Season 6.5x13: The Bump in the Road - Written by NatesMama & Squinttoyou

"We're here, in the heart of the Wash Woods, a dark and ominous stretch of land in Northern Virginia, famed for being haunted by hundreds of immigrants who died in a shipwreck in the early 18th century."

"Dark and ominous?"

The narrator stopped and rolled his eyes at his cameraman, who was looking at him with a cocked eyebrow and a dubious expression, camera sitting sideways on his shoulder. "Man, I'm trying to set a tone, here!"

"A tone? Really, Mike?"

"Man, Bobby…seriously." Mike jumped from the back of their late model pickup and slapped the side of the truck in frustration. "We're never going to get this show on TV if you keep questioning my moves." He leaned on the sideboard and ran a frustrated hand over his goateed face. "I thought you wanted to be famous, man."

"Yeah, yeah…but this?" Bob shook his head ruefully and half-grinned. "It's kind of stupid."

With a sigh, Mike ran out of steam. "I know. Shit." He slapped the truck's bumper as he walked around the back, moving to the driver's side door. He stopped, door open, and regarded his buddy, still sitting in the bed of the truck. "So, what do you suggest we do?"

Glad to be rid of the cumbersome camera, Bob set it back in its case and rolled his shoulders. "I say we get the hell out of this creepy-ass place and go find some food. I'm friggin' starved."

"Yeah, sounds good. Hang on!" Mike swung his large frame into the truck and unceremoniously started the engine, slamming on the gas and sending Bobby flying to the back of the truck, legs flying in the air.

"Mike!" He screamed from his back, "You douche! Stop the goddamn truck!"

Laughing at his friend's attempts to pull himself to a sitting position, Mike pushed the gas pedal down harder and glanced in the rearview to watch the show. Bob's screaming and cursing only made him laugh harder, and his attention was completely focused on the fun behind him when the truck hit something in the middle of the deserted road with a large thump and a screeching of metal on pavement.

"Pull over! Pull over, you ass!" Bob grabbed the side of the truck, white-knuckled, trying not to fly backwards towards the cab when Mike slammed on the breaks. "You hit something, moron!"

Mike threw the truck in park and jumped out, all evidence of mirth wiped from his suddenly-pale face. "M-maybe it was an animal."

"You didn't see it?" Bob asked, incredulously. "That's what you get for screwing with me, dude."

Turning his attention to the road behind them, Mike released a breath of relief. "Look, it's a box or something."

Bob jumped out of the back of the truck and joined Mike as they jogged a short way down the road, where a beaten-up trunk was turned on its side, latch hanging broken from the intricate lid.

"Whoa. That's a really nice trunk."

Mike rolled his eyes. "What, so now you're an expert on trunks?"

"No, you idiot. You hit it head-on and it didn't disintegrate! Any other trunk would have blown to pieces." He brushed a hand over the cracked lock. "This was made to take a beating."

Mike acknowledged Bob's observation with a short nod, and then crouched down to pull the latch back on the lid. "Well, let's see what was so important they had to store it in this behemoth."

Flipping the latch open and pulling the lid back, both men wrinkled their noses at both the sound of rusted metal screeching and the musty smell that emanated from the large trunk.

"Is that a doll?" Bob asked, leaning forward on his haunches.

Mike pointed at the red-haired child's toy and nodded sickly. "Yeah. That's a doll. But that…" He directed Bob to the other contents of the box, the white of the bones standing out in the inky blackness of the night.

"That is most definitely not a doll."

B&B

Booth waited as Brennan caught up to him at the entrance to the Jeffersonian, and then held the door as she continued to be distracted by whatever she was rummaging for in her bag. Once inside, they walked side-by-side down the corridor leading to the lab.

"Hey, I meant to thank you for what I saw in your freezer last night, Bones." He ran his hand down her arm affectionately. "You didn't need to do that."

"What, the steaks?" At Booth's nod, Brennan shook her head. "Booth, you regularly stock your refrigerator with fresh vegetables and you purchase the dried fruit snacks I enjoy, it was nothing for me to reciprocate the gesture."

He leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to her temple as they reached the sliding doors to the lab proper. "All the same, I appreciate it. And you bought me Tasty Kakes, Bones. Now that's love."

With a tiny, lopsided grin, Brennan bumped Booth's shoulder with her own. "Well, I do love you. And although I disapprove of your insistence on the regular consumption of those preservative-laden snack foods, I have to admit…" She looked around sheepishly as they entered her office. "The Peanut Butter Kandy Kakes are very delicious."

"Thata girl!" Booth laughed. "Nothing wrong with being bad once in awhile, is there?"

Brennan dropped her bag beside her desk and began booting up her computer. "Not if it involves peanut butter and chocolate, no. There is not."

Booth smirked at her confession and plopped down on the sofa, preparing to go over the witness notes he was given from the local Virginia PD who had caught their latest case first. Just as he flipped open the first page, Vincent Nigel-Murray knocked tentatively at Brennan's office door, looking for all the world as if he would rather be anywhere but right there at the moment.

"Agent Booth, Dr. Brennan…forgive the intrusion, but the bones are ready for your examination." He twisted his hands together nervously, shooting surreptitious glances at Booth, who assumed a mock-scowl at the young intern.

"Thank you, Mr. Nigel-Murray. Begin the initial assessment and I will join you shortly. Be prepared with your first impressions." Brennan turned back to her laptop, effectively dismissing the young student.

Vincent gratefully high-tailed it back to the relative safety of the platform, silently repeating random facts to himself as he took the stairs and started his examination in earnest. Booth watched the kid practically run off, smirking to himself. The smile disappeared when Brennan cleared her throat and glared.

"Booth, quit trying to intimidate my interns."

He shook his head. "No, Bones…not all your interns, just that one." He specified, pointing out towards the platform where Vincent had begun his inspection of their latest victim. "After the other night, can you blame me?"

Sighing heavily, Brennan stood and moved to her bookshelf, pulling the tome she was looking for with a glance at the obviously incensed agent on her sofa. "That was not Mr. Nigel-Murray's fault, Booth. We never should have been engaging in intercourse in the lab."

"We weren't-" Booth held up his fingers in the universal sign for quotes. "'Engaging in intercourse'. We were having a quickie in your office. A very hot, very sexy quickie…until the English squintern there ruined it."

Brennan shook her head. "Mr. Nigel-Murray did not interrupt us, Booth. He simply…heard us."

"That's worse!" Booth suppressed a shudder.

Brennan smirked. "So, you're saying that the experience was…less than satisfying, knowing that someone else overheard our vocalizations during our rendezvous?"

"Ugh. You know what I mean, Bones. Of course it was satisfying…that's the problem! Any more satisfying and Egyptology, two wings over, would have heard us!"

Brennan crossed the office and perched herself on the coffee table facing him. "Would you like me to temper my vocalizations during lovemaking from now on? Would that help?"

Leaning forward, he let his eyes slide up her body from feet to head. "I want you…" He smirked slightly, "…to feel free to say anything you like, as loudly as you like." She tilted into him, letting her eyes close slightly, a soft smile crossing her lips. Just as she could feel his breath ghosting her cheek, he sat up abruptly and stood, pulling her with him.

"And that is why we can't do it in your office anymore."

"Booth!" Brennan huffed, pushing him away and practically running for the protection of her desk. She glared at him as he moved to lean against her office doorway, trying not to grin.

"Sorry, Bones. I couldn't help myself." He gave her a little wave. "I have to head into the office for a bit. Lunch later?"

She sighed. "Fine. If I'm done with the examination of the remains."

"Call me with updates." He waved again was gone before Brennan could respond.

Brennan dropped into her chair and turned her laptop so she could better see it. "Incorrigible." She muttered, and settled into work.

After waiting for what she felt was adequate time for her student to glean his initial findings Brennan exited her office. Her steps were quick and purposeful and she traipsed lightly up to the platform. "Please begin, Mr. Nigel-Murray," she ordered as she retrieved a set of gloves from her pocket and pulled them on.

"Ah, yes…right," Vincent answered throwing a nervous look her way and then visibly relaxing when he realized she was not giving him the same treatment as Booth. "Very little of what appears to be perimortem damage to the body," Vincent began as he concentrated on the victim. "The fracture of the C-three is, as you noted on your initial examination Dr. Brennan, the likely cause of death. Pelvic measurements and skull configuration confirm she is female. Nearly complete fusion of the skull indicates an age range of eighteen to twenty-two. Whilst there are no obvious signs of additional trauma or assault at the time of death, there are additional fractures that bear closer examination."

"At least we know she wasn't assaulted," Angela said with some relief.

"No, but they weren't kind," Hodgins continued. He looked at Brennan for permission to continue and then spoke after her slight nod. "I'm getting indications of decomp in the fabric lining of the trunk. She was in there for a long time, and she was put there right after it happened." He saw Angela shiver at that and he reached over to take her hand.

"If you are all standing around like that we either have a case or you are discussing how much you miss me."

The group turned as one and stared in surprise at Cam. "What are you doing here?" Hodgins blurted out.

"I work here, Dr. Hodgins," she reminded him with a warning in her voice. "I'm the boss, remember?"

"Cam, you aren't supposed to be back for weeks yet," Angela scolded.

"I had that option; I'm choosing not to exercise it." She looked at Brennan as if expecting a challenge. "Anyone have a problem with that?"

Brennan shook her head. "Welcome back, Dr. Saroyan."

Cam blinked away her surprise. "Thank you, Brennan."

"Well I do!" Angela objected when no one else would. "Cam, are you sure you want to do this?"

"Yes, absolutely," the coroner responded. Angela raised an eyebrow to announce her disbelief, but she refrained from saying more. Cam took a deep breath and then clapped her hands. "Ok, people. I heard dead girl in a trunk. What else do you have for me?"

"I've got very little to work with," Hodgins complained resuming his report. "I'll go over the inside of the trunk carefully, but the most I'm likely to find are dead dust mites."

"One thing we do have is the manufacture of the trunk," Angela reported. "I was able to enhance the label, it was faded but legible. I sent it to Turner so she could work on it while I get busy with the reconstruction."

"Speaking of," Vincent said with an inquiring look at Brennan. "With your permission, Dr. Brennan?" She nodded and he carefully picked up the skull from the table where the full skeleton was laid out. "I'll have the markers set as quickly as possible, Angela," he said as he moved away carrying the head.

Brennan stepped to the table and her intense gaze announced she was already analyzing what she saw. "This may take a while," she muttered to herself.

Angela took the prompt, "What will, Sweetie?"

"The damage inflicted by the impact of the collision will make it more difficult to isolate those injuries directly related to her death."

"Good thing she has you to figure it out," Angela answered and Brennan lifted her head to give a brief nod of appreciation.

The room was silent for several moments as each team member worked at their own project. The quiet was interrupted by Angela as she reached into one of the many pockets sewn into the lining she and Hodgins were examining. "Oh, that's a waste," she sighed.

"What is?" Brennan asked looking up with concern.

"There was a doll in the trunk," the artist explained holding up a weathered wooden doll with a thick mop of hair. "My aunt Sofie had a doll like this. It's a Shirley Temple doll. If this hadn't been sitting in a trunk for sixty years it would be worth quite a bit of money."

"I have always believed that answers are worth more than money," Brennan said as her eyes dropped back to the victim.

B&B

Sitting in his office, Booth rested his elbows on the desk top and cradled his head in his hands. He was tired, but considering the fact that Brennan's considerable libido was the reason he was operating on three hours of sleep, he couldn't find it in him to complain. With a deep breath and a grin, he grabbed his phone and put in a call to his friend Shannon in the Philly office.

"Special Agent Shannon MacFarland."

He smiled at the still-heavy Kentucky twang of his former obstacle course partner from his days at Quantico. "Hey, Sha. Booth here."

"Well, well, well…Special Agent Booth. To what do I owe the absolute pleasure?" He could clearly hear the smile in her voice.

"Well, you know…got a case that might have some connection in your area. A set of skeletonized remains were found on a country road in Virginia in a trunk made by Bains and Sons of Philadelphia. I can't find a thing on them, aside from the fact that they used to make high-end luggage."

Agent MacFarland clicked her teeth together, thinking. "Yeah…that name sounds kinda familiar. Give me five, Booth." He heard her set the phone down without putting him on hold, then the tell-tale clicking of the computer keys as his colleague ran a local search in her database. "Yeah, here it is. Went out of business in the Sixties, but they were definitely the luggage to have if you lived on the Main Line. Bains passed away, one of the sons is still alive. He's almost a hundred. There was a pause. "Oh, and the trunks in good condition are worth thousands of dollars."

"Damn." Booth breathed. "Too bad this one was beat up by a pickup truck."

"That's a damn shame, Booth." MacFarland sniffed. "Now, why don't you tell me why y'all are calling about something I know you coulda looked up yourself."

The agent on the other line would have rolled her eyes at Booth's charming grin. "Aw, you know me, Sha. I can't work a computer to save my life."

"Booth…" Her voice held a playful warning.

"Alright, alright." He laughed. "I just wanted to give you there a head's up, so this didn't turn into an inter-office pissing contest. Just in case the vic turns out to be a local, you know?"

"Any reason why you feel the need to hold onto this one?"

Booth nodded, despite the fact that Shannon couldn't see it. "My partner is the best there is at identifying remains that are in this condition. I'd hate for us to go through all that work and then have the locals take it from us, you know?"

MacFarland laughed. "Well, that was honest. And don't worry, everyone here knows about you and your partner being the Dream Team. I doubt there's an agent out there'd try and take a case from y'all."

"Well, that's not true and you know it, but thanks just the same, Sha."

"Yeah, the thing about being the best is that you always gotta watch your back."

"Ain't that the truth. But thanks, Sha. I appreciate the help with this." Booth tapped his pen against the edge of the desk, ready to wrap the conversation up and get started on the case, even without the vic's name.

"Anytime, Booth. Let me know how it turns out."

"You bet. Bye." He hung up the phone and grabbed his jacket, hoping to get Brennan to head out for lunch, even without an ID.

"Yeah, good luck with that, Booth." He muttered to himself as he headed for the elevators.

B&B

"Dr. Saroyan, I have some things for you…" Brennan's words trailed off as she realized something was wrong.

Cam jumped and straightened from the position her body had been bent into over her desk. "What can I do for you, Dr. Brennan?"

There was a glistening in Cam's eye that clearly showed she had been crying and Brennan stepped further into the room. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Brennan," Cam answered far too quickly. "Was there something you need?"

"Just some paperwork; items you will need to address now that you are back." She held out the files and as Cam closed the distance between them to take them from her she studied her fellow scientist. Brennan's eyes were sharp and her attention to detail legendary, but those skills were not needed to see the pain Cam was feeling. "Cam, your presence here is not required."

The pathologist's head snapped up. "I said I was fine."

"That is clearly a lie," Brennan answered with her usual bluntness.

Cam stared into the steel blue gaze and after only a moment sighed. "It's harder than I thought," she admitted.

"As I stated, your presence is not necessary. The lab is operating with sufficient productivity in your absence. Even with Dr. Hodgins in command we were able to work efficiently."

"Maybe I shouldn't bother to come back at all."

"That was not my intended message," Brennan assured her.

"I know, Brennan, I was trying to make a joke. It wasn't a very funny one." She stood straight and squared her shoulders. "I appreciate the concern, but I'm fine. I'll take those," she said, finally divesting Brennan of the files.

"Very well," the anthropologist answered.

"Where are we on the case?" she asked, trying to refocus her attention.

Brennan moved on as if nothing had transpired. "I have concluded my examination and have confirmed that a broken c-three vertebra is the cause of death."

"A broken neck," Cam mused. "There's only so many ways to get one of those. Any sign of strangulation?"

"Without flesh that is difficult to ascertain," Brennan admitted and Cam fought the urge to comment on the admission. "But given the data available, I find that an unlikely scenario. I have assigned Mr. Nigel-Murray the task of identifying all postmortem fractures. Once complete it will allow us to eliminate possible causes and more clearly recreate the circumstances of her death."

"As always, very thorough Dr. Brennan, thank you."

Brennan accepted the compliment without comment. "I'm meeting Booth for lunch. I'll keep you informed if we discover something new," she said as she turned for the door.

Cam waited for Brennan to leave and then sat again behind her desk. She stared at the files in her hand for several long moments before finally tossing them onto her desk. Reaching for her phone she dialed quickly. "Nicole, hi it's Dr. Saroyan again. I know I just called to check on him five minutes ago, but…"

B&B

"Come on," Angela whispered as she hit the enter button and took a bite of her lunch. It was like playing Vegas slots to watch the Angelatron search through the new parameters she had input and she waited in anticipation. Images rolled across her screen, lost faces, forgotten victims, the unfound who waited for resurrection. Brennan's collaboration with the FBI gave the team access to many crime databases but the images that passed now were not the digitally recreated victims of modern cases. Instead Angela searched police sketches and stiffly posed black and white photographs. Brennan had estimated the remains had been lying in the trunk between sixty to eighty years meaning this case would be colder than their usual. That estimation cross referenced with Booth's information regarding the trunk and Hodgins' dejected admission that there was no insect activity on which he could make an estimate meant she was accessing lists of victims she never searched.

It was a slower search than normal. Without the quick reference points of modern identification techniques the computer had more factors to consider, but as her sound system played the third rock classic on her playlist a file appeared on screen. Angela tapped the volume control and turned down Petty's strident guitar as she read the description of the young woman listed in the old case report. Her eyes widened and a tiny whisper of sadness slipped between lips as she read the details. The more she read the more convinced she became that this was the girl now lying on Brennan's exam table. She opened a new search window and typed the victim's name. Instantly a face appeared framed above by a bold front page headline of a forties-era newspaper declaring MISSING and below with the caption 'Heiress believed to have met foul play'.

Tossing away the second half of the sandwich Brennan had brought her from the diner Angela scrambled toward her office door. The urge to announce her findings overwhelmed her patience and as she stepped out into the lab she simply called out her success. "I found her!" Heads around the lab lifted in surprise and she began to wave her arm at her shocked colleagues. "Come on, you're going to want to hear this," she called as they began to move her direction. "It's juicy," she added for her own ears.

It took only a few minutes for the team to set aside their own research and gather in Angela's office but it was long enough for her to have the details ready to share. "Claire Hamilton-Pomeroy," she announced as the newspaper once again appeared on the Angelatron. "She disappeared without a trace on April 14, 1941."

Brennan stepped away from Booth's side and approached the monitor looking carefully at the picture of the young woman dressed for an evening on the town. She nodded in agreement as she confirmed the face there matched the bones on her table. "If this is a front page newspaper story it would appear she was someone of some note?" she asked, turning to Angela.

"Claire was the darling of the Philadelphia social scene. I haven't had time to read through everything yet, but her disappearance was more than a local mystery, it was covered as a national news event. As an heir to the Pomeroy Textiles fortune she was one of the wealthiest debutants of the day."

"Hey! I know this one!" Hodgins exclaimed as soon as he heard the company name. "J. Edgar ran the FBI investigation himself."

Booth groaned. "Don't tell me this is one of your conspiracies. What, the FBI killed her?"

"Well, I wouldn't put it past the old cross-dresser," Hodgins drawled. "No, Hoover was buddies with Jameson Pomeroy, the vic's grandfather. He bent over backwards to find her, threw everything the Bureau had into solving it, but they got nothing." His eyes were sparkling and he began to pace with excitement. "Man, my old man would kill to be here for this," he exclaimed in a rare reference to his father. "This was big! She disappeared in the forties and it was still hot gossip when I was a kid."

"Why the intrigue?" Cam asked.

"Mostly because the accepted truth was that she didn't come to a foul end. Being murdered is far less scandalous than the rumors. The way my dad told me, the story was that Claire had the audacity to fall in love with a commoner. Her family objected, of course, and the resulting drama is fairly predictable. It's the kind of story my father used to use to emphasize the opinion I was supposed to have about class distinctions," he added with derision. "Anyway, when the FBI couldn't find her, even with J Edgar on the case, everyone assumed she had just run off with 'that boy from the wrong side of the tracks'."

"Who was the boy?" Angela asked clearly swept up in the same romantic fervor as her husband.

"I don't know. The name of some kid with no money isn't exactly a detail my family would have bothered to remember. I would imagine it's in the files somewhere though. I can guarantee her family started pointing fingers his direction the moment she went missing."

Angela turned including both Cam and Brennan with her comment. "I'll start digging through the news articles and the FBI reports. It's a long shot, but maybe I can find something someone missed or at least find a name for her mystery man."

"Thanks, Angela," Brennan answered while Cam nodded as if she was only vaguely listening. Brennan turned to her partner. "Booth, with this information we should be able to locate a family member with firsthand knowledge of the disappearance." Booth didn't acknowledge her words instead turning for the door with a look of deep concentration. "Booth?" she called after him.

Brennan barely caught Booth before he exited the lab, her cries of his name going unheeded. "Booth, dammit! Stop!"

He finally wheeled around, one eyebrow cocked. "What is it, Bones? I need to get back to the office now that we have an ID."

Brennan was taken aback for a moment. "Were-um, were you going to say goodbye? You just…" She shook her head. "Is something wrong, Booth?"

"I…I have a lot on my mind, okay? Just let it go, and I'll call you later." He turned to leave again, prompting Brennan to grab his arm and jerk him back. "Jesus, Bones! Take it easy!"

"No! You would never, ever let me get away with that vague explanation! Something is obviously bothering you, Booth. I thought…" Her voice caught, and her weakness angered her slightly. "I thought that being in a relationship meant that we talked about things when they were bothering us."

Booth sighed, even more agitated because he knew, deep down, that she was right. "Just…can we not talk about this now? When I get some info on whatever is left of the Pomeroys, I'll give you a call and we'll head to Philly. Alright?"

"Booth…"

He turned and waved his hand behind him, walking through the sliding glass doors of the lab. "Not now, Bones. Let it go." Then, he was gone.

Brennan stared at the empty space where Booth had been standing for over a minute before she shook herself back into reality and turned to go back to Angela's office, trying to put Booth's brush off out of her mind and get back on the case.

"I printed two copies," Turner said as she reentered Booth's office. "Here you go, Boss." She handed him a copy of the file in question and then took a seat across from him. "The Bureau's come a long way," she
noted with amusement. "Some of these case notes are pretty laughable."

"This was a long time ago."

Turner's head lifted a bit shocked at his surly tone. "Yeah, like I said we've come a long way. You ok, Boss?"

Booth looked up and his hard gaze announced he was not happy with her question. "I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"What, are you trying to act like Sweets now? I said I was fine. And even if I wasn't, Agent Turner, it's none of your business."

"Yeah, ok," she agreed, dropping her eyes back to the case file. They worked, the room filled with awkward silence but eventually the younger agent spoke. "The boyfriend was the prime suspect, but he had a rock hard alibi for the day she disappeared."

"Yeah, I doubt he did it."

"Really? Why so sure?"

"Just a gut call," Booth answered tersely. He felt like a heel when he saw Turner flinch from his harsh tone. Pushing aside his own turmoil he tried to focus on the investigation. "Tell me what you see," he ordered gently.

Turner relaxed and a tiny grateful smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she recognized his unspoken apology. Looking down at the file she flipped through several pages as she put her thoughts in order. "What I see is a pretty thorough investigation given the standards of the day. They did the work, there just wasn't anything to find. It really is like she just vanished into thin air."

"Yeah, except that's impossible," Booth answered. "We've got advantages they didn't have back then so let's use them. I want you to start all over," he ordered. "Forget the file, throw it out and start from scratch; treat this like a brand new investigation. Work it up and then come back to me when you find something new."

"Yes, Sir," she answered, popping to her feet. "I'll get right on it."

"Turner," Booth called as she reached the door. She turned expecting a final order and he surprised her. "Thanks."

"Yes, Sir," she replied and then promptly left.

B&B

"Your findings, Mr. Nigel-Murray," Brennan demanded as she neared the exam table.

"As you requested, I have catalogued the postmortem fractures incurred during last night's unfortunate run-in with the 'ghost chasers'," the intern began with confidence. "The damage along the anterior axillary line quite clearly shows the impact with the vehicle caused the remains to slam into the side of the luggage. There are various other breaks as well including damage to the carpals, metacarpals and metatarsals. Oh!," he added smiling boastfully, "And I also discovered a previously unidentified perimortem chauffer's fracture…"

"What?"

Brennan snapped so quickly and forcefully that Vincent was shocked into silence. He mentally scrambled through his report making certain that every word had been precisely accurate. He could find nothing amiss and he gaped at her mystified as to why she was so upset with him. "Dr. Brennan?"

Shaking her head Brennan pushed him aside and bent over the body. She examined Claire's right hand carefully and then shook her head again. "There is clearly staining of the periosteum. A Chauffer's fracture has a very specific signature."

Vincent failed to realize she was speaking to herself and he responded. "Well, yes that is how I identified it," he boasted. "It would be my conjecture that she fell," he held out his hand demonstrating the angle at which her arm would have been held, "And when her palm struck the ground the bone fractured."

"I know that!" Brennan snapped.

Vincent fell silent again but his head cocked slightly. "Dr. Brennan, if I have given offense in any way I apologize," he said sincerely. "I realize Agent Booth is quite vexed with me and you would have every right to feel the same way. Please accept my humble regrets."

His words hit Brennan like a splash of cold water and she took firm hold of her tumultuous emotions. She was upset, but not with her intern and it was patently unfair of her to express her discontent with Booth in this manner. This was something she had feared before. Losing perspective, letting her feelings for her partner affect the work, were actions she could not allow. They were the reason she had resisted the truth for so long, but it was too late to go back now. She loved him too much to refuse what they shared and so she must learn to protect the work. She would work harder at that. Reaching out she touched Vincent's shoulder in approval. "I am not vexed with you, Mr. Nigel-Murray. I am angry that I did not note that break on my own. Yours was excellent work, it was mine that was lacking."

"That's not possible, Dr. Brennan," he argued.

Brennan's chin lifted defiantly. "Yes it is."

B&B

"Ok, I have details," Angela announced as she entered the exam room where Brennan was going over the body with renewed attention to detail. She had Cam in tow and turned to physically pull the coroner into the room. Cam was texting and never looked up from her phone. Angela looked at the anthropologist bent over the remains and then to the new mother checking in with the nanny and she rolled her eyes. "I'll just talk, you two listen if you can."

"I'm listening, Ange," Brennan promised. Cam grunted agreement.

"The boyfriend's name was Toby Ingalls. He was twenty-two, a cute little Scottish lad with killer eyes and a surprisingly sexy smile. His father owned a small drug store in Claire's neighborhood and Toby worked there presumably to learn the family business. It was the all American dream, the boy from South Philly works hard, builds a clientele among the more affluent and creates a future for his family. The press vilified him of course, but according to Turner the FBI could account for his whereabouts the entire night Claire disappeared. They didn't want to, but they cleared him fairly easily."

"Sad story," Cam murmured as she read the response to her text.

Angela sighed and kept on talking. "I've been concentrating on the news stories from the disappearance, but when I expanded my search I got a much more recent hit."

Brennan's eyes did lift at that and she spoke with interest. "How recent?"

"Jacob Pomeroy was Claire's paternal uncle. He passed away a few weeks ago. He lived on the family's country estate, kind of an eccentric old recluse. The house set on property adjacent to Wash Woods."

"That's the location of the remain's discovery," Brennan stated unnecessarily.

Angela nodded. "Pomeroy may have been member of the elite, but he didn't manage his expenses well. Most of his estate was headed for auction. One of the auctioneer's trucks had a mechanical issue in transit and stopped in the woods. My guess is the trunk was lost somewhere along the route."

"Hey! There you are!" Hodgins said as he entered. "Oh good, you're all here. I found something!"

"Spectacular," Cam said eyes still on her phone as her fingers tapped a message.

"It is when you consider how little I had to work with," Hodgins answered in offense.

"I'm impressed, Babe," Angela said reaching out to stroke his arm. "What did you find?"

"Manure, straw, alfalfa and a raw grain, probably oat," he listed proudly. "Claire died in a barn."

"Are you certain the particulates are indicative of the scene of death," Brennan asked standing straight and dismissing her examination for the moment. "The trunk could have been stored in such a location and the particulates collected over time."

Hodgins was shaking his head. "What am I, an intern? I pulled matching particulates from the shoes and your fractured vertebra. She definitely picked them up at the time of death."

Brennan was circling the body mentally reviewing the details of her findings before she made her statement. Angela jabbed her elbow into Cam's ribs and the coroner looked up. Recognizing what was happening she focused on the anthropologist. "What is it, Brennan?"

"She fell," Brennan answered with certainty. "Given the force necessary, she was likely pushed. She tried to break her fall," she continued holding out her hand just as Vincent had demonstrated earlier. "But, her hand fractured and she failed to halt her progress. Her neck took the impact and death was instantaneous."

B&B

Her second examination of the remains completed with strict diligence, Brennan then turned her attention to the information Angela had found. The wild accusations and lurid suggestions the artist had dredged up in the news meant little to her, but she studied the information knowing it was important to their investigation; not as important as her findings, but useful to her partner. She stood next to Cam as Angela brought up story after story regarding Claire's disappearance and tried to make sense of the speculation.

"Is that the sister?" she asked when the smiling face of a small girl appeared on screen.

"Yes, Emmeline," Angela reported. "She won't look like this when you interview her this afternoon. She was just a little girl when her sister disappeared."

"Children can be quite observant," Brennan said hopefully.

A knock at the door caused all three women to turn where they found Booth in the doorway. "You ready?" he asked gruffly.

Brennan nodded without speaking and walked briskly toward him. He stepped back and she brushed by him without a touch or a look and hurried toward her office to gather her bag and jacket. Booth watched her walk away still wearing the scowl that had yet to leave his face, after she disappeared from sight he turned away. Stuffing his hands in his pocket as he reached for his poker chip, he glared at the floor while he waited.

The behavior of the partners set off a clamor of warning bells for their watching colleagues and the questioning look Cam gave Angela was returned with concern. Unable to ignore what they saw the two women exited Angela's office and stood expectantly in front of the brooding agent.

"What's up, Big Guy?" Cam demanded.

He glanced up at them and then straightened. "Nothing." The look she was giving him clearly showed she did not believe him and his scowl deepened. "Why are you even here? Aren't you supposed to be on leave?"

"Apparently I cut it short so you could yell at me."

"I said nothing is wrong! Drop it, Camille."

"I absolutely hate it when someone lies to me," Angela observed to Cam.

"Don't start," Booth warned turning to the artist with the same glare he had given his old friend.

"Don't start what?" Brennan asked joining them as she shrugged her way into her coat.

"Nothing. You ready?"

Her eyes hardened automatically, his quick cold words bringing out her natural and defensive response. "Let's go."

"Bren, wait," Angela said reaching out to stop her as Brennan passed. "What's going on with you?"

"We have a case to solve," Brennan stated. "There isn't anything wrong."

Angela watched her walk away noting the clear space and lack of touch between the retreating bodies. "Two lies to my face in less than five minutes," she said as the doors closed behind them. "I think I'm insulted."

"They are fire and gasoline on a good day," Cam noted. "We shouldn't be surprised."

"Maybe not," Angela answered. "But I get the feeling this one caught the two of them by surprise."

Booth tapped his thumbs against the steering wheel as he maneuvered the SUV through the quiet streets of Villanova, Pennsylvania. Brennan snuck a few looks at his tight, drawn profile, once again frustrated at her lack of social awareness and inability to draw Booth out of his self-imposed shell. He had been less snippy since their earlier disagreement, but she knew that whatever was bothering him was still weighing heavily on his mind and she struggled with what to say to let him know that it was safe for him to open up to her.

She was pulled from her thoughts when Booth turned sharply into a large, winding driveway that was lined with well-manicured hedges. He parked the truck directly in front of the front door of a massive estate, its façade decorated with tumbled travertine and covered in climbing ivy. Putting the vehicle in park, Booth sighed heavily and turned to his partner.

"You ready, Bones?"

She regarded him for a moment, wanting to say something to reassure him but knowing that now was not the time, she simply nodded and moved to open her door. Following him to the front of the imposing home, she noted the shuffling of his feet and the curve of his back, and then smothered a proud smile as Booth determinedly pulled himself upright and squared his shoulders so he stood straight and tall as he rang the ornate doorbell to the left of the entrance. The door swung open and they were greeted by a smiling middle-aged woman in what looked to be medical scrubs.

"Afternoon. Can I help you folks?"

Booth pulled his badge. "Good afternoon, ma'am. I'm FBI Special Agent Seeley Booth, and this here's my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan of the Jeffersonian Institute in DC. We're here to speak with Miss Emmeline Hamilton-Pomeroy, if we could?"

The smile slipped off the woman's lips as she glanced at Booth's proffered badge, Brennan's solemn expression, and back again. She nodded once and opened the door further, beckoning the partners into the immense entryway of the house. "If you wouldn't mind waiting here in the sitting room for a moment, I'll let Miss Emmeline know that you're here." She pointed to the small, elegantly-decorated room to their right and then turned on her heel and walked away. Booth and Brennan looked at each other, and with a shrug she led the way into the designated room.

Once through the doorway, they noticed a large chaise lounge sitting across from an overstuffed chair, both in muted tones of green and brown, with a matching ottoman situated between them. Brennan looked around at the sparsely decorated room and noted that the only other pieces of furniture were a beautiful matched set of Hepplewhite shield-back chairs flanking the decoration-free fireplace. Even the built-in shelves were bare. Booth noted the lack of pictures and knickknacks and had just turned to mention the oddity when a soft, gravelly voice drew them out of their observations.

"I realize that this room looks nothing like the showplace it was in its heyday, but I am no longer able nor as inclined to accept guests as I once was."

Booth turned and immediately crossed to the doorway, where the nurse who had greeted them at the door was escorting a small, elderly lady slowly to one of the seats in the room. He offered his arm and the delighted woman took it happily while patting the hand he rested on her arm in support. Once he had Miss Emmeline settled into the soft armchair, he joined Brennan on the chaise.

Without preamble, their host jumped right in. "Andrea tells me that you are from the Federal Bureau of Investigation."

"Yes, ma'am." Booth confirmed. "Special Agent Seeley Booth, and my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan."

Emmeline smiled. "Oh yes, I am well acquainted with Dr. Brennan. My Uncle Jacob was a big fan of your novels, my dear." She nodded to Brennan, who smiled tightly, as she always did when someone mentioned her books during an investigation.

Booth saw the look and moved the conversation forward. "Yes, well…Ms. Hamilton-Pomeroy, we are here because of your sister, Claire."

Emmeline visibly jerked, but regained her composure so quickly that Booth almost missed it. She turned and gave her nurse a look, causing the other woman to turn and leave the room without a word. "You've found her, then." It was not a question.

"Yes. Her…" Brennan looked to Booth, quickly, and then continued. "…remains were discovered in Virginia."

The slight, older woman in front of them sucked a breath between her teeth and nodded. "I knew…" Her breath locked in her throat, so she cleared it delicately and tried again. "I knew she was dead. She never would have left without telling our father. She adored Daddy."

"Did Claire have any enemies? Anyone who wished her harm?" Booth asked.

"Of course, my father was extremely wealthy. In those days, kidnappings for ransom were not unheard of; in fact they were de rigueur in certain social circles. Everyone we knew had either been threatened or had been the victim of abduction." Having regained her composure, Emmeline gave them a half-smile. "And Claire was the golden child. The Belle of the Ball always…we probably received a threat a month where she was concerned."

"Were any of those threats carried out?"

"As far as I know, never." She leaned back into the plush cushion behind her. "But you must remember, Agent Booth, I was only eight years old when Claire disappeared. My memories have diminished; even more so as this damn filthy disease progresses."

Booth sat forwards slightly, a concerned look on his face. "May I ask…?"

"Dementia. Vascular dementia, to be exact."

"You suffered a stroke?" Brennan said gently.

Emmeline leveled her gaze to the scientist. "Yes. About six years ago. Fought my way back from not being able to tie my own shoes only to find myself now completely forgetting to tie them."

"I am sorry."

"No need to be. God has a reason." She pulled an intricately stitched, handmade handkerchief from her sleeve and delicately dabbed her eye. "In any case, I am afraid I will not be much help. Besides, you're FBI, Agent Booth. My grandfather was good friends with Hoover, there should be case files."

"There is, ma'am. It's sometimes easier to get the family's perspective. You know, cut through the cop speak."

A genuine smile crossed her thin, weathered lips. "My father would have liked you. He was a no- nonsense kind of man, and you seem quite like him."

Only Brennan would have noticed the ticking in Booth's jaw at that statement.

Booth continued on as if Emmeline had never spoken. "Do you remember Toby Ingalls?"

"Oh, we're going to dredge that old chestnut up again, are we?" To Brennan's amusement, the elderly woman actually rolled her eyes. "Toby was a distraction for Claire, something fun to toy with before she chose the right boy and settled down to wait for her inheritance."

"Really?" Brennan interjected.

"The newspapers, of course, tried to make it out to be more than it was. But the family knew better. The Ingalls family knew better. Mr. Ingalls tried to warn Toby about Claire, and of course he didn't listen."

"Because he loved her."

Brennan looked sharply at Booth's comment, spoken quietly and surely. There was something there, in this situation with Claire and Toby, that was obviously at the root of Booth's irritation. Their hostess, however, missed the subtext in his words and continued on. "I suppose he thought he did. Claire was beautiful and fun and sweet and everything that Toby Ingalls was never going to have with a girl from his social strata." She finally noticed how Booth clutched his pen tightly. "You find that sort of economic segregation appalling, Agent Booth?"

"I…" He looked to Brennan a moment, something flashing in his eyes before he managed to cover it. "No, Ms. Hamilton-Pomeroy. I do not. That was how things were done back then, I understand that."

"Yes, it was. Right or wrong." Emmeline smiled at Booth. "I'm not endorsing it, Agent. I am simply explaining the situation as it was."

With a tight nod, Booth stood, surprising Brennan into joining him. "Ma'am, I appreciate you giving us your time today. I will probably have more questions, and I realize that you need to make some….arrangements, so we will be in touch." He pulled a card out of his breast pocket and wrote on the back. "This is my business card, with my cell number on the back. Please call me if you think of anything else that could help us find out what happened to Claire."

"Of course." She took the card. "Thank you, Agent Booth. Dr. Brennan."

Brennan nodded. "We are sorry for your loss."

"Thank you."

B&B

The ride back to DC was distractingly quiet. They had stopped at the Philadelphia field office to check in as a courtesy, and to pick up some information about the trunk company before jumping back on 95 and heading for home. Brennan tried to engage Booth in conversation but it was obvious that he wasn't ready to share. Finally giving up, she pulled up a book on her phone and began to read as Booth fiddled with the radio, neither speaking nor even looking at the other.

Finally, around Aberdeen, Maryland, Booth switched off the radio and sighed. "My mother grew up ten miles from the Pomeroys."

"What?" Brennan's head snapped up, unsure of what she had just heard. "Are you telling me that your parents were wealthy?"

Booth shook his head and squinted into the sun, having pulled his sunglasses up so he could look Brennan in the eye. "No, but my mother's family was. Is, I guess. I don't know, I've never met any of them."

Brennan's mind, working a mile a second, realized just exactly why this case had been tearing Booth up inside. "Your father was a working class man from Philly and your mother was a wealthy socialite from the Main Line."

"Yeah." His answer was short, but his voice was low and soft. "Her father hated my dad. Called him a gold digger…and a few other names I won't repeat." He rubbed the hand not holding the steering wheel across his face. "None of that mattered to my mom, though. She loved him and she wanted to marry him."

"Your mother told you this?"

"She was proud of the fact that she stood up to her family. I mean, I may have only been seven, but I knew. I could see how much it hurt her to have to choose." He cleared his throat. "She said…my dad; he told her that he would give her up if it meant her family would disown her."

Brennan looked surprised. "That seems incongruent to what little I know about your father."

"I know. But my old man, he wasn't always…like that." He turned his full attention to the road as they took their designated exit near Baltimore, while Brennan sat silently, waiting patiently. Once they were back on a clear stretch of road, Booth continued. "Anyway, we had good times when I was little. But when it went to hell, it went to hell pretty quickly."

Trying to steer the discussion away from Booth's abuse at his father's hands, Brennan kept asking questions. "You said you've never met your mother's family?" At Booth's answer in the negative, she shook her head. "Did you ask your mother about them?"

"Sure. I was young and curious. We knew Pops and Grams, our aunts, uncles and cousins from my dad's side, so of course I wanted to know everything about the other side. But besides telling me her maiden name, Mom never really wanted to talk about it."

Brennan nodded. "She wanted to make a clean break."

Booth's eyes shot to Brennan for a moment, his brow furrowed. "You think?"

"You don't?"

"No…I mean, yeah. I thought about it, about that being the reason. That it was too painful for her to talk about, but…I don't know." With a shake of his head, he changed the conversation himself. "Bones, I'm sorry I was such an ass earlier."

"Well, I can understand why this particular case would bother you, so I forgive you."

He grabbed her hand and kissed her knuckles. "Thank you."

"But you realize that this conversation isn't over." She raised an eyebrow at his confused look. "You haven't told me the whole story."

Mildly irritated at her switch, he clenched his hands on the wheel. "Maybe I can't." At her scoff, he turned the radio back on and flipped down his sunglasses. "Not now. Not…not yet."

"But soon, Booth." She leaned over and touched his leg. "Soon."

"Yeah." He signaled for a lane change and drove into DC without another word.

B&B

Brennan entered the lab still consumed with thoughts of Booth's revelation. The emotion he had revealed, the depth of his feelings intimidated her. She wanted to be there for him, needed to offer him the kind of support she knew he needed. Their new relationship awarded her that responsibility and that privilege and she desperately wanted to fulfill her role. She had made much progress in the last year, she was far more capable of interpreting her own emotions and those of the people around her and she was proud of her growing skill. But she worried this was more than she was ready for.

"Thank God, there you are!" Brennan looked up surprised to see Cam walking briskly toward her. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong?" Cam answered shaking her head. "Unless you count complete failure at my first test of motherhood as being wrong, then there might be a small issue."

"Failure?" Brennan asked in confusion. "What test?"

"I left my baby with a complete stranger, Brennan!"

"I thought your nanny came well recommended?"

"She worked six years for Paul's partner," Cam agreed dismissively. "That doesn't mean she's not a homicidal maniac! I'm an idiot!"

"You are well above the average measure of intelligence. Certainly not to the standards set by myself, or even Dr. Hodgins, but you are far from idiocy."

"Tell that to my baby. He thinks I don't love him anymore!"

"Are you experiencing hysteria?" Brennan asked with concern. "You seem emotionally distraught."

"I'm freaking out!" Cam yelled. "He's six weeks old, Brennan. What the hell was I thinking?"

Like most questions Brennan answered without considering the point might be rhetorical. "You were thinking that as a dedicated scientist, administrator and coroner that your absence was a detriment to our team. What I think you failed to consider is how your priorities are changing now that you have an offspring."

Cam snorted softly and shook her head in wonder. "You are always a mystery, Dr. Brennan."

"I don't know what that means."

"It means you're right," Cam assured her. "And I just realize that I've made a horrible mistake. If it's all right with you, I'd like to resume my maternity leave."

"That would be acceptable," Brennan agreed.

"Great!" Cam said taking a quick step around the scientist and bolting for the door. "Good luck with the case! I'll call you about when I'll be back." She paused at the door and turned. "Thanks, Brennan," she said with a more rational tone. "I appreciate the moral support."

Brennan watched her go the words of praise giving her a spark of hope that perhaps she was up to the challenge she faced after all. Her thoughts still a jumble she resumed the mission she had been on before Cam's departure and entered Angela's office.

The artist looked up smiling with cheer. She could still feel the urge to offer advice about the trouble she had seen earlier and she resisted. She knew the partners fought often, they always had, they always would. But they had been so happy lately, the kind of happy everyone knew they had been waiting for, and Angela hated to see them in their first real fight. But, she reminded herself of all the past arguments and all the past resolutions and she made herself ask a different question. "Hey Sweetie, how was the interview with little Emmeline?"

Brennan's brow crinkled. "Ange, Emmeline Hamilton-Pomeroy is seventy-eight years old. Why would you refer to her as little?"

The artist chuckled sheepishly. "I've been researching old news clippings. I guess I'm a little caught up in the story. When it happened she was only eight years old."

Brennan nodded with understanding. "Are you able to glean any pertinent facts from those old reports?"

"I don't know if it's useful or not, but it's juicy."

"What did you find?" Brennan asked suddenly eager to discuss anything, even gossip, as long as it wasn't her fight with Booth.

"Well, the Hamiltons and Pomeroys were two of the upper-upper crusts back in the day," the artist began. There was excitement in her voice and Brennan felt her concerns fading from focus as her attention shifted to the story. "These clippings are full of all the good stuff, fancy parties, hot romance, misconduct, shady business deals, illicit affairs, it's like a soap opera."

"And Claire was part of it?"

"Actually, our little Claire was the darling of the day. She was the 'it girl' of pre-war Philly.

"I don't know what that means."

"It means she was hot," Angela said with a laugh. "For three years she was at the absolute pinnacle of the rich and famous party scene. She was the good girl, the beautiful, glamorous debutant every girl wanted to be and every guy wanted to marry. She dated a Rockefeller, a Kennedy and even a DuPont." The artist stopped and a slow smirk spread across her lips. "She never landed a Hodgins though."

Brennan chuckled knowing the fact that Hodgins family enjoyed the same socio-economic status as the victim was of absolutely no concern to his wife. "What happened after three years?"

"She stopped showing up to every event. Suddenly, she wasn't at all the right parties or dating all the most eligible bachelors. If I had to guess I'd say that's about the time she met Toby. There was wild speculation at the time of her disappearance, the idea of her running away with a commoner was worse than anything that actually happened. The fact that Toby could be accounted for never seemed to matter to the gossip rags."

Brennan frowned as she remembered Booth's words. "The boy from the wrong side of the tracks," she muttered.

"Sweetie, are you ok?"

Brennan pulled her thoughts away from the scene with Booth and tried to school her features into her usual impassive mask. "I'm fine."

"God, you suck at lying," Angela scolded. "What's up? Come on, don't hold out on me. I'm your best friend; you aren't allowed to not tell me."

Brennan was fairly certain no such rule existed. "Something about this case troubles Booth," she said trying to explain without revealing what she knew should only be between she and her partner.

"Yeah, that much was obvious earlier. What has his boxers all twisted?"

"Ange, I really can't tell you that."

"Yeah, ok," her friend agreed. "Too personal; I get it. But, Sweetie, you two have to talk about it."

"We have. Or at least we tried. He needs more time."

Angela sat back as a tiny grunt of recognition emerged from her. She had refrained from offering advice moments before, but with that comment she felt like it was an imperative. "I've been married for a whole year," she said in a self-deprecating kind of way. "So I get to pretend I know more than you about things. And I would never presume to explain Booth to you; I know there is no one who knows him better than you. But Sweetie, I know how painful it can be for both of you when there are things you should talk about and don't. If I had talked to Jack about my feelings when we came back from Paris, I could have saved us both a lot of hurt. So, give Booth the time he asked for, but don't wait too long."

Brennan nodded clearly thinking carefully about what she had heard.

Brennan nodded clearly thinking carefully about what she had heard. Angela knew better than to go on and she changed both her tone and the subject. "Hey, look at these! While I was going through all the news reports on Claire I kept finding stuff on Hodgins' family." Brennan looked up at the Angelator and saw a photo of a man with very familiar eyes. "Sterling Hodgins," Angela identified him. "Jack's great-uncle and in the early forties the biggest flirt on the planet. He was quite the embarrassment running around with anything in a skirt. They caught him in at least three entanglements with married women and if I read between the lines correctly one man. Then there was this guy," she continued changing the photograph. "Emerson Hodgins, he was known to party so much he would completely destroy the location and the reputation of just about everyone who attended. Apparently it was worth it, he was a popular guy."

Brennan chuckled and moved toward the door. "I have work to do," she announced.

"I'm going to keep looking," Angela promised. She resumed her search and another titillating headline appeared. "Another Hodgins story," she muttered. "What kind of family did I marry into?"

Brennan walked to her office her mind on the advice Angela had given. She knew her friend was right, but she was at a loss as to what to say to Booth. As if her thoughts were a cue her phone rang and his number displayed on the screen. "Hi," she answered evenly wondering if she would have to find those words quickly.

"Hey." There was tension in his voice still and he paused. "Look, Bones I think I'm going to stay at my place tonight. I need a little time to think and I'll do that better if I'm alone." Brennan didn't answer she wasn't certain what to say. "Bones? Did you hear?"

"I heard you, Booth. If you feel that will be beneficial I have no objection."

He sighed. "I'm sorry," he said gently. "I just need some time. Ok?"

"It's ok, Booth."

"I'll call you."

"Ok." He hung up before she could say more. As she resumed her walk to her office it occurred to her that she now had time to consider just what to say to him.

"Good morning," Angela said as she felt the bed shift. Almost every morning started with the same kiss she was now receiving. The soft scratch of Jack's beard made her smile before his lips even reached her bare shoulder. She let him linger against her skin enjoying the way his breath washed over her with warmth and the way the love she felt coursing between them seemed to give them this one perfect moment.

"Good morning," he finally replied.

Angela rolled to her back and he lifted enough that she could tuck herself beneath him. His curls were disheveled and he was wearing that adorable lopsided grin that always made him look like a naughty little boy. "What are you thinking about?" she demanded, already able to see exactly what was on his mind.

"I'm thinking I rocked your world last night," Hodgins bragged. "And I'd like to do it again."

"It was fairly noteworthy," she taunted laughing as he reacted with indignation.

"Fairly noteworthy?" he demanded.

"Well, the bar for Hodgins' has been raised," Angela advised playfully. "If you are going to hold up the family reputation you might have to pick it up a little. You wouldn't want to disappoint old Sterling or Emerson would you?"

"Oh, no!" Jack cried recognizing the names.

"Did you think I wasn't going to find out?" Angela laughed as he rolled away from her. "Or about the crazy old Hodgins who walked all over Chicago with a rock on his head?"

"He was a small man, he was afraid he'd blow away. It is 'the Windy City' you know."

"If you start throwing dinner parties for dogs, I'm going to have you committed," Angela warned.

"Don't make fun of Grandmother Gert!"

"You remember her?" Angela asked dropping her teasing in favor of her question. "She was your great-great grandmother."

"She lived to be a hundred-and-two," Hodgins laughed. "I remember a wrinkled old lady surrounded by little yippy dogs that loved to steal the chocolates she gave me. She used to order her nurse to push her wheelchair out into the sunshine and then she would sit with me while I crawled all through the grass looking for bugs."

"Aw, that's adorable," Angela cooed and snuggled closer.

"We Hodgins are an adorable kind of crazy," he bragged.

Chuckling Angela slid her hand over his chest. "I don't think Emerson or Sterling were as crazy as they were horny."

"We Hodgins are that too," he answered. Her touch was sending him a signal and he again rolled over her.

"Oh yeah?" One hand slid behind his head and she pulled him down to her waiting lips. "I'll show you my crazy, if you show me yours," she offered in a purr.

B&B

"Good morning," Brennan greeted her partner as she climbed into the SUV.

"Morning, Bones." His words were soft but hesitant and they both felt uncomfortable. She leaned across the space between them and their lips met for a brief stilted kiss. "Sleep ok?" he asked as she sat back.

"Fine, thank you. Was the time alone what you needed?"

"Yeah, I guess so," he answered despite the fact that it had done him no good at all. He put the truck in gear and pulled away from her apartment building. "You need a coffee or anything?" he asked making the turn that would eventually lead them to the interstate.

"No, I'm fine, thank you."

Booth's hands tightened on the wheel in reaction to the hurt in her voice. His guilt weighed heavily, but he couldn't say what he needed to say and so he said nothing. In only a few minutes they were leaving DC and neither said a word.

After two hours of the same quiet Brennan could take no more of it. "Turner is doing well," she observed into the silence of the rolling vehicle.

Booth glanced her way and then nodded curtly. "Yeah, she is. I had her start from scratch and she worked this one by the book. We probably would have found out Toby is alive even without her, but following every old lead like that means the most thorough approach."

"I prefer thorough," Brennan praised.

Despite his tension a weak smile lifted the corner of Booth's mouth. "I know," he agreed.

"Booth…"

"Later," he quickly said to cut off her effort at changing the topic. The smile was gone and his lips resumed the same scowl he had worn for days.

The vehemence of his single word stopped her and the uncomfortable silence again descended. They rode the rest of the way in quiet broken only by Booth's muttered complaints about the traffic. Ignoring the GPS he maneuvered the truck through the streets of South Philadelphia seeming to know exactly where they were headed. The modern SUV looked almost too large for the narrow streets but he drove confidently and parked as if the space was designed for the truck.

Exiting the vehicle Booth led her on a short walk down the street, his steps growing lighter with each touch on the pavement. The row of conjoined brick homes were distinguished from one another by individual touches like painted bricks or window flower boxes or vivid accents of colorful doors and shutters. Despite the fact they lay only a few miles apart this neighborhood looked like a different world compared to the estate they have visited yesterday. The difference in Booth was even more obvious and he rapped his knuckles against the bright blue door of 238 Monroe Street with an ease of familiarity.

It took some time for Booth's knock to be answered. They waited, they could hear movement inside, and when the door opened a thin man of extreme age smiled in welcome. "Yes?" he asked his clear voice a surprising contrast to his frail body.

"Toby Ingalls?" Booth asked respectfully? When the old man nodded the agent continued. "Sir, I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth of the FBI. This is my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan of the Jeffersonian. We'd like to ask you a few questions if we could."

"Well, I haven't heard those words in some time," Toby said with a sad smile. "I'll have to assume it's about the same thing," he added. "You found my Claire?"

"Yes, Sir," Booth answered.

Toby sighed sadly and waved them inside. "Come along," he invited. "My granddaughter lives with me, but she's out at the moment and we can speak freely." The partners followed him into the house. Warm touches filled every room and they spied pictures of smiling family members, hand-crafted ceramics done by obviously juvenile hands and several vases of beautifully arranged fresh flowers. "We'll have to sit," Toby joked as he lowered himself onto the sofa in his living room. "These old bones tire easily."

"Bones don't tire," Brennan objected automatically. "The fatigue you feel is likely caused by lack of lubrication in the joints and decrease in muscle elasticity related to age."

"I stand corrected," the old man agreed with a smile. Booth smiled along and then Toby turned to him. "What does the FBI need to know, Agent Booth?"

"The truth," Booth answered simply. "We would actually listen to it this time."

If the answer surprised him Toby didn't show it. He sat back and his eyes closed as he collected his thoughts on events so far past. "Claire was beautiful," he began and the smile that touched his face made him appear young again. "She walked into my father's store one afternoon and made me believe in fate."

Booth's eyes flickered to Brennan and then back to the old man. "You loved her."

"With all my heart, Agent Booth and she loved me too." He laughed ruefully. "That wasn't supposed to happen. I think that first day she agreed to see me as a lark. She was quite the social butterfly and it amused her to dabble with me. But she couldn't deny what was between us and it was she that asked me for a date the very next day."

"And the two of you planned to be married?" Booth asked.

"We did," Toby agreed. "Despite our families' objections."

"Both families objected?" Brennan asked needing clarification.

"Hers objected out of 'propriety'," he explained. "Mine out of practicality; but we were too stubborn to listen."

"Her sister told us Claire never would have gone through with it."

"They would have like to believe that," he said with a shrug. His gesture was followed by a chuckle. "Emmeline would have especially wanted to believe it."

"Why?" Booth asked quickly.

"The child was horribly jealous. She worshipped Claire and Claire her. Em was only a child, she didn't understand love. I think she saw in me as a bigger threat to her love for her sister than all the balls and dinner parties combined and she had no idea how to handle that."

"Because Claire was serious about her time with you."

"You understand perfectly, Agent Booth."

"What do you believe happened to Claire?"

"I wish I knew," he sighed sadly. "We spoke that very day and confirmed our plans; she was to meet me that night at the drug store after closing. I had saved my earnings and booked passage to California. We were going to run away, start fresh on our own and live the happy life we had planned."

"But she didn't show up?" Brennan finished.

He shook his head and new tears fell in response to the old pain. He let them fall for a moment and then lifted his face to the ceiling and took a deep breath. "I tried to find out what had happened, but of course no self-respecting member of society would speak to the son of a druggist. After the FBI questioned me I knew she wasn't coming back."

"It was Spring of 1941 and war was coming. Anyone paying attention knew it was only a matter of time. I couldn't stay in Philly, it was too painful and so I enlisted. And then I was stationed overseas, a half a world away from all my pain. I moved on, learned to accept that she was gone. Eventually I met a woman who touched me, not in the same way, but it was love all the same. I brought her back to Philly, we married, raised a family, I had a good life. But I have to say, the single greatest regret of my 92 years is not knowing what happened that night. If you can find the answer, I would be grateful."

"We're trying," Booth promised. He stood and when the old man rose to his feet he offered his hand. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Ingalls. And I am so very sorry for your loss."

"Thank you, son," he answered and then took Brennan's offered hand. "Find the answers for my Claire," he said and Brennan nodded.

They let themselves out and their walk down the street to the waiting SUV was again filled with silence.

B&B

Once again, the ornate front door of the Pomeroy swung open and the partners were welcomed in by Ms. Hamilton-Pomeroy's nurse. However, instead of being sent to the sitting room, they were led up the winding staircase to the second floor, where they were informed that Miss Emmeline was in poor health and that she would see them in her personal suite.

Once the double doors were opened, the first thing that Brennan noticed was the difference in the décor. Instead of the sparse furnishings that barely adorned downstairs rooms, Emmeline's own space was covered floor to ceiling in knickknacks, pictures and several pieces of what were obviously priceless antiques. The walls were lined with built-in shelves, each of which was packed with the memories of each and every one of the woman's seventy-eight years.

In the center of the room lay Ms. Emmeline Hamilton-Pomeroy, regally ensconced in a large four-poster bed, the Gone with the Wind-like visual only marred by the tubes and IV lines running from her frail body. As Booth greeted the ailing witness, Brennan continued to look around the room. She nodded absently at Emmeline's greeting, ignoring Booth's glare at her rudeness. But her attention had been drawn to a section of wall dedicated to what appeared to be the woman's old toys from her childhood, specifically a set of dolls.

"Excuse me?" Brennan interrupted Booth's explanation of their investigation thus far, eliciting another scowl from her partner and an inquisitive look from Emmeline.

"Yes, Dr. Brennan?" Her eyes followed the scientist's, and when she realized where she was pointing, what little color she had drained from her face. "Oh. Oh, my."

Booth stood and crossed the room to stand next to Brennan. When he saw where she was indicating, he could only stare. One shelf was completely filled with Shirley Temple dolls of every size and type. He never noticed when Brennan left his side and moved to take his abandoned seat next to the bed.

"What happened, Emmeline?" Brennan's voice was barely above a whisper, but the elderly woman heard her clearly.

"I adored my sister. Worshipped her." She began, struggling to pull herself into a sitting position. Booth moved quickly to help her, using a pillow to prop her up comfortably. "I don't know if either of you had an older sibling, but there is a tendency towards hero worship if the age gap is as considerable, as it was between myself and Claire."

Brennan tilted her head in agreement. "My brother, Russ, is only four years older than I, but I understand what you mean."

"Yes." Emmeline affected a far-off expression, obviously seeing something from years back in her past. "And Claire was beautiful. And kind. She was thirteen when I was born, but she never resented me. She included me when she could, and when she couldn't, she would sneak in my bedroom...this very bedroom, and regale me with her night's adventures. I was the first one she told about Toby."

"You knew she loved him, deeply." Booth said, shaking his head.

Emmeline nodded sadly. "I did. As I said, Claire was beautiful, but when she spoke of Toby, her whole face lit up…her eyes sparkled…she was breathtaking. But at eight years old, all I knew was that my father would never approve, and Toby was going to take my Claire away from me."

"You don't know that for sure, Emmeline." Brennan added.

"Oh, but I do." A sheen of tears had begun to form in her eyes, and her voice had gotten even softer. "You see, I heard her on the phone that night, the night she disappeared. She was talking to Toby, telling him that if her father wouldn't approve their marriage that they could run away together."

"And you couldn't have that."

"No." The answer was simple, but the story was not. "She went out to the barn, afterwards, and I followed her."

"There isn't a barn on this property." Brennan pointed out.

Emmeline shook her head. "I had it torn down years ago. In any case, the barn was where Claire would go when she wanted to be alone, to think…and in my young girl's hopeful heart I thought that if I begged her, she would forget about Toby and stay with me." She sighed, hands idly picking at the eyelet cover over her lap. "She went up into the loft, and I went after her. We fought…well, as much as a young woman of twenty-one years can fight with a child. She said that she loved Toby with everything she had and that someday I would understand how that felt, if I was lucky." She snorted, albeit delicately. "And I thought that my love would be enough to keep her here. As I said, I was a child. And all I knew was that she was going to leave me…for a boy who would probably never amount to more than a druggist, if he was lucky."

Booth reached over to the nightstand and picked up a glass of water, handing it to Emmeline and waiting while she took a grateful sip. "You only knew what you were taught by your family."

"Maybe. But it was like…she just didn't care that she was breaking my heart. That she was going to leave me there alone, with nothing but a cold, unfeeling mother and a staid, distant father in a dark, joyless house." She twisted the blanket in her fist as she spoke. "The irony of this disease I have now is that I have a hard time remembering my middle name, but I remember what happened that night as if it happened yesterday. Claire stood there, at the edge of the loft, and smiled. As if my despair was nothing. And I just…I was blinded by this dark, terrible urge to wipe that smile off her face. So I charged her."

"And she fell." Brennan whispered.

"Yes."

"Did you intend to push her out of the loft?" Booth asked, still taking notes but admittedly caught up in the sadness of the story.

A tear traced down her pale, wrinkled face. "I think about that all the time. I like to think that I simply meant to push her down in the loft. That I wasn't old enough to understand that she could die, be seriously hurt….it's the only way I can sleep at night." She raised bloodshot eyes to Brennan. "But I honestly do not know."

Clearing his throat, Booth tapped his pen on his note card. "How did she get into the trunk?"

"Uncle Jacob. He came running when he heard Claire scream. He saw what had happened, and he told me he would take care of everything. I watched as he pulled that old trunk out and lifted her into it, and I left my favorite doll with her, so she wouldn't…" Her voice left her, a choked sound escaping her throat. "I didn't want her to be alone." She sniffed and wiped her nose delicately. "I never knew what he did with her after that. I never asked, and he never offered to tell me."

"Did you speak to the FBI when they investigated her disappearance?" Brennan asked.

"No, they never asked to speak with me. I suppose they thought I was too young to know anything."

Booth sighed and ran a hand over his face. He looked across the bed at Brennan, who looked as saddened as he felt. Their silent communication was interrupted when the woman sitting between them whispered one last question.

"So, what happens now?"

B&B

Once again heading back to DC, both partners reflected on the last few days and what they had learned about each other and their relationship. Brennan felt that they still needed to be more open with each other, despite being as close as two people can be and Booth worried that if Brennan knew about all his inner demons it would make her think twice about whether he was worth all the effort.

Brennan sighed and stole glances at Booth as he did the same thing and pretended to watch the road. At one point, she reached for the radio, surprised when Booth touched her hand and shook his head, his eyes sad and tired. She got the message and settled back into her seat once again.

The almost-three hour drive was interminable with neither speaking, not even the noise of the radio to distract them, but eventually they reached their destination and Booth turned off the freeway, headed for the lab to drop Brennan off. He could see her reflection in the windshield, and even though her features were barely discernable, he could clearly see her anguish. Anguish that he had brought to her with his inability to open up and completely let her in. He had done that to her.

Finally reaching his breaking point, Booth pulled the SUV over to the side of the road, ignoring the honking horns and flashing lights from the cars that were whizzing by them on the busy street. He jumped out of the car and ran around the front, yanking open Brennan's door and pulling her out of the truck and into his tight embrace, his knuckles white as he fisted her blouse in his hands.

Brennan held on just as tight, her entire body thrumming like a live wire. "I can't do this anymore, Booth." Her breath hitched as she whispered her confession into his shoulder.

"I know, Bones. I know…it's my fault, I just…it hurts. When I think of what my mother gave up for him and how they treated her…"

Brennan pulled back and placed her hands on either side of his face, forcing him to look at her. "You have to tell me, Booth." At his pained expression, she shook her head. "No. You're safe here, with me. You know that." When his head dropped to her shoulder, she rested her head against his, lips close to his ear. "Once, you told me that in order to be able to ask someone something personal, you have to give something of yourself." She reached up and swiped at a tear. "And I think that I have more than held up my end of the bargain, it's time…we need to balance the scales, Booth. Or we're never going to be right. And I want more than anything for us to be right."

He nodded against her neck and pulled back. "I know."

And in a quiet, shaking voice, standing on the side of the road in downtown Washington DC, Booth finally began to remove some of the weight from his side, and add it to hers.

The team gathered, as they always did, to celebrate the close of a case but as the squints entered the Founding Fathers their topic of discussion kept the mood somber. "Has anyone talked to either of them since this afternoon?" Hodgins asked holding the door open for his wife and then the intern who followed.

"Bren didn't say much when she returned to the lab," Angela answered with some worry. "I think they'd had another fight, she looked completely drained."

"I chose not to interrupt," Vincent insisted as they each took a seat at the bar.

"Hey, guys," Turner called brightly as she approached from behind. "Sweets said to tell everyone hi. He's kicking ass as this week's featured Quantico lecturer." She took one look at their concerned faces and knew something was wrong. "What's up?"

"Nothing," Angela said firmly. "We are just looking for trouble. Bren and Booth are fine, there's no reason to worry."

"Fine how?" Turner asked taking the seat next to Vincent.

"They've been fighting," Hodgins explained.

"Ah," Turner noted with a nod. "Now I get it. But they argue all the time right? Why worry about this one?"

"This was different," Hodgins insisted.

"Well it was," Angela corrected nodding toward the window. "I've seen those smiles before," she continued as the partners neared on the sidewalk outside. "They've already kissed and made up."

"You sure?" Jack asked with worry.

"Honey, if there is one thing I know it's Booth's sexy little 'How Can You Stay Mad at Me' smirk." As if to make her point Booth pulled Brennan to a stop and gave her a quick kiss before opening the door.

The entry of a reunited and obviously happy pair of partners set the celebration in gear and Hodgins quickly bought the first round. "Here's to oldest case we've ever tackled," he said lifting his glass. "Not counting Aztecs, Mayans and Egyptian remains. May they all be as successful."

"And here's to true love," Angela quickly added. "Claire would have kept that promise to Toby." Glasses clinked and Angela smiled over hers as she watched her friends share another kiss. "So, was it sad?" she asked as Brennan took the seat next to her and Booth moved to stand behind.

"Was what sad?"

"Hauling a little old lady off to jail for something she did seventy years ago."

Brennan shook her head. "Emmeline is resting comfortably at home. Caroline felt it ill advised to prosecute."

"That's it?" Turner complained. "She kills her sister and she walks?"

"Consider the circumstances, Turner," Booth lectured. "She's old, she's dying and she's lived with the guilt her whole life. Caroline just didn't see the point."

"In her condition any time spent in incarceration would likely exacerbate her medical decline," Brennan added.

"But we still solved it," Hodgins insisted.

That prompted another round of toasts and then the gathering settled into the familiar lazy routine as the team began to decompress from the intensity of the work they had performed. Conversations drifted from the crime to more everyday matters and the easy flow of friendly chatter filled the air around them.

Vincent was nearly silent as he followed the other men to the end of the bar to check the latest sports report. He had little interest in American football but he was waiting for an opportunity and so he listened to Booth and Hodgins discuss the upcoming Super Bowl. Watching carefully, he waited and when a break in the conversation allowed both men to take a drink of their respective beers he slugged back the rest of his pint and turned to Booth.

"Agent Booth," Vincent began the quick gulp of alcohol giving him the courage to speak. "I want to take this opportunity to assure you that I have a new policy regarding my research. From this day forward I will be conducting all thesis related research between the hours of four and seven AM. Unless my duties as Dr. Brennan's intern are required in relation to an ongoing FBI investigation I shall be leaving promptly at five o'clock." He smiled desperately and shifted his weight to the other foot. "Out the door," he clapped his hands and made a skidding gesture, "Completely gone at the precise hour."

Booth's scowl didn't move but he leaned forward just a fraction of an inch, just enough to make Vincent gulp. "You did not just say that to me."

The big agent's low voice caused the intern's eyes to widen in panic and he shook his head violently. "I…no…I said nothing." He backed away twisting his body swiveling wildly as he fought the urge to flee. "Terrible echo in here," he offered lamely. Booth continued to glare and he took another step before blurting out the first fact that came to mind. "The time delay in an echo is the distance divided by the speed of sound." Booth gave no response and Vincent broke, turning and fleeing for his life to the relative safety of the women's conversation.

"You enjoyed that, didn't you?" Hodgins chuckled as they watched the intern flee.

"Hell yeah," Booth answered finally cracking a smile.

Jack lifted an eyebrow in speculation but when Booth's glare began to return he stopped. "I won't ask what he did to piss you off."

"Good plan," Booth praised.

B&B

The partners were sitting at Brennan's kitchen island sharing dessert, a surprise for Booth that Brennan had worked on most of the previous evening and had warmed for him as soon as they arrived home.

Booth dug into his slice of apple pie, ridiculously pleased that Brennan had gone against her usual stance to make it for him. "This is fantastic, Bones. I can't believe you made me a pie! With cooked fruit!"

Brennan grinned. "Cooked fruit is like God, Booth. Just because I don't believe in it doesn't mean that other people can't."

Snorting a laugh around a huge bite, Booth shook his head. "Just when I think I have you figured out, Temperance Brennan…you go and throw me a curve ball, like jumping me in your office, cracking jokes and baking me fantastic apple pie."

Brennan's gaze slid down to the counter, breaking eye contact. "There are sometimes when…well, when I don't feel as if I have you figured out at all, Booth." She looked up and took in his concerned gaze. "I know, we've talked and we're okay, I just…"

"You don't still feel like I'm a stranger to you or something, do you?" He carefully placed his fork next to his plate to avoid his first inclination, which was to throw the utensil in frustration.

"No!" She shook her head frantically, which made Booth relax a little. "I know you, Booth." She stood and rounded the counter, moving to straddle his lap. Booth wrapped his arms around her waist and rubbed slow circles on her lower back. "I know quite a bit about you, about the man you are and where you come from and how that shaped you. But I'm a scientist, Booth. And when something interests me as much as you do, I want to learn as much as I can. And with you, especially, I want to know more than I already do now. I want to know everything there is to know about you." She looked down almost shyly at her admission. "And I want to share everything I am with you, as well."

Booth shook his head, words failing him for a moment. No one, including close family, had ever said anything close to what the woman in front of him was revealing to him and he was floored. He knew that his closed-off attitude had hurt her, he just hadn't grasped how deeply.

"Bones. I-" He swallowed over the lump forming in his throat. "I have never been so humbled in my life. The thought that you…that someone like me would interest you, it's staggering to me." He waved off her protest. "It's true. You're a genius, a best-selling author, the best in your field…I'm just a kid from Philly who can shoot straight and has a knack with people. But you make me feel…well, when you look at me, like you are right now? I feel like I'm a hundred feet tall and bulletproof." He smiled and leaned in to kiss her softly. "I'll tell you anything you want to know. But I want to make a deal with you."

Brennan's brow furrowed. "What kind of deal?"

"It'll be fun, Bones. Trust me." He stood, letting her slide off his lap, then took her hand and led her quietly back to the bedroom. They removed their own clothes, neither breaking eye contact until they settled into the pillows, when Booth pulled her up against his chest, cradling her. He laced his fingers with hers tightly. "Bones, there is nothing I want more than to find out everything there is to know about the amazing woman you are, and for some reason you want to hear things about me, so what I propose is that, every night before we go to bed, we share one thing."

Brennan turned her head slightly so she could see his face. "What, specifically? Something about our pasts?"

"Sure, it can be. Or it can be as mundane as what your favorite snack food was as a child."

"Grape popsicles."

Booth chuckled and pulled her closer. "Really? I would not have guessed that, for some reason."

"My father claimed that I spent the entire summer walking around with purple lips." She grinned up at his delighted expression. "Okay…your turn."

Booth turned slightly and stared at the top of her head for a few moments. This compromise had been his idea, inspired by her need for truth…his truth, and he was going to be damn sure that he followed through, no matter how painful it was for him. If he was really, truly intent on sharing a future with this woman, he knew he had to share his past with her as well.

He felt the familiar dread at the idea of opening up about those things he kept buried. He had learned to keep them hidden, to hide it all from the world and from himself. But for this woman he would do anything and that included opening the doors he had once locked tight. He didn't have to share it all right now, it could be something small, just enough to prove to himself and her that he could do this.

"I got lost once," he began. "I was in kindergarten and we took a field trip to the circus." She was listening so closely, soaking every word as if she were committing them to memory. Her need to understand felt like a comfort and he felt the words flowing more freely. "We were supposed to have buddies, you know, someone to hold hands with and stay together? My buddy was Thomas McCaughey and he got sick from eating two hotdogs and a whole bag of cotton candy. So one of the chaperones had to take him away early and when the show was over I had to follow along without anyone. It was a big crowd and I got separated."

He sighed remembering the terror his five-year-old self had felt. "I tried to keep up, but there were too many people and I just kept getting pushed further and further in the wrong direction. Before I knew it, I was outside the big top and I had no idea where my class was."

"Were you scared?" she asked with concern.

Booth smiled amazed at the care she was showing about something that had happened over thirty years ago. "Yeah, I was petrified. I started to cry," he admitted sheepishly.

"Booth, you were only a child."

"I know, but boys don't cry. That was something my father always made sure to tell us and I felt so ashamed, but I couldn't stop. I wandered around trying to find the others and the longer it took the more upset I got." He sighed as he reached the point of his story. "Someone finally noticed. One of the clowns saw me and he came running over. He was still all done up for the show with a crazy wig and this huge nose and giant painted on mouth. He grabbed my arm and made a joke, he was trying to get me to stop crying. But, I freaked out. I was already worked up and he looked scary and I flipped. I screamed and flailed around. He let go of me, I think I freaked him out too, and then I just ran."

"It took them hours to find me. I was hiding, too scared to come out and too confused to realize I was making it worse."

"That's why you hate clowns," Brennan said gently, "Because they remind you of a horrifying childhood experience."

"Yeah. Every time I see one it's like I'm five years old again."

"I'm sorry that happened to you, Booth, but I am very grateful that you shared the memory with me."

He smiled amazed to find this happiness in sharing the story. "I've never told anyone that story, Bones. I'm glad you know it. I want you to know everything." Feeling as though a boulder had been lifted off his heart and his soul, he turned his head, cupped her cheek, and captured her lips with his. It wasn't just a kiss...it wasthekiss.

When a man's secret life leads to his murder, the team discovers that there are some things that can never remain hidden. Join us next week for The Weasel in the Pop by Stayuff.