AN: Because of the long wait, I combined two chapters to make one long one. I apologize again for keeping you all waiting.

Chapter Eight: Playing with Fire

"You don't know what's going on either, so don't you dare try to tell me something you don't believe in yourself..."

To Booth, it seemed like the beautiful woman staring blankly out the window was becoming scarier by the minute. She had suddenly turned into a mind reader, he mused mirthlessly. Booth sighed softly and drove slowly through the crowded street, collecting his disjointed and confused thoughts. He couldn't acknowledge or believe that Brennan was a forensic anthropologist at the Jeffersonian Institute in D.C.—she wasn't some person who dropped out of the sky, Booth and the F.B.I had proof that she lived in D.C. all her life. Her spacious apartment ten blocks from the White House had been cleared out and contained new habitants since her two-year coma, and her wedding business was placed in the hands of her partner, a woman named Margot Rigby. She had friends and once had a family, and they were all testaments to the life Brennan didn't believe she lived. It wasn't as if she were a Jane Doe without any identification, and evidence of a life. Temperance Brennan had existed, just like any other normal person, and her life was one that was documented. On top of that, the museum just didn't exist. To him, declaring none of that happened was like claiming the sun and the universe revolved around the Earth.

But yet…that didn't explain the things she knew. His doubts about her knowledge of bones had vanished. Though her inside scoop on Booth's own past was disturbing, he had grown used to the odd feeling. It was if they were the friends and partners she claimed them to be. Though that was impossible, he was beginning to like the idea that somehow, he would have trusted her enough with his darkest and most haunting memories. Brennan was right—he didn't know what to believe.

He turned back to her, and saw she was fighting tears. Her eyes had grown blurry red, and her hands were clenched tightly at her sides. Gently, Booth asked, "Are you going to be alright?"

She seemed to snap out of her dazedness, and Booth's question provided a helping hand in the battle of her silent breakdown. Sighing, Brennan fought off the tears one last time and answered, "Yes. It's just…yes, I'll be fine."

"And this…this is your definition of fine?"

Her hands loosened, and she exhaled wearily. "Angela isn't dead. She's with Hodgins. Happy. Alive."

Booth bit back an argument. He had just shown her the poor woman's grave. It was in the case file—Angela was the first victim of Epps…when in the hell did Jack come into this?

Brennan continued, "I know this isn't real. It just can't be. But I do know one thing, or at least I think I know. It's more of a feeling, even though I don't take much stock in things without hard physical evidence, I have nothing else to go on."

"And what's that?" Booth asked evenly. They were still both obviously and irrevocably bewildered with each other.

Brennan paused before finishing, "I need to help you catch Epps. If one wants to find any rationality in this backwards world, it would be to kill Epps. That's the way it happened, and that's the way it should be. Maybe once that's done…" She trailed off, not able to imagine how this would all be fixed. She felt Booth become tense.

"When did killing Epps come into the picture?" he asked calmly. Brennan frowned. She could feel the hate radiating off of him: wouldn't he have rather have seen Epps dead anyway?

"You accidentally dropped Epps off a building."

"How in the hell can you 'accidentally' drop someone?" Booth questioned. He thought the image over in his head, and Brennan saw him sneer. "A fitting end," Booth said quietly, "even in your backwards reality check, I'm the one to kill him. I'll let you know something Tempe, if that were ever the case, there would be no accident."

Brennan felt a strike of fear. This wasn't the Booth she knew. "You didn't want to let go because you didn't want to be like him."

A vein throbbed in his head and he answered stiffly, "I don't give a damn if killing him means I'm becoming a monster like him."

Brennan shook her head and asked, "Did Epps do something personal to you? I mean, he sent Angela a heart, poisoned Cam, and a bomb almost blew up Zach, and he threatened Parker—that was the name of your son—and even then, you didn't have the intention of killing that bastard."

Booth was silent for what seemed like an infinite amount of time. Barely audible, Booth answered, "No. Epps didn't do anything to me." He then added, "If I had a child, and Epps threatened him, I don't see how I could not have gone after him. Maybe you don't know me as well as you think."

Taken aback by his response, Brennan struggled to understand why Booth despised Epps so much. Surely Booth has dealt with worse human beings before. As if he knew what she was thinking, he explained, "I hate him because he thinks he can get away with it. There are so many people he's hurt. Life is too precious, and he's taken those lives away as if he were some kind of god. It should never be that way."

Brennan wasn't even close to being satisfied with his answer. She felt knots in her stomach, knowing something more sinister was lurking within Booth's mind. She knew intuitively that this wasn't the reason, but she realized trying to delve further wouldn't do any good. Blandly, Brennan forced herself to agree, "Yea." She wanted to get as far away from this line of conversation as possible.

"So what's your grand plan? How are we going to catch Epps?" Booth sighed, suddenly exhausted. Brennan felt herself become calm. He seemed to be normal Booth again, not scary doppelganger Booth.

Brennan thought a few moments before asking Booth, "Am I the only survivor of Epps' attacks?"

Booth nodded in affirmative.

"Does he know I'm walking, talking, and thinking?"

"Why do you think we're taking you to a safehouse? We want to make sure he doesn't find you. I know what you're thinking—I am not going to use you as bait, and I sure as hell am not changing my mind. There has to be another way. I am not going to stand on the sidelines and watch while you put yourself in danger," Booth declared, his voice strong and firm. For once, Brennan smiled slightly. She was starting to notice he was becoming more like the Booth she knew.

"You're right. He would come after me, and finish the job. In the hospital I was protected, not to mention I was as good as dead anyway," Brennan stated. "Which is why I'm sure Deputy Dir. Saroyan wouldn't mind."

Booth slammed on the brakes and demanded, "What in the hell are you talking about?"

"You might want to stop jamming traffic, you're making drivers angry."

Growling, Booth pushed the gas again, ignoring honking horns and asked irritatingly, "You're going to go over my head on this one, aren't you?"

"Did you stop and think that all his attention would be focused on me? That he wouldn't be busy killing other innocent people?" Brennan pointed out.

Booth shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "How are you certain that he'll come after you?"

"Past history," Brennan said simply. "Trust me on this."

"I don't like it. Not at all. We are definitely playing with fire."

Brennan leaned back into her seat as an unspoken answer passed between them. Booth might not have agreed with the plan, but Brennan knew he trusted and believed her enough not to argue it further.

"Serial killer Howard Epps is still on the loose, and authorities are none closer to apprehending the murderer of nearly one hundred people in the nation's capital…"

In a small, cramped apartment in the worst neighborhood of D.C. the news broadcast was the only thing to be heard. Even the crackheads and the prostitutes one room over were silent, a rare occurrence. Inside the domicile one would find a television, a chair, and a bed with one bathroom. It was home, and it was one dark place to be. Though the man crouched back in the chair was disgusted by the conditions, it was the only place he could be. And as per what the reporter was claiming, he'd be stuck in D.C.'s hellhole for a little while longer.

Howard Epps leaned toward the small thirteen-inch television and grinned wickedly. Yes, he might be living spartanly, but screwing over the police force and continuing making the history books was well worth it. "Agent Booth…what a pitiful excuse as a 'protector'. He must be having a breakdown by now, after two years of dead ends. A glow of satisfaction filled his insides. He had no quarrel with the agent. He just happened to be the unlucky S.O.B. who took the case. Epps supposed that's what made everything more enjoyable.

"…but tonight, we have news that one of Epps' victims has survived."

Epps' head shot up, alarm freezing every nerve.

"Two years ago, Temperance Brennan, a wedding planner here in D.C. was the second victim of Howard Epps. She was arranging the ceremony between Epps and first victim, Angela Montenegro."

"That bitch is in a coma," Epps snapped at the television. "She's just as good as dead, who gives a damn?"

"Ms. Brennan survived and was comatose for two years. In a shocking medical miracle, she had woken, and is already discharged from the hospital."

Epps became very still.

"We were able to contact Ms. Brennan for a statement, and she boldly commented, 'I feel fine, like nothing ever happened. I am shocked at what has occurred since my attack, and by the tragedy in D.C. I feel for the families of loved ones who have experienced the works of a mentally unstable, evil man. But let this be a testament to Epps—he is flawed, sloppy, and inept, and he can be caught. I would not be alive if I was wrong."

If minds were physical, Epps would have just snapped his. "You shouldn't have said that," Epps said darkly. He was inept? Sloppy? After two years of calculating, two years of not getting caught. His IQ was well-above genius, and a simpleton of a wedding planner was taunting him on national television. A little voice of sanity in the dark recesses of his mind screamed that finishing the woman off could get him caught. He shook his head, tossing off the worries. He hadn't been discovered yet. And it would never happen, so help him God.

"You shouldn't have said that," Epps growled, furious. He stood abruptly, knocking the chair over. He had work to do.

"You shouldn't have said that," Booth shook his head as he watched the set-up newscast. Picking up the remote in the secluded safehouse an hour from D.C., he switched off the television and looked at Brennan, grimacing.

She shrugged her shoulders and answered, "It's what the plan was. We need him to come after me."

Hodgins came up to Booth and stated, "She's right man. I can sleep easy tonight knowing Epps isn't going to be killing someone else."

"You don't know that," Booth pointed out. "He might not take the bait. Not to mention Tempe's under our protection. What's he going to do? Walk into the Bureau and ask, 'Excuse me, I would like to know the whereabouts of the one woman I didn't kill'?"

Brennan supplied, "I'm not staying here forever. I'm coming back into D.C. to help identify the Jane Doe you have from Epps. He knows I'm with you, he isn't stupid."

"Did I tell you I hated this whole thing?"

"Multiple times."

Hodgins glanced at his watch and replied, "Is it alright if I leave you two alone? I don't want to come back here in the morning and discover that one of our own agents ended up killing her. You two fight like a married couple."

Booth shot him a glare and Hodgins smirked in return. "I'm gonna head out with the other agents. You know what to do if that bastard magically shows up. 'Night guys."

Brennan gave a little wave and Booth nodded. Within minutes, only the two occupied the house, minus three additional agents guarding the outside perimeter. An awkward silence filled the air, and Brennan sifted uncomfortably. Booth cleared his throat and suggested, "We should probably get some sleep. I have a feeling today's going to be a long one."

Brennan stood, and noticed that there was only one bedroom. Booth offered her a small smirk and said, "Don't worry. I got the couch. Get some sleep, Tempe."

Brennan murmured a good night before heading off to the bedroom. She didn't look back at Booth, because she felt a pang of longing. She wished he would call her Bones again.

She heard screams.

Brennan bolted in the bed, her heart rate pounding. It was raining outside, and for a moment she thought she was dreaming. Why had she heard yelling? Surely Epps hadn't found her already? She listened intently and held her breath. Infinity passed before her straining ears picked up groans from the living room. Fear and adrenaline shocked her system and she leapt out of bed. Something was wrong with Booth, and he obviously needed help.

Creeping across the room after grabbing a baseball bat for protection, Brennan was careful not to step on the creaking floorboards. Once her feet touched carpet, she picked up her speed, terrified at what she was about to see. Pushing herself against the wall, she left the corridor and entered the living room, baseball bat poised for a hit. Even in the darkness, she could make out Booth's body on the couch, under a thin blanket.

He groaned, and thrashed to the side, breathing harshly. He was murmuring, and his eyes were shut tightly. Brennan lowered the bat and sighed. He was having nightmares. Turning the lights on the dim setting, she wondered briefly if she should wake him. Deciding it was better to irritate him than keep him stuck in hell, Brennan walked over and gently touched his shoulder.

"Booth," she whispered.

She felt him stiffen, and she tried again. "Booth?"

His eyes snapped open, and his arms shot out to grab her. Before she knew it, she was flipped onto the couch, his hands digging into her flesh. She gasped and he demanded, "Why Parker!"

"Booth! Wake up! It's Tempe," Brennan shouted. She gripped his arms and dug her fingers into his arms. "Damn it, Booth, wake up!"

She felt his arms slacken, and his eyes blinked slowly. In confusion, he shook his head and asked, "What…huh?"

Brennan rubbed her arms, and said stiffly, "You were having a nightmare."

Booth's eyes widened, and then narrowed when he saw Brennan holding her arms. "Did I do that to you?"

"I shouldn't have startled you like that," Brennan answered his question. Booth grimaced and apologized wearily, "Tempe, I'm so sorry. Did I hurt you…" he went to inspect her arms, but she pulled away.

Getting up, Brennan said quietly, "I'm just going to go back to sleep. You didn't hurt me, Seeley."

Bewildered by her reaction, Booth dumbly answered, "Okay…"

Brennan almost didn't make it to her bedroom before letting the tears slip. Her heart felt an enormous amount of sorrow, and it was if it were ripping apart beneath her skin. This was one of the many reasons why she didn't want children.

"Parker, what happened to you?"

Special Agent Jack Hodgins didn't know what to expect when he drove slowly up the secluded driveway of the safe house. He thought wryly by the way his best friend and partner was going toe to toe with the unusual Ms. Tempe Brennan, emphasis on the 'unusual'. By what Booth had told him, Hodgins wouldn't even want to be in the same room with Brennan. Her uncanny ability to just know about bones—and Booth's past—gave him the shivers. At the same time however, he was admiring her ability to keep composure. The last thing he wanted was to have to deal with a sobbing puddle of an insane woman. He'd take creepy over crazy any day.

He nodded to the tired agents outside the house, assuring them that someone else would take over and relieve them later. Entering the house, he found an exhausted Booth sitting at the kitchen counter, clutching a cup of coffee as if it were his lifeline. His eyes rose when he saw small bluish bruises running up Booth's arm.

"Dude, I knew I shouldn't have left you alone with her," Hodgins ventured.

Booth shrugged his shoulders, "Bad night. I was having trouble sleeping."

"So she attacked you?"

Without answering, Booth stood up and said, "Jack, I gotta get some rest back at my house. Can you stay here for a few hours before I come back?"

"Yeah…sure buddy," Hodgins answered cautiously. "Where is the good Tempe Brennan?"

"Getting dressed, I think," Booth replied. "You know what to do if that bastard shows up," Booth echoed Hodgins' words from last night. Hodgins grimaced as a look of sheer anger passed his eyes.

"Booth…"

But his partner was already out the door. Hodgins shook his head sadly and rubbed his forehead. A cough made him spin around. Brennan was leaning against the doorway, appearing just as exhausted as Booth. Hodgins' immediately say the same type of bruising on her arms and he could tell she had cried earlier.

"What in the hell happened last night?" Hodgins demanded. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Brennan reassured. She pulled down the long sleeves of a borrowed outfit to cover up the signs of a struggle.

"Are the clothes okay, I mean do they fit?" Hodgins asked quickly, not sure if he wanted to know what happened after he left.

"Yes, they fit. Thank you. And to answer your other question, Booth was having a nightmare. I tired to wake Booth up, but I ended up scaring him. Hence the bruises."

"Oh. A nightmare. He's been having a lot of those lately," Hodgins murmured.

Brennan stared intently at Booth's partner. "I need you to tell me what happened to Parker."

Hodgins looked to the ceiling. "That's a long story, babe."

Despite the seriousness of the conversation, Brennan felt herself smile sadly at Hodgins pet name. Even his mannerisms were still the same.

"Booth told me he didn't have a son, but in his nightmare last night, he was screaming Parker's name," Brennan said slowly.

Hodgins was quiet for a moment. He motioned to the door and said, "Let's take a walk. You should know how important nailing Epps is to him. To all of us."

Brennan watched with an eerie feeling as Hodgins stopped walking with her and picked up a furry caterpillar. He shrugged, almost embarrassed before placing the insect in a leaf, "Sorry. I have a thing with bugs."

"I know," Brennan stated matter-of-factly.

Hodgins snorted before they continued up the path. "You know, you scare me sometimes. I believe you when you say 'I know'. You scare Booth too."

"I understand that."

Hodgins shoved his hands into his pocket and added, "He's taken to you, though."

Brennan looked at him incredulously. "I thought you just told me I scare him."

"Yeah, but trust me on this. He's in homicide, yet he's the one protecting a witness. That's someone else's job."

"Okay, but that could because I'm extremely valuable to the case," Brennan pointed out.

Hodgins boldly countered, "Sorry to burst your bubble, but he's told me how he feels about you. You can creep him out, be he does care about you. He does have this sense that somehow, if it were possible, he could totally see you as his partner. Booth already trusts you, and that's something he doesn't give: one has to earn his trust."

Brennan started to protest the absurdity of his statements, but halted. She felt a swell of relief, and of something else. She couldn't name it, but it was comforting with several twists of melancholy. She wished now more than ever to be 'back' with Booth, in a world where they were partners, in a world where she wouldn't be saying his caring was absurd.

"Why are you telling me this?" Brennan asked quietly. Gratefully.

"Because of what I'm going to tell you about Parker. What I say doesn't leave this spot," Hodgins said grimly.

Brennan nodded, and Hodgins' voice turned tight with emotion. "Parker. Five years old. Epps murdered him six months ago. He snatched Booth's son from a park."

Brennan's hands traveled to her mouth, disgusted and sorrow plaguing her insides. Never before had she wished she was wrong in her earlier suspicions.

"The only reason why Booth is still on the case is because there was no conclusive evidence that Epps did it. But we know. We all know the truth."

Brennan whispered, "How can Booth keep working like that…knowing what Epps did…"

Hodgins rubbed his forehead. "I'm his partner. His best friend. And even I can't get him to talk about what happened. Booth hasn't grieved yet, and that's the worst thing someone can do to themselves…after they lose a loved one like that. To anyone who doesn't know, like yourself, Parker never existed. He's been living in this state resembling a zombie. His only goal is to get Epps—and I think when he means by get, it's the same thing as kill."

Brennan shuddered. It suddenly had grown very cold.

Hodgins stared intently at her. "I have a feeling this whole thing is going to end soon. One way or another, someone is going to get hurt. I've done all I can for Booth."

Struggling to understand what Hodgins was trying to imply, Brennan prompted, "…and I'm supposed to get him to…"

"No. You're not going to talk to him, confront him about Parker…he's not ready to accept what happened. When he does…it'll be messy. We all know that. I can't be with him all the time," Hodgins countered.

"Okay…I'm sorry, but I don't understand," Brennan apologized.

"If Booth is the one who faces Epps in the end, I need you to be there to make sure he doesn't go down that road. The one where he'll completely snap and be consumed by whatever has been eating away at his soul these past six months. Whether it's anger, sorrow, or revenge…we can't lose Booth to that ugly world. Do you understand what I'm asking?" Hodgins finished softly.

A gust of wind surrounded Brennan and she wrapped her arms tightly around herself. She met Hodgins pleading eyes and she nodded.

"I understand."