A/n: The Woman in the Garden just aired in the u.k last week and after watching, this came to me. Somehow I think this just asked to be written. Brennan has to know about you know what. So here it is. This is a two parter so I hope you enjoy and just so you know, good or bad I love comments. BTW work on a 'Fixed' sequel is really gearing up so hopefully I'll be posting that fairly shortly.

Disclaimer: I think you all know Bones isn't mine 'cos believe me if it was, I wouldn't be sat in my study, in Ireland, with a packet of chewing gum and six euros eighty in my pocket.

Questions That Remain Unanswered

The click of the latch was somewhat of a relief. It had been a long day, a long case and an even longer car ride. With her back against the cold wood she listened and waited as the sound of Seeley Booth's feet faded into the distance. The sound of him finally leaving. She closed her eyes thankful to be alone. It wasn't that she disliked Booth's company; it was just that she was tired and tonight she had a need to be alone. His strange behaviour since the funeral was puzzling and left many questions. Questions that remained unanswered.

Booth's agitation had been clear this evening. He had been over protective to the point of smothering. Did he not know she was a grown woman? She had no trouble in taking violent measures in order to protect herself, so what was it with his lecture? No man or F.B.I agent for that matter was in need to come to the rescue should anything happen. A gun perhaps would be helpful but that was an on going ambition of hers she mused, smirking to herself.

Kicking off her shoes, she curled her toes on the softness of her worn carpet. Now was the time to pay a visit to her battered but trusty coffee maker. She threw her keys on the work surface making a clatter for no one's ears but hers, something she relished in. Silence and solitude were something she had grown accustomed to. They had a relaxing effect on her; they were something that provided her with solace and peace after a hard days work.

She should try working on that waiting chapter of hers she thought. If she didn't finish it her publisher would be more than a little annoyed. It was hard to admit but she was suffering a bout of writers block. Well, she sighed that wasn't exactly true. She did have ideas but none she wanted to include in her book. Somehow other people's observations about how her book was based on her everyday life occurrences were starting to ring true. Lately the writer in her wanted nothing more than to include some romantic notions… liaisons even between the lead and Special Agent Andy Lister. Of course she couldn't write that, she wouldn't.

Lister wasn't the right type of man for Reichs. He was her working partner. Anthropologically speaking it was a proven fact that relationships in the workplace never amounted to much, it was based on the concept that work was about dominance, something a working romantic relationship couldn't handle. She traced the marble of the counterwork as she weighed the theory. As a mate he was handsome, loyal, brave and intelligent but… he was also irritating. She paused, her finger coming to a sudden stop. Was she still speaking about Lister or was she once again letting her mind slip to another special agent she worked closely with?

There was a loud click. The machine had apparently completed its task. She made for her coffee mug already anticipating the well-known taste of instant coffee but stopped abruptly upon noting the blinking green light. Apparently it wasn't finished being made yet. In fact there was still another three minutes left. She turned wordlessly; she had heard it hadn't she? Of course, she had heard the sound, her mind wasn't one for playing tricks. It raced with names and images of objects that could have made the sound. She waited; she heard nothing more than her own breath.

It was Booth. He was the one making her uneasy. His speech on the way over, he had been fixated on instructions, advice and orders. She pictured him briefly, tapping the steering wheel listing plans of action as he drove her home. He was obsessed with warning her of the "scum" that liked to prowl, the attacks endured by victims, the twisted ways of attackers, as if she didn't know. The main message she had grasped from the one-sided conversation or lesson was probably the more fitting, was under all circumstances, no matter what, be wary.

It had been something of an amusement and an insult to watch him get worked up on the issue but now as she stood on edge in her own kitchen she felt nothing but frustration towards him and his notions. She was extremely capable of looking after herself, why not now? Since when had Booth's overactive, protective alpha male gene kicked in? This was just another little reason to stack against the grounds that it was a bad idea to be writing romance involving F.B.I agents.

She placed the mug back down shaking her head at her own stupidity. She headed for the refrigerator door hoping some fresh milk was waiting. She hadn't been home in a couple of nights, instead of returning here she had crashed at her office with some Chinese takeout and the hope that she might find some clues in the files from their case. The case which was now closed she noted. Maria and her father had been laid to rest, peacefully with dignity.

Click.

That sound again but this time louder. Her eyes darted round the kitchenette, the sound was coming from her bedroom. What could be making the noise? On any normal occasion she wouldn't have thought twice. She'd have either ignored it or marched right in there. Tonight, a different light was being thrown on the situation. Booth's keen interest in the warning to be wary combined with the confession and ultimate reliving of her memories of El Salvador was making this noise more than a mere noise but a signal towards danger. She tried to shrug it off, where was the logic in this? With each day she seemed to becoming more and more like Booth. Standing here on edge she was rapidly realising he was not the only one with a gut instinct.

Scanning her surroundings the glint of her knife rack attracted her eyes like a flash of lightening against the night's sky. She reached for the largest, adrenaline pumping and visions of what was beyond that very door haunting her.

Tentatively she crossed the room, knife and head held high. She wasn't going to let whatever or whoever it was get the better of her, that was if they or it even existed.

Click

She gulped, sikeing herself up. Perhaps she wasn't overstepping logic, the noise had been repeated. Poised and ready to defend. Her body was stiff and alert. Temperance was ready and waiting like a cat sizing up its prey. The air was cool and she felt beads of sweat drip lazily down her clammy, slick skin as the air met her body. She inched further careful not to make a sound. The silence was becoming deafening, no longer an attribute to tranquillity, now it was unnerving. Her heart was pounding louder and harder, her eyes trained on the door knob in front of her.

Click

Gripping the knife more firmly she stepped further. It was time for action, time to dance with danger. Her knuckles were turning white at the pressure exerted in grasping the weapon. She licked her lips. She wanted to inhale a breath to calm herself, to quench the electricity of anxiety running through her veins. She shut her eyes fleetingly, attempting to reinstate order. No, it wouldn't work. The only way to make it back to normality was to jump. A momentary thought of Booth being unable to refuse her request of a gun when he heard of this event brought about a nervous smile. She'd finally claim that gun of hers. That was if she was able to tell him.

Clasping the metal of the knob with her freehand she swallowed trying to focus. Rotating the handle swiftly she pushed the door in and crashed into the darkened room ready to plummet into the depths of a fight.

Nothing

The room was empty. No vindictive murderer. The moonlight shone casting various sinister shadows yet no physical threat was apparent. She scoffed, what a fool. She felt like she was literally buzzing, the comedown from an energy rush. Breathing heavily it was then that she noticed it.

Click

Rushing toward the window she spotted the paper. Her heart beat doubled. The window was ajar clicking with the impact of the lock as the night's breeze pushed it like a child being pushed on a swing. The paper flapped in the wind like the child screaming to go higher. She grabbed the offending paper with haste. Her eyes scanned the note, reading the hurriedly scrawled message.

'Usted tiene suerte para tenerlo, de otro modo...'

Her mind chased itself in pursuit of translating and processing the message.

"You're lucky to have him, otherwise…"she repeated, whispering to no one but the empty room.