Important Author's Note Read First!: I accidentally lied, guys. I said this chapter would end with the gamechanger…but I ended up having to chop it in half. The chapter I mean. What you are about to read was supposed to be less than half of the new chapter and…clearly that was ridiculous, because it's another long on. I don't think you'll be disappointed though…the reason I did this was because this stuff ended up being important and intense and emotional that it just couldn't be rushed. And actually, it's getting published about three days earlier than it originally would have, so you'll still be getting the gamechanger at the same time. Just…with something else before it. And I think you'll find the way this chapter ends worth it (I'm such a tease, right?).

Less Important Author's Note Read Anyway: Just want to say thanks for your continued awesome response to last chapter…it's always nerve-wracking starting a new fic, and I'm so glad you guys are responding to this one. The song is "Poison and Wine" by the Civil Wars and I can't overemphasize the beauty of this song. And the Booth and Brennan scene of this chapter…if we were actually shooting this, it'd be playing the whole time. So give it a listen.

I've been told, also, that I should preface this chapter with a warning. It's tough to read in parts. There's some brutal stuff.

Chapter Two

Poison and Wine

You only know what I want you to
I know everything you don't want me to
Oh your mouth is poison, your mouth is wine

Oh your hands can heal, your hands can bruise
I don't have a choice but I still choose you

Booth was rooted in place for several long, silent moments after Brennan essentially ran out of his office. He felt disoriented and lightheaded; the brief whirlwind of Bones' visit had managed to, quickly and efficiently, send their perfect world spinning beneath Booth's feet.

His instinct was to follow her, not to let her leave on her own when she was crying like that (or when a man who'd hurt her was suddenly free, sending her…letters? Flowers? His head was spinning with new information), but Booth knew from the way she'd pulled away from his touch, brandishing this case file like a shield, that she didn't want to be followed.

Swallowing hard, Booth stared down at the thick folder in his hands. It was thick, stuffed with papers, double wrapped with several rubber bands to hold it together.

Slowly, he slid the file onto his desk, the contents suddenly terrifying him. Whatever it was, Bones had obviously been unable to tell him herself.

In a way, it didn't surprise Booth. She'd tried to seem casual and unaffected when she'd told him about Sean Lowell, all those months ago when he'd asked about her tattoo.

But she'd avoided details, no specifics. He'd been there, years ago, when she told Sweets the story of the broken dish and the car trunk. Booth had seen what an effort it took to keep herself from falling apart, how quickly she'd regressed to a young, scared girl, voice breaking as she explained that it wasn't her fault, that the water had been hot.

One story, one horrifying glimpse into her past. This file…it held all the stories. It was more than a glimpse, it was an open window, and Booth wasn't sure if he was ready for what it would reveal.

He moved to the door of his office, turning the lock. He closed the shutters.

Then, his hands starting to shake slightly, he opened the folder.

For a moment, he glanced down at the stack of papers without absorbing details. But he could see, just behind the top few sheets, the corner of photographs, and Booth flipped immediately to them.

A strangled, involuntary sound escaped him, like a dying scream.

The first black and white photograph showed Bones, age sixteen or so, standing against a blank, neutral background. Her hair was long, halfway down her back, and stick straight. She'd ducked her head so it was obscuring half of her face; the one eye that was visible was lowered, not looking at the camera.

And she was lifting up the bottom of her white tank top, both hands gripping the material, raising it high enough to show the dark bruises and angry red slash marks that covered her rib cage.

Booth stared at the photo for a long minute, transfixed as much as he wanted to look away.

Fingers trembling, he finally turned to the next photo in the stack, and his breath caught.

It was a closer photo, and Brennan had looked up in this one, pushing her hair out of her face, obviously by instruction; her right cheekbone, the one obstructed in the previous photo, was swollen, a purple welt stretching from under her eye.

But it was the look in Bones' eyes that nearly did him in. Her face was tight and impassive, but her eyes gave her away, just as they had as long as Booth had known her.

She looked terrified and humiliated, seeming as though the one thing she wanted most in the world was to run away, to disappear and make them stop looking at her.

When Booth began to study the rest of the image, he could see the faded remnant of an older bruise, along the base of her jaw. Brennan's hand was lifted, pushing back her hair, and he could see red marks encircling her wrists, as though she'd been tied. There were bruises on her neck as well, and Booth could barely make out the faded shape of fingers.

Still, Booth's eyes snapped back to hers, the portrait of those fierce, depthless blue eyes he knew so well, so many years ago, tinted with fear and embarrassment and pain.

His stomach turned to liquid, and Booth pushed back in his chair doubling over as he barely grabbed the wastebasket in time to forcibly empty the contents of his stomach.

When he was finished, Booth remained bent at the waist for a moment, bracing his fists against the carpet to support his weight.

He had known this. She'd told him this guy used to knock them around (though that seemed an understatement), and anyone who would stuff a teenage girl into the trunk of a car for two days…Booth shouldn't have been surprised.

And he wasn't a stranger to physical abuse himself. But this was Bones, and that made it so much worse.

Straightening up, Booth glanced back and forth between the two photographs. There was a date scrawled on the back, affirming Booth's guess at Bones' age in the photos.

At sixteen, she'd been tall and skinny, almost unhealthily so. Booth touched his thumb to the close up photograph, his throat so tight it ached.

He tried to imagine what it had been like for Bones at that time. Parents disappeared, her brother gone, suddenly surrounded by strangers. Socially awkward and uncertain to begin with, new high school, and going home to a man who, from the looks of it, didn't feed her enough and beat her half to death.

Slowly, Booth forced himself to look through the other photos. There was close ups of the injuries; the bruises that formed a shadow of that man's hands on her neck, the evidence of bindings on her wrists, the deep red scratches on her back.

His stomach rolled again, going limp, and he gripped the wastebasket for another few moments until the his gag reflex calmed; there was nothing left in his stomach.

Booth flipped the photographs over after a moment, standing up and pacing in front of his desk. He closed his eyes, but it was as if those images were tattooed on the back of his eyelids, inescapable.

His breathing was harsh as he paced. There was one thought, gnawing in the back of Booth's mind that he didn't want to deal with yet.

Bones had said she hadn't wanted to tell him to truth about everything Sean Lowell did to her. And those photographs…as horrible as they were, they revealed nothing she hadn't at least hinted at.

There was more waiting for him.

Booth was moving in small circles, trying to calm down. He wanted to see Bones, right then, he needed her in his arms.

But Booth knew there was more he had to go through before he could go find her.

Finally, he moved back behind his desk and sat down, pulling the file toward him. Booth started to grab one of the papers, but as he lifted the file, he felt something small and hard tucked into pocket at the top of the folder's edge.

Lifting the stack of papers to reveal it, Booth saw there was a cassette tape.

The white label on the cassette said, simply, "Temperance Brennan: Statement" and was followed by the same date that written on the back of the photographs.

Fear paralyzed Booth for a second, but then he was standing up and leaving the office, asking anyone he saw where he could find a tape player.

A few minutes later he was back in his office, locking the door behind him.

It took him a full minute before he put the tape in the player, and another two before he could press play.

For a moment, there was nothing but the soft hum of ambient noise, and then an unfamiliar voice, smooth and female, spoke. "Alright, I'm recording now. Is that alright?"

There was no answer.

The woman tried again. "We'll start out simple…can you state your name, please?"

Again, only silence. Then, finally, a small, timid voice said, "Temperance Brennan."

Just like that, Booth's heart caught. It was her voice, undoubtedly, slightly higher and thinner than the way Booth knew it.

She sounded terrified.

"And how long have you been living with Sean and Annie Lowell?"

"Um…" There was another pause. "Eight months."

"Can you tell me about that?"

This silence stretched on longer than before. Brennan's voice said softly, "I don't know what I'm supposed to say."

The woman answered crisply, "I just need you to tell me everything you told your social worker about your experience with Sean Lowell."

Booth could hear the sharp, shaking intake of breath from Brennan before she said, an audible catch in her voice, "I don't want to do this."

"Temperance, sweetheart. If you talk to me now, there's a chance we can use this statement and not make you testify. You realize what that means?"

A beat, and then, "Yes, of course."

For a moment, Booth heard the ghost of the Bones he knew, the affronted, Are you QUESTIONING my intelligence? voice. He nearly smiled, but his mouth went slack as soon as the woman on the tape continued.

"Well then I'm sure you know it'll be easier to talk to me now than in front of dozens of people in a courtroom. Now. If you could just tell me about Sean Lowell."

There was a long, long silence, and then a soft sniffle. Booth's jaw began to ache, and he suddenly realized he'd been forcefully grinding his teeth together for the duration of the tape so far.

"I don't know where to start," Brennan finally said, her voice trembling.

"Why don't you just tell me how things started out with the Lowells."

"I…I guess it was….okay at first," Brennan finally said, her words stilted and slow in coming, as though she was having to force every phrase. "Annie was…nice. Michael and Derek were still there then. We all had…a lot of chores but…it was okay."

She stopped talking, and after a moment of silence the woman prompted, "And what about Sean?"

"I didn't talk to him much. I…saw him…hit the boys, sometimes if…if they didn't…do their chores right. But he just.." This time, the pause was longer. "He just watched me a lot."

Again, the woman on the tape waited to see if Brennan would continue on her own. When she didn't, the woman prompted, "For how long?"

"I don't…three weeks, I think."

"And then?"

When Brennan finally answered, her voice was high and tight, the words flowing faster than any previous point. "He was being really nice to me. He gave me money for my SATs and I thought he was nice."

Every time Brennan spoke on the tape, her terror just as palpable as in the photographs, Booth felt like his heart was twisting in his chest, tighter and tighter as the tape went on, the pressure building.

"And then…." Brennan's voice went even quieter, with an undisguised tremor. "He…he start to come into my room at night and…and raped me."

His heart had twisted too tight, suddenly, and it seemed to burst. Feeling like his chest was tearing open, Booth made a strangled, animalistic sound of protest, and he had to reach out to pause the tape to stop himself from flinging it across the room.

~(B*B)~

Brennan couldn't go to the lab. She hadn't told Cam for sure whether she'd be taking the full day off or not, so she didn't feel guilty for simply returning home.

They'd been staying at Booth's place almost exclusively for the past week or so, but now Brennan returned to her own apartment without really thinking about why.

She'd barely slept the previous night, having decided what she had to do and spending the night lying awake worrying about it. So, in an uncharacteristic action, Brennan went into her bedroom and closed the door, keeping the lights and closing the curtains.

Lying down on her bed, she just wanted to sleep. She'd felt sick and shaky all morning, and it increased tenfold since she left Booth with the file.

Brennan didn't want to think about what he was reading now, everything he was finding out.

Rolling on her side, Brennan pressed her face against a pillow, squeezing her eyes shut. She had avoided all of this, the pain and the darkness from that time in her life, for years, and now it was sweeping over her, a violent riptide threatening to drown her at the exact moment she finally had everything she wanted.

And now, at this precise moment, Booth was being dragged down with her.

A memory burst behind Brennan's eyelids, the beginning of it all, and before she could stop herself, Brennan was letting it pull her further down, remembering things she hadn't let herself think of for so, so long.

Sean finds her in the kitchen, rummaging through the trash can and gingerly plucking out cans or bottles, and for a moment Temperance is sure she's in serious trouble.

She's been at the Lowell's for three weeks, and though Annie seems nice enough, she's been wary of Sean. Temperance has seen him hit the boys, both younger than her, both here for far longer. Still, Sean mainly just watches her, in a way that makes her nervous.

"Sorry," she mumbles, freezing instantly, a smashed can of Coke in her hand. She lets the grocery bag holding her findings drop to the floor of the kitchen, clanking loudly. Expression etched with guilt, she darts a glance up at Sean. "I was just, um…"

To her infinite surprise, Sean smiles kindly. "Looking for some financial aid?"

Flushing, Temperance nods. "The recycling center, um, they pay money for cans and bottles."

Sean arches an eyebrow. "Unless you're not aiming to buy much, you're going to have to raid a lot of trash cans."

Suddenly flustered, Temperance picked up the fallen bag and returns it to the garbage. "Yes, I'd considered that."

He touches her shoulder until she looks up at him. "What do you got your eye on, Temperance?"

Though she stiffens slightly at his touch, Temperance manages a small, sheepish smile. "Nothing, it's…there's an SAT date soon. There's a fee to sign up…"

"Ah, the dreaded SATs, huh? You should've said something! That's something that's important." Then, to Temperance's shock, he pulls out his wallet. "How much do you need?."

"Forty dollars." Temperance's voice is faint, she's so surprised. After nearly six months in the system, she's forgotten what it's like to rely on someone for help.

Smiling easily, Sean presses two twenties into her hands. "There you go."

For a moment, she only stares at the money. Then, she smiles clumsily up at him. "Th-thank you. I can…I can do extra chores and…earn the money to pay you back-"

"Oh, don't worry about that," Sean says mildly. He winks at her. "We'll work something out."

~(B*B)~

Two nights later, she is stuck in that calm, quiet place that comes just before falling asleep at night when her door creaks open, the sliver of light illuminating Sean's silhouette for a brief moment before he closes the door behind him.

"Temperance?" He asks in a hushed voice; the way he says her name, stretching it out, makes her shiver and pull the covers tighter around her chin. "You awake?"

There's a chill working its way down Temperance's spine that makes her want to feign sleep, but he was nice to her, nicer than anyone's been for six months, and as uneasy as she feels she hasn't quite worked out what she's so afraid is going to happen.

"Is, um…is something wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," he replies mildly.

The bed sags and the springs of the old mattress creak as he sits down on the edge of her bed. Brennan shifts away from him, dragging her pillow with her to the corner.

"I just thought we should have a talk."

"Yes, sir," she mumbles.

"You're such a pretty girl," he says, his voice like silk, and just like that her mouth goes dry. His hand falls on her leg, the sheets and the comforter forming layers between them. "Such a beautiful young thing. You know it's my job, now, to take care of you. To protect you, as long as you live here." She is silent, shaking, and he squeezes her leg sharply. "Right?"

"Yes, sir," the words are soft, barely a breath. Politeness has become instinct in the face of social workers and foster families who make it clear how much gratitude she owes them.

"You know I care about you already, don't you, Temperance?"

"Yes, sir," she says again, her voice cracking. She realizes this is the only acceptable answer.

"And since it's so important for me to take care of you…like the other day with the money…" As he speaks, Sean reaches out and grabs the bed sheets. Temperance tightens her grip, but he easily tugs it away from her, his voice still mild as though they aren't engaging in a small tug of war.

The blankets drop to the floor, and Brennan crosses her bare legs, stretching the bottom of the large T-shirt she sleeps in as far as it will go.

For a long moment, Sean stares at her, his eyes glowing in the darkness as he drinks her in, and she feels dirty and exposed. "So pretty," he purrs, voice low. "And pure…" He touches her thigh, sliding his hand barely an inch before Temperance recoils, jerking away, folding her legs toward her body.

"Since it's my job to protect you…I want to make sure your first time is with someone who cares about you as much as I do." He seizes hold of her legs and pulls them straight, suddenly advancing over her. Sean kneels over her, his knees on either side of body. Only then does she realize he is wearing nothing over his boxers.

With one hand, he seizes her wrists, the violence of his movements a stark contrast to his soothing tone. "Because I do care about you, Temperance."

She starts to thrash beneath his large body, her limbs flailing, anything to break away from him as he reaches his free hand down and hooks a finger inside the band of her underwear. A whimper escapes Temperance, and suddenly she's screaming.

"Get off me, stop it, get OFF!"

His palm cracks against her cheek, his hand huge and forceful. The surprise and pain of it silences her, and Temperance stares up at him, eyes flooding, her lungs tiny and paralyzed.

"Oh, don't make me do that, Temperance, love," Sean coos down at her. "Don't make me hurt you." He drags her underwear down her legs, leaving them tangled around her shins, and reaches up, sliding a finger toward her, reaching up, violating her.

Her stomach lurches, and much as she wants to scream again, Temperance can't force herself to so much as take a breath. She feels like she is shrinking into herself.

She's dimly aware of Sean shaking his legs, of him peeling off his boxers, of him pressing against her.

"Please. Please stop, please, please don't," she sobs at him, like a child, her voice watery and hysterical. "I don't want to, I don't want to…"

"Don't be afraid," he says, voice low and husky. "It's a beautiful thing, Temperance. Don't be scared. And don't yell out. Don't make me hurt you."

He hurts her anyway. Almost all his weight is on top of her, his large body pinning her down, making it impossible for her to move and get away. It's like he's suffocating her, caging her betwee the bed and his body, and all she wants is to sink into it and disappear.

There are tears flowing steadily from the corners of her eyes down her cheeks, and she cries the whole time, small, gasping sobs that Sean pays no attention to as he breaks her open, forcing himself where he doesn't belong and it hurts so much she can't see straight.

She screams once, desperate, begging him to stop, and immediately his fist collides with her temple, his nails sinking into her back, breaking skin and dragging downward.

Then she goes quiet, choking back even the sobs as best she can.

It seems to last forever, and by the time it's over, Temperance is someone else, someone she does not want to be. He rolls off of her casually, sitting up again and leaning over to kiss her cheek, sticky with cold sweat and slick with tears.

"I'm taking care of you," he assures her. "They think you're too young for this, Temperance. They think you're too young to have someone care about you this much. So you can't ever tell anyone about this. I don't want to hurt you, Temperance. I don't ever want to hurt you, so you can't tell. Understand?"

She is silent; words are gone.

Then his hands are on her shoulders, lifting her up and throwing her back so her head snaps against the hard, cold wall behind her bed. A whimper falls from her lips.

"Understand?" His tone hasn't changed at all.

"Yes, sir." Her own voice suddenly sounds like that of a stranger.

"Good." Sean drops her back onto her bed, devoid of blankets, sticky and stained with her blood. "Goodnight, Temperance."

When he leaves, closing the door behind him, Temperance lays very still for a long moment, waiting to see if she'll wake up, discover that this was all a vivid nightmare.

When nothing happens, she jerks the pillow case free and balls up a corner, stuffing it in her mouth to muffle the screams that suddenly won't stop.

~(B*B)~

Brennan rolled over on her stomach, blinking furiously to stop threatening tears. She pressed her palms to either side of her head, applying pressure, as though she could physically stop herself from remembering.

Despite her strenuous objections (even then, she'd known psychology and psychotherapy were a ridiculous waste of time), they'd made her see a state psychiatrist for several sessions after the arrest.

Around that time, they'd all been determined to tell her it wasn't her fault. The psychiatrist told her. Her social worker told her. The woman who ran the group home she went to after, the one specifically for 'troubled' foster kids, told her.

But Brennan had known it wasn't entirely true. Because the first words out of her social workers mouth when she got to the hospital were, "Why didn't you tell me?"

No matter what anyone said, she had let it go on. As exceptionally intelligent as Brennan was, even at age sixteen, she'd let fear rule her. She had ignored logic and reason and let him threaten her into silence.

Objectively, that first time was not her fault. But every time after, every time he touched her…she could have stopped it.

And by now, Booth knew everything.

~(B*B)~

"So after that first instance of rape," the woman continued on the tape, her voice smooth as though that word meant nothing. "It continued?" There was a long silence, and then the woman corrected, "I need you to answer, Temperance, the tape doesn't know if you nod."

"Yes," she said thickly.

Booth's elbows were on either side of the tape player, the heels of his hands pressed over his eyes.

"How often?"

"I…a lot. Two or three times a week."

"Always at night?"

"Yes."

"Were there any other instances of violence?"

"Yes..most of the time, he…he would tell me I couldn't tell anyone, and that he didn't want to hurt me but he…he always did." Her voice cracked. "Can I please stop now?"

Waves of pain ripped steadily through Booth's body. He could feel tears beginning to wet his palms.

"Not just yet," the woman said gently. "Did he use protection? Condoms?"

Her eventual answer was barely audible. "Most of the time."

"Was the violence only at night, during the sexual assault?"

"N-no." There was a long pause, and then Brennan continued tremulously, "The boys got moved after two months of it, and then he started…he started doing it more. If I didn't…do my chores right, or if I was late getting home from school. He would…always say he was showing me how to be better. Because he cared about me."

For the first time on the tape, Brennan's tone betrayed anger.

"Did Sean continue to threaten you? If you told anyone about the abuse?"

"Yes!" Brennan burst out vehemently. "He, he always said he would hurt me because it wasn't allowed, and if I told he would…he would rather kill me than have them take me away! I thought it was true, I thought he really would, that's the only reason I never told…" Her voice fell to pieces, and the only sound on the tape was loud, gulping sobs.

Booth slammed his fist against the side of his desk, a scream tearing at his throat. He knew, logically, that this was years and years ago, before he even knew Bones existed, but his helplessness, the inability to change the fact that she'd gone through this made him want to die.

The sobbing continued, and Booth touched his fingers to the tiny speakers, his vision blurring with a new wave of tears. "Bones…." He whispered her name, on instinct.

"That's enough, right?" Brennan finally choked out on tape. "That's enough, please let me go…"

"Just a few more questions, Temperance. Tell me about what happened last month."

"A lot happened last month," she replied shakily; literal as always.

"What happened last month when you were washing dishes?"

There was a pause, punctured by several long, shuddering breath as Brennan pulled herself together. "I broke a dish."

Another silence. "And what happened after?"

"I'd done it before, and…and Sean told me I, I'd have to be punished. If it happened again. Because I had to learn. That it was his j-job to make sure I learned."

"So what did he do?"

"He…he tied me up," Brennan's voice broke again, and when she started talking it was muffled, as though she was covering her face with her hands. "My hands and feet and he…he took me to the garage and locked me in the trunk of the car."

"Then what happened?"

"He shut me inside. It was…it was a really long time."

"How long?"

The fragility, and the naked fear in Brennan's voice was killing Booth. "I found out it was two days. I woke up when he was carrying me upstairs. I must've…lost consciousness. In the trunk."

"What did Sean do after he let you out?"

"He…he let me shower because I…I was in there for two days without a restroom, and…" Her voice humiliation stripped through it, trailed off. "And then he…he told me he missed me and he…made me sleep with him to…prove it."

Booth's fist hit the side of his desk again. The room was spinning, the strength of his rage screwing with his senses. He was suddenly irrationally glad this guy was out of prison. In that moment, he wanted to find him and force him into a slow, painful death…fuck the justice system, fuck paying his debt to society, this guy would never be able to pay enough for what he'd done to Bones…

"You're doing great, Temperance," the woman told her. "We're almost finished. We just need to talk about what happened leading up to Sean's arrest."

"Alright," she answered dully, her voice almost resigned. Two and a half weeks ago he stopped letting me go to school."

"Had that happened before?"

Another pause before Brennan answered, "Yes. But always just a day or two at time." He could hear the pained note in her voice; Booth could imagine how much Bones would've hated that, being kept away from school, the one escape she had. "This time he said…I couldn't go back."

For another twenty minutes, Booth listened to her recount two weeks of essentially being held hostage by that man. Tied to her bed so he could come in and indulge himself whenever, constantly beaten, barely left alone, rarely even fed….the woman asked for much more detailed descriptions for these incidents, and by the end of the tape Brennan was noticeably in tears, though valiantly and heartbreakingly trying to fight them back, and Booth's knuckles were bruised, his eyes burning.

He pressed the stop button at last, the sudden silence buzzing around him.

His stomach was coiled in revulsion, his blood hot and throbbing with useless rage that was years too late.

The photographs were still face down on his desk, and the thought of turning them over again made him feel sick. It was too much now. Those images, along with her voice on the tape, so young and terrified, could be haunting him for a long time.

Right now he just wanted to see Bones, his Bones, to wrap her in his arms and make sure she never felt helpless and alone again, to swear that he'd never let anyone hurt her and he'd spend the rest of his life trying to fill hers with enough happiness that she almost forgot what it was like to be so hurt.

But she hadn't wanted to tell him any of this, hadn't been able to do it herself. All potential reasons for that jut broke his heart.

There was more in the file, though Booth felt as though he'd taken in enough horror to haunt him for a lifetime.

Still, after Booth managed to somewhat pull himself together, he pulled out several stapled papers out at random from the stack.

The medical report, when Brennan was admitted to the hospital. Phrases from the doctor's findings, though they are detached and clinical, cut Booth to the quick each time he read one.

Multiple bruises and lacerations (various degrees of healing).

Long term physical violence.

Fractured ribs.

Compression fractures from T9 toT11 vertebrae.

Hairline fracture of the left wrist.

Total of 64 stitches (see: left eye, right hip, left thigh, left shoulder).

Beginnings of malnourishment indicated.

Evidence of long term, forced penetration; severe vaginal trauma.

Semen sample taken from inner thigh.

He read until the words blurred in front of him. Then he got to a police report and learned that the police had only been called by her social worker, who'd been informed by the school that Temperance hadn't shown up for over two weeks. The social workers calls to the house had been unanswered, and she'd finally called the police to investigate.

They'd found Brennan unconscious , tied to her bed with very little clothes on, bleeding from her lips, her body bruised and beaten.

As he'd been arrested, Sean Lowell had continually insisted that he be allowed to check in on her, that she needed him, that no one else would take of her like he did.

There was more in the file, so much more, trial transcripts and statements and witness statements and psychological reports…but Booth had seen (and heard) enough.

He needed to see Bones, and he needed to see her now.

Shoving everything back into the folder and messily wrapping the rubber band around it, Booth tucked the file under his arm and left his office.

~(B*B)~

When Booth got to his car, he got a look at himself in the rearview mirror. Wild, bloodshot eyes, his face ashen.

He looked like hell.

This assertion was reaffirmed several minutes later when he practically ran through the Jeffersonian toward the forensic platform. Cam, Hodgins and Angela all did double takes when they saw him, clearly taken aback by his appearance.

"Seeley, what happened?" Cam asked before he even spoke.

"I need Bones," he told them roughly. Booth's eyes swept the lab as though he's somehow failed to notice her. "Where, where's Bones, is she…in her office? I have to see her, right now."

Understanding seemed to dawn on Angela's face, though the other two only looked more confused. "She has the day off, Seeley," Cam told him warily. "You didn't know that?"

"Booth?" Angela said gently. "You should go talk to her. She's probably at home waiting."

Without waiting for more, he turned and headed out of the building.

~(B*B)~

Booth went to his own apartment first, not even considering a choice; it had been over a week since they'd been back to her place. But Bones wasn't there, and as he drove to her apartment Booth wondered, briefly, if she was hiding from him on purpose.

But her car was in its usual space at her apartment building, and Booth was practically sprinting across the parking lot and inside the building.

He didn't know yet what he was going to say to her, how he could possibly put everything he was feeling into words, but Booth wasn't thinking about it. He needed to see her, and that need was all he could focus on.

Booth didn't stop moving until he was in the door of Brennan's bedroom; she was lying on the bed, facing away from him, but the second Booth saw her, his throat tightened, heart clenching in his chest.

"Bones?" He murmured gently, his voice ragged.

He could see her stiffen slightly, but Brenan didn't move. Booth walked slowly around the bed; Brennan's arm was folded under her head, and she was staring straight ahead at the wall, her eyes wide and red.

"Hey…" Booth sat down on the bed, reaching over and gently brushing her hair away from her face.

Brennan lowered her eyes, her lips trembling slightly before she pressed them together.

As always, Booth understood her perfectly. She was scared of this moment, scared of finding out if the Booth looked at her changed now that he knew.

Unexpectedly, the lump in his throat rose, and Booth felt tears gathering in the corner of his eyes. "Bones," his voice was barely even a whisper, the only way he knew he could keep the words steady. "Bones, look at me." She slowly sat up, though still ducking her head. Booth gently touched a lock of her hair that was hanging loosely in front of her face, brushing it away. "Bones, please, I…I need you to look at me."

Slowly, painstakingly, Brennan lifted her eyes to meet Booth's, and the look on his face knocked the wind out of her. His soft, bruised brown eyes seemed to drink in her image, and they were filled with so much love and easy, infinite tenderness that for a moment she couldn't breathe.

Then, Booth deliberately lifted his arms, resting his warm, shaking hands on either side of her face, cradling her, and then swept forward and captured her lips in his.

He kissed her softly, but intense, pouring everything he felt, everything he didn't have the words to say into the kiss. His lips' movements were tender and gentle, as he gently caressed her cheek with his thumb.

When they broke apart at last, there were tears in Brennan's eyes, and she stared up at him, expression still fearful.

When Booth spoke, his voice was low and fierce, "I need you to understand…there is nothing that is ever going to change how much I love you. Nothing." He paused, drawing a shaky breath. "I hate that that happened to you, Bones. I hate it. I wish I could take it all away, I really do, I wish…I wish your life had been perfect. I wish Max and your mom had never left, and that'd you have never had a second in your life when you didn't know you were loved," His voice broke, and Booth set his jaw before continuing. "You deserved that, Bones, you deserved it more than anyone I know."

A tear slipped from Brennan's eye, and she looked away again, but Booth touched her cheek, gently brushing it away before tilting her face to look at him.

"But you got through all that, Bones, and you're still this…this incredible woman with this huge heart and..it amazes me Bones. And all that file did was prove to me what I already knew…I…I love how strong you are, and how brave you are, even though I wish you never had to be. And it doesn't matter, you know, that this guy's out of prison. I will never let him hurt you again."

For a long, still moment, they merely looked at each other. And then Brennan leaned forward, burying her face in his chest and letting Booth do what he'd needed all afternoon; wrap her in his tight, protective embrace.

They stayed like that for several long minutes, clinging to each other. A few times Booth could feel Brennan shudder in his arms, and he brushed his lips against her hair, murmuring low, soothing words.

After awhile, Brennan drew back gently, brushing her hand quickly across her cheeks. "I'm sorry I lied."

"It's okay," he told her quietly, leaning in and kissing her again, softly, but Brennan responded fiercely, her lips pressing hungrily against his. She kissed him like she was drowning, her hand wrapping around the nape of his neck.

He pulled her closer, entwining his arms around her, and then Brennan was tugging her shirt over her head.

She paused, then, pulling away and meeting his eyes, her expression shy and almost fearful, as if they hadn't been doing this for months.

Booth understood. She wanted to make sure this had not changed.

He reached out slowly, touching his fingers against her ribcage, that place that had been darkened with bruises in photographs he'd seen barely an hour ago. He touched her tenderly, with reverence, and then let his hand snake behind her back to unclasp her bra.

Booth leaned in again, kissing her softly. "You, Bones, are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen." He told her softly, the brown of his eyes deepening. He rounded his lips over her jaw line, slowly working down to the base of her throat. "That has always been true."

He paused slightly to pull off his own shirt, and Brennan circled her arms around his back, their torsos pressing together, the heat mingling. Her forehead fell, briefly against his shoulder, and for a moment Booth just held her, dropping his head to kiss the soft, smooth skin of her back.

It was Brennan who pulled back, dragging her fingers down his chest.

She fell back on the bed, hurriedly removing her jeans and underwear as Booth did the same before leaning over her, bracing himself, reclaiming her mouth in his.

Brennan craned her neck leaning up to meet him, her mouth rounding on the hollow of his throat, tongue flicking against the rough stubble. She lowered her hand, splaying her fingers against the curve of his hip, her fingers grazing him the way that made him instantly harder.

He responded by unsealing their lips, moving away slightly as he kissed his way down her body, his tongue circling her skin, one hand working in tandem. His palm slid over every inch of her skin, caressing her.

He remembered every place there had been a wound, in the photographs, and he touched and tasted every one of them, as though his touch could heal some invisible scar after all this time.

A low moan rose from the back of Brennan's throat, her hands, tangled in his hair, shaking slightly. She arched slightly, pressing her hips against him, and Booth felt himself tightening in desire.

"Booth," she gasped. "Booth, please…"

He slid his hand from her breast, softly trailing down her side, stopping at the place on her hip where a tattoo hid still more scars. Booth brushed his thumb soothingly over the scar tissue, lifting himself up again so he could return to her mouth, kissing her deeply as his hand finally slid away from the cigarette burns on her hip, reaching between her legs, feeling the wet heat of her.

Brennan gasped against his lips, her arms tightening around him, fingernails dragging against Booth's back as his fingers slid inside her.

Booth leaned his forehead against hers for a moment, his finger still leisurely stroking her. "Mine," he managed to choke out roughly.

Somehow, he knew Bones understand what he meant, that the word at that moment was not some alpha male claim of possession. They belonged to each other, they always had. Booth wanted to make love to her in a way that made her forget sex had ever been anything less than that.

Brennan's eyes flooded, making them a pale, glittering blue he could drown in. "I love you," she gasped out hoarsely. "Booth, I…I need…I need you. Now."

He kissed her once, his free hand tracing her cheekbone, now perfect and unmarred by long ago beatings, before withdrawing his fingers from her, lifting himself up. Brennan arched back as Booth's arms slid beneath her, bracing their weight on his forearms as he finally allowed himself to enter her fully.

Brennan gasped as he slid into her, into the place he'd always fit perfectly. She was already tight around him, and she whimpered as he withdrew and returned, his eyes closed, moaning quietly.

His movements were slow and gentle at first, and Brennan tightened her arms around him, grinding against him. "Booth," she managed. "Booth, more. Harder."

She was afraid, more than anything, of him treating her like some fragile, breakable thing, like glass ready to shatter. Since Booth, she had never been stronger or more whole, and she needed to know he still understood that. "Booth, please…"

Gasping against her neck, he picked up the pace, setting a steady rhythm, holding her even tighter as their skin ground against each other.

He found her lips again, kissing her in sync with their fevered movements.

Booth wanted every kiss, every movement between them, to mean something, to be a promise, a reassurance. He wanted every cry of pleasure he elicited from her to erase the memory of any time she had cried out in pain or fear.

He made love to her in way that, he hoped, could make her feel so protected and loved and worshiped that she forgot anything different had ever existed.

~(B*B)~

After, Booth lay with Brennan wrapped in his arms, their hot sweaty skin pressed together. Her hair was damp and tousled against his chest, and Booth's fingers hooked around a lock of it, twisting absently.

"Booth?" She asked after a long moment of silence, her voice tentative.

"Yeah, Bones?"

"I'm glad that you know," she paused. "I had assumed I wouldn't be, but I…I'm glad." She leaned back, just a little, to look at him. "You know everything now."

He smiled, a little shakily. "I love you so much, Bones," he replied finally, just because he wanted there to be no room for doubt. "And…I meant what I said." His eyes hardened, and he unconsciously pulled Brennan tighter against him. "I will not let him hurt you ever again. That is a promise."

~(B*B)~

A/N: So. Phew. Hopefully you can see why this wouldn't have worked as only half of a chapter that has a lot of other stuff going on, and understand why I had to postpone the game changer a little while. Not a lot went forward in the greater Sean Lowell plot, but this was all really, really important Booth and Brennan stuff…and they're the center of this story, the reason you're all reading, etc.

Anyway, the gamechanger is without question next chapter, and that should be up soon since I feel guilty about accidentally lying haha. Thanks for putting up with my excessively rambly author's notes this time around….Please review and let me know what you thought of all this…it's the best motivation ever.