Locard's Principle

Author's note: Language alert: Our eggheads are going to break a few b-words out to describe a particularly loathsome suspect. My apologies to the faint of eye. Or ear.

"Now that's a sight you don't see everyday."

He wasn't sure if Caroline Julian was referring to the photographs of gargantuan insects lining the walls or the image of Dr. Temperance Brennan holding the Hodgins' baby, but as far as he was concerned, just about everything that day was pretty amazing.

Sunday morning had found them all in church for the christening and in the early afternoon at the Hodgins' estate for a celebration brunch.

Hodgins and Angela had given them the cook's tour of their home before the other guests arrived, and each room had been more impressive than the last: the study with its floor-to-ceiling books including a balcony and sliding ladder, the solarium with its collection of rare and exotic plants, and the entertainment suite with a hidden panel behind which could be found an Art Deco bar complete with an inscription invoking Bacchus' blessings on one's guests.

He and Carrie as well as most of the Jeffersonians had ended up in what Angela had dubbed, "the bug room." Along the walls she had artfully hung not only Jack's oversized portraits of bugs as well as some of his collection, but extreme close-ups providing beautiful and intriguing portraits of wings or eyes or shells that looked nothing like wings or eyes or shells.

For Booth, the images of insects offered up something compelling in the images of God's artistry even in the tiniest of creatures. "They're kind of cool," he said, turning toward Carrie. "Parker would like these."

To his right, Caroline Julian was twisting her head as she peered at something labeled Satyrium acadica. "Still feel like I should have brought a can of Raid in with me," she said. "At the very least, a giant fly swatter."

He grinned and pulled Carrie closer, then kissed her temple. "I'm not sure I want to eat here," Carrie said. "What if he's one of those etymologists? Studies them, then eats them?"

"Just don't tell me what they are," said Caroline who had skipped the giant insects in favor of the more artistic close-ups, "and I would have to agree, they're kind of nice, Cherie, especially if you don't mind your bugs the size of Texas."

Big bugs, big house, big party. He really couldn't blame Angela or Jack for wanting to show off their kid to a very select group of family and friends. She had been angelic in church, and now, cradled in Brennan's arms, she seemed the perfect advertisement for parenthood.

"Motherhood's going to look good on you," he whispered in Carrie's ear. She gave him a look.

"We could start sooner than Hawaii," he suggested.

That idea earned him another look before Carrie wriggled out of his arms. She considered him, considered his proposal and shook her head.

"Hawaii, Seeley. Let's not put the cart before the horse."

He grinned and nodded. If anything, the fact that Carrie had even suggested getting pregnant before her magical "year of marriage" rule had been an interesting development. She had once argued that she was an adrenaline junkie who wasn't sure if motherhood was the right antidote. He attributed her change of mind to her commitment to their marriage.

Both Cam and Angela had had something else to say about it. He'd tried to avoid the subject ever since—he didn't need raised eyebrows and knowing looks from two women who thought they knew what motivated Carrie's decision.

Hodgins had put it succinctly, although in no less uncomfortable terms: "She's really going to lock you into this marriage, dude. She's making this an airtight union."

It didn't matter that Hodgins had gotten Angela pregnant within the early months of their marriage.

"Man, we've known and loved each other for years," Hodgins had reasoned. "A baby isn't meant to lock us up together. A baby is an expression of our love."

Brennan had only congratulated him and said little else.

"That kid spends much time in here and she'll turn into one of the squints," Caroline offered as she looked at another of the enlargements. "Or be traumatized for life."

That kid was still burbling happily in Brennan's arms as she and Cam and Michelle were admiring the extreme close-up of a butterfly wing. Christened Seeley Joy Hodgins this morning in church, he didn't think the baby had left Brennan's arms for more than a few minutes since they had arrived at the Hodgins' home.

He'd done the honors in church, standing at the baptismal font with Angela and Jack and Brennan, the little bundle cradled in his arms as he played his role as godfather. The name had been a surprise, a shock really, since Angela and Jack had offered up a whole list of possible names before and after the birth of the child without really deciding upon one until the last minute at the church. "I changed my name," Angela had been saying all along, "and I expect she may just want to pick her name when the time is right."

Brennan that week had reminded them all that Native Americans were given a name at birth and then chose or were given a new name when they came of age. "So Angela selecting a name for herself is rooted in tradition, albeit Native American tradition. Angela is a good name for Angela," she offered, "and probably reflects a better understanding of her true nature."

"That's psychology, Sweetie," Angela had said. "And I didn't think you believed in angels."

"I don't believe in angels," Brennan had countered. "But some people do display the general attitude and personality traits ascribed to angels in literature although the whole wing array is aerodynamically impossible."

He'd seen the many faces of Temperance Brennan over the years, but that morning at the baptism, when Angela had announced their choice of name, he'd seen another. Certainly they'd both been surprised by the choice—and he was grateful for the second name so that the child wouldn't be saddled with just Seeley—but Brennan had look positively overwhelmed at first. It took him a long time to come up with the word to describe the emotion, something that really captured the essence of the connection Brennan made with the littlest Hodgins when she had recovered her bearings.

It was rapture.

And she'd never looked more beautiful then when she whispered the name's meaning, "Blessed happiness," over the head of their godchild.

"So, I don't understand. I understand the Seeley part," Carrie was saying as she twisted her head to examine the enlarged picture of a bug part he didn't really want the name of, although it was probably a wing and looked kind of like feathery leopard spots. "I understand that they wanted to honor you and Temperance, but what, is her name Temperance Joy Brennan?" She sighed and made a frown at the image. "Her parents really wanted to keep a lid on her, didn't they? Tempered happiness. It does kind of fit her."

"No," said Caroline, twisting her head as well to make sense of the pattern of iridescent colors, "I imagine it's no big secret being part of the public record and all that, but Joy is Dr. Brennan's birth name. Her real name."

It was Carrie's turn to look surprised. "Really? Wow!" She nudged him. "To go from Joy to Temperance, there's a story there, isn't there?"

Before he could confirm her suspicions, Jack and Angela had appeared. "If you'll all follow me back to the dining room," Hodgins announced, "we've got a nice brunch for you now." He approached Brennan with his arms opening. "I need to take our little Joy now for her own brunch."

The transfer went smoothly from Brennan to Hodgins except for one little hiccup. Followed by a burp.

And Seeley Joy Hodgins deposited a well-aimed bit of spit-up on her father's suit coat.

But Hodgin's smile never broke. "Little one, that's the third time today."

"Joy likes you, Dr. Hodgins," Michelle supplied. "She must, she's marking her

territory."

"That's why I like my children bigger," said Cam, "they're less likely to do that."

As if on cue, Angela pulled tissues from her pockets in what must have been a familiar ritual.

"She's destined to be a squint," Booth offered as Jack Hodgins held his infant daughter up and away from the suit jacket as Angela dabbed at the mess.

"Yes, she is," Hodgins said. "She's already well-acquainted with Locard's Exchange Principle."

To Carrie's quizzical look, Brennan said it was not logical to know if someone was already predestined for an occupation without letting environmental, social and intellectual factors play a role in the development of the child.

"But what's this Locard's Exchange thing?" asked Carrie impatiently.

"Locard's Exchange Principle at work," Brennan said, pointing toward Hodgins who was divesting himself of his jacket while Angela cradled the baby who was laughing happily. "When two objects come into contact there will be an exchange of trace particulates."

"And she's definitely your daughter," said Angela. "She knows just how much you love particulates, Jack."

oOo

Something about a baby made everything seem pretty rosy.

It was his general attitude when he stepped into Angela's office and sidled up to Seeley Joy who was fast asleep in her carrier, a baby monitor blinking at her side. "Hey, little one," he tried his finger next to her fist and nudged it gently. "Uncle Seeley's here. Wanna wake up for me, little one?" A gentle wake up call seemed in order given the monitor and whoever was on the receiving end's tendency to come running the moment the thing squawked. "Wakey, wakey."

"Don't you dare unless you are prepared to be at my house every night for a week for the 2 a.m. feedings, Seeley Booth."

He came to attention immediately as Angela entered. "She looked like she was having a bad dream. . . . "

"Save it, mister," Angela whispered. "She'd down for the count and I'm hoping to grab a nap with her if I can just get these renderings to run." She fiddled with something on her computer.

"You're keeping your mother up at night? And making her all grouchy?"

Angela turned to him, hand on hip and a piece of paper in the other. "This is the third rendering I have done of the skull because Jack spilled formula on the first one, Cam picked up Seeley Joy who promptly spit up on the second rendering and," she sighed, "I really am too tired to do another one."

He really did feel a little sheepish; Angela did look more than a little tired. "Just looking for Bones. She had some information about Pederson." Seeley Joy had wrapped her hand around his finger in sleep and he was torn between staying attached or staying on Angela's good side.

"Brennan," she sighed, "Brennan is in her office with Caroline Julian. They went in there a half hour ago, shut the door and no one's been allowed to venture into the inner sanctum since." She finally noticed his finger in her daughter's hand and eyed him. The kid had a pretty good grip.

"Why's Caroline here? What's she meeting with Brennan about?"

"Not really sure although I'd give anything for someone to give me a half hour of solitude." Her eyeing was turning into a stare.

He carefully pried his finger loose, a bit reluctantly, and began to head toward the door when Cam came marching in.

She had come in under full steam but noticed the baby asleep and stopped short. "Is the Pederson rendering done, yet?" she whispered.

Angela, ever-patient Angela, closed her eyes, sighed, re-opened them and turned toward Cam. "I'm just scanning it in now, Dr. Saroyan."

While her tone was solicitous, her body language was anything but. He felt more than a little sympathy for both women.

"Ohhh-kay." Cam stood frozen in place.

Angela had turned back to her computer. He caught Cam's eyes and cocked his head toward the door.

Escape seemed the best course of action.

He'd wait out whatever meeting was going on between Brennan and Caroline, get his information and. . . . He stole one more look at the sleeping infant and considered again how nice it would be to have another little one in his life. Carrie had been vacillating; one minute she seemed on board with having a baby and the next. . . .

His thoughts on the matter ended the moment he saw Caroline Julian steaming into the office. "Good, I have you all. . . ."

And all hell seemed to break free of its moorings as little Joy let loose with one great howl of protest at being woken unceremoniously. Angela gave him and Cam and Caroline a look of protest as well.

For her part, Caroline Julian rolled her eyes, shook her head and wagged a finger in the direction of the littlest squint. In the same amount of time it took for her to break the silence, little Joy immediately quieted down.

No one dared mess with Miss Julian.

Caroline bent her finger and all three of them followed out of Angela's office leaving the baby behind.

He could put together any number of scenarios for the meeting between Brennan and the prosecutor. None right now were appealing given the look on Caroline's face which told him it was only trouble.

"Caroline?" he started then stopped immediately when she raised her hand to hush him.

He could tell that look in Caroline's eyes. He'd seen it the night he'd gone to talk over the evidence in the Heather Taffet case only to find out that Brennan and Hodgins had dropped charges against their kidnapper. It was here again, a mixture of sympathy and resolve.

"We have a problem with the Mercedes case," Caroline said, "courtesy of your girlfriend."

Caroline Julian could crack wise at twenty paces, but he rarely heard her crack anything but serious about this case. A month of long hot showers could do little to wash away the horrors Dana Mercedes had been subjected to before being brutally murdered.

"I know, I know," she said, stopping the avalanche of questions hurtling toward her. "The Constitution gives the right to the press to print whatever the hell they see fit to print, but I wish they would draw the line at questioning the integrity of one forensic anthropologist."

"Do you mind telling us what is going on, Caroline?"

Caroline considered Cam's question, looked at Booth and seemed resigned to a course of action that, given her expression, she was reluctant to take.

"You all might as well know why since it's in at least a million homes by now."

She put an open newspaper before them. "I'm sorry I didn't bring you extra copies," she said, "although I'm considering cancelling my subscription."

Cam took up the paper first and held it out for them to read. The article covered the journey of one Joy Keenan who was renamed Temperance Brennan when her parents sought to escape their old lives and included the 15-year-old's stint in foster care where she was repeatedly abused by various foster parents until she aged out of the system and turned her Dickensian past into a glowing career aiding the FBI in catching criminals behind the strength of a genius brain and three doctorates.

"Oh, my God," Angela said. She made a move toward Brennan's office, but Caroline stopped her.

"She's dealing with her father right now, Cherie. Apparently he's got his own issues because of the article."

"Max?"

"I imagine we'll be hearing from the third Brennan fairly soon," she said, referring to Russ. "Trouble and Brennans all seem to run in threes."

"The newspaper's looking for anything that connects to the Mercedes case and they run this?" Cam looked troubled. "It makes it look like Dr. Brennan is hiding her past."

"Newspapers love to dig up irony," Caroline started up again. "Unfortunately, this is a bit of irony I'd just as soon they hadn't unearthed."

He looked toward Brennan's office. "Bones couldn't have liked this."

Caroline's heavy sigh told him all he needed to know. "The defense already knows that Dr. Brennan will only testify that she recovered Dana Mercedes remains and pieced them back together so Dr. Edison could figure out how many ways to Sunday that man abused that beautiful young woman." She grimaced. "I've wanted to put that son of a bitch away ever since you found out he smashed in his own foster child's head and hacked her like he did. Went on local TV to cry and tell anybody who'd listened that she ran away."

"So, what now? Brennan can't testify?" Angela paid a glance toward Brennan's office.

"Brennan can be objective about all this."

"You know she can be objective. I know she can be objective. The problem is does the jury know she can be objective?" Caroline made one decisive swoop of her head. "I came here to warn Dr. Brennan that her past is going to go up on that stand tomorrow in the defense's attempt to save that smarmy bastard."

He imagined another beautiful young woman destroyed by the latest. "Ange, maybe you should . . ." He didn't need to finish for Angela to take off toward Brennan's office.

"Now that we know you're sleeping with the enemy," Caroline said, "we'll just be a little more careful of what we say."

The thought hadn't occurred to him, but Cam had already refolded the paper to the front page: The Journal.

"It's not Carrie's story, Caroline." He grabbed the paper from Cam's hands and looked for the story within its pages. "There."

The byline wasn't familiar, but the story was. Except for the abuse during foster care. He'd always suspected and he only knew of the one instance. . . . He cast another look toward Brennan's office. He could see little from this angle.

Cam was standing with her arms folded and her head bobbing.

"What?"

"I know you don't want to consider this, Seeley. . . ."

"No, Cam. Don't go there." Carrie had nothing to do with this. "Caroline, I thought foster care records were sealed."

"They are, Cherie. Normally." He wasn't liking this. "In the fine state of Illinois, there was a court case not too long ago in which case workers' files were opened because of several abuse cases under their watch. The cases were opened, the children, mind you, were identified only by locations and case numbers, but some fine soul put two and two together."

"How?"

Caroline gave them both a look. "She lived in a small town, she was older when she went into the system. It doesn't matter, Cherie. Someone figured out from this, that and the other thing that one of the abused children could have been your partner, Seeley Booth." She pursed her lips and gave him a look. He didn't like that look. "We were enjoying ourselves at that little soiree at your bug man's mansion and gave little thought to who we were talking to."

"Look, Caroline, that's not fair. Carrie had nothing to do with this story." He hoped she hadn't.

But Cam's look told him she wasn't buying his protests. "We all said things in front of her last Sunday. I mentioned your partner's birth name." Caroline was skewering him with her eyes as she talked. "Someone else slips, calls Max Brennan by his real name and it doesn't take one of these geniuses to connect the dots."

"And she has reason to want to drive a wedge in between you and Brennan."

Cam's words hung in the air and almost strangled him.

"No, no, Cam. Carrie and Bones are fine with each other." He hated Cam right now, hated Caroline, hated this whole sorry mess. He looked toward Brennan's office. "Don't even put that out there. They are fine. Everything is fine."

He felt Caroline's hand on his arm. "Look, Cherie, your partner's a strong woman. She'll get past this. It helps that they were guessing about some of the details."

"Guessing?"

Cam's tone said it all. Half-truths about their most truthful scientist had to be as galling as any truths about her past. He couldn't imagine the emotions battling within Brennan right now.

"She's going to let this whole thing blow over." Caroline cocked her head toward Brennan's office. "To set the record straight would only invite more light to shine on something she would much rather keep in the dark. You need to contact Dr. Edison, tell him he's going to need a good night's sleep for tomorrow," she said to Cam. "You," she stared at him, "you be careful about what you say about me during your pillow talk." She made to leave. "I don't want my life on view in glorious 10-point type in the pages of the Journal."

oOo

It had been one of the cases he'd caught soon after they'd returned from their pilgrimages to Afghanistan and Indonesia. Kasen Kleckman and his wife had taken in a foster child only to subject Dana Mercedes to abuse and torture before dismembering her and scattering her remains over acres of land around their home.

Brennan had spent hours on site and even more hours in the lab reconstructing a skeleton that had been practically pulverized. It had been the only way to document what had happened to a 15-year-old girl who had thought that riding horses on the Kleckman farm would be "kind of cool."

He watched her for several minutes after Angela left, Brennan's attention taken up by something on her computer. He watched her type a few more words before she hit send and turned toward something else on her desk.

"You okay, Bones?"

"Yeah, why?" Her face wore that mask of neutrality she could don once she had decided to give no more thought to something that would trouble less strong-minded individuals. Caroline had been right—if even one-tenth of the abuse that was detailed in the story had occurred, no one would know unless Brennan wanted them to know.

"Caroline was here." She looked up sharply. "I may not be able to testify in the Mercedes case."

"We don't have a confession. All we have is the forensics and some inconsistencies in the story. She just wants to protect the case, Bones."

He knew she understood the legal wrangling that could harm their case. She hadn't liked that someone might doubt her abilities or her honesty, but she had stepped aside for the case. For Dana Mercedes. She knew the story told in her bones couldn't easily be erased.

"The Journal reporter didn't get all the facts right, Booth." In an instant she went from the strong-willed, indomitable Dr. Temperance Brennan to her 15-year-old self who had been left alone to navigate an unfriendly world she did not understand and which did not understand her. It was a side of her he was sure she hadn't shown to Caroline, but now, in her own office, in front of him, she allowed the control to slip. "No one contacted me to verify the information." She looked at him under hooded eyes, her emotions ragged. "I conduct research and use verifiable information in my novels, Booth. In works of fiction."

She was careful in everything she did. She would not stray from the truth even in her books.

"So what do you want to do? Set the record straight?"

She was shaking her head slowly, the idea as uncomfortable as the twisted truths.

He made a step forward, his arms opening to draw her into a hug, but she shook her head and visibly stiffened.

He stopped.

There were boundary lines drawn she wasn't going to cross.

"Carrie didn't have anything to do with this."

Caroline and Cam didn't believe that. Would probably never believe that. But Brennan was different. She saw the world differently.

"No, why? Why would I think that?"

She wouldn't go there. So why the hell was he going there? "I just thought that, well, you know, the story appeared in her paper, she might have said something. Well, you know."

The confusion on her face was fleeting, then gone. "I don't think that. I know that Angela said. . . ."

"Angela?"

Now it was three against one.

"Booth. It happened. My father was already. . . ."

"Your dad?" This was snowballing into something ugly. "What did he say?"

She was now the 15-year-old girl again trying to battle back to be her 34-year-old self. "He wanted to know about what happened in foster care." She grimaced. "He was pretty upset, Booth."

He really did want to hug her. He really did want to chase away the demons. Hold her until the world disappeared around them. "He's your dad, Bones. He got a picture of what you might have gone through and it bothers him. It should bother him."

"It's over. I just want to get back to work on the Pederson case."

And that is how she dealt with things. If she had been a gambler or an alcoholic, he would have said that she had let go and let God handle things, but she was an atheist. Her God was science.

He looked down at his feet and then back at her. She'd drifted behind her desk again and was shifting the folders there looking for something. She let out a long breath. "I thought. . . here it is." She pulled out a folder and opened it, then handed it to him. "Pederson's bones show a calcium deficiency."

"So he didn't drink milk."

She gave him that look she would give him when she thought he was being particularly blockheaded. She was back to the latest case and her 15-year-old self was safely stowed away. "But he did ingest a toxin that made it difficult for his bones to absorb. . . ."

He listened to her explanation, nodding and taking in more of the woman in front of him than the science. She hurt, the memories hurt, but she wasn't taking potshots at the reporter or looking for scapegoats. It was the truth—or partial truth of her life—and she couldn't hit a rewind button. She wouldn't. Nor would she toss the recorder against the wall in a fit of self-pity.

He tried to get his own mind back to the case. "So. . . the bottom line is, what?"

She pursed her lips. "We need to find out who uses those particular chemicals." She gave him an odd look.

"What?"

"Did you hear anything I said?"

"I followed most. . . some of it."

"Do you want me to start over?"

"No." He held up his hand, happier to be concerned with the case than the thoughts ricocheting in his head. "No, just lead me to the squint with the answers."

oOo

Talk to Brennan and everything was about the truth.

Talk to Carrie, and everything was about the truth.

And how, he wondered, could the same thing be so different?

He had come straight out and asked Carrie that night. Come out and asked her if she had anything to do with the story about Brennan.

"No." She shook her head decisively. It was the eye contact that told him everything he needed to know. "I haven't pitched any stories about your squinty crew." She shook her head and shrugged. "I don't spend much time talking about your partner to my friends or co-workers. But I can call the reporter, ask for some background, if you want. I know it's part of that on-going series on the foster care system, a reaction to the Mercedes Case. I think they were trying to localize the angle, focus on the irony of the forensic anthropologist in the case practically being a case herself."

"Where did they get their information? Brennan doesn't talk about her past. She doesn't do that."

She stood up from their dinner table and started gathering the dishes. "Doesn't she have an obligation to tell the prosecution that this would be a conflict of interest? That her background muddies the case?"

"She did, Carrie. Bones wouldn't hurt the case we built. She wouldn't allow her feelings to cloud her judgment. Dr. Edison was the lead forensic anthropologist on this."

"Besides," he said, "it wasn't even the truth of what happened to her. Well, not the whole truth."

"What?" She stood like the scales of justice, bowls in either hand, weighing one bit of information against the last. "Now you're saying the reporter got it wrong?"

So he told her. Told her how painful the case had been to Brennan, how painful it was for her to pass it on to Clark to finish.

And why.

He didn't know the whole truth of her past, and he had never pressed, but if Brennan said they didn't have something right, he believed her.

For several minutes Carrie stood there, listening, shifting as the weight of the bowls now and then.

When he finished, she seemed to be studying the table.

"That explains a lot, Seeley," she said finally. "She was victimized by her parents, a brother, the system. It's probably what makes her so good at what she does. She wants to give the victims a voice."

"Kleckman's attorneys are desperate and they're probably going to use this to discredit her testimony tomorrow." He could read the wealth of emotions on Carrie's face easily. "Bones doesn't like her findings questioned. Especially over something outside of the case."

"I'm sorry, Seeley. I'm sorry about the case. I hope this doesn't let that murdering bastard get off."

He made a decisive shake of his head. "No. We've got Caroline. Clark and Cam are supposed to go tomorrow, too. Bones will be fine on the stand. She's only testifying to what was found on the scene and how she went about reconstructing the remains." He had to make this clear so that Carrie could see. "It just makes it look like she was hiding something. The defense will pounce on that, but Bones wouldn't let her past affect this case."

"It's often how it goes, Seeley. Perception becomes reality." She took a few steps forward, dumped the bowls back on the table, and sank into the chair. She took a deep breath. "It's the job of the press to report the facts, the facts as we know them to be true. But we cannot control how people interpret those facts, Seeley."

"So it's a matter of everyone just doing their job?"

Carrie rested her chin on her hand. "Isn't it? Everyone does their job on this one. Everyone. It just gets messy because people are messy. If Brennan didn't want to fight crime, she should just stay in her lab. But she wants to use her knowledge in the real world, then she's got to understand that in the real world, people are going to have pasts. And sometimes those pasts are flawed. At least she'll get a chance to set the record straight."

"I don't see this as a major issue, Seeley. But I get the impression that it is, somehow, for you."

How to explain the walls that Brennan had in place all afternoon as she focused her attention on another case? He bent forward. "She doesn't lie. She wouldn't lie."

The instant he said the words, he realized they were somehow inadequate.

Carrie stood and retrieved the bowls. "So she should be glad that the truth will come out in court tomorrow." He could practically see her thinking as she stood at the other side of the table. "Seeley, I know she's your partner. I know you have your history and all. But the reality is she's got a past that could be in conflict with the case she's on. Granted, she played a small role in the case, not a critical role, but her background was probably going to come out at some point anyway. The press has an obligation. . . ."

"Obligation?"

"Obligation, Seeley, to uncover that truth. You don't uncover just part of the truth in a murder investigation if you can help it. You don't just look for part of the truth. You look for as much information as possible." She shrugged. "I know you want to protect her. It's what you do, you protect people. It's why I love you. But you can't protect her from being uncomfortable or embarrassed. She's going to have to face the facts tomorrow. If it makes her uncomfortable and puts away a murderer, then I think she might opt for a little embarrassment."

He listened as she ran water in the sink and he thought to join her, but he felt he didn't have the words to finish the conversation. How to explain Brennan? How to explain how she seemed at war with emotions? How to explain what he was feeling when he wasn't even sure?

"I'm not in any danger of having Max Brennan come after me, am I?" she called from the kitchen. Carrie was trying to lighten the mood, but his mood hadn't really been anything but gray most of the day since the story broke. "He's not lurking out there, is he?"

"No, Max. . . just don't worry about Max."

Carrie reappeared from the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel. She seemed to be studying him before she slid into the seat opposite from him and slipped her hand in his.

"Let's see. Perception is reality. Everyone at the Jeffersonian now thinks I'm Rasputin, manipulating events behind the scenes at my newspaper to hurt Brennan."

"Not everyone."

She squeezed his hand. "It's better to have some of the truth out there than none of it." She smiled. "You'll see. It's unfortunate that it came out this way, but it's far better to have the truth out there, some of the truth, at least."