Later, they both sat in the back of an ambulance as paramedics checked them over for damage. Brennan escaped with only a few cuts and bruises from her fall to the pavement, but Booth had fared slightly worse. He had a number of abrasions on his neck, arms, and back from small shards of glass which one EMT was currently removing over his grumbles and complaints. He had also reopened the stitches on his shoulder though they were being replaced. All in all, it had ended much better than it would have had Booth not noticed the bomb.

"Sweetie!" a voice called, cutting through the chatter of EMT's and police cars. "Are you all right? What happened?"

"There was a bomb in the car," Brennan explained. "Booth noticed it before either of us got in and told me to run. As we were running, it went off, and he pushed me to the ground with more force than was strictly necessary."

"Just trying to save your life, Bones," he muttered irritably, his breath coming out in a low hiss as the EMT put the needle through his skin to stitch up the bullet wound.

"I'm with Booth on this one, Sweetie. It sounds like he saved your life. You really should give the guy a break."

"Yeah, Bones, listen to Ange. Ow!" Booth glared at the EMT who was stitching up his arm. "Angela, I'm going to need you to get the tapes from the parking garage. See who came in here between 8:00 this morning and right now."

"I'm already on it. Security's sending them over right now. They're pretty embarrassed that someone got past them and into the parking lot."

"Well, they should be. Bones could have been killed. Ow! Goddammit, is it really necessary to poke that many holes in my skin?" He addressed the paramedic with the last question, but the man simply ignored his protests.

"Booth, I'm going to go back with Angela to go over the tapes," Brennan announced, sliding down from the back of the ambulance.

"Oh, no you don't. Bones. Bones!" Booth quickly slid down from the ambulance to follow her, ignoring the protests of the two EMT's who were still attending to his injuries. The needle and thread still hung from his arm, and blood still oozed from the wound, making him a rather imposing figure as he faced the anthropologist. "You are not leaving my sight, Bones. You stay right here with me until Betsy Ross finishes up with me. Then we'll look at the tapes together."

"Booth, you don't have to protect me."

He scoffed. "Like hell I don't."

"I'll be fine. All I'll be doing is walking back to the lab. Nothing's going to happen."

"Newsflash, Bones, something did happen. And I'll be damned if I'm going to let anything else happen. You mean too much to me to lose. So if you don't mind, can you please just humor me and stay with me until I finish with this bloodletting?" He jerked his head down toward the thread which still hung from his arm, swaying back and forth as he quivered with frustration. After a long pause, Brennan nodded. He sighed. "Good." Together, they walked back to the ambulance.

Fifteen minutes later, Brennan breezed into Angela's office, Booth following close behind her, mumbling something about needles and knowing exactly where he'd like to stick them. His dress shirt and sports jacket were off, both of them having been torn up and blood-stained from the explosion, leaving him in only a white undershirt which was similarly bloodstained. A fresh white bandage graced his shoulder, accompanied by two more on his left arm and one on his right, and the tears in his undershirt revealed the presence of a number of other bandages in various places on his back. Angela looked up as she heard the two partners approach, and her eyes took in his muscular figure appreciatively. "Angela!" Brennan said loudly, causing her friend to turn to her.

"What? A girl can look but not touch, Sweetie."

"The tapes, Angela."

"Yeah." Angela hit a few keys on her keyboard, and a slightly grainy black and white picture of the parking lot appeared. The angle of the camera allowed Brennan to clearly make out Booth's black SUV. "9:18 this morning," Angela announced, glancing at the time stamp. Brennan watched for a couple seconds as a truck pulled up next to the SUV, partially blocking the camera's view of the vehicle. A figure dressed in dark clothes got out of the front seat of the truck and begin to jimmy the lock on the passenger's door.

"That's Earl's truck," Booth observed needlessly as the man moved the jimmy up and down in the space between the window and the car door.

"You can't really tell much from this angle," Brennan said, trying to make out the man's features. She could make out that he was approximately six feet tall and around two hundred pounds with broad shoulders, but she could not discern anything else about his appearance from the grainy picture.

"Unfortunately, there's not a better angle," Angela told her. "The SUV blocks your view of him from all the other cameras." They watched as he opened the door before removing something from the back of the truck and placing it in the SUV. He disappeared from view for a couple minutes then; when he reappeared, he closed the door of the SUV, climbed in his truck, and drove away.

"Is there footage of him entering and leaving the parking structure?" Booth inquired. Angela nodded, bringing up a video from another camera that showed Earl sliding a card through a reader at the front gate. The bar raised, allowing him to drive into the parking lot. Unfortunately, his head was turned the wrong way, preventing the three from being able to clearly see his face.

"Wait, how did he get an access card to the parking lot?" Brennan inquired.

Booth shook his head slowly, watching as Angela brought up another camera that showed the truck heading further into the parking structure. Again, there was no clear picture of Earl's face. Suddenly, the solution presented itself to Booth. "Bones, where do you keep your access card to the parking lot when you're not using it?"

"In my car at my apartment." Her eyes suddenly went wide as she caught on. Before Booth could stop her, she had turned and started out the door.

"Angela, go through the rest of that tape and see if you can find me a face," Booth instructed before racing after his partner.

They soon realized that transportation was going to be a problem. Fortunately, it was a problem quickly solved when one of the police officers documenting the scene of the explosion offered them a ride. They found Brennan's car quickly, and she unlocked it, throwing open the passenger's door. Opening the glove box, she dug around for a minute before pulling her hand out, shaking her head. "It's not here," she announced. Booth nodded; he had expected as much.

Unfortunately, there were no cameras in the parking structure of Brennan's apartment building, so Booth and Brennan returned to the Jeffersonian with no additional leads. They found Angela still in her office. "Find anything?" Booth questioned, letting out a deep breath as he collapsed into a chair. Though he would never admit it to anyone else, he was hurting. Bad.

"I haven't gotten a face yet, but I found something else you guys might like to see." Angela highlighted something on the screen, and a magnified picture of a baseball cap appeared in the corner of the screen. She pressed a few buttons, and the image cleared enough for Booth to make out an image on the cap.

"I've seen that before," he remarked, staring at the image.

"It's the logo of a local fast food place," Angela told him. "I have the name and address right here." She handed him a slip of paper.

"Thanks, Ange, you're the best." Booth took the paper, motioning for Brennan to follow him out of the office.

The officer drove them to the fast food joint, following Booth and Brennan as they entered. The smell of burgers and fries wafted around them as the door opened, reminding Booth that he had yet to eat lunch that day. Unfortunately, he had no time to do so now. They were close to finding Earl; he could sense it. And until they found him and put him safely behind bars, he had more pressing matters to attend to than his protesting stomach.

Approaching the counter, Booth removed his badge and showed it to the teenager at the register. "I need to speak to the manager," Booth told the kid. The teenager simply nodded and disappeared into the back, emerging a couple minutes later with a man in his early forties. Booth wasted no time with introductions; instead, he removed the picture that Angela had made by aging Earl from his pocket.

"Do you know this man?" he inquired, unfolding the photo. The manager looked at it for a few seconds.

"Sure. That's Bob Mason. He works evenings." Booth and Brennan exchanged a look.

"Do you have any idea where we might find Bob Mason?" Booth asked.

The manager shrugged. "He hasn't been into work in about a week now. If you find him, tell him he's fired."

"Thanks." Booth turned and left, Brennan and the policeman following behind him. "I recognize the name," Booth said, already pulling out his phone and dialing Charlie. "It was one of the names on the list of property owners."

Fifteen minutes later, they were pulling onto the interstate, heading for West Virginia. Booth was on the phone with the FBI, coordinating back-up. Brennan leaned forward from where she sat in the back seat, turning to Booth. "Why do I have to sit in the back?" she questioned.

He hung up the phone and turned to look at her. "Because we have the guns," he told her simply. She glared at him.

"Only because you won't let me have one."

"We're not seriously going to have this argument now, are we?" he asked.

"What's wrong with the current time? We have a drive of at least three hours ahead of us, and it's not like we can do anything else."

"Look, Bones, you shot someone."

"Who was trying to destroy evidence."

Booth glanced over at the police officer, Poole, who was trying to hide his smile. "Fine, Bones," he said, reaching down to remove the gun he wore at his ankle. "Just make sure you only use it if it's absolutely necessary. Kay?"

"I'm capable of handling a gun, Booth," Brennan said, taking the gun from his hands and tucking it into the waistband of her pants. She was quiet for a minute before asking, "Now that I have a gun, can I sit up front?"

"Where exactly do you plan on sitting, Bones? My lap?"

"I feel that would be highly inappropriate behavior considering we're working, Booth," she said, hoping her tone did not betray the fact that his suggestion appealed to her.

"It was a joke, Bones."

By the time they reached West Virginia, it was past 6:00. They stopped to grab some food at a small diner. Booth ordered the steak, but when the waitress brought it, he realized he had a problem. It was nearly impossible to cut a steak with only one hand. Brennan recognized his predicament quickly and reached out to take his plate from him. "Here, Booth, let me do it," she offered.

"I don't need you to mother me, Bones," he muttered irritably.

"Look, you don't have full use of one of your arms. It's only natural that there are certain tasks you will be unable to perform. Just let me help."

"Fine." He pushed his plate toward her, and she made quick work of the steak before giving it back to him. Still sulking slightly, he speared a piece with his fork and began to eat. Brennan shook her head at his childish behavior.

Poole watched the interaction with interest. "How long have you two been together?" he questioned.

"We've been partners for over three years now," Brennan answered.

"That's a pretty good run."

"We work well together."

"You bicker like a married couple," he informed them.

"Are you implying something?" Booth asked.

"Just an observation."

They spent the rest of the meal chatting comfortably. Though the conversation was dominated by Booth and Brennan, they attempted to bring Poole in as often as possible. He did not mind being left out, however; it was fascinating to watch the two partners interact. He quickly noticed that when their debates started, they often acted as if the rest of the world disappeared.

When the waitress asked if they wanted dessert, Booth declined her offer, and Brennan looked at him curiously. "No pie?" she questioned.

"Not right now. Right now, I'm going to focus on catching this bastard. And when we do that, we'll come back here, and then I'll have my pie." The waitress brought the check, and Booth grabbed it before either Poole or Brennan could. He waved off their offers to pay, throwing enough cash to cover the bill and the tip on the table before standing. "Come on, let's get going," he told them.

When they arrived at the small cabin in the woods, they found it already surrounded by police cars and a couple black SUV's Brennan knew belonged to the FBI. Booth flashed his badge as he approached the officer who appeared to be giving the orders. "Special Agent Booth," Booth introduced. "What's going on here?"

"Nice of you to join us, Agent Booth. I'm Sheriff Dickens. We came here after getting your call, but the suspect had already fled."

"The truck's still here," Booth observed. "He must have fled on foot. Check the woods and surrounding area for any sign of him. He can't have gotten far."

The sheriff peered at him critically. "I know how to do my job, Agent Booth. Officers have been searching this area for nearly two hours now. Unfortunately, your guy seems to know this area well, so we've been unsuccessful so far."

Booth growled in frustration. Suddenly, he heard a shout behind him. "Sheriff, I think we've got him!" one of the officers yelled. "He was hiding in a rock outcropping a couple miles from here." The officer came into sight pushing a man in his late fifties in front of him. The man's hands were handcuffed together, but he still wore a triumphant smile. Booth had to admit, Angela had done a good job; the man bore an uncanny resemblance to the artist's rendition.

"This your guy?" the sheriff inquired, grabbing hold of Earl.

"That's him," Booth confirmed.

"Hullo, Temperance," Earl greeted, his grin widening. Brennan stepped forward, raising her hand so that she could deliver a hard punch to his jaw. Booth winced as he watched Earl's head jerk sideways. He knew that had hurt.

"That felt good," Brennan announced, turning to Booth. Booth smiled at her.

"I bet it did."

"Don't you think that was a bit out of line, Agent Booth?" Sheriff Dickens asked.

"What? I didn't see anything. Did you, Poole?"

Poole shook his head. "Nope, nothing."

"See, sheriff, nothing happened. Now, if you'll hand over my suspect, we'll just be on our way. Thank you for your help."

"Agent Booth?"

"Yes, Sheriff?"

Sheriff Dickens opened his mouth to say more, but he abruptly closed it again. "You're welcome," he said simply. Booth nodded, grabbing Earl's wrists and pulling him roughly toward the FBI SUV's.

"Let's go home, Booth," Brennan said.

"Home sounds good," Booth agreed.

They road back to the Jeffersonian in one of the FBI SUV's. This time, both Booth and Brennan sat in the back, maintaining a professional distance between them though each one was itching to touch the other, to celebrate their victory together. However, they managed to maintain decorum during the entire ride back and their stop at the Hoover Building where Booth placed Earl in FBI custody. By the time Booth had filled out all the necessary paperwork for the arrest, it was after midnight. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, entering his office where he found Brennan stretched out across his sofa, fast asleep. A loose strand of hair had fallen over her face, and it rose and fell slowly as she inhaled and exhaled. A soft smile played on his lips as he knelt in front of her, tenderly brushing the strand of hair out of her face. When that did not rouse her, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. She blinked her eyes, slowly coming awake.

"What time is it?" she questioned.

"12:21," Booth announced, glancing at his watch.

"The diner's closed now. You won't be able to get your pie," Brennan said.

He smiled again. Leave it to Brennan to remember that. "It's not that important. Besides, I have some frozen pie at home. It won't be as good, but at least it's pie."

"You still have ice cream?"

His eyes darkened at the memory. "I think I can dig some up," he told her.

"Let's go home, Booth."

Home. He sure liked the sound of that.