The Seventh Chapter in the Story.

"The FBI is looking for computer hacker Christopher Pelant as a suspect in the murder of Ethan Sawyer..."

"Yes!"

Throwing his fist in the air, Max looked at the TV screen with bright eyes.

"Shelly, what does this mean for the case of Dr. Temperance Brennan, the famous best-selling author who disappeared seven weeks ago with her infant daughter?"

"So far the FBI hasn't announced any news regarding the status of Dr. Brennan, but throughout the past weeks, we have seen Hollywood stars and fellow authors standing up in a public display of support. The Jeffersonian forensic team, the very same team Dr. Brennan has worked for, has discovered the new evidence pointing towards Christopher Pelant."

"What can you tell us about Pelant?"

"He is responsible for shutting down the Senate website in 2009 and for hacking into the Pentagon security system, endangering the lives of countless US soldiers. He is classified as unarmed but dangerous."

"Shelly, I understand Mr. Pelant was under observation?"

"Yes, Bob, that's correct. There are no official details regarding his escape..."

Tearing his eyes away from the TV, Max took in his daughter. Stunned blue eyes were looking back at him.

"They did it," she finally whispered. And, "How could they lose him?"

"Tempe, that's great!"

"It's... something."

Picking up Christine from her blanket on the floor, Brennan buried her nose in her daughter's soft neck, inhaling deeply. Hope was beating wildly, as her mind evaluated the possibilities. Pelant was on the run. She was still on the list of suspects. There was doubt, precious doubt...

Placing the child on the bed beside her, Brennan started to undress her, peeling away the blue facade of Christine's clothes.

"Can you give me her dress, Dad?"

"Huh?"

"Her green dress. Please?"

Max got up and came back with the desired garment shortly after.

"And her blankie. The one with the butterflies."

"What are you doing?"

"This is over. We're going home."

"Tempe! It's not safe, yet."

"You are," one shuddered breath, "you are taking her. Bring her to Booth."

"What about you?"

"I'm turning myself in."

"No! Listen-"

"No, Dad. This," one gesture at the anonymous room, "has lasted way too long. They are looking for Pelant. They have to listen to me. It's time to rely on the system."

"What if it's a trick?"

"And what exactly do you suggest, Dad? Raising Christine as a boy? Away from her father? A life on the run? Not acceptable. This has to end. Now."

"I promised him to keep you safe!"

"And you've kept your promise. Dad, will you bring her to Booth?"

The old man bowed his head in defeat, finally nodding.

"Yes."

"If I'm lucky, they've already dropped my charges. But I have to face their questions. Running is no longer a rational choice, it's cowardly. Find Booth. Find Angela. Keep Christine safe..."

Two plus two equals four. You put sugar in your coffee, and it tastes sweet. The sun comes up because the world turns... The truth would win.

-BONES-

The doorbell rang, and Booth hurried to cover the files on his table – after all, he wasn't working this case, at least not officially. They had made remarkable progress in the past 48 hours, and he hadn't felt so energetic in weeks. It was only a matter of time. Grabbing his spare gun from the table – better be safe than sorry – he headed towards the door, opening it... and his heart forgot how to beat...

"Max," he croaked, even though his gaze was glued to the bundle in the older man's arms. Seven weeks later, the child recognized her father's voice, answering with a shriek.

"Booth, I..."

A little face, sparkling blue eyes – hell, he was still convinced that she had her eyes – fluffy brown hair. Rosy cheeks, chubby fists, milky-white skin; skin even paler than hers.

Booth reached for the baby on autopilot, his heart beating way too loud for any reasonable thought to make it through the sudden rush of relief. She was heavy; heavier than expected, heavier than he remembered her. The green dress was unfamiliar as well, but when he buried his nose in her neck, he recognized her scent – baby and Brennan and family and love. The child patted his cheeks, gurgling happily, and Booth threw his daughter into the air with a laugh, only to catch her and hold her close to his chest anew. She had grown a few inches and her posture had improved, but other than that, she was still his baby girl, the same he knew, the same he had missed so much.

"Christine! Oh my baby..."

Lifting his head, he scanned the empty space behind Max, his eyes bright with unshed tears.

"Where is she? Where's Bones."

Taking a deep breath, Max shrugged.

"Turning herself in. I couldn't stop her..."

"What?"

"She said it was time to belief in the system. She said that you should trust her..."

Blinking against the agony, Booth crushed his daughter.

"Stupid, stupid woman. Why does she keep on doing this, making decisions like that alone?"

"She's always been very... independent."

Booth snorted.

"She isn't alone anymore. Where is she?"

"She was behind us. Until I turned left to your house and she turned right. It's too late, Booth. I'm sorry."

Booth howled.

"Why didn't she come to me?"

"You know why. Same reason why she hasn't told you beforehand."

"Why does she have to be so damn rational?"

"Booth, listen... Whatever you know about Tempe, and it's probably more than I do... she isn't the reason-guided woman she used to be anymore. I've been with her the past weeks, I've seen her. There was nothing rational about her feelings. Nothing cold-hearted. She loves you. And she's been missing you every hour of the day."

Booth's gaze flickered from the baby to Max and back.

"I have to see her..."

"It's okay, go. I'll take Christine to Angela."

One fierce kiss, one fluttering heartbeat later, Booth was in his car, violating every rule about driving safety ever possible. If only he could drive faster than his racing heart, if only he could reach the FBI sooner. Grabbing his cell, he hit speed dial.

"Hi Booth."

"Angela, she's back!"

"What? Let me talk to her!"

"Cannot. Stupid woman went to the FBI without a word. Max brought Christine."

"Where are you?"

"On my way. Listen, I have to see her. Can you-"

"Lock away your little princess? Sure thing."

"Great. And tell the others."

"I will. Booth?"

"Yeah?"

"Give her a kiss."

He grunted.

"Jeez, that wouldn't have crossed my mind."

A laugh at the other end of the line.

"Booth? It will be fine. She's back."

Careful joy rippled through his system.

"I know. I know. Later?"

"Later."

-BONES-

"My name is Temperance Brennan..."

Time refused to pass. Ever since she had watched the headlights of Max' car disappearing down the other road, her insides had been numb, so numb.

"The FBI is looking for me."

Closer to Booth than she had been in weeks, Brennan had never felt lonelier. Her breasts were aching, calling for one child to empty them. But Christine's wellbeing was off her hands. Everything was.

"I did not kill Ethan Sawyer. He was my friend."

What was she doing right now? Crying for her mother? The mere idea that Christine might mourn her, Brennan's, absence, gnawed at her with sharp teeth. She was her mother's daughter. But she wasn't. Christine was with Booth. She was fine. He was.

"My disappearance hasn't been an admission of guilt."

She'd have to ask for a breast pump. There was one in her bag, but that had been taken away from her.

"I did not murder my friend."

What would Booth think? Had she done the right thing? The honorable thing? Was he mad?

"I ran because I had to keep my child safe, don't you understand?"

He didn't. The agent in front of her, the agent who wasn't Booth, did not understand. The female agent was nicer, more understanding. She wore a wedding band. Maybe she was a mother herself. Or, maybe, it was just a trick. They had done that a lot back then, she and Booth, playing good cop and bad cop.

"She's with her father right now. Someone I trust took care of her."

She was sitting on the wrong side of the interrogation table. The one that felt like guilt.

"Booth didn't know a thing about my plan."

Had he known, he would have come with her. Would have given up everything. For her, to be with her. She knew it. That's why she hadn't told him.

"I don't care about your opinion. I believe in evidence."

Why were they so stupid? She had listened to the news this morning. Had it been this morning? It had been a good morning. Christine had slept six hours straight, and the sun had been shining.

"I don't want favors, I just want justice. I did not murder my friend."

She really needed that breast pump.

"I'm... just a mother. Not a criminal."

Why did they refuse to understand? Why...

Brennan didn't know it, but she was only a few doors away from Booth. He had tried pleading, had tried yelling. Had used his reputation and his charming smile...

In the end, it was futile. They didn't let him see her, didn't let him speak to her. The news were all over the media, and one part of his heart – the one that was a father – was so free, while the rest of it – the one who needed his woman back – was still held capture.

They kept her for two days. Two days, in which he bathed and rocked his daughter, cradling her in sleep. Two days, in which the squints hardly ever left the Jeffersonian, working as if the sake of the world depended on it – and, for them, it did. Two days, in which the secret squint squad scored once more, revealing the manipulation of the tether. Dozens of manila envelopes rushed in. Two days, in which question upon question was asked for her to answer.

Two days, in which her scent, the familiar one, was replaced by the anonymous odor of interrogation rooms and holding cells. Cheap coffee, fear and sweat. Two days, in which she didn't sleep.

On the afternoon of the second day, the iron bars parted, and if she hadn't been so damn exhausted, so damn scared, she might have sighed in relief. So, she just smoothed her wrinkled clothes in a futile attempt, grabbing the offered bag with her belongings.

Home... She just wanted to go home. But, and the thought was almost to heavy to bear, would she be welcome?

To be continued...

I know, this ending is probably mean, but, come on, we *know* that she will be welcome.