No Bride for Booth
By LizD
Written May 2010 -July 2010
Chapter 14
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For two days Booth sat with all that had happened. He was restless and anxious but also glad he had time before he would see her again. Of course too much time to think was not a good thing either. True to her word she had send her report as soon as her plane landed in Los Angeles, but he needed to talk to her - face to face. The phone wouldn't cut it. He had no idea what he would say, but for two days he had been sitting with her declaration. He would have preferred more time to process Elizabeth's departure, but there was something that was telling him not to wait, not to screw up, not to play it wrong. Not to play it at all.
Booth went to the lab to pick up some reports. He didn't need to. They weren't important. They could have been messengered over in a day or two, but he needed to do something. He met Hodgins on his way out for the night.
"Hey man, sup?" Hodgins asked.
"Just came to pick up those reports on the gunshot wounds found on Charlotte Edwards."
"Cam left with them an hour ago, you must have missed her."
"Yeah, I guess." Booth looked up to Brennan's office. It was dark. She wasn't back yet.
"Hey," Hodgins asked. "Wanna grab a beer?"
"Yeah," Booth said. "Yeah, sure."
About thirty minutes later they were at some local dive that Booth had never been to before (Hodgins was well known) with a couple of shots and a couple of beers in front of them. Hodgins raise his shot glass up. "Booth - damn glad you are back, man." Booth studied him for a moment and wondered which back Hodgins was referring to. "And, I want to say Thank You."
"Thank you?" Booth looked puzzled. "For what?"
"Hey, man ... I may not agree with the powers that be, I may vote against them, and I may shout at the moon to bring their antics into the light of day ... but you ... and people like you ... who do what you believe in because you believe it is correct, you put your lives on the line, you put your lives on hold and go off to war, you see things, do things, feel things that are too ugly to talk about. You guys, man, I support you. All my howling at the moon is nothing. You make is OK for people like me to have an opinion and I never forget that. I want you to know, I never forget that. So ... Thank you, man."
Booth nodded. "Yeah." They touched glasses and they downed the shots. Jack motioned for two more.
"Whoa ... slow down there Hodgins."
"It's been a long time, Booth ... and if I may say? You look like a man who could stand getting shit faced and waking up with your head in a toilet bowl."
Booth took a long hit off his beer and then raised his shot glass. "Here's to it then."
"Whatever the hell IT is."
"You got that right." They drank and slammed their glasses down on the bar. This time the bartender left the bottle.
"So Angela ..." Booth started.
"My wife ... how cool is that? ... I mean, she married me. Can you believe it?"
"She is something."
"Every day I wake up wondering how I can make her happy ... the hell of it is ... she is happy. She doesn't need the money or anything ... she doesn't need me to do a damned thing. All I have to do is love her - and that is like breathing - no effort at all."
"Brennan said something about you two thinking about kids."
"Yeah ... soon ... she has got a few more wild oats to sew, but this time next year I bet we will be picking out baby names and painting one of the nurseries yellow."
"Never pictured you as the kind of guy that wanted to settle down."
"Who is settled? Every day with Angela is an adventure ... and I expect that if we have one or a hundred kids ... we won't be doing meatloaf night on Tuesdays."
"Right." Booth reflected on his own meatloaf Tuesdays fantasy. He didn't want that either. He really didn't. Honestly.
"So tell me about Elizabeth," Hodgins asked though he already knew the answer.
"Gone ... another one I let slip through my fingers."
"Did you try to stop her?" Hodgins asked. "I mean if you really wanted her, you never would have come back to Washington. So why did you really come back?"
Booth downed another shot. "You expecting me to say I came back for Bones?"
"Just asking a question, man ... just asking a question."
"She told me she loved me," Booth said miserably.
"Who? Elizabeth?"
"Bones ... right there in the hallway at the FBI ... in the middle of an investigation. I guess I am glad she didn't wait until I was actually IN the interrogation room where should could have just blurted it out in my ear."
Hodgins shrugged. "So you told her you loved her back, you kissed, and back to business?"
"No ... not quite the way it went down."
"You do love her, right?"
"There is no one like Brennan ... for good and bad ... she is totally unique."
"That doesn't sound like love."
Booth downed another shot. He was at least two ahead of Hodgins. "Aw hell, Hodgins ... I have no idea what I want much less what I feel. All I know for sure is that I can't get her out of my head."
"Do you want to?"
Booth tried to focus but scruffy Jack was getting blurry. "No."
"So?"
"She is so sure about everything, ya know. Like she has the answers. Like she knows what is going to happen and I'm an idiot if I don't believe her."
"Brennan? You are talking about Temperance Brennan being sure about everything?"
"Yeah ... she knows her mind, she knows what she wants."
"Well that right there is your problem man, Tempe is a lot of things - smart, a genius - true ... but not about matters of the heart. With those she is just as screwed up as the rest of us, she just masks it better."
"She makes a decision and it would take an act of congress just to get her to reconsider – who the hell knows what it would take to get her to change her mind."
"But when she does … look out."
Booth did another shot and pushed one at Jack. "Do you really think a guy like me and a woman like that ...?"
"Yeah man ... yeah I do."
Booth laughed. "It's not rational," he mocked.
"The heart wants what the heart wants, man."
"Who said that, Shakespeare?"
"Nah man ... It was Woody Allen."
"You're giving me advice on love from Woody Allen ... seriously, dude?"
"You want Shakespeare? If music be the food of love, play on."
"The course of love never did run smooth," Booth countered.
"Love comforteth like sunshine after rain."
"Better to have loved and lost ..."
"That's Tennyson," Hodgins corrected. "It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves."
Booth raised his beer. "I'll drink to that." The clinked their glasses and drank. "Fool," Booth said under his breath.
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Brennan sat in a pub just off campus. One of the professors had compelled her to take in a little of the local flavor. He was up playing darts with one of his grad students. Brennan was fine alone. She had been reminded how much she loved pure academia. It was safe and intellectually stimulating. She felt pulled toward it when she was in the middle of it. She wondered about working with Booth again. Maybe they shouldn't. Maybe she should stay in the lab or better yet stay out of investigating murders altogether. Maybe the best shot they had as a couple - if Booth even wanted that - was to give up working together. On the other hand it may all be moot. Booth could have moved on - from her as well as Elizabeth. Maybe he wanted to be alone - he had been most of his life, it was a reasonable expectation that he would want that back. She expected his reaction to her disclosure to be different. She hadn't expected him to return the sentiment, but if he felt the same way, shouldn't he have?
A man walked into the bar - over six feet tall, short cropped hair, dark brooding eyes, with a physique that proved he spent more time at the gym with weights than most men in a twelve hundred dollar suit would. She noticed right away that he had a weapon under each arm and one at his ankle. He was probably a cop, but he looked more like hired muscle - like a body guard. 'Is that how Booth looked to strangers,' she wondered. His eyes scanned the room looking for his target. He walked up to the bartender and flashed him something. Brennan assumed it was a badge. The bartender looked nervous and directed it to the back through the kitchen. Brennan followed.
The officer was asking questions at a woman about ten years older than Brennan. She assumed the woman was the owner or manager. The woman was getting flustered by the barrage of questions. Brennan noticed that back door to the kitchen was open. It led to the alley where a number of uniformed cops were gathered. Over to the side were a set of remains in a serious state of decomp. She stepped over to examine them. She had just started her analysis when a uniformed officer grabbed her arm.
"Hey Lady ... just what the hell do you think you are doing?"
"Examining the remains," she said dryly pulling her arm away roughly.
"And who are you?"
"I am Dr. Temperance Brennan of the Jeffersonian institution. I am a forensic anthropologist who consults with the FBI. My specialty is identifying remains when there is little left -."
"Step away, little lady," came a condescending voice from behind her. Brennan turned and saw the man from the bar glaring at her. "Don't care who you think you are ... this is my crime scene ... step away."
"Fine," she did but didn't exit the alley.
The coroner's van pulled up. Two kids who looked like they hadn't graduated high school jumped out, grabbed their gear and went over to retrieve the remains.
"Excuse me," Brennan shouted. "Have you done your preliminary examination? Taken samples? Looked for evidence?"
"I thought I told you -," the cop barked again.
"Yes, yes ... your crime scene ... which you are compromising if you don't collect all the evidence before you remove the remains."
"Who are you again?"
"I am Dr. Temperance Brennan of the Jeffersonian institution. I am a forensic anthropologist -."
"Brennan? Temperance Brennan ... the chick that writes all those Bone Books?" He nearly laughed. "I don't know where you get your ideas lady, but that shit doesn't happen in the real world."
Brennan glared back at him. "I know all about the real world. You will never solve this if you don't take more care of the initial crime scene."
"There is no evidence to gather, Dr. Brennan," he stated. "It was simple OD ... some junkie just went too far and it took more than a week for us to find him under all that garbage. This is an issue for the health inspector, not homicide."
"That is a woman - not a man. And she did not die over an overdose no more than three days ago," Brennan stated definitively.
"What? Are you psychic too? And how do you get that it was a woman?"
Brennan stepped closer and started citing all her findings: woman, age 30-40, she had given birth, she had been shot in the chest, and thrown from approximately 100 feet. She pointed to a window on the eighth floor. Rats and other vermin had removed most of the flesh.
"I didn't rule this a murder," he stated.
"No, I did. Most junkies don't wrap themselves in plastic before OD and hurling themselves out the window after being shot" She stood up. "Don't you work with a forensics team?"
"We like to keep our eggheads in the lab out here on the Left Coast where they belong."
"Then I wonder how you solve any crimes," she stepped around him.
"So that's it? You are just going to drop some scientific mumbo-jumbo and leave?"
"Scientific mumbo-jumbo is an oxymoron ... unless of course you are a moron," she snapped. "Are you asking for my help?"
He scanned her up and down a little too lustily for Brennan's tastes. "Sure, sweetheart ... show me what you got."
"I typically work with a partner," she stated.
"FBI? Not on my case," he stated. "Consider me your partner."
She scanned him up and down. She didn't like what she saw. He was rude, arrogant, condescending and mean. "No, I don't think I will but I will give you 24 hours."
"What do you think you can you give me in 24 hours?"
"You'll be surprised."
"Maybe, maybe not … but it will be my pleasure to watch your ass for 24 hours," he said loudly enough for the officer to hear. The men shared a look.
She walked past him barking orders at the coroners and officers. She needed a camera, evidence bags the whole nine yards. She instructed one of the uniform cops to find her colleague in the bar to ensure that she would have access to his lab to run some tests, otherwise it was all getting shipped back to the Jeffersonian.
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Booth was nursing a really bad hangover when the call came in. "You are doing what?"
"Investigating a homicide," she said a little louder.
"Don't yell, Bones," he said pulling the phone away. "Have a bit of a headache." She waited. "So how did you get involved in this?" She told about the bar and the cop and the murder victim. "Bones, I can't come out there. Have too much on my plate right now."
"I don't need you to come," she said a little too harshly. "David … Detective Monroe doesn't want you here anyway."
"Oh David is it?"
"I told him I would give him 24 hours … so I will be back tomorrow."
"I don't like it," Booth said.
"Why do you have an opinion at all?"
Booth was frustrated. "Lab work only. I don't know who this guy is; don't want you in the field with him. Killer gets wind that Dr. Temperance Brennan is on the case and who knows what he will do – and your detective is probably a lousy shot."
"I think you are overreacting, but I have no intention of investigating this murder outside the lab, OK?"
"Bones, I'm serious."
It was nice that he was protective. "I am too … lab work only. I will see you tomorrow."
She hung up before he could ask what flight she would be on. He'd call her later to check on the progress and ask her then. He turned to his computer and looked up "Monroe, David, Detective, Homicide, Stanford, California." His eyes turned greener and greener as he read the jacket on Detective David Monroe. He called the San Jose field office and asked them to put Brennan under DISCRETE surveillance. "She is good, she will spot you ... just make sure she doesn't get into trouble, OK?"
"Booth?" Sweets called. "You planning on missing our session?"
"No … on my way." He shut his system down and tried to figure out if he could sneak out to California for a day.
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Brennan's flight was pushed later than usually because she couldn't get away. She gave her recommendations and said that if they wanted to send anything to the Jeffersonian she would review it for them. Detective Monroe has been pushy, arrogant and uncooperative the entire time. He challenged her every finding and rudely disregarded keys pieces of evidence that she had discovered in very chauvinistic ways. Worse than all of that, he continually made crude comments to her. At first she thought he was just trying to get a reaction out of her, but she came to see that he was just a pig. Monroe sexualized her at every turn. He made crude assumptions about her relationship with Booth and why they had been partners for five years. He did that air quote thing around the word partners as if Booth were only humoring her to get her into bed. All and all it was a horrible experience.
She tried to liken Monroe to working with Booth in the beginning, but couldn't. Booth had never been so confrontational. Booth didn't diminish her contributions. Booth had never felt that her contribution devalued his own investigatory abilities. He was never insulted if one of his theories wasn't supported by the evidence. And Booth never - ever - at no time - did he EVER objectify her. It made Brennan appreciate what she had all the more. It once again made her realize that Booth was a very actualized male and that he rose head and shoulder above the rest of the men in his profession. It was the first time she allowed herself – out loud and in so many words - to love him for all his fine qualities. She would tell him again, when she saw him. Maybe this time she would get a different reaction.
She got home about 10:30PM after an awful flight and was starving. She hadn't eaten all day but she needed a shower first. She was in the middle of making herself some cereal when there was a knock on her door. She checked the peep hole to see Booth on the other side. Who else would it be?
"Booth?"
"Am I interrupting you?" he asked noticing that she was in her robe and her hair was wet.
"What are you doing here?"
"Can I come in?" She reluctantly stepped back allowing him to enter. "When did you get back?"
"About an hour ago."
"I would have picked you up at the airport."
"Plane was late ... I took a cab."
"How was the trip?"
"Stanford is nice, people seem dedicated and hardworking, but the flight was horrendous."
"Sorry," he said sheepishly with more feeling than just about her plane ride. "Should I go?" He noticed the cereal bowl. "Is that what you are having for dinner? Why don't we order Chinese?"
"I am pretty tired Booth."
"OK," he moved back toward the door. "Just wanted to see you to make sure you made it home safely. They made an arrest in you murder case in Stanford."
"Probably the wrong guy."
"You don't even know who they arrested."
"Monroe didn't care about truth or justice - he just wanted the paperwork off his desk."
Booth nodded and smiled.
"You are the only agent or detective I will ever work with," she stated.
"Good," his smile could not be contained. No more needed to be said on the subject. Booth noticed the journal sitting on the table. "May I read that?" He nodded over to it.
Brennan was confused. "What? Why?"
"You wrote it to me."
"Yet when you had the chance -."
"I blew it," he admitted freely. "I know. I blew it. Sue me. I'm a guy. I'm human. I'm an idiot. You know that."
"You are not an idiot, Booth."
He walked over to the table and was again awed by the sheer volume. "Maybe not all of all of it." He picked up some of the pages. "Cliff notes, select periods," he smiled. "What would be better ... you know ... for me ... is if we read them together ... so you could explain them to me."
"It's in English, Booth."
"It's in Squint Speak ... you know you still need to dumb stuff down for me."
"Stop referring to yourself as stupid. While your IQ is not equal to mine, you are very intelligent - intuitively intelligent."
"Sometimes ... sometimes I can't seem to get out of my own way."
"I don't know what that means."
He finally felt safe enough to bring up the reason for his visit. "You said something to me the other day ... you revealed something to me." She nodded, unashamed and unrepentant. She knew they would have to discuss if further. "Love , huh?" She nodded. "And not a professional atta boy kind of way?" Brennan shook head no. "What do you think that means ... for us?"
She took a deep breath and moved to the couch and sad down. "I don't know."
He joined her. "What do you want it to mean?"
"I don't know," she looked at him. "I suppose that would depend on the future and what your feelings are for me."
He smiled slightly. He was about to put words to his feelings, something he hadn't done before - not to her. "I love you too, Bones." It felt good to say it aloud. "I'm in love with you." She smiled and nodded back. "Not like the movies, huh?" he asked.
"Meaning?"
"In the movies when someone says 'I love you' for the first time, the music comes up and the lovers rush into each other's arms, they kiss, fade to black, happily ever after."
"I watch mostly documentaries."
"Of course you do." He reached over and took her hand. He laced his fingers through hers and pressed his palm against hers. "It is good to see you, Bones," he said.
"We saw each other a couple of days ago."
"Yeah - I know - but not like this. This feels ... I don't know … familiar, right, you know ... the way it was but better."
"It felt familiar and right working on that case with you," she said.
"We can do better."
"I thought we did pretty well."
"We can have more." She looked hesitant. "What?" he asked.
"While I understand that things will change for us, I am hesitant to make it drastic."
"Why?" He felt her backing away again.
"You had suggested – from the very beginning – that we would not be able to work with each other if we were involved romantically citing FBI policy and procedures." She kept talking not allowing him to comment. "You further suggested that it was not a good idea for people who were romantically involved to work together in high risk situations as it could cause mistakes to be made – potentially fatal mistakes. I don't know how I would live with myself if you were injured or killed because of something I did or didn't do because I was distracted or casual due to a more intimate knowledge of you." He tried to speak but she kept talking. "Further, it has been my experience - and yours - that romantic relationships are fleeting, ephemeral, transitory. By your own admission you have a current attitude that you were not meant for long term relationships. I have held that belief about myself for some time. So I am to conclude that if we do enter into a romantic relationship that we would have to forgo our working partnership, that the sexual relationship would run its course and end but that we would not resume a working partnership. In fact often after a sexual relationship has ended, couples are unable to maintain even a portion of the friendship that brought them together at the outset. My reservations for looking for more between us would be that we would ultimately lose everything and that is unacceptable." She paused to consider but Booth wasn't prepared. "Though since we have come this far I suspect that it is too late to turn back now."
He leaned back. "So there it is."
"What?"
"That is more honesty then I have ever gotten from you."
"I don't know how to respond to that."
"How long have you felt this way?"
"Since we found my mother's remains," she said definitively.
"What? That was not what I was asking ... how long have you ... loved me?"
"Since we found my mother's remains," she repeated.
"You knew ... back then?"
"I was physically attracted to you since we met, but I accepted that the partnership had deeper implications – well I did when you came back into my life a year later bound and determined to get my help."
"Yet you said nothing – all this time – you said nothing. More than that you flat out denied it to me and anyone who asked."
"As I have explained -."
"Yeah, Yeah ... ephemeral, fleeting, transitory, end of partnership - I heard you."
"Booth, our partnership means more to me than sex."
"And I have told you ... sex is not love." He studied her for a moment. "So why tell me now?"
"I have come to realize that I could lose you entirely regardless. These past fifteen months have been the worst of my adult life."
"Is that why you continued to write to me?" He gestured over to the journal.
"Yes."
He studied her for a long moment. There was so much he needed to make amends for, so much he wanted to share with her, so much he wanted from her. "I'm sorry, Bones."
"I am as well." She squeezed his hand. "How are you?"
He knew it wasn't just a casual question. He knew that she was asking about the stuff he refused to talk to her. "I'm Ok. I'm actually sleeping at night – for at least a few hours."
"Sweets has helped you?"
"No, not so much. He means well, but you know me Bones, I don't talk about stuff … not like that, not with the kid."
She pulled her hand from his. "I imagine that Elizabeth was a comfort. It will be difficult to lose that."
"Yes and no," he commented. One more thing to feel guilty about. "She was more of a distraction; someone to take my mind elsewhere. You are an anthropologist; you know that you can't move forward without looking back."
"You would not have entered into an engagement if she was just a distraction."
"No," he admitted. He didn't want to hurt Bones, and he knew that whatever he said would and she would never show it. "Elizabeth is an amazing, loving, sweet woman - in spite of your last encounter. I really thought I could make a life with her - to go for a different outcome. I was wrong – again. She deserved better than someone like me."
"She couldn't have done better," Brennan commented checking her voice to keep it even and calm.
"She deserved someone who was in love with her – body and soul." He reached over and took her hand again. "As we all do." Brennan looked down at their hand entwined. "Working this case felt good," he said drawing her back in. "It felt good to be doing something proactive and meaningful. It was very therapeutic."
"So you have gotten your faith back?"
He smiled. "Getting there. But there is more to life than work ... at least I want there to be. Do you understand?"
"I do."
"And you are on board with that?"
"I am."
Booth's phone rang. He hated the interruption. "Booth," he barked into the phone when he saw the caller ID. "Yeah … alright … on our way." He snapped his phone shut. "They just found Edwards in his cell … he was murdered." He stood up.
"Who would murder him? Everyone is dead."
"That is for us to figure out." He put his hand out to her. "Coming?"
She took his hand and stood up. "So we are back?" she smiled.
His expression became very serious. "Yeah, Bones, we're back … but … not the way we were. We can't go back, at least not completely."
"I don't know what that means."
"It means that I have loved you for a very long time and I want more than just our partnership. I'm not saying it has to be today or right now or even next week. But I want to start moving in a different direction."
"Booth," she warned.
"We are special, Bones – you and me – and what works and doesn't work for other people, hell what has worked and didn't work for each of us in the past doesn't mean a thing. We are different. We are special – what we have is special. I didn't understand that and I nearly destroyed us. I won't make that same mistake again. The fact alone that we are standing here today admitting love for each other – you do still love me, right?" She nodded. "The fact that we can say that to each other after all this time, after all that has happened means to me that we are anything but ephemeral, transitory or … or whatever … and we are so much more than partners. Sometimes you just have to accept reality, Bones."
"OK," she said evenly.
"OK?"
"Yes, I accept your hypothesis."
"Why?" He was a little confused.
"Booth, you have always been better at reading people, understanding motivations and comprehending relationships than I have – so on this matter I will defer to you – your expertise." She stepped away from him to head to her bedroom to get dressed.
He caught her hand preventing her from leaving. "My expertise?" He still wasn't convinced.
"Why are you arguing with me, you won this debate?" She pulled her hand away but didn't step back.
"Cause it feels like a trick." He stepped closer to her.
"Why would I want to trick you?" She leaned toward him bringing her lips dangerously close to his.
"I don't know; why would you?"
"Think of it as a win-win."
He considered for a moment. "Nah … I don't think so."
"What possible other motive could I have?"
"I don't know. You tell me."
"If I accept your hypothesis we can continue to work together and …"
"And?"
"We can test your physics theory."
He puzzled. "My physics theory?"
"Two individuals becoming one during the act of making love."
A slow grin spread across his face. "Ah yes … that one … one of my favorite theories – to test."
"Only time will tell if your 'we are special' hypothesis is valid … but after my experience in Maluku, I am willing to grant that there are individuals for which the rules, the norms, the standards do not apply."
"Maluku?" He glanced toward the table where her journal was. "I guess I really did miss something, didn't I?"
"More than you know," she grinned teasingly at him. She leaned in slightly and then stepped back.
He again grasped her arm preventing her from leaving. He combed her hair back away from her face and studied her eyes. He leaned in slowly and let his lips lightly brush hers. She did not resist or pull away. He drew her completely to him, enfolding her in his arms and kissed her – deeply, profoundly, overpoweringly – as he had fantasized about many times. She was completely overwhelmed.
"Wow," they each said together.
"That is a hell of a start," she said. "But we have a murder to solve."
He groaned. "Yes, yes we do."
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Long moments passed. Lister had covered Reichs body with his own as a shield, but there was no explosion. He waited. Waited longer. The sound of sirens grew louder. He heard the door being broken down. The scuffle of boots. The door to the closet was yanked open. An officer dressed in full tactical gear ordered him to stand up with his hands in the air.
"Lister," he shouted. "Special Agent Andy Lister ... there is a bomb."
"BOMB ... everyone out," the officer shouted yanking Lister out by the arm. He grabbed the gurney holding Reichs and pushed them out of the room.
Once outside, Lister took over. "We need paramedics here right now!"
"We are on it agent," said another officer. "Tell us about the bomb."
"On the table. It should have gone off by now. Where the hell are the EMTs?"
"Calm down Agent. Where is Salt?"
"I don't know." EMTs arrived and started working on Reichs immediately. Two more wanted Lister to sit down so they could check him out.
"All clear," called an officer in the door way. "No Bomb. Repeat ... no bomb." He held up a clock radio made to look like a bomb.
Lister shook his head. It was a fake. Salt was playing with them. He had won again.
"Salt!" another officer shouted from a van in the parking lot. "Salt is in the van." He reached out to open the door.
"NO!" Lister shouted.
The officer didn't hear him. The seconds after the door was open there was an explosion. Everyone was thrown back. Lister crawled over to where Reichs had landed. "Kathy," he called to her. "Kathy ... Reichs! Damn it ... Reichs!" He patted her face to get her to wake up.
"Here," she groaned. "What the hell?"
"He blew himself up ... probably hoping to take all of us with him."
"Lister," she whispered hoarsely. "I quit."
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A/N: Well I could leave it there ... or I could give you a very fluffy, very fun, very sexy epilogue as your reward for all this angst. Your choice. If we stop now, thanks for playing along. Here's to S6!