45.

It took them almost an hour to photograph the scene and bag up Kenton, as well as check out the tree-- scuff marks on the fence at the back of the yard seemed to indicate how he'd gotten in. There was a flophouse hotel key in his wallet, a beat-up old import car down the street with some interesting dirt Jack was sure to go wild on, and no other information in his pockets to give us an immediate lead. He'd been laying low, for sure. Sully took off to sweep the hotel room and talk to the desk clerk.

You were still entertaining the boys, wordlessly refilling Sam's coffee cup as you handed him some paper towels, a smirk at the edge of your mouth. I was bouncing between the yard and the house, trying to decide if it was more important to make sure he was still dead, or that you were still here. They finally cleared, and all of our three crusty cop friends dropped a kiss on your cheek as you handed them each a muffin to go. You're really something, Bones. Butter them up with muffins, so they do whatever you want-- you're like a pistol-packing den mother these days. Mel and Evan were off shift, anyway, and it wasn't likely we'd be bothered again today-- likely the Romanos would stay to ground for a bit, once they learned Kenton was done.

I locked the door, and headed back to the kitchen where you were tidying up, your back to me.

"Where the hell does that breeze come from, every single time, Bones? Those petals are too heavy to carry so far on a breath alone."

You turned and smiled. "Now who's over-analyzing? Don't tempt fate to willfully misunderstand us, Booth."

"Bones. We just got shot at, and you're quoting poetry as explanation?"

You came over, one hand at my waist, and one at my cheek. "Yes. You saw it in time, you drew in time, you hit what you aimed at. You always do. We always do. Those are objective facts, Booth, no matter what else is going on."

I pulled you into me, tucking your head under my chin. I knew you were still here, but there's nothing like physical evidence, in court or in life. But not too much, as much as I might want it, want you, need you. I did the holding back thing for almost four years-- I can do it again, I thought, as the scent of you filled my nose and I willed it to be enough.

You, of course, knew what I was thinking, and pushed away enough to pull my chin down to look at you. "You would never hurt me," you repeated, and pulled at me until you could kiss me. I always choose to believe you-- you have enough certainty for both of us, most of the time-- so I picked you up and carried you back to the bed, letting you down into the middle as I pulled off my own clothes, then helped you with yours.

My poor Temperance. You were already growing bruises on your elbows and the front of your hip bones from where I'd pushed you onto the deck, another one forming on your shoulder where I'd landed on top of you. I pushed you back so I could kiss each new one, then the ones on the sides of your hips from your other falls, the one still on your wrist from last Thursday's needles. You were running your delicate and talented fingers up my sides and my arms, tracing each muscle even as I completed my own inventory. You'd taught me that bigger bruises were better than small ones, because it meant you were still here, so I blessed and cursed each one still blooming on your skin. The pulse beat at the hollow of your neck, so I laid my lips there, waiting for the next pulse before checking the insides of your wrists for the same beat.

You were still tracing and stroking, soothing and stimulating with your touch as I traced with my tongue each blue vein that had become ever-more visible through skin that was already whiter than the moon to begin with. You sighed and continued to touch me, letting me know you were here. I wanted to taste you, to feel the heat at the center of you, keeping you warm and feeding the fire, the light in your eyes that glinted brighter for me than anyone else. Your perfect taste, salty and tangy and sweet all at once, like whatever nectar old gods might have drunk, if they were lucky enough to know you. But I was the fortunate, lucky, blessed one, to hear your sighs and your whimpers as I gently tried to savor you, fill myself with you. You tugged at the hand I had laid on your stomach, your eyes still closed and a beautiful smile on your face as you whispered, "Come to me, Seeley."

You gasped in relief as I entered you, my own exhalation joining yours as you took me in. I forced myself to go slowly, go gently, though the forceful need pounded through me as much as it ever did. I just kept replaying my head your 'you won't hurt me' as I slid back into you, you lifting your knees to take me in further as I tasted the skin of your breasts, the bud of your nipples. You were pushing, gently, as I returned to you, a flush of pink on your cheeks and your chest, a soft moan escaping you as I circled your clit with my fingers. You whimpered, a soft sound not of pain but of need, so I increased the speed of my fingers as you rocked your hips against mine. Softly, you sighed "Seeley," as you rippled and flooded around me, the look of peace on your face drawing my own from me, quiet, not hasty, complete.

"Still here," you whispered, pulling me down to rest my head on your heart.

"Still here," I said, listening hard, just to make sure.

- - -

We went to the Outpatient Surgery center this time, rather than the oncology suite. They were going to do the biopsies again under general anaesthesia, again because of the number of nodes, and were actually going to do the chemo there while you recovered from the anaesthesia. Delia did a pre-operative physical, and actually let me come in this time, as she clucked over your bruises and frowned as you recounted this morning's events.

I didn't know to be relieved or defensive when she scolded you. "You know you're not really in a condition where you should be ducking from gunfire on a regular basis, don't you? Or digging up bodies if someone's going to be shooting at you? Your immune system is compromised, and if you manage to only get grazed, and not shot, you could get an infection that could take off, even if normally you'd be fine. Even a splinter from the deck you hit this morning could cause trouble."

You smiled grimly at her joke, nodding before answering. "I know. I've already made arrangements to videoconference the digs, though there may be some where I'm going to have to go out, even if just to supervise. There are just some things Dr. Edison's not experienced enough to do, and videoconferencing won't substitute for some in-person observations and instruction. But I could get shot any time I go out, not just now, so while I agree I need to be careful, and am limiting my activities, I am not going to stop doing something that only I can do. That's as much as you'll get from me, I'm afraid."

Delia shook her head, then turned to me. "What do you think about this?" Great. Way to put me on the spot, Delia.

"I've always argued with Bones about what I think are the unreasonable risks that she takes, and I've never been happy about the level of danger our cases often involve. But Bones is right-- there are some things only she can do, and there are some things only the two of us can do. Within those constraints, she is being careful, and she is putting up with everyone's efforts to make her take it easy. And either one of us could get taken out any day, for no reason, whether she's healthy or not."

You nodded. "Booth still argues with me about this. And we'll always argue about it, as long as I'm involved in fieldwork. But that's our decision, Delia, not yours, though what you have to say does have a bearing on what we decide."

"Well, then there's nothing else to say except you're crazy, and that I wouldn't want anyone else there looking out for my loved ones. Let's get you prepped, alright?"

- - -

The anaesthesiologist came and clucked some more about all of your bruises, and insisted on putting in a clavicular line, despite the fact that those hurt like a bitch going in even when there is a layer of fat and muscle under the skin. Your eyes watered, but you didn't flinch. It was supposed to take as much as a half-hour for it to kick in, but you were out in fifteen minutes, and they shooed me back out to the waiting area until they were done and you could go to the recovery area. I'd brought some files, but if I read those things one more time I was going to punch the wall, so I flipped through the newest statements Bob had sent us, including the first month's interest statement on the new fund we'd set up, and Alan's draft prospectus. I hadn't done anything to follow up on it, even though we'd discussed who to call, (although at least I wrote down the numbers) and the lab's Gala/fundraiser, assuming you were up to attending, was the weekend after Thanksgiving-- next week. Time flies when you're not having fun, chasing murderers and watching the love of your life get sicker and sicker. But if I was going to get the ball rolling on this and start hitting up Congressmen, I'd better get started, and I'd have at least an hour before you were out. And then the NCJA thing was the week afterward, and I bet there were some people there who might be interested. Lots of burnt-out vets end up as cops. I let the receptionist know I was going out in the hall, and sat down with the notebook I'd started, empty except for the first page, listing those numbers.

Buck up, Seeley boy, it's for all the maybes and didn't-make-its out there. I picked up the phone and dialed.

"Colonel Foster please, Seeley Booth calling."

"Sergeant, how are you?" I wish he'd just call me Booth. I'm done with that-- well, mostly. I suppose I should put up with it if I'm going to start trying to get people to throw their weight around. I hate politics, I really do, but sometimes, I guess, the larger goals are worth all the bullshit in the middle.

"Fine, sir, thank you."

"You're not calling on that case, are you? Your team sent over all their reports for the tribunal already, everything looks in perfect order."

"No, sir, I'm not. I was wondering if you'd have time to have lunch for an hour with me sometime tomorrow, or Friday? I wanted to discuss a project that you might be able to advise me on."

"I hardly think there's anything you could learn from me at this point, Booth."

"Well, it's more that I'd like your opinion on the VA's and the DOD's reaction to a proposed public/private joint venture to better fund the mental health and addictions counseling centers at the regional hospitals."

"Go on. How much Congressional funding would the proposal entail?"

"None, at least in the first five years, sir. The goal would be for the private arm to supplement the budget, and if the project succeeds in reducing relapse and other negative effects, then at that point, the hope is that Congress would increase the funding."

"How's 12:30 tomorrow?"

"That would be fine. Should I come out to the base?"

"No. I'm actually going to be at DOD for a meeting until 12, so let's meet someplace nearby."

"Thank you, sir. I actually know a place, WF2, where we can have a back booth and talk without interruption."

"I've heard of it. Twelfth Street, Northwest, correct?"

"Yes. Number 2B."

"Well, I have your number, I'll call if I get tied up. See you tomorrow, Booth."

"Thank you, sir, see you then."

I couldn't believe it had been that easy. I'm sorry I didn't believe you when you said my 'natural authority and integrity' would interest people in getting involved. I'm still getting over the fact you actually married me. Well, maybe beginner's luck means something for me again.

"Hello, Ryan Kettering please. Seeley Booth calling."

"Booth! How are you, you bastard?"

"Kettering-- not bad. How are you?"

"Fine, but what's a straightshooting FBI man doing calling a bleeding heart lobbyist like me?"

"Don't you start with that, man. You know me better."

"I know. Sorry. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Well, David and Mark and Steven and I got together recently, and were talking about the bad old days. Well, actually, let me back up. I got married, and my wife's bleeding heart is rubbing off on me. So anyway, we were thinking about those shit shrinks they fobbed us off on, and..."

"Tell me about it. They just booted me on a medical, rather than fix what they'd broken when I wasn't even supposed to be in a combat area." He still sounded pissed. Good, this was good.

"Well, I'm meeting with Foster tomorrow about doing something about that level of care, and I think your annoying dog-with-a-bone attitude might be useful to push along any other recalcitrant parties."

"I'm in. Tell me more..."

- - -

Bones, everyone said they were interested, wanted to know more, wanted to have lunch, or for me to send them the information. The guys were going to be really excited. Hell, I was starting to be really excited. You're always right. Just punch me the next time I argue with you, alright?

- - -

"Hey, sleepy, how do you feel?"

"Disgusting. I'm sore, I'm dizzy, I hate anaesthesia, and I'm whining. I hate whining. Remind me to ask Jack to help invent a non-nauseating, non-dehydrating, nothing but puppies and rainbows and unicorns anaesthesia when we get home, okay? And why's the light so damned bright? See? Whining?"

"Poor cranky Bones. You know, it would help if you opened your eyes before you bitched about the overheads." I cracked an eye. You were looking happy, which was a nice change from your recent range of facial expressions-- furious, serious, doleful, and blank. Well, it was good to see you smiling, even if you were being a pain in the ass.

"Okay, I'm looking, and the light's still too damned bright. When can we go?"

"You've got two more hours on the drip, Delia will be back around in an hour."

"Fine." The lights really did hurt, so I closed my eyes again. I hate anaesthesia. But I should try not to be so grumpy. "What's got you so happy, husband?" I cracked an eye again. Oh, there it is. Half a goofy smile.

"I called Colonel Foster-- we're having lunch tomorrow. And Ryan, that chaplain in my unit I told you about? He's going to call a few other people for us."

Oh, Booth, I'm so glad. I didn't think they'd be anything but receptive, but I wasn't going to push you on this one, since there'd be no point in my doing it on my own-- I could never convince anyone I had any relevant experience. They'd just accuse me of being a critic without evidence, and that wouldn't solve anything. But if you really wanted to do it? I think we could cut your list in half twice as fast-- all the maybes out there deserved a tip of the scales toward yes, and not no.

- - -

"Bones, hey, time to wake up. They need to take the needle out." Your hand was holding mine, tugging a little to make me wake up. You still looked pretty pleased, and I was at least not feeling dizzy, though I was going to feel sore for the rest of the week. I shifted up a bit, and cracked an eye so I could give the nurse the nod. Damnit, that hurt as much coming out as it did going in. I really hate anaesthesia. And anaesthesiologists. He couldn't have done it in the abdomen? I mean, it's November, I'm not going to be wearing any bikinis soon. I'm going to need a turtleneck floor length gown for the Gala next week, at this rate. Maybe one of my necklaces will be big enough to cover the inevitable bruise. She hustled off, and Delia came over.

"Temperance-- everything went well, we'll have the cultures back Friday, at the latest. How do you feel?"

"Like going back to school for anaesthesiology and coming up with something better than what they keep giving me." Oh, I love it when she laughs when I'm being sarcastic. Although it might not take that long, actually, I've already got most of the medical training. Well, right after law school. I'm going to get that defense attorney for talking about you that way.

"Well, I won't disagree, but sit up for me and tell me how the muscle aches are."

I did, and didn't get a head rush, although after basically being knocked out for four hours, I expected I wouldn't feel too poorly. "Alright, so far. Not too bad."

"Do you want something to take for it?"

"Not if it's going to make me sleepy, no. I'll call if I change my mind."

She grimaced, looked over the insertion point one more, and patted my hand. "What are you two doing for Thanksgiving? We'll be closed, you know-- you'll have to shift to Monday or Friday."

I looked at you. We honestly hadn't thought about it-- we'd been so busy with the case, and the not getting shot thing, that it just hadn't come up. You responded.

"You know, we're not sure yet. But Bones, maybe we'll do Monday through Wednesday?"

"Fine with me." The University would be closed from Monday onward, but I wondered what we would do, since we weren't going to have Parker, Rebecca and Brent were taking him home to her parents', which was hard to complain about, since we would have him for Christmas.

Delia nodded and was off, drawing the curtain so I could get dressed. You came around and undid the ties on the stupid, cold, ugly hospital gown, so I could slip it off and get dressed again. Remind me to ask Natalia to come up with something we can market to hospitals so their patients aren't naked and freezing any more? Even the name, 'johnny' is ugly and stupid. Boy, I'm just full of piss and vinegar today.

"Here, hand me my top, please?" I was now really thankful Angela had bought me so many cashmere sweaters, and that I'd gone on a silk underwear binge last spring, because anything else scratched too much at my chest, ankles and waist, and hurt, like I'd been beaten with a rubber hose-- no bruises, just pain like the worst flu of your life. Regular pants weren't too bad as long as I could wear something soft under the waistband, but I wondered how many patients who felt the same way I did didn't have the resources or friends to take care of it. What used to be a luxury was now a necessity, at least if I was going to leave the house. You'd been putting my socks on for me while I'd been grumbling to myself as I put my top on-- well, your socks, really, because I don't have a month's worth of loud cashmere socks like you do. I'll have to visit Vincenzo, or call him, and get you some more. I was going through your selection a lot quicker.

You know what else I hate? Hospital beds are always an inch too high off the ground, even when you lower the damned things all the way. I'm not even short, by any objective standard, but I'd be damned if I could hop off the thing without needing to hold onto the edge. I'm hiring an ergonomics expert when this is over to design better hospital beds, including double-wide ones, to go with Natalia's new and improved johnnies.

"Ready for pants?"

I couldn't help it, I laughed out loud. "That sounds like some bad high school rock band name." You snorted, even as you'd already bunched them around my ankles so you could pull them up when I stood. Maybe I should practice getting dressed lying down. It's not the pulling on and off, it's the headrush while I'm doing it. If I'm lying down, though, there's no change in elevation, and then there's only the final getting up part, so only one head rush to deal with. Why the hell didn't I think of that earlier? "Okay," I said, sliding off the edge of the bed while you reached out to steady me, until I could get my hand on the railing until I got my bearings.

"All set?" I nodded, having managed to get everything buttoned and no head rush. It's amazing how your daily priorities shift-- not getting shot, and no head rush. Nothing like minimal expectations. You handed me my coat, and I got it on, checking the .22 in the pocket, then you grabbed my bag and slung it over your shoulder with your own.

"I'm going to have to get a manlier purse so you don't get made fun of for carrying my bag all the time."

"I kind of like red fringed suede. Although the green patent leather one goes better with my eyes, don't you think? I mean, honestly Bones, why do you need two dozen handbags, especially when you only use three of them most of the time?"

"Handbags and shoes always fit. Ask any woman, she'll tell you the same. Plus? You can stare at your car for hours, and I like the array of colors and styles. There's a deep-seated anthropological need among most societies to collect objects with little objective social value, but which reflect the collector's desire to display affluence, and therefore material security, to himself and to others, in order to..."

"Glad you're feeling better, sweetheart."

- - -

"Booth, T.B., hey. You want a booth?"

You nodded, and the two of you did your own little 'Ranger mind reading thing' as you both scanned the room for the one with the best view of the room, furthest from the window. Of course, you two didn't always agree, and I wanted to not stand here all day, so I made a decision and headed to a booth that you guys were paying less attention to.

"Hey, Bones! Where are you going?"

"That one," I pointed. You two looked at it, your expressions changing to ones of surprise. "It's closest to the bar for taking cover, not near any windows, and there's a view of the front door from that mirror over there. And? Not too far from the bathroom."

Sid shook his head and laughed. "Yes, ma'am."

You caught up with me, but I'd already gotten myself into the booth, though I let you have the side with the best view of the front door. "Bones, next thing I know you're going to be telling me all the parts of a hand grenade."

"Fragmentation, stun, or incendiary?"

"Expertise thief."

"Knowledge-hog."

"Job-stealer."

"Elitist."

"Love of my life."

"Love of my life."

"You kids are so cute," Sid chuckled, as he set down a bowl of matzo ball soup for me, with a blueberry shake, and a pulled pork sandwich with french fries, coleslaw, and a root beer for you. Well, at least someone wasn't sick of us already. I took a spoonful of the delicious chicken broth, and admired the perfectly cut rounds of leeks and carrots floating in the broth with the tiny little floating matzo balls.

"Mmm. Sidney, so good." So nice to not be eating peanut butter. I wonder what he'll bring for dessert?

"Oooh, Sidney, candied ginger pannacotta!"

"Sid! Sweet potato pie with the little toasted marshmallows on top. I mean, Sid!"

- - -

"Booth. What do you want to do for Thanksgiving?"

"I don't know. I usually end up having to work." You were looking thoughtful as I drove.

"We could call your parents..." Bones, really? I haven't been home for Thanksgiving in five years, and my mom makes this stuffing that's out of this world, and a pumpkin pie that's just... wow. And maybe you can make those new caramel toffee pudding things. And chocolate pudding. Oooh, I do love your pudding. That sounded kind of dirty, but well, I suppose pudding on a plate of Bones is kind of dirty, and wouldn't really fly on my parents' kitchen table… But, Philadelphia's practically a three hour drive, we'd have to stay overnight at least one night, and then you'd be far from the doctor's in case you started not feeling well, and my parent's house is all stairs to the bathroom and bedroom, although wait, I think they put in a half-bath on the ground floor, Mom said something about that, but still, and I don't know what you're going to eat, I don't want you eating cheese sticks and apples while every else is having turkey, not that you would have eaten turkey anyway, but...

"There's an Eagles game on Friday, we could try to get you and your father and brother tickets." Bones, really, that would be awesome. I mean, really. They're not the Steelers, but football and Thanksgiving, oh, yeah. But that would mean I'd have to leave you alone with my mother, who really loves you but I'm not so sure if it's a good idea if you need help while I'm out, although you'll swat me if I say it out loud and you are being better about taking it easy, but the Gala's on Saturday, which means we'd have to drive back either Friday night or early on Saturday so you'd have time for a nap beforehand, and the traffic on Friday night will probably be bad, and...

"Are you going to just sit there thinking of reasons not to go, or are you going to discuss them with me, Seeley?"

I looked over, but you were just looking amused. "Sorry."

You patted my hand, and shot me the 'I love you, worrywart husband' look. Heh, you look-said husband. Heh.

"We should go, if they're not busy. They'll be happy to see you, it'll be a nice change of scenery, and if Jared gets too obnoxious, I'll EDG him."

"Yes, Bones."

You smirked. "Temperance knows best. Even if your mother is a shameless flirt who will probably chase me around the house trying to make me kiss her." Without further ado, you picked your phone out of the well between the seats and dialed.

"Caroline, hi, it's Temperance. Oh, we're fine, thank you, just on our way back to the house. No, nothing yet, the end of the week before I hear anything back. Seeley and I were wondering, though... oh, you were? Well, great minds think alike, then. No, we'd love to stay with you if you have room. We do have a work function Saturday night that we have to attend, but we wouldn't have to leave until early that morning, and I would love if you showed me the city while we get the three of them tickets so they can observe their war-mongering spectacle on Friday. Oh, no, I agree. Not during dinner."

Wait, did you and my Mom just agree we're not allowed to watch the game during dinner? Bones, we always watch the game during dinner! Okay, we always put a TV out in the garage and sneak out "to the bathroom" during dinner, but still. Damn, if you and my Mom are both going to insist, the Mom and Bones EDG combo will definitely win. Stop zoning out Seeley, pay attention to what else they're plotting.

"That would be lovely. I don't know if we'll leave Wednesday night or not, perhaps it would be better to see how next week goes? Great. Well, then, we'll talk with you soon. I will." You shot me a smirk as you closed the phone. "That's settled, we'll order tickets when we get home."

"I love you, wife." Wait, was that a silly little smile at the edge of your mouth? It was. That's so cool.

"I love you, husband." Heh. Husband, because we're married, and you're my wife. Heh.