Author's Note: Hey guys! Thanks so much for reading last chapter. I really appreciate you guys sticking with me after the long break. Hopefully this wait was a lot easier. I'm really excited about all the upcoming chapters, and am picking up the pace a lot coming up.
Anyway, hope you enjoy. Song is by U2.
Chapter Seven
Tough, you think you've got the stuff
You're telling me and anyone
You're hard enough
You don't have to put up a fight
You don't have to always be right
Let me take some of the punches
For you tonight
Listen to me now
I need to let you know
You don't have to go it alone
He just wanted it to be over.
Booth pressed his foot a little harder on the accelerator, tires eating up the highway stretched in front of him, as if he could outrun the mess of his life.
It was dark by now; hours and hours had passed since he'd left the apartment, fury and fear chasing him away.
It had felt good, to finally say everything he was feeling. Most days, that apartment felt suffocating, thick with everything they weren't saying, with all the pretending, so much so that Booth sometimes couldn't breathe.
Maybe he was a coward: finally being honest and immediately walking out, knowing Brennan couldn't follow. But a part of him was afraid she would argue back, simply contradicting everything he said and insisting, yet again, that everything was fine.
He couldn't take that anymore. Booth hadn't realized it fully until he'd spoken it aloud, but in all her pretending, Brennan had shut him out. For all the physical closeness of the last few weeks, confined in the apartment, there was a distance between them that hadn't been there in years.
Booth was already struggling to keep it together, between the guilt over what he had done, the stress of the lies he had no choice but to tell, and the fear of what was coming.
He couldn't lose her in the midst of all that.
So Booth drove. He drove until his anger had abated slightly, until his panic over the discovery was less consuming. He drove until he could breathe again.
Booth didn't want to go back; it wasn't that he didn't want to see Brennan. If anything, he was feeling increasingly guilty about yelling at her and then storming out.
What he wanted really, was for her to be beside him. It was a childish notion, but Booth wanted to take her and run, to just disappear and leave the murder and the trial and everything surrounding it behind them.
Of course, that was impossible. He was stuck in it, had been from the second he'd pulled the trigger and Brennan had made the false confession. The most devastating thing about this had always been his helplessness, his lack of control.
And it was this, more than anything, that kept him driving just a little while longer, pretending he was actually going somewhere, that he could actually get away from everything he'd done.
~(B*B)~
While Booth was aimlessly driving highways, Brennan curled up on the couch, asleep and surrounded by wreckage.
It had started with their copy of the discovery documents. Moments after Booth had left, slamming the door behind him, Brennan had gone, once again, for autopsy report, needing to distract herself from the tears stabbing persistently at her eyes.
Her hands trembled as she sorted through the papers, pulling the forensic reports, her eyes roving over the now familiar words, but the sense of relief they'd brought earlier did not come.
Frustrated, Brennan let go of the papers, watching as they fluttered the floor. Her eyes landed on the stack of other documents, the ones that had apparently sent Booth over the edge.
Something tightened in her chest, the heat of anger crawling the length of her spine.
Booth didn't understand. And he wasn't being fair.
Brennan admitting that house arrest was wearing on her, that she hated the thought of her history with Sean Lowell going public, that she was terrified of getting on the stand and talking about it….telling Booth all of that wouldn't change any of it. There was no benefit. Whereas keeping things positive, putting on a brave face whenever possible…that had an obvious advantage. It protected Booth from still more guilt. Put that way, her actions were the only rational choice.
Except. She couldn't ignore the flaw in the logic; Booth had made it abundantly obvious tonight.
If he saw through her act, it wasn't sparing him any guilt. Apparently, it only made Booth feel as though she was shutting him out.
Brennan closed her eyes, shame and irritation battling for dominance now. She hated that she'd made him feel like that; but surely Booth understood her intentions?
She was doing it for him. Booth had killed Sean Lowell for her, and everything Brennan had done since that moment had been to protect him. Yet somehow he faulted her for it.
So don't think you did me any favors.
Brennan hadn't expected that, the last words Booth hurled before leaving the apartment. There had been such genuine fury, such conviction in his voice.
She stared at the door, suddenly overcome with a panicked, desperate need to go after Booth, to maybe do her own yelling, and, most of all, to assure that he wasn't going to stay this angry at her.
But, of course, she couldn't leave. She couldn't go after him.
And Booth had known that.
For a long moment, Brennan stared at the door. Then, slowly, a strangled sound of pure frustration pulled itself from her throat from some deep, hidden place that was a long time coming free.
It wasn't rational, the way the apartment suddenly felt like it was closing in on her, the sudden, gripping need to be away from these walls, these same fucking walls she'd been staring at day after day. But Brennan had spent weeks rationalizing every feeling, suppressing and hiding every issue, and all at once, whatever place she'd been burying her frustration seemed to burst.
She grabbed the packet of police interviews that had worried Booth so much and threw them across the living room, the white papers scattering. She grabbed her foster file, the folder containing chronicling the worst three years of her life and threw it haphazardly in the direction of the kitchen, everything scattering.
With a grim, detached satisfaction, Brennan observed that this mess offered a break in the relentless monotony of the location. It was, if nothing else, something different to look at.
Brennan continued to dismantle the carefully organized documents of the discovery, barely aware of the angry, desperate yells occasionally clawing their way of her throat as she destroyed.
She was sick of the sight of this place. She had always loved Booth's apartment, always felt at home there, but now it had become her cage. A prison, no matter what shape and size, no matter how familiar, was still a prison.
The comfort, the sense of ease she used to associate with Booth's place…that had been stripped away.
So she raged against the apartment, unable to seize so much as a thread of rational thought. Papers littered the floor, and when she ran out of documents, Brennan overturned chairs, upended a coffee table, slung aside books she had stacked on various surfaces. She dropped the dishes stacked in the sink to the kitchen floor, watching them shatter to pieces.
And then she was crying, bent over the kitchen sink, hot tears slipping steadily down her cheek, a pile of broken glass at her feet.
Brennan suddenly felt very, very tired.
Stepping gingerly over the shards, Brennan moved out of the kitchen and into the living room. Turning off the light, not wanting to look at the evidence of her ridiculous annihilation, Brennan curled onto the couch to wait for Booth.
~(B*B)~
When Booth entered the apartment, hours after he'd left, he found himself squinting through darkness at what resembled the scene of a crime.
For a moment, Booth merely gaped at the scene in front of him. The discovery had been ripped apart and, from the looks of it, hurled at random around the apartment. Furniture had been overturned; books and picture frames littered the floor.
Then, his eyes fell on Brennan, ad Booth's heart hitched in his chest.
She was curled under a blanket on the couch, asleep. As Booth got closer, he could see the slight puffiness beneath her eyes, like she'd fallen asleep crying.
Gently, Booth eased himself onto the edge of the couch. For a moment, he sat in silence, catching an errant strand of Brennan's hair between two fingers and worrying it absently. Finally, though, he leaned down and gently kissed her awake.
Her face scrunching up in surprise, Brennan blinked blearily up at him. "You came back," she said softly, her voice scratchy with sleep.
There was just enough relief and surprise threading through her tone to make shame ripple through Booth.
"Bones." He threaded his fingers through her hair. "Of course. I just needed…I needed to clear my head for awhile."
Brennan lowered her eyes, one hand fisting Booth's shirt as she murmured, "You can't do that again. You can't walk out when I don't have the option of following you."
He nodded. "That's fair. I'm sorry."
For a moment they looked at each other. Booth's eyes were soft around the edges, a tired, bruised brown. He hadn't commented on the mess of the apartment, and she loved him for that.
In a small voice, Brennan tentatively offered, "I…I am scared." Her voice caught on the admission. "Of the trial and, and everything I just…I didn't want you to worry."
"I'm gonna worry, Bones. No matter what," Booth told her honestly. "It only makes it worse if you're shutting me out."
The phrase made her wince. Brennan gazed up at him, her eyes wide and earnest. "I never wanted to hurt you."
"I know, Bones," Booth replied softly. "But you gotta understand…what I hate, more than anything, is being helpless. And I can't…there's not much I can do about what you're going through. I can't stop the trial, I can't stop house arrest. The one thing I can do is try to be there for you. But you have to let me."
Brennan's eyes slowly filled with a fresh wave of tears; she said nothing. Booth managed a small, tired smile, disentangling his hands from her hair and gently tracing his thumb the length of her cheekbone. "You're going through this because of me, Bones. At least let me help you."
"You do help me, Booth," Brennan told him, her heart in her eyes. "You, just being here…that helps."
"Well, I'm glad…but, Bones…I don't want you to have pretend with me. I want to…I want to listen when you're scared, I want to be the one to tell you it's going to be okay…" Booth reached out with his free hand, linking their fingers together and squeezing. "I need us to be in this together…as much as we can." Booth lifted their joined hands, brushing his lips against her fingers. "You get that?"
Her throat too tight to speak for a moment, Brennan simply nodded vehemently. Finally, she managed to whisper, "Yes. Okay."
"Good." His answer fell on Brennan's lips, and in the next second Booth covered them with his own, the kiss an apology and a forgiveness, all at once.
Brennan's fist tightened around Booth's shirt, pulling him closer. He leaned over Brennan on the couch, deepening the kiss. Brennan's arms twined around Booth, tightening her grip.
After several moments, Brennan drew back slightly, meeting his eyes, suddenly a shade darker with desire. "Booth? Thank you."
Booth didn't ask what she meant. He only tipped his forehead against hers and said roughly, "God, do you know how much I love you?" His lips recaptured hers, swallowing her answer, and then he said softy, "Come to bed with me, Bones."
Swinging his legs off the couch, Booth stood with Brennan in his arms, her legs wound around him, fingers stroking the back of his neck.
In the brief time it took to get to their bedroom, Brennan leaned forward, burying her face against his neck. She could feel the quick tattoo of his heartbeat against hers, the strong, secure grip of his hands against her skin. Brennan closed her eyes, breathing him in, and let Booth carry her away.
~(B*B)~
"What if I can't do it?"
Booth opened his eyes, the hesitant, fragile tone of Brennan's voice shooting straight to his heart.
He'd had his arm wrapped around her, Brennan's back against his chest, but now she rolled over to face him, their faces close on the same pillow.
"What if you can't do what, Bones?"
"During the cross examination, you've said…the prosecution will ask me about what Sean did. In specific detail, I imagine." Her face tightened. "What if I can't answer their questions?" When Booth didn't immediately answer, couldn't, Brennan added, "There have been times in the past…when the state forced me into therapy, or with Angela or you when I've…I've intended to talk about it and I just…I can't seem to." She flushed slightly. "Which I know sounds improbable, but that's…how it feels. As though something is stopping me." Brennan lifted her eyes, stripped with fear, to meet his. "What if that occurs on the stand?"
Booth's chest was tight, his throat so narrow that he couldn't have forced a word out even if he'd been able to think of something to say. Under the sheets, his hand founds hers and he fit them together, a poor substitute for an answer.
After a beat, though, Brennan answered herself, "Obviously, I'll have to answer their questions. It's court procedure. And if I can't it might seem like I was…hiding something."
"I'm sorry," Booth managed, a reflex.
Instantly, Brennan's expression changed. "It isn't your fault."
Booth winced at how quickly he'd sent Brennan back into guarded, protective mode. Asking her to open up to him wouldn't work if he merely got caught up in his own guilt.
Pulling himself together and fixing Brennan with an intent stare, Booth spoke in a low, deliberate voice, "When they ask you questions…you just look at me. The prosecutor, the judge, anyone else in that courtroom…pretend they aren't there, and just tell me."
"That's absurd, Booth…the courtroom will likely be full."
His mouth twitched, just slightly. "That's why I said pretend, Bones." Giving her hand a squeeze, Booth continued, "Forget about them, and keep your eyes on me. The whole time. And know that nothing you could say could ever change anything with us."
For a long, quiet moment, Brennan held his gaze, her expression contemplative. Finally, she nodded. "Alright."
Half smiling at her, Booth shifted slightly, and Brennan curled against him.
Some knot of tension had unfurled in her chest; she did in fact feel slightly better from voicing the insecurity, and hearing Booth's suggestion.
But Brennan hadn't missed the look on Booth's face when she'd started talking.
He claimed he was constantly feeling guilty, and therefore there was no benefit in shielding him from anything that might exacerbate that. Yet there no denying, from the pained, guilt ridden expression on Booth's face, that the emotion was definitely more raw when Brennan opened up.
It was what Booth wanted, she reminded herself. But there was a flaw in his logic, and somehow, she still felt like she was only hurting him.
~(B*B)~
In her line of work, Alex Bennett was rarely taken by surprise.
Today, however, had proved a rare exception. She had not been expecting a married couple who worked together at a forensics lab to live in what was, undeniably, a mansion.
Still, Alex took it in stride as Angela Montenegro opened the door, introducing herself and then her husband, who had their daughter on his lap in the living room.
"So," Hodgins said once Alex had taken a seat. His eyes were glinting with purpose, ready to be given his task. "How can we help?
"Well, that's what I'm hoping to figure out today," Alex told them. "Dr. Brennan mentioned both of you as potential witnesses…and if there's something you can tell me that can help her case, I'll put you on the stand."
Hodgins and Angela exchanged looks, and then Angela began, her voice fierce. "I'll say whatever you need me to say about her. You need character witnesses, right?"
"We will, yes, but Brennan mentioned you would be helpful in confirming the incidents of Sean's stalking in the weeks leading up to his death?" There was a question in Alex's voice, an invitation for Angela to go on.
Hodgins shifted Ally in his lap, freeing one hand, which he slipped easily into his wife's, squeezing reassuringly as Angela began to speak. "Brennan brought me a video tape one day, after her lunch break. A mini DV tape, that goes in certain kinds of video cameras. She wanted me to convert it."
"Meaning?"
"Oh, um…just get it on a more easily viewed file…we have machines for that, it involves running it through the converter and…the video plays out onscreen while it converts, so I saw what was on it. I saw it before Brennan did, even."
"This was the first surveillance tape?"
"Yes."
Alex nodded, making a note on the legal pad balanced on her knees. "Alright, so in court, I'll ask you to describe what was on the tape."
"It was Bren," Angela's voice faltered slightly, and she glanced at Hodgins. "There were all these, surveillance shots, from like…across streets. Her going into work, leaving the apartment, going to the diner…by herself, with Booth, or Booth and Parker…a few times with me." Angela paused. "There were date and time stamps, in the corner of all the shots….they were all over the week or so before, but the last shot was from that morning, of Brennan going into the lab."
"And did Dr. Brennan tell you she suspected Sean?"
"Yes. I knew about him, and…what he did to her. I knew he'd kept sending her letters from prison. After I showed her what was on the tape, she told me that he'd been released."
For the next five minutes, Alex talked to Angela about the surveillance tape, and then about what she'd seen outside the diner when Booth arrested Sean.
When they'd finished, Alex turned to Hodgins. "Now, I've been told you would be a potential character witness?"
Hodgins nodded. "I can definitely do that."
Alex leaned forward, her pen poised above her notepad. "What's the most important thing you think you can tell me about Dr. Brennan? Based on helping her case."
For a moment, Hodgins was quiet, considering the question. "I guess that…Dr. B's all about the truth. And justice. That's our whole job, and she believes in it more than anybody. Always has. The idea that she would try to cheat the system and then lie about it….it's just impossible. If she killed him, it's because she didn't have any other choice."
"Okay," Alex said, her voice quiet. "That's good." As the lawyer made a few more notes on her legal pad, Angela squeezed her husband's hand, smiling at him. Then Alex continued, "We can go over your testimony in more specific detail when we get closer…you'll know every question I'm going to ask, and we can probably figure out what the prosecutor will say on the cross examination as well. Now, one more thing….Dr. Hodgins, did you have any sort of contact with Sean Lowell, or see any evidence of what he was doing, before Dr. Brennan was arrested?"
Automatically, Hodgins shook his head. "No." Abruptly, his eyes widened. "Oh! Wait, actually….I did see Sean once. And I talked to him. But I didn't know who he was."
Alex arched an eyebrow. "Go on."
"He was in the diner, a few seats away from me and Sweets, and Sweets saw he was reading one of Brennan's novels. He started talking to us, just said he was a huge fan." Hodgins paused, then added, "Sweets told him we worked with her and he also said that Dr. B came into the diner a lot."
"This is the same diner that he was standing outside when Agent Booth arrested him?"
"Yeah."
"That's great," Alex told him. "I'll ask you about that as well…shows that he knew he might see Dr. Brennan there. Even the fact that he was reading her book, claiming to be a huge fan…shows his fixation. That's good."
In Hodgins' lap, Allegra started to squirm and whimper. With an apologetic smile, he stood. "I'll be right back."
When her husband was out of the room, Angela knotted her hands together, hesitating. After a few moments of silence, she met Alex's gaze and asked, "Brennan's case. It's…it's strong, right? I mean she won't…she's going to be acquitted, right?"
"I feel good about our chances, yes," Alex replied seriously. "We have a good case."
"She cannot go to jail." There was a force in Angela's voice that surprised her. "He's taken enough from her. This trial, all this publicity, it's…it's bad enough. She can't lose."
Alex studied Angela for a long moment. Then, her eyes softening, she tucked her legal pad into her briefcase and leaned forward. "I'll tell you what I've told Agent Booth, many times. This is a messy case, and proof is going to be difficult. That's good for us, because the prosecution has the burden of proof. Self defense is usually a tricky sell, but the fact that Sean Lowell broke a restraining order and his parole conditions to go see her bodes well. He hit her; the threat was obvious. So what the prosecution has to do is prove, without a doubt, that Dr. Brennan didn't have to kill him. And that's tough to prove either way; it's pretty subjective. And at the end of the day, when cases are all about the shades of grey…it's going to come down to the jury. And juries don't want to convict someone like Dr. Brennan, someone who spends her life putting criminals in jail, for killing her rapist."
Slowly, Angela nodded, processing this. "Okay," she breathed finally. "Good."
~(B*B)~
"Alright, Dr. Brennan. We'll try to make this as painless as possible."
Brennan said nothing, keeping her face impassive. She doubted that.
She was sitting stiffly on the couch in Dr. Robert Adler's office. Usually, the temporary reprieve from house arrest this meeting allowed would have been enough to make anything pleasant. But she'd spent days dreading this meeting with the state psychiatrist, a solemn, stern looking man who would, in all likelihood, testify in court that she had been so thoroughly traumatized by Sean Lowell that she'd been moved toward revenge.
Brennan found psychiatry useless at the best of times, but its use in the court always seemed particularly baffling. The prosecutor would plan the state psychiatrist's testimony in such a way that it supported their argument; the private psychiatrist Alex hired, meanwhile, would testify in a way that supported the defense's side. It seemed that it would save time to simply eliminate both testimonies.
Yet, as Alex had said, it was protocol. And so Brennan sat, her hands folded in front of her, nails digging half moons into her knuckles.
"I've got a questionnaire to fill out for the court," Dr. Adler informed her. "We'll start with that before we get into the session." The older man scanned the paper in front of him, reciting in a bored, monotonous voice, "Did you take any medications before you came in today?"
"No."
"Have you ever been charged with a crime before?"
"Yes." At his raised eyebrow, Brennan added, "Two assault charges and one for shooting a man in the leg…I was never convicted."
"Have you ever been to court before?"
Brennan rolled her eyes, suppressing a sigh. Presumably, this man had enough information to realize that, of course, she had been to court. This formality was ridiculous. "Yes, I've testified numerous times as an expert witness in forensics."
The next several questions were along that same vein, confirming that she understood the role of the judge, the prosecutor, the defense attorney, the various aspects of attorney/client privilege.
Adler's voice never changed its inflection, his expression giving no indication of recognizing her impatience. Finally, he put down the form and, straight faced, told her, "I think we can move on."
Brennan set her jaw tightly. The form questions had been ridiculously simple, unnecessary…but at least they weren't distressing.
"Have you ever been diagnosed with a psychiatric illness?"
"No," Brennan replied, relaxing slightly. Simple yeses and no's she could handle.
"Have you ever been on any medication for psychiatric purposes?"
"No."
"Have you ever owned a gun before?"
"Yes."
"Have you ever been to counseling of any kind?"
"Yes, my partner and I underwent mandatory evaluation with an FBI psychologist." After a beat, Brennan added hesitantly, "And I attended mandatory counseling sessions as a teenager, at the insistence of my social worker. After Sean Lowell went to prison."
Still, Adler's expression did not change. "Tell me about the circumstances that led to Sean Lowell's prison sentence."
Just like that, her stomach clenched. Brennan's lips curled together. Alex had warned her that this would be the bulk of the interview, and mentally Brennan recited the advice her lawyer had given her.
The most important thing you can do is stay calm. Don't let him push you, don't get angry when you talk about what happened back then. Just stick to the facts.
Facts. Brennan could do that.
"I lived with Sean and his wife for eight months," Brennan began, her voice as clinical as if she were on the forensic platform, reciting her findings. "He began raping me about three weeks into that stay. He would do it a few nights a week. He also got physically violent, and occasionally kept me out of school. After eight months, he kept me out for over two weeks. The school got in touch with my social worker, and she called the police when she didn't get an answer on the phone. They walked in on evidence on what Sean had been doing and he was arrested."
Brennan forced herself to hold Dr. Adler's gaze; she tightened her hands' grip on each other, hoping to disguise the trembling.
"That must have been very difficult," the man finally commented neutrally.
"Yes," Brennan acknowledged carefully. "But it was a long time ago."
"What was Sean Lowell's attitude toward you like? As he did these things?"
"He was very heavily fixated," Brennan replied. "He always claimed that he didn't want to hurt me, that everything he did was because he loved me. He didn't like me being away from the house for too long, even for school."
"And how did you feel toward him?"
Brennan's throat was dry. She knew, objectively, this was nothing compared to what it would be like in court, when it was the prosecutor…and yet she couldn't help but read into every question, imagine what he was trying to get to her to say, how they might spin it to use against her.
"I was afraid of him," she said finally, and honestly. "I never told anyone because…he made threats. He said he'd kill me if I told and…I was sixteen years old. I believed him."
"You must have been happy when he got convicted."
"I was…relieved," Brennan said carefully. "Because he couldn't hurt me anymore."
Dr. Adler nodded curtly. His demeanor made him seem unaffected and even uninterested in the information Brennan was providing, and yet Brennan felt sick, weak and exposed in his presence.
She imagined, suddenly, doing this in a courtroom, with everyone she knew and dozens of strangers looking on. With the prosecutor asking for more details, making her talk until she broke, until her trauma was obvious.
Suddenly, Brennan's stomach rolled unpleasantly. Her face ashen, she stammered, "Could I…could you excuse me for a moment? Restroom."
"Just down the hall."
She was out the door in seconds, hurrying down the hall and into the bathroom just in time to crouch down and empty the contents of her stomach.
~(B*B)~
Booth had been back in the parking lot for over fifteen minutes when Brennan opened the door and slid into the passenger seat.
"Hey…" He sat up, instantly scrutinizing her expression. "How was it?"
"It was alright," Brennan said evenly.
Booth arched an eyebrow. "Really alright?"
"Really."
For the past two weeks, Brennan had been making an effort to do what Booth claimed he wanted. When prompted, she admitted to how she was feeling, whether it was restless and bored from being the apartment, or anxious about the upcoming psychiatrist evaluations or even the trial itself.
It was a slight relief, no longer forcing herself to pretend, but Brennan was still careful. She never volunteered insecurities, only admitting them when Booth asked. And she had learned how to carefully end the conversation when the guilt stricken, anguished look in Booth's eyes became too much.
Still, she had not lied to him since the night of their fight, and things were easier between them now that they weren't holding back. Still, the reclaimed openness had provoked its share of arguing, too.
These fights were nothing much, a version of the bickering and debates that were common in their relationship…but the tension of house arrest, along with the constant cloud of worry hanging over them, made the arguments sharper, more pronounced.
Sometimes they argued over nothing, typical domestic disputes over food or dishes or laundry. More often, their arguments were due to circumstance. Brennan fought with Booth over his reluctance to take Parker anywhere during his weekends with them (Booth didn't want to leave Brennan out, she insisted Parker was going crazy cooped up indoors and she should know), Booth fought with her over her continued disinterest in certain documents of the discovery.
Still, Booth kept his promise, and he never once walked out in the middle of a fight.
In spite of the tension fueled arguments, the last few weeks of house arrest had been considerably better than the first. They officially passed the halfway point between the arraignment and the trial, and less than a month remained before the trial would begin.
Now, Booth reached across the SUV's console and took Brennan's hand, waiting for more.
"I think I did alright," she said slowly. "It was…unpleasant, talking to him about what Sean did back then, and I admit it makes me a little anxious about doing so in the trial setting, which I'm sure will be worse, but…I did what Alex said. Simple facts. And once he moved on, it was fine."
Luckily, Dr. Adler had moved on in his line of questioning as soon as Brennan had returned from the bathroom. He'd asked about Sean's letters from prison, how she'd felt when she learned he was released, and many questions about her state of mind the day Sean had been killed.
"Good," Booth said, squeezing her hand. "So…better or worse than you thought?"
Brennan considered the question carefully, wanting to give an honest answer. Finally, her voice tentative, she admitted, "Better."
"See, that's great! And the shrink Alex gets will be even easier, because you know she's on your side."
Brennan made a face. "She'll still be a psychiatrist."
He couldn't help but grin a little at the distaste in her voice. "True, but more like Sweets. Totally harmless." Suddenly, Booth's grin widened, and he slung his door open. "Bones, get out."
"What?" Her eyes went wide. "Booth, we have to go back, I can only be out of the apartment for a certain amount of time."
"I know," he said, standing outside now, though the SUV was still cranked. "I'm going to let you drive."
At those words, Brennan tried and failed to suppress a smile. "You never let me drive."
"Yeah, well." Booth shrugged, smiling. "Offer's about to expire, Bones."
She got out of the car, and came around to his side. Booth winked. "Take the long way home."
~(B*B)~
"You want the good news or bad news?"
"The good news," Brennan answered instantly.
Alex blinked at her, surprised. "Oh. Most people say the bad news first…to get it over with." Brennan just looked at her blankly, and finally Alex continued, "Actually, the good news is meaningless without the bad news so I'll just…start there anyway."
"Then why did you ask?" Brennan asked, genuinely curious. Alex caught Booth smirking at her.
"That was my fault," she said finally. "Anyway. The bad news is that Chris Gold's trying to submit your father's murder trial into evidence."
Booth's eyes hardened instantly, all trace of amusement gone. "What?"
The color leaving her face, Brennan stared at Alex, incredulous. "How is that relevant?"
"Legally speaking, Deputy Director Kirby's murder is still unsolved. I'm still going over the transcript, but from what I'm gathering, there was some…speculation that you were a probable suspect."
"She was never charged," Booth bit out instantly, just as Brennan turned to him with a panicked expression. "Because it was ridiculous-
Alex held up a hand, her expression calm. "Which brings me to the good news. I've already filed a motion to suppress, and I think there's a good chance it'll go through. He really has no grounds to use that against you, and if he tries to make the argument that your father's criminal history is relevant…well, that's unfair bias."
Booth exhaled slowly, unconvinced. "But if it goes through…"
"If it goes through, it's still very, very thin evidence. Which is why, in all likelihood, Judge Hayes will suppress it." A corner of Alex's lips quirked up. "My motions are famously well written. We'll be fine."
"When will we know?" Brennan asked.
"In the next day or two, hopefully." Alex studied their faces, then added, "Look, this isn't a big deal. I just wanted to keep you both informed."
The three of them were sitting at the picnic table outside Alex's office building, their usual place for meeting. The trial was three weeks away.
"Now," Alex said crisply, her eyes scanning her notes. "I've got reports from the state shrink and from Dr. Kelsey," she told them, referring to the private psychiatrist Brennan had spoken to a few days prior. I think we're in good shape there. I've been over testimony with Angela Montenegro and Jack Hodgins, and I think they'll be very helpful. Of course, you two are the crux of the case."
Brennan looked up, surprised. "We are?"
"Of course." Alex smiled a little. "You two put away murderers for a living. I'm going to sit you both up there and have you go through everything that happened after Sean Lowell got out of prison, all the steps you took in the investigation." She looked at Booth, then Brennan. "It's sympathetic, and it's relatable. You tried to protect her, you were terrified but desperate to protect yourself this time. Anyone in your position would have done exactly what the two of you did, and that's what we need. The jury will see that. And they'll understand, then, that they would have pulled the trigger, too."
They were quiet for a moment, letting this sink in. Then, her voice again brisk and purposeful, Alex continued, "I'm meeting with Christina Shaw tomorrow….Sean Lowell's lawyer. She's a witness for the state, same as his parole officer, but I think she'll be willing to talk to me."
Booth glanced up. "What about that Holly woman? The one who claims to have been dating him?"
Alex shrugged dismissively. "I told you, don't worry too much about her. She's not credible. She's on Gold's witness list, but that doesn't mean he'll call her. Her statement has too many contradictions."
For the next hour and a half, Alex went over the specifics of Booth and Brennan's testimony, assuring them that they'd rehearse again closer to the trial.
When they were finished, Booth helped gather up the documents to return them to Alex's office. Usually, she protested, but today the lawyer let him pick up the box of folders and move ahead of her and Brennan to the office.
"Dr. Brennan…." Alex started in an undertone. "Are you feeling okay? You're…eating alright? Sleeping?"
Unconsciously, Alex's eyes swept Brennan. She'd been on house arrest for over a month, and she'd lost weight steadily, a noticeable amount. Her skin was paler than usual, and dark half moons beneath her eyes suggested deep exhaustion.
Brennan flushed slightly, fully aware of the observations that led Alex to ask. Still, all she said was, "I'm fine."
Alex opened her mouth, starting to push it, but something told her that wouldn't work on someone like Temperance Brennan. "Okay. Just checking."
~(B*B)~
Christopher Gold was damn good at his job.
He became a prosecutor for the usual reasons; he wanted to put bad men in jail. He liked the way it sounded, liked that he would be using his law degree to be an agent of justice, a person who took killers and rapists off the streets and made sure they got what they deserved.
But all that was idealism, beliefs he'd had before he'd realized that, in reality, a prosecutor would plead out twice as many cases as they took to trial. Before he'd stood before a judge with the intention of sending a twenty-five year old single mother to jail for shoplifting baby formula and diapers because the father, earning a respectable living, was refusing to pay his child support. Before he'd realized it wasn't always black and white.
Some cases were messy. Chris wasn't always the white knight he'd imagined himself to be in law school.
Still. He was damn good at his job, not matter what the case.
But there were some cases that gave him a special satisfaction. The cold blooded murders, the uncaring rapes…those were the cases where Chris really savored the win, when he knew he was doing something good.
His current case had its own sort of special satisfaction, but it had nothing to do with his ability to feel like a white knight. Sean Lowell was the worst kind of victim for that; the kind that even Chris couldn't help but acknowledging, silently, that he deserved what had come to him.
But this case…it was the kind of case lawyers waited for, but only few snagged: a case that captured national attention.
Dr. Brennan's celebrity, as it were, had guaranteed national media attention, and the nature of the case meant people would stay hooked. There was the tragic back story, the murky black and white morality issues, the risk of a self-defense plea…America loved a good murder trial. And America would be watching.
Which meant they'd be watching Chris.
He wasn't an idiot; he knew that, in some incarnations of the story, he would be spun as the villain. After all, Dr. Brennan was Good, unequivocally. She identified bodies of the dead and put away murderers, was the most successful forensic anthropologist in the country; and now the entire world knew she'd overcome a background as a foster child and underage rape victim to become what she had.
But in his most published sound bite after the arraignment, Chris had seized on what, exactly, made her Wrong. She had been taking justice into her own hands. His opening argument, he already knew, would begin with this assertion. There was no questioning that Sean Lowell had been a Bad Man. But he'd served his time; paid his debt to society, and yet Dr. Brennan had decided it wasn't satisfactory. She had decided she had known better than the justice system, the bedrock of their civilized society, and she had taken matters into her own hands.
Put that way, Chris allowed himself the satisfaction of fighting to put her in jail. His career was hitting a high point; he didn't need to play the purely white knight this time. This case wasn't that simple.
But he would still do a damn good job at it. And everyone would be watching as he did.
"What have you got for me?"
The state didn't have the budget for fancy private investigators (something defense attorneys used at their leisure), but there were assistant DAs, two of whom had been pulled from their usual work to be his lackeys due to the importance of the case.
Jamie and Kyle stood before him now, exchanging glances. By some unspoken agreement, Kyle went first, passing Chris an envelope. "The judge approved Bennett's motion…the father's case is off limits."
Chris took this news in stride. "Well, we knew it was a long shot." He nodded at Jamie. "Anything else?"
The girl nodded, shifting whatever she had under her arm before speaking, "You know Dr. Brennan was treated by an FBI psychologist?"
"Yeah…Dr. Sweets, right? It was mandatory partners counseling after her father was arrested. The shrink, though, he works on their team now, as a profiler…doubt he'll be of any help to us. Besides, we subpoena the counseling records then the defense gets a copy, too, and for all we know he wrote that there were no lasting effects from any trauma she suffered blah blah blah."
Jamie lifted an eyebrow, holding a book toward him. "Don't be so sure. Dr. Sweets wrote this, about Dr. Brennan and her partner…no subpoena necessary."
Curious, Chris took the volume from her, opening it to the marked page, reading the paragraphs Jamie had highlighted with interest. "It's good," he murmured after a moment. "Very interesting." He lifted his gaze. "You think it's worth the risk, though? He's a friend of hers, we have no idea what else he might say. This is good," Chris tapped the book for emphasis. "But it's nothing we can't get out the state psychiatrist."
"It'll have more pull coming from a friend," Jamie countered. "And he won't be able to deny it, not once you read that out. But that's not even the best part. Dr. Sweets was a witness in Dr. Brennan's father's murder trial, for the prosecution."
"So?" Kyle put in, slightly sulky that Jamie had found something he hadn't. "They all were, even the boyfriend."
Jamie held out her copy of the Max Keenan trial transcript, flipped to a page in the middle. "Read this."
"We can't use that," Chris reminded her. "Judge suppressed it."
"He suppressed the trial as evidence against Dr. Brennan. But we can read it out to jog the memory of witness if, say, he lies on the stand."
Intrigued, Chris read the line Jamie was pointing to. Slowly, a smile unfurled. "Subpoena the records," he said. "Actually, go ahead and subpoena the kid, too. He's taking the stand."
~(B*B)~
"Alex?"
Alex glanced up and immediately stood, offering her hand to shake. "Christina, hi. Thanks for meeting with me."
"No problem, come on in."
Alex followed the other lawyer into her office.
"So I guess you know I'm on witness list for the state." Christina smirked. "Not many defense attorneys get to say that."
Smiling appreciatively, Alex countered, "I guess I'm counting on you having some loyalty anyway." She raised an eyebrow. "What can you tell me about Sean Lowell that might be helpful?"
Christina was quiet for a moment, considering. "Well, it's not so helpful to you, but what I told the police was accurate. That arrest Agent Booth made? Desperate act. He had no grounds, and he knew it." She paused, then added carefully, "But I can also tell you that Sean Lowell was obsessed with that girl when she was a kid, and that it never went away."
Alex kept her expression blank, but inwardly, triumph flared. This sounded promising.
"You know how everyone has that one case, early on?" Christina continued after a moment, her tone low and serious. "The one that makes you question everything about this job, that drives you crazy wondering why you're on the side of the criminals. The one that you can't help but be relieved not to win."
Alex nodded slightly; she'd had a case like that, too, though she'd won hers: an acquittal for a rapist that made her sick to her stomach for months afterward.
"Well, Sean Lowell's case was mine," Christina stated. "It was my first solo felony…I was working at a private practice, fresh out of law school, and everyone made a big deal about me being ready to handle it. But honestly, no one else wanted to touch that case. We had nothing to work with, which was for the best, because as the trial got closer I realized I didn't even want to make an effort.
"He was…scary. Never once seemed apologetic or even upset that he'd gotten caught…all he would say was that they didn't understand how she needed him. His main concern was whether he'd be able to see her again."
Christina leaned forward, visibly hesitating before divulging, "That arrest? Agent Booth was too angry, too emotionally involved. If he'd have waited a few seconds, Lowell would have started taking photos, and he'd have had him."
"You're sure?"
"Not in the way the state cares about, but I'm fairly positive. He never stopped talking about her…during appeals, anything, all he kept saying was he had to get out so he could 'go to Temperance' again. After Agent Booth's interrogation of him, I met with Sean outside the holding cell…he said that Agent Booth was no good for her, and that he'd have to remind her what someone who really loved her was like."
In spite of herself, Alex had to suppress a shudder; still, she said nothing.
"I called Sean when I found out about the restraining order, after he'd been released, to make sure he understood that it only reinforced his parole conditions. He just kept talking about how good it had been to see her, and finally I asked him if he understood that he wasn't allowed to go near her. And he said….'I've waited over twenty years, I suppose I can try to make it a little longer.'"
Alex's eyes were wide. "Does the prosecutor know he told you this?"
"Funnily enough, he didn't ask," Christina said, nearly smiling. Instantly, she sobered and added, "My testimony for them is all about reiterating the fact that there was no hard, legal evidence that Sean was stalking. And that's true. But there is a hell of a lot that leads common sense to saying otherwise."
Alex leaned back in her chair, smiling a little. "Fascinating."
"What is?"
"I don't know that I've ever been looking so forward to a cross examination."
~(B*B)~
When there were just under three weeks before the trial, Brennan's continued stint of house arrest coincided with the one year anniversary of Vincent Nigel-Murray's death.
Though they weren't working a case together, Hodgins called both Booth and Sweets to let them know of their original plan; to go to Founding Fathers after work, drink to Vincent's memory, reminisce a bit, in honor of the fallen squintern. Sweets agreed instantly, but Booth hedged until Hodgins realized why, and immediately suggested they move the gathering to Booth's apartment.
It was nice, seeing all her friends at once; they'd developed a habit, conscious or not, of coming to visit in shifts. And Brennan knew she wasn't the best company, so the visits often felt like a forced, slightly uncomfortable obligation.
But this was different. It wasn't about her; they could have been anywhere, the bar, the diner…the dynamic was the same.
With one exception.
Booth was quiet all night; distracted and broody. Brennan wasn't sure why, and didn't want to say anything in front of the others; several times she caught his eye, shooting him a concerned look, but Booth merely forced a smile before glancing away.
Their friends stayed for hours, toasting Vincent, sharing bits of trivia he'd passed along and that were somehow impossible to forget. At one point, after a good many toasts, Sweets initiated a slightly slurred repeat performance of "Lime in Da Coconut".
Eventually, when Angela and Hodgins had to relieve a babysitter, Brennan called a cab for her friends, and they departed for the night, leaving her alone with Booth, who was, in addition to being nearly sober, moving around the living room in silence, cleaning.
"Alright," Brennan said the second the door closed behind Cam. "What's going on?"
"Huh?" Booth paused in his cleaning, blinking at Brennan as though surprised to find her standing there.
"Are you okay?" There was genuine concern in her tone.
Booth smiled, but it was a poor effort. "I'm fine." He came over and brushed his lips against Brennan's temple before throwing the a collection of bottles into the kitchens trash can. "Getting late is all. You ready for bed?"
Brennan nodded and followed him, with the distinct impression that she was the one who had just been lied to.
~(B*B)~
That night, Booth lay awake until Brennan's breathing evened out beside him. Then, he eased himself out of bed, crept out of the room and left the apartment.
Just like the night of their fight over three weeks ago, Booth drove, for hours, along dark, solitary stretches of road.
It was a stupid, silly thing, a mere illusion of leaving things behind, but somehow it calmed the searing floods of self loathing that had been gnawing at Booth's gut.
He could pretend, just for a few seconds at a time, that he could run away from the trial, from the memories, from the thoughts and terrifying questions that suddenly wouldn't stop plaguing him.
He could almost pretend he had a chance of escaping himself, and what he had done.
~(B*B)~
"Where do you go at night?"
Booth froze. It was the fourth night in a row, since the anniversary of Vincent's death, that he'd snuck out after Brennan fell asleep. He'd been sneaking back in, at 3:49 in the morning, when she'd shattered his illusion of secrecy by speaking.
Brennan rolled over and looked up at him; even in the darkness of their bedroom, he could see the hurt shading her eyes. "You've been quiet and withdrawn for days," Brennan told him softly. Her voice hardened, eyes flashing, "Slightly hypocritical, don't you think? Not telling me?"
Exhaling slowly, Booth lowered himself onto the bed, just sitting. "You know I feel bad leaving the apartment for no reason when you can't," he told her lamely.
"I don't mind that you leave, I mind that you aren't telling me about it."
For a long moment, Booth was silent. Then, he lifted his head, his eyes boring into hers in the darkness. "What I did. To Lowell, was…was it the same as what Brodsky did?"
Momentarily thrown by this change in topic, Brennan stared at Booth for a moment, unspeaking. Then, recovering, she asserted vehemently, "No. Booth, of course not."
"How?" Booth asked, an edge to his voice that didn't quite succeed in hiding the note of distress. "How is it any different?" A desperate, humorless laugh escaped him. "That whole case, I was so sure I was on the right side, that I was nothing like him. And now…tell me, Bones, tell me how there's anything different about what I did and the kind of thing he would do."
Instantly, Brennan's heart clenched, complete clarity dawning. The anniversary of Vincent's death had forced Jacob Brodsky into Booth's memory, and for four days, he'd clearly been torturing himself with comparisons.
Brennan sat up, automatically moving closer to Booth. She was considering his question carefully, desperate to reassure him. "It's completely different, Booth. When Brodsky killed the Gravedigger, she was already on death row, she'd been convicted by the justice system…and she was no longer a threat. He simply decided his own justice was superior. He was also profiting from the kills, remember?. It was a selfish act, done only for his own gain. And his kills weren't at all personal.."
Booth had lowered his gaze, and Brennan reached out, her fingers gently grazing Booth's cheek, making him look at her. "You are nothing like Brodsky, Booth. You could never be like him." Booth leaned into her touch, and suddenly Brennan thought of another point. "Also, Brodsky didn't mind collateral damage…he killed a woman merely to use her apartment for a shot. You haven't hurt anyone else."
"Except I have," Booth told her, his voice raw. "You."
Her throat narrowing, Brennan shook her head vigorously. "No," she bit out heatedly. "it isn't the same. You know that." Her voice softening, Brennan leaned closer to Booth, their foreheads barely touching. "You did what I couldn't, Booth. For me." Her voice caught. "No matter what happens in this trial, please know how much I love you for that."
In the next instant, Booth's arms were around her, his face pressed against Brennan's collarbone. Brennan's fingers made soft, gentle motions against the back of Booth's neck.
Booth stayed there, hidden against her, letting Brennan's simple, tender touch heal him, until his eyes went dry, his breaths evened out. Then, without a word, he rounded his mouth against the base of her throat, then letting his lips slip down the slope of her shoulder before he sat up and kissed her hard.
As they fell together, Booth dimly realized that Brennan had not asked again where he'd gone when he disappeared in the middle of the night. He marveled that, when it came to him, this woman, who so clung to concrete facts, could instinctually understand that the why was so much more significant than the where of his nighttime absence. Or the fact that Brennan, whose obsession and reverence for the truth, would lie without a thought when it meant protecting him.
~(B*B)~
The next morning, Booth was on hour two of mind numbing paperwork when Sweets appeared in the door of his office, looking like he might be sick on Booth's carpet.
Booth's eyebrows shot up. "Geez, Sweets, you look like hell. Go home, you're probably spreading germs."
"I'm testifying," Sweets croaked out, his voice hoarse and unsteady.
"You testify all the time," Booth reminded him, thrown by the non sequitur.
"At Brennan's trial."
"Oh." Booth blinked, surprised. Alex hadn't mentioned calling Sweets as a witness. Last he'd heard, she'd rejected using him for their psychological evaluation due to the fact that his position on the team and his friendship with Brennan made it possible for Chris Gold to discredit him. But maybe she needed him for something else, now that Hodgins had revealed he and Sweets had unknowingly run into Sean Lowell. "Well, so are Angela and Hodgins. And me."
Sweets continued to look stricken. Finally, he held out a piece of paper in Booth's direction.
His confusion and impatience increasing rapidly, Booth stood up, but made no move toward Sweets to take whatever he was offering. "Sweets. What is the problem?"
"The prosecution," he managed finally, voice strangled. "I'm testifying for the prosecution."
The words hung between them for a moment; Booth stared at Sweets, the beginnings of panic stirring. "What?"
"They subpoenaed me. To testify…and they subpoenaed the records of all our counseling sessions."
"What?" Booth repeated dumbly, his head spinning. "That…that doesn't make any sense. Why the hell would they subpoena you, Gold's gotta know you aren't going to be cooperative…" He narrowed his eyes, face hardening. "What the hell did you put in those files, Sweets!"
"Nothing!" The psychologist insisted, his voice jumping an octave. "I swear! I didn't even know Lowell existed until Dr. Brennan was arrested. Besides, they subpoenaed the records at the same time as me…they haven't even seen them yet, and they already think they want me to testify!"
Booth closed his eyes. "This is bad," he murmured.
It was a huge risk, calling Sweets to testify when his loyalties obviously lay with Brennan, when he most likely be unwilling to rehearse any sort of testimony…when Gold hadn't even seen what his reports might say, for God's sake.
If Chris Gold was taking the chance, he must have a hell of a good reason. Some sort of trump card, something that would counteract anything else Sweets might say…
"Maybe he has no intention of calling you. Maybe he just wants to rattle us," Booth muttered, no conviction in his tone.
Sweets didn't look convinced either. He looked terrified.
"We'll talk to Alex," Booth said finally. "Maybe she can figure out Gold's game…and she can figure out how to use your cross examination for our advantage."
"Right," Sweets replied.
Booth met the younger man's gaze, and he instantly understood that Sweets had come to the same conclusion as he had.
There was something they were forgetting. Something big. Something that, apparently, could be used against Brennan.
~(B*B)~
"Booth?"
They'd been lying in the dark in silence for nearly half an hour, but Brennan suspected Booth was still awake.
He had spent the evening worrying and ranting about the latest development. This sort of blow was the last thing they needed two weeks before the trial, and even Alex had sounded slightly unnerved when Booth had called her. Still, she'd brushed it off, planning to meet with them and Sweets in two days, to attempt to figure out what Gold had on Sweets that made him willing to risk using an uncooperative witness, as well as figure out how to use Alex's cross examination to their advantage if at all possible.
Brennan understood their concern. She understood what Gold blindly calling Sweets suggested.
But she had other anxieties taking precedent.
"Yeah, Bones?" Booth's voice floated toward her, and he rolled slightly, eyes searching for her in the darkness.
"If I ask you something…will you answer honestly?"
Booth's eyebrows drew together, concern filling his eyes. "Yeah, of course." He smiled slightly. "That's our deal, remember?"
Brennan paused, choosing her words carefully. "Did you ever consider…going behind my back and telling the truth? Have you ever tried to…determine a way that you could feasibly do it?"
Booth was quiet for so long that Brennan was afraid he wouldn't answer the question.
Eventually though, he stated in a low voice, "I'd go to Detective Kinley. Walk into his office, tell him I had information about Sean Lowell's murder. The word would get his attention. I'd tell him I could guarantee full cooperation and disclosure, and all I needed from him was a signed guarantee granted you immunity from charges or perjury or providing false information…He might suspect, from that, but he couldn't do anything without a confession. But he'd know enough to realize it's important. He'd probably have to talk to Chris Gold, or the judge but…he'd get and done. And then I'd tell him."
The thoroughness of this plan rendered Brennan nearly breathless with fear. When she could speak, she stated fiercely, "But you realize you can't do that. And you won't, right?"
"It's just something I've thought about, Bones," Booth told her, not really answering the question.
"Booth…" There was a catch in Brennan's voice that she didn't light. She set her jaw, forcing her tone to stay firm and steady. "You have to promise me. No matter what happens…whether you think the trial is going badly, or if something….no matter what happens, you cannot tell the truth." He didn't reply right away, and Brennan's chest tightened, a note of panic slipping into her voice as she repeated, "Promise me."
His eyes glittering with equal parts defiance and apology, Booth simply said quietly, "I won't let you go to jail for this, Bones."
Brennan closed her eyes against the tears threatening her; she was fully aware that Booth was evading the question. "I would still say you were lying," she bit out finally, not looking at him. "To protect me. They have my fingerprints, they have testimony…they'd believe me over you."
"Maybe so," Booth muttered. Then, he shook his head, tone conciliatory. "It's just something I've thought about in the bad moments, Bones, okay? That's what you asked."
She barely nodded, saying nothing.
"Are you okay?" Booth asked after a moment, his voice thick with worry. "You've been quiet all day is it…is it the Sweets thing?"
Lowering her eyes, avoiding his gaze, Brennan murmured, "Yes, that's it."
So she let Booth thread his fingers through her hair, whispering reassurances, backtracking through all worry and reasoning that it couldn't be anything too damaging, completely unaware that she'd just lied to him for the first time in weeks.
~(B*B)~
"Angela?"
Brennan's voice sounded strange, even to her own ears. She'd been working herself up to this phone call all morning, ever since Booth left for work, and suddenly her throat was drying, her heart hammering.
"Hey, Sweetie." There was a hesitant pause, as though Angela, too, could hear the anxiety underlying the single word Brennan had produced. "Everything okay?"
"I…." Brennan swallowed hard, tightening her grip on the phone. "Are you busy?"
"We're working a case with Booth, actually, but I just gave Cam the facial reconstruction, so I'm free at the moment. What's up?"
A dull, instinctual pang of regret hit Brennan at the mention of them all working cases without her, but it dissolved instantly as she continued, "Could you…could you bring me something?"
"Of course, Bren, what do you need?"
Brennan hesitated. "Are you on the forensics platform?"
"I'm in my office…."
"Are you alone?"
Something like alarm was threaded through Angela's tone now. "Yes, Brennan, what's-"
"You can't tell anyone," Brennan insisted in a rush. "Not even Hodgins, but…especially not Booth. You have to promise me."
"Brennan, you're starting to scare me. What's going on?"
Brennan closed her eyes. "I need you to bring me a pregnancy test."
A/N: So, there you have it. A potential pregnancy probably seems like old hat at this point, but that part was planned before we knew Emily was pregnant, much less Brennan haha. Anyway, hope your intrigued for the quickly approaching trial, and hope you enjoyed all the stuff Booth and Bren have been going through this chapter. I'd love to hear from you! Should have another update up soon!