Author's note: Yes, I know I was slow with the update, again, but this time I have an excuse, lol. I had spring break last week and was out of the country, so it was pretty difficult to write something then. Anyway, the new chapter is here and even though it's not my best work ever, I like it quite a lot. Also, I've read your reviews and answered to them, so check your e-mails :)

Oh, and point of clarification: the S&B relationship is a fair one. Both know what they're getting in to, well, at least Sully does. So yeah, none of them is taking advantage of the other, they are basically two people that found their way back to each other when they needed it the most. However, that doesn't mean things aren't going to get complicated, because trust me, they will. For those of you who are wondering when Sully will be out of the picture, I can't really promise he will disappear completely according to the storyline I have in mind, but I can assure you that his and Brennan's relationship has just a couple of chapters left.

Enjoy, and review! Your words are the food to my little writer soul.

He knocked on her door a few hours after she'd gotten home, and when she opened to let him in, the first thing a beaming Sully asked her was if she really was a hundred and ten percent sure that elevators were soundproof. In other words — and this she came to understand after he stepped inside and elaborated his sentence — most of the people working at the Hoover had heard at least a fragment of her argument with Booth earlier that day. Considering the velocity in which news like that travel and due to the morbid craving some people have when it comes to gossip, it didn't take long until the majority of the agents at the bureau were up to date with the day's events. This including, of course, Sully.

"Okay, see, I'm gonna need you to give me a hand here, Brennan. Why exactly are you mad at me?"

His eyebrow is raised in plain amusement, and a grin lights up his face as he walks over to her. She, on the other hand, is sitting on the couch, legs tucked underneath her body with the laptop resting in between them, looking overall seemingly unfazed.

As he comes sit on the coffee table, Brennan opens her mouth to speak, but ends up deciding against it. Instead, she works her hair into a knot and looks down to the computer screen. She hasn't typed a word since she came home; all she has managed to do is proofread what was already written. With a sigh, she closes and relocates the laptop to the coffee table, next to Sully, and when her eyes travel up to him, they catch him staring pointedly at her, as if still waiting for an answer.

"I'm not—" Upon hearing her own defensive tone of voice, she draws in a quick breath, then tries again. "I'm not angry, I simply don't understand your logic in defending Booth on this matter."

He shakes his head slightly. "I didn't defend him. I just told you that background checks and stuff like that, well B.—that's what we do. In fact, I suspected he would run me through the system."

Pensively, she bites down on her lip. "You did? Why?"

"'Cause you're his partner, and he cares about you. A guy you used to date shows up after four years, you really thought Booth was gonna be cool with it?"

"I can—I can take care of myself. The situation as a whole is just … ridiculous." It makes her blood boil, just thinking about all the outright lies she was told over the last few weeks, and yet there's a part of her (the curious one) that wishes to know the exact reasons why. After all, their argument incinerated so fast that she never really got a chance to ask.

"Alright, okay," Sully indulges her. "So maybe he shouldn't have looked me up or whatever, but B… he didn't tell you about Hannah, and you didn't tell him about … this, us, whatever it is. The way I see it, you two are pretty much even. You know, fact upon fact."

Fact upon a fact. God, he's clever. It still amazes her, his ability to come up with different ways to handle her and get her to come around.

Unexpectedly, Brennan blows out a sigh. "I suppose that's—"

"Logical?" He finishes the sentence with a grin. "I'm right and you absolutely hate it, don't you?"

"Not as much as I would have done before," she admits sincerely. If there's something she has learned over the last few months, is that sometimes she can be oh so immensely wrong. "As a matter of fact, it's quite refreshing."

"Well, that was unexpected," Sully declares, then leans in, the gap between them almost coming to an end. "And by the way? I don't know if I mentioned it but I really liked seeing you at the match the other day."

Automatically, she smiles back at him. "You didn't mention it, and I liked being there."

"Really? We only lost by, what, a hundred points?" He scoffs. "So much for showing off."

"Twenty-seven points, actually," Brennan corrects him, and catches the incredulous look the agent shoots her. "What? I simply deduced that it would be a good use of my time to try and understand the rules of the game seeing as I was already there. The process of acquiring new knowledge is highly stimulating."

"Hey, you're getting better at being a girl." Still smiling, he places a kiss on her lips. "I can, however, think of much more stimulating things we can do."

"But I'm working," she whines, although not with enough determination to convince neither of them.

At that, he simply laughs. "What? You haven't typed a single word since I got here," Sully points out. He's pretty much ready to lift her up when his phone goes off. Reluctantly, he fishes it out of his pocket and takes a look at the screen. "Alright, do not touch the computer," he orders Brennan as he takes the call. "Sullivan. Yes, that is—what? No, no." He glances at Brennan with a puzzled look on his face. "You positive? Where?" He chuckles. "Great job, man, really. I owe you a big one."

Once he flips the phone shut, Brennan meets his eager expression with a confused one. "What happened?"

"They found him."

—x—

Footsteps follow her around the lab. A voice calls out her name, first in a murmur, then in a considerably louder tone.

After a moment, Brennan feels the presence of someone else as said person falls into step with her. She stops dead on her tracks, then turns to look at her friend, her lips parting in hesitation. Angela, however, has an agenda, and holds a hand up to stop her.

"Don't worry, sweetie, I can do the talking." Her grin fades away as Brennan continues to walk through the medical lab, completely ignoring their exchange. "Or not. You mind running a bit slower? Pregnant lady over here."

She doesn't stop to talk, nor does she looks the artist in the eyes. "Angela, I don't want to be unpleasant, but I'm very busy working."

Angela freezes on the spot, her heart sinking along with a sensation that the stubbornness in Brennan hasn't provoked in a long, long time. When she speaks again, there's nothing gentle about her tone. "I may be pregnant and emotional, Brennan, but I'm still your best friend. Now you better turn around and listen to me. Now." A victorious smile tugs at her lips as the scientist obeys, spinning slowly on her heels. "This whole thing you and Booth have got going? Drop it. You haven't worked a case in days, and it's affection the work of us all."

"Angela…"

"No—I'm not done. Listen, I get it. You feel tricked, and sure, even I feel that way a little bit." Disaster averted, she lets her features turn soft again. "But he's a mess, Brennan. I stopped by his office this morning to show him what I've gotten from the codified files, and he barely even spoke to me."

Brennan does her best not to let on the concern that grows inside her every time somebody has mentioned Booth in the last few days. Ever since their explosive argument at the Hoover, and even though they haven't spoken, he has been present in pretty much all her thoughts. Her eyes drop to her hands and she bits her lower lip. "I suppose you expect me to do something about it?" she inquires, her tone unsure as she lifts her gaze again.

"He broke up with his girlfriend and got dumped by his partner. Since Hannah is chasing bad guys and fighting for freedom of speech in the Middle East, yeah, I kinda expect you to do something."

"I—I didn't dump Booth," she jumps at the accusation. "We're still partners, Ange."

"Yeah?" The artist cross her arms and nods towards the platform. "Then why is Cam sending squintern of the week to the crime scenes? There's no point in prolonging this, Brennan. I know you're worried sick deep down."

And she is, because even if she pretends the stinging feeling in the pit of her stomach isn't real, it's still there.

She lets out a breath, then glances at her office, the sickening sensation growing stronger. "I don't—I don't have time for this, Angela."

Tiredly, the artist rubs her temples with her thumb and forefinger before giving it another try. "Look, Brennan, I get it. I get that you're angry at him, and sure, your anger is justified. But him not telling you about the break-up is not the only reason you're mad." As expected, Brennan opens her mouth in eager protest. "Don't—just let me finish, okay? You feel tricked because you think that Booth spending more time here and falling into the old routines only happened because Hannah is out of the picture. That he bounced back because there was no other road to take, no other way to go. Maybe you're right, maybe you're wrong. It doesn't matter, because he's still our friend. Your friend."

Brennan bits her lip again, lowering her gaze. She takes a moment to entirely absorb Angela's words, to scan through them in her head, and ends up feeling downright transparent, predictable, and just a shred uncomfortable because of how well the artist seems to know her. She feels exposed: the thought of Booth's behaviour as for late only depending on Hannah's absence has actually crossed her mind, several times.

"He didn't…" Brennan's voice is as unsure now as it was a moment ago, only now there's a thread of concern in it as well. "He didn't speak?"

Angela shakes her head vaguely. "I could count the words with the finger of one hand."

At last, Brennan glances briefly at her friend, blowing out a sigh. "He hasn't returned my calls, Ange." Involuntarily, her eyes wander away. "I don't think he wants to see me."

"This is Booth, sweetie. He will always want to see you. I think he's just trying to deal with everything that's happening right now."

"Do you think he's still dealing with his rupture with Hannah?"

Angela's lip curl into a smile. "Sure, let's go with that."

It's been enough of trying to get through their metaphorical wall, at least for now.

—x—

Three unsure knocks,

followed by three more,

followed by a whole bunch of really determined knocks on his front door.

Mind lost in a fog of thoughts, Booth casts a glance at the empty coffee cup resting on the table as he lifts himself from the couch.

Coffee.

Ever since his conversation with Wyatt, the black, strong tasting vice is completely ruined. All he can think about when pouring the steaming beverage into a cup is afternoon tea and fig trees versus second chances and blue eyes that are looking bluer than ever these days. Another guilty pleasure suddenly shattered, as if having to give up the sporadic cigar due to his health wasn't enough.

More knocks.

"One second!" Booth groans as he approaches the door.

If he wants to take his sweet time, he damn sure will. Hand closing on the knob, he swings the door almost completely open, eyes landing on her dark figure standing by the other side, the only glint of light coming from her sparkling gaze. Due to the inevitable urge he feels to drink her in every time he sees her, Booth pushes the door so it opens completely, eyeing his partner from head to toe, and thus noticing the brown paper bag she's holding in her left hand. In an attempt to reach discretion, he shakes his head and forces his eyes to travel up to hers again.

The second their eyes meet, she launches, "You don't want to be partners anymore?" Her voice is almost inaudible, head tilting to the side as her gaze drills into his.

"What?" he retorts, eyebrow lifting. "Who told you that?" Without waiting for an explicit invitation, Brennan slides into the apartment, breezing rapidly past him. "Oh well, please do come in."

He slams the door shut and spins around wearily. The disturbing conclusions gained from their fight still linger inside him, but he makes an effort to shut them out at the moment. His eyes find her in his living room, staring at him from there, waiting for him to catch up with her.

"I got a letter from the FBI stating that we're no longer having partners therapy due to the refusal on one of the parts. Since I haven't said anything, it's only logical to assume that you must be the part that refused," she explains, an accusing hand waving towards him.

Of course she's right. She's a genius.

Uncomfortably, Booth rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah, well... after what happened the other day I sorta assumed you'd find the sessions with Sweets to be rather useless."

"Which is accurate," she agrees.

His eyes wander away as he lets out an amused chuckle. "Thought you'd say that."

"Is that why you did it? For me?" To his immense relief, there's the hint of a smile on her lips, her spirit much lighter now that she knows that his intention was never to break the constant in both their lives.

"Yeah," he answers, no hesitation whatsoever. Hands fidgety, he clears his throat and buries his them in the pockets of the worn out jeans he's wearing. "Yeah, of course. And for Sweets, too, y'know. You didn't seem too happy with him either."

"Again, accurate," she says, her smile growing just a little bit wider. It fades away, however, as soon as the repercussions of his actions dawn on her. "They won't allow us to work together if we don't go to therapy, Booth."

"Nah, I already took care of it." His dismissive wave of a hand fails to convince her, though, as she raises a skeptical eyebrow at him. "I pulled some strings, all right? It should keep Hacker's mouth shut for a while." It won't ever be among the things he will say out loud, but ever since the Assistant Director had the audacity to ask out Brennan, the agent has harboured some pretty resentful feelings towards him. He will never let it jeopardize his work, of course, but they do come in handy in situations like this, when he can revel a little extra in getting his way. Eyes trained on Brennan, he swallows with difficulty. "Is that why you came? 'Cause you could've called, y'know."

From her end, she shoots him an annoyed look. "You're not answering my calls."

Well, it was worth a try. "Good point," he agrees, eyes deliberately traveling to the paper bag clutched in her hand. "What's that?"

Instead of offering an immediate reply, Brennan heads to the couch. "I figured that since you kept your break-up with Hannah a secret..." she tells him, fishing out a bottle of Cromarty off the bag and resting it on the table. "You probably didn't allow yourself the opportunity to grieve properly."

"And by grieve," Booth stretches the words as he walks over to her, "you mean a bottle of hard liquor."

Her chin tilts up as she looks at him. "Angela says that alcohol is the first step in the path of—and I quote—mending a broken heart. Although her thesis lacks the appropriate anthropological grounds and research, not to mention the biological inaccuracy, I've found it to be comforting in the past."

"So basically, you want me to get wasted so I can get over Hannah."

He looks way too amused, and she simply gives an adorable shrug. "It's a common ritual, Booth."

"But that's not…" he begins, running a hand through his hair. "Look, Bones, I appreciate the gesture and all, but me and Hannah, we …" We weren't gonna work, we reached our expiration date, we're better off without the other, we— "I'm fine. I don't need to grieve."

"Then do it for me," she says, gaze dropping to the bottle of scotch. "As a partner thing."

"For you?"

It's a lost cause, he knows, and she doesn't need to answer, really, because he's never been good at denying her anything.

"Yes, I… we didn't have our celebratory drink after the last case." Her brain is whirling away, trying to come up with a way to convince him, completely unaware of the fact that he has already jumped on the wagon. "We could drink and grieve. Metaphorically, of course, because nobody has died."

A brief laugh escapes his lips, and he heads for the kitchen with a shake of his head. "All right, I'll be right back."

Her eyes follow him out of the room, then travel to his bookshelf, where a couple of familiar covers catch her attention. She walks over to the shelf, her finger curling up to one of them—the second book she ever wrote, the first she dedicated to him. The hint of a smile plays on her lips as she opens it and one particular memory washes over her: Booth going out of his way, doing everything he could in order to get her to let him read the novel before it got published. It was all entangled with her mother's case, she remembers, and it was during that same case that he showed up at her old apartment (after midnight, mind you) with take out, claiming that he had seen her light from the road.

Absent fingers run through and along the printed letters. This book is dedicated to my partner and friend, Seeley Booth.

Glasses clashing against each other drag her back, and she feels caught, as if she'd been up to something forbidden. Carefully, she closes and returns the novel to the bookshelf.

Booth nods towards the pile of books. "Something wrong?"

She shakes her head slightly. "I didn't know you had them," Brennan explains as she gets rid of her coat. "The novels, I mean."

"Of course I do, Bones. I told you, if you have time to write them, then I have time to read them." He's smiling, and it makes her chest clench in a good way. "C'mon now, let's try out that scotch you've got."

They sit next to each other on the couch, and he pours some of the liquor into both glasses. As soon as he's done, Brennan grabs her glass and takes a large sip. Mirroring her actions, Booth empties his in two sips. Just like they did that night in his office, they drink in silence for a moment, until he is the first of them to gather enough courage to speak, and so he does.

"I found out about you and Sully the same day Hannah and I broke up," Booth tells her calmly, his gaze fixed on the blank wall. "I went by the lab, we were supposed to grab a bite, and I—he was just there. In your office, with you."

It's two confessions in one: how long he'd known, and yes, he was actually avoiding her that night.

Perplexed, she places her glass on the table. "Booth…"

"You said you weren't sure of how long I'd known." There's a small smile decorating his lips as he turns to face her. "Now you do."

Coincidently, it also provides her with the date of his rupture with the young journalist.

"I should have told you," Brennan says, her voice soft as she tries to search for his eyes. Eye contact, always so essential.

As if reading her thoughts, Booth looks at her directly. "But you did, Bones."

"Eventually," she adds, pouring more scotch into both their glasses.

Booth knocks back his and squeezes his eyes shut as the liquor burns down his throat. "Well, who am I to throw the first rock, right?"

Wordlessly, she mirrors him in silence, emptying her glass as well. "I'm sorry about what I said, Booth," she murmurs after a moment. Booth's eyes travel up to hers. "About us, being just partners."

"Hey, no. It's not like—it wasn't a lie, now, was it?" He shrugs, internally fighting against the fact that the memory of that day still makes him feel irrationally small. "We're partners, right? That's what we do, you and me."

She shakes her head, as if rejecting his take on their relationship. "But it's not where it ends."

"It's… it's not?"

It's shameful, really, his failure at holding back the eagerness brewing inside him. However, Brennan misses the spark in his brown eyes as her eyes are trained on the table, her brain occupied with formulating a proper answer. If they're going to have this conversation, it's vital for her that he understands what she means to say. There can't be room for misunderstandings, not when it comes to this.

"Out partnership is very important to me, Booth." She speaks slowly, as if wanting her words to stretch out and physically touch him, thus soothing and repairing the damage she may have caused during their fight. "Working with you has widened my horizons considerably, allowing me access to not only further education and training in fields that were alien to me, but it has also brought other things into my life, things that go beyond concrete measurements. And so everything else … our friendship is—I … I value it more than I could possibly explain with words."

If not for the obvious irrationality behind it, he would swear that his heart has melted upon hearing the unsteadiness in her voice. She goes quiet, her eyes finally meeting his, and he rakes a hand through his hair, his lips dry as he answers her, "Listen, Bones … I'm really sorry I lied to you, I am. And I can promise you right here and now that I won't be making that mistake ever again. But to be honest, I'm more sorry for whatever I did that made you feel that you couldn't trust me anymore."

But it wasn't simply that, and her lips part in contradiction. "No, Booth, that's not why I didn't—"

"You don't need to do that," he cuts her off softly, unaware of how her words would have shifted the moment. "I know that I acted differently during my relationship with Hannah. I know I changed."

Fidgety, she plays with the tops of her auburn hair. "Change is inevitable."

"Yeah, but it doesn't necessarily make it right. Let's just—listen, let's just not do that thing where we hide stuff from each other anymore." This excluding, of course, his feelings for her, he muses. She's definitely better off not knowing about those.

"We can't possibly know everything about each other, Booth." In response, he gives her a look. "Oh, too literal."

"You got it," Booth says with a grin. She simply shakes her head, eyes dropping to the empty glasses resting on the table. "What about that high alcohol tolerance? You still got some of it?" She shoots him a glare and he nudges his shoulder with hers playfully. "Hey, it was a joke," he clarifies with a laugh. "Out of affection, you know."

Against her strong, stubborn will, her cheeks turn a vague shade of pink. "Yes, of course."

Amused, Booth grabs both glasses and pushes himself off the couch. "So, I guess we're back to being the modern version of Scully and Mulder, huh?"

"I still don't know what that means," she admits, brows knitting. "Although I do remember you saying it was a cherry branch... which doesn't make sense to me either."

"Olive, Bones. Olive branch," he says with a chuckle. "I'll explain it to you some day, but right now we need to get you a cab. Cam's gonna kill me if you show up hungover tomorrow."

She gasps as if he'd just offended her terribly. "I can handle my liquor, Booth."

Fleeting images of the times they have shared a drink (or two, or five) cross his mind. "Yeah, tell me about it." He laughs it off as he heads for the kitchen. A thought hits him before he gets there, though, and he spins around. "Wait a minute. You thought I didn't want us to be partners anymore but you still showed up with the bottle of scotch?"

She frowns. "I don't follow your reasoning."

"I … forget it, it's nothing."

He smiles, more for himself than her, his spirit lifted, his steps lighter as he moves towards the kitchen. She must have really meant it then, when she said those things about their relationship, if she decided to show up despite her being under the impression that their partnership could be over.

Damn her and her open heart.

—x—

Days in and days out over the course of cases, and waiting for the squints to call him with results did not use to be as dull and tedious as doing paperwork in the confinement of his office. Before, there was at least the possibility to sneak into Brennan's office and fall asleep on her couch while she was away bone whispering. Now, and although they cleared the air the night before, it still doesn't feel quite right to do most of the things he'd taken for granted before everything got so unbelievably messy.

Exhausted, he leans back on the chair, leaning his head against the head rest as he lets his eyes fly shut for a moment. Paperwork will have to be postponed because he does not have the amount of patience for it at the moment.

Unmercifully to him and his thoughts, there's a familiar voice dragging him back no longer than fraction later. "I owe you an apology," the voice says from the doorway, forcing Booth to open his eyes and cast a glance at the person in question. "For the elevator thing?"

"You don't say," Booth chuckles in sheer sarcasm as he straightens himself in the seat. At least this will be more entertaining than shuffling through reports, of that he's sure.

Feeling defeated, Sully extends his arms to the side. "Fine, I get it. I'm probably your least favourite person right now, but I think she would appreciate it if we at least made an effort."

It makes Booth's stomach twist, the silent implication—that once again, they're both in her life. He scoffs, a threatening look moulding his features. "Don't come here and tell me what she'd feel. She's my partner, and has been for seven years. I know damn well what she'd appreciate."

"It doesn't have to be this way, Booth." Sully voice is a thin thread, a mix of weariness and lack of sleep. He shortens the distance to the desk, daring to come closer as he notices his colleague's features going softer. "It really doesn't."

Arms crossed and eyebrow lifted, Booth considers his fellow agent. Honestly, Sully looks like crap. Dark circles under his eyes, loosened tie, ruffled hair—it's all consistent with the things he read from his file. He knows Sully is on a mission, and he's certain there won't be any rest allowed until he gets to the bottom of the case that drove him all the way back to D.C.

"Do you always have to be the bigger man?" Booth offers. "What, you applying for sainthood now?"

At last, Sully smiles. "Hey, you know me. So, peace?"

Slightly amused, Booth shakes his head. He can't help but give Sully some credit for his charisma, and deep down he also knows that Sully's words about the woman they have in common are probably true. In the end, he gives in. "All right, let's not get gushy about it."

"Still same old Booth."

"Still same old Sully, slightly shorter than me," Booth retorts with a mocking grin.

"And here I thought the caribbean air had made me some good." He makes a move to leave, but decides against it and tackles another subject instead. "I assume you're going to the bureau's little get-together with fancy prizes and a free bar?"

Booth nods his head. "Ya, Cam made me promise I would, so I guess I have to. You?"

"Did I mention the free bar?" Sully asks with a smile. "Anyway, don't forget to pick up Brennan in time. You know how she gets with tardiness, and she can be real scary when she sets her mind on it."

"What? What are you talking about?"

Seemingly puzzled, Sully raises an eyebrow at him. "Man, do you ever go to the meetings around here? Cullen states partners have to go together, seeing as it is a celebration of the bureau's work and what not. Since you and Brennan are the star team here, I expect the same applies to you."

"No, no," Booth shakes his head. "I didn't know about that. That's not—I didn't know."

He had expected to see her there, of course, but the prospect of having to be the one to arrive with her and then let her go is nothing but agonising. Goddammit, she always brings her A game to those things, too. She'll probably look nothing short to a vision that night, making it all so much harder by the time he'll have to let her go. Oh, god, it's not fair.

"What, you really wanna upset the man upstairs?" Sully asks, interrupting the other agent's train of thought. If there's something Booth is thorough about, it's protocol, and so Sully takes full advantage of it. "Anyway, I don't know about you, but I've got a date with Payton, and she even promised me a dance," he says with a wink. "Sassy, right?"

Luckily for Booth (seeing as he wouldn't know what to reply anyway), the sound of a particular forensic artist clearing her throat forces their eyes to the doorway.

Sully gives a smile. "Seems like you've got a visitor. Hey, Ange. Looking beautiful as usual."

"Very wise of you to butter me up, Agent Sullivan." She offers him her cheek, and when he obliges with a chuckle and kisses her, she murmurs. "Smooth, Sullivan."

"I don't know what you're talking about," the agent replies in a whisper, then exits the office after giving her one last smile.

Angela, who waited by the doorway long enough to catch most of the conversation between the agents, shakes her head slightly and turns her attention to Booth. "Studly," she greets him. "I've got more of your favourite hacked files," she says with a grin, holding up a small black laptop for him to see.

—x—

She follows him hot on his heels as they step out of the elevator, none of them really bothering to keep down the escalating volume as they argue their way through different hallways.

They have just come out of the interrogation room, where they've spent the last twenty minutes interrogating a suspect that, all of a sudden, began blurting out things about a secret society, and how scientists only make the world worse with their theories, experiments, and finds. Upon hearing that, the partners exchanged a skeptical glance, and then the man in question looked pointedly at Brennan, a frightening spark taking over his small eyes as he adressed her and explained that he could easily make her the next target on said society's list. That's when Booth, in one swift move, had rounded the table, his hand closing around the suspect's neck as he slammed him against the wall, making sure to clarify that if anything happened to his partner, he would not be as careful as he was being then and there.

However, despite having Booth's fingers around his neck, the man had simply smirked and given Brennan a devilish smile over the agent's shoulder, and just as the agent was about to lose his mind completely, his phone went off with a lead from Cam that meant he would have to drive outside of Virginia where the society's based was rumoured to be.

"If we find more victims, I'll send everything to the lab. You, however, are not coming," he states for the fifth time, and shoots a glance at her. "Period."

"That's not for you to decide," Brennan protests as she follows him through the crowded hallway. "My expertise could be required! Not to mention, extremely useful."

He scrubs a hand down his face, feeling downright exhausted. They've been at this for at least ten minutes already. "It's dangerous, Bones, alright? I'm not gonna risk your life just because you feel like being a rebel and going against the rules."

"The rules?" she hisses, freezing a few meters from his office.

He spins around, hands resting firmly on his hips as he comes to face her. "Yeah, the rules. You know, those little guidelines that keep us from getting stuck in chaos?" he snarls, then shortens the distance between them. "I'm sorry, Bones, but this time we're doing things the way they should be done. Squints at the lab, and end of discussion."

Making a point to demonstrate her annoyance, Brennan folds her arms across her chest. "I can't believe this."

"Well, I'm a constant surprise," he states, growing serious as he adds, "Listen, I'll keep you updated, I promise, but I won't let you play cop this time."

Arms still folded, she tries her most innocent tone as she asks, "Why?"

"Because, Bones, this guy and the gang of freaks he belongs to are dan-ge-rous! Jeez, are we even speaking the same language here?"

"We've faced dangerous suspects before, Booth," she reminds him. "What's with the sudden impulse of leaving me behind?"

"Alright, listen," he begins, stepping closer and waving a finger in front of her. "I know you're all fearless and reckless and downright stubborn, and yeah, we've met some pretty wicked guys in the past, but it's been a while since one of them threatened you openly, so forgive me for worrying about your safety."

"I'm an excellent shot, Booth. I know martial arts, I've been to several countries that are globally deemed dangerous, I've been attacked, kidnapped, shot at—"

"Bones." He can't take it, can't take hearing any of it, of the things she's been through because all he can think of is the scars she must have left. Her arms, the nightmares she's told him about before, her heart. "This is off the table. It's not up for discussion, you understand?"

Incredulous, she looks at him wide-eyed. "I can take care of mys—"

"Sully!" he cuts her off, shouting the name of the agent approaching them. "Talk some sense into her, would ya'?"

"I'm not—" Now she's royally pissed. "I'm not a child! Don't patronize me."

"Lovely partnership," Sully comments, gaining himself a glare from each of the partners. "Well, good morning to you, too."

"Yeah, yeah, oh shiny morning," Booth bites, then turns his attention back to his partner. "Alright, I apologize for the belittlement there, that was certainly wrong. But you wanna know what isn't wrong? To call the shots. In this case, I'm the one who does that, and I say squints in the lab." He points a finger at her. "You're a squint. You, lab."

Her eyes go wider and her lips purse, nostrils flaring as her cheeks flush in indignation. Before anyone gets to utter another word, she's off to the elevator. Booth's eyes follow her with vicious concentration, and when she steps inside and the elevator doors close behind her, both agents glance at each other.

Sully blows out a low whistle. "That was intense."

"She'll get over it," Booth shrugs. "She has to understand there's no way I'm gonna risk to make her that freak's next target."

"You think that guy did it? That Montgomery killed the scientist chicks?"

"I don't know, but they found another victim—also a young girl, also scientist." He waves a hand toward the folder Sully has tucked under his arm. "What have you got?" Wordlessly, Sully hands him the files and Booth's eyes shuffle through the sentences, his concentration shot to hell after the argument he just had with his partner. "You know what?" Booth says, and nods in the direction Brennan just stormed off. "This feels like a huge déjà vu. You have a terrible effect on her."

"Hey, don't get me involved," Sully protests, placing a hand on his chest. "She's mad at you for going all bossy on her."

Despite the recent events, Booth gives the other agent a cocky smile. "Well, I am the one in charge."

"Sullivan," they hear from the other side of the hallway. Perotta is marching over to them, looking sharp as usual. "You ready to leave?"

"That depends," Sully replies with a smile as he falls into step with her on their way to the elevator. "Am I driving?"

She scoffs. "Not a chance."

Booth can't help but beam at the partners' interaction as they disappear into the elevator just like his own partner did a few minutes ago. Exhausted, he lets out a deep breath, then heads to his office while the picture of a very annoyed Brennan typing the sudden death of Andy forms in his head.

Three days left until the FBI's party and this is going to be a long case.