Sorry for the delay. Apparently, my muse is much like the FBI--no negotiations with terrorists, even at knifepoint. (No, just talking out loud, trying to get some inspiration, while cutting up an apple--nothing drastic) Anyway, hope you like it!

And again, thanks to blc for the glacial earthquakes and inspiring my version of mopey Booth, plus the idea of Booth picking Parker up from those sessions with Max. ('fraid I borrowed that lock, stock, & barrel--but it does make sense!).

dani--the characters feel real to me, so I treat them as real for the most part.


"Brennan."

"Bren, it's Angela. I know you must have only just landed and all, but I found something in your office."

"What?"

"It looks like a note from Booth. What do you want me to do?"

Brennan sighed. "Read it to me."

There was a long moment of silence from both women once she did.

"Damn," Brennan whispered. "How does he do it?"

"I don't know, sweetie, I really don't. Do you want me to do anything?"

"What is there to do, Ange?"

"We may have to consider his real feelings are buried beneath years of denial and self-sacrifice," Angela said slowly. "But we can discuss that later; I just wanted to let you know about this."

"Please." She thought furiously for a few moments. "Just--tell him that you found the note after I left and I didn't see it."

"Can and will do."

"Thanks. And I had best go now. Talk to you Thursday, OK?"

"All right. Bye, sweetie."

***********************************

"Booth."

"Hey, G-Man."

"Angela? What's wrong? Something happen?" He couldn't help the panic in his voice.

"No, no, nothing's wrong. Calm down, Booth! I just wanted to tell you that I had to go into Bren's office for something and found an envelope with your handwriting on it."

"Wait--you mean she didn't come by the lab before leaving?"

"No, her flight was too early, and considering how early you have to be at the airport for international flights…" She sighed, probably rolling her eyes. "That's really the wrong side of 6am for me."

"Yeah." His heart took up residence near his stomach.

"Is it important? I could call and tell her," she offered. "Though, if you'd rather, it can wait until our scheduled call."

"N-no. That's all right. Don't bother her with it. Thanks, Angela. Look, I'll see you around, all right?" He disconnected in a hurry and stared at his desk. Now what? It hadn't been much of an apology, he knew, but he wanted her to know that he wanted to fix things if he could. If they could.

***********************************

The next two weeks were complete hell for Booth as he tried to adjust. He actually called her three times the first day alone, forgetting where she was; he had been genuinely shocked to receive her out of town message, and then remembered with a flurry of curses.

Walking into the diner was its own pain--no one across the table from him stealing fries or twitting him on his burger or pie, or sitting hip-to-hip with him at the counter for breakfast. After a week, he found he had a hard time just going in the place at all. When had the fun in eating pie become so tied up with Bones' refusal to eat any?

He kept looking to his right in the SUV, at the empty passenger seat, too. Why hadn't he realized he drove her so often?

And nights were the absolute worst--sitting alone in his apartment with a drink and mindless TV babble in the background. The first night, after making the last of the day's abortive calls, he set the phone down in the charger with excessive care and simply stared at it. Wondering how his entire (adult) social life had boiled down to Bones and maybe the Squints.

***********************************

Or at least he thought being alone at night was the worst thing…until he walked into the lab first time with a case. His feet carried him straight to Brennan's door, as always. But the sight of the closed and darkened office checked him. He hesitated for a moment, a surge of something he told himself he didn't have time to identify washing over him, then went in the opposite direction, looking for Cam.

"Hey," he said, sticking his head in her office.

"Seeley. What brings you to the Jeffersonian?"

"Where'd you stash Clark, Camille?"

"A case?" He held up the file silently and she nodded. "We put him over in Zack's old area for now, since Dr. Brennan assured me she will be back."

He grimaced; he couldn't help it and apparently couldn't hide it either, as she came round the desk to stand in front of him.

"Seeley, I don't know what happened or what you might have done, but you'd best think about how to mend things."

"If I knew, Camille, I would."

She shook her head. "Idiot," she muttered just as he walked out the door. He looked back at her, but she had already turned away.

He collected Clark and drove to the scene. It felt wrong. All of it. Everything.

But he tried. God knew, he tried. He talked to the witnesses, listened to Clark's explanation, made notes, just as he always did.

But it just wasn't right!

And it only got worse when they brought the body back. The Squints all froze him out, except for Clark, who barely knew him. Not that things hadn't been...off before, but now it was considerably less subtle. Professionally, they were perfectly correct, withholding nothing, but the camaraderie was gone. Even in the beginning things hadn't been so tense, not even when he dissed them during the Eller case.

***********************************

The perfect topper to the whole rotten adjustment period came when Cullen informed him he would have to see Sweets for a while. "Booth, you're off your game," the Deputy Director said kindly. "I can't have one of my best agents permanently derailed. For all intents and purposes you've lost your partner, even if it is just temporarily. Besides the obvious feeling of loss, I want you to keep up your skills and moping about like this isn't going to work."

"Sir--!" Booth started to protest.

"No, Booth, this is non-negotiable. It's an hour a week, that's all."

"For how long, sir?" Booth asked, slumping into the chair. They had just gotten free of Sweets' poking and prodding and here he was going to have to sit through it again.

"Until he clears you or Dr. Brennan comes back."

Booth suppressed a groan with great difficulty. "Yes, sir."

***********************************

"What's that, Parker?" Booth asked, seeing the book his son was showing Max several weeks later.

"Postcards, Daddy. Dr. Bones gave me the album and sends me cards to put inside."

"Really?" He ignored the look on Max's face as he looked over their shoulders. His mouth twitched; she had managed to find one with a cartoon Viking on the front as well as ones of a glacier, a city, and some sort of bird.

"Uh-huh."

"Well, you'll have to show me later tonight, OK, bub?"

"Sure, Daddy."

After Parker went to bed, Booth reopened the album. Trust Bones to do something like this! Who else would send cards filled with educational snippets to a child not even related to her? And even better, have the child like it? He had long ago decided the reason she said she was no good with kids was mostly because she was uncomfortable with them. The children and adolescents they had dealt with over the course of their cases had taken to her quite easily, even if she couldn't see it. And Parker, of course…

He slid out the first card, the one of the capital, and read the back.

I arrived yesterday. Greenland's very different from home. And despite its name, it's not very green at all. In fact, most of the country is under ice--though some areas close to the sea are green during the summer. The man who officially discovered Greenland over 1000 years ago is believed to have given it that name to trick people into living here. It sounds more appealing, doesn't it? And the weather was different then, too, so there probably was a little more green than now.

She had actually signed it Bones. His mouth twitched. How she had fought that name in the beginning! And now, she was actually using it on her own. At least with Parker and himself.

He slid it back and, turning the page, picked another at random.

I said last time that there's a lot of ice here. I'm actually working next to a glacier. And summer may be coming, but here it's a very short season. We're still wearing long sleeves & I know I won't be wearing shorts and sandals any time soon. The daffodils in DC had already bloomed and were done when I left. They don't even grow here, but if they did, they would just now be starting.

He flinched. She wasn't looking for sympathy or anything, he could tell, but something behind that simple statement bothered him. Maybe it was just that he knew they were her favorite flowers.

He picked another card at random, showing ice floes and water at sunset.

We had a small scare yesterday. Our instruments showed there had been a little earthquake. None of us felt it, it was that small, but we were worried about our digging. It was something called a glacial earthquake. Glaciers move so slow & usually melt even slower, but once in a while, during summer or during a warming period, they can melt a little more & thus move faster. And when they do, they trigger tiny earthquakes. Happily, no one was hurt & our site is undamaged.

He had a brief flash of panic, remembering the earthquake he had once been in, while working in Guatemala. The sensation of otherwise firm ground suddenly moving under him was something he'd rather not repeat, and his stomach clenched at the thought of Bones at the epicenter of one.

He read it again. No one was hurt; none of us felt it…too small. He relaxed a little--but he was going to look up glacial earthquakes, just to be sure she wasn't downplaying the danger--and chose another card: the cartoon Viking.

I'm afraid we haven't found any Vikings like you're thinking of. Vikings were explorers & warriors & traders from Scandinavia, but there were farmers & priests & artisans just like any people at the time. Those are the ones we're finding. I suppose it is rather sad; we think they tried to live like they did at home, but the land stopped supporting that way of life. Not many trees to build with, the farms weren't able to produce as much food, & even the hunting grew harder. People near the sea did better, we think, because they could fish at least. tbc…

So Bones. Never deviating from the truth, always honest, even to the point of admitting uncertainty. It sounded as though Parker was talking to her or passing on messages, too. How was he managing that? She had written tbc; more of the lecture coming? Curious, he pulled out the next card.

(cont) When the weather changed & it got colder, even ships had a hard time getting through the ice, so their families & friends couldn't send supplies. The last written record dates from 1408 CE. No one really knows what happened afterwards--that's why we're here. We can see what they owned when they died; and I can see in the bones if they died because they were badly sick, starving, or were in an accident or fight. That's how I help your dad, too, but learning what happened a long time ago can be as important as knowing what happened yesterday. If you know what happened, you can usually prepare for it happening again.

He wondered what Rebecca thought of all this. No matter how delicately Bones phrased things (and for her, this was delicate), it was still her looking at ancient skeletons and talking about how they died.

He sat back against the couch, flipping through the album. It looked as though she sent at least one a week, and had made an effort to find interesting or vivid pictures. He supposed he shouldn't be reading them--they were Parker's, after all, and once in the album, they became more private. But he couldn't help himself. After missing her so much, this was something he needed.

Angela said you were curious about the man who discovered Greenland. His name was Eric the Red & if he lived now, he might be one of the people your dad puts in jail. Instead of going to jail, he was banished. So he took his boat & went exploring. When his exile was over, he came back & found people who wanted to try & live here. His son, Leif Ericson, is believed to have found what is now Canada in 1000 CE.

Well, that answered one question. He had been so busy moping about that he hadn't noticed exactly how close Parker was getting to the Squints, and before that, absorbed with his cases. He knew and trusted that Bones was helping Parker, keeping an eye on her dad at the same time, but this was all of them. God help him, but he was going to end up with a squint-son. He grinned suddenly. It didn't bother him a bit!

When you get close to the North Pole, the summer days are even longer than they are in DC. In the winter, the reverse is true, & the nights are very long. In fact, this far north, there is little or no sun at all in winter depending on where you are. I was told that moonlight and the Aurora Borealis sometimes makes up for it, reflecting off the snow. In the summer, there is no night, & sometimes it's called the Land of the Midnight Sun. Though they're often referring to more places than just Greenland. Before you ask, our tents have special liners so we can sleep.

He snorted; she knew his son and his twelve billion questions very well.

I wish you could have seen what I saw last night! It was the longest day of the year, the Summer Solstice, & I told you about the longer days. There's a little valley I like to go to near the dig when I have time, & last night, I watched the sun set, but all it did was go behind a hill. I could see the sun's glow move from west to east, & not more than 30 minutes later, the sun was out again. I tried to film it with my phone, & I hope it comes out all right. It was amazing!

He wondered if she had sent it to Angela. He could see Parker loving every minute; hell, he wouldn't mind seeing something like that himself. Finally he closed the album and set it next to Parker's backpack just where he had found it. Guilt was beginning to plague him for reading them without asking.

***********************************

Sweets studied Agent Booth surreptitiously over the file he was reading. He had risked a bit, telling Cullen he should still see Booth, now that Dr. Brennan had, for all intents and purposes, left him. But Cullen had simply nodded knowingly and made it an official order.

Of course, that had meant a sulking man in his office every week, but as he frequently reminded himself, he had asked for it. And he had learned a few things, too. He made an effort to not speak with his hands, and had decided against roleplay from the start. No point in agitating Booth further than necessary.

And somehow, there had been some profound changes in Agent Booth. The man who hated to be left in silence and could be counted on to start talking if no one else said anything, even if it was just insults and taunts, was silent more often than not during their sessions. And Sweets let him, offering the usual greetings, ask if there was anything new or anything to be said, and if not, kept his own mouth shut.

Both Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth would laugh if he mentioned his own instinct, but he had a feeling something would break pretty soon. But if he rushed it…either it wouldn't happen or it would be destructive. Sweets wasn't sure what would be worse.

"Tell me, Sweets," Booth finally said, squeezing the little stress ball. "You see Parker, too?"

"Your son? No, not at all, Agent Booth. Unless I'm at the Jeffersonian near the end of the day." He hesitated, thinking. "He's usually with Dr. Brennan's father, if I'm not mistaken." And just why did he ask that?

"I just found out Bones has been sending Parker postcards from her dig."

"That's…very thoughtful of her," Sweets murmured.

"And that the Squints are spending a lot of time with him, too. I was just wondering if you were another one of them."

Them? That could be dangerous ground. "No. If you'd like, I could--"

"No! Better a son who's a squint than a shrink." Booth set down the little ball with exaggerated care. "No offense, Sweets, but I can only take one person analyzing me at a time, and never at home."

"Of course. What sort of cards is Dr. Brennan sending?"

"Just the basic stuff--scenery, animals, plants, occasionally a humorous one."

"The usual," he nodded. "Have you had a chance to read them? I'm assuming that they go to your son at his mother's house, since you just found out. How does she feel about them?"

"I don't know to your last question." Booth jumped to his feet and began pacing. "Friday I walked in on Parker showing an album of them to Max. That was the first I knew of it."

"You read them." Not a question--he was sure that Booth had. His partner had been gone for just over three months at this point and so far as Sweets knew, there had been no contact between them.

Booth stopped pacing. "Yes," he said through gritted teeth. "I invaded my son's privacy and possibly Bones', too, but yes, I read them."

"Postcards are by nature more public than any other sort of mail," Sweets pointed out, trying to soothe him. "They were read several times before Parker even saw one."

"That's when they're out in the open, not tucked nicely into an album like baseball cards!"

"That's not all that's bothering you, Agent Booth. I understand your distress at presumably having violated your son's privacy, but you know as a father that children have a limited amount of it. I also cannot imagine that he wouldn't have let you read them. But if you ask next time, it might ease your conscience."

Booth grumbled something unintelligible, before adding in a louder voice, "How much longer, Sweets? I have to go pick up Parker from the lab when we're done."

Sweets checked his alarm. "Only five minutes, Agent Booth, so you might as well go now. See you next week."


No idea if the thing about tent liners is true, but it seemed reasonable. Same for any mentions of the actual dig. While I did my research about Greenland and Norse settlements, any and all errors are mine, as they say.

Titles for ch 6 & 7 come from the poem below…

The Second Coming--William Butler Yeats

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?