"Hey Booth," squealed Angela sultrily as he sauntered by. He gave her a nod, but rushed to his car instead; the case had been long and grueling today. There were no leads, and he was too tired to think of any. Being with Brennan was killing him. Her sincere but off beat questions were rubbing his skin the wrong way today after a distinctly bad night. His soreness was already creeping in and he had already had a fight with Cam, blown off Sweets and snapped at Hodgins. Angela was probably the only one he hadn't been miffed at today, and he wasn't going to start now.

He felt Brennan's eyes on him as she watched him leave through the glass and even from feet away, he could tell something was wrong with her. She was alternatively reading her computer screen, and staring in revulsion at the flowers she had gotten earlier. They were nice flowers, and Booth was a little irked with why Brennan was treating them like a death trap. He had read the card himself. It simply said From Your Brother. He thought it was nice of Russ to send her flowers; hell he felt like a crappy brother not sending Jared something or helping out with Padmae's bridal shower. He would eventually have to plan the bachelor party. He was, after all, the best man.

He shut the door to his black SUV in the parking lot and locked it, the sound clicking with finality. For a blissful second, he closed his eyes and reclined his chair all the way back, just lying there for a minute. He grasped the keys tightly in his palm so he wouldn't lose them, and then flung his other arm over his face to block out the minimal light from the five pm parking garage shadows.

"Don't let go," she whimpered, and Booth found himself suddenly standing on the railing of Brennan's apartment, locked wrist to wrist with a dead weight. Déjà vu flooded his senses; there hung Howard Epps beneath him. But as he watched, Howard Epps transformed and he was holding the arm of a woman, with a shadowy face he could hardly remember. But she was blonde with fine features; Jared took after her most.

"Don't let go of me Seeley boy," she whispered, and Booth felt his heart wrench at her nickname, playing on her nickname for Jared: silly boy.

"I won't," he grunted the promise and put his back into heaving, his muscles straining as he struggled to lift her up against her dead weight with only his arms. He stiffened in shock at the knife that was punched into his back, both forced inside but sliding quickly through his kidney like butter. He couldn't breathe, couldn't scream…he couldn't hold on. Involuntarily, the nerves in his arms loosened and his mother fell, screaming, plummeting to her death as Booth lay twitching on the concrete, his own head smacking a railing at the precise time her screams abruptly ended.

"That was very rude Agent Booth," sneered a sadistically familiar voice, and Booth slit his eyes against the light, his hand wrapped around the knife sticking out of his back.

"Very rude indeed," he smiled grimly and presented what he had been holding behind his back. It was a severed head, but not the head of his wife Caroline, but Brennan's head, eyes still open in shock. Booth screamed then as Epps carefully set it on his chest, heaving as he couldn't move, and the last thing he saw was the green blinking lights coming out of Brennan's neck before the world went white.

Booth started awake at the knock on his window.

"Booth! Booth! Are you okay? Booth!" Brennan was banging harshly against the safety glass. Booth, so scared at just her head floating in view of his window he moved forward, only to smash his forehead into the steering wheel. His fingers fumbled for the unlock button. As soon as the car was open, she was scrabbling at the door handle, yanking it open and taking his head in her hands.

"This looks pretty bad," she frowned down at him. His hands were all over her waist, hugging her to him.

"You're okay," he said inanely. "I thought…"

"It was a nightmare Booth," she said, as soothingly as Brennan could. Her fingers were gently working around his throbbing head.

"It's just a bruise. You've got a head like an anvil you know."

"Thanks," he breathed sarcastically. It helped; he needed to be a little tougher here. "Bones, what are you doing here?" He looked at the clock, but his car wasn't on.

"Booth, you left hours ago. I was going home for the night when I noticed your car was still here. I was…I was worried Booth."

"I guess I fell asleep," he said sheepishly. She glared at him.

"You almost gave me a heart attack when I saw you. You were pretty grey." Booth scowled.

"What time is it?"

"It's almost 8:30."

"At night?" he blinked. He had left the lab at five. She nodded grimly.

"Booth…" she was hesitant. "Are you okay? That was a pretty intense dream. I couldn't wake you up. I was banging and banging but you wouldn't wake up…" The fear was evident in her voice and he rushed to assure her.

"It's nothing Bones – everybody has nightmares. I just had the misfortune of having one right now." Where you could see he added mentally kicking himself. "Bones," he said gruffly, pulling his seat back upright. "I gotta go…work out."

"You don't want dinner?" she said, and he could hear the hurt in her voice, and in her heart.

"I really need to work out Bones," he laughed, slapping his stomach. "I'm getting a beer belly." She leveled a cool, impersonal stare at him, and his laugh slipped off his face. Damn she scared him sometimes.

"You worked out this morning Booth," she accused, her voice almost distant. She did a very Brennan like gesture; one that flaunted social norms and personal space and put her own stomach on his abdomen. He froze. "You are hardly getting a beer belly," she said pointedly running her fingers over the sharp contours of his perfectly toned muscles. He was disconcerted and distracted with her fingers as they slipped from his shirt; his skin only a hair's breadth away. He focused on her first comment.

"What? How could you-"

"You showered. Your hair was still wet."

"Yeah so?" he scoffed, trying to cover his trepidation, "people gotta shower Bones, or else we'd stink."

"You always shower at night," she said frowning. "Except when you work out in the mornings. You told me that you worked out the first morning you came in with wet hair." He swallowed. That had been nearly two months ago. She was more observant that he gave her credit for. He'd have to keep that in mind; maybe buy a hairdryer. He shook himself. That was ridiculous, a man using a hairdryer.

"You still working out?" she said dispassionately, her blue eyes boring into his until he gulped; he wondered if she knew the effect she had on him sometimes. There were days when he felt fourteen years old around her.

"I should get some target practice in," he amended. Shooting wasn't quite as labor intensive as working out, but it did block out most thought; concentration and the sound of gunfire were almost better than loud music. Thoughts were scared away like fish in a pond. He liked the idea better and better.

"Great. We'll grab a burger – well, you will – at the diner, and we can go."

"We?" he said sourly.

"Sure," she shrugged casually, "I could go for some practice as well."

"Hop in," he said sarcastically, inserting the keys in the ignition and starting the car. She gave him one more, blank stare that had his eyes quivering in their sockets and his soul shaking on display. She climbed into the passenger seat without another word. He scowled in return; he hated the way she could do that. The only person who could scare him as much as she did was himself – in his dreams.

Maybe she scares you because of what she could do, whispered a voice in his mind softly. He glared out the windshield so ferociously that he was surprised not to see a stone column crumble into dust.

What does that mean? He seethed. The tires screeched as he buzzed out of the parking garage.

In his hear though, he heard her snarky scientist voice.

Don't play dumb….Seeley boy.