Author's note #1:

I was absolutely overwhelmed by the number of you who left feedback for the prologue. A huge thank you to you all. Although I guess the pressure is now on, and I hope that this isn't disappointing. Please let me know what you think. I didn't lie when I said I'd be a while updating, and that still applies. (Although this is longer than 800 words, which is a record for me!)

CHAPTER ONE
Looking Forward

-x-

But I'm not a miracle
And you're not a saint
Just another soldier
On the road to nowhere

-x-

Booth lit a candle in a church in Kosovo. Winter in a village, where electricity was (and wasn't), the congregation a sea of ghosts and, lost in midnight corners, a choir of faint shouts and gunshots. Even now, years later, he sometimes caught himself gazing helplessly at his hands, expecting blood but seeing only man.

He was death, once. He watched ordinary people, acting out their lives, and with razor-sharp aim cut their strings so that they fell - one, by one, by one.

The traffic sped by without a backward glance and Brennan treated him to a stale silence.

He recognized her frozen, haunted expression. He had seen it before and shot it between the eyes.

-x--x--x- -x--x--x-

She was unable to shake the feeling of being watched. Long after the city had been swallowed by distance, Brennan found her reflection in the passenger window seeping to black with the darkness outside. The engine was ticking over and once again she was leaving everything behind.

Then, she had bags for her belongings and social workers checking on occasion. Now, all that time had done was increase the clutter in her head and cheapen her fifteen-year-old treasures. Her hands held nothing from her last destination, and those protective gazes had hardened into silent menace.

"That was close." His heart was still beating too fast, his muscles still twitching as he tried to relax.

She murmured distractedly. Her fingers were clasped in her lap, Booth's clasped around the steering wheel and she tossed the urge to touch him aside. Instead she flicked the heat up a few degrees.

"Cold?"

"Not outwardly," she replied, "It's a natural response to -" She lifted her head and he felt her bristle slightly. "What just happened, Booth?"

His jaw dimpled as he clenched his teeth. This was one question he'd been waiting for, but could barely find words to answer.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered.

She gave him a questioning look. "But - I'm alive because of you. I - I.. thank you." She swallowed, tugging her lip between her teeth.

It was a subtle slip of expression, but she noticed it immediately and silently condemned herself for getting it wrong again. Her voice was low when understanding came in the seconds that followed. "You apologized because you think the reason that I'm in danger is you."

He nodded brokenly. She looked away.

"I got a phone call," he said at last. "Twenty minutes before. They probably wanted me on time or just a moment too late." His tone was tinged with bitterness.

"You can't assume that. Surely you don't believe that you can construct any sort of motive from a single, probably seconds-long conversation. It's not sensible, Booth."

Her words echoed in the space between them. He was avoiding her.

-x--x--x- -x--x--x-

When she awoke a web of cloud had billowed across the sky, shielding the ground from the starlight and casting a shapeless shadow across the dashboard. Her face was sandwiched against the side window and her skin prickled as the temperature plummeted.

She sat upright, unfolding her legs and rubbing her feet to dull the throb of subsiding numbness. The little clock beside the radio read 3 a.m, but her body told her that it was much later in the morning. She was less than refreshed.

"Who were they, the callers?" There was a hint of desperation in her voice, Booth thought, though she hid it well.

He hesitated. "I'd go with male, but they used a voice changer and, well, I know your views on gut-speak, so-"

"Oh." She sounded disappointed.

"Look, Bones. We're going to get whoever did this. I'm going to get whoever did this. They won't get away with it. I promise." He reached across and rubbed her hand.

"I hate feeling helpless," she said, mostly to herself.

"That's because you aren't. Usually. I mean - I don't think that even you could try and rationalize this." He gestured idly into the air.

She tugged gently on his hand, so that he looked over and caught her eye. "We're partners, aren't we? We can tell each other things?"

"Sure we can," he agreed. "Care to share with the class?"

She gave him a blank stare, before continuing "That explanation was pretty thin for someone who seems convinced of his own guilt. I know that Cullen has me labelled your responsibility, but I distinctly feel that you may be withholding information from me."

His mouth felt desert dry and he closed his eyes, a brief attempt to collect his thoughts. "I don't know if it has any relevance, or if it's coincidence, but I know his M.O. I've seen it used. I've used it..."

She let the pause settle without interruption.

"The caller used a code. One that only myself and a few others know."

"What was it?"

"He called it a two-hit hypothesis."

She frowned. "That's basic cancer biology, Booth. A cell withstands damage to one copy of a gene, if the second gene is also damaged, malignant transformation results."

"Trust me, Bones. That's one piece of squinty mumbo-jumbo I'm a little too familiar with."

"I do."

"What?"

"I do trust you."

"Ok-ay." He released a trapped breath. "Look, it..it was a while back. There was this man. He was brutal, cold - killed without flinching, wiped out entire families because he could. You know? A person worth being afraid of because he gave no chances. We knew of him, but they kept him well hidden. It was winter, and we had just arrived in a tiny village in the south of Kosovo when we came across him."

"You shot him?"

"Not immediately, no." Booth narrowed his eyes, as Brennan shifted in her seat.

"This was the first chance we'd ever had of getting the guy. We were undercover, outnumbered and we couldn't afford to draw attention to ourselves. We waited until night, until he was asleep. The plan was simple, but effective. The buildings were too low to get a good shot at him lying down, so one of us knocked on the door. He stood up to answer and -"

"I see," she said quietly. "Two people needed, so two hits."

"One for the door, one for the shot."

She shivered. "There was a beam hitting my wall. If I'd stood up.."

"Yeah." Booth didn't look at her.

"And the one supposed to knock?"

"I cut him off, knocked him out. Handcuffed him to the railings. He never got to your door. I knew the shooter would only wait so long before he'd realise that something was wrong."

Her eyes widened.

-x--x--x- -x--x--x-

They shuddered along the back roads at speed, Brennan clenching her teeth as the wheels hit potholes and she felt her body being jarred and thrown from side to side.

"What happened to your SUV?" she questioned, after another near-miss between her head and the roof.

Booth didn't miss a beat. "Oh, the nice, black, shiny FBI-funded, please-shoot-me, moving-target?"

Brennan's face fell. "You didn't want to draw attention to us."

"Actually," he replied, "It's in the shop."

She glared at him. "So you brought, this.. eh, this.. death-mobile instead."

Booth looked at her in mock confusion. "I don't know what that means."

She sighed, frustrated. "I was merely trying to express my doubts over the capacity of this vehicle to navigate these roads."

Booth decided to let it go, 'be the bigger man' as Angela would have put it. Except that Brennan really wasn't a guy; and to all intents and purposes they were running away together.

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and the conversation lapsed momentarily.

"We're gonna need to stop for gas," he said finally.

Brennan seemed to consider this, before shrugging. "Frankly, I'm surprised we lasted this long. You certainly don't chose your vehicles based on energy efficiency."

"No," Booth said dryly as his clunky white van spat a layer of soot out onto the road. "Clearly, I'm all about style and panache."

She raised an eyebrow. "I think we should have taken my car."

Booth caught the tail end of the smirk that played on her lips. "Maybe next time," he murmured, shaking his head.

-x--x--x- -x--x--x-

There was faint comfort in the way the throbbing lights of the gas station set her face aglow. Some things didn't change, even when placed among dirt and grease and cans of WD40, not least her poise and composure.

Brennan didn't really do spontaneity. Or at least, when she did, it was with much persuasion and a thorough appraisal of the situation before her. So whereas he was pulling over to refuel in some filling station in nowhere, Virginia, she was still back in her apartment arguing the logistics of going on a road trip dressed in her pyjamas.

He had already surmised that she wasn't asleep. Her forehead was too creased and her lips almost whispered, the way they sometimes did when she blotted out the world and immersed herself in cracks and scrape marks. Here was a woman whose entire career depended on her seeing what was right in front of her, and yet, to the world in general she remained oblivious.

Pulling the door handle, he moved to get out. There was a moment when he wondered about telling her that he was only filling the tank, that he would be back, but the thought of disturbing her proved too much for him. This was her way of dealing. She needed space, she needed time to over-analyse. It was what she did and had done, the difference being that now he would challenge any conclusions that she reached before she flattened her feelings and sugarcoated everything with science.

The shock of the door closing jolted her back to reality. She heard him scrabbling to twist the cap off the tank and his shadow stretched along the window as he stood near the pump. Soon silence fell, and his feet shuffled over to pay for the gas. She shuddered slightly; with the engine shut off the heat had quickly seeped through the floor. Her heart quickened.

Leaning over, with her nose pressed against the window, she could just about make out his shape, stomping his feet in the line, hands in pockets. Taking no chances she deftly reached over and pressed the lock down on both doors.

Now, at last, she could breathe easier. Her fingers were rubbing the smooth upholstery of the seat, back and forward until the absurdness of new leather in such an old car struck her as peculiar. The sound system seemed modern too, as did the finish on the inside of the door.

A loud thud sounded from outside, as though someone had walked over a grate. She snapped to attention immediately and began frantically looking from window, to mirror for reassurance. There was nobody there. Booth was deep in conversation with the lady in front of him. Hurry up, she willed him silently.

Her chest had started to burn and the pulse in her neck was hammering. There was another bang, as though the side of the van had been hit, and the sound echoed, a curious knell though the hollowed out rear. Her hands clasped the sides of the seat and she tried to curl up, unable to move, unable to look.

"Hey, lady!" There was a sharp knock on the window.

She swallowed a small cry. A boy, no more than a teenager, with a pile of leaflets stood inches from her face.

"Support the cause," he cried as he smacked an advertisement against the glass, gesturing for her to take it.

Brennan didn't trust herself to speak, but with trembling hands, lowered the window a crack - just enough for him to fold the page in two and slip it onto her lap. She quickly disposed of it in the hollow beside the radio and the messenger made his way onto the next car.

She clung to the window again and, as though sensing her unease, Booth glanced behind him and gave her a wave. She didn't have time to respond as he turned to pay, but she felt much calmer in the knowledge that they'd be leaving soon. She couldn't shake this alien feeling of absolute fear. And then there was Booth, who seemed to be looking out for her more often now - she should be nicer to him.

He opened the door and flopped down on the seat, blowing on his hands. "Bit cold out there. Nice that you got to stay in the car." He flashed a grin at her, but Brennan was staring distantly out the window as though she hadn't registered his return at all.

"Bones?" He reached out and gently shook her shoulder. "I'm losing you here. You okay?"

She turned around in her seat, gazing downwards. His thumb trailed along her clavicle for a second longer, before he pulled away and started up the engine.

"Booth?"

"Yes?"

"This is a good van."

Booth froze, thoroughly confused. "It," he cleared his throat, "It does its job," he agreed tentatively.

"No - earlier, what I said - I know I can be blunt sometimes and I wasn't trying to be.. mean."

"You're referring to the opinion that I'm driving you around in a 'tetanus shot waiting to happen'?" She nodded. Booth patted the dashboard. "I'm sure there are no hard feelings."

"I'm serious, Booth. I see that you've put a lot of work into the interior and I think that it's nice."

He tossed her a grin. "This isn't a veiled attempt to make me let you drive, is it? Because if it is I've got to warn you that you don't stand a chance in those clothes."

There was a flicker of a smile as she shook her head.

A few weeks ago, maybe; or months ago - back during the hazy beginnings of partnership when Booth was as much of a mystery to her as the lonesome person whose bones were placed upon her table, she'd envied his ability to deal with the darkest that society had to offer and still be able to live as though those terrible things didn't happen. She knew better now.

It was in his eyes as he watched her, protected her. It was in his body as they left a crime scene far behind. The world was full of bad guys that Seeley Booth could not control; instead he made his peace by keeping her alive, and if it meant that he needed to bring her home safely, she would let him drive.

-x--x--x- -x--x--x-

"I'm afraid there'll be no breakfast on the terrace tomorrow morning, but if you're lucky we may get a room with a window," Booth commented as they pulled into the "Sleep-lite" motel.

He stopped the car and reached behind the seat, pulling out his jacket and tossing it onto her knees.

"Thanks." She slipped it over her bare shoulders.

Light from the gaudy sign at the entrance burst through the puddles like wildfire, settling in the worry that was etched on his face. Brennan inched closer to him as she followed him inside.

The girl behind the counter finished her phone call and waited, cracking her bubblegum expectantly.

Booth took the lead. "We're looking for a double room."

"What? No." He felt himself being elbowed aside. "Excuse me," Brennan rapped her fingers on the desk. The girl looked up from her computer screen, wearing a scowl that went completely unnoticed.

"We'll have two single rooms, please."

Booth muttered under his breath and held up his hand, stalling the clerk while he deftly tugged Brennan aside.

"Did you get an accountant like we discussed?" he asked.

"What?" she exclaimed, "You know that I did." She shook her arm out of his grasp.

"Well, then I'll do the math for both of us. We used the last of my cash on the gas, which means that we are left with whatever you have in that little bag of yours, which is -"

She flipped the catch and took a quick inventory, then sighed. "Not much."

He nodded knowingly. "See, Bones, it's all about conservation." He turned back to the reception desk and the girl who was, by now, more than slightly amused. "We'll take one room," he said pointedly.

Brennan followed behind. "Our survival, Booth, depends on something more visceral. We must be the strongest, the cleverest the fittest. We must concentrate on preserving ourselves, whatever the cost." She paused. "Make it a twin room."

"With a window," Booth added hastily, refusing to meet her eyes.

Conservation and self-preservation, he thought. Now there was a compromise.

-x--x--x- -x--x--x-

The room did not have a window.

It did however, have two beds.

If it weren't for the fact that Brennan was his travel companion, Booth would have been entirely suspicious of having missed a wealth of subtext between the women in the reception area. As it was he was poured into a cot that was at least a foot short of his specifications, and the rumbling of the heater as it coughed lukewarm air into the room was keeping him awake.

"I should really tell Angela." Brennan said suddenly, sitting up straight. "She'll be worried. And I won't be in work on Monday. You need to tell Rebecca and Parker too."

"Not yet." Booth was adamant. "It's the weekend. I don't know where we're going from here. We need time to think this through first."

Brennan was aghast. "You want to think it through? Just what is there to think about?" Her pitch rose several notches. "The evidence is clear that one of your sniper friends holds some sort of animosity against you and has decided that the best way to hurt you is by killing me."

Booth snorted. "Is that what you think? Huh? That the best way to me is through you. I never pegged you as narcissistic, Temperance."

She pursed her lips and didn't respond.

"Well in that case," Booth spat, "I'm glad we're on the same page for once."

"Well.. good."

"Fine."

"Fine."

He heard her hit the mattress as she lay back down. Her body stilled once she had tunnelled back underneath the blankets, facing the wall.

There was a faint rustle and he imagined that she was now on her back, looking at the ceiling.

"Booth?" In the darkness, she sounded small and vulnerable.

He sighed. "Yes, Bones?"

"I think there's more to this than it seems."

He exhaled.

He had a feeling that she was right. She usually was.

Author's note #2:

Lyrics at the top are from "Amie" by Damien Rice. Thank you for reading, as always I appreciate any comments. Again, it may be a while before I get a chance to update.