scary for me to bring the topic up? It took me six damn years just to suggest it." I wasn't even thinking about how my own fears could be effecting my viewpoint. I just knew that I was angry and hurt. I wasn't going to get what I wanted when I wanted it – if at all. Fine, I had offered. If she wasn't ready, well then fuck it.

Now, I wish…I wish I hadn't been such an ass about moving on. It only took me sitting in a single G.A. meeting last week for me to realize I'd taken a gamble; a wager on whether or not she'd be with me. That's what happens when you stop going to meetings, though. The old way of thinking starts creeping back in.

Now, she's sitting scrunched up against the car door, window open, staring out with her sunglasses on, wind blowing her hair back. It feels like she tries to be as physically far away from me as possible. "Hey, Bones?"

"Yes?"

She doesn't even turn to look at me. "Any ideas about how this body ended up hanging out in a baseball field?"

"There was nothing in the report to indicate the body was hanging."

She still hasn't looked at me. "'Hanging out,' Bones, as in they found the body there on the ground."

"I fail to see the correlation. If something is found on the ground, why call it hanging?"

"Never mind the language, Bones. Do you have any ideas about how the body got there?"

"I haven't seen the remains, nor the site. It would be impossible for me to formulate a hypothesis."

I want to scream at her, but that probably wouldn't get a reaction either. She doesn't react to anything I say anymore. Not that she completely ignores me. When we are working on a case I have complete access to her mind. She reassures me about my work when I have a doubt or concern. She still listens to my theories. Hell, a couple of weeks ago she'd taken a suspect down who made a lunge at me - hit him so hard his rib broke. (They never expect it from her – gets them every time.) However, suggesting spending non-work time together, or bringing up personal, non-work topics have thus far been torpedoed with one word answers, or a vague "I don't know what that means."

It had been different all those years ago. We'd had that almost one-night stand and soon after we started fighting. I couldn't believe she'd left me hanging after that kiss. Sure, I'd been a bit tipsy, that's why I figured we should cab it. I'd guessed the professor had had second thoughts. Yet, she'd seemed just as furious as I felt and I couldn't say or do anything that wouldn't set her off. Granted, I'd been saying and doing things to set her off on purpose, enjoying the snap-crackle-pop between us. That is, until she slapped me at work. It took a couple of months for the ribbing to die down. Still, even when burning with fury, she was still really hot.

There's no energy like that now. Just this silence rests between us. It's there whenever we're alone – like now – or if I walk into a room. Today when I came to her office to tell her about our case, I'd found her laughing with Hodgins. I realized I hadn't heard her laugh in a long time. I asked what was so funny, but Hodgins high-tailed it out of there. Bones had shut down as soon as she'd seen me. Busily shuffling papers on her desk she said it wasn't something she knew how to explain. It was a better answer than her usual "you wouldn't understand." At least here she was faulting herself for not being able to explain, instead of implying I was too dumb to get it. Of course, it still implied that she was way smarter than me, but I didn't go there. Hearing her laugh had hurt. It hurt a lot. It made me realize just how far I must have taken things over these last few weeks.

I'd wanted to hurt her, and I had succeeded. It didn't feel good at all. She's been working too much, not eating enough, her usual denial behavior. This silence, thought, is new and it's slowly killing me. Friends don't try to deliberately hurt each other. Sure, Bones has talked to me about the various relationships she's been in. However, she'd been completely unaware that I might have some feelings around what she was sharing. Heck, I was the one who had encouraged her to have that kind of openness. I'd wanted her to trust me, and when I saw she still didn't trust me enough…I went and threw whatever trust I'd had away. Not because I was sleeping with Hannah, but for everything else. Pushing when she wasn't ready, not giving her time to think – which I ALWAYS had done, and she has ALWAYS come around. Did I do that this time? No. The entire pattern of our relationship built over YEARS - gone in two minutes.

The worst though has been my flaunting Hannah, when I knew, deep down, that she loves me. I can count on one hand the times Bones has cried over her emotions – and she'd been crying that night. I'd just been too angry at losing my self-wager to think about what that meant. Later, my pride wouldn't let me acknowledge what I'd done wrong, only wallow in self-pity over her rejection – which I made damn sure she didn't see. My side of the street is quite messy. I'm not sure how to clean it up, but I want to. I want us back. I want her: her straightforwardness, her quirky way of messing up phrases, the way she would look at me as if I was her whole world.

"Isn't that the turn-off for the baseball field?"

"Damn it!" I make a quick, illegal U-turn. Bones doesn't say anything.

As we are walking toward the field, I try engaging with her again. "Parker won his game last week."

She smiles at that, "Tell him congratulations for me."

"I will. He'd love it if you came to a game again."

She hesitates a moment, "I can't right now. However, if you can't make a game for some reason let me know. I'll make sure to be cheering for him in the stands. – There's the body."

She strides away, leaving me blinking back tears. She won't/can't abandon Parker, but can't bear to spend time with me – not even for Parker. Hannah and Parker have yet to meet. She's managed to be working every weekend, and Rebecca won't let me do anything with him during the week. Especially to meet, "some blonde bimbo you met in the desert."

I watch Bones walking in that shapeless, standard issue jumpsuit. I've never seen her naked – although she's seen me. My mind tries to fill in the blanks of what I haven't ever seen. She's very different from Hannah: Tanner for one, and curvier, taller. Hannah's kind of model-like, but petite: fair, slender, blond. I brush the tears back angrily. I'd just banged Hannah this morning, and it had been good, had her moaning like a little porn star. I shouldn't feel nausea at the memory. Maybe it's my Catholicism. I like Hannah ok…but I love Bones, and sex should be for the one you love… Damn it! Bones had said no! Unfortunately, the Jiminy Cricket in me won't shut up: "She didn't say no because she doesn't love you, Seeley. You're the one who let her go."

I force myself to focus. Bones is already kneeling and examining the body. Someone has really died, and that is more important than the fact that every time I look at Bones I feel like I'm dying inside. I walk quickly over to join her. "What'cha got, Bones?"

"Caucasian Male, 17-22. Cause of death could be head trauma. However, it appears the body has been burned…I'll need Cam to examine the traces of flesh still left on the bones, and Hodgins to analysis the soil from this mound of dirt, there's soot and ash-"

" – pitcher's mound, Bones –"

"– which implies that the body could have been burned here. Have your people look for any drag marks leading towards the mound, traces of ash and/or blood. I don't want to assume the murder actually took place here."

She's running her hands along the bones of the body and I kneel down beside her. "Anything else?"

"I'll go over the body more at the Jeffersonian. Preliminary findings indicate he was likely some kind of athlete, one that required use of his left shoulder more than his right."

"Like a baseball pitcher?"

"Yes."

I watch her gloved hands trace the face on the skull. "Bones?"

"Despite having had his nose broken in his early teens, he was a strikingly attractive young man."

I hear the sadness in her voice, and see the sadness in her eyes; regret at a life snuffed out so callously. I know that voice and look won't appear again until this case is over. I am one of the few people who are aware of and have witnessed this part of her: the pain of being able to see the person as if they're alive in front of her, while simultaneously seeing the bones that have been left behind.

I touch her shoulder and she flinches. God, she hates when I touch her? Is this a new thing or was it just my unexpected contact? She turns to look at me directly as I speak. "I just – it still amazes me what you can see looking a skull." I watch the conflict of emotions flicker across her face, pleasure, confusion, sadness. She bites her lip, and for a moment we are connected again, the way we used to be, "Temperance."

"Hi guys!" Fuck. Hannah's timing couldn't be worse. I watch Bones drop her mask back in place and she abruptly stands. I take a deep breath and turn to greet Hannah. Only, it's not just Hannah. She's here with a camera crew and dressed for business. The police were holding them back behind the yellow tape. The cop closest to her, gives me a dirty look. "She says that she's a friend of yours, Agent Booth." A couple of the cops snicker. I don't have to look at Bones to know that she's furious. I wonder if she realizes that I am too.

As I'm getting up, Bones gives me rapid-fire directions. "Have the body and soil samples sent to the lab. Also, I'll need photos of the entire baseball area."

"It's called a field, Bones."

Her head whips around to look at me. Oh, yeah, she is mad. "This," she points out the baseball diamond and outfields, "is the baseball field. I need pictures of the ground from the entire area: the dugouts, the bleachers and the parking area – not just the stupid 'baseball field.'"

With that she storms away. When did she learn about baseball? I give my guys the orders and trot a bit to try catching up with her. She's already near the police tape, near Hannah. I can tell Hannah's not going to let her just walk by.

"Anything you can tell us about the body, Dr. Brennan?"

Already I can hear Hacker laying into me about letting Bones talk to the press. I don't run, but I do move a bit faster. Oh God, she's saying something.

"Actually, yes, there is something I can impart." Hannah moves in closer to Bones with the mic, with that predatory gleam in her eye. I am fucked.

"Upon careful examination I can absolutely verify that the body is dead. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go and finish doing my job."

I feel my jaw drop open. At the same I hear the chuckles fan through the policemen holding back the small crowd that's been gathering behind the tape barriers.

"Good one, Dr. B!"

Who the hell was that? My eyes shift immediately towards the voice. It belongs to a younger officer – probably no more than thirty: light blue eyes, dark hair, about 5'11", ruddy complexion. I watch this guy let her through the tape, a big stupid grin on his face. Then Bones actually smiles at him, "Thanks Ryan."

I take a couple of steps towards them, completely forgetting that Hannah is right there.

"Special Agent Booth – "

"- Not now."

I catch the look she gives me, but I don't care. I'm pissed at her for trying to trade in on sleeping with me, and I need to find out who this cop is Bones just smiled at and knows by first name – and is walking away with!

"Yo, Stephens, keep an eye on Journo Barbie over there. I'm gonna give Dr. B a ride back to the museum."

"Sure thing, Murphy."

Murphy. The guy's name is Ryan Murphy. I definitely will be running that name through the FBI data base. The guy turns back towards Bones. They are halfway to the parking lot. Is she sleeping with him? It's the only thought burning through my brain. It's one I have no right to ask considering my morning of fucking Hannah senseless – hell, months of fucking Hannah senseless. I'd been throwing the fact in Bones' face for weeks. Why wouldn't she seek to numb the pain the same way I had?

He's younger than me, younger than her. Then again, Hannah is younger than both of us also. She's not that much younger than Bones' – 32 to Bones' 35. As I contemplate this, I sense someone close staring at me from behind. I know it's Hannah, but I just walk away, because if I see her, I'm gonna lose it. There's too much going on within me: anger at her, jealousy about this guy connecting with Bones, sadness that she and I are not connecting, self-hatred for how I've been treating the woman I…the woman I love.

"Seeley."

I don't turn around. My voice comes out low, "We're done, Hannah."

I continue walking towards my car. I might have heard her say, "I know," but can't be sure. At any rate, she doesn't follow me.