A/N: Thank you for all the reviews. The next two chapter begin to get a little fluffier. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: Bones and the characters aren't mine. I'm merely playing with the like puppets...


Chapter 4 – It's Not What You Say

They got into the car, Booth turning off the radio immediately, his expression serious and thoughtful. Brennan waited; at some point he would start to tell her his thoughts and instincts, and she would either back them up or refute them with evidence. The wipers weren't waving as violently now the rain had lessened, and she felt a little less mesmerised as they drove by.

"It's not the parents," he said, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, one hand on the steering wheel as usual. As she looked at him she felt a jolt of heat run through her body, and noticed that she had turned herself to face him a little. She remembered the pile of bones on her table and pulled herself away from thoughts about Seeley Booth.

"Most homicides and violent crimes are carried out by family members. You can't discount them just because of their reaction, Booth," she answered, knowing that her response would be what he expected.

"And you're absolutely right, Bones, but my gut tells me that if they had murdered their own child, or if it had been an accidental death, then we would not have had a phone call to tell us a body had been found like we did," he said firmly.

"I think you need to tell me more about this phone call, Booth. Why was it you looking for the body and not the local PD, like Thomas' father said? You're usually called in afterward the body's been found, not before," she said, watching his face for his reaction. She felt his hand graze her leg as it went to touch the handbrake and a shiver went through her. She ignored her reaction, concentrating on that Booth didn't evade the question.

"The call wasn't a 911, it was a direct call through to Cullen. It was made to him, which led to the conclusion that it was either a hoax or someone who had a reason to call him directly. It's not an every day occurrence seeing as his number's not exactly in the directory," he explained.

"Any way to find out who made that call?" Brennan asked, unsure of the technology to be able to do such a thing.

Booth nodded. "There are some crime scene people on it now, trying to work out where the call could have been made from. Chances are it'll be from a phone booth, miles away. I don't think this guy's stupid."

She nodded in agreement. "The way the skeleton has been cleaned suggests that he had an idea of how forensics are used. The chances are that it's a common detergent that the body has been soaked in, and used to quicken decomposition. It will be hard to trace it back." She looked at him; his eyes deviated from the road and glanced back. He grinned and cast his eyes on what was going on in front of him. She felt that shiver going through her body once more, realising that she was becoming almost addicted to the way he could make her feel. As they sat in a brief silence she allowed herself a minute to consider the reaction he created in her. He affected her like no one else ever had done, even on entering the same room as her she sensed him there before she actually saw him, purposely trying to stop herself from looking up and staring at him immediately. She knew that Angela had picked up on her responses to him, suggesting that there was something more there than Brennan understood, or wanted to understand.

She gave him a fleeting look before diverting her eyes at the houses they were passing, feigning interest in the neighbourhood. She desperately didn't want him to know that he could make her feel something, that he stirred something beneath her carefully calm, unemotional surface.

"You want to go to Sid's and get some lunch?" He asked, breaking the quiet.

"You can pay," she replied. "After ruining my date last night you own me something," she found she enjoyed reminding him of the date, secretly hoping to provoke a reaction in him.

"Really, Bones? Are you saying that had you had your cell with you, and I had explained the situation you wouldn't have dropped Steve… Sam -whatever his name was – to come and help? 'Cause I don't believe that," he said, tone biting.

She didn't answer. He was right, of course, she would have left to go to him. If he had phoned up and said that he was in Wong Foo's and wanted to see her, with no particular excuse, she would have left Stuart then, as well. But this he didn't need to know. "He was called Stuart, and yes, you know I would have left to come and assist, but if you had called then at least I wouldn't have had to have gone through that embarrassing scene that you created," she argued back.

"Well, next time have your phone with you," he growled, hunting for a parking spot.

She turned her head and looked out of the window, watching a man walk past, his arm around the waist of a girl with bleached blonde hair and a stud in her nose, holding an umbrella over her head. For a split second she felt a pang of jealousy, having only old memories of someone walking with her like that.

"You okay, Bones?" She heard Booth ask.

"Why shouldn't I be?" She put the prickles out.

"You looked a little pensive there. Feeling sorry for a girl who relies on a man?" She realised that he had seen her looking at the couple.

"Why should I? Its instinct for a woman to depend on a male figure. Men are biologically stronger, and would have once been the only one capable of bringing home food and defending the family," she turned to anthropology to answer the question, knowing that it was a normal, and safe, thing to do for her.

She opened the door and got out of the car, hoping that by the time Booth had locked up the topic of conversation would have been changed. Brennan pulled her hood up over her hair, the rain, although having eased some, was still falling, a light pattering hitting the pavements, causing concentric circles to appear in puddles.

Booth ran round to her, putting an arm around her shoulders and hurrying her into Wong Foo's. His touch warming her from the inside and her body urging her to move closer to him, she ignored the feeling, and maintained a little distance.

"You look cute in that hood," she heard him say as they left the rain outside and entered the bar. Blue eyes met his brown as she wondered how she was meant to reply, her brain charting over things that Angela might say in response.

She pulled the hood down, knowing she had kept it one for a little too long, half enjoying his looking at her. They headed for their usual seats at the bar, Brennan hanging up her coat, and Booth his jacket.

"You eating?" Sid asked from across the bar. Booth nodded, as usual not giving an order, trusting Sid's judgement. Silently he sat down, turning his body so he was facing her, rather than the bar. Brennan mirrored him. Usually they both sat half slumped across the bar, eyes on their drinks rather than each other, half ignoring. If she read his body language correctly, he wanted to talk.

Sid dropped two drinks in front of them, and stood a little away, polishing glasses. She wondered how much of their conversations Sid heard, and what he made of them, their partnership. He never directly looked at them, but she realised that he must hear a good deal of what they said, keeping a distance but always seeming to anticipate when another drink was needed, often before it was asked for and occasionally before it's want was realised.

"How much do you think Sid listens to?" She asked Booth who was now playing with his glass of beer, clearly in deep thought.

He smiled, any mocking or infuriating glint absent. "I don't think he needs to listen. I think he just knows," he responded, glancing at her briefly. "He runs a bar; he'll know more about the people that come here than they do."

She watched the bar tender, outwardly concentrating on the job in hand. "He could probably ruin a lot of lives," she thought out loud.

"He could probably make a few better too," Booth said, looking Sid's way. "Hey, Sid," the bar man looked up. "Do you get to hear many secrets in hear?"

Sid nodded. "I know more about the goings on in this town than you do, my man."

"You never tell?" Brennan asked.

Sid shook his head. "What you don't see with your eyes, don't whisper with your mouth," he said without looking up from his task of stacking glasses away. "One thing my mamma taught me."

"Your mamma was a smart woman," Booth replied. Sid nodded, walking away.

Booth's eyes fell back on Brennan and she flinched under their stare. "I am sorry about how I spoke to you this morning," he apologised. She felt a little taken back. It wasn't like Booth to apologise, he generally just left things be and carried on as if nothing had happened, a routine she had become familiar, and comfortable, with.

He looked flustered with her lack of response after a few seconds. "I had a bad night," he explained further. She half glared at him. She hadn't had the pleasantest of nights either.

"Yeah, I know that your evening wasn't brilliant either," he continued his monologue awkwardly; she wondered what his excuse would be. "It didn't get better after I left you."

He was just about to speak when Sid brought over their meals, both of them being given a hot, milky looking soup filled with shrimp, other seafood and noodles. The smell of it began to make Brennan's mouth water, and she poked around the bowl with chopsticks, hooking noodles and blowing on them, doing anything she could not to meet Booth's eyes.

"Cheers, Sid," he nodded. The silence fell uncomfortably, both of them knowing that Booth was about to confide something before the interruption and neither of them knowing how to reboot the topic.

"This is good," Brennan remarked, waving her chopsticks in the air in her enthusiasm.

Booth nodded, his mouth too full to answer. The good food lightened their mood, and someone had seen fit to play something a little more cheerful on the stereo.

"How did your night get worse?" She asked, the music causing her feet to tap.

"I spilt with Tessa," he answered, a noodle snaking at the corner of his mouth. Without thinking she raised her hand and softly brushed it toward his lips. The smile she got in return made her glad she had acted on impulse and she felt a little proud of herself.

"Oh," she said in response. They were quiet again. She looked to his mouth to see if there was any other excuse to touch him.

"So you're not the only one whose love life went up the swanny," he continued.

She looked blank.

"I mean it went wrong," he translated.

"Oh," she said again, not wanting to give away the strange feeling she was experiencing. Angela was going to love this – if she ever found out.

He looked down at his fingers that were pinching the spoon, having abandoned the chopsticks after fishing out the seafood and most of the noodles.

"She's been seeing someone else, anyway," his eyes met hers without his head looking up.

"I'm sorry, Booth," she finally said, reaching out her hand and touching his. His fingers moved a little into hers.

"It was over a while ago; habit just kept it together," he continued. "What's bothering me is that I'm not actually, well, bothered."

"Probably because you knew it was over beforehand," she said softly, his fingers still entwined with hers.

His head moved to one side and she noticed that he was looking at their fingers. She felt herself stiffen as she realised that they had been touching for some time. His eyes moved up and caught hers, and in that soundless moment volumes were spoken.

Her hand jerked away when the look became a little too painful, questioning words about to fall out of Booth's mouth as the crashing ringing of his cell phone broke the air.

"Booth," he answered. "Yeah, we'll come right over." He closed the phone and she saw a different expression cut across his face, the intimacy they had shared evaporated. "That was the officer who went round to Thomas Dyer's house. She says his parents would like to talk to us as soon as possible."

"You think that means they have some information?" She asked, her mind refocused on the case.

Booth shrugged. "It may just mean that the officer has told them how critical it is to have as much information as possible at this stage. I'm not surprised they've called so soon." He stood up, leaving a note to cover their lunch.

"I was only joking about not paying, Booth," she said, grabbing both of their coats.

"Its okay, Bones. You've listened to me going on about Tessa," he said, looking downcast.

Her hand went to touch his arm once more, and he responded by giving her smile that made her wonder just how she felt about his split. As they walked out she saw Sid looking at them, a telling look on his face that anyone other than Booth or Brennan would have been able to read.

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Booth drove as quickly as he could through the streets given the conditions. The rain had slowed, and a patch of blue sky was visible, brightening up the grey that had been predominant for the past few hours. He was more aware than ever of the woman sat next to him, recapping all the details of the body, and telling him what Zack had discovered from his examination of the bones after a phone call from the lab, her end of it sounding almost like a foreign language. From what she had said, the bones had been soaked in non-diluted household bleach, common, every day stuff that anyone could have used. But they would have needed a large quantity, so either someone had gone out and bought a load of bleach, or they worked somewhere where it was easy to get hold of. He was inclined to go with the later, a multitude of theories playing over in his head now that they had the new information. And then she had brushed her arm against his on the was to playing with one of her trademark chunky necklaces that fascinated him, and his head had been filled with thoughts of her, Tessa's remarks from the previous night playing as background music.

He gave her another quick glance, her auburn hair bobbing about as she spoke. He wondered what it would be like to pull over and kiss her, whether she would respond or just hit him. He found the thought quite a turn on, he liked the unpredictability of her, like when she had put her hand out to his in Sid's – he hadn't expected that. Even more so, when she had let him tangle his fingers with her and held the grip. He had felt like he had put his fingers into a plug socket, the amount of electricity going through them.

He wondered if she had noticed it. Anyone else would have, he knew, but this was Bones. He doubted that she had ever even heard of the idea of chemistry between two people, probably just thinking of it as an experiment gone wrong. She had stopped speaking, and it looked like she was waiting for him to respond.

"You haven't been listening to me, have you?" She said. Silence fell. "Booth," she prompted when he didn't respond.

"I was thinking things over. You know I like to be quiet when I drive and think the case over," he tried to get out of it.

"So what exactly were you thinking?" She asked, her eyes flaring, making his desire to kiss her all the hotter.

"You know, Bones, things like that are kinda personal. If I answered that you might not like what I said," he pointed out, thankful that they were almost at the Dyers'. He pulled up in the same place as before, noticing how the puddles had grown.

"Aren't we meant to share ideas if we're partners?" Bones asked.

"Somethings you wouldn't want to share," he responded, leading the way to the front door.

They didn't even need to knock; Mr. Dyer had already opened the door, obviously awaiting their arrival. He let them in to the house, Booth noticing his anguished face and preparing himself for another round of upsetting people. He did not believe for a second that these people had killed their son; he had met too many killers before and the Dyers just didn't fit.

He sat down again on the sofa, Bones taking a seat next to him. He felt appeased by her presence, glad of it. He noticed how she held herself, back slightly curved, leaning forward, and hand in her lap, one finger scratching underneath the bracelet on her wrist. Her face was serious, her eyes observing everything that was going on in the room, seeing things that his wouldn't pick up on, noting the way Mr. Dyer held himself. Then he saw her eyes land on him, and he quickly diverted his gaze.

"Mr. Dyer," he began.

"Please, call me Richard," the father answered.

"We just need to know a few things about what your son was like," Booth stated. The boy's father continued, describing his son to be a usual eight year old; loving computer games, comics, cartoons, fishing, all the normal activities. Booth's mind briefly strayed to an image of Parker; he quickly pushed it aside.

There was nothing unusual in what Richard Dyer said about his son. He had attended a school nearby, was doing well, had no problems emotionally or physically, got along well with his classmates. Booth nodded, making the right noises in the right places and gratefully accepting the photographs passed to him.

"We really need to have a look through Thomas' room," he eventually said when there was a lull in Mr. Dyer's descriptions of his son.

"Sure, go ahead," he said, gesturing to the stairs. "I'm sure you don't need me around to hinder your examinations." He tried a smile, but it failed, only emphasizing the hopelessness of his situation.

He followed Bones up the stairs, taking in the pictures of the child and his parents together. He wondered where the portraits had been done; they were obviously professional, and of very good quality.

He stood at the doorway as Bones began to look through the boy's room, checking desk drawers for any thing that looked useful.

"You won't find a journal," he said to her, having an idea of what she was hunting for. She looked up at him from where she was kneeing on the floor. "He was an eight year old boy – he'd have been too busy playing games on his PSP, or watching TV to write in a journal." She looked quizzical at the mention of the games console.

"You remember what it was like to be an eight year old?" She asked him.

He nodded. "Very much. Don't you?"

She moved the covers back on the made up bed, scanning clean sheets and feeling under the mattress. "I try not to remember." He realised she was referring to remembering what it was like to have her parents around. She pulled her hand out sharply from under the mattress.

"He may not have liked to write in a journal, but he liked to draw," she looked at three sheets of sketches. Booth moved close to her, crouching down so as to be on her level and looked through them with her. There were pictures of a man wearing a suit, carrying a bottle. Each one was almost identical, including the fact that the man did not have a mouth on any of the images.

"These are a strange thing for a kid to draw," Booth said, taking on of the sheets and studying it. "I wonder who it's meant to be." Brennan looked at the picture he held, putting a hand on his knee to steady herself.

"It may be a teacher or a coach," she speculated. "Or another member of the family. Children of that age don't have a vast number of adults in their lives," she observed.

"Think we should show it dad and ask him who he thinks it may be?" Booth asked her.

She nodded, standing up with a sigh. "Let me just have another look round," he followed her this time, opening cupboards and drawers, finding nothing that seemed odd or out of place.

When they got downstairs Richard Dyer's eyes went straight to the pieces of paper Booth carried, looking puzzled. Either he was a very good actor, or he had never seen the pictures before.

"Do you have any idea who this is supposed to be?" Booth asked him, handing the pictures over.

Dyer shook his head. "I haven't seen them before – I don't think my son drew them," he said standing up. He walked out of the room, returning quickly with a handful more pictures. "The ones you've shown me look nothing like the pictures that Thomas drew. I don't know why he would have those."

Brennan began to flick through the pictures. "I agree," she said, looking up at Booth. "The pictures are too dissimilar in style, look at the lines. I'd say somebody older drew the pictures we found, actually. We could get Angela to have a look at them."

He nodded, his looking up at Mr. Dyer. "Can you tell us about the day Thomas went missing?" He asked, seeing that the man was settled enough to answer some tougher questions.

"My wife went to pick him up from school, but she was fifteen minutes late as some traffic lights were out and the roads were chaos. Thomas knew that if Mom was late as she wasn't by the school gates he had to go back in the classroom with what ever teacher was on duty and wait for her there. When Julie went to pick him up the teacher said that Tom had never walked back in – she had assumed that Julie had already been there. They began searching, but found nothing, not even his school bag," Thomas' father explained.

"Didn't Julie call the school to let them know she would be late?" He heard Brennan speak up. She had been quiet during this interview, something he was glad of.

"She didn't have her cell. She was rushing to leave the house and forgot to pick it up," he answered flatly.

The questions continued, and were then repeated once Thomas' mother returned from upstairs where she had been sleeping, having given her a mild sedative earlier to calm her. Her answers shed no more light. So far they had pretty much stayed put on square one.

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Later, Booth went straight home after leaving the office, not bothering to call in at Wong Foo's. His mood was slightly better, partly due to the fact that the rain had now eased up and the sun was shining again, evaporating the puddles quickly and rebuilding the humidity that had hung over the area before the storm.

He had taken a bundle of documents home with him, all relating to missing boys in the area, searching through a number of dates and ages. Something was calling him to check, having an awful feeling that this had happened before. He wanted to compare details on how the children went missing; his intuition telling him that that was where he might be able to find a lead.

The house felt empty as he entered it. Although Tessa hadn't kept much there, the fact that some things had gone was noticeable. The place seemed quieter and calmer without the expectation of her presence.

He put the files down and went to make himself coffee, dropping his jacket down on the sofa and losing his tie. As he stood over the coffee machine his mind began to recall pictures of Bones, recapping over the scene in Sid's that lunchtime and the feel of her hand on his.

The thought make him feel like he had emptied a cage of butterflies into his stomach. He smiled a little wryly and wondered what she was doing now. Not, he imagined, thinking about him, and he doubted that she would be replaying a slight touch, between friends, in an every day bar.

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Brennan unlocked her door and threw herself down on the sofa in relief of surviving another day. She rested her head back on the arm of the seat and closed her eyes briefly, trying to erase the memory of Thomas Dyer's mother's face when she had it confirmed that her son wasn't coming home.

Brennan inhaled, taking deep breaths and releasing them slowly, controlled. Then an image of Seeley Booth popped into her head, and her breathing increase. She got up, heading for the kitchen to make coffee.

Warily, she opened the fridge, remembering how he had ended up in hospital because of her. Angela had referred to him as her knight in shining FBI standard issue body armour. She had dismissed the notion, but the thought wouldn't leave her head. She eyed her phone and wondered whether to call him on the pretence of wanting to discuss the case, but pride seemed to be getting in the way. She also felt a little scared. They had touched for a little too long while he had been discussing his break up with Tessa; he had obviously needed some comfort and had drawn it from one of his friends, which they were. Just friends, right?

She remembered his interruption in the restaurant, his display of being the boss-male. A theory came into her head, obviously planted there by Angela. What if there was something more with them? She knew she was terrible at reading signs, but he was an attractive man, she had noticed that from when she first started working with him. But she had worked, slept with, attractive men before, and they had never created so much of a confusion within her.

She poured her coffee, wondering what Booth was doing now. Well, she would bet that he wasn't thinking about her, or what effect she had on him. She took a sip from the cup and scalded her lip. Cursing, she went to her desk and switched on her computer, beginning to write the next chapter and hoping to lose herself in someone else's life.


Please, pretty please review! They give me inspiration and make me feel all warm and fluffy. It doesn't take long - a word,a smiley... anonymous or signed, all are appreciated, its good to know what you think!

Many thanks to all those who have taken their time to review, may you have pleasant dreams involving whoever you desire... (It's been a long day,now in a slightly wacky mood - too much sugar.)