Spoilers, obviously, for TFITN. ;) Thanks to Space for the beta. And personally, I'm glad I can finally let myself watch this week's episode.

Booth rested his right arm on his thigh and the fingers of his right hand on the steering wheel while his left rested at a position near ten o'clock. He glanced over at Bones; they were on the way to talk to the prosecutor about their case against Andrew Hopp, the mastermind of the dog fighting ring. They'd been able to piece together fifty-two names from the betting slips and Booth had managed to convince a couple of scared kids to plead guilty in exchange for a lesser charge - and a better case against Mr. Hopp. Apparently, this wasn't the only location - seems Andrew needed a lot more money and decided to expand his customer base.

"...he's got warm and reassuring brown eyes and he's capable of great violence."

Booth knew it was supposed to be a compliment, but the latter part of her statement basically took his worst fears by the balls and squeezed. Hard. He was better - Gordon Gordon's therapy had helped him in more ways than one - but he'd accepted that those fears would never go away completely.

Especially when Bones says things like that.

Shaking his head, Booth thought about the similarities. Ripley never killed unless ordered, either, and Booth knew, now that he thought about it, he'd never believe they were that much different. Both killed when ordered, both weren't violent by nature, and Booth figured Ripley probably felt as horrible about it as he did.

Temperance looked over at Booth and could tell something was on his mind. The rigid set of his jaw was her only visible evidence, but he'd been quiet ever since he picked her up at the Jeffersonian. She wondered if Parker was having more trouble at school or if Rebecca was giving him more problems, though she thought things had been better between them.

"How's Parker doing?"

"He's good, Bones. No more girl problems, for now anyway."

"Did Rebecca lend you any grief?"

Booth's lip twitched, "Give, Bones, give me any grief. And no, why the third degree?"

Furrowing her brows, Bones opened her mouth. Booth glanced over and, before she could say anything, clarified, "I mean, what's with all the questions."

"You look like you're upset."

"Just thinking about what you said about Ripley."

That he wasn't looking at her more - and she knew he could while driving - led her to think he was upset with her. She tried to remember everything she had said to him.

Ripley didn't deserve to die. It wasn't his fault, it was his Master's - Ripley was just doing what his master wanted. He never would've killed unless given the command - he was a good dog, and she would've been a good owner. She'd already made arrangements for a dog walker and doggy day care so that he'd be taken care of while she was at work.

Booth stole a lingering glance, and noticed the far off stare in her eyes. If he were a betting man - and he wasn't anymore - he'd say she was thinking about Ripley and the injustice of it all. Ripley was rescued, but his rescuer unknowingly entered him into the cruel world of dog fighting. Focusing on the road, Booth felt his jaw clench harder the more he thought about the situation.

God, I hope this little shit goes away for a long time.

Bones looked at Booth: his jaw was still set and she now noticed that his shoulders were tense.

And suddenly, she remembered what she had said - both about his eyes and that he was also capable of great violence. He was on his way out again, from what she recalled, and then she told him about the sutures.

"You're a good man, Booth."

Glancing out his window, he forced out a heavy sigh. His actions proved he was anything but great; he loved his job, there was no question about that, but working on the side of justice was his penance. Criminals were taken off the street, and his previous kills were evened on his 'cosmic balance sheet' as she would say. It was a win-win.

"You taught your son to fight for others, to walk away sometimes, and that bird's nests, and all nature in turn, deserve respect."

Booth felt some of his tension begin to drip away; he was glad Bones said that, but he was still battling with himself. Was he capable of "great violence"? He had never been a violent kid, but he'd learned fast after enlisting. Even then, though, the violence was strictly by the books. He didn't really like those books per se, but he always followed orders and did what he had to do to save - try to save - his friends and himself.

Her soft hand lightly rested upon his arm and his eyes snapped over to hers, lingering a little too long before returning to the road ahead.

"Ripley was capable of violence, but he wasn't a violent dog."

"Yeah..."

Booth slowed to a stop at a red light and looked at his partner. He slid back the arm her hand was on and turned his palm up, threading his fingers through hers and lightly squeezing.

"Thanks, Bones," he said softly.