Thank you for all your continued support!

I'm not a doctor, so please correct me on the names of the bones in the hand part later on in the chapter if I got anything wrong. Thanks!

Disclaimer: Nothing of Bones is mine.

The Buildup of the Break

The line. The line, damn it! How could he…How dare he…Why did he…

Brennan groans and buries her head in her pillows. She has never, ever been a late riser—why waste precious time lounging in bed when there are better things to do?—but for some reason, she can't get up today.

It's because she's tired, she reasons. She hasn't had a good night of sleep in a while now. It's also because she's stressed and therefore in need of rest. The work from the Jeffersonian is piling up along with casework and the Maluku project.

But neither of those is the true reason. When she gets really, truly honest with herself, when she cuts it down to the facts, it's because she's afraid. Very simply afraid. She's afraid of what Booth's touch does to her, what it did to her the night before, and she's afraid of going into the Jeffersonian and seeing him. She's afraid of how he'll react and how she'll react, and she's afraid—terribly afraid—of this ache deep in her chest.

She's moving on. She must be moving on. It's been months, almost a year, and it seems almost impossible for her not to move on. But there's this ache, almost physically painful, and she's afraid of what it means. Does it mean she hasn't moved on? That she's incapable of pushing her feelings away? That sometimes, things like love don't weather and fade with time?

With all her heart, she hopes not. It can't be—love has to fade—because she doesn't think she's strong enough to keep going with this for even another couple of months.

Into the silence, her phone rings, and her heart leaps. She knows with a certain anticipation and dread that it's Booth.

Should she answer? Of course she should. If she didn't, it would be a sign that something has changed between them, and she can't let that happen—can't let the crack between them widen. So she pushes herself up off the bed and grabs the phone up from the table.

"Doctor Brennan," she says, even though she knows it's Booth.

"Doctor Brennan! Hi, it's Hannah."

She feels a strange mix of surprise, disappointment, and relief. Hannah? She looks down and finds that the reporter's calling on Booth's phone. After a moment, she raises the phone back to her ear with a frown.

"Hello, Hannah. Do you need something?"

"Yeah, Seeley asked me to call you."

"Oh." Her frown deepens as she untwists herself from her blankets and slides off her bed. Yawning, she asks, "Where is he?"

"In the shower."

Oh. In the shower. She twists to glance at the clock on her nightstand. "It's ten-thirty. Isn't he late?"

Hannah laughs, a crackle through the phone. "Yes, well, he had a pretty late night. I won't go into details."

Oh. Oh. She freezes in place, trying to work out how she feels about that. For a long moment, she just stands there, the phone pressed against her ear, light filtering in through the curtains of her window. Just breathing. And then, in a rush, there's hurt and surprise and anger, such anger she has the sudden, irrational urge to throw her phone against the wall. Bastard. Bastard. Kiss her, smudge that damn line he'd made in the first place, and then have a late night with his girlfriend. That very night. Like what he'd done hadn't affected him at all, like it had been something he could brush off within the space of a few hours.

She wants to curse. She wants to cry. She wants to snap the picture frame sitting on her nightstand in half, the one holding the photograph of her and Booth messing around at the lab. For a long moment, it's all she can do to stand still, breathing evenly, gripping the phone so tightly her knuckles pop.

"Temperance?"

She clears her throat. "Yes?"

"Seeley wanted me to tell you that he'll be dropping by today at around eleven to pick up some files on the case you're working on. Is that okay?"

Eleven. She sits down on the bed, crosses her legs, and takes a breath. "I'm actually not at the Jeffersonian right now." She makes a split second decision and adds, "I'm very busy today, and I won't be at the Jeffersonian. Please tell Booth that he can pick up the files tomorrow, or I'll have Cam pull them out for him if he really needs them."

"Oh…all right. I'll tell him when he's done showering."

"Please." Without waiting for a reply, Brennan ends the call and tosses the phone onto the blankets beside her. She sits there for a long while, letting the emotions roil within her, letting them free. She's safe at her house, safe to let herself go in a way she never would with company. She grits her teeth and, in a completely irrational fit of anger, grabs her pillow and launches it across the room. It hits her dresser, and something tumbles off, hitting the ground with a quiet thump.

It's Jasper the pig, she realizes. There's certain poetic justice to that. She stubbornly averts her gaze from the fallen figurine, refusing the urge to get up and make sure it's not broken or damaged in any way.

Five minutes pass. Her phone doesn't ring. She doesn't know if she's angry or relieved at that. She's expecting Booth to call back within minutes, to ask what she's doing if she isn't going to be at the Jeffersonian, to say everything he usually does when she acts off. But he doesn't call. Part of her is glad she doesn't have to talk to him, the part that doubts her own self-control. Part of her wonders if he even cares anymore.

Slowly, she gets up again and takes a long, hot shower. Afterwards, toweling her hair dry, she stands in front of the mirror and looks in.

Blue eyes. Brown hair. A strong mandible, a good zygomatic structure. Anthropologically speaking, she's beautiful. Of course men would want to court her. Of course they do stupid, stupid things like declaring their love for her, for thirty, forty, fifty years. Physical attraction, that's all it is. When physical attraction fades, attention and "love" wanes. That's why Booth has moved on so quickly, and that's why she's feeling this ache. Because she's still physically attracted to him. That's all.

That's all.

With a quiet sigh, she touches the bandage on her forehead. The stitches have already been taken out, and she's been assured that there won't even be a scar. A couple of weeks more and her wrist will have healed too. All evidence of her run-in in the bar will be gone. Forgotten.

She's glad. She doesn't like being reminded of times when she's lost control. When her walls have fractured and she breaks.

With another sigh, she pads back into her bedroom and find a comfortable t-shirt and jeans to wriggle into. She pauses by the bed, her eyes darting to her phone. Has he called? Maybe he called in the shower, where the water drowned out the ringing. After a moment of hesitation, she grabs the phone and flips it open.

MISSED CALLS (0)

She swallows. Asks herself whether it matters if he's called or not. Decides it doesn't.

She tosses the phone back onto her bed and grabs her coat from her closet before striding into her living room. Since she's essentially given herself the day off and since she can't access her case files without visiting the Jeffersonian, she's got all day and no plans. For a moment, she's at a loss. It's been years since she took time off, years since she had time to herself. She can always call her father. Or Russ. She can always visit her nieces.

Yes, that's what she'll do. It's been too long since she's seen them anyway, so she slips on her coat and opens the door.

And stops, torn. Something pulls her back to the bedroom, to the phone lying on her covers. What if he calls? What if he needs her? But a greater part of her resists the sudden dependency she's developed. Why should it matter to her if he calls or not? Since when has she been so divided over such a little issue as a phone?

She lets logic take its course, as she always does when she is undecided. Logically, if Booth calls her and doesn't reach her, he'll become worried. According to past experience, he'll overreact and become frantic if she doesn't return his call within the hour, calling in his favors at FBI and contacting everyone who might have the slightest idea where she is. And then when he finally reaches her, he'll be angry and scold her for not checking in with him. Like she's a child.

With a sigh, she heads back to the bedroom and scoops up her phone from the bedcovers. She'll take it, if only to spare herself the headache of worrying Booth.

That's what she tells herself, at least.

He won't call her, he thinks stubbornly. He promises himself he won't call her. If he calls her—if he even thinks about her for too long—it'll mean he hasn't moved on. It'll mean he's still stuck on the past, on her. And he has moved on, damn it. He's moved on.

It's much, much harder than he'd expected. He almost reached for his phone this morning when he woke up, to tell her he needed to pick up some case files just to hear her voice. To hear that they're still okay, even after what he did. But he'd been a coward. He'd ducked into the shower and asked Hannah to call instead, turning the water on loud and hot to drown out their conversation. And then he'd come out, feeling marginally better, to hear that Bones wasn't even going to be at the Jeffersonian today.

Bones isn't going to be at work. When in the history of their entire relationship together has she ever voluntarily taken a vacation? A break? Never. She probably wouldn't leave the Jeffersonian even if it were burning down around her ears.

Something's gone wrong in the world. In their partnership.

He realizes then that something has broken between them. Something so deep, so profound, that he doesn't know if he'll ever be able to fix it. But what?

His fingers itch. Sitting on his bed, listening to the patter of water of Hannah in the shower, he reaches for his phone. Once. Twice. Pulls back both times. No, he can't call. He's stronger than this. He's stronger than this.

With a groan, he leaves the bedroom and pads to the kitchen. He fixes up coffee, digs out a box of cereal, and pours himself a bowl with milk. What the hell is Bones doing? If she's not at work, what's she up to? Sleeping? He gets a flash of Bones with her face buried in a pillow and her body all twisted up in the blankets, her shorts ending halfway up her thighs and her shirt riding up in a delightfully—

Goddamn it. Stop thinking of Bones, you stupid, stupid idiot. Especially like that.

He's saved from falling back into his thoughts when Hannah comes up behind him in shorts and a shirt, her hair still gleaming wet from the shower. She tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek and asks, "What's for breakfast?"

He gives her a weak smile. "Cereal. Or leftover pizza, take your pick."

She reaches up to grab the cereal box from above the refrigerator. "Cereal it is."

He watches her, watches the way sunlight plays with her golden hair, and feels his heart thump. He loves this woman. He loves her. He loves her so much that—

His ears catch the rising melody of his ring tone. In an instant, he's out of his seat. "Gotta get this," he calls back to Hannah, hurrying down the hallway and pushing open the bedroom door. "Work." It isn't entirely a lie.

He grabs the phone up from the table and eagerly scans the caller ID. Angela. Right. He pretends he isn't disappointed and flips the phone open.

"Hello?"

"Booth. Is Brennan with you?"

He runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head, even though she can't see him. "No. Why?"

"Because she's not here yet, that's why, and it's almost eleven-thirty. Bren never misses work. Ever. I mean, the last time she wasn't here, it was because—"

She cuts off short, but they both already know. They both remember as if it were yesterday. The last time Bones didn't show up to work, she'd been buried alive in a car by a serial killer.

At that thought, a chill shoots through him. He says as evenly as he can manage, "Hannah called her earlier today, and Bones said she wasn't coming into the Jeffersonian today. She was busy with something else. Does that sound normal?"

"Uh…no. Do you even have to ask that question, Booth? Did you hear her voice?"

"No."

Her voice rises anxiously. "Then what if it wasn't her? What if it was a recording or something? Maybe she's already been kidnapped! Booth!"

Okay, now he's starting to panic a little too, even though he knows perfectly well that Bones is probably fine and just sleeping in today. She's probably just tired and overworked, or maybe sick.

Sick. Even that causes him to panic.

"Have you called her?" he asks, forcing himself to sit on the bed instead of pacing a rut into the ground.

"Yeah. She isn't answering."

Bones isn't answering? Bones always answers. He feels another chill tingle down his spine and can't help but leap up and pace to the window and back.

"Okay. I'm going to try calling her, and I'll call you back," he tells Angela. She gives him the okay, and he ends the call before hitting speed dial number one. The phone rings for one agonizing moment…two…three…

You've reached Doctor Temperance Brennan. I am preoccupied at the moment, but leave a message and I will contact you as soon as possible.

Oh God. She's not picking up.

He tries again, pacing another couple of rounds in the room. Again, it goes to her voicemail. He tries to keep from panicking. There must be a logical explanation to this. She might be sleeping, and her phone might be somewhere else. She could have simply forgotten her phone wherever she was going. Maybe she's in the shower. Whatever it is, there are a million reasons besides kidnapping that justifies her not answering her phone. But still…

Hannah pokes her head in the bedroom. "Something wrong?"

He shakes his head. "You sure Bon—Doctor Brennan picked up earlier?"

She nods, clearly confused. "Of course. Who else?"

"You heard her voice?" Booth presses. "You definitely heard her voice?"

Hannah nods again, slowly. "I definitely heard her voice."

His mind whirls. Maybe Bones was under duress. Maybe some bastard had had a gun to her head, and she'd been saying all sorts of things to keep from getting shot. The thought sends a thrill of terror shooting through him, and he swallows hard.

"I have to make sure she's okay," he tells Hannah, heading for the door. "She's not answering her phone."

Hannah follows on his heels as he grabs his coat from the couch and shoves on his shoes. "She could just be in the shower, Seeley," she says, sounding almost exasperated. "Or her phone's dead. Or she dropped it down the toilet. Just because you haven't heard from her in an hour doesn't mean something's happened to her."

No, that's exactly what it means, because Bones doesn't just not answer her phone. He slips on his jacket hurriedly and shakes his head. "She always answers, Hannah. If she doesn't…" He doesn't finish the thought, but they both hear it anyway. If she doesn't, something's wrong.

Hannah nods wearily, her arms crossed. "Let me know if she's okay, then." She looks so tired at that moment that Booth feels a horrible pang of guilt. He knows she's tired of him rushing off with little to no explanation and with seemingly little to no reason. He knows that him rushing off all the time to take care of his partner isn't the life she signed up for when she moved here with him. She wanted to be cared for, to be loved, to feel more important than anyone else in his life. He realizes suddenly that he's doing a terrible job of it.

He steps back from the doorway and pulls her into an impulsive kiss. She stiffens against him for a moment before pressing back against him, her eyes closing.

"I love you," he says as sincerely as he knows how. Somehow, awfully, it feels suddenly like a lie. He shoves the thought away. "I do. This—always running out like this—doesn't change that."

She looks him in the eye and smiles. "I know," she says softly. "You gotta do what you gotta do. I don't want to hold you back."

What has he ever done to deserve her? He bends down to kiss her again, and at that moment, his phone rings piercingly through the silence. In an instant, it's jammed up against his ear, and he says a bit breathlessly, "Hello?"

"Booth? It's Brennan."

His knees go weak with relief. "Oh, Bones. Thank God."

She sounds resigned. "I would tell you not to worry, but you've clearly already done that. I don't appreciate your overprotective behavior."

"Overprotective?" He exhales. "For all I know, you could have been kidnapped!"

"Because I didn't answer my phone? Booth, that's a far-fetched conclusion to draw. I could simply be out of hearing range. Or bathing. Or having sex."

"Oh my god, Bones." He exhales again, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes briefly. "I really don't need to know about that. Seriously." Especially since the all-too-familiar jealousy is already rearing its ugly head.

He gets the feeling she's shrugging. "It's a valid situation."

Yes, it is. He definitely doesn't want her picking up her phone while she's in bed with a guy. Not unless he can chuck his phone out the window immediately afterwards.

With a sigh, he asks resignedly, "So why didn't you pick up the phone?"

She pauses. One second passes, then another. He hears her take a breath. "I stepped outside for a moment and missed your call."

"You're lying," he says flatly. "I can tell."

She sounds confused. "No, you can't."

"Yes, I can. I can hear it in your voice."

"My tone is completely objective—"

"Bones." He says her name sternly, in his no-nonsense voice. She sighs in response.

"Booth, I just think you should stop worrying about me so much. Quite frankly, it's annoying. I have a life outside of you and the job, and I can't always answer my phone. Please stop calling me so frequently and then panicking when I don't pick up. I don't need you to take care of me."

He feels her words, fed to him so dispassionately, hit him like a punch to the gut. She's said things like this to him before, but always with a frustrated edge to her voice, some emotion. This time, they're delivered with perfect coolness. Like he isn't worth getting frustrated over anymore.

"Bones?" he asks tentatively, wishing he could see her face-to-face. Wishing he could read her expression, her body language, anything.

"I'm quite busy today, Booth. So if you don't mind."

"I mind—" he manages before she hangs up on him. Hangs up on him.

Since when has she hung up on him without so much as a Goodbye, Booth?

He glances up in confusion and irritation and meets Hannah's eyes. She raises an eyebrow. "Well? Is she okay?"

He shrugs. "She's fine."

He thinks. He hopes.

He realizes with sudden sickening certainty that this confirms it: something's definitely cracked in their partnership. Like glass splintering, a thousand hairline cracks appearing across the once-glossy surface. Maybe they'll shatter today, maybe tomorrow. He wonders in despair when those cracks appeared and why—why—he hasn't noticed until too late. Is there time to fix it? Or will their partnership, that fractured glass, shatter into a hundred pieces forever?

She shuts the phone with a deep breath. Damn it. She lost control again. She got angry, angry that he kissed her, and then went back to his girlfriend like nothing had happened, and then called to check up on her like she was a child. Like she isn't capable of taking care of herself. He's sending her all these mixed signals and he expects her to grin and bear it like the good friend and partner she is? Like she isn't capable of being hurt too?

She clenches her hands on the steering wheel and pulls to a stop. It takes her a moment to realize that she hasn't gone to visit Russ at all. She's at the mall, at the reflecting pool. In the distance, there's the coffee cart, throwing shadows under the sun.

Why is she here?

She decides not to question it. Logically, it's morning, and she's tired. Her body instinctively sought out nourishment, and coffee was what it came to. So she parks and locks her car before striding toward the coffee cart.

She orders a coffee, her hands tucked in her pockets for warmth, before finding an unoccupied bench. The bench. The one that a year ago, she and Booth had agreed to rendezvous at. A whole year ago, three hundred sixty-five days. Nothing should change much in a year. Evolution takes thousands of years to occur. But things did change. Booth came back, and she came back, and Angela and Hodgins came back, but it wasn't the same. It hasn't been the same since.

With a sigh, she sips her coffee and gazes out at the pool. She's tired of waiting to move on, too tired. She just wants to do it already, get it over and done with. Why is she stuck in a rut when everyone else has shifted around her to find happiness? Why is she the only one standing still?

"Doctor Bones! Doctor Bones!"

She looks up in shock to find a familiar blond-haired boy bounding up to her, a beaming grin on his face. Parker comes to a skidding stop in front of her and demands with a frown, "Why haven't you been to see me?"

For a moment, she can only stare at him, startled. Then she says slowly, "I haven't been invited by your dad, Parker."

His frown deepens. "Why hasn't he invited you then?"

Because he has a girlfriend now. Shaking away the thought, she asks, "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in school?"

He shakes his head and smiles. "Field trip. We went to the Lincoln Memorial. Did you know he was the sixteenth president?"

She nods and can't help but smile back. "Yes, I did. Did you learn anything else?"

He bobs his head with an excited grin, a smile that transforms his face into a mini-Booth. "Martin Luther King gave his speech there. And the building's in the style of…of…"

"Greek revival," she fills in with a smile. Standing, she says, "Come on. I'll buy you some cake."

They walk back to the coffee cart, and she pays for some chocolate cake that the vendor has on hand. Handing it to a delighted Parker, she leads him back to the bench, and they settle in, her with her coffee and him with his cake.

"You don't want a bite?" he asks around a mouthful. "It's really good."

She shakes her head. "I'm not hungry. You eat it."

He shrugs. "Okay." After another moment of companionable silence, he asks, "You know my dad has a new girlfriend?"

She glances down at him. "Yes. Have you met her?"

Parker nods, licking his fork. "Dad took her camping with us—about two weeks ago, I think? She doesn't know a lot about camping. She knows a lot about other things though."

"Oh?"

Parker nods again. "She taught me about cameras and stuff. She showed Dad how to take good pictures. They looked really neat after we printed them out." He takes another bite of his cake and asks curiously, "How did you break your arm?"

"It's my wrist," she answers, holding up her cast when he reaches out to touch it. "I got into a fight."

Parker makes a face. "Fighting's bad. So is breaking your arm. It itches a lot, doesn't it?"

She smiles and admits, "Yes, it does. But that's a sign it's healing."

He nods self-importantly. "I remember when my arm was broken. It took about six weeks to heal, and it itched real bad. But a lot of people signed my cast, so it was cool. Can I sign your cast?"

Her smile widens, and she says, "Sure. Do you have a pen?"

She waits as he digs a Sharpie out of his backpack before offering her arm to him. He scrawls carefully on the rough plaster, throwing up a hand to cover her eyes when she tries to peer over his shoulder. "No looking!" he commands imperiously. With an amused sigh, she turns away obediently and waits for him to finish his signature.

"Okay," he says finally. "You can look now."

She turns back and raises her arm. Her breath catches as her eyes find the words scrawled on her cast.

Booth loves you.

Sending him a questioning look, she asks, "Why did you write Booth?"

He shrugs. "A bunch of guys in school say using your last name is cooler than using your first one. And you always use Dad's last name, so I wanted to use mine too." He flushes a little and adds, "Those guys in school also say that love is for girls, but Dad always says you should tell people you love that you love them, because sometimes they don't know."

She looks at him for a long moment, wondering if he knows how hard those words on her cast have hit her. They hit her with a weight that almost knocks the breath out of her, because she realizes all over again what she's lost. Booth loves you. Once. Only once. What had she given up? What had she run from, blindly escaping without ever knowing what she could have had?

She swallows hard and forces a smile. "Thank you, Parker. That's very sweet of you."

He beams at her. "Do you want me to draw a picture too?"

He looks so eager she can't refuse him. So, wordlessly, she offers up her arm again, and he sets to work. She teasingly tries to peer over his shoulder again, but he shoots her a glare that makes her turn away in surrender.

"There!" he exclaims happily after a long moment. "Okay, you can look now."

She looks, and her breath catches again. There's just something about Parker that surprises her every time, and it isn't different now. He does little things that hit her like a punch to the gut, and as logical as she is, as intelligent, she is somehow always caught off guard.

Three stick figures dance along above the words, one labeled Dad, one labeled Parker, and the last one—the only one with hair and a skirt—labeled Bones. They all hold hands with wide smiles on their faces, looking for all the world like a little family.

"Sorry about the stick figures," Parker says apologetically. "I'm taking art in school, but I'm not very good at it. There's a girl next to me though who's really good. Her name's Jordan, and everything she draws is really real!" He thinks for a moment and adds, "Not as good as Angela's drawings, but they're pretty good anyway."

Tearing her eyes away from the drawing, Brennan smiles at him. "Thank you, Parker. I love the drawing." She checks her watch and realizes that almost twenty-five minutes have passed already. Worriedly, she asks, "Where's the rest of your group, Parker? Isn't your teacher going to be worried?"

A look of alarm shoots across his face, and his eyes go wide. "Oh no. I saw you sitting here and told my teacher I had to go to the bathroom. I didn't mean to be gone this long." With a groan, he slides down in his seat. "Ms. Tyler's going to be so mad."

Hurriedly, Brennan rises and holds out her hand to him. "Come on. I'll walk you back to your group and explain things."

They hurry back to where the school bus is clearly parked, and a hassled-looking teacher catches sight of them. Her eyes go wide with relief, and she rushes over, her expression angry.

"Parker! Where have you been? Heavens! I've been looking for you everywhere!"

She grabs his arm, and he lets out a yelp. Brennan moves forward automatically and says, "You're hurting him."

The woman releases Parker and says, "I'm sorry, it's just—Never mind." She makes an attempt at a smile and extends her hand. "My name is Jenny Tyler. Thank you so much for bringing this boy back."

"Doctor Temperance Brennan," she returns, shaking hands quickly and awkwardly with her cast-covered hand. "Parker was just talking with me for a little bit. I hope he doesn't get into too much trouble."

Ms. Tyler sighs heavily. "This is against the rules. He'll be suspended from field trips at the very least, and we'll have to call his father down."

"Oh, you don't have to call Booth," Brennan assures her quickly. "I can tell him if you want."

Ms. Tyler's eyes widen. "You know Seeley Booth?"

She nods. "I work with him."

The teacher frowns. "I still have to give him a call, though. It's school policy, and we can't get around it."

Parker turns to give her a wide-eyed look. "I'm going to get into so much trouble," he whispers.

Brennan gives him a reassuring smile. "Don't worry. I'll speak with your father." She doesn't remember that she's not exactly on good terms with Booth at the moment; she just feels oddly protective of Parker, and the need to defend him is almost automatic.

"Would you like to be present at the conference then?" Ms. Tyler suggests politely. "I can schedule it for today at four. Does that work for you?"

Parker's face flushes with such acute relief that she can't refuse. So she nods and gives Ms. Tyler her number, just in case she needs to be contacted. Then, giving Parker a wave of goodbye, she returns to her car, taking a breath before she turns the key and pulls out and away from the mall.

A little over four hours later, she's sitting in the main office's waiting chairs with Parker by her side. "Phalanges are the finger bones," she explains patiently, holding up her uninjured hand as an example. "They are attached to the metacarpal bones here, which are attached to the trapezium, trapezoid, scaphoid, capitate, lunate, hamate, pisiform, and triquetrum."

"Phalanges," Parker mutters, his brow furrowed. "Metacarpal, trapezium, trampoline—"

"Trapezoid."

"Trapezoid. Scaphoid…" Trailing off, he looks up at her helplessly.

"Capitate, lunate, hamate, pisiform, and triquetrum," she repeats, pointing to them again. At his frustrated sigh, she adds, "You're doing quite well, Parker. You've already memorized some of the axial skeleton, and the appendicular skeleton will come later. If you want—"

Before she can finish, the door swings open, and a harried-looking Booth hurries in, his brow creased with worry. As he catches sight of Parker sitting in the chair kicking his dangling feet, his face breaks into a relieved smile.

"Parker," he says, clearly trying for a stern tone. His severe expression is mostly ruined by his relief, though, and after a moment, he just sighs. "You scared me there, Parker. We're going to have a talk. A long talk."

Parker shrinks in his seat, and Brennan sits up straighter automatically. She opens her mouth to speak, but at that moment, Booth turns and waves a hand.

"Come on, Hannah. No need to be shy."

Hannah? He brought Hannah? Here? Brennan sits in silent surprise as the blond reporter slips in behind Booth, smiling in greeting.

"Hello, Doctor Brennan," she says with a wave. "Hi, Parker."

Brennan catches Booth shooting Parker an expectant look, and his son mumbles, "Hi, Ms. Burley."

Hannah laughs. "Call me Hannah. Ms. Burley makes me feel so old."

"Hannah," Parker repeats dutifully.

"We're all here now?" The principal, up until this moment sitting quietly behind his desk, rises. "Harold Mosley, principal of the school. Pleased to meet you all."

A round of introductions and hand-shaking go around, and soon, they're all settled in chairs across from the principal. He sits back, folding his hands over his stomach, and looks at them over the rims of his glasses.

"Well," he starts, "Parker is here because he violated the rules of the field trip form, which he and his parent signed."

Booth leans forward in his chair to shoot Parker a stern look. "Park…"

Brennan feels the need to qualify. "He wasn't in any danger. He and I had a very pleasant conversation, and I walked him straight back to the bus."

Mr. Mosley frowns. "Still. The rules of the field trip clearly require him to stay with an adult chaperone the entire time."

"Well, then I assume it would be irresponsible of the adult chaperone to allow him to use the restroom unattended?" Brennan points out. "In that case, it wouldn't be his fault at all."

"Bones!" Booth hisses, turning to glare past Hannah at her. "We're not trying to make up excuses for Parker; we're trying to show him that he shouldn't break the rules!"

She sits back in her seat. "Oh. In that case, continue please."

The principal gives them amused looks before continuing. "Since the rules he violated weren't too serious, he should get off without suspension. He won't be able to attend anymore field trips for the rest of the year, though."

Parker looks crestfallen. A heartbeat passes before Booth says, "Isn't that a little harsh?" at the same time Brennan says with a frown, "The punishment should fit the crime." They glance at each other in surprise for a split second before averting their eyes again.

"Crime?" Booth mutters. "It sounds like Parker shoplifted or something."

She shrugs. "Any breach in the rules can be considered a crime."

The principal clears his throat. "Would you like to appeal the decision?"

Booth nods immediately. "I know what Parker did was stupid and irresponsible, and you can bet he's going to get a long lecture when he gets home, but I don't think he should be suspended from field trips. Can't he do some community service or something?"

"Community service?" Hannah repeats with a grin. "I thought you said he wasn't a criminal."

Booth sighs. "I mean, helping out teachers or something. Can't he serve detention for a week?"

The principal shakes his head slowly. "I don't know…"

"It is illogical to deprive him of further learning experiences," Brennan cuts in. "He left his group for twenty minutes; he didn't vandalize or disrespect any property, nor did he disrespect the chaperones or guides. Leaving the group can't possibly warrant so severe a punishment."

The principal pauses with a questioning look, and Brennan explains, "I read the permission slip while I was waiting. It clearly states leaving the group without supervision as one of the lesser offenses. I also read the adult chaperone form, which detailed the adult's responsibility to keep up with the children at all times. Therefore, it can be inferred that the fault is both Parker's and his chaperone's."

Principal Mosley shoots a raised eyebrow at Booth. "Is she always like this?"

She can hear the smile in Booth's voice even before she sees it. "Yeah, she is. Is she right though?"

Mosley sighs. "She makes a good point." Parker perks up eagerly, and the principal gives him a small smile. "All right. I'll concede to a week's detention. Agreed?"

They all mutter their agreement and stand. After quick goodbyes, they step out of the office into the hallway.

Booth exhales heavily through his nose. "Parker," he says sternly, "don't think you've gotten out of this. It was incredibly dangerous for you to go off on your own like that."

"It wasn't a great distance," Brennan protests. "And he was perfectly safe with me. Safer, I imagine, because I am highly trained in self-defense."

Booth glares at her irritably, his hands on his hips. "That's not the point, Bones. The point is, what if he got lost? Or he only thought he saw you, and it turned out to be some pedophile on a bench preying on little kids? Or someone snatched him off the road as he was walking over to you? We would've never known what happened. He would've—God, he would've just been gone." Clearly upset, he runs an agitated hand through his hair.

She tries to placate him. "Then you should lecture him, yes, I agree. But this time, it was okay—"

"No, Bones," he says angrily, "it wasn't okay. Saying it's okay one time makes him think it'll be okay the next time too, and then what if it's not okay the next time?"

"Booth—"

He cuts her off, his voice biting. "It's little things, Bones! Little things that lead to big ones. One day it's leaving a field trip without permission, and the next, it's skipping school, and then the next thing you know, he's a high school dropout doing drugs on some godforsaken street corner. Or he's murdering someone, becoming exactly the type of person you and I catch for a living."

"You're overreacting," she says, her brow furrowed.

"No, I'm not," he snaps. Turning to his son, he says sharply, "Parker, you need to understand how dangerous it was for you to walk off like that. If—if the person you saw hadn't been Bones…" He shakes his head. "You shouldn't break rules, ever. Ever, Parker, you understand?"

His son nods quickly, his eyes wide and frightened.

"Booth," Brennan admonishes, stepping forward. "You're scaring him."

"He needs to be scared," Booth shoots back with a glower. "Anything could've happened."

"But it didn't," she says firmly. "It didn't, Booth. He's fine."

"You aren't helping things here, Bones!"

She glares right back at him, refusing to be intimidated. "Why are you so angry, Booth?"

That makes him pause. For a moment, he just stares at her, clearly caught off guard. But, not even a second later, he turns the tables on her in that sure, intuitive manner he has, asking, "Why did you hang up on me earlier?"

Damn it. She should have known he would catch her coolness toward him. She should have known he would ask her about it. Now she wishes she'd prepared a coherent answer.

"I—I didn't…"

He steps in again, his height forcing her to lean her head back to catch his eyes. "Yes, you did. You said I was annoying and hung up on me."

"I didn't say you were annoying," she protests. "I said your behavior was. And frankly, it is."

"It's natural!"

"It's sexist! You assume—wrongly—that because I am female and therefore weaker in muscular strength than you, I am inferior and incapable of defending myself."

"I do not think that!"

"Oh?" she challenges. "Then why do you repeatedly insist on checking up on me like I'm a child?"

"Because I worry about you!" he exclaims in exasperation. "You're my partner. Of course I worry!"

"Like you worry about Parker?" she demands hotly. "Because you seem to be overreacting to my missed call just as much as you overreacted to Parker's excursion."

And then she hears what she's said, and her eyes fly open just as wide as his do as they make the connection simultaneously. Like you worry about Parker. The difference is, he loves Parker. There is no way her friendship with Booth can compare to a bond like that. Unless…unless he has the same strength of feelings toward her, which is her implied question. Her stupid, stupid implied question.

Eyes wide, she steps back. "No, don't answer that."

He reaches for her, his expressions softening. "Bones…"

She holds up her hand to ward him off. "Booth…" But she doesn't know what to say. She's a mess of emotions inside, anger and confusion and fear all mixed into one.

His eyes slide down to her arm, to the words and picture scrawled on her cast, and his eyes fly up to meet hers in shock. "Who—did Parker draw that?"

Bewildered by the sudden change in topic, she nods slowly. "Yes, when he came to talk to me during his field trip."

He reaches out slowly and touches her arm, tracing his fingers along the word loves and the picture of the three of them holding hands and smiling. Even though there's a cast, even though she can't feel his fingers on her skin, she trembles at his touch. Instantly, she's furious at her own reaction, but somehow, she can't help it. She tries to look away, but he catches her eyes with an intensity in his gaze that makes her breath catch.

Abruptly, he wheels away, spinning on his heel toward Parker. "Come on, Parker. Let's get going." His voice sounds strange, strained almost. Brimming with emotion she can't identify.

Parker takes Booth's hand obediently, and Hannah joins them on Booth's other side. Brennan starts at the sight of her, having nearly forgotten the reporter was there at all. Parker cranes his neck and waves to her, but Booth strides off without so much as a goodbye, leaving Brennan standing alone in the foyer of the school.

Watching them, watching their picture-perfect family making their way to Booth's SUV, she's struck with the loss of it all. She remembers the days she was the one on the other side of Booth, leading a giggling Parker through the zoo, or through the Jeffersonian. She remembers the time Booth forced her to take Parker trick-or-treating when he was busy with casework, and she remembers the chagrined look he gave her when they returned with a pillowcase full of raisins and healthy snacks. She remembers the days she stood where Hannah is now.

With another pang of loss, she wonders if, by turning down her partner all those months ago on those steps, she let go of both Booths without ever intending to.

Leave me your thoughts please!