BOOTH

On the fourth day Pops and I were at the cabin on the James River, I'd ventured out to the nearest town. While the idea of fresh fish nightly had sounded great, by then the thought of another night of fish held no appeal whatsoever. Since the cabin was equipped with both stove and grill, a couple of thick steaks, baked potatoes and a salad seemed just the ticket for Christmas Eve. I took advantage of having signal and called Parker. Hearing his voice reminded me of what I would be missing this Christmas and I tried to hide my resentment that Rebecca would take him out of town when she knows how much spending time with my son at Christmas means to me. My mood soured.

I did the shopping and loaded the groceries in the car then headed to the small liquor store I'd been directed. There, I picked up a bottle of Crown Royal for Pops. Every Christmas for as long as I can remember, Pops looked forward to the whiskey – a splurge he'd allow himself only once a year. A stop by a convenience store to grab a hot cup of coffee and I was ready to go back to the cabin. I hadn't fully backed out of my parking space when I threw the car into drive and parked again.

Turning off the truck, I'd picked up my cell phone. Leaning it against the steering wheel, I'd stared at it as I considered the wisdom of what I wanted to do. I missed her so much, I ached from it. I needed to know we'd somehow be okay. I don't know how long I sat there staring at that phone, but it had been long enough for the truck windows to fog up and for my cup of coffee to turn ice cold.

Finally, I'd given in to temptation. Scrolling through my contacts list, when I reached her name, I pressed it. It rang three times then went to voicemail. I couldn't help it. I listened to the sound of her voice coming through the speaker until the message ended, then hung up and dialed her number again. It hadn't been enough, not nearly enough. As the phone rang again, I tried to work up the courage to leave a message. Instead, when her voicemail had picked up after a pair of rings, I found myself listening to that message all over again, then disconnected the line.

Frustrated, I leaned forward and rested my forehead against the steering wheel.

I didn't even know who I was any longer. I'd always considered myself a faithful man. You pick a woman and go with it, right? It should have been Hannah's voice I needed to hear. It should have been Hannah I'd sat in that parking lot dialing. But could've, would've, should've, it was only Bones on my mind.

I dialed that number, again. I waited as it rang, again. Once… twice… three times. I listened to her voicemail, again. It had been halfway through when it struck me: If Bones was out of service range, it should have gone directly to voicemail, right? I dialed again. It rang twice and went to voicemail.

Was she back in D.C. and ignoring my calls? The possibility made me a little angry… and a whole lot sick to my stomach. I tossed the phone on the passenger seat, started the truck and jammed the gear shift into reverse, flicking on the wipers as I backed out of the parking spot. Twenty seconds later, I was driving down the highway towards the cabin.

I couldn't let go of the idea Bones might be home… or that, if she was, she'd sent my call to voicemail. You'd have to be stupid not to know what the pre-complete ring off means: The person didn't want to speak with you. Not everybody. No, not everybody. Only you. They didn't want to talk to you. And it hadn't happened once, but three times. Three!

Completely frustrated, I slammed my hands against the steering wheel a trio of times. Just so you know when you are driving on snow and slush covered streets, it's not smart to do. The truck swerved and when I grabbed the wheel to correct, the rear of the truck fishtailed. Adrenalin shot through my system as I got it under control… which didn't help how I was feeling.

A pre-complete ring off is like a lie in my book. I don't want to talk to you, I don't want to tell you I don't want to talk to you, so I'll just pretend I didn't get a call or couldn't answer it. Bones lying to me is big. Huge! Bones and me, we don't lie to each other.

I snort my derision. Who am I kidding? I lie to Bones all the time. I spent years lying to her about my feelings, by not telling her how I felt because I was afraid of how she might react. When I revealed my feelings, I lied to her about things not changing between us after she turned me down. When I got back from Afghanistan, I returned to lying about not still being in love with her. I lied to her when I'd told her Hannah and me were serious as 'a heart attack,' even though I knew it was never meant to be more than a good time. I lied during the Eames case when I pretended not to know she was in trouble… big trouble. I'd lied to her when I told her what went on between us was ours, then had gone to Sweets instead of helping her even knowing it was me she needed. I lie to protect her feelings. I lie to protect my feelings. Looking back, the number of lies I'd told seemed enormous…

And driving back to the cabin, the weight of those lies seemed backbreaking.

No, I lie to Bones.

Bones doesn't lie to me. Like it or not, ready or not, she always tells me what she thinks or how she feels.

Until she did. I had no doubt she'd lied about why she'd gone to the Mapoopoos. It hasn't been about anthropology, she'd needed to get away from me. She'd lied to me since we'd come back, by not telling me how she felt until it broke her. She lied to me by splitting, again, and not telling me.

I shook off my troubled thoughts as I stepped back into cabin and said hi to Pops. I put away the groceries then joined Pops in the living area where we played several hands of gin. We kept the chat small, talking about how the Eagles and Steelers were doing on the season. The day before we'd left for our trip, the Eagles had completed a miraculous comeback against their NFC East rival, the New York Giants. With less than eight minutes left of the game, the Giants were ahead by twenty-one points and fans, like myself, had already admitted defeat. Then, the Miracle at the Meadowlands happened, when the Eagles scored four touchdowns in the final seven-and-a-half minutes of the game, grabbing the win out of the Giants hands. I don't think I've ever yelled so much at television or cheered as loud as I did during those final minutes of the game.

But after the rush from the game had worn off, my problems were still waiting for me.

I'd put together lunch for Pops and me – BLT's with a bowl of vegetable soup. We played a few more hands while we ate. He asked me no questions, even though I'd felt him watching me more than once as we'd played. He'd only let me brood so much longer, before he'd want answers. I wasn't foolish enough to think otherwise. When lunch was over, Pops begged off to go take an afternoon nap and I'd pulled on sweats and headed out the front door for a run. I have solved a lot of problem while running and I'd hoped it would that day.

I'd run for roughly a mile when a thought came out of nowhere and made me stop in my tracks: It was time to be honest with myself. I owed it to Bones. I owed it to Hannah. I owed it to myself.

The first time Bones and I were back together after seven months apart, had been… difficult, to say the least. I'd convinced myself when in Afghanistan that I'd gotten over Bones, but there is a big difference between getting over something and hiding from it. I won't lie: The instant I saw Bones walking toward me, my heart had done a familiar flip-flop. Irritated with myself – and her – I'd awkwardly hugged her, releasing her quickly and then had intentionally steered our conversation to what I'd wanted to make clear…

"So, did you meet anyone special?"

"You mean did I have sex with anyone."

"I missed that about you, you know. You just cut right to the chase. Yeah."

"I was working so there was no time or inclination for sex or romance."

"How about you?"

"Yeah. I'll, uh, show you. Hannah. She's a journalist, war correspondent."

"How… How did you meet?"

"I arrested her for being in a restricted area."

"You… you arrested me once."

"I remember."

"Where is Hannah now?"

"She's in Iraq."

"Is it serious between you?"

"Serious as a heart attack."

I started running again as I sifted through the memories.

Now, as I recalled that night, I had to ask myself: Had I intentionally missed the hope in her eyes when we first began talking? The downward cast of her eyes and the way one side of her upper lip had curled upwards - both signs that she's distressed? It's possible, because I'd promised myself like a thousand times that I'd keep a very professional relationship with Bones when I got home. Mark a line in the sand neither of us were to cross. Work was work, period. There would be no sharing our pasts, our worries, our fears. There would be no meeting up for breakfast or grabbing dinner together after work. There would be no runs in the park together or spending nearly all our waking hours with each other.

So, I'd drawn that line in the sand by telling her about Hannah. But who had that line really been drawn for? Bones? Or me? In the spirit of honesty, I admitted to myself that it had been for me. I'd looked forward to coming home and working with Bones again. Even though I would deny it all day long – even to myself – I was still angry and hurt when I came back: Angry that I hadn't heard from her and hurt because my heart had been stomped on. I didn't want to open myself up to that kind of pain again.

I've never loved anyone the way I had Bones…. And never wanted to again. To love someone as hard and completely as I had her was just begging to be taken to your knees.

Yeah, making that line clear was definitely for me.

As though that would deter Bones. In the early years of our partnership, I found myself repeatedly telling her that her questions about my sex life were wildly inappropriate, but she'd continued on. She'd made numerous comments about me being 'uptight' and even told Pops right in front of me…

"He's quite skittish when the subject of sex comes up."

"No, I'm not."

"Maybe I didn't give him enough information when he was a kid."

God, did Pops love her. He loved her so much that he'd even questioned my masculinity…

"And don't worry. If you ever need a little privacy with the bone doctor, I'll make myself scarce."

"Okay. Thanks. But there's nothing going on between us."

"You gay?"

"What? No!"

"She's a keeper. You should listen to me.

And even went so far as to question how he'd raised me…

"She's got talent, charm, beauty, money and you're just friends? I didn't raise you very well."

Yeah, I chuckled, Pops sure did love her. Still loves her. He never lets a phone call go by without asking about her or telling me to send her his love.

I'd run about two-and-a-half miles according to my pedometer when I reversed direction and headed back towards the cabin.

Although Bones had once frequently intruded on my sex life with her questions and comments, after I came home from Afghanistan I couldn't recall a single instance where she was the one to bring it up. I had, a couple of times, including asking her to cover for me while I went home to have sex with Hannah. I grimaced as guilt slashed through me. If what I was beginning to suspect was true…

No, Bones didn't bring up sex. Instead, she waged an assault on love, which wasn't exactly new. What was new is that she seemed bound and determined to convince me I wasn't in love.

There were the direct assaults…

"It was her decision to stay."

"Well, maybe you didn't really love her."

There were suggestions that the I wanted to fall in love so bad that I thought I was in love with Hannah but really wasn't…

"I find it anomalous that you would leave her since you believe so emphatically in the mythic powers of love… Well, I'm just saying that you wanted to fall in love, and you did in Afghanistan."

There was Bones' innuendo that I hadn't been in love with her…

"So, you're saying that love is foolish and illogical."

"No. It's thinking of someone before yourself. It's giving your life, if necessary, to that person. I mean, is… uh… love."

"And if a person falls out of love and meets someone else, those selfless acts would suddenly appear to be dangerously irresponsible, wouldn't they?"

Then there were the literal head turners…

"Sometimes when I was away, I would imagine us together."

Sweets nearly choked on his coffee after she'd spoken and looked at her as though she'd just announced she'd eloped. Me? I just stared. What was I supposed to do with that? A year before, I would have cut off my right arm to hear Bones admit that. I was confused. On one hand, my heart skipped a beat at the admission; on the other hand, I'd felt that familiar anger bubbling up, the anger that carried me through several months during the time I spent Afghanistan.

In the end, I'd written it all off to Bones being Bones and not understanding boundaries. You know, sort of like when I showed up at her apartment to pick her up one morning and a nearly naked man walked out of her bedroom.

"My relationship with Mark is purely physical, and I am very satisfied with him in that area. Did you see his chest and thighs?"

Just an aside for all the heterosexual women out there: No guy wants to heart the details of your romps in the bedroom with a particular man. Partner, friend… the guy who's falling for you, even if he can't admit it to himself yet… It puts pictures in the head, pictures we don't want to see. A general 'I once had sex in the backseat of the car' we find amusing, whereas 'Jimmy Bob enjoyed having sex with me in the backseat of a car'… pictures. I was pretty sure if I said that to Bones, I'd be subjected to a lecture about me being uptight and how monogamy cannot sustain itself. But as I'd told her…

"You cheat on your spouse, you get what's coming to you… Look, being faithful is what separates us, you know, from chimps… We're talking about the ten commandments here, Bones: 'Thou shalt not commit adultery.'"

As my run came to an end and I approached the cabin, I huffed my frustration. I dropped down on the bench on the small porch and stared out through the woods at the peek of the lake beyond.

As more memories drifted past, all the pieces started to fall into place: The disappointment when I'd told her I'd met Hannah; her determination to convince me I wasn't in love with Hannah; the comment on her dreams; the feeling I got that she hoped Parker wouldn't like Hannah; her eagerness to remind me I'd arrested her once as well… The look on her face when I'd reach across the table and take Hannah's hand. She'd been chasing me, fighting for me in the only way she knew how.

My legs would have given out if I hadn't already been sitting.

Bones had been fighting for me.

Bones!

A rush of pure joy shot through me, only for another realization to smack me in the face.

The Bakelite. I'd known the phone had been her idea and that she'd suggested it as a housewarming present to Hannah the night she'd move in with me. Bones knew how long I'd been searching for one and I'd quietly thanked her before she left that night.

She'd insisted on going to the hospital to review Hannah's records after Hannah had been shot in the leg. If she hadn't, the odds are Hannah would have died.

And the pool. She'd offered up the pool in her building for Parker, Hannah and me to use, because she knew how much Parker loved it.

Then had come another fleeting thought: As she's done since the early years of our partnership, Bones had given weight to my thoughts.

"It's thinking of someone before yourself…"

I swallowed hard.

She'd put my happiness in front of her own… until it had broken her.

And I'd left her alone to deal with it on her own.

What was I supposed to do with that?

I dropped my head into my hands and scrubbed at my face. What was I supposed to do with any of it?

I was a man who loved the woman I lived with and was in love with the woman who lived in my very soul.

What had happened to the faithful man I once was? Lifting my head and staring at the sliver of the pond I could see through the trees, I had to admit, I didn't know… but I needed to figure it out, and figure it out, quick.

Shaking free of my thoughts, I glance at Bones. Head buried in the file on her lap, she doesn't notice. I owe her an apology, a mountain of them, not to mention a sea of honesty and truth. Had it only been a few weeks ago when she'd opened the door for me to give her some of those truths she'd so clearly needed?

"I'm avoiding what I would really like to talk about."

"Why would you do that?"

"It's a difficult subject. It's become one of those pachyderms in the room."

"What, exactly, is the pachyderm?"

"I would like you to reveal an instance in which you have lied…"

She'd given me every chance to restore a little more of her trust in me. Instead, first I'd dodged the question, suggesting we put it off until the end of the case, hoping she'd forget. I don't know why I never learn that lesson: Bones never forgets. Then, as we'd sat in Founding Fathers, she'd once again opened that door, but I'd been a coward, giving her some lame comment about how I'd never told her how much it meant that she'd been there for me after I'd broken up with Hannah.

How many things could I have said to her but didn't?

In time, I remind myself. All in good time. For now, at least, there's one thing I can try to fix.

I reach for her hand. Surprised either by the newness of the gesture or that I'm no longer angry – maybe both – her head snaps up and she looks at me, her eyes widened in question.

"I'm sorry, Bones. I was out of line. You were right: Me leaving was no different than you."

"I know." I'm not sure if she means she knows I'm sorry for my outburst and accusation or us leaving. It doesn't matter though. The way she's looking at me says she's already moved on. If I wasn't sure of that, when she reaches into the backseat and grabs the sack holding the lunch we'd bought, that would have said it all.

"So, I was thinking," I say, as open the paper wrapper on my sandwich with one hand, "Maybe tonight I could make us dinner? A little wine, some pasta, you can choose the entertainment, even if it's… Nova," I say with distaste. "Then, maybe, you could, you know, spend the night?"

"I told Cam I'd get the platform ready for the remains," she answers, opening the Styrofoam tray holding her salad, "So I'll probably just order something in for dinner." I nod my head, not voicing my disappointment. I don't want to push things and scare her off. Then it's her turn to surprise me. "I can come over when I'm done, but it might be a little late. Is that okay?"

"Yeah," I jump at the offer. "Yeah. Of course."

"Then maybe we can get breakfast at the diner tomorrow before work?"

"Are you asking me out on a date, Bones?" I joke. She frowns, confused.

"What? No," she lengthens the second word. "We have breakfast together before the work all the time. It's not a date." I find the idea of a real date, something we've never had, suddenly very appealing.

"When we wrap up this case, Bones, I'm taking you on a real date," I announce. She laughs.

"Why?" I grin at her.

"Because that's what couples do: They go on dates." She shakes her head.

"No, Booth, no," she answers, adamantly. It's my turn to frown. "We can't. If someone sees us… The FBI." Ahhhhh. I laugh again.

"C'mon, Bones. Are you telling me you think a super Agent like me and a genius like you can't go on a date without the FBI finding out?" I challenge.

"What would we do?" she wondered. She didn't have to say 'what would we do that we don't already,' but I have some ideas. A change of subject is in order. "How late do you think you'll be at the lab?"

"I don't know," she admits. "I suppose it will depend on whether or not Cam wants the tissue and organs preserved until she gets there in the morning. I better call her…"

When her phone comes out, I leave her to her business and start thinking about that date.

11:23 PM

"Bones," I call her name as I walk through the doors of the Jeffersonian and straight to the platform. Swiping my card, I take the platform steps two at a time. Finding it empty, I call for her again. "Bones!" Her car's in the parking lot and the platform has been set up, so I know she's around here somewhere.

Trotting back down the stairs, I head in the direction of the bones room.

I'd dropped Bones at her place then had gone home. After unpacking my bags and changing into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, I'd popped open a bottle of beer and parked myself on the couch in front of the TV. The Phillies v Braves game was already over, so I had to settle for watching highlights on ESPN. Doc Halladay had pitched a solid game, but the Phillies offense had been anemic for the last couple years after bad decisions by Amaro in the form of big contracts that tied players no one wanted to the team and dealing away players that were the heart and soul of the World Series team like Utley and Victorino. Don't even get me started on his clinging to Mayberry, a subpar player, who had, by some miracle, put a ball over the wall during the game. Uggla's homerun for the Braves had sealed the deal, and the Phillies had lost, something that happened way too often for fans, including this one.

My pickings were pretty slim after watching SportsCenter top 10. The Flyers' season had come to an end after losing out in the second round of the playoff's and the 76'ers had been knocked out by the Heat in the first round of NBA playoffs. I finally settled on watching the Bulls vs. Heat, but as the minutes, then hours ticked past, I had a harder and harder time paying attention. Bones hadn't shown up yet and wasn't answering her phone. By the time 10:30 had ticked past, I was getting worried. Trading my shorts for jeans, I'd grabbed my jacket and keys and headed to the Jeffersonian in search of her.

After all, the last time she'd disappeared at this hour, I'd barely arrived in time to keep her from getting hit by a car.

"Bones!" I called her name again, then turned into the bones room.

Empty, although the skeleton of a small child lay on the exam table, telling me what she'd been doing tonight. I turn on my heel, striding swiftly towards her office.

I find her at her desk, scribbling notes in a file.

"Bones? Didn't you hear me calling you?" I ask, stepping into the office and walking straight to her desk. She looks up, startled.

"Booth! What are you doing here?" she asks, in answer.

"Oh, I don't know, " I reply drily, "For some reason I get nervous when I can't reach you for hours."

"Oh. I left my phone on my desk while I was cleaning the bones," she tells me, absently, returning her eyes to the file.

"Cam's not going to be happy you cleaned the bones already," I comment, sitting down in a chair on the opposite side of the desk from where she is.

"She came in after the remains arrived. She's performed the post-mortem and taken the samples she needed." She drops her pen on her desk and focuses fully on me, obviously upset.

"What is it, Bones?"

"Cam found evidence of extensive antemortem bruising, in various stages of healing." She stood and left the office. I know when I'm meant to follow and do.

"The kid was abused?" Man, nothing ticks me off more than a helpless kid being abused.

"There's more. Cam didn't find any food in her stomach or intestines and indications of pneumonia and Kwashiorkor—"

"What's Quashycore?" I interrupt to ask.

"Quash-ee-or-kor," she sounds out for the non-genius among us. "Kwashiorkor is found in the later stages of starvation. We don't see it much here. It's most commonly found in sub-Saharan Africa and other regions with a limited food supply. Kwashiorkor generally appears in the later stages of starvation and is characterized by an enlarged liver with fatty infiltrates. Cam found both."

"Ah, man." Could it get any worse? "You're telling me she was beaten and starved?"

"Yes," she confirms, as turns into the bones room, going straight to a computer.

"How long was she starved? Could Cam tell?"

"It's difficult to say. A person can go up to three weeks without food before they die as long as they have an adequate supply of water. Her fat stores were completely depleted, so it would be safe to say she suffered a prolonged period of malnutrition followed by starvation. Cam estimated she hadn't eaten in two, two-and-a-half weeks at time of death."

"Is that what killed her?" She shakes her head in the negative. "No, although chronic malnutrition would explain her stunted growth." After several keystrokes, she has me join her. "I took x-rays before cleaning the bones," she explains. "There's remodeling of the left ulnar and radius, as well as in the second, third and fourth metacarpals and phalanges. These injuries were no more than three to four days old. The fracturing in her fingers is indicative of it being compressed by two hard surfaces as a great deal of force came down on it."

"The son-of-a-bitch stomped on her hand," I conclude.

"Yes, although I have no way of knowing if it was a male or a female who did so." She brings up another x-ray. "Partial fracturing of the fourth and fifth ribs," she points to the x-rays, "Along with a complete fracture of the sixth. Remodeling indicates these occurred a week before death." A third x-ray appears. "Complete subluxation of the right hip," she points again, "Approximately four days before death." She leaves the computer and moves to the exam table where the too small skeleton lays and picks up the skull. "Do you see this?" she asks, indicating a spot on the back of the skull.

"You mean the crack?"

"Fracture," she corrects in a tone that suggests I should know better by now. She flips the skull over so we can see the inside. "Staining inside the skull indicates she died from a brain hemorrhage."

"How long? How long did it take for her die?"

"Between twelve and twenty-four hours." She shifts most of her weight to one leg and her shoulders sag. "She would have been in a great deal of pain for days, Booth." I draw her into my embrace.

"We'll find whoever did this to her, Bones and they'll pay. I promise." She nods her head. I hold onto her for a handful of seconds longer, then releasing her, turn off the computer screen. "We'll get started first thing in the morning. But for now, let's go back to my place. I'll lay odds you haven't eaten dinner, have you?" The look on her face is all the answer I need. I slip my arm around her waist and guide her towards the doorway. "I'll whip you up something to eat then we'll climb into bed and get a good night's sleep, huh?" She shocks me by planting her feet when we step into the hall.

"I… I can't," she tells me.

"Sure, you can." I try to lighten the moment, while trying to ease her towards her office to get her things. "You just put one foot in front of the other, then you'll get in my truck and—"

"No, Booth, no." She stops in her tracks.

"What's wrong, Bones?" I ask, turning to face her. "Are you still upset about our argument? I'm really sorry—"

"No, it's not that." She shifts, uncomfortably on her feet.

"What is it? Do you need some time alone?" She shakes her head.

"No… No." She looks back over her shoulder towards the bones' room. "It's not logical or rational, but I find I can't leave her here, by herself. I just… I just… She had no one." Understanding dawns. She doesn't want to leave her alone, as she'd most likely been when she died. And there's that feeling, the one that feels like my heart is flip flopping in my chest in moments like this. I'm taken back to just a little over a week ago when she told Sweets…

"I'm not as cold as everyone assumes…"

No. Bones isn't cold, not at all. If anything, she cares too much, even if she doesn't know how to show it to the world.

"Then, we'll stay here." That catches her off guard and her eyes fly up to my face.

"We?"

"Yes, we," I answer firmly.

"You don't have to do that." I cup her shoulders in my hands.

"I know I don't have to. I want to." I drop a kiss on her lips, then stepping back, glance at my watch. "Pi's is still open for deliveries for another fifteen minutes. We'll order in that pizza you like… you know, the one with the spinach? Oh, and a Bada Bing salad. You love that. Then we'll sack out on the couch in your office and get some sleep."

"It won't be very comfortable," she warns. The thought of spending another night with her next to me makes my blood warm.

"Sure, it will. Come on," I slip my hand around her waist again and guide her in the direction of her office. "We don't want Pi's to close before we order."

The smile on her face makes all the inevitable aches and pains I'll have in the morning, well worth it.

It's a little before three A.M. when Bones rips herself out of my arms, and sits bolt upright, gasping for breath. Understanding, now, what was causing her nightmares, I was ready this time. I caught her in my embrace before she could get to her feet and lay back down with her.

"It's alright, Bones," I whisper in the dim light of the room. "I'm right here. I'm alright. We're alright." Her hand clutches at my t-shirt and she nods against my chest.

"You're alright," she repeats, drawing in a shuddering breath I can feel against me then lets it out slowly.

I draw a comforting hand up and down her back until her breathing slows, becomes even. I'd just closed my eyes, thinking she'd fallen back to sleep when I have the feeling I'm being watched. My eyes pop open and I find her nearly nose-to-nose with me. I study her face, finding desire where fear had been only minutes before.

"Booth," she murmurs my name, quietly.

I palm the back of her head and draw her lips head downward, then meld my lips to her. One piece at a time, our clothes find the floor and with a modicum of movement, we make love. As the last of the quakes leave our sated bodies, I drag the blanket over us. With my arms wrapped around her, and the fingers of one of our hands weaved together, we drift back to sleep.