Author's Note: I am so sorry for the lack of updates! I didn't mean for this chapter to take this long, but with school and sports (which are now over, so I have more time) and a case of writer's block (of course, it's only for this story), it did. And I apologize. I'm also moving into a little bit of a case now, which I've never done before, so it might take a little longer. But Thanksgiving break is coming up, so Chap 15 should be up by then, or a little after. Thanks for the patience, along with the reviews, favorites and alerts! It means so much. Wendell, being my favorite will be the intern here, and as it seems to me that Brennan doesn't actually seem to retrieve the remains, instead lets the FBI people do it, she won't do it in this story. Hope she's not too OOC.

Disclaimer: I still don't own Bones, Fox does. This is just for fun.

It had been exactly two weeks since he had left, and she was sitting in her office, filling out paperwork related to a Jane Doe from Bone Storage. Not the most exciting thing in the world, but it was better than trying to work on her book. Her inspiration appeared to have dried up, at least for the moment.

Putting her final signature at the bottom of the last page, she closed the file and pushed it aside. Leaning forward, she let her head rest in her hands. Another headache was forming at her temples, and it was only eleven.

"Dr. Brennan?" She heard the agent's voice, and looked up to find him framed in her doorway, case file in one hand. "We have a case."

"Okay." She replied, sighing.

"Are you all right?" He asked, stepping into the room, his face expressing concern. "Do you want me to go to Dr. Saroyan, or…"

"No, it's just a headache. Besides, the bodies come to me." She stood, reaching around to grab her coat off the coat rack. She slid it on, missing the way Booth would help her with it.

"Okay." He rocked back on his heels, arms crossed over his chest, clearly uncomfortable.

"You can wait in the car. I just have to grab my things." He nodded once, and turned, heading out of her office.

It was at least an hour to the crime scene, and she'd finished reading the case file before they got on the highway. There were only scarce details included; a pile of bones had been found in the woods, and the local police had called for extra assistance, as the coroner was currently on vacation in California. And the remains were bones. This was made very clear from their statements, at least from what Agent Douglass had filled her in on.

Now, ten minutes into the trip, the car was filled with an uncomfortable silence. She was staring out the window, head propped up on one fist, wishing that she had taken some Motrin before she'd left. Her headache was quickly worsening, and a quick search of her bag had turned up nothing.

"Dr. Brennan? Would you mind if I asked you something…personal?" He broke the silence, and she lifted her head to look over at him.

"Most people just ask, but it depends. You can ask, but I probably won't answer." She replied, turning her attention back to the view outside the window.

"Is it true that you and Agent Booth are sleeping together?" She rolled her eyes, and kept her gaze focused out the window when she answered.

"I don't think that that's really any of your business." She replied, her tone icy.

"Right. I was just…curious. I normally work in Terrorism, doing the legwork for the local intelligence team. I guess they're the equivalent of you and your team, just chained to desks and computers."

"Then what are you doing in Homicide?" She demanded, looking over at him with an incredulous expression. "Why didn't the FBI send someone from Homicide? Surely you don't have the experience necessary to work these cases."

"Dr. Brennan, you don't know anything about me." He briefly glanced at her before turning his attention back to the road, just enough time to send an irritated look her way. "For your information, I started off in Homicide with Agent Booth, and was transferred a few years later. The reason they didn't send anyone from that division is that you've managed to piss off almost every agent, and after what they've heard, scare the crap out of the new ones. So you're stuck with me-an incompetent agent from the Terrorism division."

"Fine. But why'd they send you?"

"First, because I've had experience in this field, and second, because Agent Booth requested me." His tone was icy now, and his jaw was clenched.

"Why did he request you?"

"Maybe because I'm the only one he thought could deal with you for six months. Look, I don't know why he requested me, he just did."

"Then why'd you accept?"

"I thought it would be a nice change of pace. Something different."

"A nice change of pace? You're going to be chasing down killers. It's a little more difficult than what you're used to." The conversation stagnated then, as he didn't choose to respond to that. She focused her attention on the woods flying past outside the window, thankful that there were only ten more minutes left in this trip.

"Female, approximately 18-25 years of age." She stood up and looked over the edge of the pit, surprised to see that he was taking notes. "Won't have time or cause of death until I can examine the remains and get bug and soil samples to Hodgins." She pulled off her white latex gloves with a snap, and looked over at the remains. "And tell your techs they can start the retrieval and send the remains to the Jeffersonian."

"Don't you retrieve the remains?" He asked, tucking the small notebook into the inside pocket of his suit coat.

"No, the FBI believes that their techs can do a better job, even though I'm a trained forensic anthropologist."

"Oh, I didn't…know that."

"Of course you didn't." She looked up at him with an annoyed expression on her face. "Don't you have a ladder or something I can use to get out of here?"

"No, I was just going to let you climb out yourself." He replied sarcastically. "Of course I have a ladder. It's just not here yet."

"I don't know what that means." He sighed and rolled his eyes.

"It means that I sent a tech to go get one."

"Well, then, what's taking so long?" She sighed in frustration and glared up at him.

"How the hell am I supposed to know?"

"Didn't you figure that I would need a ladder to get out of here?"

"Maybe I just wanted to leave you down there all day." He smiled wryly. "It's getting kind of chilly. I think I'm going to wait in the car."

"You can't just leave me down here!" She yelled out after him.

"I'm not. I can see your ladder coming this way now." He threw out over his shoulder as he walked away.

She had to wait another five minutes before the tech came (leisurely) walking up with the ladder over one shoulder. After grabbing her things and climbing out of the pit, sending a glare the tech's way while she was at it, she began to make her way back to the SUV.

As she walked down the barely-there trail towards the maintenance road where they had parked, she found that Agent Douglass had been right—it was getting a little chilly. Pulling her light jacket closer to herself, she continued.

About ten minutes later, the trees began to thin, and she could see the outline of his SUV. Not particularly thrilled with the thought of another uncomfortable ride with Agent Douglass, she took her time placing her things in the back.

"So, I see you did manage to find your way out of that pit after all." He said when she climbed into the passenger's seat.

"Yes, I did. Now, can we get back to the Jeffersonian? I have work to do."

"Isn't that all you ever do?" He asked, pulling off the side of the road. "From what I've heard…"

"At least I'm doing something valuable with my time." She shot back, her gaze focused on the scenery passing outside her window.

"What, identifying bodies that have been dead for years when you're not on cases? How is that something valuable?"

"I'm giving them back a face, a name. You're just trying to figure out whether some guy is a threat or not."

"I'm working to keep the country safe."

"Of course you are. Fighting terrorists that may, or may not, exist." He fell into a stony silence then, and she sighed again, turning her attention away from him.

"How can people stand to work with you?" He said softly a few minutes later. "I'm serious, how can they, when you act like…this?" It almost sounded more as if he was speaking to himself, but when he briefly glanced at her, she realized that he expected an answer.

Evading his question, she responded with one of her own. "How did no one notice that there was a large pit in the middle of the woods? And for so long?" Even as she asked this, she knew the answer was obvious. It was all very similar to the Hastings case she and Booth had worked a few years ago; except this time, there was no legend of a headless witch…and this body had come complete with a skull.

"These woods aren't traveled very often, even during hunting season. Even the trails that exist aren't very well marked, and most people don't venture in very far. They either don't have time, or are worried that they will get lost. That's how."

"Oh. Right."

"You didn't answer my question, Dr. Brennan." He gave her a pointed look, and she took a deep breath.

"I've never had to explain myself before."

"Well, now I'm asking for an explanation. Would you care to grace me with it?"

"No."

"Fine. But, you do realize that two can play at that game?"

"I don't know what that means, but it sounds like it could possibly be immature." She shook her head in confusion.

"I'm not the immature one."

"That statement in and of itself is immature! And you're implying that I'm immature?"

"Yes. You're upset because your beloved partner is gone to Iraq, and you're taking it out on me. How's that for immature?"

"He's not my beloved partner." She murmured, looking down at her hands, clasped in her lap. "He's just my partner." She hated the sadness that crept into her voice as she spoke this half-truth.

"Look, hey, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-" She cut him off before he could continue.

"I just don't want to talk about it, okay?"

"Okay." He reached out and switched on the radio. It was set to a soft rock station, and the music flowing out of it was familiar. Too familiar.

"Keep on tryin', to get home to you." Douglass was singing softly under his breath to the song, and she cringed at how wrong it sounded. He was not supposed to be the one singing along with it.

Not caring if she looked immature or not, she turned the radio off. He looked over at her in shock, and she hid the tears in her eyes by looking out the passenger side window.

"Dr. Brennan?" His voice was soft, concerned.

"Is it all right if we just don't listen to anything?" She asked, pretending to brush a lock of hair away from her face when she was really wiping away a delinquent tear.

"Sure. And…I'm sorry about how I acted." She could tell by the tone of his voice that he knew more about how she was feeling than what he let on. She clenched her jaw, not wanting his sympathy.

"Thanks." She managed to get out through gritted teeth.

It was just a song. What the hell was wrong with her? She couldn't stop remembering that day at the diner; it was running through her mind like a broken record. How he sat across from her, battered and bruised from his latest kidnapping, and got her to sing along with him to a song she hadn't heard or thought of in years. How earlier, she'd asked her father for help to save him. How relieved she had felt when she saw him lying there on the ground, still alive, even if he was bloody and bruised. How, irrationally, she didn't want him to leave when he walked her up to her apartment later.

How she'd wanted one of those 'guy hugs', but was too afraid to ask for one.

"Dr. Brennan? We're at the Jeffersonian." The sound of his voice startled her, and she looked over at him.

"Already?"

"Yeah. Are you all right?" There was that concerned tone in his voice again, and he had a concerned look on his face to match it this time.

"What?" Her hand immediately went up to her face, and to her horror, found that her cheek was wet with tears. "Yeah, I'm fine. This is my copy, right?" She said, picking up a manilla folder.

"Yes. Do you-"

"I'm just going to grab my things from the back and go right in. I'll, um, I'll call you when we find something, all right?" She slammed the door before she could hear his consent, and nearly ran to the back, pulling out her things. Slamming the trunk shut, she made her way into the front of the Jeffersonian.

Did she need psychiatric treatment or something? This was not normal. She was not the type of woman to start crying over nothing, especially not over a song on the radio because it stirred up some old memories.

For god's sake, he wasn't dead.

She entered the lab, the doors swishing open. They shut as she headed towards her office, intending to put her things away and get a good look at the remains. They should be arriving shortly.

"Bren, did something happen? Are you okay?" This is what she was greeted with when she crossed the threshold into her office. Angela, sitting on her couch with a sketch pad open on her lap, with a concerned look to match that of Douglass's.

"I'm fine, Ang. Really." She attempted a smile, but knew that it probably came out as more of a grimace than anything else. Deciding to forgo the normal organization of her fieldwork equipment, she dropped everything except the case file into a pile next to the couch. Setting the file on her desk, she reached for her lab coat.

"Bren, it's not nothing. Normally, I would leave you alone about this, since you would probably end up telling Booth later on, but he's gone. And I'm…I'm worried about you. Since Booth left, all you've been doing is working." Angela stood up and walked over to stand in front of her. Brennan tried to step around her, her lab coat now pulled on over her clothes, but Angela anticipated this and moved with her, still blocking the path out to the lab.

"Angela, the remains?"

"Sweetie." Angela replied, taking her friend's arm gently. Surprisingly, Brennan didn't protest when she led her over to the couch, where she sat and pulled Brennan down with her. "You've been crying. I can see the tear tracks on your face. Did Agent Douglass do something to you? Because if he did, I might just have to-"

"He didn't do anything. And really, I'm fine now." Brennan nodded her head to emphasize her point.

"It's kind of hard to believe when I see you like this. Why won't you talk to me?"

"Because there's nothing wrong, Angela, all right?" Brennan stood, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Dr. Brennan?" Wendell poked his head around the edge of the door frame to find the two women staring at him. Well, Brennan was staring. Angela was glaring. "Did I interrupt something?"

"No." Brennan replied at the same time as Angela said, "Yes."

"Um, okay. Dr. Saroyan just wanted me to tell you that the remains have arrived." He remained in the doorway, frozen for a moment, while they just stared at him. "Um, I'm going to go talk to Hodgins about…" With that, he turned and left.

"We're not done with this, you know." Angela said as Brennan turned and began walking out of the room. She paused, and turned around to give Angela a tired look.

"Why can't you just let it go? I think that by now, I know how to take care of myself. Besides, I have remains to examine." She turned on her heel then, and left.

Sighing, Angela bent over and picked up her sketch pad, staring down at the two people that had taken shape under her steady hand.

"Damn it, Booth, you better come back to her." She murmured, reaching up to rip the picture out of the book. Grabbing a piece of paper out of Brennan's printer, she scribbled a quick note, and left that and the picture on the desk before turning and walking out of the office.