Sticks and stones may break your bones but words can hurt like hell. ~ Chuck Palahniuk (Lullaby)

Chapter Nineteen: Just My Imagination (Running Away with Me)

Booth sat back on the sofa near the living room window flipping the Polaroid of a bound Clayton Woods between his fingers and feeling that familiar twinge. Bones would sometimes make fun of his gut feelings, but she almost never disregarded them. The problem with this feeling was that Booth wasn't quite sure what was triggering it. There was something about the picture that was tweaking his cop radar, but he'd be damned if he could pinpoint the source.

In the middle of his musings, Cam walked into the room, stopping to watch Booth as he was lost in thought. The first thing she noticed was that her friend looked absolutely exhausted. The laugh lines around his eyes were more pronounced and his normally darker skin tone was noticeably paler.

"Hey Big Man." She made her presence known by tapping him on the head as she passed him and sat down on the sofa.

"Morning, Cam. You sleep okay?" Booth sounded distracted, but she decided to wait for him to bring it up.

"Sure, they have nice beds here at Chez Woods. You and Brennan actually sleep last night or did whoever was still up get another show?" She smirked.

Booth blushed from the tip of his ears to his neck. "Oh God…you heard that? I'm sorry, Cam. Really."

"No, you're not."

Booth gave her a wry, satisfied smile. "No...I'm really not."

She laughed; glad to see that something could cheer him up. "Good for you. But really, Seeley…did you sleep better last night?"

"Yeah, I really did." He sighed and flipped the picture through his fingers again. "Can I ask you something, Cam?"

"Sure, anything."

"Do you ever wonder if you've made the right decisions in your life? I mean, like if you had taken a different path, would your life be better or worse?" He turned his eyes to the crowd outside the windows, far enough away not to cause disruption in the house but close enough to irritate.

"Booth? Really? You can't possibly be rethinking your life. You have a beautiful family and-"

"Oh, no…not me, Cam. I couldn't be happier if I were twins. I just…look, I've always told Bones that love is worth it. That, despite the pain you sometimes find, love is always worth it."

"Which is very true. If anyone knows that, you do."

"I do. But then…" He cleared his throat and waved at the media out front. "I look at Charlie and Clay. And I know he's a good man, and that they love each other. But right now, she's hurting and you know me…"

"White knight syndrome strikes again?"

A small smile graced his drawn face. "Something like that. I feel like we're failing her, and if we don't find Clay in time…I don't know if she'll recover from that, I really don't."

"She's a stronger woman than you give her credit for, Booth. And it's odd that you don't see it, because you are innately attracted to strong women. You should know that she can take whatever life dishes out to her and bounce back."

Booth reached over and tapped Cam on the nose affectionately. "It's true, I do like the tough broads."

"You have good taste."

"Nice." He laughed, a genuine chuckle that lit up his face and made Cam relax a little. "I know you're right about Charlie, I guess I'm just feeling a little overwhelmed with it all."

"Well, far be it from me to offer you advice, but…" She grinned when his eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "Yeah, yeah…but maybe when you're feeling like this you should go talk to that tough broad you married. They don't come tougher, and if anyone can help you with perspective on pretty much anything, it's her."

"Yeah. You're right."

"Of course I am." Cam stood and leaned over to kiss Booth's cheek. "We're going to find him, Booth. We're the best, you know."

"I know we are." Booth took one more look out the window before standing to join her on the way to the kitchen. "And I have a feeling that we're going to have to be."

B&B

The sharp knock on the back door startled everyone sitting around the kitchen table having a light lunch. Booth stood and opened the door to two of Gus's men, one of whom was holding a package in his gloved hands.

"Director, this came in the daily mail. It's…um, it's addressed to…" The agent stammered for a moment, then handed the box to the now-gloved Brennan, who had come up behind her husband.

Booth snorted at the agent's deference and turned to look at the plain brown paper-wrapped package. "Who is it addressed to, Bones?"

Brennan looked up at Booth with wide eyes, knowing what his reaction was going to be before she said a word. "Me. The package is addressed to me."

"Dammit!" With lightning speed, Booth turned Brennan around by her shoulders and moved her through the kitchen and into the living room, where he passed Cam and Gus who were sitting on the sofa chatting. "Gus! Get in here now!"

He led them all, including Gus's men, into the den where he pointed to the large end table by the fireplace. "Bones, put it down there. Slowly and carefully. Don't jar it."

Everyone held their breath as Brennan set the box down and then backed away. "I'm sorry, Booth. I grabbed it without thinking and-" Her apology was muffled against Booth's chest as he pulled her to him and held her close, trying to calm them both. Brennan wrapped her arms around his waist and grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, holding on tight to keep her hands from shaking.

"What the hell is it, Booth?" Gus stepped forward to look at the box. "Oh damn." The Booth's reaction suddenly made perfect sense to him. "Who brought this in here?" He looked around and glared at the two agents who had followed Booth and Brennan into the house.

After some fumbling and stuttering, the older agent explained that they had scanned the package including x-ray detection and a hazardous materials sweep, before bringing it to the door. In the rush to get the package out of Brennan's hands, they hadn't had a chance to tell Booth that the box was cleared.

Booth and Gus looked at each other for a beat before Brennan stepped in. "Well, since the package is addressed to me, and it's been cleared, I should open it."

"Bones…"

Gus shook his head. "Dr. Brennan, I don't think that-"

"Okay you two, just move out of the way so Brennan can open her mail." Cam snapped on a pair of gloves as she walked around Booth and Gus, prepared to help her friend with the evidence.

"How do we know this is from Tucker?" Charlotte finally spoke after watching the scene play out in tense silence. "Isn't it possible that someone knew Bren was here and…"

"The handwriting is the same as the letters." Brennan stated. "See the way the 'n's in Brennan have that slight hook? And the 'th' in Booth is looped together? His handwriting is very consistent, and much like a fingerprint it is distinctive to him."

Booth rubbed his forehead with his palm and nodded. "Okay, it's from Tucker. Just…open it carefully, Temperance. Please."

Brennan raised her eyebrows at his use of her given name, but turned back to the package with Cam and together they began slowly removing the paper wrapping. Once that was off, Cam dropped it into an evidence bag Hodgins was holding open next to her. Then Booth stepped in and used his pocketknife to slide through the tape along the top of the unremarkable box, letting Brennan pull the flaps open.

"Oh." Cam breathed. "It's…books."

Brennan pulled the first one out, holding it up. "I think it's a journal."

B&B

Once the box was unpacked and everyone could take a look at the contents, four bound books, there was a general feeling of intense focus running through the room. Hodgins, Brennan and Cam took several samples of all four journals as well as the inside of the box and a letter that they had found sitting at the bottom, which Jack slid into an evidence sleeve and handed to Booth with a wary look.

Booth glanced at Brennan as he cleared his throat to read the letter and Gus held up a hand. "Booth, do you want to read that out loud? I mean…" He gestured to the rest of the group, not able to vocalize his objection without offending anyone.

"No, everyone in this room is either involved in this case personally, or they're family. It's fine." Booth looked to Brennan for confirmation, and at her slight head nod, he began to read.

Dear Mrs. Booth,

Enclosed you will find my personal notes on, among my other observations, your husband's previous dalliances with Charlotte Townsend Woods.

Please read carefully, knowing the past will confirm for you, as it did for me, the reasons as to why these present events, seemingly tragic to those on the outside, had to occur for any kind of future to flourish.

I believe that, throughout these tumultuous years, you and I have shared more than a solitary, passing glance. We have shared the burden of knowing what is destined.

I look forward to the day neither of us has that cross to bear.

Until then,
Cherubim

Charlotte paled visibly and excused herself from the room as everyone else stared at Booth and Brennan. Penelope, whispering something about checking on Charlie, followed soon after.

Wanting to give Booth and Brennan some privacy, Hodgins and Cam left to get ready to take the evidence to the lab and Gus, once again volunteering to escort them, followed. Angela squeezed Booth's forearm softly and hugged Brennan before leaving herself, pulling Sweets along with her to go clean up the remnants of their abbreviated lunch.

"Booth…" Brennan knew that look on her husband's face all too well.

"Bones, I'm sending you to stay with Max and the kids."

She crossed her arms and scowled. "No!"

"No? Bones…Tucker knows you're here, he's moving his focus from solely on Charlie to include you! And yes, I am worried about Charlie and Clay…but you…" He moved to pull her into his arms. "You are my priority."

"He isn't even aware that we know who he is, right?"

"He just might, Bones. He knows we have the letters, he has to. And now with these journals…if they follow the same theme as the letters he's going to have disclosed personal information about himself. So he'll know that it's only a matter of time. He's desperate."

Brennan leaned back to take in his drawn face and shook her head. "I am perfectly safe here, surrounded by FBI and Secret Service agents…not to mention you and Gus. Chances are I would be less safe somewhere else. And we don't even know what his true intentions are…right now it just sounds like he thinks he and I have a shared mission, correct?"

"That's correct, Dr. Brennan." Sweets stepped back into the room, looking sheepish. "I'm sorry, I wasn't eavesdropping. Gus just wanted Booth to know that he and Cam and Hodgins were leaving."

"It's alright, Sweets. Your input may be helpful here." Brennan leaned up and kissed Booth soundly on the lips. "I'm fine, Booth. In fact, I'm going to go help Angela and then go call the kids. You two take a look at the journals, and if you need help let us know." She turned and walked to the door, then looked back. "I love you, you know."

Booth smiled slightly. "I know, Bones."

B&B

Booth and Sweets sat down at the table and began flipping through the books. Sweets started from what, by the dates, looked to be the latest journal, while Booth picked up the oldest. When he opened the cover, he noticed that the first journal entry wasn't a journal entry at all, it was a worn and weathered piece of paper folded twice into a square and tucked between the cloth cover and the first page. As Booth unfolded the paper he saw a series of questions that he had long ago forgotten.

A few weeks after Charlotte had arrived in Afghanistan, she had handed out a simple questionnaire to all the men to prep them for the one on one interviews she had been promised when she signed up for the assignment.

The forms were brief, asking for name and rank, hometown and then a semi-personal question. Depending on the individual's situation she asked them one of three questions; the new guys were asked if war was what they thought it would be, the career soldiers were asked why they enlisted originally and those who were in Booth's unique position, him and two other men, were asked why they were there, why did they come back.

Booth scanned the sheet and saw that Tucker's preplanned answers told them nothing new but the notes he wrote underneath were a different story all together.

Name and rank: Master Sergeant Bradley Winston Tucker

Hometown: Houston, TX

Reason for initial enlistment: Family tradition.

June 26, 2010

Waiting outside the media tent, I overheard the guy before me giving her a hard time about answering the questions.

I jotted down what was said purely to amuse myself and maybe her at a later date. To show her that I pay attention, I admire her work and overall I respect her - unlike the rest of them.

She asked him, "Why did you come back?"

His response was flip, "I was asked."

"Not an answer."

"Well, it's my answer."

Confidently, she told him, "That sexy little smile isn't going to work on me - answer the question."

There were several moments of silence, during which I expected him to storm out, before he explained, "I needed a break."

With little interest, she asked, "From what?"

"From my real life." Sincere words coming from most but not from him.

She respectably thanked him for his candor and as he was readying to leave the tent, he stopped and arrogantly told her, "You know, that smile works on most people."

I couldn't see it but I could hear the disgust on her face, when she said, "I bet it does."

Shortly after, my interview was cancelled due to an unscheduled drill. I know in my heart it was for the best. A guy like me has nothing of importance to say to a lady like her.

No one here does.

Booth knew immediately that he was the man Tucker had eavesdropped on, but he also knew that Tucker had gotten it very wrong. Booth remembered that day, mainly because it had been the first not completely terrible day he'd had in the month since he left DC. The dialogue he and Charlie exchanged was accurately recorded but the tone assigned to it was anything but. He had been sincere and she had not been disgusted, not in the slightest. As he reread the page, he took note of the two different types of ink used. One for what appeared to be when he transcribed what he witnessed first-hand and one for when, it seemed, he went back and added the descriptive details to the scene.

Booth decided that his nagging gut was, once again, right on target. If this note was anything like the rest of the journal entries, Tucker's skewed view of events was going to make an already difficult situation that much more impossible to bear.