A/N: A little something to tide you over until the new epi (unless you are from Canada and have already seen the new epi. In which case you are a brat)...I so appreciate your great responses to the first chapter and hope you'll continue to leave feedback, as it may be helpful to me as I choose the paths to guide this story.

And of course it's not his daughter, peeps. Booth is only allowed to have the baby he's already got, and his future ones with Bren. Anything else is sacrilege.;)

--

"So. They've known each other for a few months now. And he's seen her three times…on dates, I guess. But he hasn't slept with her yet."

He'd been perusing the document she'd handed him pertaining to their last case, but now he looked up and wrinkled his nose. "Why do you know that? You asked your father about his sex life?"

She shrugged. "I was curious."

Shaking his head, he pulled up a chair to the backside of her desk, easing into it. "How do you feel now that you talked to him?"

Crossing her arms, she pursed her lips a little in thought. "Better, I suppose. He was very understanding and didn't make me feel badly for being so irrational. He also assured me of my and my mother's relative position as the women in his life." A small smile graced her lips. "It's the top position."

He could help but return that smile. "Of course it is, Bones."

"It still feels uncomfortable to me--his dating--but…I'd imagine that feeling will subside the more time I have to get accustomed to it. And that it will remain beneficial for me to keep an open and honest line of communication with my father."

"Thatta girl," he approved, smile fading as he gazed into her trusting eyes. He was proud of her; she'd been so good with heart stuff lately, and some of it he'd even deign to take credit for. Right now, though, he found himself almost jealous of her, how easily she'd resolved all this.

He had no one to turn to with this one. The easiest way to deal with what had happened last night was to forget all about it.

Except he couldn't. He could barely fucking concentrate.

"So are you going to tell me what's wrong?" she prodded as if reading his mind, and his eyes widened in surprise.

"Nothing's wrong," he tried, futilely.

"Are you sure? Because you appear very distracted today, and I've noticed that twitch in your jaw twice since you've been here, which usually indicates stress on your part. Also, you haven't shaved today which typically means you overslept. And you only do that when you've slept fitfully and…"

"Alright, alright," he groused. It was times like these when he couldn't fathom how she didn't know about his feelings for her. She could read every fucking other thing.

"Someone visited me last night after you left."

Her brow wrinkled. "Who?"

Reaching in his pocket, he found the folded-up picture and pushed it to her, silently.

After he'd closed the door on his unwanted guest last night, a few moments had passed before that picture was slid back under his door. This time, there was writing on the back. Call when you're ready to talk, along with a scribbled phone number with a Virginia area code. It had pissed him off, that she'd used the word 'when'. He'd immediately crumpled it up and threw it in the garbage can.

An hour later, he'd pulled it back out. He didn't know why. Maybe it was because he knew Bones would want to see.

He fingers made an attempt at smoothing out the wrinkles as she stared at it. "I don't know these people. But this man has a similar jaw structure to yours, and the setting of his eyes is familiar as well." She looked up, unsurprised. "Your father, I'm assuming."

"That'd be him," he responded dryly, standing and rubbing his face.

"I see." She glanced at it once more before turning her attention back to him. "And the person who visited you…"

"The girl." He gestured without looking.

"Oh." She hesitated, obviously worried about pressing this conversation that he wasn't taking part in easily. "What did you talk about?"

He looked up at her disbelievingly. "We didn't talk, Bones. I sent her away."

She didn't respond, but her brow furrowed, troubled. He was on the defense, and the expression was all he needed to snap. "Why shouldn't I have sent her away? I didn't ask for her to come. I made a decision a long time ago not to worry about what happened to my old man; he's not a part of my life and I don't want him to be. Why should I have to change my mind about that for a stranger?"

"You're right, Booth, you shouldn't have to change your mind," Bones responded quickly, probably wondering how she got into trouble without saying a word. "You have every right to decide who you do and don't let into your life."

"Yeah, damn straight," he growled, looking at her and still being annoyed by the uncertainty he saw in her eyes. "But what?"

"But nothing."

"No, just say it. I want to answer your questions," he insisted.

She sighed, laying the picture face down on her desk. "I'm just…surprised, that's all. You told me yesterday that family trumps everything."

His fists clenched. He needed her to understand this, but…he didn't quite understand it himself. "Family, Bones, yes. Family are the ones who take care of you, look out for you, like my Pops did for me, and your Squints do for you. My dad didn't do those things. He was too drunk to love us. The way he treated Jared and my mom…" Anger boiled hotly inside him at the memory, and he knew he needed to stop this before he punched a hole in one of Bones' well-decorated office walls. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to relax a little. "He doesn't deserve my consideration."

Bones spoke quietly. "That's how I felt about my father when he came back, too."

"That's different. Your father loves you."

"You don't think your father loved you?"

He squirmed under her innocent questions. The fact was that he had contemplated that very issue a thousand times, and had never come up with a satisfactory answer. He'd so rarely seen his father sober, and when he was drunk he was angry, impetuous, quick to harsh words and violence. During the time in his life when nothing was more important than his father's approval, he more frequently received a literal slap in the face.

But then there were other times….just a few Booth remembered him being sober. Once there was a fishing trip, him and Jared and his dad out on a boat. They'd been out there all day; his old man had caught five, Jared two. Booth himself couldn't catch anything to save his life. His dad had lingered out on the water with him until it got dark and he started to shiver, thinking his luck would change if he just waited this one out. Finally they had to head home. Jared had teased him mercilessly about being a bad fisherman, but his dad…

His dad had examined his fishing pole, then clapped him on the shoulder. "It's the rod, son. You can't catch anything with this; we'll get you a carbon fiber one for Christmas, okay?" He'd smiled reassuringly. It was one of his rare sober days. Booth knew, at least a little even then, that it was a lie; there was nothing wrong with his rod, it was the very same one his brother had.

His father was capable of kindness. That's what was so upsetting now, when he remembered just how infrequent it was. The fucking booze.

"I don't know," he muttered now. "If he did, I think it just pisses me off more. And it's not like he's the one here; it's his daughter. Which just proves, if he knows she's here, that he's still a coward."

Bones' face was sympathetic, and he found himself suddenly uncomfortable with the shift that just occurred in the past five minutes…she was the one with the loving father, skilled and knowledgeable about the art of forgiving; the one with the family. He was the broken and angry one, the hard-hearted one. He was suddenly struck with regret for even bringing this up.

"Let's just let it go, Bones. We've got more important things to do." He brushed the sleeves of his jacket, as if he could brush off this whole unpleasant conversation. "I'll give you a call later if we get a case."

"Are you sure?" she asked, but he was already three quarters of the way to the door.

"Very."

"You forgot this," she called out, holding up the picture as his hand reached the doorknob.

He considered for a split second before simply saying, "Keep it. Throw it out," and then leaving her behind. It was out of his hands now. And it was a blessed relief.

--

Despite his assertions of business and the momentary respite from the burden of that picture, he was still having a great deal of trouble focusing today. His irritability was enough to keep co-workers from bothering him too much, but his racing mind prevented efficiency, even in the tedium of paperwork.

He wondered about the girl he kicked from his doorstep…how old she was. What her motives were. How she even found him. He tried to answer each of those questions with "it doesn't matter," but they seemed to haunt him anyway.

Ever since his father had left his family, Booth had repressed his curiosity about what happened to him. It always struck him as the most likely possibility that he'd hung on a few more years, drinking and maybe begging until he died of cirrhosis somewhere. Of course, he always knew there was a possibility that he was still alive; maybe having started a new life somewhere, making other people miserable. On the edges of his consciousness, he might have even acknowledged the prospect that his dad might have pulled his shit together, and was not just alive but alive and well.

Still, the evidence of his father's continued existence…in the form of a young, doe-eyed girl who'd looked so hopeful as she pushed the picture into his hand…had hit him hard. Now that he knew her connection to him, he noticed things about her in spite of himself. The thick, dark hair and brown eyes, and olive skin, were the dominant genes in his family…very Booth. The curls came from elsewhere, as did the height…she could be no more than 5'2". She looked like a teenager, fighting with the remnants of baby fat; the kind of pretty that would probably never make it beyond cute to beautiful, although he suspected she might be older from the way she carried herself.

And the smile.

His father smiled so rarely, he hardly remembered what it looked like. But he was smiling in the picture, and the girl's was a solid match.

Those smiles didn't look forced. The twinkles in their eyes seemed genuine. And his dad looked…clearer…than he ever recalled seeing him.

"Stop it, Seeley," he muttered to himself under his breath. He never thought he'd see a day when he preferred obsessing about being in love with Bones, but right now he wished it was the foremost thing on his mind again. At the moment, when he thought about her, the first thing he felt was the sense of being an enormous hypocrite.

He left work early, turning down happy hour with his buddy Terry in favor of picking up the case of beer he'd forgotten about last night, nursing a decent portion of it well into the evening. His phone rung twice; once it was Bones, and he ignored it, not wanting to pick up the conversation where it left off today, or hear the worried tone in her voice. The second time it was his son, and he did take that one, putting aside his morbid thoughts to laugh at Parker's jokes and stories. There wasn't a tragedy in the universe that would make him forget about being a good father. It was just too fucking important.

Before he went to bed, half-buzzed on all the beer and still not feeling any lighter, he listened to his message; Bones wanted to get coffee before work tomorrow. He let out an internal groan, but still texted her to agree. Despite his annoyance with the world, he knew she'd only get more concerned about him if he avoided her. And he wasn't mad at her.

Yet.

--

Bones never minced words. He'd just sat down across from her in the coffee shop, steaming cup in hand, when she pushed the now-too-fucking-familiar picture at him, blurted it out.

"Her name is Gabrielle."

He could feel the blood rushing to face, a sick feeling coiling in his stomach. "Bones. You didn't."

"She's 20, and a V.C.U. student. She's here with her fiancé. She's known about you all her life, but something prompted her to come to find you now. She said she'd rather talk to you about that in person."

Forcing words through gritted teeth, he responded. "Why would you call her? Why? I told you I didn't want anything to do with this."

She took a deep breath, pushing a strand of silky hair behind her ear. "I know your feelings are clouded by the anger you feel toward your father…just like mine were. But I also know your beliefs about the importance of family, and I didn't want you to miss this opportunity to know your sister just because you're mad at your dad. At least not without knowing what she wants first."

"Bones, that…" He took a breath, not trusting himself not to scream at her. Which she probably deserved, but he didn't want to get arrested for domestic abuse in a coffee shop. "That was so incredibly intrusive."

"You helped me with my family issues," she justified.

"Because you asked me to help! I did not ask you!" He rubbed his forehead disbelievingly.

"I'm sorry, Booth. I've obviously upset you. But it doesn't change my suggestion that you talk to her yourself. She's not going to pressure you to see your father." She paused, and then her voice dropped to the vulnerable tone he could rarely resist. "She just wants to know you. I can understand that…wanting to know your family."

He sat the cup he'd been holding ever since she ambushed him down with a hard thud and forced his voice to stay even. "Bones. I want you to know what I'm not abandoning you. But I am fuming at you at this moment, and want to leave this situation before I shoot another clown. Do you understand that?"

Thankfully she nodded, reasonable to the very core, and he stood, grabbing his jacket and coffee to take his leave. Before he made it a step away, she had grabbed his hand. Pissed at her or not, her touch was still electric, and it shocked the movement out of him.

She pressed the picture…and the number…into his hand. "Just think about it," she said softly. "That's all anybody can ask."

His immediate urge was to tell her he had thought about it, and decided abso-fucking-lutely not. But instead, his hand closed, and the burden was back in his possession. "Yeah. I'll talk to you later."

He felt her eyes on him as he walked out the door, and felt the weight of her faith heavily on his shoulders.

--

He called his grandfather that night, because somehow talking to him always made him feel a little more secure.

"Shrimp! To what do I owe the pleasure? You having girl problems again?"

"I don't have girl problems, Pops," he sighed, and the older man snorted.

"I don't think so."

He changed the topic before his nosy grandfather could make the conversation any more awkward. "Pops, did you ever think about what you would do if Dad came back and wanted to see you?"

Hank's voice changed. "Did you hear from him, Seeley?"

"No. I just wondered if it ever crossed your mind."

"Of course it did. Of course it does. Just because he was a screw-up as a man and a father…he's still my son."

"So you think you'd talk to him?"

"Well. I don't know. I suppose it would depend on what he had to say."

"But you'd give him a chance to say it."

"What's going on, son? What's got you thinking all of this?"

Now he'd gotten his grandfather all worked up, and he groaned internally. "Nothing you have to worry about." He paused. "You know, in all the ways that counted, you were my Dad. I'm never going to forget that."

"I know that, Seeley. But hey, I don't want you to forget where you came from, either, okay? It's all a part of you. It all made you what you are."

"I won't forget. I can't," he said gloomily.

"Cheer up, boy. You've got a good life. And a pretty damn good heart. Use it, why don't you?"

He always enjoyed talking to Hank, but this time he felt no less troubled. Again, he pulled out the abused and abandoned photograph that had so recently landed in his possession.

This girl and him…Gabrielle, Bones had said her name was…they came from the same place. She was born innocent to the very same man who had once taken him fishing. The man who'd also given him a black eye when he accidentally dinged the car playing football with his brother.

Studying her face, he found it devoid of fear…at least for the photograph. Had she been hit, too? Had she grown up learning to keep a wide berth from the man, quietly cleaning up broken vodka bottles and calling work to tell them her dad was sick and wouldn't be in today? Had she had to explain away bruises and broken bones?

Or…was he a different father to her?

Both options angered him in different ways.

He found the unanswered questions played in his mind louder the more he told them to shut the fuck up.

This wasn't going to fade away easily. Not now.

He blamed Bones.

He should have known better than to leave that girl's number with her. Bones had come a long way in understanding people, just in the past few years. But discerning the difference between welcome assistance and unwanted intrusion...she wasn't quite there yet.

Yet the fact that she wanted to help…that she'd been taking to heart the things he'd been telling her about family…

Fuck, he didn't want his heart to be warmed right now. What did she have to do to make him love her less?

He eyed the phone warily.

He hadn't wanted to open this door.

But Bones had already turned the knob, and now he felt a centrifugal pull.

As he reached for his cell, he sighed under his breath. "Fuck me."