Welcome back! Thanks as always for the wonderful feedback. It really does keep me motivated to keep writing. This is a LONG story to tell, even in three separate parts, and it's not easy to post so often, but I know that the frequent updates are appreciated. I'm doing my very best not to burn out. :)

We've got a tiny time jump in the beginning of this chapter, but I don't think anyone will particularly mind.

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Chapter 29

The next few weeks seemed to pass with remarkable speed. The day after their sojourn in the hot tub, Booth and Brennan were called to a body dump site for a set of remains that were almost completely boneless. The victim had been boiled, had her bones removed, and had been sewn up with the organs still inside. Only one bone remained: a patella.

Their investigation led them down a rabbit-hole of Chinese death rituals, stolen Asian artifacts, and mail-order bride arrangements. The victim was identified as a Chinese immigrant who had traveled to the US as the intended bride of an American man. The relationship hadn't worked out, however, and when the woman in charge of the matchmaking service had been forced to issue a refund, she'd found a disturbing way to recoup the money. She had killed the young woman and sold her bones to a Chinese family for the purposes of a Ming Huang ritual. The family had intended to bury her bones with those of the son they had lost so that the two deceased individuals would be married in the afterlife.

Booth experienced the usual sensation of accomplishment after closing the case, but his satisfaction increased greatly at the news that Sully had decided to quit his job at the FBI and take off on his newly acquired boat. Booth had never felt threatened by his presence, but he'd certainly been more than a little annoyed with the way Sully always seemed to be watching Brennan. He'd caught the guy staring at her ass more times than he could count.

Sully made a sort of backhanded comment before he left, implying that solving murders is noble but that it shouldn't be someone's 'whole life.' Booth opened his mouth to deliver a sarcastic retort, but Brennan beat him to the punch.

"That's not our 'whole life' by any means," she disagreed with a frown. "It's only one part. We have our jobs and our partnership, but we also have our romantic relationship and a family."

Booth smiled in agreement and kissed her soundly with complete disregard to Sully's presence. When at last they pulled apart, Sully's face was a comical mix of discomfort and disappointment, and Booth wasn't sorry to see him go.

Their next case proved to be a bit difficult, particularly for Booth. A water main had ruptured beneath the cemetery of a Catholic church, creating a muddy mess of disinterred coffins and ruined headstones. The Jeffersonian was contracted to match the remains with the church records, and the team came across a body that hadn't been in a casket. The victim was identified as a priest who had disappeared several years ago.

The investigation proceeded in the typical way, but Booth was highly uncomfortable with the way Brennan spoke to the other priests and staff at the church. In all reality, she wasn't being rude or intentionally offensive, but religion was an area in which Booth had always been a little sensitive. As much as he knew that Brennan was just being herself, it was difficult for him to conceal his irritation with her methods.

In an effort to help Brennan understand his perspective, he suggested that they have lunch with Dr. Wyatt. Booth knew that Gordon Gordon wouldn't take offense to Brennan's disparaging opinion of psychology. Brennan hadn't met him yet, and although she was curious about Dr. Wyatt, she didn't feel that a consultation was truly necessary.

After the introductions were made, the three sat at Booth and Brennan's usual table at the diner, and Booth explained that he felt a few of Brennan's comments about the Christian faith had been judgmental.

"Booth, I don't have to agree with your beliefs in order to respect them. Your faith is a big part of who you are, and I love who you are. I wouldn't change any of it," Brennan insisted. Booth smiled reluctantly.

"I don't want to change you either, Bones. I don't mind that you don't share my beliefs, I just…" he trailed off, feeling as though he was navigating a minefield. "I wish you would try to be more respectful of the beliefs of others when we're working."

"Agent Booth," Dr. Wyatt interrupted. "Do you recall the case you had last month involving a wealthy man who had been murdered in his home? You called him entitled, I believe."

"Yeah… What's that got to do with this?"

"You told me that Dr. Brennan felt you were being overly judgmental of wealthy people, yes? And, in reality, she was quite right. You admitted as much before it was all over." He paused as Booth gave a shrug of acknowledgment. "You needed to adjust your behavior in order to do your job effectively, even if you didn't necessarily adjust your opinions." Dr. Wyatt was wearing his enigmatic smile, and Brennan was speeding ahead, following his logic through to its conclusion.

"So you're suggesting that I alter my behavior in the same way?" she asked the psychiatrist.

"Precisely," he replied, and Booth nodded in agreement.

Brennan was silent for a moment, thinking back over her interactions with the people who were involved in their current case. As an anthropologist, she was certainly capable of withholding her own opinion when in the field. She hadn't meant to offend anyone, least of all Booth, and the last thing she wanted was to hurt his feelings. She understood his need for tolerance, but in this particular situation, she felt he was being just a little over-sensitive.

"I can do that," she promised, shifting her eyes to Booth. "But Booth… This particular case involves priests and church cemeteries. There is a good chance that religion will be a major element of the investigation, and my being wary of a suspect who happens to be religious doesn't mean that I disrespect anyone's beliefs. It means that I'm trying to catch a killer. Same as you."

Dr. Wyatt smiled at her reasoning and sat back to observe them. To him, this disagreement seemed to be as much about their relationship as their partnership, and he felt an academic interest in learning how Booth and Brennan managed to find balance between the two.

"I admit that I don't always say things correctly or read people accurately," Brennan continued. "So I may accidentally say something offensive, but it's never my intention." Booth frowned in displeasure at her self-deprecating remark, and he turned sideways in his chair to gain her full attention. He placed one hand over hers on the table and lifted the other to her face, forcing her to make eye contact and forgetting about Dr. Wyatt altogether.

"Hey. Don't put yourself down like that. You do your best, and I know that. And… I like that you don't always say the right thing," he admitted with an indulgent smile. "It's actually one of the things I love most about you. You're genuine. And you're right about this case. There's a good chance the killer is affiliated with the Church, so… getting under their skin isn't a bad idea."

"You're the one who taught me that," she reminded him, smiling gently.

"I know. I shouldn't have let it get to me."

Dr. Wyatt watched them approvingly for a moment before excusing himself, offering his services should they ever need them in the future. Booth looked up to thank him, but Brennan's eyes remained focused on her partner. Dr. Wyatt left the diner and watched them through the window as he waited for a cab. They smiled at each other and exchanged words he couldn't hear before sharing a slow, gentle kiss.

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Less than a week after a church employee had confessed to the murder of the priest, Booth and Brennan were called to a federal flood abatement project in Baltimore. During a police training exercise, a cadaver dog had discerned the presence of human remains beneath the concrete. They'd received the call before leaving home that morning, so the drive was a bit shorter than it would have been had they already started their workdays.

"Angela wants to drag me out to the cemetery today," Brennan complained. "It seems someone told her that it's my mom's birthday today. She won't let it go."

Booth had the good grace to look apologetic, but she was well aware of his opinion on the subject. Discussion of her family had been off limits for the most part since Max and Russ had disappeared, but Booth thought that a visit to the cemetery might give her a little peace of mind. The fact that it was her mother's birthday was the perfect opportunity.

"Maybe she's right," Booth said cautiously. "I mean, it can't hurt, you know?" Brennan said nothing but clenched her jaw in disapproval.

"If I agree to go to the cemetery, will you agree to go to the dentist?" she challenged. Booth had woken up with a toothache that morning, and he'd refused to even let her look at it.

"Yeah, I will… if it doesn't get any better."

"Are you afraid of the dentist?"

"Of course not."

"It's a very common phobia-"

"I'm not afraid of the dentist, Bones. I just… don't like to go there."

Brennan shook her head and sighed ruefully, happy to get out of the SUV when at last they reached the crime scene. A police officer greeted them as they approached the roped off area and explained the situation. The recovery teams had managed to dig a small hole through the concrete until they reached the remains, but unfortunately, only part of the skull was visible. Brennan couldn't see enough to determine anything about the remains, so she requested that the slab of concrete be sent to the Jeffersonian. Unearthing the remains would be a delicate and lengthy process, and it would be far safer to do so in a controlled environment.

Booth grumbled at the realization that they'd driven nearly an hour simply to have to turn around and go back, but Brennan didn't mind.

"You should call your dentist on the way back," she suggested, watching him wince and touch his jaw gingerly.

"I'll be fine," he muttered. "Since it will take so long to get the bones out of that concrete, you'll have time to go to the cemetery."

Brennan frowned and released a sigh of defeat. Apparently Angela wasn't the only one who wasn't going to let it go.

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"I'm really not good at this sort of thing, you know?" Brennan sighed and gazed down at the headstone. "I don't get the significance."

"It's her birthday," Angela said, her voice soft and kind. "You're marking the occasion." Brennan knew that this was one of those occasions in which she was being asked to 'do what normal people do,' but she felt completely out of her element. She'd tried this before, with Booth standing at her side rather than Angela, and it hadn't been any easier then.

"Angela… I simply don't believe my mother retained sentience beyond death."

"Well, part of you is made up of your mother, right?"

"In a manner of speaking," Brennan smiled, deciding not to point out what a gross over-simplification it was.

"So… Honor that part of yourself. Visualize a memory of her; see what it brings up," Angela encouraged.

"I have very few distinct memories of my mother," Brennan argued sadly. Angela shrugged and told her that she would wait in the car, leaving Brennan alone with her thoughts.

There were small details about her childhood that she could recall easily; most were happy but fairly insignificant. So many of her childhood memories had been suppressed during a time when looking back had been too painful. Her experiences in the system had been hard enough without dwelling on the things she'd lost.

Brennan closed her eyes reluctantly, trying to remember something about her mother that was less painful than their last argument and less trivial than the type of ice cream she bought. After only a few moments, however, she was startled by the sound of a familiar voice from behind her.

"Hiya, honey," Max greeted her with a smile. He was dressed in black and wore a pair of aviator sunglasses, strolling toward her as though he hadn't left her handcuffed to a park bench the last time she'd seen him. "I was hoping you might show up."

"I don't… I don't want to talk to you," she replied, pulling her cell phone from her pocket to call the Bureau. He ignored her and stepped closer.

"You're standing here in front of your mother's grave… Obviously, you've come for some kind of answer. Maybe I can provide it," he suggested.

Brennan listened to the phone ringing on the other end of the line as her mind reeled at his invitation. He thought she was there for answers? Did he know her at all? She certainly did have questions she'd have liked to ask. Like Where the hell have you been?

"You're a killer. You burn people," she said soberly. Max's face fell as Brennan turned her attention back to her phone call and explained to whomever had answered that she had spotted him, 'a wanted fugitive' at the cemetery. He gazed at her sadly for a moment before sighing in defeat.

"I love you," he whispered gently, his eyes meeting hers through the colored lenses of his sunglasses. She looked back at him incredulously and watched him walk away, weaving his way through the headstones until he had disappeared behind a copse of trees.

"Yes, I'm sure," Brennan answered the agent on the phone. "...Because he's my father."

Angela drove them back to the lab after Brennan finished her phone call, and a final glance over the cemetery grounds revealed no trace of Max. Brennan was silent, ignoring the frequent worried glances from her friend as she thought about what her father had said. His parting words to her were 'I love you,' just as the last time she'd seen him. If he hadn't run off again four months ago, she might have been tempted to believe it.

And where was Russ? Her brother had disappeared with Max last December, leaving his family at Christmas in much the same way he himself had been abandoned. Russ hadn't been with Max today, however, and Brennan hoped that his absence didn't mean he'd been hurt…or worse. Max had looked disappointed when she'd called to turn him in, and Brennan didn't know what sort of reaction he'd been expecting from her. She was a law-abiding citizen who worked with the FBI. She was obligated to assist in the apprehension of a criminal, even if said criminal happened to be her father.

Brennan's phone buzzed with an incoming text, and she frowned as she read the message.

:You saw your dad? Why didn't you call me?

She sighed, rolling her eyes at Booth's question, and texted back that he could meet her at the lab shortly.

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Booth was still rubbing his jaw every few seconds when he came through the sliding glass doors of the lab a short while later. He spotted Brennan walking toward the platform and fell into step beside her.

"Why did you call the Bureau instead of me?" he asked, trying not to sound offended.

"Well, I hoped that you'd taken my advice and gone to the dentist," Brennan replied, glancing at his pained expression. "Clearly that's not the case. If you don't do it soon, I'll make the call myself."

"I will… if it doesn't get any better," he dodged, his eyes narrowing at the implied threat. "So did you talk to your dad at all before you called the Bureau?"

"No. Why would I?" She kept her tone even and her expression neutral, and Booth sighed at her stubbornness.

"Well, I mean… I haven't seen my dad in a long time, and if I had the opportunity to talk…" Booth trailed off with another wince, massaging his jaw reflexively.

"Go to the dentist," she ordered, sighing at his stubbornness.

Zach was on the platform ready to give his preliminary findings. The remains weren't completely free from the concrete yet, but he'd already been able to determine demographics and cause of death. The victim was a middle-aged man who had been dead for approximately three years. Cause of death appeared to be sharp force trauma to the skull by means of something like a screwdriver or ice pick. Booth made a quick phone call to the Bureau to request a record search for all murders which involved a similar wound.

"Listen, I'm probably going to be late getting home tonight. I've got a late meeting with Cullen. Want me to pick up some food on the way home?"

"Sure," Brennan shrugged. "Removing the bones from the concrete will take a while, so you might still beat me home."

Brennan managed to leave the lab earlier than she expected, and a short text from Booth told her that he wouldn't be far behind. She came in from the garage and punched the entry code into the security keypad. Her attention was focused on the stack of mail in her hands, and she didn't immediately notice that the keypad didn't give its usual beep of recognition.

"Don't freak out," Max's warned from behind her. Brennan let out a small cry of shock and whirled to face him, her heart pounding at a sudden rush of adrenaline.

"You broke into my house? Again? That is not acceptable." She fished her cell from her pocket and pressed the speed dial for Booth.

"This little device here," he said, holding up a tiny black object, "it jams cell phone frequencies." He clicked a button on the device and her phone immediately began to emit a loud white noise in her ear. She pressed the End button in frustration. "Besides, it wasn't me who broke in last time."

"That is illegal," she spat, glaring at the frequency jammer and ignoring the rest of his statement. It didn't really matter to her whether it had been Max or Kirby who'd broken in last time; either way, her father had still turned her home into a crime scene.

"Unfortunately, 'illegal' is what I do best. I'm not staying," Max assured her, already walking toward the front door. "I just want you to do something for me. I want you to look at my rap sheet."

"Why?"

"Why?" he echoed irritably. "Because I want a chance to talk to you...actually talk to you...without you calling in the 82nd Airborne."

75th Ranger Regiment, Brennan corrected him silently.

"How is reading your police report going to change my mind?" she demanded, but he was already leaving.

"Just do it."

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Booth arrived home, hungry and carrying hot Chinese takeout, only to find his very agitated girlfriend pacing the living room floor. She quickly explained what had happened, and Booth shared her frustration over the fact that Max had broken into their home. He'd apparently found a way to decipher the pass code for the alarm system, and Booth made a mental note to change it before they went to bed.

"He said he wants me to read his rap sheet," Brennan grumbled, stabbing her fork into her dumpling as though it had insulted her.

Booth paused in the midst of his very careful chewing to consider Max's request. He knew why Brennan's father had asked her to do that, and Booth inwardly agreed that it wasn't a bad idea.

"I can get the police record and bring it to the lab tomorrow," he volunteered. "I think he probably just wants you to know that he never killed anyone who didn't… you know...deserve it." Booth mumbled the last two words, sensing that Brennan would disagree, but to his surprise, she remained silent.

"I don't want to talk about him. Did you learn anything new about the case this afternoon?" Brennan traded her potstickers for a lettuce wrap, and Booth sighed in acceptance of the change of subject. He handed her the file he'd brought home and showed her the photographs and information he'd come across.

"I think our victim was killed by Ice Pick," he said, holding up a picture of a man with short gray hair. Booth held up another photo of a younger man as he continued, "Angela did a facial reconstruction of Cement Head."

"'Concrete Head,' you mean."

"No, 'Cement Head.' It's got a nicer ring. So I ran it through Interplus and got a match." He flipped to the report and handed it to her.

"William Raymond 'Billy Ray' McKenna, West Virginia. Assault, manslaughter, kidnapping, torture…" She scowled in disgust as she read the file aloud. Booth held up the picture of 'Ice Pick' again.

"This here is, uh...Hugh Kennedy. I think he killed Cement Head."

"Why?"

"Well, West Virginia… Likes to use ice picks on his victims plus Ice Pick and Cement Head were both employed by a regional crime boss from West Virginia named Gallagher." Booth held up a third picture of a heavy-set man with longer, wavy hair.

"Well, what are we gonna call him?"

"...Gallager," Booth shrugged. "What? He runs most of the, uh… prostitutes, strippers, gambling, bootlegging, meth, and extortion in West Virginia." Brennan nodded and looked back at the file.

"Five years ago, the West Virginia State Police began pressuring Gallagher's criminal operation, making lots of arrests."

"Including Ice Pick and Cement Head," Booth agreed. "Cement Head goes to jail. Ice Pick? Out on bail, babe."

"You...say that like it means something."

"Well, I talked to the officer in charge, and he said that Ice Pick wouldn't say anything, so they punished him by letting him out on bail."

"How is bail a punishment?"

"Because it makes Gallagher think that Ice Pick cooperated with the cops," he explained. Brennan still looked confused, and he told her to "Keep reading."

"Half a million dollar bond… Kennedy jumped bail… Hmm, killed in a car accident while fleeing a 'bail fugitive recovery agent?'"

"Bounty hunter," Booth translated.

"Car burned the remains to ashes."

"All they got was a severed leg. They didn't actually get Ice Pick's body."

"So are we going to talk to the bounty hunter?"

"No, I am. You're going to make sure that severed leg actually belonged to Ice Pick."

"Someone kept his leg?" Brennan asked in surprise.

"The severed leg was frozen as evidence."

"So… You think Ice Pick might still be alive," she surmised.

"As a certain sexy scientist I know likes to say, 'Don't jump to conclusions until all the evidence is in.'" He grinned at her, watching as she fought the urge to smile back.

"But if the facts are in, then it's not jumping to conclusions. So I never said that," she joked.

"I never said that the sexy scientist is you."

Brennan rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at him, gasping in shock a half-second later when his lips were on hers, sucking her tongue into his mouth. They kissed for several long minutes before agreeing that they'd had enough of case-talk for the night.

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Booth met the bounty hunter at the diner the next morning while Brennan and Cam analyzed the frozen leg at the lab. His toothache was even worse than the day before, and he groaned in pain as he attempted to eat a bowl of oatmeal. He was interrupted by the arrival of a tough looking young woman in a leather jacket who dropped noisily into the seat across from him.

She introduced herself as Veleska Miller, the bounty hunter who had tracked down Hugh Kennedy and claimed to have watched his body burn in the car accident. She said that she'd found Kennedy's leg about thirty feet from the blaze. Before Booth could question her much further, Cam called his cell to report that Kennedy's leg had been severed by means of a clean amputation. Booth rose from the table and crossed to the long counter, turning his back to the bounty hunter for a little privacy.

Brennan told him over the speakerphone that there were kerf marks on the bone and advised him to arrest the bounty hunter. Unfortunately, when Booth turned around to look at Veleska Miller, her seat was empty. He glanced out the window to see her speeding away in a classic Mustang, waving at him with a devious grin.

Booth returned to the lab and found Brennan still in the autopsy room with Cam, examining Kennedy's severed leg. They had determined that the amputation had most likely been performed by a livestock veterinarian, and Kennedy's death had actually been faked. After a few moments' discussion, Booth pulled Brennan into her office to discuss Max's rap sheet.

"I got the file on your father, and I was right, Bones. He's never hurt anyone who didn't have it coming to them."

"He's a sociopath," she argued.

"Well...maybe. But at least he was aiming it in the right direction." Booth groaned loudly as his tooth throbbed painfully. He clutched his jaw, squeezing his eyes shut involuntarily.

"Let me look at your tooth," Brennan insisted. It was probably the twentieth time she'd asked him to let her have a look, and by this point, Booth was overwhelmed enough by the pain that he couldn't find the energy to argue with her.

"Alright, just...go easy. You promise?"

"Okay," she assured him, hearing the anxiety in his voice. She adapted the gentle tone she often reserved for Parker's tearful moments. "Open up."

She placed her fingertips gently against the side of his jaw as he opened his mouth, but she pulled her hand away almost immediately when he tried to continue speaking.

"What?"

"In the Old West, he would have been considered a hero."

Brennan rolled her eyes and opened his mouth again, and in spite of her best efforts, her movements were a bit less gentle this time.

"Yeah, well, the Old West was a time of chaos and violence that, anthropologically speaking, our country is still trying to recover from." Booth yelled in pain and gripped her shoulders to steady himself. "Yeah, I was right. Anterior molar on the left side. It's infected."

"You know, your father never killed any hard working, tax paying citizens or honest cops," Booth pointed out, cradling his aching jaw in his hand once she'd backed away.

"You still think that society should forgive him?" Her tone was incredulous, and Booth fought the urge to backpedal into safer territory.

"Well, I'm saying that if I have a chance to arrest him, I will. It's my job. But if anyone should forgive him, it's his daughter."

Brennan frowned but was unable to respond before Booth's phone rang from inside his pocket. He fished it out gratefully and exchanged a few words with the junior agent on the other end. When he snapped the phone shut, he told Brennan that Melvin Gallagher was waiting to be interviewed at the Hoover. She followed him out and was silent until they reached the SUV.

"If he was your father, would you forgive him?" Brennan asked hesitantly, not really sure if she wanted the answer.

"I… I don't know, Bones. I'd try." He was thoughtful for a moment before continuing. "Look, you know how I am about the law and everything, but he's your dad. No matter what else he is. If it was me… I guess I'd be thankful to have a father who loves me enough to go to so much trouble just to keep me safe."

Brennan's eyes snapped to his still-wincing face and her features softened. It was easy to understand why Booth would feel that way. Brennan felt much the same about Hank; she wished that she'd had a person like him in her life after her parents left. She could see Booth's point about forgiveness, but extending it to her father was easier said than done.

"I'm sorry, Booth," she said quietly, almost in a whisper.

"Hey," he shook his head, forcing a pained smile and squeezing her hand. "You have nothing to be sorry for. There's no wrong way to feel about all of this, Bones. We just do the best we can."

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Melvin Gallagher and his attorney Clark Lightner were seated in the conference room when Booth and Brennan arrived at the Hoover. Unfortunately the conversation was fairly unproductive. Lightner had brought a stack of tax records and employment records which bolstered the legal side of Gallagher's business dealings, and both men were very skilled at dodging Booth's questions with humor and ambiguity.

Brennan arrived home before Booth again that evening, and there was a knock at the front door before she'd even gotten around to removing her shoes. She peeked through the peephole and sighed at the slightly distorted image of Max Keenan on the other side. Brennan unlocked the door and opened it slightly. Max grinned brightly at her and held up a white paper bag.

"Hey T, look. Snickerdoodles! What are y-" She closed the door in his face, but he continued, "Oh, come on. You used to love them when you were a little girl. I've got a message from your brother." Brennan's eyes narrowed, and she opened the door reluctantly.

"What message?"

"Uh… He says hi," Max replied, stepping past her into the house. She shut the door behind him and slipped her hand into her pocket, pressing Booth's speed dial.

"Have you turned Russ into a criminal too?"

"Hey, I haven't committed a crime in over fifteen years. I'm straight," he insisted.

"Except for stabbing my ex in the side of the head," she countered. "Except for killing, gutting, and burning the Deputy Director of the FBI."

"That ex of yours kidnapped and beat you," Max argued, his voice low with anger. "He had you in a trunk ag-" he stopped, trying to compose himself. "Kirby was trying to kill Russ, and then he was going after you. It's not a crime to protect your family."

"Well, some fathers do it without killing," Brennan challenged, maintaining eye contact stubbornly. She vaguely realized that something was off about the words he'd chosen. Or perhaps it was the fact that he'd been looking at the floor rather than her face when he had claimed to have committed no crimes in over a decade. Max pursed his lips, knowing that he didn't have time to argue with her about his past or his present.

"Did you and Booth look at my rap sheet?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"He'll arrest you if he has the chance."

"What else?" Max watched her expression shift slightly to remorse, and he nodded sadly. Her silence conveyed more than anything she could have said. "So…these snickerdoodles." He gestured sadly to the paper bag in his hand. "Come on. You don't remember? You loved them as a little girl."

"I don't remember," she shrugged, realizing that it must've been yet another memory she'd pushed away until it had disappeared. Max wasn't giving up, however.

"I'd come home and then you'd be jumping around," he grinned. "You were five or six years old, and you'd say, 'Come on, put on the Trying song. Put on the Trying song.'"

"The 'Trying song?'"

"It was my favorite song. I used to sing it. It was by Poco? The band?" Max was desperate for her to recall at least one happy memory from her childhood, and when her vacant expression persisted, he began to sing the song aloud. "I've been thinkin' about all the things you told me. I know you're full of doubt, cannot let it be. But I know...if you keep on coming back for more, then I'll keep on trying. Keep on trying…"

Brennan's eyes welled with tears at the familiar sound of her father's voice. His face was different now, but his voice seemed to reach through the intervening years to soothe her as it had back then. She hadn't remembered it until he started singing, but the memory was clear now. Brennan sighed and looked away, feeling very much like the little girl she'd once been. A little girl who had loved her father, no matter what he was.

"It's a good song," Max said, not sure if she actually remembered it or not. There had been a time that he'd been able to read his daughter like a book, but she'd grown up. And the years he'd missed out on had rarely caused him so much pain as in that very moment.

Brennan crossed to the kitchen counter, feeling the need to put a little more space between herself and her father. Max placed the paper bag of cookies on the counter next to a legal pad that Booth had used earlier that day to illustrate the three-way connection between McKenna, Kennedy, and Gallagher.

"Hugh Kennedy, bad guy," Max announced, reading the names on the paper. "But he's dead. About five years ago in a car crash in West Virginia."

"Recent evidence suggests otherwise. How do you know him?"

"Well he and his ice pick were pretty famous in some circles," he shrugged. "I gotta go."

"Now?"

"Yeah, you speed dialed Booth. Now he's been listening to everything, and the SWAT team's on its way," he said with a wry smile. "I mean, I'm just guessing. But there is something I do want to say to you."

"Mom," she guessed. Her father's graveside offer of 'answers' hadn't been far from her mind.

"It's not about Mom; it's about you. And it's about stuff that she wanted you to know. She never got the chance to tell you…" Max extended a hand to touch Brennan's arm, but she pulled away instinctively.

Her unresolved questions about her mother didn't plague her as much as certain others. Brennan wanted to know how long he'd been following her; to know whether Booth's suspicions were accurate that Max had been keeping tabs on her for years. She wanted to know where he'd been and what he'd been doing over the past four months. She wanted to know where her brother was and why he'd abandoned his family without so much as a phone call.

"Hey, Booth," Max said, raising his voice so that it could be picked up easily from the phone in Brennan's pocket. "There are a couple of things you should know about this guy Kennedy. He's got an addiction to model airplanes…" Max picked up the bag of cookies and said, "Try some of these again. You'll love them." He dropped the bag back on the counter and moved purposefully toward the front door.

"Wait, Dad. What's...what's the second thing?" She faltered, realizing she'd slipped from her recent preference for referring to her father by his given name.

"Mmm… He's wily," Max replied anxiously. "You be careful, okay?"

Brennan nodded reluctantly and watched him go before pulling the phone from her pocket. She didn't know what to think or feel at the moment, but hearing Booth's voice was suddenly all she wanted.

"Did you get that?" she asked him sadly.

"Yeah, Bones. Are you alright? I'm stuck in traffic, but I should be there soon." Booth's voice was tense and concerned, and Brennan nodded, momentarily forgetting that he couldn't see her.

"I'm fine," she said weakly. "I'll see you when you get home."

"I love you, Bones."

"I love you too."

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So Max is back. Hmm, what's he been up to? I had to change a handful of things with this episode. Since it's only April and she actually buried her mom in May, I made it her birthday instead of the anniversary of the burial. It helped that the birthdate on the headstone is actually April. And in the next chapter, I played with the timeline a bit to make things more cohesive and realistic.

Reviews make me smile...and want to keep writing. :) See you Monday!