A/N: Happy New Year! I wanted to get this chapter written and posted fairly quickly, since I got a lot of reviews on the first chapter pretty fast. Also I'm a little bit New Year's drunk and when I drink I like to write... I can't attest to the quality of the writing, but I like to nonetheless. :) Don't judge me.

Anyway... enjoy the chapter!

Father of mine
Tell me, where did you go?
You had the world inside your hand
but you did not seem to know
Father of mine
Tell me, what do you see?
When you look back at your wasted life
and you don't see me...

- Father of Mine, Everclear

Brennan tucked the corners of the sheets up underneath the mattress in the guest bedroom, pulling the end up towards the pillows and smoothing it down. They were blue; boys liked blue, right? It was, at any rate, the socially acceptable color to assign to a male's belongings. That color had originally been pink in centuries previous, but by the mid 1900s had been changed to blue. She didn't understand why, but she knew that it was.

She realized she was smoothing the sheets obsessively, and removed her hands. Booth would be calling any minute with the results of his meeting with Caroline and the board, knowing whether or not he would be facing charges of police brutality, and whether he could even be reinstated to his post at the FBI. She couldn't imagine working without Booth—and in fact, wouldn't. As much as she liked solving murders, she would simply resolve her duties with the FBI and go back to identifying ancient remains. That was, after all, her first and foremost passion. This was only a recent development in the years. A lot of things had become recent development in the years.

Suddenly her phone rang and she jumped, snatching it up off the bedside table and answering without checking the caller ID—she knew who it would be anyway.

"Brennan," she answered.

"Dr. Brennan, this is Cindy from Social Services," a woman's voice said. Hrmph, not Booth. But still an important call.

"Yes, hi, how are you?" Brennan asked cordially.

"Fine, thanks," Cindy responded. "Jamal Williams, the boy you're interested in fostering? No other family to speak of. We did the digging all last night and into this morning—he's got one aunt, but she's at a rehab clinic in Arlington. Whatever other family he might have… well, they just don't exist in records, anyway. Jamal's house mom is dropping him off down here in about an hour, if you'd like to meet here to pick him up."

"Sure, absolutely," Brennan said, her stomach flip-flopping. "I'll be there shortly."

"Great," Cindy said. "And thank you, Dr. Brennan. Not many foster parents are keen on taking in a troubled ten-year-old boy. It's a shame, since they're the ones who need individual attention the most."

"Yes," Brennan said, thinking the woman sounded peculiarly like Booth. "I'll be there in an hour."

"We'll see you then," Cindy said, and they hung up. No sooner had Brennan set the phone on the bedside table than it rang again. She looked at the Caller ID this time when she picked it up.

"Hey," she said, picking up the line. "What happened?"

"Caroline haggled me out of excessive force charges," Booth said, sounding relieved. "They offered the guy a reduced sentence on the drug charges, he took it without asking questions."

"Did he need extensive medical care?" Brennan asked, remembering the way Booth had repeatedly kicked the fallen man in the back and head.

"No, he's fine other than some bruising," Booth said tersely.

"That's good," Brennan said. "So what about your position, did Cullen and the board reinstate you?"

"That's the not-so-good news," Booth said, and Brennan inhaled sharply.

"They didn't fire you, did they?" she asked, her voice coming out higher than she had expected it to. She cleared her throat.

"No, no," Booth said quickly. "I'm not fired, but I am on probation. They're putting me on 'medical leave' and making me see a shrink. They think I have unresolved issues or something." Brennan secretly had to agree—she had never seen Booth react with such unabashed violence, with such deep-seeded rage. It was like seeing him turn into an entirely different person—like something in him snapped, just like that.

"Oh," was all she said in response, though. She knew better than to vocally agree with the board on their ruling.

"Yeah," he said, aggravated. "They won't give me my badge back until I've completed therapy and 'resolved my inner conflicts' or some shit like that."

"Are you seeing Gordon Gordon again?" she asked.

"No, that's the worst part," he said. "They're making me see Sweets." Brennan smiled.

"Why's that?" she asked, trying to conceal the grin in her voice. She knew how much it would ire Booth to have Sweets in control of his situation.

"Since we already work with him," he said. "They figure he's the best choice, I guess. I start tomorrow, and as soon as Sweets gives me the okay, I'll be back to work."

"You know Dr. Sweets isn't going to give you a free pass on this one," Brennan pointed out, rising from the bed and resmoothing the sheets.

"I know," Booth said, sounding none too pleased. "But it's what I have to do, so I guess I'll just grin and bare it. Hey, how are things with Jamal?"

"I'm actually going to pick him up in about forty-five minutes," Brennan said. "I'm nervous, Booth. I don't know how to deal with boys."

"You had Andy with you for a week, you did fine with him," Booth pointed out soothingly.

"Genetically, yes, Andy was a male, but I'm talking about the prescribed gender qualities exhibited by males. Babies are essentially androgynous; they don't behave in a way that is male or female. They're just babies. This little boy is… a boy."

"You'll be fine," Booth said. "Do you want me to go with you to pick him up?"

"Yes," Brennan said, sounding relieved. "I would really appreciate that."

"I'll be there soon, then," Booth said, hanging up the phone. Brennan sighed, sitting back down on the bed and then jumping up quickly as if it was on fire. She smoothed the sheets for a third time, shaking her head. What had she gotten herself into?

Before long Booth was rapping on her front door, carrying a brown paper grocery bag in his arms. She let him in and eyed the bag curiously, but he shook his head, curling the top of the bag and sticking it in the fridge.

"That's for later," he said, pushing her out of her own kitchen. "Let's get going, traffic is gonna be terrible." They took the SUV, battling the metro traffic across town to the social services office. It was in neither the best nor the worst area of town, though the children passing through there overwhelmingly came from the latter. Brennan twisted the material of her jacket in her fingers nervously; so much that Booth finally reached over and enclosed her anxious hands in one of his at a red light, smiling at her.

"Relax," he insisted. "Just relax. It'll be fine."

A bell sounded when they walked through the door, and a front desk clerk asked them to be seated. They had no sooner sat down than a small, portly woman with curly blonde hair came into the room, smiling broadly at them.

"You must be Dr. Brennan," she said, shaking Brennan's hand as she stood. "I'm Cindy, we spoke earlier. And this is…?"

"Special Agent Seeley Booth," he said, offering her his hand. "We're partners."

"Great," Cindy said, eyeing the pair. "If you two will just come back this way, Jamal just got dropped off about ten minutes ago. He's waiting in back with me." They followed the woman down the hall and around the corner, into a small office whose door bore her name on a plaque. Just inside the door, Brennan saw the small boy they had encountered yesterday, now in jeans and a clean hooded sweater, putting together a puzzle.

"Jamal, your foster mom is here," Cindy said, rapping the door slightly with her knuckles as she opened it. He looked up briefly, then back down at the puzzle.

"Okay," he said vaguely, though Brennan could see his hand quiver as he reached for another piece of the jigsaw puzzle.

"Hi," Brennan said awkwardly to the boy, who resolutely ignored her. "I'm Dr. Brennan… uh, Temperance."

"I'm not calling you mom," Jamal said, looking up at her. "You're not my mom."

"You're right," Brennan said, not sure what exactly to make of the boy. "Biologically I'm not your mother, so I wouldn't expect you to ascribe me the Western moniker."

"What?" Jamal said blankly, his brows scrunching together.

"She means she's okay with that," Booth offered, holding his hand out to the boy. "I'm Agent Booth, remember me?"

"Yeah," Jamal said with mild distaste, not taking the man's hand. "You put my dad in jail."

"Yeah," Booth said, taking the hand and rubbing the back of his hair with it. "Yeah, I did. I'm sorry about that, kiddo, but when you break the law, you go to jail. That's how it works." Jamal shrugged and placed the last piece of the puzzle, rising from his seat.

"All set, then?" Cindy said, clapping her hands together and smiling in an attempt to diffuse the awkwardness. Jamal nodded, grabbing the small duffle bag lying on the floor next to him. Brennan's heart dropped—she knew how he felt, that lost, displaced feeling. Knowing your entire world was being dragged around in a hand-me-down bag.

"Let's go," Booth said, leading both Brennan and Jamal out of the building. Jamal eyed the SUV warily as they approached it.

"Booth, can you turn off the child lock?" Brennan asked politely, looking at the boy out of the corner of her eye. Booth nodded, and Jamal let himself into the back seat. Just to check, he quickly opened the door, then, satisfied in knowing that he was not locked in, he shut it and put on his seatbelt. Booth grinned at Brennan, who smiled back.

"Good shot, Bones," he said before letting himself into the car.

The drive home was a long one, and quiet. As they were sitting in traffic, Brennan attempted to strike up a conversation with the child, who peered aimlessly out the window, chewing on his jacket sleeve.

"What kind of music do you like, Jamal?" she asked the boy, who shrugged.

"I'unno," he said noncommittally. "Stuff, I guess."

"What kind of 'stuff'?" she probed further.

"Rap," he finally answered. "Pac, Biggie, Nas. Stuff like that."

"Do you like Kanye West?" she asked. Jamal looked up.

"How you know him?" he asked. She smiled.

"I like him, too," she said. "I have his CDs at the house if you want to listen to them." For the first time, Jamal smiled.

"You know, most white ladies don't like rap," he pointed out. Brennan smiled.

"I guess I'm not like most white ladies," she responded.

"That's the truth," Booth piped in, positively beaming.

"What about you?" Jamal asked Booth. "What kinda music you like?" Booth thought for a minute before he answered.

"Mostly rock," he said. Jamal made a face, and Booth laughed. "Hey, I don't mean that screamo stuff. Real rock. Aerosmith, Led Zep, Whitesnake, Foreigner. Mostly 80s stuff."

"Man, that's old," Jamal said, waving his hand.

"Hey, I'm older than most of that music," Booth said. Jamal raised his eyebrows and smiled slyly.

"I guess that makes you old, then," the boy said. Booth frowned and Brennan grinned.

"He's got you there, Booth," she said.

"Hey, you're just as old as I am," Booth pointed out.

"Yeah but she like cool music," Jamal said. "That mean she cool." Booth fake pouted.

"Can I be cool too?" he asked. Jamal shrugged.

"I dunno, maybe if you start listenin' to cool music, you will be," he replied.

"She listens to Foreigner too," Booth said, indicating towards Brennan as they turned into her apartment complex's parking lot. "You should try it, it's good stuff."

"Right," Jamal said, grabbing his bag and hopping out of the car. He stood hesitantly in the doorway when Brennan unlocked her apartment, peering into the doorway cautiously, teetering on his toes.

"Come on," Brennan said as she and Booth entered, the boy finally following them cautiously.

"Wow," was all he said at first, taking in his surroundings.

"You like it?" Brennan said. He swallowed.

"Man, you must be all kind of rich!" he exclaimed, dropping his bag and lacing his fingers on top of his head. "Lookit all them CDs! Lookit that big screen TV!"

"I made her buy that," Booth threw in, smiling at Brennan.

"Man, who you jacked for all this?" he asked, and Brennan gave him a questioning look, as if he were speaking a different language.

"I… don't understand the question," she said.

"She writes books," Booth answered for her. "She also works with me, solving crimes." Jamal gave her a distrusting look.

"You work with the law?" he asked. She nodded.

"Sometimes," she said. "I look at a person's bones to see how they died." Jamal wrinkled his nose.

"Gross," he said. Booth laughed.

"It is," he agreed.

"Let me show you your room," Brennan said, leading the boy into the guest bedroom, which she had set up for him with clean bedding. He looked around the room, taking everything in before he spoke.

"This is all mine?" he said, setting his small bag down on the foot of the bed.

"Yes," Brennan replied. "This is your room, and tomorrow we'll go to the store and get you some things to decorate it."

"You mean it?" he asked, running his fingers along the bedspread as he looked around. Brennan nodded.

"Yes," she said.

"Hey, I have something for everyone," Booth said, suddenly remembering his parcel. "Come on, let's go to the kitchen." Brennan and Jamal followed Booth into the kitchen, where he retrieved the brown paper bag. He opened it up and withdrew a small, circular cake. In sticky blue lettering on the top it said, "Welcome home, Jamal!" He set it on the table and Brennan and Jamal sat around it, both staring at it as Booth rifled through her drawers for candles.

"This is… this is for me?" the boy asked. Brennan gulped, taken aback by emotion herself.

"Yes," she finally managed. Jamal sighed heavily, much too heavily for a ten year old boy.

"Got 'em!" Booth piped from the kitchen, returning with a handful of candles. He set them into the cake and lit them, flicking off the lights.

"But it's not my birthday," Jamal pointed out. Booth shrugged.

"Who cares? Make a wish and blow 'em out," he said. The boy thought for a minute before finally blowing the candles out. Booth cut the cake and the three of them ate at Brennan's dining room table, mostly silent except for the occasional fulfilled sigh or hum.

"What time are ten year old boys supposed to go to bed?" Brennan finally asked, looking up at the clock and realizing it was ten-thirty. Jamal snickered.

"Like, an hour ago," he said, grinning. He set his plate on the counter next to the sink, and as he was walking away Booth got up with his plate.

"Hey, how about we rinse these off together?" he said, turning the boy around and turning the faucet on. Brennan watched in awe as Booth seamlessly stepped into the fatherhood role, instructing the boy to clean up after himself without ever having to act as an authoritarian. She wondered if she would ever be able to parent like that, so effortlessly.

After Jamal had brushed his teeth and gone to bed, Booth settled next to Brennan on the couch, where she rested her head against the seat and shut her eyes.

"Long day?" he asked, and she sighed.

"How do you know what to do?" she asked.

"Practice," Booth answered honestly. "You just learn what works and what doesn't. You'll figure it out."

"What if I do something wrong?" Brennan asked. Booth laughed.

"You will," he answered, and she opened her eyes and stared at him. He shrugged. "What? I'm being honest—you're going to make mistakes. Everyone does with kids; you make mistakes and you learn from them. That's how it is."

"I don't think I'm ready for this," Brennan admitted.

"Too late now," Booth said, motioning towards Jamal's closed door. "He's here, and unless you send him back he's not going anywhere."

"I could never do that," she said quietly. "I know how that feels." Booth wrapped his arm around her shoulders, allowing her head to rest on him.

"I know, Bones," he said quietly, giving her shoulder a squeeze. "That's why you're going to be so good at this. Just remember what it was like for you, and go with your instinct. That's all you can do."

"I don't even know what to say to him," she said.

"What do you mean?" Booth said. "You guys bonded right away over music in the car, remember? You know exactly what to say, you just think too hard about it. You're a lot better at this than you think you are."

"Really?" Brennan asked, starting to smile. Booth grinned back.
"Really really," he responded.

After a while Booth headed back home, leaving Brennan alone to contend with Jamal. He knew she would do fine—she just needed a confidence boost, was all. They would go shopping together tomorrow after he got done with his therapy appointment with Sweets.

Ugh. Thinking about it made his insides twist, for a reason he couldn't pin. He ignored it and turned on the radio, tuning into an all-80s station and vaguely singing along as he followed the familiar path home.

A/N: So what did you think? Like it? Hate it? Curious to see where this is going? Next chapter will be the first in the series of flashbacks, egged on by my favorite TV shrink... Sweets! Leave a review and let me know what you think. :)