Chapter 24: Don't Ask Me To Be Lois Lane

Upon returning to the diner, Booth and Brennan found their two hour or so escapade had translated into another serving of food for the Squint Squad. Jumping up and pleased to see them both, everyone rushed to meet them as they staggered through the IHOP doors.

"Looks like you'll really be needing that wheelchair now – huh Agent Booth," chuckled Sweets before gulping at the death glare Booth shot his way. As Sweets blushed, Booth shared a wink with Hodgins.

"Seriously man," confided Hodgins, prying the considerably emptier wine from Booth's fingers, "you might want to sit down."

"Is it weird that I'm starving?" laughed Booth and they all laughed too, ordering another round of sodas and coffees while Brennan pulled out the cookie cake.

"I forgot about this!"

A waiter came up to scold them for bringing in their own food, but Hodgins smoothly pulled him aside and exchanged several low words and what looked like an appeasing amount of cash. Heartily, they all cleared plates and clamored for forks as Brennan precisely divvied and cut the cake into equal wedges. She served everyone along her bench first before reaching across the table to hand a piece to Angela when Cam spoke, shocked.

"Brennan- you're bleeding."

"What?" Immediately Booth sprang into a half crouch, wincing, demanding to see while Sweets turned like a yoga instructor, contorting his body next to her trying to find the source of her blood. Angela and Hodgins were lost in each other.

"It's fine," she soothed the table in general, waving cavalierly.

"How did that happen?" snarled Booth, half demolished cookie cake forgotten.

"What happened?" asked Hodgins, blinking as if walking in from a sunny day; he was still dazzled by Angela.

"Brennan you're shirt – it has blood down one side," exclaimed Angela, finally catching up to everyone else's reality.

Brennan lifted her arm and checked. Sure enough, drenching the thick fabric of her oxford was a thin line of blood. She could feel more sticking to the skin of her side. She shifted, not wanting to soak the rest of the shirt and worry them further.

"It's nothing," she shrugged. "Just a scratch."

"There's blood dripping onto the bench," Daisy observed timidly, scooting towards her Lancelot to closer examine the pool on the wooden booth.

"I should look at it," observed Cam.

"I wanna see," whined Hodgins.

"Sweetie I should come –"

"-looks wicked long-"

"WHAT HAPPENED!" Booth finally bellowed over the clamoring table. They all went silent, staring at his gripping the fork in his hands like a knife.

"The man at the graveyard Booth," she began quietly, trying to hush his tone and shield him from the scandalized other diners by leaning forwards. He leaned forwards too until their faces were inches away.

"The one that attacked you?"

"You guys went to see a grave?" gaped Sweets.

"You took Booth to see his mother?" frowned Cam, as if frowning in both concern and approval.

"He attacked you Bones, not me-"

"Who attacked who?" gasped Hodgins.

"It's who attacked whom," corrected Brennan over Booth's glower, quickly turning her face before resuming their glare down, inches apart.

"Someone attacked you?" ground out Angela, "Oh I would have kicked that guy in the-"

"It wasn't a big deal," protested Brennan.

"Not a big deal? He went after you and now you're bleeding. He had a knife?"

"Just a little one Booth. But you were incapacitated. He punched you out. I took care of –"

"Incapacitated?" spluttered Booth, "I was getting to it-"

"He punched you out?" screeched Cam, "For what?"

"He was my mother's second husband," ground out Booth, still furious with Brennan. "He was confused about who I was. But it's fine. Bones got him good."

"What was he crazy?" asked Sweets.

"You're the expert on crazies," grinned Angela at him.

"Bet he was drunk," supplied Hodgins.

"Brennan didn't even save his whiskey!" complained Booth.

"It smelled awful!"

"Bones, now you're all cut up! I told you that we can't do this! You keep getting hurt!"

"Booth!"

Booth sat, grinding his teeth before grabbing her elbow and dragging her away. She towed behind him as he slammed her into a wall against the men's bathroom, jerking his thumb at the door as she locked it. It was a single's bathroom with one toilet and a urinal. He put his hands to each side of her face and she saw then that he was shaking.

"Booth, maybe you should sit-"

"Don't tell me to sit down!" he snapped. "I've been sitting all day! I'll be sitting for a while! Don't tell me to sit down!" Brennan stopped, terrified. She hadn't seen him this angry at her in years.

"Booth-"

"Bones you could have been killed! You could have gotten cut up! Thank God he was drunk. It could have been your throat – your heart…"

"Booth-"

"I'm serious. I don't know if I can do this. I love you. I'm crazy about you. But you're all over the place. You're going to get hurt. You always do. I've gotten you shot. I've gotten you stabbed. Who knows what happened in New Orleans. And now – this trip. My God Brennan." He started sobbing and Brennan, completely bewildered, simply put her hands on his shoulders as he leaned his elbows against the bathroom door, his face in her shoulder.

"There are stitches all over you," he mumbled into her shoulder. "I can't do this. I can't do my job knowing you're about to get killed. I cant do this anymore."

"Do what?" whispered Brennan, terrified. She knew that tone. It was the silence that spoke. The silence when they left.

"Everyone's always leaving," he whispered and she jumped. He had read her mind again. She was secretly scared he would stop loving her for this; but this was who she was. She could be nothing more than who she was - not for him, nor for anyone. She could be nothing less.

"Booth?" His name was a question.

"I've killed a lot of people Temperance." She stopped cold, ignoring the hot blood. He never called her by her first name. The last time had been years before. "And a lot of people have died. My friends. My soldiers. My family. People I love, people I hate. It's all the same. They all die. They all…" he grew quiet, leaning his forehead against hers. She shared his sucking, ragged pants, their bodies equally tired, their breath equally quick.

"I can't lose you too. I saw Cam when Epps…and when the gravedigger got you…you can't imagine-"

"Yes I can," she suddenly said. "Don't tell me I don't know what it's like. Don't tell me I haven't seen you get shot, blown up – Booth look at you! You can barely stand. I can walk around. I'm fine."

"They almost got you!" he shouted and she shook beneath him, his body slumped to hers. "They almost got you." She knew what he meant. When she had been tied to the bed. "I could hardly breathe. Couldn't watch. Couldn't not. I thought I was going to explode, or die, or burn. I couldn't-" his breath hitched. "I can't do this with you always in danger."

"So you're asking me what," Brennan's anger flared up, burning. "What - to give up my career? Sit helplessly on the sidelines while you do the very thing you're yelling at me for? Give up everything I've worked for? Strived for? Achieved in anthropology to-"

"You shouldn't be in the field," he started.

"You brought me there," she interrupted. "I asked and you said yes. You knew what you were doing-"

"Not like this."

"Yes you did. You had worked with me. You go out and risk your life every day. I do less of that. How can you put up such a double standard. You're being completely sexist –"

"Sexist! I love you! I'm trying to protect you!"

"I can take care of myself!"

"That's not what I mean!"

"I was the one who saved you. I punched the guy out Booth."

"Yeah you had my back but-"

"But what? We're partners. We're protective of each other. But this is ridiculous. I got your back. Of course Booth. Of course I will always cover you, work with you. In your earlier debate you said that we were in this as a team. That you wouldn't leave me behind. Isn't that what you're doing? Asking me to voluntarily stay behind? Or was all that just drivel?"

"It wasn't-wait what word did you use again?"

"Drivel."

"Not drivel! I meant it I just-" he faltered, his argument once again caught in a trap. "I don't know. I worry."

"I worry too," she admitted quietly. "But I just don't show it as much."

"You have a headache," he accused her.

"How could you know that?" she asked in astonishment.

"Oh," he waved airily, and their first fight as a couple began to evaporate, caught in the mercurial winds of their relationship, "your fat head told me."

"Booth," she laughed. "Same size…but you have a very large mental foramen."

"Which means…" he dragged out.

"Your forehead is like an anvil," she teased. She sobered. "You can tell?"

"I can always tell when you have a headache," he nodded and drew his trigger finger up her nose to rest quietly at the bridge. "You get a little wrinkle…right here." Brennan blushed.

"Okay, no more alpha male syndrome. I'm your partner."

"Well we can't live this life forever," Booth said practically.

"Well no one lives forever," Brennan shrugged. Booth rolled his eyes.

"Fine, fine," he grumbled, "I know you just mean we'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

"Wait, what bridge? Where are we going? The nearest river on our route is several-"

"It's a saying Bones."

"An axiom?"

"Don't know," grunted Booth. "You're using big words. I'm just a dumb FBI guy."

"Not so dumb," she smiled coyly. She let her lips briefly touch his, teasing. She never failed to delight in the pupilometry that occurred when he looked at her. His pupils were dilating quickly with lust, with attraction, with love. She grinned. "In some areas," she squirmed beneath him, "you can be quite…learned."

"You're saying I have skills?"

"As Angela would say – 'mad skills.'" Booth's little boy grin wreathed his face before he frowned.

"You're just trying to distract me. And flatter me." Brennan latched daintily to an earlobe and nibbled as he leaned her harder against the door.

"Is it working?" Booth nodded, groaning, before standing upright.

"Stop. Before I lose my mind."

"You can't actually-"

"Okay. Move to the women's restroom before the entire diner thinks we're having sex in here. I'll send Cam in."

With a sigh, she unlocked the bathroom door. The entire Squint Squad was lined against the hallway, shamelessly eavesdropping on the louder bits of the conversation. They applauded when they both walked out. Brennan blushed. Booth waved them off.

"Yeah, yeah. Cam – take a look at my partner," he emphasized the last word to accentuate his acceptance of the facts. "Make sure she's not cut up too bad."

"Badly," corrected Brennan absently.

"I'll get you advil," sighed Booth, rolling his eyes.

"Got it," dimpled Cam, holding up a first aid kit. She pointed a finger. "Back inside Dr. Brennan." With a grumble, Brennan slunk back into the restroom.

"That's the men's restroom Camille," hissed Booth.

"Very good Seeley, look's like you know you're anatomy." His expression darkened.

"Haha, very funny. Genius quip. Now get into the girl's room…or do I have to rip off your shirts to show to the public-"

"For a while we were convinced you two had," laughed Cam, "when your voices were too low to hear." Behind Cam, Booth and Brennan exchanged a chagrined look. "This bathroom is best because, if you haven't noticed, women pee a lot more than men. It'll be best if we do it in here."

"Speaking of which," bounced Daisy, who then flounced into the adjacent bathroom, giggling that they could all hear her.

"Oh boy," groaned Hodgins. Even Sweets looked embarrassed.

"Fine," snapped Booth. Then his face brightened. "You two have fun. I'm going to finish my cookie cake," he pointed and finger at Brennan, "and yours." He closed the door over her protesting face.

With an ominous click, Cam locked the door. She shrugged, clinical and yet empathetic, taking the awkward tension out in a rush.

"You punch him good?" Brennan grinned.

"Broke his nose."

"Excellent."

"Thank you," said Brennan primly.

"Best if we do this on the toilet. Put the lid down and take off your shirt." Brennan complied complacently, not the least bit abashed about her body.

"Oh boy," hissed Cam, seeing half of Brennan's side drenched in blood, the spurting slow but steady. The Oxford was red on the inside, but the blood hadn't seeped through except directly over the semi-shallow gash. It was fiery and stinging, and just deep enough to require stitches.

"It just looks bad," Brennan informed her. "If you just wipe up the excess blood the cut will be much milder."

"I know how to do my job," smiled Cam.

"Does that ever stop me from telling you?" asked Brennan wryly. Cam opened her mouth, then shut it with a little puff of air.

"Mmm…No." They both laughed. Cam gently but quickly wiped the blood from her skin. "Do you favor precision work with more pain or quick stitches with less?"

"I don't want a scar."

"It'll hurt more."

"I'll be fine." Cam knew Brennan was becoming more terse out of deliberate expectation of pain.

"Sorry," she offered. Brennan shrugged in seeming indifference as Cam threaded the needle. Absently, she touched her previous stitches on her face just as Cam crouched next to her and took a pinch of her skin between her fingers.

At the first entrance of the needle, Brennan hissed, irked and then exclaimed:

"Will people please stop sticking needles in me!"