I am so grateful for all of you who have stuck with me through this to the end. Thank you so much for every story and author alert and also for every story and author favorite. I greatly appreciated every single review—it seems you are all in favor of my story. ;)

P.S. I stole a line from The Harbingers in the Fountain for this chapter . . .

Without any other comments from this awe-stricken, grateful author, here is the Epilogue—

(Third Person POV)

When they had regained enough energy to move, Booth supported the majority of Brennan's weight by wrapping his arm around her, careful of her damaged arm. They remained in shock of what they had just witnessed. They spoke only by clinging to the other, silently thanking God for delivering their love to them still breathing.

Booth walked Brennan to the elevator and rode down with her. He dared a glance in her direction to find her intently staring at the floor, contemplating in a daze. Booth could have walked her into Hell, and she wouldn't have noticed.

The couple floated to the parking lot. Paramedics ambushed the two as soon as they stepped a foot onto the pavement. Booth declined their assistance, insisting that Bones be treated; he would just get a couple of stitches for his arm at the hospital. Brennan had never been one to willingly submit to a hospital's assistance, but, by that time, the shock began to subside so that the pain her arm could emerge.

The paramedics already had Bones hooked up to an IV drip and laid upon the gurney when Booth began climbing into the ambulance. As he did so, he was stopped by Agent Lewis.

"Agent Booth?" Lewis asked. Booth turned around to meet the eyes of his colleague. Lewis suppressed his grimace as he noticed the extent of the exhaustion that was overpowering Booth. Underneath his eyelids, Booth carried dark circles that had darkened over the past week. Now that Brennan had been found, Booth's adrenaline fled his system. He now looked very much like a walking corpse, unaware of his surroundings.

"Yes?" Booth answered in a muddled tone.

"We found someone trying to take a shot at Broadsky from the apartment next door to the one you three were in," Lewis informed. "Found this in his hands." Lewis held up a sniper rifle as he pulled a handcuffed and bashful Max into view.

"Dad?" Brennan mumbled quietly, making a large effort to raise her head for a better view of her father.

The paramedics gently pushed her back down, urging her to rest. They turned to Booth and reminded, "We really need to get going."

Booth gave a nod, a little bit of life returning to his features as he remembered that they were not completely out of the woods yet.

"What would you like us to do with him?" Lewis questioned hurriedly. He had known enough about Booth and Brennan's partnership to realize that if he didn't get any orders from Booth now, he would not hear them for awhile. Booth would tend to Bones and Bones alone in their moments of distress, with the exception of his son Parker.

Booth looked into Max's eyes. Max stared back with the eyes of a loving father, a father who would do anything to protect his family, just like Booth. There was no chance that Max would go onto a killing spree, nor would Booth. They had both been trying to protect their family. "Could we pretend we had never seen him?" Booth murmured quietly to Lewis. He didn't want to strip Brennan of a family member right after this crisis.

Lewis hesitated with a look of discomfort. "Well, that's against protocol . . ." As Lewis stared into Booth's eyes, he saw the distress of the week reflecting back at him. Booth was a good man with good judgment; if Booth believed that Max should go off scot-free, then Lewis wouldn't doubt him, no matter the protocols.

Lewis gave a nod as he removed the handcuffs from Max's wrists. "Yes, sir."

Max grinned and climbed into the back of the ambulance. He reached for gently Brennan's free but damaged hand, the one not being cradled by Booth.

Lewis walked off as the ambulance doors slammed shut.

Booth turned to Brennan, happy to see her smiling contently as her eyes focused on something far away.

"The morphine's kicking in," a paramedic spoke. "She should be out fairly soon."

Max smiled at his daughter, also grateful to see her alive.

Brennan's focus on the world began to blur as the drugs took their effects. "Booth . . ." she mumbled.

"Yeah, Bones?" he asked, leaning closer to hear her soft words better.

"Thank you . . ." her words were nearly unintelligible as she drifted off into her opiate-induced slumber.

"Anytime, Bones," he whispered, silently rejoicing in the fact that he could speak to his Bones, that he could say her name without feeling that sharp, merciless pain of losing a love. He thanked God for being given the opportunity to celebrate, rather than the trial to grieve.

…

[Two Days Later]

They hadn't spoken much since the incident, and, even then, none of it had been about the crisis. During the two days that Brennan had laid in the hospital, she had been too drugged to mutter many coherent sentences, and even those drug-induced words had vague meanings behind them. She had woken up a few times from her slumber in a state of panic, but Booth had been able to quickly calm her.

Booth sat quietly beside her bed, drifting in and out of an uncomfortable sleep as she did. As he remained awake on some nights, Booth lied to himself that Brennan simply wasn't awake enough to think things through logically and rationally; he pretended that she wasn't coherent enough to tackle the conversation of what had happened with Broadsky yet. He buried the fact that it was himself who was afraid to approach the subject.

Two days had been their hospital stay, after which Angela orchestrated a celebration of all of their friends at the local bar. Brennan had grumbled in annoyance that she was unable to consume alcohol due to the medication she was on, but she had celebrated with her friends nonetheless. Booth stood beside her and smiled. He was continuing to hide the feelings that haunted him during the past three.

After the party ended with many hugs and smiles, some genuine smiles and some not, Brennan and Booth walked into Brennan's apartment, both in need of a relaxing rest in a proper bed.

Brennan glanced at Booth. He had been quiet for the most part ever since they had reunited. During the car ride home from the party, Booth had spoken maybe three words; it was a sign that Brennan had learned which signaled that the person was thinking of something.

Booth noticed her look at him and smiled for her benefit. "How do you feel?"

Brennan shrugged. She had been asked that too many times to count in the past three days that the words had lost their meaning. "These drugs are making it hard to concentrate. I imagine that this is how people of average intelligence must feel all the time."

He half smiled at her words. "How's your arm?" he murmured as he lead her to their bedroom.

Brennan shrugged again, not caring for the answer. They sat down beside each other on the bed, and Booth played absentmindedly with their intertwined fingers. Brennan waited for him to look up at her, but he was too lost in his own thoughts. She finally became impatient and called his name. Still, he didn't respond. She took her hand from his grasp, the only hand she could truly move, and placed it underneath Booth's chin. She tilted his head up so that his eyes met hers. "What's wrong, Booth?"

Booth didn't want to burden her with his troubles after everything. All the torture she had been put through was his fault. He would continue to wallow in silence. He gave her a brave smile and lied, "Nothing."

She pulled her hand back and cocked her head. "Booth, we've known each other for the better part of eight years. I think that has given me some perspective to know whether or not you are lying. Right now, I think you are lying."

Booth gave her a half smile, appreciating her always logical mind. Nonetheless, he refused to answer her honestly. "It's nothing, Bones. Hey, why don't we just take a nap? I'm still pretty tired." He put his arms behind himself and began pulling his way into a laying position near the pillows.

Brennan outstretched her arm and stopped him. "Booth, you're the one who always told me that being honest creates better relationships. Shouldn't we follow that advice now?"

Booth began kicking off his shoes as he avoided her eyesight, trying to find his way out of this maze of a conversation. He didn't want approach it, not now and not ever. What lie could he feed her that would satisfy her curiosity?

Brennan saw him begin to fall back into his thoughts so she quickly fished him out before he became unresponsive. "Booth, please just say—"

"Just leave it alone, Bones," he snapped. He had still been unable to think of an appropriate response when his mouth answered without consulting his brain.

The steel tone in Booth's voice made Brennan's line of eyesight drop to the bed's comforter. "Alright," she murmured as she began to pull herself farther onto the bed.

Booth instantly kicked himself for snapping at her. She deserved that even less than the truth. He sighed and apologetically placed his hand on her arm. She didn't wince or pull away like she might have to any other, but she didn't lean towards the hand either. "I'm sorry, Bones," he murmured. "My nerves are just fried from this week."

She nodded but still didn't look towards him.

Booth sighed again and pushed himself closer to her. "Would you forgive me if I told you what's been bothering me?"

Brennan's blue eyes looked towards his chocolate brown ones. "You have nothing to be sorry for. I pushed you too far on something you're unwilling to talk about."

Booth noticed the defense trapped behind her eyes, a defense set up to wait for him to turn away from her. His heart melted at the sight, causing him to wrap his arms around her and kiss her forehead. Bones tentatively wrap her good arm around his torso and moved closer to his resting body. She leaned her head on his muscled chest, a chest sheathed in a blue cotton t-shirt. Booth stroked his hand though her auburn hair, thanking God for the millionth time that he was able to hold his Bones against him like this again.

"I've . . ." Booth hesitated to break the dam holding back his guilt and pain. He shrugged off the resistance, knowing that this would be for the best in the long run. "I've just been thinking a lot about what happened with Broadsky."

"That's understandable," Brennan answered, unable to see why he would want to keep this from her. "I have, too. Do you think that's bad?"

"No, I don't," he answered. He thought about what to say concerning his feelings to his partner. She understood the feelings well, but could never quite grasp the phrases to convey them. "I've been feeling the guilt that accompanies murder."

Brennan raised her head to look into his eyes. "I would not classify killing Broadsky as murder, Booth. You were merely acting in self-defense."

Booth considered her words as he stroked her hair. "Do you remember what you told me a while ago? That we all share in someone's death?" Brennan nodded, indicating for him to continue. "It's like that. But when you're the one to end it, to cut their final string of life, I think you share a larger load of the pain of their death a little more than others do."

Brennan rested her head on his chest again, silently thinking over the concept. "I assume that I agree with that statement," she whispered. "I remember feeling that way when I shot Gil Lappin." Brennan recalled watching Howard Epps's partner lifelessly sink to the ground, blood spurting from his mouth, as well as the wound she had inflicted. She cringed from the memory as some of the residing guilt resurfaced.

Booth nodded and held her closer to his body. "It's like that. And I've taken so many lives . . . and I knew Broadsky personally." The shame and guilt that Booth felt was audible in his voice.

"It'll get better," she promised. She was unable to give him any advice of her own, so she resorted to repeating the ones Booth had told her the night she had killed Gil.

Booth half smiled, happy for her comfort. "Thanks, Bones. I think it's just going to need some time."

Brennan nodded, remembering what it had been like to wait for the guilt to subside after she had stripped someone of their life. "We'll all be here for you, Booth. You were here for me when I needed you most, and I'll be here for you now. Figuratively and physically."

He kissed her lips and then settled back against the pillows. "Thank you. That's exactly what I need: You."

Brennan gave a small smile but then began contemplating what Booth had said; his words had resurfaced the night of Broadsky's death, representing memories that had been suppressed for an hour or two. She recalled watching Booth from the window as she remained restrained from fighting for her life. The fact that she had been powerless scared her more than anything else about the situation. She had been powerless to take Broadsky down, to save herself, to save Booth's life. She didn't know if she would have been able to handle dangling motionlessly as her love and partner fell to the ground in the same manner that Gil Lappin had.

Booth felt her body tense and grow quiet against him. He leaned towards her and asked, "How are you holding up?"

She met his concerned chocolate eyes. "I've been having dreams about it, Booth. I see him tying me up and stringing me to the ceiling again and again. Each time . . . each time he lets me fall when you never come." Her voice hiccupped at the end of her statement as her eyes filled with tears. She struggled to never let them fall. They were irrational and unnecessary; the twisted recollections were only a projection of the mind's subconscious. The images couldn't actually hurt her, nor were they reality. All the same, the fear of death rose up inside of her chest each time the images were projected.

Booth murmured that it was O.K. as he rubbed her back soothingly. He hated that these fears of abandonment constantly haunted her. He hated that he had been powerless when Broadsky had taken Bones. He hated so much of this situation, but he knew that all he could offer for reconcilement were soothing words to Bones. "Don't ever think that I won't save you, Temperance. If there's anything you can count on, it's that; I will always be there for you."

She looked up at him and saw the sincerity in his eyes. What he was saying had been true. He had saved her when Kenton kidnapped her. He had helped save her when Heather Taffet buried her alive. He had saved her from dangerous criminals, from armed gunmen. And every time she had woken up at the hospital, terrified from the fresh nightmares, she had woken up to Booth sitting beside her.

"Didn't you just promise that you'd be here for me?" he reminded her. "That promise goes both ways, Bones."

She smiled at his words, a true smile emerging for what felt like the first time in weeks.

He grinned back at her smile as it warmed his scarred heart. He held out his pinky, waiting for her to extend her own. Brennan's smile grew larger as she stuck out her pinky and wrapped it around Booth's.

"Pinky promise," he whispered in a playful tone.

She quietly laughed, happy that he was enjoying himself. It had been too long since he had been in such an uplifted mood. "Pinky promise," she echoed back to him.

"Now," Booth spoke in his ever-husky, ever-playful tone. "Who's up for some apple pie?"

This had a few factors that were like my other story "The Confessions in the Chapel", but the elements fit this epilogue well.

I'm pretty sad now that the story's over. I guess I better start a new story so I will get out of review withdrawal. Haha Perhaps you could be so generous as to sustain my habit for a little while longer by reviewing? ;)

I am working on a new story for Bones, although I have no idea when I'll be posting it. I'm assuming some time this summer during all of my new-found free time.

Thanks so much again for reading, and I appreciate all reviews, alerts, and PMs!

~Alice