A/N: This is an IMPORTANT note, so I would be grateful if all of you would read it, please. I know that some of you have noticed that Brennan is OOC, and I've finally figured out why (special thanks to Cardamoms for that). I didn't particularly like Season 6 for the most part. Because of Hannah, because of the way Brennan was portrayed as unfeeling and cold and Booth wasn't exactly nice. I have rewatched Seasons 1-3 to a point where I know several episodes by heart and can tell you what cute moment happen in any given episode in addition to who died and who the murderer is by seeing a couple seconds of a scene while my parents are flipping and go past a rerun. Yeah. The thing is, after Season 3, I started to lose that feeling. I love the angst-points that I get to use from PitSotW and episodes like that... but after DitP I tended to lose focus on major changes in BxB's relationship. Such as the elevator scenes and the time when they burned those papers with the dates on them. (See, I can't even tell you what episode that was.)

My point-yes, there is one-is that I have sort of... forgotten some major points. SO, for the purpose of this story, we are going to go into a somewhat AU parallel, where BxB aren't on that road when she gets pregnant. This is how I've been writing without even realizing it, so I think it's fitting. This means that, as far as Booth and Brennan are concerned... they never moved forward much after Hannah. They had some of the conversation in the elevator, but there was never resolution. Both of them are still in the dark about how the other is feeling towards them. Brennan thinks Booth might have an interest, but that she might have done too much damage and that's why he's being so silent about it.

I really hope this helps to explain some things. I will also be attaching a note to the beginning of the story about this. I apologize for all the confusion; I'm so used to writing outside the S6 canon with my other two stories that I blanked on this one. I hope you will enjoy the rest of this story just as much or even more now that I've cleared that up some.

I still don't own Bones. Sadly.

Chapter 9

June 1st, 2011

Booth's office was quiet, and he watched the clock on his desk tick the seconds by as he listened to the dull buzz of activity he could hear from the bullpen. He almost missed that busy atmosphere, that would have swallowed him up. Here, he felt isolated.

He still had no clue what had happened the night before. But, what he had understood of it... was that something was not right with Bones. There was something wrong there, something so wrong he couldn't even begin to understand it. She wasn't... herself, recently. She was quiet, and moody, and she didn't speak much during their interviews. She was there, and he felt her presence... but it was like she was fading into the background. The people they talked to barely glanced at her through the interview, and he hated that.

It had been so much better when she had spoken up and said things that made him cringe. At least that had been normal, even if it hadn't always made his life easy. He missed the honesty, too. The way she used to tell him exactly what was bothering her, rather than hiding behind all these new walls. These ones, he didn't know how to break down.

He didn't plan to go by the lab, today. He'd give her that much; let her figure herself out, because it was obvious she was almost as lost as he was in this mess. And tomorrow, in the fresh light, they could try to sort it all out.

Today, he had enough to deal with, as far as the case went.

The clubs they had visited the night before had given him a vibe that had nothing to do with the music and the thrum of dancing bodies around them. There was something dark about them, something that made him suspect that there was more going on... and that everyone who worked there was well aware of it. Including Taylor and the bartenders.

Be it drugs, prostitution, or some sort of black market operation... he had put together a few pieces and come up with an answer. Last night hadn't seemed the right time to bring it up, with Brennan lost in her own thoughts and him not much better off. So, he would investigate this angle on his own, and let the rest of the team know what he came up with.

His first call this morning had been to Agent Ronald Culver, in the narcotics division.

They had an appointment, which he needed to be at shortly. He stood up from his desk, relieved that the clock now told him he wasn't going to be outrageously early. He had been the one to suggest the Founding Fathers, and as expected, Culver knew the place. Another mystery solved.

He knew Culver somewhat, from a few cases they had worked together years ago. He was a good guy, with a dedication to his job that hadn't suited his family life. That aspect had been going downhill, as Booth remembered, and he doubted it had improved. But the job had owned him from the start, much like it owned Booth. It was hard to have a personal life outside of the office, and he knew that from experience. Which was why it was so easy to be so involved with Bones. Even though he wasn't technically involved with her.

She was a part of the job, though. A part of his life.

Culver hadn't had that luxury. His wife had been a stay-at-home mother to their two children, who he rarely saw. From his voice during their phone call, Booth remembered he was a rugged guy, with a sharp tone and a balding head of hair. But he knew how to crack a joke, despite it mostly being gallows humor, and he was a quiet thinker.

But that was all Booth had on him, and things could change a lot in eight years.

He was glad to have him, though, over some young, green agent who'd be more interested in a promotion than the individual case. And knowing him ahead of time improved the chances that they could cooperate between their two branches.

Booth could see he had aged, as he spotted him sitting in a booth by the window. His forehead was thick with wrinkles and his hair was receded and threaded with a gray that overshadowed his original black.

Culver spotted him as well, raising his eyes and giving him a nod. He barely smiled as the other agent sat down opposite of him.

"Booth," he said evenly.

"Culver," he greeted in return.

"You said you had something that might relate to a bust I'm working on."

"Yeah, I did. He slid a napkin towards himself and scrawled out the now familiar text.

Culver 430 FF.

He slid it across, and Culver pulled it towards him, squinting down at it and huffing out a breath.

"Kaminski, eh?"

"Nathan Kaminski," Booth confirmed.

Culver laced his fingers together on the table. "What happened to him?"

"Dead," Booth answered shortly.

Culver made a grunting sound in the back of his throat. His head shook a fraction, back and forth.

"Please tell me you can salvage what it is he had for me."

"All I know are the names of the three clubs he was investigating."

"Well... that's a start."

"Is there a bigger picture here, that I should know about?" Booth enquired, raising an eyebrow.

"There's the start of one," he said, sighing before he launched into the story. "We had a sudden surge in narcotics being trafficked into the city, a year ago. It was hard to trace, and we haven't been able to pin down who's behind it beyond the names of a few gangs that were associated with the distribution. But they bought their stash from another guy who got it from another guy... You know how these things go."

Booth nodded. Yes, he did.

"Then, Kaminski calls me, a few days ago, and tells me he's got big info on the trade. Of course, he's a reporter, so there's a catch... but I was willing to give him the whole private interview charade when it was all over. So long as he gave me legitimate information."

"He was going to meet you here, at 4:30," Booth filled in, nodding towards the napkin.

"Yeah. Only, he never showed. I figured he backed out, or he had some other angle... and I considered that something might have happened to him. But I didn't hear anything about it, so I figured he just stood me up. We get false tips all the time. You know how that is, too."

"So he never gave you any more info?"

"Just that he some dirt for me. I told him where to meet me, and that was it."

Booth nodded slowly.

"I'd like to join in on this investigation, if it's alright with you, Booth. It seems there's a connection that might lead to my drug lords."

"Any extra set of eyes is welcome. Especially yours. We've been focusing on personal motives... so it might be a good idea to look at this from your angle."

"Oh, there's no way there isn't a connection. You don't mess with the drug trafficking trade and come out unscathed around here. Not if you're a nosey reporter with a big mouth aimed towards the feds. The minute he contacted me, he was probably at the top of their hit list."

"Now if only we knew who they hell 'they' are," Booth muttered.

"Tell me about it," Culver responded darkly.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Brennan was very carefully keeping her focus on the task at hand. Right now, it happened to be the identification of the murder weapon. She sat side by side with Wendell in Angela's office, a collection of knives scrolling across the screen as she added details on the tablet.

"It needs to be thicker," Wendell pointed out, gesturing to the knife currently in the middle of the screen. "This doesn't account for the extra damage inflicted upon removal."

"Which indicates it should have some sort of... protuberance."

"Perhaps the blade is damaged, or homemade?"

"Let's try double edged... maybe with a curve to it?"

The next few that came up were more likely candidates, but none of them were fitting exactly. The weapon they wanted was still eluding them.

She had regretted her actions last night almost as soon as she got into the cab. Since when did she run from her problems? What had gotten into her that warranted such... outrageous behavior?

And she hadn't asked him the important question. In the midst of her frustration and her over-zealous positivity that she was right about him... she hadn't asked him about them. About what he thought of that.

She has assumed, and she hated that.

And now... she didn't know how to change it. How exactly did she go about bringing it back up? She should apologize, probably. But then, asking a question like that, right after asking for forgiveness for her behavior... that wasn't right, either.

She had no clue what she was doing.

And she didn't even feel like herself anymore. She felt like someone else had walked into her body and started twisting her thoughts and changing her life around without her consent. It was like she was sleep-walking, and her lack of focus was a sure sign of it.

"A hook!" Wendell blurted out, and she jumped in her seat. At the alarmed and confused look she gave him, he repeated himself, "The blade... it has a hook."

Her eyes lit up, and she shoved away her personal life. "That would explain the damage done by the removal. It wasn't necessarily from leverage or a change of angle... but from the hook catching and ripping as it pulled loose with each thrust."

She started tapping again, and then together they sorted through the vast assortment of hunting and fishing knives that came up on the screen.

By the other characteristics they'd been able to discern, they finally narrowed it down. It wasn't necessarily a precise match, but it was very similar to the weapon used, at the least.

"Excellent work, Mr. Bray," she told him, and he beamed with pride. She had found herself encouraging and praising her interns more and more lately. Ever since what had happened to Nigel-Murray.

She could not remove her regrets about what she had not said, about how she had never told him just how brilliant he was, and how much she enjoyed working with him. But she could tell the others. Give them those answers, show them her thoughts. They deserved that, just as Nigel-Murray had deserved it.

"We should inform Dr. Saroyan," he said after a moment.

And Booth, she added internally, nodding her agreement to his statement.

Maybe she could have Cam take care of that aspect for her. She wanted to talk to Booth again, to try and right things between them... and somehow, calling him about the case felt too much like it would be a brush-off. Like it would only make things worse, and she would have to bring up the night before, on the phone, to avoid that. She didn't want to do that. She wanted to talk to him in person when she got the chance.

She wasn't quite ready to do that, yet. She didn't know what she would say, and all she could think of was what Booth probably thought of her after the way she'd acted the night before.

She wouldn't blame him for being angry with her. Hating her even, for the way she was treating him.

Over and over again, she'd been telling herself he didn't deserve any of this.

And she was only making it worse.

Like always.

Maybe... maybe she shouldn't want him to still have feelings for her, if this was how she was going to treat him. The thought sent chills down her spine, and she was reminded again, of how she barely recognized herself these days.

She needed to get back to herself. She needed to be Bones again, the way she had been before all of this had happened. She needed to be his partner, his best friend. That... that was what he expected from her, and that was what he deserved to be given.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Once again, Booth found himself at the small offices of the newspaper that Kaminski had written for. It was quiet inside, as it had been last time, but he still felt a difference. It wasn't quite the same, when he was doing it all on his own. He was capable, of course. But he felt Brennan's absence keenly.

Cam had called him, and told him that her people had identified the murder weapon as a fishing knife. Recalling the picture frame Brennan had picked up off of Wayne Falkner's desk on their first visit, he had made a connection and chosen to go with his gut.

Falkner was a fisherman, and Booth added to his confirmation of this as he stopped once more in front of the other man's desk, picking up the frame for himself and studying it.

"You again," Falkner said, sounding irritated and unimpressed. "What do you want now?"

"You like to fish?" Booth asked, still studying the picture, as though it interested him far more than it actually did.

"Yeah, I do. So what?"

"You own a fishing knife?"

"Like every other guy that fishes... yeah, I have a knife."

"Mind if I have a look in that tackle box?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and finally setting the frame back down as he focused in on the box tucked into the corner. It looked like Falkner was the kind of guy who went out first thing in the morning, or perhaps stopped at a local spot on his way home from the office. Booth had noticed it last time, vaguely, and now he was going to make full use of it.

"Help yourself," Falkner muttered. But he looked uncomfortable, and his eyes cut past Booth. His coworkers had stopped typing, and several sets of eyes peered over the tops of the cubicles, trying to see what was happening. He could hear muted whispering.

Booth slid the box out, popping it open. He pulled a glove from his pocket, not putting it on but using it to pick up the knife. He tilted it, looking for any visible signs of blood or damage, and then took out the luminal test.

"It's got blood on it," Falkner supplied for him as he tested. "It's a fishing knife for a reason."

But there wasn't nearly enough blood for it to be the murder weapon. A light spattering, and it wasn't recent. It had more worn off from use than a vigorous washing.

He put it back.

"Thanks," he said shortly, and Falkner huffed, not accepting the apology in the least.

"Are you done invading my privacy?"

"For now," Booth said with a shrug. His eyes ran over the other workers, who immediately scrambled to look busy. He tapped the desk with his knuckle, and then turned to leave.

It didn't look like Falkner was involved in this, and he didn't have enough motive for it to make much sense. But he wasn't the nicest guy in the world, either, and Booth didn't mind making him sweat.

And like he had told Bones before... if anyone in the office knew anything, every visit he paid would change the dynamic. Give them a better chance of flushing out the truth.

Although, he was pretty sure Culver was right, and this had nothing to do with Kaminski's personal life and everything to do with the article he was writing.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

When night finally fell, Booth and Culver sat side-by-side in the SUV outside of Blue Fish, listening on their headsets. Seeing as Booth had already been seen and recognized as a cop, they had jointly decided to send in some fresh faces to do any more scoping. Culver's team, who was more adept at sniffing out drug activity than Booth's homicide investigators, were the ones who had been picked through. A young pair had disappeared into the club about an hour prior, and were rather enjoying themselves at the bar, making it look like they were drinking more than they were, and chatting it up with the other customers as they paid close attention to the other activities occurring.

Every now and then, one of them would find an opportunity to murmur the information into their microphone. It had been a last minute decision, this operation, and they had decided to go with the quicker and easier wire set-up, rather than trying to get themselves one of the conspicuous surveillance vans or cameras embedded in glasses.

Right now, they were getting the lay of the land. The rest... that would come later, Culver had assured. He already had people working on it, naturally.

They'd already gotten one hit, and Culver had snapped a few shots of their man on his way out. A tall, well-dressed man who walked with confidence but kept rubbing at his nose as he fumbled for his keys. Their inside couple had seen him coming out of the back room, and tipped them off as he was leaving.

It wasn't long before a second followed him, and they followed the routine, sending the pictures straight back to the office to be checked against facial recognition.

For good measure, one of their back-up agents, who was there in case things got hairy, had collected fingerprints from the railing that each man had touched on their way out.

It was a good set-up, and it was working well, thus far.

Booth wished Brennan was there, though. Stake-outs didn't have the same ring without their usual banter. And he kept finding himself opening his mouth to say something before realizing it wouldn't sound right. He was working with Culver at the moment, not Bones.

When their third man came out, it was late. Or early, if he wanted to look at it that way. It was going on two in the morning, and he was exhausted. They had taken sleep in shifts, and he was the one awake when the unexpected occurred.

A slight figure came down the stairs, obviously female, looking around before she started heading right for their van. He nudged Culver into wakefulness, and gestured towards the window. The other agent frowned, and then lowered the window.

Booth recognized her as Taylor Madison, when she got closer. He nodded to Culver, an indication that he knew who this was. That they needed to treat her as a friend, not an enemy.

"We can't talk here," she said, her voice hushed.

He motioned towards the back door without hesitation, unlocking it as she reached for the handle. Culver pulled out his phone and made the call that would signal the agents inside to head out, and then they drove around the block, stopping once they were about five minutes from any of the three clubs.

Both agents turned to lean over the backrests of their seats, looking at their passenger expectantly.

She swallowed nervously.

"I know why you're here," she said at last. "Why you're... checking out the club."

"And why would that be?" Culver asked, narrowing his eyes. Her eyes flicked to Booth's, and she ran her tongue over her lips nervously.

"You have to understand... they could kill me for saying anything."

"You're here now," Booth reminded her. "The more you tell us, the better it will be. Who are you afraid will kill you?"

"I don't know their names. I just... know what they're capable of."

"What's the setup?" Culver said shortly, cutting in. "What's the operation running in your club?"

"There are three clubs, actually," she said, her voice quivering. "I don't know who manages them, but the owners... they're just puppets. We get the shipments delivered with the alcohol. I don't know if they're originally packed that way, or if there's a change on the way... I've got no clue. All I know is that they're like that when they come in."

"Go on," Culver prodded.

She took a rattling breath. "All the employees know about it, but we don't talk about it. They only let you ask questions about Kaminski because they want to know how much you know."

"And how much did Kaminski know?" Booth questioned, raising his eyebrows.

"A lot. More than he should have, but he was careful not to let them know. But... I think they were on to him. Because I heard a few of the guys out back, the muscles that don't come out in the club unless they're needed to break up a fight or something, talking about him after we found out he was dead. It sounded like... they knew, before you came by. Like... they were involved, or something. It's... hard to describe. But I got the hell out of there before they knew I heard them."

"That was the smart thing to do," Booth assured her.

"We have some other questions for you," Culver said. "If you don't mind, I'd like you to come back to my office with me, look over some of the pictures we took tonight, see if you can ID them for us. I'll have more specific questions, as well."

She opened her mouth and closed it again, before finally nodding.

"But... they can't know I'm with you. They can't, or they'll kill me."

"They'll never find out," Booth promised, giving Culver a look. He returned it in measure, and the promise reflected back at him. Culver would make sure she was safe.

Almost ready to fall over from exhaustion, Booth let Culver and Taylor out at the Hoover, and then turned for home. If Culver wanted to take the initiative, and the lead, for now... he was welcome to it.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Brennan hadn't been to see Angela since the night she'd told her she was pregnant, and they'd barely gotten much opportunity to talk, either. So, when Angela had called her up in the final hours of the work day and asked her if she might be interested in a much needed girl night... she had accepted.

Hodgins was asleep upstairs, getting all the rest he could before he spent the following day at home figuring out how to follow the routine Angela had established for the baby, when Brennan arrived at the door.

Angela, half-asleep baby in her arms, was the one who answered the door at her knock.

She smiled widely, and when Brennan motioned towards the child, Angela passed him over gently so she could cradle him in her arms.

"He's precious," she whispered, as they moved into the living room and sat down.

"I'm about to put him up in his crib for the night," Angela murmured, her eyes sparkling.

"How is he sleeping?"

"Oh, you know. Up every two hours or so."

Brennan winced. "Something to look forward to."

"It's all worth it, though," Angela promised emphatically. "And tonight... Hodgins is on duty. You and me are staying down here, watching a few chic-flicks I've been dying to show you, and talking about things that I've been having conversations with myself about for the past week. You wouldn't believe how tedious it gets, only having a guy around. I love him... but he's not you."

Brennan laughed, careful to keep it soft as she gently rocked Michael in her arms.

"I know what you mean. There are... some things I've been wanting to discuss with you as well."

Angela raised an eyebrow. "Such as?"

She hesitated, chewing on her lower lip for a long moment. "The pregnancy," she said at last. "And... Booth."

At that, Angela stood up. When she motioned, Brennan handed over the baby, and Ange said she'd be back in a second before she disappeared around the corner. Brennan could hear her soft footfalls on the stairs, and then the creak of a few floorboards directly overhead. A moment later, the footfalls returned, and Angela reappeared.

She dropped down onto the couch cushion directly beside Brennan, lifting up her knees so she could wrap her arms around her legs.

"Alright, spill," she said, once she was settled.

Brennan took a heavy breath.

"I think I've... done some things wrong."

"Like what?"

She grimaced, running through the list in her head. There were so many...

"I'm in love with Booth," she said, ignoring the question.

Angela looked like she was ready to fall over.

"Whoa, whoa, sweetie. Where did that—when did you—oh my god."

Brennan smiled tightly, watching the emotions washing over her friend's face, until Angela seemed to calm enough that she was able to speak again.

"That's... huge, Bren. But-But what's the problem, then?"

She bit her lip. "I'm... I'm doing it all wrong, and I know I am, and—"

"Hey," Angela said, cutting her off and reaching a hand towards her. "Just... start from the beginning, okay? Does this have to do with the pregnancy?"

"Somewhat. But... it was before that."

Angela nodded in understanding.

"That's... not what's wrong, though. It's everything after that." She took a steadying breath before continuing, "Booth is... blaming himself for the pregnancy. I think he... believes that I blame him for it. Which I don't."

The artist frowned, but motioned for her to continue.

"He is happy, though, which... confuses me. He seems to be genuinely excited about having a child. And... Ange, I just don't know if this is what he wants. To... to be with me."

This time, Angela spoke up rather than telling her to continue.

"Sweetie, Booth has been in love with you for like... years. And he—"

"I know that," Brennan cut in, stopping her short.

Angela's frown deepened. "What?"

"I know that he loved me, Ange. He... he made it fairly obvious. He wanted a relationship with me. And he... referenced it quite a bit, afterwards. Out of anger because he thought I couldn't love him back."

"Not to pull a Zach here... but be kind and rewind, will you?"

"I... don't think I understand."

Angela sighed softly. "Bren, you just told me you loved him. And you... know that he loves you. So what exactly is the problem here?"

Brennan was shaking her head before Angela had even finished speaking. "I said loved, not loves, Ange. I'm not sure... I'm not sure he can think of me like that anymore. After what I've done to him."

Angela's eyebrow went up, and it was obvious she was still as confused as before.

Brennan let out a heavy sigh. "I've given him every possible reason to hate me, Ange. And I don't want him to... to stick around because he feels he has to. I don't want the pregnancy to be... all that there is."

"So... you think he doesn't love you anymore? Booth doesn't work that way, sweetie. I guarantee you, that man will love you to the day you die."

"Angela, you can't possibly know that—"

"Yes, I can. And I do. He's never stopped loving you, not for a moment."

"But with Hannah—"

Angela waved her off. "Hannah was a terrible rebound, and it failed horribly. I think we both know that. He was so desperate to make himself believe he could get over you... that he tried to be the guy he was before he met you. The guy that liked tall blondes and wanted to dive into things without thinking. I know that it didn't work. He knows that it didn't work. And I'm pretty sure you know it, too."

"He was happy with her," Brennan stated firmly.

"Sure, if you want to put it that way. But he was also trying to make you jealous, which wasn't his best moment. At least not in my eyes. And then he told her everything about you and conveniently left off the fact that he wanted a relationship with you. Him and Hannah? That was doomed from day one. Because he's yours."

"Ange—"

"Don't fight me on this, Bren, okay? You're doing what you always do—you're trying to convince yourself that it won't work so that you don't have to try for it. And I'm here to explain it to you so you can finally be happy. You're in love with him. He's in love with you. You're having a baby together. Sweetie, you should be running into his arms, not trying to rationalize."

"I'm not trying to rationalize."

"Of course you are," Angela said calmly. "Love is terrifying. It always is. And I don't blame you one bit for it. But... if you two don't start telling each other everything, you're only going to make it worse. For instance, you're so sure you're doing something wrong, and that he can't love you anymore... but you haven't told him how you feel, have you?"

"I don't want to obligate him anymore than I already have, with the pregnancy..."

"And I'm telling you that you're wrong. You thought he was happy about the baby? Sweetie, you haven't seen happy until you see his face when you tell him how you feel about him. I'd love to be a fly on the wall for that conversation, let me tell you."

Brennan chewed her lip. Of course Angela was right. She always was, and there was a logic in her words that couldn't be denied.

"I yelled at him," she said finally, deciding to address the other issue. Maybe Angela could shine some light on this as well.

"About what?" her friend inquired at once.

"I was just... so angry with him, last night. I don't even know why—well, I know why, but I just... I don't know, Ange. I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I don't know who I am."

"Well, you've already got your answer to that. You're hiding from Booth, and once you tell him... I promise you, it will all get better. But what was it, specifically, that you were yelling at him for?"

She rolled her tongue over her dry lips. "He keeps trying to sacrifice himself for me," she said softly. "He... he's doing things solely because he thinks they're what I want him to do. And... I hate that he feels that way, because I don't want that from him. I just... I want him to be him. The way—the way things used to be."

"Tell him," Angela repeated insistently. "Tell him, and you won't have to wonder anymore. He'll understand. I imagine today he was... very confused about what was going on with you."

Brennan grimaced. "I know... I know he probably was. And I hate that."

"Alright, then. Tomorrow, when we both get up and go to the lab... the moment he comes through that door, the two of you are going to have a long conversation about this."

Brennan nodded in agreement. She needed to do this, and she couldn't hide from it any longer. So... no matter how scared she was, she was going to tell him everything. And then... she was going to desperately hope that Angela was right, and he did indeed feel the same way about her.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

It was with great trepidation that Booth stepped into the lab the following morning. He was still feeling exhausted from the night before, and the thought of the day ahead of him wasn't helping matters.

He was going to have to talk to her, that much was obvious. And he still had no idea what was going on with her. Seeing her now... it might make things better, or it might make them worse. There was no way for him to be sure which way it would swing. The only thing he knew was that he had to address this, and try to get her to talk to him.

If she told him what was wrong, he could try to make it better. Did this have to do with the pregnancy, or was it something else entirely? He felt out of the loop, and lost.

Desperately, he wanted to just pull her into his arms. He wanted to be like Hodgins and Angela, when they had been pregnant. He wanted to be sleeping beside her every night and holding her to him. He wanted to be there the first time the baby kicked, and he wanted to be at every appointment she went to. He wanted to hold her hand when they found out if it was a boy or a girl. He wanted to murmur 'I love you' to her like it was normal, like the words were familiar on his tongue, and he could easily expect her to whisper them back to him.

He wanted to kiss her, and make love to her again like they had that night.

But those were the things that scared him the most, because he still had no clue what she was thinking. The way she was acting... made him think she didn't want him around at all. And yet, he got the sense that she did, as well. It was a push-pull situation.

He was starting to think that maybe she was just as confused as he was.

It would explain a lot.

What if he just went ahead with it, though, and told her the truth? If he explained how much he wanted more, and how much he cared for her... would she react like she had the times before? She had pulled away from him once, but that had been because she thought she couldn't handle it. Because she had wanted to protect him. With the pregnancy, they were both knee-deep in this. Together. Maybe she needed him to lean on as much as he needed to lean on her.

He couldn't risk it, though. Couldn't risk her not returning his feelings. Because if she didn't, then he'd have ruined everything. And he couldn't leave her to deal with this on her own. He couldn't make her feel like she was isolated in this just because she didn't feel the same way about him as he felt about her. That wouldn't be fair, by any measure.

To either of them.

His gaze scanned over the platform and her office, and he frowned as he realized she wasn't in either location. Angela was up on the platform, working at a computer station. Cam was with her, arms crossed standing behind her and watching the changes on the screen. Wendell was standing with his hands rested on the edge of the table that contained the victim's skeleton. Even Sweets was there, talking to one of the lab people and nodding his head. Booth recognized her as being the part-time psychology student the shrink had mentioned once before.

And then, suddenly, there she was, coming around the corner from the stairs that led to bone storage. She was heading for her office, but she glanced in his direction and stopped short when her eyes connected with his. She hesitated, and then started towards him before he could do the same. He waited for her to come his way, rather than going to her.

"Hi," she said tentatively, stopping a few feet in front of him and offering a nervous smile.

At once, he felt relief wash through him. She was ready to talk about this, too. She wanted to, as much as he did. And she was just as terrified as he was, too.

"We need to talk," he said, stating the obvious but offering a reassuring smile as well, to show that he was here to figure this out, not to complicate things.

She returned it in warmer measure, bobbing her head.

"Maybe... if we went to my office?"

He nodded in agreement, but they only barely reached the door before the sound of shattering glass drew both of their attentions back towards the lab behind them.

At first, nothing seemed out of place. The platform was just the same as before, and no one had dropped anything. But as his eyes quickly swept across where the team was standing, he found the doors sliding open.

And the next second, a half-dozen armed men swept in, guns raised and faces covered with ski masks.

Please, please, please let me know what you thought, and whether or not my explanation at the top made any sense.