AN: I have to say, I was very gratified by the number of reviews and emails asking "what thread?" after the last chapter. That tells me you can't predict the ending of this story yet, and that's a good feeling. Yay, me. :-)
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Booth hit a speed dial number on his phone. "What's for dinner tonight?"
Angela paused for a split second. "Something wonderful, I'm sure. 7:00?"
"I'll be there," he answered and hung up.
Hodgins looked up curiously from his place on the floor beside Michael. "Booth is coming for dinner tonight." Angela answered his unspoken question as she folded her legs beneath her and passed blocks one by one to her son.
"What's he got?" Hodgins asked immediately.
"He didn't say," Angela shrugged, shifting out of the way as Michael gleefully toppled the tower he'd just built. "I guess we'll find out when he gets here."
When she opened the door to him a few hours later it was impossible not to notice the fire in his expression and the new sense of purpose that carried him in long strides straight back to her studio, where an array of computer equipment occupied one long wall.
"Has something happened with Brennan?" Angela asked hopefully. "Did you hear something?"
"You got anything for me?" Booth avoided answering her directly.
Hodgins wandered in with Michael in his arms and watched them both carefully.
"Not yet," Angela admitted. "I think I'm getting there but-"
Booth interrupted her abruptly. "I need a favor."
"Of course," she nodded immediately. "Anything."
"You know that farmer's market we use?"
"The one on Wisconsin?" Angela asked. "Sure. We shop there, too."
"Do you think you can get me a layout of the inside?" Booth asked. "With the vendors marked off?"
"Maybe," she shrugged. "Let me see what I can find."
Within a few minutes she was pulling a diagram from the printer. "This is just the interior, with the permanent spaces," she told him as she passed the page to him. "The stands that set up outside are more transient and change from week to week."
Booth spread the sheet out on the desk, put his finger on the main entrance and began marking off sections. Then he found the second entrance and counted back from that location. When he arrived at the same place, he tapped it with one long finger.
"This one," he said. "447. Who's in that space?"
Angela turned back to her computer. "H&N Farms," she answered. She clicked on a superscript symbol beside the name and was immediately taken to the bottom of the screen. "It says they were one of the founding members of the market when it opened in 1972."
"Huh." Booth rubbed at his jaw, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he stared past Angela to her computer. "I need you to find out what you can about them, Angela," he said. "But be careful. Don't dig too deep," he warned. "I don't want to set off any alarms, okay? Just find out what's out there, in public, and let me know."
"Why?" Hodgins, who had been watching silently until that point, suddenly interrupted. "What's this got to do with Brennan?"
Booth hesitated. He knew all about the elaborate network of drop box locations Max had arranged for the flash drives that were sent to Angela at regular intervals and she and Hodgins knew he had his own way of communicating with Brennan but up till now, he had closely guarded the secret behind his weekly conversations. It wasn't a lack of trust on his part, he acknowledged to himself, it was fear. For a handful of minutes every week he was connected to her again, holding a tin can attached to a string that stretched over the horizon. His peace of mind - his very sanity - depended on the knowledge that at the other end, she was there, too. That fragile thread was all he had and the thought of losing it terrified him.
He sank down into a nearby chair and closed his eyes. Eleven weeks. 77 days. Two and a half months. This had to end.
He released a deep breath then, without opening his eyes, began to speak.
By the time he finished, Angela was staring wide-eyed in terror while Hodgins looked on with something like awe.
"That's . . ." He shook his head and laughed. "That's ingenious."
Booth stared at his feet. "Max," he said simply, with a glance at the scientist. "He set it all up."
Angela shook her head as if to clear it. "Do you think these people . . . do you think they know where he and Brennan are?"
Booth stood and began to pace. "I don't know," he admitted. "Maybe not. But they're a connection and I - I've got to do something," he said, his agitation visible. "I've been following along behind you people, begging for crumbs and chasing my tail for almost three months. I'm done," he hissed fiercely. "That stops now." Angela jumped along with the items on her desk when Booth slammed his fist down hard. "You do what you do," he told them, waving a finger between. "I'm going to do what I do. I'm going to find Bones." He captured Angela's eyes with his own. "Get me what you can on that farm but be careful." His jaw clenched. "If they know I'm looking they might just disappear and-"
"I won't leave a trace," she promised earnestly.
He nodded and pivoted on one foot, then paused at the door. "Thanks for dinner." His smile was brief and tight and then he was gone.
Angela rushed to follow him. "But we haven't-" The sound of their front door closing ended her flow of words. She looked back at Hodgins with an exaggerated shrug. "We haven't had dinner yet."
Hodgins smiled and passed a squirming Michael over to her. "I guess we're having leftovers for lunch tomorrow."
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Finally, it was Saturday again. Another Saturday, another trip to the market. Another quiet trip, just like last week, with no theatrics or distractions or out-of-the-blue performances. He held himself in check this time, too, and deliberately turned his back on the farmer after he passed his shopping bag over to be filled. See, he muttered silently. I can play nice, too. For now. Because there were other customers there - real customers - he handed over the marked $20 and got it back again with his change. He stuffed the money in his pocket without looking, murmured a quiet thanks and walked away.
The entire exchange was over in ten minutes. Fifteen, tops.
That's what his life had become - six days of waiting for fifteen minutes. And a phone.
When he got home he left the produce on the counter and carried the phone into the room she'd furnished as an office. Sitting at her desk, looking around at the bits and pieces of her professional life scattered throughout the room, everything just as she'd left it, he could almost believe she was right outside the door. If he closed his eyes and concentrated, he could almost hear her voice.
Instead he turned on the phone.
They were safe and well.
He missed them.
They both said I love you.
And then she thrust a dagger into his heart. Christine was now rolling freely from her back to her front.
im missng so much
I have pictures. Photographs and videos. Dad took my phone so I wouldn't be tempted to turn it on but he bought a camera and we've taken pictures everyday.
We already have four memory cards filled. There are hundreds of photos and hours of video. I know it's not the same but you'll be able to see everything. I've documented everything.
that wl b nice. ill watch it all
I'm sorry, Booth. Babies change so quickly during this period of infancy, her development is so rapid - I'm sorry.
i no. me 2
I also want you to know that my feelings for you haven't changed. I love you. I still love you.
He stared at the phone, his heart pounding.
what?
My feelings haven't changed. I know love can be fleeting and transitory but I want you to know that I still love you. And I hope that time and distance haven't damaged your feelings for me.
The edges of the phone cut into his fingers.
stop!
I've read that long separations can damage a relationship but I felt it was important to tell you that I haven't changed. My own feelings haven't changed.
A white hot tide of fury rushed over him.
BONES SHUT UP!
His fingers pressed so hard into the keys as he rushed to get the words out that he feared for moment he might break the phone.
dont say anothr word u just listn 2 me
n dont give me bullshit abt seeng/readng instd of listening. u no what i mean
this will not break us. u hear me?
we r not fleetng or anythg else.
we r us. u n me
i love u
we workd 2 hard 2 get this far
u hear me?
this will not break us
we might have 2 adjust when u get back
things might b diff 4/while but well make it
i love u
this will not break us. n 50 yrs well look back n laugh
u hear me?
this will not break us
His breathing returned to normal slowly, even as traces of anger remained to sizzle along his nerve endings.
bones?
May I respond now?
yea. sorry i told u 2 shut up
I'm sorry I made you angry. You're right. Of course you're right. We will survive this.
we will
I love you, Booth.
i love u baby
I seem to be making everyone angry today. Dad is yelling at me, too.
tell max 2 go the hell away
He came out several minutes ago. I ran away from him.
u ran away?
Yes. There's a porch swing - I was sitting there when he came out but it was in the middle of your message stream so I ran away to avoid him.
He came after me, of course, but I'm sitting in a tree so he can't reach me. He's below me, still yelling.
He read that twice and then started laughing, the last of his anger fading into the thought of Brennan perched on a sturdy limb while Max screamed in frustration below.
u climbed a tree?
Yes. It's a rather precarious position. I'm having second thoughts about building a treehouse for Christine.
i love u bones.
I love you, Booth. I'm sorry. It was not my intention to make you angry, I just wanted you to know that my feelings have not changed.
i already nu that, baby. better give the phone 2 max b4 he has a stroke. i love u.
I love you, Booth.
i love u
When the phone stayed stubbornly silent, he let it fall to her desk and dropped his head in his hands.
She was afraid a few months could change how he felt? Seven years, thousands of miles and one blonde reporter hadn't changed the way he felt about her, why the hell would a few months apart, even as horrible as they'd been?
In a sudden moment of rage, he picked up the phone and threw it out the open door. It sailed over the banister and seconds later, he heard it shatter on the floor below.
This had to end. Now.
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Remember at the end of S7 when someone asked how long Brennan would be gone? HH - or SN, I can't remember which one it was - said "She'll be gone about as long as we will." So when the premiere date for S8 was announced, I counted it up and voila! 18 weeks.
But now, according to interviews after SDCC, they've decided she's been gone "a couple of months." Well no one asked me if that was okay. I planned 18 weeks, dammit! How dare the show's actual writers change their minds on me like that! That's just rude.
I have 18 weeks, dammit. So, 18 weeks you'll get.
Take that, HH&Co.
Thanks for reading!