"These things I warmly wish for you
Someone to love, some work to do
A bit o' sun, a bit o' cheer,
And a guardian angel always near"
Irish Blessing
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They were arguing.
I watched and listened as anxiously as a small child hearing her parents fight. The argument was for me. I knew that, but it didn't make me feel better. It didn't keep my stomach from churning. In fact, it made me feel worse.
On the way back from my high school, Booth called someone named Shaw and asked for information about my case worker and my foster brothers. He wanted to know where they were now, what information was out there and how he could contact them. He kept looking at Dr. Brennan while he talked. His worry and concern clouded the glow connecting them.
I was worried about her, too. I could see the shadows under her eyes from the sleep she'd missed last night. I knew the interview with Ms. Clyde was weighing on her, that it had drained what energy she possessed. I knew she was thinking about me.
I was also irritated with Booth. I wanted to poke him. Couldn't he see how tired she was? He knew her better than I did. Couldn't he see how it was affecting her, this work she was doing on my behalf? He shouldn't have let her go with him to see Ms. Clyde. He should have made her stay behind. After all, it was his child she carried. He should be taking better care of her.
Then I remembered the look on her face when she insisted she was going with him to see my principal and suddenly I wanted to poke her, too. They were stubborn, both of them.
Booth's phone beeped as they arrived back at the museum – the lab, as she called it. He fell behind a few steps, reading the screen as he followed Dr. Brennan up to her office. When she threw an "I need to visit the ladies room" over her shoulder, he waited until she was gone before he sat down on the couch, pulled a small notebook from inside his jacket and dialed a number.
"This is Special Agent Seeley Booth with the FBI. Are you Dorothy Mayburn?"
"I was told you currently have two boys in your care, Abraham Lincoln Deerfield and Thomas Jefferson Deerfield." He looked down at his notes. "Is that correct?"
"No, ma'am but I'd like to stop by and ask them some questions about a young girl who disappeared three years ago . . ."
"Yes, that's right. Anne Duncan."
"Right now, I'd just like to ask them some questions."
"I'm sure they are, ma'am. What time do they get home from school?"
"Would it be all right if I stopped by at that time?"
"Thank you. I'll see you then."
He scribbled something in his notebook, glanced quickly over his shoulder and dialed another number.
"Miquel Gonzalez, please."
"Mr. Gonzalez, I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth, FBI. You were the case worker for Anne Duncan?"
"Yes. If you have a few minutes, I'd like to ask you some questions about her."
The sudden brilliance of the light around him warned me that Dr. Brennan had returned, but of course Booth couldn't see it. Without saying anything, she leaned in the doorway of her office and watched him.
"I can appreciate that, Mr. Gonzalez, but her remains were discovered a few days ago. Confidentiality rules no longer apply."
"Mr. Gonzalez?"
"Yes, sir."
"Thank you, I appreciate that." He looked at his watch. "Do you have time for me to stop by your office this afternoon?"
He scribbled again in his notebook.
"Thank you. I'll be there."
He ended the call and dropped his phone on the table. One hand rubbed wearily over his face.
"That was her case worker?"
Maybe I was wrong, maybe Booth had known all along that she was listening. He didn't seem surprised when her voice broke the silence.
And he didn't look at her.
"Yea."
"What time are we meeting with him?"
Booth picked up his phone and let it bounce against the table as he flipped it in his hand.
"I'm meeting him at 12:30." He slipped the small notebook back into his suit pocket, clicked his pen closed and added it, too. Then he stood up and faced her.
And that's when the argument started.
"I'm going with you." Her jaw was rigid.
"Not this time." His was just as hard.
The air around them crackled with color and exploded with brilliant strikes of lightening.
"Don't coddle me, Booth!"
"I'm not coddling you! Look at you, you're dead on your feet! You're wiped out! Stay here and rest."
"That's the definition of coddling!" She was furious. "I'll rest on the drive there."
"No."
I was surprised she didn't stomp her foot. But I was on his side this time. She was exhausted. It showed and he was right to demand she stay behind.
"You can't stop me from going."
"Watch me."
"We're partners!" She was mad enough to raise her voice. "You can't stop me from doing my job!"
He yelled right back.
"I'm not asking this as your partner! I'm asking as the man who loves you!"
The air left her in a whoosh. Her mouth opened, then closed again.
The argument had been heard out in the hallway. Angela appeared in the door of the office.
"Trouble in paradise?"
Booth and Dr. Brennan turned on her fiercely.
"No!"
"Okay." Their combined shout had Angela throwing up her hands in self-defense and hastily backing away. "I'll come back later."
It worried me, the fierceness of this argument, the intensity of the emotion raging between them. I was afraid this fight to give me justice might damage what they shared. I stared carefully at the pattern of light that wove around them, looking for signs of fracturing or fraying. The ropes of gold were strong, though, and held fast as they twisted and knotted and turned and bound Booth and Dr. Brennan even closer as the glittering net closed over them.
His shoulders slumped and he took a step closer as he reached out to stroke the fingers of one hand down her cheek.
"Ahhh, Bones . . . baby, it was like watching you bleed to death from a thousand paper cuts. Don't make me do that again."
That was all he had to say. She could ignore her pain, but she wouldn't be the cause of his. He knew that, I thought, and it was a little underhanded of him to use it against her.
But it worked. She gave in.
"You know that paper cuts, even in that number, wouldn't actually be fatal."
"It would hurt like hell, though."
"Yes, it sounds quite painful." She didn't want to smile back, I could tell, but she couldn't stop herself, not when he was grinning at her with that fascinating half-grin.
"I'll call you as soon as I'm done," he promised. "I'll let you read my case notes. I'll even let you correct my spelling."
"Well, your spelling is awful."
When he pulled her into his arms, she reached up to adjust his tie then leaned her forehead against his shoulder. The light around them softened to a warm, dazzling rain of gold that floated over them in a shimmering curtain.
"You're right. I am tired."
His hands stroked her back as he kissed her.
"Get some rest. I'll call you. I promise."
He walked away but when he reached the door, her voice stopped him.
"Booth."
He waited . . . we both waited . . . but Dr. Brennan didn't say anything else. She just looked at him as the threads that connected them blazed hot with a humming pulse I could almost hear.
He nodded once.
"I know," he smiled.
And he was gone.
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