Her head is lolling worrisomely against his shoulder, and she hasn't said a word for a long time. Booth ducks his chin and speaks quietly, afraid of somehow disturbing her. "Bones, is everything all right?"

"You don't have to keep asking that. I think it's been established that everything is not all right."

"No, I mean with you. Physically."

Brennan pulls back from him slowly, head bowed, wisps of hair falling over her face. "Not really," she confesses. "I'm exhausted. I didn't sleep well last night, so I was going to rest in my office for awhile, but… you know." That she's admitting a weakness only amplifies his concern.

"You can rest now," he suggests.

"Here?"

"No, in your office. I'm sure you don't want to be unawares around these guys."

"Booth, I simply can't. You know they won't allow it. And… I don't like the idea of being unaware at all, even in the sanctity of my office, with these men around. I don't like them lurking in my lab."

"I understand that, Bones, I do," Booth consoles. "But you can't do good work when you're falling asleep on your partner's shoulder. Not that I mind, but…" There's a flicker of something in her eyes that makes him pause. "I can't imagine the spooks being particularly happy with mediocre work. Especially if it's going to take longer than necessary."

"That is true," she reluctantly concedes.

"And I'll stay with you, if it will make you feel better. I won't let anyone in and I'll keep an eye out here from your desk and wake you if anything new happens. You can't do anything more with the bones right now anyway. Hodgins has dibs."

Brennan considers his logical scenario, but can't help but be skeptical. "Do you think Mr. White will allow it?"

"I'll talk to Mr. White."

There's an undercurrent of malice in his tone that has her instantly balking. "Booth, please. Don't get yourself into more trouble. I don't think he likes you, and while my skills in reading people are questionable, he appears to be looking for any excuse to do away with you."

"Spooks hate G-Men," Booth agrees, not bothering to cloud the issue.

"Booth…"

"I'll be polite." His cocksure smile awakens her previously banked anger.

Brennan lets go with an exasperated cry that's somewhere between a sigh and a sob. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?!" she demands, voice rising both in octave and volume. Conscious of the pacing suits not far away from them, she makes an effort to quiet herself. "How many times do you think I can stand watching you die?" she hisses.

It is a confession in its purest form.

Booth is instantly contrite, expression falling at her despair.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. She looks away from him, lovely face contorted in reawakened emotional grief. He reaches for her and closes his hand over her wrist. "I'm sorry. Look, I promise I won't unnecessarily provoke him." At her lack of response, he goes on. "Bones, listen… neither one of us knows a whole lot about the situation, here. But I do know that it's best all around if you're at the top of your game. Both to find out the truth, and to look after yourself if something bad goes down."

"Fine."

That's all she says, and all he needs.

But he goes forth under protest, because he hates being the cause of that deeply hurt expression on her face.

"I need to talk to you."

"Agent Booth," Mr. White makes sure to verbally desecrate the title. "I'm far too preoccupied with a little thing called national security to serve the attention of a loose cannon such as yourself."

"Your boys attacked me, pal," Booth shrugs. "Not my fault if I embarrassed them."

Mr. White maintains professional stoicism and ignores the jab. "You blasted through a door while in the attendance of highly classified matters."

"Because you locked it," Booth says as though the reason for his breaking in were obvious. Truthfully, he knows the reason of his minor meltdown dealt with the potential endangerment of his beautiful partner and not a locked door. But that isn't the point.

"Is there a purpose behind you wasting my time?"

"Bones needs a break."

"I'm not following."

"Shocker. Look, she's worn down. She'd like to take a short reprieve in her office, and I'm here to verbalize that request."

"Loose cannon and intermediary. Does your trite range of skills ever cease? And what will you do in that time, Agent Booth?" Mr. White seems a combination of suspicious and suggestive.

"I'm not leaving her alone with the wolves running loose," Booth takes a step forward, voice lowering menacingly. "And you should know that Bones is the solitary reason why I'm not laying waste to you… and your posse."

Mr. White stands his ground considerably well, staring back unflinchingly at the man whom he's almost evenly matched in height. He stands a half-inch taller.

Booth's dark tone dissolves almost like the flipping of a light switch. "And you can't use me for anything. I'm not a scientist."

Mr. White doesn't budge. "We require Dr. Brennan."

"It won't do the report any good if Dr. Brennan is passed out on an autopsy table," Booth points out.

Mr. White glares impassively, but the silent debate taking place behind his black eyes is evident. Finally, he takes a single step forward, enunciating sternly before walking away. "You have one hour."

Bones sleeps restlessly on the couch in her office, tucked under a blanket he'd draped over her. From her desk, Booth scans the lab with calculated severity, monitoring the suits slither and stalk the chrome halls like circling sharks.

Brennan stirs, and his eyes travel back and comb over her weary, unconscious form with care. Ever alert, ever compassionate.

Ever loving.

As promised, he assumes his silent vigil over her.