Author's Note: A huge thank you again to my beta writingherhope for her wonderful help with this chapter. Again, this chapter is going by the production code for the episode, not when it originally aired.

Chapter 3: The Man in the SUV

Booth watched the taxi pull away and drive out of sight before he made his way back to his apartment. He closed the door and leaned heavily against it.

While he had appreciated Tessa's attempts to comfort him and keep the conversation flowing over dinner, Booth knew he hadn't been great company and so, just over an hour after they'd sat down to dinner, he had apologized to his girlfriend and asked if they could cut their evening short. She hadn't questioned his request, and he'd turned down her offer to stay the night, so the wait for her taxi had mostly passed in silence. Yet Booth couldn't muster up the energy to care and decided that he'd call her in a couple of days with a promise to make it up to her.

For now though he just wanted to wallow in his thoughts and come to terms with the fact that he had taken another life. He had been truthful when he'd told Bones there was no pleasure, no celebration, in taking someone's life, irrespective of the circumstances. He closed his eyes and was overwhelmed with memories from his time as a sniper. Suddenly, his apartment felt too quiet, too constricting. He took a deep breath, crossed his apartment and swiped his leather jacket from his bedroom. He then grabbed his gun, cell phone and keys and headed for the door.

He was in his vehicle and pulling onto the road before he knew what he was doing or where he was even going. He just needed to get away.

Farid Masruk had been a terrorist and a murderer, and knowing that he had turned up to the Hamilton Cultural Center with a bomb, intent on hurting so many innocent people angered Booth. Yet he still couldn't find it within himself to justify killing him. The burden weighed heavily on his mind and – as Bones would say – tipped the delicate balance of his cosmic balance sheet in the wrong direction.

Despite his somber mood, his lips twitched slightly as he thought of his partner and how she had tried her best to comfort him at Wong Foos. Before he left the restaurant, he had thanked Bones for her help but it was only as the evening had worn on, that Booth realized he hadn't just been talking about the case. He had also really appreciated her efforts to try and lessen the guilt he'd felt at having to take another life, even if he had saved so many others in the process.

As he turned onto another street, he tried to roll his shoulders and release the tension that had built up. He then reached over and, keeping his eyes on the road, started to switch between radio stations. After a couple of minutes of unsuccessfully finding a channel he wanted to listen to, he turned the radio off and returned both hands to the wheel. It was then that his gaze fell to his wrist.

It was weird, but he would swear he could still feel the gentle, reassuring touch of his partner's hand from hours earlier, even though he'd since showered, changed his clothes, and – rather belatedly – remembered that Tessa had also since touched the same spot of skin less than an hour ago. Yet instead of feeling comforted, Booth had had to resist the urge to remove her hand and put some distance between them. He frowned at the realization that he appeared to appreciate Bones' attempts to help him heal rather than his girlfriend.

With a shake of his head, he continued to drive only to discover that he was approaching the Jeffersonian so he decided to park his car and go for a walk instead. It was late, he told himself, and it wasn't like he would bump into anyone from the lab at this time, so there would be no-one to ask him what he was doing there – which was probably just as well because Booth wasn't sure of the answer either.

He had slowly made his way through the gardens of the Jeffersonian and was about to turn and head back when he spotted a figure near the entrance doors to the building. Their name left his lips before he could stop it.

"Angela?"

She turned and searched the area for a moment as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. When she spotted him, she visibly relaxed – then frowned. Even from where he stood, he could see her confusion.

"Booth?"

She made her way towards him and he took in her appearance.

"Wow," he said as he stopped a few feet away, "you look nice."

She smirked, then adjusted her purse strap. "I was planning on a night out."

"Yeah," he chuckled as he gestured to her ever-so-slightly revealing outfit. "I didn't think that was your usual attire under the lab jacket."

She studied him for a moment, then canted her head.

"What brings you here? I thought Brennan said you went home hours ago?"

Booth ran a hand across the back of his neck and grimaced.

"Yeah, I did but – I just needed to clear my head. Always do after a bad case," he added with a shrug.

"I thought you'd be spending the evening with your sexy lawyer," she quipped, but her amusement vanished at the look of discomfort that crossed Booth's face.

"Ah," he sighed heavily as he sat down on the nearest bench, "I'm not exactly what you'd call good company tonight."

Angela moved closer and sat beside him.

"I'm sorry," she offered. "I didn't mean to – it couldn't have been an easy decision for you to make today."

"No, it wasn't."

"Brennan said as much," she nodded absently, missing his look of surprise. "She also said that you're a good man and you did the right thing."

Another sigh escaped Booth as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his thighs as he clasped his hands together.

"It doesn't always make things easier."

"Yeah," Angela mumbled, "I know."

Booth turned his head to look at the artist. She was studying her hands and she looked like she was struggling to contain her emotions. He felt a pang of sympathy for her; it wasn't dissimilar to the reaction she'd had at the scene of Hamid Masruk's death.

"Hey," he said gently, tapping the back of his fingers against her hand to pull her attention away from what he was sure were unpleasant memories. "How are you doing? You know, with everything?"

"Better," she said with a small, unconvincing smile, before she sobered and Booth could see she wasn't fine at all. Before he could say anything, however, Angela continued. "The remains are the hardest part of this job… did you know Brennan brought me a skull to the park during your first case? She just… pulled it out of her messenger bag as if it was a sandwich."

Booth frowned slightly at the non-sequitur, then immediately wondered just how much evidence his partner could have contaminated with such an action – but he quickly found himself smiling alongside Angela.

"It was how she sold the job to me," she chuckled. "She was so… invested and I was intrigued."

"Well, who wouldn't be enthralled by old bones?" he deadpanned.

Angela smirked. "Well, I was more interested that this was going to be a paid gig," she then turned serious and cast a glance in Booth's direction, "but I appreciated her determination to find the truth and catch the killer – and I wanted to help."

"And you did," Booth confirmed. "You've helped more than you know since Bones and I became partners."

He received a funny, almost knowing, smile from Angela as she leaned back against the bench. Booth mirrored her actions.

"The dead bodies – and the bones – still gross me out but… this week – this case? It was my first crime scene," she admitted.

"It's different," he offered quietly, and Angela nodded as she took a shaky breath.

"Yeah. All that destruction and the smell – oh g– it –"

Booth hadn't wanted to bring up the memories for Angela but he could see she was quickly getting upset so he reached over, threw an arm around her shoulders and gave her a reassuring squeeze. "It's okay, Angela," he said quietly. "You'll be okay."

They stayed that way for a couple of minutes when he felt, rather than saw, her nod against him and he extricated himself from the friendly embrace.

"I don't think I'm cut out for this kind of career."

Booth straightened and angled his body slightly towards her. "I think you're wrong."

She met his eye. "I don't –"

"Look," he sighed, "this case… has been tough for us all. You should cut yourself some slack."

"Brennan said the same. She also said she doesn't know which is worse."

He raised a brow, silently asking her to continue.

"The fact that I see everything – or the fact that she doesn't anymore."

Booth let out a long breath because he knew exactly what his partner meant. The guts and gore and often gruesome crimes scenes still unnerved him. He hated it; how a person could be so evil and barbaric. It wasn't a situation you got used to. But it was, sadly, something he had come to expect and it was why he always chose to remind himself why he took this job. Why he fought so hard to put as many murderers and bad guys away – and get as much justice for the victim and their families as possible.

"Does it get any easier?"

Booth pursed his lips as he decided on what to say, but he liked Angela and didn't want to lie to her.

"I wish I could say it does." She nodded as he continued: "But if you got used to it, then it would be just as much of a problem too."

"So, what do I do?"

"You gotta find ways to try and deal with the worst."

"What do you do?"

"I –" Booth stopped abruptly.

Before, he'd have been in the pool hall or at a poker game, but he hadn't gambled or even shown an interest in placing a bet since he'd met Bones over a year ago – yet he didn't want to share that detail with Angela. He settled for, "it depends".

They fell into silence for a few moments when Booth glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

"What were you still doing here so late?"

She turned to him. "Hm?"

"You said you had plans for a night out," he reminded her, "yet you're at work."

"Oh," she laughed, "I went home hours ago. I was just coming back to try and convince Brennan one last time to join me for drinks."

Booth frowned as his gaze momentarily moved away from Angela and towards the Jeffersonian building. "Bones is still here?"

She nodded.

"I thought she was going home."

"Did she tell you that?"

Booth hesitated. Technically, his partner hadn't said that she was going home. Instead, she'd insisted that he go home; that Tessa would be worried about him and he'd agreed with her logic, but it was more out of guilt than anything else because he'd momentarily forgotten that his girlfriend was meant to be staying with him tonight. He had never once checked that his partner would also be going home; nor did he think to make sure that she was okay after the day's events. He'd been so caught up with how he'd felt.

He ran a hand over his face and sighed. "No, she didn't."

Angela nodded in understanding. "Brennan tends to throw herself into her work – more so than usual – when she's had a bad day."

"She'll be okay though, right?" He found himself asking.

"Brennan has an uncanny ability to be able to compartmentalise," the artist offered and Booth waited, knowing there was more to come, "but it doesn't mean she fully deals with situations."

"She suppresses everything she needs to in order to get the job done," he supplied.

"It works for her."

"Does it?"

Angela paused. "You'd have to ask her."

Booth chuckled softly. Like that was a viable option.

"Bones was –" He huffed out a breath. "She was amazing today."

"She usually is."

"She was able to identify Farid by his gait," he continued, almost in disbelief. "I mean, she was convinced that he was our guy, while I doubted myself. I'd already told Homeland Security that Brennan was the best but – today? Yeah, I saw it. I mean, I knew it already – who else can identify remains the way she can," he asked, "but –" he sighed, then shrugged. "I don't know what I'm trying to say."

"That Brennan is the best?"

He chuckled, then sobered. "Did you know Bones spent time in Iraq?"

"Yeah," Angela nodded. "I think it was a couple of years ago, though. Why?"

"I didn't know until she spoke to Masruk's wife about his remains." At Angela's confused expression he sighed, then added: "Bones had started to go into too much detail again but then she made a comment about understanding their laws as she'd spent some time in Iraq identifying bodies."

"Well, that is kind of Brennan's job."

"I thought she went on digs to uncover bodies that are hundreds of years old. I didn't know she got shipped out to war zones."

"She knows her job can be dangerous; she knows the risks involved."

"Yeah, but Iraq?"

"Brennan goes where she's needed."

He shook his head. "It's dangerous."

"Are you going to tell her that?" she smirked.

"She shouldn't be placed in danger."

"Isn't this job dangerous?"

"No," he said. "This is different. Bones has me."

He placed more vehemence on the last few words than he intended and Angela, unsurprisingly, picked up on the tone.

"You like her."

"What? Bones? No," he denied as he pulled a face, but when he realized how it sounded, he amended, "well, it's not like I hate her or anything. I actually enjoy working with her."

Angela's smile widened and Booth held up his hands. "But we're partners. That's all."

"Sure, Studly."

He studied her for a moment and then decided he'd nothing to lose. "Why do you call me that? I'm not complaining – just curious."

"Because you're hot."

He forgot how honest Angela could be, in a way so different from Bones.

"Don't try and deny it."

He chuckled at her comment. Sure, he knew he looked good and he made an effort to stay in shape and look after himself as much as possible; partly because his role within the FBI demanded it, but also because he knew the ladies appreciated his physique.

"Well, I've had a few nicknames in my time but this one is a first."

"Care to share your other nicknames?"

"Not a chance," he grinned.

They fell into a comfortable silence when Booth glanced at his watch and realized how late it had gotten. He slowly got to his feet.

"Do you need a lift home?"

Angela smiled but shook her head. "No. I know Brennan is still in there – I'm fine. I'm going to try and convince her one last time to join me for drinks. Either way, I'll call a cab."

Booth nodded and went to turn, only to pause. He slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans and rocked back on his heels.

"Angela… about before. If the work stuff gets too much, do you – do you have anyone you can talk to?"

"Not unless you count Brennan," she chuckled.

Booth hesitated and then cleared his throat. "Well, if you ever do need to talk, give me a call, OK?"

"Really?"

"Sure," he nodded. "I mean, you're helping me and Bones work together, so it's the least I can do for a friend, right?"

He noticed Angela's surprise. "We're friends?"

A beat passed and a grin slowly shaped his lips.

"Yeah," he said as he turned and started to make his way back to his car while Angela headed for the doors of the Jeffersonian, "I think we are."