A/N: Hey everyone! Happy Friday! Please note that this chapter goes back in time a little, to fill in some missing details from Sweets POV as well as to catch up on what has been going on with Shaw.

Chapter 21

Five Days Ago

October 25th, 2011

"I should have been allowed on the mission," Sweets insisted, pacing the narrow hallway. Agent Culver stood off to the side, arms crossed, leaning against the wall beside the empty, stiff-backed bench that both of them were avoiding. "I should have… been there…"

"You might have passed through your tests to be a full field agent, Doc, but that doesn't mean you're ready to go on major missions. You haven't even been tested in the actual field."

"I don't care! She needed me, and I wasn't there. But I could have been, and I should have-"

"Should have what? Argued some more? Delayed the team? Come on, doctor, we both know that wouldn't have accomplished anything."

The hospital smelled weird. Strong with the scents of disinfectants and rubber gloves. It was more powerful than in the lab, and that was what made Sweets notice it more than anything else. Nurses bustled past in bright scrubs and doors opened and closed. Steady beeping sounds of various machines and the clicking of keyboards from the waiting room desk up the hall were louder, more noticeable, than they would have been under normal circumstances. His senses were heightened, and he knew it.

His team was up that hallway. Sitting together, waiting on news. He was here, because he had a duty to both of these people but most foremost to Shaw. The woman he had sworn to protect, both because of his job and because of his personal interest. He had compromised them both by getting too involved, by not insisting that someone else take over his position when he became invested in a relationship with her instead of in working the case details. Right off the bat he should have suggested the job to someone else; he had known he was interested and would get distracted.

Maybe that could have prevented this from ever happening… someone who was more vigilant. Someone who was in control of their emotions, who was focused solely on working with her towards the goal of getting the information from the night club and getting her out safe from the mission. Now, that was all blown to hell.

He only had himself to blame for it. He had to be here, and Shaw had to be okay. He couldn't face a world where there was any alternative to that. Shaw and Booth both had to make it out of this.

Sweets knew, far too well, what was on the line. And he was starting to have alarming flashbacks that told him just how bad it was going to get.

"Well we'll never know!" Sweets snapped under his breath. "And now… now Agent Booth is in surgery, unresponsive on arrival with god-only-knows what sort of chances, and my… my sort-of girlfriend is being treated by a specialized team because she's been tortured and is probably facing some sort of post-traumatic stress. Why won't they tell me anything? I should have been allowed in there by now…"

"You've got a room number. That's better than the rest of your team out there waiting to hear about Agent Booth."

Sweets sighed. "Yeah. I know. If he doesn't make it…"

"Then you'll deal with that when the time comes."

"You don't understand," Sweets groaned, stopping his pacing long enough to run a hand through his sweat-slicked hair as he closed his eyes. "We've already been through losing Agent Booth once before. You weren't there; you didn't see what that did."

"I read the file," Culver replied nonchalantly, tilting his head to the side. Sweets paused.

"Wait, what?"

He wasn't in the mood to deal with this logically or professionally. Under normal circumstances he would understand profiling new members of a joint taskforce. Right now, he was just hearing that Culver had been poking into their business and was likely misinterpreting the pain these people had been through. Pain that, much like the situation Shaw was facing, was directly related to Sweets.

His fault.

"The file. I read it when our teams were first paired together for this investigation." Culver continued. "It came up while I was doing my research."

"You… profiled my team?"

"Sort of. I make it a habit to know the people I work with. Some might call it being nosy, but I call it being well-informed."

Sweets shook his head to clear it. He had a headache. His brain felt fuzzy and out of focus. He thought he might be sick if he didn't hear news about the two agents' conditions soon. "No… no, you still don't get it. You had to be there to get it. When that woman pulled out the gun, right in the middle of the one relaxed setting I think I've ever seen this team in…"

"Chaos broke loose. She shot Agent Booth in the chest, and went for Dr. Brennan when she realized what she had done. But Dr. Brennan beat her to it. Clean shot straight through the neck. Hell of an aim she's got."

"That's what happened, but there were two weeks after that… two weeks when no one knew that Agent Booth was alive. For all intents and purposes… he was dead."

"The report mentioned that," Culver agreed with a nod. "And then he reappeared at the funeral to apprehend the suspect."

"If he hadn't come back… the entire team would have fallen apart," Sweets continued in a low undertone, eyes closed and head tilted back. "I knew… I knew that Booth was alive, but I kept it to myself. He had a list of people who he wanted the truth to be told to, but I didn't honor it."

Now Culver frowned, his interest rising. "Why?"

"It was stupid. A test, of sorts. I wanted to see how they would react to it. At the time… I was still gathering data on them, myself. They were a family that wouldn't quite let me in, and I… I betrayed them, because I was the outsider and I was supposed to be reporting on them to my boss. So that he could decide whether or not the team needed to be broken up. Whether or not they had gotten too close together, in a way that would jeopardize the cases they were working. Cullen, at the time… had been concerned that Booth and Brennan might be at a point where they would risk the lives of civilians in order to protect each other, if it came down to it. I was of similar mind, and when Booth's list told Cullen to inform only his family and Brennan, I advised against telling Brennan."

"No one on the team knew, then."

"Precisely."

He didn't say anything more than that. Culver didn't need to know the rest of the details, and Sweets had no plans to tell him. They were personal, and private. These people who he had once betrayed he would now give his life to protect, and that meant that the details of those two weeks were his to carry alone. They were horrible, and painful, and that much would be evident to anyone who knew of Booth's faked death. But the extent of the pain was more than Sweets had ever shared, even with Cullen.

In the end, he had told his boss that Booth and Brennan were fit to continue working with each other. Not because he believed they were, and not because they had asked him to lie for them… but because he trusted them to protect each other while protecting the public. They wouldn't let anyone down, no matter what happened. These people were strong, and united, and they did not fail.

Not unless one of them was cut away.

The one time that Brennan had let any signs of the deep turmoil she was experiencing during those two weeks show, Sweets had been in the lab. He had stood by the doors and watched, silent as a statue and frozen just the same as she cried out the single sentence, a sob in her throat and tears flashing in fiery eyes, before flying into her office and slamming the door in her wake.

"He's gone and I'm not Bones anymore."

Sweets shivered.

He'd almost told her. Almost followed her to her office, let himself in against her probably furious demands, and told her outright that Booth was alive. He'd have given her the phone number and waited there while she called it, to make sure she got through to him, to make sure that she knew and that the suffering would stop.

He hadn't, though. He had turned and walked back out of the Jeffersonian.

And in his head, in the years that followed, he replayed that day over and over again, visualizing the ways he would do it differently if only he was given the chance.

"Agent Sweets?" A nurse had appeared, and she was looking between the two of them, clutching a clipboard.

"That's me," Sweets answered at once, his voice an octave too high. He straightened up and stepping forward, clenching his hands against the trembling.

"Agent Genny Shaw says she's ready to see you now."

He blew out the breath he'd been holding. "How is she?" he demanded.

"Her injuries will all heal," the nurse answered simply, before leading him the door and showing him inside. Culver vanished. Whether he went down the hall to wait with the others or back to the FBI to deal with the aftermath of that evening's raid, Sweets didn't know. Nor did he really care, in that moment.

"Hey," he said softly, pausing only a few feet from the door, barely halfway to the bed. Shaw was sitting up, swathed in the white of the bed. It made her looks small, and fragile. Her left hand and wrist were completely covered in a cast, her lip was split, and bandages covered a great number of cuts. He tried not to stare.

"Hey," she echoed, her voice croaking. He cleared her throat, attempting to offer him something of a smile. It was pained, though, and he could see the fog of the medication in her gaze. He moved closer, and claimed the seat by her bedside.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Like I just woke up from a nightmare, only I keep remembering it was real," she said, the pain killers making her honest.

He grimaced, and there was a long pause.

"I'm so sorry we didn't get you out of there sooner," he whispered.

She regarded him a moment, and then answered seriously, "They were preparing something with a blowtorch and a screwdriver. I'd say you were right on time."

He reached for her hand, and she twined her fingers with his, giving a gentle squeeze.

"I wasn't there," he admitted quietly.

"I know," she answered, not a trace of animosity in her tone. "But you were a part of the team that helped find where I was, and I'm glad to know you weren't in the line of fire." Now, she winced and looked towards the door before turning a pleading look on him. "What do you know about Agent Booth's condition? The nurses won't answer any of my questions."

Sweets sighed. "He's in surgery now… we don't know anything for sure."

"I saw him go down," Shaw said after a pause. She wasn't meeting his eyes, but was instead staring at her free hand, rested across her lap. "They took my blindfold off, and then we heard the shots, and he fell against the wall… grabbed at his arm. I don't know what happened, but he must have lost a lot of blood right off, or the pain was too much… but he just slid down to the ground."

"He's in good hands; they're going to get him patched up. He'll make it through this."

"And if he doesn't?" she challenged. "Do you realize… Lance, I joined the FBI and I heard legends about Booth and his team. He was everything I wanted to be; he was a leader and a team player, the guy that everyone looked to for solutions. He had the highest closing rate of any agent at the DC branch. Getting to work with him was the biggest break I thought I'd ever get. I can't become the reason for his death."

"He won't die," Sweets tried desperately, but the doubt he had for his own words worked against him. She could see his lack of conviction, the fear in his eyes.

"It would have been easier if they had just killed me," she whispered, closing her eyes and ignoring him completely. She pulled her hand out of his grasp and reached it up to touch the bandage across her forehead, covering a deep gash.

Sweets had no clue what he was supposed to say. For once, the man with all the answers felt empty. What was he supposed to tell her that would make her feel better? She had been kidnapped and tortured for information. Information which she hadn't given up. She had nearly died for her efforts, and now here she was putting the blame on herself.

"Could you just… leave for a while?" she asked bluntly. "Go get some food. Some coffee. I'll… see you later."

"I'll be back," he said at the door, the statement becoming a question.

"See you later," she responded, and he nodded before closing the door in his wake.

Down the hall, he found the team where he had left them. Brennan was alone in the corner, and Sweets felt a dread-filled burden piling up on his shoulders when she stiffened and didn't return his greeting, staring forcibly at the tile beneath her feet. Inexplicably, there was a ring on her finger that he knew belonged to Angela. The others stood up to greet him, asking questions. Angela offered a hug, which he gratefully accepted.

"How's Shaw?" Cam asked.

"Healing. She… has a lot to work through. It's going to be a while before she's back in the field. But she's going to make a full recovery."

"Good. That's… really, really good. We'll visit when we can. Right now, though…"

"Yeah, I understand," Sweets agreed immediately, looking around at their team. "You need to stay here. Have you… uh, heard anything, yet?"

All around him, heads shook regretfully. "There's been nothing," Hodgins said with a sigh. "All we can do now is wait for them to tell us when something changes."

Reluctantly, Sweets returned to the room where the bitter and bleak Shaw was waiting for him. Her eyes were closed, but they opened when he reclaimed his seat. He looked at her and he saw Genny, the funny, intuitive friend and lover whom he had fallen for. He saw her, but it was through a dark veil. She was hiding and cold, her eyes not quite the right shade and the wounds making her smooth, happy edges rough and forbidding.

He didn't try to hold her hand again.

"A nurse dropped by," she informed him. "She told me that I'll likely be discharged in a few hours. I'm sure I could get myself out of here now, though, if I tried."

"And… are you going to try?"

"Maybe in a little while. This bed is surprisingly comfortable, at the moment."

He nodded. "You'll be heading back to your real apartment."

For the first time since her rescue, he saw a ghost of a smile flicker across her lips. "Yes. It will be… nice. Being home." She tilted her head to the side. "Did you get any news on Booth's condition?"

"They still don't know anything. They're waiting, just like we are. I'm sure someone will tell us when that changes."

"Right."

There were a lot of things he wanted to say, but none of them fit the situation. Mostly, he wanted to know what they were, now. She had asked for a break, because of the case. But was it just because of the case, or because of something else? Were they anything, anymore, or were they permanently over?

And then there were the other things that he needed to know, but could not ask about. What had they done to her, while she'd been held captive? Had she said anything at all? Had she learned anything from listening to her captors?

The weight of the unspoken words, the weight of the burden he had gained from Brennan in the waiting room… it was all building up. He had no idea how to escape from under it, how to make things better. Maybe that wasn't even possible anymore. Maybe it was all out of his hands. He just wasn't sure if he could accept that, though. These people were his entire world. They were the family that had taken him in despite his flaws and he felt that every misstep that he took was letting them down. Every word he could not voice was another blow against their family.

How could he keep this going, when he couldn't even get out a sentence, couldn't even formulate the apologies that so badly needed a voice?

Shaw drifted off to sleep under the medication and the pull of the silence around them, and he stayed for a while before he eventually felt the need to slip from the room. From there, he paced through the halls, hardly paying attention to where he was going but finding that he didn't care. He just needed to keep walking.

Eventually he found himself at the entrance to a small courtyard, and he stepped outside. It was cool and shadowy, the sky a pale blue overcast with thin clouds. It was just past four o'clock, according to his watch, but it felt more like the early hours of the morning. This was a day that had not ended, and after spending the past few hours in the hospital it had begun to feel like more time must have passed. Surely this entire ordeal had lasted days, not hours. Yet, it had been that very morning that he had made that frantic call to Booth.

Now, less than twenty-four hours later, Shaw was in the hospital recovering, and Booth was in surgery with a bullet in his arm.

None of this seemed real.

The past few years felt like a blur, all rushing up to this moment in time. Years of getting to know these people, years of watching their struggles and their celebrations. Years of getting to know each and every one of them. Coming to know them as not only friends, but family as well. He had watched, and impeded, the evolution of the Booth and Brennan dynamic. All for what, exactly? He had been playing with fire, working against the inevitable.

It had seen seemed like such a good idea, at the time, showing Booth those brain scans. He had observed Brennan, after all. He knew what the slender thread she was balanced on looked like. He knew that Booth was the very catalyst that could make it snap.

Another mistake, another misinterpretation. The doubt from that moment, straining their relationship, working it down until the day he turned the tables and told them to go for it. He had let his personal involvement get in the way. He had put his desire for their success, in the wake of the damage he had already inflicted, ahead of logic and reason and professionalism. And because of that, he had nearly ruined their chances completely.

Here they were, the perfect couple, the very cornerstones of the foundation that this team was built on, and they had let him into their family and accepted him as one of their own despite all that he had done against them. They didn't understand. They couldn't possibly understand the damage he had done. They would never have let him in, otherwise.

And it was because of him, again, that they were here now. He didn't belong at the FBI. He was a failure and a danger to those around him. He put them all at risk.

He bowed his head. This was all his fault. Failing to protect Shaw had meant failing to protect Booth, and thereby failing to protect Brennan and the entirety of the Jeffersonian family.

When he eventually made his way back inside and wandered through the halls until he came upon familiar ground and could navigate himself back to Shaw's room, he found Angela and Hodgins inside, talking with her.

"Sweets, there you are," Angela said, beaming. "We were getting worried."

"Booth is out of surgery," Hodgins informed him eagerly. "They've got him in a room; Brennan's up with him now, the rest of us are giving them a little time. The doctors told us that he should make a full recovery."

"Thank goodness," Sweets breathed, accepting another hug from Angela and a clap on the shoulder from Hodgins.

"Well, we'll leave the two of you alone," Angela said, glancing between them. "Glad to see you're okay, Shaw. We'll be in touch about those plans for Thanksgiving."

"Thanks," Shaw responded, raising a hand in farewell as they stepped out. The door shut behind them, and Sweets cleared his throat self-consciously, moving back to his seat but standing beside it uncertainly.

"I woke up and you weren't here. Did you get that coffee?" he was glad to at least hear a hopeful note in her voice.

"I went for a walk," he told her. "I… needed to clear my head."

Hearing the news about Booth seemed to have brightened her mood exponentially. She smiled and nodded towards the chair, indicating he should sit down. He dropped heavily, and was surprised when she reached for his hand.

"We have… a lot of things that we need to talk about."

He nodded silently, unsure of where to go with that. What she was expecting, at this point, was beyond him.

There was a knock on the door, and they both turned.

Agent Dane Ohlsen stepped inside. "Agent Shaw, Dr. Sweets," he greeted them. "I'm here to take Agent Shaw's statement."

Sweets swallowed and chanced a glance in her direction. "Fine," she said simply, not betraying any emotions.

"Do you want me to..?" Sweets began hesitantly.

"You can stay," she answered after only a slight pause.

He nodded, unsure of whether or not he was going to regret that answer in a moment.

Ohlsen dragged a second chair over, claiming the opposite side of the bed. He pulled out a pad of paper with the familiar FBI seal in the top corner.

"Let's start from the beginning, okay?"

Shaw nodded agreeably, and began a very straightforward, evidence-based recounting of the events. "I was returning back to the safe house from my assignment when two men dressed in black jumped me from behind. I fought them, but one of them had a needle and injected me with something that knocked me out. When I woke up next, I was in the back of what was probably a van of some sort. The assailants had left the bag over my head and bound my wrists and ankles with ropes. I was just starting to work on the knots when the van stopped, and the engine shut off. They dragged me out and we started down a hill. I fought them again, and they… knocked me over the head with something. The butt of one of their guns, I think. Then they dragged me the rest of the way, and into the building."

"This is the same building that the agents found you in?" Ohlsen interrupted.

"Yes, there was only one location."

"Alright. Go on."

"Inside, they brought me into that room I was found in, and tied me to the chair. They took the bag off of my head and told me that I was going to give them the information that they wanted. I told them to go to hell."

Sweets squeezed her hand, but she didn't acknowledge him.

"And then?" Ohlsen asked, his pen flying rapidly across the page.

"One of them snapped out a knife and gave me this," she pointed to the bandage on the side of her face. "He made some more threats, and I asked him what exactly he wanted to know, in order to see how much they knew about who I was. He told me not to play games, and that he knew I was an undercover plant. He wanted to know what we'd done with the girl."

"What girl?"

"Taylor, the one that we put in witness protection. I told him I didn't know where she was, and when he demanded to know what she'd told us, I told him I didn't know that either. He didn't like my answer much, and started in on breaking some of my fingers." She flexed the cast, wincing a bit at the memory. "I told him that I didn't know anything, that the mission hadn't been going well, that I was only the undercover plant and I didn't get feedback from the other side. And, of course, he then moved on to questioning me about how much I'd told the FBI."

"Can you identify the men?" Ohlsen asked, reaching for a file folder he'd brought with him. He pulled out a sheet printed with mug-shots and passed it to her.

"This one had the knife," she said, tapping the paper. "And this one was the other man who took me. And these…" she tapped two images, "Were the ones that were with me when the FBI rescued me."

Ohlsen nodded, making more notes and taking the page back.

"Those last two are dead," he informed her. "Reggie Morton and Marcus Crosby."

"Figured," she answered with a shrug, eyes hard. "Good. What about the other two?"

"Eduardo Jimenez and Caleb Smith. They were among the group that arrived during the raid. There were four of them, total, including an unidentified woman and Thomas Anders. Jimenez was injured but captured, and Smith got away with the woman. Anders was killed."

"Which one of them shot Agent Booth?" she demanded.

Ohlsen cleared his throat. "Jimenez."

She gritted her teeth. "I want to be there for his interrogation."

"They're already working on that. But you're welcome to the look at the recordings."

She nodded, but it was clear that she didn't think that was going to be enough.

"What happened next?" Ohlsen probed.

"Right. Smith joined in, demanding to know more about Taylor and where she was. He kept saying, 'where's Madison, what has she told you, what did you do with her?' Jimenez was irritated with him, and pulled him aside. I heard him say something about how they would get to that later. Smith argued that the boss would want to know that first, but Jimenez was clearly in charge so Smith backed down. After that, they gagged me, checked the ropes, and went back into the other room. They didn't return until the morning, when they tried again. They were… less than thrilled that I wasn't ready to answer their questions. Jimenez gave me this," she raised her hand to the bandaged gash that ran across her forehead. "They kept asking questions, demanding to know how much I knew, and when I didn't answer they knocked the chair over and started kicking."

Sweets winced, picturing the x-rays he had seen.

"After that… they left the room. A while later I heard a car door shut, and then the door to the building opened and the two of them had a conversation with the newcomers that I couldn't hear most of. I did hear them say that they hadn't gotten anything out of me, and that these newcomers were not to give me any food or water. Not that that was much of a surprise.

"The two new guards came in after the first two had gone. They had a different technique; instead of asking questions they went straight to the attack. When they were finished… beating me," for the first time, her voice wavered, "They left me alone in the room. When they came back, probably an hour later, they started in with the questions. One at a time, they came in the room and demanded answers. I refused to say anything." Her head tilted up with pride, "They were fairly pissed off, but they gave up for a while and left me alone. The short one, Morton, came back in first. He, like Jimenez, was a fan of knives. By the time they were ready to try again, they didn't get far before the agents arrived and took them down."

Ohlsen finished copying down her words and tapped his pen on the side of the clipboard. "Is that everything?"

"Yes. That's my full statement," Shaw said flatly.

"Thank you," the agent answered, getting to his feet and straightening his tie. "Oh, and Shaw?" he said as he moved towards the door. "Hope to see you back at work soon." He grinned and gave a salute, and Shaw actually managed a laugh.

"See you at the office, Dane."

Sweets was even less sure of what to say now than he had been before Ohlsen's arrival. When she said nothing, he went through a plethora of ideas in his head, casting all of them aside until finally he couldn't take it anymore and he just stood up and headed for the door, calling "I'm sorry," over his shoulder. She started to say something, but he was already out the door and moving down the hall.

His team was gone from the waiting area and he paced a moment, unsure of what to do, before he finally just dropped into a chair. Maybe someone would come by and tell him where Booth's room was. Or maybe he'd figure out what to do with Shaw while he waited. Either way, he wasn't ready just yet to go back. He knew he'd have to eventually, and that he probably had not picked the wisest path by running out, but at the moment he needed to clear his head.

To do that, he needed to be out of that room.

He waited for over half an hour before someone familiar came by. Cam stopped short in surprise when she spotted him, and then stepped over to stand in front of him.

"I thought you'd be in with Shaw… what are you doing out here?"

"Trying to figure out my life," he said with a humorless laugh. "Where are the others?"

"We just got some dinner in the cafeteria; I was coming through here on my way to visit Shaw. They'll all be back up here in a few minutes, though…"

He nodded slowly. "Right."

"Is something going on that I should know about?" Cam asked, eyebrows raising questioningly.

Sweets sighed, and then decided that he might as well explain. After all, that was the advice he would give were he offering therapy to himself in this situation. "Yes, actually. I have… no clue how to talk to Genny about what happened. She just gave her statement to Ohlsen, and I swear she's handling this better than I am…"

"It's not the same, Sweets," Cam murmured quietly. "When you know the person that's gone through this situation, and you know them as more than a client… it's going to be harder to figure out the right things to say. When I was a cop up in New York, I was great at talking to the victim's families. But then one day someone I knew was killed in the line of duty and I just… couldn't do it. There's nothing wrong with that. It's just… something you have to adjust to. And Shaw… she's tough, but nobody is that tough. I've seen Dr. Brennan after events like this, and Booth always eventually figures out how to get under that shell and help her."

"I'd love to get some advice from him, but something tells me this isn't the time," Sweets said, shaking his head. "How is he, by the way?"

"Sleeping. He woke up for a few minutes, but he was out of it and they put him back under. Brennan was with him; she hasn't left his side since they allowed her into the room."

Sweets swallowed sharply, biting back guilt as he remembered where he was supposed to be right now. Where he wanted to be. He didn't get up, though.

A blur of voices sounded from around the corner and the team appeared together with fresh coffee cups. They gathered around and found their seats. Cam refused the extra coffee they had brought back with them, pointing determinedly at Sweets, who gave in and accepted the offer.

They all looked tired, despite the caffeine. Angela was leaning on Hodgins' shoulder and Wendell's head had fallen back and his eyes were closed.

"You should all go home for the night," Sweets suggested. "There isn't anything more for you to do, here."

"Your dad has been watching Michael for a long time now," Hodgins pointed out to Angela.

"I'm sure Brennan will call everyone if anything changes overnight," Sweets added.

"We can come back in the morning," Cam added. "Sleep would do us all some good."

Angela looked doubtful. "If anything happens…" she didn't finish the thought. Sweets could fill in the blanks. If anything happened, Brennan wouldn't be in any state to call the rest of them. And Angela, as her best friend, didn't want to leave her here alone in the case that something went wrong.

"He's already woken up, and the doctors are sure he's going to be awake fully by tomorrow," Hodgins said. "Come on, Ange. Let's get home… we can come back early if you're really that worried."

"I can check in on Booth and Brennan if you want," Sweets offered.

They all turned to him, and then there were nods. Nobody questioned that he was staying here, with Shaw.

Slowly, they stood and departed, with Angela pulling Hodgins back upstairs to say a last farewell to Brennan.

Sweets turned and made his way back to Shaw's room. He still had no idea what he was going to say, but he knew that he had to say something.

"I was starting to wonder if you were coming back," she said when he knocked and poked his head into the room. He stepped in, feeling sheepish as he moved back to his seat. It couldn't have looked good, him jumping up and dodging out of the room like that. "I'm glad you're back," she continued, looking at him with her piercing, dark eyes. Searching for answers. "I have a question," she said just as he went to open his mouth to try and give another apology. "Why did you say you were sorry, before you left?"

He opened his mouth, but couldn't find the words for a long moment. Finally, he whispered out, "Because it's my fault."

She blinked, her brows knitting together. "What?"

"It's my fault. All of this. And… I'm sorry."

Slowly, she shook her head. "Lance, this isn't your fault. Why would you even… what makes you think that?"

"Because I should have been paying more attention. I should have been… watching more closely. I shouldn't have let them have the chance to take you. I should have told Hacker to have someone watching the security feeds twenty-four-seven."

"That would have been a waste of time. And there was nothing suspicious about that night in particular that would have warranted extra attention. It was just another night… we had no way of knowing that it was going to end that way."

"But… what happened to you…"

"Sucked," she filled in for him. "It absolutely sucked. And I would gladly turn back the clock to make it not happen, but I can't do that."

"If I hadn't been the one assigned to you, though… then this wouldn't have happened. I let my personal involvement get in the way. I should have asked somebody else to take over the professional duties when we became involved."

"That would have made it a lot less fun, don't you think?" He stared, open-mouthed, with no clue what to say in response. "Come on, Lance. This mission was the most boring undercover case you've probably ever seen. I would have gone crazy if I hadn't had something to look forward to when I came home. And we gained actual intel from the mission, so it wasn't a waste of time. Working with you made that possible."

He was frowning, shaking his head, but she was smiling and he knew that he had no logical argument to go against what she was saying.

"And sure, this isn't going to be easy," she continued, "Because things like this take time to get over… I've had the pleasure of doing a number of reports on traumatic stress during my time at the academy, so I'm already bracing for the effects and I've already gone through a few nightmares… but I'm not about to let this get the better of me. And I happen to know an excellent psychologist who I think can help me out."

She squeezed his hand, and his eyes widened.

"In fact," she said, hesitating for the first time, "I was wondering if you might like to keep my company for the next few days when I get out of here. Something about my having a concussion… and I wouldn't say no to some of that chicken noodle soup you're so good at making."

"That was from a can."

"Yeah, I know."

He leaned forward, and their noses brushed before their lips. It was familiar, but it seemed different. Tender, slow. More of an exploration than they were used to.

It was nice.

Really, really nice.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

October 26th, 2011

They stopped by Booth's room together, before they left the hospital. Shaw had checked herself out, and Sweets carried her small bag of personal things and extra clothes from home slung over his shoulder. The night before he had gone to check on Brennan and found her asleep, using her arm for a pillow with her fingers clutched with Booth's. He had hovered a moment in the door, caught by the scene, before finally slipping out and carefully shutting the door behind him.

Today, he and Shaw passed by the team on their way in. The group had gathered again after getting a quick breakfast together at the Diner, and upon checking in on the room had found Booth awake and talking. A nurse had apparently kicked them out when she discovered the overflow of guests in her patient's room.

Now, when he and Shaw stepped inside, he found the two of them watching some program on Booth's television.

"Shaw," Booth said in surprise, eyes going wide.

"Hello Agent Booth," she said, smiling. "Glad to see you're up and awake at last."

"Glad to see you, too," he echoed, his eyes sweeping over her and taking in the bandages, which had been changed and thankfully looked less severe in the light of the new day. "We were just talking about the case, actually."

"And about how we're taking a short break from it," Brennan stressed, cutting her eyes in his direction with what was undoubtedly a warning glare.

"I just gave my statement yesterday," Shaw informed him. "So they should have it on file for you to look over while you work on the rest of the case."

"Are you not… planning to be involved?" Brennan asked, frowning.

"At the moment… no," Shaw answered honestly. "I'm going to go home and relax with Lance. I think I've had enough excitement relating to the FBI, lately."

Brennan smiled. "That sounds like a good plan."

Booth nodded slowly. "I'll be in touch if I need anything for the case, but other than that… you have definitely earned some time off. Take your time getting back. We'll manage without you for now. Although we might need you around, Sweets," he added.

"Of course," Sweets said with a rapid nod. "I'm taking off the rest of today, but I have appointments to keep for tomorrow and I'll be available for field work if necessary."

Brennan looked less than pleased with all the talk of work, and Sweets had to marvel at the change that she had gone through in the past few months. It had nothing to do with the pregnancy, and everything to do with the evolution of her relationship with Booth. Here was the woman who had once been all about her job, about professionalism and following the rules, and she was insisting on taking time off and playing it safe and protecting the relationship.

It was amazing, and he felt a warm glow of content as he put an arm around Shaw and said his farewells to the duo. Everyone seemed to be on the right track. For once, the whole team was in harmony, the tension gone and the relief taking root.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

October 30th, 2011

Sweets had been surprised by the call. The past few days had been spent traded evenly between time at home with Shaw and time at work catching up on appointments and paperwork. He had rarely been out in the bullpen and he hadn't found the time to visit the hospital again although he had been informed that Booth was out of the hospital and settling at home as of that morning. Getting the call from his boss had thrown a wrench into his afternoon plans, which had involved going out to get flowers and ingredients for the dinner he had been intending to make.

Nonetheless, it was always nice to feel involved and he had missed seeing the team as of late. Hacker informed him that he was going as an agent to supervise Brennan on her re-evaluation of the crime scene at Kaminski's apartment.

On the ride over, they talked about the case. She was actually more interested than she had been at the hospital, and he suspected that Booth being home had a lot to do with that.

"When we talked to Tania, though, she appeared to be sincere about her husband's lack of concern in relation to her dealings with Kaminski," Brennan was saying as they stopped at a red light.

"If he had an affair of his own, that would make sense. In a way, to him that would give him justification. Sort of like saying… 'well I did this but so did you.' It's a way to make him feel less like he's done something wrong. Still, it might be a good idea to bring him in for questioning."

"We've already run checks on him and he was at work during the time when Kaminski was murdered."

"That doesn't mean he wasn't capable of hiring someone. Although, it would be very uncommon for a regular businessman to employ a female killer, and we are almost certain that the killer was indeed female. The method of killing also showed a personal touch, which seems to clash with cold-blooded murder-for-hire."

Brennan nodded. "That's what Booth said when I brought it up."

"Okay, so we need to focus on the other motives that we have. Jealousy, for one. We haven't looked much at Anna Pollack, and she was the one that the most distraught by his death. That could be guilt or remorse."

"Booth didn't seem to think so, when we questioned her after she found the body. He tends to have a much better reading on people than I do."

"What about another woman within the trafficking operation, then? There was a woman at the raid; she got away."

"That's very possible, but it still doesn't explain why she didn't take the laptop with her, leaving Shadwick to go back for it."

"Right." He sighed. Nothing was tying together the way it normally would be, this late into an investigation. It had never taken them this long to put together the details of a murder investigation. "Maybe we're making this too complicated," he suggested. "Maybe this has nothing to do with the women he was sleeping with or the article he was writing on the drug trafficking operation."

"That's a theory," she agreed begrudgingly, but she didn't seem too willing to accept it just yet. Sweets parked the car in the lot next to the apartment building.

"Let's see what we can find to put us on a new track, then," he said, shutting off the engine and popping his door open.

"What exactly are we looking for?" Sweets asked hesitantly, glancing around and wrinkling his nose as they stepped carefully through the first room. The place was disgusting and smelled of must and something unidentifiable that could probably be linked to the dead body that had once been on the floor.

"We're looking for anything that might tie this murder to one of our suspects. Something that we wouldn't have noticed before, but that makes sense with all the evidence we've found since our initial search," Brennan answered.

"Should you even be at a crime scene?" Sweets asked, chancing a glance towards her swollen stomach. She looked like she was pretty far along, even at six months.

She frowned and turned away from him, studying the trinkets that lined a shelving unit. "I'm perfectly capable of walking and observing."

"Sorry," he responded quickly. She still had that same biting tone and those sharp, dangerous eyes, even if she had become more people oriented and more open-minded as of late.

If she heard him she didn't say anything in response, pulling on a pair of gloves and taking a picture frame down from the shelf.

"What's that?" Sweets moved to peer over her shoulder. She had pried open the back and exposed a stack of photographs that were piled up behind the top image.

"Previous girlfriends," Brennan suggested with a shrug, passing it off to him after glancing through them. He flipped through the stack himself, recognizing a few faces from suspects they had talked to during the investigation. The ones he didn't recognize at all were mostly at the back of the frame. Those were likely the girls he had dated years earlier. The pictures appeared to a form of souvenir, as far as he was concerned. There was nothing remarkable about any of them.

Sweets put the frame back together and returned it to the shelf, and he watched as Brennan slipped down the hall. He moved to follow her, heading into the bathroom while she took the bedroom. The bathroom was a cramped little space, featuring a toilet, a small sink with barely any counter space, and a shower. The medicine cabinet revealed a bottle of aspirin, some eye drops, a collection of condoms, and some cough medicine. A few cough drops lay scattered on a shelf in the dust. The cabinet below the sink held only a mostly empty bottle of cleaner and a few dirty sponges. He moved on to the study.

This room, too, was small. There was a desk with a chair and a television on top of a cardboard box. The desk drawers were stuffed to capacity with a number of things. One mainly featured dirty tissues and candy wrappers; another overflowed with pens, pencils, paper clips, and other stationary supplies. The file cabinet was stuffed with information on past cases, but even as he went through it he knew he wasn't going to find anything on this investigation. There was no way Booth and the other agents would have missed that.

As he was closing the drawer again, though, he had trouble getting it to slide properly. Getting down on his knees beside the desk, he pulled it out fully and reached his fingers into the cracks on all sides, finally extracting a crumpled piece of paper with a piece of dusty tape attached at both ends. It had clearly been attached to the side of the drawer at some point or another.

On the paper was a list of names, some of them marked off with red pen.

Katie Meyers X

Celia Richards

Maya Rivera X

Julia Turner X

Nina Hearst

Taylor Madison

Rosalinda Harris

He frowned. They were all waitresses at the club; he recognized the names from Shaw's investigation. Why was Kaminski looking at them, specifically, though? Was he looking for some sort of weakness, a mole that would give him an exclusive? Or was he simply being himself, as was the more likely alternative, and trying to take home each of the girls in turn?

"Sweets?" came Brennan's muted call from the other room.

"In the study," he called back, pushing himself to his feet and shutting the drawer. Maybe this was the break they had been looking for. This list could very well provide them with a new starting place for the investigation. They needed to think more like Kaminski; find out exactly where he had been in both the investigation and his personal life. Then maybe they'd be able to find the answers they'd been hunting for these past few months.

He moved towards the door to the study and heard another door shut. Frowning, he stepped into the hallway to see that the door of the bedroom was now firmly shut. There was a muffled scream, and he pulled out his gun and tried the door. Locked, of course.

"Dr. Brennan!" he shouted.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

The gloved hand pushed her back on to her knees and then clamped over her mouth before she could scream a warning to Sweets. She tried anyways, swinging out an elbow as she did so to jar her attacker in the knee, but received a sharp blow to the back of her head as the assailant dodged. Stars spun in front of her eyes, and she distantly felt her wrists being snapped into handcuffs around the curtain hook.

Her vision cleared, and she screamed out again as the door to the room was shut and locked. Her attacker was dressed completely in black, with a ski mask that only showed the eyes. Brennan frowned. The bone structure and figure appeared to be that of a woman.

A gag was shoved roughly in her mouth as she called for help again, just as the doorknob rattled.

"Dr. Brennan!" Sweets shouted.

The woman in black began to hurriedly search her, collecting the list from her pocket before moving to the rest of the room. She took the Bible as well, and then took a sweep of the room before dodging out the window. Brennan listened to the rattle of the old fire escape as she made her way down, while Sweets threw his shoulder into the door.

He wasn't the same scrawny psychologist as he had been. Brennan remembered all the talk of him becoming an agent, and Booth's doubts. And then she remembered the gun strapped easily to Sweets' belt, and how he had seemed almost normal with it there, unfazed by the changes. The door creaked as he threw himself into it again.

"Dr. Brennan!" he shouted. The lock gave way and he stumbled into the room, gun still drawn. He swept it through the room, eyes landing and focusing on Brennan when he saw no threats. She nudged her head in the direction of the window and he dashed to it and looked out.

"He's gone," Sweets said, pulling back inside and then leaning over her to remove the gag.

"It was a woman," she said at once, "Dressed all in black. She didn't say anything, but she searched me and took the paper that I found, along with the Bible it was in. She checked the room, too… I got the feeling she didn't know what she was looking for, but that she just wanted to stop me from finding anything. We're going to need a key for these handcuffs," she added.

Sweets dug into his pockets and pulled out the one he'd been issued, for his handcuffs.

"Oh, good," she said with a sigh, flexing her wrists once he'd gotten her unhooked.

"You're not hurt, right?" he asked helplessly.

"No… I'm fine." She reached up and found the thin scratch on her neck where the knife had slid across her skin. She found the tender spot on her skull next, and winced. "Just a blow to the head. She didn't come after you?"

"No, I didn't see her… I just heard the door shut and came out of the study. Why didn't she come looking to stop me, as well?"

"Out of time, maybe? Or maybe she wasn't expecting us to be here?"

"The coincidence would be outrageous if she didn't know we were coming," Sweets pointed out. "No, she had to have been aware. Perhaps she didn't want to risk coming up against a gun? Or she thought that what you found was more important than anything I might find? What was it, anyways?"

"A list… it was just a list of names. People that worked at the night club."

"Wait… these names?" he pulled out a list of his own and passed it off to her.

"The women are the same. Taylor and Rosalinda. The others on the list I found were all male names. Juan Ortiz was on there… I didn't recognize the others, though."

Sweets nodded slowly. "Alright, let's get you back to the Jeffersonian. Or to the hospital." He frowned, unsure.

"The Jeffersonian will be fine. I don't think I need any real medical attention, and Cam can tell me if I do or not."

"Alright, the lab it is," Sweets said, helping her to her feet. "The sooner this case is over, the better," he muttered under his breath.

"I have to agree with you," Brennan said on a sigh.

She really did hate this case.

Alright! So that was a long one. I'm really hoping some of you have some more guesses on who is behind this, so pretty please let me know! Thanks for reading!