A/N: First an apology for the angst. It will start to get better from here. Slowly. Keep faith. I always write happy endings.

This was originally meant to be two separate chapters. But it was either two short chapters or one longer one. I went with longer.

Thanks for the reviews. As always, I don't own Bones.

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Several days after Booth's death...

She entered the Internet cafe on legs that weren't entirely steady. Not that anything in her world had been steady over the last few days.

Brennan hadn't known it was possible to feel this way. To feel like your body wasn't connected to the ground the way it used to be.

It took the death of her partner to teach her that.

When she found herself rubbing at her chest and shoulder, Brennan forced her hand back to her side. During the last few days, whenever she thought of Booth's death, her hand had moved to reflect his wound on her own body. As if, by putting her hand there, she could stop the bullet that had taken his life.

The bullet that should have been hers. He shouldn't have stepped in front of her like that.

But that's the kind of man he is or was, she corrected herself as she moved toward an empty computer in the corner.

She was a brilliant woman, why couldn't she remember the correct tense when she spoke of him. He was the past, now. She needed to use past tense.

There was no future for the two of them anymore. Not that she was sure what that meant, either. None of this made any sense.

Why couldn't she compartmentalize like she had so many times in the past? It hadn't been this way when her parents left. Brennan closed off her heart, made a new life for herself in order to survive.

Without Booth, she wasn't sure what kind of life was left for her. Or how to even begin it.

"I have to send a message to the team, Max," she explained to him on the sidewalk. He'd crossed his arms and stared at her, but she refused to back down. "I have to tell them not to look for me, or they won't quit trying until they find me. And they will find me," she added.

Finally, he'd nodded, even if he disagreed with her assessment of their skills. He knew what steps to take so she wouldn't be found. "We won't be here long enough for them to get here before we leave again. And it will give me time to get the final few pieces in place." He paused to stare at the woman he barely knew, but had dropped everything to help. She was his daughter, after all. "Are you sure about this, Tempe? Maybe you should stay with the team, grieve together."

But she backed away so fast, Max reached out a hand to keep her from tripping. "He was my partner," she argued. "Just my partner."

"Then why are you running?" he asked, but turned his offered hand palm up before she answered. "Never mind. Go take care of what you need to take care of and I'll do the same. Will ten minutes be enough?"

Ten minutes to wrap up the last few years of her life. Was that all the impact she'd left behind, that ten minutes was all it would take?

If Booth had still been alive, it would have taken much longer than that. But without him, the life she was leaving behind no longer held much meaning for her.

And she would not analyze what that meant. She was avoiding quite a bit.

"Ten minutes will be plenty," she answered, before turning away from him.

Max shook his head as she walked away from him. It was a mistake for her to do this. But his daughter was stubborn, and unable to deal with her own feelings. No matter what he said to her, she refused to change her mind.

He hadn't dared say what he wanted to: Booth would be so disappointed. That he wouldn't want her to run away from the life he died to save. Max feared Tempe would jump out of the car at full speed if he'd even so much as suggested the thought.

So he'd help her instead. At least that way, he would know where she was.

The computer was already on, and she entered the information from her credit card. What difference did it make if she used it? Let them trace her here. By the time they found the computer, accessed the tapes, she would be long gone. And Temperance Brennan would cease to exist for a time. It wasn't the first time she'd changed identities. Apparently, it was something she was good at. Perhaps she was a bit more like her father than she wanted to admit.

Please don't look for me, the email said. Let me go. She needed to do this. When she was ready, if she was ever ready, she'd let them know where to find her.

And just in case they couldn't do that, because she knew Angela wouldn't do that, Brennan had made other plans.

Hence the call to her father.

She looked up to see Max standing in the door, the cap pulled low, his face turned away from the camera. Despite the acquittal, some habits died hard.

Was this a habit of hers, running away when things were hard? How often had she gone to different countries, accepted invitations to digs in remote places, just so she wouldn't have to deal with her own emotions?

Brennan knew she was probably making a mistake. She also knew she couldn't face her life without Booth.

At least, not yet. Maybe she'd eventually figure out what all of this meant.

She wasn't very hopeful. The one person who'd explain it to her was gone. There wasn't anyone else she'd ask.

With a nod to her father, she closed the email account.

And said good-bye to her old life.

She followed Max to a small blue car, where he turned and handed her the keys.

"Everything is in your new name. In the glove box is enough paperwork that you will be able to hide behind your new identity for quite some time."

"What will I do for money?" she heard herself ask. It was like someone else was running her body. "What if they tell me I look like the famous author?"

"Laugh and tell them you hear that all the time," Max said. "Most people won't question it any further than that. I opened a bank account, too," he added, answering her first question. "Also in your new name. I called my guy and transferred enough money for you to live on."

"I'll pay you back," she promised. "And my team will trace the transfer."

He waved his hand. "Don't worry about it." Did she think he only had bank accounts under his current name? He had burner phones and secret bank accounts no one would ever trace. "Listen, Tempe, you know how I feel about what you're doing."

"It's a mistake. You made that clear on the drive here, Max," she heard the implication, even when he hadn't directly said the words. "But it's my life and my mistake to make."

Max nodded. "I'll keep your secret for you. But I want you to make me a promise."

She narrowed her eyes at him, but finally nodded.

"In six months, I want you to send a note to Angela with your address on it. Even if you don't think you're ready. Or make the phone call. I know it's hard to lose someone you love-"

"I didn't love him," she snapped, causing several people to turn toward her as they walked past.

Max smiled sadly. "It's still hard to lose someone. Even if you only loved them as a partner, " he explained gently. "But you can't hide forever, Tempe. Stopping your life because Booth died would make him angry." There, he said it.

"He's dead, he won't know," she snapped. And was angry when her voice caught.

Max shrugged. "You have your beliefs and I have mine. In six months, I want you to start taking steps to start living again. If you won't do it for yourself, do it for Booth."

He'd liked the man, Max admitted to himself. Hard for him to say when Booth had been on the wrong side of the law, as far as he was concerned. Still, he made his daughter happy, and that alone was enough for him to accept the man.

"I'm alive now, Max. I haven't died," she said, refusing to choke on the word a second time.

He reached out to hug her, but she stepped back, and Max was forced to abandon the move. "The address is already set in the GPS. You'll make it today, easily. Drive safe, Tempe."

Without a word of thanks, or good-bye, she entered the car and pulled away from the curb. In the rear view mirror, she watched her father disappear from view.

She traveled for more than an hour before the first rest stop appeared. Pulling off the interstate, she steered the car to a far corner of the lot, parking beneath a canopy of trees.

Finally stopped, she leaned her forehead on the steering wheel.

And finally allowed herself to cry.

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Booth spent the next six weeks running her name through every database he had access to and several he shouldn't.

The results were always the same.

No hits.

No results.

No record of that name.

He'd made the same searches on Max and every alias that had ever been associated with the man. But Max was a career criminal who'd hidden himself for decades. He knew how to cover his tracks.

And he had no idea Booth was looking for him. Would he come forward if he knew Booth lived? Or would he keep Bones hidden from him as some sort of sick revenge?

Booth wished he could find the man and ask him.

Angela refused to take his calls and while Cam actually answered her phone, she refused to discuss anything with him.

Any mention of Bones led to an immediate change of subject. As of yet, Cam wasn't talking about replacing her. Not even on a temporary basis. If she had her way, that would continue until Bones returned.

He lost count of the number of hours he actually slept, but Booth was sure it was never more than three or four a night. He quit shaving, until he was reminded of FBI policy. That had been followed by a meeting several days later, informing Booth that his partnership with the Jeffersonian had been terminated.

His boss had expected an argument. Booth walked away without a word.

Hodgins was a bit more forthcoming, when Booth could talk to him alone. Which was increasingly more difficult to do since Booth was no longer welcome at the Jeffersonian. He'd received an email that his access card had been deactivated.

No one had heard from Bones, and no one expected to hear from her. At least not until she'd found her footing again. Given her history, that could be anywhere from six hours to never.

Angela knew Hodgins was meeting with Booth, despite what they both thought. In this case, she decided to feign ignorance. If Booth actually found Brennan, at least Hodgins would probably be informed.

But Angela didn't expect him to find her. Brennan was gone, with her father's help. Angela couldn't help but respect a man who could pull off such a thing.

And simultaneously hate him for it.

Calling in several favors, Booth managed to get his hands on the security tapes from the cafe in New York. He'd watched that video so many times, he could see the images behind closed eyes.

She'd walked in, accessed the computer, typed the email and hit send. It was clear, at least to Booth, that she was holding herself together through shear force of will. Several times, she brushed at her eyes, wiping away what Booth was sure were tears.

It broke his heart.

It was the last frame, that told him everything he needed to know about her disappearance. As she headed toward the door, a man Booth would recognize anywhere stepped up next to her.

Max.

The sound of Booth's palm striking his desk the first time he saw the image had several agents looking up in shock. Then ducking their heads again.

All were aware of what had taken place. Before, they'd respected Booth. Some hoped to be half the agent he was.

Now, several of them feared him. He appeared one breath away from shooting something. Or someone. Or maybe himself.

It was safer for all of them to avoid drawing his attention. At least until this whole mess blew over. Or until he transferred.

What Hodgins had surmised was right; Brennan had help disappearing. Max had spent twenty years hiding from the FBI and fellow criminals who would have liked nothing better than to kill him. Hiding a devastated woman would be a piece of cake.

When that devastated woman was his own daughter? There was nothing Max wouldn't do to protect his children. He'd proven that once.

Freezing the tape on that last image, Booth stared at the screen for what felt like hours, knowing what he was going to have to do. It was just going to take him a lot longer to accept that he had to do it.

He was going to have to let her go.

And pray, every single night, that she'd find her way back home again.

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Brennan walked into a cabin nestled at the edge of the forest. The drive had been peaceful, the exact opposite of a mind in turmoil.

It was just as well she'd left the Jeffersonian, at least for now. Even the naming of bones in the skeleton did little to sooth her. There was no way she'd be able to work on anything more difficult.

Booth was dead. He'd stepped in front of a bullet to save her life, and in doing so, lost his.

Her computer went on the desk in front of the large picture window. There was no internet here, but that didn't mean she couldn't work on her latest novel.

Agent Andy, as much as she denied it, was based on Booth. Did that mean he would have to die as well? Otherwise she'd be forced to continue to write a relationship she'd never have herself.

Would she keep up the fantasy as a poor replacement for her reality? Or would her novel mirror her own life?

Details. She would worry about the details later.

She could place bird feeders out on the porch and watch the birds. The peace and quiet would be wonderful for her writing. Brennan had never taken a real vacation. This was her chance.

"I can do this," she said. Her voice echoed off empty walls.

Except she didn't know what she was supposed to do. Was she supposed to forget Booth? That was never going to happen. Her endless nightmares made sure of that.

She only had one thing she needed to accomplish in the next six months.

She had to find a way to let Booth go.

So she could go home again.