Disclaimer: Don't own Bones.

A/n: I know you'all have been waiting and I hope it's worth it! Much love to Dispatch for her awesome suggestions on this chapter and this story. My favorite part of this chappie is the end and that's all her! :)

On Pure Instinct

"You're going to behave, right?"

"Don't I always?"

Booth's eyes narrowed. She sounded completely serious. "You don't want me to answer that."

The knock at his office door had him pushing off the desk, but Brennan was already crossing to open the door herself. Sully walked in, followed by a young man who sent Brennan a slightly terrified smile.

Sully caught the gesture and gave an irreverent grin. "You two know each other, right?"

"We've met," Sweets said, his smile more of a grimace. Brennan merely gave a curt nod.

Booth shook his head at his friend's obvious amusement and stepped forward, extending a hand. "Dr. Sweets, right? Thank you for coming all the way here."

"A pleasure to meet you, Justice Booth." Sweets shook the offered hand and gave a much more genuine smile. "I'm sorry about the whole assassination attempt thing. It totally sucks."

"Sure does, Dr. Sweets," Booth replied, biting back a smile. God, Brennan was right, he was just a kid. But he knew that Sully wouldn't be using him unless he was very good, so Booth tried to temper his immediate bias. "I believe you can help me out with that, yes?"

"Oh, right." Sweets flushed a little and tried to regain his equilibrium, it was a little difficult when the woman who had threatened to shoot him just last week was standing a few feet away. "I went through the threats Agent Sullivan sent me and in my opinion, most are harmless, but a few definitely bear additional scrutiny. The ones from Howard Epps and Kevin Hollings are especially worrisome."

"Technically, Kevin Hollings never threatened me."

Sully scoffed. "I'd say those creepy letters every damn month sure as hell seem like a threat to me."

"Sure, he was careful with his words," Sweets agreed. "But, any criminal psychologist worth his salt will tell you, those letters he sent you most definitively constitute a threat. And in my opinion, a serious one."

"Epps and Hollings are both in prison last time I checked," Booth pointed out. "Yeah, they probably want me dead. I put them both away for the rest of their miserable lives, but you think they could take me out from behind bars?"

"Even from prison, it is possible to hire someone to accomplish the task," Brennan added reasonably. "Your shooter took a single shot at you in a crowd of people. When he failed, he simply aborted. That indicates that a professional hit could be a valid hypothesis, assuming either of these men could afford it."

"I agree, which is why I checked their finances," Sully informed. "Hollings made plenty of money before he was caught and he was frugal, didn't spend his considerable salary on anything but the basics. His bank account has over three hundred thousand dollars in it. And Epps doesn't have a penny to his name, but guess what, he got married and his wife owns a business. There's about one hundred thousand in their joint savings account."

"He got married?" Booth's eyes widened in horror. "Christ, what's wrong with people."

"Takes all kinds." Sully just shrugged. "The thing is that I couldn't find any payments that would indicate either one hired a hit. Hollings' account has been untouched, tidily gathering interest since he went in. Last withdrawal was to the lawyer who handled his appeal almost two years ago. Similar deal with Epps. No unexplained or suspicious withdrawals."

"There could be other accounts you didn't find." Brennan's cool voice made Sully hiss in frustration.

"Maybe, but since I didn't find anything, no judge is going to give me a warrant to go on some wild goose chase."

"You're right," Booth nodded. "I know I wouldn't."

"You know, as creepy and scary as those two are, my gut's not feeling it," Sully said.

Brennan frowned. "Your gut?"

"Yeah, it just feels … not right." Sully paced a little, mind whirling. "It's been too many years since their convictions—"

"Agent Sullivan, individuals like Hollings and Epps would have the patience to wait as long as necessary, as evidenced by the fact that they have maintained contact despite the length of time," Sweets provided.

"Yeah, okay, maybe, but I almost feel like if Epps or Hollings had the capability to take someone out, Booth wouldn't be first on the list."

"The threats from both—"

"Look, I'm not saying he wouldn't be on the list," Sully interrupted Sweets. "He just wouldn't be first. Hollings, for example, would go after Caroline first. If there's one person he loathes more than Booth, it's Caroline and she's alive and well."

"Who's Caroline?" Brennan inquired.

"Caroline Julian. The prosecutor who tried Hollings," Booth murmured, eyes narrowed in consideration. "She also receives some not so friendly correspondence from him nearly every month."

"And Epps, honestly, I think if he could, he would come after me first. You sentenced him and he was pissed that you didn't buy his sob story about mommy's abuse and mitigate his sentence, but I was the one who caught him. I handed him over to the prosecution wrapped up with a damn bow and he knows it."

"Plus, Hollings and Epps, they're hands-on," Booth chimed in. "They like to have a front row seat to what they do."

"That's very true," Sweets conceded. "They have very defined pathologies and hiring someone to kill for them wouldn't follow the pathology. I believe they are both capable of meticulously planning your death, but the satisfaction would come in carrying it out themselves."

"So what you're saying is that despite all that psychological analysis, you have nothing helpful," Brennan concluded. "What a surprise."

"Brennan …" Booth warned mildly, practically sensing her frustration at the lack of useful information. "There's just not much to go on," he sighed, trying to contain his own frustration. "Threats, serious or otherwise are part of the job description. Any number of defendants that came through my court room could be holding a serious grudge."

"What about the bullet?" Brennan demanded. "That should give you some information on—"

Sully raised a hand. "Ballistics is analyzing it, but it ain't TV, doc, so it takes time. Believe me, this is priority one for the FBI." He turned an innocent smile on Booth. "It'll be real bad for the Bureau if we can't catch this guy before he damages your pretty face."

"I won't let anyone damage him," Brennan assured, perfectly serious.

Sully smirked and Booth decided he really had to get to work. "All right, those legal briefs won't read themselves." He gestured to the pile on his desk and walked towards the door in a not so subtle indication that the meeting was over.

Sully didn't move, but Sweets took a few automatic steps.

"Um, Justice Booth, I uh, threats can come in many ways," Sweets stammered a little. "It isn't just criminals with a grudge that can be dangerous."

"What do you mean?"

"In my opinion, Pam Nunan's behavior is highly disturbing and should not be treated lightly."

"What?" Booth's head whipped to Sully. "Really? You told him about that? You gotta be kidding me."

"You should have really gotten a restraining order," Sully said, not for the first time.

"She hasn't come near me since my appointment."

"Yeah, because the Court police won't let her," Sully replied.

"You can't really believe that she's behind—"

"She stalked you for over two months!"

Booth almost winced. He really didn't want to use that word, although he had been on the verge of taking out that restraining order the last time she'd showed up in his court room.

"Stalking is the type of passive aggressive yet obsessive behavior that can quickly escalate to violence if the perpetrator feels injured in some way. Any perceived slight can trigger—"

"Dr. Sweets, the woman was clearly off and even delusional, but I think violent is taking it a little bit too far."

"Booth …" Brennan gave him a steely look. "Explain." This was the first time she'd heard of this and it displeased her severely that he had failed to disclose what appeared to be a potential threat.

"It's not that big a deal—"

"Yeah, right," Sully cut in, more than happy to relay the information. "About three months ago, Booth presided over a trial. Defendant was a sleazy con artist who targeted wealthy women, seduced them, and then left with a bunch of their money. The prosecution got him on seven different counts of theft by false pretenses and a few anti-fraud federal statutes. Pam Nunan was one of the key witnesses against him. Just so happened that she was also a loon who began to stalk the good judge here."

"She became very distraught on the stand, nearly hysterical. Could barely answer questions. The defense started putting up a fuss about her competency and the right to cross-examine her. The truth was that if she didn't calm down, I would have to strike her direct testimony from the record. So, I ordered a recess and I spoke to her in chambers," Booth sighed on the explanation. "I gave her some time to calm down and I talked to her … I mean, she was a victim for god's sake, I tried to be sympathetic to that. I explained that the defense had a right to cross-examine her and that all she had to do was tell the truth."

"You communicated reassurance, which she instantly interpreted as a type of personal intimacy. I'll bet she calmed down almost immediately and assured you that she was capable of testifying."

Booth was slightly annoyed by the accurate observation. "Yeah."

"After the trial, she began showing up in his court room nearly every day, leaving messages at the court house. Calling his office so often, he changed the number," Sully helpfully provided.

"I cannot believe you didn't tell me about this!" Brennan seethed, looking like she was about to strangle him. "In all the times I have asked you to think of anyone who might want to hurt you, you didn't think to mention a goddamn stalker!"

"Can we talk about this later?" he asked hopefully, trying to avoid a shouting fight in front of a captive audience.

"Dr. Sweets," Brennan nearly barked and the young psychologist came to attention. "What's the typical stalker profile? What's the likelihood of violence? How, if at all, would that violence manifest? When, where, and how are stalkers most likely to contact their victims?"

The questions came out rapid-fire, making Sweets blink and Booth groan silently. He couldn't believe her. She'd spent days griping about the boy's age and imprecise field of study and here she was, actually listening to the damn kid.

"T-There are a number of factors to take into account—"

"Fine, take your factors into account and give me a clear and detailed profile as soon as possible. Psychology does not impress me, so I would prefer empirical data when possible."

Sweets looked dazed. "But I, um, I am a psychologist."

Booth brought a hand to his mouth to muffle his chuckle. It was completely inappropriate that he was so amused by her abrasive attitude. Of course, it was a lot more entertaining when it wasn't directed at him.

"Agent Sullivan, make sure he does it quickly. I don't want to have to wait another two weeks." With that order, she opened the office door, obviously intent on getting them out of there.

It hadn't been quite two weeks, but Sully just gave her a nod, figuring now was not the time to argue. She looked pissed as hell and he was sure Booth was going to get a piece of her mind for failing to provide all relevant information. Mouthing good luck to his friend, he walked out behind a still bemused Sweets.

-x-

"No."

Cam chuckled and slid the letter back towards her. "It's a good offer, right?"

"Aw hell, you're going to take it, aren't you?"

"Have you decided who you'll be hiring to clerk?" she replied instead.

"I've narrowed down my choices." Booth tapped his fingers on the desk. "There's an opening in the Office of Legal Counsel, you know."

"Because that won't seem like favoritism, at all." Cam laughed a little. "I have no desire to work for the Supreme Court, Booth."

"I know," he admitted, tapping the letter. "George Mason, huh?"

"The current dean is retiring at the end of the summer and the law school is looking for new blood."

"Dean Camille Saroyan," Booth intoned with a quirk of his lips. "Has a good ring to it."

Cam smiled. "It'll be a lot of supervisory and administrative work."

Now Booth laughed out loud, not fooled for a minute. She would mold and shape that law school with steely finesse, just as she had the D.C. Circuit Court. It was Booth who had lured her into applying and accepting the position as staff attorney and though she didn't work solely with him, they had worked closely together for the past two years.

"You'll be perfect." With a smile, he added, "I think every judge on the Circuit is going to cry when you leave, though." In addition to her JD, Cam had a PhD in Comparative Politics and a keen legal mind. Combined with her meticulous work and brilliant analytical skills, whoever followed her had some big shoes to fill.

"I knew this was just a two year term and I knew I wanted to go back to teaching."

"How much teaching are you going to do as dean?"

"Probably one class a semester," Cam guessed. "Booth … have you talked to Sully about the investigation?"

The sudden inquiry told Booth the question had likely been circling in her head for a while.

"Yeah, just a few days ago," he answered. "There's really not anything to go on. To be honest, I feel like I'm just waiting for his next move."

"Or her."

"What?"

"Her," Cam repeated. "It could be a woman too, you know."

Booth's eyes narrowed. "Have you been talking to Brennan?"

"I spoke to her briefly when I came in. Why?"

"Nothing."

"Booth …"

He sighed and muttered, "I kinda forgot to tell her about the whole Pam Nunan situation and she found out about it a few days ago."

Cam's eyes widened almost comically. Based on the past few weeks, she was fairly certain Brennan must have blown a gasket at the information. "Are you crazy? Why didn't you tell her about it?"

Booth shrugged. "I don't know. I just wanted to forget it. I mean, that whole thing was so weird, I didn't really want to keep worrying about it."

"Well, now someone's trying to kill you, so you kinda have to."

He made a face at the dry tone. "So Brennan informed me."

"I'll bet." Now Cam gave a knowing smirk. "So, how angry was she?"

"Very."

"Then why are you smiling?"

Booth tried to school his expression, but he knew his lips kept quirking up. The truth was, remembering her furious tirade made him smile. No one had ever directed that much passionate anger in his direction and maybe he was a little crazy, but so much feeling coming from the most controlled, detached woman he had ever met was just plain exhilarating. Instinct was telling him that everything about her was perfectly designed to leave him feeling intoxicated.

"No reason."

-x-

A few days later, Booth wasn't feeling nearly so cheerful. She was being a damn pain in the ass about what she termed his concerted insistence on preventing her from competently doing her job.

He'd already admitted his mistake and promised he hadn't kept anything else from her, but jeez, the woman could hold a grudge. And Booth was getting tired of the icy, formal treatment. Just thinking of the way she's sparred with him an hour earlier, all stiff upper lip and silent focus, was making him annoyed.

The sharp knock at his office door had him gritting his teeth. She was the only one in the house so he knew it was her and the whole polite knock on his door thing was a recent development that was getting on his nerves.

"Come in," he growled, watching her walk in with that neutral expression and freshly showered hair. "You don't have to knock, you know," Booth muttered, but she just sat silently across from him. His desk blocked her legs from his view, but he didn't need any help to imagine their shapely lengths, one crossed primly over the other.

It was such a feminine thing and he felt warmth flood his belly. An hour ago, she had been tough as nails, but here she was now, soft and lady-like. Trying not to shift in his leather seat, Booth used one finger to slide his calendar for the upcoming week across the desk toward her. She picked it up without a word and scanned the contents of his life on paper. Without taking her eyes from the piece of paper, she inquired calmly, "Is there anything else I should know?"

He wasn't fooled by the seemingly innocuous question and it set his teeth on edge and sent his mind whirling.

Anything else? Why, yeah, Brennan. You should know that I wake up every morning hard for you. That thinking of having you everywhere in this house has become my favorite pastime. That one day you're going to scream my name and come all around me until … son of a bitch. Stop.

"Nothing comes to mind," he said blandly, running his tongue along the bottom edge of his teeth and leaning back in his chair.

Her gaze finally met his, steady and so purposely impassive, it made his fists clench. "Well, if something does come to mind …" Soft, soft words dripping with ice. "I hope you won't wait weeks to inform me. After all, I can only—"

"Oh, fine. Fine!" he barked out, unable to take it anymore. "I'm such a horrible person, so many deep dark secrets I haven't told you about. But if you wanna know, okay, fine," he repeated, his mind telling him to calm down, but words flying out with no regard. "Let's see …" His voice dripped sarcasm as he pretended to consider. "All right, favorite band. Led Zeppelin. Favorite food is pie," he spit out. "I could eat pie all day, I like it that much. I also put brown sugar on everything. It's pretty unhealthy, apparently, but I don't really care." Standing up, he yanked his dress shirt from his belted pants. "You see this scar?" Booth pointed to the thin line of puckered flesh. "I got it from a fight with my brother when I was eleven."

She was staring a little wide eyed at him and she was probably wondering if he'd lost his mind, but he couldn't stop. "Sometimes, I play Scrabble online. If I'm really bored. So obviously, it hasn't happened any time this millennium." His chest felt tight, he was so tense. "Because, as you know," he yanked back his schedule and had to force himself not to crumple it with one fist. "I'm a busy guy. That's all I can think of right now, doc. Satisfied?"

Booth wasn't sure what he expected her to do, but when she stood up, her face calm as she turned and walked toward his office door, he was nearly shaking. Her hand on the doorknob, she turned and met his eyes. "I also enjoy playing scrabble."

And then she was gone, leaving Booth alone and stunned. Her words had been so soft and almost shy. The shift from cold to warm made his head swim, and he couldn't breathe. He'd made it to the Supreme Court with sheer determination and an uncanny ability to read people, but for some damn reason, he always felt one step behind Brennan. She angered and amused him and made him ache all at the same time.

With a sigh, he fell back into his desk chair and ran a hand over his face. His shirt front hung haphazardly over his belt and as he shoved it back in, he tried to shake off his confusion and get back to work.