The Murder in the Marriage

by bloodwrites

When KitC's TJ Wright begins having questions about his father's murder, he comes to DC to ask for Brennan's help. Meanwhile, a series of children's abduction/murders pushes Booth's career - and B/B's relationship - in an unexpected direction.

6. Chapter Five

Booth's first clue that it would be a monumentally shitty day came at 5:30 that morning, when Werner called and woke him after a grand total of two hours' sleep. When the phone rang, he woke with his heart pounding and got tangled in the sheets trying to get out of bed without waking Bones. Then he stubbed his toe on Parker's damned remote control truck in the living room, before almost hanging up on Werner just as he'd finally managed a strangled hello.

"I got your message," Werner said, without bothering to apologize for calling so early. "Who the hell leaked the Staunton vic?"

Booth took a second to try and clear his head and go over everything that had happened in the last twelve hours. At three-thirty, his blood pressure through the roof and his heart in overdrive after finding Bones's apartment trashed, he'd left a message for Cam telling her Bones would be late the next morning. He'd given her the short version of what had happened, and then he'd called Werner to tell him what the cops, Windham and Anders, had said: the story was out – cop's kids were being kidnapped and killed. It didn't matter that it was only two (so far, Booth thought grimly), or that the kidnappings had happened years apart; now that the story was out, it wouldn't be long before the press caught wind of it and whipped the general public into a frenzy.

He cleared his throat, trying to find an answer that would satisfy Werner without hanging Hal Watkins – the sheriff on the scene at Staunton, and a man whose son was actually one of Parker's Boy Scout buddies – out to dry.

"I'm not sure, sir. I'll check into it today, and I'll make sure the leak gets plugged before the day's out."

"Don't promise me things you can't deliver, Seeley. Brennan okay?"

Booth had forgotten he'd mentioned the break-in at Bones's place in his message to Werner.

"Yeah – just shaken up, I think. Listen, sir, I hate to ask, but I was wondering if you could maybe – "

"Already done," Werner interrupted. He sounded almost human, which was a nice change of pace. "I've got a security detail who'll keep tabs on her once you drop her at the Jeffersonian. No problem."

"Thanks, sir." He was in the kitchen, the green numbers of the microwave casting a creepy glow in the darkness. December in DC meant daylight wouldn't come for another hour. He had a sink full of dirty dishes, and the apartment was freezing.

"Was there anything else?" he finally asked, when Werner didn't offer anything more but still didn't hang up.

"Yeah," Werner said immediately – almost like he'd been waiting for Booth to ask. "I need to see you in my office. Eleven o'clock work for you?"

The way he asked, it didn't sound much like a question.

"That'll be fine, sir." Booth tried to think of some way to ask what the meeting was about without actually sounding like he was asking – though he had a sinking feeling he already knew.

"Should I bring anything with me?"

"Any updates on the body dumps," Werner told him. "And wear a normal tie today – no crazy colors, nothing too flashy. And leave your belt buckle at home. I'll see you at eleven."

Booth snapped shut his phone and sank to the couch. Shit. It was definitely not gonna be a good day.

Since there was no chance in hell he'd be going back to sleep, Booth did the dishes and cleaned the place up a little. Cranked the heat, took a shower, shaved, drank some coffee. Every once in a while he'd peek in on Bones, and it did his heart good to see how relaxed she seemed at his place. Whatever else was going on, he must be doing something right: Temperance Brennan was curled up like a baby cat under his sheets, a look that might even be called peaceful on her pretty face.

That had to count for something.

He managed to hold off until six-thirty before he decided to just climb back into bed for a few minutes. No big deal, right? Maybe just catch a quick nap before he woke Bones and they had to get going.

He stripped back down to his boxers and lay down beside her. Without a second's hesitation, she curled into him – her ass pressed to his crotch, his hand held tight in her own. He started thinking about the meeting with Werner, and grimaced at the thought.

The request that he wear an FBI-issue tie was the big tip-off; now, he definitely knew what was going on. Boring suits and boring ties meant bureaucrats and ass kissing and – he was pretty sure – a more public role than he'd ever wanted in a case that could be career suicide if things went the wrong way. He sighed, the tension settling in his shoulders and the small of his back.

Bones shifted next to him, her bottom brushing against him with just enough pressure to send thoughts of Werner and his stooges right out the window. Booth nuzzled her neck, breathing in the smell of her hair and the softness of her skin. He thought of what she'd said last night about loving his place, about loving him, and held her a little tighter.

Before long, the smell and feel and fact of a half-naked Bones grinding against him in her sleep had him harder than a sixteen-year-old at his first skin flick. He eased back, trying to give himself some breathing room. Bones had never once complained about him waking her to fool around – in fact, if anything she was guilty of starting that kind of thing a hell of a lot more than he was. He'd lost count of how many mornings he'd woken up with her hands – or mouth, now that was something to wake up to – wrapped like a second skin around his cock. But neither of them had ever tried something like that after three hours' sleep and a trashed apartment. Probably best not to press his luck.

So, he just lay there for a while. It didn't matter how many saints he recited or how many baseball stats he thought of, though: he definitely wasn't getting any less turned on. Bones moaned in her sleep, and the soft whisper shot straight to his groin.

Damn it.

Booth had dated some pretty amazing looking women over the years, but so far none of them ever had the effect Bones had on him. Hell, sometimes she'd just give him a look across the room and he'd feel his jeans start to tighten. He pushed her t-shirt – his shirt, actually, though it looked a hell of a lot better when Bones was wearing it – up a little, running his hand along the silky soft skin at the small of her back.

She had on baby blue, cotton bikini briefs that hugged her curves in a way that should definitely not be legal. His mouth was watering by the time he maneuvered himself under the blankets and started kissing a line up her spine, his hands ghosting slow and easy up her thighs, resting on her belly and then moving like they had a mind of their own, straight up to her breasts. God, he loved her breasts – which, on anyone else, would have been tits, but somehow the word didn't feel right when he was thinking about Temperance.

She sighed and turned around in his arms. His mouth had been fixed on the curve between the small of her back and the top of her ass – now, he found himself face to face with her belly button. He moved up to those gorgeous breasts – pink tipped, the nipples tight and just begging to be savored, and it took one swipe with his tongue before he felt her body change as she woke up. For a second he froze, not sure whether he was about to get his ass kicked.

Instead, she just stretched – slow and lazy, her back arching as her breasts climbed higher, pressed against him.

"Mmmm…" She kind of moaned, and the sound alone was enough to send an ache right through him. She lifted the blankets and smiled at him, her eyes sleepy and a sexy grin that she didn't give anybody but him, damn it, on her lips. "Morning."

"I'm sorry," he said, all innocence. "Did I wake you?"

And that was the end of the story. Or not the end so much as the beginning of tangled legs and muffled moans and that little slice of heaven that was waking up to Bones, every goddamn day.

When they were through, her head on his chest and both of them breathing hard, bodies slick and morning light filtering through the blinds, he wished for a second that they could just go back and start all over again.

After a minute or two, Bones went quiet beside him, something sad and distant in the way she lay her head on his shoulder. He thought back to Oregon: almost losing her, having no clue where she was or if he'd ever lie beside her like this again. They didn't talk about that night anymore, which he knew was his fault. Sometimes, he wondered if Bones might need to say something about it – tell him what happened that night while she was alone on the mountain. But somehow, every time the subject came up, it made him a little sick. The fact was, just a word or two about that night was enough to bring back all the terror, all the guilt, all that helplessness that he knew would have eaten him alive if he hadn't gotten to her on time.

"You thinking about the break-in?" he finally asked, because he knew her – knew where she went, when her eyes took on that distant cast.

She told him she was, which of course he'd known. Looked at him with eyes he'd been gone for from day one, and his heart broke at her next words.

"I know that physically, I'm no different than I was before…" Her eyes filled with tears. He ran his hand over her cheek, but he let her go on. "Before Oregon. I have some residual pain in my ankle, but otherwise there's no difference. I'm exactly the same person I was before that night on the mountain."

It cost her something to say it out loud – maybe that was why he hated talking about it. The second either of them brought up Oregon, there was something in her eyes that he'd never seen before.

"But you feel different," he said, when she didn't go on.

He didn't say what he was thinking – that she was different, after that night. Maybe she didn't look any different to anyone else, but Booth knew her. The way she held herself; the way she'd go quiet sometimes while they were driving, her hands balling into fists all of a sudden. And he wouldn't know what set her off, wouldn't even know how he'd sensed it… But he'd know without a shadow of a doubt, that she was fighting Mickey and Taylor all over again.

They were both different.

"I don't want to live that way again." More tears, one marking a trail down her cheek. "I don't think I can live that way again."

He kissed her then. Told her it would be okay; that they'd get whoever tore her place apart, that it wasn't the same. That she was safe.

The whole time, thinking: Liar. It wasn't okay, she wasn't safe. It wasn't just gonna go away. Someone had taken the time out of their busy fucking schedules to break into a secure building just to tear Bones's apartment to pieces.

People like that very rarely just got bored and moved on.

Finally, she got off that subject and onto one that, if possible, he wanted to talk about even less: himself.

"Detective Windham said he would hate to be wearing your shoes right now."

Time was running out, the sun high in the sky and the case waiting for them. Werner waiting for him. Cops saying they wouldn't want to be in his shoes, dead kids showing up out of nowhere, more parents he'd have to talk to… He felt that mean little edge he'd been feeling way too often lately, and tensed up.

"In my shoes right now, Bones. Not wearing them."

If he was trying to buy himself time, it didn't work. She continued, not thrown off for a second.

"What did he mean by that?"

He screwed up then, and he knew he'd screwed up even as he was doing it. He tried to brush her off, tried to dodge the question… Even lied, or tried to, but thought better of it when he saw the hurt in her eyes. He told her half-truths and finally felt himself start to lighten up a little when she gave him that smile of hers, not a trace of doubt to be found.

"You won't screw it up. You're very good at your job."

He pulled her close again. Laughed, and it felt damned good. "Well then, I guess that's settled. I won't screw it up."

For a few seconds, they just lay there. She started to get up, but held back when he asked her to stay: that was the thing that amazed him about her. The thing that took his breath away, every time. He'd seen the way Bones could steamroll over people's feelings, especially when her work was involved, and so it blew him away that all he had to do was ask and she was there for him. Even when there were bodies waiting, she lay back down in his arms – like that was the only place in the world she wanted to be.

She kissed his jaw, running a healing hand through his hair.

"We can stay here as long as you want."

He didn't tell her that that was pretty much forever. If he could put off starting this goddamn day and just stay here in her arms for the rest of his life, that would be an all right compromise. Instead, he took a breath and kissed her forehead. Found his voice.

"Thanks, Bones. Just another couple minutes."

---

Once he'd pulled himself together and driven Bones to the Jeffersonian, they were barely through the lab door before Angela had some kind of meltdown. Yet again, Booth found himself flashing back to that morning in Portland, after Bones had been taken. Still barely conscious and sick as a dog from Mickey's attack, he'd found Angela tied in the closet with tears streaming down her face.

"She's okay, Angela," he tried to reassure her now, knowing that she was probably picturing the same damned thing.

"No one's trying to kill me, Ange. I'm fine," Bones agreed.

Hodgins and the rest of the squints gathered 'round, but before the whole scene played out, Cam caught Booth's eye.

"Seeley – can I see you in my office?"

Bones was too busy with Angela to notice, so Booth excused himself and followed Cam to her cave. Something was up – he could tell from the way she was holding herself, arms crossed over her chest, walking like she was stepping over broken glass.

"Someone broke into Brennan's place last night?" she asked. Booth nodded, sensing that it wasn't her only question.

"Was anything stolen?"

He shook his head. "Not so far as we can tell. The place was pretty trashed, though."

"Any theories on who did it?"

He narrowed his eyes. "One or two. Camille, you mind telling me what the hell's on your mind?"

She paced the room a couple of times, arms still crossed over her chest. Booth was about to push her again, but finally she stopped.

"Okay, you have to stay calm."

"I am calm. I'm always calm."

She rolled her eyes in that way she did that always used to make him nuts. "Right – I'm sorry. I must have you confused with that other ex-Ranger who tried to use Joe Merrick as a human cue ball after he copped a feel at that bar in Jersey."

"Hey, he was being disrespectful," Booth bristled. "And what the hell was I s'posed to do, let it slide? You were my girl."

Cam just smiled. It was the kind of comment that might have stung a couple years ago. Now that Tripp and Bones were in the picture, though, it seemed like the past really was behind them.

"What's up, Cam?" he asked again. A little quieter now.

She squared her shoulders. Chewed her lip for a second before she looked him in the eye.

"I was in Brennan's office last night getting some files she'd left for me, and her phone rang. Typically, I wouldn't answer – it's her phone, after all, and while I of course only take professional calls here myself, I still wouldn't want – "

"Cam!" Booth interrupted, louder than he'd meant to.

She raised an eyebrow at him that said she was getting to it, so just settle the fuck down. He sighed.

"The point? Sometime before Parker hits college?"

"The point is: I answered the phone. I thought it might have something to do with the case since it was after ten, so… I answered it."

She didn't say anything more for a second, then rushed in like she'd just remembered the point of the whole story.

"It was TJ – sorry, did I forget to mention that part?"

The knot he'd had in his gut for days tightened at the news. Cam apparently got the picture, because she kept going without waiting for anymore prompts from him.

"He thought I was Brennan at first, and so he dove right in apologizing for something the other night. And I'm sure you're thinking the worst – "

Booth shook his head. "No. Bones told me he made a pass. She turned him down. She would've told me if it went any further."

There was no doubt in his voice – he knew Bones enough to know she wouldn't lie to him, no matter who bad the truth might be. There weren't a lot of certainties in life these days, but that remained one of them: Bones would always be honest with him.

Cam nodded. "Good – I mean, I knew nothing had happened, but I'm glad you aren't doing the blind jealousy thing. That's so attractive in a man." Another roll of the eyes.

"So – you answered the phone, it was TJ begging for another shot. I know there's gotta be more to this story than that."

She got serious again. Dead serious. "When he still thought I was Brennan, he said he was outside my – her – apartment."

Everything sharpened to a fine, hard clarity. "What time was this?"

"A little after ten."

Booth nodded. "And what did you tell him, once he figured out you weren't Bones?"

Deep breath. "I just wanted to set him straight – I mean, clearly this guy isn't great at taking hints. So, I told him she was with you. Overnight. At a crime scene, then a hotel. With you. Overnight," she repeated, in case he hadn't gotten that part.

Booth couldn't help but smile, despite the gravity of everything he was learning.

"Yeah? He must've loved that."

"He got quiet. I thought that would be the end of things. And while that doesn't prove he was the one who shredded Brennan's apartment, I'm just saying…"

"If he did, that was probably the trigger."

She nodded sheepishly. "Sorry. I honestly had no idea."

"Don't worry about it," Booth brushed off her apology. "I know what you were trying to do – I appreciate the help." He paused for a second, getting his thoughts together.

"Listen, if he stops by here today, I want you to give me a call. He's probably long gone by now, but if for some reason he's dumber than I think he is…"

She nodded. "You're the first person I'll call."

---

Water cooler talk at the Hoover that morning revolved around the case with the cops' kids. Booth went in for coffee and interrupted a couple of stuffed shirts who stopped talking the second he came through the door. Finally, one of the guys – Geoff, with a 'G' and an 'O,' if Booth remembered right – cleared his throat.

"Any word on the cop kid killer?"

Booth winced at the phrase. He'd been a cop long enough to know this wouldn't be the first time he heard it by a long shot – a catchy phrase like that was bound to stick. He shook his head, pouring himself a mug of lukewarm coffee from a stained pot.

"We just got the second body last night – it's at the Jeffersonian now."

"But you're pretty sure it was the Billings kid?" the other guy asked. He had red hair and freckles – Ted or Todd, Booth thought. Maybe Tad. Probably Tad. "I remember when that case first broke. Only child, I think – it's gotta be rough breaking something like that to the family."

An image of the Lincolns flashed through Booth's head, with their mangy collie and all those smiling family photos.

"Yeah," he nodded. "It's not my favorite part of the day."

Geoff looked at him funny. "Well, yeah – but that's not exactly gonna be part of your job description anymore, is it?"

Booth decided to play dumb, see if he could find anything out. "Why do you say that? I hand-delivered the news to the first vic's family – no reason I shouldn't do the same with this one." He gave them an innocent smile. "Is there?"

Tad laughed. "Now you're just playing us. Look, everybody knows you got the call. I mean, hell, look at that tie."

Geoff agreed. "Yep. Definitely got the call."

Booth shrugged. "Sorry, guys. No idea what you're talking about."

He left before the conversation could go any further – he had way too much shit to get done to waste the morning with a lot of useless gossip. And number one on his mile-long To Do list was trying to find any link between the Lincoln family in Kentucky and the Billings in Vermont, who were most likely the parents of this latest victim.

Most of the calls he made were dead ends. Izzie was in 4-H, went to church camp, that kind of thing. Arnold Billings had been a reckless little skate punk who'd pretty much started raising hell in diapers. No link – except that both dads were cops. Booth didn't like that kind of link. Honestly? It made him nervous as hell.

He got online and was doing a little fishing to try and figure out whether the fathers had worked any cases together when Sweets came buzzing into his office. He didn't look happy.

"You were supposed to stay at the hotel last night, after we processed the scene," he said, without so much as a 'How's it going?'

Booth shrugged. "I didn't feel like it – I thought Bones let you know."

"No, you didn't," Sweets said without a second's hesitation. "I'm sure neither of you had any intention of telling me, so I'm there like some idiot trying to track you – " he pulled up short. Seemed to realize he'd completely lost his cool, and straightened.

"Agent Booth, if you want me to do the best job possible to ensure that you and Dr Brennan continue to work together, you need to start cooperating."

The thing that sucked about the whole situation with this lame-ass FBI evaluation was that Booth had genuinely come to like Sweets. Yeah, he'd started out a know-it-all, and there was no way he'd ever forgive the psychologist for letting Bones believe he was dead all that time, but… Well, he knew Sweets was sorry as hell for what he'd done, and he also knew that at this point the kid kind of looked at them as family.

Still, it didn't mean he had to like what the Bureau was pulling with his and Bones's partnership.

Booth grumbled a little, but finally he nodded. "Yeah, all right. Fine. What do you need from me?"

For the next hour, Sweets followed Booth around asking stupid questions about what he liked about his job and whether he'd like it more or less if he didn't get to carry a gun – whatever the hell that meant. For the most part, Booth just ignored him. But when the psychologist started in on what kind of strain the job had been on things between him and Bones, he blew up.

"Y'know what, Sweets? I can't do this right now. I've got a meeting with Werner in fifteen minutes. I've got dead kids, I got two hours of sleep last night after two weeks of sleeping on the cold ground with a bunch of half-assed agents and hyperactive Boy Scouts, I've got some playboy writer bent on stealing my girlfriend, so… Go talk to Bones. Ask her why she wants to carry a gun. Leave me the fuck alone for five minutes."

Sweets's eyes had gotten wider the more Booth ranted. Once he was through, there were a couple of seconds where neither of them said anything, before Sweets suddenly – incredibly – just nodded. He actually looked a little worried.

"You might be right – you should probably have some time to gather your thoughts. Perhaps it would be best if I went to the lab to see how Dr. Brennan is coming along."

Booth sighed in relief. "Thanks, Sweets." He meant it. "I'll catch up with you later."

The psychologist started to go, but stopped at the door and turned to look at Booth again. "You know, there's no shame in asking for help sometimes," he started.

Booth started to interrupt, but Sweets held up his hand.

"I know, I know – you don't need help. But it's difficult to miss the degree of strain you've been under for the past several months." He stopped. Turned to go once more when Booth didn't encourage him, but at the last minute turned one more time.

"One of the primary reason humans seek companionship – a partnership, whether romantic or professional or both – is to share the considerable burden that invariably comes with living full, complicated existences in a multi-textured world. You have an opportunity to share that burden with Dr. Brennan – in fact, I believe she would welcome it."

Booth nodded. "I know, Sweets. All right? I just… I'm fine. I've just got a lot on my mind right now." He looked at the clock, and Sweets gave him a knowing smile.

"Right – I know. Hour's up," the kid joked. "I'll see you later, Agent Booth. But if you'd ever like to talk…"

"I know where to find you, Sweets," Booth assured him. It came out honest, no gruffness to his tone, which is the way he meant it. Sweets was a friend – he knew that. He just wasn't ready to talk. Honest to God, Booth didn't even know where he'd start.

---

At ten fifty-two, Booth took the stairs up to Werner's office on the top floor. He waited at the end of the hall until ten fifty-seven, then wiped his palms on his pants and straightened his boring tie before he walked through the door.

Alyce, Werner's secretary, gave him a sweet smile and nodded toward a thick cushioned chair. "Have a seat, Seeley. I'll let the Deputy Director know you're here."

Alyce was probably well into her sixties, but Booth doubted anyone would ever dare whisper the word 'retirement' around her. She'd been Cullen's assistant before he stepped down; before that, she'd assisted every Director or Deputy Director Booth could remember. She had soft white hair cut short and left undyed, and an attitude that put Booth in mind of Sister Mary Theresa back in parochial school – fair but tough, a little trace of misplaced devil in the spark of her eyes.

The spark came out when she took in his outfit.

"Nice tie."

Booth rolled his eyes, smoothing the tie down and straightening his jacket. "Thanks."

Werner got up when Booth came in. Booth didn't know why that struck him as a bad sign, exactly, but it did. He nodded to a seat.

The Deputy Director was old-school military-turned-FBI: square jaw, close-cut hair that had grayed at the edges, sharp blue eyes that missed nothing. He wasn't tall, but he was solid – lean and fit, Booth admired him as a man who'd taken on a position of power but hadn't gone soft with the job.

"You look tired," the man noted, pretty much first thing.

"I'm fine, sir. We were at the police station until late."

"Understandable. Any leads on the break-in?"

Booth shook his head, but stayed quiet. Werner's office was all leather and cherry wood – way nicer than what Cullen used to have. There were plaques and commendations on the walls, and Booth realized looking at the pictures staring back at him that he knew next to nothing about the Deputy Director.

"I'm sure you know at this point that there's the potential for this case to become a big deal here in DC," Werner finally opened.

Booth was grateful. Finally, after worrying about this question pretty much since he first found out about the second victim, it was out there. He nodded.

"Yes, sir. Anytime law enforcement is involved in a case – "

"Law enforcement and children," Werner corrected. "Cops' kids. You think there'll be more vics?"

Booth nodded without a seconds' hesitation. "If I were a gambling man anymore, I'd bet money on it."

Werner made a sour face. Stood and paced. Looked out his window. Came back, and sat down on the edge of his desk.

"You've been with the Bureau for a long time, Seeley."

Booth nodded, bracing himself. "I have."

"You like your job?"

"I love my job," he said honestly. "I wouldn't trade it for the world."

Werner didn't say anything to that, just studied him for a while. Booth stayed still; didn't so much as blink under the weight of the older man's gaze.

"You're what, pushing forty?"

"Getting there." He didn't elaborate; Werner knew how old he was. How tall he was, how much he weighed – hell, he probably knew what Booth had had for breakfast that morning. This was going somewhere, and Booth wasn't sure he wanted to know where.

"A man like you – a record like yours, good looking, good character… You could go far in this business."

Here it comes, Booth thought. He sat up straighter, looking Werner in the eye.

"No disrespect, sir, but I don't really think of serving my country as a business."

Silence fell. Werner gave him a look like he was trying to figure out whether Booth was pulling his leg.

He nodded to a picture of a woman Booth assumed was his wife, kitty-cornered on the desk. The woman had dark hair – obviously dyed, her skin stretched tight from one too many collagen shots. If she was smiling in the picture, it would've been impossible to tell.

"That's my wife – Nancy. Been married thirty years."

"Congratulations, sir."

Werner gave him a look – apparently, Booth hadn't sounded quite as sincere as he'd meant to.

"I was like you once, you know. Loved being in the field. Loved the rush, the adventure, the mystery. But along about your age, I started thinking about other things."

Booth wished to hell he'd get to the point, but he just made a polite listening sound and waited. Werner seemed to sense he wasn't making an impression, because he switched tacks before he'd even gotten the horse out of the gate.

"This thing with you and Dr. Brennan – it's serious?"

For the first time, Booth was caught off guard. He saw a flicker of satisfaction in Werner's smile before he recovered.

"Uh – I think so. I mean… Yeah. I hope so."

Werner nodded. "And how do you suppose she feels, being a world-class writer, a formidable scientist, renowned for her intellect… I mean, no offense, Seeley, but you're a field agent. I know the salary. I lived on it for a very long time. It's not exactly what she's used to."

Booth started to argue, but Werner stopped him with his palm raised.

"Really, Seeley – I mean no offense here. Honestly. But what I'm saying is, it would be one thing if this was all you were capable of. You know? If you were like some of these other drones who're never gonna get beyond a government pension and two weeks' paid vacation, I'd never have called you in here."

It was warm in the office. A little too stuffy, and the sun was shining directly in Booth's eyes. He shifted to get out of the glare.

"But I'm not like those guys," Booth finished for him.

"You could have a career here – not just a job. Christ, Seeley, you could have this office one day. You just need to learn to play the game."

"And let me guess – you're gonna give me a lesson on the rules."

Werner's eyes got hard. Too late, Booth realized how disrespectful he sounded.

"Or I can hand it to someone else," Werner said, a little stiff now. "I'm not gonna sit here and bullshit you, pretend you're some naïve punk who doesn't know how the world works. This is a big case, and I need someone who can handle it to take the lead. I think you're the man for the job. Am I wrong?"

Booth hesitated, but only for a second. Tried to imagine himself in Werner's place twenty years from now, a picture of Bones smiling back at him. Deputy Director was never something he'd wanted. He loved puzzles, interrogations, that moment when the pieces came together and he knew he'd played a part in getting some monster off the streets before anybody else got hurt. He'd never been good at politics – all that game playing bullshit only seemed to get in the way of doing any real good, as far as he could see.

But Werner was right: he could barely pay the way for him and Parker, forget trying to play in the same field with Bones and guys like TJ Wright or David Lethem, the bestselling novelist who'd taken a shine to Bones over the summer. He sighed. It was a stretch, but he was willing to give it a shot.

"No, sir. You're not wrong."

Werner smiled. Got up and clapped him on the back. "Good man. All right – get your files and meet me in the briefing room in ten. We've got some serious work to do."

---

The rest of the day was a blur. Bones confirmed that the boy they'd found was definitely Arnold Billings, and then Booth had no more than arranged to have a cop in Montpelier notify the parents than he got the call about two more bodies. Bones was having pie with Parker; Angela was losing her shit; TJ was missing in action. And, of course, Booth had a fucking press conference to worry about through all of that.

The two new bodies were found at Mason Neck, a park less than an hour outside DC. If the Missing Persons posters were right – and Booth had an ugly feeling they were – then the skeletons belonged to two little girls. One five years old, one six. Unlike the bones that had been found earlier in the week, these weren't put together like a full skeleton. Instead, a hiker had literally found two bags of bones just inside park limits, laminated Missing Persons posters with them.

The case definitely wasn't getting any easier.

From Mason Neck, he rushed back to the Hoover to get ready for the press conference. While people he didn't know fucked around with his hair and make-up – make-up, for Christ's sake – a crowd of PR cronies and media morons lectured him on how he stood, where he stood, when he smiled, what he wore. All the shit he'd pretty much figured out the first time he took the witness stand, but the difference was that it wouldn't be a dozen housewives and frustrated businessmen watching him in a closed courtroom. This was reporters and cameras, and behind those reporters and cameras would be a million-plus people just dying to see the Feds screw up.

The thing was, though, every time he started to get nervous about the whole thing – the conference and the case and the direction his career might be headed – all he had to do was think of his morning with Bones. Bones, who believed in him; who thought – God knew why – that he could do anything. Bones, whose blue eyes never seemed to doubt who he was or the stuff he was made of. He wanted to prove her right, wanted to be the kind of man who was worth that kind of faith.

And at the end of the day, the conference went all right. He thought he'd completely screwed the pooch when he made it sound like they were just sitting around waiting for more bodies, but Werner and the PR guy seemed to think he'd handled it okay. It didn't really matter, though, because the bottom line was, his first press conference was behind him. After that, there were debriefs and meetings with the higher-ups and the lower-downs, and then a section meeting to get his team together and a meeting with that team to make sure everybody was on the same page…

He'd never been to so many goddamn meetings in his life.

By the time Cam called him at eleven that night to tell him to get his ass over to the Jeffersonian because TJ had just shown up, he was almost grateful for the call, just so he could get the hell out of the Hoover and have a couple of minutes to himself.

Almost grateful. But not quite.

It wasn't until he'd gotten to the Jeffersonian and hauled TJ and Bones into Bones's office that the reality of what was going on sunk in. It happened while she was saying goodbye to the writer – not the best situation anyway, but Booth stood to the side and watched Bones's eyes fill with tears. And maybe it was just because she was tired, or the case had her more emotional than she would be otherwise. Maybe it was because they were having a hard time, and Booth hadn't been there for her the way he used to be.

Whatever it was, he couldn't just ignore the fact anymore: there was a connection between her and TJ.

"Are you sure?" he asked, once TJ was gone and he was able to find his voice again.

"Sure?" she asked, completely clueless. "Sure about what?"

"About us, Bones," he said. He sounded bitter. Which made sense, because he felt bitter as hell. "You and me. Because the way you were looking at him? Whatever was going on between you two? You didn't look all that sure when he was saying goodbye."

She didn't just dismiss it. Didn't rush to reassure him, and for the tiniest of seconds, he kind of hated her for that. Hated that she didn't have that gene or whatever the hell it was, that other women would have in this same situation. Somebody who wasn't Bones would rush to his side, kiss him senseless. Tell him it was all in his head; that she would never love anyone but him.

But Bones had to think about it, and she never really got around to telling him it was all in his head. Instead, she put her arms around him and lay her head on his chest. Everything went silent, 'til the sound of their breathing was the only thing left on the planet. He felt the way her hair brushed against his jaw, the way her breasts pressed against his chest. Instead of pushing the issue, he wrapped his arms around her. Kissed her hair. Willed the problem to just go away, if TJ would just get on that fucking plane and leave town.

"Parker asked me today what he should say to a girl who likes him," was what she finally said when the silence was broken.

Booth was so relieved he couldn't hold back the laughter.

"That's why he wanted to meet with you?" he asked. "For advice about love?"

And then they did kiss, and it was hot enough to get his blood moving again. Restore his faith in the two of them. Convince him that, maybe, the problems really were behind them now. He'd had his first real press conference that day, after all. Right? TJ was leaving town. They were going in the right direction.

Until the fight.

"Bones, do me a favor, huh? Just stick with dead people for a while – you're better at it. Leave the live ones to the rest of us. Don't try to do psychology; it's not your game."

It was the cruelest thing he could ever remember saying, to anyone – mostly because he knew Bones well enough to know exactly how much it would hurt her. She actually took a step back after he'd said it; actually winced, like he'd physically hit her. Every doubt he'd ever had about the man he was, how much like his father he might be, came rushing back at him.

And suddenly, standing in the doorway of her trashed apartment with the love of his life crying a foot away, a single, vicious thought blindsided him:

She'd be better off with a man like TJ.

"Jesus, Bones – I'm sorry. That was a shitty thing to say."

He apologized, called her baby. Gave her excuses for why he wasn't the man she needed him to be. All the while, thinking how much it sounded like the conversations between his folks after a fight. There were always sweet words and empty promises after his old man got juiced up and took a swing at his mom, or broke a lamp, or kicked the shit out of dear old Seeley, the punching bag of the family.

When she told him to go, he didn't fight her on it. Every other fight they'd had, he'd been convinced that he knew best. She was just pushing him away, but he'd stay and they'd work it out – because he knew that he was what she needed. Who she loved.

All of a sudden, that didn't seem so clear anymore.

"Go, Booth. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

He watched the tears trail down her cheeks, and then she turned around and left the room. Booth waited maybe ten seconds, trying to get up the courage to man up, go through the bedroom door and tell her what an idiot he'd been.

But the courage never came.

He left.

---

Logically, he knew the best move from Bones's place was to just go the hell home. Try to forget how hurt she'd looked, get some sleep while she cooled down, and then beg like hell come morning. He stopped at the front desk on his way out, threatened the night security guy within an inch of his life to keep an eye on her apartment, and then spun out of the parking lot like some punk teenager who'd just gotten his heart stomped or his ass kicked.

Heading home, he was passing Founding Fathers when he saw Jared's bike parked out in front of the bar. He knew it was Jared's, of course, because nobody else in DC was stupid enough to ride a motorcycle in December. Booth pulled into a spot across the street, noting that the bar had almost gone dark – apparently, his little brother had given up his sobriety kick and was closing the place down tonight.

Well, maybe Booth could give him a hand.

When he got inside, Jared was sitting at the bar alone. Head down, scribbling something in a notebook. Booth came up behind him and he just about jumped out of his skin, shoving the notebook in his bag before Booth could get a good look. It looked like a long string of numbers – not a great sign, given Booth's own history with the numbers game.

"Jesus, Seel – I'm gonna put a fuckin' bell around your neck."

"Sniper training," Booth said, just because it was something to say. The bartender was a woman he hadn't seen before – tall, lean, thick dark hair and big brown eyes. She smiled at him with even white teeth.

"What can I get you, sailor?" She had a good voice – a whiskey voice, kind of like Bones got in the morning. Jared shot her a look Booth couldn't read.

"I was just gonna head out," his little brother said. Talking more to the girl behind the bar than to Booth.

"Sure you were," Booth said. He thought again about how much he should go home. Damn, but he should go home. The bartender gave him a knowing little smile; tipped an eyebrow his way.

He sat down.

"Whiskey. Straight up. And two of whatever's on tap."

Jared shook his head. "I'm all right," he nodded toward his drink.

"Who said it was for you?" Booth asked.

The bartender poured a shot and slid a pint his way – only one, he noticed – then stood there waiting. Jared looked on as Booth downed the shot in one beautiful, burning gulp, set down the glass, and nodded toward the bottle.

"You can leave it."

His voice was colder than he'd meant it to be, but the last thing he needed right now was to send the wrong signals. She waited another second for him to change his mind and ask her to hang around; when he didn't, she shrugged.

"I'll be out back closing down the kitchen. You got it out here, Jar?"

To Booth's surprise, his brother nodded.

"I come here a lot," he said with a shrug.

"Guess you must," Booth said. And poured himself another shot.

It took four shots to take the edge off. There was a couple in the corner kind of flirting in the dark – second date, Booth guessed. First and they wouldn't be so comfortable; third and they'd be home naked by now. The second date was all about the foreplay – building up the suspense, talking 'til dawn.

Booth liked second dates. Which was a good thing, because it occurred to him all of a sudden that the first four years of his relationship with Bones had been an awful lot like one.

"So, you gonna tell me why the hell you're here instead of shacked up with Tempe?" Jared asked, when Booth didn't say anything for a while.

Booth kind of grumbled. His head was getting that easy, slow feeling that came with half a bottle of whiskey. The bartender came back and eyed Jared, some silent exchange passing between them. Jared shook his head in answer to a question she hadn't asked – at least, not out loud – and she went away.

"We had a fight," Booth finally said.

"I figured." Jared kind of smiled. He was drinking Coke – nothing in it that Booth could smell, which he added to the growing list of weird things about his little brother tonight.

They were quiet again, sitting there shoulder to shoulder. He didn't know when Jared got so big. The kid used to be tiny – the smallest one on the playground, always the smartass. Just begging to get the snot kicked out of him.

Booth hardly recognized him anymore.

"You remember Cheers?" Booth asked suddenly.

Jared looked surprised. "The show?"

"Yeah," Booth said impatiently. "The show. Sam and Diane, Norm, Woody, Coach…"

"Sure, Seel – yeah, I remember." They were quiet for another few seconds. Jared waiting him out.

"You remember Woody's girlfriend?"

To his surprise, Jared nodded immediately. "Kelly. Definitely woulda tapped that."

Booth rolled his eyes, but he let it slide. He was warming to the analogy, thinking the whole thing over in his head.

"Remember that smarmy French guy who was always trying to steal her away from Woody?"

Jared sniggered. " 'I'm going to steal your girlfriend,'" he said, with a dead-on French accent.

Booth didn't laugh. Just poured himself another drink, though the warm buzz was gone now. His head felt heavy, the beginning of a headache pounding behind his temple. A second of silence passed, his glass still up to his lips.

"I hated that fuckin' guy," he finally said.

Jared looked at him again – closer this time, a little worried. "You okay, Seel?"

Booth didn't answer for a few seconds. He drained another shot, set the glass down. Pushed it and the near-empty bottle away carefully.

"I should go home."

"I'll second that," Jared said.

He dropped a wad of bills on the bar before Booth could even get his wallet out.

"C'mon – I'll give you a ride."

Booth shook his head. "I'm not riding on the back of your fuckin' bike. It's freezing out."

"Will!" Jared called. The girl with the hair and the teeth reappeared. Jared tossed her his keys. "Can you get the bike home okay? I'm gonna give my brother a lift. You got a handle on everything here?"

More looks Booth couldn't read. He started to say something, then shut the hell up. If Jared wanted to talk, they could do it on the way home. Instead, he fished his keys out of his pocket and handed them to Jared without a fight. As career moves went, him getting picked up on a DUI the night after his first press conference wouldn't be one of the best.

They were halfway home when Booth spotted a couple walking down the street: a tall blonde woman and a guy about the same height, skinny, dark blonde hair and a goatee. It took him a second before he placed the man, his head still fuzzy from the whiskey. Once he had, he grabbed Jared's arm.

"Pull over."

Jared just looked at him. "Why? Are you gonna puke?"

"No, I'm not gonna puke. Just pull over, damn it."

He started to reach for the wheel, but Jared shook him off and obliged by pulling into a bus space across the street from a block of bars. Booth hopped out without bothering to explain himself, his blood already running hot enough to ward off the cold air.

"Hey!" he yelled, halfway across the street and gaining ground fast on the hipsters up ahead. "Wright!"

The man turned. Somewhere in the back of his head, Booth heard Jared yelling behind him. He didn't slow down.

Once Booth reached him, there was maybe a milli-second where TJ just looked confused, like he didn't know what the hell was going on or who was coming at him. Once he realized, though, his face changed. Before Booth had time to do anything – say a word, throw a punch, shoot the bastard where he stood – TJ was on him.

It happened so fast, and came so totally out of the blue, that Booth didn't even respond at first. TJ's first punch was wild, his knuckles connecting with his temple. The impact wasn't enough to knock Booth down, but it was definitely enough to turn him sideways. TJ was about his height, but skinnier – didn't have Booth's mass and didn't have his muscle, but the kid did have some moves. A body blow followed, more precise this time - a jab to the kidneys that made it clear old TJ'd taken a turn or two in the ring.

It was the rabbit punch that woke Booth out of his stupor. Something went deadly still inside him. Far off in the night, sirens sounded. The air was cold enough to bite, a thin shine of ice on the sidewalk at his feet. There wasn't another soul on the street except the woman TJ'd been walking with – a quick glance and Booth recognized her from Portland. Then, it all vanished. In the next instant, the only things on the planet were Booth and TJ.

All the frustration about Bones, about his old house and his old man and his job and the future, all came together to a fine, deadly, pointed fury. He started with a right hook that sent the writer reeling, following up with a left that knocked TJ to the ground, and he couldn't remember ever wanting to do damage the way he wanted to right then. TJ was sitting on the pavement, bloodied and breathing hard, and all Booth wanted to do was follow him to the ground and beat the ever-loving shit out of him.

Jared caught up to him and grabbed him by the arm, but it didn't matter; Booth shrugged his brother off. Took a breath, and another one. Turned around and walked away, still breathing hard.

"You're stopping now?" he heard TJ yell after him. "Two pussy-ass punches – that's all I'm worth?"

"What do you, have a fuckin' death wish?" Jared yelled at the guy.

Booth turned back around, feeling himself start to settle down a little bit. The woman he'd recognized was kneeling beside TJ – Jamie Crankshaw, the writer Bones had made friends with back in Oregon. She handed TJ a tissue that was soaked in blood within about thirty seconds.

"Hey, Seeley. Long time no see," she said, still kneeling next to TJ. "Thanks for not killing our friend here." She smiled.

Booth remembered her as a good looking woman, and six months hadn't changed that. Honey blonde hair and fine bones, and a way about her that made him think she'd probably been through enough shit to be a good person to have around when you were going through something yourself.

"I thought you were going back to Oregon," Booth said, not bothering to answer Jamie just yet.

TJ actually laughed. Not a hard laugh, not a mocking one – kind of like he couldn't quite believe his luck.

"What, are you everywhere in this goddamn town? Do you have some kind of supersonic radar? I mean – "

"Hey," Booth cut him off. "Answer the question."

"You didn't ask one," TJ spit back, sounding for all the word like some spoiled kid.

Jamie rolled her eyes, cuffing TJ in the head. "Will you knock it off?" She turned her attention back to Booth. "He's leaving on Friday. Addie called me last night, told me she was worried about him – I flew out. We negotiated… First thing on Friday, he's on a plane out of here."

"I've got something I need to do first," TJ added.

The easiness Booth had just started to recover faded fast. Jared caught him by the arm like he could sense the change, and TJ held up his hand.

"Relax – it doesn't have anything to do with T – Dr. Brennan," he corrected himself at the look in Booth's eye.

"So, what does it have to do with?" Booth pressed.

The bleeding wasn't stopping, and Booth was getting queasy watching it mix with the ice and snow on the pavement. He went over and crouched beside TJ, who flinched. Jamie stayed where she was, kneeling beside him. For the first time, she looked a little scared. Booth held up his hands to show he meant no harm.

"Here – Jesus, haven't you ever had a nose bleed before?"

He took the scarf from around his neck, wadded it up, and put it in TJ's hand, then showed him where to put pressure to stop the bleeding.

"Now, you mind telling me what the hell's so important you've gotta risk me grinding you into last week's lunch just to stick around?"

His head ached. When he put his hand up to his temple, he felt a bruise the size of a boiled egg forming there. Which was bound to inspire confidence if he had another fucking press conference in the next few days.

"It's none of your business."

Booth sighed. The anger was gone now – all that fists of fury crap had wrung it out of him. Now, all he wanted was to stop the bullshit and go the hell home. His knee popped and his head swam when he stood again, but he managed to keep himself upright. With no better option in sight, he took a stab at seeming sober.

"Look, you took the first swing – which means I could haul you in for assaulting a federal officer. So, just can the bullshit and tell me what the fuck's going on so I can go home."

TJ didn't look like he'd be giving in anytime soon, but Jamie spoke up instead.

"Rebecca Woolrich."

Booth looked at TJ blankly. The man looked away, scarf still at his nose, eyes hard. And didn't say a goddamn word.

Jamie sighed. "I love you, Teej, but sometimes you just don't know when to quit." She turned her back on him and focused on Booth. "The senator – Phillip Taylor's ex-wife? TJ wants to see her when her kids aren't around, away from her stomping grounds."

"And she's here?" Booth asked. He wasn't crazy about the fact that all the key players in one of the worst chapters of his life were suddenly migrating to his city.

"She will be," Jamie continued. TJ wasn't looking at either of them anymore, his eyes on the ground but his back still clearly up.

"She's coming in Thursday night, and staying the weekend. TJ's gonna stay so he can ambush her on Friday."

Booth raised an eyebrow. Finally, TJ broke his silence. He tried to stand, stumbled a little, but didn't take Booth's hand when he offered to help.

"I wasn't gonna ambush her, for Christ's sake," he muttered. "Jesus, Jamie, you're always so fucking dramatic. I just need to talk to her."

"Because you think she can tell you something about your father?" Booth asked.

"Or something about Phillip, at least. I think she knows something, but she's not talking."

"So, you've talked to her about this before then?" Jared asked. Booth always forgot his brother wasn't actually a kid anymore. And these days, he did seem to know his way around a case.

"Yeah," TJ confirmed. "But Doug or Caleb are always hanging around, so I don't think she's telling me everything."

Doug and Caleb were the senator's grown sons –Booth had gotten more than his fill of both of them back in Oregon last summer.

"But in DC, she's suddenly gonna spill her guts?" Booth asked doubtfully.

TJ shot him a look. His nose had stopped bleeding finally, but it was already swollen, his left eye half shut and his top lip about twice the normal size.

"She might say something she didn't before, if I ask right."

Booth didn't care much for the sound of that. "Or else she'll throw your ass in jail, and get a restraining order so you can't get within fifty feet to ask her the next time out."

"If you've got a better idea, we're all ears," Jamie said.

Booth gave it some thought. "Let me go." It was the best he could come up with. "I'll tell her I'm asking a few questions to get you out of my hair, get on her good side. See what I can find out."

"And you really think she'll tell you something she wouldn't tell me?" TJ asked.

Booth rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Mary Fuckin' Sunshine, I do. But here's the deal: I talk to the senator, and you go the hell back to Oregon. I'll call you on Friday and let you know what I find out."

TJ hesitated. For the first time, Booth actually felt a little sorry for the guy. He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes bloodshot and his trendy goatee spotted with blood.

"I can't leave like this," the writer said. Quiet. He wasn't being an asshole, Booth realized; he was just trying to hang on.

Jamie looked at TJ, then at Booth. "What if he just stays 'til Friday? I'll stay with him – make sure he doesn't get in any trouble. He won't go near the senator, and he sure as hell won't go anywhere near Temperance." She looked to TJ for confirmation. A second or two passed before he nodded.

"Okay – yeah, that's fine." He took a breath. "I just need something to take back with me – I can't show up in Portland with less than I came out here with."

Booth considered it for a while, then finally nodded. He thought for a second about the bad judgment calls he'd made before: guys he'd trusted who'd nearly done Bones in because he'd let them get too close. Because he'd invited them into her life. He didn't trust TJ, but there was something in his gut telling him the writer wasn't a man who'd hurt Bones. He might do a number on himself, but Booth doubted TJ would ever really hurt anyone else.

But then, his gut had been wrong before.

He swallowed past the doubt, and focused on Jamie for a second.

"Take him back to the hotel or wherever you guys are staying, and get him cleaned up. And I swear to Christ, if I'm wrong about this and he does anything to the senator or so much as breathes the same air as Bones, this isn't gonna end well."

Jamie nodded. "I won't let him out of my sight."

From there, Jared took Booth home and put him to bed. Before dawn the next morning, Booth woke with his gut churning and his head pounding, shoes by the bed and a glass of water and some aspirin on the nightstand. Apparently, their old man had done a good job teaching both Booth boys how to take care of a drunk. His keys were on the table, which begged the question, How the hell did Jared get home last night? Booth had passed out as soon as they got back to his place; he didn't remember a damned thing after that.

A shower and shave followed by about three cups of coffee didn't do much to restore Booth's mood. Though it was pretty clear who'd won the fight the night before, the goose egg on his temple made it a lot harder for him to just pretend the whole thing hadn't happened. Trying to explain it to Bones – especially after all the other shit they were trying to get through – wasn't something he was looking forward to.

He was on the road by six o'clock, his head slowly starting to clear. The revelation about Black Ridge and the likely connection that TJ had come up with back at the lab seemed like it had come about a thousand years ago, but in reality it had been so recent that Booth hadn't even started following up on it yet. Some lead investigator he was: a detail that could bust the case wide open, and he was too distracted fighting with Bones to even call it in.

Instead of going straight to the Hoover the way he knew he should, Booth found himself driving to the Jeffersonian instead. It crossed his mind that maybe he should stop at Bones's apartment first, but he knew her too well – she wouldn't be there. Chances were, she'd headed back to the lab the second Booth was gone last night.

Seeing her car in its usual parking space in the Jeffersonian garage made him feel strangely better. Whatever else was going on between them, whatever damage he'd done, he still knew her. He stopped at the Jeffersonian's botanical gardens' greenhouse on the way to her office and picked half a dozen roses that were probably rare or endangered or something, pricking his finger on a thorn and mucking up his shoes in an arboretum display on the way out. Checked his reflection in the window and winced at sight of the bruise on his temple and the circles under his eyes, but pushed past all that.

He kept going.

Bones was in her office. Just like he'd guessed, she had slept there – her hair was still wet from the decontamination shower, a blanket folded on her couch and her clothes a little rumpled. She was at her desk when he came in, working on something on the computer. Booth knocked on the door and she turned, just a shadow of the welcome he used to see in her eyes when he'd come in.

As soon as she saw the bruise, even that tiny trace of welcome disappeared. She stood and came to him, a wrinkle in her forehead.

"What happened?"

He smiled – or tried, anyway. "Ran into a door," he tried joking. The wrinkle didn't disappear.

"It's highly improbable that a door would leave that type of abrasion." She studied him for a second. Though she was closer now, she still hadn't touched him; she stood maybe a foot away, her arms folded over her chest.

"Did you get in a fight?"

There was a second where he thought about denying it, but one look at her told him that would be a bad move.

"It was stupid."

"Did you go to the hospital? You could have a concussion."

"I'm okay, Bones."

She didn't say anything to that, but he had a feeling she didn't believe him. He wasn't sure he believed himself.

"These are for you."

He handed her the roses, but he felt stupid as soon as he did – it was such a cliché. Not the kind of thing you did when you'd fucked up with a woman like Temperance Brennan.

She looked at them in surprise. "Thank you." Her smile was polite – not a real one, more the kind he'd seen her give strangers or the bigwigs at those Jeffersonian fundraisers she hated so much. Not a Bones smile.

"What was your fight about?" she wanted to know, once she'd put the flowers on her desk.

He looked away, more nervous by the second. This wasn't the way it was supposed to go – it wasn't supposed to be this early in the morning, the sun just rising outside her window. She wasn't supposed to be this cool. He wasn't supposed to be this hung over.

"It's not important, Bones. I met up with TJ last night – "

Her eyes widened, eyebrows climbing her forehead. "And you fought with him?"

"I told you, Bones – it was stupid. If it makes a difference, he threw the first punch."

From the look on her face, it was pretty clear it didn't.

"Is he all right? If you look like this, then I expect – "

"He's tougher than he looks," Booth cut her off. There was more bitterness than he'd meant in the words, and she stopped short. Took a step away from him.

"We should talk," she said quietly.

Booth nodded. "Yeah, I know. Can you get away? Maybe we could grab some breakfast at the Diner?"

She shook her head. He felt that little knot of dread tighten in his chest.

"We can talk here. It won't take long."

Shit.

He sat down on the arm of the couch; she stayed standing. Through the glass walls, he could see the lab coming to life – a few squints running around doing squinty things, even this early. Pretending they weren't all watching everything going on in Bones's damned fishbowl of an office.

"I know things have been kind of tense since I got back – " he started.

She shook her head again. For the first time, he saw her start to lose that cool façade she'd worked up to. She wiped her palms on her lab coat, her eyes drifting. How many times had she practiced what she was about to say, he wondered?

"I'm going to stay with Angela for a few days," she told him.

His heart fell. "I thought we could get some time together this weekend."

"We have the case – you shouldn't be distracted from that. And neither should I."

"Bones, I'm gonna be a hell of a lot more distracted if I don't know what's going on with us – "

She looked at him then, her eyes so damned sad that he just wanted to take her out of there. Promise her anything, give her the world, just to see her smile again.

"I'd just like time to think. Time to concentrate. We have a very complicated case right now – you said yourself that you would be consumed with it for a while. And I find myself spending more time dissecting your words and interpreting your silences than actually focusing on the victims on my table."

He had no clue what to say to that. She was being honest – a hell of a lot more honest than he'd had the balls to be so far, and he knew that. Her pretty eyes filled.

"We aren't us anymore," she finally said. He waited for her to explain, but the words just hung there for a long, long time.

"What does that even mean, Bones?" He kept his voice soft, trying to get her back. "Who else are we? C'mon – of course we're us."

"No, we're not. I mean, literally we're of course the same people. But our friendship…" She paused, working up to something. Her eyes skated from his again; she bit her lip, so hard Booth thought it must have to hurt.

"I don't know what I did – Cam says it isn't anything, that this is merely the way you function in an intimate relationship. But – "

"Cam said what?" he asked, louder than he'd meant to. She shot him a look that stopped him dead, and he clamped his mouth shut.

"You don't talk to me anymore. You pretend everything is fine, when it's clear that something's bothering you. Before we began a sexual relationship, you trusted me – I felt as though you'd tell me anything. As though I could believe everything you said."

Her voice broke, and the words cut straight through him. "And now, Bones?"

"Now…" She had to fight to get her cool back, and it took every ounce of willpower Booth had not to go to her and beg then and there. She cleared her throat. Steadied herself.

"Now, I feel as though I've done something to violate your trust, but I don't know what. And I can't ask you about it, because you're simply dismissive. Everything about us is good – the sex is very satisfying, I have a good time with you and with Parker…" Her voice broke again on Parker's name, a couple of tears spilling down her cheeks. She brushed them away impatiently.

"I just need time to think this weekend. And I'd like you to think about it, as well – because…" She stopped. Brushed away more tears, and took a big breath before she looked him in the eye. "Perhaps if you can't trust me, it would be better for you to be with someone else. Someone like Rebecca, or Cam – someone easier to talk to. Someone who's better at all of this than I am."

He went to her then – bridged the gap and pulled her to him. She resisted for a second, but then curled her arms around him and lay her head in the crook of his neck. He could feel tears falling there, warm and wet on his skin.

"Bones, I don't want to be with anybody else. There's nobody on the planet I want like I want you."

She didn't say anything. He stroked her hair, kissed the top of her head. Against everything screaming for him to shut the fuck up, he kept going.

"Is this about TJ?"

And just like that, the bond between them was broken. She pushed away from him, her eyes shining and tears wet on her cheeks.

"Are you being serious? This has nothing to do with TJ – I keep telling you that. I've never lied to you, so when I say I have no romantic interest in anyone else, why can't you believe me?"

She took another long, deep breath. A second or two passed in silence, Booth standing there with her tears still wet on his neck.

"I know we're in the middle of a case, so if there's anything you need to discuss, you can of course contact me." Her voice had gone cold. All business. "I'll be in the lab for a good portion of the weekend, in all likelihood. I just ask that you please respect what I've asked. Unless it's about the case, I would prefer that we don't speak for a few days."

He shifted. Started toward her, but she backed off. After a second or two, he nodded. Tried to keep his voice level, but it sounded raw. Naked.

"All right, Bones. Whatever you want. We can talk Monday?"

She nodded. "Yes. I should be ready by Monday."

He didn't ask what, exactly, she'd be ready for. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

---

Booth sat in the truck for a good twenty minutes after his talk with Bones, trying to figure out what his next move was supposed to be. Should he go back in? Tell her he was sorry, he was a miserable bastard, he didn't deserve her but he'd do anything to keep her, all the same?

The look in her eye when he'd said the thing about TJ made him think none of those things would impress Bones much. No – it wouldn't make a difference how sorry he was; she needed time to cool down and get some distance. It was the idea that she'd have that time while TJ was still in DC that Booth was having a hard time swallowing.

Once he was back at the Hoover, it didn't take long for Sweets to track him down. As soon as the kid saw him, he got that serious shrink look on his face. Closed the door carefully behind him, and just stood there until Booth finally looked up from his paperwork.

"Don't even start," he said, before Sweets could say a thing.

"Dr. Saroyan just told me – "

Booth took a deep breath and let it out, nice and slow. Not even eight a.m., and the Jeffersonian gossip mill was already at it. He looked up and met Sweets's eye.

"I'm serious, Sweets. I don't wanna talk about it. I can't make it much clearer than that. I. Don't. Want. To. Talk. About. It."

Sweets didn't make a move to leave. All of a sudden, Booth felt the weight of the past week like a hundred pound hammer to the back of the head. He kind of sagged in his chair.

"Please," he finally managed. It sounded raw, too much like begging, but it did the trick. Sweets nodded.

"All right. But I just – I mean, I'm here for you, you know. If you want to talk, or go bowling or something… Anything."

Booth managed a smile. "Thanks, Sweets – I know. I'm just gonna keep working. Bones and me… We'll figure things out."

The psychologist nodded, and something about how confident he seemed gave Booth more hope than he'd felt in days.

"I know you will. You'll find your way back to each other."

Booth's eyes actually got misty at that, which either meant he was so tired he was about to drop or he was more lovesick than he'd thought. He looked down and cleared his throat, waving toward the door.

"Get out – go. I'll talk to you later."

---

After spending the morning learning everything he could about Black Ridge, Booth got a call just after noon from the Montpelier cop who'd notified the Billings family about their son. Trying to conduct an interview secondhand twice removed with parents who'd just lost their only child proved a little beyond him, though. The cop – Jason Avery, someone Booth didn't know all that well but had heard good things about – could only give him a vague description of what had happened when he'd talked to the parents, and none of it was all that helpful.

"What about the Black Ridge connection?" Booth pressed for at least the fourth time.

There was maybe a five second silence on the phone – long enough for Booth to think they'd either been disconnected or Avery didn't really know what the hell he was doing, and now he was just making shit up to get the FBI off his back.

"They'd never heard of it – I told you," he said.

"Neither of them? This Billings guy is from Tennessee, right? And he's a cop – he never heard of Black Ridge?"

Another pause. Finally, Avery broke. "Look, I didn't ask them, okay? I don't do this kind of thing all that often – and I've never had to tell a friend of mine that his kid's never coming home. Hell, my kid used to play baseball with Arnie – I'm sorry, sir, but I can't do an interrogation like that."

They spent another few minutes going around in circles before Booth finally gave up.

"You guys have an airport somewhere up there?" he asked, just before they hung up.

"Yeah," Avery said immediately. "In Burlington – it's about an hour from here. Listen, I'm sorry I dropped the ball on this. I just – "

Booth sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Nah, forget it – this wasn't your job. I should've been there. Just do me a favor and don't let them know I'm coming, okay?"

The cop got defensive at this, something Booth had been sensing pretty much since the conversation started.

"Look, you're nuts if you think Billings had anything to do with this. He adored that kid."

"I know, I know," Booth tried reassuring him, even though he didn't know at all. One of the hardest things he'd learned doing this job was all the shitty things parents did to kids they claimed to adore. "It's just standard procedure – I want a chance to talk to them without having 'em overthink all the questions beforehand."

His answer seemed to be enough for Avery, who finally agreed to keep his mouth shut. Booth hung up the phone and took a second to gather his wits, then stood and got ready to head out.

Again.

Booth made one phone call on his way to the airport, relieved to find he actually had the number he was looking for stored in his cell.

Hodgins answered on the second ring.

"Booth?" the man asked, sounding a little freaked out.

"Yeah, Hodgins, it's me. Listen, is Bones there?"

A second's pause. "Uh – yeah. I mean, I'm in my office – she's up on the platform with Wendell and Cam. You need me to get her?"

"No," Booth said, too fast.

Hodgins didn't say anything, but Booth could practically hear his question in the silence. He slowed down, shaking his head at himself.

"I mean – don't bother, I'm sure she's busy."

Hodgins kind of sniffed at that. "Yeah, right – Listen, no offense, but what the hell's going on? Ange says Dr. B's coming to stay with us… We've got dead kids all over the lab, and you've made like Jimmy Hoffa all day."

"I'm not making like Jimmy Hoffa, all right? It's… It's nothing, we're just working some stuff out right now. But I've gotta leave town for the night to follow up on a lead, and I just need to make sure Bones is, y'know…"

"Safe?" Hodgins guessed.

His voice had gotten quieter, like all of a sudden he knew where Booth was coming from. Booth swallowed past a lump in his throat that came out of nowhere.

"Yeah," Booth said roughly. "You still have security at your place?"

The scientist laughed, like the question was crazy. "Dude, we've got more security than the Pentagon. The place is a fortress – guards, cameras, dogs. We make it look nice and friendly from a distance, but trust me, that's just for appearances."

The words made him feel better immediately. "Good. I wondered – I mean, I can't actually pay for it, but I thought maybe you might have a couple extra guys…" he trailed off, hating that he couldn't offer something in return for what he was asking.

"You mean to follow Brennan?" Hodgins asked. "Yeah, of course. No problem. I'll get a couple of our best men on it."

Booth had pulled into airport parking, but he stayed in the truck talking to Hodgins instead of going in, even though he was running late.

"So, you uh – You trust these guys, right?" he asked.

"Yeah – yeah, definitely. My folks started using the agency when I was a kid, and these guys get paid top dollar. They take the job very seriously, trust me. I mean, hell, they still come after half Angela's friends when they show up. And Zack? Forget it, man, they stopped him at the gate every damn night."

Booth managed a little laugh. "Yeah, well, I guess they weren't too far off on that one, huh?"

Hodgins returned the laugh, but not by much. "Yeah," he said, sounding a little rough himself. "Yeah, I guess they weren't."

Another couple seconds passed, while Booth got out of the truck and slung his bag over his shoulder. For some reason, he hated the idea of hanging up – which went to show just how screwed up he was these days, if the bug and slime guy had turned into some kind of lifeline for him.

"So, Bones… She's okay? I mean, she seems all right?"

Hodgins was quiet for a second. "Yeah – she's all right. Just a little, you know…"

"A little…?" Booth prompted.

Hodgins sighed. "Sad, man. She's a little sad. Look, I've gotta go, they're calling me. Just come back soon, okay? And fix this shit, because this really sucks."

"Yeah," Booth agreed. "You don't know the half of it."

The airport was packed. He'd gotten a flight for 2:30, and it was already five past. One of the advantages to being a Fed was that he didn't have to spend three hours in a security line, but showing up twenty minutes before the plane took off still wasn't a great idea.

Once he was in the air, he did what he'd been doing all day: he pushed Bones as far to the back of his head as he possibly could, and focused on the case. The bodies.

The kids.

Cramped in business class between a snoring old woman and a surly young guy, Booth got out his files and got to work. Werner hadn't been impressed with him showing up exhausted and banged up that morning, but he had been impressed with the Black Ridge connection. At least now they had a place to start.

Booth's memory of the Ridge the night before had been pretty spot on, once TJ brought it up. After more than nine hundred people died at the hands of Jim Jones in his encampment in Guyana in November of 1978, people around the country started getting squirly about communes, cults, militias, pretty much any kind of separatist or fringe group out there. Booth had only been a kid at the time, but he'd read about Black Ridge later, in college and during his training with the Bureau. It was kind of a cautionary tale about how much damage somebody with a little power could do, once they tossed the rules aside and started following their own brand of justice.

Booth might get fed up with all the red tape bullshit that went along with his job, but he did his best to remember the lesson that something like Black Ridge taught: The rules were there for a reason.

The sheriff of a town called Welland, Kentucky, and three of his deputies went up to Black Ridge with a handful of local guys ten days after the Jonestown massacre, because there was a militia group rumored to be stockpiling food and weapons. Booth couldn't find any records on who'd been part of the militia other than the deceased – as far as he could tell, the cops never bothered to find that out before they went up there, and there'd been too much chaos afterward to get details. Once they got to the Ridge, the cops tried to get everyone out of the Black Ridge cabins with teargas; one of the kids inside panicked and threw a frypan through the window to get out. The glass shattered; the sheriff and his posse thought they were under fire. They started shooting.

Five kids and a pregnant mother died – Hodgins had at least gotten that part right last night.

That morning, Booth had put in a call to Sheriff Lincoln back in Kentucky, who told Booth that, yeah, he remembered Black Ridge. It was practically in his backyard, though, so there was no big surprise there. He hadn't had anything to do with it, but he knew a couple of the cops who had.

Arnold Billings's father – Don – was originally from Tennessee, which made it pretty likely that he'd at least heard of Black Ridge. But hearing about it and somehow being targeted because of it were two very different things.

Booth studied the stuff he'd printed out on the Ridge for the first hour of the flight. For the second, he went over the files of the four kids who'd died so far.

Izzie Lincoln, Arnold Billings, and the last two – Riley White and Penny Farber. Riley was six, the daughter of a deputy and a county clerk in Wyoming. Fucking Wyoming, for Christ's sake. Penny was five – blue eyes, a pile of blonde curls. Daughter of a deputy in Belmont, Virginia. Booth closed the files as the plane started to descend in Burlington. It was quarter 'til five on Thursday night, and he'd never wanted a case to be over so much in his life.

---

Vermont was colder than DC. And snowier. And quieter. Five o'clock on a Thursday night in December, and it was black as midnight. Booth rented a truck and got on I-89 due east, keeping his speed up in spite of the sleet spitting across his windshield. Exits in this part of the world were few and far between, no houses and not a lot of traffic even though it was prime commuting time. Booth drove in the dark, the radio tuned to some fruity station out of Goddard College, just up the road from where the Billings family lived.

Forty minutes later, he pulled into a short tarred driveway just off route 2 in Plainfield. There was about a foot of snow on the ground – out of nowhere, Booth wondered if Bones was a skier. She wasn't much of a skater at first, but she'd caught on after a while; if she didn't ski already, she'd probably pick it up fast. Parker was all about snowboarding these days. Maybe they could make a trip up here some weekend – Sugarbush wasn't far, and the idea of spending a couple days on the slopes followed by a couple nights in a hot tub and a queen sized bed sounded like a better heaven than he'd imagined in a long time.

When Janie Billings answered the door, Booth did a freefall back to earth. He and Bones might not even spend another night together in his crappy apartment, forget some fancy resort in the mountains. He was here to interview a woman who'd just lost her only kid – a woman whose family had fallen apart and who, by the look of her, was about to do the same herself.

He stood up straighter, holding up his badge for her.

"Ms. Billings, I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth. I'm so sorry for your loss."

She opened the door wider, and he followed her inside.

Janie Billings was a thin woman – maybe 5'7", with dark hair and dark eyes. Pretty, in a quiet, understated kind of way. She wore jeans and a sweatshirt, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, and she held a crumpled Kleenex in her left fist like it had been there so long she'd forgotten about it.

The house was a single-story modular, neat bordering on compulsive. Three roses were in a glass vase on a dark maple dining room table. There were no pictures on the walls, and two half-empty boxes pushed off to the side. Janie Billings was just moving in.

"Have a seat," she told him once they'd gotten the niceties out of the way, nodding to a chair at the table. "Can I get you a drink? I called Don – he should be here in a few minutes."

Booth sat down. The woman poured herself a scotch that looked like heaven, but Booth shook his head. "Water'd be great, thanks. So, you and Mr. Billings are… separated?"

"Divorced," she corrected him. "Things just got too… hard, I guess, after Arnie…" she stopped and took a drink. Wet her lips.

"What happened to your head?" she asked suddenly, changing the subject.

Booth touched a finger to his temple, rolling his eyes. "It was a work thing. You know how it goes."

For a second, he thought she might call him on the lie. Instead, her eyes wandered back to the unpacked boxes in the corner.

"Don kept our place – he always used to say Arnie should have a home to come back to, once they found him."

Booth shifted in his seat. She was sitting across the table from him; she had a dancer's posture, her hands crossed delicately in her lap. Booth was reminded of the ballerina in a music box his mom used to have.

"I'm very sorry, Ms Billings – "

"Janie," she corrected him. "Please." She met his eye. "Do you know who did it?"

He shook his head. "Not yet. We've got some leads, though – which is why I'm here."

Don Billings came in without knocking a little later, and took off his boots at the front door. He was shorter than his ex-wife by about two inches, stocky and barrel-chested, with red hair and pale green eyes. He came over and kissed Janie on the cheek, whispering loud enough for Booth to hear,

"You holding up okay, Janes?"

She started to cry.

Booth sat at the table like a wooden statue, his eyes ducked respectfully while Don hugged the mother of his child and the two of them cried.

A few minutes passed like that before Janie excused herself to make tea. Don sat down in the seat she'd just left, wiping his eyes. He looked embarrassed, and Booth realized the man couldn't have been more than thirty.

"Sorry – it's been a rough couple of days. You'd think with Arnie being gone so long, we would've been ready. But I guess we just kept hoping…"

Booth shook his head. If it were Parker… He stopped himself. It was too much to even think about.

"Please don't apologize – I can't imagine what you're going through. I'm sorry to disturb you right now, but I just have a few questions."

The deputy drew himself up closer to the table, setting thick forearms on the wood.

"Of course. Whatever I can do."

Booth studied him. "Were you in the military?"

The younger man nodded. "Marines, sir. Janie and I were sweethearts in high school. Stayed together through basic training, then while I was doing my tour. Through college. Through the police academy."

Booth didn't say anything. Don cleared his throat.

"After Arnie disappeared, things got a little tougher. He was…" The policeman stopped. Looked around the room, like he might find the right words floating there. Finally, he gave up. Shrugged, but Booth could tell he couldn't trust his voice yet. Another second passed before he wiped his eyes and cleared his throat one more time.

"I'm sorry. You said you have questions?"

After half an hour dancing around it, Don Billings finally admitted that, yeah, he knew about Black Ridge. More than knew about it: his dad had been one of the cops who stormed the Ridge the night of the raid. It took him a while to admit to the connection – which was understandable, since it was hardly his old man's finest hour. According to Billings, his father left the family a couple months after the shootout. Don was only a year old at the time. His father was found shot dead outside a bar in Houston a few years back; the killer was never found, but Billings and the family assumed it was a bar fight gone bad.

Considering what was happening now, Booth wondered if it was really that simple.

When Booth left Don and Janie that night, they were standing together at the door – leaning against each other, like they'd fall over without the support. There was no question in his mind: you didn't come back from the death of a child. Nothing was ever the same. Still, he hoped somehow the couple would find their way back to each other. There was a lot between them still, it was clear – maybe nothing would ever be the same again, but it would be nice to think the connection they shared didn't have to die with their son.

---

In Montpelier, Booth walked the main strip with its Christmas lights and old-school New England vibe: tall brick buildings and snowbanks on every streetcorner, locals bundled up tight and a Salvation Army Santa ringing his bell outside an old movie theatre. He ate dinner alone in a little hole-in-the-wall Mexican place that reminded him of Habana, the Cuban place he took Bones to on their first real date.

For a Thursday night, the place was hopping. A neon flamingo was perched above the table he took in the corner, the rest of the restaurant filled with college kids laughing and having a good time. He caught a couple of the girls – good looking snow bunnies, the kind who were probably hell on the slopes and even more so in the sack – looking his way, but made a point of keeping his eyes to himself. He'd been down that road before; he wasn't interested in traveling it again.

After a couple of beef burritos and a couple more Coronas, he settled up and left. The sleet he'd driven through earlier had turned to real snow – fat, wet flakes that dusted his hair and stuck to the shoulders of his wool overcoat. His plane was leaving early in the morning, which meant he should drive back to Burlington and crash there tonight so he'd be ready to go first thing.

Instead, he found a cheap motel just over the bridge in Montpelier and picked up a bottle of whiskey from the gas station across the street. Toted his crap up to his room on the second floor, and dropped everything on the bed. Sat down and took off his shoes.

Stared at his phone.

A shower and three shots of whiskey later, he found he couldn't hold off any longer. Heart on his sleeve and Jack Daniels still warm in his gullet, he dialed.

It took Bones five rings before she answered, and Booth found himself wondering if that was because she was far from the phone or because she was trying to decide whether to pick up once she saw it was him.

"Booth?"

He couldn't tell anything from her voice. At least, not from the one word. Too late to turn back now, he took a breath and answered her.

"Hey."

There was a second of silence. "Hi."

He scratched his neck; took a second to pull some air back into his lungs.

"I just wanted you to know I'm uh – I'm in Vermont. I came to talk to Arnold Billings's folks."

"Cam told me."

She didn't sound cold, at least. Didn't sound pissed off, even. Mostly, she just sounded sad – and a little confused, like she couldn't figure out why he'd be calling.

"Oh. Well, then, I guess… I guess I'll go. I just wanted you to know, in case you – y'know, in case you needed me. Or anything."

"You're in Vermont," she said, letting him know she'd gotten the message.

He let out a deep breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Yeah. I'm in Vermont."

"Okay." Silence. "Well… Thank you for calling, to let me know."

She was about to hang up when he rushed in.

"So, are you… y'know, are you okay?"

There was a longer silence this time – so long that he thought for one awful second that she'd hung up on him.

"Temperance?" he said, and it came out so soft he wondered if she'd even heard him.

"I told you, I need some time." Her voice sounded rough; he wondered if she was crying.

"I know, ba – Bones," he corrected himself. "I didn't mean to upset you, I just figured I should check in. About the case, I mean."

"Well – thank you."

He started to say something else, except he didn't really know what. All he really knew was he'd do just about anything to keep from hanging up now and losing that strand of a connection between them.

She cut in before he could say anything else.

"I should go – they need me in the lab."

"Right – yeah, sure. Sorry. I'll just talk to you later, then."

"Seeley – " Her voice was full of that warning that he hated, the lecture mode she got into every once in a while that drove him right up a wall.

"I know, Bones – not literally later, okay? It's an expression. I won't call again. Don't worry." He hadn't meant to sound so angry, a bite to his words that he wished he could take back.

"I wasn't worried," she said, the chill back in her voice. "I wasn't worried about you calling again," she explained herself. "I just… " She stopped again. There was dead silence on the line – this time, he was sure she really had hung up on him. Then, finally: "I'm glad you called." The words were quiet, not a trace of ice in them. It felt like she was saying something else, but he wasn't sure exactly what.

"Will you be back tomorrow?"

He closed his eyes. He was sitting on the end of the bed in his boxers, both feet planted firm on the floor. Relief or Corona and Jack Daniels or some combination of the three made his head swim.

"Yeah, Bones. I'll come update everybody when I get back. I'll see you then."

"Yes," she agreed. "I'll see you tomorrow."

They hung up. No 'I love you,' no talk about their days or how much she missed him, none of those dirty little whisperings that could get him hard in seconds, the way she did sometimes when he was gone. Instead, the whole conversation had taken less than three minutes.

Still, she said she was glad he called. That was something, wasn't it? Bones was never any good at lying, especially to him – so when she said she was glad he called, she was telling the truth.

Tonight, that would just have to be enough.

TBC