A/N: We know some of you love when there's some Angela; she'll appears at the beginning of this chapter with a little fun about Cummings, for a change. And you already know that something's going to happen with Booth... Good thing, bad thing? You'll know it very soon now! Good reading!

Chapter 9 - Breakthrough

She had never been annoyed by making progress in an investigation. She had never thought that she would have wished for the gun found by Cummings to not actually be the murder weapon. Yes, she had to admit that she wished he hadn't been right. But it was scientific; undeniable, unquestionable. The bullet had come from this gun.

She combed her fingers through her hair, already upset at the mere mental picture of the smug smile he'd give her. As much as she wanted to solve this case and find the bastard who had taken her and put Booth in a wheelchair, she wasn't quite sure how long she would be able to hold herself from kicking the guy in the testicles if he'd keep acting this way with her. She had been about to call Cullen, earlier. She had hesitated, then dialled his number, to finally change her mind. She didn't need anybody to help her deal with some kind of jerk. And she would certainly not be caught whining in Cullen's apron strings.

She was brought back to reality when a wincing Angela appeared at the door.

"Sweetie, you know how much I hate to disturb you when you're thinking those brilliant thoughts of yours but I really think you should come."

"Why? What's going on?"

"One name: Cummings."

Brennan rolled her eyes. "He's here? Nobody called me."

"Well, he presented himself at the security desk and I was around so I told the guard I would handle it," Angela explained, stepping in. "He put his hand on my butt," she added with a lower voice and a funny embarrassed look.

"He did what? I'm sorry, Angela," Brennan said, finding it hard not to laugh at her friend's expression. "Did you slap him?"

"I was about to, you know. But Jack was there and he saw everything, and you should really come because I swear there's gonna be another murder."

Brennan stood up, a look of exasperation stretched across her face. She crossed the lab, Angela following her on her heels, and headed for where she heard the shouts coming from. She had never seen Jack so furious. But when it came to Angela, it seemed that it was hard for him to contain himself—which, incidentally, was quite understandable. What's more, when it came to Angela, it seemed that anger greatly increased his strength, for he had managed to grab the guy's collar and had him currently pinned up against a wall despite the fact that he was much smaller than him.

"If I had known she was your girlfriend, I wouldn't have allowed myself to, man, I swear," Cummings said with a steady voice, his casual attitude seeming to annoy Hodgins even more.

Brennan moved closer, shaking her head in frustration, wondering what on earth she had done to deserve this. She placed herself between the two men and shot Hodgins a disapproving glare before she grabbed Cummings's sleeve. Surprisingly, the latter let her drag him to her office without putting up resistance.

"I like that, when you're rough with me."

Ignoring his mockery, she stood in front of him and straightened her back to seem as tall as possible. "What do you think you're doing?" she asked in a cold voice.

He shrugged. "You going to send me to the boss's office or something? 'Cause I hear she is hot."

"Not that hot," she huffed, "Anyway, I'm not letting you near any of my co-workers again. From now on, when you come here you call me first, explaining precisely what you need and I will have it ready for you when you arrive. You'll stay in your own building as much as possible," she commanded him with her hands on her hips.

"Aw, but Temperance, I'm sure we can work something out—" he was saying as he stepped closer to her, invading her personal space while he maintained eye-contact, causing her to take a step backwards almost immediately. Not out of fear, out of disgust.

She wanted to show him he didn't intimidate her before moving away so she narrowed her eyes at him. "Harass Angela or me one more time and I'm requesting Cullen to remove you from the case," she threatened and he smirked. In truth she would never call Cullen over this, but Cummings didn't know this, did he?

At that moment, Angela walked past her office, dragging Hodgins with her to let him blow off some steam in her office. It made Brennan almost smile, the way they interacted with each other. Angela definitely held most of the ropes in their relationship, though Hodgins made sure to take over the reins every once in a while.

"They seem pretty tight, don't they?" Cummings's voice brought her out of her thoughts, brutally reminding of his unpleasant presence.

"What did you come here for, anyway?" Brennan's expression grew stern immediately and she decided this was the only look she would be giving him from now on.

"Oh, you know, just wanted to see you again," he smirked, earning himself a deadly glare which changed into a warning look as she unsubtly rested her hand on her desk beside the phone and cocked an eyebrow at him. "Or… it might have something to do with the analysis of the gun, which, if I may remind you, we got thanks to me," he winked.

She despised him. She despised everything he said or did, his voice, the way he moved, his lack of manners, the way he looked at her, the way he—the way he just wasn't Booth... Heaving a sigh, she mentally shook herself and thought that at least she'd see her partner, the real one, in a couple of hours.

"It's the gun that killed Michael Benson," she quickly confirmed.

"Ah. And what else do we have on this individual?"

"We have his DNA."

"That's all?"

"Forensically, yes."

"That's not very much." His words hit her like an insult.

"It's not everything we have. Delaney's got motive and opportunity. The only thing we can't explain is how he got hold of an FBI gun."

"Whose gun is it?"

"I thought you said you'd studied the file."

"So you don't know."

"No guns have been reported missing."

"Yet this baby must belong to someone. This agent must be so lonely without his toy…"

"Stop mocking the case, Cummings."

"Please, call me Leo, Temperance."

"It's Doctor Brennan for you, Leo."

"All right, sexy enough, fits the hot lab coat. Anyway I've come to write down the serial number of the gun so I can find out who it belongs to and possibly solve the case. What do you say?" He challenged her and nudged her shoulder.


Slapping his arm away and shooting him another glare, she could do nothing but answer, "Follow me," and get him what he wanted.


Normally, he would have called her instantly. Usually, he would have waited for her to get home so they could go together. But this just couldn't wait. Finally, all of his effort seemed to pay off. The tiniest bit of progress, but it was the beginning of everything going to be all right. It was the start of becoming his old self again. He simply couldn't wait any longer.

Typically, Bones had hooked him up with the best physical therapist in town. And ever since his first appointment she'd come with him. He'd offer to call a cab, one that could transport wheelchairs of course, but she always insisted on coming along. Although now she would stay in the waiting area and read a book, the first time she'd gone in with him, curious as ever to study the exercises and make sure he'd do them at home, too. Not when he was too tired or too frustrated because of his seemingly fruitless exertions, but when he was hopeful she encouraged him and massaged his legs to stimulate his circulation.

"Will you keep doing this when I've recovered use of my legs?" he asked as he folded his hands behind his head.

"I don't think so," she answered with a slight smile and in a teasing tone as she carefully twisted his ankle.

"Because it's very annoying to have you doing this and I'm unable to feel anything. So, I was thinking, you know, if it'd be possible that I never let you know I can walk and you will keep giving me these wonderful massages…"

She dropped his foot on the bed and tended to the other one. "I would think that very childish of you, Booth. Unless—" She stopped massaging and she was thoughtful for some seconds, her eyes turned up to the ceiling. "Unless you repay me in kind and then we can have another talk about it."

"Well, I'd indeed have to think about that. Though I might just accept the offer."

"You already owe me a back-rub in return for this, anyway."

"What? You're kidding, right? It's not fair, I can't feel anything!"

"Well, it's only what you're telling me," she said with a mischievous glint of a smile.

He remembered having rolled his eyes at her and how they had both burst out laughing. She was the one who rolled her eyes, usually. But now he liked to let her have the last word on some subjects, simply to see this wonderful look on her face; merely to hear her laugh.

The ringing of the doorbell started him out of his thoughts. Oh yes, she was going to like his surprise. He swiftly wheeled through the living room and opened the door.

"Hi, please come in."

"I came as soon as possible. Now tell me, please; how much of your leg have you been able to move?"


Sometimes, he was tired of playing this little game. Sometimes, he wondered if all these efforts were worth the result; if all these risks were worth the money. The money, and very likely his life. Perhaps some more alone-time with Persephone…

Several times, it had occurred to him that maybe he wasn't paid enough for this. But he had chased these thoughts away very fast, for he knew it was but a mistake. It was too late, anyway. Whatever they say, once you have entered these circles, it's impossible to get out. Once you've accepted their money, you can't go back. And once you've killed, you can never stop.

Yet, he couldn't help dreading the slightest false move he would make. He knew very well that juggling with identities was never without the risk of giving himself away, and that opportunism could hasten his fall. In this game, he had no allies, no friends. He couldn't trust anybody; he could count on nobody but himself. Fortunately, this person was sly and brilliant. And fortunately, this person had more than one trick up his sleeve.


Tiredly, she closed the door behind her. Putting away her coat, she noticed how silent the house was. Usually Booth was already waiting for her when she entered. She mocked herself for this thought. What was she, a working woman coming back home and expecting her husband to welcome her like a pet? Tsss. She tried to laugh at herself, but it didn't seem right and the eerie feeling took the upper hand on her as had been often the case, lately.

Frowning, she dropped her bag to the floor and glanced around. She focused hard on her breathing to calm the furious rhythm of her heartbeat. Nothing seemed out of place. But it was so quiet

"Booth?" she called and waited, holding her breath, for a response. A shiver ran up her spine and she swallowed. She felt irrepressibly terrified by the mere idea that he could have gone out, that she could be alone. Then, she reassured herself, remembering how afraid he was that people might see him in a wheelchair. Maybe he had just fallen asleep. She glanced at her watch. At six thirty? Highly unlikely.

But then… where was—

"Bones!"

She jumped nearly a foot into the sky when he suddenly emerged from—somewhere; she was too startled to pay attention to where he had come from.

"Booth, you—"

"Surprise!" he called, drowning out her voice.

"Don't ever do that again," she hissed in a low voice. "You scared me half to death."

She bent to grab her bag from where she'd dropped it on the floor, proceeding to throw it onto her bed before walking towards the kitchen and getting herself a drink.

"You want anything?" she asked him.

He shook his head. She shrugged and emptied her glass in a few gulps, then put it on the counter with a clap.

"So how was your day?" he inquired.

The tone of his voice betrayed some kind of excitement, and, looking at him, she noticed this sparkle in his eyes. But she didn't ask about it. If he was happy about something, she would get to hear it soon. He'd asked about her day first.

"We had a breakthrough," she said matter-of-factly.

"Really? Today must be a good day. A great day. What kind of breakthrough?"

Gazing suspiciously at him, she continued her story while in the back of her head she was beginning to get curious. She wondered what was going on, exactly. He was acting really strangely…

"You know the gun that Cummings found? It's a match to the murder weapon."

"My condolences."

"Thank you. I hate it that he's the one who found it. Anyway, the important thing is we have it now, and Cummings has even been able to find out the owner."

"That sucks. On one hand I guess. Who was it? Do I know him?"

"I don't know all the people you know, Booth. But apparently it belongs to an agent named Randolph Kiernan."

"Doesn't ring a bell. So what was his story?"

"That he didn't know his gun was missing and so he didn't report it."

"That doesn't make sense. He must have noticed his gun was missing. No agent goes without using it for weeks straight."

"Apparently that's correct. But he told us, and Cullen confirmed this, that he had been hiking with his wife and two of their friends when he tripped and broke his ankle, thus confining him to an office chair for a few months. What's more is that he claimed the trip occurred at the time of the murder."

"And?"

"His alibi checked out," she concluded with a pained expression. "That was our only lead from the gun."

"Hey, don't worry. I'm sure you'll find something else."

"I hope so. There's got to be more evidence, I just need to know where to look."

"That's my girl," Booth said, shooting her one of these wonderful grins of his. "Now, I happen to have had a little breakthrough of my own while you were interrogating agents with your partner—"

"He's not my partner," she was quick to correct him, and he grinned sheepishly.

"Of course he isn't; I'm your partner."

She nodded her head with a smile. "So, tell me about your breakthrough."

"I was thinking of how to tell you, you know, since you might cry and all…"

"Booth, I won't cry. Tell me quickly!" she warned him, and for a moment he merely looked at her.

"I can move my left leg," he all but whispered, his eyes sparkling with happiness as hers filled with tears of the same.

"Oh, Booth!" she called and threw her arms around his shoulders, heaving a sigh of great relief. "That—that's really great. Good. I'm proud of you."

Patting her back, he couldn't help but tease, "I told you you were going to cry."

Pulling back and looking him square in the eyes, she insisted, "I'm not crying. My eyes are dry. You can see that."

"Shall I show you?"

She smiled widely and stepped back. As his left knee stretched, lifting up his lower leg and foot, she watched with amazement.

"I'll cook you anything you want tonight," she told him happily. "And then we'll watch whatever you want."

"Wow, Bones. I'm starting to think I should do this more often," he flashed her his charm smile and let his leg drop back into its former position. "How about you make the both of us a cup of coffee and I'll start thinking about what I'd like for dinner." As she rolled her eyes, he added, "Not my fault! You're a splendid cook, you know. It's hard to make a choice."

She blushed. And felt it. Damn.Quickly, she turned around and got a coffee filter from the cupboard to her left as she simultaneously grabbed the pot and put it underneath the tap.

She had hesitated a lot today, about telling him what had happened right before the interview with Randolph Kiernan. Now she knew she wouldn't tell him. It wasn't that important anyway. Despite the fact that this strange feeling of wanting to share it with him crept up her back, she decided to tell him nothing. If she wanted to become herself again, to be utterly independent, she should start right now with repressing the urge to turn to others for comfort. She needed to learn how to comfort herself again. Just like before. Somehow she knew he would want to know, but she herself decided to forget it ever happened. There was nothing that could be done about it anyway.

"What happened to your arm?"

"What?"

"Why did you hide your arm?"

"I didn't—" she began before realising that she had instinctively pulled down her sleeve, a little too obviously, maybe.

"Bones—"

"I—It's nothing, I just—I—" She didn't find an excuse quickly enough and while she was stammering, he had moved closer and grabbed her arm gently. "It got stuck between the door of my office this morning, it's pretty silly. I guess I wasn't completely awake yet."

She went tight-lips and pulled her arm back to prevent him from doing a further exam of the now purple bruise on her forearm, but it was already too late.

"Doesn't seem like you got stuck, Bones. Who did that to you?"

She kept insisting on her story, although she knew perfectly well how badly she always managed to lie to him. "Nobody, I told you, I just—" She interrupted herself, understanding that it wouldn't lead her anywhere. "I had a fight with somebody."

"Who?"

"It's not important."

"It's this guy, Cummings, isn't it?"

She let out a sigh of surrender. Why did he always have to guess everything? "Yes. I had a fight with Cummings. I just—I can hardly bear him."

"And he did this to you?"

"It's no big deal, you know, he looks worse," she stated.

This time, she managed to maintain his gaze with no visible sign of emotion. In his dark eyes, she saw that he wasn't buying this, but he said nothing. She served herself another glass of water. She had reached her point. The discussion was over. She had had the last word.


Booth turned his gaze to his quiet partner lying on the couch next to him and realised that she had fallen asleep. Without averting his eyes from her, he grabbed the remote control and switched off the television. She seemed so peaceful, with her eyes closed, and so relaxed, with her steady breathing. But he knew that it wasn't actually true. Even in his presence, she kept jumping at each noise. He had seen a quick but not less present spark of anxiety in her eyes, earlier. And there were those nightmares. He heard her, sometimes—too often to his liking. He wished he was able to sit close to her, then; to wake her slowly with reassuring words whispered in her ear; to hold her tightly, and show her that she was not alone; that she had no reason to be afraid anymore; that he was there to protect her. But he couldn't even get out of his bed by himself.

Delicately, he pushed back a lock of hair that had fallen over her face.

"What do you think you're doing?" she mumbled in a sleep-coated voice.

He smiled but ignored her threat and tucked her hair behind her ear before drawing back his hand. She protested against his alpha maleness a lot less these days, and when she did utter a threat, he knew she didn't mean it. It was her way of maintaining her I-need-nobody façade.

He wished that he could tell her all this. He hated that she had to be scared, tired, stressed and upset. And he hated that she had decided to be alone with it. Also, he hated himself for having to wake her, eventually. It wasn't fair for her that he depended on her so much. Getting in his bed, getting out, getting dressed, washed, to physical therapy… It was like she was taking care of two persons completely instead of only lending him a hand every now and then. But, above all, he hated himself for not being able to promise her that he was and would always be her partner and her gun.


A/N: Was the fluff to your liking? We must admit that when we reread this chapter, we melted at our own writing! So what can we tell you to make your wait bearable until next Sunday... Maybe that next chapter will begin with the killer's POV, and he's really creepy. That Brennan will 'rock', and that Cummings is still a jerk—he's preparing her a surprise she won't like at all. Have a nice week!