Thank you all for reading and for your feedback. It's much loved! :) As you all probably expected, things won't be easy for our couple. But they wouldn't be Brennan & Booth without a little drama and bickering, lol . . .

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Booth woke up in the middle of the night to find Brennan gone from his side. If he didn't know any better, he'd have thought that she had just gone home, unable to continue with the new development in their relationship. But he was almost a hundred percent confident that that wasn't the case. She wouldn't run out on him – not like that – not after what they'd shared, after they'd gotten past the anger and the hurt they'd felt toward each other within the past year. They were good. They were better than good. They still had a few issues to work out, but they were beginning to get as close as they had been before that one night – the night that caused a downward spiral in their relationship and in their lives individually – closer, actually. He knew Bones was scared of change, of taking emotional risks, but she was trying. She wanted to be with him, that he was sure of. It was all he could ask for at the moment – a chance to make a life with her.

He frantically searched the bathroom, kitchen - every room in his tiny apartment to no avail. Broadsky was locked up. There was always a chance he'd escape or have someone on the outside go after him, though. He threw on some jeans and a t-shirt and grabbed his jacket. There was only one place she could be – he hoped.

Fortunately his assumptions were spot-on. He walked into the Jeffersonian and found her in the bone room fitting the pieces of what appeared to him to be a thousand year-old skeleton together.

"Bones, what are you doing here – it's three in the morning? You didn't even leave a note," Booth berated.

"I apologize - is that customary in a romantic relationship? I'm very used to being alone and coming and going as I please. I couldn't sleep and didn't want to wake you," she excused.

"Just do me a favor next time and don't let me tear my hair out wondering what the hell happened to you," he requested.

"That's slang for 'worry', am I correct?" she asked.

"Yeah, Bones. I worry about you – I always have. But now more than ever . . . Look, can we just go home and get a few more hours of sleep? We've got the rest of the week off and I'm sure Barney Rubble can wait a few more days or so," he gently tugged at her arm.

She resisted him, continuing to piece together the fragments of bone.

"I don't understand who you are referring to, but this is not a pile of 'rubble'. This male Caucasian was an unknown soldier from the Vietnam War. From the scoring on his right ulna and the fractures on his left tibia I believe him to have been a prisoner of war. And I'd rather identify him than waste my time lying in a bed, unable to sleep," Brennan replied.

"Hey, I know it's hard. But you can't let it affect your own health. If Vincent were here, he'd be spouting off some weirdo factoid about REM cycles or something . . . My point is, it's okay to grieve . . . to feel sad . . . but don't beat yourself up about it to the point where you make yourself sick," Booth advised.

She carefully put down the half-completed skull.

"You're right. I pride myself on being able to compartmentalize and I am failing . . . that's what happens when you form a bond with another human being and allow your emotions to get in the way. Sometimes I wish I was free from relationships of any kind . . . perhaps then, those people I have interacted with wouldn't be harmed," she contemplated moving away from him and searching for more adhesive.

Booth followed and caught her arm.

"Bones, you don't mean that. No one wants to be alone. Everyone needs friends and family . . . a romantic partner . . ." he lifted her chin. "You open yourself up and you risk being hurt, but never feeling those kinds of love that people can give you – that's the worst pain of all."

"I wish . . . I just wish there had been something we could have done for him. He kept saying that he didn't want to leave . . . not to make him leave . . . He was so young and had a lot of potential in this department . . . he didn't deserve to die – no one deserved to die . . ." she trailed off, tears brimming in her eyes.

"I know. But we did everything we could have done to save him. And Broadsky's in prison – at least that's some justice. But don't you think that I know that that bullet was meant for me . . . that I made Vincent answer my phone? Because I do and it kills me inside to know that it went down like that," he admitted.

"Booth, you couldn't have known. You had no idea that Broadsky was in range. It wasn't your fault," Brennan assured him.

"I know that, and the fact that that son of a bitch is locked up eases the guilt, but it doesn't make the fact that one of our team members was murdered go away. All I'm saying is, you remember the good things about the people you've lost and you try your best to carry on. That's all you can do – you can't change the past," he said.

"Sometimes I wonder if there is any point to this. Why bother to catch all of these murderers if there's always another one out there? There's always someone else who will die, no matter how hard we try to catch them all," she thought, defeated.

"Yeah, there will always be a Broadsky or a Gravedigger or a Gorgonzola," he began.

The corners of Brennan's mouth began to twitch in amusement.

"See, I knew I could make you smile," he teased.

"And you just gave me proof that you always mispronounced the name Gormogon on purpose," she countered.

"All joking aside, we do it because when we nail these bastards, we save lives, Bones. We save someone's life – that's what we do – and that's a lot," he reminded her.

"I suppose your reasoning is conceivable," she conceded. "Not that it's much of a comfort."

"I thought I was the only one with the 'save the world' attitude?" he joked. "Seriously, Bones, one team – even if we are the best – can't save everyone.

"I realize that and I have come to accept it. However, it is difficult to come to terms with it when it affects someone you know," Brennan confessed. "He trusted me . . . all my interns trust me to keep them safe. They apply for the opportunity to gain more experience in anthropology – it isn't supposed to be a life-threatening position, but because I chose to team up with the FBI . . . to work with you . . . it has become one. Because of my selfish motives, one of them was murdered and another . . . he might not be in a mental institution at the moment. And that's not taking into consideration that my entomologist was buried alive . . ."

"Hey . . . come here," Booth pulled her close. "None of that was your fault. You couldn't have predicted any of those things."

She stubbornly pulled away.

"No, but I could have prevented them by not exposing my assistants to those risks," she argued.

"Bones, they wanted to work with you, with Dr. Temperance Brennan. They knew those risks as much as you did – that you being involved with FBI cases could put them at danger at some point. It's very rare, considering that none of them are in the field most of the time, but they could've quit if they didn't want to take those risks. And you did everything in your power to protect them. You may not show it, but I know you love all of them like family - and they love you, too. They realize there's only so much anyone can do in situations like that. No one blames you for that, Bones. And you shouldn't blame yourself, either," he reasoned.

"I realize it's not logical, but I still feel responsible. Maybe I was right to take the job in Maluku or I should go back to working on the historical remains in this facility. At least no one would be harmed because of an association with me," she contemplated.

"Is that what you really want?" Booth held his breath, hoping for the answer he wanted.

She took a long pause.

"No . . . however, it would be the logical decision for the safety of my assistants," she replied. "And now that we are having sexual relations, perhaps it's best if we aren't partners. The FBI has been trying to break us up from the beginning."

"They can't break us up, Bones. We've solved too many cases together for them to warrant a dismissal of our partnership. And the whole dating thing is only frowned upon, anyway. As long as we keep our noses clean and the PDA to a minimum we'll be fine," Booth assured her.

Brennan carefully placed the bones of the soldier back in their box.

"I don't understand what the cleanliness of our nasal passages has to do with the FBI ending our partnership?" she questioned, removing her gloves.

Booth chuckled and affectionately kissed her cheek.

"It's an expression, Bones. It means stay out of trouble, not to put our private lives on display to the public while we're working on a case," he explained.

"Oh. Well, that shouldn't be a problem for us. We have always been completely professional," she said, patting his chest. "However, I would like to experiment with a little PDA, right now . . ."

"Bones, the reason why it's called PDA is because other people can see us," Booth reminded her.

"You are correct," she smiled coyly, taking his hand and leading him out the door, past the night guard, Micah.

"Daring, Bones. You're the next Katy Perry," he teased as they waved 'goodbye'.

"I'm not sure what that means, but I'll take it as a compliment," she replied and timidly kissed him on their way out the door.

He deepened the kiss, knowing Micah wouldn't care.

"Now that's what I'm talkin' about, baby!" he grinned.

"I find you very strange sometimes," she laughed.

"Likewise, Bones. Likewise. But that's what makes us great together," he put his arm around her waist as they walked out of the almost vacant building.