September 2004

As a baby, Rebecca had nursed and refused to let Parker take a bottle. Booth swore it was just so he couldn't have any overnight visits. Booth's visits were completely at Rebecca's whim: at her home, at her appointed times, and when Parker wasn't feeding or napping. He handled his frustration at never getting time with his newborn by agreeing to 'just one more assignment' with the Rangers to neutralize some top Al-Qaeda figures. It had been a rash and dangerous decision. Looking back, he wished he had never gone and left his three-month old behind. Rebecca weaned almost as soon as Booth was out of the country.

When Booth came home, Parker was almost a year old. Rebecca let him have more daytime visits but fell back on the pretext that she didn't know what kind of PTSD he might have come home with; she wanted to be certain the warzone hadn't taken too much of a toll on him psychologically. He took the "babysitting" (as Rebecca called the plan) out of desperation for time with his baby boy; but he was the father. Fathers don't babysit, they parent.

Finally, when Parker turned two, Rebecca's excuses were too thin for even her reasoning and she began letting Parker spend a night with Booth every other week. But now, now Seeley Booth was ecstatic. Rebecca had been put on an assignment which took her out of town and he had convinced his ex to leave their almost four-year-old Parker with him for five straight nights. Booth took vacation time from the bureau to make the most of his time with his mini-me. His latest cold case was going nowhere and that sexy scientist hadn't returned his calls for assistance yet. Without gambling ruling his timetable, there had been trips to visit Pops, playtime of 'going to the zoo' with Parker's stuffed animals, and lots of time at the playground. There had, of course, been the typical tantrums to contend with, and a blander-than-average diet to meet the picky palate requirements of the small boy who found black pepper "too spicy", but the proud daddy wouldn't have traded it for all the pie in the world, this precious time with his boy. Maybe after this, Rebecca would even let him start having Parker two nights, instead of just one!

Unhappily, Rebecca's flight had landed an hour ago and was expected to arrive at any moment. Booth had scoured his apartment to find every last stuffed animal. Parker's bags sat by the front door as they relaxed, reading a story until mommy arrived. A knock at the door signaled the end of their cherished extended visit.

The Booths looked at each other. "Who's here bub?" Big Booth gave Parker a smile though he was far from happy to have Parker leave, but as much as it hurt living apart from his son, watching Rebecca take him away time after time, he refused to let Parker see him be bitter towards his mother. He refused to be the one to put a child in the middle of two parents who only barely tolerated each other at the moment.

"Mommy!" The young boy ran enthusiastically to the door while the elder strode alongside, easily keeping up with only slightly larger than normal steps.

His smile faltered slightly at the impending good-bye as he opened the door. "Hey Reb… Tony, what are you doing here?" The small smile he had kept on his face for Parker's sake disappeared completely and the boy hid behind his father's leg at the sight of the strange man on the other side of the door.

"Is that any way to greet an old friend?" The man had bags under his eyes and smelled thick of cigarette smoke. Booth did not appreciate his former gambling buddy showing up at his door unannounced, especially when it was clear that Tony had come straight from some marathon gaming.

Parker scurried around the corner while his father kept his hands on either side of the doorframe, effectively blocking Tony from seeing too far into the apartment. Booth's voice went low, keeping a cautioning calm and steady tone. "Again, what are you doing here, Tony?"

The man smirked, "We haven't seen you around in a long time. I thought maybe we could… catch up." Tony had a naturally loud and boisterous voice, but having imbibed in a few drinks before showing up, his volume had ratcheted up a couple notches.

"Now's not a good time, I have my son right now." Booth's voice was firm and clear as he silently thanked the good Lord above that Parker was there to help him stay strong against the urge he felt calling him.

Tony's smirk increased as he tried to duck under and push past Booth's braced arms. "This won't take long. Just play a couple games so I can win back my two g's and I'll get out of your hair."

"I don't gamble anymore Tony, you know that." Booth let go of the doorframe to gently push Tony back into the hall.

"Pshaw, yeah, I've heard that before. C'mon, just one game: blackjack" Tony's smirk disappeared as he pushed Booth's shoulders, trying again to gain entrance to the apartment.

"That's how you lost the money in the first place. I don't gamble anymore." There was no way Booth was going to let Tony, inebriated, into his home while Parker was there. He shoved Tony back at the shoulders, a little more forcefully.

"C'mon Seeley. Just one game. Your choice," as he tried, yet again by plowing his body into Booth's strong frame. His desperation was creating a raucous as the agent continued to hold him back.

"Let it go Tony. I am not going in again. You need to leave. Now." Booth practically growled at the other man.

"Don't push me, man. I need a win." His desperation was growing more and more irrational with each attempt past the former Ranger.

"And I said no. My kid is here and you are drunk." A few doors down the hall opened as nosy neighbors checked to see what was going on, closing just as quickly when they saw the two men sizing each other up.

"Then give me back my money" Tony shouted angrily and took as swing at Booth just as Rebecca came around the corner from the elevator. Tony's fist hit the sconce on the wall as Booth dodged the blow easily, sending the smashed glass fixture to the ground. Before the furious man could realize his hand was cut, Booth subdued him against the wall, forcing the man's bloody hands above his head.

Rebecca's jaw dropped staring at the melee in front of her, too stunned to speak for a moment, until she noticed Parker in the doorway. Immediately, he slackened jaw tensed and her eyes burned with hatred as she realized her ex had just gotten into a fist fight in front of their son.

"Mommy!" Parker ran to Rebecca, oblivious to the broken glass between them

"Rebecca!" Booth hadn't noticed her arrival until the young Booth's greeting. In his surprise, he let go of Tony.

Booth opened his mouth to explain but was cut off. "Save it Seeley…"

Tony took full advantage of Booth's momentary distraction and sucker punched him with a hard right hook across the jaw sending his former gambling foe to stumble back into the wall himself, now with blood splattered across his cheek. Without another work, Tony skulked his way around Rebecca to leave down the stairs, all the while shaking out his hand, dripping blood along the way.

An irate silence lasted five seconds before Booth suddenly had two voices shouting at him.

"How could you?" from the blond lawyer with a small boy clinging to her legs, and "I should have known it would be you," from Mrs. Cho, the building manager who had opened her door during the preceding silence. Parker began to cry and both women continued yelling over each other leaving Booth frantically trying to sooth three people, each upset for different reasons.

"Parker, let's go," Rebecca walked around Booth to his door, picking up her son's bags.

Too much was going on at once, Booth's head bouncing between the three other. He prioritized the issues. "Becca, wait! Parker, the mean man is gone now, we're all okay." He reached one hand out to pat his son's cheek while the other extended stopping the third woman from stepping closer. "Mrs. Cho, can this wait?"

Rebecca's fury was far worse than Booth had ever seen in her before. "I cannot believe you exposed our son to this kind of behavior. And don't you 'Becca' me. You lost that right a long time ago."

Mrs. Cho ignored him and continued on anyway, "I'm sorry Mr. Booth, but I am going to evict you. This cannot happen in my nice building. Look, there is blood on my floor!" Realizing she was not being heard, the landlady returned to her own apartment, shutting the door.

Finally able to focus all his attention on one person, Booth did what he never wanted to do: he fought with the mother of his child, in front of his child. "Seriously, this was not my fault, he came at me! What, am I supposed to let him in with Parker around? Let him punch me without defending myself?"

"Seeley, you exposed my son to violence, I refuse to stand for that." Booth winces at her use of 'my' versus 'our' as Rebecca continued raving, "As far as I'm concerned, I don't think I can let you see Parker for a while."

Shock radiated through every fiber of his body as he plead, "Rebecca, please…"

"A long while." She glowered another moment at Seeley before saying more gently to the boy, "Give daddy a hug good-bye Parker, we need to go."

Booth crouched low to hoist his son up into the biggest bear hug, whispering in his ear, "I will see you later bub. I love you. Don't ever forget that. You're my number one, got it?"

"Bye daddy." Parker kissed his father's clean cheek, eyes watering while Booth set him down gently. Head drooping, Parker took Rebecca's hand and walked quietly back to the elevators with his mother.

As soon as Parker was gone, Booth slapped his palm against the doorframe before falling against the wall, hands running through his hair, staring at the air where the boy had just been. Had he really just lost his visitation rights? He couldn't afford a lawyer to take Rebecca to court, even if he thought he had a chance, but what judge in their right mind would grant him any custody when they found out about his history of fights, not to mention his dangerous job.

The hallway's ominous peace signaled Mrs. Cho to reappear with the promised eviction letter; the agent accepted the letter without seeing. As soon as the paper touched his hands, it spurred his mind to redirect to the petite woman standing resolutely in front of him.

"Mrs. Cho please, it won't happen again." With an actual eviction notice in hand, his already reeling mind was sent spiraling. "I've always paid my rent on time, and you can take the damages out of my security deposit." In the past, he had always been able to use his charm smile to change Mrs. Cho's mind, gain some more time, but his brain had overloaded with issues and was too muddled to attempt anything other than desperate begging.

"I'm sorry Mr. Booth. Your security deposit has already been used on other repairs caused by… disputes you bring back here." Mrs. Cho was tender but firm, choosing her words carefully. "You are a nice man, but you have brought too many conflicts from your gambling to the building."

Shocked that she was aware of the cause behind his arguments, Booth stammered, "My gambling?"

"I hear every fight in here. Cards, horses, pool… I'm not stupid. I can put two and two together."

"Of course not, Mrs. Cho. I didn't mean to imply… I'll pay extra for the damages then. I quit gambling last month! My lease is up at the end of the year, I'll be as quiet as a mouse until then…" Booth was grasping at straws.

Resolutely, she interrupted him. "No Mr. Booth. You have 30 days to move out. I'm sorry." With a look of regret, she returned to her apartment and closed the door leaving Booth dumbfounded. Shit, quitting gambling was supposed to make my life better, not make it worse!

"Wow." Peter grinned dumbly at his bed partner. He hadn't expected a first date with the hyper-rational Dr. Temperance Brennan to end with her in his bed.

Brennan smiled back. "Thank you, I needed that." She had found her biological urges becoming more and more unrelenting as their dinner conversation had progressed, until she practically pushed Peter out of the restaurant and into his car to go back to his apartment. Now the deed was over, she sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, scanning the room for her scattered articles of clothing.

Peter rolled to his side and began to watch Brennan dress. How this amazing, beautiful woman had accepted a date with him, he could hardly fathom. As great as their physical connection had been, he couldn't think about anything else to talk about. He defaulted back to their dinner conversation. "Tell me more about this case you solved."

"The one I told you about at dinner tonight?"

Peter chuckled under his breath. "Is there another one? I still can't believe you got an agent to let you out of the lab. And don't they have their own forensics lab?"

"They do, but the FBI forensics team is so backed up, they don't have time to revisit evidence of an old case without anything new. The agent was only working on it as a courtesy to the victim's mother. As for taking me out of the lab, he really had no choice since it wasn't an active crime scene and the FBI lab techs didn't have the time or the expertise to know what to look for."

"So will you be working with the FBI again?" Peter suspected the adrenaline rush of homicide work was an aphrodisiac to this amazing woman. He could only imagine her prowess in the bedroom if solving crimes became a regular occurrence.

"No." Brennan's voice was soaked with vehemence. "As much satisfaction as I derived from catching a murderer, I found the agent who worked with me to be an insufferable, arrogant man." Brennan finished zipping her skirt and strode out of the bedroom.

Peter stood with the sheet wrapped around his waist and followed her out to the living room. "Oh come on, he couldn't be that bad. I've met your coworker Dr. Hodgins before – now he does not seem like a pleasant man. This agent… what's-his-name."

"Booth" she instantly supplied while she began putting her boots on.

"Booth. He can't be worse that Dr. Hodgins."

"Dr. Hodgins is working on his attitude with anger management classes. Additionally, he's the only other scientist at the Jeffersonian who has three doctorates like I have. His expertise has proven itself invaluable in some of our finds. I respect his work and he respects mine, therefore we get along just fine." Brennan finished zipping her second boot and stood erect by the door, ready to leave.

Peter handed his date her light shawl. "Well if this Agent Booth is worse, then…"

Brennan cut him off curtly, "he isn't worth the time to talk about him." The stern expression on her face made it clear that she was not going to be goaded into further conversation. Her expression relaxed when Peter put a hand up in surrender, the other continuing to grip the sheet.

"Thank you for the lovely evening." With one last chaste peck for her date, Brennan turned and left his apartment, ready for the fifteen minute walk back to her own apartment. The comfortable evening air was ideal for analyzing the date.

It had started off decent enough. Living so near one another, they had agreed to meet at a restaurant between their places. He was easy to talk to in the sense that he, too was a scientist. She could speak utilizing scientific terminology without either his eyes glazing over from polite boredom.

She learned he was a theoretical physicist. He didn't analyze anything tangible, nothing that she could see on a table in front of her like her skeletal remains, but still, it was a true science with facts and proofs and formulas so she could accept and respect it without understanding it entirely. Come to think of it, she really didn't know anything else about him.

After he described what he did, he had asked for more details of her job. Surprising herself, instead of talking about her caseload of World War I remains, humanitarian work identifying remains in war-torn countries, or even illustrations from her teaching lectures at the university, she had instead gone into detail of the case she had worked on with the Booth the month previous. While she had assisted on a few criminal investigations in the past through the university, this case with the broad-shouldered agent had been stimulating. Being face-to-face with suspects and analyzing non-tangible evidence had opened her eyes to a new world. She knew she hadn't bored Peter: he had even interrupted her at one point to tell her how interesting the tale was.

It was a good story. Thrilling to live through and exciting still even in retelling. Was it the work that had gotten her blood pumping more violently through her veins? Or was it her natural physical reaction to the extremely good looking agent who had come asking for help? They would have been highly compatible sexually, if only they hadn't gotten drunk. It would not have been a successful evening had they gone home together. Biologically speaking, she would have been fine, but the charming agent would have probably succumbed to… what did Angela call it again? Beer dick? Limp dick? Oh yes, whiskey dick.

Brennan smirked to herself, remembering that kiss, her body involuntarily reacting to the memory. The pride of that man, thinking he would be able to pleasure her after imbibing in a few too many. The smirk gave way as her jaw tensed, remembering his condescension. The conceit of that man, thinking he could call her 'Bones' just because he wanted to. The arrogance of that man to fire her just for defending herself. The egotism of that man assuming he knew anything about her. She glowered at nothing in particular as she let herself into her apartment and slammed the door.

In fifteen minutes, she had gone from a high off the sex-fueled endorphins down to a hate-filled low. It has been a good date tonight! It had ended in good sex! Why in the world was she thinking about Booth? How had her mood had been fouled by a man who wasn't even present tonight.

Brennan stomped her way to the kitchen to fill a glass with water and noticed her answering machine had one new message; her attitude instantly lightened. Apparently her date had also thought it had gone well if he was leaving her a message so soon after she had left.

Pushing the play button, a female voice sounded instead. "Hey Bren, it's me, Angela. Just being a good friend and making sure you're getting home safe from your date tonight. But seeing as you're not home it was either a really, really good date and or he's hurt you in which case I'll kill him. Just give me a call so I know you're home safe!"

Brennan smiled again: she liked having a friend in the world who cared about her enough to check in. She quickly dialed Angela's number, her anger evaporated.

"Hey lucky lady," the artist's voice purred without hello. "I'm assuming you got laid tonight and that's why you're just getting home now."

"Thank you for checking in on me, but you know I can take care of myself. I'm assuming you were more curious about how the date went than my safety."

Angela laughed, "How well you know me." Thinking Brennan would answer the question without being asked, Angela paused, but with no answer forthcoming, she probed "So… how was he?"

"It was fine."

The artist expected a little more than three measly words. "Fine, just fine? You got some action tonight, didn't you? Was he that bad in bed?"

"No, he had some decent technique. I left quite satisfied." Without any enthusiasm, Brennan gave a slight account of what had been a good night, though she sounded bored, even to herself.

"So why are you sounding like you didn't get what you wanted?"

Brennan sighed, ready to be done and go to bed even though she could not stop thinking. "I don't know. Maybe I'm just tired. I just can't stop ruminating over the Gemma Arrington case tonight."

"Hmm." Angela knew this feeling well. It struck often, especially when she was in a particularly creative kind of way. "You know Bren, sometimes late at night when I get an idea for a painting, I can't sleep until I get up and do a quick sketch of it. Maybe if you wrote down the parts of the case you keep thinking about, your brain will be able to turn off."

"I don't think you understand how the brain works." She squeezed her eyes shut in weariness. "It is impossible for your brain to turn off unless you are dead."

Always literal, Angela shook her head on the other end of the phone and smirked, "Slang sweetie. Just give it a shot. We can talk about your date more tomorrow. Goodnight Bren."

"Night Ange."

Brennan rolled her eyes and she put the phone back in its place. Angela meant well, but what would be the point of writing down the case again when all the case notes were already in binders? Nevertheless, she found herself sitting at her laptop, staring at a blank word document when Peter's words at dinner came back to her. "You're very good at storytelling."

If Angela was right, it would help calm her mind to let her fall asleep. The case had been very interesting, why couldn't the steps to solving the murder be put into book form? Plus, with her expertise, the science aspects would be written correctly! Perhaps she could get a small company to publish it and she could send copies to police departments and crime labs across the country, give them a better understanding of what forensic anthropologists could do in conjunction with cops.

Brennan was getting excited at the idea. Why not? It will give me something to do outside the lab at least until my next lecture in November. I'll give myself 30 days to get a draft together. It can't be a specific case – I can't afford to get sued – but I know the science well enough, it won't take too much research… Brennan grabbed a legal pad and started pulling together an outline of plot, characters, et cetera. If it were done correctly, it might even be something entertaining to read, but it had to have the same level of excitement she had felt while she was part of the real murder investigation.

What started as an idea to allow her body to relax enough to fall asleep quickly became the reason she never went to bed.

A/N: Thanks for taking the time to read. I'd love to hear your thoughts: good, bad or ugly.