"I want in on this case," Brennan demanded as soon as they were safely behind the closed door of Sweets' office.

"Absolutely no way in hell," Booth said, shaking his head.

"Why not?" she asked, dropping her hands to her sides in frustration. "Tell him he's wrong, Sweets," she said, turning to him.

Sweets calmly took a seat and surveyed the two of them.

"Just because I've been gone for awhile does not mean I've gone completely incompetent," she said, her voice escalating. "I can do this."

She paused, as if realizing something. "Unless you guys don't want me to do this. That's it isn't it? I've really been replaced haven't I?"

"No, Brennan, you haven't been replaced." Sweets attempted to regain order. "Why don't we just sit down and we can talk about this rationally-."

"I don't want to talk. I just want to work this case," she said through gritted teeth.

"No!" Booth exclaimed, completely outraged. He walked over so he was standing in front of her and placed his hands on either side of her face. "I can't put you in danger like this. Not again."

She saw the pain and guilt etched on his face. She reached one of her hands up to cover his. "Oh, Booth, you can't protect me forever. I need to do this."

They stayed that way for a moment, the words hanging in the air between them.

Sweets cleared his throat and they broke apart guiltily; Brennan red faced. After hiding their relationship for so long, she wasn't sure she would ever get used to broadcasting it for everyone to see.

"Have a seat?" Sweets said, a bit forcefully. They each took a seat on the all too familiar couch.

"Brennan's right on some points. You can't baby her just because of what happened. It was traumatic for everyone involved, but you would need to find some way to move past that. You would still need to be objective if you two were to ever work together again," Sweets warned.

Booth nodded silently. All the while he was thinking that he would never trust anyone else to take care of Brennan on the job.

"On the other hand Brennan, I'm not sure you're ready to take on this case. It may not be the best ideas. You're still healing- emotionally if not physically- and this is a lot to take on especially since Pratt is still at large.

Brennan sighed impatiently. "I know I can handle this Sweets. I have more of a reason than anyone to want to bring this bastard down; he shot me for God's sake!"

Sweets regarded her with a searching look. He agreed she would be able to do this; no question. She was strong, she always had been and it took a lot to break her.

Finally Sweets spoke again. "I believe you are completely capable of doing this job."

Brennan cheered while Booth immediately protested.

Sweets held up a hand for quiet. "But there are some complications."

"Such as?"

"Well, there is the fact that everyone out there, thinks you're dead. I don't think it would work well in court if you found evidence to take Pratt down and you testify as Dr. Brennan. Not a good idea," Sweets pointed out.

Brennan sat quietly for a minute, processing this. A smile slowly spread across her face.

"I know what we have to do."

Brennan stepped out the front door of the Jeffersonian, into the bright sunlight. She was flanked by Booth and Wendell, the rest of the crew behind her.

Booth was hanging close. He had a gun strapped to him and he was very antsy, she could tell. It had taken him forever to agree to this plan.

Some quick phone calls to all the right people led to an enormous crowd outside the Jeffersonian. Brennan squinted against the camera flashes and the sunlight.

She remained on the top step of the Jeffersonian, as if to give the crowd a nice look. As soon as she took her spot at the front of the crowd, the loud murmurs immediately died down.

As soon as she opened her mouth to talk, the crowd surged forward to the bottom step, shoving their recording devices into her face.

She steadied her breathing and tried not to freak out.

Booth kept looking around; searching the crowd, looking up and down the street. He felt like he could feel Pratt's eyes on them and he didn't like it. The sooner they got this over with the better.

Brennan looked out over the crowd and took a deep breath as she began talking.

"To put an end to the rumors this morning: I am Temperance Brennan. I was shot last year; however I didn't die as you all thought. I'm not obligated to tell you any of the details at this time. I just want you all to know, I'm back, and I'm here to stay. I will assist this team in bringing Damian Pratt down."

She paused, listening to the rapid fire clicks of cameras, taking in the people's shocked expressions. She looked directly into one of the news cameras.

"And Pratt, if you're watching: We're coming for you."

With that, Booth swept an arm around her, Wendell on the other side and they made their way back inside the safety of the building, questions being thrown at their backs.

Once they were inside, Brennan collapsed in Booth's arms. "That was harder than I thought," she said, giving him a weak smile. "I felt so vulnerable."

Booth gathered her in a tight hug. He placed his chin on the top of her head and stroked her long hair. "I know, I know."

"This looks delicious, hun," Mark Bower told his wife as he sat down with his kids to dig into dinner.

"I got a 95 on a pop quiz in history today Daddy," his oldest daughter, Michelle, said.

"That's awesome sweetie. Ella, chew with your mouth closed please," he said, addressing his younger daughter.

"Yes, Daddy," she said, laughing.

"How was work today Renee?" he asked his wife.

"Oh, same old, same old," she replied.

The phone rang and Mark jumped up. "Excuse me." He hurried to grab the phone.

"Hello?" he tried to keep his voice steady. He walked into his private office.

"Congratulations, we made the 6 o'clock news," came Pratt's chilling voice over the line.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh come on now Bower, don't you watch the news? Brennan appeared, announcing her return; alive and well to D.C.. Our plan is working perfectly. Good work."

"Thank you sir," Mark replied, dabbing at the sweat beading on his forehead with the back of his hand.

"Keep up the good work. You wouldn't want anything to happen to that precious family of yours..would you?"

Mark peeked his head out the door, looking on as his wife helped Ella cut her meat and Michelle was talking animatedly to her mother.

"You stay away from them," he growled.

But it was too late, all he was met with was a dial tone.

So what do you think? Personally, I'm really proud of this chapter; this story's coming along quite nicely if I do say so myself. I don't think I've ever put together chapters so quickly; ideas are just pouring out.

I don't know whether to feel bad for Mark Bower or to completely hate his guts. Oh, well. Happy readings.