Angela and Cam were standing nearby when Brennan opened the door of the office where she and Sweets had taken Samantha and the court-appointed juvenile advocate who'd been with her all day. They hurried to her side.

"Well? How did it go?"

"How did Amy - - Samantha take the news?"

Brennan gave them a weak smile. "As you might expect, I suppose. She was in disbelief, and then angry, and now she's simply upset. Dr. Sweets is going to stay with her for a while longer."

"Oh, that's good. He can do his . . ." Angela gestured with one hand vaguely. ". . . whatever it is that he does. It will help, I'm sure."

"Yes, you're probably right. You have a teenage daughter," Brennan said, abruptly turning to Cam.

"Yes, I do." Not quite sure where the conversation was headed, Cam arched one brow in curiosity.

"Michelle seems quite fashionable," Brennan continued. "I'm sure you have a great deal of experience shopping with her. You know where girls her age find appropriate attire."

Cam cut to the chase. "Where is this going, Dr. Brennan?"

"I would like to take Samantha shopping." On seeing the surprised glance Cam and Angela exchanged, she offered an explanation. "Samantha is aware that her parents are on the way here, to see her. She's anxious about meeting them. She seemed particularly aware of the clothes she's wearing now, and what her parents would think if they saw her as she is. Since the Winslows won't arrive until sometime this evening at the earliest, we have time to find something more suitable . . . if the two of you don't mind shopping with us."

Angela's pregnancy-enhanced hormones went into overdrive. She patted Brennan's arm and gave her a watery smile. "Oh, honey, that's a great idea! The poor baby. Of course we'll help."

Cam hesitated. "Can we, though? She's going to be charged with a crime, probably today." Suddenly, she stopped and snapped her fingers. "You know what, forget I said anything. Let's do it. I know just where to take her."

Before they could head off in search of keys and purses, Arastoo found them.

"Dr. Brennan, I think you should see this." He handed over a metal clipboard, thick with diagrams and notes. As Brennan flipped through the pages, he pointed out one particular page. "Here. I've been examining the body of the murder victim. It's a little more difficult working with flesh instead of bone but I've been able to determine the angle of the wound, here . . ." He pointed again, with rising excitement. "The knife entered the body moving downward, at approximately 15 degrees. Given the difference in height, Amy - - Samantha, could not have inflicted that injury standing up. They had to be lying down. Both of them."

Brennan frowned at him. "Yes, that information was in the statement she gave this morning."

"Yes, but this is proof," Arastoo said, his eyes shining with triumph. "It proves that she acted in self-defense."

Brennan studied the page again, her eyes moving rapidly across the sheet, a thin line of concentration marking her forehead. When she looked up, she was vibrating with the same energy as her intern. "Mr. Vaziri, I would like to hug you."

Taken aback, he glanced helplessly at Cam and Angela. "Oh. Uh . . . No. I mean, I don't think . . ."

The feeble protest came too late. Brennan threw her arms around him in a fierce hug, then just as quickly stepped back.

"Don't worry," she reassured him. "Such spontaneous displays of affection won't be a frequent occurrence."

"Okay . . ." Before he had time to respond, she shoved the clipboard into his chest and rapped out a series of crisp new orders.

"Write up your conclusions and get the information into a report we can deliver to Caroline Julian. Also, find Mr. Nigel-Murray and tell him to stop working on our presentation for the time being. I want him to review all of Samantha's x-rays and catalogue every injury and all evidence of remodeling, with explanations as to the age and severity of every occurrence. I want both of those reports on my desk when we return. Samantha Winslow will not stand trial for the murder of Duval Price," she declared emphatically. "Not if I can stop it."

Brennan marched off, arms swinging, ponytail bouncing, the heels of her booths clipping against the floor, leaving the entire group staring open-mouthed after her. She was several feet away before she realized that Cam and Angela weren't beside her.

"Come," she said, after stopping briefly to look back at them. "We have work to do."

They hurried to catch up.

.

.

.

The apartment was silent when Booth opened the door later that night. He dropped his keys into the bowl Brennan had provided for his use after noticing the habit in his own apartment, and took a few quiet steps further inside. The tip of a sock-clad foot lying on the arm of the sofa drew him closer. Brennan was stretched out on her side, dark hair falling over her face, fast asleep.

A rush of tenderness and warmth flooded through him. He crept closer, then perched on the edge of the sofa and leaned over to wake her with a kiss.

Her lashes fluttered for a few seconds, revealing tantalizing hints of smokey blue before rising slowly, until her drowsy, still befuddled gaze met his.

"Booth. Hello."

He used the tip of one finger to brush her bangs aside. "Hey there, sleepyhead."

She gave him a languid smile that he stole with another kiss. "I'm sorry, I meant to stay awake until you arrived. Is it very late?"

"Nah, about 10:30. Scoot over." Giving into the temptation of the warm scent of her that filled every breath, he used his big body to nudge hers further into the back of the couch. When he was stretched out, too, he wrapped her close until she was half lying on top of him, and kissed the top of her head. "Feels like old times, huh?"

Brennan's husky laughter rumbled into his own chest. She shifted against him, settling further into his arms, wrapping her legs around his. "Parker is home, safe and well?"

"That depends who you ask." His fingers played idly along the length of her arm. "He certainly doesn't think he's doing all that well right now. No television, no phone, no computer, no video games, for a month. And no guitar either."

Brennan gasped, raising her head off his shoulder to look at him with surprise. "No guitar? Oh, this will be a very long month for him."

Booth grunted. "I have a feeling it's going to be a very long month for me and Rebecca, too. He's also got to work at her office after school every day. If she runs out of things for him to do, do you think you could keep him busy?"

She considered it for a moment. "Yes, I believe we have several menial tasks that might keep him occupied."

"Good. Menial is good." He yawned, one arm stretched high, the movement pressing his body hard into hers. Brennan didn't complain, merely nestled close again when he was done. "So speaking of good . . . Charlie left the file on Amy Shenfield on my desk tonight. I didn't get a chance to do more than skim it. What happened?"

Brennan's crisp recitation quickly recapped all that he'd missed while he was occupied with his rebellious son. Booth was astonished at the turn of events.

"So she was kidnapped? At three years old?"

"Yes. Denise Shenfield wasn't able to carry a child of her own so they stole one. And then spent the next twelve years abusing her."

"Poor kid."

Brennan sighed. "In some respects, I think Denise Shenfield was a victim, too, of her husband's cruelty. I should feel sympathy for her but . . . I can't. She was a willing participant in the kidnapping of another woman's child. And she could have protected Samantha, but she didn't."

"They'll stand trial. They'll pay for what they did."

"The Winslows never stopped looking for their daughter," Brennan said quietly. "They were . . . overcome . . . when they met her again this evening. They brought an old toy with them, a stuffed bunny that had been Samantha's before she was taken. Memories are precarious at that age, mere flashes of thought and image, but I think she recognized it."

"Of course she did. And now the Winslows have their daughter back." Booth's arms tightened around her in hard squeeze. "You did good today, Bones."

She tilted her head to smile at him. "Yes, I think so. It's not often that we get to help the living, instead of simply providing justice for the dead." Her face became serious. "I'm going to testify in Samantha's defense if she is brought to trial for the death of Duval Price."

Booth wasn't surprised at the statement. "I thought you might. It may not come to that, though. The D.A. could look at all the evidence and decide not to press charges. With Samantha's background, it might be a tough case to get a conviction on, and they don't like to lose."

"Yes, I suppose." Brennan toyed with the half-unknotted tie lying flat on his chest. "Samantha Winslow will be home with her real parents. You have Parker back, safe and sound. I think today was a good day for both of us."

"You left out the best part," Booth said, looking down into her eyes. A memory flashed by, raised to the front of his mind, perhaps, by the fraught argument with Rebecca earlier. Not even in the beginning, when their attraction was new and the bitterness had yet to rise, had he ever felt as he did now. At peace. At home. And whole. And all because of the woman lying now in his arms. "Being here, together. Just like this."

Brennan rose up on one elbow and leaned in to press her lips against his. "It is a very good day."