A time to tear and a time to mend.

Deputy Director Seeley Booth looked around at the men gathered in his office and asked, "So are we agreed?"

"Yes, Sir," they chorused.

Booth nodded his head, "We move in fast, people. We get one shot at this. If we do it right, we bust the biggest meth players in DC. Do it wrong, and we're all screwed. Let's get armored up and in position for the signal."

As the men filed out to prepare themselves for the upcoming sting, Booth took himself through his own mental ritual. He thought of Parker, now fifteen and nearly Booth's height already. He wanted to be there to guide his son into manhood. He thought of his foster daughters, Scout- who would soon be eighteen and age out of the system- and Julie and Jenny, the two teenaged twelve year-olds who had just recently come to live with them. They needed a man in their life who would support rather than abuse them. He was only just starting to gain the twins' trust, and he wanted to be there for Scout as well.

Next, he turned his mind to the men and women who would be under his command. They all had families of their own and he was the one in charge of making sure that they did their jobs, and returned home safely. He took his role as the group's director seriously.

Finally, he allowed his thought to turn to his wife. Married now for seven years, Dr. Temperance Brennan-Booth was no slouch. She had known that something big was going to happen tonight- her look at breakfast had said it all. She understood that he would be in danger- had accepted that as a part of his duty to the FBI- and would be waiting for him with open arms and a listening ear when he returned home. And he would return- because seven years ago he had vowed never to abandon her and he would remain a man of his word.

Mentally prepared for the conflict ahead now, he donned his standard-issue body armor and joined his men. They traveled to the house where several known meth dealers were meeting to package and distribute their product. The FBI had a mole deep within the meth organization who had been feeding Booth information for months now, in order to time the sting correctly.

When they arrived, twenty of Booth's men split off into pairs and surrounded the house, while helicopters flew just outside the neighborhood, ready to aid if needed. Booth orchestrated the operation from a van parked just up the street. Monitors surrounded him, giving him visuals on where they stood with air and ground support.

"Porter," he spoke to one of the tech agents, "Pull up the thermal imagery for me on the house."

The other man complied, giving Booth a visual on the heat signatures that were radiating from the target house. Six reddish shapes moved around various parts of the house, but something caught Booth's eye.

He swore, "Is that what I think it is?"

Agent Porter squinted at the spot Booth was pointing at on the monitor, "Looks like a smaller heat signature, Sir- infant or child, I'd say. No older than two at the most."

Booth swore again and got out of his seat, "I'm going with Team A. Inform the rest that we have a child in the building and to proceed with extreme caution."

"But, Sir-"

Booth stabbed a finger at the man, cutting him off, "You do your job, Porter. I am not going to have a child killed on my watch!"

Checking his sidearm, he exited the van and made his way over to where Team A was stationed.

"Sir?" the agent whispered, surprised to see his superior in the field.

"We've got a reading on a kid in there," Booth spoke softly and motioned toward the house, "I'll take point, you two cover me. Our job is to secure the child, let the other teams handle the players."

The two other men nodded and they crept toward the house, securing masks to their faces. When the signal from the mole came, Booth kicked down the front door, while the other teams penetrated the back and side doors. Inside, they found the six adults working furiously to package their product. At the sight of the sting team, the meth-heads fled like rats in a flood.

Booth ignored them, saying a silent prayer of thanks that they did not seem to be armed, and focused solely on the child. He could see now that it was an infant boy, no more than four months old, laying in the middle of the meth-coated floor. His face was pinched and he began wailing at the sound of the intruders. The cries pierced Booth's heart and fueled his anger. The parents, whoever they were, had abandoned the infant in their attempt to flee from the FBI. Leaving his sidearm holstered, Booth scooped the little boy up in his arms and exited the building.

As soon as they were clear, he removed his mask and set about calming the infant, who was now screaming at the top of his lungs.

"Shh," he soothed, "Shh. You're safe now little guy; it's alright."

Booth walked the baby up and down the sidewalk in front of the house, soothing him and patting his back. The sirens stopped, signaling that all of the targets had been acquired, and the baby began to settle down in Booth's arms. Finally he settled down completely and fell asleep on Booth's shoulder.

"Sir," Agent Porter came up and spoke softly so as not to wake the baby, "The operation was a success. We're taking them back for questioning, and our crime scene guys are in the house taking pictures. The product wasn't made here, so we won't be needing HAZMAT."

"Good," Booth nodded, careful to keep his tone soft as well, "Have them look for the little guy's stuff while they are in there. Diaper bag, food, clothes, the works. Oh, and we'll need a car seat too to transport him."

"Yes, Sir," Porter replied, scooting off to the house.

Booth continued his walk in front of the house. Now that the danger was over, his anger was rising again. Even after four years of raising foster children, it never ceased to amaze him how callous and irresponsible parents could be toward their children. As he felt the little boy shudder in his sleep, Booth held him a little closer and rubbed his back again.

He wondered what would happen to the little guy. Protocol dictated that he be placed in emergency foster care. Unlike baby Andy so many years ago, who had swallowed the key to his mother's safety deposit box and thereby became a part of the chain of evidence, this little man was no more than an innocent bystander in these events. He glanced at his watch. It was nearing midnight, and he knew it would be at least another hour before they could contact Child Services and begin the process of getting the baby into a home.

"Sir," Porter was back, winded, but wielding a diaper bag and a car seat, "We found this upstairs, and the seat was in one of the cars. There's some powdered formula in there as well."

"Good," Booth nodded, "Get everything else loaded into the van and we'll leave as soon as you are done. Is there a name on of any of this stuff?"

The other man shook his head, "Not that we could find, no."

Instructing Porter to lay the seat on the ground, Booth eased the little boy into it, managing not to wake him in the process. Booth then proceeded to buckle him in and they headed for the van. Within twenty minutes they were back at the Hoover Building.

The first thing Booth did when he arrived was determine where his agents were in the interrogation process and if they had narrowed down who the infant boy's parents were.

"Right there's the mother," Special Agent Jeremy Allbright reported, pointing to a sneering woman, "Says the kid's hers but she wants nothing to do with him. Apparently he yelled and screamed too much for her taste. Blames him for tipping us off to them, actually," the agent shook his head, disgusted, "I'd say she uses a good bit of her product."

"What about the father?" Booth tried to contain the rage that was again welling inside of him, "Any guesses?"

"Don't have to," Allbright said, pointing to the adjacent room, "Momma claims the head man Vinnie here is our illustrious sperm donor. Vinnie wants about as much to do with the kid as Momma. Nice couple, really. Wanna know where they can sign up to give him away for good now that we have him."

"Great," Booth growled, "I'm sure Sesame Street'll do a spot on 'em any day."

"Parents of the Year for sure."

"Did you get a name out of them?" Booth asked, "For their son, I mean?"

"Nope," Allbright shook his head again, "She claims they never named him. Too busy, you know. Or too wasted- hard to tell with this crowd."

Back in his office, Booth wrung his hands and moved them through his hair, glancing over at the little boy still asleep in his car seat who had no parents who wished to claim him, and no name. No child deserved that.

His desk phone rang.

"Booth."

"Child services," a raspy voice replied, as if it had been woken from a comfortable sleep, "We hear you picked up something extra tonight?"

"Yes," Booth grimaced, "Infant boy. No name; parents want nothing to do with him and are asking for the papers to sign."

The voice on the other end sighed deeply, "Look, Director, it's one in the morning. Chances are I'm not going to find a bed for that boy tonight even if I came in right away. Now I've got papers here in front of me that tell me you and your wife are fully certified foster parents, is that correct?"

"We have three foster daughters right now," he had a feeling where this was headed.

"Do you have room for one more?"

"Plenty of empty rooms," he said, feeling oddly relieved that he wouldn't have to release the boy into emergency care, "Do I need to sign anything."

"Not 'til tomorrow," there was relief on that end too, "And thank you very much, Director."

They exchanged good-byes and hung up.

"Looks like you're going home with me, Buddy," Booth told the little boy, who was now awake.

Booth got him out of the car seat and changed him, using the diaper bag that Porter had found in the house. He was slightly proud of himself that he managed to get the job done without getting squirted in the process. They made a quick stop at Wal-Mart and picked up a pack-and-play for him to sleep in and then headed to the Booth home.

Bones was waiting for him on the front porch as he neared the house.

"Are you alright?" she came around to his car door and embraced him as soon as he got out.

"I'm fine," he assured her, "We got the bad guys."

"Well I surmised that," she said, "Since you were so late in arriving."

"Yeah," he ducked his head, "Sorry I didn't call you right away. Something came up that we weren't expecting."

The baby cried at that moment, scared and alone in the backseat of the Crown Victoria.

"Seeley Booth," Bones eyed him suspiciously, "Is that an infant in the back of your car?"

"Bones," he kissed her head and then went to retrieve the baby, "I can explain. He was at the scene, his parents don't want him- they didn't even name him- and Child Services didn't want to be bothered either."

"He doesn't even have a name?" she repeated incredulously.

"Nope," Booth shook his head, placing the boy back on his shoulder and rubbing his back until the infant began to calm down, "We snagged a pack-and-play for him to sleep in tonight. And some diapers and formula too."

"How about 'Jacob'?" Bones asked as they moved toward the house, bringing the pack-and-play with her.

"Huh?" Booth was sleepy and did not understand what she was asking.

"What if we named him Jacob?" she asked again, "It means 'God has protected' in Hebrew."

"Bones," he stopped as they entered the living room, turning to her, "I think that's a perfect name for him. What do you think, Jacob?"

Jacob cooed and flapped his arms at his new caregivers.

"Well, Jacob," Booth said, "Welcome home."