A/N

At times this fic has seemed like the 'never ending story' as it keeps stretching out.

This was turning into another mega-monster chapter topping 8k words, the longest one of the whole story so far. It still needed a little work on the back end so I split it in two unequal parts. The remaining 5,000 plus words should be up on Wednesday.

Monday, Jeffersonian Institute Medico-Legal Laboratory

When Emily pushed her improvised wheelchair around the last corner so she could see the entrance to the Lab up ahead, Brennan finally felt like she could breathe again. At least a little. She was still worried sick about Booth, but they were 'home' now. She was wiped out by the relentless grind of events and desperately needed a reprieve.

But she still knew it wasn't really over. Not yet…

Others in their group of refugees had already preceded them, and the Lab's big steel security doors were being held open by a white-shirted Jeffersonian guard and Dr. Goodman himself. Not one but two Washington D.C. policemen stood at the ready with automatic rifles and blue vests. Hodgins and Zach stood anxiously a bit further inside.

"Mom!"

Emily gave a startled cop the AK rifle she'd been carrying then ran in past them to join her mother who was still with the school children. It was only a few minutes since they'd seen each other, but Brennan didn't begrudge them their hug. She'd give anything in the world to see her own mother at that moment.

"Thank, God, you two are safe!"

Her attention was drawn back to Goodman. He eyed her condition but said nothing else as he ushered them inside quickly. The doors were re-secured behind them with a clunk as the solenoids of the electronic locks slammed home.

He stopped and turned to them, "I take it you saw Agent Booth?"

Brennan nodded, but for some reason the words seemed to come slowly to her… Angela answered for her, "Yes. We were already on the way back here."

Goodman was somewhat startled by this, "You mean you escaped? How?"

It was obvious that they had not done so unscathed. He'd addressed the question to Angela, the one who'd spoken, but she turned toward Brennan.

She just couldn't do this right now. "Not without… difficulty." Now that had to be the understatement of the year. She added quietly, "I'd rather not talk about it at the moment, if you don't mind."

Goodman's mouth shut with a nearly audible snap. "Why of course. I understand." His eyes indicated nothing of the sort, but he had the good grace to give them their space. "By all means."

He indicated her leg with the belt strapped around it just below the knee. "It appears you need medical treatment, but I am afraid we are still in lockdown until the museum has been secured. For now the authorities only want the direst of medical emergencies being transported in the open."

"I totally understand." She wasn't ready to leave yet anyway.

Goodman nodded then left them heading toward two men in full black tactical gear on the opposite side of the lab, but he stopped and turned when she called out to him after all.

"What happened to the little girl?"

He was confused for a split second then he recognized what she was talking about. He deflated, shoulders sagging. "She has been evacuated, but it appeared to me to be unlikely that she will survive."

She nodded wordlessly. Goodman continued on his way.

So everyone wasn't going 'home' after all. She tried to be clinical focusing on the injuries she'd observed so she could avoid the fact that the girl was actually someone's daughter.

Zach and Hodgins stepped in to welcome them back with smiles of relief on their faces. Jack gave Angela a hug which she returned wholeheartedly, and Zach patted Brennan's shoulder, hesitant at the physical display. But their reunion was interrupted by the lone Jeffersonian security guard who still wore a worried expression on his face.

"Excuse me, Dr. Brennan, but did either of you see Duncan inside? Officer Travis?"

It was her turn to be briefly confused. Then she felt terrible for not having even remembered his name properly.

Beside her Angela let out a strangled sob and took Hodgins aside into one of the cubicles.

So it fell to her. Booth must be rubbing off on her because for once she didn't know what to tell him.

The truth, idiot! said that little voice in her head.

But not the whole truth, she responded. She nodded to herself, sure Booth would approve.

The guard's name tag said 'Burns', and she vowed to remember it. He looked down at her half fearfully, correctly anticipating that her pause was bad news.

"Duncan was killed helping us escape." She tried to squash the image that arose in her mind as she said it. There was a time when she would have unflinchingly described the mortal wounds in detail, but not any more. At least not today.

Burns' lips made a thin line and he nodded. He was obviously trying to hold back his emotions, for which she was grateful because she was at the ragged edge of her own limit.

The guard turned away, but something compelled her to add one more item of information. It shouldn't really make a difference in a sense, but it did.

"He shot and killed a terrorist who was attacking us before he died."

Burns paused without turning around again and choked out, "Thank you," before she watched him walk away. She saw that instead of going somewhere to grieve in private he returned to his post by the door. He still had a job to do, and he did it.

She made a promise to herself to never take them for granted again.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Brennan." She felt another touch at her shoulder.

She'd forgotten that Zach was still standing there beside her.

She turned her head to look up at her ever loyal assistant, and she smiled at him.

"It's ok to hug me, Zach. I won't break."

He hugged her awkwardly, but she gave him a good tight squeeze for several seconds before letting go. She, Temperance Brennan, actually needed a little human contact.

"Will you push me to my office? I want to get on the couch and elevate this leg."

"Sure." Zach practically jumped to help her.

In the meantime a few more men in full SWAT regalia had entered, and she passed where they were assembling. They were checking and re-checking their own and each other's gear. Some of the men turned and looked at her as she passed, some nodding grimly, others betraying some upset although they hid it well. Like the security guards, out on cases with Booth she'd often just seen them as part of the background, faceless uniforms, muscle with guns.

But now she wondered if each individual man she saw had someone who cared about him, someone who worried for him whenever he responded to the call…

In her office she had Zach turn out the brighter overhead light, then hold the office chair stationary as she transferred herself to the couch. She rearranged a cushion, swung her legs up sideways, then laid back, ignoring some of the stings as she did so.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" He was practically wringing his hands.

Actually there was…

She'd practically forgotten about Booth's pistol until he asked. She'd been clutching it like some sort of primitive talisman that was her lifeline to Booth via sympathetic magic. But now it was time to trade it for a more functional one, one that operated by the 'magic' of technology.

"Here, take this and lock it in my upper left desk drawer and get my cell phone, please."

Zach looked at the extended gun like it was a rattlesnake.

"I'm sorry." With practiced ease she triggered the magazine release with her thumb and caught the dropping clip in her left hand. She set it down and pulled back the slide to eject the round in the chamber, which she reinserted into the top of the clip. She handed him the two items separately. "It's safe now."

He took them gingerly and went over to her desk.

"Oh, and if you could get me some water and aspirin…"

Zach stood up from fishing in the desk with his hands on his hips and looked at her like she was an idiot child. "Are you sure you want aspirin?"

She shook her head. The last thing she needed was an anticoagulant. She gave him a small smile, "Tylenol please."

He fetched the items for her and she gratefully accepted them. However she really didn't want him to keep hovering over her like a mother hen. She wanted to be alone and get her surging emotions under control while waiting for the crisis to be over. She knew the emotions were really nothing more than the tides of hormones and neurotransmitters affecting the synapses of her brain, completely illusory from the standpoint of chemistry, but that knowledge did not stop her from feeling them. Or from hurting.

She looked at her phone, not that she would dare try calling Booth at the moment. What if he didn't have his phone on vibrate? But the issue was moot anyway – there was no signal.

Fortunately she was rescued from Zach's fidgeting by Angela in the doorway.

"Zach, why don't you help Jack? He's going to entertain the kids with his bugs, and he could use your help."

"Certainly," he replied, but he looked at Brennan as if for permission.

"Go! I'll be fine." She waved him off.

He nodded and left, squeezing past Angela and the small rolling cart she was pushing.

For the first time ever, Brennan felt bad about her chosen profession. Even if she had felt up to it, what could she have done with the kids? Trot out a pile of bones? The last thing the children needed to see was more reminders of death. She felt useless.

She made herself push aside the thought and focused on her friend. The cart held two small stainless steel pans full of water and a stack of white cloths.

"I thought we'd try to get you cleaned up." Angela pursed her lips as she pushed the cart beside the couch and grabbed herself the wheeled chair from behind the desk.

Brennan's hands went to her face… "Oh…" Then she looked at the wreckage of her blouse.

Crazy as it sounded she had honestly forgotten what she must look like. No wonder the SWAT team had looked at her the way they had. She gave her friend a smile of gratitude.

"That would be wonderful."

She started to pick up one of the cloths, but Angela swatted at her hand away. "Let me. Lord knows you've been through enough today."

She made a dismissive sound, but Angela persisted, giving her a level stare. "You saved my life today. Let me do this, it's the least I can do. Please."

Brennan relented and surrendered to her best friend's ministrations. She took no offense as Angela first donned a pair of latex gloves, it was simply protocol. Besides, not all of the blood and tissue was hers anyway. Because of her own open wounds she made a mental note to have the source's HIV status checked and remove any doubt even if she was almost certainly safe. She just wasn't betting her life on it. With some effort she pushed away thoughts of the dead grandfather. He might still be alive if she had not encouraged him to tag along, yet, on the other hand, his granddaughter was alive and free. She knew she would have to wrestle with that at some point, but for now she tried to focus on the immediate…

Angela washed her exposed arm, and worked her way up to her shoulder and neck. She felt herself starting to relax almost against her will.

"He'll be ok, you know," her friend said softly.

Some times Angela had an uncanny ability to know exactly what was on her mind. Although it ought to be pretty obvious in this instance, Brennan admitted to her self. After all, Angela had been in the corridor too.

But instead of just accepting it she had to question it, "You can't know that."

Angela tried to strike a lighter tone, "Come on, sweetie, this is Booth we're talking about. You know… smart, tough, brave. Not to mention good looking." She flashed a conspiratorial smile. "I'm not quite sure how that last one helps here, but it can't hurt, can it?"

In spite of herself, Brennan had to chuckle at that. But then she sobered, thinking about the list of attributes. "Let's say that I provisionally accept your analysis…" she began.

Angela smiled at her encouragingly as she rinsed the cloth in one of the pans. Neither one of them made notice of the now red-tinted water.

Brennan finished in a lower voice, "It's precisely the 'brave' part that I'm afraid will get him killed."

Angela made a shushing sound and she patted Brennan's hand. "Don't get yourself in a tizzy. He's been around the block a few times and knows how to take care of himself. He'll be careful."

Brennan started to argue but Angela interrupted her, "Hold still now, I'm about to get your face." The expression on her face brooked no argument. She sighed and gave in.

It t felt so soothing. She closed her eyes and relaxed. Then remembered the last time someone had done it…

She suddenly sat up with a start, her heart pounding. She startled Angela in the process. "I… I'm sorry… I need to do my own face." As she took the cloth from unresisting fingers she avoided her friend's questioning gaze.

Angela sighed in her disappointment, but Brennan just couldn't bring herself to explain her behavior. It was just too much, just as it had been on Saturday, though in some ways this was worse.

Angela would have to settle for rinsing out the cloths and trading out fresh ones.

Brennan soon reached the point of diminishing returns. She would be heading to a hospital soon enough where a surgeon would have to remove the shrapnel in her leg, probably after an x-ray. And they would be checking her other lesser wound for glass – the rest of the cleanup may as well wait. Her hair was hopelessly fouled anyway with blood and slowly desiccating tissue which had become like glue.

She gave her friend a rueful smile, "I don't think there's any more to be done outside of a proper shower." The lab actually had one, but she had nothing to change into, and she wasn't really looking forward to hot water opening up the various cuts yet anyway.

Angela grinned back at her before she took her idea and ran with it…

"Or several hours in a nice hot bubble bath with candles, soft music, some wine…"

"Oh yes…" Brennan breathed. She closed her eyes and sighed. Bubbles weren't normally her thing but the image conjured up by Angela's words was pretty compelling…

But then her friend had to spoil it by adding, "… and someone special to share it all with."

Brennan could practically hear the knowing leer in her voice. She opened her eyes to see Angela's wide-eyed 'innocent' expression, which was spoiled within two seconds by a smirk.

Brennan swatted her arm and groaned.

Angela said, "See? I made you smile. That means my work here is done." She stood up to leave. "I'm going to see how well our two boys are playing with the other children."

Brennan reached out and touched her hand, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she dimpled.

But once Angela had departed her half-suppressed fears for Booth returned full force, having been only temporarily at bay.

To distract herself from them she laid back and resorted to her old friends… where others might count sheep, she counted bones. First she listed them to herself, all two hundred and six, in order of connection, all the way down to the very smallest bones such as the distal phalanges and even individual carpals. Her only shortcut was allowing for bilateral symmetry. Of course even with stopping to list the notable processes, tuberosities, foramens and other features of the major bones it was child's play. Then she worked her way through them in alphabetical order, which was not how she had first learned them. Having mastered that she tackled the much harder task of listing them in reverse alphabetical order…

Zygomatic

Vomer

Ulna

Triquetrum

Trapezoid

"Wake up!"

Angela was sitting on the edge of the couch and shaking her.

Brennan groaned and rubbed her eyes. She couldn't believe that she'd actually dozed off. The short nap left her disoriented. Then a panic gripped her, and she started fully awake…

"What's wrong?"