Season 6.5 x 07: The Drop in the Bucket ~ Written by Squinttoyou

The rain fell in heavy sheets washing the street of grime and sweeping the night free of all but the most desperate travelers. The warehouse sat at the end of the road, the last building in an unused corner of the industrial park and there were no travelers past its door. Dark and wet the evening and the isolation worked to hide what happened inside. A window glowed revealing someone was here, but the rain insured that no one would see it. Worse yet, there was no one to hear. A crack of thunder sounded on the heels of a flash of lightning and for one brief moment the screams inside were drowned out by the call of nature's most powerful element.

Inside the building the air was thick, the humidity outside mixing with the terror and desperation within to form a palpable energy. A lone figure dangled from a chain hanging from the rafters above. His naked body, streaked with grime and sweat, bore the evidence of his thwarted attempt at escape. His arms ached as his weight pulled them from their sockets. Tears fell from his eyes and the desperate words falling from his lips were, he knew, his last chance to save himself.

"Please," Bruce begged. "This is crazy. Please, I'll do whatever you want; give you whatever you want."

"You don't have anything I want, Bruce."

"I have money," the captive offered hastily. "You can have all of it, the kids' college fund, the savings, the house, all of it."

"Don't be insulting Bruce, you know I don't need it."

"I do? You don't?" His question had been directed at the shadows where his captor had retreated, seeming content to watch him dangle here like some trapped fly. When his tormentor took two steps and appeared the wane light revealed a hate and anger that made him whimper. "Please," he begged.

"You don't recognize me, do you?"

The question was an accusation. Bruce tried. Desperately he searched his memory but there was no name, no memory to attach to this cold face. "Should I?"

"You damn well should! You should know exactly who I am, Bruce! Given what you did to me you should vividly remember. Or have you ruined so many lives you just don't care? Do you take what you want, Bruce? Do you never give a second thought to those you devastate?"

"I don't know what you are talking about," Bruce sobbed. "I don't, I've never…I try to be fair in all my sales. I never look to make more than I should. I'm honest, I swear. If we had a bad deal I'll make it right."

"You'll make it right!" his captor screamed. "You'll make it right?" A fist lashed out connecting solidly with his head and sending his body swinging at the end of the chain while blood flowed from his split brow. "I'll make it right! I'm done allowing inferior nothings like you get the better of me! I've been too lenient, too willing to take it when someone like you does me wrong. It's not how it's supposed to be! I'm better than you! I'm superior! In every way I'm superior to you and I won't tolerate these acts any longer!"

He reached out and stopped Bruce's body from swaying. Careful not to hurt himself he used the knife in his hand to slash a cut down Bruce's rib cage. "You were the first true offender," he sneered ignoring the cry of anguish his action produced. "Oh, there were others before and they've been dealt with, but you, you did real damage. I will no longer suffer at the hands of mediocre academics or high school miscreants. It's payback, Bruce and it's a bitch!"

The words were important, Bruce knew that and he tried to swim through the pain induced haze that fogged his mind. Trying desperately to define the words that sounded like so much gibberish to his panicked brain he focused. He was no academic; he was just an average guy, a jock. At the self-imposed title his mind supplied the vision of his younger self hands on the ball and the familiar number on his chest and the words 'high school' clicked. Lifting his eyes he blinked away the salt of tears and sweat and looked again at his captor. "Wally?" he croaked as the name came to him.

He saw the response in the crazed eyes watching and knew he was right. This madman was that sanctimonious fob from high school. A kid he had given no conscious thought to in over twenty years, Wallace Benjamin Fitz, 'Wally the Wanker'. "Wally, I never picked on you. We never had any beef's. Why are you doing this?"

"Does Mrs. Marcus' Senior English Class ring a bell? Do you recall a final project?"

"That?" Bruce gasped. "Wally, come on, that was one assignment. I shouldn't have done it. But it's not worth hurting me over, is it?"

"You stole my paper, a project I had worked weeks to complete," he answered heatedly. "You put your name on it and assigned mine to that sloppy piece of tripe you called a term paper!"

"Wally, I admit it, it was wrong. Please man, don't do this. I was just a kid! I panicked. I'm sorry!" Bruce was begging and he didn't care. He would beg forever if it would ease that look in the eyes staring at him with hate. "It was ball season, Wally. We had the playoffs coming up and I didn't focus on it like I should. I know that now. Come on, Wally, I was just a kid!"

"That was my work!" Another slash of the knife opened a new gash on Bruce's thigh. "You had no right to claim it as your own!"

"I know, I know," Bruce hissed his teeth clamped tight against the searing pain. "I didn't know what else to do. I had that scholarship to college and if I didn't pass that class I was gonna lose it. I figured you could take the hit of one bad paper. You were smart!"

"A state college athletic scholarship? I was applying to Harvard! I needed a perfect GPA!" Whirling with fury the crazed sociopath wrapped his hand around the cool rubber handle he had been waiting to lift. "Because of you I didn't get in!"

Bruce saw him lift it and he felt the cold certainty as he faced his death. "Please, Wally," he begged. The first blow of the sledgehammer broke his femur and he screamed in pain. "I'm sorry!" He apologized again when the next impact crushed his ribs. He welcomed the pain in the third hit as it sent him into a sweet fog of oblivion where he remained unconscious, his mind blissfully unaware of everything that followed.

It was easier to work without the crying and a smile appeared as he swung the hammer. The skin ruptured and blood splattered. He chuckled as he watched it speckle the sledge and the floor. "One more makes forty-one," he joked to himself. He swung again and he let his movements fall into a steady rhythm as he worked.

It took only ten minutes to render Bruce into a lump of meat dangling lifelessly. "You always were a bit of a meathead," he said to the faceless corpse. "If I needed proof I only have to take a look at that report," he added. "It was terrible. About the only thing you managed to get correct was the fact that human blood type is determined, in part, by the ABO blood group antigens present on red blood cells."

He walked to the supplies still waiting and lifted the first sample. "Like this blood for instance," he lectured as he turned and held up the blood bag for his lifeless student. "This is O-type so it has no antigens at all." He flicked open the knife he had used earlier and ripped into the bag. Swinging his arm he flung the contents over Bruce's body. It coated the flesh and ran down joining the rivers of warm scarlet already dripping onto the floor.

Turning again he snatched up another bag. "This one," he continued as he opened it, "Is A-type." He doused the body and then shook the bag scattering the last few drops all over the floor. "You are B-type, Bruce. An infusion of A-blood might kill you." He laughed loudly at his own joke and picked up another bag.

"It was a sloppy report," he scolded as another sample was emptied. "You barely got through the basics of cell compatibility. You didn't mention anything about hemolytic disease or plasma compatibility." He glared at the corpse and screamed, "And you didn't even address other blood group systems!"

His fury was out of control and he slashed the bags of blood one after another emptying them on Bruce and the floor and everywhere without design. Continuing his criticism of the term paper he carried on venting at last the rage he had carried for so long.

B&B

"Why am I up at three AM?" Brennan demanded as she stepped into the hall to join him and slammed her apartment door.

"Good morning to you too, Bones," Booth answered with a slight grin. He threw his arm around her shoulder as they walked to the elevator. "Are we a little grumpy this morning?"

Brennan's glare was deadly. "I can't speak for you, but I will admit I am probably quite grumpy. I am now decidedly short on sleep."

"Well, cheer up, partner." He gave her shoulders a squeeze and flashed a happy smile. "It will be worth the interruption of your beauty sleep when you see the case we caught."

Brennan couldn't thwart her automatic response. "What is it?"

Booth grinned when he heard her curiosity. Opening the car door for her he waved her grandly inside. "Notes are on the dash," he advised in a playful lilt.

"This says the Manassas PD has an unidentified body," she accused as he took his seat behind the wheel. "That's not a federal matter, Booth. You don't need me. I don't need to be awake in the middle of the night."

"You know, I had no idea you were so grumpy in the morning, Bones," he teased. "It's kind of cute."

Brennan's cheeks pinked and she smiled despite herself. "It was the first good night's sleep I've had in days," she explained softly. "I'm sorry I'm grumpy."

"Everything ok, Bones?" He was worried now. "Why aren't you sleeping?"

"I've just been busy," she said waving away his concern. "Sometimes it's hard to still my thoughts and find a mental state conducive to sleep. I'm fine, Booth."

He nodded slightly to acknowledge he was satisfied with that explanation. It probably was tough to turn off a brain like hers. "Well, we are up at this ungodly hour because Manassas PD requested federal assistance with this homicide."

"Why?" she asked searching his scribbled notes for some reason. "And that still doesn't explain why you need me."

"I think you are the only way we are going to figure out who it is."

Brennan's objections gave way to her intrigue but they returned with vengeance as Booth reached the crime scene. "Why are there local cops all over my crime scene, Booth?"

"Bones!" he called jumping out of the car to follow as she stomped toward the warehouse. "They were already here, Bones," he soothed. "They called us, remember?" She glared at him and he spoke quickly to prove that had not been a joke. "I ordered them to stop and not touch anything until we got here. There isn't supposed to be a single thing disturbed, I promise."

Her eyes let him know she was mollified and they entered the scene walking shoulder to shoulder. "Good God," Booth muttered as they got their first look at the body.

Brennan made no verbal response but the way she moved as they neared let him know she was horrified. There was very little about the bloody mass of meat hanging in the center of the room that would identify it as human. She circled it slowly her sharp eyes scanning the scene for every detail. She was on her third pass when something caught her eye. She stepped forward and her foot slipped the sticky wet puddles of blood making the floor a hazard to navigate.

Booth reacted quickly and reached out to steady her. "What is it, Bones?" he asked as she regained her balance and bent forward. He flinched as he watched her force open the stiffened fingers of what had once been a right hand. He heard bones break and he wondered if that would trouble her. He was going to offer a kind word to remind her that some desecration of the body was necessary but the look on her face stopped him. "What?"

Brennan turned and held out her hand. Her latex covered fingers were smeared with blood but he ignored them. His eyes were riveted to the form crawling curiously over her palm. "Bones, is that what I think it is?"

"Chrysina aurigans," Brennan confirmed. "A golden beetle."

"All right, people listen up!" Booth shouted to the local cops scatter over the room. "This is now a federal investigation, everybody out!" He had already pulled his phone and pressed speed dial without looking. "Yeah, this is Booth," he said as soon as dispatch answered. "Put me through to the night Commander, I've got a serial killing."

"Are you ready for me?" Hodgins asked. He was standing at the edge of the exam table his eyes locked on the body as he bounced nervously on the balls of his feet. "I need to get started," he added anxiously. He had been hovering like this since the moment their victim arrived. The tension and impatience he felt made it impossible to stand still and when he grew tired of bouncing he began to rock his body back and forth his attention still focused on the table.

"Time is of the essence," Vincent agreed, his tumbling words an indication that he was picking up on Hodgins' emotion. "Did you know that eighty-four percent of all successfully solved homicide cases are done so in the first forty-eight hours?"

"Seriously?" Hodgins asked incredulously. "That's what we do, you know; we solve homicides."

"Oh…quite," the intern lowered his eyes in embarrassment in the face of Hodgins' vehemence. "I realize that…did you know…" he faltered as Hodgins' intense gaze moved to him, "…Honduras has the unenviable distinction of currently holding the world's leading intentional homicide rate."

"This is a homicide," Hodgins said and his attention turned back to the body Cam was examining. "And that was definitely intentional." He took a step forward. "I could start with the extremities," he suggested impatiently.

"Hodgins there is no way I can be finished anytime soon. There are dozens of DNA samples here. It's going to take a lot of work to sort it all out."

"There is so much blood," Angela observed her face revealing her revulsion. "I don't understand the point. It's like he killed him and then drowned him in other people's blood. Is that supposed to be some creepy poetic statement?"

"It's supposed to piss me off," Cam answered without looking away from the samples she gathered. "And it's working."

"Speaking of working," Jack demanded with growing impatience.

The pathologist's eyes closed and she deliberately reminded herself that they all worked toward the same goal. "I haven't even started on the tissue," she explained. "Why don't you start on the bug?"

"I already examined the bug," Hodgins snapped. "It's just like the last one. It tells me nothing!"

Angela had heard the tension in his voice and her hand curved gently over her husband's arm in a soothing touch. Jack immediately took a cleansing breath. "Cam," the artist said in a gentle suggestion. "If there is that much confusing evidence why don't you let Hodgins help? You can focus on the tissue and he can sort through the blood bath."

"Yeah, ok," she agreed.

Hodgins jumped forward eager to get his hands on the body. Vincent watched them work for a moment his face troubled. Finally, he spoke up to voice his thought. "Dr. Hodgins' impatience is obviously satisfied with this compromise. However, I feel compelled to remind everyone that I'm waiting for access to the bones so that I might prepare for Dr. Brennan's inspection and she will not be so willing to compromise."

B&B

Sweets blew across his steaming coffee cup and took a sip. As he lowered the cup, he noted Turner's scrutiny and his cheeks pinked. "What?" he demanded with a shy smile. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You always blow twice when you do that," she reported her voice soft and her eyes sparkling. "One short blast and then a longer one; it's cute that you always do it the same way."

"What's cute," Sweets answered as he leaned across the table, "…is that you watch me closely enough to notice it."

Turner responded to his move with her own adjustment and they were now only inches apart as they leaned over their breakfast. "I'm a trained agent, Dr. Sweets," she reminded him, "…I notice everything."

"Training?" Sweets teased, "That's why you watch me?"

"That and I'm a sucker for dimples," she answered with the same playful tone. "You are the cutest thing ever."

"I'd rather be sexy than cute," he objected.

"That too."

They shared a long kiss and then Sweets took another before he settled back in his chair. There was a satisfied smile on his face and he took a quick moment to appreciate this new happiness he had found. "What do you say," he said suddenly seized by an impulse, "We jump in the car and take a trip this weekend?"

"I would love to," she agreed quickly.

Sweets leaned back across the table. "Awesome," he said just before his lips brushed hers.

"Break it up, Hooch," Booth said as he slapped Sweets' shoulder and dropped into the chair next to the profiler. "Quit slobbering on my agent."

Sweets immediately jerked back into his seat his cheeks flaming red as if he had been caught doing something wrong. "What are you two doing here?" he asked voicing the first thought that popped into his mind.

"Having breakfast," Booth answered nodding his thanks at the waitress, who had appeared to pour both he and Brennan a cup of coffee. They both quickly ordered their usual and when the two couples were alone he continued. "That's usually what people do here."

"We have a case. It appears to be another Creeps McGee murder," Brennan explained.

"Bones, don't call him that!"

Brennan's head cocked as she tried to understand his objection. "Hodgins refers to him with that moniker."

"That doesn't mean you have to," Booth answered.

"I find it strikingly appropriate," she admitted giving a slight shudder. "Hodgins is quite perceptive."

"Yeah, well, Hodgins calls dumpster diving a good time."

"What does that…" Brennan began.

"Guys," Sweets called trying to end the bickering. "Guys?"

Two sets of eyes turned to him and he wondered how they could slip in and out of that intensity so quickly. "Did you need something?"

"If we are right about our suspect, this is his second killing," Booth said. "How about an updated profile taking that into account?"

"Sure," Sweets agreed. "It does change things a bit. I can have something to you this afternoon."

Booth nodded in appreciation and then looked across the table. "Good work on the blood bank tip, Turner," he complimented the younger agent.

"What tip?" Sweets asked.

Turner gave one shoulder a casual shrug. "I was at the Hoover early this morning getting in a workout. When I heard Booth caught this case I did some preliminary research. The Blood Donor Center at Walter Reed was robbed two days ago. They lost forty pints of blood."

"The presence of so much extraneous blood at the scene makes your tip quite relevant," Brennan complimented. "It is saving us time since we now have a lead to follow as I wait for Dr. Saroyan to finish her examination of the victim."

"I thought you were at home this morning?" Sweets wondered quietly.

"I was, but not everyone sleeps in like you do, sleepyhead."

Brennan grinned when she heard the fondness in Turner's voice. "I was up too early this morning as well, Sweets," she said comfortingly.

"Turner, stay available," Booth ordered. "I might need you after Bones and I check out Walter Reed."

"Lance, what's wrong?" Turner asked seeing the contemplation in his eye.

"Nothing!" he answered a bit too quickly. "What could be wrong?"

B&B

"How are you doing, sweetie?" Angela asked as she neared Hodgins. Her hand drifted over his back as he straightened from his hunch over the microscope.

"This sick bastard is pissing me off," he answered. "Throwing gallons of blood everywhere is a great way to disguise real clues. Not that I believe he actually left any."

"He will make a mistake," she theorized. "And you will find it."

"Thanks, babe."

They kissed and the way her fingers lingered in his curls made him regret the need to focus on the case. She saw his desire and gave a small smile. "You don't need me around here so I'm going to get out of here and get some things done."

"What do you mean we don't need you?"

"You don't need me," Angela repeated. "I'm no help when you are doing these kinds of tests. Anything I can help with will come later when you all find the evidence."

"This isn't more of that 'I'm not a genius' crap, is it?"

"No," she answered leaning into him as his arms wrapped around her. "I need to meet the delivery guys; they are bringing our new appliances precisely sometime between the hours of nine and noon."

"I'd go meet them, but I really need to do this," he apologized.

"I've got it," Angela assured him. "You stay here were you will do the most good. I'll worry about getting our new place ready."

"Our place," Hodgins repeated happily. "I love the sound of that."

Angela leaned into him and her words held more honesty than her previous statement. "Me too, babe."

B&B

"So, you are certain forty pints is all that was taken?" Booth asked as he made a note on his index card.

Director Sondra Culpepper nodded. "Our record keeping is systematic, we've accounted for everything else."

"I'll need the security footage," Booth continued.

"I can provide that," she agreed, "But I'm not sure you'll find anything useful. Our security is stumped and the MPs didn't have any better luck. One minute everything is fine and the next the feed goes black. There was no indication in the system that anything was wrong. We only discovered the interruption in video after the break in was discovered."

"We believe this matter is tied to a homicide investigation," he responded. "Useful or not we'll need to see it."

Culpepper responded without resistance. "Absolutely, I'll make certain it gets to you. Can I ask why you are so certain they are related?"

"The amount taken from your storage corresponds to the quantity of blood at the crime scene," Brennan explained. "With your records we should be able to match type and Ph factor to confirm."

"I'll have the records pulled and you can take that information with you as you leave," the Director offered.

Not long afterward they left, the interview with a cooperative subject and no body making this a quick stop. Booth handed over the CD with the records Culpepper had provided and opened Brennan's door. She took her seat without saying anything and he prompted her for a reaction as he climbed behind the wheel. "Penny for your thoughts there, Bones."

"What? Oh, sorry I was thinking."

"I know," he chuckled as he turned the engine over. "That's why I offered the penny."

"My thoughts are valued at a higher rate," she answered dryly.

Booth's chuckle turned to a full laugh. "Right you are, Bones. So pretend I can actually afford to pay for that big brain and tell me what you are thinking about. Was there something in that interview I missed?"

"That is highly unlikely," Brennan stated and Booth smiled at the implied compliment. "I wasn't actually thinking about that. The data on this disc will either confirm or deny our suspicion and it doesn't really require more speculation."

"Then what are you thinking about?"

"I was thinking it is nice to see Sweets so happy," she explained. "At breakfast; he looked happy don't you think?"

"He's very happy."

"I had been afraid that the pain Miss Wicks inflicted on him would have more lasting consequences."

Booth glanced at her and adjusted his hold on the steering wheel. "He was pretty devastated, that's true," he agreed. "But he moved on, Bones. He took the pain and he learned from it. Sometimes that kind of lesson only comes at that price. I'd like to think that it was worth it. He's a different man now, Bones; more aware of himself and those he might love and maybe he's a little wiser. What he knows now will help him find an even better happiness."

Brennan nodded and a timid smile tugged at her lips as their eyes met. It didn't last long, Booth turned his attention back to the road but her comment filled the silence between them. "I hope that is true."

The sound of her phone ringing broke the heavy tension and she answered on speaker. "Brennan."

"I'm not going to surprise you by saying I have nothing to report," Cam stated her underlying frustration coming through loud and clear. "But I can say Mr. Nigel-Murray has informed me that the remains are now ready for your inspection."

"We're on our way," Brennan answered as Booth accelerated.

Hodgins compared the results of his latest test with the previous. "Same as last time you sick bastard," he said aloud. "You know exactly what you are doing." His hands worked in precise movements as he properly stored the sample and marked it as evidence. Years of diligence when dealing with vital information made his work routine and he let his mind consider possible avenues he had yet to try. An idea came and he jumped from his stool almost before the last sample was properly filed.

The preparations didn't take long and he soon had the test processing. Unable to sit still he paced his quick steps taking him from the small lab's work table to the equipment and back again. When a buzzer announced time was up, he scurried to check the results. "Damn it!" he cursed when he saw.

"I know the feeling," Cam said behind him.

Hodgins whirled without responding and the tray of evidence he had just examined went flying through the air to crash violently against the far wall. Cam's eyes widened with surprise but Hodgins was speaking before she could. "Nothing!" he yelled. "There are no particulates because he freaking washed the victim before he killed him! Who does that? What kind of sick psychopath cleans before he kills? It's like he put the guy in a decontamination shower!"

Cam was moving toward the items he had hurled across the room and he quickly hurried to clean them up. "There are no fibers, no soil, no clues. The damn bloodbath means we have to plow through what we know is irrelevant data just to look for something we might miss. One tiny little thing that his preparations missed!"

Cam was trying to squat down and help and he shifted to prevent it. "I'll get it. If you get down here you might not make it up."

He froze as soon as he said it. Looking up he, mentally kicked himself for the tears he saw in his boss' eyes. "I didn't mean that like it sounded," he apologized all his anger gone as he tried to make amends. "Cam, I'm really sorry. I didn't think, it was supposed to be a joke, a stupid joke…you aren't fat."

She nodded quickly and turned away. "Let me know if you find anything." Her voice quivered just a bit and her steps were quick as she left his office.

"Hodgins," Jack muttered to himself. "You are an ass."

B&B

"Dr. Brennan!" Vincent called as she passed in route to her office. "I have something!"

The claim prompted Brennan to alter course immediately rather than making her planned stop and she stepped into the exam room. "What have you found, Mr. Nigel-Murray?"

The intern looked ready to burst with pride and he smiled, as he stood straight. "I have our victim's identity." He couldn't stop himself from expounding and his words tumbled out. "Normally that pleasure is reserved for Angela as she is the one who searches various databases to match dentals, missing person's reports or what have you. But, this time it was I who had the honor and I must say there is a distinct satisfaction in putting a name to the face."

Brennan was staring at him and he suddenly realized he was babbling. "Right, identity," he said turning to the body on the table. "I found a long bone fracture, in the femur to be exact, and the hardware used to repair it was traceable."

"Mr. Nigel-Murray," Brennan snapped and Vincent turned to meet her already cringing at the displeasure in her tone. "You discovered pertinent data and chose to proceed with a trace on the item rather than contacting me or Cam?"

"Well, I…I thought it would be better if I gave you the name."

"Withholding information no matter how slight or how well intentioned is completely unacceptable. Our first priority must be the resolution of the murder and apprehension of the killer and that requires that each of us supply Booth with all the information we have."

"Yes, of course. My apologies, Dr. Brennan," Vincent stammered. "It won't happen again I can assure you."

Brennan nodded but she found no satisfaction in his promise. The look of disappointment and regret on his usually cheerful face filled her with her own remorse. It occurred to her that as she resumed her old life and the lessons of Maluku became more memory than conscious thought it would be necessary to guard against slipping into her established habits. "I can appreciate your effort to exceed my expectations, Mr. Nigel-Murray," she offered gently. "It does not go unnoticed."

Vincent blinked and his jaw dropped slightly. "Thank you," he said through his stunned surprise.

B&B

Angela's phone rang and she answered as she switched to hands-free. "Hi, Sweetie," she greeted having noted the caller identification.

"Ange, where are you?" Brennan demanded with curiosity.

"I'm on my way back. I had to make a run to our new apartment and rendezvous with three burly men bearing gifts."

There was a beat of silence before Brennan spoke. "Does Hodgins know about that?"

Angela chuckled. "Delivery men, Sweetie, but thanks for the fantasy. Did you need something or did you call just to suggest that I'm stepping out on Hodgins in a big way?"

"We have an identity on the victim," Brennan answered.

"Really? Guess you didn't need me for this one."

"I need you now," Brennan objected. "The surgical implant gives us a name but I need more. I have several sets of data that I need you to process. I'm hoping to produce a simulation that will reveal more of what happened than pathology or particulate matter has thus far provided."

"Yeah, we could use that," Angela agreed. Her voice was soft as she considered how frustrating this case was, particularly for her husband. "Bren, I'm worried about Hodgins," she confided. The light ahead turned red and she slowed to a stop. "He's taking this case as a personal affront," she continued. "He thinks he should have found something the first time, with Alice's case. He's blaming himself for allowing Creeps to get away and strike again."

"That's unfounded," Brennan insisted. "We are all stymied by his thoroughness."

The light turned and Angela continued for the first time in months eager to get to work. "Yeah, well; unfounded but true. It's eating him up. He hated the way things ended the first time and it took him weeks before he would stop going over his notes looking for what he missed. Now he thinks he gave up too soon." She sighed and her voice was filled with sadness. "I don't know how to help him, Bren."

"That can be as frustrating as a lack of evidence," Brennan answered knowingly. "I have felt that way on occasions when I knew Booth was struggling with a case. The emotional pain and mental confusion that can afflict us in the course of our work is counterproductive, as is the distraction we feel as their partner."

"Wow." Angela chuckled as she turned a corner. "Suddenly you are the one with the answers."

"I don't have an answer," Brennan countered. "But I can state from observation and experience that being patient and supportive is the best course of action in such situations. And that is something I learned from you, Ange."

"I don't think you learned that lesson only through me."

"No, I have been partners with Booth for several years now and I have learned many things from that as well."

"Booth's influence or mine it doesn't matter that was great advice, Sweetie; thanks. I'm almost there. I'll have those answers we need as quickly as possible."

B&B

"Tammy Davis?" Booth asked when the door opened.

"Yes?" The blonde woman with wide brown eyes looked anxious as she waited to learn who was at her door. Tears began to well in her eyes as Booth identified himself and Brennan. "You…something happened…you found Bruce?"

"Yes, ma'am," he answered as gently as he could. "I'm sorry to inform you that your husband is dead.."

Her knees buckled and both partners reached out to steady her before she toppled to the ground. Their concern seemed to help and she regained her footing. Tears continued to fall but she stepped back and welcomed them into her home. Booth led her into the living room and sat with her allowing her a moment to grieve. Brennan wandered away and he paid little attention to why until she returned and offered Tammy a glass of water. Giving her a slight smile to show his approval they both sat back and waited for this terrible moment to pass.

Realizing that they were waiting on her, Tammy eventually regained enough control to proceed. "How?" she asked her voice still shaking.

"He was murdered," Booth answered.

Horror filled the grieving wife's eyes and new tears fell. "Was he robbed?" she asked. "I knew something horrible had happened to him. When he was late to dinner, I knew. He's never late."

"When was the last time you saw him?" Brennan asked.

"Tuesday morning," Tammy answered. A sad smile crossed her lips. "He was late for work because he insisted on feeding the baby her breakfast. She was trying peaches for the first time and he didn't want to miss it." The reality of everything he would miss hit her and she sobbed. "Oh God!"

"So he left for work and that's the last you heard from him?"

"No, he called around four to say he would be home a little late. He doesn't like to do that, but sometimes if a client insists he makes an exception."

"Your husband was a salesman?" Brennan asked and regretted her words when Tammy reacted to the past tense. There was a strained silence as she nodded her answer and fought back more tears.

"When he didn't come home?" Booth asked trying to get the information they needed and end this as quickly as possible.

"It was horrible," Tammy admitted. "I was up all night worried sick. That was the night it stormed so badly and I just knew he had had an accident. He didn't answer his cell, even though I kept calling and calling. After several hours I started calling hospitals and then the police, but no one knew anything."

"Mrs. Davis, do you know of any reason why someone would want to hurt your husband?"

"No," she answered trying to focus and be of help. "Everyone loves Bruce. He's a good man. He's warm and caring and never met a stranger. He's an all-American kind of guy. The boy next door and the BMOC all rolled into one."

"The what?" Brennan asked.

"Big Man On Campus," Booth interpreted. "He was popular."

"He always thought he would be a professional athlete," Tammy laughed. "But when his injury sidelined him it was that charm and likeability that made him a success. He could sell anything because people wanted to like him."

"His injury was the broken femur?" Brennan stated rather than asked.

"Yes." Tammy's smile grew even sadder. "He hated that he had to stop, but it was the greatest thing that ever happened for me. We met in college and started dating but I had competition. When he left the team other girls started to lose interest and I ended up winning." Her tears welled again and her voice faltered. "And now I lose."

"You think it was dissatisfaction with a business deal?" Brennan asked Booth. "If he was that good at his profession perhaps Bruce angered him."

"No!" Tammy said forcefully. "Bruce would never do that. He would never take advantage of someone."

The front door opened and a woman entered. "Tammy, I saw the car in the drive, is there news?" She stopped when she entered the room taking in the shattered woman on the couch and the two sorrowful strangers seated with her. "What happened to him?" she asked.

"You are?" Booth asked carefully.

"Cindy Parson, I live next door," she answered. She moved to the couch and sat next to her friend as Booth vacated the seat. "What happened?"

"Mr. Davis was murdered," Brennan stated when it was obvious Tammy could not say the words.

"Bones, let's go," Booth called as the two women began to cry again. "Tammy, we'll be in touch," he said and her friend took the business card he was offering. "Call me if you remember anything at all about Tuesday that seems odd."

"We will," Cindy answered for her friend.

Brennan was quiet as they left and as Booth pulled the front door closed behind them she shook her head. "That was very difficult."

"Sometimes the pain is a little too real," Booth agreed still feeling the sense of loss that had rolled from Tammy Davis. "We need to get this bastard, Bones," he growled as they walked down the drive. "These people he's taking are good people. Alice was a kind, innocent woman and he killed her because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now he takes this guy, a family man, a loving husband who never hurt anyone. He's racking up some karma that needs to bite his ass hard."

"Finding a commonality in his victims might prove as difficult as discovering clues to his identity," Brennan observed as he opened her car door. "Creeps is very good and we are no closer to an answer."

"Don't do that!" Booth snapped his voice low and angry. "Don't you dare do that, Bones! Do not put this guy on a pedestal. You cannot give him some cute super villain name and assign him evil powers! He's a sick bastard who is preying on good people and we are going to stop him. We're the damn good guys, why don't you whip out our super powers?" He was yelling and his own noise silenced him. With a glare at her startled face he turned to take his place at the wheel for once leaving her to close her own door.

"Hey, Booth!" Sweets called when the agent didn't stop for his first greeting.

"What?"

Booth had stopped and turned to wait but Sweets approached fearfully. "I finished the profile update," he said. He couldn't help but read the irritation on the other man's face and his natural urge to counsel kicked in. "Are you ok?"

"I'm fine," Booth snapped and resumed his walk. He knew he was irritated, he was supposed to be irritated, he was trying to catch a really bad, bad guy. "What does the profile show on this looney tune Sweets?" he asked entering his office and expecting Sweets to follow.

Sweets did follow and he dropped a file on Booth's desk as the agent took his seat. "That's the thing to remember," he lectured. "He's not crazy."

Booth's eyebrow arched. "He's not? So, what it's perfectly rational to mutilate a body like he did this poor guy?"

Sweets made a quick gesture trying to sooth the anger he heard in Booth's voice. "No, of course not," he corrected. "What I'm saying is that like most serial killers he isn't psychotic, he still has a firm grasp of reality. He would have to in order to carry out the kind of elaborate and apparently untraceable crimes he's committing."

"They aren't untraceable," Booth objected heatedly. "Bones will find something."

"I'm sure you are right." Sweets dropped into the chair opposite as he continued. "But the way he planned them out, the complexity of it all suggests to me that he's pathologically self-centered. He's a narcissist. He's going to feel superior to everyone, but especially his victims."

"Yeah, ok," Booth said reaching for the file. "I get it. So, anything else I need to know?"

"They aren't random," the psychologist stated with certainty.

"You think the victims are connected?"

"If not to one another, then to him. This kind of violence is vindictive; he's punishing them. The woman…"

"Alice," Booth supplied quickly unwilling to let the unsolved case slip from their attention.

"Right, Alice; her death was excessively painful. And this time…" He faltered unable to imagine how painful it had been as Bruce's body was destroyed.

"Got it, he's an uncrazy, vindictive, self-absorbed son of a bitch." Booth lifted the file. "Thanks, Sweets; this helps."

When the younger man didn't take the hint in the dismissal, Booth sat back. "Was there something else?"

Sweets nodded and shook his head all at the same time so that it bobbled on his neck in a ultimate show of uncertainty. Realizing he was making a fool of himself, he took a deep breath. "If you don't have any more questions about the profile, I would like to ask you a question."

Booth dropped the file on his desk. "Is this going to be one of your shrink questions that makes me want to shoot you?"

"No! Well, maybe..."

He was uncomfortable and the way he squirmed in his chair gave Booth a silent chuckle. "I think I know what it is. This is about Turner, right?"

"Yeah."

Booth picked up his baseball and tossed it over his head. "Relax, Hooch," he teased as he caught the ball. "I might need her help, but she'll be free for a round of spin the bottle on that weekend you have planned."

"Ha." Sweets pretended to laugh. He took another deep breath and leaned forward resting his forearms on Booth's desk. "I need your help," he said as Booth gave the ball another toss. "I'm having a little trouble with the reality of being in a relationship with an agent."

Booth set the ball down. "Her gun is bigger than yours?" he joked. Sweets bit back a nasty reply and sat back. His confusion and hurt was evident and Booth regretted the joke. "What's wrong?" he asked with sincerity.

"I'm having difficulty processing my concern for her safety. Her job is dangerous, I get that, I accept it, but every time I think she's in danger I have a panic attack. Even when I don't think she's in danger, she might be. Like this morning, I thought she was safe at home wearing those cute little pajamas pants with the puppies on them and instead she's here researching crimes."

"She's hardly in a life threatening situation inside the Hoover."

"But, the point is at any moment she could be on the job. What happens if she's at the grocery store and witnesses a holdup?"

Booth shrugged. "She'd take action."

"Exactly!"

"It's part of the job, Sweets," Booth scolded. "And Turner is good. She's not going to get injured doing research online or stopping at the store for your milk and cookies. She's not going to get hurt in the field either, at least not recklessly. When I say she's good I mean it, Sweets. She knows what she's doing."

"Ok, but how do you handle it?"

"How do I handle what?"

"How do you handle it when the person you love is out there risking her life?"

The frankness of Sweets' words caught them both by surprise and the silence hung between them. There was a look of fear that flashed in the psychologist's eye as he watched Booth's reaction but when there was no explosion of temper, he schooled his features into a calm mask and waited for an answer.

Booth considered his reaction carefully. A year ago he would have blown his top over a question like that. He would have denied it. He would have resented Sweets' reminder of the failure and accused him of being deliberately hurtful. A few months ago, he would have dismissed it. He would have reminded his young friend that whatever had been was passed and they had both moved on.

But now, he could do neither. He could not deny what he felt. He could not dismiss what was happening. He might not be able to define it either, but he was working on it. Wherever he and Brennan were, whatever this was between them now, wherever they were headed, they were past the point of denial. He had feelings for his partner. It might not be exactly the same, Sweets and Turner couldn't possibly have what he had with Brennan, but their situations were similar. He could admit that.

"You believe in her," he answered. Looking into Sweets' eyes he offered a true and sincere piece of advice. "You believe in her skill and her ability. You trust that she is worthy of that pride you feel in her every day. And you cherish every second that you have knowing that with the lives we lead there are no guarantees." He stood to indicate this was all he was going to say on the matter. "Life only gives us so many chances, Sweets. Don't be afraid of the ones you get."

"Thanks, Booth," Sweets said his voice soft and contemplative as he offered his hand. He didn't look back as he walked from the office, but he did smile as he reflected on what was probably their best counseling session ever. Too bad Booth had been the counselor instead of the patient.

B&B

The Angelatron displayed the image of a body dangling from a chain. Angela shuddered as she considered how painful it would be simply to hang there. Even without the blows that had destroyed his body, Bruce would have been tortured just from the pain in his shoulders and wrists.

"Are you ok, Ange?" Cam asked with concern.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just will never get used to seeing just how ugly humans can be."

"There is no end to examples of that," the former cop said sadly. "But this one does feel worse than some we've seen. This was ugly and undeniably painful."

"Yes it was," Brennan agreed as she and Vincent joined them. "Which I find motivates my desire to help Booth apprehend him."

"I couldn't have said it better myself, Dr. Brennan," Cam declared taking the cue to get started. "Let's see them, Angela. Hopefully there is something here that will lead us to this bastard."

Angela began the simulation. "Based on Vincent's information, it appears the injuries were inflicted in the following order." They watched as red dots began to cover the body, the first one on the right thigh, followed by a second on the lower half of the ribcage. One after another, the dots appeared until there was very little of the body not covered in red. "It makes me nauseous," Angela muttered as the simulation played to an end.

"Yeah, I thought my sense of smell made me sick, but this is worse," Cam added.

"Play it again," Brennan ordered without discomfort. Shaking her head at the way her friend could dismiss the natural reaction to these types of violence, Angela replayed the simulation. Brennan watched for a moment and then nodded as if she had reached a decision. "That was the actual cause of death," she said and Angela halted the progress. "The eleventh impact shattered the parietal bone and a large portion was forced into the brain."

"I'm going to be sick," Angela said as she turned pale.

"I can confirm that the murder weapon was a sledgehammer," Brennan announced.

"You're sure?" Cam asked quickly.

"Yes. Mr. Nigel-Murray and I have just completed an analysis of each impact. I was fairly certain, but withheld an opinion until I could verify what Angela had found." She stepped toward the large screen and indicated the first injury point. "Based on the strike pattern and evidence on the bone, I would surmise Creeps stands one-hundred-seventy-eight centimeters and is right-hand dominant."

Cam grimaced. "Five-foot-ten and right handed isn't much of a clue. That makes him as non-descript as everything else we've found. But, I guess it's more than we had before."

"Thinking positive?" Angela asked skeptically.

"For the kid," Cam joked. "I'd hate for her to be a cynic before she's twenty." Her levity faded quickly and she looked back at the on screen image. "He's average height and average handed. If he's so average, why go to all the trouble to cover everything in blood?"

"Because he's completely depraved?" Angela guessed.

The coroner shook her head. "I think there's something more to it. Hodgins and I were able to confirm all forty-one blood samples, the forty taken from Walter Reed and Bruce Davis' as well. I just can't figure out why he did it that way."

"If I might?" Vincent interrupted hesitantly.

"I'll take anything, Mr. Nigel-Murray," she agreed.

"There is something rather unique to these injuries, perhaps it's that which might stand out amongst all the ordinary?"

"I haven't noted anything," Brennan interjected.

The skepticism cowed Vincent but he stammered on despite himself. "I…well, it might be something you would overlook." Brennan's face grew cold at the suggestion she might overlook something and he hurried to finish. "Perhaps what I should say is that as an American you are less equipped to notice it."

"Spit it out, Vincent," Angela called encouragingly. "That hole is getting deeper."

"Right. Well," he said joining Brennan at the monitor. "I believe given the angle of the blows and the weapon as you describe it, Dr. Brennan, that the killer delivered the hammer in a manner uncommon to most Americans. You see," he stepped back once and swung his arms as if he held a baseball bat. "Most American's would deliver that blow to the femur in this manner. A thoroughly natural swing based on the prevalence of baseball in your culture."

"We need to work on your swing, Sweetie," Angela interrupted her expression showing disapproval in his form.

"Right, well that's my point, really," Vincent said eagerly. "Were I or any true Englishman, really, to deliver such a blow the natural instinct would be to do so thusly." He demonstrated by altering his swing. This time he stepped forward and his imaginary bat swung low before carrying through in a vertical angle."

"Cricket," Cam said with recognition.

"I concur," Brennan agreed as she watched his demonstration, "And nice work, Mr. Nigel-Murray. I believe my inexperience with either of those sports obscured my understanding of the significance."

"So, Creeps is an Englishman?" Angela puzzled aloud.

"Not necessarily," Brennan answered. "This simply suggests that he has had exposure to the game. Cricket is culturally significant in a large number of societies worldwide."

"Agreed," Vincent added feeling courageous after his success. "There are even many cricket societies here in the States. I believe most are concentrated in the Northeast."

"Upper crusts," Angela responded with derision. "If Hodgins and I have a kid he's playing baseball."

"Paul's already planning for t-ball," Cam said as she rubbed her middle. "I think after today I might lobby for the swim team."

"Swimming is extremely productive exercise," Brennan approved.

"It has fewer disturbing skill sets too," Cam joked as she gave the simulation one more glance. Shaking off her revulsion of just how the victim had died, she headed for the door.

"Mr. Nigel-Murray, please reexamine the remains this time focusing on any possible indication of the exact murder weapon."

"Right," the intern agreed. "So, just sledgehammer isn't specific enough."

"Correct." Brennan's look was one of expectation and he scurried out without voicing his thought that perhaps one hammer looked very much like all the others.

As he left Brennan turned once more to the simulation and stared intently hoping to spot something she had yet to find. "You are just going to keep looking at it, aren't you?" Angela asked.

"I may yet discover something significant," Brennan answered without looking away.

"Well, I can't keep doing that," the artist said. "I've seen more than enough."

There was an emotion in her voice that Brennan could hear but not identify and she turned to her friend with some concern. "Ange, are you ok?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Your tone and the slump of your shoulders would indicate that is untrue," Brennan answered.

"Since when do you notice tone and slumped shoulders?"

Brennan didn't answer, her efforts to improve her recognition of such things was far less important than what she was seeing in her friend. "Ange, I know you are worried about Hodgins, but is there something else troubling you?"

"No. I'm great, Bren."

"If something is troubling you, I am most happy to listen."

The artist smiled gently and took her friend's hand. "I appreciate that, Sweetie. And you don't know how proud I am to hear you say something like that. But really, I'm fine. What could be wrong, right? My thoughtful husband just surprised me with the home of my dreams and has given me carte blanche to do it up just like I want. I'm living a dream, Bren. I'm fine. I promise." She squeezed the hand she held and then let go. "I'm going to go check on Jack. Turn that off when you are done please. I can't look at it anymore."

Brennan sighed as she watched Angela leave. She had thought her skills were improving, but perhaps she was wrong because she was very certain that Angela had just lied to her.

B&B

Booth pulled the chair out and took a seat across from the man in the tailored suit. "Thanks for coming in, Mr. Frey."

"Absolutely, Agent Booth," the man answered with sincerity. "Anything I can do to help. I still can't believe someone would do this to Bruce. The guy was just…he was just nice." He chuckled. "You know we used to tease him that being a nice guy really wasn't in a salesman's vocabulary, but he proved us wrong every day."

"He was a good salesman?"

"The best. Consistently at the top of our performance lists. Another couple of years and he would have been a looking at a partnership offer."

"Any idea who might want to hurt him like this?"

"No."

"Any bad sales or complaints?"

"I'm sorry, I wish there was if it would help find this guy. I just don't know what to tell you."

"Yeah, everybody loved him."

"Yeah."

The interviews were only adding to Booth's frustration. He couldn't listen to any more assurances that Bruce had been a nice guy who didn't deserve this. He didn't think anyone deserved what had been done to this poor man. But, with each promise of how everyone liked the guy the reality became harder to bear. The door opened and his final interview entered. "Have a seat, Mrs. Tarpley. I only have a few questions for you."

"Hey, babe."

Hodgins turned and smiled. "There's my girl." He was thrilled when she crossed the room and offered him a hug. She had been more attentive and open to his affection in the last few weeks but occasionally he would still see that sadness in her eyes and he worried it was not enough. Still, her effort to show her appreciation and her genuine excitement over the new house, were he thought, a good sign. Treading lightly, he tested her current mood. "How are you?"

"That's what I came to ask you," she said but her smile was enigmatic and he couldn't tell if she was dodging his question or just concerned for him. She ran her fingers through his curls and then let them scratch through his beard. "I'm worried about you."

"Why?"

"Jack you are a genius. When you play stupid it doesn't work."

"I'm fine."

"Bren thinks Booth is pretty upset by this one."

The admission caught him by surprise and he arched an eyebrow. His fingers found the seam between her top and her pants and he absently stroked them against the warm skin exposed there. "He is?"

"He gave her some speech about super villains, which I didn't quite understand with her retelling it, but she seems fairly certain he's more than irritated. Cam is struggling too; she's threatening to never let her kid play baseball."

"Ange," he interrupted unsure of what she was trying to say.

"What I'm trying to say," she continued. "Is that you aren't alone. We are all bothered by this one. The guy is horrible, maybe the worst we've ever seen, we all feel it, Jack. You don't have to do this alone. You aren't doing this alone."

"I know. It's just…It's like he's taunting me. The bugs? That seems like he's calling me out, you know? There has to be something I'm missing." He lifted the hand not touching her and ran it through his hair to still his frustration. "I just know I'm missing something."

"You will find it."

The certainty with which she said the words made his heart ache. "You think so?"

"We all think so. We have faith in you, Dr. Hodgins."

"I just need to know that you have faith in me."

Angela leaned her forehead against his and wrapped her arms around his neck. "With everything in me, my heart, my mind, my soul, I believe in you, Jack Hodgins." When she tipped her chin forward and her lips met his he believed it.

B&B

"Let's go, Bones!" Booth called as he rapped his knuckles against the bone room door. "We've got a lead."

"What is it?"

"I'll tell you in the car," he said with impatience. "Let's go!"

The abruptness of his tone made her worry. He had been angry when they parted and she could still hear his admonishment over her appreciation of the murder's complexity. Concerned that he was still irritated with her she shed her gloves and left without even giving her intern a reminder regarding her instructions.

His steps were quick as they crossed the lab and she hurried to match his stride. She wanted to know what he had learned, but her need to find if he was angry with her was more important. "Booth, I'm sorry," she said without preamble.

He stopped walking so quickly that she crashed into him. He reached out to steady her and his hand lingered on her arm. "Why are you sorry, Bones?"

"I'm sorry for what I said…about Creeps, I mean the killer. I'm sorry that I gave you the impression I admire him. Will you forgive me?"

A soft smile tugged at Booth's lips and he silently chuckled. In seven long years there had never been an instance where she apologized to him so desperately. He felt that familiar warmth in his chest and he let it fill him with the cheer only she could give him. "You don't have to apologize for that Bones."

"But you are mad at me."

This time he did chuckle aloud. "I'm not mad at you, Bones." She clearly didn't believe him and he gave her a smile that automatically created one on her perfect lips. "Don't look at me that way, I'm telling you I'm not mad." He dropped the playful tone and explained with more honesty. "I'm mad at him, Bones, not you. Come on, we have somewhere to be."

"You are certain you are not angry with me?" she asked as they fell in step once again.

His playfulness returned and he slung his arm over her shoulders. "Bones, Bones, Bones, trust me if I was mad you'd know it. Like that time you told me that my Phillies' jersey was unattractive? Remember that?" She nodded remembering the way her innocent aside about the striped shirt had prompted an afternoon of pouting. "I was mad then. Or that time you told me Jesus was a zombie? I was mad then, Bones."

"You have an interesting hierarchy regarding subjects you find offensive," she threw back as she responded to his levity. "I can praise serial killers, but your clothing and mythology are off limits."

"I'm glad you understand me, Bones," he said as they stepped into the parking garage.

"I'm trying to, Booth."

His arm tightened in a quick hug and then he dropped it so his hand rested against her back. "I know you are, Bones."

Hodgins and Angela exited his office hand in hand. She had convinced him to take a short break and she wasn't letting go until she actually saw him ingest a snack. Cam was making her own way across the lab and Jack suddenly changed direction to intercept their boss. "Dr. Saroyan," he called.

Cam turned and waited for them wearing a look of suspicion. "Whatever it is, the answer is no," she stated firmly. "I don't know what experiment you want to do but I know I'm just not up to it today."

"I don't want to do an experiment."

"Then why did you call me Dr. Saroyan? You only do that when you want something."

"She's got you there," Angela agreed. "You do only use her title when you want something."

"Well, not this time," Hodgins answered in an offended tone. "This time I'm giving, not asking."

"Huh?"

Hodgins let go of Angela's hand and took a deep breath. "I owe you an apology," he said sincerely. "My comment earlier was insensitive and offensive and I apologize. I never meant to hurt your feelings."

"You mean when you implied I'm a fat cow," Cam growled.

A painful wince crossed his face as Jack reacted. "Yeah. I'm really very sorry, Cam." He held out an envelope. "I want you to know that you have always been a beautiful woman and pregnancy has only enhanced that to perfection. I think you should indulge in it."

"What's this?" she asked taking the envelope he offered.

"It's a full day of luxury at the best spa in town. It's unlimited so you can have as many services as you want."

"So you think I'm so hideous I need a whole day's treatment to fix it?"

"No!" His eyes widened in panic and he looked at his silent wife for help.

"Don't look at me, you did this all on your own," she said heartlessly.

Hodgins' head swiveled back to Cam and he tried desperately to correct his second faux pas. "I swear, I'm just trying to apologize. I'm a stupid man, I want you to have fun, you deserve it…"

Cam couldn't contain her smile any longer and she let it out as she spoke. "Relax, Hodgins; I'm messing with you." She enjoyed his stunned face for a moment and then she continued. "I owe you an apology for this morning. Your comment was not offensive, it was maybe even a little true, and I know it was only a joke. Can we just chalk the whole thing up to hormones and case-related stress and forget it?"

"Gladly," Hodgins agreed through a sigh.

"I'm keeping the gift though," Cam advised him as she pocketed the envelope. "You have no idea how much I could use a bit of pampering."

"You will love it," Angela gushed eager to join the conversation now that Jack's torture was over. "Get the mud-facial, you won't be sorry."

Hodgins watched the two women walk away as they discussed the spa's best offerings. "Women," he muttered in exasperation.

B&B

"So where are we going?" Brennan asked when he merged onto the Beltway without giving her any information.

"My last interview today was Kim Tarpley."

"Bruce's assistant," Brennan said recognizing the name from the list he had given her earlier.

"Right. Anyway, she had the same reaction as everyone else mainly that the guy was wonderful and she can't imagine anyone would want to hurt him."

"The repetition of that information must have been difficult for you to hear."

Booth took his eyes from the road and look at her. She was clearly concerned for him and he again marveled at this transformation she was undergoing. She had been perfect before in her own special, squinty, maddening way, but he was beginning to imagine there was something even better coming her way. It made him immensely proud of her. "It wasn't easy," he admitted. "But Tarpley had more to say."

"Which is why we are going…" she prompted still waiting for information on where they were headed.

"She put a call through to him late in the day on Tuesday." Brennan's shift in expression revealed her intrigue and he nodded in agreement. "Probably not a coincidence."

"She knew the identity of the caller?"

"Yep, Davis' biggest client. You might be right about that bad business deal, Bones."

The anticipation and hope they felt lasted only until they reached the offices of Weber Enterprises. "You are certain of that?" Booth asked trying not to let his bitter disappointment show in his voice.

The receptionist nodded and turned her computer monitor to freely show him what she saw. "Mr. Weber and his assistant, Miss Greene, were on a plane to London at three-thirty Tuesday. I have daily receipts for meals and expenses in London and two tickets to Brussels for a flight tomorrow morning. I'm sorry, Agent Booth, but there is no way Mr. Weber had any contact with Mr. Davis at the time you specified."

Thanking her for the information the partners returned to their vehicle each struggling to face what this meant. "It is much like last time," Brennan noted quietly as Booth fired the engine.

"Yeah." He shifted and accelerated before he continued. "Alice I think was in the wrong place at the wrong time, but Bruce was more deliberate. But still, he was lured to that warehouse and like Alice he had no idea what was coming or why."

"You think Sweets is right and there is some connection?"

"I hope so," Booth answered as he turned onto the highway. "Because finding that connection might be our best shot at finding this lunatic."

B&B

"Hey, Claude, do you have a minute?"

Turner looked up at the softly spoken question and smiled. "For you, I can spare two," she joked as she locked her computer. As a junior agent Turner's desk as located in the bullpen and there were several taunting hoots and off-color jokes made at their expense as she stood and joined Sweets. "Ignore them," she said softly as they walked away.

"I'm fine," he agreed trying desperately to hide the grin that came every time he realized agents were jealous of his girlfriend. They walked down the hall and Sweets let his fingers brush against hers. He would love to take her hand, but they did attempt to maintain a professional relationship in the building and he resisted the urge. "So, how's your day?" he asked as he fed the vending machine and pressed the button for her favorite candy bar. "You're working that robbery, right?"

"Yeah, but I'm not getting anything," she answered dejectedly. "I hate to let Booth down, but there's not much to go on. Who robs a blood bank anyway?"

"Hodgins calls him Creeps for a reason," Sweets said as he retrieved his Snickers and took the chair next to her.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Hey," he leaned forward much as he had in the diner at breakfast, but he again controlled his impulse to touch her. "You are doing great. I have it on the best authority that you are an awesome agent. This guy is good enough to stump Dr. Brennan and no one is smarter than her. So, don't beat yourself up over this."

"What is going on?"

"What do you mean?"

Turner sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. She studied him for a moment, her gaze suspicious and calculating and he began to fidget. "Why are you being so supportive? I said I was miffed about lack of evidence. I didn't doubt my ability as an agent. Why are you bending over backwards to give me a pep talk?"

"No reason. Forget it."

"Lance."

"I might be overcompensating as a reaction to my guilt," he said unable to take the pressure of her gaze.

"What guilt?"

Sweets sighed and tossed his uneaten candy on the table. "I'm having a few issues processing my concerns for your safety."

"My safety? Why? I haven't done anything dangerous."

"I know, but you could."

"I don't understand," Claudia said pinching the bridge of her nose as she tried to puzzle her way through his words. "You are guilty about something I might do. Lance, that makes no sense."

"I know! I'm sorry!"

"Will you stop saying that!" She broke her own rule and reached for his hand. "Tell me what is wrong," she insisted softly.

Sweets looked at her hand holding his and he smiled. His thumb drifted over her skin and he felt the now familiar warm softness. "I don't think I've ever really explained to you how important you are to me. You are more than just my girlfriend, Claude. You are the woman who saved my heart. I was crushed before I met you, devastated by the loss of something that, as I see it now, wasn't really mine to lose. I thought I would never feel that way again." He looked away from their hands and into her beautiful eyes. "And then I saw you and I knew…I just knew that I was wrong. I was more wrong than I have ever been because what you give me is so much more."

"Oh, Lance," the normally brash agent's features soften with feminine pleasure.

"You are so important to me," he continued giving her hand a squeeze. "I just…I panic when I think about how your job could put you in danger. And I know! I know, that you are good at what you do and it's stupid for me to feel that way. So, I'm working on it. And I guess I overcompensated a little because I feel guilty for implying you can't do your job in a safe manner."

"Lance."

"Let me finish," he said hoping he wasn't sounding like a chump or a control freak. "I am so proud of you and all I want is for you to be the best agent you can be. The kind of agent I know you will be. The best."

"Are you done?"

"Yeah," he answered his cheek twitching as he tried to anticipate her response.

"Good, shut up," she ordered and Sweets gave a soft squeal of surprise as she kissed him.

B&B

"Those do not look like the faces of success," Cam said as Booth and Brennan entered the lab.

"Dead end," Booth reported.

Cam frowned and ran a hand over her belly hoping the loving touch would distract her from her disappointment. "Well, we probably shouldn't be surprised by that," she theorized.

"Dr. Brennan!" Vincent exclaimed as he spotted her.

The intern was hurrying toward them when a second shout pulled everyone's attention away from his excited run. His pleasure turned to chagrin as the three senior members of the team turned and answered the call from Hodgins' office. Moaning with the dilemma he now faced he changed course and followed along.

Hodgins' cry had not contained the words 'king of the lab', but it had been filled with the same satisfaction those words normally carried. "What did you find?" Cam demanded as Booth dodged out of her way and let her enter the room first.

"I got something!" the entomologist cried unnecessarily. Angela stood next to him smiling proudly and he grasped her head in his hands and planted a noisy kiss on her lips. "He messed up!"

"Hodgins!" Booth roared impatiently.

"Dr. Brennan," Vincent whispered trying to get her attention. "I have something to report."

"Not now, Mr. Nigel-Murray," she answered dismissively.

"It's the bugs," Hodgins was explaining. "At first I thought they were the same. And in almost every way they are. They have the same coloring which is indicative of diet and they have the same content in their digestive tract."

"He studied the bug's poop?" Booth scoffed to Brennan.

"Hey, I don't tell you how to shoot things," the entomologist stopped to object. "Like I said, alike in every way. Except…."

"Dr. Hodgins, please get on with it," Brennan scolded.

"The bug found with Bruce has an elevated calcium carbonate level in the exoskeleton."

"See, that's what happens, Bones," Booth objected. "You make him hurry up and explain and then I don't understand a word." He turned to Hodgins. "Why do I care about carbonite?"

"It's a beetle, not Han Solo," Hodgins lectured. "The increased calcium carbonate is the result of a change in water supply. Creeps can control their food intake, but he's made a mistake with the water."

"I would think he provides sterile water," Brennan interjected.

"I would too, but I think he's had the enclosure out in the elements. This weather we have now is perfect for them and some time out in the fresh air and sun is healthy. I think our little informant was outside with access to a slow drip of rainwater. It ran off a roof and the beetles had access."

"Great. Again, why do I care?" Booth asked.

"Dr. Brennan," Vincent tried again.

She turned an icy stare on him and he snapped his mouth closed.

"You care, G-man, because wood shake roofing made of cedar has a very distinct carbon content."

"So you can trace the location of the bug's home!" Cam cried with excitement.

"You know it!" Hodgins crowed. "The shake is used exclusively down in the river district."

"Dr. Brennan!" Vincent yelled. She turned to him and he charged on heedless of her warning glare. "I am truly sorry, but I must interrupt. You instructed me to share all data immediately and I really must insist on sharing this." He took a deep breath and tried to control his nervousness. The urge to spout some factual data was palpable and he knew doing so would only irritate the scientists currently giving him a look of disapproval. "You ordered me to determine the exact murder weapon and I was able to do so." There was a proud self-congratulatory smile on his face and he tried not to get distracted. "The particulates Dr. Hodgins pulled from the impact sites contained a post-industrial recycled paint. There is only one manufacturer of sledgehammers that utilizes such a paint."

"And Vincent can identify the murder weapon!" Cam cheered with true enthusiasm. "Progress, people!"

"Not only that," the intern bragged. "But I found that a recent police report contained mention of a stolen sledgehammer of this specific variety."

"Let me guess," Booth said with a happy gleam in his eye.

"It was a construction site down in the river district," the intern bragged with modesty. He was a little disappointed when Brennan sprinted after Booth without giving him a response.

Brennan followed Booth into her office her steps slightly slower than his as she contemplated their frustrating night. Booth sighed and her gaze moved to him noting the defeated posture in his shoulders. She was worried about him. She knew he was troubled but she had no idea how to help him. He flopped onto her couch and lounged against the cushions in a slump. "Up all night and nothing to show for it," he complained as he closed his eyes.

"Booth, you acted very quickly, you did everything you could." She took a seat next to him turning and pulling one leg under her so that she could face him. Her hand moved down his arm in a reassuring caress. "He was gone long before we learned where he had been."

Booth's head turned without leaving the cushion behind him and he gave her a weak smile. "I know, Bones, but thanks for saying that."

"I know you are frustrated by him," Brennan continued in a tender voice. "Please remember that you are not alone in that emotion."

Her blue eyes were filled with concern and Booth felt his spirit lift knowing it was all for him. Her hand still lay against his arm and he turned his wrist until he could take her hand. His fingers laced with hers and he gave them a gentle squeeze. "I'm never alone, partner."

"We will find him," Brennan said confidently.

"Yeah we will."

Brennan lay back her body, resting only inches from his. She was tempted to rest her head on his shoulder, but she refrained and chose the couch instead. He was still close, she could feel the warmth of his body and smell his familiar clean scent, and it gave her a much-needed sense of comfort. In silence they sat, hands still clasped, each lost in their thoughts regarding a second failed case.

A knock at the door surprised them both and they looked up to find both Hodgins and Angela standing in the doorway. "You are still here?" Brennan asked as they sat up straight. Booth released her hand and she pulled away enough to disguise how they had been comforting one another.

"No one went home," Angela answered. "At first we were hoping for good news, but as the night wore on we figured we should get back to work." Her glance at Jack let Brennan know it was the entomologist who had refused to leave.

"Did you find something?"

"I wish I hadn't," the artist answered darkly. "But, yeah, Sweetie; I found something." She crossed the room with Jack in tow and Brennan was surprised to find Cam and Vincent behind them.

"Cam, you should have gone home," Booth scolded.

"This is important, Big Guy," the weary coroner answered as she sank into an armchair. "I think all of us may be short on sleep for a while to come."

"I think I need to know what's going on right now," Booth ordered as a feeling of dread began to grow in his gut.

"I really hate this," Angela said with heat. "I just…this is the part of it I really hate."

"Angie," Hodgins said as he wrapped an arm around her. "I'll tell them," he offered.

"No. I found it, I can tell them." She paused to gather courage or order her thoughts and then began. "I had a bad feeling and it felt like I'd already followed all the other leads I could. We know Creeps killed Alice and Bruce but only because we worked both cases. I started to wonder if anyone else had seen anything like it so I did a search through the FBI database and all available law enforcement files." She took a deep breath and laid a sheet of paper on the table in front of the partners. It was a synopsis of a case file from Berkeley California. "Doctor Lauren Kellogg, Chemist at UC Berkeley. Found dead in her home her body covered in bullet ants."

Both Brennan and Booth's heads jerked up in recognition. "There is no way that is a coincidence," Booth said.

"Especially when you know the package that apparently contained the ants also held a golden beetle."

"Let me guess, the case is cold because they couldn't find any clues."

"If we can't find them no way local PD will," Cam answered.

Angela laid a second sheet on the table. "Another one?" Brennan asked.

"Todd Adams, a photojournalist from New Canaan. Connecticut," Angela reported. He was found dead in his own dark room. No clues and the case is cold. A golden beetle was found in his pocket."

A third sheet joined the others and Angela gave her final bit of information. "Sam Osman, originally from Turkey, but living the last twenty years in Philadelphia he worked as a building super. He drowned in the facility's pool but the coroner ruled it murder when they found an unknown paralyzing agent in his blood stream." She grimaced. "I almost missed this one. The beetle was found in his mouth and the cops filing the report weren't sure it was relevant."

"A PhD from Berkeley, a photographer from Connecticut and an immigrant in Philly," Booth puzzled. "How the heck are those connected?"

"They do appear quite random," Brennan agreed.

"No way," Hodgins objected. "Creeps doesn't do random. There's a reason he went after these people."

"I'm sure you are right, squint," Booth agreed. "But right now I can't even guess how it all fits together."

"Which means," Cam said forcefully as she hauled herself from her chair, "That we need to find it. I see one, two, and a half," she pointed at Vincent, "geniuses plus three rather clever normal people, who have caught their fair share of bad guys. I can't think of a better group to catch this one too."

Brennan was nodding with approval and she also rose to her feet. "Booth I'll need you to request access to each of the other victims. Ange, if you could have all pertinent data on my desk as soon as possible I'd like to review it all before I examine the bodies."

"I've already put in a request to have the beetles shipped to me," Hodgins added. "They're all dead of course, but that doesn't mean I won't find something."

"I'll get with each PD," Booth agreed. "This will give Sweets a lot more to work with, so I'll get him on it. And I'll bring in Turner so we don't lose manpower if we catch another case."

"So, we work it until we find something," Cam summarized.

There were nods of agreement all around but no one voiced the thought they all had. Just how long would that take?

When Brennan answers her old professor's call, she and Booth head south to Savannah to investigate remains found in a cemetery. Could a change of scenery be all the partners need to change their relationship? Find out next week in The Mother in the Mentalist by NatesMama.