Happy Friday! Thanks for all of the great feedback in its many forms; it is greatly appreciated. As promised, in this chapter we meet Sully and GG. If you're a smut fan, don't let the first scene get you too excited. It's just a mild flirtation, the kind Brennan does so well. There will be smut next time around though, and it's a good one.

Enjoy and don't forget to review if you can. :)

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Chapter 25

Booth drove Brennan to the airport the next morning, maintaining a steady stream of conversation that had Brennan struggling not to roll her eyes or smart off. He'd gotten the name of the agent who had been assigned to her and was pleased that it was someone he'd crossed paths with in the past. More importantly, Booth knew that Agent Sullivan was competent at his job, and although Booth would have preferred to be on the case with Brennan, he trusted Sully to keep her safe. The only foreseeable complication would be Brennan's tendency to make things difficult.

"Sully's a great guy, and he's good at his job," Booth assured her, checking his mirror before he changed lanes.

"Alright, well… I'll do my best not to make him cry then."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, his brow furrowed.

"Well, in the year between our first two cases, the Bureau tried to assign a number of agents to work with me. At least two of them left my office looking distinctly misty-eyed," she shrugged. Booth snickered, running through the list of names in his head and wondering which two they'd been. Brennan smirked at him and said, "I'm glad you don't intimidate."

"Me too," he agreed, pursing his lips. "Just don't, you know… run off on your own or anything. Is Florida one of the states you're allowed to hunt in?"

"No," she sighed, knowing what he was really asking. "I won't be able to carry a gun. My conceal and carry permits are only for DC, Maryland, and Virginia. And I let the hunting licenses lapse anyway when I became a vegetarian."

Booth relaxed visibly, and Brennan fought the urge to challenge him for lecturing her on responsible gun ownership. Were it not for the mopey expression on his face, she wouldn't have held back, but something was clearly troubling him.

"I'll be okay, Booth. I promise to be careful," she said softly. He gave her a smile and squeezed her hand.

"I know you will, Bones. I trust you. I just… I hope this case can be closed quickly." Brennan studied him for another moment before realizing that this was about more than just her safety.

"Is this about Valentine's Day?" she asked. He shrugged apologetically, and she grinned at him. "You're a very sentimental man, Booth. But you really shouldn't worry about it. It's just a commercialized holiday, and you and I don't need a day set aside for romantic gestures. You make those gestures all the time, even if they're just simple things like making coffee or picking up dry cleaning…or the way you look after me, making sure I eat and sleep when we have a case. All of it is romantic in its own way, and even if it does drive me a little crazy, I always know that you do it because you love me."

"Thanks, Bones," he replied, kissing her fingertips. "I guess I was just looking forward to the us time more than anything else, you know?"

"Oh… Well," she said, grinning deviously, "if you really want to celebrate properly, we can always do so when I get back. Or perhaps if I'm there through the holiday, we could have phone sex when I get back to my hotel room."

Booth's eyes widened with surprise at her forwardness, and her smile shifted into the crooked flirtatious grin he loved.

"I'm surprised you even know what that is," Booth admitted.

"Well, I can't really take full credit," she confessed.

"Angela?"

"Yes."

"Well, still… it's a good idea." They shared another smile, and Booth steered the SUV toward the exit for Dulles.

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Brennan pulled her rented SUV to a stop a short distance away from a group of state and local police cars. Among the handful of men milling about the scene, one in particular stood out. His suit and sunglasses were very out of place considering they were in a swamp, and one of Booth's colloquialisms sprang to her mind immediately. His outfit 'screamed' FBI. As she got out of her vehicle and swung her bag over her shoulder, the man approached her with just a hint of a swagger.

"Dr. Brennan?"

"Agent Sully?" she replied as he fell into step beside her.

"Uh huh," he said vaguely. "Name's Eugene."

"Okay, Eugene," Brennan said in confusion. She was fairly certain Booth had given her a different name.

"No, not me. I'm Sully. Short for Sullivan."

"Well, then who's Eugene?" A local sheriff a few feet away answered her question.

"Right here." He shifted to the side to reveal a very large, very dead alligator. "Eugene's been king of this swamp for as long as I can remember. Broke my heart to have to shoot him."

"Is there an actual human victim?"

"Inside Eugene," Sully answered uncomfortably.

"He ate somebody?" Brennan asked, trying not to smirk at the agent's queasy expression. One of those agents she'd mentioned to Booth had actually vomited in the lab, and she wondered whether this 'Sully' could handle what promised to be a pretty nasty set of remains.

"Damn spring breakers think it's a real kick to come down here and drink beer with the big fella," the sheriff said disdainfully. "I just chased off a bunch of them, and there was Eugene in the middle of the swamp, gulping down someone's arm."

Sully asked if it could have been someone from the group of kids the man had chased off, but the sheriff explained that an alligator's eating habits probably meant that this person had been in the water for a few weeks before 'Eugene' got a hold of them.

"Okay," Sully shrugged. "Why don't you drag the rest of the swamp for additional remains. I'll check Fort Lauderdale Missing Persons. You," he pointed at Brennan, "start cutting."

"No," she replied simply. Sully removed his sunglasses to look her in the eye.

"Wh...Isn't that what you do?"

"Any potential remains are far too sensitive to be retrieved here," she explained.

"Okay. Well, where...where do you suggest?"

"My lab at the Jeffersonian."

"The whole gator?" he asked, his tone laced with sarcasm.

"I'll handle transport," she said blandly.

"You're gonna need a big crate," the sheriff chuckled.

"And a lot of ice," Brennan agreed. She pulled a pair of gloves from her pocket and slipped them on before squatting down next to the gator.

"Okie dokie, if you're doing this, then there's a boat for sale that I'd like to check out," Sully said with an easy smile.

"A boat? Booth helps."

"Cause Booth can't relax," he retorted. Brennan rolled her eyes, knowing better but saying nothing. Her memory flickered back to a particular morning last month when she'd discovered him cooking their breakfast without a stitch of clothing on. She'd snapped a picture in case he ever needed convincing of anything. Brennan returned her attention to the gator's mouth, spotting something out of place.

"There's something metal in here…" She pulled out a gold locket on a chain and held it up curiously. Both the sheriff and Agent Sullivan leaned toward her for a better look, and she pulled back testily. "Don't you have a boat to buy?"

The sheriff bit back a smile at the agent's chastised expression and noted that the man looked considerably more interested in the good looking doctor than he had been five minutes before. It took most of the day to drag the rest of the swamp and load up the gator for shipment, and Sully spent the majority of the time either on the phone or watching Brennan. They didn't exchange more than a few more words, but it was clear that he was intrigued by her. Or at least...it was clear to everyone other than Brennan.

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The gator was due to arrive at the lab the next day, and Brennan booked the first flight out the following morning. She called Booth once her plane had landed, passively watching for Sully as she made her way toward the exit and the line of empty cabs.

"Hey, Bones," he greeted her when he picked up the phone.

"Hey. I'm back and headed to the lab," she told him, pausing to give the cab driver the address of the Jeffersonian. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine, Bones. Don't worry; I meet with the shrink today. I'll get him to sign my form, and we'll be working the case together before you know it."

"Alright," she said hesitantly, deciding not to challenge his attitude. Brennan had hoped he would take it more seriously, but in the end, it had to be Booth's decision.

"Is Sully with you?"

"No, I left him at the airport," she smirked. Being able to fly first class had never left her feeling so smug. She found Sully's lack of focus and laid-back attitude more than a little irritating. "I assume that if he's half the agent you are, then he's perfectly capable of finding the Jeffersonian on his own." Booth shook his head at the smile in her voice, amused with her game-playing.

"Alright, hey just… take it easy on the guy, okay? Not everyone thinks as fast as you do."

"So I've been told," she chuckled. "You'll let me know how your appointment goes?"

"Of course. I love you, Bones."

"I love you too."

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When Brennan arrived at the lab, the rest of the team had started the necropsy and successfully removed a portion of the remains. Angela told her that Florida FBI had just sent them a list of missing persons.

"We'll need dental records," Brennan replied, bending to examine the decomposed foot they'd recovered. The beep of the security system alerted her to a newcomer, and she didn't need to glance over her shoulder to learn his identity.

"Sully!" Cam greeted him.

"Cam, look at you!" he grinned, nodding to the security guard who had given him access. "In charge of moonbase alpha here…"

"And you're still a G-man. What happened to that restaurant you were going to open? Or was it a petting zoo?"

"Well, I am keeping myself open for the perfect opportunity. I tried out a beautiful boat in Florida."

"But he made it back to shore," Brennan said quietly, her tone laced with disappointment. There was a beat of uncomfortable silence before Hodgins took over.

"Victim is female, in her late teens, eliminating three of your missing persons right there."

"So...cause of death?" Sully asked hopefully.

"For the gator, we have these .45 caliber slugs," Cam answered. "For the girl, so far we've got the gator."

"Okie doke, well um… I'm gonna go grab a slice," he said brightly, handing the missing persons folder to Brennan. "Give me a call when you get an ID." Brennan had opened the file and scanned the short list of names, and Sully hadn't reached the stairway before she spoke up.

"Her name's Judy Dowd."

"Shouldn't you at least look at the x-rays before deciding that?" he asked, torn between amusement and condescension. Unfortunately, the only thing Brennan noticed was the latter.

"Says right here that she had surgery to repair a cleft palette at age two." She pointed to the discoloration above the victim's front two teeth. "The bone graft is here. She was a freshman at Virginia State, reported missing three weeks ago."

Brennan removed a small photo of a sweet-looking young woman from the file and gazed at it sadly. Angela winced sympathetically and glanced at Sully, not surprised to see the impressed expression on his face. Although she had to admit that the intensity in his features as he studied Brennan's profile was a little unsettling.

Oh boy, Angela mused. Booth's gonna love this. Good thing they took his gun...

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Booth was slightly surprised that the address he'd been given for the FBI shrink was a residence rather than a stuffy office building. He found an older man working with a stack of bricks at the side of his house, and Booth approached him hesitantly.

"Dr. Wyatt?"

"Ah, Agent Booth," the man greeted him, standing up to shake his hand. "Yes. Gordon, Gordon Wyatt."

"Right. You're the shrink?" Booth asked skeptically, taking in the man's thick English accent as well as the fact that he was dressed a bit too nicely for outdoor chores.

"Uh, shrink, yes. Meaning psychiatrist."

"That's great, Doc. How's about you just sign my piece of paper here, and I'll get back to work," Booth suggested with a lazy attempt at a charm smile.

"Uh certainly," Dr. Wyatt replied, accepting the sheet of paper from the agent and pulling out a pen. "Do you mind if I ask what exactly it was that you did?"

"Yeah, I shot a truck," Booth replied casually.

"Ah! Full of terrorists, no doubt? Or plutonium, or fleeing felons, was it?"

"No, it was an ice cream truck."

"Did you have a...a good reason for firing on it?" Wyatt asked, pausing in the act of signing the form.

"Yeah, the music… It was bothering me," Booth explained, as though it were a simple matter of logic. "There was a speaker in the clown's mouth."

"Ohhhh…."

"Yeah, I just pulled out my gun, you know…" he mimicked the aiming and shooting of his sidearm, "It was gone."

"So the FBI sent you to me because you shot a clown?"

"Not a real clown," Booth denied with a scowl.

"I suggest you cogitate on the underlying reasons you shot that clown while I make us some tea," Wyatt said genially, handing the form back and turning toward the house.

"What? Cogitate?" Apparently FBI shrinks talk like squints, he grumbled inwardly. "Tea?"

True to his word, Wyatt returned to his 'garden' with a tea tray in his hands. He prepared his own cup and left the rest for Booth, and the agent watched his calculated movements in disbelief.

"You are really English," he muttered.

"Oh, I don't know. I think I've assimilated quite well. Typical American house right down to the 'white picket fence.' Truck that's the, uh what is it…'the heartbeat of America.' But tea, tea is uh, sacrosanct, thank you very much."

"Me, I'm a coffee drinker," Booth said quickly, reaching into his pocket to retrieve his release form again.

"You know, in effort to understand your culture better, I've been trying to embrace this very American practice of preparing meat in the garden."

"Barbecue," Booth supplied.

"Hmm," Wyatt grinned. "Delightful word, isn't it? Barbecue. I think it's from the Caribbean bar-a-bi-cue, which means some sort of sacred fire pit. You know that the Latin word for hearth is 'focus?' Isn't that revealing? It's quite literally the focal point of every household. The hearth, the heart. Interesting."

Booth gazed at the man in consternation. This was the type of thing he typically tuned out, particularly when it was Brennan launching into long-winded explications of the many things she found 'interesting.' The psychiatrist was smirking at him as though he knew exactly how short Booth's patience was at that moment, which didn't help matters.

Booth tried again to get Wyatt to sign his form, but instead, the irritating man roped Booth into helping him lay bricks for his barbecue. He'd disappeared to get mortar ingredients before Booth could say much to argue with him. Booth did his best to control his temper with the situation, glaring at the stack of bricks as though they had called him a foul name. He glanced at his watch and groaned, knowing that Brennan was waiting for him to call and tell her that he'd be back to work with her. Booth thought back to the hesitant expression she'd worn when she had suggested that it might actually be a good idea for him to talk to someone, and he felt suddenly guilty for his petulant attitude.

In typical form, he rolled his shoulders and clapped his hands together a few times before stepping in front of the brick pile. If 'Gordon, Gordon Wyatt' wanted a barbecue, then that's what he'd get. By the time the psychiatrist returned, Booth had gotten a reasonable amount of work done and was rewarded with a cheerful smile from the man.

"Oh splendid! So it was your father who taught you to read plans, was it?"

"Barking up the wrong tree, Doc. Dad and I were tight," Booth lied, avoiding Wyatt's gaze.

"No, it's just that earlier you said that you weren't used to drinking tea with men, which suggests to me that you're usually pretty rigid with your assignment of gender roles," Wyatt explained.

"What? No! My partner is a woman, okay? A woman who needs my help." Booth shifted uncomfortably, hoping he'd be able to place that call to Brennan soon.

"Oh yes, of course. Dr. Brennan, isn't it? And I believe she is also your significant other, yes?"

"Yeah," Booth said quietly, and his impatience with the situation seemed to ebb slightly. I owe it to her to try, he reminded himself.

"Is that complicated? Working alongside your significant other, I mean."

"No way. We were work partners before we got together, and our relationship has made our partnership stronger, okay? We're solid, no matter what kinds of shit life has thrown at us lately." He met Wyatt's eyes at last, hoping to convey to the man that his relationship with Brennan was not up for analysis.

"Hmm. And might I ask what sort of excrement you've been assaulted by recently?" Wyatt asked, seeming cautiously intrigued. Booth chewed his lip a little as he considered what was safe to reveal to this stranger. Wyatt worked for the FBI, and Max was a criminal. And even if the guy stood by his ethics, it didn't feel like his story to share.

"She was kidnapped. More than once," he admitted with quiet anger, turning his attention back to the barbecue plans.

"I'm very sorry to hear that," Wyatt replied, and when Booth glanced at him again, he was fairly certain that Wyatt was genuine. "When you say more than once…?"

"Three times since we became partners." It sounds even worse to say it out loud, Booth thought miserably. Wyatt's next words made Booth realized that his guilt must've been plain on his face, and he attempted to school his expression immediately.

"And you blame yourself for this, yes?"

"No," Booth said firmly. "I wasn't the one who hurt her. That was the Gravedigger. And Kenton, and her ex. I certainly didn't…" Booth trailed off, unsure of his words. He may not have been the one to hurt Brennan, but he sure as hell felt like the one responsible for others having the opportunity to do so.

"No, of course not," Wyatt said soothingly. "I do look forward to hearing more about all of this, but I'm afraid we're out of time for today. Tomorrow alright for you?"

Booth clenched his jaw and bit back a sarcastic retort, allowing Wyatt to show him out.

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He called Brennan as soon as he'd reached his SUV, and she picked up on the second ring.

"Brennan."

"Hey, Bones, how's it going?" he asked. Brennan frowned at the tension in his voice.

"Things are progressing, but first… How did your appointment go?"

"Ah, you know shrinks. They wanna pick everything apart and take way too long to do it."

"So he didn't just sign your form?" Brennan concluded, not at all surprised.

"No, I have to go back tomorrow. What's going on with the case?"

Brennan gave him a rundown of what they'd learned so far, which wasn't much. Judy Dowd had been on a spring break trip with her friend and the two had apparently spent their time drinking their way through Fort Lauderdale. They had both ended up on a website devoted to naked college girls, and the forensic evidence led them to believe that she'd been raped before her death. Evidence as well as the website had also led them to a man named Monte Gold, who ran the site as well as a traveling tour bus which stalked popular clubs up and down the east coast. Sully was trying to track him down so that they could talk to him.

"Everything going alright with Sully then?" Booth asked, hearing the undertone of frustration in her voice when she said his name.

"I guess. It's only temporary, right?"

"Yeah," he agreed, feeling guilty once more that he wasn't with her. "Look, I have to go back to the Hoover, but I'll check in with you later, okay?" He refrained from asking if she'd eaten lunch, sensing that her temper was only slightly more stable than his own today.

"Alright. I'll let you know what time I'll be home. I love you."

"Love you too, Bones." Booth ended the call with a sigh and punched the power button on the radio, hoping for a distraction. He couldn't help but smirk inwardly at Brennan's irritation with Sully.

At least he hasn't cried yet, he mused.

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As luck would have it, Monte Gold's tour bus had worked its way up the coast in the weeks since the victim's death, and Sully had been able to locate him at a local dance club. Brennan insisted upon going with him to talk to the man, and Sully wisely opted not to argue. His skepticism still showed in his features, however, and Brennan rolled her eyes at his attitude. It wasn't the first or even the hundredth time she'd encountered an agent who expected the 'squint' to stay in the lab.

She texted Booth to let him know that she would be heading home once she and Sully had completed their interviews, and he replied with a simple 'Be careful.' Brennan smiled at the screen and shook her head slightly, amused that Booth just couldn't seem to turn off his protective instincts. She tucked her phone back into her pocket and got out of her car, spotting Sully waiting for her on the sidewalk.

Monte Gold wasn't hard to find. Although the establishment was advertised as merely a dance club, the interior had the distinct feel of a strip club. Scantily clad women danced on a stage and gathered in clusters around the large room. The biggest cluster, of course, was surrounding Monte Gold, whom Brennan would have been able to identify by his distinctive bone structure even without the entourage of half-naked women.

"Monte Gold?" Sully asked, flashing his badge and grimacing in disgust.

"Uh oh, grownups with badges. Lloyd?" Gold's summons prompted the appearance of a younger man who greeted them politely.

"Hi. I'm Monte's producer, Lloyd. We've got shooting permits and signed waivers."

"You know this girl?" Sully asked, holding up a photo of the victim standing next to Gold.

"She's on your website," Brennan added with a scowl.

"Yeah, and a thousand more like her. Might as well ask a Chinese man to remember a grain of rice," Gold smirked.

"She's not a grain of rice, sport," Sully replied irritably.

"She's dead," Brennan told them.

Gold was silent for a moment before shouting at someone named Eddie to turn the cameras off. He shooed away his entourage and told Lloyd to get the girl's picture removed from his website. Brennan followed Lloyd back to his tour bus, and she watched over Lloyd's shoulder as he located and removed every picture of Judy Dowd. Gold appeared inside the doorway a moment later.

"Idiot!" he shouted at Lloyd. "You let her on my bus?"

"I didn't want to be rude, Monte."

"Off the bus," he ordered her. "Your boyfriend has no warrant." Ignoring the disgusting man's assumption as well as his assertive body language, Brennan stepped closer and stared him down with a snarky grin on her face.

"You know, anthropologically speaking, you follow a very ancient stereotype."

"Okay," Gold replied blandly. "Entrepreneur?"

"Pimp," she corrected. Gold rolled his eyes dramatically.

"Class is over. Off the bus."

Brennan chuckled under her breath but did as he asked, and a half-second after her feet touched the pavement outside, she heard a man's voice addressing her from a short distance away.

"Oh, oh there it is! Another misguided waif tumbles from the devil's sin-mobile."

"Excuse me?" she asked, taking in the appearance of the stranger. He seemed very out of place.

"Uh...no, she's with me," Sully told him, stepping toward her with a wink.

"Why are you winking? I'm not with…" Brennan was flustered. "He's with me." If they had been alone, she would've made very clear to the agent that the only reason he was on this case was because she was on the case.

"This is Isaac," Sully introduced him. "Isaac is with the Church of High Calling, way down in Eldon, Kansas."

"Yeah, well let me tell you something," Isaac spoke up. "There is no distance too great to dissuade these lost young women from the grips of Monte Gold's carnal temptation."

Brennan glanced at the man's truck, which was parked nearby, and she strolled toward it, peeking through the window at the interior. Miniature statues of Christ were suctioned to the dash, a handful of Bibles and flyers littered the seat, and the gearshift was adorned with a tennis ball.

"Looks like you planned on saving a lot of souls," Brennan said sarcastically.

"Women like this?" Sully asked Isaac, showing him Judy's picture.

Isaac didn't say one way or another whether he knew or had seen Judy, instead choosing to deflect the implication of blame onto Gold. The man in question disembarked his tour bus at that exact moment and was immediately approached by a young man asking for a job. Unfortunately, Isaac chose that moment to run his mouth again, and the young man pushed him forcefully into the grill of his truck. Gold instructed his crew to get rid of the man and knelt in front of Isaac, who had not yet recovered from the impact.

"Has God even fed you today, Isaac?" he asked. When Isaac didn't answer, Gold helped him up and said, "Okay, let's get you a sandwich. Eddie, make the preacher some food, would you?" Gold turned back to Brennan and Sully, noting their looks of surprise. "The wingnuts come with the territory. Alright, let's stop playing games. What is it you want to know?"

Gold claimed once again not to remember Judy, insinuating that he rarely, if ever, had sex with any of the girls who surrounded him constantly. On the other hand, his crew members did belatedly recall seeing Judy making out with a bouncer at the club that evening. They handed Judy's signed waiver to Sully and boarded the tour bus.

"This waiver is a joke," Brennan said, taking a closer look at the paper. "Look at Judy's signature. She could barely hold a pen."

"Yeah," Sully grimaced. "I'll have the Florida Bureau pick up the bouncer and question him." They watched the bus pull away from the curb, and Brennan shook her head in disgust.

"We need to get back on that bus."

"No, we need cause for a warrant," he countered.

Brennan sighed and told him that she would let him know if the lab was able to turn up anything new. She checked her phone as she walked toward her car, leaving Sully on the pavement staring after her. Cam had sent her a photo from Gold's website which gave them probable cause for a warrant. Flakes of gold had been found in the wounds around Judy's stomach, and Angela had recalled a certain type of liquor that contained actual gold. The photo Cam had sent depicted a group of girls surrounding Monte and holding shot glasses of the drink.

Brennan quickly forwarded the picture to Sully as she started her car, not wanting to talk to the man again if she could help it. She was pleased when he only texted his reply that he would get a warrant for the bus. With that settled, Brennan speed-dialed Booth, hoping the rest of his day had been better than hers.

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Booth had returned to Dr. Wyatt's home with new determination. He had reluctantly agreed with Brennan that it made more sense to celebrate Valentine's Day after she and Sully had closed their case, though that hadn't stopped him from picking up a bouquet of flowers on his way home earlier. However, what he really wanted to give her was the news that they could work together again, and it was with that in mind that he had knocked on Wyatt's door.

"Hi," Booth greeted him when he answered the door. Wyatt's brow was furrowed in confusion.

"Do we have a scheduled...?"

"No, listen… I really need to get back to work, so why don't you give me one of those clown restraining orders and sign my paper," Booth replied. In spite of his sarcastic words, he did try to keep his frustration from bleeding into his tone.

"Have you had an insight, then, as to why you shot at that clown?" Wyatt asked, still frowning. Booth's phone rang from within his pocket, and Booth held it up, pointing to the display.

"Yeah, you know what, I have some insight. It's right here; it's my Bones calling, my partner." Wyatt smiled and shut the door as Booth answered his Brennan's call. Booth paced across the flagstone walkway. "Bones?"

"I'm on my way home," she told him with a sigh.

"Great, yeah… You don't sound happy about that though," Booth observed.

"Oh no, I very much want to go home. It's just been a long day."

"What, aren't you playing nice with Sully?"

"I'm just not sure how serious he is about his job," she explained, glaring at the barely moving traffic in front of her. Sully had voiced the desire to have at least four different jobs rather than be an FBI Agent, and his flakiness had worn greatly on her nerves.

"Well, look, he's one of the best, alright? He just likes to keep his options open."

"I've noticed," she said wryly.

"Listen, Bones… Sully lost his partner about a year ago. When something like that happens, you hear that clock on the inside ticking just a little bit louder, you know?" Brennan didn't have an answer, feeling sympathy for Sully's loss but still not quite able to identify with his flighty outlook on life.

Wyatt joined Booth outside, and Booth said his goodbyes to Brennan, promising that he would be home shortly.

"Alright, so maybe I am a little irritable," Booth admitted, handing Wyatt the release form. Wyatt smiled pleasantly and leaned against the patio table.

"Why do you think that might be?"

"Don't they give you papers and files and...reports?" Booth asked. Wyatt merely looked back at him expectantly. "Alright, Bones and I caught up to this serial killer named Howard Epps, and he died."

"And whose fault was that? Yours or your partner's?"

"No, no, he jumped over that balcony on his own."

"And where were you when Mr. Epps fell?" Wyatt prompted him.

"Holding his arm."

"No, that was before he fell, surely."

"What?"

"Well, Mr. Epps was dangling from your arm before he fell, at which point he was no longer dangling but falling. Attached to you, he was alive. No longer attached, dead."

"Well I don't feel guilty about that," Booth sneered. "I mean, Epps was a serial killer. He tried to kill my partner and threatened my son. I'm not sorry he's dead."

"Yes, of course." Wyatt gazed at Booth a moment longer, and the agent shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny. "Well, we'll pick up on this next time," Wyatt said pleasantly. He retreated back into his house without another word, and Booth sighed in frustration.

As he drove home, Booth did his best to will the tension out of his muscular frame. He knew that talking about Epps was necessary, but at the moment, his feelings toward psychology were pretty much in line with Brennan's. He knew that he owed it to Brennan to try to talk to Wyatt, but he was finding it much more easily said than done. The words just didn't seem to want to come out of his mouth, and when they did, they sounded all wrong.

When he pulled into the garage, he was pleased to see that he'd gotten home first, though he knew Brennan couldn't be far behind. Once inside, he removed the dinner he'd made them from the refrigerator and put it in the oven to reheat. Booth set the table with their usual dinnerware but added a few candles and lowered the lights. His thoughts flickered back to his truncated conversation with Wyatt, and Booth sighed, feeling disappointed in himself.

He wasn't giving up. He owed her.

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"Booth," she gasped in surprise, taking in the candlelight and the smell of their dinner. A vase of daffodils sat in the middle of the table, and Brennan smiled, trying to remember when they'd ever discussed her favorite flowers. "I thought-"

"Yeah, I know, Valentine's Day is a commercial holiday and all that stuff… And we can go out this weekend or something, but I couldn't let it pass without doing something. Case or no case," he told her, grinning at her affectionately. The tension he'd been trying to shrug off melted away at the sight of her, and he felt even better when her arms wound themselves around his neck.

"I didn't mean that you were silly to want to celebrate it," she assured him with a gentle smile. "Just that I wouldn't be upset if we weren't able to. We were on a case last year too, remember? As busy as we are, there's a good chance of work interrupting just about every holiday."

"Yeah, but I want to make the time, Bones. Always." She smiled and kissed him sweetly.

"Me too. Thank you."

They discussed the events of the day as they ate, and Brennan was unsurprisingly supportive of Booth, despite his lack of progress.

"You don't need to rush it, Booth," she assured him. "Talking about things like that is difficult. Especially to a stranger."

"I did talk about it a little, but… I don't know what the guy needs to hear in order to reinstate me, you know? I'm starting to see why you hate psychology," he admitted. She smiled sadly.

"Therapeutic techniques didn't really work for me, but that doesn't mean they won't work for you. I just don't think the field of study should be classified as a science," she added under her breath.

"When did you ever talk to a shrink?"

"After a couple of incidents when I was in the system," she shrugged. "I mostly refused to talk. I just...didn't see the point, I guess. No matter what I said, they were going to put me in another home, so why bother? But this is different, Booth. You have something to gain from talking to Dr. Wyatt."

Booth nodded, not wanting to think too much about her past. Doing so usually only managed to piss him off, and he needed a break from the angst of the last few days. They finished their meal and cleared away the mess, and Brennan curled up next to him on the couch as he turned on Sports Center.

They had used his Flyers passes once the previous month, and although Brennan hadn't completely followed the game, she'd put in a good effort toward learning the rules. When Booth had caught up on sports news, he glanced down at Brennan and smiled. She had tucked herself beneath his arm and fallen asleep against his chest, and the sight made his chest ache with love.

Brennan had never been anything but supportive of him, no matter what he'd gone through, and he knew that she was the reason he would overcome this most recent obstacle as well. In the days following Epps' death, the thought had crossed his mind that Brennan might well be safer if they weren't partners, and admitting to Wyatt that her kidnappings had happened on his watch had been difficult.

Booth had dismissed the thought almost as soon as it had come, however, reminding himself that Brennan would manage to find danger whether she was in the field with him or not. She had certainly been in her fair share of scrapes before they'd even met, and the idea of her in the field with a different agent troubled him. He couldn't stand the thought that she might be hurt because he wasn't there to protect her. It was simply more motivation to try again with Wyatt the next day.

Booth kissed the top of her head and switched off the TV. The sudden silence caused her to stir against his chest, and her eyes blinked open slowly.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"Don't be. Let's go to bed." He kissed her forehead again and helped her up from the couch, holding her hand as they climbed the stairs. Booth expected her to fall back asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow, but she surprised him. What he thought was a goodnight kiss quickly escalated to something else entirely, and they made love slowly, savoring every touch.

When at last she drifted to sleep, she was snuggled against his chest once more, and Booth welcomed the feeling of peace that always came with having her in his arms.

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Next chapter's a fun one, or at least I think so. Review if you have time, and I'll be back on Sunday. :)