Title: One Night to Speed Up Truth

Author: Dizzy

Rating: M

Summary: This story is set at the very end of "S6:E13 Daredevil in the Mold". What if Brennan and Booth had shared more than a drink the night Hannah refused his proposal. All chapters are based on songs taken from the Bones soundtrack. AU/Angst/Drama/Confusion/etc.

Disclaimer: If wishes were horses, beggars would ride…but as they are not, I still own nothing. Bones belongs to many people, like FOX and Hart Hanson, but not me.

Author's Note: Wow! Thank you all for your amazing comments! I am truly grateful for all of your encouragement. As for the story, I hope this satisfies some of your requests. This chapter is set about a month and a half to two moths after the last one, skipping them forward just a bit. Hope you like it and please review to tell me if I am on the right track. Happy reading!

Chapter 4: Low is a Height

(Song featured in S3:E8 The Knight on the Grid)

Drink to the sun

We write to millions

You kill everyone

Around you

Save yourself from...

From the ground you break

And the lives you take

I lock the door

Spinning the dust...

In a room

Still like the sun around you

Don't like the space of

All our space of

And you've just become a word...

*~B&B~B&B~B&B~B&B~B&B~B&B~B&B~*

"Nope, I'm just going to hangout here today, doing abso-positively-lutely nothing. It's going to be great." Hannah smiled from behind her coffee mug. She was still in her pajamas and relished the sight of Seeley straightening his maroon pin-up tie. There was something almost decadent about watching the one you love get ready for work, and knowing that you didn't have to.

"Really? So you're not doing anything? Don't you have a story you got to finish?" Booth stole a piece of toast from her plate with a tired, but devilish grin.

"Hey!" Hannah scooted her plate further down the counter-top, just out of reach of Seeley's greedy fingers. She shot him a dark glare, knowing that he would see right through her fabricated anger. "No story, no interviews, just the day off. You, however, need to get to work so that I can commence some serious lounging."

"So eager to get rid of me, huh?" Booth grabbed up his travel mug and checked his pocket for his keys and wallet.

"Yup. Now go catch some bad guys and say 'hello' to Temperance for me. I haven't seen her in awhile." Hannah was absently spreading jam on her toast, but she could see Seeley's hands still in her peripheral. She knew that Temperance was not handling their engagement well, and in a way she was simultaneously hurt by and for the logical scientist. She knew that Temperance had confessed her feelings to Seeley a nearly three months earlier. She also knew that Seeley had chosen her, despite the partners' complicated history. While this offered Hannah piece of mind, she knew that he and Brennan were close friends and the strain put on their working relationship had been unbearable to watch. She knew Seeley had been working most cases alone, rarely even seeing Temperance. The rate at which they had solved cases had slowed as well, which was never good. Honestly, despite the tinge of jealousy she would feel at the thought of Temperance, Hannah really liked and missed her company. She missed the free and easy joking that used to flow between them during their diner luncheons. She missed their making playful jabs at Seeley, then laughing at their shared understanding of how to push his buttons. Truthfully, Hannah didn't have many friends in DC, and up until their engagement she had counted Temperance as one of her closest.

What truly bothered Hannah was how Seeley would just zone out from time to time. He had taken to sleeping on the couch most nights, slipping out after she had fallen asleep. She knew that the couch wasn't good for his back, and even now she could see the tell tale signs of exhaustion on his face. She felt as if he were pulling further from her just as she was trying to come closer. They were getting married, they were going to share their lives together. She loved him fiercely, but she didn't know how to fix him, to pull him from the undefined quagmire he was sinking in. Honestly, she felt neglected, as if he didn't even want or need to be around her. She tried to believe that whenever his eyes glazed over, whenever he seemed lost in thought, he was just fatigued and thinking about another difficult case. Still she knew that he had never used to be so inattentive, so distant, and somehow she knew that he was thinking about Temperance.

"Okay, then. I'll see you tonight." He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the cheek.

"Be safe. I love you." She called out, but he was already gone, an apparition in nearly regulation FBI uniform. She shook her head softly before downing the last of her coffee.

She moved over to the couch to catch the early morning show, letting herself relax into the soft leather cushions. However, after twenty minutes she started to become annoyed with the toothy anchor and her puff piece on lightweight fabrics for spring. Digging her had into the couch she searched fretfully for the remote. She came back with a clump of clutter: receipts, paperclips, some change, a few stray buttons. Shaking her head she knew that she couldn't sit there any longer. She had plans for the day, anyhow. She had splurged, buying new curtains, sheets, even a new coffee table to help feminize the bachelor pad she had moved into. Booth had scoffed at the items, and explained that his old furniture was still in good condition, but she had insisted. She needed to make something in the apartment seem like hers, had to leave her mark.

'There's no time like the present.' She coached herself as she pushed off the couch. Where to start though? She moved to the windows, pulling the old beige curtains from the rods and replacing them with the fresh azure blue ones she had bought. 'Looking better already!'

She eyed the old coffee table in the middle of the living room. The delivery guys would be here around noon to deliver the new one, which gave her plenty of time to decide how she wanted to rearrange the room. She eyed the couch with a frown. That would definitely be the next thing to go. Until then, she would just have to move it. She gripped one of the arms, her firm fingers digging into the soft hide, and began to push. If she could get it against the wall it would free up some space as she worked. Her brow furrowed as she kept pushing, the couch being much heavier than it appeared. She had gained traction and was now sliding it over in earnest; her eyes scrunched shut with the effort. Suddenly, she felt her balance leave her, something soft and slick causing her foot to fly out from under her. Hannah crashed to the ground, her knee colliding painfully with the hardwood of the floor.

'What the hell?' She thought angrily as she searched for her assailant. She spotted it, a black scrap of shimmering lace. She reached for them in her frustration, 'Jesus, all that for a pair of damn underwear? I don't even remember taking the…"

Her mind halted. She felt her hand convulse over the silky material. She and Seeley hadn't been out here, not in a long while. Looking down at the delicate fabric, she felt her breath hitch. These weren't hers. They weren't her size, they weren't her style, and they weren't hers. Her mouth opened and closed in shock, her mind rebelling against the truth her eyes were conveying to her. She felt white-hot anger shoot through her body, coupled with searing sadness and betrayal.

'Whose are they?' But she already knew, as surely as she knew her own name. She knew they belonged to Temperance, knew that Temperance had been here, with Seeley, the night she had turned down his proposal. Suddenly it all made sense; the strain on the partner's relationship, Seeley's distance. "Oh God, no." She whimpered aloud. This couldn't be happening.

Hannah sat there for what seemed like years, the hard floor pressing painfully against her, her knee throbbing. Yet, nothing seemed as painful as the burn of the tears streaking down her cheeks. She knew she couldn't stay in that room for much longer; she had to leave, had to disappear, had to think. She needed to run.

She pushed herself from the floor and ran to the room. Grabbing her suitcase she threw clothes into it, not caring what seemed to land inside. She dressed quickly, desperate to get out of the place she once thought of as her home. Was she truly ready to just leave, to throw everything away? Or had he already done that for her? She wasn't sure, not yet. She needed to think, to breath. She had to leave this place, at least for now, and she needed to do it fast. As she grabbed her purse and wheeled her luggage to the door, she stopped one last time to look at the tiny apartment she had shared with Seeley for nearly a year. She wasn't sure if, or when she would be back.

*~B&B~B&B~B&B~B&B~B&B~B&B~B&B~*

The smashed piece of copper warmed as Booth absently rolled it in his palm, the sounds of the activity outside his office just barely intruding upon his reverie. The gold standard, disconnecting the computer: Broadsky. He had hoped that Jacob had been spooked after their altercation in the woods, but deep down, he had known that Broadsky was just biding time, lying low and waiting for his trail to cool. A few weeks earlier, at the crime scene where counterfeit bills had littered the floor like confetti, he had realized that this was far from over. When he had found Broadsky, casually sitting in his living room with a gun pointed at his turned back, he was certain that he had to end this. It had been dumb luck that Hannah had been away at a conference in Philadelphia, and Booth shuddered to think what may have happened to her had she been home when Broadsky broke in. Collateral damage. Jacob was getting too close for even the slightest comfort. The rogue sniper had said that Booth and he were the same, and even though his surface self didn't believe this, Booth feared that the maniac had been right.

It hadn't been easy lately. Bones had been spending most of her time holed up in the lab and he rarely ever saw her. When they did meet up it was at a crime scene over a pile of decomposing remains or at the Jeffersonian going over critical evidence. Their conversations rarely left the topic of their work and he longed for the days of easy flowing banter between them. While Bones was no longer outwardly distant towards him, he could tell that something was strained between them, a regular mastodon in the room.

As if to compensate, his mind seemed to be over run with fantastic images of her lithe form bending and groaning beneath his. These fantasies were no longer just plaguing his nights, but were beginning to intrude upon his everyday activities in the form of waking dreams. Any time that he wasn't completely engrossed in his work, anytime he took the a moment to stare out his office window or during his long lonely drives to and from crime scenes, Bones was there with him, his name on her lips. He hadn't been able to sleep right for weeks.

The strain was making itself known in both his professional and personal life. A few nights earlier, while he and Hannah had been nothing more than a tangle of limbs in his bed he had nearly slipped. She had been above him, gripping the headboard as she rode him hard, and for a moment he forgot himself. Suddenly it was Bones' strong frame rising and falling above him, her soft breasts swaying in time with their movements, her auburn hair wildly spilling over her face and neck. He had flipped her over, hiked her long legs over his hips, and thrust away with abandon. He had been so close, and had wanted her to tumble off the cliff with him. He had heard her breath hitch, a low moan coming from her. Her words still rang in his ears, "Oh God! Oh…Seeley, Seeley!" At the sound of his first name he came to himself, his rhythm faltering, his eyes finally opening to the vision of Hannah flying apart in his arms. He had gone soft then, shame and guilt over powering his body's frenzied desire. He had feigned a Charlie-horse, humiliation coursing through him after forgetting himself. He had waited for her to fall asleep before making his way to the living room to sit in the dark, trying to find an excuse for his disgraceful act.

More and more, Hannah was finding him on the couch in the morning; tell tale dark circles under his eyes, brushing off his insomnia as a byproduct of a particularly difficult case. Everyday he wondered how long he could keep this up, how long he could hide his secret self from the woman he was planning to share his life with. He felt as if everything he knew and understood as constant was gone.

Now, with Broadsky looming around every corner, he had felt even less at ease. After Jacob had threatened to make Parker fatherless, Booth had pushed all of his focus on ending him. He had come close that night on top of the federal courthouse building, had been able to prevent another death, but without someone acting as his spotter he had missed Broadsky completely, just barely firing off a warning shot in time. Booth kicked himself mentally for days, knowing it would be awhile before he came that close to Broadsky again, and when that time came he didn't know who might be caught in Jacob's crosshairs.

He heard a familiar buzzing and his eyes flicked to his cellphone vibrating on the desk. A message from Hannah: "Going to Virginia to visit my cousin Misti. Not sure when I'll be back." He let out a slow breath, relief flooding him. She would be safe there and he'd be able to have a night to think, to plan.

He had to change his priorities, focus only on Broadsky and nothing else. The man was too dangerous, to unpredictable, and in his current state, Booth wasn't sure he could take him out. Not while working other cases. It was time to focus on Broadsky, and Broadsky only. He just prayed that his unpredictable mind would allow it.

*~B&B~B&B~B&B~B&B~B&B~B&B~B&B~*

Brennan was proud of herself. While she hadn't been able to stomach the closeness that she and Booth once had, she felt as if she were able to get through their encounters genially and with dignity. When Booth was around she concentrated on her tone, her posture, the preciseness of her analysis, and while they were not as they had once been, she felt as if she were maintaining her façade well. Yet, it was a façade and no matter how she tried to convince herself otherwise, the fact remained that every time he visited her at the Jeffersonian, every time he hovered just over her shoulder at a crime scene, she felt as if she might shatter.

She had begun dreaming of him, reliving their night together in the hazy frame of her sleep. It seemed that the more she tried to ignore the ever present and illogical emotions her subconscious worked just as hard to remind her of their tryst. She watched them on the couch every night, lips and hands running freely over each other's bodies, clothes being pulled off and shoved aside. She saw her legs cradling his strong hips as he lay with her, his mouth sucking hungrily at her flesh. It was a movie she could feel as much as watch, and when she would wake in the morning, panting and unsatisfied, she would stare endlessly at the ceiling above her and try to calm her riotous mind.

She found this all very distracting and counter-productive in regard to her work. Truth be told, she was waiting for Booth to request a new partner, fear and hope warring inside her. She knew that she hadn't been giving herself completely to her position, and this disconcerted her. What was she if she was not the fore-most forensic anthropologist in the world? She felt as if she were in the safety of the Jeffersonian walls, refusing to release herself from her the place that had now become her convent. Still, it was better than suffering through the activities she once did with Booth, knowing the truth of them and being unable to act. She missed the field, she missed the stimulation, but both of those things were tied to him, and she missed Booth most of all.

It was these thoughts that ran through her head when Brennan had read the email from Dr. Aurelio Castaneda. The director of the Blackwater Draw archeological preservation site, Aurelio was a close friend and colleague from Brennan's days at North Western. They had taken many classes together in the grey space where archeology and anthropology met, and while Brennan had surpassed him both academically and professionally, she acknowledged Aurelio's passion and talent in the field. Though their careers had taken them to opposite sides of the continent, they had remained diligent epistolers, keeping each other abreast of interesting finds and data. In the past six years, however, the commonality of their experiences had dissipated as her work became more focused on the present and his remained fixed in the past. Still, his correspondence was a welcomed sight, a means of connecting her to the discipline she once swore she would never leave.

However, this time Aurelio was not contacting her for friendly collegiate repartee. He had found evidence that a vast arroyo outside of Portales, New Mexico contained the remains of an a nearly nine-thousand-year-old Paleo-Indian burial site. If his initial findings were accurate, there would be plenty of buzz around the find. Brennan smiled knowingly. She knew the rush of uncovering what once was lost, revealing the past through gentle brush strokes. As she read on Aurelio detailed the newest facts of the find: bowls, tools, hearthstones.

'It will be of particular interest to you, Temperance,' she read, her friends crisp tone being called forth from her past, 'that we have also found what seems to be a mass burial pit. This is not uncommon, as you know, but what does cause me some perplexity is the nature in which it was constructed. There is an abnormal accumulation of bones, some animal while others seem to be humanoid in nature. The conundrum I now face being that the humanoid bones vary in distinguishing racial markers, making it difficult to determine whether they all originate from the same group, or even the same time period. Further more, markings indicate some sort of blunt force trauma occurring on most retrieved remains. Quite the pickle, as one would say. So, I ask myself, where is a decent forensic anthropologist when you need one?'

'Where, indeed…' Brennan mused. It was a fascinating discovery, one she would have happily assisted in years earlier, but despite her friend's thinly veiled request she knew that she would be needed at the Jeffersonian. 'Look at what happened to the museum the last time I left.' She knew of some competent colleagues in the Southwest and would send Aurelio their names.

"I have massive news!" Brennan started at the suddenness with which Vincent appeared through her office door, his face adorned with a broad and childish grin. "Tyrannosaurus Rex has arrived."

"Ha! That is massive news." Brennan allowed herself to feel the excitement. Since her time in the field had diminished exponentially, she had been finding ways to keep herself pre-occupied. She had been writing for journals, agreeing to lectures she would have brushed off only months before, had scheduled a handful of book readings for the upcoming months. Anything to keep her mind off of what she had lost, filling the space with the inconsequential and tedious. It was this need to stay occupied that had led her to advising and presenting a paper on "The Comparative Forelimb Osteology and Biomechanics of Theropod Versus Homosapien". In all truth, she was excited by the prospect, as she found it quite humorous.

"Now, Dr. Brennan, I hope that you don't mind, but I enlisted Dr. Hodgins' particular expertise in this area. Well, perhaps not enlisted but actually was forced…" he waifish young man had begun to ramble.

"Mr. Nigel-Murray. I am sure that Dr. Hodgins' opinion on this particular subject would be invaluable to our research." She reassured.

"Well, that is good, because we may have already…" Vincent was avoiding eye contact with the doctor, nervously shifting from one foot to the other.

"What? I do not have all day, Mr. Nigel-Murray." She was beginning to lose her patience, but who could truly blame her.

"We've already deconstructed it and created a electrically powered arm suit that replicates strength and movement." He had said it so quickly that Brennan wasn't sure she had followed. They had what…?

"Why don't you show me, Mr. Nigel-Murray, as I seem to be having difficulty sorting through your excitement?" Brennan rose from her desk and followed the giddy young scientist out the door, thoughts of 9,000 year old bones and New Mexico forgotten.

*~B&B~B&B~B&B~B&B~B&B~B&B~B&B~*

'…but with you gone, we're next.' Sweets' words were ringing in Booth's ears, a constant mantra reminding him that he was losing. Losing his grip on Broadsky, his grip on reality, his grip on everything. If he weren't there to protect his family, his friends, then who would be? He had to admit he felt relieved when he saw the text from Hannah letting him know she had made an impromptu trip to visit her cousin in Virginia. Partly because he knew she would be safe there, and partly because he would be able to sleep easy knowing that there was no one in his bed to hear his fitful murmurings. It was these thoughts that plagued him as he made his way to the lab platform where Bones and Vincent were examining Lieshenger's remains.

'Another soldier down.' Booth thought. 'Another example of Jacob's twisted and self-righteous logic.' His thoughts were interrupted by a dramatic reenactment. Bones was using Vincent to play out his army buddy's final moments.

"Oh! Yeah. That will account for all the injuries." Vincent placated, a hint of desperation in his voice.

"Are you positive? 'Cause I wouldn't mind seeing this one more time." Booth said as he watched Vincent attempt to shrink away from Bones' performance.

"All of this is followed by the coup de grace—" Brennan grabbed Vincent by the collar of his lab coat, holding him securely in place, "a knife thrust beneath the chin."

"Alright! I'm dead…I'm dead! Just take it on faith." Vincent struggled out of Brennan's hold, relief showing plainly on his face as he resigned himself to his place on the floor.

"What does all this mean?" Booth was becoming impatient. He didn't have time for games, not with Broadsky's whereabouts being unknown.

"Well, Lieshenger was beaten and stabbed." Brennan began to straighten, stiffening at Booth's terse tone.

"No, I get that, but how is that gonna lead me to Broadsky?" What the hell was the point of all of this if it didn't lead to Broadsky, lead him to ending this dangerous war of wills.

"It doesn't." Brennan's voice faltered in confusion. Booth pushed on, needing her to understand the urgency of the situation.

"Well, he's out there right now with Lieshenger's weapon." He said pointedly, Brennan's eyes widening at the revelation. She stammered a bit, her eyes tearing away from his and back to the bones on the table, roaming over them in the hopes of some miraculous answer. Booth softened suddenly, realizing that he couldn't force an answer that wasn't there. There was no point in stressing everyone else out. What they needed to do was focus. He noticed Vincent sitting very still on the floor, his eyes wide like those of a small boys. Booth held out a hand, "Come on, kid. I know she killed you and all, but its time to get up and get this figured out."

"Oh, right." Vincent gripped Booth's hand, a thankful smile on his face. Booth couldn't help but grin back at the verbose intern.

Once on his feet, Vincent made his way back to the slab where Lieshenger's remains lay, inspecting them closely just as his mentor did. There was a long pause as both anthropologists examined the same bones they had been combing over for hours. Booth felt agitated, restless, useless. He hated the waiting game, listening to the team go over the technical evidence, fire facts off at one another, knowing that he really couldn't participate, couldn't help. He just wanted answers and his patience was wearing thin.

"There appears to be some sort of faint bruising…" He heard Vincent say, but immediately tuned out. Another area where he had no control, no way to fix the outcomes. Broadsky was somewhere, anywhere, everywhere waiting to strike. God help him if he lost someone close to him. He didn't think Jacob had it in him to harm Parker, at least he hoped that modicum of decency was left in the man, but who would he deem as being on the 'wrong side'?

His eyes darted to Bones as she leaned over the remains. 'Broadsky better stay the fuck away from her.' He thought, his anger rising into his throat. He hadn't even considered it until his talk with Sweets' today, but Bones could potentially be a target. She was integral to solving this case, and that made her dangerous in Broadsky's eyes. He also knew that his relationship with Bones added to her value. He felt every muscle tense at the thought of Lieshenger's rifle being pointed at her.

'Dear God, if he ever so much as fucking breathes in her direction…' He thought, then stopped. 'What? What will you do, Seeley? He has the upper hand, the high ground. What can you do when you're chasing a ghost?' He quashed the thought quickly, not wanting to allow his thoughts to spiral into darkness. 'You need to stay alert, focused. You need to…what the hell is that?' There was a shrill cry emanating from his pocket. His cellphone. Whipping it out, his eyes widened.

"It's Broadsky. Here…"He quickly thrust the phone towards the nearest open hand. He had to activate the call tracking application that Angela had installed. He would not lose Jacob now, he had to stay focused. He had to find him and this could be his only chance.

"Oh…uh...what do I do?" Vincent tentatively took the phone from Booth's outstretched had.

"Don't answer it till the fifth ring. Give me time to get Angela's trace." Booth pulled his second phone out from his pocket. It was now or never, he just hoped that Broadsky would stay on the line long enough for the tracker to do its work.

"And…and then what do I do?" A look of bewilderment coming to Vincent's young face.

"Try to sound like Booth." Brennan clarified, her instructions sounding vague to Booth's ears. The ringing continued as Booth's fingers flew over his phone, engaging the app as quickly as he could, but nothing ever seemed quick enough. Time ticked by in slow motion. Vincent nervously waited, his hands twitching as he held the device. The fifth ring sounded and he uncertainly accepted the call.

"Hello…" Booth heard the glass shatter and leapt into action before he could even comprehend his body's movements, tackling Vincent's slight frame to the floor, pushing him from harm's way knowing that he would be taking the risk upon himself. Shards of glass came crashing to the lab floor and the silence that hung in the air seemed as thick as a Tule fog.

"Are you alright?" He heard Bones' yell from behind the slab, relief washed through him at the sound of her voice. He mentally checked himself, he felt no pain, no shock. Broadsky had missed.

"Yeah, we're alright." He grunted as he began to rise to his feet. His gaze flashed around the room, looking for trajectory even as he was aware that he would find none in the near surroundings. Broadsky had been close, too close. He felt his breaths come in deep pants, his heart racing at his brush with death.

"Booth." He could hear it then, the faint desperation that tinged Bones' voice. What had he missed? Was she really ok? 'God, please let her be ok.' His thoughts were now frantic. He heard a soft gasping echoing below him and his eyes shot to the floor. Vincent was struggling to sit up, a soft red bloom growing on his chest. Booth was shocked, he couldn't move, couldn't think. Then a light spurting of thick red liquid bubbled up from the hole in Vincent's chest.

"Oh, God." He knelt next to his friend, his hands quickly coming to cover the reddened opening in the intern's heart. He pressed down forcefully, willing the blood that was now seeping through his outstretched fingers to evaporate, for this to be another waking dream.

"We need an ambulance! Someone's been shot! Hurry!" He could barely hear Bones yell out, but even through her calm instructions he could sense the fear in her voice.

"Look, Vincent, can you hear me?" He needed Vincent to stay with him, to focus on his voice. He needed for him to concentrate, to listen, to not be bleeding out on the floor.

"Vincent, you have to stay conscious. Some help is on the way." To Booth's trained ear he could hear that Bones' voice had taken on a near hysterical quality, even through the seemingly composed instructions.

"Listen, Vincent, I got to apply pressure on this wound." He coached, clinging to protocol, as it was all he had left keeping him sane. "I know it hurts, but I have to apply the pressure."

"Doesn't—" Vincent sputtered, the once loquacious student retreating into a string of stammered phrases, "it doesn't hurt."

"Tha—that's good, right, Booth?" Hope crept into Bones' voice. He knew better.

"Yeah, that's good." He lied. As he pressed harder onto his friend's chest, he knew that he was losing the battle, knew that he was letting Vincent slip away.

"Pl-pl-please don't make, don't make me leave." Vincent gasped. Booth felt as if the world was swirling around them.

"No, you don't have to leave." Bones' voice hitched with confusion, and Booth knew that she didn't understand, didn't know what was truly happening.

"I-I lo…I love being here. Don't—just don't make me leave." Vincent's eyes were slipping shut and ever word became a struggle. His breath was coming in hard pants, the soft sounds of a dying animal. Booth pressed harder.

"We love you here, we don't want you to leave." Bones' voice began to crack and more than anything Booth wished that she were not next to him, wasn't having to witness this. A soft gurgle came from Vincent's throat and warm blood rushed up through Booth's fingers once more. He was going. 'Not again,' Booth's mind screamed. He couldn't have another good man's dying blood on his hands.

"Open your eyes, Vincent, stay with me!" Booth felt desperate, out of control, unhinged. This boy wanted nothing more than to be a scientist, to do his good work. He didn't ask to be thrust into this, he didn't deserve this end, not when he was so young. 'Oh god, why did I give him the damn phone?'

"I—pl-please don't—just don't make me go." Vincent's eyes squeezed shut, wetness seeping from their corners, willing the moment away. "I-I-I don't want to go. I love—its been lovely…" His eyes shot open and focused on Brennan, "being here with, with you."

"No," Brennan's yell was strangled, as if she couldn't bear to respond, as if it would take Vincent from them even more swiftly. Her voice took on a hysteric tone, "You can stay here with us as long as you like, Vincent. You're my favorite—everyone knows that. Right, Booth?"

Bones turned to him with a pleading look, begging him to reassure her, to tell her this all wasn't happening. He was about to give her what she wanted, to agree to that which he knew was a lie, when he felt a quiet stillness under his palm. Vincent's eyes were heavy-lidded, unmoving, his sporadic gasps had disappeared as quickly as the shot came. He was gone. He slowly backed away from the silent form, a wave of deep sadness and disbelief rolling through his body.

"You have to keep the pressure on!" Bones' gloved hands shot out to replace Booth's blood sodden ones, pressing hard to Vincent's stained chest. It broke his heart to see her lose herself, to lose her grip on rationality. To believe that Vincent was still there, even though it was plain as day that he was not.

"No I don't, bones." He said quietly. He looked to Vincent, to Bones, then to his bloodied hands. A man's life covered his fingers, ran down the length of his wrists, and stained the cuffs of his shirt. Another friend lost.

*~B&B~B&B~B&B~B&B~B&B~B&B~B&B~*

'You're staying at my apartment tonight.' Booth's words echoed through her head as she unlocked the door to her apartment.

'No. I am not.' Irrational fear had gripped at her throat. She wanted nothing more than to go home with Booth, to take comfort in him, but she could not go back to his place. The place they were together, the place that already held such heartbreak. She couldn't stand to taint it even more with Vincent's death.

'Hannah is in Virginia. You're staying at my place.' His hand had been on her arm, holding her tightly.

'No.' She knew her face was hard then, conveying her resolution on the topic.

'Fine. Then I am staying with you. I will not have you go home alone tonight, not with him out there, not if he can…' She had watched as Booth's jaw tightened, as his adam's apple bobbed up and down as he tamped down the rise of emotions. 'This isn't up for discussion, Bones.'

She knew then that Booth would be coming home with her that night and as she pushed the door open to let them in, she felt herself caught somewhere between relief and dread. She flicked on the light and watched as Booth made a straightaway to the windows, shutting the curtains forcefully. His hands were gripping the stiff cloth, his head was bowed and she watched his shoulders rise and fall in time with his deep breaths. When he finally turned to face her, she could see the strain of the day written across his face. His jaw was tense, his eyes ringed with fatigue. She knew then that the fear and exhaust was mirrored in her own features.

"Keep the curtains shut and stay away from the windows, Bones." His voice was rough to her ears, but his meaning was certain: Broadsky could be anywhere.

"I understand." She said softly, letting her coat slip from her shoulders and fall to a nearby chair. "You should get some sleep, Booth. You look terrible."

"Right." His hand went to his face as he let out a soft chuckle. "I'll set up the couch."

"Booth, I have a guestroom. You can sleep there." Their eyes flicked to the closed door down the hall that was rarely entered. For the life of her she could not remember what the room looked like, or how it would look with him in it.

"I can't…" Booth started.

"Your back, Booth. You have to kill Broadsky tomorrow. You can't do that in the state you're in now. A proper night's sleep will enhance you abilities and allow you to effectively dis…"

"I can't, Bones. I have to be where I can hear everything, get to everything, incase…" Booth's eyes darted about the room as he clung to his final shred of control. "…Incase something happens. I can't…I won't let anything happen to you tonight."

Brennan drew in a sharp breath, the tenderness in his voice echoing through her body. Her eyes dropped to the floor, she tried to control the rush of unwanted emotion, to control her need for him in this moment. She felt as if everything was spinning away from her, beyond the reach of her rationality. She had seen a man, her friend, die in front of her. Had seen the life drift from his eyes, taking him from the confines of reality to… 'Where?' She thought suddenly, 'Where did he go?' Logic told her that Vincent had gone nowhere, but she ached at the thought of the babbling anthropologist disappearing into nothing, becoming only another lump of inanimate flesh and bone. She didn't notice that Booth was beside her until she felt his large warm hand on her chin, gently lifting it to meet his eyes.

"You should go to bed, Bones. You don't look all that much better yourself." His coffee eyes bore into hers, and she could see his concern, and something else, something that she new was being reflected back at him: shared commiseration. She felt her eyes start to burn as she willed herself not to cry, not to let the onslaught of irrational emotion pour forth. She gave a slight nod and turned away from him, away from his warm hand and tempting promise of comfort. She walked quickly to her bedroom, and turned one last time to gaze at her partner. He was staring back at her.

"Good night, Booth." She whispered, not knowing why her voice wouldn't raise any higher. Maybe she didn't want to break the stillness of the air. Maybe she just didn't trust herself to say the right thing.

"Good night, Bones." But she was already in her room, the door like the wall of Jericho between them.

*~B&B~B&B~B&B~B&B~B&B~B&B~B&B~*

Booth wasn't asleep, not really. His eyes ached and he silently begged for sleep to come, to rest, but he couldn't. Not with Broadsky behind every corner, not with Bones behind that door. His mind raced with visions of blood spilling over Jeffersonian blue. He could see Vincent's fear as life left him, bleeding out. Inevitably Vincent's doe brown eyes would be replaced with the grey blue of a turbulent sea, and suddenly it wasn't the fidgety intern, but Bones bleed through his hands. It was her convulsing form in front of him, her coloring draining. In his waking nightmare he was screaming at her, begging her to hold on, praying to God, to anything to keep her with him. It was her chest that he pressed violently to, her look of shock and confusion. He saw her in his mind's eye slipping further from him, into that deep nothingness where those left behind cannot follow, where he would have followed willingly. "Bones!" His body lurched forward of his own volition. He was sitting up, panting from his waking nightmare, the feeling of her heart stopping under his fingers so real, so agonizing.

He heard a soft click from somewhere in the room and immediately clambered for the gun he had left on the coffee table, his eyes darting around the dark room for the source. He saw her then, hands up in surrender, eyes wide. He felt as if there was a cold sickening grip on his throat. It was him who was pointing a gun at her, his deadly aim leveled at her heart.

"Oh. I…I'm sorry." Her hands were still up, but she was moving closer to him anyhow, in small tentative steps.

"No, I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He blinked his eyes against the dimness, pain shooting through his brain. "Did you..." he swallowed and willed himself awake, willed himself into the moment at hand. He stood up from the couch, gun still outstretched. He was unconsciously ready for whatever battle may come. "Did you hear something?"

"No. No." She said uncertainly, taking a few steps back. He could see her tense and unsure; her body ready to flee. Seeing her there; shaken and indecisive, he couldn't let her leave. He had to keep her there with him, for his own piece of mind if not for hers. He looked down at himself, his hands flexing on the weapon in his hands. He hesitantly lowered it.

"Want me to put the gun away?" He forced out, still amazed that he was holding it at all. Her slight nod and whisper of a 'yes' sent his had quickly to the table again, gently laying down the cool metal death. He stood up then and nervously ran a hand through his rumpled hair and down his corded neck. He let out a sigh, willing himself to calm, to focus. "Okay. What's wrong?"

He watched as she slowly walked toward him, his body still twitching from the adrenaline. Her shoulders were slumped, her eyes were red, and he wanted nothing more than to hold her, to make her forget the same thing that he could not. She whispered then, "He kept saying, 'Don't make me go.'"

"What?" His face was a mask of confusion now. Who was there, who had said this? His sleep deprived mind churned rapidly.

"Vincent." She looked away from him then, and he now saw that what he read as fear was actually guilt. Why would she feel guilty? "He was looking at me, and he was saying 'Don't make me leave.' He said that he…" Her eyes began to water and he could see that she was on the verge of tears, her face pulled tight as she painfully released the words that were struggling to be released from her mind, to confess to him. She wasn't strong enough for this, he realized, and her voice broke piteously as she finished, "…that he loved being there. Why would he think that I'm the one making him leave? What kind of person am I?"

"No. Come here." He took another step closer, the distance between their bodies a mere gasp. He gently placed a hand under her chin, her unsuccessfully restrained tears wetting his fingers, her eyes meeting his for a long moment. He couldn't stand to hear her blame herself, to think that she was anything but the compassionate, beautiful, intelligent woman that he knew her to be. "No, no, no, no, Bones. You got it all wrong, all right?" he said softly. She looked away from him unconvinced. "You got it all wrong."

"No, I…I heard him. You did to." She shook her head resolutely, brushing his words away and his heart broke for her. "'Don't make me leave.' That's what he said."

"He wasn't talking to you." He explained, willing her to see the truth in his eyes.

"I was the only one there. And you. He wasn't…he wasn't talking to you." How could she be so naive? How could she place this all on herself? He tried again.

"He was talking to God. He didn't want to die."

"No, Vincent was like me, Booth. He was an atheist." He knew that tone, the one that announced that she was giving some irrefutable fact, some logical point that was as unmoving as stone.

"Okay. Then he was talking to the universe then." His hand slipped into hers, tensing slightly to reassure her of the solidity of the moment. "He didn't want to go. He wasn't ready, Bones. He wanted to stay."

He saw the conflict written on her face, in her eyes, as she tried to process his seemingly illogical claim. He knew what it meant to her, to keep things in control, to keep them compartmentalized. "Well," she began, and he could see she was about to break, "if there was a God, then he would have let Vincent stay here with us."

"That's not how it works." Her eyes studied his for a moment, begging for there to be a better, more rational answer, something he knew he could not give her. He softly pulled her to his chest. He let his arms wrap around her shoulders, rested his chin tenderly atop hers.

"Can you just…"The request was barely audible, but the meaning was clear. She dug her delicate fingers into his shirt, holding it in a tight bunch as she pressed her sobbing body to his. He felt his body warm and cradle her closer, his hand coming to the back of her head, securing her there.

"Yeah. That's why I'm here. I'm right here." He whispered gently into her ear, her soft cries echoing throughout the room. He crushed her closer, taking comfort in her soft, shaking body. He needed her now just as much as she needed him. He would never say it, but she was the only thing keeping him sane, keeping him from slipping into self-destructive regret. "I know. It's hard."

They stood there for what seemed like hours, her crying into his chest, him pressing soft, comforting kisses to her auburn hair. He could feel her body slacken even though her weeping continued. Without warning, he scooped her up into his arms, still pressing his cheek to the top of her head. She didn't tense up, didn't fight it, she just allowed him to walk with her in his arms to her bedroom. He slowly laid her on the bed, the sheets still rumpled, evidence of her fitful night. She clung to him hard, not allowing him to pull away. Taking a deep breath, he slid into the bed next to her. She immediately curled to his chest, and he couldn't help but wrap his arm around her lithe frame and pull her closer to him. Her had rested at his neck, her warm fingers splayed over his pulse point.

She looked up at him, her words a painful plea, "Please…please just stay. Just stay for now."

"I'm not going anywhere, Bones. I'm right here." He let his hand cup her warm, wet cheek, his thumb gently brushing away fresh tears. His heart leapt at the relief he read in her eyes. "I'll be here."

Bones nodded slightly, then laid her head back down to his chest. He could feel her body start to relax, start to loosen from its tense coil. He leaned his head back and allowed himself to take comfort in her breathing, in the fact that she was still here with him, even though Vincent was not. He let out his own shuddering breath, and thanked God for not taking her to.

*~B&B~B&B~B&B~B&B~B&B~B&B~B&B~*

Author's Note: Thank you again for all your wonderful reviews! They truly keep the fire going and allow me the ability to write. Please let me know what you think and if you want more. Between work and school this can be very time consuming and your comments let me know it is worth it.