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Booth's pacing back and forth in his living room, trying to calm himself down so he doesn't reach out and strangle the uniformed officer talking to him. "Instead of standing here, questioning us, you should be out there looking for the son of a bitch who took Christine," he grumbles, his voice sounding like he's on the verge of crying. "Before I do."

Sweets, who's standing off to the side, clears his throat. "Agent Booth."

"Oh, don't you start."

"I think—."

"What did I just say? Go do your shrinky-dinky thing somewhere else." Booth walks away from the officer and Dr. Sweets, walking over to Brennan.

Brennan's sitting on the armrest of the couch, brushing her hand against her daughter's baby blanket. She's staring at the moniker stitched into the corner as she wipes away a tear and blinks. "Do you honestly think we're going to find her?" She questions, sensing Booth's presence beside her. "I mean, find her alive?"

He nods. "I do." It's less than convincing. He knows it. She knows it too.

She stands up and drapes the blanket over the play pen. "I'll be upstairs getting ready for work." She starts to walk towards the stairs, but he grabs her wrist, giving it a slight tug. She turns her head and looks at him. They keep their gaze on each other until a crime scene tech interrupts them.

"There seems to be no evidence of forced entry."

Booth ignores him and takes his partner's hands. He leans towards her and kisses her on the lips, not at all concerned with the eyewitnesses.

Brennan feels the painful and uncomfortable prick of fresh tears starting to form, so she pulls her hands back and retreats up the steps, closing herself off in her bathroom.

He sighs and goes back to pacing, pulling out his phone and making a few angry calls, trying to remain calm once again. It's impossible, he quickly realizes. He freezes when the house phone starts to ring. He glances at an officer and then picks it up slowly. He doesn't recognize the caller ID, but answers the phone anyway. He puts it on speaker phone and feels his hands going numb. He only hears bits and pieces, Christine, five million dollars, behind the swings, by midnight, or she'll die. The conversation cuts off and he clutches the phone, panting, trying to get the sound of his daughter's faint screams out of his head.

The room has quieted down, every single body in the room ceases to move, and time stands still for at least a few minutes.

Booth collapses onto the arm of the couch, the phone falling into his lap. He picks up Christine's pink ball and fiddles with it, passing it between his hands and squeezing it. He closes his eyes, tears threatening to escape.

"I know this isn't the best time, Agent Booth, but I really think—."

"Would you shut up? Just shut up! I'm not interested in what you think right now, Dr. Sweets," Booth emphasizes and slumps forward, rubbing his eyes. He clasps his hands, drops his head slightly, and whispers a prayer to himself. He stands up after signing the cross, and disappears upstairs without any warning.

It's around 11:30 AM, and Brennan's standing on the forensic platform, elbow deep in a skeleton from 17th century France. She's fondling the bones, running her finger along the right edge of the mystery man's mandible. She's been dealing with the media and police all morning, so this is a much needed break from all that chaos.

Angela is walking past the platform when she notices Brennan hunched over the skeleton. She rolls her eyes and swipes her card, walking up the steps and heading over to her best friend. She rests her hand on Brennan's shoulder and squeezes. "Go home, sweetie, be with Booth. These bones aren't going anywhere."

Brennan ignores her, sucking back tears and staring intently at the cracked bone. "You see this? No remodeling."

"He got punched in the jaw just before he died—very nice, Bren, really." Angela pauses. "Sweetie." She catches a few tears that drip down Brennan's cheek and takes the bone from her, despite her many protests. She sets it down in the empty space on the table and grabs Brennan's hand, tightening her grip and looking into her eyes, offering the slightest smile. "Go home."

Brennan pulls her hand back and walks off the platform, storming off towards bone storage, ignoring her best friend's pleas. She can't go home. If she goes home, she'll just be sitting around, waiting. At least if she's at work, the unidentified skeletons will keep her busy, so she'll have less time to think about things.

Hope you liked this chapter.