AUTHOR'S NOTE: I am going to be fair with you here. Because I will be way, way too busy next Thursday, I have decided to skip a week. So I suggest you savor this chapter because the next update will be on January 3rd.

Some chapters are a real pain in the ass while others are written and corrected effortlessly. This one belongs to the latter category. Faux Maven, it was a pleasure quickly going over this part with you and sliding in some last minute lines. You convinced me this chapter wasn't total crap when I honestly believed there was something wrong with it. Thanks a million for the support.

- VI -

-- SHUNNEN --

'Shunnen' is the Middle English form of the verb 'to shun'. Meanings are (1) to keep away from, to avoid, to eschew, to evade, and (2) to slight deliberately, to spurn. In this chapter Brennan insists on going to John's funeral (the opposite of the first meaning of 'shunnen') but is given the cold shoulder by John's family (that would be the second meaning of the verb). I opted for a moral and mental torture method because in spite of there being a lot of physical ways to hurt someone, we often forget that a person can also be broken mentally and that is one of Madman's goals.

Thursday November 29 - Booth's car, on the way to the cemetery - 08:13

Booth's fingers ran impatiently over the steering wheel like a passionate piano player fondles the keys of his beloved instrument. Whereas he would usually be more focused on Brennan than on the road, he now resolved to tightly grip the wheel one moment and torture it the next while staring straight ahead of him. Something or someone was keeping him from bickering with her in his usual vain attempt to win the argument. Brennan concluded from this that Booth had to be feeling either very anxious or very, very misunderstood. Why, she could only acknowledge in her head. The last thing Brennan needed was a spoken reminder of the lunatic still running free somewhere out there and of the fear that had gripped her when she had mistaken Booth for a burglar.

An uncomfortable feeling settled in Brennan's stomach and she resisted the sudden temptation of looking over her shoulder to see what cars were behind them. Instead, she concentrated on the scenery whizzing by as they sped down the street. It was like this every time thoughts of their stalker crossed her mind. She had to restrain her thought process and stop herself before her mind got too carried away. The only difference between all those other times when she was filled with dread and worry about whoever was hunting them and now, was that the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Plus, she had the strangest sensation that someone -- apart from Booth -- was intensely watching her. Brennan pursed her lips, choosing to ignore all signs. It was the end of November. The cold caused the strange bodily sensations she was experiencing. A stranger supposedly stalking her had nothing to do with a few hairs standing on end or the unpleasant feeling of twitching muscles. Everything could be traced back to the cold weather, a lack of sleep, and the intense, scrutinizing stare Booth subjected her to.

But a part of Brennan objected to her theories. She usually didn't feel this uncomfortable whenever she was the center of Booth's attention. Normally Brennan was slightly nervous, but she felt appreciated, respected and as hard as it was to admit, even just mentally, she felt cherished and liked...loved even, maybe. But only in a very partner-like way. Brennan drew in a deep breath and sat up straight. She had to stick to her rational explanations or else she would go down a path she wasn't ready to explore yet. So instead of cowering, she reasoned that no one could be following them because Booth would have noticed. He was good at spotting those things. Good enough to earn him her trust.

But Brennan's discomfort increased when she caught Booth's attitude changing. A worried frown creased his forehead and he began to regularly check his rearview mirror. Questioningly lifting an eyebrow, Brennan observed his antics. Booth shot her a quick look, probably to see if she was on to him, and stilled as soon as he met her eye. But the damage was already done. Brennan no longer feigned an interest in the buildings, streets, and people flying by as they drove. Booth and his nervous frown-and-check routine confirmed the ominous 'gut feelings' she had been experiencing ever since they had gotten into the SUV. Of course, stubborn as she was, she refused to go along with any suspicion until she had concrete evidence. But now Booth had provided her enough proof that she should worry. Brennan suppressed the urge to gulp and chose instead to address Booth.

"Stop it, Booth. No one is following us." She sounded determined, dismissing any counterarguments in advance. Booth kept quiet. In response, Brennan pulled her lips into a thin line. She curtly pronounced every word as she repeated, "No one is following us. You're imagining things."

"Am I?" Booth slowed down a bit to throw a penetrating look at his partner. Brennan bluntly stared back.

"Yes, you are. No one is following us."

"That's the third time you've said that." He turned his attention back to the road again and mumbled, "Good luck with convincing yourself."

"He won't be there." Confidence was what she wanted to display, but she detected a minor hint of stress in her voice. As much as she tried to focus and pretend she was fine, the spider cracks in her defense kept multiplying, widening and stretching. If she wasn't careful, she would be defenseless in the upcoming days. The thought of being vulnerable and completely exposed was frightening. Everyone could harm her then -- especially the killer who was after them.

"He will." Booth sounded as confident as Brennan wanted to feel. "He went to a lot of trouble to shoot John and attack Angela afterwards. He left me...us...enough clues to tie the two cases together. He's playing with us. He'll be there." He paused. "So I'm going to be there as well."

Brennan thought of it as wise to only partially object. The unsettling feeling that was still roaming on the inside made her more careful than normal. They weren't dealing with an ordinary murderer so perhaps it was best to behave a bit irrationally and give in to Booth...but only part way. "In the car," she stated. "You'll be there...in the car."

"No, I won't. I'm coming with you, Bones."

"No, you're not." Brennan silently chided herself for sounding just a tad too desperate to her own ears. Booth, however, didn't seem to pay a lot of attention to her tone because he furiously clenched his jaw muscles.

He tore his eyes from the road to give her a stern stare. In a low voice he spoke, "For the millionth time, you don't have any say in this. You owe me for nearly crippling me with that bat."

"You nearly shot me," Brennan countered flatly.

As if on cue, the bits and pieces of the nightmares that kept popping into her head disappeared and were replaced by some far more pleasant scenes. Namely of how Booth had pinned her to the wall and had waited just a moment too long before withdrawing. The friction of skin on skin still confused her. They had touched before, during those 'guy hugs' for example, but somehow those had been different. Was it the lack of clothing that had made the feel of his hands on her body urgent and needy? And what about that split second when she had caught a glimpse of primal lust flashing across his face?

In a moment of total honesty, as she had dressed in the bedroom, she had admitted to herself that Booth hadn't been the only one suppressing his urges. In the course of the past six months, there had been more sparks than ever. But they had to be ignored. Nothing good could come out of a possible relationship with Booth. They would jeopardize their careers and partnership. Brennan blinked upon suddenly realizing she had never considered what she and Booth had as friendship. They were partners, not just friends. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She could practically see Angela sitting in the back of the car, suggestively waggling her eyebrows and subtly mentioning that the word 'partner' carried so much significance.

"We've been over this, Bones. You're not going alone. Which is why you're in my car." To underline the last two words, he pointed at her, then downwards when he said 'my', and then casually rested his wrist on the steering wheel. Booth's mind appeared not to be stuck on what had happened in the hotel room earlier. Brennan imperceptibly rolled her shoulders as if to shrug her thoughts off.

"You're only driving me. I'm not letting you go to John's funeral. You're not invited," she replied as she crossed her arms. Upon receiving a pointed look from Booth, she narrowed her eyes. He was deliberately reminding her of her lack of invitation. "It's different for me. You didn't sleep with John for three months."

"Thank God," Booth muttered, eyeing her from the side. "And of course I'm not 'invited'. You don't receive invitations for funerals like you do for parties. Anyone can go to a cemetery and attend a funeral. Anyone could be there, including and especially our killer." He breathed out audibly, noting how uninterested and unfazed Brennan was by his explanation. Annoyed, he gestured at her. "Fine, let's get back to John then. Why don't you tell me why you liked him so much?"

Brennan seemed to ponder his question for a few short moments. "He was decent, had no ambition to overpower me, had no urge to kill, and had no intention of leaving. That's why I liked him."

With a hint of amusement Booth noted Brennan had enumerated all of the qualities her former boyfriends hadn't had. Pangs of jealousy speared his insides when it dawned on him that the chance of Brennan intending on going for 'the real thing' with John had been more than probable. His sudden insight made him take a deep breath and momentarily silenced him. No matter how Brennan would argue if he shared his thoughts with her, fact remained that she had attracted a man who she presumed to be better than the failures she had dated in the past. She had subconsciously been looking for someone to settle down with. Without a doubt in a non-traditional way, but still long-term in every sense of the word.

"You're forgetting his dashing good looks," Booth eventually mumbled, trying to sound sarcastic, but failing. "Come on, a penny for your thoughts."

Brennan stared blankly ahead of her. "Why do you care about John's appearance? I should have never mentioned I consider you as good breeding stock. You don't have to compete with him."

Booth quirked an eyebrow, preferring to ignore her comment. "Sidestepping the question there, Bones." He glanced at her. "You do know you'll have to open up and talk to me one day, right?"

"Don't go Gordon Gordon or Dr. Sweets on me, Booth," Brennan warned.

"I'm just saying..." He shrugged. "If you think past their 'wicked psychological enigmatic ways', those guys may have had a point. Talking could help you...both of us."

For a moment Brennan stared at him as though attempting to bore a hole through his forehead with her piercing looks. "I'm not letting you attend John's funeral."

"What? That's not what I-" He seemed flabbergasted.

"Save it, Booth," she cut him off. "This is neither the time nor the place to root around in my head in an attempt to make me discuss my feelings."

Gritting his teeth, Booth returned, "You're rationalizing everything to get me to believe you're doing just fine."

"I am fine."

Booth narrowed his eyes. "You're scared."

"I am not scared. I refuse to be."

"Really? You sure of that? Because, honestly, nothing says 'I'm scared' more than swinging a bat at your partner's head."

"I was aiming for your back and I thought you were an intruder."

"Proves my point even more." Booth glanced at Brennan. He was briefly taken aback when he caught the dramatic change in her appearance. Minutes ago she had stubbornly been staring out of the window. Now she was feverishly switching between looking straight ahead with widened eyes and restlessly glancing at the side-mirror. "You're scared, Bones. You're terrified he's coming after you. At least have the guts to admit it." His grumpily uttered words turned Brennan rigid. All Booth wanted to do was reach out and take Brennan's cold, clammy hand in his, but he had excluded that option by ruthlessly attempting to bully Brennan into admitting her fear. There was no turning back now. He'd have to keep pressing her buttons and hope for the best.

"I'm not-" she started.

"Give it a rest, will you, Bones? Don't think I haven't noticed the number of times you've checked every mirror or how you're exhausting yourself looking for evidence. I'm just as determined as you are to find out whoever is after us. But if we want to win, we'll have to trust each other and we'll have to talk...sort everything out, you know."

Brennan's shoulders slumped slightly. The fierceness of her earlier arguments disappeared, leaving only a hint of a strong and independent Brennan behind. Her fragility matched her voice as she quietly spoke, "You know I trust you."

Because Brennan backed down, Booth relaxed too. "Then let's be honest here. Why didn't you call me?" For the first time during their conversation, they directly looked at each other without glaring. Booth's open gaze with not a single glint of mockery or sarcasm underlined the careful posing of his question.

Brennan sighed, irritated. Just as quickly as she had shed her distant attitude, it was back. Only now she looked rather weary than dominant. "Not now, Booth. You and your ego will have to wait." She paused, then swiftly continued, "Take a left at the next intersection. The cemetery is down the road."

"We'll discuss this again, Bones. I'm not letting this slide so easily."

"Like you ever would," Brennan mumbled.

---&---

Brennan felt like running away. She was far from being a cowardly woman, but the deep feeling of sadness added to the penetrating stares she received from the people around her were enough to make her consider returning to the SUV. Though she hated to admit it, she had to recognize that attending John's funeral was a mistake. His family hadn't asked for her presence because they blamed her for his death. If he hadn't met her, hadn't been at her apartment, he might still be alive. Since they lacked the man who was really responsible for pulling the trigger, they blamed Brennan instead. She was aware of all of this and tried to ignore it, but it still stung. John's family was hurting and they were simply looking for a scapegoat to curse.

As Brennan stood to the side, far away from the family, she watched some of them say a few words as they laid a white rose on John's casket before it was lowered into the ground. She wondered what she would say about John if she had been the one there, in front of his coffin, praising his good qualities. She had known him for about three months. In total they had met thirty times. Had she really known him outside the bedroom? Shaking her head and taking a step back, Brennan concluded that she had come to John's funeral because she felt guilty. Her relationships regularly failed, but this was the first one that had ended with murder. John's family was right. He had been an innocent bystander, in the line of fire only because he had been with her. She felt sad because another life had violently been taken, not because it happened to be her lover's life.

"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust," Booth mumbled. Brennan glanced sideways at him. Despite their disagreement, Booth had calmly followed her into the church and was now standing next to her. His shoulder subtly pressed against hers as if to remind her that she wasn't alone. She breathed out audibly and returned to staring at John's coffin. Maybe she was struggling with Booth's overly protective nature or the exact meaning of their rather close encounter at the hotel, but truth was she was glad that he had come along. If someone could keep her grounded, it was Booth.

Without taking her eyes off John's family, Brennan discretely nudged her partner. Booth perfectly understood her intentions. He didn't say a word as he turned and placed a warm hand on her hip to guide her in the direction of the SUV. After a few steps he guiltily withdrew it and instead shoved his hands into the pockets of his long winter coat. Brennan pretended not to notice and continued to walk.

As she made her way past dozens of headstones the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, exactly like when they had been driving to the cemetery. Thinking it was the glares John's family sent after her, Brennan turned expecting to find them all looking at her. But they weren't. They all had their eyes fixed on the casket.

Frowning, Brennan moved closer to Booth until their arms were brushing. "Booth..."

He nodded and said the words that made Brennan turn cold. "I know. Someone's watching us."

And on that "cheerful" note I am going to run like hell before you all remember I have taught you a thing or two about torture and decide to use that knowledge against me. See you all in two weeks!