I am so close to finishing. As soon as I'm satisfied, the last few will go up much quicker. I'll be honest, if they had been posted as they were written, this wouldn't have been updated for over a month. I want to end it respectably. Until then, here is June.

June 2005

Most agents of the fourth floor in the J. Edgar Hoover building preferred the change when the bureau reorganized offices, moving one U.S. attorney's satellite office to another floor, making room for the newly promoted Seeley Booth. He could be gruff and intimidating at times, but he was one of them and mostly kept to himself. She, on the other hand, had a way of making them feel incompetent, no matter how many answers they did have. Since her move out, she had been nothing more than a memory to the inhabitants of the criminal investigative division in D.C.

That all changed when the ominous footsteps of a certain federal prosecutor ambled her way down the hall making many an FBI agent scurry the opposite direction or bury their head in paperwork. No one needed to hide. Caroline Julian was on a mission and no one could have stopped her if they had wanted to.

She stepped through the glass door to an office filled with boxes and papers stacked everywhere; only the backside of the lone occupant visible sticking up behind the sturdy desk. "I'd say my office looks good on you Booth but this isn't an office, it's a disaster zone."

Booth's head popped up from under his desk at the sound of her voice. "Hey, hey!" He stood, grinning broadly and spreading his arms wide, proud of his new digs. "What do you think?"

"Do you not understand the term 'disaster zone'? It looks like FEMA took charge in here." Caroline stepped into the room, navigating carefully around stacks of sports gear, piles of reports, and spare furniture haphazardly scattered.

"Yeah, well." His hands found his hips. "I haven't spent a lot of time here lately." He looked around his immediate space and moved a box of art from the floor to his already crowded desk, quickly pulling out numerous pictures.

"And where exactly have you been? Timbuktu?" Caroline wiped a layer of dust off a side cabinet and looked at it with disgust, rubbing it between two fingers to get it off.

The smile never left his face as he lifted an eagle statue from a box to put on the back cabinet. "I actually just got back yesterday from a weeklong undercover assignment in Tennessee."

"And here I thought you just weren't taking my calls. You might want to dust that." She smirked at her favorite agent. As long as she had no problems on cases with him, she liked seeing him happy and carefree like this.

"I always take your calls." Booth waggled his eyebrows in her direction as he turned to quickly wipe the eagle's head and wings with the palm of his hand.

"You get your man?"

"Of course. I always do." He puffed his chest a bit as he broke down the box on his desk, then slid it off to the side.

One hand sat jauntily on her waist while her hand holding a stack of bound papers relaxed at her side. "I know you've been in here more than a week. What's your excuse for before you were out catching the bad guys?"

Booth ducked back under his desk to finish plugging his computer and monitor in. "This and that. Cases, you know. Can't shirk duty just to set up my office," his voice came muffled from under the heavy piece of furniture.

"You mean to tell me you didn't have any spare time in the last month to make your office presentable?" Caroline moved closer to the desk, stealing a piece of candy from the jar next to his computer. She had always had an affinity for the man, but times like these, harping on him over the little things, made her feel more like a mother than a friend. She braced herself for his excuses, worried knowing that the last time she had seen him this happy and carefree was after a big win in his gambling days.

"I'm a busy guy Caroline, what can I say?" His head popped up again. "I'm only cleaning up now because Cullen doesn't want to see this mess anymore. That's the problem with glass doors around here. No privacy." For the first time since she had entered the room, traces of his smile were gone as he motioned out the windows toward his boss's office, tight-lipped, annoyed that he wasn't allowed to work until it was cleaned up. He grumbled lowly to himself, "We can't move our own boxes in because of union rules but then we have to unpack everything ourselves? Doesn't make sense to me."

"I'd say the last time you were this busy, you were getting yourself into trouble."

A dreamy expression crossed his face as he teased, "Well, I don't know if she's trouble…"

"Seeley Booth! You met a girl?" She let a smile reach her eyes, but not her lips. This was good news. If Booth wasn't serious about a woman, he didn't bring her up. He hadn't told her about anyone in his life since Rebecca.

"Yeah, she's a lawyer…" His smile reached as wide as it could.

"I don't need details." Caroline held her free hand up to stop him from gushing. "Nothing worse than a puppy in love." She tried to give him a look of revolt, but only managed a half smirk with knowing eyes.

At the mention of 'love', the smile lessened in intensity as he stammered, "Who said anything about love now, Caroline? I mean, we just met. We're just seeing where it's going right now is all."

"Mm-hmm."

"So what can I help you with? I'm assuming you didn't come all the way here just to look at your old office." He set another box on his desk chair and began emptying law books, legal code and other reference materials from the cardboard confines onto his back cabinet.

"You're right. I brought a present for you, cher." She let a book drop to his desk with a loud thud. "Not to keep, mind you, I want it back when you're done."

His eyes flicked from the book to Caroline's face. "Thanks, though… I'm not really a novel reading kind of guy if it's all the same."

"Believe me, this one you'll want to read." She would certainly want to know if someone had written about her, even under a pseudonym.

"And why is that?"

"Just trust me." She sidestepped a chair to begin her trek back to the door when an excited "Ooooh!" grabbed her attention making her turn to face the man once more.

"I was wondering where you went!" Like a dog finding his favorite chew toy, Booth was holding his magic eight ball reverently at eye level.

This man is more like a child than a Special Agent some days. Caroline shook her head at his ridiculousness."I hope you don't use that thing to make any important decisions about your cases."

He shook the ball and playfully read the triangle answer in the window. "Signs point to yes." He shot the prosecutor his charm smile and a wink, setting the toy on his desk.

"I did not just hear that," Caroline tried without success to remain serious. "Let me know when you're done with the book. I have a meeting with Cullen I have to get to."

She chuckled as she exited his office. It was good to see him in good spirits and staying the course. He would do great things as long as he continued the way he had been.

Booth smiled and waved good-bye and promptly moved all the books, including the gift on his desk to the back filing cabinet out of the way, never giving it a second thought. He had an office to organize if he wanted to get out of the office in time for his date with Tessa tonight.

Brennan closed her apartment door and went immediately to her refrigerator for a beer then made a beeline for the couch without really seeing where she was going. She let out a sigh and allowed her eyelids to close, though it didn't stop the images of such small bones from projecting in her mind. Infant remains were the hardest. Anthropologically, it was written into all human DNA to protect the newest of the species. Apparently not all. How anyone could harm a defenseless child, it made her blood boil just to think of it.

"You okay?" Pete's voice from the hallway stole into her reverie.

"Just a hard case today." Without opening her eyes, she took a swallow from her bottle.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked out of habit, more than any expectation of a response.

Steadily, she responded, "No." What was there to talk about? Death was a natural part of life. There was no logic in talking over something that was done and had nothing to do with him. Talking about it would only bring pain to her heart, it was easier not to shut it all out. She could handle the anger.

"Of course you don't." Peter spoke bitterly to himself, leaning against the doorjamb, hands shoved deep into his jeans pockets.

Hearing him speak so cynically made Brennan turn her head as her eyes darted open to see the man she spent most nights with standing in the entrance to the room. "Why can't you just accept that I don't want to talk about it?"

Peter crossed his arms across his chest. "Why not?" He knew he shouldn't push, but he did anyway.

"Because it has nothing to do with anything here." Her tone spoke finality. She closed her eyes once more, as if doing so would make everything and everyone disappear.

"Oh, because your bitchy moods when you come home are nothing here. If you're going to crab at me when you come home, I at least deserve to know why I'm taking the brunt end of things." The decibel level in the room climbed.

She jumped from the couch to face him, matching him in decibel and posture. "This has nothing to do with you."

"It does when you take your shitty moods out on me!"

She brusquely brushed past him, storming to the kitchen. "I don't know what you want from me."

He followed to stand in the kitchen doorway. "I want you to be open with me!" His words were pleading, but the anger in his speech said differently.

She had shared more with Pete than with most men she had dated. She had told him more about her humanitarian work, digging in mass graves, surrounded by armed guards, than she shared with her past flings. She had even let him keep some clothes and other personal things in her bedroom and around her apartment. The most any other man had gotten was a corner to stash a duffel bag. Now he had the gall to complain? What an asshole! Her jaw tensed briefly before defending herself, "I have opened up as much as I am capable!" She stuck her jaw in the air, defiant. "If that isn't enough for you…"

"The only thing you've opened up are your legs," Peter sneered, irritated by her tone and defensiveness.

If he had been standing close enough, he would have quickly been laid out on the floor. As it was, her eyes squinted, her jaw tensed and her nostrils flared, but she stayed rooted in place as she growled at him across the room, "Get out!"

"Great. This again?" His tenor more restrained, Peter had been through this drill too many times. "You know, you're just going to call me back in five minutes for angry sex. I'm sick of the yo-yoing. I'll just wait in the bedroom until you're ready." He turned to walk down the hall but her words stopped him mid-step.

"No. I'm done. Get out." She spoke dangerously low. "Now."

The words took a few seconds to register before he could respond, "Are you serious?"

When she didn't respond, he squawked, "After all the crap I've put up with from you?" Peter took a step closer, puffing out his chest, tempting fate in her ire.

It got dirty fast. Every past grievance was re-aired. Every petty disagreement exaggerated into a blow-out fight. Past mistakes were thrown in each other's faces. Neither one had any thought for her poor neighbors who had no choice but to hear every word shouted back and forth.

Finally, logic and rational surpassed her anger at the man in front of her. He voice modulated to normal levels to spit out, "I don't know why I ever tried to pretend I cared!"

"You're a cold fish! That's why!"

The words slapped her across the face, stunning her silent for a moment. She stomped across the kitchen to retrieve a garbage bag from under the sink and threw it at him, slamming the cabinet door shut. "Get your stuff," she spat, "and get out of my apartment."

"Or what? You'll call the cops?" Peter challenged her.

She was actually surprised her neighbors never had called the police to report their domestic disturbances. At least this would be the last time. Brennan held herself as tall as she could to shout back, "I know quite a few FBI agents through my connections at the Jeffersonian; however, I don't need any gun and badge to throw your shit out the window myself!"

A silent staring competition broke the noise. They simply stood across from each other, listening to the angry breath of the other.

Finally Peter spoke quietly. "Give me ten minutes."

"Fine."

He was out in seven. She slammed the door behind him and aggressively dead-bolted it shut. She grabbed another garbage bag and began a sweep of the apartment to search for anything he might have forgotten.

She was irrationally angry at him for making her break things off. She hadn't loved him, wasn't even sure she had even liked him outside the bedroom at that point. The original sensations caused by the norepinephrine and dopamine being released in her brain had long ago worn off. All she had gotten in the end was a broken door and an empty drawer. And it wasn't like she had never been alone before. I don't need him or anyone else. I am responsible for myself and myself only.

She walked her apartment, convincing herself that she was better off on her own, picking up the things he had missed: two pairs of slip-on shoes from the closet (the idiot never could tie his shoes), a box of nasal strips from the bedside table (so glad I don't have to hear him snore anymore), and an old television set (well that won't fit in the bag).

Good riddance. There are plenty of other men who can satisfy my biological urges. Perhaps not as well, but… If there is no acceptable specimen, even that can be accomplished by an apparatus.

Another idea suddenly assaulted her thoughts: what was Angela going to say? Brennan did not need the interrogation nor want to hear the 'I told you so' certain to fall from her best friend's lips.

It didn't take long for her internal dialogue to nag her into a foul mood. She needed a project. Something to distract her around the clock. Somewhere with no one she knew asking questions she had no interest in answering.

A split second decision was made and she was on the phone with her Dean at American University. "Dr. Moore, this is Dr. Brennan. I have decided to join the humanitarian trip to Guatemala next month."