A/N

The is the final chapter.

The day after Christmas.

Booth woke up from his short nap disoriented. In addition to the painkillers, his internal clock was messed up by the past 48 hours, further confused by the darkening apartment. It was dusk outside and he'd fallen asleep earlier with no lights on. Bleary eyed, he checked his watch. 6:02. He sat up on the couch with a groan then hissed when he felt something ice cold.

"Crap."

The ice pack for his face had slipped off and leaked onto the couch. He tossed it onto the coffee table. It was just as well – although it helped with the pain it wasn't supposed to be on too long, something about interfering with the soft tissue of his face healing. At least he didn't need one on his balls anymore. He gingerly probed his still swollen face and tender scalp with the fingertips of his left hand. The other night, he'd hardly noticed the huge goose egg on his head from when Max had struck him the first time with the cast iron skillet, at least compared to his face. It was still there though mostly shrunken now. Thank God that one wasn't a fracture.

The most disturbing thing was the repair to his cheekbone, which had required a titanium plate and several small screws installed through one incision along the hairline at his temple and another inside his mouth along the upper jaw between the cheek and gum. He'd finally managed to suppress the urge to keep probing the stitches with his tongue. The surgeon had assured him he'd look good as new in a few weeks. The hellacious shiner he was now sporting was just the icing on the cake. He had four stitches on his neck, arms and legs mottled with ugly half-healed bruises from the baton, and, finally a blue fiberglass cast on his right forearm immobilizing his right wrist. He was wearing some droopy boxers under the lounge pants and robe instead of his usual white briefs because they were still too binding.

Feeling some cabin fever, he decided to take a short trip to collect his piled up mail. He slowly struggled to his feet, the protesting muscles making him feel like he was only in his seventies today. He stepped into his slippers and shuffled through the apartment toward the door.

He'd got home around 1PM, fortunate to have a place to come home to. Cullen had somehow managed to expedite the CSI guys doing their thing and getting the kitchen cleaned up. Booth owed him big time. He'd insisted on coming home, turning down offers from Rebecca and Cam to crash with them. He just wanted to be alone. He didn't want to go with Rebecca because he didn't want Parker to see him just yet, and he'd turned down Cam for obvious reasons. He felt like a bit of a heel since she'd rushed back from New York early when she'd heard, only to have him try to keep her at arm's length. However, he wasn't above letting her give him a ride home and getting him settled in. Although it was a little awkward given the revelation Max had forced upon him Christmas Eve about his true feelings, he really appreciated her help. No way in hell he could give her her walking papers just yet when she'd been here for him like that.

He cinched up the robe tighter before going outside. Fortunately, the mailboxes were just around the corner from his building entrance.

He'd insisted Rebecca stay away and try to give Parker as normal a Christmas as possible. Other than Cam, his only visitor in the hospital had been Hodgins. The bug guy had been so disturbed by events he actually forgot to liberate Booth's unopened dessert. Jack reported that Angela didn't come because she was forcibly inflicting herself on Brennan, a good thing. That was exactly why Booth had called her Christmas Eve after taking care of the other calls and before the cavalry arrived. Apparently Angela was the one who'd called Cam.

As to Temperance… He let out a sigh.

They'd shared the same ambulance on the way to the ER. Before his swollen jaw had virtually seized up, he'd managed to talk to her about the surveillance a little, to explain that he had not known anything, had merely suspected, and would have told her if he'd confirmed it, the rules be damned. She'd said she believed him, but he couldn't tell if she meant it – she was just so clearly fucked up by events. It was even possible that Max's tale of surveillance was just more bullshit he'd been fed, but Booth wasn't taking that bet.

Cullen had plead ignorance but promised to get to the bottom of it. Of course it should be moot now with Max dead.

He unlocked his nearly overflowing mailbox and pinned the mail to his chest with the cast. He barely looked at it for the moment before turning around to shuffle home.

She'd been discharged late Christmas Eve after having her skull x-rayed and the greenstick fracture in her arm set, and left while he was getting juiced on painkillers and waiting for surgery the next morning. He hadn't seen her since. She'd called late last night once to see how he was recovering, but she'd steered the conversation away from anything more important and ended up cutting it short when he pushed too hard. She had not returned either of his calls to her today. He'd try calling once more tonight, and, if she didn't respond, well, he was going to drive over in the morning whether she wanted him to or not, one-handed if need be. He'd just need to go when the painkillers were wearing off, and he had a clearer head.

He imagined she was trying to get a handle on funeral arrangements and getting her father's body released – and that's if things were going well. His need to see her wasn't about his loving her, not exactly, that cat was already out of the bag, but about telling his side of the story and getting her to fully trust him again so he could try to help her. It wasn't as if she didn't already have a hard enough time at Christmas. God damn you, Max.

He opened his door and made it back to the couch without dropping anything.

The room had grown even darker with the fading sunset outside, so he turned on the lamp, squinting even though the glare made his head hurt. He started flipping through the three days' worth of mail: power bill, Verizon bill, Visa bill, a couple late Christmas cards, not one but two Eddie Bauer catalogues, miscellaneous junk mail, then, finally, a larger, stiff cardboard mailer marked 'Photos Enclosed, Do Not Bend.'

Curious, he tore off the pull tab and three 5x7 glossy color photos spilled out.

The first was a candid of Parker on the front walk outside of Rebecca's place. He was wearing a goofy yet charming smile, and the Christmas decorations on the porch were visible behind him. Booth couldn't help himself. In spite of all that he had to be gloomy about, the picture of his son made him smile, smile even to the point of his face hurting.

The next shot was Parker in the play yard of his kindergarten, laughing with some of his classmates. It was also a very recent pic and made him smile again. It reminded Booth that he really needed to see about surprising Parker by showing up for lunch with him some day soon.

The final photo was of Parker in his big kid booster seat in the back of Rebecca's car. Rebecca was in the driver's seat with her head turned over her shoulder back toward him. They were at a drive-thru, McDonald's if he had to hazard a guess.

Neither seemed aware their photo was being taken from outside the car.

Booth's blood ran cold.

This photo obviously displayed the compressed perspective typical of a shot taken through a high powered telephoto lens.

He snatched up the mailer and flipped it over.

No return address. He tipped it up, squeezed it open, tapped and shook. There was no note inside. He double checked the backs of the photos in a frenzy.

Nothing.

Still, the implied message was crystal clear.

Sit tight, asshole. We'll be in touch.

He checked the mailer one more time. The postmark was December 21 in Alexandria, Virginia. It had probably been sitting out in his mailbox the whole time Max was kicking his ass inside.

The mailer slipped from his fingers to the carpet.

He turned off the lamp and sat in the gloom for a long time, staring at nothing.

A/N

That's the end, folks (there appeared to be some confusion). Thanks for reading No Angel.

I may be starting another story soon, so keep an eye out.

Please check out Servare Vitas if you haven't already.