Chapter 3

Booth blinked, taken aback. Where the hell had that come from? He knew Brennan was blunt, but the announcement was unexpected even from her. "Baby?" he finally asked. It was a stupid question, he knew, but he was still trying to figure out what had just happened. How did she go from talking about how their relationship was different to wanting a baby? And since when did she want kids?

"Yes, a baby. I've actually been thinking about it for a little while now, and it seems like a rational decision. I know that I originally did not want to bring a child into this world, but I think that with my intelligence, it would be a waste for me not to pass on my genes. Did you know that statistically, intelligent people have fewer children? If the pattern continues, the average IQ could-"

"Bones." Booth stopped her rant by placing a finger against her lips. "Don't make this about science," he pleaded.

"Why not? Procreation is all about science. Genetics are about science. I was thinking that you would be the perfect candidate for a father. Your features are quite well-proportioned, and you're a very attractive man. Plus, you excel in places where I am lacking, most notably in social skills and-"

"Bones, when I said don't make this about science, I meant it. Having a kid is not something you do because you want to pass on your genes or ensure that the intelligence of the world remains on par. It's something you do because you love someone and want to share something special with them."

"But-"

Booth pressed his finger more firmly against her lips. "No buts, Bones. Now, what made you come to this decision now? Why not decide to have a kid three months ago? Why the sudden change of heart?"

She was silent for a moment. She knew the answer to that question, but she was afraid to say it aloud. Because it was not rational. And she, Temperance Brennan, was always rational. Unfortunately, he was not going to let her off easy; he simply sat back, watching her, waiting for her answer. Finally, she decided to simply throw caution to the wind. "Because of you," she answered quietly.

"Because of me?"

"Yes, because of you, goddammit!" Her voice was louder now though she lowered it a bit when she realized people could probably hear them outside of the office. "Because you're right. Because our relationship is different. Because after seeing how great you are with Parker and how much you love him, I can't help but wonder what it will be like if you got to be a father full time. And I can't help but wonder what it would be like to be a mother. It's not rational; this is probably just my body's way of trying to get me to procreate to continue the species. But I can't help but want a baby, Booth. Someone who will love me unconditionally."

Booth smiled at her. He knew it was hard for her to admit what she had just admitted, but he also knew that she needed to admit it. She had tried to hide her emotions for too long. "But you don't need me to do that," he pointed out, flinching at the thought even as he made the suggestion. He was certainly not going to allow Brennan to have a baby with anyone else. But he needed her to realize that she could not do that. "I'm sure there are plenty of guys out there with desirable genetic traits. I can't be the only person with 'symmetrical features'."

"I want you to be the father," she reiterated.

"Why?"

"Because. . . because. . . because I think I love you! Because I want to raise the baby with you. I want this baby to be a part of you and a part of me. Because for some reason, whenever I think about having a baby, you're always the first person I think about. It's not logical. I don't know why, but I only want this with you. Just like I only want to settle down with you. Just like-"

Her words were cut off by his lips as he brought her closer to him in a passionate kiss, heedless of the people bustling around the lab outside the office. He knew one of the squints could walk in at any minute, and they would both be busted, but he did not care. All he cared about were the words that had just come out of her mouth, the words he had never thought he would hear her utter. She loved him. He could not believe how lucky he was.

"Hey, Bones?" he asked, pulling away slightly. They still sat so that their lips were mere centimeters apart, and it took all his willpower not to kiss her again.

"Hmm?" Her eyes were half-closed in pleasure, and she did not think she would be capable of forming complete sentences at that moment.

"You already have someone who loves you unconditionally."

She opened her eyes fully to look at him and saw that he wore a small smile as he watched her. Though she was bad with people, she had known him for long enough to know that he spoke the truth. She could see it in his eyes. "Why?" she questioned.

"Why what?"

"Why do you love me?"

"Why do I love you?" He looked at her in confusion. Surely she realized how special she was. Surely she understood. . . .

But no. Brennan never really had understood. She had grown so accustomed to people leaving her that she had begun to assume that it had something to do with her, that for some reason, she simply was not good enough for people to stick around. "I love you because you're you, Bones. Because you're the most intelligent woman I've ever met, but you're completely clueless when it comes to social interactions or pop culture. Because you're not afraid to speak your mind. Because you always keep me guessing. Because you're strong and independent. Because you genuinely care for other people. Because you work so hard to give people answers even when everyone else has given up. Because despite everything you've been through, you've come so far in life. You didn't take the easy way out; you never got handed anything, and yet you've done so well. Because-"

This time, it was Brennan's turn to stop his impassioned speech in a manner that both partners were beginning to enjoy immensely. Their lips slid over one another for a few seconds before Booth pulled away. "Did that answer your question?"

"Yeah," Brennan answered breathlessly. She smiled. It was odd for her to find someone who genuinely cared for her not in spite of her faults but because of them. Every other man she had dated had tried to change her. But with Booth, there was no pressure. She knew he was a family man at heart; he wanted marriage and kids. But he knew that was not what she wanted, and he never pressed the issue. She had asked him about it once, and he had waved her off, telling her that she and Parker were enough for him. He had told her that all he wanted was to be with her for the rest of their lives, that that would make him happier than anything else. At first, she thought he was simply trying to appease her, to say what he knew she wanted to hear. But she had come to realize that he was speaking the truth. He really did not care about anything else.

"Earth to Bones? What are you thinking about?" Booth questioned.

"You," she answered honestly.

He grinned. "Good thoughts, I hope."

"Thank you," she said suddenly.

"You're welcome," he responded, puzzled. "Any particular thing you want to thank me for?"

"For being you."

"Oh, well, that comes naturally."

"I mean, for not trying to change me. For not pressuring me."

"I wouldn't want you to be anything but you, Bones. It just wouldn't be the same if you changed. I fell in love with you just the way you are."

"You know, you're the first person who's ever told me that."

"And I plan on being the last, too."

"I think I would like that." Brennan had never before imagined herself settling down with one person for the rest of her life; after all, animals did not typically spend their entire lives with one partner. But now, she could not imagine being with anyone else except Booth. "Booth, you never answered my first question," she pointed out.

"I don't believe there was a question there. It was simply a statement."

"Seeley, do you want to have a baby with me?"

Instead of answering with words, he stood, pulling her up with him. Wrapping his arms around her body, he brought her to him in a kiss full of promise. His tongue slid over her lips, and she parted them, inviting him in. As he deepened the kiss, he backed her up against the wall behind her desk, steadying them with one hand as his other hand moved over her back. She slid her hands slowly down his back, moving from his shoulder blades to his hips, loving the feel of his powerful muscles beneath her fingers. He pressed closer to her still, and she could clearly feel evidence of his arousal. Her own arousal was steadily growing as the kiss grew more heated and the hand on her back danced dangerously lower.

After a couple minutes of furious kissing, he moved his lips from hers, bringing them to her neck. "Booth," she moaned, trying to keep herself from completely succumbing to desire (a task which was steadily becoming more difficult). "Booth," she said again. Instead of responding to her, he simply moved his lips lower. She groaned, shutting her eyes, still trying to fight her desire.

"You taste so damn good," he growled.

"Booth, we're at work," she protested weakly.

"Consider this a lunch break."

"We're in my office."

"You said you wanted a baby. Surely you know the necessary actions for such an occurrence," he said, his voice low and husky.

"But we don't have to do this-" She broke off with a gasp as his teeth hit a sensitive spot. "Here," she finished breathlessly.

"I don't think I can make it home right now, Bones," he told her, pressing his arousal into her side to prove his point. "Besides, we still haven't christened this office."

"I don't know what that means."

His lips curled into a smile against her skin. "I'll show you," he promised. Turning them around, he led her to the couch. The blinds were already closed, so he simply turned the deadbolt of the door as they passed. Gently, he lay her back on the couch. "I love you," he whispered as he leaned over her, supported by his elbows. He loved that he could say those three words to her now without fear of her running away from him. He intended to use them as much as possible now that he could, to assure her that what he felt was real and that he was in it for the long haul.

She smiled lazily up at him. "I love you, too," she told him.

Sometime later, they lay tangled together on the couch, their naked bodies pressed tightly together, partially because of the limited space on the sofa and partially because of their need to be close to one another. Booth was trailing kisses down Brennan's arm. "Mm, Booth, we need to get up. Someone's bound to come to talk to me sooner or later," Brennan pointed out logically.

"Yeah." Still, he did not remove his arm from around her waist.

"Seriously, Booth, we need to get up." She started to pull away from him, and he released her with a sigh.

"Fine." Instead of standing up, however, he lay back on the couch and watched as she gathered her clothes. Eventually, she turned to look at him, her eyebrows raised.

"Get up and get dressed," she told him, throwing his boxers at him. He chuckled as they hit him in the chest, sitting up and slipping them on. After they were both dressed, Brennan pulled a hair brush from her desk and ran it through her hair a couple times. "How do I look?" she inquired.

"Beautiful," he answered without hesitation.

"I mean, can you tell what we were doing?"

"Well, I can, of course, But I think you should be okay with everyone else."

"Good. Because Angela's going to catch on if anything is out of place." She walked to the mirror, straightening her blouse. As she messed with the collar, she suddenly noticed something. "Booth!" she said exasperatedly.

"What?" he asked, wondering what he had done this time. In answer, she turned to him, pulling the collar of her shirt down slightly to reveal the large red mark on her neck. His lips started to curve into a smile, but he suppressed it quickly upon seeing her murderous expression. "Come on, Bones, it's just a hickey."

"If Angela sees it, she's going to know."

"Keep your collar like this," he told her, adjusting the fabric to cover the mark. "You can barely see it. And if you wear your lab coat on top of it, no one will be able to see anything." He picked up her lab coat from the coat rack by her door, holding it out for her. She slipped her arms inside it, still glaring at him.

"You should have been more careful," she scolded.

"Sorry. But when I'm around you, I tend to lose all self-control." He leaned forward as he said the last words, noting with some satisfaction that her eyes darkened at the proximity. With one last, lingering kiss, he moved away. She blinked a couple times to clear her mind and force herself to think of the case at hand before exiting the office, Booth trailing behind her.

"Have you finished cleaning the bones, Mr. Fisher?" she inquired as she made her way onto the platform.

"Yes, Dr. Brennan. I was going to tell you, but your door was locked."

Brennan felt her cheeks grow hot, but she forced her voice to remain steady as she said, "I was finishing up a chapter for my book, and I didn't want any interruptions."

Luckily, the intern bought her story. "Well, cleaning the bones allowed me to find a few other marks on the bones," Fisher said, stepping off the platform and leading the two partners to a side room where a magnified picture of the radius and ulna was displayed. Booth shivered slightly at the sight of the now clean bones lying neatly on the table. No matter how many bodies he saw, it did not make him any more accustomed to the sight. The brief interlude in the office had almost made him forget about the murderer who was after Brennan, but reality had suddenly come crashing back down on him at the sight of the body. "There is slight scoring on the radius and ulna of both arms," Fisher was explaining. "It looks like it was made by a knife of some kind. The marks are only on part of the bones, however; the knife would never have cut the radial or ulnar arteries." Booth peered up at the pictures, trying and failing to see the marks that Fisher was speaking of.

"So she cut herself?" Booth inquired.

"She didn't do it." Brennan spoke quietly, and Booth turned to see her intently focused on the pictures in front of her, her eyes glazed over.

"Bones." He reached for her, but she shook him away.

"I'm fine, Booth."

He looked as if he did not believe her, but he did not press the issue in front of her intern. Fisher was already watching the two closely.

"Did you confirm her identity?" Brennan asked.

"Dental records match," Fisher announced.

"Okay. Finish cataloguing the injuries. Make sure you do a thorough examination. We don't want to miss anything."

"Of course, Dr. Brennan."

Brennan strode out of the room, Booth still tailing her as she made her way to Hodgins' office. When she entered, he spun around in his chair. "I didn't find anything out of the ordinary on the lighter unfortunately," he announced. "There were traces of lacquer and sawdust from the pinus strobus plant."

"Pinus what?"

"It's colloquially referred to as the white pine. It's a common wood used for furniture and other household items."

"So whoever handled the lighter was likely into woodworking," Booth deduced, looking at Brennan. Hodgins nodded in answer.

"It was Earl's main hobby," Brennan said, answering his unspoken question. "He used to have a shed out behind the house. He would disappear in there for hours at a time; we always looked forward to those periods when he was gone. At least then we could be assured that he wasn't going to touch us."

"Okay, so this indicates that the lighter does indeed belong to Earl. But we already suspected that; can you tell us anything else about him? Maybe where he was?"

"Sorry, man, I can only work with what I have."

Booth sighed in frustration, turning to leave the office. As he was about to walk through the door, he nearly ran straight into Angela who was entering with a file folder clutched in her hand. "I think I found the reason that Earl has surfaced again now," Angela announced, waving the folder. She walked to the desk and placed it on the surface, opening it. "A week ago, a construction company in Virginia was digging to lay the foundation for a new building. They happened to come across this." She flipped to a picture of a blackened skeleton. "The report indicates that it was a female Caucasian in her mid-teens, likely dead for twelve to seventeen years."

"Why didn't the FBI get the case?" Booth questioned, pouring over the information.

"The body was found near Richmond, so the Richmond cops took over. They're fairly experienced in handling murder investigations, so I guess they saw no reason to call in the FBI. The case is still open."

"They don't have any suspects listed," Booth noted.

"They haven't identified the victim yet," Angela said. Booth nodded, already dialing. As soon as the phone connected, he began giving instructions to have the body shipped from Richmond to the Jeffersonian. Angela watched him go, a look in her eyes that Brennan knew well. "I love it when he gets all authoritative," she said.

"Hey!" Hodgins exclaimed from beside her.

"Don't worry, Hodgie, I love you all the time," she assured him, patting his cheek. "But sometimes, watching him, I just. . . ooh." Brennan simply shook her head at her friend and followed her partner out of the room.

"They're bringing the body over now," Booth informed her as she joined him. "It should be here in a couple hours. What do you say we head to Wong Foo's to grab some lunch while we wait?"

"I thought we already had our lunch break," Brennan reminded him.

"Nothing says you can't take two," Booth told her. "Besides, there's not really much you can do here until that body arrives, so lets go." Brennan sighed, knowing he was right. Shedding her lab coat, she adjusted her hair to cover the mark before following him out of the lab.

As they sat in their usual booth waiting for Sid to bring the food they had never ordered, Booth reached across the table to cover one of Brennan's hands with his own. She looked up at him, noting the concern in his eyes. "How are you handling all this?" he questioned. "You still holding up okay?"

"I'm fine, Booth," she told him, her tone slightly exasperated. "I can compartmentalize. This hasn't affected me."

"That's bullshit, and you know it."

"Maybe it's affected me, but it's only made me more determined to find the bastard. You're worrying over nothing. I'm okay."

He looked doubtful, but he still pulled his hand away. "Okay, Bones, I'll take that for now. But I want to know the minute that changes. I think this has affected you more than you're willing to admit."

"I didn't realize you were a psychologist, Booth."

"I'm not. But I know you. I know that you're not quite as 'fine' as you say. Just remember that I'm here, Temperance. I'm not going to leave you." She said nothing; she simply stared at her knuckles until their food arrived. As they began to eat, Booth finally worked up the courage to ask a question that had been bugging him since their discussion earlier that day. "Bones? This whole baby thing?"

"What about it?" She looked up at him sharply. Was he backing out? Did he not actually want to have a baby with her? Was he simply saying that to make her feel better?

"Don't worry, I'm not having second thoughts. It would be an honor to have a baby with you," he told her. As usual, he had read her mind, sensed her insecurities. "I just wanted to make sure that this is what you really wanted. That this decision wasn't spurred by stress from the case or something similar."

"Booth, you should know by now that I rarely let anything stop me from making logical decisions. I've actually been thinking about having a baby with you for a couple weeks now. I just did not voice my desire until earlier."

"So if we go ahead with this, there will be no regrets later?"

"None. I want this, Booth, and I want it with you."

His face broke into a wide smile. "Good."

The body had still not arrived when they reentered the lab. Brennan walked up to the platform to examine some additional magnified pictures she had asked Fisher to take of the previous body. Booth stood back slightly where he could still see her, flipping his poker chip in the air and catching it neatly in his hand. "You're staring," a voice behind him remarked, startling him. The poker chip clattered to the floor.

"I'm just making sure she's okay, Angela," he said, bending to retrieve the chip.

"Uh-huh." Angela's tone was one of disbelief. "She's in one of the most well-secured buildings in this country. No one's going to get to her."

"People have gotten in here before."

"You know as well as I do that she's perfectly safe up there. But that doesn't stop you from staring at her like a lovesick puppy."

"I'm not lovesick," he argued.

"Whatever you say, Hot Stuff." With that, Angela walked away.

Somewhat frustrated now, Booth sunk into a nearby chair in front of one of the lab computers. The screen asked him to log in; it did not take him long to guess Brennan's username and password. Once he had logged on, he pulled up the case file that Angela had earlier shown him, reading it carefully to see if he had missed anything in his first cursory examination of the information.

The body arrived about forty-five minutes later, and Brennan directed the two techs to move it to the examination table. Booth stood up and moved to the platform, having gleaned no additional information even after a thorough read-through of the file. Brennan was already unwrapping the body, a recorder sitting on the table beside her. "Victim is Caucasian," she dictated. "Adolescent. Female." She completely unwrapped the body, bending closer to examine it. "Multiple fractures of the both tibia and of multiple ribs. Fractures of the carpals on both hands, indications that the wrists were twisted violently." She swallowed hard and closed her eyes, willing herself to remain in control as she examined the girl who had experienced the same hell she had. The only difference was that Brennan had lived to tell the tale.

She saw Booth moving around the table to comfort her, but she stopped his approach with her eyes. "Cause of death appears to be blunt force trauma to the head. The size of the fracture indicates that death was likely instantaneous. The body appears to have been burned post-mortem." Booth watched her for a couple more minutes as she continued the examination. He knew she was hurting, but he also knew that she needed to do the autopsy for herself. It was her way of dealing with her friend's death. Quietly, he left the platform, seating himself in front of the computer once again to discover whatever he could about Brett Earl.

"How'd you get on that computer?" a voice asked about thirty minutes later. Booth spun around sheepishly to face Brennan.

"I used your credentials."

"But you don't know my password."

"It wasn't hard to guess, Bones. Are you finished?"

"I've done my preliminary examination. Mr. Fisher is cleaning the bones now."

"Good. I've got an address for Brett Earl's brother. I say we should pay him a visit, see if he has any idea of his brother's whereabouts."

"Okay. Let's go."

Jason Earl lived on a small farm which was, as far as Booth could tell, quite literally in the middle of nowhere. The closest house was nearly a mile away from the ramshackle structure. He pulled the SUV up in front of it, its tires crunching on the gravel. Shutting off the engine, he exited the vehicle and approached the house, Brennan by his side. There was no doorbell, so he pulled open the torn screen door and knocked loudly on the door.

They waited for a minute or so, and Booth was about to knock again when they heard a shuffling sound inside. A few seconds later, the door swung open to reveal a balding man in his early fifties. Torn jeans stretched around his hefty waistline, held up by a pair of green suspenders which clashed horribly with his flannel shirt. His beady black eyes peered suspiciously at the two partners. "I ain't a religious man, and I don't intend on changin', so you can just git on yer way."

"I'm Special Agent Booth with the FBI, and this is my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan," Booth introduced, pulling his badge from his coat. "We'd like to ask you a few questions."

"What about? I ain't done nothin' against the law."

"It's about your brother, sir," Booth told him.

"Brett? I ain't seen him in years."

"Have you had any contact with him recently?" Booth inquired. "Any phone calls, letters, emails?"

"Nah, we never really got along. He was always on my case when we was growin' up. Thought I couldn't do anythin' right. Once he left for college, I didn't really see him much any more."

"When was the last time you saw your brother, sir?"

"Musta been 'bout ten, eleven years ago. He came out here to tell me he was leavin'. Said somethin' 'bout goin' into hidin'. Never really told me why, and I didn't ask. Figured he was just tryin' to git away from his missus or somethin'. She always struck me as rather annoyin'. I don't know why he even married her; probably 'cuz no one else wanted to look at his ugly mug for the rest of her life. Anyway, I always knew that wouldn't last long; I was actually surprised it lasted as long as it did."

"He had marital problems?"

"Who doesn't?"

"Do you know if he ever hit his wife?"

"I wouldn't doubt that he slapped her around a bit. Brett always had to be in control, even when we was younga. He liked to push me around, too, 'cuz I was smaller than him. He liked the power, you know?"

"Were you aware that your brother fostered children?"

"Yeah, he mighta mentioned that. Somethin' about how there was two kinds: the ones who would listen to whateva ya said, and the ones who didn't listen to a thing. He liked the second kind best. He liked to take control over them, to force them to listen to him. He took power over them."

Booth's blood boiled just listening to the man. He chanced a glance over at Brennan who was staring resolutely ahead, her eyes awash with emotion. He knew she was remembering her time in the Earl household, and he wanted to reach out and comfort her, to take her pain away if only for a moment. But he knew he could not do that now. He had a job to do, and they had a suspect to question. "Did your brother ever mention that he abused the children he fostered?"

"He never said that exactly, no. But I know he did. He said enough."

"Mr. Earl, do you have any idea where your brother might be hiding?"

"Nah. Like I said, I never really talked to him much. Listen, what sort of trouble is he in anyway? I didn't think the feds investigated wife beatin's."

"I really can't say, Mr. Earl. I'm going to give you my card. Call me if you think of anything else or if your brother contacts you." Booth handed him a business card.

"Sure. But I'll tell you right now, he ain't comin' here. We went our separate ways a long time ago."

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Earl." They started back toward the car. As soon as they were out of earshot, Booth leaned over to whisper in Brennan's ear. "He's hiding something," he told her. "I think he knows more about his brother's whereabouts than he's letting on."

"Then why didn't you question him further?"

"Because right now, he thinks he got away with lying to us. That means he's going to relax, let his guard down. I'm hoping he's going to try to contact his brother in some way. We'll pretend to leave and just hang out in that copse of trees by the road where his driveway starts. That way, we can follow him if he leaves-Bones!" Brennan had moved away from him, walking toward the left side of the house. "Bones, where are you going?" he questioned, striding quickly to catch up to her.

"What does that look like to you?" she asked, pointing to a small building to the side of the house. The roof was patched haphazardly, and the door was slightly ajar.

"It's a shed. So?"

"So there's a sawhorse out front."

Booth sucked in a breath. "Good catch, Bones." He followed her to the door of the shed, stopping her before she could push it open. "For all we know, he could be waiting in here," he told her, drawing his gun from his holster. "I go first." Carefully, he took her place, pushing her behind him as he nudged the door open with the barrel of his gun. He swept the room quickly; it was a relatively small space crammed with woodworking equipment, but it was quickly obvious that no one lurked inside unseen. There simply was not a good place to hide.

"Okay, Bones, you're clear," he said, reholstering his gun. She stepped around him, moving into the shed. Carefully, she approached what looked like the bottom part to a rocking chair; it was still missing the entire back. She ran her hand carefully over the arm rest, feeling the smooth wood beneath her fingertips.

"It's very well done," Booth observed. "The guy's obviously an expert."

"Yeah." Brennan was quiet for a moment. "Do you know that when I first came to the Earl house, he gave me a rocking chair for my room? I thought it was great. I was so happy, thinking I had finally found a set of foster parents who actually wanted me, who would actually care for me. I thought he was going to be the best foster father I had ever had. And then. . ." Her voice trailed off.

"Oh, Bones. . ."

"I don't need your pity, Booth," she said, abruptly turning away from the chair. "I just want to catch this bastard."

"And we will, Bones. I promise you that."

They left the shed, Booth carefully shutting the door behind them, leaving it cracked just as it had been before. As they started back toward the SUV, something caught Booth's eye. "Hey, Bones, look at that." He walked over to the large object which was covered in a bright blue tarp. Folding back the front of the tarp, he revealed the front end of a large, red pickup truck.

"It's a truck, Booth."

"A 1997 Chevy K2500," Booth corrected.

"Okay. So?"

"So Earl disappeared in 1999. And when he did, he cleaned out his entire bank account. They found his car on the side of the road a couple weeks later. It would stand to reason that he bought himself a new car, but there was no purchases on his credit card, so he must have paid cash."

"You think this car belongs to Earl?"

"It would make sense." Booth bent down to examine the front tire. "There's fresh mud on the tires," he said, pointing to it. As he stood up, he placed his hand on the hood of the car. Suddenly, he was at full attention, the instincts born from years of sniper training on alert. His hand dropped to his waist, and he drew his gun.

"Booth, what's wrong?" Brennan asked, standing as she sealed a plastic bag with the dirt from the tires.

"Bones, get behind me."

"Why?"

"The hood's still warm."

"That doesn't mean anything. It could just be-"

"Bones, for once in your life, could you just listen to me!" He was turning to face her when he suddenly felt something was amiss. He was not sure how to accurately describe the feeling; it was as if the hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end. Without stopping to think, he stepped directly in front of Brennan, spinning to grab her around the waist as he fell to the ground, bringing her with him. He heard the shot as they fell, and he felt something pierce his shoulder, but he was too concentrated on her safety to register it. Three more shots rang out in rapid succession before the forest went quiet. It was an eerie silence, almost as if the forest itself was waiting with baited breath for the shooting to continue.

They lay on the ground for a minute or so, Booth's body fully covering Brennan's. "Booth, I think it's stopped," she told him, pushing his body. As she tried to move him, her hand inadvertently came into contact with the shoulder which the bullet had hit. He groaned in pain. "Booth?" she questioned, suddenly concerned when she realized her hands were sticky with blood.

"I think he got me," Booth moaned, managing to roll off of her with another grunt of pain. Earl was suddenly forgotten with Brennan's concern for her partner. She had already pulled out her cellphone and was dialing 911 as she assessed the damage. She pulled off his suit jacket and immediately noticed the crimson stain which was rapidly spreading over the left side of his white shirt.

"Booth, you have to stop stepping in front of bullets for me," she told him, trying desperately not to think about the fact that his blood was once again staining her hands. Flashes of that night when they went to the karaoke bar kept running through her mind; she remembered the hard plastic chairs and too-white walls of the waiting room at the hospital, the muted western playing on the television in the corner, the coughs and moans of the other patients waiting to be admitted. But most of all, she remembered the doctor emerging from the back hallway, shaking his head. She remembered the feeling of emptiness which engulfed her as he uttered those fateful words: "I'm sorry. He didn't make it." She remembered her refusal to accept that he could be gone, that he would leave her just like that. She remembered Angela's arms around her, her tears wetting Brennan's shoulder as she comforted her friend. She remembered trying to drive home but finding herself at his apartment. She remembered falling asleep that night in his bed, clutching his shirt to her chest. She did not shed any tears that night nor any in the following days because allowing herself to cry would make the entire experience too real. It would make his death real.

In the end, it turned out not to be real, but that had not erased the pain she had felt that entire period. And now, seeing him lying before her with blood spreading across his chest, she could not help but think that she might lose him again.

Quickly, she shook these thoughts from her mind. No, she could not think that way. Not with Booth still very much alive right next to her. Quickly, she ripped his shirt off, heedless of the buttons she sent flying. "I'll always step in front of bullets for you, Bones," he told her. "I can't lose you. Ah!" He flinched as the fabric brushed his wound. Brennan looked down at it, happy to note that the bullet appeared to have pierced his shoulder far from any vital organ.

"You have some pretty heavy bleeding," Brennan observed. "But I don't think it's life-threatening yet. I just need to find a way to stop it until the paramedics get here." She bundled his shirt up and pressed it to the wound. He hissed in pain as she put pressure on the wound, but she did not let up. "Sorry, Booth. I know it hurts, but I need to put pressure on it," she told him.

"S'okay," he muttered. "It's just a. . . flesh wound." He grinned, and she wondered if there was some joke in his statement that she had missed. "Where's Earl?" he inquired, looking around as if expecting him to suddenly appear.

"He got away," Brennan answered simply.

"Oh. I should have figured out he was there sooner. If I had been a little faster-"

"Don't you dare blame yourself, Booth," Brennan told him.

"Feels like my fault." He licked his lips, trying to ignore the stabbing pain which was shooting through his shoulder and radiating down his arm. He was feeling lightheaded and dizzy, most likely from loss of blood. But he refused to give in to unconsciousness. He needed to stay awake, to keep talking to Brennan. They both needed that.

"When the cavalry get here, tell them to take Jason Earl into custody," Booth instructed, breathing in and out slowly. "I have a few additional questions for him."

"Okay," Brennan agreed. "What cavalry?"

Despite the pain, Booth managed a smile which soon morphed into a grimace as his arm throbbed. "It's slang for the cops."

"Oh. Why couldn't you have just said that?"

"Because then we wouldn't be having that conversation."

"That makes no sense, Booth."

"I've just been shot. I'm allowed to not make sense."

They spent a few more minutes bantering, but Brennan soon noticed that Booth was fading. She saw him fighting unconsciousness, knew that he was struggling to ignore the pain in his arm. She was grateful for his fight; as long as he was talking, her worries stayed at bay, for she knew he was safe. When she heard the sirens in the distance, they both smiled in relief. "Took them long enough," Booth remarked. His eyes started to close. "Bones?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm okay. I'm going to be okay. I just need to sleep so the pain goes away," he told her, finally letting his eyes slide shut. Despite his assurances, she frantically reached for his neck, happy to find that his heart still beat steadily. If she were being honest with herself, she was surprised that he had held on as long as he did. His shirt was almost completely soaked through with blood, and she knew the pain must be excruciating. But he had still held on.