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Disclaimer: I don't own anything. The chapter title comes from the song "After the Storm" by Mumford and Sons.

"Mom! Stop laughing!"

Brennan was aware that she sounded like a petulant child as she whined to her mother, but she couldn't help herself. She had wanted someone to be on her side, and she had been counting on her mother. She wasn't very big on whining, but there was something about talking to her mother that always made her feel a little like she was a child again.

Angela, despite being her best friend, had taken one look at Booth and declared him too hot to be annoyed at. Dr. Jack Hodgins, who was engaged to Angela and was in the middle of planning their wedding, sided with Angela and firmly planted himself in Booth's camp—besides, he was obsessed with conspiracy theories, and had decided that Booth would be a good person to question incessantly. Cam was out, because she old friends with Booth, and all of Brennan's various interns were too intimidated by Booth to really stand against him.

Her father already liked Booth (which meant her brother would like him too, so he was out), so the only person left to side with Brennan was her mother. She wasn't even halfway through her story, however, and Ruth Keenan had failed to keep her hysterical laughter to herself.

Brennan scowled darkly, managing to look remarkably like her father in that moment. "I fail to see what is so amusing about this situation, Mother."

"Oh, Tempe." Ruth's laughter finally managed to die down, but she still giggled between words. She brushed her still-dark hair out of her eyes and shook her head, all smiles as she looked at her daughter. "There's no need to bust out the term 'mother,' alright? I just can't believe that you managed to find yourself in a situation like this."

Brennan blinked at her mother, and she wondered if this was the attitude that made it so easy for her mother to survive through years of living underground while they were on the run from the bank robbing crew they used to work with. "Mom, there's a very good chance that Dad is being framed for murder! How is that amusing?"

"I thought you said there was no evidence to link your father to the murder. Other than the fact that he found the body, that is," Ruth pointed out. "Your Special Agent said as much, anyway."

"Mom!" Brennan exclaimed again, and this time, her cheeks flushed a bright pink. "There's no need to make that sound so possessive. He's not my Special Agent."

Ruth grinned. "Is he cute?"

"Mom!"

"I'm going to take that as a yes."

Brennan threw her hands up into the air and stalked out of the kitchen and into the living room, where her father and her brother were watching a football game. They were both thoroughly engrossed in the game, and it made Brennan wonder why she even bothered to show up to Sunday dinner anymore, given that she had to put up with such teasing.

"Make Mom stop," Brennan pleaded as she sat on the couch between her father and brother.

Max glanced at his daughter and barely managed to suppress his smile. He hadn't seen his Tempe like this since she was a teenager, and even though he would never admit out loud, it was pretty amusing. He could see his Ruthie peeking out from the kitchen, watching them with a knowing smile on her face, and he looked back to the TV, lest he give her away.

"Sweetheart, you should know by now that I can't stop your mother from doing anything," Max told her.

Brennan crossed her arms over her chest and settled back into the overstuffed couch cushions. "She asked me if Booth was cute," she grumbled under her breath, more to herself than to anyone else.

Of course, Russ picked up on that. "Isn't Booth the FBI agent that arrested Dad?" he asked without looking away from the television. He was excellent at multitasking; he could watch the game and question his baby sister about the new man in her life, all at the same time.

"Russ, shut up," Brennan snapped, sounding exactly as she had when she first uttered those words at six years old. Temperance Brennan might have been a world-renowned forensic anthropologist, but put her in front of her brother, and she was just like any other child annoyed by their sibling.

"What?" Russ looked at her then, giving her a grin that was strikingly similar to their father's. "I'm just saying…"

She scowled at him. "Don't you have a pregnant wife to take care of?"

Russ shrugged his shoulders, unconcerned. "Amy told me to leave her alone while she and the girls were playing in the snow out back. I figured I was safer watching the game in here with Dad." He gave his baby sister a wry look, then. "Maybe I was wrong."

Brennan wondered then if she would be better off out in her parents' backyard, with her pregnant sister-in-law and her nieces. Emma and Hayley were always happy to see her, and if Amy was annoyed with her brother, Brennan was sure to have at least one person on her side.

Finally, Russ turned the volume down on the football game. "Come on, Tempe," he said. "It's not like this guy actually arrested Dad. It was DC Metro that messed up, not the FBI. It sounds like he did him a favor, and he's giving him the benefit of the doubt by letting you be involved with this whole murder investigation."

"I didn't kill that girl," Max once again declared. There was a stubborn set to his jaw, one that had been there for the last few days—and it was one that both Brennan and Russ had inherited from Max.

Russ rolled his eyes. "We know, Dad."

Brennan wasn't surprised that her older brother knew so much about what was going on. Given that Max and Ruth had raised their children with such lies and secrecy for years, they were now unfailingly honest with them. They didn't keep very many secrets from Russ and Brennan, for fear of creating another divide like the one that had separated them when they had first told their children about their secret criminal past. The only thing that they didn't talk about was what they had done during their days as bank robbers. Russ and Brennan had never been keen on asking.

Before Brennan could defend exactly how she was feeling—as irrational as it was—there was a knock on her parents' front door. Ruth bustled over to answer it, wiping her hands on the dishtowel that was tucked in the belt loop of her slacks. She opened the door and greeted the visitor in that warm, welcoming voice she had used for as long as Brennan could remember.

"Evening, Mrs. Keenan," a familiar voice greeted. "I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth. I was wondering if I might have a word with your husband?"

"Of course!" Ruth exclaimed, and Brennan could practically hear the amused smile in her mother's voice. "Come on in!"

Before Max had even moved, Brennan had shot up from the couch and stalked across the living room, intercepting Booth in the entryway. "What are you doing here?" she hissed.

Booth grinned at her. "I wasn't expecting to see you here, Bones!" His words were teasing, and it was clear that he was amused; obviously, he had been expecting to see her, probably because her father had told him about their Sunday family dinners.

"I asked you not to call me that." Despite the polite words, Brennan delivered them through gritted teeth. Booth was unfazed by her words and her tone of voice, and Brennan sighed heavily through her nose. "What are you doing here?" she asked again.

He tucked his hands into his pockets, and she could see that he was fiddling with something in his right pocket. The man truly seemed to be incapable of standing still. "I just thought I'd come and inform your father that we have officially cleared your dad of being involved with Miss Simmons' murder."

"I could have told him that," Brennan retorted as she lifted her chin. "In fact, I believe that I already have."

Booth was still unaffected by her snappish attitude. "I know. It was because of your report that we were able to rule him out completely. The way she had been tied up and bound, as well as the mark Cam found branded into her skin… well, it all points to Hernandez being the killer. Those are all the ways he disposes of a body."

"Booth, really," Brennan hissed as she glanced at her mother. She generally had no problem talking about her work, but even she knew that it was a bit odd to bring it into her family's Sunday dinners. "Don't you think we could discuss this somewhere else?"

Ruth made a psh-shaw noise in the back of her throat and waved her hand. "Don't you worry about me, sweetie," she told her daughter. "In case you've forgotten I've heard—and seen—a lot worse."

Booth generally wasn't one to be so candid in front of civilian, especially a lady, but he had gotten to know Max fairly well through working with him. Even though this was the first time he had officially met Ruth Keenan, Booth felt as if he knew her pretty well, and had known that his somewhat graphic description wouldn't faze the older woman in the slightest. Ruth seemed to know exactly what he was thinking, and she winked at him in that knowing way that mothers had.

"This is our Sunday dinner, Mom," Brennan reminded Ruth. "I don't think that we need to be discussing murder right now." In fact, Brennan had been hoping that the weekly dinner with her family would distract her from the mess she found herself in with Booth and her father. A little bit of normalcy would keep her from feeling like she was on the edge—it seemed like she wasn't going to get that, however. Once again, Seeley Booth had thrown her for a loop. Brennan was annoyed to realize that it didn't bother her as much as it should have.

"You're right, dear," Ruth agreed. Then she smiled broadly, and touched Booth's shoulder. "Why don't you stay for dinner, Agent Booth? We would love to have you."

Brennan gaped openly at her mother, unable to believe that she had just extended an invitation to Booth. She was so surprised that she found herself temporarily unable to find her words.

"Oh, ma'am, I couldn't do that," Booth said, because he was raised like a proper good old boy. "I wouldn't want to impose."

Ruth waved her hand dismissively. "You wouldn't be," she assured him. "We have more than enough food, I assure you. Besides, this would be the perfect opportunity for me to thank the man that kept my husband from being arrested—twice—last week."

Booth smiled graciously at Ruth. "Well, if you insist. I'm very grateful, ma'am."

Ruth clapped her hands together. "It's settled, then! Tempe, will you please set another place at the table?"

Brennan knew that there was no use arguing with her mother, so she headed into the dining room to set another place at the table. Still, she grumbled under her breath about annoying Special Agents in the FBI the whole way, and she just knew that every member of her family was wearing the same matching grins.

"Don't mind Tempe," Ruth told Booth. "She just takes a little while to warm up to people. She's a lot like me in that way, so I take full responsibility for that."

"Don't worry, ma'am," Booth assured her. He smiled, and it was full of charm and a little something extra that made Ruth instantly respect the man standing in her entryway. "I'm more than prepared to wait it out."

Brennan wasn't entirely sure how it happened, but she found herself sitting between Booth and her older brother at the dinner table. She was frowning as she speared a piece of asparagus with her fork, trying her best to keep her annoyance to herself as Booth discussed football with her brother. She ignored the pointed looks her mother was shooting her across the dining room table, and instead directed her dark glare at the salmon fillet on her plate.

She was an adult, and Booth was someone that she now worked with, so she wouldn't receive any admonishment from her mother and father while Booth was there. She was sure that she was going to get an earful from at least one of her parents when this ridiculous dinner was over, if not both.

So Brennan sat there, stabbing pieces of food with her fork and eating them somewhat violently as Booth conversed easily with her family. Hell, he even got along well with Hayley and Emma, engaging them in conversation about what they were doing in school. Russ was already on Booth's side because he knew so much about football, and Amy had been instantly charmed by Booth—he seemed to have that affect on women, Brennan noticed.

(Brennan refused to acknowledge that Booth had had that affect on her as well. There was no reason for anyone to know that.)

Brennan tuned back into the conversation when Booth said, "My son loves that show, too. Marshall is his favorite character."

Emma, who had been talking about how much she loved the television show Paw Patrol, started eagerly describing all of the characters and why she liked each one. Booth was grinning indulgently at the little girl, while Amy tried to get her daughter to take breaths in between words.

"Wait," Brennan interrupted. "You have a son?"

"Yeah," Booth said with one of those easy, charming smiles. "His name is Parker. He's three years old."

Amy and Ruth immediately demanded to see pictures, while Brennan was still trying to wrap her mind around the fact that Booth had a son. When she saw how proud Booth was as he showed off the picture of his little boy, however, Brennan could see that it wasn't really that far-fetched. Something warm unfurled in her stomach, and Brennan hurriedly tried to push it down as best as she could.

The little boy had a mass of blonde curls and eyes identical to his father's. "He's adorable," Brennan said truthfully, even as her mother and sister-in-law gushed in the background.

The smile that Booth sent her was warm and made her insides flutter in way that Brennan wasn't used to. "Thanks," he murmured.

An hour later, dinner was finally over, and Booth was still raving about the pie that Ruth had made as they walked to the door. He thanked Max and Ruth for their hospitality, and Brennan was mildly annoyed when they both told Booth that he could stop by anytime he wanted. Max and Ruth left Brennan with Booth by the door, and she crossed her arms over her chest as she tossed a dark glare towards her parents.

"Thanks for letting me hang out," Booth told her as he tucked his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels.

"It wasn't me," Brennan said immediately. "It was my mother."

He grinned at her, and it was infuriating and attractive all at the same time. "Sure it was, Bones."

"Don't call me that," Brennan said immediately, but there was less ire in her voice this time than there was on any of the other times.

Booth winked at her as he left, and Brennan tried to ignore yet another swoop in her belly.

Brennan was finishing up a cup of coffee before she left her parents' house. She had been spending all day on Sundays at her mom and dad's house for as long as she could remember—in fact, the only time she wasn't there was when she was on a dig in some other country.

Sunday dinners had become very important to the Brennan/Keenan family. They had been a bit of an unorthodox family to begin with, but after revealing the truth of their pasts to their children, Max and Ruth put a premium on family time. Thus, no matter what was going on in their lives, Sunday dinners always happened. Even when Brennan was on her digs, she would find a way to call in, even if it was only for a few minutes.

They lingered for a cup of coffee after dessert, as was tradition. So it was as Brennan was taking the last few sips of her coffee that her brother sat down next to her at the kitchen island. He stared at her over the rim of his own coffee cup, watching her carefully for several long moments.

It was a game that they would play as children. They would each try to wait one another out, seeing who would break and talk first. Normally, Brennan was the one that won—she had no problem with staying quiet, whereas her brother always had to fill the silence. On this particular night, however, Brennan was tired… and if she was being honest, she was still feeling a little thrown from the affect that Seeley Booth had on her.

Brennan sighed. "What do you want?"

"What's your problem with Booth?" Russ immediately asked.

"I don't have a problem with Booth," Brennan retorted.

Her older brother snorted at that. "Sure you don't. That couldn't possibly be the reason that you were glaring at your plate the whole time at dinner, or anything."

"I wasn't—" At the pointed look her brother sent her, Brennan sighed and gripped her coffee cup tightly in her hands. "All of this with Dad, and the FBI, and Booth and working with him all of the sudden… it's quite a bit to take in," Brennan explained quietly.

She had always been good at rolling with the punches. Her parents had always been just a little bit quirky, a little too odd to fit in with the rest of her friends and their families. Then, finding out that the lives they had built had been a lie… it was a lot to take in. Brennan had trust issues for years after that, and she was honest enough with herself to admit that she still had those issues.

There was rolling with the punches, and then there was everything changing all at once. Her father was in danger, she was suddenly working murder cases, and she was being paired with an FBI agent that everyone liked and made her feel wonderfully and terrifyingly on edge all at the same time. Things were changing too quickly, and too much, all at once.

"He's a good guy, Tempe," Russ said.

"I know that!" It was easy for Brennan to see that. There was just something inherently good about Booth, something wonderful and awe-inspiring. However else Brennan felt about Booth, she knew that much about him.

"And he's keeping Dad safe," Russ continued. "He's keeping an eye out for him. He's the agent that Dad has worked the longest with. How many people can you say have enough patience to work with Dad and keep him alive at the same time?"

Finally, Brennan cracked a smile. It was true, after all. She loved her father, but he could be a bit much, and he was constantly getting himself into trouble. Lord knew how her mother had put up with all of it over the years.

"I guess you're right," she admitted quietly.

"I'm sorry." Russ cupped a hand behind his ear and leaned towards his younger sister. "What was that? Did you just say that I'm right? Because I don't think I've ever heard you say that before."

Brennan rolled her eyes and shoved Russ's shoulder. "I am perfectly capable of admitting when I'm wrong, you know." But she was smiling the whole time, and even though she was feeling more than a little off-balanced, she felt better knowing that her family was there.

"Honestly, Bren." Angela lay down fully on the couch in Brennan's office and tucked her hands behind her head. "How can you resist Booth? He's seriously hot, sweetie."

Brennan groaned and dropped her head onto her folded arms. She was sitting at her desk, filling out a report on the initial examination for Lydia Simmons. Well, at least, she had been, before Angela had come into her office and had distracted her with talk about Booth.

"Don't you have anything else to do, Angela?" Brennan asked.

Angela shrugged, unconcerned. "I already identified our victim, here," she pointed out. "And I'm still running facial recognition software for our suspect. Apparently, this Hernandez guy likes to stay off the grid."

"Well, I have work to do," Brennan stressed. "So…"

Angela snorted. "You just don't want to talk about Booth. Which is fine, so whatever. We need to go eat some lunch, anyway."

"Angela…"

"Bren, let's go. I'm not taking no for an answer." Angela rocked up from the sofa and crossed the office, taking Brennan's hands in hers as she pulled her from behind her desk. "Let's go to the diner."

Knowing it was useless to protest, Brennan allowed her best friend to tow her out of the lab and across the street, to where the favorite lunch spot of the staff at the lab was. Angela ordered a sandwich while Brennan got some soup and a side salad. And, as they always did, they split a plate of fries.

"So when are you meeting with the studly FBI agent, anyway?" Angela asked, even though she had promised to stop mentioning Booth. She just couldn't help herself. Booth was too cute, and Brennan needed to have a good time.

Brennan wasn't going to get out of this, so it was just easier to give in to Angela's incessant questioning. "Later this afternoon, we're interviewing Lydia Simmons' sister. She was a nice girl from a good part of town, so what was she doing with a man like Hernandez?"

"He's actually going to let you go on the interview?" Angela asked, impressed. "I kind of thought he'd want to keep you in the lab."

"He tried. But I told him that if he wanted the Jeffersonian's help, he'd let me go into the field. Not to mention, if he still wanted my dad's help, he'd need me involved." Booth didn't need to know that that had been a bold-faced lie—though Brennan had a sneaking suspicion that Booth could tell when she was lying. Hell, she did her best not to lie to begin with, given the way her parents' deception had shaken her whole existence.

Angela laughed outright at that. "And does Booth know that your father wouldn't stop consulting with the FBI, even if you asked him to?"

It was true that Max Keenan felt burdened with glorious purpose. Consulting with the FBI, and working undercover for them, was his way of atoning for his past sins. Even though helping the FBI was part of the deal he made to stay out of jail, Max knew he wouldn't be able to stop, even if his own children wanted him to.

After everything they had been through, Max's conviction and dedication for righting his wrongs was something that Brennan admired. Perhaps that was why it had been that much easier to forgive him, and her mother by extension.

"Hey, Bones. Fancy seeing you here!"

Angela laughed outright while Brennan groaned and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she saw Booth standing in front of their table, along with a younger man with a hairdo that defied gravity. Booth was carrying one bag of takeout, while the other guy had three juggling between his hands.

"Booth," Brennan greeted evenly.

"Bones," Booth returned with a grin.

"What the hell kind of name is Bones?" the younger man asked. He nearly let one bag slip to the ground, but managed to catch it just in time. Angela arched an eyebrow, doing nothing to disguise her smirk.

Booth somehow managed to look mildly annoyed and like an indulgent older brother all at the same time. "Don't be an ass, Aubrey," he said good-naturedly.

"Only Booth can call me Bones," Brennan added. It was only when Angela laughed again and Booth hit her with a full-on charm smile that Brennan realized what had just come out of her mouth. Her cheeks flared bright red and she sputtered. "Wait, no, that's not what I meant—"

"You can't take it back now, Bones!" Booth crowed triumphantly.

Brennan settled for spearing him with an icy glare. She hadn't wanted anyone to call her Bones, so she wasn't sure what had caused her slip of tongue. There was something about Booth that made her say what was on her mind without thinking. While she was usually bluntly honest—which was something she typically kept to her work environment—there was a difference between that and just blurting out whatever it was that she was feeling. She had only spent a few days in his presence, but she seemed to be going with what she was feeling around him, as opposed to giving him professional, clinical responses.

"Angela," Brennan finally hissed. She didn't know why she was whispering, since Booth and his friend were standing right there. "A little help, please?"

Angela leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. "No way, sweetie. This is just too good."

Booth still had that charm smile directed fully at Brennan, his brown eyes warm and full of laughter. Brennan shot the artist a pleading look, hoping that Angela would adhere to the best friend code that she so often told Brennan about. Finally, Angela took pity on her and caved.

"Booth, are you going to introduce us to your friend here?" Angela asked.

Seeming to sense that he had teased Brennan enough, Booth turned his attention to the man beside him, introducing him to the ladies. "This is Special Agent James Aubrey. He's part of my team at with the Major Crimes unit, and he'll be doing some surveillance for us."

"Oh honey, he doesn't even look old enough to drive a car on his own," Angela stated.

Aubrey had been digging in one of his takeout bags during their conversation, and had emerged with a flaky chocolate croissant. Mid-bite, he mumbled, "Hey! I resent that!"

Booth rolled his eyes. Putting his hand on Aubrey's shoulder, he directed the younger agent towards the door of the diner. "We've got paperwork to do, Aubrey. Bones, I'll pick you up at the Jeffersonian at four, alright?"

"Don't call me Bones," Brennan told him, but it came out half-heartedly. She knew the damage had already been done with her earlier words. She would be forever known as Bones to Booth now, and there was really nothing she could do to stop it.

Why didn't the nickname annoy her as much as she pretended it did? Why did Brennan want to smile at Booth in return whenever he grinned at her and called her Bones?

Angela seemed to know exactly what Brennan was thinking, and she shot her a knowing look across the table. Brennan ignored her friend and picked up three French fries, shoving them into her mouth at the same time so that she could avoid saying anything else to Booth. She settled for waving instead as Booth and Aubrey left the diner… and she ignored Angela when she started laughing again.

Climbing into the Chevy Tahoe, instead of giving a proper greeting, Brennan asked, "Why can't I drive?"

"Because this is a government-issued vehicle, and you're only contracted by the government, whereas I work directly for them," Booth answered easily.

Brennan thought about that for a moment, and she had to admit that it was a very logical answer. So she came back with, "We could have taken my car, you know."

Chuckling, Booth pulled into the afternoon DC traffic. "Sure, we could have. What kind of car do you have again?"

"A Prius," Brennan told him primly. She knew she had made an error in her argument when Booth's chuckles turned into out-right laughter. Brennan frowned at him. "What's wrong with a Prius?"

"Bones, what makes you think I can even fit in a Prius? I'm kind of a big guy, you know."

Brennan wasn't sure what to say to that, because his words only drew her attention to his amazing physique. Sure, she had only seen him dressed in a perfectly cut suit, and in jeans and a t-shirt during her family's Sunday dinner. But those clothes fit him incredibly well, and she was sure that what was underneath would be pretty damn amazing.

Brennan resolutely pushed those thoughts away, because it was so not the time or the place. She almost forgot that they were bickering about who should be driving, but she was easily reminded when Booth cut sharply across two lanes of traffic.

She reached out and grasped the dash board. "There's a passenger in your vehicle, in case you've forgotten," Brennan admonished.

"Sorry, Bones." Booth flashed that grin at her again. "I just know a shortcut to get us to Elizabeth Simmons' neighborhood. We should be there in fifteen minutes."

"This is just another reason that I should have driven," Brennan muttered. When she was certain that Booth wouldn't make any more sudden movements with his car, she released the dashboard and sat back in her seat. "What are we hoping Miss Simmons can tell us about the victim, anyway?"

Booth shot her a look. "Her name was Lydia. When we're talking to her sister, you might want to actually refer to her by name. You know, instead of calling her 'the victim.' That can be a little off-putting."

Brennan returned his look evenly, but didn't say anything. She wasn't about to explain to Booth that she referred to everyone on her table as "the victim" in an effort to compartmentalize. He didn't need to know that she remembered the name of every single person she had identified, remembered the way in which they had died. And he certainly didn't need to know that it was easier for her this way—that the show of detachment she put on kept her sane.

Those fifteen minutes passed in silence. When they pulled up in front of Elizabeth Simmons' house, Booth was all smiles once again. They climbed out of the Tahoe and headed up to the front door together. With his hand on the small of her back, Booth was the one who knocked on the door.

The woman who answered the door was probably a few years older Brennan, and she looked… well, exhausted was the only word that came to Brennan's mind. She was pretty enough, with long, raven-black hair that she had shared with her younger sister. There were large, black circles under her eyes, however, and what appeared to be naturally tan skin was unusually pale.

"Good afternoon, ma'am," Booth greeted kindly. "I'm—"

Elizabeth interrupted him with a heavy sigh. "You must be the agent from the FBI that contacted me earlier. Come in, please."

She stepped aside, allowing Booth and Brennan to enter. It was a nice house, one that the Simmons sisters had inherited from their parents after they had passed two years ago in a tragic car accident. From what Brennan had read in the report Booth had sent to her by messenger earlier that morning, Elizabeth and Lydia Simmons had led a relatively uneventful life. After the passing of their parents, they had moved into their childhood home together. Elizabeth had been planning on leaving it to Lydia, since she had been set to get married to a doctor in two months.

"That's right," Booth said. "I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth, and this here is my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan. She's a forensic anthropologist with the Jeffersonian Institute."

Brennan caught the title of partner, and even though she pursed her lips together, she didn't say anything. An interview with the victim's sister was not the time or the place to question her new designation as Booth's "partner." Growing up, she hadn't been that big on playing along with social cues, but her parents helped her to understand that sometimes, it was needed.

Elizabeth's brow furrowed. "What does a forensic anthropologist do, exactly?" It was obvious that she was confused as to why Brennan was actually there, even though Booth had told her that Brennan was his partner. Perhaps that was even more confusing—it certainly was to Brennan. When was the last time an FBI agent had partnered with a scientist?

"I study human remains in order to find out what happened to them, how they lived their lives," Brennan answered truthfully. "Specifically, I work with bones."

"Oh." Elizabeth's answer was distracted, and her eyes were on a family picture hanging in the hallway. They looked happy, whole. It was sad to know that tragedy had torn them apart, and that yet another horrible thing would happen to them, years later.

Booth, of course, noticed where Elizabeth's gaze was as well. "We have a few questions to ask you, if you don't mind," he said gently. His tone was professional, but there was just enough compassion in his voice to appeal to Elizabeth. Brennan couldn't help but be impressed by Booth's technique.

Seeming to shake herself out of whatever trance she had been in, Elizabeth nodded her head and directed them into the living room. "Of course. I'll answer any question, if it'll help catch whoever did this to Lydia."

Booth and Brennan each took a seat on the couch, sharing a look as they settled into the comfortable leather. There was no need to tell Elizabeth that there was a significant amount of evidence pointing to the fact that Ramon Hernandez had killed her younger sister. While it was true what they had discovered on the bones thus far pointed to Hernandez being the killer, it was also possible that someone was imitating the way the drug dealer—who appeared to be some kind of hit man as well—normally made his kills.

Plus, they needed to find out if Hernandez was the one trying to frame Max Keenan for Lydia Simmons' murder. If it was Hernandez, was he doing it on his own, or was he working for someone else? And why was this happening?

Those were questions that they could discover the answers to later, however. For now, they needed to find out as much as they could about Lydia Simmons.

Booth jumped into it right away, asking one of the most obvious questions: "Did you know that your sister was seeing Ramon Hernandez?"

Elizabeth hesitated for a long moment, and in that pause, they had their answer. It was confirmed when Elizabeth quietly admitted, "Yes. Yes, I did know."

There was sympathy in Booth's eyes when he asked his next question. "And did you know what Hernandez was involved in?"

Another sigh escaped Elizabeth, and she sank back into the armchair she had sat in when they had entered the living room. "Not specifically, but there were rumors, and… well, I saw his tattoos. I knew what they meant."

Of course. Hernandez was a member of Mara Muerte, and it was becoming apparent that he was more than just some random gang drug dealer. Drug dealers didn't make the hits that Hernandez had, in the ways that he had. He was much higher in the organization than they had originally thought. For whatever reason, it appeared that Hernandez had killed Lydia. Was it because she had known too much, had become too much of a liability as an outsider of Mara Muerte? Or was she a pawn in a much larger game? And how had Max Keenan become involved in all of this?

"Did Lydia know what those tattoos meant?"

"I think she did," Elizabeth said, in a tone that implied that Lydia did, in fact, know exactly who Ramon Hernandez was. "Lydia was smart. She knew… well, she had to have known. We might have grown up in this nice area, gone to the right schools and everything, but we knew the stories. We watch the news. Lydia knew. She had to have."

"Lydia was studying to be a lawyer, correct?" Booth asked, even though he already knew the answer to that question. Brennan would bet that Booth had already had Lydia Simmons' file memorized, and was asking that question as a way to build a rapport with her sister. Any information at this point would be helpful.

"She was. She was top of her class at Georgetown." Elizabeth's eyes shone then, and she blinked hard, obviously trying to keep the tears at bay.

"She was young, bright, about to be a lawyer with job offers right after graduation…" Booth had done his research. He knew what direction Lydia's life had been heading. "So how did a girl with all of this opportunity end up with a guy like Ramon Hernandez?"

It had been the wrong question to ask. Elizabeth's eyes flashed, and she leaned forward, gripping the arms of the chair was sitting in. "You don't get to pass judgment on my sister, alright?" she snapped. "Ramon Hernandez was in a gang, and he dealt drugs and did other things that I probably want to know nothing about, but she loved him." The tears welled in Elizabeth's eyes, then, and it seemed that she couldn't do anything to stop them. "When our parents died, things changed for Lydia. She wasn't… she wasn't the same, after that. And she met Hernandez, and… and now she's dead. But you don't know her. You don't know what she was like."

Booth apologized quickly, unwilling to cause this woman who had suffered through so much loss already even more pain. His interviews normally didn't go like this—then again, no two people were the same, and everyone reacted differently to trauma. Booth knew that he could recover from his little faux pas, as he had a lot of experience smoothing over instances like these in interviews. Before he could, however, it was Brennan who began to speak.

Brennan's brow furrowed as she thought back to the examination of the bones that she had finished yesterday… and before she could stop herself, the words just came pouring out.

"Your sister was brave, wasn't she?" Brennan asked gently.

Elizabeth angrily brushed at the tears under her eyes. "What?"

"She was brave," Brennan repeated. She could feel Booth's eyes on her, could almost hear the question he wanted to ask, but he kept his mouth shut. He let this play out, let Brennan talk, and she was grateful for it… though she wasn't sure she would ever admit that to him. "There was a brake in her right ulna, from when she was learning how to ride a bike. It happened when she was six years old. It had still been healing when she got back on that bike, fell, and broke it again."

Elizabeth gave a watery laugh. "She wanted to learn how to ride a bike so badly. She wanted to ride a two-wheel just like mine." She was lost in the memories before her eyes focused back on Brennan once again. "How did you know that?"

Brennan shrugged. "It's my job to know those things. Just like how I knew she was very active with sports in high school. There were fractures to her metatarsals—the bones in her feet. I suppose she played a sport like lacrosse?"

"She did," Elizabeth confirmed. This time, she smiled genuinely. "She was captain of the team her junior and senior year of high school."

"She still played after that, didn't she?" Brennan asked. "Even with the fractures, and the other numerous stress injuries she received."

"Lydia was part of a club team in college. And she found a league to play with on the weekends when she was in law school. She loved lacrosse."

Brennan nodded her head and smiled gently at the grieving sister. "Your sister always tried her very hardest at whatever she did. She didn't want to quit, and she always went back to master whatever it was that challenged her in the first place. I imagine that it was quite the same for her in death. Lydia didn't go down without a fight."

It wasn't exactly a pretty picture that Brennan had painted, but it had been the right words to say. Elizabeth exhaled slowly and nodded her head once again. Her shoulders relaxed, and she settled back into her armchair once again.

"Okay," she finally said. "What else do you want to know?"

Booth let out a low whistle as soon as Elizabeth Simmons shut the front door behind them. They headed down the walk towards his Tahoe, moving quickly in an effort to escape the oppressive sadness of the house. "Damn, Bones," he said. "I'm glad I brought you with me. You saved that interview, you know."

Brennan shrugged her shoulders. She wasn't unfamiliar with praise—she was top of her field, after all. She was damn good at what she did, and she knew it. For some reason, however, Booth's compliment made her cheeks flush.

She generally wasn't congratulated on her handling of other people's emotions. Brennan found that in her line of work, it was best to be as upfront as possible. And after growing up with her entire life built on lies, she had discovered that direct honesty was the best way to communicate, if she chose to do so at all. It had worked for her since she was seventeen years old.

Yet… it was moment like these that she remembered the girl she had been before her parents had told her about Joy Keenan, about the danger that they had all been in for so many years. And it felt good to tap into that.

"I just did what I needed to do," Brennan finally said. "You obviously needed my help with the interview. It was fortunate that you brought me along."

Booth grinned at her then, like he could see right through her—and he probably could. "You're right," he said. "It was fortunate. Thanks for helping me out, Bones."

Instead of protesting the nickname, Brennan simply rolled her eyes and climbed into the Tahoe. Booth followed suit, getting into the driver's seat. That annoyingly attractive charm smile was on his face the entire time.

So this is really kind of about what it would be like for Brennan and Booth to meet if Brennan's parents had never abandoned her. I'm kind of drawing on season one Brennan for this… she was very different from season six Brennan on. So that, paired with a Brennan that grew up with her parents, led to a slightly more socially aware Brennan. I hope it makes sense.

Also, I have a soft spot for Aubrey. I thought he was hilarious and a great addition to the group. I was always a little indifferent to Sweets, honestly, but I never disliked him. I'm sure he'll make an appearance in here eventually. Thanks for reading!