Disclaimer: Again, borrowed, not owned.

Booth sat in his car staring transfixed at the two level house. It looked fairly typical for the neighborhood it was positioned in. It was painted a pale yellow color and it had brown roof tiles that looked like they had been hand repaired at least a couple of times. Booth could also see a green house that, weirdly enough, looked to be at least a decade newer than the rest of the house. There were brightly colored flowers blooming all around a reasonably spacious yard area.

It didn't look like the kind of house where two boys had been terrorized by their father for the better part of two decades. But then again, neither had his childhood home.

Booth wasn't exactly sure why he was staring at this house, or why he had insisted on coming alone. Bones had offered but he had told her that he wanted to visit the family by himself. She had questioned him but Booth had shrugged her off and told her that he had just had a feeling. Bones had walked away muttering about the unreliability of the human digestive tract as an indicator of situations.

Booth spent another few minutes lost in thought about the forensic anthropologist and for a moment his expression relaxed then he looked back up at the house and his smile faded. A little voice in his head started muttering that he would have to move sooner or later.

Eventually he stole his nerves and stepped out of his car into the sweltering Miami heat. Warmth seemed to radiate off of everything in the street and Booth could feel the heat of the pavement through the soles of his shoes.

He went up the front steps and stopped staring at the door. What did you do when you were standing out side of the door of an ex-super spies mother? Ring the door bell? Well he couldn't think of anything better to do, so he reached out and rang the door bell.

Booth could hear the bell echo through the house. He waited for several minutes and had almost decided that no one was home when the door cracked open.

Whatever Booth had been expecting, it was definently not to be greeted by a women with spiky, bleached hair to open the door with a lit cigarette and a shot gun clutched in her hands.

"Whoa!" Booth exclaimed. Jumping back from the door and lifting his hands in the universal sign for [look I am not holding a big huge gun].

Madeline Westen lowered the shot gun and appraised the man who had rung her door bell. "Who the hell are you?" She barked rufly.

"Special Agent Seeley Booth of the FBI I just wanted to ask a few questions about Michael," he replied. "Do you always open the door with a loaded shot-gun?" He was eyeing the weapon cautiously. One hand had already reached for his own firearm out of habit.

Madeline waved her hand dismissively, "Oh relax sweetheart the safety's on," she set the gun to the side and opened the door a little farther. "You say you're FBI? And you have questions about Michael?"

"Yes Mam," Booth said slipping into his polite habits now that there was no gun being pointed at his head.

Madeline grunted and turned, walking back into the house. Booth stood in the doorway for a moment, unsure of what to do until Madeline called, "Well don't just stand there with the door open! You're letting all the cold air out!"

Booth came in and shut the door tight behind him. On instinct he wiped his feet clean on the door mat. He didn't know what it was, but having this women barking at him made him feel distinctly like a kid again.

"Good. Now you'd better sit down. Would you like a beer?" Madeline offered from the kitchen.

Booth shook his head. "No, I only have a few questions. I won't be here for very long."

Maddy snorted. "With you people it's never 'just a few questions'. Now sit down, drink your beer, and for god's sake lose the suite jacket before you get heat stroke! I swear you and Michael both, I keep telling him there is no point in looking serious while helping people if your to busy dying of heat stroke to do any helping."

Booth did the only thing he could. He removed his suite jacket so he was left in his slacks and collard shirt, and hung the jacket over the back of a seat at the kitchen table. He sat down and meekly accepted the beer that Madeline handed him before she sat down across the table from him.

Booth sat for a moment in awkward silence. He couldn't quite get past the feeling that he was a small child again who was being taken care of and simultaneously being chewed out by a concerned parent. Madeline didn't break the silence, obviously waiting for him to speak first. he cleared his throat, "Umm I guess I just wanted to know a bit more about Michael. I'm in the middle of a murder case about a dead marine, and I, and the agents I'm working with think that your son might be involved some how."

Madeline's gaze was unyielding and it was making Booth fidget. "You think that my son murdered a U.S. marine?" Booth fidgeted more. "Well I can't say I blame you honey. If you're anything like the other agents who have been sent down here to talk to me then the only things you know you learned from other people or from a file, most of which is frankly bull." She stubbed out her cigarette and lit another. "I've shot two of them on sight but I decided not to shoot you," Madeline caught his gaze. "Don't make me regret it."

"I'm sorry Mam. But I just need to know if your son is capable of killing a marine." Booth found himself unable to meet her eyes.

"You listen to me honey. My son is capable of killing almost anyone, but if he killed your marine, then he had a damn good reason. My son may have killed a few people hell he may have killed a lot of them, but I know for a fact that he killed them either for his country or to protect people. So if he's your murderer," she shrugged. "Then there was more to your marine than just the brave hero who fought for his country."

Booth nodded as he processed this information.

Madeline watched Booth. "Know you wan to know more about Michael, then I'll tell you." She got up and moved to the mantle and picked up a few photographs. She handed him one of them. It showed Michael as a teenager and another small boy who looked a bit like assumed that this was his younger brother Nate. In the photo Michael looked like he was forcing a calm semi-happy expression, while Nate grinned happily. The two were sitting on the front steps of the house. Michael had one arm protectively around Nate and there was an angry red mark running down the side of his face and along his temple.

"Michael was thirteen when this was taken. Nate had only just turned seven," Madeline tapped the red mark on Michael's cheek. "This mark is from his fathers wedding ring. Hank was drunk and he was trying to push Nate around. Michael got in front of him and Hank smacked him across the face." Maddy looked back up at Booths face and noticed the scar at the side of his jaw. "Now, something tells me you were that little boy too. The one who took the hit for someone else."

Maddy sat back. "Now, do you think someone like that would ever kill a hero?"

Booth was speechless. How did she know? The scar could have come from anywhere? She's right though, I could never kill a man who hadn't done anything wrong.

Madeline took the picture back and handed over the next photo. It looked like a more recent shot. A tall bald man with a goatee was sitting at the same kitchen table with Michael, and was that? "Sam Axe!"

"You know Sam?" Madeline asked.

Booth nodded. "We had a couple of missions together when Sam was a seal and I was a sniper."

Madeline accepted this. Sam had done a lot as a SEAL. Somehow, it didn't seem so strange that he would know this FBI agent.

Booth turned back to the photo. All three men where holding beer bottles. They looked tired but reasonably happy. "These are my sons best friends. They go through hell almost every day to help people and at one point every single one of them has been shot and beat to hell."

Maddy then handed Booth the last photo. It was of Michael and the women from the firing range that he had called Fiona. They were standing in the sun. Michael's arms were around Fiona and of all the photos, this was the only one where Michael actually looked truly happy, and relaxed. "This is Fiona, and my son cares more about that girl than anyone else in this entire world. He would die for her, and he would kill for her, and he wouldn't spend a moment feeling bad about it."

She sat back in her chair across the table. "Now, do you still think my son is a cold blooded murderer?"

Booth shook his head. "I'm sorry about all of this Miss Westen. I think I get it now. These people are your family, and I promise that I won't hurt them." and he wouldn't either. His perspective had been shifted. Obviously, the man that Madeline knew was nothing like the man described in the file. There was more to this, and he had every intention of finding it.

Maddy nodded. "I know you won't Honey. And if you don't try and hurt them, then I can guarantee that my family won't try to hurt yours." She got up and moved towards the door. "Now, unless you want to stay for dinner with my son and his girlfriend, I suggest you go back to your car."

She opened the door only to see the charger pull up in front of her house.

She shrugged. It might be good for this agent to get the full on Michael and Fiona treatment. Besides, she had cooked too much anyway. She turned back to the confused FBI agent. "So, agent Booth, how do you like spaghetti?"

A/N: Well, Madeline has now met Booth. How do you think I did? I tried to stay true to both characters, but if you think I was off, let me know and I can revise. Review for me!