AN: Looks like I scared a few of you with that last end note! Let's breathe together and remember that I believe in canon very deeply. That said, this story will have a body count, and good people will get hurt and killed. It's a season premiere, in a sense. Gotta have dynamite!

MUSIC: Black Helicopter - Matthew Good; Points of Authority - Linkin Park

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or plot elements of Bones used for context and grounding of story. Original elements are mine, are not for profit and are done out of love. Typos are due to tendencies of writing past midnight.

3340797 Seconds

Booth sat quietly in the office, fingers drumming on an overly neat desk as he awaited his fellow agent. Inside, he was a taut thread beginning to fray. Outside, he remained composed, almost nonchalant. No matter how sympathetic she was to his plight, he refused to trust anyone outside of the Squints – including Agent Shaw.

"Sorry, sorry!" the young agent exclaimed, bursting into the office. "I got held up in the hall by Perotta. We've been working that case with the senator and the exotic dancers and it's just a mess."

"I understand." Looking at Shaw's loaded arms, he added, "Do you need help?"

"No sir, just give me… a moment… ah!" With a proud smile, she managed to slide the enormous stack of files and envelopes onto her desk in a relatively neat heap. "I used to be a waitress. The skills come in handy."

"So I should go work a pub if I want to stop dropping case files?" Booth quipped lightly.

Shaw flushed. "You'd make a fortune on tips, sir. But you've come here about Ms. Montenegro." She unlocked her desk drawer, eyes averted. "How is she, by the way?"

"Improving," Booth replied, ignoring the eager young agent's comment as naiveté. "Her memory's still dodgy, and they're uncertain if all of it will ever come back. But the leg is healing on schedule and with physio, they tell me she'll be good as new."

Shaw nodded thoughtfully. "She's very lucky to be alive. I looked at the crime scene photos and reconstructions. Truly scary stuff."

She sat two files on top of her desk, flipping open the first one. Given the pictures and glimpse of a partial address, Booth recognized it as the report on the search warrant executed on their house. The agent flipped through several pages, brow furrowed.

"One second, Agent Booth… Okay, here." She tapped the page lightly. "There were two laptops confiscated from your house during the search. The model you gave me for the surveillance footage has been inspected, but is still being processed."

"It's been 39 days, Shaw. How can it possibly be held up?"

"There's two reasons: first, given Dr. Brennan's absence, the evidence was shifted to the bottom of the pile for more immediate cases. Second, from what I was able to gather in speaking with the technician, there's a great deal of corruption in a block of data. A full third of the hard drive is, in layman's terms, a disaster. He says he's seen nothing like it."

Booth was beginning to know this tune by heart. Wherever Pelant went, computers were manipulated, destroyed, or corrupted. He knew that the footage would implicate him, Booth thought, his anger rising. He knew about our security system. Terrifying thoughts consumed him now. Had Pelant hacked into their security feed? Had he watched his family's private moments?

"We need that footage, Shaw," he managed to choke out. Did he see intimate moments as well?

"Of course, and I've asked them to expedite their continued work on it," Shaw agreed.

"Pelant?"

She opened the second folder, a copy of the case file for the explosion. "I checked in with his parole officer, his employer and the agents routinely checking on him. He's kept to his schedule right to the letter and was in a staff meeting with seven others at the time of the blast. No one observed any sort of means of monitoring your home or knowing Ms. Montenegro had entered it. He's squeaky clean, Agent Booth."

She seemed genuinely upset by this news, and Booth didn't care if it was related to the schoolgirl crush Shaw seemed to have on him. At least someone in this building cared.

"Of course he's clean," Booth grumbled.

"I promise I'll keep looking into this for you," Shaw said quietly. "I have to be subtle, since it's not my case, but if I learn anything else, I'll call right away. I have the guys looking at the mobile as we speak."

Booth rose slowly, resisting the urge to punch a hole in her wall. "Thanks, Shaw. I just want answers for Angela. She deserves to know why someone detonated a bomb and tried to kill her. Her family deserves to know why."

"We'll get there." It was a firm promise.

3347701 Seconds

He'd had to cancel a counseling appointment to reach the meeting spot on time, but Lance considered it a worthwhile sacrifice. Taking an extended lunch for a "personal appointment", he'd driven out to a neighbourhood he'd come to know fairly well during the Gormogon case and his time with Dr. Addy. The lush gardens and pompous estates screamed "Old Money" as he maneuvered the short streets and one-way turns, and he could feel the disdain one resident exuded as he eyed his modest vehicle.

It was no wonder that Dr. Hodgins had not only hidden his wealth from his peers, but actively abandoned it at every opportunity. This wasn't a world for a scientist who wore his heart on his sleeve.

The estate belonging to Jack's family was still well maintained in spite of his move with Angela into their own house. The Cantilever Group provided well for him.

"It simply wouldn't do to allow the family estate to go to ruins!" Sweets quipped to himself, mimicking a snooty female voice.

The trail Zack referred to lay a mile beyond Hodgins' driveway. It spilled into a lush park with hiking trails and a small river maintained by the wealthy residents. It was where he often came to think after his time in Iraq, and where he contemplated his actions as Gormogon's apprentice. Nature's eloquent truth provided a constant around which Zack could experiment with other variables, or so he'd explained during their sessions. It was no surprise to Sweets that he'd return here for clarity after his escape.

Glancing at his watch, Sweets nodded to himself. One minute remained until the time of the Jeffersonian incident that had ultimately proved his undoing. Understanding Zack as he now did, he was certain that the package had been hidden long ago. The young scientist feared for his life within the hospital; there was no way he'd risk being remanded there again until it was safe to do so. Sweets remained in his car only as a gesture of good faith, lest Zack be watching him.

The watch display flipped forward to the correct minute and Sweets opened the car door cautiously, eyes scanning the perimeter. Although he understood Zack to not be inherently violent, he also knew that he wasn't above violence as a logical means of problem-solving. If slugging his psychiatrist would ensure his safety in some way, he'd do it without qualms. He could only hope that Zack had also come to understand Sweets as someone who would respond to logic –would, say, hand over his car keys without a fight if asked. His hand instinctively patted his concealed weapon as a comforting gesture as he approached the lone cedar tree flanking the hiking trail. Just in case, he'd told himself.

These days, nothing could be trusted as fact.

The package was nestled in a tangled mess of shrubbery at the foot of the looming tree, the brown paper envelope blending into the dirt and broken branches. It was unmarked, of course. Zack knew better than to leave concrete evidence of involvement. Sweets imagined that there would be no fingerprints, no DNA, were he to have the package analyzed. Not that he would, of course. His own job would be on the line. Delicately, he slipped his hand into the crevice, tugging the envelope free. No sign of Zack. He wasn't surprised by this as he tucked it inside his suit jacket.

He was, however, surprised by the crack of gunfire and the bullet that struck the tree beside him.

Breaking into a crouching run, Sweets dove for the cover of his sedan, eyes searching wildly for the source of the attack. His heart pounded in his skull as a branch snapped and another bullet was fired, striking the hood of the vehicle. Someone knew about this meeting, he realized with a sickening turn of his stomach. Someone wants this package.

"FBI!" he shouted, pulling his weapon from the holster and removing the safety. "I'm armed!"

It was so cliché, but he could think of nothing else. He'd never used the gun in the field, not once. He'd had no need. Why hadn't he called Agent Booth to assist with this pick-up? He listened carefully, peering up over the hood to ascertain his attacker's position.

Another shot, shattering the windshield. Never mind! Blindly, he aimed his gun in the direction of the assailant and fired. His free hand fumbled with his cell phone, scrolling through his recent calls and hitting send.

"I don't want to die," he whimpered.

His call was mercifully answered. "Booth."

"You have to help me!" he hissed.

"Who… Sweets?"

"Yes! I'm being shot at!"

Panic seeped into the Agent's voice. "What? Where are you?"

A bird called out in surprise as another shot was fired, taking out a front tire. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

"Sweets! Where are you?" Booth yelled.

"Near Hodgins' old place. Damn it, what do I do? I'm not a field agent!" Sweets was losing his cool and he knew it.

"Stay low. Stay protected. Tell me you have your goddamn weapon, Sweets!" There was chatter in the background. "I'm calling for back-up."

"No! The police… No," Sweets stressed.

"You think I'm an idiot? I'm calling Hodgins' goons at the estate," Booth replied. "Stay on the phone, Sweets. Can you see anyone?"

"No," he whispered. "I tried to look and nearly lost my head. Fired blind."

More chatter Sweets could scarcely make out, then Booth's voice, strong and confident. "Two minutes, Sweets. Just stay down. Fire more blind shots if you absolutely have to."

Down the street behind him, Sweets could hear voices. Angry, military-type voices. From the forest, he heard boots striking dirt, moving into the distance. Two minutes, he told himself.

"Sweets? Say something, damn it!"

"I… I think they're running away."

"Good," Booth said. "Stay put. Keep alert. You're going to be fine."

Footsteps to his left. Startled, he spun, gun aimed at three burly men with silenced weapons of their own. One dropped close to the ground, approaching Sweets.

"Dr. Sweets?" he asked. "We were sent by Agent Booth. Where's the target?"

"Hiking trail… south side, I think…"

Gestures were exchanged and two men continued into the wooded area. His conversational partner extended a hand to the young doctor, his face stern.

"Come with me."

"Booth?" Sweets asked the phone.

"Go with him. That's Jordan. I've met him before," Booth assured him. "I'll meet you at the estate."

"I'm sorry, Booth. I panicked—"

"No, you were smart, Sweets. You called for back-up. You listened to instructions. Now, be a good little baby duck and get your ass to safety, alright?"

The warm concern in Booth's tone diminished his self-reprisals. With a quick answer in the affirmative, he accepted the outstretched hand and allowed himself to be led down the road to the prized residence of the Cantilever Group's sole heir. The envelope bristled against his chest with each harried step, reminding him of the reason for the assault. Zack found something.

Sweets just hoped it would be enough to shake up Pelant's game and put the odds back in their favour.

"Did you want me to take Michael?"

"Touch my son and you're a dead man, Jack," Angela cooed in a high-pitched voice. "This is Mommy time, right Michael?"

Her son clapped his hands excitedly, mesmerized by the blips and lights of the assorted monitors telling Angela what she already knew: she was alive. With a flurry of soft kisses on his head, she tucked him against her body with her good arm, passing him a picture book with her splinted hand.

"Just let me know, okay?" Jack asked. "He's a handful with two good arms."

"He takes after his father."

"C'mon babe, who's the wild child in this relationship?"

Angela chuckled. "You have a point. But he's inquisitive, like you." She sighed wistfully, watching him point at a picture of a cat. "Where did the time go?"

"Ka!" Michael exclaimed with pride. "Kee-Ka!"

"Kitty cat, that's right," Angela whispered.

"Ange, it'll come back."

Angela sighed. This was a line she'd heard from everyone in her life repeatedly since she'd woken up. While more memories had seeped back into her brain since the fuzzy awakening, things were still absent. Six weeks of her life were cerebral Swiss cheese and it was infuriating.

"Hodgins, how can you be so sure? The doctor already admitted that he hadn't expected me to remember much of anything. Maybe I should cut my losses and pretend I took an epic vacation involving a tequila IV drip."

Her son giggled, flipping the page and stroking the image of a puppy. She had a vague sense of déjà vu, but nothing concrete. Ether.

"It's only been a day," he countered gently. "Your body is still healing and that includes your head."

"Ugh, well could it hurry up? The leg's bad enough." She shifted slightly and hissed in agony. "I'm not looking forward to physiotherapy, which is doctor-speak for sadism, by the way."

No matter how hard she pleaded, the nurses refused to give her anything stronger than Tylenol 3. They very sweetly reminded Angela that she had only just surfaced from a coma and morphine was far too risky. Ditto fentanyl, dilaudid, anything good.

"You'll have the best of everything," Jack said firmly. "Specialists in traumatic brain injury, the least sadistic physiotherapist alive, anything you need. Speaking of, Dr. Reynolds made a suggestion: video."

"Video?"

"Yeah. We take tons of footage of Michael, and there's always the security footage from the Jeffersonian. It's possible that watching it will bring memories back. I asked if that would be too stressful and he seemed to think a little at a time might help."

Angela nodded. "Yeah… I mean, the stuff of Michael for sure. The work stuff can wait."

"Bow wow!" Michael shouted happily.

"The kid learns fast," Jack said, grinning.

Angela managed a weak smile. "Like his dad. To me though, it's lightning. Flashes. I remember buying this book… And I remember you looking at it with him. But him mastering these words as much as he has… Nothing."

"Parts, but you can't sum up the whole."

"An unfinished puzzle… And an evil cat has knocked the loose pieces flying everywhere and now I'm crawling on the floor, searching for them."

Michael squirmed beside her and she looked to Jack, who quickly scooped the boy up before he managed to roll onto the floor. Wrinkling his nose, he held his son away from him.

"Dude! What the hell did Cam feed you?"

"You know, the one bright side of getting blown up and losing my memory is the accompanying hand splint," Angela mused. "Gee, I can't seem to change diapers for the next three or four weeks. Have fun, Daddy."

"Daddy will hire a nanny if he has to," Hodgins grumbled, tugging the diaper bag onto his shoulder. "Back in a few."

Angela's head sunk into the pillow as she allowed herself to whimper in pain. She knew Jack was right: it had only been a day. Maybe the memories would return with the videos, or time itself. She did have a good six weeks of physiotherapy to look forward to after three more in her stylish cast. And yet, there was a gnawing sense of unease, a vague knowledge that there was something she needed to remember. But what?

A sharp pain coursed through her left leg and Angela snapped. Jabbing the call button repeatedly, she growled when a cheery nurse spoke her name.

"Look lady, I was blown up. There's no way in hell I'm sleeping with this leg on fire, so get the damn doctor and tell him I will show him my breasts if he'll give me narcotics with kick. Now!"

"I'll speak to him, Ms. Montenegro—"

"No, you will send him or I will tell my husband about the agony I'm keeping from him."

A pause. "He's on his way."

Angela pressed her eyes shut, gritting her teeth as she waited. For all of her hesitation about abusing the power of her husband's wealth, she did remember how handy it could be. There would be time for home movies and lost case work later. After a chemical high.

A sheepish nurse arrived with a paper cup of pills with Dr. Reynolds' blessing as a confused Jack returned with their son. Her trembling hands indicated that Angela's tirade – and its implied threat – was understood. She was almost sorry for being rude.

Almost.

3354879 Seconds

"Damn!"

Booth let out a low whistle as he examined the contents of the package while Sweets knocked back a shot of scotch. It was the same reaction he'd had to the notes and print outs Zack had provided, once the fight-or-flight had ebbed away. They sat now in the dining room of Hodgins' family home, documents strewn across a very old and ornate table.

"Okay Sweets, I follow the basics here, but maybe you can run it down in layman's terms?" Booth asked.

Sweets nodded, returning to the table with a shot for each of them. "Starting with the photo of Ethan's code, Zack's made notes on it about a symbol-based system of computer programming. Hodgins said it was a type of artificial intelligence language. I can't follow exactly how he translated it, but he did it."

"The kid's always been brilliant with pattern recognition," Booth noted.

"Any language or cipher is merely a series of rules. Patterns. We both knew if anyone could crack it, it would be him." Picking up a typed sheet, he continued. "From this, Zack has noted that the code created an executable program that allowed the user to insert parameters and determine a response. Specifically, it's an artificial intelligence 'being' that can predict Pelant's behavior within certain confines."

"Ethan created that out of this crap?" Booth shook his head in disbelief.

Sweets shrugged. "He was an expert in the field. It's certainly justification for why Dr. Brennan went to him in the first place."

"And why Pelant would be so terrified of him that he'd murder the guy," Booth added. "I'm guessing these notes about partners and deception are results?"

"Zack managed to run the program – which is on the USB key by the way – and asked it how Pelant would behave if his plans were successful. We know that he hasn't succeeded entirely. The Jeffersonian remains involved and Dr. Brennan has evaded arrest. But we can assume that he's managed to prove his main point, which is that the system is fallible and can be corrupted by the very means we use to keep it safe and secure. Given that, Zack says the program indicated mathematically that Pelant's next move would likely be to simplify the equation. Remove extraneous variables or control them."

"Like a partner?"

Sweets nodded. "Exactly. Pelant believes in the greater good, so stooping to the level of using the government to accomplish his goals makes sense. But ultimately, whoever he's got wrapped around his finger is a dirty cop, for simplicity's sake. A part of the problem. He or she would also be a liability, like Ezra Krane."

Booth sat silently for a long minute, staring at the documents in front of him. Instinctively, his hand reached out and blindly seized the shot Sweets had poured for him. He knocked it back quickly, slamming the glass onto the table.

"He's going to kill again."

"Possibly. But Zack says there's another alternative that even he hadn't previously considered: the partner will kill Pelant first."

Booth grimaced. "And if Pelant dies, our ability to clear Bones takes a huge hit."

Sweets threw back his shot, wincing as the liquid burned all the way down. "Yep. And we're powerless to stop it, because we have no legal way of knowing any of this is a possibility."

Booth shook his head sadly. "Zack figure out the altered time stamp or the other evidence yet?"

Sweets sighed. "He's working on the time stamp. He does suggest that the partner planted the hair evidence as further assurance of arrest. I didn't exactly get to ask questions."

"It's a start," Booth said. "I just hope the kid made it away from the woods."

"I'm certain he was long gone by the time I arrived."

"You okay, Sweets?"

The question he'd been dreading. Gathering up the pages slowly, he avoided the agent's gaze and nodded.

"It's okay not to be," Booth insisted.

"I'm fine. Just… embarrassed." He slid the pages inside the brown envelope, folding it in half. "Don't worry about it."

"Alright." The agent rose, placing a hand on Sweet's shoulder. "Lift back to the Bureau?"

Sweets followed him outside with a look of gratitude that had little to do with the ride itself.

3380404 Seconds

She stared at the call display for five rings, the words tormenting her. Unknown Caller. It was that first word that struck fear into her heart. In her experience, nothing good came of answering. Yet here she was, a silly little moth mesmerized by a pretty, pretty light hissing with the carcasses of her acquaintances. Unknown Caller, it said. But she knew.

She knew and picked up the receiver anyway.

"Hello?"

"I was beginning to think you were avoiding me." That smug voice. Again.

"What the hell do you want?" she snapped, shivering beneath her bathrobe.

"Your help, of course. Justice for both of us," he replied. "I know you're a great believer in justice."

"Not your brand of it," she retorted. "I'm done listening to you and running your fool's errands. What sort of idiot do you take me for?"

"Now, I never said –"

"Your actions contradict your platitudes. You took advantage of me and my grief. And while yes, I am grateful for the information that confirmed what I knew in my heart to be true, I have no time or energy to get tangled up in all of this." Her chest was heaving with rage as she glanced through the blinds, searching for unwanted guests. "I've been followed and harassed enough. Lose my number."

"It's not that simple. I'm sorry that things didn't work out as hoped with the doctor, but we can move forward in other ways. We will move forward or information you'd like to keep buried might just fall into the wrong hands."

She bit her lip nervously, mulling this threat. How far was she willing to go to protect her secrets? How much longer could she safeguard the truth before he realized she posed a threat to him?

"Leave me alone. I'm being watched, anyway. Just… Just stop."

"I'm afraid that's impossible now. For the greater good. You understand that, don't you?"

Oh, she understood. Her father had died and no one was held accountable, all for the precious greater good.

"Fuck you, Pelant!"

Sophia Berman slammed down the phone and silenced the ringer. It didn't matter what that man said anymore. He was no better than the men who'd fleeced her father and shielded the guilty parties, and she'd rather die than be one of them.

He could find someone else's strings to manipulate.

Ugh, I hate Pelant. Hate him! Who took shots at Sweets? Will Daisy be told and go on a roaring crusade to defend Lancelot? What's on the laptop beneath the mess? Who will I put in the way of danger next, cruel woman that I am?

Thank you all for continuing to review. I'm thinking late Friday night for the next chapter (EST). I also believe Brennan's about to find something very, very intriguing herself...