Darling, oh, don't break this little heart of mine,
there's no greater love than this love of yours and mine.
You walk with your head in the sky;
darling, don't ever pass me by.
I ain't goin' no further,
because you got me chained and bound.

Chained and Bound, Otis Redding

The next two weeks brought them well into December, and with the new month came breaks in their cases, suspect apprehensions and closure. The roller-coaster body had fallen neatly into the "crimes of jealousy" category, but the abduction/murder cases had robbed both Booth and the squints of everything they had. In the end it had all come back to Taylor Johnson; their last missing boy had been found buried in his uncle's basement alongside what remained of Andrew Crawford. For the first time ever, Booth had seen Cam tear up at a crime scene.

The team had been so far past exhausted they hadn't been able to muster the strength to comfort or reassure one another of continued good in the world, so they had walked to the bar in complete silence.

While the rest of the team had drank the Founding Fathers dry, Booth had driven home and guided Brennan's sleep-march up to the apartment. When she woke at ten thirty the next morning, it was to an empty bed and a note in Booth's messy scrawl informing her that he had taken the liberty of calling Cam to tell her that her star anthropologist was using a personal day. Brennan would have phoned him just to yell at him had she not promptly fallen back asleep.

Following this, Booth came to almost regret giving her a full day to relax, because as it turned out, his partner was a lot easier to handle when she was sleep deprived. She had been burning the candle at both ends, and with her focus resting one hundred percent on the cases, she had shelved all her own physical discomforts and emotions. He was discovering that while she still conducted herself with utmost professionalism at work, there were an infinite number of things he did in their personal time that now pissed her off. If he moved the thermostat a degree, she yelled at him. If he washed dishes and left them in the draining bin instead of drying them immediately, she yelled at him. Just that morning she had yelled at him for leaving a file on the coffee table that he happened to know she was responsible for placing there. After all, what the hell use would a folder full of x-rays have been to him?

They had been forced to drive to work separately that morning due to Booth's being called to a new crime scene and Brennan had scowled as Booth talked to Cam on the phone, though she had tried to console herself with the fact that she would still get her turn with the body once it reached the lab. But, to make matters worse (for Brennan), there had been enough flesh left on the skull for an identification to be made with relative ease; temporarily shutting her out of lab participation as well as field participation. Brennan felt left out, and it was for that reason that - her current tempestuousness aside - Booth couldn't help making a quick stop at the lab before heading out to interview the victim's boyfriend.

"Booth! Hi!"

Booth came to an abrupt halt just inside Brennan's office doorway and stared at his partner uneasily. Eight years, eight years, and never once had she pounced on him so enthusiastically following his arrival.

"…Hi?" The response came out more like a question than a greeting, and he took a cautious step forward. "Are you feeling alright?"

Brennan nodded energetically. "Are you ready for lunch? Would you like to go for coffee? Unless you're here for work?... Cam isn't finished with the body yet and she won't let me touch it. Perhaps you could speak to her; she vetoed my 'get out of jail free' card, and I'm questioning the validity of that underhanded strategic play. I believe you should thoroughly explain the rules of Monopoly to me in the near future so that I am better suited to challenge her decision the next time such a problem arises."

She began to rise from her seat, and the motion finally spurred Booth out of his shocked stand-still enough to move toward her and trap her movement.

"Whoa. What is with you?" he asked with a laugh. Her smile was lovely and vibrant, and he felt that familiar rush of love for her flood straight to his head. "Have you been inhaling meth again? Because I gotta tell you, Bones, I know it's your body and you don't appreciate me telling you how to treat it, but I'm thinking that's not so good for the baby."

"I'm not high, Booth!" Brennan protested, "Am I not permitted to display enthusiasm for my job?"

Booth squinted at her face with justifiable suspicion; a face that was carefully schooled into picture perfect innocence. "You're bored," he concluded with a smirk. "You're beyond bored. You're driving yourself crazy."

He leaned far into her personal space – interrogation style – and all but dared her to lie to him. Brennan stared back impassively, but impatience won out in the end and she tipped her hand in her usual blunt fashion.

"If you do not pressure me to provide you with a truthful response to that question, I will have sex with you right now in my office."

Booth blinked. "Bones, contrary to what Angela tells you, you seriously can't just use sex to manipulate me."

"Why? In the past it's proven to be an effective form of negotiation," Brennan said dejectedly.

"It's not right, Bones. How would you feel if I started doing the same thing?"

Brennan frowned and ran that potential scenario through her mind; she liked sex. She liked sex a lot. If Booth started withholding sex to prove a point, she was pretty sure 'frustrated' wouldn't even begin to cover it.

"I believe I would not like that at all," Brennan finally responded definitively.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

"Okay, fine. Perhaps I'm feeling… under-stimulated, at the moment, but it is very difficult staying in the lab full-time. Objectively, I know I did this for years before meeting you, and in my current condition I would be less than efficient assisting you in 'taking down suspects.' However, I'm finding I very much miss the field aspects of our partnership."

Booth gave her a sympathetic half smile and crouched down to eye level. "That's understandable, Bones. Just remember that it's only temporary, okay? And it's for a pretty great cause."

His signature megawatt smile broke out and Brennan felt marginally reassured in spite of herself. "I suppose you're right," she conceded.

Booth pushed his hand beneath her blouse and placed it gently over the taut skin of her belly.

"I wish you wouldn't do that at work," she sighed.

"What? Two minutes ago you were proposing sex in your office, and this you're gonna start complaining about?" Booth quipped.

The steady stream of kicking prompted by the warmth of Booth's hand and the low rumble of his voice prevented the minor argument from escalating.

Brennan and Booth exchanged a soft smile and she shifted slightly in her chair as Booth leaned forward and moved his hand slowly across her stomach. When a wayward kick hit a rib, Brennan jerked away from his hand and inhaled sharply. "Ouch, Booth! I realize it's unlikely she will actually succeed in cracking a rib, but the sensation is still quite painful!"

"Sorry," Booth answered sheepishly. However, he couldn't quite hide his pride. "And to think you spent all those months worrying about her. Look how strong she is now."

"What? You were worried about her, too."

"Nah," he winked. "She's like her mom; she does everything when she damn well pleases."

They shared a look and then Booth reluctantly straightened her blouse and stood.

"I gotta run. I've got one last interview with our vic's boyfriend and then there's a ton of stuff waiting for me back at the office. I'll meet you at home."

"Wait!" Brennan called desperately. "I want to come."

"What? Bones, you can't come with me," Booth answered somewhat condescendingly.

"Why not?" she frowned.

"Bones, real cops as pregnant as you are don't go out in the field. There's no way."

"Do you have reason to believe the boyfriend to be dangerous?"

"Well, no."

"Does he have a criminal record of any kind?"

"No," Booth answered reluctantly.

"Come on, Booth! It's just an interview! I wanna come."

"You're whining, Bones. It's not attractive."

"Please?"

"No!"

She looked indignant, as if she couldn't understand how he could have possibly denied her when she had made a point of asking so politely. "But-

"No!"

"It's not like you're going out to make an arrest, Booth. You're just talking to him. I can't do anything more with the body until Cam finishes her examination. Just take me with you! What is the big deal?"

"The big deal is, well, it's…"

She raised an eyebrow as he scrambled for a legitimate reason. The truth was, he supposed that in the grand scheme of things it wasn't a big deal. But he had become so accustomed to arguing "no" the minute she tried tagging along – since sometime in the middle of last week she had decided that interviews were minimally dangerous and therefore didn't actually count as fieldwork – the negative response had come off his tongue automatically.

"Maybe he'll be guilty. If he runs, you can hit him! You like that. And I find your displays of physical prowess particularly arousing. Currently, more so than usual."

He sighed, "Baby, reminding me that he could be guilty isn't really helping your case."

"Oh," she hesitated. "Did you hear the part where I mentioned that I find your displays of physical prowess particularly arousing?"

He sighed again. Angela was a terrible influence.

"Oh alright fine. But," Booth held out a hand to stop her as she got out of her chair as quickly as she could and headed for her coat, "if any leads come out of this, your butt is coming back here before I follow up on them, okay?"

Brennan shrugged indifferently. "Of course, Booth."

Booth took her coat off its hook and held it open for her. "Your mother is impossible, you know," he began, resting his palm beneath the curve of her belly once her arms were securely in their sleeves.

"Booth, I'm standing right here. I can hear you."

"Do you mind? I'm trying to have a private conversation with my daughter. See what I have to put up with? Constant harassment. Never a moment's peace."

Brennan rolled her eyes. "I have to deal with your hands constantly all over my stomach. Which wouldn't be so bad if strangers didn't think they were entitled to do the same. I consider it fair trade."

"Well you just look so cute, people can't help themselves."

Booth tried to keep a straight face, but Brennan's immediate indignation made it impossible. The sound of his laugh echoed through the lab as they exited her office and she shoved him forcefully.

"I am not cute!"

"I overheard Wendall informing Hodgins that our victim's sister is a 'knockout,'" Brennan began.

"Huh? Oh. Yeah; she's an attractive young woman," Booth answered distractedly.

Brennan frowned. "What's wrong?"

He made a face and pulled at his collar, "I don't know, Bones. I just get the idea she wasn't totally truthful with me. I'll have a better feel for the situation after we talk to the boyfriend."

She tilted her head toward the computer screen. "Eric Franzon."

"Uh huh."

They fell into a brief silence, and then Brennan grinned. "Although it has only been not quite three weeks since I last accompanied you into the field, I find that I am very excited."

"Yeah well, don't get used to it," Booth said sternly. "This is the last time, Bones."

"Okay," she agreed easily, turning her head away from him with a smug smile.

"I can see your reflection in the window, smartass. I mean it."

"Okay!"

The street was quiet; the layer of snow D.C. had received in the night had yet to be disturbed. The snow was drifting lazily now; falling thinly, gently, and creating a serene winter wonderland instead of the blizzard nightmare of the previous evening.

Booth started around the SUV to assist Brennan, but naturally she slid out on her own before he could make it halfway. He settled for rolling his eyes, and he fell into step beside her as she picked her way carefully across the snow.

"Parker wants to go looking for a tree this weekend," Booth said conversationally, keeping an inconspicuous watch on his partner in case she slipped.

"That sounds appealing," Brennan stated. "Can I hold the saw? I'm very adept at-

Booth jerked her backward suddenly, and she stumbled before he steadied her. "Hey! What-

She cut herself off when she saw the grim look on his face and knew his mind was far from Parker and festive trees.

"Go back to the car," he said in an overly calm voice as his right hand hovered over his weapon.

Instead of following the order, Brennan craned her neck in an effort to peer around him and see what had caught his attention.

"Bones, I'm not fucking around. Get in the car, lock the doors, and call for backup."

"I can't just-

"Yes you can. And you will. Now. Or so help me God I will carry you back there and handcuff you to the steering wheel."

She did as he asked. There wasn't a doubt in her mind that he would do it if she pushed him. When she reached the car she paused to watch Booth kneel carefully beside a poinsettia plant and touch the ground, and it finally clicked. From a distance the red patches on the clean snow had looked like petals, but Booth had recognized it as blood right away.

Booth unholstered his gun and silently made his way up the porch steps. The footprints beside him leading away from the house were filled with a light dusting of snow, but the blood was still wet and visible. Whoever had been here hadn't been gone long. He peeked through the dirty front window, but aside from a broken lamp lying on the floor, he couldn't see anything clearly. Before he tried the front door he glanced back at the vehicle to reassure himself that Brennan had actually got inside it, but to his utter exasperation she was still standing outside the passenger door staring at him.

He gestured her onward, and she tugged exaggeratedly on the door handle, letting him know that it was locked. Christ, of all the…

He impatiently fumbled through his coat for his keys and hit the button on the remote, berating himself the entire time for letting her talk him into bringing her here. This was the reason he should have thought of earlier. This was the big deal. What an idiot.

The door was locked and he adjusted his hold on his weapon to give it a solid kick; the wood gave easily and the door swung open to reveal a bloody horror show. The sprays of blood over the walls and ceiling indicated that some sort of artery had been severed… he knew that much. He also knew that no one could survive that kind of blood loss… so where was the body?

Down the hall the misty lines of blood changed to dark pools in the carpet, and then they stopped. But Booth could see the drag marks toward the back door. He carefully checked the rest of the house – upstairs, downstairs and basement alike – before doubling back to the rear patio door leading to the backyard.

Brennan kept her gaze loyally fixed on the front door of the house across the street, and she fisted her hands in the material of her pants to try and ease the voice screaming at her to get out of the car and make sure Booth was okay. She had requested an ambulance when she had called dispatch – it had seemed prudent given the blood outside the house – but until it arrived she was much better qualified to assist an injured party than Booth was. That was two good reasons for her to get out of the car.

And then the baby kicked her solidly in the ribcage and she was reluctantly forced to admit to herself that maybe that small motion outweighed her two good reasons. "I'm not going anywhere," she murmured, distractedly pressing a hand to the abused spot. "Stop it."

And she really wouldn't have gotten out of the car. Except then a man came hurrying down the sidewalk to the house, and she recognized him from Booth's photos, and when he reached the porch he pulled a gas can out from beneath his bulky coat and Booth was in that house all alone...

She glanced rapidly between the porch and the rear-view mirror, torn and hoping backup would come flying into sight and take the decision out of her hands, but nothing appeared behind her. And as their victim's boyfriend – would it be fair to assume at this point that he was the murderer? – finished dousing the porch and headed for the backyard, disappearing from her sight, she knew she had to find Booth before he did.

She awkwardly climbed into the backseat, tumbling ungracefully onto the upholstery, and then she fumbled through the trunk for a protective vest, feeling quite pleased with herself for thinking of it. The self satisfaction faded from her face however when she finally located one and held it out in front of her… there was no way it was going to fit. Brennan tossed it aside in frustration and blew her bangs out of her face.

"Okay… ummm…" She hesitated with one hand on the door handle and let her other hand skirt across her stomach. "While I am aware that at this point you can hear me, you are still quite incapable of interpreting my speech in any sensible manner. Thus, despite my belief that in this circumstance Booth would most likely provide you with a detailed account of his planned course of action, I myself would be very uncomfortable doing so. Instead, I am going to allow you to take comfort in the calm calibre of my voice, and conclude, relying on the weeks of auditory data you've collected thus far, that neither one of us is in any imminent danger. Just Booth. Which is why I'm getting out of the car." She paused a moment to make sure she hadn't left anything out, and then she gave a satisfied nod and opened the door.

Booth was easing the sliding door open when he heard a male cry of pain.

"Booth!"

Shit. He should have handcuffed her to the goddamn steering wheel. Shit shit.

He rushed down the steps and rounded the back corner of the house toward the voice, and he found Brennan pushing violently against Franzon as the man struggled to hold on to her in one hand and his gun in the other. Her hair was wet. Why was her hair wet? Booth's eyes fell to the gas can turned over on its side beside them and his heart clenched; she was like a pyro-magnet. She really was. Most people got through life without almost being set on fire even once.

He pulled back the safety on his gun. "FBI. Let her go."

"I don't think so."

Franzon's hand was shaking and there was blood running freely from his nose. Bones had got at least one good hit in. Atta girl.

"He was going to burn evidence, Booth. I was trying to warn you but he caught me; my natural speed and agility have been compromised."

"You think?"

"He's a very good shot," she informed Franzon. "It would be in your best interest to surrender."

Franzon's expression turned momentarily confused before he shook his head and grim determination returned. Booth kept his gun steady and checked Brennan over from head to toe, searching for injuries but finding none. Well, besides the obvious fact that she was covered in gasoline. Only Bones could be seven months pregnant with a gun to her head, and still speak as casually to the man holding her hostage as she would the next door neighbour. When this was over, she was never, never leaving the lab again.

"Put your gun down or I'll shoot her."

The man was crazy, that much was apparent by this point, but he wasn't confident. He was cornered, and he would panic. And when he panicked, Booth was going to shoot him. It was as simple as that.

"You're not going to shoot her," Booth said matter-of-factly. "You're going to put your gun down. Because if you don't, I'm going to shoot you, and I guarantee I won't miss."

"She'll go up like a torch," Franzon threatened.

At this, Brennan stopped struggling and turned her head to stare at him incredulously. "That's highly unlikely."

"Bones, not now. He doesn't need you helping him set you on fire."

Her steady gaze was freaking him out. And then he panicked. Just like Booth had known he would.

The moment the gun moved in his direction, Booth pulled the trigger. Smooth. Fast. The way Brennan had seen him do many times before. Except then there was another sound; another gunshot. And as Franzon's body dropped behind her, Booth's body started to fall too.

"Booth?"

She rushed the few feet between them and half-caught him as he sank to his knees. She grunted under the weight, but she refused to let go. She dropped to her knees as well and eased him to the ground as gently as she could, and she felt her considerable level of panic sky rocket when she saw the blood soaking through her gloves. She hurriedly unzipped her coat and placed it under Booth's head, and then she stripped off her gloves and pressed her bare hands against his chest.

"Booth?"

"Bones, put your coat on."

"No."

"Bones, I mean it, put…" he coughed, "… put your coat on."

"No," she repeated stubbornly. He had been shot, and he was worried about her being cold?

"Booth," she choked, "I'm sorry. I was trying to help; I…" his eyes started to close, and she pushed harder on the wound, jarring him back into consciousness. "Come on, Booth. Please, please. I called for back-up; they'll be here soon. You just have to stay awake."

Booth's eyes started to drift shut once again, and Brennan mercilessly increased the pressure of her hand against his ribs. His eyes flew open and she gave a watery half-smile at the look of annoyance he sent her way. He made an attempt to push away her hands, but she shook her head and pressed harder still. "No. No, Booth we need to maintain steady pressure in order to minimize blood loss."

"A bit convenient, don't you think, Bones?" Booth wheezed with a half laugh. "You always did like it a little rough."

"No," she furrowed her brow, "I know what that means and that's not why I'm…" Her voice trailed off at Booth's pained smile. "You're teasing me," she realized belatedly.

There were sirens in the distance, but they were faint and a few mental calculations had her estimating their arrival being between three and five minutes away. She rolled Booth onto his side (ignoring his moan of protest) to try and get a sense of the damage, and as her hands traced the back of his ribcage her fingers caught on a tear in the fabric of his jacket. She pushed a finger through the hole and felt the somewhat reassuring outline of an exit wound.

"You've got that look on your face, Bones. The one you get when you're looking at one of our victims. I'm not dead yet."

Brennan scowled, "Don't say things like that, Booth. You're not at all amusing. The bullet went straight through; the trajectory angle leads me to believe that none of your major veins or organs have been damaged. You're going to be fine. Booth, you're going to be fine."

It came out a little more desperate than she had intended, but her head was full of images of Booth lying on a different floor while she stood above him and attempted a similar assessment. She had been certain, certain, that Booth's injuries had been non-life threatening. Painful? Of course. Requiring surgery and therapy? Certainly. But not life threatening. And then Booth had been ripped away from her and all her estimations on blood loss and bullet paths and ambulance response times hadn't meant anything. And she couldn't do that again.

The sirens were close now, and she could hear the gravel being kicked up by the speeding vehicles as they screeched to a stop. Agents were coming. And suddenly, as the first vests became visible, a new fear sprung up inside her. It was paralysing; creeping through her being and taking control. A parasite.

The last time she had trusted the bureau to take care of Booth, they had lied to her. She may be Booth's partner, but she wasn't a cop; they felt no obligation to keep her informed on anything. They barely tolerated her. They would lie to her again if it was convenient for them. If they thought it served a greater good. If she let them take Booth away, she would have no way of knowing when, or even if, she would see him again.

While the fear and panic tightened their hold on her, Booth drifted into unconsciousness once more. This time, regardless of the force she applied to his wounds, his eyes remained closed.

A second longer, and the FBI would be at her side.

"Seeing red" was a metaphoric expression. She had felt rage before; the kind that sent her adrenaline spiking and her vision spotting. She assumed that was the emotional, chemical equivalent to "seeing red." If that was true, what she was doing now would have to be metaphorically categorized as "seeing white." It wasn't heat consuming her; it was cold. Ice. And when the first federal agent reached out a hand to touch her, to pull her away from Booth, she didn't act out of anger; she acted out of fear. Out of feral instinct. Survival of the species at its most Darwinian. Her metaphoric heart wouldn't withstand another staged death.

The hand that dared to touch her was twisted to the point where an ounce more pressure would have broken the elbow. Then the fingers were bent backward until there was a dull crack, like stepping on twigs in a forest.

Another hand made contact with her skin, more forceful, and with a speed even Brennan's immodest mind couldn't have expected, she grabbed hold of the arm and rotated it in a quick, clock-wise arc.

"Dr. Brennan."

The voice sounded far away, but with the repetition, some of the fog slowly cleared.

"Dr. Brennan!"

Brennan whirled around to face the voice; hands assuming an attack stance and eyes wild.

"The medics are here," the voice spoke softly, careful to leave her space. "Let them do their job; if you calm down I can ask them to let you ride in the ambulance."

The buzzing in her ears faded away as her heartbeat slowed. She blinked, and she was Temperance Brennan once more; all metaphoric whites so far away from her it was as if they had never been.

The man speaking to her… she should know his name. Booth would have known his name. She tried to remember the introductions from any of the many times she was certain they had crossed paths. Peter. Petey. Ricky… Charlie. His name was Charlie. He wasn't someone of whom she had ever taken notice… he fulfilled Booth's orders efficiently and he didn't seem to talk much. Looking at him now for the first time with her full attention, Brennan concluded that he must be a very good man. It was something Booth probably already knew. Something that would have never surprised him the way she was surprised right now. Where would she be without his intuition? How many good people would she unwittingly ignore?

But she couldn't muster thank-yous or apologies now, so Charlie went unacknowledged once again as she compartmentalized. No one could do that as well as her, even if she had momentarily allowed her emotions to get the best of her. The tiny part of her that had learned – with Booth's help – to observe social niceties made a mental promise to do better next time where Charlie was concerned.

She took a step back from Booth and allowed the paramedics to work without interrupting, but she monitored their actions ever so carefully. In the ambulance she settled herself in an innocuous corner that maximized her view while minimizing her impact on their work. The natural anthropologist.

Angela rushed into the room while Cam drilled the doctors, and she found Brennan standing rigidly at the foot of Booth's bed, intently pouring over his chart.

"How's he doing?" she asked softly.

Brennan didn't look up. "His vital signs are stable."

Angela reached Brennan's side and hugged her tightly, refusing to let go even as her friend stiffened. "You should have called earlier," she scolded gently. "No one should have to sit in a waiting room alone."

"Why would I have been in the waiting room?" Brennan questioned impatiently, pushing herself free of Angela's embrace.

Angela looked bewildered for a beat, and then a resigned understanding set in. "You were in the room with him when they operated."

"Of course I was. I watched very carefully; it was difficult to trust in the competency of the surgeon after he was so condescending following my request to stay in the operating room. Why do people begin speaking to me as if I'm less than intelligent once they notice that I'm pregnant? I believe it's becoming more and more of a problem every week."

"Because they don't know you," Angela responded wryly. "They assume you're either going to faint or have an emotional meltdown."

"Yes, well, fortunately, his surgical skills were admittedly satisfactory."

"I'm sure-

"Booth should be awake by now. I told them that he's very sensitive to anaesthetics."

"He'll wake up, sweetie. He always does."

Brennan shot her best friend a look that said she found the comment to be inane, and then she went back to studying Booth's chart. Angela sighed, but she left Brennan alone until she noticed her friend pushing persistently at a spot in her lower back.

"Maybe you should sit down, sweetie," Angela suggested with a frown.

"Why?" Brennan asked, once again managing to avoid even a brief glance in Angela's direction.

"Because your back is obviously bothering you. Booth will kill us both if he finds out you haven't been taking care of yourself. Sit down. Kick off your shoes."

"That would be inadvisable; my feet have swelled significantly since I put on these shoes. If I remove them I doubt I could re-attach them easily," Brennan said absently.

"Alright, that's it," Angela pulled a chair to where Brennan stood and pushed her into it, ignoring the surprised stare this earned her as Brennan finally took her eyes off the chart. "Do not move from this seat."

Brennan frowned and opened her mouth to protest, but Angela cut her off. "No. Our daughters are going to grow up together and be best friends and share a dorm in college. I've got it all planned out. I've even bought them cute little complementary outfits already; I won't have you dropping that kid early and sabotaging my plans. Now, put the clipboard down and try to sleep."

At the thought of sleeping, Brennan's eyes widened and she sat forward tensely. "I can't sleep. I need to watch him."

Angela saw the desperation that flashed across Brennan's face before she buried it. She knelt in front of the chair and gave her best friend a reassuring smile. "I'll stay right here and watch him; I promise. You need to sleep, Bren. If I need to leave the room for any reason at all, I will wake you up first."

Brennan relaxed slightly, but she still didn't appear completely convinced. "The entire time I'm sleeping? Because last time, Angela…" her voice trailed off with obvious reluctance and she gripped the arms of her chair fiercely.

"The entire time, Bren. Pinkie swear."

The smile on Angela's face was soft but her eyes were sharp and determined, and Brennan lay back in the chair and felt exhaustion overwhelm her as she began to let her guard down.

Angela gave a satisfied nod as she watched Brennan fight to keep her eyelids open and then ultimately lose the battle to stay conscious. She moved a second chair to the bedside and unfolded a light blanket to drape over Brennan.

The forensic anthropologist's eyes fluttered open as Angela fussed over her. "Ange?" She murmured.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. You're a very good friend."

"It's what besties do, babe."

I really didn't mean to make this "cliffhanger-ish" in the least; I promise. I want this chapter and next to pretty much flow in your head as one, so after I finish class tomorrow evening I'll review the second half and post it. It might even be earlier than that, considering campus was closed today because of the weather. Maybe tomorrow a real blizzard will hit; the one today shouldn't have even counted. I'm going snowboarding.