Hello again! Thanks, as always, for all of the reviews and feedback. I haven't been able to reply to all of them, but I'm recovering well from my surgery last week.

So, we see Max again in this chapter. You'll notice the dialogue of the scenes hasn't changed much (if at all), and that was intentional. The real point of interest is what's going on in their minds.

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Chapter 4

Brennan waited for Max to be escorted into a private visitation room, feeling more than a little nervous at the prospect of seeing him again. The last time she'd visited, she'd promised to bring wedding photos as well as a deck of cards. She wasn't sure why he had requested the latter of the two, but on her way to the prison, she had picked up the cards as well as the wedding album Angela had compiled. When a guard ushered him into the room, her father wore a bright smile. Brennan was beginning to think of it as his default expression. It was an unpleasant reminder that her father was a con man, and she felt her prior irritation resurface.

"Oh, gee, real chairs," he said enthusiastically. "It's nice to have an important daughter." He moved forward to kiss her cheek, but she moved away.

"This is Booth, not me."

"Well, you thank him for me," Max said as they sat in a pair armchairs that faced one another. "I always liked Booth. Nicest guy that ever arrested me."

"Touching." What I should be thanking Booth for is my improved comprehension of sarcasm, she mused.

"Well, you must like this… Me in here. I finally have to follow the rules," he joked.

"So that makes me less than you because I think people should follow the rules?"

"You're upset," he observed.

"Yeah, of course I'm upset. My father's a criminal," she snapped. He winced at her tone.

"No, outlaw. There's a difference."

"Subtle distinctions like that are lost on me and, I imagine, your victims. All of them." She watched his features for a sign that he had caught her implication, but she couldn't be sure. Max thought that she only knew about Garrett Delaney and Robert Kirby, but if her suspicions were correct about the things he'd done to 'make things right,' then she'd implied a knowledge of his other misdeeds as well. She knew that they couldn't speak openly about it; there were undoubtedly cameras recording their visit. To her disappointment, Max seemed to give nothing away.

"I know you want some sort of nice, neat story that puts my life in perspective for you, but it doesn't work that way."

"You could try. Don't I deserve that?" She moderated her anger and kept her voice even and quiet for the moment.

"I guess I always had a problem with authority," he shrugged. "I just always saw myself fighting the system. Kinda like Robin Hood." The con man smile was back, and it irritated the hell out of her.

"Do you realize how ridiculous you sound?" she asked incredulously. "You're here for murdering the Deputy Director of the FBI."

"He was a crook," Max said bluntly, his smile now completely gone. "He was a killer, and he was going to kill you." She continued as though he hadn't spoken, unable to contradict his statements.

"And you walked out on Russ and me when I was fifteen!"

"But that was to protect you. People were after us."

"Because you were a criminal," she said firmly.

"Outlaw. See, I knew you weren't going to understand."

"You know what? You're right. This is my fault for expecting we could get past-"

"We can get past this," he insisted. "We can. The court, they're gonna decide how to punish me, but now? Here? We can make this whatever we want."

And then what? she thought. They find him guilty, and he's sentenced to death? I let him in just to lose him all over again? She looked at him with a sad expression on her face, and his was equally disappointed. Her longing for a better relationship with her father was warring against her instincts for self-preservation, and after a few moments, she couldn't stand to be in the room with him any longer. She hadn't shown him the photo album, but the only item she removed from her bag was the deck of cards. She slid them across the small table toward him.

"Here are the cards you asked for. I've got to go."

"Wait. These are for us."

"What?" she frowned.

"Come on. You remember that game we used to play when you were five years old?"

"Blitz," she replied after a quick search of her memory.

"Blitz," he nodded. "Come on, let's play a couple of hands."

"You always beat me. I remember that too. A good father would occasionally allow his child to win," she said confidently, thinking of the many games she'd watched Booth lose to his son.

"I don't believe in encouraging all that self-esteem crap. You wanna win? Earn it. That's why you're so good at what you do now. Cause you know that nobody is gonna hand you anything."

Or maybe it was the years I spent trying to survive neglect and abuse after you abandoned me, she sneered inwardly.

"So, you were a great father." Sarcasm wins again.

"Well, maybe just not as bad as you think," he smiled. "How about this? One hand? Come on," he pled. She ignored the request and stood abruptly.

"Let me know if you need anything else." She was nearly out the door when he spoke again.

"Oh, well socks. Socks, you know, with the arch supports? I gotta stand on that chow line forever," he joked. She turned to leave without so much as a nod in his direction, and this time he didn't stop her.

Max watched, heavy-hearted, as she disappeared from view. As he was led back to his cell, he replayed the conversation in his mind. Although he had kept his expression fairly neutral, he had certainly caught her earlier implication. If she'd only known about Delaney and Kirby, she'd have said 'both victims.' Instead, she had said 'all of them.' He supposed she might have been referring to Vince McVicar, but his intuition told him otherwise. The question was...how much did she know? How could she have found out? With Delaney and Kirby, it had been necessary to send a message, to stage the dump sites dramatically enough to draw attention. That hadn't been the case with the others, and Max was confident that he'd left no evidence behind.

The brief visit with his daughter weighed heavily upon his mind long after she'd left. She was obviously still angry with him. Possibly even angrier than she'd been when he'd allowed Booth to arrest him. He had noticed that she was still wearing her mother's ring, which did reassure him somewhat. She seemed to have forgiven her mother.

Did that mean she might eventually forgive him too?

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While Brennan was visiting with Max, Booth traveled to the victim's home in Virginia to notify her husband. Jeremy Nash seemed upset, but not as stunned as Booth would have expected. As such, he was compelled to ask if the couple had been having any problems. Booth referred to the nature of the items in the vehicle and the obvious conclusion they implied. Nash insisted, however, that his wife had been transporting things for their daughter's dorm room. He then became flustered and angry, seeming indignant that the FBI hadn't figured out who was responsible yet. In almost the next instant, the man was despondent, wondering aloud how he was going to tell his daughter that her mother was dead.

Booth returned to the lab, texting Brennan on his way. She replied that she was already on her way back. He pondered Jeremy Nash's demeanor as he drove, uncertain what to make of it. Grief and shock could make a person react in a number of ways, so his mercurial moods weren't necessarily enough to make him a suspect. Not yet, anyway. When he arrived at the lab, he tracked down his wife and greeted her with a brief kiss, attempting to read her emotional state in the aftermath of her visit to the prison.

"Nash is gonna pick up his kid, tell her in person… I mean, I don't know you do that. Tell your kid that their mother just got blown up?"

"I would imaging a direct approach would be best," Brennan replied, wincing sympathetically at the thought of the young girl.

"Well, I don't know how he could possibly sugar coat it." He fell silent for a moment as they walked through the lab. "How's your dad? You haven't mentioned him."

"Apparently, his feet hurt."

"No, I mean…you know, his spirits."

"Well, he's a con man, Booth. He's always cheerful."

"What? That's it?"

"It's not like I ever really had a father. Or at least not in a really long time. Max was absent for years."

"Well, here's what I know," he said gently. The tone of his voice forced her to make eye contact. "I know that Nash girl would give anything to spend one more day with her mother. I'm sure you'd feel the same way if something happened to your father."

Brennan couldn't argue with his logic, particularly since she had lost her mother as well. She'd been able to forgive her, but it would've been better if she could've had even a little time with her mother before she died. A little time in which there were no secrets between them and no drama… She didn't know if that would ever be possible with Max. He seemed to thrive on secrets and hidden agendas. She couldn't simply dismiss him entirely either though; the thought of doing so left her feeling as though she would be missing something important. Maybe she would pick up the socks on the way home this evening…

"I confirmed triphenylmethane dye and iron sulfate embedded in the manubrium and the flesh," Hodgins announced by way of greeting them. Booth gave him a questioning look, and Hodgins went on to explain that both were found in ball point ink.

"Ah. It's a homemade tattoo," Booth surmised.

"Angela's working on recreating the design. She's also trying to reconstruct a handwritten letter that we found in the vehicle." The three of them went to Angela's office and found the artist at her computer. Cam was already there, watching her attempts to render the design of the tattoo. It had been crudely done, most likely with a needle and a ballpoint pen. It had been pushed so deep that it had penetrated the victim's periosteum.

"Doesn't seem like a very soccer mom thing to do," Cam commented. "And there's no record of her being in prison."

"And...here we go," Angela said, drawing everyone's attention back to the monitor. The design wasn't at all what they might have expected.

"An inverted pentagram? Devil worship," Cam mused.

"Mom had a little thing going on the side with Satan? Ah...the 'burbs," Hodgins grinned appreciatively.

"There's a design in the center that I can't quite get," Angela told them. Hodgins leaned over to help.

"Wait... Is that a fist?" she asked. Booth and Brennan both repeated the word in confusion as the rendering became clearer. "Yeah. Oh my God, it is a fist."

"So she wasn't Satan's old lady… She was in the NLA," Hodgins concluded.

"NLA?"

"National Liberation Army," Booth translated.

"Student radicals in the seventies. Thought they could change the world. Set off bombs in army recruiting offices, torched cop cars-"

"Yeah, real visionaries," Booth grumbled, interrupting Hodgins' explanation. "They also shot and killed a cop in '75."

"That was the burglary," Hodgins agreed, pulling up a black and white picture of young couple. "They broke into the house of a defense contractor to rip off his safe. They said it was the people's money. June Harris and her boyfriend Neil Watkins were charged with the murder but never found."

"The FBI's been looking for them for thirty years," Booth said. Angela compared the photo with a current picture of the victim. It was the same woman.

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Not twenty minutes after Booth had called his boss to notify him of the victim's past identity, Caroline Julian was setting off the platform alarm and practically begging the squints to identify the victim as anyone other than June Harris. She revealed that Harris had been on the verge of surrendering herself to the FBI. Caroline had worked a deal with the woman's attorney. Booth was incredulous that Caroline had agreed on only a nine-year sentence for a crime as egregious as the murder of a cop, but Caroline had felt it was the best they would be able to get. Harris had maintained her innocence to the very end.

To add insult to injury, the agent who had been the lead on the case for the past thirty years hadn't known anything about the arrangement. Booth knew Agent Sam Reilly personally, and he was absolutely certain the man would be furious that this had gone down behind his back. He warned Caroline that he would be notifying Reilly the following morning, and she agreed to be there as well.

As anyone who knew the man could have predicted, Agent Reilly was angry and appalled at both the terms of the agreement as well as the fact that no one had even afforded him the courtesy of a phone call. Leaving him out of the loop was apparently part of the deal. Booth felt intensely uncomfortable in the situation. He was now considered to be the lead on the case, but Reilly had been one of the agents to train Booth when he first came to the DC field office. The man's blustery, cantankerous personality only served to make things more awkward.

After Caroline had delivered her typical dose of verbal backhanding, Reilly agreed to watch from the observation room while she and Booth interrogated Leonard Huntzinger. He had been June Harris' attorney, and he had been instrumental in a number of incendiary cases throughout the course of his career. He praised June Harris and Neil Watkins as heroes of their own time. His arrogance seemed to permeate the room, and even through the two-way mirror it was enough to send Reilly over the edge. He burst into the room and had Huntzinger up against the wall before Booth could even rise to his feet.

"You son of a bitch. Watkins and Harris are not heroes. You want to know how they changed society? Ask the kid whose father they killed," Reilly shouted.

"I know that kid. He became a cop just like his father. Very touching," Huntzinger sneered.

Booth forced Reilly back and placed himself between the two men, but Reilly still managed to get close enough that Huntzinger could push him away. It was enough to constitute assault on a federal agent, and Caroline saw to it that he was remanded into custody.

"What a surprise. Lock me up to shut me up," he spat. "You should be talking to that kid, Valenti, instead of busting my ass. The pig comes to me the other day wanting to know where June Harris is. He said he got a letter from her, as if she'd write him or I'd give her up." He lifted his shirt to reveal his abdomen. "See these bruises? A gift from your noble son of a cop."

Reilly glared menacingly at him, clearly not believing a word he'd said. Huntzinger was escorted out of the room, and Reilly stomped off in the opposite direction a few moments later. Booth decided to give his former mentor some time to cool off, and in the meantime, he would track down Danny Valenti.

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Brennan stood in the visitation room once again, waiting for her father to make an appearance. She was still angry with him, but she didn't seem to be able to settle on a path that she was comfortable with. She could either give him another chance or ignore him altogether, and neither option gave her any peace of mind. She took a seat in the chair she had occupied the day before and removed the package of socks from her bag, placing it on the small table between the two armchairs.

"Tempe!" Max was beaming at her as the guard removed his cuffs and closed the door behind him. "I didn't expect to see you again… so soon." Brennan noted the way he had tacked on the last two words slightly late, and she pushed the resulting guilt away with determination.

"I brought your socks," she replied, adopting her best tone of detachment. She had come back, but she wasn't about to make it easy for him.

"Thank you." He sat down and promptly removed his shoes to put on a pair of the new socks. "Nice and soft. I'll be the best dressed on cell block eight. Thanks," he repeated.

"Sure."

"Honey," he sighed. "I'm sorry." His smile had faded, and now he looked appropriately contrite.

"For what?"

"For… For being such a disappointment as a father. You deserve better, and I should've told you sooner." Brennan stared back at him, maintaining her even expression as well as her silence. "That's it? Nothing?"

"Well, what were you expecting? I agree with you," she shrugged. He grimaced unhappily.

"I was expecting some tears or a hug or something… I did apologize. That's what you wanted, isn't it?"

"You didn't mean it?" she asked, trying to decipher his intentions.

"Of course I meant it," he assured her. Listen, under any objective standard, you have a horrible human being for a father, but I'm trying to move on. I got caught so that I could be with you. I was hoping you'd meet me halfway." He was almost pleading with her, and she softened minutely in response.

"I'm here, aren't I?" Max didn't seem to know how to respond, so she took the opportunity to pull something else from her bag. "I got you some shampoo. Soap isn't good for your hair."

"Oh, nice. I… I don't want to smell too good; that could be a problem around here." The smile was back, and this time Brennan felt her lips curving upward in spite of herself. "There, see? That's better. Thanks."

"Sure," she nodded. Max sighed and looked down at his lap, still smiling a little. He wanted to ask about her life, her family, her work... He wanted to ask about her wedding and honeymoon, perhaps ask if she had a wedding picture with her. But he knew that she wasn't ready to open up to him about personal things quite yet, and he was willing to give her time. Instead, he thought of the only thing going on in his life at the moment that might be of any interest to her.

"So the prosecutor's going to want to talk to you about me. It wouldn't hurt if you, uh…had some good things to say about your old man. Maybe even offer to testify on my behalf?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. Not only because he realized she would take them the wrong way, but also because he knew that lying had never been her forte. The shift in her expression gave him a hollow feeling in his stomach.

"Is that why you finally apologized?" she asked indignantly. "To use me? Maybe you'd like me to alter evidence now. That way I could join the family business." Her voice was dripping with sarcasm, and Max backpedaled quickly.

"How could you think that?"

"I don't know, Max." He winced at her use of his given name. "Maybe because I seem to pass in and out of your life when it's most convenient for you. Maybe because you built a whole career using your considerable charm to manipulate people?" Her eyes shimmered slightly as she spoke, and he looked away from them in shame. When he lifted his head again, she was reaching down for her bag, preparing to leave.

"Wait, listen… I know it's hard to trust me. I know. And it's gonna take some time to fix things, but we can-"

"No. No. Some things break, and you can't put them back together again. That's just the way it is. I was fine on my own, Max. I was just fine."

He pleaded with her to wait, to stay, but she ignored him and fled from the room for the second time in as many days. Max wanted to kick himself for his stupidity, but there was no way to unring the bell. He sighed in frustration and rose to meet the guard so that he could return to his cell, his thoughts still on his daughter.

Was she right? he wondered. His mind replayed her last words on an endless loop. Are we so broken that we can't be fixed? He could recall a time in her life that they had been able to talk about anything. Their mutual love of science had allowed her to connect with him in a way she couldn't with anyone else, and he missed it so much that his chest ached with the memory of it.

Maybe it was arrogant of me to think that she'd eventually come around. I sure as hell don't deserve her forgiveness. No matter how much I try to make amends, I can't change the fact that we left her. He decided in that moment that he wouldn't be asking her to testify on his behalf, and he wouldn't let his lawyer ask her either. Aside from the fact that she was certain of his guilt, he felt that he had no business asking her for favors. He would take what she was willing to give him and nothing more.

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Brennan sat in the parking lot outside of the prison until she felt composed enough to drive. She didn't want to feel the pain Max's words had stirred up, and even if she were willing to spend any time analyzing it, she needed to get back to the lab. She knew that Booth would ask her about her visit later, but she simply couldn't stand to think about it at the moment. So, in her well-practiced manner, she boxed up her feelings securely and shoved them to the back of her mind. There would be time for emotions later; right now, she needed to work.

Brennan returned to the lab and got updates from the rest of the team. Agent Frost had determined that the detonator seemed to have been a wristwatch. Hodgins was trying to locate a manufacturer in spite of the fact that the watch itself had been nearly obliterated in the blast. Zack had discovered evidence of a previous gunshot wound in June Harris' right shoulder. The bullet had never been removed, and the fragments were embedded in the bone. He had sent them to the FBI for ballistics analysis, but he was in the process of determining the time of the injury.

Booth was pleased to see her as she stepped off the elevator at the Hoover, but there was no opportunity for privacy. Sam Reilly had cooled off enough to stop screaming at people, but he had since taken to hounding Booth for information. He listened to Brennan's report with his trademark scowl firmly in place.

"It doesn't make any sense," Reilly argued. "The van was rigged to blow up. Why shoot her?"

"Well, until we see what Ballistics determines, it's absurd to speculate," Brennan replied.

"Speculating is kind of what we do here."

"Listen," Booth said quickly, hoping to stop the inevitable confrontation between his former mentor and his wife. "Danny Valenti's a cop. June Harris murdered his father. He has a gun."

"He's a good kid, Booth. He didn't do it," Reilly insisted.

"But that is meaningless speculation," Brennan maintained.

"Is she really necessary?" Reilly asked Booth, his eyes burning a hole into the back of Brennan's head.

"She's my partner."

"Mentors often feel threatened when their students surpass them."

"Bones!"

"Well, it's true, Booth." She seemed unaware of Reilly's rising blood pressure as she continued, "Change can be difficult to accept whether it comes in the form of a revolutionary or the simple passage of time."

"If she were a guy, I'd deck her." Reilly fumed.

"Well, you know, that distinction is no longer necessary, but I wouldn't recommend it," she advised. Booth's shoulders were tense, and he was immensely grateful that Valenti was waiting to be questioned. The trio had progressed through the hallways to the interrogation room, and Booth shepherded both of them into the room.

It turned out that June Harris had indeed sent a letter to Danny Valenti, apologizing for her involvement in his father's death. His credit card records revealed that he had purchased gas very near Harris' home, but he claimed that he had no idea where she had actually lived. He only knew the town from the postmark on the letter. Valenti had gone to Huntzinger in an attempt to persuade him to give up Harris' address, since he felt that the woman should've had the courage to come to him in person. Booth was surprised when Reilly supported his request for Valenti's gun so that they could run a ballistics check, but it didn't earn them any points with Valenti. He insisted that they get a warrant to check his gun.

Booth and Brennan went to the diner for lunch while the gun was being processed, and when they returned to his office, they were startled to find Agent Reilly perched against the desk with the report in his hand.

"Sam…?" Booth gestured as if to ask, What the hell are you doing here? He rounded the desk and pulled the file from Reilly's hands.

"Ballistics says that the bullet was not a match for Danny's gun," Reilly announced with satisfaction.

"Booth should have that report first; he's the lead," Brennan complained. Reilly scowled.

"You know, Booth, she must be really good in bed, because I can't see any other reason you keep her around here." Brennan's mouth fell open in disgust.

"I am, not that it's any of your-" Booth held up a hand to interrupt her.

"Sam, I'd really appreciate it if you'd stop talking about my wife like that," he said firmly.

"Well, that explains it," Reilly grumbled. Booth rolled his eyes, and he continued, "Anyway, the bullet was a match for the gun that killed Danny's father thirty years ago."

"Right," Booth agreed, happy to move on. "The same gun that was registered to Harris' old boyfriend, Watkins. But it was never found."

"Everyone we interviewed at the time said Harris would never make a move without talking to Watkins first. I told you, we need to find him."

"Yeah, okay. We will, Sam. You just gotta give me some room." Booth moved to leave with Brennan, but Reilly stopped him.

"Booth. Don't cut me out. I've worked my whole career for this," he pled, his angry facade falling away momentarily.

"As soon as I find something out, I'll let you know, Sam," Booth assured him. He patted Reilly's arm and stepped around him. "Come on, Bones," he said, placing a hand at the small of her back to guide her from the room.

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"That man is very irritable," she commented once they were in the SUV. They were headed to the victim's former residence to speak with her husband again.

"Yeah, he's been like that for about as long as I've known him. Don't let it get to you."

"He didn't seem to know we were married. Considering the amount of gossip we've been subjected to, it seems somewhat improbable that he was unaware of our relationship."

"Sam mostly keeps to himself," Booth shrugged. "He's a good agent, but he's not one to form close relationships with his co-workers, you know?" Brennan nodded thoughtfully, recalling that she had spent many years in a similar state of solitude. "I'm sorry about what he said though," he added.

"About wanting to assault me or about my sexual prowess?"

"Both," he replied, smiling affectionately at her choice of phrase. They arrived at their destination a short time later, and Jeremy Nash greeted them stiffly. He led them into the living room, and Brennan handed him the photograph Angela had found of June Harris and Neil Watkins.

"I remember seeing a picture of him before," Nash told them. "I was going through some old photographs, cleaning out a closet. Amy said it was an old boyfriend."

"They keep in contact?" Booth asked.

"No. I mean...she would've told me. Why? You don't think that… Did he kill her?" Nash's voice sounded odd, and Booth went with his instincts.

"How long have you known about your wife's real identity?"

"I only found out a few weeks ago," Nash replied.

"Why didn't you tell me?" The question came from a young woman who had entered the room from behind Booth and Brennan. Brennan immediately recognized her bone structure as that of June Harris' daughter. "What? You didn't think I should know about my own mother?"

"She didn't want me to tell you. She wanted to do it herself."

"Your wife never talked about her past?" Brennan asked. The young woman answered for her father.

"She used to say that only the future was important. All we could do was change the world."

"They didn't agree on how," Nash explained. "Celia was a bit conservative for Amy."

"That never mattered. She wasn't some crazy radical to me. She was my mom," she said tearfully.

"You must've been relieved she got such a great deal," Booth said. Nash seemed confused.

"What deal?"

"She didn't tell you?" Brennan asked.

"She mentioned she was thinking of talking to a federal prosecutor... but I talked her out of it."

"Well, you do know it's a felony, aiding and abetting a fugitive," Booth reminded him.

"You want to charge me? Fine. But saving my family doesn't feel like a crime. Amy was a good mother and a wonderful wife."

Booth asked for permission to look around for anything linking Amy Nash/June Harris to Watkins, and Nash agreed without hesitation, leading his daughter out of the room. Booth called for a team of agents to perform the search. He and Brennan took a quick look around the home, but nothing suspicious caught their attention. They left after the FBI team arrived.

"Zack left a voicemail," Brennan announced as she checked her phone for missed communications. "He says that the victim's gunshot wound was an old injury. Approximately thirty years. Considering the ballistics evidence and the timeframe, it's likely that June Harris was shot during the altercation that culminated in the death of the police officer. There was also particulate evidence embedded in the metacarpals of the right hand. The metals match those found in the shoulder."

"So she was shot through the hand as well as the shoulder?"

"Yes, most likely from the same bullet. Angela's working on a scenario."

"Okay." He glanced at her, gauging her expression and her mood. "You never told me how it went this morning. Seeing your dad again?" He winced as her features tightened, recognizing that she had mentally withdrawn herself from the situation.

"I'd rather not discuss it right now. Let's just…" She shook her head, not wanting to commit to a discussion. "I just want to focus on work right now."

"Alright," Booth agreed quickly. "But I'm here when you're ready to talk about it. You know that, right?"

"Yes," Brennan nodded, giving him a smile of gratitude. It was one of the many things she loved about him; he helped her without pushing. He accepted that she would come around in her own time, and he was patient enough to wait. He let her deal with things without smothering her, but he was always willing to listen, give advice, and offer comfort whenever she needed it. Even at times when she herself didn't know that she needed it. "Thanks, Booth."

"Don't mention it, Bones." He raised her hand to his lips in a familiar gesture and smiled at the comforting feeling of her hand in his… Right where it belonged.

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Angela was able to duplicate June Harris' injuries in a scenario that effectively cleared her of the police officer's murder thirty years prior. She had stepped between Watkins and the cop and raised her hand toward Watkins as if to plead with him not to shoot. The bullet had gone through her hand and into her shoulder. Watkins had killed the elder Officer Valenti.

Hodgins joined them and announced that it seemed Watkins had also made the bomb. The watch used as a detonator had been the same type of watch Watkins had used in past bombings. The face of the watch had depicted an American flag. Cam and Hodgins postulated that June Harris had told him she was planning to turn herself in and that Watkins had killed her to keep her silent. Hodgins said he would work on the air filter from Harris' vehicle in an attempt to find out where she might have found Neil Watkins.

Booth and Brennan picked up some take-out on the way home, both being two exhausted to cook. It had been a long day of confrontations, interrogations, and waiting. When they were nearing the end of their meal, Brennan expelled a heavy sigh and turned the conversation to Max.

"He wanted me to testify on his behalf," she said quietly.

"Max?"

"Yeah. He just wants to use me." Booth frowned, reading the disappointment and suspicion in her features.

"Well… He's a con man, Bones. That doesn't mean he doesn't love you. Maybe he's just looking for a little payback."

"Payback?" she echoed, her eyes narrow with disgust.

"That sounds wrong; I'm sorry. I just meant that he's probably thinking that since he got arrested so that he could spend some more time with you, you could return the favor by doing something nice for him."

"I'm not sure I want a father who's always keeping score."

"I get that… But maybe you are too, just a little. If you guys are ever going to have a decent relationship, you're both going to have to let go of the past. It's the only way forward," he said gently.

"It's a little difficult to do that when he's incarcerated for murder," she huffed angrily. "When he refuses to tell anyone where my brother is, when he killed Peter and then just ran away, when we're investigating the murders of more people he may have killed... I never asked him to do any of that-" Her words broke off with a sob, and Booth rose from his seat to kneel in front of hers.

"I know that, Bones. And we don't know yet if Max was involved in any other deaths, okay? But either way… I know that you would never have asked him to do what he did, and I think he knows it too. But you didn't have to ask. He killed people who were trying to kill you. He loves you." Booth lifted a hand to swipe a tear from her cheek.

"That's how he shows his love? By killing people?" she asked in disbelief. Try as she might, she just couldn't wrap her head around it. "How am I supposed to not feel guilty about that? If it weren't for me, those people would still be alive? How can that ever be okay?"

"It's not, baby. It's not okay, but you have absolutely no reason to feel guilty. It's like you said: you didn't ask him to do it. You never would have. All you can do is try to figure out whether or not you can forgive him. It doesn't mean you have to forget what he's done, and it doesn't mean you have to trust him. It certainly doesn't mean you have to testify on his behalf, which I think would be a terrible idea anyway. But maybe there's a middle ground to be found somewhere."

"Meeting halfway," she said tiredly, remembering her father's words from earlier that day.

"Exactly. I think that would be a good idea for both of you. He misses his daughter, and you miss your dad. Not the one who left you and Russ, but the one you grew up with...Matthew Brennan. Somewhere under all of the con artist, bank robber, vigilante stuff, he's still in there. He's still your dad. Maybe he's got an...unusual way of showing it, but he loves you."

Brennan took a deep breath and leaned her forehead against his, closing her eyes. She recalled the pain of not knowing what had happened to her parents and compared it with the emotional upheaval she had experienced since learning the truth. She wasn't entirely sure that she hadn't been better off before, and that uncertainty confused her even more. She had always thirsted for knowledge, for more information. Now she found herself wishing that she'd remained oblivious, and she was frustrated with herself for that weakness.

As she lay in bed that evening, chasing sleep, she replayed Booth's words in her mind. He'd been right when he'd said that she missed the father who had raised her. That man was not Max Keenan. She didn't know or trust Max Keenan, and at the moment, she wasn't sure she ever could. Logically, she knew that Max Keenan and Matthew Brennan were the same person, but she could appreciate the perspective Booth had given her. Max Keenan might be a thief and a murderer, but Matthew Brennan was 'Dad.'

The issue of how to reconcile the two of them in her mind plagued her long into the night, and she woke the next morning with only one conclusion. Ignoring the problem would never solve it. She would have to see him again.

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So how are we feeling about Max? :) Personally, I always felt that the show didn't devote enough attention to Brennan's process when it came to forgiving Max. In less than one season, she went from not being able to touch him to putting her reputation on the line to save his life. It was such a big thing for her, and I plan on delving into it in much more detail. Of course, my Brennan will have other things to consider as well. :)

Thanks for reading! Review if you have a sec. See you Saturday!