don't own them, wish I did...

A/N: yes, I know they probably wouldn't be hitting him this quick with it--or at least I don't think so--but gotta move the plot along, right? I think it's called artistic license. Just like I really don't know anything about the FBI.. Besides, even the fine people on the show have done that--that painkiller Zack was on, for example. If it was morphine based, he wouldn't have gotten a hit every time Hodgins clicked the button--I know from experience that it's limited so you can't get addicted. One hit in the allotted time frame; and it certainly didn't knock me out that fast. I don't think. I'll checkzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

When Booth woke up, he knew he was in the hospital. The odor alone was enough, but the sound of soft beeps and quiet machines sealed it. He had simply been there too many times not to know. But there was another scent, one that faded even as he struggled to ID it; one that didn't fit.

"Bones!"

"She's gone for the day, Agent Booth," Cullen informed him. "We practically had to sedate her and drag her out."

Something about that made him feel warm inside, but his boss's next words wiped that away.

"You recall the suspect who went underground because we were getting too close? The one who swore he'd dance on your grave?"

"Of course, sir; you nearly put me under lock and key."

"An informant tells us he's heard of your shooting already. This might be our chance."

He carefully pushed himself up, trying not to disturb anything attached to him as well as testing his reactions. His whole side hurt like hell and he could tell exactly where the bullet entered. "What did the docs say, sir?"

"The bullet was removed. No complications, save for a bone being chipped and the expected blood loss. They do want you to take it easy," Cullen added, eying his attempts to sit with a baleful eye. "I wouldn't even be talking to you about this if it wasn't urgent."

"I understand that. I want a piece of the bastard, too." A hand curled into a fist. "What's the plan?"

"We fake your death. A slight delay for the funeral and he should have plenty of time to reveal himself, not to mention you should have some time to get back on your feet."

Booth grimaced; he hated that kind of undercover work. But it seemed it really was their best chance.

With his agreement, the FBI smuggled him out of the hospital. The next shift of nurses was told had died, and a doctor familiar with the Bureau agreed to cover for them.

--bbbBbbbbB--

"And who do you want on your list, Agent Booth?"

"My parents," he replied immediately. "Rebecca Stinson, so she can take my son away. And Dr. Brennan."

Two weeks of recuperation.
Two weeks of preparation.
Two weeks of boredom.

Booth grew heartily tired of solitaire and studying the suspect's file. But it still beat the hell out of remembering the Checkerbox. In his worse moments he could still feel the impact and hear Bones' voice: "Come on, Booth. Come on!" He had never seen her so frantic before--scared, yes; mad, definitely; but rarely desperate. He'd do it again, though--he knew that.

He had asked for the eyewitness accounts and been amazed at what he read. He might have to admit she was as good as he was; few could make that kind of shot without preparation. He didn't know if he wanted to actually say it to her face, but deep down he could admit it.

He also had to admit he missed her in this enforced isolation, but was well aware that she might be watched as well and they could let no hints escape outside--like Bones making regular visits. Her acting ability was a trifle erratic; as Roxie, she had been great, but she had been slightly less than convincing while chasing down Gorgonzola that time. He hoped she was keeping up her usual routine, and that Angela was getting her out to eat and sleep. He could trust Ange to make sure she was taking care of herself.

I miss her too much; maybe we should talk about that line when this is all done. I'd like to erase it. His body reminded him of the Christmas kiss, and he knew he wanted to repeat that as well, gum and all, but without an audience.

At the funeral, he watched the squints. His squints--his team. They were all dressed in black, even Bones, and lined up as they had been at Cleo Eller's funeral on their first real case together. She gestured irritably at the coffin while Caroline spoke. And while there were eyes being wiped, hers remained obstinately dry. No doubt outsiders would think her cold, but he recognized her mask. She was covering, compartmentalizing. He knew her.

He didn't dare look too long at her; again, too obvious, but there were no words for how glad he was to be outside, seeing his Bones again. My Bones. Hmph. I can just hear her complaining about being objectified. Well, she could objectify me, too. That should even it out. Mentally, he shrugged and dragged his eyes away from her yet again. This time, he saw someone making his way slowly towards the little group and tensed.

--bbbBbbbbB--

He wasn't sure what response he would get from her, but it surely wasn't the one he got. "Bones. Nice shot," he said, rising. She stared at him, eyes dark with some indefinable emotion, then slugged him, sending him sprawling again. The old Army part of him cringed at the damage to the uniform, but the rest of him ignored it as a minor detail.

Scrambling to his feet, he followed her out of the cemetery, vaguely aware the rest of the squints were behind him, bemused and amused both.

They hadn't screamed at each other in just that way in a long time, and in the end, having made it perfectly clear that she thought he was incompetent, negligent, and a whole slew of other insults, he thought he might just have to kiss her. He didn't care that all of the squints were there, or that the Kid was, either. It was either kiss her or kill her. And he didn't want to bother with the paperwork.

But Zack had ruined the moment. "Dr. Brennan?"

Bones had opened the plainly wrapped box and gaped at what was inside--a jawbone. "Mandible," they all said firmly, so he threw up his hands in disgust. Silver screws, too--and everyone's mind jumped to the skeleton in the vaults.

"It's a crime scene now, people!" He had taken over with a sense of comfort; this was routine. "Everyone off the platform."

Bones had given him another dirty look and stalked off to her office, carefully shutting (not slamming) the door behind her. If he looked, he could see her working at her computer, mouth set in a tight line.

Finally at home, he went purely for comfort in order to relax. The day had been long, with several extremes, and tiring. The beer hat, a rare cigar, and a stack of his favorite comics in the bathtub sounded about right. The old record player with Social Distortion blaring. But even as he read, his mind roved over the day. He had been genuinely moved at what was said about him at the funeral--who knew Caroline held him in such regard? The passion between him and Bones, even if it hadn't gone the way he'd've liked. I suppose I should be grateful she didn't use one of her three forms of martial arts on me, and simply slugged me instead. Who screwed it up? And of course, the revelation that someone in the Jeffersonian, someone he knew and likely trusted, was working for the bad guys. He chewed his lower lip. There had been hints before, now that he thought about it, but the field had simply been too wide. Now, for the jawbone (he used the term defiantly) to have been delivered to the actual platform meant it almost had to be one of the squints. Who else had access besides them and him? Security? That would almost be worse.

He groaned and sank lower into the tub. I'm not going to think about this right now. I'd like to be able to sleep tonight. He discarded the finished comic and picked up an old Green Lantern one. He managed to get absorbed enough in the hero's adventures that he never heard the footsteps outside the door until it banged open.

Bones stormed in, roughly dragging the needle off the record & he winced; did she have any idea how hard it would be to replace that if it were scratched? Of course not.

--bbbBbbbbB--

"Do you want me to find out why you weren't told?"

"If it's important to you," she replied in a surprisingly mild voice that he immediately mistrusted. Her eyes were darting around the room, occasionally resting on him.

She added something about his lack of Puritan modesty and left, somehow setting the needle back on the record in almost the same spot she had yanked it off. The door slid shut, and then he could hear the front door slam. He was alone again.

With a sigh, he tossed aside the Green Lantern comic and went for the next one. Wonder Woman. He stared at it for a long moment, then laughed. Still chuckling, he settled back into the tub, taking a drink of his barely cool beer. He hadn't missed the way she was unobtrusively checking him out. Guess I won't be able to sleep tonight after all.

2nd note: just found out that DB voiced the character of Green Lantern in a JLA cartoon. Adds something to him reading that comic in the show, don'cha think?