I know you all hate me for taking so long to write this. I really have no excuse. I've just been having creativity issues.

Meanwhile, I'm not as please with this chapter as I'd like to be. Don't get me wrong, it's a pretty damn great chapter. I just have high expectations.

I've been told Booth should be more angry at Brennan, but somehow I can't see that happening. I feel like he misses her and he wants her back and of course he loves her, but somehow I can't imagine him being angry. You know how it's so obvious Booth has rubbed off on Brennan? I really think she rubbed off on him too. I think he sees what she did as heartbreaking and painful but also rational and right.

Plus, making Booth angry would make me angry and then I'd never finish this story.

I'm going to drag this story on for a long time so there's really no happiness in this chapter (sorry).

DISCLAIMER: I wish.


Booth woke up slowly, his head spinning. His back ached, and he longed for a massage.

Rolling over slowly, he felt a small smile play at the corners of his lips. Reaching out, he searched for her, for the fingers he knew would perform miracles on his back.

Instead, he touched a soft pillow.

Confused, he opened his eyes slowly, feeling slightly blinded as he did. Slowly, the fuzzy image in front of him cleared out...and became the back of the sofa.

Pulling himself up onto his elbow, he rubbed a hand over his face. The memories were slowly coming back to him, each one crushing a piece of his heart. He longed for her even more: for her hands, gently caressing him; for her lips against his cheek in a soft morning kiss; for the way her cheek pressed against his chest when she crawled close to him in the middle of the night. He longed for Christine too. Tiny fingers, tiny feet, a comforting, wriggling weight in his arms. He wished for those mornings when he had both of his girls with him, when he'd hold Christine in one arm and wrap the other around Bones' waist.

If you can hear me now

I'm reaching out

To let you know that you're not alone

Groaning, he punched the back of the sofa before sitting up and stretching. Longing wouldn't help him one bit: if he wanted his girls back, he had to work for it.

The question, of course, was how? He had the Squint Squad doing their thing back at the lab, but he felt the need to do more. He had to do something himself.

It was going to take a while for him to get reinstated to the FBI. Part of him knew it might be easier for them to accept them now: after all, with Bones gone, they would need his help. Rubbing his eyes, he thought harder. Yes, it would be easier. But it wouldn't be...easy. He had no proof that he wasn't in contact with her, and Flinn wouldn't be very easy to convince.

He leaned back again. Did he wish he was in contact with Bones? On some level, of course he did. She was his everything, and just hearing her voice would make everything better – or so he thought. He knew her voice wouldn't be enough: he needed all of her, all of them with him. Her voice would be enough to keep him going, though.

And if you can't tell

I'm scared as hell

'Cause I can't get you on the telephone

On the other hand, he didn't want to hear her, didn't want to be in contact. If he stayed away from her, then he would be able to keep her safe, be able to put Pelant in jail much sooner. It was hard and dangerous and it would hurt to stay away, but it would be worth it at the end...right?

Booth threw his legs over the edge of the sofa. Standing up and stretching, he slowly began to walk around his house. He set the coffee maker and popped a couple of pieces of bread into the toaster. Even opening the refrigerator made his heart break, because it was full of Bones' nutritional vegetables and of Christine's tiny jars of baby food.

Sighing, Booth sat down with his breakfast and began to slowly plan his day. He needed to go to the FBI and talk to Flynn. He needed to get in touch with the Squint Squad. He needed to go shopping for more food.

He needed her back.

Booth tightened his grip on his coffee cup, feeling his palm heat up in pain. Part of it was the cup, but the other part was his need to punch something. No amount of determination and support could make him relax, not until he had her in his arms.

That was enough. Standing up, Booth strode out of the kitchen, tossing the half-empty cup into the sink as he went, and didn't stop for anything as he walked out the door.


The Squint Squad was definitely working.

Angela sat on the couch in her office, only half focusing on the computer screen in front of her. She preferred instead to watch the hustle and bustle outside the glass windows of her office. The Jeffersonian was always busy, but the remnants of Booth's plea were clear in the Squint Squad: Wendell ran to and from Bone Storage, grabbing containers to compare markings. Cam's high heels clicked constantly as she tracked the progress on the case in between her own exploration of evidence. Hodgins had been deep at work the whole day, not even bothering to show up in her office.

Angela had been working on deciphering the clues, but she was tired and the process was long. After Brennan had left, she had felt an undeniable pull towards Michael, and had spent hours sitting on the floor with him, watching as he pushed himself up over and over again, never quite managing a complete step.

The door slipped open quietly, and a soft knock followed. "Angela?"

Angela startled, looking up to find Booth at her door. She was shocked at his appearance: his hair was disheveled, his jacket not quite on right, his tie not knotted properly and slightly askew. His eyes were bloodshot and tired, his lips pressed thinly together.

"Hey, Booth," she greeted softly, moving over on the sofa. "Need something?"

Booth was quiet for a minute before walking in towards her. His walk was labored, every step seemingly painful, his muscles stiff. He sat down gently beside Angela, his eyes on the screen. "What's this?"

Angela shook her head, trying to clear it. "It's just what was in Ethan's room. I'm trying to decode it. Hodgins has been working on it too but he's busier with his bug stuff."

Booth didn't show any sign of even having heard a word she said, but Angela didn't mind. She knew how he was feeling and she wanted to let him speak on his own time.

Booth shifted, his hands flexing, fingers moving slowly. He opened his mouth and closed it again, clearly not sure of what to say. "Okay," he said slowly, "I just wanted to see how you guys were doing."

Angela pressed a couple of buttons on her remote, trying to make the software decode the script, working harder to try to cheer up Booth. "We're okay," she said. "We're working on the evidence thing. So far this code is our best lead and we don't even know what it means, but Wendell thinks he might find more evidence in some of the Bones and Hodgins is going back to the crime scene later to look at whatever clues might still be there."

Booth fidgeted a little before standing back up. "Okay, I... I should go talk to Flinn."

Angela nodded, watching for a minute as he walked away, and then reconsidering. "Wait! Booth..."

Booth looked back over his shoulder, his movements pained. "Yes?"

Angela sat back slowly, tilting her head softly. "I got her a surprise."

Booth tilted his head, confused. "What?"

Angela knew it was a long shot, but she needed to do everything possible for those two. So, taking a deep breath, she answered his question.

"A lawyer."


Booth traced the rim of his steering wheel, imagining her hands gripping it. He had rarely ever let her drive his car, but many mornings he'd found her sitting in it, engine running and buckled up in the driver's seat.

"What are you doing?" he'd ask her, tapping the door.

"I'm driving today," she'd say simply, adjusting her seat to fit the girth of her belly.

"Is that so?" he'd say sarcastically, leaning through her open window. "And when was this decided?"

"I don't need your permission to drive."

"You do when it's my car."

She'd huff and puff and complain that she was all ready to go, but Booth would eventually get her out, gently supporting her and even offering to carry her over to her seat. She would, of course, scoff at that idea, her arm wrapped firmly around him as she waddled over to the door.

He leaned his head back, rolling his eyes to the ceiling and trying to keep the tears from running down his cheeks. He missed her more than words could say, and he couldn't seem to be busy enough to not miss her.

He turned to look at the seat, imagining her in it, and he was scared when the image seemed to waver. Fingers shaking, he grabbed the wallet from the console and opened it, unfolding the picture inside. He had the one of the three of them in his office, but this picture was his personal favorite: Bones had been sitting on the sofa, Christine in her arms, her head bent. Both of his girls were smiling, and Bones' hair was loose around her face, gently tickling Christine.

He pressed the photo against the steering wheel, examining it. After she'd announced that she was pregnant, and they'd officially become a couple, he'd taken to decorating every surface in sight with pictures of them. Bones had quickly tired of the way he wanted to capture every moment, but he'd kept doing it anyways, knowing that he'd need it someday.

He just didn't know that day would come so soon.

Just close your eyes

Honey, here comes a lullaby


Flinn turned slowly in his chair, his eyes examining the folder in front of him. He'd gone over the details again and again, so he wasn't really reading the words. Instead, he'd subtly enjoy the view he had when he turned in exactly the right way.

After Booth had declined desk duty, Hacker had agreed to let Flinn use Booth's office: with conditions, of course. He had brought in his own file cabinet and had disrupted Booth's desk as little as possible, but he still felt a sense of possession over the office now. To say he enjoyed having it was an understatement; he'd gotten tired of his desk over the years and loved having his own space.

Meanwhile, he was slightly unnerved by the room. He'd made it his as much as he could, but the conditions made it clear that he couldn't completely erase Booth from the room. Although he'd moved stuff around, it was all still there, all still staring at him.

The room was littered with pictures. Some were in frames, some tacked to the wall, some lying loose. Although there were plenty of Booth and Parker, most seemed to be of Brennan. Brennan and Booth, sitting in a park. Brennan, her hands folded over her pregnant belly, her eyes focused on something distant. Brennan, her blue lab coat drawn tight, her hands gently examining the bones in front of her. One particular picture was of Brennan's pregnant belly, two pairs of hands gently folded over top of it. The pictures were intermingled with pictures of Christine, labeled in precise writing. Ultrasounds, pictures of her at one day, one week, a week and a day. It seemed that Booth had captured every second of every moment of her life, and although it was a sweet gesture in retrospect, it was beginning to get on Flinn's nerves.

Sighing, Flinn laid the folder open on the desk, looking up through the glass walls. To his surprise, he caught sight of Agent Booth, his movements tense and worried as he spoke to Lance Sweets. The psychologist had annoyed the hell out of Flinn, his efforts to protect Brennan quickly getting on his nerves. The more the case progressed, the guiltier she got: she'd run away. Her friends were details away from fabricating evidence. Her daughter was gone with her, and her husband...was here.

Leaning back, Flinn nodded at Lance and watched as Booth carefully twisted the knob to get in. His movements seemed routine, out of place considering that this was Flinn's office until he got back.

"Mr. Booth," Flinn nodded, his respect barely covering his disdain.

"Flinn," Booth said simply, and Flinn couldn't help but notice the lack of a title. He knew Booth was just giving him a taste of his own medicine, but Flinn couldn't help but feel a ripple of annoyance at his words.

"News?" Flinn asked. "Has Brennan contacted you?"

Booth tensed, and his answer was clear in his movement. It was possible that Booth was covering up for her, but somehow he doubted it - the pain written in every line of his face was too real, too...painful.

"No," Booth said simply, walking forward slowly. "I see Hacker gave you an upgrade."

Flinn raised his hands, gesturing at the office. "It's still yours, but we figured that if I worked here I might get a better insight into the case." He also got a better insight into Booth's life, of course, but he didn't mention that. He was sure Booth already knew.

Nodding, Booth traced his fingers along the edge of the desk, gently pulling a picture towards him. He examined it carefully, and Flinn watched the emotions flit across his face. His eyes softened, his hands trembled, his lips curved slightly upwards.

"I got her a lawyer," Booth said simply.

Flinn raised his eyebrows, confused. "A lawyer?"

"She's not guilty," Booth said, but his voice wasn't rushed. He sounded confident, as if he'd been at that murder, as if he knew. "It's a long shot, and I doubt she'll be coming back soon, but...Angela hired her for Bones. She figured that if Bones does come back anytime soon, a little bit of protection can't hurt."

Flinn leaned back, eyebrows furrowed, considering the consequences of the action. "You know this is going to make her look guiltier. If she's hiring a lawyer she's practically announcing it."

"She's not," he said again, confidently. "And she'd probably hate the idea. But it sure as hell makes me feel better."

Flinn nodded skeptically. "So why are you here, Mr. Booth?"

A smile curved his lips, genuine and slightly vengeful. "I've come for my office."

Flinn raised his eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

"I told Hacker I'd take the desk duty. I need a distraction. I could offer you advice about the case as well," he said carefully, "but I get the feeling you don't want it, so I won't." His hand traced the picture he held, before setting it back on the desk, leaving it facing Flinn. The picture was of the two of them, Booth's arms wrapped around Brennan. She was smiling at the camera...but he was smiling at her.

"I'll do anything to get her back," he said. "But not for you to throw her in jail. I'd rather she raise our daughter alone, rather spend my life missing her, than have her come back here just to go to jail."

Flinn sighed, standing up and grabbing his things – a folder, the filing cabinet, a cell phone that looks like it belongs in the 90's, a BlackBerry. "Have fun on desk duty," he said, his vengeful tone diluted by the bitterness of having lost the office.

Booth smiled slightly again, this time sadly. "I will."


He sits with his ankles crossed on the table, a book on his lap.

He knows that there is still surveillance watching him, and he's been careful, a model prisoner. He goes to work every morning and his students, although initially wary, now love him. He reads diligently, staying away from murder mysteries and fantasies, choosing instead to read books about topics that bore him, such as romance. He's even been careful about the internet, knowing that there is a possibility that they'll want to check his movements, just in case. His phone calls haven't been monitored for a long time, but he's even cautious about those.

He turns the page in the book, eyes skimming quickly before slowing down. He's smart enough to get the plot and the themes and the characters from the books he reads, but he doesn't actually read them. Instead, he simply looks them over before starting a new one.

The phone vibrates on his desk. It's a crappy phone, one he bought with his first paycheck, one easy to destroy. That is the reason he bought it, of course, but his excuse is that he thinks the internet should be for computers, not phones. Also, he'd probably end up taking any expensive cell phones apart.

Picking up the phone, he skims over the number before opening it. "Hello?"

"Everything's looking good on this end," the voice said gruffly.

"Good, good." He let his feet fall to the floor, turning away from the windows so that surveillance can't read his lips. "Have they discovered the video yet?" he asks, thinking about the clock, the ticking bomb which can explode with the press of a button. Honestly, Temperance's sudden departure had messed up his plan, but he was quickly building a new one.

"Not yet," the voice answered. "But I expect they will soon. We just received the tapes. I made someone else go through them. They're rookies...they're slow."

"Of course, of course!" He gives a slight laugh, even though the conversation isn't funny. "I'd speed up the process, though. The rest of the plan is based on them finding that tape."

"Yes sir," the voice says, crackling. "I'll call you with more news soon."

He doesn't say goodbye. He simply hangs up, knowing the man will take that as a sign to return to work. After all, he's given the man everything: a different source of income, a raise at his real job, even a freaking office. Of course, if it hadn't been for him, the man would still be stuck in his old position, in his old desk duty. But when the man had contacted him, offering an inside into the FBI, he'd taken little time to consider. Although almost everything was on the computer these days, the FBI had a tendency to keep actual files instead of digital ones, and there were certain details he had trouble getting to. Plus, the insider would be able to keep the federals off his back, and to keep his plan moving smoothly. Once he'd gotten the insider into a new position of higher power, it hadn't been long before he'd found himself almost free of suspicion, all the leads now pointing to Temperance.

Pelant smiled, his lips curving malignantly, the show of emotion almost revolting on his face.

He'd given Agent Flinn everything he'd ever wanted, and all he was asking for was that Temperance Brennan go to jail and he be protected under law for any future crimes. Was that really too much to ask for?


Shocked? No? I was hoping for a cliffhanger but that was too much to ask for.

Reviews? Don't hate me... I did my best.

More good reviews = happier me = some sort of happiness in the next chapter.

P.S - the lyrics in this chapter were from 'Lullaby', by Nickelback. I've recently been going through my playlist for more songs that I think would do good in this story and this one certainly fit my guidelines.