Author's Note: Yeah, lots of reviews this week, I've been bored in class. Well, My reviews are not climbing as much as I would like them to. Now, don't get me wrong, I am LOVING the favoriters, but I would like to see a big 30 underlined in blue! Keep that in mind as you read!

Chapter 9: Testing the Limits

"Good news again," Hardison pushed a button and the flight schedule out of El Paso to Boston pulled up on the screen, "Looks like the agent and his lady friend have left the Lone Star State." He did (and failed at) a little "swinging a lasso over your head" move before putting the laptop down on the coffee table.

"Not so good," Elliot was in the bathroom but had come out at the comment, his hair still dripping and a towel wrapped around his waist.

Sophie realized that this was the first time that any of them had seen him without a shirt, in the whole two years they had known him.

"Not so good," Elliot repeated, sitting in an arm chair as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, "Booth is tough," the team noticed the bruises already dark on Elliot's torso and appendages, "and relentless, he ain't gonna leave without the job being done," he pointed to himself. "No, those two are up to something. I just gotta think of what."

"Okay Booth," Brennan put the last electrode on Booth's stomach, pressing it to be sure that it had good contact.

Booth felt stupid. Yeah, it was his idea but now, standing there, hooked up to electrodes hoping that they could get a reading off of his injuries that would mean something.

Those injuries hadn't escaped the eyes of Brennan: thought he hid it from her well, now, bare chested, the bruises were more than obvious. On his left side a large patch of bruising showed (on the surface) that Spencer had a strong right jab. However, the bruising on the left middle side of his abdomen, showed a good left uppercut. Brennan could have continued speculating but she knew data never lied so she allowed Angela to run the computer program.

"Okay," she said as a 3D "Booth" came up on the screen, "I've uploaded the information Wendell gave me about Mr. Carson's remains; they will show up yellow on our man." The machine scanning Booth continued whirring as yellow splotches appeared on the 3D image.

Booth already saw problems. The man's head and face had taken a lot of damage; other than where his head had hit the table, it had sustained little. (Elliot had mainly been a "body" kind of guy.) "Bones? Do you think this is going to help," he was beginning to doubt himself, again, not for the first (or fourth) time.

"Yes Booth, of course it will."

"This may be the psychologist in me," Sweets had flown back to Boston with them, "but fighters don't normally change their fighting style over a time of only four years. He will still have certain moves and pressure of his hands, and other tells." Sweets nodded as Booth's bio-scan information came in. "I think that this will be helpful."

Brennan was actually impressed that Sweets was correct, "I-I concur."

The yellow splotched 3D image now had blue welts growing on it. Immediately the problem could be seen:

"These marks do not match," Brennan shook her head. "Whoever beat up Mr. Carson was beaten up by a left handed person. And look here," she had noticed the yellowed face, "There is significantly less blue than yellow. And here," now the torso, "Booth's bruises on his torso are much more localized. The yellow are very . . . haphazard." She tapped her chin. "Wow, Booth, I do have to admit that you must be in a lot of pain, if not now then tomorrow. I am not a medical doctor but I would recommend that you take a hot bath tonight, maybe without the beer helmet, and take three ibuprofen."

"You mean two, Bones," he stood still as Brennan began removing the electrodes.

"No, you will be needing three." When they were all off Brennan tucked the electrodes into the bag and helped Booth back into his shirt. "You go home, I am going to stay and do work."

Once Booth was gone, Brennan turned to Angela, "I hope he is not too upset, he really thought that it was Elliot Spencer."

Angela still held the computer template in her hand and was being sure that the data was saved to the hard drive, "Just because it doesn't look like Spencer beat this guy up, doesn't make him innocent." For her own sake she ran a search on her 3D imager for Elliot Spencer, "I can't believe that someone who could take out Booth – "

"Almost," Brennan corrected, "Booth actually won."

"Almost – could be innocent." She had completed her search, pulling up the picture that Booth had shown Elliot before, the mug shot. "Well, he is handsome."

Brennan glanced at the picture, getting ready to go to the forensics' platform. "Oh, he looks completely different now," she looked at thumbnails from the case that Angela had in the back ground of the private monitor. "That one," she pointed at the one that was taken at the party by McGill's surveillance tapes. She walked away.

Angela, shrugging, did as Brennan suggested. "Oh my . . ."

"Dr. Bray," Brennan carded herself onto the platform. Until this moment, she hadn't realized just how much she missed the Jeffersonian. Don't get her wrong, she loved the times she got to spend with Booth on an assignment, but, the truth was, she was much more comfortable in her lab coat, a pile of bones in front of her.

A prick hit in her chest and she put her hands on the slat. That was a lie and she knew it. Maybe before when Booth was just that cocky FBI agent who called her team "squints" and actually meant it as an insult, but not now. The real truth? She loved it when he called her a squint, loved the look on his face (even though it had been years) when she told him about sailing around the world with Sully, he had taken a bullet for her and she loved that. Loved him? . . . No: she couldn't think that far ahead right now. Mr. Carson needed her.

"Dr. Brennan," Wendell looked up from his work when he was addressed. "I heard about the bio-scan, I hope it went as you expected."

"Injuries of the flesh, Wendell, we're here for bones." She didn't come off as coarse as the words and Wendell understood what she meant.

"Here is the file that I worked up while you were in Texas." Hodgens, who was standing behind him, turned at the waist and did the "swinging-a-lasso-over-his-head" dance thing, causing Brennan to smile a little. "Did you meet any cowboys?" He handed her the file.

Brennan took the file; it was much thicker than she had anticipated, "Fractured proximal phalanges?" She had started at the beginning of the report. "Wendell, this report is not finished; you did not give a side or number. This is unacceptable."

Wendell stuttered a moment before defending himself, "I am sorry Dr. Brennan, I did not think that it was necessary," he motioned to the skeleton's hands to accentuate his point. One glance told Brennan all she needed to know. The reason that Wendell hadn't specified which finger was because all of them had fractured. "Torture?" It wasn't meant to be a question but as Brennan delved deeper into the file, she saw that this was true. 'I don't know how I missed it,' she thought, not wanting to say the comment aloud for the second time on this case. Of course, when she had seen the bones they were covered with grime and she hadn't wanted to compromise evidence by unwrapping them fully from their swaddling's.

From the way her brow furrowed, Wendell knew there was something wrong, "What is it Dr. Brennan?"

She didn't answer and instead strode swiftly and determinedly off the platform and straight to her office. Though she had only been gone less than a week, the comfort that was brought on by the sight of her stuff was overwhelming.

When her rear had scarcely touched leather she had hit speed dial number six and had the phone to her ear.

"Hello?" it was Booth.

"Booth, it is me."

"I know Bones, I have caller ID."

"Willy Carson was tortured, that could make all information from the bio-scan invalid."

On the other end, Brennan heard Booth sigh. "No, it doesn't Bones, Elliot Spencer has been known to torture people, but in all of his records there is not one mention of him being a drug dealer. We were after the wrong guy."

Brennan was confused, "So you are just going to let him go?"

Booth chuckled, "He may be innocent of murdering Willy Carson, but he's guilty of plenty else, including assaulting a federal agent." As Booth hung up with Brennan, he rubbed his sore ribs.

He was back in his apartment, in the bathtub, three ibuprofen in his palm. As he dropped the phone outside the tub he sighed and popped the pills into this mouth, then took a swig out of his beer helmet to wash them down.

Elliot, who had gone missing from the hotel again, didn't know that the above conversation had taken place. However, had he stayed in the room, he would have known that Hardison had managed to tap the phone lines at the Jeffersonian, including the one going out of Dr. Brennan's office.

"I think that I have a new plan," Nate drummed his fingers on his chin. The tone in his voice as he said that told the rest of the team that they wouldn't like his idea . . .

Elliot got in later that day, no one asked where he had been but they were all waiting for him. He froze just inside the door. "What's going on guys?" No one said anything and Parker had a queer look in her eye as she fiddled aimlessly with a lock. (When it clicked easily open he figured out that it wasn't "aimless" fiddling.) Elliot's eyes narrowed, "Is this some sort of intervention?"

Nate shook his head and stepped forward, "No, we've changed marks. We now have a new con."

Author's Note: And here comes the con! There ya go, a long chapter for my reviewers and adding-this-story-to-my-favorite's . . . ers . . . and remember!

30 . . . underlined in blue!