A/N Hello and welcome back!

YAY! Bones S11 is in our future! I don't think it's a surprise to anyone that I was doubting the possibility of a renewal, but I am pleasantly gobsmacked! Congrats to the cast & crew of the show for making this milestone happen.

Thank you all, once again, for your continued support of my little tale. This chapter actually diverts from my original plan for Chapter 10; I had a character enter my imagination that I wanted to introduce, so I had to make amends to my original plan to make it work. I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer…...really? Is there any doubt that I don't own Bones?

The partners entered the large conference room and glanced around at the diverse gathering of FBI Agents. Nodding at a small huddle of newbies who waved nervously at the infamous pair, Booth placed his open palm against Brennan's lower back and ushered her forward, aiming for a group of Senior Agents with whom Booth was comfortable socializing.

"C'mon, Bones," he muttered as he straightened his unwelcome name tag. "I'll introduce you to a few people."

Nodding at some attendees she recognized from the night before, Brennan allowed herself to be guided by the familiar pressure of his wide palm against the small of her back as she tried to slow her racing heart. She had missed Booth's touch when they parted ways. Since their respective returns to DC, and his relationship with Hannah, which intruded into their world, leaving him feeling ripped and torn, he had limited his physical contact with Brennan, opting instead to remain at a cautious distance as he licked his metaphorical wounds. It wasn't until she didn't have it that the anthropologist realized she missed it. Although the past week and a half had been getting better, especially those moments when they were alone and comfortable enough to speak openly, having his touch in public still gave her a rush.

"Rick," Booth removed his hand, shaking Brennan from her silent musings. Gripping the outstretched hand as they approached, Booth shifted his weight slightly to be sure to include Brennan in the circle of agents. Squaring his shoulders to stand a little taller against the slightly younger man he approached, Booth tilted his head and brought his hand back to the center of Brennan's shoulders. "This here is my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan from the Jeffersonian Institute. I don't think you've met her yet." Turning his eyes back to his partner, he continued. "Bones, this is Rick Thompson, Special Agent in Charge of Cyber Crimes. He and I went to the Academy together, but don't usually run into each other these days."

Accepting the stranger's handshake, Brennan smiled cordially, immediately comparing this other man to her partner. "Good morning, Agent Thompson."

"Ahh," he smirked as he admired his friend's partner. "Call me Rick, please, Temperance. 'Agent Thompson' sounds so formal..." He grinned solicitously as he admired her figure through his peripheral scope, his eyes never leaving her pale blues, which fascinated him.

"As you wish, Rick. You may address me as Dr. Brennan," she reclaimed her hand and conspicuously tried to wipe it against her pant leg, not appreciating the clamminess that had transferred from Rick.

Booth rocked forward on the balls of his feet, studying the toes of his shoes with interest as he tried to hide his smile. When he glanced up, he saw that Thompson was looking stunned, unsure of what had just occurred.

Taking pity on his comrade, he tried to ease the palpable discomfort. "Don't take it so hard, Rick," Booth clapped his friend on the arm with a dark chuckle. "You haven't earned the right to call her anything other than Dr. Brennan, yet, that's all."

Startled from his stunned stupor, Thompson looked at Booth. "How long did it take for you to be allowed?"

"Oh," Booth shoved his hands into his pockets, "I don't call her 'Temperance'…" He eyed her sideways, avoiding the question carefully. "Well, not very often, anyway…" His attention was diverted as another colleague approached their small gathering. "Hey, Mickey," Booth's face spread into a broad, happy grin. "How the hell are ya?"

The older man embraced Booth in a friendly hug, clapping him on the back. "Booth, it's good to see you. What are you doing here?" They parted and the man looked up at Booth. "Last I heard you were the East Coast Model-Agent... The Golden Boy of the Bureau. I wouldn't think you would've been forced to attend one of these pain-in-the-ass meetings…"

Booth laughed and turned to Brennan, anxious to introduce her. "Bones, this is the guy responsible for me being in the FBI. This is Michael Mitchell; you can call him Mickey."

Brennan shook the man's hand as Booth continued the introductions.

"This here is my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan." The pride he felt in introducing his partner was as evident in his voice as it was in his stance and expression. Turning back to his partner, he explained the connection between Mickey and himself. "Mickey and I served a stint together in Kosovo, just before he got out. Then he joined the Bureau and recruited me a few years later, as soon as I left the Army. He's the SAC running the Field Office in Charlotte."

"It's very nice to meet you, Mickey. I always wondered who recruited Booth straight out of the Army." She glanced at Booth. "You never told me any specifics on how you came to join the FBI."

"Yeah, well, it's his fault," Booth jokingly pointed his thumb at Mickey.

"By blaming fault, it sounds as though you regret your decision, Booth," Brennan wrinkled her forehead. "I thought you were proud to serve..."

"I am proud, Bones. I was just teasing." He winked conspiratorially, putting her concern at ease.

Satisfied with his answer, Brennan turned back to her new acquaintance. "If you are a Special Agent in Charge of an entire field office, why are you attending a conference intended to improve the intrapersonal skills between Special Agents, Field Agents and their partners?" She tilted her head in question and then continued very matter-of-factly, not giving him a chance to answer. "Your communication skills in addressing your subordinates must be very poor if you've been ordered to attend a week-long symposium of what I expect will be inane team building exercises and lectures containing inaccurate troubleshooting theories based on studies conducted by so-called experts in the soft science field of psychology..."

Booth practically choked on his own tongue as he looked at his partner in disbelief. "Bones!" He hissed in embarrassment and disapproval of her impromptu spiel.

Mickey, however, laughed out loud, throwing his head back in enjoyment. He appreciated someone challenging. So often, in his position as the Big-Boss, no one told him what they really thought anymore.

Brennan could only stand there, looking between the men in confusion. It was obvious to her that Booth was unhappy with her assessment, but the man she had assessed directly was laughing, despite Booth's groans and quiet reprimands.

"It's ok, Booth," Mickey smiled and tried to dissuade Booth from lecturing Brennan through clenched teeth. "She is only speaking her mind." He placed his hand on Brennan's bicep softly. "Actually, it's refreshing to have someone openly speak their mind."

Booth watched in now-stunned silence as his old friend and his best friend smiled and rolled their eyes at Booth's reaction.

"Actually," Mickey started to explain, "I am facilitating three of the lecture sessions, and I hope I don't make them too terribly boring..."

Realizing that she could very well have offended the man standing with them, and noticing the growing crowd of people pressing closer, Brennan felt her face flush. "Oh, Special Agent Mitchell, I truly meant no offense. Sometimes I speak out of turn..." She was mentally kicking herself for embarrassing her partner in their current setting, surrounded by his superiors, peers and several subordinates.

"Call me Mickey, and don't apologize." He leaned forward and whispered so she and Booth could hear his opinion, but no one else could. "I have to say I agree with you; these things are often pretty useless and more aggravation than they're worth." He stood back and laughed again, clapping Booth on the shoulder. "Don't be so hard on her, Booth! You were always so serious." He glanced back at Brennan and sized her up for a moment. "I hope you will attend one of my sessions, I would love to have some honest feedback for a change."

"I can give honest feedback, it's one of my strengths. In don't believe in sugar-coating things, as I believe the phrase is." She realized her answer may be perceived as immodest; something that Sweets was always warning her against. "Thank you," she continued with a smile of appreciation. "Booth and I haven't yet pencilled in which sessions we wish to attend, so we can easily make adjustments to ensure your lectures are part of our plan."

Mickey turned back to his friend and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "So, ah, I'm retiring at the end of the year." He tilted his head. "Word has it, you're pretty much ready to run an office on your own, Booth. Why don't you consider transferring down?"

"Retiring? You're too young to retire, man." Booth ignored the recruitment attempt and questioned his friend. "Why are you leaving?"

"Ah, well, you know, I have the Army retirement already coming in. I'm having some back issues from, y'know, that last mission." Mickey had also been taken as a POW when Booth was, and they both suffered similarly from their experiences. "Besides, Jean wants to travel. We should do that before we're too old to do what we want."

"Well, I'm sorry to see you go, but I completely understand. I hope you two enjoy many years of adventures." Booth shook his hand again, this time genuinely offering his good will and silent understanding to the man's reference to their medical history. "How is Jean doing?"

"She'll be here towards the end of the week. You should eat with us one evening, you can see for yourself." He winked at Booth, knowing that his wife shamelessly and harmlessly, flirted with Booth whenever they got together.

"Yeah, we could meet up with you guys, that sounds good." Booth looked at Brennan for confirmation that she was up for a social dinner while in Virginia Beach.

Mickey eyed his former comrade carefully, taking note that Booth didn't miss a beat in immediately including Dr. Brennan in his plans for a meal. He kept his observation to himself, however, stored away in the back of his mind for future discussions. He knew that oftentimes, when partners are forced into a week-long convention, the last thing they want to do is spend their off-time together. But there was Booth, not even batting an eye at accepting an invitation on behalf of Brennan as well. "Great," his smile grew, recognizing the protective stance Booth seemed to have subconsciously taken as the circle of people surrounding Brennan grew in size. "Well, it looks like you have some other folks who want to say hello, so I'll stop monopolizing your time. We'll touch base later this week. I'll let Jean know you're here, she'll wanna look her prettiest to see you." He smirked when, from the corner of his eye, he caught Brennan's posture stiffen at the joke. That was all the proof he needed; he knew that trying to talk Booth into being his replacement down in North Carolina could very well be a lost cause. "And, uhh, don't think I didn't see how you avoided my question, there, Booth... We'll talk soon." He grinned, turning to Brennan before a Booth could argue. "It was a pleasure finally meeting you, Dr. Brennan."

After saying their goodbyes, Brennan allowed herself to be ushered around by Booth's sure hand, meeting and greeting various people that Booth deemed worthy, and mingling with others that she already knew. By nine o'clock, a facilitator was trying to call order to the mass of agents, speakers and facilitators that had filed into the conference center.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if I can please have your attention... Please, take a seat." The man behind the podium waited until the milling crowd had settled and found seats at the tables around the room. "Good morning. My name is Andrew Simmons. My team and I have been invited by the FBI to assist in facilitating this year's conference, 'Communications and Teamwork for Success'. I want to welcome you all to this beautiful facility and congratulate each and every one of you for taking this positive step in your career. It has been proven time and again that open and honest communication is the key to a successful and healthy partnership, whether it be a personal or, as is the case this week, a professional partnership." The overly excited man on stage clapped his hands together once as he glanced around the room. "Now, I know that today is Saturday, and you are all probably thinking of other things you would rather be doing on a weekend. But let me assure you, we are not going to make you work hard and attend lectures today or tomorrow. These first two days are about relaxing and bonding with your partner and fellow co-workers." When several groans could be heard echoing through the room, he shook his head gently. "No, don't worry, they are designed to be fun exercises, maybe some friendly competition. Nothing too strenuous, mentally or physically, just some organized activities to get everyone involved and participating." Forcing a smile, the young man could feel unwelcome tension rolling off his charges as the majority of them glared up at the stage from their seats below.

"Booth!" Brennan did a poor job at trying to whisper as her nerdy excitement grew, and Booth was glad they had chosen seats towards the back of the room. "There are going to be competitions! We are very proficient at everything we do," she grinned and tapped his bicep repeatedly. "I'll bet we will have a good chance at winning!" She thought about her statement for a split second, then amended her statement. "Well, you shouldn't bet, you're a degenerate gambler, but I highly suspect that we stand a good chance against our competition."

Some of the agents around them snickered at Brennan's exclamations and she eyed the agents, not understanding why they were laughing at her. She heard someone off to the side make a comment about Booth's gambling addiction and that 'the rumors must be true.' She turned back to her partner and saw his cheeks redden, and she realized she had spoken too loud and far too freely in their current company. "Booth, I'm sorry..." And she truly was sorry, she didn't mean to cause more problems for him.

"Don't worry about it, Bones." He leaned towards her and whispered loud enough for her to hear, but not for many others to eavesdrop. "I don't really care what they think about me." He winked. "The people who matter already know." He recognized Brennan's competitive streak shining bright in her clear eyes, and he didn't have the heart to tell her that he didn't really care about winning - that he only wanted to get through the week and go home. With a nod at the stage, he refocused her attention up front.

Brennan felt a little more at ease with Booth's reassurance, but she made a mental note to filter her verbiage while in mixed company. She sat back in her chair again, listening to the speaker at the head of the room. He was talking about how the friendly competition would work, how the lecture and workshop schedules were broken into sets, and how to register for the relevant classes. He invited anyone with questions about the scheduling process to stop by the Conference Center Q&A table. Not wanting her partner to forget about attending one of Mickey's lectures, she leaned back over and tapped repeatedly on his shoulder again.

Snickering at her enthusiasm, Booth kept his eyes forward and simply leaned in her direction, snagging her pointy little finger in his hand as he waited to hear what she was so anxious to tell him.

"We need to ensure that we attend one of Mickey's classes. He said he wanted to have us there."

"Yeah, I know, Bones, I heard. We can look at it after we're done here."

"I have the schedule here, Booth." She started fishing in her messenger bag for the paperwork and highlighters they'd neglected the previous evening, and pushed it under his arm for review. "Do you need a pen?"

Her sudden willingness to participate in the convention was a little unnerving to Booth, and he eyed her conspicuously. "Simmer down, Bones," he whispered. "We have time."

"I don't want his classes to fill up." Since Booth's friend had specifically asked her to attend, she didn't want to seem uninterested or unappreciative of the invitation. If the man was someone of importance in Booth's life, Brennan wanted to make a good impression.

Hearing a snicker behind where they sat at the round table, Booth turned sideways and looked over his shoulder to see who was laughing. Booth cocked an eyebrow, mumbling loud enough for the man at the next table to hear. "Got somethin' to say, Smitty?"

"Nope. Just laughing at you and your partner, that's all." Smith was from the Dover Field Office and had known Booth for years but had only been introduced to Brennan the evening before, amidst free-flowing alcohol, exuberant storytelling and raucous laughter. He had heard plenty of talk about the Brain Trust that worked with Booth, but he didn't expect the hardass agent's partner to be quite so geeky. "You sure got your hands full, huh? I don't know how you stand it..." He shook his head, regretting the movement immediately after a long night of drinking. "I heard she was a tough nut to crack..." He cocked his head towards Brennan, who sat perfectly still, instantly quiet, trying to ignore what she knew was an insult.

Booth could feel the sudden insecurity rolling off his partner in waves of heat and he glared in disapproval at the grinning man. He shook his head slowly. "Nope. Quite the opposite, actually. She's the one with her hands full." When he saw Brennan's head whip around towards him in question, he winked at her again before continuing to address his colleague with a deadpan glare. "She's gotta put up with my shit. Now," he shifted slightly, facing his co-worker more squarely, "before you go making judgement calls and forming uninformed opinions, you should sober up and get all the facts. You are an investigator, aren't you? Do you jump to conclusions for all your cases?"

"I'm just sayin', y'know, that I heard your partner was tough to understand." He shrugged once, "and it's a little weird that she seems so excited to be here…"

"She's only tough to understand for assholes who are too stupid to listen." He clenched his jaw once. "And, she is making the best of a shit-situation, so you can go to hell, Smitty."

Rightfully put in his place, Smitty sat back in his chair, looking at the back of Brennan's head, wondering what it was about her that made Booth so damn protective.

"We have a really great activity planned for today," the speaker announced, hoping to gain some interest from the crowd. "Since we are at the beach, we figured what better way to get everyone involved than to have a sand-sculpting contest!" In reaction to the clearly-audible groans heard across the room, he held his hands out. "Now, now, I can see and hear your reluctance, but we urge you all to embrace this activity. It'll be a great way for everyone to get out there in the sun, enjoy our first day together and then, after we're done, you'll have the rest of the afternoon to yourselves until the dinner gala this evening." At the announcement that they'd have the afternoon off, there was a roar of approval from the majority of the audience, making the facilitator's job that much more difficult.

Simmon's gave them a few minutes to get it out of their system before he started to rein them back in. "Ladies and gentlemen," they quieted down, somewhat reluctantly. "You may begin scheduling your sessions this afternoon starting at two-thirty; the attendants will be at the tables where you registered yesterday upon arrival. After today, the scheduling team will be available each morning, from eight-thirty until ten-thirty, throughout the remainder of the conference. If there is a specific meeting or activity in which you wish to participate, please make your selections early. Once a meeting is scheduled to capacity, you will not be able to get your name on the list unless there is a cancellation."

Simmons glanced over his shoulder at the gathering of FBI and Federal Government patiently employees waiting for their respective turns to address the attendees and he nodded for the first one to start his approach. Looking back at the crowd, he forced a smile. "We are going to hear from various members of your leadership team this morning before beginning our activity. Once the final speaker is through, we will break for thirty minutes, during which time you may wish to return to your rooms and change into attire appropriate for the sand sculpting contest."

As an older, much larger man approached the podium, Simmons motioned for the audience to pay attention. "Now, please join me in welcoming our first speaker. He is known to many of you simply as 'PR-guy.' Please put your hands together for the Federal Bureau of Investigation's very own Sean McManus, your Public Relations Management Supervisor!"

The next hour passed relatively quickly, and almost reluctantly, people started to get pulled into the energy of the conference, cheering and whooping for those they knew on stage and tossing friendly challenges to friends and partners. Even Booth felt himself getting sucked in by it all, much like an unsuspecting hiker sinks into quicksand, and one look at Brennan told him all he needed to know... Her competitive streak was on full-speed-ahead-mode as she sat forward in her seat, her back ramrod straight and listening attentively to those in front of the crowd.

A few of the upcoming challenges that were mentioned caused her eyes to glitter as she turned to Booth, an impish grin threatening to spread across her perfectly shaped lips. "I believe," she leaned towards him, "that you and I will do extremely well, Booth."

Booth watched her more than he watched the orators, admiring the radiant glow that was practically beaming from her flushed cheeks and bright eyes. He loved it when Brennan got excited about corny contests; his little nerd wanting to beat everyone else, for nothing more than bragging rights. When the room was finally dismissed, Booth found himself pulled to his feet by his overly-eager partner, urging him forward so they could be among the first to the elevators and subsequently give them the advantage of time when they reconvened for the challenge.

Postscript A/N

So, it was Mickey that I really wanted to introduce to you all. I predict he will be a an interesting character; one who shares more than just an FBI history with Booth. He was not written into my initial draft of this fic, but I'll work him in again later. I have some ideas for him. :)

I don't remember ever learning about Booth's recruitment into the FBI - I don't recall if the even discussed it on the show and honestly, I don't have the time to go back and watch old eps to find out if it was mentioned. But I thought it would be interesting to have a common character behind Booth's two worlds colliding.

As always, I look forward to hearing from you all.

peace & love, my friends,

~jazzy