Bones Season 7:5 The Indulgence in the Interim Chapter 2: How I Wonder What You Are, a bones fanfic

7.5x02: How I Wonder What You Are ~ Written by Brainysmrfs, NatesMama & Squinttoyou

To any passerby, they looked like any young couple in love heading home from a late dinner, her head was resting on his shoulder and their arms were linked together. But as they moved down the darkened street of the nation's capital, they had something much more nefarious than getting home on their minds. This couple had a plan and tonight was the night they set it in motion.

They had practiced it several times, certain they had it down to a science. The sidewalk was slick with the still-falling, evening rain and people were huddled underneath hoods, umbrellas and soaked-through newspapers. With their target spotted, she dropped her partner's arm and quickened her pace as he slowed his. He felt a surge of adrenaline pulse through his veins when he saw the reflection of the streetlight in her custom-made, paisley, printed leather boots as she approached the man carrying the blue and orange umbrella. Yes, this was the moment they had been practicing for.

Her hand first casually brushed against the target's arm but then she wrapped lithe fingers around it and applied pressure while she used her other hand to remove a syringe from her trench coat pocket. Without hesitation, she quickly jabbed the needle into his arm with enough force to pierce the three layers of clothes she was certain he wore. Without looking over at the man she had just injected, the woman in the distinctive leather boots quickened her pace once again and made her way to the mini-van she had parked just a short half a block away.

This was when her partner stepped into action. He watched as the target stood still, stunned and then began to sway. Before the injected elixir had the chance to render the man much smaller than himself completely unconscious, the partner wrapped one arm around the other man's waist and began to guide him toward the van he knew would be waiting. At first, the target struggled against the tight grip with which he was being held and then tried to yell but it came out as mumbled gibberish. If anyone took notice of the two men on the street, it simply appeared that the friends were staggering home after being over-served in any one of the numerous local bars. As they reached the van, the side door slid open and the larger man heaved the now unconscious target inside and followed him in, closing the door behind him.

The entire operation took less than five minutes and, as law enforcement would find early the next morning, left behind no evidence and not a single forthcoming witness in its wake.

B&B

Booth rolled over settling back into his pillow with the sigh of a body not yet ready to wake. The morning light was just bright enough to let him know the night was soon ending and it filtered in from behind the curtains. He threw one arm over his head in an effort to block it and in the hopes that sleep would return. He had thought his movement was only a natural shift in his sleep, but a soft sound from a few feet away let him know that wasn't the case. Suddenly fully awake he opened his eyes and smiled.

As he had been certain she would be, Brennan was standing a few feet from their bed. She moved slowly, obviously trying not to wake him given the early hour and his late night, as she spread a mat on the floor. She wore a pair of blue yoga pants that hugged her hips and a tank top that revealed just a little too much cleavage now that her body was responding to her pregnancy. He was absolutely certain she wore nothing underneath her workout clothes, and she looked absolutely gorgeous. Thoughts of going back to sleep disappeared as he watched her take the first position and Booth very much enjoyed his new line of thinking.

"You know, Bones," he said, his voice holding only a hint of the sleep he was missing. "I was sleeping."

Her head was down but she managed to meet his eye by looking at him through her legs. "I'm sorry, Booth. I was attempting to be quiet."

"S'ok," he forgave her and rolled to his back so he had a better view. She moved slowly from her spread leg stance to a new pose, her expression serious as she focused on the movement. It was all too much for him and Booth decided to interrupt. "You act like you take that awfully seriously, but I'm not so sure," he said playfully.

Brennan did not break her pose or look at him as she responded. "I take it very seriously. The enhanced muscle tone and core strength will be beneficial during childbirth."

"Yeah, but you aren't due for another seven months. That's plenty of time to get in shape."

"I'm already in shape," Brennan argued as she shifted to another position. "This targets specific muscles and I prefer to be ready well before I might need them."

Booth's mouth actually watered as she moved. The new position was very interesting. "And it would be more logical to do that out in the living room, you know. There is more room and no one is trying to sleep in there."

"I prefer this room."

The way she said it put a smile on his face. He was going to have a very good morning in about one minute. "Why is that?"

Brennan pretended to exert herself and grunted to show a vocal answer was not possible.

"Bones?" he said after patiently waiting for her to move. "Why do you prefer this room?" She didn't answer, but a quick smile lifted her mouth before she could hide it. "Uh, huh," he smirked. "You do that in here for my benefit, don't you? Admit it Bones, you want me to watch."

"I am not shy," she answered again without looking at him. "I have no objection to you watching."

It wasn't what she said, but how she said it that made Booth chuckle. He rolled from bed as he laughed and with two steps was close enough to wrap his arms around her.

"Booth! I'm exercising!"

He ignored her and scooped her off her feet. "Admit it," he demanded as he carried her to bed.

"You interrupted my session. I will gain no benefit from that," she complained as he laid her on her back.

He crawled over her as he argued. "You wanted to be interrupted."

This time she didn't try to hide her smile. Her grin was coy and her eyes sparkled with pleasure at the way this was going. "Why would I want that?" she asked as her hands slid over his bare chest.

"Maybe for this?" he asked as his lips brushed the top of one barely-contained breast.

"That is a pleasant sensation."

"So is this," he promised before moving his kiss to her second breast.

"Equally pleasant," she agreed.

Booth pushed her tank top up and eagerly curled his hand around the warm flesh that spilled free. His thumb brushed over her nipple making it harden. His lips closed around the pink nub and he swirled his tongue before applying suction. Brennan's back arched toward him and her fingers curled in his hair. The tiny moan she allowed to escape let him know she enjoyed his attention. "Say it, Bones," he demanded as he shifted to repeat his action on the mate.

Her voice was thick with need but she stubbornly clung to her charade. "Say what?" She gasped as his legs forced hers slightly apart and he settled against her, his hardness seeking out her warmth. "Oh that," she joked. "I see my yoga had the desired effect."

"Every damn time," he promised as his mouth dropped to hers.

She kissed him back as her fingers pulled at his sleep pants and her hands followed over his muscled ass. He moved to help and she pushed the loose cotton down his legs. "We are wearing too many clothes," she complained as her tank was pulled over her head. "Maybe I should switch to nude yoga."

"You do and you will never finish a workout." His nimble fingers made quick work of rolling her pants down to her ankles and she carelessly flung them off the bed. He looked her over, realizingthat he had her exactly where he wanted her, completely naked in the bed they shared.

Brennan's head jerked up from where she had been peppering his neck with kisses, "Did you hear something?"

His movements stilled for a brief moment, "Nah, it was probably just the wind." He gently wrapped his arms around her waist and flipped her over so that the length of his body covered hers. She turned her head to give the front door one last listen.

"Booth, someone is at the door."

Booth groaned, "Is this one of those times where if I don't got check the door, you're going to be obsessed with it and neither of us is really going to enjoy ourselves?"

She shrugged with a mixture of innocence and determination, "Possibly…"

He rolled off the bed and pulled on his previously discarded pajama pants. When he reached the doorway, he turned back toward Brennan, "Promise me you'll stay right there, ok?"

She nodded once with a coy smile and pulled the light sheet over her body to shield herself from the early morning chill.

As he shuffled through the house, Booth grumbled a few incomprehensible curse words and then pulled the door open with a frustrated groan, "I just left you four hours ago, did you miss me that much, Turner?"

"Lance is missing." Turner spoke in that hushed monotone people often use when they are still in shock.

"What do you mean?" He asked as he opened the door wider for her to enter the house.

"I mean that…he's missing!" She frantically ran her hands through her hair, resisting the urge to pull the strands in frustration, "When I got home last night, he wasn't there and his cell is going right to voice mail, no one has seen him at the office…and…he's not at the diner, hadn't been there at all according to the waitress but his car is parked a couple blocks away from it…" She trailed off, nearly breathless from her frenzied verbal onslaught.

"Ok, calm down. Let's think this through." Booth urged the younger agent in a soothing tone. He thought through everything Turner had listed for a moment and then asked, "What about that music store he's always talking about?"

"Bobby Jean's?" Turner shook her head, "I went by there and none of the guys have seen him, they said he hasn't been by in weeks to play with them. It was 2 o'clock in the morning when I got home, where the hell would he be?"

"I wish I knew." In the nearly five years that Booth had worked with Sweets, he'd never known him to disappear and now he found himself silently cursing himself for so often wishing that he would.

"I've done everything I can on my own and now…now, I don't know what to do." She inhaled deeply as she leveled her eyes on her supervisor, "So…so, I'm here." She pinched the bridge of her nose in an attempt to stave off the tears she could feel coming. "They wouldn't let me in his office, I don't have the proper 'clearance' and I thought that maybe…I mean, could you possibly?"

Booth nodded, "Yeah, wait here and I'll get dressed."

"Claudia?" Brennan called out as she entered the living room, wrapping her robe around her newly-growing belly. She looked at Booth, "Is everything ok?"

"I need to go back to the office." Booth explained quietly as he stopped to gently kiss Brennan on the temple as he passed her on his way to the bedroom.

Brennan looked at Turner, "What happened?"

"I can't find Lance. I have been looking for him for the last four hours and I've come up dry. Booth is going to go back to work with me so I can look around Lance's office."

"That's not like Sweets at all." Brennan thought aloud.

"I know..." Turner took a hairband off her wrist, pulled her hair into a ponytail and wiped her face, trying to regain her composure. "I'm sure he's doing something he forgot to tell me about or he just lost track of time or something like that, you know?"

Knowing Sweets as she did, Brennan's stomach began to churn because for all the words she could use to describe Lance Sweets, 'forgetful' was not one of them.

Booth came back into the room, pulling on his leather jacket, "Ready, Turner?"

"I want to come too. It'll only take me a minute to get dressed."

"Temperance, you don't have to…" Turner trailed off.

Brennan turned and offered the other woman a faint smile, "Yes, I do."

B&B

Once at the Hoover, Booth quickly made his way to the office manager's cubicle to get the key for Sweets' office. After a little explaining and a little sweet-talking, which amused Brennan to no end, Celia gave him the key, making him promise to return it as soon as possible.

"I'll never understand why that works on so many women." Brennan mused under her breath as they made their way to Sweets' office.

"Why what works?"

Brennan raised one shoulder and rolled her eyes, "You have this way of getting what you want from most women by tilting your head, smiling and saying something cliché and usually slightly sexist."

"It's called flirting and it makes the world go round, Bones."

As they reached Sweets' office, they all stopped and stared at the door for a few moments. When Booth went to slide the key in the lock, Turner closed her eyes tightly and sighed, "I am going to feel so stupid if he's asleep on his couch."

Booth slowly pushed the door open and then turned to face the women, "Just in case, treat this as you would any other scene, ok?" He stopped himself from saying 'crime scene', trying to make it easier for Claudia.

"Right." Turner nodded as she pushed up her sleeves and internally lectured herself, Treat this like a normal case, Turner. It's not Lance, it's someone you've never met, someone you've never kissed, someone you've never spent an entire Sunday with just reading The Times and making five-alarm chili, it's not the person you thought was your forever… She forced her train of thought to come to a halt as she ran a trembling hand across her mouth and clung to her very last thread of composure as she followed the partners into the office. Using her elbow, she flipped on the light switch. "Nothing looks out of place…"

Brennan went to his desk, "His computer is turned off and it doesn't appear that he left here in a hurry."

"No, no it doesn't." Booth exhaled and shoved his hands in his pockets. All of Sweets' folders and books were as organized as they had ever been, the cushions on the sofa didn't look disturbed and even his chair was pushed neatly under the desk.

"I assume Sweets keeps an appointment book?" Brennan turned and asked Claudia.

"He does but it's on his phone, his whole life is on that thing."

"When was the last time you spoke with him, Claudia?"

"It was just before we saw the suspect go into the restaurant so," She looked to Booth, "that was about 7pm, right?"

He nodded, "Just about."

"And you didn't realize he was missing until 2am?" Brennan confirmed more than asked. "That's a seven hour period, any number of things could occur during that time."

Claudia bit her lip, "I was working, on a case…There are plenty of times when we go longer than that without speaking, it's not unusual." Her heart began to race and her speech became rapid and loud, "We're busy people. You," she pointed at Brennan and then Booth, "both of you know what it's like, right?"

"Turner, come on now." Booth stepped toward her with hands reaching out, "Bones was just thinking out loud, no one is blaming you for this – Sweets is a big boy, you are not his babysitter, ok?"

"I know I just…" she paused and looked at her boss with eyes full of fear; it was a look that he was certain he had never seen from her before.

Booth laid a hand on her shoulder, "I know, it's ok."

"Claudia, have you called his friends?" Brennan asked as she flipped through folders on the desk.

Turner swallowed hard and nodded, "I called the ones that he's close to, that he sees on a regular basis – no one's seen or heard from him."

"Did you call the tech guys and get the last activity on his phone?" Booth asked as he reached into his pocket.

"I did but… being a rookie doesn't lend itself to being able to get that type of info without a case attached to it."

Booth nodded as he dialed a number on his phone, "Uh, yes this is SSA Booth, I need a trace on Dr. Lance Sweets' cell… Yeah, last activity and location…. Thanks." He hung up and sighed, "They'll send the info to my phone as soon as they have it."

"Thanks, boss." Turner reached up and tightened her ponytail before asking, "Now what?"

B&B

"Seeley Booth, this had better be good, you're pulling me away from a damn fine breakfast." Caroline Julian stomped into Booth's office and stood, hands on generous hips, glaring at the agent across the desk.

Booth stood and came around to gesture the prosecutor to a chair, ignoring her indignant huff but not missing the worried look that crossed her face for a brief moment. "Sit, Caroline. Please."

"I don't know who you think you are, bossing me…" She trailed off when she finally took in Booth's tired, worried eyes, unkempt hair and unshaven face. "Don't tell me that partner of yours is in some kind of trouble again? Because you might have all the time in the world to be saving her genius behind every damn minute, but I'm-"

"Caroline!" Booth cut off her inevitable rant, and then sighed quietly when she glared at his interruption, causing her gaze to soften immediately. "Listen, alright?" At her uneasy nod, he continued. "Sweets is missing. Since at least midnight, probably long before that. Turner got home about 2 AM and he hadn't been there all night. We checked all his usual haunts, and nothing came up. His phone was turned off just around midnight and his car was found parked near the diner."

Closing her eyes briefly, Caroline shook her head. "What is it with you people, not being able to keep track of your own?" Ignoring Booth's plaintive look, she continued. "I don't know what you need from me, Cherie, because you know damn good and well that boy isn't quote unquote "missing" for another 36 hours. It don't matter that his five o'clock shadow doesn't show up on his baby face for a week, he is still considered an adult in the eyes of the law. Maybe he wised up and got as far away from you crazy people as he could."

"Caroline…"

"And don't go giving me those puppy dog eyes, either. Just tell me what you expect me to do so I can say no and go back to my beignets. "

Booth nodded and grabbed a folder from his desk. "We need a warrant to take a look at Sweets' credit card and bank history, see if he's tapped the ATM or used his Visa anywhere. At this point, I'm grasping at straws, Caroline."

"Clearly, if you think a judge is going to grant a warrant with what you've got here, you're even crazier than I thought, Booth. You and I both know that-"

"This isn't a joke, Caroline. You know me." He leaned forward, the folder he was holding becoming twisted in his tight grip. "I don't waste your time, Caroline. I never have. Something happened to Sweets, I know it. My gut is screaming right now, the clock is ticking, and I honestly don't have time to beg you. So, I'm asking…as a friend. Can you get me a warrant to look at Sweets' credit cards? Please?"

Caroline sat in shocked silence for several moments. She had known Seeley Booth for close to sixteen years, and in that time he had only ever asked her for a personal favor one other time…and this particular favor wouldn't even require her to do anything but call in a small marker of her own, let alone force her to get on a plane to New Orleans again. With an internal sigh, she relented.

"Alright." She stifled a smile at Booth's relieved look. "I know a judge who might be willing to let us take a peek at the kid's financials, but-" She held up a finger and shook it menacingly. "You will owe me, Seeley Booth. Big time."

Standing with the diminutive lawyer, Booth resisted the urge to hug her. "Thank you, Caroline. I appreciate it."

"Don't mention it." She moved to leave the office and start making phone calls. At the last minute, she turned and regarded Booth seriously. "Just find your shrink, alright?"

There was a nervous undercurrent in the room and each of the sharp-minded group he called 'squints' watched Booth with growing dread. He leaned against the wall, deep in thought and the slight tick they could see at his jaw filled them with apprehension. They were his team as much as they were Brennan's and the uncharacteristic tension they saw in him had them all on alert. It was Angela, unsurprisingly, who put an end to the wait.

"Booth, if you don't tell us why we are sitting in a Hoover conference room I'm going to shift into crazy-Angela mode and we all know how unpleasant that can be."

"Yeah, it's a little early for that," Wendell joked, making Hodgins flash a grin of agreement while Angela lifted an eyebrow in warning. He ignored them both and continued, speaking to the brooding agent. "What's up, Booth?"

Booth shoved his hands in his pocket searching for his poker chip in an effort to calm himself. "Sweets has disappeared. No one has seen him since early last night."

There was a collective gasp from the team and then five voices began to demand more explanation. As Brennan began to speak they all fell to immediate silence.

"We are uncertain what happened, but it appears evident from what scant evidence we have, that Dr. Sweets is in peril."

"What evidence?" Cam asked hoping to turn the team toward their best method of processing information.

Booth finally pushed his big body off the wall, angry. "We know Turner last talked to him around seven o'clock last night. She and I were on a stakeout and he checked in with her while we waited." He took the empty seat next to Brennan and rested his arm on her chair. He didn't touch her, but the nearness seemed to provide the peace his poker chip had not. "We finished up and Turner got home around two AM. Sweets wasn't there."

"How is Claudia?" Angela immediately asked.

"Worried but working the case," Brennan answered and there was understanding in her voice. "She is currently placing phone calls to a few friends she had not previously contacted."

"Did she check the music store?" Hodgins interrupted. "Sweets can spend all night there."

"Yeah, she talked to the guy that owns the place. Sweets hadn't been there in weeks." Booth's voice still held the tension his body was trying to lose and he took a deep breath.

Brennan picked up the narrative. "Cell phone records indicate Sweets' phone was turned off at 11:52 and at the time was within a five mile radius of the Hoover."

"Any chance he is still here?" Molly asked, her question a surprise given her usual quiet nature. When the others turned their attention to her she blushed. "I accidentally locked myself in my dad's office building once," she admitted. "I got turned around and ended up in an unfamiliar hallway. The door automatically locked behind me and I didn't have a way to call for help. I was in there for hours before they found me."

"That's not possible," Booth said shaking his head. "There is no sign of a struggle or hurried exit in his office or his car and security footage shows him leaving by the main entrance at 9:30 last night."

"Car?" Cam questioned hopefully since he brought it up.

"Parked on Franklin Street, about three blocks from the diner," Booth answered.

"And no sign of him at the diner, I assume?"

"Come on Cam, that would be too easy."

There was a moment of silence as they each considered a possibly overlooked avenue of investigation. "What about a financial trail?" Hodgins asked.

"There has been no activity with his bank account since Thursday and no unusual transactions in the last six months."

"That's good intel given the timing," Cam noted. "Does Turner have access?"

"I called in a favor," Booth explained succinctly.

"So what do we do?" Angela asked.

"We do what we do best, our jobs." Brennan answered with more surety than she felt. "There is evidence; we excel at discerning truth from little available information. We will find him."

Again, there was a pause but before it could stretch to a doubtful silence, Cam spoke. "Then we need to get to work." She stood prompting the others to do the same. "Wendell, you go with Hodgins and help him search Sweets' car. Struggle or not there is always a good chance we'll find something. Angela, you and I can take a look at those records Booth was able to get hold of."

"Miss McDaniels," Brennan called across the table to her newest intern. "Please provide Dr. Saroyan with any assistance she might need. Booth and I intend to blanket the area between Sweets' car and the diner in hopes of locating a witness."

Molly nodded eager to show her willingness to help and followed as the team began to exit the room. Wendell held the door for her and then fell in step at her side. "You need a ride back to the lab, Molly?" he asked solicitously.

The young redhead felt her cheeks warm but she tried to maintain a professional expression. Dr. Brennan had paired her rotation with the senior interns, and while she appreciated all she could learn from each of the various experienced assistants, working with Wendell always left her feeling like a nervous teenager. "Yes, please."

Hodgins was the last of the squints to reach the door and as Booth and Brennan followed, he held out an arm to block their passage. "You do realize we have no workable evidence."

"We will find something, we always do," Brennan insisted. Her tone warned him that she was in no mood to have her argument refuted and Hodgins clamped his lips closed.

When the duo passed he too stepped through the door. "Ok," he muttered to himself. "But there was more evidence with the Gravedigger than what we have on Sweets. How the hell are we going to find him?"

B&B

"Boss?" Claudia stuck her head in Booth's partially closed office door, wincing slightly when she thought she had interrupted a private moment between her superior and his partner.

Booth stood from where he had been crouched in front of Brennan's chair and waved Turner into the room. "You're fine, Turner. Come in." He moved to sit behind his desk, picking up his coffee cup and absently taking a sip. "Did you get in touch with Sweets' other friends?"

"Yes." Claudia sighed and dropped into the chair next to Brennan. "No one has heard from Lance in awhile. Not even a text. Which makes sense; we've been really busy with work and everything." Her voice trailed off as she looked over to the windows.

The partners exchanged looks of concern, and while Booth struggled to find words of comfort for his colleague, Brennan fell back on what she found soothing in times of crisis. Facts. "Claudia, Booth and I were just going through what steps the team is taking to find Sweets. Would you like an update on their progress?"

With a grateful sigh, Turner nodded her head and listened intently as Brennan outlined exactly what the Jeffersonian was doing to aid in the search while Booth continued to flip through the paperwork in front of him, pretending to read. When his office phone rang, interrupting Brennan's speech, Booth snatched the receiver in relief.

"Booth." He listened for a moment before his eyes widened and a soft "Where?" escaped his lips. Both women unconsciously leaned forward, hanging on every small word they could hear from Booth's end of the conversation. He grabbed a pen and made some notes, thanked the caller and hung up the phone with a heavy sigh, scrubbing his face with his hand as he sat back in his chair.

"What is it, Booth?" Brennan asked, studiously not looking at Turner sitting tensely next to her.

The agent looked both of them in the eye for a moment before finally speaking. "The body of an unidentified white male was found in Bethesda at the Norwood Recreation Center, on one of the hiking trails. They don't have a local morgue there, so they sent the body to Walter Reed."

"Is it…I mean, do you think…" Claudia swallowed thickly, unable to vocalize the rest of her question.

Booth shook his head, more sorry than he would ever be able to express that he couldn't answer her question. "I don't know, Turner. The, you know, vitals match. But…"

"We won't know anything until we can see the body." Brennan finished for him. Booth looked to her gratefully as she turned to Claudia. "We will have to go identify-"

"No." Booth stood, collecting his keys and wallet from his desk drawer. "Neither of you need to be there for this." He ignored their immediate protests, rounding the desk and their chairs as he made his way to the door. "I can call you when-"

"Booth." Claudia's softly spoken protest stopped him dead, his back still to the office. "I know what you're trying to do and I appreciate it. But I need…don't you see? Lance, he might be…and, well, I just…"

In an uncharacteristic move, Brennan reached for and clutched Claudia's clammy hand in hers. "Booth, we're both going. It's not open for debate."

Booth turned and took in the determined, steely resolve in his partner's eyes and the desperate worry in Turner's and sighed. "Fine. But I will go in alone."

Brennan shook her head. "We'll talk about it on the way. Let's go."

B&B

The short ride to Bethesda was ripe with tension and almost paralyzing silence. Claudia sat in the back of the SUV, staring listlessly out the window as Booth tapped nervously on the steering wheel and Brennan fisted her hands against her thighs, fighting the urge to slap his hands to get him to stop. Finally, she reached over and placed one firm hand on his thigh, squeezing tightly. Booth glanced at Brennan quickly, getting the message. He cleared his throat and tried to focus on looking for the exit to Walter Reed National Military Medical Center.

"This is where they moved the medical center when the original Walter Reed closed in DC?" Brennan asked, seeing the signs for their turn.

Booth nodded. "Yeah. Remember that whole scandal with the Army, when Secretary Harvey and General Kiley were forced to resign because of how they had let the hospital deteriorate?" Brennan tipped her head in acknowledgment. "Anyway, they changed the name and moved it to the Naval Medical Center grounds, but kept the name, essentially."

"I understand." Brennan glanced back at Turner as they pulled into the parking structure for the hospital. Booth showed the guard his badge and explained the reason for his visit, and they waved the car through.

Once Booth had parked, he turned in his seat and addressed both of his passengers. "Bones, Turner…I know that you both want to come in, but-"

"No, Booth." Brennan shook her head slowly. "I do not."

"Neither do I, Booth." Turner's quiet declaration and Brennan's refusal had him both relieved and confused.

"Bones? I thought that you wanted to come in?"

She squirmed in her seat for a moment, glancing again at the silent woman behind her. "I thought about it on the way here and…I find that I…" Brennan turned her head back to look Booth in the eye and he was almost shocked to see tears hovering on her lashes. "Booth, what if it is Sweets?" Her whispered question was heard loud and clear inside the stillness of the SUV. "I don't think that I-that is, I cannot…" Nodding, Booth wrapped one large hand around her nape and let his thumb rub small circles on the skin right below her ear.

"Alright, Bones. Okay." He moved his hand and swiped at the tear that had escaped her lashes. Looking back at Turner, he tried to smile and failed miserably. "Claudia? Listen…it's probably not him, alright? This is just…eliminating the possibility. Covering all the bases. Okay?"

The younger agent nodded. "I know." She sniffed. "And I appreciate you doing this, Booth. But…could you do me another favor?"

"Sure, anything."

She managed a half-smile. "Please don't call me Claudia ever again."

Booth chuffed a short laugh, nodding. "You got it, Turner." Pulling the keys from the ignition, he handed them to Brennan. "Stay here, lock the doors." At Brennan's look, he shook his head. "No, Bones. Not this time. Just listen to me and lock up, alright? Please?"

"Fine." Brennan could feel the tension rolling off her partner, and decided that easing his mind was more important than asserting her independence. "We'll be here, waiting for you."

"Thank you." He breathed, gratefully. "I'll be right back." They watched as he exited the car and walked determinedly towards the elevators to the hospital.

Once he was gone, Brennan turned and regarded Claudia closely. "Are you alright?"

The answer was short, to the point, and starkly honest. "No."

Brennan understood, and faced forward again, leaving her companion to her own thoughts in silence.

B&B

Booth hurriedly threw open the doors, leaving them swinging behind him as he headed for the nearest exit. He needed fresh air, something different from the stifling, death-filled air of the cold, windowless morgue. He ignored his own heaving chest as he found a small, out of the way alcove where he could pull himself together in private. The images he had flashing through his head would not let up as he pressed his forehead to the cool stone in front of him, trying to take long, deep breaths. In the back of his mind, he had always known that this was a possibility but he didn't allow himself to believe it would ever end that way. The idea that he would ever have to attend the funeral of another friend taken way too young was abhorrent to him, and his fists clenched at his sides as he fought the wave of emotion that washed over him.

Finally, after several minutes, a sense of calm washed over Booth, sharpened by a determination and focus that had served him well when he wore a very different kind of uniform to work. He turned from his impromptu hiding spot and headed for the elevators, mentally composing what he would say to Brennan and Turner when he got back to the car, knowing that no matter how he said it, it was both good news and bad news. Sweets was alive, but the search would have to continue.

The room was dark. The body slumped in the chair was barely discernible from the inky darkness around him. There was no sound, no indication at all of where this unrecognizable man was being held captive. For a long time, what he felt was far too long, nothing happened and a tension began to mount. As the moments of darkness and silence passed, it began to feel as though the air, growing thick with anticipation, was getting harder and harder to breathe.

A soft sigh that emanated from the unmoving body was the first sign of life. Then there was a groan and his head began to awake, shifting with the first precursor that the silence was beginning to shatter. Bright light stabbed the dark, the white glare of the television screen the lone illumination in the room.

A familiar feminine voice began to speak through the TV. "The standards we have established for academic distinction are quite high. Dr. Sweets holds degrees which provide him the credentials and expertise to meet and even exceed our expectations."

The narrative shifted to a second, equally familiar voice and the unconscious form began to stir in recognition. "Our success rate is one of the best in the world. We couldn't do that without team members who hold themselves to the highest standards and Dr. Sweets is as committed to that goal as the rest of us."

A male voice then spoke and the sound of the gruff yet familiar voice jarred the semi-conscious man to pay attention to the screen in front of him. "We call Dr. Sweets a human lie detector. The information he provides to us is amazing in its accuracy. The kid looks like he should be playing little league, but he is a heavy hitter for sure."

"Booth?" Sweets managed to croak.

The faint word he managed to eke out brought the sound from the television to an end and the room was again thrown into complete darkness.

From out of nowhere and yet at the same time seemingly everywhere, he heard, "You ignored me…"

Urged by the woman purring accusations within inches of his ear, Sweets tried to raise his hand to his face but something was holding it down. Groggily he asked, "What?" The warm glow of a lamp lit the room but he flinched from it, blinking rapidly to alleviate the sting of his eyes adjusting to the change.

A lanky blond came into full view, pulling a chair over toward him to sit so close that their knees were touching, "You. Ignored. Me."

"I-I what?" He looked around his new environment. It was, from what he could see from the chair his forearms were secured to with duct tape, a large home, built in the last 25 years, with white walls and sparse furnishings. He could be anywhere in the country, in the world really, because he had no idea how much time had passed. He looked back to his captor and studied her face. The only word that came to his hazy mind as he looked at her in the still-dim light, , was luminous. Silken blonde hair that framed her pale ivory skin in such a way, it looked as though she was constantly bathed in rays of light. She probably could've have passed for some kind of celestial being if it weren't for her eyes – ice blue and bewitching as hell. Devil or angel, he would have remembered meeting this woman. He leaned forward and sternly assured her, "I do not know you."

"And from my perspective that is entirely your fault, Dr. Sweets. Or do you prefer Lance when you're out of the office? I never know what you egghead types want to be called and I don't want to offend. I mean, you did earn that title so which do you prefer? I'm fine with either."

"Wait…" Sweets closed his eyes and tried to remember something, anything from before his world went dark but it seemed the harder he tried to remember, the more clouded his memories became. "I was on the…" he looked down at his own feet and instead of inquiring as to why he was suddenly barefoot and his ankles were, like his wrists, tied to the chair, he glanced over at the woman's feet. "Your boots…The paisley boots? Wait…wait, OK, I left work and went to get…" He stopped himself from remembering aloud that he was going to the diner to get the pastries Claudia loved so much because he didn't want to offer up any personal information that could later be used against him.

"I'll help you," she leaned back in her chair and helped her captive paint a mental picture of the previous night, "it was raining and you were going to the Royal Diner because you always go there for dinner when Agent Turner works late."

Sweets gave in, "Yeah, I was headed to the diner and...then…then someone… You, I'm pretty sure it was you, grabbed my arm and jabbed me with something and then a man…." He looked up at her sharply as though in one split second all of his faculties returned, "You drugged me."

Smiling like a little girl who finally received her long-dreamed-of pony, she sighed, "I knew it wouldn't take you long to come around." She pulled out a slim remote control and without looking turned on a large plasma TV that was behind her but directly in Sweets' eye-line. Before she hit 'play' she looked at him and tapped him on the leg, "This is my favorite part."

The minute the DVD began, Sweets recognized the night's entertainment immediately. A few months prior, the Discovery Channel had done an hour-long special about the Jeffersonian team, including Booth and himself. His paisley-hoofed host already had it queued up for the part about him.

While shuffling still photos and newspaper clippings of Sweets with various members of the team across the screen, the narrator began;

The youngest member, Dr. Lance Sweets, began his association with the team when he was assigned by the FBI brass to conduct a partners' evaluation of Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan. Very soon, however, that relationship evolved from providing the occasional suspect evaluations and profiles to becoming a vital member of the team offering full consultations and participation in active interrogations. According to Drs. Brennan and Saroyan, Dr. Sweets has become an integral and welcomed part of their crime fighting family.

Sweets closed his eyes, trying to ignore the narrator's voice when she began to replay the clip. He had to tune the ambient noise out to put all of his energy into discovering what kind of hell this was and how he was going to escape it.

B&B

After few minutes, his beautiful captor turned on the overhead fixtures once again, causing Sweets to try to shield his eyes from the sudden burst of bright light. His head ached and the contents of his stomach felt full of what he'd once seen cleaned out of the fryers at the diner one night. He had felt something similar to this on his fair share of occasions while in college; celebrating the end of finals with more gusto than warranted, or when he had over-indulged himself a little too much when a pretty girl offered him her phone number. But he had never woken up feeling as though he had licked the sidewalk on Fifth Avenue from one end to the other prior to crawling into bed.

However, this morning he didn't just feel hung over, he felt woozy and to be honest, if he hadn't checked his pulse repeatedly, he would have been certain he was more than slightly dead. "What did you dose me with?'

"A drug called Xyrem – it's a form of GHB usually prescribed for narcolepsy." She approached him, placing a high-end tea service in front of him, "Are you feeling ok, do you need anything?"

He looked at her in disbelief, "Uh yeah, I need to get out of here."

She smiled, "I am so sorry, sweetie. That's just not going to happen. Would you like some tea and a biscuit?" She poured water from the teapot into two ready cups without waiting for his answer.

No, I don't want anything from you." He shook his head and asked, "How did you get a hold of Xyrem, it's incredibly hard to get?"

She sat down with a delicious smile on her face, "I went to a sleep specialist, and faked narcolepsy." The look of disbelief on his face urged her to explain herself, "You know, it was a lot easier than I thought it would be, I went on Wikipedia and checked out WebMD and before I knew it, I was a walking, talking encyclopedia on the illness." She slid his cup of tea in front of him and then crossed her arms in front of her, "The tricky part was the sleep test but a little Xanax and Benadryl took care of that. Within three weeks, I was receiving the Xyrem on a monthly basis."

Picking up on the almost confessional nature in her tone, Sweets probed, "Do you enjoy telling me things like that?"

She sighed and wiped the non-existent running eyeliner from under her eyes, "I like to let people know how crafty I am but only after I've gotten from them what I need." Setting down her cup of tea, she pointedly looked at him, "But you, my Lance…You are special, I'm making an exception."

"What kind of exception?"

"I gave you a glimpse before I asked you for what I want. You get a peek into my secret, but that is all the hints you get. I thought about giving you more time but you are so special Lance, there is no way you need more than a day."

He thought for a second and then asked, "What makes you think I'm so special?"

"I think you're so very special, Lance. When I saw you in the documentary, I remember thinking to myself 'the rest of them belong there but not you. You, my love could have done anything."

"I don't know what you mean."

She smiled again, a coy, smirk of a smile, and then turned away from him. Lifting her own teacup, she ignored him. The way she sipped it with focus gave Sweets the clear message that she would not say more until he attempted to play her game. As he thought back to the short amount of time they had spent together, he realized that there were several things he needed her to clarify. He began with the first words she uttered to him.

"How did I ignore you?"

"You tell me," she immediately answered with dark humor. She set her cup down and waved a hand, tracing the contours of her gorgeous form. "I mean really, how were you not drooling over me? I look phenomenal in a ball gown."

"Ball gown," Sweets mumbled as he tried to remember why that would be important. The detail came quickly; he had only attended one formal event in in the last year. "The Samson Foundation Black Tie Ball?" he asked, already knowing it was the correct answer. It was the only event he had attended, but it was an important one. The Sampson Foundation worked to provide support to children in foster care and that was a cause he gave his full support.

"You do remember!" Paisley exclaimed happily. "After I watched the documentary, I did a little research and found you were on the Samson Board of Trustees. That all but guaranteed me a chance to meet you and I went all out in my preparations for our introduction." Her flash of pleasure evaporated almost immediately and she scowled at him. "I was looking quite exceptional that night. Of course it was all for nothing because you didn't even notice me. You still don't remember me do you?" She didn't wait for him to answer. "Of course you don't. You were far too involved with your friends that evening, Lance. Your little group should learn to branch out more. I'm sure that insularity serves you well in your line of work, but it's rather rude in a social setting."

Memories of that night flooded his still recovering mind. He had been rather self-absorbed that evening. "I wasn't trying to be rude," he apologized sensing that a continued argument about her perception of his behavior from that night would do him no good. "I was...there was something on my mind."

"What, did you have a fight with Claudia?" she asked lightly. He looked away and she crowed with delight. Her hands clapped once and she gave him a taunting grin. "You did! Tell me," she said in a rush as she propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hand. "What was it about?"

"Nothing," he said trying to evade any discussion of his girlfriend.

"You're not protecting her, you know. Where do you think I sent Adam off to this time? Besides," she rested her elbows on the table, "it's not like we are going anywhere," she said her giddy excitement evaporating to a menacing promise.

Sweets flexed his still bound ankles trying to provide some circulation to his feet. His limited range of movement reminded him that he had few options so he played along. "She doesn't clean the trap in the dishwasher."

"That's it?"

"Do you know what kind of disgusting filth can clog in there?" he automatically ranted. "It's a bacteria farm and if you don't clean all that gunk out it just goes right back onto the next load of dishes!"

"I can see it's quite upsetting to you." She sniffed disdainfully, "Seems kind of silly to me."

Sweets sighed and shook his head. "It's not that big a deal. It was just our first real fight and it kind of got out of hand. We said some things we didn't mean. By the time we got to the party, I had cooled down. I was preoccupied because I was trying to find a way to apologize."

"Horizontal apologies always work well," she advised with a suggestive leer, "especially when both parties are naked as sin."

The ease of their exchange gave Sweets an opening he had been hoping for. "Why am I here?" he asked with as little accusation as he could manage.

"The documentary is really fascinating, you know," she said as if it were an explanation. "They were very complimentary of your skill."

"The documentary?"

"Yes. I watched it avidly. I was delighted to see you in attendance at the ball and quite vexed when I had absolutely no success gaining your attention." Her mouth curled into a pout that accentuated the lusciousness of her plump lips. "I so wanted to meet you."

"But, I ignored you," Sweets finished.

"Exactly," she said and her pout was gone and in its place was a smile that revealed more cunning than it covered up. "So, I decided to invite you over to play a little game. Do you want to play a game?"

The words Global Thermo-Nuclear War rang clear as a bell in Sweets' head but he refused to let himself utter the traditional geeky response to that question. "What kind of game?" he asked instead.

"You are going to uncover my secret."

"And what's that exactly?"

Moved closer to him on the couch, "I'm special…and not in the every-snowflake-is- unique kind of special. I'm a rarity, or so the professionals have told me." She reached out and tapped him on the nose, "I'm giving you roughly 24 hours to determine if you can tell me what it took dozens of other so-called mental health professionals the bulk of my life to tell me."

"You want me to tell you what your secret is?" he repeated emphasizing the order of the words. "The secret that you're already aware of?"

"You are a brilliant psychologist," she said with a shrug, "if that Dr. Brennan of yours is to be believed, you are one of the best. So prove it."

"You want me to diagnose you?"

Her smile looked genuinely warm. "You are good." She stood and reached for his cooling cup. "I'd like another spot, how about you?" She continued talking as she emptied their cups and began to make more tea. "The documentary called you a 'human lie detector' and a 'brilliant profiler'. Heck, they called you everything but the 'boy wonder'. You have twenty-four hours to prove it."

"Prove what exactly?"

"I've been under the watchful eye of every type of specialist you can name since I was 12 years old – I know exactly what I am. I want to see how quickly you can figure it out."

"What if I don't care what you are?" Sweets asked feeling suddenly desperate to resist.

She looked up from the kettle with eyes so frigid he could feel his skin grow icy. "I took you off a public street at rush hour without anyone noticing. I didn't leave a scrap of evidence behind. What makes you think I can't kill you and get away with it, regardless of who your friends are?"

"Anything?" Cam asked knowing her hope was wasted. If there had been anything promising Hodgins would have already called her. She had been reviewing the phone logs for the third time and Molly quickly cleared the printed reports from her workspace as Wendell and Hodgins approached.

The scientist shook his head in answer and gestured for Wendell to lay their meager findings on the table. "Sweets' car is as weird as he is."

"What does that mean?"

"It means the guy is an enigma."

Cam pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose and grimaced. She realized humor was how Hodgins dealt with stress, but sometimes being his boss made her want to shoot him. "I'd like some details Dr. Hodgins."

Wendell responded, the intern more susceptible to her implied threat. "Like Hodgins said, there isn't much," He held up a music CD. "The soundtrack to Sunset Boulevard, the original London cast recording even." He set it aside and lifted the next item.

"Is that what I think it is?" Cam asked.

"If you think these are a professional-quality set of Vulcan ears, then yes," Hodgins answered with a grin. "Those are the good ones."

"This can't be Dr. Sweets'" Molly said as she picked up the last remaining item. The pink thong was tiny and lacy and the intern's cheeks were slightly red as she held it up for display.

"I'm going to guess that belongs to Agent Turner," Wendell answered with a sly grin. The blush tint on Molly's cheeks flamed brighter and she dropped the underwear.

"What I want to know," Hodgins drawled as he picked up the discarded thong and let the lace dangle from his finger. "Is what were they doing in that car with this combo?"

Wendell held the latex ears to his head. "You think he was the science officer and Turner was the sexy alien or do you think it's the other way around?"

Cam gave them both a warning glare and spoke sharply. "Why did you bring this stuff back? It's not evidence."

Hodgins smirked, "It's evidence of somethin'…"

"Dr. Hodgins," Cam raised her voice slightly, "I think we should concentrate on finding answers to bigger questions."

The reprimand sobered both men and they each gave a contrite nod. "Yeah, ok," Hodgins responded. He dropped the thong and propped his hands on his hips. "The car was a bust. Sweets is a neat nick, I think he vacuums it daily. There aren't any signs of anything I can use as evidence."

"Ok," Cam said with a sigh. "I'll let Booth know."

Hodgins waited until she was gone and then reclaimed Turner's thong. "Wonder where they were going that Turner didn't need this?"

Molly bolted almost as soon as he finished the question. Wendell chuckled as he watched her flee. "Why do you do that?" he chided the older man.

"It's good for her," Hodgins said as he turned to follow the retreating girl. "She's kind of adorable," he drawled when he noted Wendell's grin.

Wendell looked at him without turning his head. "Don't go there."

"Why not?"

"She's cute, but she is way too quiet and shy."

"The shy, quiet ones will always surprise," Hodgins advised with a teasing lilt. "And they rarely disappoint."

B&B

"I'm back, Eve."

Paisley turned as the call sounded from behind the door. Before it could open to reveal her partner in crime, she was moving forward to greet him. She met him in the open doorway with a wide vapid smile. "How's my Adam, today?" she welcomed him as she stood on her tiptoes and threw her arms around his neck.

His massive arms circled her waist and he returned her greeting with an innocent smile. They kissed and he lifted her off her feet making her squeal as if delighted by the show of strength. "Put me down," she scolded with a playful swat to his shoulder. He dutifully set her on her feet and she tweaked his cheek. "Thank you. Now," she ordered keeping her voice light and adding a touch of hushed anticipation, "don't keep me in suspense. Tell me about it."

The handsome blonde looked over her shoulder and grinned at the sight of Sweets within hearing distance. His attention returned to his Eve and he gave a sly grin as they were the only two on the planet in on their little joke. It made him beam with pride to be sharing this particular joke with her. "You missed it, it was really funny. The car was sitting there right where he left it. I had to stand around for a couple of hours, but eventually these two guys showed up, just like you said they would. They spent a real long time looking for something. I don't think they found what they wanted, but they didn't seem too upset. They were laughing about something when they left anyway."

"And they were the only people to inspect the car?"

"Yep. Just like you said," he reported his head bobbing in the affirmative as he smiled proudly. "You nailed it, Baby."

"Thank you for watching. I know it was probably boring for you."

"Nah, it was fun. Besides, I'd do anything for you and you know it."

"I can think of something you can do for me later," she said as she leered up at him suggestively.

"Ooh, ok," he agreed reaching out to playfully tickle her ribs.

Paisley giggled and then snagged his hands. When she spoke her playfulness was gone. "It's time for the next step. Can you do that for me, babe?"

"Sure, sure, I can. What am I supposed to do?" He paused as if trying to remember his instructions. "Oh! I wrote it down," he said and sheepishly fished a slip of paper from his pocket. "Step two," he said as he unfolded the paper. "Oh, yeah!" He looked up from the paper with a proud grin. "I can totally do that!"

Leaning in he kissed her cheek and as he turned back through the door, he took one last look at Sweets and another grin as if he knew a terribly funny secret lit his face and the psychologist could hear him giggling as he turned away.

Sweets watched as Adam left the room and then looked back to the woman he'd heard Adam call Eve but Sweets could only think as Paisley, "What's he think is going on here?"

"I'm playing a game. He knows how easily I get bored."

"He's got no clue that you're using him?"

Paisley let out a sweet sigh as she folded her legs yoga style in her chair, "Not a one. He's perfect; willing to follow me anywhere, never asks questions, dumb as a rock and can go all night. Really, what more could a girl like me need?"

"Where'd you find him?"

"At a bar. About three years ago, he offered to by me a drink and followed that up with the promise of a night I'd never forget." She was studying him very carefully and after a beat of silence, she seemed to reach a decision. Uncurling her legs as she stood and walked to him. Sweets flinched as a very sharp-looking pocketknife suddenly appeared in her hand but she never lost her train of thought, "The next morning, instead of trying to leave before he woke up like I normally would, I realized that the kind of man he was could serve a great purpose in my life."

Resting the cool blade of the knife on Sweets' cheek, she lifted an amused eyebrow by his flinch and then she bent and quickly cut the tape from his ankles.

"Ouch!" he squealed as she quickly pulled tape, removing hair and skin along with it.

Her apology came with an insincere shrug. "Sorry."

It mildly surprised Sweets that she apologized but it didn't shock him at all that the word itself had no emotion behind it. He bent forward and rubbed his now stinging ankles before climbing to his feet, careful resting his bodily weight on each leg separately before he was certain that both knee joints could bear the load.

"How about a tour?" she asked as if he were a dinner guest. She turned and walked away from him without looking back, as if she simply expected him to follow along. Sweets stood still, eyeing the door on the opposite side of the room and tried to calculate how quickly he could make a run for it in bare feet.

Paisley noticed that he was mentally weighing his options, "Everything is locked tight. And, if I tell him to, Adam will beat you bloody without ever asking me why."

Sweets had few choices here. Even if he were able to overpower her, he would certainly come out the loser in a confrontation with her hulking partner. She had planned this meticulously, that was clear from her flawless abduction of him and the obvious study she had put into his life over the last few weeks. Most of what she had told him so far about herself and his situation was, almost without exception, a series of lies or exaggerations. But he knew with little doubt that the cold promise he had seen in her eyes when she threatened to kill him if he refused her had been startlingly honest.

There was a chance that no matter what he did, even if he gave this woman everything she wanted, he was never going to make it home but there was still the hope that she would let him go if he met her demands. The rational part of his brain kicked in and told him play along with her idea of a game if only for the minute chance that his captor was telling the truth and he would, after this ordeal was all over, get to go home.

Home.

Just the thought of it brought the vision of Turner's face to him and he worried about how she was reacting. Paisley's early words troubled him because he knew they were true. If something happened to him, Claudia would blame herself. That was a burden he would do anything to avoid levying on here and that simple fact made his decision easy for him. Because he loved Claudia he would do this, he would do whatever this beautiful, narcissistic, manipulative woman asked of him, because he wanted to go home.

Home to Claudia.

"If you want to get to work dear Lance then you should follow me."

"Maybe you should refer to me as Dr. Sweets." At her raised eyebrow, he explained. "You didn't ask me here for a social visit. You asked me here to evaluate you in a professional capacity. Calling me by my given name is unprofessional."

After a beat, Paisley nodded tightly. "Of course you're right, Doctor Sweets." She enunciated his title with a sneer. "If you're finished complaining, follow me. Now."

Sweets ground his teeth in frustration and followed. The house was large and his "hostess" provided a running litany of descriptive facts as they moved through each room. It sounded like inane chatter, but Sweets could discern a tightly controlled narrative in the story that he was being given. Even under the lingering effects of the drugs and with the stress of finding himself captured he had already begun to analyze his captor – the first thing on his list of her traits was that she was not to be underestimated.

He followed her from room to room, taking note of the mementos and artifacts in each room. Simple things that most people touring the home would overlook as mere decorations, or memories of a family that lived large, told Sweets a completely different story, and that anything and everything left in plain sight was specifically there to catch his eye.

At the end of a long corridor, they reached a heavy mahogany door. The loud creak that wailed from its hinges as Paisley pushed it open assured Sweets that this was a room that hadn't had a single visitor in many years. She flicked on a light switch that barely illuminated half of the space but it offered just enough light for Sweets to follow her into the dark, musty room and ascertain the collection it held

She hopped up on the edge of the desk and shrugged, "This was my father's study."

His eyes immediately went to the wall-to wall book cases that were jam-packed from floor to ceiling, "He spent a lot of time in here reading?"

"He spent a lot of time in here doing something… I was never really sure what that was."

Sweets walked in a circle around the room, "It seemed he was interested in a little of everything…"

"Dad liked to read or at least he liked to come in here and be alone – no one bothered him in here."

Gingerly, he pulled one thin book off the shelf. He held it nearly a foot from his chest, fearful of any damage he could cause it, "Do you have any idea what this is?"

She glanced over and saw a worn book in one of her father's ever-important dust jackets, "An old book?"

"This is so much more than just 'an old book'," he held it up to give her better look at the cover and then looked it over himself again, "This is a first edition of "Where the Wild Things Are'." He carefully opened the spine and checked the publishing date, "1938, this is easily worth $10,000 or more. You didn't know this was in here?"

She shook her head, trying to pretend she wasn't moved by the discover but it was obvious she was. She sniffed once before looking back at the man she held captive, "He often brought his 'special books' up for story time – I was never allowed to touch them, mind you but I guess there was a part of me that always knew they were important to him."

"They must have been - look at the care he took with them. Special covers, gloves to read them with, dehumidifiers to the keep the pages from warping and he left them all to you." Sweets noticed, or as much as she would allow him to notice, his words clearly affecting her, "His tangible legacy for his immortal one."

B&B

"Hey, next time do you think you could go around me instead of through me?"

"Sorry."

Booth's short answer and the way he moved around her without giving her the same kind of treatment she had handed out let Cam know there was a problem. Turning with salad in hand, she followed him to the counter. "What's up?"

He was perched on a stool, arms propped on the counter with his head bobbing in response to the waitress as she let him know his order was almost ready. "Nothing." He glanced at her and her expression made the cold mask he had been holding in all day slide away, "You know what's wrong," he admitted.

Taking the seat next to him Cam laid her dinner aside and copied his pose. "It's bad," she agreed. Then, knowing Seeley Booth as she did she simply fell quiet and waited.

"It's worse than bad," he said through a sigh. They sat, neither speaking, comfortable with the knowledge that each was giving some real consideration to some very possible outcomes of their situation. "I knew that almost as soon as Turner showed up at our door. My gut has been priming me to prepare because there is very slim chance this is going to go our way. If I still gambled I'd go all in on our worst nightmare."

"But you don't gamble anymore."

"No," Booth answered meeting her eyes for more than one reason. "But, I still know the odds."

Cam nodded and looked away. "Yeah, and everything about them says we will never find him. That he's been gone too long, we have too little information, no evidence, no witnesses. If I was still a cop I would already have given up."

Booth leaned in her direction, his action prompting her to face his accusing glare. "No you wouldn't."

Cam's slim eyebrow lifted. "What? You don't think cops give up so easy?"

Booth's expression clearly showed that he understood her point. "It's too soon to give up," he lectured. "All we need is one clue. Bones is brilliant, this team is good. All we need is one clue and we're back in it."

"So we should probably get back to work and find a clue, don't you think Mr. Bray?"

Booth turned to find Wendell standing behind them and he cursed himself. The agent had to shake these negative thoughts, they were dulling his senses - there was no way he should have missed the squintern joining them. Worse yet, he should never have voiced those kinds of doubts where someone other than Cam, or Brennan, could hear them. "How long have you been standing there?" he demanded.

Wendell met his eyes with an understanding look. "Long enough, to hear Dr. Saroyan saying it's time to get back to work."

Their orders arrived and Booth threw down enough to cover Wendell's food and the order he was picking up for Brennan and Turner. "Come on," he ordered. "We don't have time to sit around yakking."

B&B

As the tour continued, anything Sweets deemed to be important enough to add into his overall impression of Paisley and ultimately, giving her what she wanted, he kept to himself. She let him spend as much time in each room as he needed and for the most part, the duo remained silent. For all of the rooms she allowed him in, it was her childhood room that most piqued his interest. The room appeared to have been untouched for years and he was surprised when she allowed him to sit on the pink canopy bed and flip through photo albums and other paperwork at his leisure.

The room itself seemed to be in the middle of a repainting project, it seemed that sometime ago someone had begun painting red over the once-dominating black paint but the project had been abandoned many years prior. Whether boredom with the current project or the promise of a new project was what robbed the young Paisley of the desire to complete the initial task was unknown to Sweets. But again, Sweet reminded himself that it was perfectly normal for an for an individual going through the throws of figuring out who they were to experiment with the pallets of their bedrooms.

The photo albums he found under the bed suggested more of the same internal upheaval all young adults go through but with much more severity - there were dozens of pictures of Paisley with numerous different kinds of peer groups; athletes, thespians, FFA, cheerleaders and even the pep squad but only Paisley was the recurring individual in any of the pictures. It seemed that once she was through experimenting with one group, she moved on. The constant changing of peer groups was not necessarily an indication of an antisocial behavior, plenty of adolescents engaged in such behavior but the rate at which she moved from social group to social group did alarm Sweets and it gave him a jumping off point to build a balanced and accurate profile of her. Pictures from high school formals were placed in the album by year and it appeared that she didn't not have a steady relationship with members of the opposite sex either because during this time with each new formal came a new young man standing next to her, smiling for the camera. As he looked closer, he realized that this was a collection of memories made by a woman who was trying to appear normal, a woman who at an early age was aware enough of what society required from her and she was merely trying to pass for 'the norm'.

Paisley watched from the doorway of the room she spent her early years in, almost brimming with excitement, there was so much she wanted to tell Sweets. But she knew that any information she provided him would taint his overall assessment of her and she hadn't gone through all this trouble for a basic and let's face it, run of the mill assessment of who she was.

As Sweets looked around the room, it was obvious that as an adolescent Paisley had been involved in a litany of different sports and organizations but none that she seemed to be involved with past one season, there were no trophies or varsity letters visible indicating that she excelled in any of the extracurricular activities.

Once he put the picture albums away, he turned his attention toward the bookshelves in the corner. Textbooks ranging from calculus to psychology had been left on the bookshelves; however any kind of identifier of the school it was purchased or borrowed from had been eliminated. He pulled out a folder wedged in between the books and aged-worn documents floated to the floor. Sweets immediately bent down to pick them up and soon found his lanky frame crouched down on the floor sorting through them. Transcripts from at least three different institutions showed that Paisley was never anything more or less than an average student. Her grades ranged from low Cs to high Bs – grades not spectacular or dismal enough attract any kind of attention. It was the notes that her teachers added to these progress reports that grabbed Sweets' attention. And more than just the reports, it was the buzz words that leapt off the page at him as he skimmed them; 'impulsive', 'cold', 'glib', 'unable to control behavior.', etc. Sweets glanced up at Paisley, it was obvious she was aware of what these progress reports said and they didn't seem to bother her.

Finally, Sweets came to a report written by one of her teachers who took the time to alert Paisley's parents to her impulsive behavior, her inability to stay on task, and her overall disregard for any and all authority. One teacher, whose name was scratched out, even tried to inform Paisley's parents that their daughter 'often thought she was the smartest person in the room' and warned them that this wasn't the run-of-the-mill failure to trust adults that most in her age group participated in, this was something to be watched.

Carefully watched.

B&B

After strolling through the home that seemed to have more rooms than the Biltmore estate, they found themselves back in the massive living room the tour had started in. She took him to her childhood playroom, one that it seemed she hadn't spent much time in for a number of years.

He paused at the mantle, taking great time to study a picture that appeared to be his captor's mother holding her quite tightly to her chest, "This is you and your mother?"

Paisley turned, "Yes, I believe I was about a day old there. My mother always told me that I came into this world kicking and screaming louder than any other baby in the nursery." She always told people that with such affection until the day when I was about 15 years old and I promised her that I'd leave this world the exact same way with the only difference being that I'd take as many people with me as I could."

"And how did Mom take that?"

She rolled her eyes, "She thought I was being overly dramatic, acting out to get attention."

Sweets looked around the mausoleum of memories that he was imprisoned in and then back to his beautiful captor, "I'd say your parents died in the last 5-7 years, you weren't incredibly close with them nor did you have much affection for them but you respected the role they had in your life and because of that you're now reluctant to throw away their things."

"Maybe I don't spend much time here or maybe I haven't had the time to clear this place out."

He rolled his eyes, "If you had the time to kidnap me, you had the time to get rid of your parents' things."

She cleared her throat, "Continue…"

"And I can tell you that they loved you very much."

"Oh, really?"

"The books in the library prove that – books on parenting, behavioral disorders… They were desperate to help you, to make sure that you had a normal life."

"Who determines what's normal?"

He looked around the opulent living room and he could still hear the faint sound of the fountain in the foyer, "Obviously growing up this way isn't what most people deem to be 'normal' but they wanted you to have a good life." He leaned forward and stared into her opalescent eyes, "It's why they moved from England, right?"

Normally, when people asked her about her life she became evasive but in this case, she knew that in order for him to complete his task she had to be honest – the hardest thing in the world for her to do. "I thought I hid my accent well, I've been here nearly 20 years."

"You hide the accent very well but 'tea and biscuits' is so ingrained in you and you can't hide that."

Giving the man his due, she smiled, "No, apparently I can't. We moved here when I was 15. My mother believed that I could be helped here, that the mental health professionals in the States were better trained and more progressive."

"But nothing helped, did it?"

"It's hard to say, I never believed I needed help. But no, in their eyes nothing ever helped – they ended up sending me to a boarding school in New England for my last two years of high school."

"At what age did they realize that you couldn't be helped?"

She shrugged, "They died thinking that there had to be someone or something out there that could help." She huffed, "Fools…They never gave up."

"How did your parents die? By the look of things it seemed they passed about the same time."

"Car accident."

"What happened?"

"I told you, a car accident."

"Yeah, but usually people say 'drunk driver' or 'fell asleep at the wheel'."

"They had an accident." She said bluntly. Without giving the psychologist more room to pry and leaving him curious about the role she might have played in the 'accident', she turned away from him and walked into the music room.

B&B

"Does Sweets have any enemies that we know of?" Angela asked in a quiet voice from her seat on the floor next to Hodgins in Brennan's office. The team had gathered, each feeling helpless and knowing that if they didn't get a clue soon that the helplessness would quickly become hopelessness and no one wanted that.

"No more than the rest of us." Booth grunted from his seat on the couch next to Brennan.

Angela opened her lap top, "Who would have the biggest grudge against him?"

Hodgins and Wendell started calling out the names of the particularly nasty perps they had helped put away in the last few years but after each name was mentioned, Angela did a quick Internet search and was able to confirm that each of the aforementioned criminals were still behind bars.

Amid the tension and everyone talking out of turn, Brennan looked over at Booth and watched as he stared at the floor while grinding his teeth. She reached over and touched him on the arm, and he looked up at her, offering her a reassuring smile, "It's ok, Bones. We'll find him."

She simply nodded and squeezed his arm, for as far she'd come with understanding the emotions of others there were still times she felt herself at a loss for words.

Booth cleared his throat to get the group's attention. He spoke once all eyes were on him, "Right," he stood and popped his neck, "let's think…if Sweets was in trouble, who he would turn to. If he was being threatened or found himself in too deep with something. Who would he go to?"

The group watched as Booth, deep in thought, paced the length of the office several times. No one spoke up because to them, Booth's question seemed rhetorical.

From her seat behind Brennan's desk, Cam bit her lip, not wanting to be the one to state the obvious. Hodgins looked over at Angela with raised brows and she nodded, letting him know that she too knew the answer to Booth's question.

After several long moments, Turner spoke up. "Sir? If Lance was in trouble, if he needed help, you would be the first person he would turn to."

He looked over at Turner and then to the rest of the group who, it appeared, all agreed with the younger agent, "Right…"

"Seeley, has he been acting odd lately?" Cam asked.

"No, I mean no more than usual." He cupped the back of his neck and sighed, "He did stop by my office one day last week and…I-I told him I didn't have time to talk to him, I wanted to get home and I just thought that he wanted to talk to me about the new book he was writing." Booth looked to the group, "He didn't seem upset, I swear. He just told me he'd catch me the next day."

"Did he?" Turner asked.

Booth shook his head, "No, you and I went out to pick up Green and then spent most the day interrogating him – I don't even remember seeing Sweets that day."

"You know, I barely saw him this week and I live with him." Claudia ran her hands across her face, "This Green case has kept us busy and Lance has been crazy busy with his book."

"I had lunch with him Thursday." Hodgins offered to the group, "Not on purpose but we were in the same place at the same time so…"

"How did he seem?" Angela inquired.

Jack scratched his brow, "He seemed like, I don't know…He was Sweets, you know? I didn't notice anything different about him."

"What did you guys talk about?" Cam asked as she habitually reached for the hand sanitizer on Brennan's desk and rubbed it on her hands.

"Uh…" He thought for a moment and then chuckled as he remembered, "Oh yeah, I remember. We talked about how the Mayan calendar ends in 2012 because the last guy working on it got old and didn't leave a note before he died."

From the corner where she had been sitting quietly, Molly spoke up with a sly smile, "That's why you always leave a note."

Hodgins pointed at her and laughed, "Exactly, that is exactly what we talked about."

Booth flopped down onto the couch next to Brennan and sighed, "So, as far as we know there was nothing out of the ordinary going on with him so we have to go on the theory that he was either kidnapped or-"

Turner cut him off, "Or maybe he decided to run away."

"That's highly unlikely," Brennan, pointed out, "It was brought to my attention quite some time ago that all he wanted for himself was a place where he felt he belonged."

Angela stood up with authority, "He belongs here, with us." She walked across the room and stopped in front of Claudia, her expression brooking no argument. "And we're going to find him, don't doubt that, ok?"

B&B

"Can we talk?" Turner asked as she approached Booth in the Jeffersonian's lounge

"Sure, but I just checked in at the office, no new news. So, there's nothing really new to talk about." Sweets' disappearance had the bureau working double time and yet there were still no leads.

"I know… I just…" Turner took two confident strides forward and then stood up as straight as she could, if her voice couldn't demand that she be taken seriously than her posture would dictate it, "I would really appreciate it if everyone stopped treating me like a child."

He shook his head as he fell onto the couch, "I don't understand."

"I can handle the truth." Claudia smirked, thinking that Sweets would yell back at her, 'You can't handle the truth!'

"I know you can, Turner." He gestured for her to sit down next to him.

"Thank you but it's not you, it's everyone else, here and at the office. I walk into a room and people immediately clam up or they leave the room whispering – do they really think that I don't know what they're talking about?"

"They're just trying to be sensitive; they don't want to upset you."

"Upset me! They don't want to upset me? That is pure bullshit. People talking about Lance being missing cannot upset me anymore than the fact that he is missing! We have nothing to go on, we have no idea who took him, where they took him or why they took him. He's gone and we have no idea how to find him." She looked up at the skylights, the sky was grey and a light rain was falling. When she heard her internal voice waxing poetic about the weather fitting her mood, she turned back to Booth and yelled, "We're the friggin' FBI working with the geniuses of all geniuses and we've still got nothing! What the hell are we going to do?"

Booth had never seen her like this before but then again, the man she loved had never disappeared into thin air before either. Suddenly, he found himself even more desperate to find Sweets now that at any other point in the last 24 hours – Sweets handled hysterical people very well.

"We're going to get him back." Booth tried to sound reassuring but he was certain he sounded like a liar.

"Who are you trying to convince now, me or you?" Claudia started flipping through the thin case file she had been clutching for hours, "You don't know if we'll ever see him again, none of us do and I don't…I don't know what to do." She bit her bottom lip and inhaled, trying to not cry in front of him.

Booth often forgot that for all of Turner's brashness and sarcasm, she was after all just a girl, "Will you sit down?" When she remained standing, he added, "Please?"

Reluctantly, she dropped down into the leather chair across from him, "Yes?"

He dropped his voice and confessed, "You're right, I have no idea if we'll find him or even what happened to him but I can promise you that I will never stop looking for him – none of us will."

A single tear cascaded down her cheek, which she quickly wiped away, "I believe that, I do. He loves all of you; you know…I knew more about you and Temperance after my second date with him than I did about him. He sees you as family."

Booth smiled, "Well, he does have that annoying little brother quality so… yeah, family seems about right."

Claudia laughed, "It is cute when I see you two walking through the building, you're always a step ahead of him but he still manages to keep up and continues to yammer on and on about whatever it is you guys talk about."

"He does love to talk."

She covered her mouth with her hand and between her fingers she mumbled, "Oh yes, he is a talker. He talks all the time, you know?"

"I do but I don't want to."

Claudia stifled a yawn, it had been nearly 36 hours since she last slept and the lack of sleep was starting to wear on her but she could not rest, not yet. After a few quiet moments she asked, "Where do you think he is?"

He sighed, "Right now, I'm working off the assumption that he was either kidnapped for revenge or because the kidnappers think he knows something."

"Those are a lot better than the theories I've been conjuring up." She stretched her arms up over her head and let out a short yawn, "I've been leaning more toward dead in a ditch or in a seedy motel missing a kidney."

Since leaving the morgue earlier that day, Booth too had considered the fact that Sweets was dead several times but that was something he could never admit to the woman sitting across from him or to anyone else for that matter, "Claudia, you have to believe we'll find him, unharmed with all ten fingers and toes and with both his kidneys intact."

"This is very exciting!"

Sweets looked into her beautiful eyes and tried not to shiver. 'Exciting' was not the word he would use. If he got this right maybe, maybe, he would go home. If he got it wrong, she would kill him. Then again, she might kill him even if he gave her exactly what she claimed to want. "You are certain you want to hear this?"

"Nervous?" she asked revealing a smile of delight.

"Very."

"I know what it's going to say."

"Then why do this?"

"You know why. Now, come on, I'm tired of waiting."

Sweets glanced at the notes in his hand. The scribbled thoughts she had allowed him to jot down, in the brief thirty minutes of preparation he had been granted, were either his lifeline or his death sentence. There were no other options. He squared his shoulders, cleared his throat as if he were providing a lecture, and then began to speak. "I find you are impulsive, with a need for excitement that influences most decision making."

"What is that?" she interrupted.

Her cool question made him wince. "My assessment."

"I asked for your professional assessment, Dr. Sweets, and you insisted on being referred to by your professional title." she stated in a crisp, businesslike manner. "I would expect that your response would be given in a more acceptable manner."

"Professional."

"Of course. And clinical."

Sweets sighed and tried to shift his mental focus. "Clinical...I don't have a formal assessment prepared. I didn't have time. I just have notes."

"You can wing it. Time to prove you are as good as you were purported to be. "

Sweets studied her, his mind processing what he saw even as he formed his words. When he spoke his tone was as professional as any he had ever used in legal testimony or clinical treatment. "Subject is a blonde Caucasian female, approximately 28-34 years of age, oriented to person, place, time, and situation. Originally from the UK, she is an only child whose parents immigrated to the US for the purpose of obtaining specialized psychiatric services for their daughter. They died within the last 5-7 years as a result of a car accident of unknown cause, leaving her without family. She is currently involved in a heterosexual relationship with her accomplice in this kidnapping endeavor.

Based on this short observational period, subject is easily bored and impulsive. Her actions, including this kidnapping which was accomplished through the systematic study of my personal life, my schedule and that of my associates, indicate an above-average level of intelligence, organized thinking, and the ability to implement goal-oriented behaviors. Examination of the subject's childhood environment implies a careful staging with a particular impression and goal in mind." Paisley lifted an eyebrow at that comment, but did not interrupt him.

Sweets took a deep breath to allow himself time to think. "The subject, while cooperative during this forced evaluation, is generally glib and superficial but possesses the social dexterity to act and react in socially acceptable ways which would preclude most laymen from discerning her true nature. With a displayed lack of empathy or remorse, it can be assumed that the subject builds no deep emotional connection to anyone, including sexual partners. Her behavior can be considered impulsive and manipulative, but would more accurately be described as a commitment to her egocentric and antisocial agenda."

Paisley held up her hand and he stopped speaking. "And your diagnosis and treatment recommendation?" She asked.

Sweets met her eyes as he gave his opinion. He knew he was right and he wanted to see that she knew it too. "Based on the behaviors observed and the information set out by the subject, indications are a Psychopathic personality. This is also an observation based on experiences of this practitioner with other individuals that have presented with psychopathic personality traits. Extreme caution would be recommended as, at this point in time, no treatment for this personality type is available." He saw the flash of pleasure in her eyes just before the dark hood settled over his head and he felt the sting of a needle in his arm.

B&B

You should go home."

Brennan gave her partner a cold stare that would have sent many a man scrambling to apologize for making the suggestion. "I'm not going anywhere."

"It's late and you need sleep." He glanced at her belly making it clear why he was so concerned.

"She's pregnant, not incapacitated, Seeley," Cam scolded. "One late night won't hurt her or the baby. It's good training for after the little one gets here."

Brennan turned to the pathologist and nodded her appreciation. "Thank you, Cam."

"What is that, some code between mommies?" Booth growled.

"Whoa, I think Brennan isn't the only one who needs sleep," Hodgins whispered too loudly.

Booth glanced his way and then leaned back in his chair and rubbed a hand over his face. "It's been a long two days. Turner and I were up all night before…well, before."

"Which is why we are sitting here now," Turner added.

"Claudia," Angela soothed reaching out to touch the woman seated next to her on her office couch. "It's not your fault. If you had been with him we might be looking for you too."

"Or I could have shot them and prevented all this," the agent grumbled.

"Why do they always want to shoot people?" Hodgins asked and his wife elbowed him in the ribs.

"What if's won't do us any good," Cam lectured. "I know it's late and we are all tired, but let's see if we can't think of something, anything that we might have overlooked."

"I have particulates bigger than the clues we've already checked."

Cam glared at Hodgins, but didn't respond, once again reminding herself that humor was his defense. "What about…" Her meager suggestion was halted as Angela's monitor flared to life and a red dot and accompanying beep captured everyone's undivided attention. "Is that what I think it is?" she asked instead.

Angela was already on her feet and checking the display. Turner joined her, moving so fast she nearly crashed into the artist as she attempted to look over her shoulder. Angela took the younger woman's hand in hers and gave it a squeeze. "It's Sweets' cell phone. The GPS is active and I am reading him within a half-mile radius. It looks like he's at the Washington Monument."

Six eager team members jumped to their feet declaring their intent to investigate. "No!" Booth said with an adamant shake of his head. "It's me and Turner, that's it. Everyone else stays here."

"I'm going," Brennan argued.

"Not this time, Bones."

"What?"

"If you don't carry a gun you aren't going. We don't know what we are walking into." He explained, headed toward the door with Turner on his heels.

Brennan followed and she grabbed his arm as he crossed through the open doorway. "Booth."

"I mean it, Bones," he said his voice filled with quiet resolve.

"I'm not arguing," she said so quickly he fell to shocked silence. Her eyes darted over his shoulder to the impatiently waiting Turner. "If that were you," she said as her eyes moved to his. "I would be quite reckless in my eagerness to reach you."

An amazed smile lifted one corner of his mouth. She never stopped surprising him. "So keep an eye on Turner?"

Brennan nodded. "And be careful. I don't want you getting hurt either."

"I'm always careful," he promised through an almost-serious grin. His hand touched hers as it lay against his arm and then they parted knowing time could be important if that flash of hope was truly Sweets' location.

Turner was moving the instant he stepped from Brennan's side and his long legs had to work in quick strides to keep pace with her. The young agent was tense, but he saw no signs of the recklessness Brennan warned about. She was tight lipped, holding in her emotion as she moved with determination. They hit the outer door and in silent agreement turned toward the Mall. When Turner began to run Booth followed.

Covering the distance on foot was actually quicker than trying to maneuver through the pedestrian-friendly landscape of the National Mall and they were soon nearing the lush grass surrounding the Washington Monument. "Protocol," Booth warned and Turner reluctantly slowed.

Booth felt his sniper skills at the ready and he gave a practiced scan to the area looking for potential danger. Turner was doing the same and she finally spoke, her voice matching the coiled tension he could see in her body.

"No concerns on the perimeter."

"No, looks good," he agreed. "Don't drop your guard," he warned when she jumped forward.

In unison they drew their weapons. They moved quickly; impatience, hope and fear making it difficult to remain cautious.

On a sunny afternoon. the landmark would be crowded with sightseers, groups of tourists and families on vacation. At this late hour, however, there was no one and they crossed the empty space quickly, able to see clearly in every direction. The situation should have been tense, the two of them were completely exposed to anyone hiding in the cover of darkness, but his sniper-sharpened senses were sending no warnings. Everything about this was telling him they were alone. He rounded the corner of the monument and a cry from Turner made him spin to face east.

A form leaned against the base of the monument, slumped and unmoving. The bright lighting that illuminated the structure gave them a clear view and there was no doubt who it was. "Lance!" Turner called as she sprinted to him.

Sweets responded to his name, moaning and making a wobbly effort to sit up. Turner was touching him, searching his body for injuries and Booth bent and took the psychologist by the arm to help him sit upright. "Not again," he mumbled.

"He's been drugged," Turner worried aloud as she glanced up at her boss.

Booth gave a nod in understanding and reached for his phone. He called Brennan and asked her to bring a car so they could get Sweets a proper medical examination as he watched Turner again prod her boyfriend in search of damage bodily or otherwise.

"I'm fine," Sweets said, his voice clearer and stronger than it had been moments before. "It's just the drugs, I'm not hurt." He sat up straight and took Claudia's hands in his. "I'm ok."

The strong certainty in his voice was more than Turner had been prepared to face. With a cry of both relief and love, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. Sweets' arms circled her and he swayed slightly under her added weight. "It's ok," he promised as he pressed his face to the slope of her neck. "It's ok, Claude."

Booth let the couple hold one another for a moment but as he saw headlights approaching he spoke. "Bones is here, we should get you to a hospital, Sweets."

Turner helped him stand and Sweets wrapped his arm around her, partly to reassure her and partly for support as the drugs lingered in his system. "I need paper and a pen," he insisted.

"Yeah, ok. Come on, I think Cam was calling ahead so we should be able to get you right in to see a doc."

"It's important, Booth," Sweets insisted. "I need a pen."

B&B

Booth and Brennan stood back in the hallway as Claudia unlocked their apartment door and ushered Sweets inside. They followed the younger couple at a short distance, letting them take a few minutes to get settled.

Claudia's hands twitched nervously at her sides, her still-lingering upset obvious. "Do you want something to eat, Lance? Did she..?"

Sweets shook his head. "No, she made sure I ate." He looked up at her, aware of how ridiculous the next sentence he said sounded, "She took good care of me, I promise, Claude." He missed the look that passed between Booth and Turner as he bent his head to continue scribbling furiously, clearly trying to write down every single detail he could remember about his abduction.

"Sweets, man…we really need to get your statement. I got Hacker to let me take it from you, but they want it as soon as possible." Booth sat in the chair across from the psychologist, pulling out his note cards in earnest. Brennan and Turner moved into the kitchen, trying to give the two men their privacy, knowing that the younger of the two was more likely to open up without gawkers.

Booth watched, transfixed, as Sweets continued to write, muttering disjointed phrases and single words that made no sense to anyone other than him. Occasionally he would pause, shake the building cramp from his hand, then go right back to writing. Booth glanced around the room, catching his own reflection in the mirror above the couch; the tell-tale creases deepening around his eyes told him he wasn't helping anyone by trying to force the story out of the kid.

"Sweets?" Booth tried again, his last effort before he packed it in for the night. "I need to get this statement. Even just…anything. Something I can give to the FBI to get started on-"

Sweets head jerked up, eyes wide. "I can't, Booth. Not right now. I need to get this all down, it's…" He wrote something else down, shook his head, scratched it out and began writing again. "It's important. If we want to understand her, if we want to find her, I need to do this." He looked from Claudia to Brennan, who had been drawn out from the kitchen at Sweets' desperate tone, then back to Booth, now visibly calmer. "I need to do this, Booth. I can't explain it, but if I write everything I can remember down while it's still fresh…"

"Yeah." Booth nodded, tucking his note cards back into his suit jacket. "No, I get it." He gestured to Brennan as he stood, ignoring her questioning look. "What do you say I come back in the morning, we'll go get some breakfast, and you can tell me everything then?" At Sweets' grateful nod, he turned to Claudia. "Turner, you make sure he gets some sleep. I'll be here first thing to get you two. Alright?"

"Yeah." She stood, taking a brief hug from Brennan while peering at her boss over the other woman's shoulder. "Thanks, Booth."

"Anytime. Let's go, Bones." He pulled her from the apartment, not quite willingly, leaving Sweets and Turner alone for the first time since he had been found.

"Lance?" Claudia tentatively sat next to him, trying to tread lightly but barely hanging on by a thread. Her voice sounded tinny and small, even to her own ears. "Could you look at me, please?"

The tone in her question managed to permeate the concentration Sweets was enveloped in, and he finally looked up into her eyes. With a sigh and not a small effort, he set down his pencil and turned his body to face hers. As soon as she had his attention, Claudia threw herself at him, pulling him close and trying unsuccessfully to stifle a sob. Guilt welled up in his chest and he held her tight, rubbing comforting circles on her back and murmuring nonsensical words in her ear, relieved when she finally started to relax.

With her head buried in his neck, Claudia never saw his eyes drift back, almost on autopilot, to the paper and pencil sitting abandoned on the coffee table.

B&B

"You okay, Bones?" Booth asked as they stood together at the kitchen sink, cleaning up after dinner. "You've been pretty quiet all night."

Brennan shook her head, and then nodded. Exasperated, she dropped the sponge in the sink and turned to face her partner, worry etched all over her features. "I cannot decide what I am feeling at the moment." She sighed as Booth took her hand and led her to the kitchen table. "I am glad that we found Sweets and that he was unharmed. But I can't help but feel a little responsible for what happened to him."

"Why would you feel like that? You didn't have anything to do with what happened, Bones." Booth watched, concerned, as she sat at the table, hands folded in front of her.

She sighed, shrugging one shoulder self-consciously. "If we hadn't brought him onto the team…if we hadn't made that documentary…if I hadn't blackmailed-"

"Now wait just a minute there!" Her head jerked up in surprise as Booth slammed him palm on the table in front of her. "Stop that right now, Bones." He pulled the chair next to her out and sat down heavily, eyes flashing in anger. "You can't blame yourself for this any more than I can. Or Cam, for that matter." At her questioning look, he turned to face her directly. "Bones, Cam sent me to you that first case. I sought you out, both times. I'm the one who started bringing Sweets in on cases, I'm the one who brings him along to question suspects…If anyone is responsible for the team, it's me. So blame me." He slapped his chest to emphasize his point. "Blame me."

Brennan closed her eyes, her deep-seated need to rationalize fighting with the emotion she had denied for so long. She knew, intellectually, that Booth was correct. She knew he was simply pulling the blame his way to highlight the fact that neither of them were at fault for what happened to Sweets. But knowing and accepting are very often two very distant things. "Booth…I just, I've been…" She took a deep breath and tried to collect her jumbled thoughts. "You know I do not handle overly emotional situations very well, and…"

"No, you used to have a hard time, Bones. You're much better now." He raised his eyebrow in question. "You're not going to use that old 'I don't have an open heart' thing again, are you? Because we both know that's a load of-"

"I'm not, I promise." She reached for his hand on the tabletop, idly linking their fingers. "I suppose I'm also disturbed by the fact that I could not go with you to identify the body that was discovered. Before we knew it wasn't Sweets, I was…terrified." She whispered her confession and it occurred to Booth that she sounded ashamed of her reaction. "All I could think of was how I was going to accept the fact that he was gone, and that we were never going to see him again, and I didn't want my last memory of him to be on a cold, metal table in a clinical, impersonal morgue." She took another breath and he noticed her hesitation.

"What, Bones? What else?" He gently encouraged her to continue.

She raised wide, watery eyes to his and he felt the telltale pinpricks of answering tears in return. "I was also thinking about…what if it had been one of us, Booth?" She swallowed reflexively. "What if…I don't want this child to grow up without their father and if it had been me? I can't even imagine what-"

"Hey, hey…" He moved his chair as close as he could get and pulled hers so they were sitting face-to-face, knees intertwined. "It wasn't us, Bones. This woman wanted Sweets for a specific purpose, not us. You know as well as I do that 'what-ifs' are pointless. We can't know what might have happened."

Sniffling, she nodded. "I do know, Booth. But we've both been taken before. Taffett, Kenton, Kennedy…and if it wasn't this time, it could happen again, and I…I just wonder if maybe this job is too dangerous for our family." She unconsciously placed her hand on her growing belly, now gently rounded and clearly defined. "We finally have this…us." He smiled in agreement. "I just don't want to endanger what we've built."

Booth held her hands tightly; happy that Brennan was able to open up to him without reservation, a fact that still knocked him off his axis sometimes. "Alright. Okay. I know what you mean." Her head jerked up in surprise at his agreement. "But…you know what we would have to do, right?"

She shook her head, understanding. "I realize that we would have to end our partnership. And I know how much that would hurt you, but-"

"Hey…don't worry about me." Booth reached for her, tipping her head up with his knuckle so she was looking him directly in the eyes. "One of the reasons our partnership has always been important to me, why I couldn't imagine ending it before, was because it was all I had of you. We solved crimes, we had after-case drinks, shared lunch and the occasional dinner during an investigation…but at the end of the day, we went to our separate homes, separate lives." Realization began to seep into her face. "Now, we have this…us. A single life shared." She smiled brighter than she had all night. "And I wouldn't give this, you and me, up for anything. So if you're worried and you think that we should quit working together, then I am in." He paused, making sure she was paying close attention. "I can always work with someone else, because I live my life with you."

Comforted more than she would ever have the words to express, Brennan leaned forward, pressing her forehead to Booth's chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under his warm skin. He wrapped his arms around her, rubbing her back in slow circles, waiting for her to come to the conclusion he knew she would. "I don't want to quit working with you." She raised her head slightly, catching his eye, before moving to sit on his lap, arms looped around his neck. He grinned in return and bent to softly nuzzle into her neck. "I enjoy working with you, with the team. We have a purpose. And I don't want to give that up."

"Are you sure, Bones? Because you just say the word, and-"

"No." She pressed a finger to his lips. "No, I'm sure. It is enough that you are willing to end our partnership if it becomes necessary. I appreciate that you are willing to put our family first." She removed her finger from his mouth and replaced it with her lips, kissing him softly. "For now, that's enough."

Sighing heavily, Booth hitched her up into his arms and stood. He ignored her squeal of protest as he headed for the stairs, his intent clear.

"Booth!" She squirmed slightly, holding his shoulders tightly. "Put me down!"

"Nope." He hit the landing and moved to their bedroom door, kicking it open. "You're not going to talk like that and expect me to not make love to you." Laying her on the bed, he let her scoot backwards until she was in the middle of the comforter. He kneeled on the mattress, leaning towards her predatorily. "Is that a problem, Dr. Brennan?"

Shaking her head slowly, wide-eyed and breathing heavily, Brennan smiled. "Oh no, Agent Booth. That is never, ever a problem."

Join us this Thursday when Booth and Brennan come face to face with a duo who believe they have committed the perfect murder in Don't Say A Word by Thnx4theGum & GCatsPJ's