(After 'The Recluse in the Recliner')

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As she pulled into the driveway next to her house, Brennan noticed the yellow and black crime scene tape gleaming in the morning sun. It was stretched across the front door and the blown-out picture window. Parking her car, she rested her forehead on the steering wheel and tried to calm her racing heart. The damage to the house had not been as stark in the dark of the night as it was with the power of the sun illuminating it.

Angela had wanted to come with her, but she had refused her help. Brennan needed to see the house by herself and she didn't want any witnesses to her emotional distress. Her husband was in the hospital under arrest for the murder of three FBI Agents. The situation was macabre and she felt like her world had come crashing to an abrupt stop.

Calmer, she stepped out of her car and made her way to the front door. A police offer was standing in the doorway, but he had been warned by his supervisor that the home owner was going to make an appearance and he tried to be courteous even if the woman's husband was probably murdering scum.

Once Brennan was inside the house, she sneezed. The dust in the air was thick and the damage in the living room was horrendous. The bookshelves were damaged and some of her antiquities were scattered on the floor, some of them broken and possibly beyond repair. The picture window was gone, shattered glass lying on the dirty carpet as well as outside below the window. The furniture was heavily damaged and she would not be able to use them again.

As she moved further into the room, she looked up towards the top of the staircase and saw it was extensively damaged. Whoever went upstairs to remove valuables would have to be very careful not to fall to the hallway below. She wasn't sure she could ask her friends to help. It might be too dangerous and she would not risk their health for things.

Her eyes drifted over to where Booth had laid while they had waited for an ambulance to arrive. The carpet was dark and tacky and she knew that it was covered in her husband's blood. Swallowing hard, she jerked her head around and stared at the kitchen. For the moment, she couldn't bear to go into that room. It had been the center of their happiness second only to their bedroom and she didn't want to see the destruction at that moment. The formal dining room was destroyed and the dining room table was no longer functional. The chairs were all on their sides and most of them were also beyond repair.

Anyone looking at the heavy damage could see that a battle had been fought in this house. Booth had done everything he could to save his own life and he had used the house to help him survive. Her husband was a U.S. Ranger, a warrior and he had fought as hard as he could.

A tear rolling down her cheek, she walked over to where her husband had almost died and sank to her knees. The bloody carpet was testimony to the price Booth had paid to fight his last battle. She still didn't know if her husband was going to survive his injuries. She wasn't being allowed to see him and she was waiting for her lawyer to get a judge to sign off on a visit. The FBI was doing everything in their power to keep her husband sequestered which raised alarm bells in almost everyone that considered Booth a friend. Powerful forces were working against him and it was her duty to help him.

In the mean-time, here she was in the ruins of her home. She had never thought she would have a home or a family, but life is full of unexpected surprises and Booth had given her those things. He was the love of her life. She hadn't believed in love for such a long time, but he had broken down her impervious barriers and she had come to realize that love really did exist. Of course, nothing is ever easy and they had both gone through some trials before they got together, but they were a couple, a married couple and she would fight to make sure her husband was returned to her. He belonged to her and no one was going to take him from her.

The tears started to fall faster as she stared at the bloody carpet. Booth was a brave man who had been attacked in his own home. The FBI had betrayed him and Brennan was certain she would never trust them again. While investigating a possible serial killer, they had stumbled upon a nefarious conspiracy and she was still trying to figure out what the conspiracy was. They had figured out that Booth was in danger when Congressman Hadley had betrayed him at the hearing talking about classified information and they were still unsure how that had happened. Booth had prepared for the worse and he had been right to do so.

Now she and her friends would have to continue to investigate and find out what exactly it was that they had stumbled upon. So far, it looked like there was a plot to take over parts of the government, but they didn't know by who or why. Everyone at the Lab had decided that no one could be trusted outside their group and their number one priority was to prove that Booth had been framed.

Her tears continuing to flow, she knew that Booth was hurt, fighting for his life and she had to continue the battle for him. It wouldn't be the physical battle her husband had fought, but it would be a battle none the less.

"Ma'am are you alright?" The officer was standing in the doorway staring at her. He hadn't heard any noise coming from the house and had worried that the visitor could have been hurt in the heavily damaged house.

"No, I'm not alright." Brennan wiped her hands across her face, removing the tears. "My husband was attacked in our home and almost killed. The FBI is lying about what happened and I will prove it . . . I will prove it."

He knew who Brennan was as well as her husband. The young officer had been assured that Booth was a traitor, but seeing Brennan sitting on the floor near an area of bloody carpet, he started to have his doubts. He knew that Booth was the head of major crimes in the FBI and everything he had been told seemed bizarre and troublesome. "Yes ma'am." He didn't know what else to say.

With dignity, Brennan stood up. "I have permission to recover what I can. I'm going to do an inventory of everything that is intact and I will make arrangements to have them placed into storage. This is no longer our home and we will not come back here once I have removed our valuables."

"No ma'am." The police officer felt sorry for her, but he admired her too. She appeared to be a strong woman. She'd have to be. If her husband really was a murderer then she had a hard path to follow in the future. If he was innocent, then they would have to work hard to rebuild their lives.

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