Hi Guys! Amazing readers! So sorry about the massive break - I was away from home for the past week, so no internet. However, I did have my laptop, and got about five chapters done.

You bet. Gonna post 'em all!

Thank you to dedicated reviewers - especially alexindigo - thank you so much for your support and words!

Enjoy!

Xx G


12. Allowing Adjustments

Brennan woke up late into the afternoon, feeling like she had slept a hundred years. Though she knew that he would have left hours ago, she had hoped that Booth would have been there when she was roused from her deep slumber.

Turning her head into the pillow she cuddled, she realised that his scent was still evident in its soft cover. Small favours. That settled her slight agitation at his physical absence. The afternoon sun formed patterns on her duvet where it streamed past spots in her blinds. Booth had drawn the curtains for her.

She felt a wave of gratitude at the small gesture. He knew that she had trouble sleeping in light, and although, to anyone else, the simple action of closing the blinds might have seemed meaningless, it wasn't that way to her. She wasn't used to having someone take care of her; she took care of herself. It was a nice feeling – having someone care for you.

Casually checking her phone for any updates on the case, she started when she remembered a vague image of Booth telling her that he tried to call her the morning that he had broken up with Hannah.

She remembered reading the screen - it telling her that a call had been made, but disconnected with no message. She had discarded the call as unimportant. He had needed to talk to someone, when he was in emotional pain.

She should have been there for him.

Her stomach twisted in guilt.

Deciding that she could sleep no longer, she unusually dismissed the notion of a shower, and went straight out to the kitchen.

As a small batter of pancakes cooled next to the stove half an hour later, she heard her phone sound from her bedroom. Bounding to meet it, she picked up immediately when she realised that it was Hodgins.

"Hey, Dr B," he greeted cheerily, before asking after her.

She replied politely that she was well. Asked him what progress had been made on the Rushmore case.

"Well, you see, that's why I called," he began, already sounding like he was reading from a suspense script; Hodgins loved explaining his discoveries like they were the greatest news of all ages. Which generally, they were, considering they gave the best leads when everyone else was stuck in the mud.

"That hair fibre Cam found amongst the flesh and mess? Turns out we were able to pull DNA."

Brennan waited.

"Aren't you going to say something like, 'oh, Hodgins, spare me the suspense! Enlighten me before I explode!'?" He waited for her to say something. Zilch. "Okay, well it belonged to the Vegas wife, Mary Rushmore. I bet you wanna check her out, huh? Yeah. Well I got Angie giving us a location, and I called Booth." When no response came from the other end of the line, he was a little worried. "Bren, are you okay?"

"Fine."

He wasn't convinced. "Bren."

"I'm just a little discouraged that, over two days, all we could pull was a hair."

"Not just a hair," he reassured her. "We have a name. A place. A lead."

"I suppose if you look at it that way..." she trailed off.

"I'll catch you later, okay? Booth said he'd come over and pick you up soon-ish."

"How did you know I was awake?"

"Not me. He said you would be. He said that you don't sleep for more than ten hours in a single block. He reckons you would have been sleeping since seven thirty, so..."

Brennan's heart fluttered strangely. He noticed things like that?

After disconnecting her call with Hodgins, she returned to her pancakes, which she covered with sugar and lemon juice.

Surely enough, the buzzer on her door sounded not even ten minutes after she had settled down to her food. Reaching the door, she couldn't prevent a smile when her partner stepped through the entrance for the second time that day.

"How did you sleep?" Booth asked her almost immediately, walking through to the kitchen.

"Well. Very well. And you?"

He chuckled. "I didn't sleep."

She blushed and dipped her head. "Of course. It's daytime." She looked back to her meal, and sat down again.

"Is that sugar I see again? On pancakes? You made pancakes?" The was a lilting mock behind his astonishment.

She didn't reply. Instead, she shovelled a mouthful of pancakes in her mouth. She knew that her dietary habits were most unusual compared to her norm. It confused her too.

He pulled open her cutlery draw and retrieved a fork, before stabbing it into her small pancake pile.

"So..." he mumbled during a mouthful.

Brennan almost giggled at his poor table manners. "So...?"

"So, we're going to go and investigate the wife's place. Are you up to going?" He forked another clump.

She nodded. "I am tired, but I'm feeling better."

"Well that's good to hear."

"It is." She forked her food, racking up ideas that would prevent them from slipping into silence. "How has the office been today?"

She was answered with a shrug.

"Any progressions?" she then asked, at loss at what else to say.

Booth gave her a strange look. "Ah, Bones...we're going to investigate a possible progression. Are you sure you feeling-"

"I am sorry for asking irrelevant questions. My brain is elsewhere."

"O-kay," he replied slowly, outlandish expression still in tact.

They polished off the remnants of the food, and Brennan took the plate over to the sink.

"Allow me," he offered, when she released the water pressure, and it began to fill her sink. "You go and get dressed. I'll take care of these."

"Thank you." She ducked off to her bedroom quickly, not wanting to hold up their expedition.

Returning in a matter of moments, dressed simply with a few items of jewellery in addition to her outfit, she picked up the boots she had polished a few days ago, and tugged them on.

"Ready?" Booth asked as she picked up her bag.

She smiled, ran a layer of softly toned lipstick over her already rosy lips, smacked them together, and then nodded.

He watched her with a hint of fascination.

"You look good, Bones." Reaching out to her, he tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

Brennan expected to feel uncomfortable under his affectionate touch, but instead she felt ignited by the fleeting brush of warm skin to her own flesh. She felt giddy from head to toe.

"Are you alright, Bones?" Booth asked suddenly, concealing his delight at her obvious reaction.

"Perfect," she breathed, still dazed. Shook her head. "Sorry," she then apologised, and the moment had disappeared, "we should be going."

The exited the apartment, his hand hovering just above the small of her back.

-~B&B~-

They drove along the rode quietly, but it wasn't a negative silence; they were comfortable in each other's company.

Every so often, Brennan would break into a small smirk, an absurd thought surfacing in her mind. Booth, still frivolous from their little moment before, would elapse into a throaty chuckle when he heard her simper.

His laugh made her laugh.

That made his mood escalate even higher.

Eventually they pulled onto the road that would lead them to the wife's address.

"How is it that a person who lives close enough to D.C., never makes it there?" Brennan asked as they drew closer.

"Elaborate, please.."

"Okay," she sighed, folding her thoughts in question. "How is it that, someone with the access to a big city – the same person that married a city girl – rarely ever travels into the city, and when they do, it's only on a very rare occasion?"

Booth shrugged. "Generally that would be my question for you, but I would say that Mary Rushmore grew up in a more remote district, and doesn't like the buzz of the city. Countryside is quieter; more time to think."

"Fair enough," Brennan replied. "I find that your explanation conforms a rational reason."

Booth nodded, deciding that she just meant that he gave a believable answer. That was good enough for him.

"Does she know that we're coming?" his partner then asked.

"No, Bones. It might give her time to run." He winked.

"I don't know what that means..."

"Course you don't."

They spent a while longer bantering in quiet chatter, before finally reaching the Rushmore residence.

As it turned out, it was more than just a residence.

It was a stabling complex, complete with a sandstone mansion.

Booth had the feeling that there would be more lawyers to come.

-~B&B~-

Feet crunching on the white gravel, they made their way to the front entrance. The door was answered by a middle-aged woman, withered by years of work.

She introduced herself as Harriet Johnson, Mary's housekeeper of ten years.

As 'Hattie' mentioned her lady's name, Booth couldn't help but pick up the slightly bitter-edged tone her voice shifted to when she was regarded.

"Do you mind if we step inside for a moment?" Booth requested, sliding out his ID and flashing it at her briefly. "We have a few questions."

Hattie nodded. "Of course, right this way."

When they were seated in a parlour, porcelain cups in hand, that were filled with good coffee, the talking began.

"For someone who runs a very wealthy household, I'm surprised that you would let us in," Brennan stated, fore mostly.

Hattie answered her with a disinterested wave. "There are a lot of skeletons in this house. I won't do anything to protect them. You could ask me why I don't bother with keeping my mouth closed, but I find that keeping my nose clean is for the best."

"There are dead bodies in your house?" Brennan asked, interest creeping into her voice.

"Metaphorical skeletons, Bones. She was using a figure of speech," Booth corrected her as quietly as he could, surprised that he didn't feel the usual twinge of embarrassment at her public confusion.

"Ah." Brennan grimaced, feeling the slight humiliation at being confused once again.

"Where is your lady?" Booth asked Hattie, diverting from what he knew was another awkward moment for Brennan.

"She is out working through a Prep. Dressage test."

Booth knotted his eyebrows in confusion.

Brennan put a hand on his arm, eyes lighting. "In horseback riding, there are known to be three main disciplines; Showjumping, Cross Country and Dressage. Dressage is the training of a horse in obedience and deportment. The word dressage descends from its original French origin, which initiates the display of this very training. In dressage, there are levels of this discipline, and I imagine that Mary Rushmore is practicing one of the higher levels." She smiled proudly after her explanation, pleased with her knowledge.

While Booth studied her curiously, Hattie gave her a appraising smile.

"Are you a rider yourself, ma'am?" she asked the lively young woman.

Brennan shook her head. "I am a forensic anthropologist. Although I did ride when I was younger."

"Is that so?" Booth asked, slight surprised coating his tone. "You never told me that.'

"I never thought it pertinent information. Have you ever ridden yourself?"

"Pops took Jared and I out a few times with those trail riding groups when we went on holidays."

"Did you ride well?"

"Of course," Booth scoffed.

"I would like to see that." Brennan crossed her arms, and concealed a beam by biting her cheeks.

"I'd like to see you stay on a horse," Booth challenged.

"And you will. When this case is over, I'll show you."

When they turned their attention back to Hattie, she stared at them knowingly, having observed something that countless others probably had.

"My husband was a county sheriff," she revealed suddenly. "He was killed in a car accident."

"I'm so sorry," Brennan sympathised suddenly, smile falling from her face.

"Your husband here very much reminds me of him," Hattie stated, eyeing Booth.

"We're not married," the two partners replied in unison. "We not together."

"Of course you're not," Hattie sighed. "Anyhow - you are here on official business, of course?"

"Yes." Booth nodded. "We need to ask you a few questions about Evan Rushmore. We understand that he was married to Mary until very recently."

"Why? What happened."

"Mr Rushmore was murdered, Mrs Johnson," Brennan told her evenly, trying to sound as soft and compassionate as she could."

"Oh." Hattie slumped against the back of her chair. "Oh."

"Oh, what?" Booth asked cautiously.

He could have received an answer, but he was interrupted.

"What on earth is going on here?"

The trio turned to face a very flawless Mary Rushmore.

And Joshua Blake.


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