Booth sinks into the welcoming sofa of the upper lounge. His inward groan quickly turns outward when he combs his fingers through his hair.
Brennan frowns sympathetically. "I'll get you an ice pack."
"I'll be fine, Bones. It's okay," he calls vainly after her already retreating form.
"No," she disagrees, reaching into the small freezer in the kitchen nook. "You and head wounds do not a good combination make."
"Thanks a lot."
She smiles a little as she makes her way back over to him with the pack. "You're only mad because you were taken down."
"Hey!" he huffs, sinking back into the cushions with defeat. "I wasn't expecting an ambush, okay?"
"Aren't snipers always prepared?"
His eyes wander away, aimless in their concentration. He gets quiet. "I was distracted, that's all."
Her brow tugs together. "By what?"
He doesn't say anything.
"Booth?" she prompts, easing into the cushions beside him. "By what?"
He meets her inquisitive gaze, raw emotion suddenly in his own. She feels her breath catch at the intensity of it. "I was worried about you," he says at last.
Her heart slowly inches up into her throat.
Booth remembers the sheer terror in which she'd shielded him, and feels his chest tighten.
When it becomes too much, he looks away. This time, he's the first to break. "Plus, you know, I thought they were the good guys."
Brennan nods, understanding in her eyes. "You wouldn't expect an attack from a paramedic at the scene of an accident."
"Right."
She frowns. "Except for that Halloween almost three years ago when one dressed up as a killer clown and tried to murder us with a shotgun. You, especially. He really didn't seem to like you."
Booth smiles wryly, a dry chuckle building in his throat. "I think we can both agree that was an anomaly. Don't you think?" He utilizes words from her vocabulary, and it makes her feel better for reasons she can't explain.
Brennan considers this. "Very true."
Booth heaves another sigh and leans heavily against the back of the couch. "I thought I was going to have to go for my knife," he mumbles after awhile.
"Wh—you have a knife on you?"
"Always," he says. "And another gun on my ankle."
Brennan shakes her head. "Booth, I hardly think a knife would hold merit against two guns."
His cold, calculated tone makes her shiver. "If I threw it at the first guy for a heart kill, the other would be surprised long enough for me to go for my gun. Then I'd take him out."
Her wide eyes regard him in alarm. "Booth," she whispers, her voice slowly rising, "they're government. Why—why would that even cross your mind? How—"
"Because they scare you," he cuts her off, and his voice is tense. "You're scared of them."
Her parted lips quiver. A little guiltily, her eyes turn downcast. Booth angles his head so he can meet them again.
They stare at one another for a long time.
"Good guys don't scare you, Bones," Booth gravely reminds.
Brennan exhales heavily, as though relieving some of the burden currently on her shoulders. She gives a tiny nod, mutely acknowledging the unsettling truth to his words.
"Hey," he nudges her eventually. "How 'bout that icepack?" He lightens the moment, gracing her with that crooked grin.
She laughs quietly, but there's little humor in it. Repositioning herself, she scoots closer to him for better access.
"Ouch," he says when her anxiety causes her to be a little forceful with the application.
"Sorry," she murmurs, pressing it more gently to his hair.
Booth watches her intense focus towards her task—which is pretty menial at best. She's trying to be useful in a way that's in her control. These bastards have brought her world down around her, they've invaded her lab and her domination and it kills him.
Carefully, her other hand rests over his clavicle to balance out the weight distribution.
"I can hold it," he offers.
"That isn't necessary."
Her voice is soft and restrained.
"You okay?" he broaches quietly.
Brennan's eyes flicker to his. "Fine," she smiles haltingly to reassure him. He reaches up to gently procure the pack from her hands. She's unable to refrain from combing two fingers through the hair at his temple before allowing her hands to fall at her sides. "I was just… worried, is all. I don't know."
He waits for her to go on, unwilling to force her anymore out of her comfort zone than she already is.
She frowns and bites down hard on her lip. "I thought…" she whispers.
Somehow, he knows exactly what's weighing so heavily on her mind. "I'm okay," he reassures. Brennan's eyes flick to him and she eventually nods, trying to accept this—trying to reassure herself, more than anything. "You know I'd never go without a fight," Booth attempts to cheer her up, a grin trying to break over his face.
"I know," Brennan agrees, letting out a shaky breath. She smiles a little in response to his. "You're a warrior, I haven't forgotten."
"Warrior?" he smiles, both amused and touched.
To his dismay, her eyes start to water. They rake over his form, drinking him in before arriving back on his concerned expression. "You came for me," she whispers.
He always did. But each time proved to instill fresh awe in her.
Brennan feels his fingers curl around hers. "I'm always right behind you, Bones."
With a watery sigh, she leans forward into him. Her forehead presses against the junction of his neck and shoulder and she squeezes her eyes shut in exhaustion, more of that burden evaporating when his arm wraps around her.
They sit in silence like this for a long time.
Booth drops his chin onto the crown of her head, his eyes gazing forward. "What can you tell me about them?"
Without opening her eyes, Brennan responds, "The three that remained up here during your break in are not field agents." He'd gotten that one right. "They're Intel, from what I've gathered."
"Grunts," Booth provides. "Hired suits."
Spooks, he thinks darkly.
"Yes, and it's possible they're handlers. Which makes the situation even more dire, because don't handlers never insert themselves into the operation? The two you took out at the door are the equivalent to agents, but rank higher than you of course. The other two are officers, much higher. But Mr. White seems to be the one in charge."
"Anything else?"
"Mr. Jones appears to know a variety of martial arts and Krav Maga. He took out the security guards."
"Okay. I know a little Krav. Some Maui Thai, too."
If she's surprised by his confession, it doesn't show. "Mr. White is an unknown. But by the way he carries himself, I'd conclude he suffered an adolescent tibia break. His limp isn't pronounced, but…"
Booth smiles knowingly, his thumb ghosting patterns over her arm. "Of course you noticed it."
"Mmm," she hums tiredly, feeling at ease and at home.
Booth gives her shoulder a squeeze. "Good job, Bones," he mumbles into her hair.
She sighs. "Thank you."
Last two will be up later tonight.