Truth Doesn't Make A Noise

by BrainySmurf6

Finally together, Booth and Brennan are happier than they've ever been. When unforeseen events force them to prove just how far they will go to protect each other, the results could be the one thing that tears them apart.

7. You're Not Listening

A/N: Okay, I'm sure you're all falling over your keyboards in shock…or, more likely, scratching your heads trying to remember exactly what this story is. In any case, I owe you a huge apology for the hiatus, and there's no way I can do it justice, so I won't even try really. Short version: I was having some issues with Show, which made my motivation sink rapidly; even when I got cool with Show again, I was having some panic attacks over impending senior year and my lack of original scripts for my writing profile, so I went on a binge; when I finally had the time and inclination to write Truth, I was terrified that the break had been too long and I wouldn't be able to do it and the flow would be ruined and no one would remember it anyway. This is the longest chapter I've ever written, probably, but in no way is it long enough to make up for lost time. I'm so sorry, and if you have chosen to stick around, I cannot convey my appreciation enough. And huge thank you to Biba, my beta, who made sure I never forgot about this, and made it clear in no uncertain terms that leaving it unfinished was not an option.

Now, I won't extend the wait any longer. Here you go, at last. Song is "You're Not Listening" by the Rescues, a band everyone should know, and quite possibly my favorite songby then.

Chapter Six

Those tears are 10 years old
That script has long been sold
That stories' sick of being told
Say goodbye love

It's time you learned some new lines
They're already rolling round in your mind
So don't waste another life, my love

My love, you're not listening
My love, you're not listening
My love, try listening
For the voice that's whispering
To you my love

The morning after the arraignment, Brennan woke up to the strong, familiar feeling of Booth's chest underneath her, and the gentle, soothing feel of his fingers threading absently through her hair. She let out a soft, slow sigh of contentment; this was far, far better than waking up in a prison cell.

Brennan lifted her eyes, still hooded with sleep, to meet Booth's, which were already alert, awake and gazing down at her with poorly concealed worry.

"Morning," she mumbled against Booth's chest.

"Hi." Booth tried to smile. "You sleep okay?"

"Mmm-hmmm." Nearly fully awake now, Brennan felt a tug at her chest over the heaviness in Booth's voice, the obvious pain in his eyes. Wanting to make it go away, she lifted herself on one arm until she could catch his lips in hers.

After a few moments of this, Brennan hummed pleasurably against the kiss. Pulling back and tilting their foreheads together, she whispered, "I don't think I'll mind house arrest so much if we can pass the time like this."

Instantly, Booth's eyes darkened, and he grimaced, stiffening. "Bones, don't."

Brennan's smile faded. "I'm sorry," she told him earnestly. "I was trying…to use humor to make light of the situation. Like you do sometimes."

After this matter-of-fact assessment of her comment, Booth couldn't help but smile a little. "It's okay. It was a good try." Brennan sighed, dropping her head back on Booth's chest. He tightened his arms around her, then added, "I kinda know what you mean, anyway, Bones. I wish we could just stay here, just like this, until this whole mess is over."

She murmured something that sounded like assent against his skin, and for a moment they let the moment linger, the quiet simplicity of it easily masking the chaos of the last few days.

But then the phone began to ring, constantly, reality once again forcing itself upon them.

~(B*B)~

"Dad?"

The small, familiar sound of his son's voice hit Booth with a force, and he bit back the biting No comment he'd been about to bark into the phone. Swallowing, Booth managed a strangled, "Hey, bud," some unnamed fear already twining its way up his spine.

"I saw you and Bones in the newspaper," Parker told him.

"You did?" Booth repeated stupidly, though of course he'd seen it, too. Angela had been the first to warn him, amid all the calls from the media demanding comments.

Booth had gone outside for his newspaper as soon as Brennan stepped into the shower; there, in black and white on the front page, was a somewhat grainy shot of he and Brennan fighting their way through a throng of reporters outside the jail. Booth's arm was around her, and he was glaring at someone off to the side, but Brennan's gaze was trained in the direction of the camera taking the shot.

The wide-eyed, horrified look on her face shot straight to Booth's heart. This photographer, one in a sea of others trying to get a piece of them, had inadvertently captured the moment Brennan realized just how big this thing was, how thoroughly her carefully protected privacy had been destroyed.

Booth had deposited the newspaper in the trashcan in the lobby of his apartment building, never bringing it inside.

Now, Parker continued, "Yeah. Mom wouldn't let me read it, but she said I should ask you how come Bones is in trouble."

Booth grimaced, but he didn't really blame Rebecca for not wanting to explain something she only knew from an article. "Listen, bud… there was a man, who used to know Bones when she was younger and he…he was trying to hurt her. Again." Booth drew a quick breath, barely pausing long enough for Parker to ask about the first time the man had hurt Bones. "Then he showed up at Bones' place at night, trying to hurt her, and she…she had to…"

His throat tightened around the lie.

After the silence had dragged on for too long, Parker cut in. "Did she have to shoot him?"

Even as the phrase made his stomach clench, Booth was glad for his son's phrasing: as though he knew, on his own, that Brennan wouldn't have done that if she'd had any other choice. "Yeah, Parks, she did. And…the man died." Booth paused, trying to think of how to explain, how to make it okay.

Parker, though, seemed unfazed by Booth's admittance. He just sounded puzzled. "But you guys have done that before, right? If the bad guys are gonna hurt you, you have to kill them, don't you?"

"You're exactly right," Booth told him. "And that's all Bones was doing, but…we weren't officially working a case. And some people don't believe that the man was trying to hurt Bones."

"How come they don't?"

"I don't know, buddy." Booth said softly. He was thinking, not for the first time, that if he hadn't screwed up the arrest, if he'd only waited for Lowell to take one photo outside the diner, none of this would have happened.

"Did they arrest Bones?"

"Yeah, they did. But she's home now, and she's okay." Booth hesitated, then, knowing he'd have to explain this soon anyway, added, "But she has to stay in the apartment…she's not allowed to go outside."

"Huh?" Booth could almost picture his son's expression: scrunched up nose, brow furrowed with confusion. "Like she's grounded?"

A laugh bubbled out of Booth, surprising him. If only it were that simple. "Kinda, Parks."

"Well…how long does she have to stay inside?"

"Just for the next few months, until the trial. You…you know what that means?"

"Yeah," Parker replied solemnly. "That's when they get a jury to decide if she's in trouble or not."

"Right," Booth murmured.

For a few moments, silence hung between the two of them, a rarity on phone calls with Parker.

Finally, he asked in a soft, uncertain voice, "Dad?"

"Yeah, pal?"

"Could Bones go to jail?"

There was another long pause, as Booth found himself staring, from his position on the couch, at a photo of Bones, Parker and himself that was sitting on the couch table.

Angela had taken it last Christmas; he'd had Parker for the second half of the day, so the boy had been with them when they'd hosted Christmas dinner at Brennan's apartment. In the picture, Parks was wearing an elf hat he'd snatched off Sweets' head, and he was laughing. Parker was standing in front of Booth, who had an arm wrapped around his chest. Brennan was standing beside them, almost leaning against Booth, and Parker had one of her hands between both of his, her arm slung over his shoulder, as though he'd been dragging her somewhere before they stopped to take a photo.

All three of them were smiling, and all of a sudden Booth's vision blurred.

"Dad?" Parker prompted, nerves threaded through his voice.

"It's a possibility, buddy," Booth admitted, his voice rough. "But I'm not going to let that happen, alright? So you don't have to worry about that."

"Okay." The relief in Parker's voice was palpable, and that complete and utter trust nearly broke Booth. "Hey, Dad? Can I talk to Bones now?"

Booth paused for a moment, listening. He couldn't hear the shower running anymore, so he started toward the bedroom. "Sure you can, pal. Just a sec, okay?"

~(B*B)~

Brennan's morning routine was very efficient, but this morning she was lingering. She could hear the distant ringing of the phone every minute or so, as well as the thud of footsteps as Booth paced the apartment, dealing with them.

Brennan wasn't ready to think about the other side of those phone calls.

Suddenly, though, the door to the bathroom opened, and Booth met her gaze in the mirror's reflection, the phone cradled in his hand. "Parker wants to talk to you." Brennan's eyes went wide, and Booth hastily assured her, "I explained it. It's okay."

Nodding a little, she took the phone, and Booth disappeared through the bathroom door. "Hello?"

"Bones?"

"Hi, Parker," Brennan replied, her voice instantly warm. She closed her eyes as the boy's voice washed over her, reminding herself that Parker was one of the many, many reasons she'd done this: he needed his father. She couldn't have let Parker spend the rest of his life only seeing Booth during visiting hours of a state prison.

"I saw you and Dad's picture on the front of the newspaper." Brennan was quiet; this was news to her, although it wasn't surprising, considering the crowd outside the courthouse yesterday, not to mention the plethora of phone calls already this morning. She doubted she'd ever see that paper, and she was equal parts relieved and morbidly curious about how much they'd uncovered. "He told me about how you got in trouble." The boy hesitated, "Sorry they didn't believe that man was trying to hurt you."

Brennan almost smiled at the simplicity of the statement. "Thank you, Parker."

"That really sucks."

She laughed a little, proud that she now understood the term Parker used with frequency. "You're right, it does suck."

"And it sucks that you can't leave your apartment."

"Well, minor correction, I can't leave your father's apartment," she corrected automatically. "But it's not so bad." This reassurance came automatically; she'd used it with Booth several times last night, without even taking time to consider whether or not it was true.

"I can still come stay there, right?"

"Of course you can," Brennan assured him quickly. "I just have to stay inside."

"Oh," There was a frown in Parker's voice. "I guess that means we can't use your pool, huh, Bones?"

"You can," she told him without missing a beat. "Your dad still has the keys to my place, he can take you anytime. I just wouldn't be able to accompany you."

On the heels of this explanation was a long, contemplative pause from the other end of the phone. Then, Parker said decisively, "Nah, that's okay, Bones. We'll wait 'til you can come with us."

A smile tugged at Brennan's lips just as an unexpected lump began to form in her throat. "Thanks, Parker. That's really sweet."

"And don't worry, Bones, cause Dad says he won't let them put you in jail," Parker told him, his voice utterly confident. "He'll make sure everything's okay."

~(B*B)~

Booth leaned his forehead against the wall, his eyes closed. He lingered just outside the bathroom door, listening to Brennan talking easily to Parker.

Two months until the trial. Two months Brennan was on house arrest.

Two months of limbo, until they would find out the true, final consequences of what he had done.

And what Bones had done, a persistent voice in the back of his head reminded Both.

That incredible guilt, the guilt that had kept him awake all night, was all consuming. It felt like Booth had swallowed knives, and every word or every movement cut him fresh.

But the anger was there, too, and something wouldn't let Booth forget that he would never have let her do this if he'd been given a choice.

They battled for dominance, the guilt and the anger, and it seemed unfathomable to Booth that, sometime in the next two months, they'd have to pretend things were normal, that Brennan wasn't on trial for a murder Booth committed.

That he could lose her forever.

Booth didn't know how to begin talking about what had happened, what could still happen, what Bones had done. But the idea of talking about ordinary, mundane things as though the world had not caved in under their feet seemed equally unfathomable.

~(B*B)~

Brennan hung up the phone on Parker and let her eyes drift shut.

Two months.

She stared into the mirror, schooling her expression into one of absolute calm.

She couldn't let Booth see how weak and exposed she felt, knowing everything Sean Lowell had done to her would soon be public knowledge (if it wasn't already). She couldn't let him know she was dreading the trial, sitting behind a witness stand not as a forensic expert , but as both a defendant and, in a way, a victim. And she couldn't let him know that she dreaded the two months of house arrest.

Booth felt guilty enough. And Brennan knew him well: Booth's guilt could be powerful, and controlling.

She was afraid of what he might do if it got too strong.

The cordless phone, still in her hand, began to ring, startling Brennan out of her thoughts. She stared down at an unrecognizable number and instantly silenced the phone.

Booth had essentially demanded she not answer the phone the minute the first call from a reporter came that morning.

She emerged from the bathroom, finally, to find Booth standing in the kitchen, getting out what were unmistakably the makings of grilled cheese sandwiches.

"Hungry?" he asked, shooting her a half smile.

Brennan returned it, nodding vigorously. "Thanks."

"Parker alright?" Booth glanced up at her as Brennan settled herself on a barstool, watching him prepare lunch.

"Yes, he only wanted to assure he'd still be allowed to visit." Brennan paused, then added, "He even said you two wouldn't go to the pool without me."

"Sweet of him," Booth replied, smiling. For a moment, they were both quiet, then Booth's hands stilled over the bread and cheese, and he raised his head to look at Brennan. "Bones, listen, I…I want to make this as easy on you as possible."

She blinked at him, expression blank. "What? Lunch?"

"No, this…house arrest." Booth grimaced at the word even as his eyes flicked automatically to the ankle monitor. "Just…tell me what I can do to make it…okay."

Brennan looked at Booth, unsurprised at the strained expression on his face, and her eyes softened. "Booth, it is okay. Really." She stood up, coming around the bar and looping an arm around his neck. "Rationally speaking, considering the alternative…it was completely plausible that I could have been in jail pending trial."

Booth sighed, "Yeah, but Bones… I know how you hate being kept away from work."

She lifted her chin a fraction of an inch, determinedly unflappable. "That's true, but I expected that much. With or without house arrest…I couldn't work criminal cases as an accused murderer, Booth."

Hearing Bones refer to herself that way, with such nonchalance, sent a shudder crawling the length of Booth's spine. Silently, he returned to the grilled cheeses, his body tense.

Then, Brennan's arms slipped around his waist from behind, and Booth's body instinctually relaxed against her.

Without speaking, Brennan pressed her face against the back of Booth's neck, allowing herself a deep, calming breath before brushing her lips against his skin and then lifting them to his ear. "I'm glad it's here, Booth," she murmured simply. Booth's apartment was her favorite place in the entire world, and if she had to be confined for two months, Brennan couldn't imagine a more comforting prison.

~(B*B)~

Hours later, Brennan was stretched the length of the couch, her head pillowed comfortably on Booth's thigh. He was flicking through the television listlessly, one hand absently stroking a strand of Brennan's hair between his fingers.

Usually, Booth loved the quiet moments with Brennan, but today, he felt unsettled. They'd been quiet all through lunch; too quiet. He and Bones never ran out of things to talk about, but suddenly every potential conversation topic seemed either too heavy or too insignificant.

So when the knock at the door turned out to be Angela and Hodgins (and Allegra), Booth was unexpectedly relieved.

"Sweetie!" Passing her daughter off to Hodgins, Angela flew at her best friend, who had sat up on the couch when Booth went to answer the door. The look on Angela's face when she pulled Brennan into a hug suggested her best friend had been in jail for months rather than a single night. "Are you alright?"

Booth didn't miss the way Brennan's eyes darted to his own when she answered, "I'm fine. Really."

Hodgins walked into the living room, smiling at Brennan and speaking to his daughter. "You wanna see Aunt Bren, Al?" He passed the little girl, cooing amiably, to Brennan, who pulled her into her lap with a soft, automatic smile. Then, expression immediately serious, Hodgins met Brennan's eyes. "What can we do? For the trial."

"I'm not sure yet," Brennan told him. "The lawyer won't get the discovery for another week or so."

"Well, if you need character witnesses…we'll get up there." Hodgins jaw was set, eyes glinting, and for a moment Brennan just looked at him, understanding passing between them.

"Thank you," she said softly, grateful.

"And I saw that video tape," Angela added, fiercely. "And that day he was outside the diner, I saw him then, too. I can testify that there was a definite threat."

"Thanks," Brennan repeated, looking down at Alle as the baby curled her small fist around Brennan's finger. "Really."

"Bren?" Angela asked softly. "What exactly happened?"

Before she could stop herself, Brennan glanced hesitantly at Booth.

Suddenly, he realized what he could do, now that he wouldn't be leaving Brennan alone in the apartment. "Actually," Booth started, casually, already grabbing his jacket. "I was going to head over to Bones' place to pick up some stuff, if you guys are okay here." Booth suddenly found himself wondering if he'd imagined the flicker of relief that passed over Brennan's expression momentarily.

"I can help with that," Hodgins offered instantly, not because he thought he was genuinely needed, but merely because he sensed Angela needing to talk to Brennan alone.

Booth met Brennan's eyes. "That okay?"

"It's fine," she assured him. "Just grab anything you think I might need."

"Will do." He opened the door and froze halfway over the threshold, suddenly seized with the realization that Brennan wouldn't be able to do such a simple act for two months.

"You okay, man?" Hodgins' voice came from behind him, and numbly, Booth made himself move forward. Though he realized for the first time, that every step he took out the apartment in the next two months would make Booth hate himself, for being free when Bones wasn't.

~(B*B)~

"Was it horrible?" Angela asked quietly, her first question since the men had left a minute ago.

"Jail?" Brennan clarified. At Angela's nod, Brennan lowered her eyes, absently watching Allegra, reaching up and tangling tiny, sticky fingers in Brennan's hair. "Not at all. I was in a solitary cell, and it was only for one night." Brennan hesitated, then admitted, "The worst part of it was worrying about Booth."

"You would say that," Angela said, nearly smiling. The smile faded as quickly as it had come, though, and she repeated her earlier question, "What exactly happened?"

"Booth didn't tell you?"

"Just the bare minimum."

Brennan lifted her head, meeting Angela's open, concerned gaze.

For the first time, it was difficult for Brennan to form the lie.

In that fraction of a second, the desire to tell Angela the truth, to be able to speak freely with her best friend, gripped Brennan. On the heels of that thought, however, Brennan remembered Angela's earlier offer to testify, and the very real possibility that her statement on Sean's recent stalking could be necessary.

She couldn't ask Angela to lie on the stand.

"Sweetie?" Angela prompted, her voice gentle.

Brennan set her jaw, swallowing the truth, firmly deciding to look at this as an opportunity to rehearse her story.

"He came to the door. Booth was in the guest room. I knew I had to let Sean in, otherwise he would leave before we could prove he violated the restraining order. Booth's gun was hanging by the door." Brennan paused, mentally replaying her statement to the police, and added, "So were his handcuffs. I put them in my pocket, grabbed the gun, and opened the door."

Carefully, deliberately, Brennan told Angela about every instance Sean had tried to touch her, the moment he'd hit her, and her own efforts to disable him.

In her head, she could see it. She'd imagined it so many times, now, in an effort to make sure the forensics would back up the story, that Brennan could picture the alternate scenario nearly as clearly as the memory of what truly happened. Instead of Booth coming out just in time to see Sean hit her, to watch Brennan pin him against the table, she imagined Booth not emerging, imagined Sean breaking free of her hold. She imagined herself backing away of her own volition, rather than driven back by Booth. She imagined Sean instantly coming at her again, cutting out everything terrible and sickeningly familiar he'd said to her in front of Booth.

She imagined shooting him. Pulling the trigger, twice.

Angela's face was white when Brennan finished. "I don't understand," she said softly. "He attacked you, he…he came to your house."

"He wasn't armed. I let him in, and…they think I didn't have to shoot kill him. That I could have fought him off." Brennan paused, then added, "My lawyer says…the prosecution will be trying to prove I had a motive for revenge. Because of what he did to me." For the first time, Brennan's calm, dispassionate façade cracked, and she looked at Angela with a pained expression. "They're going to ask me about all of it."

Angela's dark eyes were glittering with sympathy. "I'm so sorry, Sweetie," she whispered thickly. Angela had seen how hard it had been for Brennan to even tell Booth the truth about what Sean Lowell had done to her; she couldn't imagine how difficult it would be to go through it all again, with the whole world watching.

"What are the papers saying?" Brennan asked her quietly, the question she hadn't allowed herself to ask Booth.

Angela was quiet for a moment. Finally, she stated carefully, "It's not too bad. They all mention the restraining order, and the fact that he broke it and showed up at your door. It's not making it sound like you went on a vengeful rampage or something."

With a dismissive shake of her head, Brennan clarified, "No, I don't mean that. What are they saying about…my connection to Sean Lowell?"

Angela winced slightly, reaching out and touching her fingers to the soft, wispy hair on her daughters head. Finally, she admitted, "Just the general background, Bren. They say he was your foster father and explain…why he went to prison."

Brennan's face had gone white, but she nodded stoically. "I'm not surprised." She paused, glancing automatically at the phone. "They've been calling here all morning."

"I guess with Booth in those photos, it wasn't hard for them to track you down, even here," Angela commented with a sigh. There was a pause, and then Angela said in a low voice, "I'm glad he can't hurt you anymore, Bren. But I'm sorry you're having to go through all this."

Brennan didn't reply for a long moment; her face was set in a contemplative expression. Finally, she said in a quiet voice, "Don't tell Booth, okay?"

Somewhat taken aback by the seemingly random directive, Angela frowned. "Don't tell Booth what, Sweetie?"

"That I'm…uncomfortable about everyone knowing," she explained. "I can't let him see that it bothers me so much."

Confusion was etched in Angela's features. "Bren, I…I'm sure Booth knows that. He saw how hard it was for you to tell him and…besides, you can talk to him, Sweetie. He'll want to know how you're feeling."

"No." The word was forceful and unyielding. "I don't want him to feel even more guilty, Ange. Not about that, not about the house arrest, the trial, anything."

"Why would he feel guilty?" For a moment, panic tightened around Brennan's lungs, her mouth going dry, acceptable explanations leaving her. Thankfully, though, Angela answered her own question, albeit erroneously. "Because he couldn't make the arrest stick? Or because he didn't hear Sean come to the apartment in time?"

"Both, I suppose," Brennan replied immediately, relief pulsing through her tone. "You know how Booth can be."

~(B*B)~

"What are you doing?"

Startled, Brennan glanced over her shoulder to find Booth standing over her, his jaw set, eyes glinting. He wasn't looking at her, but at her laptop's monitor.

"Why are you reading that?" Booth asked again, harsher than he intended.

Forcing her expression to remain impassive, Brennan said mildly, "I was just curious about what angle the media were pursuing in writing about what happened."

Reaching around her shoulder, Booth shut the laptop screen and the online article on Brennan's arraignment and alleged crime. "I don't want you to have to read that crap," he muttered, by way of explanation. He'd brought the laptop back from Brennan's apartment earlier that afternoon, a decision he was regretting.

"I assumed they'd find out about what he did to me, Booth," Brennan assured him softly. "It wasn't a surprise."

Booth lifted his head and looked at her, eyes pained. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine, Booth. Rationally speaking, it would have been revealed in the trial anyway."

Booth shook his head a little. He wondered if Brennan realized, even now, how brutal the trial was going to be. Since they were arguing self defense, it would be almost crucial that Brennan took the stand on her own behalf. And the prosecution would try to push her to the brink during a cross-examination, make her go through detailed memories of what Sean had done to her in hopes of breaking her, showing that the past still haunted her enough to make her seek revenge.

He had a sudden flash of Brennan's face in his office, eyes brimming with terror, tears streaming, as she handed him the file that would tell her story.

She hadn't been able to tell it herself, not even to him. And now she would have to do it in front of a room full of her friends, of strangers, of reporters.

And all Booth would be able to do was sit and bear witness.

~(B*B)~

Booth took the rest of the week off from work. He stayed in the apartment with Brennan as much as possible and it surprised both of them how small the apartment began to feel.

In normal circumstances, maybe, it would have hardly seemed like punishment to be confined to any space that included only the two of them. But that was Before. Before there were long, drawn out spaces between their words that were filled with guilt and resentment and worry. Before Brennan had stopped being able to tell Booth anything she was feeling, for fear that the truth would hurt Booth far more than holding it together would hurt Brennan.

But it was exhausting, pretending to be content, when in reality her fingers were itching to hold bone, when her mind was growing stagnant and purposeless. When she stared out windows and imagined the cool, crisp air on the other side of the glass.

Booth, though, was torturing himself enough. So Brennan plastered on a carefree smile and acted as though his concern was ridiculous and unheeded.

Every brief errand that sent Booth out of the apartment had him apologizing, his words tripping over each other as he assured her he wouldn't be long, even though, for the most part, she'd suggested the trip: a craving for food, a trip to the bank or grocery store or pharmacy, or occasionally back to Brennan's apartment for something they'd missed.

In short, Booth acted as though leaving the apartment when Brennan couldn't was a cardinal sin. One morning, she woke up to find him sliding on running shoes, and couldn't stop the brief flicker of longing that came over her expression.

They'd started running together months ago, several times a week, any morning when a case wasn't so pressing that they needed to be early to work. In that moment, Brennan's legs ached, she so badly wanted to be outside, moving, unrestricted.

As quickly as it had slipped, however, her calm, unaffected expression was back in place. Booth hadn't missed the change, however, and his own face was immediately stricken.

"Sorry," he muttered, heat rising to his cheeks as he violently jerked off his shoes.

"Booth, you're allowed to go for a run."

"I don't have to," he protested quickly.

Impatient, Brennan threw back the bed covers and stood, retrieving the shoes from where Booth had flung them and thrusting them at him. "Here," her voice was firm, though Booth just stared at his shoes, not making a move to take them.

For the next ten minutes they talked in circles, Brennan becoming increasingly annoyed as she insisted Booth leave the apartment.

"You have to stop acting like you're breaking a law every time you set foot outside," she told him impatiently. "You aren't the one on house arrest, Booth."

"But I should be," Booth reminded her hotly, his guilt twisting, seamlessly, into something more akin to anger. "You do remember that, don't you?"

"Of course," Brennan retorted dismissively. "But it's irrelevant." She sighed, running a hand through her hair, frustrated. "Booth, I don't mind. Really. I want you to be able to go jogging if you want to go jogging." Again, she held out his shoes. "Please. I'll get started on breakfast."

Finally, because it seemed to be what she wanted, Booth acquiesced. He left the apartment, running shoes back on his feet, and took off.

It had been an unusually lengthy break since his last run, but Booth showed himself no mercy. He ran faster and further than his usual route. He ran without ceasing. He ran until his muscles were crying out in agony, until his lungs ached, his throat stinging from the cold, sharp air.

He ran like he was punishing himself.

~(B*B)~

A week after the arraignment, the night before Booth was supposed to go back to work (though no one had called to confirm this, and Booth was toying with the idea of just picking up paperwork and coming back home), there was a knock on the door of the apartment.

As soon as he saw the person standing on the other side, a small, hot ball of fury began to form in Booth's chest, automatically, with no real explanation.

"Where is she?" Max asked instantly. He was holding a well known, nationally circulated magazine in his hand, the pages folded back to an article on Brennan.

With a force that surprised even Booth, he pulled the magazine from Max's hand and tossed it into the hallway. The heat in his chest flared, though Booth couldn't have explained why the mere sight of Brennan's dad caused such a reaction.

"Dad?" Brennan's voice, surprised, sounded from behind them, and without waiting for further invitation, Max slid past Booth and headed into the living room, toward his daughter.

Max hugged his daughter, wordlessly, and over her father's shoulder, Brennan met Booth's eyes with a panicked gaze.

"Why did no one tell me?" Max demanded as soon as he pulled away, glancing between Booth and Brennan, a look in his eyes that was almost accusatory.

The coal pit of rage in Booth's chest burned hotter. "We've been a little preoccupied, Max," he gritted out. "Letting you know wasn't really first priority."

Max shook his head impatiently. "I meant when this bastard first got released , when all this started. You know I would have taken care of it."

Brennan winced slightly, her usual reaction when he father blithely referred to killing someone, but Booth barely noticed. He was on his feet, his fury bubbling over, the reason for it suddenly clear as he loomed over Max. "Oh, really, Max? You would have taken care of it? Now, twenty years after the fact, you want to take care of her? Just swoop back in and make it go away?" Booth narrowed his eyes, his voice shaking with anger as he bit out, "If you'd have taken care of her when you should have, he never would have laid a hand on her!"

Booth's chest was heaving, and for a long moment, silence buzzed around them, no one moving, the weight of Booth's words, the truth no one wanted to say, bearing down on them. Then, slowly and deliberately, Max stood, body tense, his eyes nearly black with rage. For just a moment, Booth could clearly see how the generally affable ex-con could kill a man.

Then, Max visibly wilted in front of them. His entire face fell, eyes drifting shut; when they opened, the heat was gone, replaced with bruised and broken regret. "I had no idea," Max whispered, his voice barely audible. He turned to his daughter then, gaze wide and beseeching. "Honey, I don't…I don't know what I can say."

Booth, too, turned to look at Brennan, and his heart clenched.

Brennan was visibly shutting down, curling into herself; Booth's anger turned instantly inward. He shouldn't have brought it up, no matter how much it bothered him that Max could storm in here and hide his own guilt.

He knew Brennan had never told her father, or her brother, anything about her experiences in foster care. It wasn't all about sparing them the burden; it was about protecting herself, a self preservation against fixating on their abandonment, on all the consequences they'd never considered. It was about pretending they had no part in what happened to her.

Max sat down on the couch next to Brennan, resting a hand on her thigh. The moment he touched her, Brennan closed her eyes, blocking out the sorrow on her father's face. "Tempe, if I'd have known…"

"Dad. It hardly matters now. It's over. " Brennan's voice was calm and dismissive, but Booth could hear the barest note of pleading underneath it all.

"No," Max replied vehemently. "Booth's right. There's no excuse I…I put you in that situation." Max sighed, his fingers tiredly working at his temples. "It's just we never imagined…even when we heard Russ had left-"

At that, Brennan's eyes flew open, surprise and hurt clouding her expression before she could hide it. "How did you know that?"

"Your mother and I, we had a friend watching you kids, someone we trusted who could get in touch with us…but then he had to clear out, too, got too dangerous, and we lost our updates after a few months."

Brennan's eyes found Booth's, a strange sort of panic in her gaze. Booth understood, suddenly, that Brennan had clung to an assumption: that her parents, as far as they knew, were simply leaving her with her older brother.

Not in foster care. Not with strangers.

Not with a man who beat and raped her.

Max was staring at Brennan, desperate, waiting for her response. "Honey?"

Booth forced himself to speak, "Max, maybe you should-"

"I don't want to talk about this now," Brennan cut in suddenly, her voice resolutely steady. "It was a long time ago. It has no bearing on anything that's happening now, and…and there's no reason to discuss it."

"Okay," Booth said softly, before Max could protest. He sat down on her other side, silently reaching out and threading their fingers together, shooting Max a warning look over Brennan's head.

Max stared him down for a moment, then gave an imperceptible nod. Clearing his throat, he changed the subject, "So. Your lawyer's good, right?"

~(B*B)~

Later that night, though, when they could hear Max snoring through the walls from Parker's bedroom, Booth slipped behind Brennan in front of the bathroom sink, his arms going around his waist.

"I'm sorry about earlier."

Brennan's eyes met his in the reflection of the mirror, genuine confusion on her face. "Why are you sorry?"

"For bringing up all that stuff…yelling at your father." Booth sighed, his stomach twisting in self-deprecation. "I have no business accusing him of anything. Look at what I'm putting you through, right now-"

With a swiftness that startled him, Brennan whirled to face Booth. "Don't." The protest was fierce and forceful. "Don't even attempt to draw a correlation. I chose this."

"I know," Booth replied softly, regret tingeing his words.

Brennan sighed. "It's foolish but…it was an effect I hadn't considered. That he and Russ would find out what happened…I assumed, of course, there would be media attention I just…never considered specific implications."

Booth merely nodded, but his gut had twisted so tight he couldn't breathe.

It was funny how the guilt, even though it never went away, could intensify and drown him in so many different moments. The consequences of this thing, the many ways it was hurting her, were endless and complicated, threads that kept unraveling, and it killed Booth that he couldn't begin to fix them all.

He wanted to say that it was good that they knew, in a way. Tonight, that surging rush of anger toward Max had proved that Booth could never reconcile what he (and Russ) had done to Brennan. Especially since he'd now knew the truth about what she'd been through, what Sean Lowell had done to her…no one could possibly argue it had been for her own good.

But they shouldn't have found out like this. Not from the media, not before Brennan was ready, not in a way that made it harder on her.

So Booth said none of that; he merely rested his chin on her shoulder and unconsciously tightening his grip on her as Brennan turned back to the mirror. "I'm sorry," he muttered again.

"Don't," Brennan told him, the word gentle this time. She had remembered herself, and immediately forced rationale into her voice, banishing emotion. "It was my own oversight. But it wouldn't have changed what I did, Booth, I just…would have been better prepared."

"You never would have told him." It wasn't a question.

"Of course not," Brennan replied, shaking her head as though the very idea was ludicrous. "What would that have accomplished?" Her impassive expression faltered. "Though I never…I never even considered that he and my mother might have been watching us. That they knew Russ left and still…" She clamped her lips shut, inwardly berating herself.

"…and still stayed away," Booth finished for her, his voice soft. He brushed his lips against her hairline, comforting. Right now, Booth couldn't bring himself to defend any member of her family. "You deserved better than that. Than them."

She leaned against him, grateful, but a voice in the back of Booth's head couldn't help but add that she deserved better than what he'd done, too.

~(B*B)~

Since Sean Lowell was first released from prison, Brennan had been dreaming in memories.

She'd spent her entire adult life distancing, trying to repress everything about the months she'd lived with Sean Lowell. She made rational, deliberate decisions not to think about it, and it certainly wasn't something she talked about.

Yet ever since he'd reentered her life, Brennan would wake up with recollections bursting in front of her eyes, feeling as though she'd just relived a moment.

That's all they were, those dreams: random moments, from that time in her life, playing out with little exaggeration or discrepancies from reality.

Since he'd died, the dreams hadn't stopped. She'd gone from being terrified that history might repeat itself, in some manner, to being afraid of recounting that history for all to see, of having all those memories she'd tried to repress dragged on display.

On the night her father stayed over, falling asleep on the heels of everything Max had revealed, Brennan dreamed memories from the end of it all, and she woke up remembering things she hadn't thought about in years.

She'd found out, later, that she'd been unconscious, barely clothed and tied to her bed when the police came. But the first thing she remembered was waking up in the ER, faces looming above her, lights flashing in her eyes.

Brennan wished she'd stayed unconscious, just so she'd never be able to remember how they knew without asking to do a pelvic exam, from the blood staining her legs. How they'd shined a light all over her body, looking for evidence. How the few bits of clothes she was wearing were bagged. How they'd taken photographs.

How she started panicking the moment they tried to guide her legs apart, into stirrups. How she'd thrashed and kicked and started whimpering, instinctual and childlike, "I want my mom, I want my mom, I want my mom!"

How a sweet, well-meaning nurse who had just entered the room had taken her hand and told her, "I'm sure she's on her way, honey", before whispering to the doctor to ask if Brennan's parents had been called.

How this, more than anything, was what started Brennan sobbing, even as the doctor whispered something in the nurse's ear that made the woman's entire face soften with sympathy.

Brennan woke up, gasping, with that image in her head, the smell of the hospital room in curling in her nostrils, a years old sob rounding in her throat, and the brief, childish desire for her mother overwhelming her.

Her breathing harsh, Brennan moved a little closer to Booth on the bed, chest heaving. There were tears, slick on her face and mingling with sweat, and Brennan slid against Booth's side, careful not to wake him; the closeness was the only comfort she could allow herself these days.

Brennan knew, intellectually, that her father knowing the truth made no difference. Just like it made no difference that he and her mother had known, back then, that she was in foster care. What had happened to her in the past was over, and it was unchanging.

Sean Lowell was dead. It was over in a way it had never been, even during his years in prison. Yet recalling the nights she'd lain awake, wishing for her dad to reappear and rescue her, or pretend that her mother could somehow walk into the hospital and fold Brennan into her arms…those recollections suddenly stung fresh.

But like the rest of it, she couldn't tell Booth. All of this, Max's revelations…it was because of the trial. So Booth would think it was his fault.

After years and years of guarding her emotions and rarely discussing them, it was surprising to Brennan how hard it was to pretend with Booth.

~(B*B)~

Booth knew what she was doing.

For the first week and a half on house arrest, Brennan was unflappable. He knew how much she hated purposelessness and empty time, yet by all appearances, Brennan was undeterred by her limitations in the apartment.

His apologies and sympathies were met with dismissals that they were unnecessary. His questions about whether she needed anything to make the house arrest easier were met with insistences that it wasn't especially difficult. Brennan even endured Max's visit with a stoic expression and repeated statements that it didn't bother her, in spite of the raw, pained expression on her face that Booth wouldn't be forgetting any time soon.

But she wasn't fooling Booth, in spite of her best attempts.

So he did what he could, without being asked.

The day after his guilt ridden run, Booth moved pieces of a dissembled treadmill up to his apartment (he'd borrowed it from the gym in Hodgins) and put it together for her. He brought Parker over for a weekend visit, hoping the boy would inject some life into the apartment. He took it upon himself, the morning after Max's arrival, to pull the older man aside and highly recommended he not stay much longer. He called Alex nearly every day, asking if the prosecution had sent the discovery yet, knowing that a meeting with the lawyer, no matter what news it brought, would mean a sanctioned trip out of the apartment.

In the days after Max's single night with them, Brennan was quieter, a bit withdrawn. Though she admitted to no distress, it was enough for Booth to delay his return to work for a few more days, only stopping by the Hoover for some paperwork on his way back from picking up diner takeout.

Eventually, though, Booth had to go back to work. He was surly and short with everyone there, and for the most part, colleagues gave him his space, other than the few who sidled up to him in the hallways to let him know that they thought the arrest was bullshit.

He was guilty and distracted the whole first day back, thinking of Brennan, on her own in the apartment with empty hours stretching in front of her. Angela, Cam and Hodgins were picking up takeout and going to the apartment to eat with Brennan on their lunch break, so Booth worked through lunch to make up for lost time.

Still, it was a relief to step through the door of the apartment. "Hey, Bones? I brought you something."

She looked up from her place on the couch. She was dressed in knit shorts and one of Booth's faded flannel shirts over a tank top; her legs were stretched the length of the couch, her laptop balanced on her thighs.

Brennan smiled at him, but Booth didn't miss the dull, glazed look in her eyes before they landed on him. "You what?"

Kicking his shoes off, Booth approached the couch, sitting down as Brennan automatically curled her legs to make room for him. Then, smiling hopefully, he handed her the box tucked under his arms. "Open it."

Looking intrigued, Brennan pried open the lid, and then brushed aside bits of cotton and newspaper to reveal fifty or so fragments of bone, each labeled with a tiny number, drawn in India ink, that corresponded to an accompanying sheet of paper, marking the gravesite and date of discovery.

Brennan's fingers brushed over the fragments, sifting through them, and when she lifted her face, her eyes were gleaming, lips curled into a smile. "You brought me a skull?"

Grinning, Booth nodded. "Yeah. And the stuff you need to assemble it…Cam told me what to get. And don't worry, it's not forensics, it's for the museum. He's from the Dark Ages, apparently."

"She," Brennan corrected automatically, even as she moved the box to the coffee table so she could hug Booth, practically crawling on his lap on the narrow couch.

Booth pulled her closer, his own smile unfurling easily as he recognized the genuine happiness dancing in Brennan's eyes, rather than the poor imitation she'd been wearing for his benefit lately. "You can tell that, just from those pieces?" he murmured against her ear, though of course Booth wasn't surprised.

"Pieces of the mandible," she explained, drawing back so she could kiss him softly. "Thank you, Booth."

"Thought you might like something to do," he explained; Brennan was already turning her attention back to the box of bones, and Booth stood from the couch. "I'll bring in the rest of the stuff."

When he came back, Brennan was standing over the kitchen table, having already separated the bones into six lines and was laying pieces of them out, end to end. He handed her Durofix glue, a pair of gloves, and something Cam had called plasticine pillars, which would support pieces of the skull while she put it together.

Brennan smiled at him as he handed over the items, and Booth pulled up a chair, close to the table, and watched her work.

He'd never really watched this process solely to watch it; it was always with the impatient need for information, a weapon or an ID or a cause of death.

Now, he just let himself absorb the details. The focused, intent look in Brennan's eyes as she studied the minute fragments, or the grace and dexterity of her fingers as she meticulously fit the smallest of pieces together.

Over the next hour, Brennan assembled the fragments like some three dimensional jigsaw puzzle, a skull taking shape from what, to Booth's eyes, had been indistinguishable bits.

She glanced up after awhile, and smiled at the awestruck expression on his face. "What? You've seen me do this many times, Booth."

"I know," he said simply, eyes soft as he watched her, though a pang hit him somewhere in the chest as he realized how much she must be missing things like this.

Soon, Brennan carefully sat the skull on the pillars, having fit together the various sections she'd reassembled. "It just has to dry now."

For a moment, Booth stared into the hollow, empty eyes of the skull.

"Booth?"

At Brennan's voice, he looked up.

She gave him a small smile. "Thank you. It was…nice. Having something like this to do."

He smiled back; this was the closest Brennan had come to admitting any issues with the house arrest.

As quickly as she said it though, Brennan's face froze, and she hastily added, "Although a break hasn't been unwelcome, either."

Booth's smile wilted slightly, but he forced his tone to remain light as he replied, "Well, I'm glad you liked it, Bones. I told Cam to look into some other stuff I can bring you to work on."

And he did; most days, for the rest of that second week of house arrest, Booth came back with some sort of project from Brennan, hoping to give her a few hours of purpose. He brought home DVDs and joked that he was using this opportunity to educate her in the area of pop culture. He took as many lunch breaks as he could back at the apartment, or made sure that some other member of the team went by to visit.

~(B*B)~

Though she was trying to pretend it was no big deal, Brennan couldn't wait; she outpaced Booth on the stairs of his apartment building and burst outside before him, a noise of involuntary relief drawing itself out of her throat as the cold air rushed over her.

Brennan closed her eyes, drawing in deep, greedy breaths. She stretched her spine, a tension she hadn't been aware of draining from her body, as though she'd been stunting herself over the past two weeks in the apartment.

After a moment, Brennan felt Booth's hand rest lightly on her back. He glanced down at her, an understanding smile playing on his lips. All he said, though, was, "Nice out."

Brennan nodded in agreement, though the air had the hard, biting quality that indicated fall was rapidly segueing into winter.

Booth watched her for a moment, wondering if Brennan was aware at how deeply she was breathing, how her eyes were pools of pure relief. Then, reluctantly, he tangled his fingers in hers and murmured, "We should get going."

Without protest, Brennan nodded, and together they walked to the car, on their way to Alex Bennett's law office, the red light on Brennan's ankle monitor conspicuously absent for the occasion.

They were quiet on the drive over; at one point, Booth cut his eyes at Brennan, staring avidly out the window, watching the world speed by, reveling in the movement of the car. Without saying a word, he rolled down the windows on both sides, letting cool air rush into the vehicle.

When they got to Alex's office, Booth lingered in the trunk of the car as he gathered the box he'd put there earlier this morning, containing all the evidence Alex had asked them to bring on Sean Lowell's recent stalking. He could hear the crunch of Brennan's shoes on the parking lot gravel as she paced in front of the car.

After a moment of this, she came up beside him, her cheeks pink with pleasure and cold. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah, just getting the stuff organized." He smiled innocently as he lifted the box, just as organized as it had been when he first put it in the car. "You okay?"

Brennan nodded vigorously, and Booth couldn't help but grin at her. The novelty of leaving the apartment had eclipsed any nerves over what the discovery might reveal.

It was with only minimal reluctance that Brennan fell into step with Booth and headed inside Alex's office; it was nice just to walk, anywhere that wasn't the distance from the bedroom to the kitchen to the living room in Booth's apartment.

Alex's receptionist waved them right inside her office, promising the lawyer would be in momentarily. Booth and Brennan sat down in the two leather chairs across from Alex's desk, waiting for her to arrive, and Booth set the box that contained surveillance tapes, cards, flowers, fingerprint test results, Sean's criminal file, and the entirety of his letters from prison on the floor beside his chair.

They'd barely been inside a minute when the door opened and Alex breezed in, holding a cup of coffee. "Agent Booth, Dr. Brennan." Booth watched her eyes sweep over Brennan, brow furrowing in slight concern. Already Brennan had lost weight, and in the bright light of day Booth had noticed she looked paler than usual, a little less healthy. "How are you doing, Dr. Brennan?"

The note of concern was clear in Alex's voice, but Brennan's tone was mild as she replied, "Fine, thank you. And you don't have to use the Dr…or the Agent title." Her eyes flitted involuntarily to the box at Booth's feet. "We'll be getting fairly familiar throughout this case, I imagine."

Alex lips twitched into a grin. "Just familiar enough to use last names, huh?"

"Everyone else does, pretty much." Booth said, trying to keep the conversation, and his tone, light. But he was already staring at the thick folder in Alex's hand.

"Then I can do that," Alex agreed amiably. Her eyes fell again on Brennan, who, unlike Booth, didn't seem to be too preoccupied with the purpose of the meeting. Her gaze was fixed out the window, a longing expression in her eyes.

Noticing what had Brennan's attention, Alex hesitated only briefly, then offered casually, "It's sunny out, and I've been stuck in the office all morning…would you guys mind meeting outside?"

Brennan nodded enthusiastically, already standing. "That would be fine."

Booth leveled his gaze with Alex's, his gratitude palpable, and she nodded slightly before picking up the file, pulling on a coat and leading the two of them out of the building.

There was a section of several concrete picnic tables in a tiny courtyard outside, and they sat down at one, Booth and Brennan one side, Alex on the other. The lawyer arched an eyebrow in their direction as she extended the folder. "I'm guessing you two want to go over all this without me walking you through it?"

Booth nodded gratefully, practically snatching the thick folder from her hand as he pushed his own box of evidence toward her. "You look through this while we take a look at the discovery?"

Alex nodded, agreeable. "But then we're going to need to come together and discuss it. Sound good?"

Again, Booth nodded, placing the folder in front of himself and Brennan, who for the first time seemed focused on the task at hand. She immediately began sifting through the papers, predictably pulling out the Medical Examiners autopsy report and the forensic analysis papers, leaving Booth with the rest.

Brennan's eyes moved avidly over the information, treating each piece of evidence as a variable, playing out the scenario in her mind like some mental recreation on the Angelator.

She'd been careful, and thorough, with her statement, but her insides went weak with relief as she stared as the autopsy report that, in black and white, scientifically corroborated her story.

Each injury she'd given him had left its mark. There was trauma on his proximal phalanges, evidence that he'd struck her (though the photograph of her face, black and blue and swollen, had been a strong indicator of that fact). The struggle was clear, as was the fact it had occurred directly premortem, as the blood from Sean's bruises had just begun to rise to his skin's surface. There was evidence to support her claim that he was moving forward, toward her, when the shots were fired.

The autopsy report also showed that the two shots had been fired one after the other, and the second was the cause of death. The first bullet had lodged in the rib cage, while the second had punctured his lung in both entry and exit.

Sean Lowell had taken several minutes to die. He had been shot from a range of about seven feet. He had been moving forward.

Exhaling slowly, relief pulsing through her, Brennan flipped to the forensic report.

Both she and Booth's fingerprints were on the gun, which would be expected, as the gun belonged to him. Their fingerprints were all over the butt and barrel of the gun, but only Brennan's had been found conclusively on the trigger.

Blood spatter pattern analysis further confirmed that Sean had been standing, and moving, before collapsing with the shot. Gunpowder residue had been found on his clothing.

When Brennan had read everything in front of her, she flipped back to the ME's report and began to go over it again, applying it to what she'd told the police, to the partially fictitious scenario playing out in her head, oblivious to Booth or Alex.

Meanwhile, inches away, Booth's stomach was in knots as he attempted to absorb the rest of the files.

He began by going through the transcripts from Detective Kinley's interviews. His and Brennan's were first, and though he was relieved to see that nothing she said contradicted his own story, Booth winced as he ran his eyes over the latter half of his interview, when Kinley had grilled him on the times Brennan had gotten physically violent with suspects, any time she had to defend herself.

There were other interviews, too, pages of them. Kinley had interviewed Lowell's parole officer, whose dislike of Booth shown through as he insisted that he'd had no reason to think Sean had been in contact with his victim before the night of his death, how Booth had withheld his suspicions until the arrest attempt, and how the arrest attempt itself had been seemingly groundless.

That point had only been reinforced by Christina Shaw, Lowell's lawyer, who seemed in full defense mode in spite of her clients demise, reiterating the lack of grounds for arrest and the lack of evidence connecting her client to the other instances of stalking, as well as a dig at Booth's method of arrest.

Feeling sick to his stomach, Booth continued. The polie officers he'd dealt with had given their own statements, and though they weren't as damaging, Booth could imagine what the prosecution could do with the fact that he'd made it clear that his police report was a formality…make it seem like he hadn't wanted their involvement because there was a lack of evidence connecting Sean. They also reported the fact that their search of Sean's apartment had turned up no evidence of stalking.

Booth knew the crux of Alex's defense would mean proving that, even before he showed up at her apartment in the middle of the night, Brennan had every reason to believe Sean Lowell was a threat to her life. That his appearance at her apartment that night was merely a confirmation of what had been building ever since he got out of prison.

And there was so much terrifying evidence of the stalking. But, as had been the problem for weeks, no definitive way beyond pure logic to prove Sean Lowell was behind it.

The prosecution would be looking to discredit Brennan, and to downplay the idea of the threat. They could even suggest that she'd orchestrated the evidence herself, merely to have an excuse to seek revenge for what he'd done to her.

As Booth continued, he came to an interview with a name he didn't recognize. As his eyes roved over the statements, he felt his throat tighten. "Who the hell is Holly Witherspoon?"

Alex glanced up from one of Sean's letters, her expression mild. "Don't worry, she's not a reliable witness."

"But who the hell is she?"

The panic in his tone seemed to strike something in Brennan, who looked up from the forensic reports for the first time since they'd been outside.

"Sean's fiancee," Alex answered. At Booth and Brennan's identical expression of surprise, she explained, "Supposedly. According to her, they started seeing each other while he was in prison."

"But…" Booth's eyes were glowing with fury, his hands clenched around the paper. "But when I interrogated him, he said he moved back here to reconcile with his wife."

"Which is exactly why we can easily discredit their relationship," Alex told him firmly. "There are records confirming that she visited and wrote to Sean frequently in prison…but he's hardly around to confirm that they were getting married. Last we heard from him, he was trying to reconcile with his wife." This logic seemed to satisfy Brennan, who lowered her eyes back to the papers in front of her without even glancing at Holly Witherspoon's interview. Alex, though, hesitated. "Except…"

"Except?" Booth demanded.

"No one's been able to track down the wife, Annie Lowell, yet. Even though she's supposedly living in DC." Booth's face hardened, panic swirling in his eyes. Alex softened her tone, "Booth, look, there is a very good chance she's just one of those insane women who fall in love with inmates…Lowell served time with her father, and they met when she was visiting him." Alex lifted a stack of Sean's letters to Brennan and said dryly, "We've already got evidence that directly disputes one of her most emphatic statements…that Lowell hasn't thought of Brennan in years."

At that, Brennan looked up, her eyebrows drawing together. "What does this woman say exactly?"

Booth met her eyes, grimacing. "She tries to make it seem like Sean couldn't have been following you, because she was with him when some of the tape was filmed. Or that he never mentions you, and was supposed to be meeting her at the diner the day he got arrested. Which makes it seem like that's why he was outside."

Fear flickered briefly in Brennan's eyes, but Alex merely rolled her own. "Sure, but notice how conveniently vague she was in every instance. Any date Kinley asked her, she immediately said Sean was with her…only her. She didn't even wait to hear a time. When Kinley asked about the day Sean was murdered, she nearly said she was with him all day again…had to backtrack to clarify the she was with him until he went to Brennan's…although she couldn't seem to come up with a good reason for his little visit."

Booth stared down at the transcript, unconvinced.

"I wouldn't be surprised if Chris Gold declines to put her on his witness list," Alex stated wryly. "And if does, lucky us, because I could drive a train through the holes in her story." She looked Booth, then Brennan in the eyes, serious. "Relax."

Brennan nodded, returning to her perusing of the same report again and again, and Booth tried to swallow his uncertainty as he pushed the interview transcripts aside.

Only to find himself facing a folder of Brennan's criminal record.

"How did they get these?" he demanded, causing Brennan and Alex to look up, startled.

"An early subpoena," Alex told him. "Gold's being proactive, apparently."

Brennan glanced over, realizing what the folder was, and shrugged. "Booth, we assumed these would be brought up."

Her assault charges, and her arrest for shooting an unarmed man in the leg, which brought with them the information that she was trained in three times of martial arts, a registered marksman with the NRDC, and everything else Booth had learned years ago, when she was, yet again, arrested for murder in New Orleans.

Alex met Brennan's eyes. "I can submit a motion to have them ruled out as evidence, but I honestly doubt the judge will go for it." Brennan nodded slightly, and Alex continued, "But they're not necessarily against our case…it proves that you've been in situations of physical threat before, but never killed when it wasn't absolutely necessary."

"Or the prosecution will say that it shows she has violent tendencies, and that she had more reason to hate Sean than the others," Booth muttered, his eyes dark. Fear was choking him; this was honestly worse than he'd thought, but he wasn't sure why he felt the need to voice every concern, why he was trying to show Brennan the flaws in her great plan.

Under the table, Brennan laid a hand on his thigh, gentle and calming. Alex, though, regarded Booth with obvious annoyance.

"They probably will," she agreed coolly. "But you forget, they're the ones with the burden of proof. And, as I've said, this case is particularly tough on proof."

"Booth, it's alright," Brennan murmured. As Booth watched, she reached out toward his discarded stack of police interviews, pulling out only her own to reread, presumably double checking that it squared with the forensic facts.

Brennan seemed uninterested in the rest of the evidence against her.

His heart pounding dully in his chest, Booth turned to the next folder in the stacker. It was a copy of Sean's criminal records, the same one Brennan had brought him weeks ago, somehow complete with a duplicate tape. This explained why Alex had yet to take a look at the one in the box Booth provided.

For a moment, he was confused as to why this, this recollection of Sean's horror, was somehow useful to the prosecution. Then, he remembered: their entire case was built on Brennan's need for revenge. And they would use this information to prove it…most likely through Brennan's own testimony, the thought of which never failed to make Booth feel dizzy and nauseous with regret.

He shoved the folder aside, far too familiar with its contents, and found himself staring at another file stamped with Brennan's name; this time, though, it was the file from her time in the system. A sound clawed its way out of his throat.

"They subpoenaed that, too," Alex explained, seeing what he was holding. Brennan, too, looked at the folder, and her eyes widened, the intensely focused expression on her face truly cracking for the first time since they sat down.

Without thinking, Brennan jerked the folder away from him, curling it protectively against her chest. There was more than Sean Lowell in there; though the eight months in his home had been inarguably her low point in the system, but that didn't mean it was the single instance of horror or humiliation.

Booth blinked at her, taken aback by the swift movement. Brennan's hands tightened around the file, and for a moment, Alex's gaze flitted between the two of them. After a pause, she deliberately set down the card in her hand. "Why don't we take break from all this and talk?"

Brennan nodded so gratefully that the protests rising in Booth's throat instantly dissolved. Clumsily they piled the stacks and folders of papers together, and turned to face Alex like dutiful school children awaiting instruction.

"Alright," Alex said, her voice serious. "It's not bad." Booth made a skeptical sound, but Brennan nodded, as though she agreed. "None of the interviews corroborate Sean's stalking, but that doesn't matter. You've admitted yourselves there was nothing but circumstantial evidence…and it's a hell of a lot of circumstantial evidence. Besides, the interviews make Agent Booth look the one with anger issues, no offense."

Booth felt heat rise to his cheeks, and Brennan stole a quick look at him that seemed to say You see? He couldn't help a flash of annoyance; they were literally surrounded by evidence against her, evidence that would be used to discredit her, and still she thought she had been right.

"I'd like to talk to a few of these people myself…I know Christina Shaw vaguely, and she's in full lawyer mode here. It's like someone forgot to tell her her client's dead, and she doesn't need to defend him anymore. That parole officer's got a chip on his shoulder, too, so he may be persuaded to be a little more candid than he was with our esteemed detective.

"And as for this…" Alex patted the box Booth had brought. "It makes a strong case. The sign off, in Sean's letters…you're right, the wording is very distinctive, not to mention completely consistent."

"Won't they just say Bones could have wrote them herself?" The question was out before Booth could stop it. "Since she knew his sign off?"

Alex gave him a measured glance. "They could. But they'd be hard pressed to argue that she took the video of herself…it's not a fixed surveillance; there are several instances of camera movement, even if it's just a slight point of view adjustment or zoom...someone was handling the camera. And both of you appear onscreen, together, so that rules you out."

Without waiting for a response, Alex glanced down at the yellow legal pad in front of her. "Now…we'll be getting Gold's witness list soon, so that'll give us even more idea of what he might have to work with. As for our witnesses, we'll be putting both of you on the stand, obviously. Is there anyone else who might be able to talk about Sean's stalking?"

"Angela," Brennan replied instantly, remembering the conversation with her and Hodgins the day after the arraignment. "She's the one who converted the tape, before I even knew what was on it. And she was with me when Booth arrested Sean at the diner."

"Angela…?"

"Montenegro. She's Bones' best friend. And she works with us," Booth supplied, his voice dull and mechanical.

"Okay, great. Now we could do with a flawless character witness or two…"

"Hodgins already offered," Booth reminded her.

"Dr. Jack Hodgins," Brennan told Alex. "Angela's husband, he works with us, too…I've worked him the longest of anyone at the lab."

"You could also ask Cam, she's great on the stand…Dr. Saroyan, she's head of forensics…"

Alex nodded, making notes as they talked. "Alright. I'm assuming the prosecution is going to want you to meet with a state psychiatrist for evaluation, so we'll want our own private one as well-"

"No," Brennan countered immediately, with such vehemence that Alex looked up, raising her eyebrows in question.

"Bones doesn't like psychology," Booth explained hastily. "She thinks it's a waste of time."

To his surprise, Alex smirked. "I'm a little inclined to agree with you in this case. The state psychiatrist will say what they need him to say, and ours will say what we need them to say…they'll cancel each other out, essentially. But it's still considered procedure."

Booth could see from the frown on Brennan's face that she wasn't exactly looking forward to such procedure. He squeezed her hand. "What about Sweets, Bones? For our side…you talk to Sweets all the time."

"Sweets is…?"

"Dr. Sweets, he was our therapist for partners therapy, and he wrote a book…anyway, he's mainly just a team profiler now."

Alex was shaking her head slightly. "We may not want anyone you have any sort of personal relationship with…don't want to give Gold a reason to discredit him. We'll get someone else." Glancing at Brennan, Alex added, "I'm sure we can make it as painless as possible."

Brennan nodded, stoic. "Thank you."

Alex drew a long, cleansing breath, pulling her coat tighter around her. "Listen. I feel good about this case. We've got a good chance, and I honestly believe that." She swept a hand at the table, covered in papers and boxes and files. "I think this is enough to go over right now…I've got investigators pursuing some avenues, checking up on some of the prosecutions leads. When we get witness lists and more evidentiary hearings…we'll have even more to go on. But so far, I don't think there's anything too damaging here."

Brennan and Alex stood as Booth finished gathering the papers. "Thank you. I can appreciate your logic."

Alex grinned, shaking Brennan's hand. "Thanks. I'm getting the feeling that's a pretty high compliment from you?"

Booth glanced up. "Can we get copies of these documents?"

To his surprise, Alex smirked at him. "You're holding the copies. Believe it or not, I'm getting an idea of what it's like working with people in law enforcement. I figured you'd want your own. Though I'm going to have hold on to these." She lifted the box, repacked with everything Booth had brought, and then shook his hand, speaking to both of them as she promised, "I'll be in touch. Take care."

~(B*B)~

Booth was nearly silent the whole drive home, even as Brennan intently recited the facts from the forensic report and autopsy, explaining how neatly they corroborated her story, as well as a self defense ruling.

He never responded, but after awhile it seemed as though Brennan was repeating the scenario for herself as much as for him; she was methodical in talking through her statement, inserting bits of forensic evidence, as if anyone had ever considered the fact that she might be lying.

Of course they wouldn't. Because, as Booth had seen, there was plenty of reason for them to believe Brennan did it.

Brennan was so preoccupied with the new information that she didn't even seem regretful to step inside the apartment, to see the red light of the ankle monitor switch back on as the censors reactivated.

In spite of appearances, though, she wasn't too preoccupied to notice Booth's silence. Once they were inside, Brennan broke off mid season to frown at him, perplexed. "What's wrong? Do you understand what I'm saying, Booth? We have nothing to worry about."

Booth froze, staring at her, wild eyed. "Bones…" His voice was hoarse. "Bones, you didn't even glance at those police interviews. And did you even think about your criminal record, about what kind of stuff the prosecution will say?"

She blinked at him, expression maddeningly calm. "Well of course I have. It will hardly be pleasant, but you heard what Alex said-"

"Well of course she'd talk like that! Doesn't want us to think we aren't getting our money's worth!" Booth burst out, the volume of his voice surprising both of them. His chest was heaving, and his lungs felt small and constricted. He had heard what Alex said, and on some level, he could understand…but fear was more powerful than logic, and it was swallowing him whole.

"I really think it will be fine," Brennan told him softly, and with that word, something inside Booth splintered.

"Fine! Fine fine FINE. I swear to God, Bones, I am so sick of that word. According to you, everything's fucking fine! House arrest is fine, your father and brother and the entire world finding out everything that bastard did to you, that's fine. No big deal! The fact that you're going to trial at all, the fact that you could go to jail….to listen to you, none of that matters much at all. Neither does the fact that they actually have a case against you Bones. This is not a sure thing, but you ignore it. To you, it's all FINE."

Brennan's arms were folded, and she was actually drawing away from Booth, obviously thrown by his outburst. Still, her eyes went soft around the edges, her voice low and soothing, "Booth, it's not as bad as all that. You're just scared-"

"Damn right I'm scared!" Booth retorted, voice cracking, his eyes raw and pained. "I'm fucking terrified. I could lose you, Bones, do you get that? Of course I'm scared! Why aren't you?"

Her voice faltering, Brennan stumbled over protests, "I…I don't-"

"You have to be scared, Bones. I know you do." Booth was no longer yelling, but the anguish threaded through his tone cut Brennan more deeply than anger ever could. "And forget about that, even…it has to be killing you that everyone knows. That your father, Russ, Hodgins and all those guys…not to mention thousands of total strangers. You didn't even want to tell me, Bones, much less…." His face twisted. "It breaks my heart that it's being forced out of you like this. It's going to break my heart watching them make you go through it up on the stand, watch them try to break you…I know you're afraid of that, too."

Brennan lowered her gaze, tears spiking her eyelashes, unable to look at Booth, at the guilt and sorrow and God the love in his gaze, without breaking down. Booth, though, came closer, bridging the distance she'd created, reaching out and holding her hand in both of his.

"Just like I know that you've got to be going out of your mind stuck here every day, kept away from work. But you won't talk to me! You tell me your fine, but I can tell you're not, Bones, I know you're lying to me." He paused, letting that statement sink in, his stomach clenching as the truth of it registered. "You've been lying to me, Bones, and you don't do that. You never do that."

"Booth…" Her voice broke around his name, and Brennan clenched her jaw, angry at herself. "I didn't want you to feel guilty…"

"Bones, I haven't stopped feeling guilty since this whole thing started!"

"I know that!" Brennan burst out, losing her precious grasp on control for the first time as she pulled her hand away. "I know you have! You have a strong personal tendency toward guilt, Booth, and I didn't want to make that worse by seeming upset! I was trying to protect you!"

She dragged her eyes to meet his, gaze bright and defiant. For a moment, they were quiet, just staring at each other.

Then, his voice low, Booth spoke about the one thing they'd been avoiding since the immediate aftermath. "Kind of like you were trying to protect me by lying in the first place?"

For some reason, Booth's tone did not suggest he considered that a good thing. Still, Brennan instantly agreed, her voice fierce, "Yes. Exactly."

Booth's eyes flashed and hardened. "I never asked you to do that, Bones! I never wanted this! You say I'm overprotective but you…God, you left me no choice, you just assumed your way was best-"

Tears were thickening Brennan's throat, but she managed to clench out, "It is."

A breathless, panicked laugh escaped Booth. "See? Even now you just… you…you ignore anything that might prove you wrong! And you're making me watch you go through all this, knowing it should have been me, but there's nothing I can do about it. You won't even let me take care of you because you won't tell me the truth about anything being wrong, even though I know how much this is hurting you, and that is breaking me apart, Bones." His voice broke, and Booth pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, swallowing against the constriction in his throat.

When Booth spoke again, his voice was little more than a ragged whisper. "I love you so damn much, Bones. And nothing kills me more than watching people hurt you, than watching you hurt…especially when you won't let me be there for you."

Tears were coursing steadily down Brennan's cheeks, and she moved toward him instinctually, but Booth took a step back, his eyes boring into hers as he bit out softly, "So don't think you did me any favors."

Brennan froze; she looked away, shuffling away from him. And then Booth did what she couldn't.

He turned and walked out the apartment, closing the door softly behind him.

A/N: Phew. Okay. That was such a relief to finish and post. I'd love to hear from you and find out what you think.

I can't promise biweekly updates or anything…I'm working a lot, and I'll be in and out of town for the next few weeks (always with my computer, always with some time to write, but internet will be inconsistent at some points) Plus, I am still trying to finish some original scripts in preparation for internship interviews in the coming semester.

But. I am really excited about this fic again, and the show again, and since we just found out the premiere's being delayed…I'll have to work through the agonizing wait somehow. Also, I should say, in the next few days (when and if I can get internet) you may see me post a BB oneshot that was basically an experiment/challenge that grew out of a discussion with a friend and I wrote it months ago. So don't think I'm neglecting Truth to write what is, I can assure, a super random oneshot. It does slightly involve the Sean Lowell backstory though...a method of getting myself thinking about 'Truth' again, kind of.

Again, thanks so much reading and coming back. You guys are the best. Special thank you to all my tumblr people who read and have asked about the fic (I'm doctor-brennan on Tumblr, so if you have one, add me and say hi!). And to anyone who's messaged me..I'll get back to you, but I didn't want to say anything when I was working on this because I wasn't sure when I would be posting.