[A/N: Writing without the whole story planned is a really interesting process. I really struggle to fit new ideas in and some chapters take much longer than others to finish. Ironically, the ones that I struggle most with seem to become longer. Not sure if that's good or if I'd be better off rushing through them, but observing the process as it has unfolded has been fun.
This story has gotten longer than I planned but the core of it has remained the same. This song was always meant to be used. The words are so perfect for Brennan's POV that I'm tempted to write a whole story inspired by them. Hope you like them, too.
I don't own Bones, its characters, or this amazingly sad song that tugs on my heartstrings, but I adore them all.]
Chapter Eleven: The Search for Truth
A few minutes before ten o'clock the following morning, a contemplative Brennan stopped by Booth's office.
"Hey, Bones," Booth said in a fairly normal voice. He scrutinized her carefully while pretending not to do so.
"Hi," she said in response, her heart beating erratically and her knees becoming jello merely from being as close as a room away from him. She wondered when her body would stop reacting to the man who'd told her how much he wanted her instead of to the partner she had loved for years and could handle working with. Instinctively, she shifted her entire focus to the safety of science and work. "Do you expect this interview to last more than an hour? Mr. Bray is analyzing the histology and fluorescence of the bones and I need to supervise his work."
"If we had time, I'd ask you to translate that squint-speak into English for me," Booth said with a wink, jumping up and grabbing a file before rushing toward the doorway to meet her, "Let's go, Bones. The former gang member's already in the interrogation room." Surprising Brennan, Booth stopped abruptly about a foot farther away from her than he normally would have. "Look, Bones, I know you hate gang leaders, but please don't threaten this guy, okay? It'll only drag things out and keep you away from the lab even longer."
His attempt at humor served as a reminder of their prior stressful encounters with leaders of gangs and comforted both of them a bit as he'd hoped that it would. They'd gotten through those difficult times, and they'd survive this current situation as well. Wordlessly, Brennan turned and he followed her out into the hallway. At the precise moment when he'd have normally laid a hand on the small of her back to guide her, Booth's right arm extended as if of its own accord. But afraid of what the simplest touch might do to fracture the fragile connection between them, he paused and pulled his hand back, slipping his now aching hand into his pants pocket to immobilize it there.
Brennan knew it was ridiculous, but she had literally felt his decision not to touch her. It was as if his movement not to touch her had been a slap—along with a particularly painful stab at her now weary heart. For years, she'd taken their unspoken connection for granted. She had not realized that, somewhere along the way, they'd begun to move in complete synchrony—her brain had automatically ticked off the seconds from the time they'd crossed the threshold of his office until that anticipated contact he always made with her as they moved from place to place. How had this happened? How long had she subconsciously relied upon his actions for other needs than mere survival and comfort? Her immense brain rushed through memories too subtle to notice without looking specifically for them. It didn't take her long to realize that even though she had thought her feelings for her partner had been locked away safely to protect both of them, she had come to rely upon his subtle touches and his words and his companionship in ways she had never depended upon any other. Hiding her feelings for Booth had not protected her from relying on him for far more than the friendship and partnership she treasured above all other possessions and relationships.
Moments after Booth's hand had been safely secured within the pocket of his slacks, Brennan glanced back at him, noting a discomfort on his countenance that rivaled hers. "I'm so sorry, Booth," her heart whispered to his. He half-smiled at her as much to chase away the worried expression on her face as anything.
They entered the interrogation room silently, Booth rushing a bit to pull out her chair and intentionally not watching to see her reaction to that gesture. He'd needed to do something to channel the nervous energy that had built up while he'd forced himself to keep his distance from her on their way to the interrogation room. "Mr. Park, I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth. This is my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan," Booth said, gesturing to Bones respectfully but not looking her in the eye. "You've met everyone else. I'm sure you are curious about why we've invited you here today."
The fit Korean-American man in his late twenties listened carefully before replying simply to the agent, "Yeah. Yes, I am."
"Well, what are your thoughts? Why do you think you're here?" Booth asked, sitting down and pulling out his poker chip, flipping it idly between his fingers as he tried to sit still and listen.
"I don't know," the man said flatly, although his coloring and his posture clearly suggested that he was uncomfortable with the question.
"C'mon, Mr. Park. Surely you have a few guesses about why the FBI would like to ask you a few questions."
"No," the man said quietly, now starting to fight the urge to squirm or leave the room.
The interview continued with Booth eventually prodding the man into admitting his former ties with a violent gang in Baltimore. With Booth breathing down his neck and drawing details from him expertly, Park admitted that he now lived in southern VA with a respectable job. Booth circled round and round with the man, but he vehemently denied being involved in the murders of the Westars. He confessed that the gang had begun to talk about killing cops and that he'd left then-he hadn't been prepared to be any part of that. Clearly not believing his statement, Booth continued to press him hoping that he'd slip or give away something that could be used to compel him to confess. Despite Booth's determined questioning, Park swore that he never killed anyone—that he just beat them up and—once in a while-the gang's leader had shot them.
Park refused to mention the gang's leader by name or to implicate him in any specific crime. "He's still in charge, man. I don't have a death wish. I'm not ratting him out."
Something about the way Mr. Park answered that last question set Booth off. He'd been itching to punch something ever since he'd shoved his hand in his pocket earlier to avoid touching Bones, and he was thrilled that Park might give him that opportunity. Booth was slowly beginning to think the guy might be the killer, and his attitude just ticked him off. After leaping up off the end of the table and rushing the man, Booth pulled him up and out of his seat and pressed him against the wall with his forearm across the man's throat, ignoring the surprised expressions on the other parties in the office. Stunned by Booth's abrupt action and concerned that he might actually hurt the man, Brennan jumped up ready to intervene if needed.
"Booth," she whispered, hoping to distract him enough to prevent him from hurting the suspect.
Booth ignored her and kept using his size and strength to intimidate Park. "Really... killing a woman and her paralyzed husband-did you really think that made you a man?" Booth growled only inches from the man's face.
"I... I never," Park stuttered, glancing to Brennan as if to ask her to protect him.
Booth let his anger radiate out toward the suspect, "Cause I think that makes you a creep, a loser, a jerk-definitely not a man."
"Look, I...," Park started to explain. Booth pressed harder upon his neck and he had to swallow to relieve the pressure. Brennan tugged slightly on Booth's arm to pull him away. Begrudgingly, he reduced the pressure slightly but did not look back at her.
Relieved, Park tried to explain, "I never touched them. The Westars were good people. She worked hard to keep kids like me out of gangs and off the street. She was too late to help me, but she looked after Richie and helped him out. Her husband taught Richie how to play chess. They were good people, man... I never..."
"You're asking us to feel sorry for you? You went around beating up innocent people and selling drugs to kids and you want our sympathy? Give me a break," Booth snarled.
"Booth, let him talk," Brennan whispered, relieved watching her partner relax a bit at her encouragement.
"I never wanted to join that gang. I...," Park paused, glaring at Booth before continuing, "Look, you're big and you're strong, but you're not as big or as scary as my old man was when he kicked the crap out of us," Park confessed. Struck by the comparison to the violent father he had vowed never to become, Booth released his hold on the man and glared at him for a long moment before walking across the room leaving Brennan to continue to question him.
Glancing at Sweets for a moment and aching for the way she knew that this conversation would stir traumatic memories for her partner, Brennan continued quietly, "Your father abused you?"
Fighting back tears and nearly succeeding in banishing them, the man nodded and then continued in a voice strangled with long-hidden rage, "Drank, did drugs, beat the crap out of my mom and us. He killed her… right in the kitchen. Richie...," the man paused, tears finally filling his eyes, "my little brother... he found her dead on the kitchen floor. My old man beat her up and then went back to the bar like nothing had happened. I was only sixteen... We had no other family. I didn't have a job. But I couldn't stay there and risk letting him kill us, too... So we stole the money mom had been saving in a box on the refrigerator and left... Took a bus into the city... The gang had been recruiting us both for years. I'd kept them away from Richie. But I went to them and told them..." Park paused again and then looked directly at Booth as he spoke, "I made them swear to leave Richie out of it. He was my kid brother. I joined the gang to get money and to keep him out of trouble. He was just a kid..."
Brennan glanced at her partner and tried not to show how much sympathy she felt for him. Every word of this story had made her heart clench for Booth. His father hadn't killed his mother, and Booth's grandfather had rescued him and Jared from a life on the streets. But she knew that if circumstances had been different, Booth—the honorable, brave, amazing man she admired—would have done the same thing. He'd have joined a gang if it had been his only way to protect his little brother. Still, she knew that the last thing Booth wanted in that moment was her comfort and reassurance. He was trying too hard to look as if this story hadn't affected him at all. So she refocused on Park to help with the work so that Booth wouldn't have to question this man who'd walked an eerily similar path.
Booth moved to the far end of the room and paced slowly as Brennan continued to talk with Park. "So you admit to being a gang member. We know that you were second in command. The officers from Baltimore told us your trademark symbol-beating a Korean "2" into people to mark your work. You know we found that symbol on one of the victims..."
"I swear, I didn't kill them... the Westars were good people."
"The mark was on another victim found buried with them."
"I... someone must have tried to frame me for it... I never even knew they were dead. I swear..."
Even though she found his story convincing, Brennan continued to press the man so that Booth wouldn't have to do so.
"But you admit that you beat people to death marking them like that?"
"Beating them, yes... But I never killed anyone... I told them I wouldn't. I beat people up. But I never killed anyone."
"And we're supposed to just what? Take your word for this? You are hardly a reliable source."
"Well, you're getting more truth out of me than you'll ever get out of the gang. I am telling you the truth, lady."
Annoyed with his tone and worried that it might set Booth off again, Brennan shifted gears, "What happened to Richie?"
Park glared at her, hiding his pain behind his stare. "I'm not talking about Richie with you... He's my family. He's not part of this. Leave him out of it."
"Tell us, Mr. Park. What happened to your brother? Was he one of the people you beat up? Did he join the gang, too? You were his big brother. You were supposed to protect him. That's what big brothers who love their little brothers do," she couldn't resist throwing out there for Booth's sake.
"You don't get to question my love for my brother. That's our private family business," Park hissed.
That subtle implied threat on his partner was the excuse Booth had been looking for to rejoin the conversation. Now fueled by a fire inflamed by reminders of his violent upbringing, Booth rushed past his partner to clutch the man and press him back against the wall.
"We're asking the questions here, loser. And you'd better show my partner some respect when she asks you questions."
"I'm not answering any more questions without a lawyer."
Now furious, Booth shook the man and considering punching him, "You son of a..., you left a girl... a sixteen-year old girl an orphan. You took out both of her parents. What kind of monster does that to a kid?"
Brennan flinched realizing that a very large part of her partner's anger was coming from the fact that he hated the thought that his man could have caused someone else a pain like the one she'd endured.
"April was a good kid. I knew her. I'd never have hurt her parents. That's why I left, man. They were starting to mess with the police and talked about making a 'statement.' Richie had already run off, and I had no reason to stay. I never would have attacked any cop… especially not Mrs. Westar."
"So you expect me to believe that you, a slimeball gang leader, decided that the stakes were too high and you just left? People don't leave gangs unless they're in body bags. Your story smells, Park. In fact, it reeks."
"I did one final job for them and they let me go. I promised to stay away, and I have. This is the closest I've been to Baltimore in six years."
"Bones is right. We have no reason to believe anything you say. You're just covering your ass."
"Look, G-man, I don't have any reason to lie to you. I am clean now. I'm trying to live the right way. Yes, I have a past. But I'm trying to make up for it. Haven't you ever done something because of someone or some circumstance that you'd never have done otherwise? Haven't you ever looked back and wished you could take one thing back? Or are you perfect?"
Booth just glared at him. Park's words were echoing in his head. Yeah, if there were one thing he'd want to take back-he'd go back to the way things had been when things were normal and easy between Bones and him.
But he was jostled out of his thoughts by his partner's voice, "Agent Booth is a hero, an honorable man who has served his country bravely and who is loyal to his friends and family. I understand that your circumstances were difficult, but comparing the choices you made to things he's done? That's not possible. Agent Booth has done nothing he should be ashamed of..."
Booth just looked at her. They exchanged some sort of wordless message Booth wasn't quite sure the meaning of. He turned back to Park, itching for the man to give him a reason to recover the anger Bones had somehow managed to pull away from him.
But as soon as he had refocused on the subject of the interview, Bones had been struck with one of her ideas that wouldn't stop. "Booth, I need to ask you something... outside."
"In a minute, Bones, we're just wrapping up here."
"No, this can't wait. I need to discuss this with you now."
"Five minutes, Bones. Just give me..."
"Booth, I will not wait. This is too important." She stormed out of the room.
With a beleaguered look at Sweets, Booth released the man and turned to leave the room to find his partner.
"Can't you just listen to me for once? What the hell was so damned important that it couldn't wait five more minutes?"
She glared at him as if to remind him that he was way out of line for yelling at her like that. Booth raised his arms in a gesture that called for a truce even though it stopped short of an apology and repeated, "Just tell me, Bones."
"I want to take a DNA sample from Mr. Park."
"Well you could have just asked him for it. That was no reason to pull me out of that room," he insisted, furious that she'd thought he was too out of control to manage the interview.
Moving quickly to inform him that she hadn't doubted his professionalism, she told him what had struck her during the interview, "I think his brother is the teenaged victim."
"You think he killed... his brother?"
Frustrated by an overwhelming desire to hug Booth and tell him that everything would be okay—that they'd get through the case and everything else, Brennan snapped back into her cool, rational mode as a self-protective measure, "Don't jump to conclusions, Booth. I'm merely suggesting that the underlying bone structure and the age of the victim combined with other facts makes it a logical possibility that the victim is Mr. Park's missing brother."
Booth clenched his jaw for a moment as he considered her theory. He had to admit that she was awfully adept at recognizing bone structure and other markers.
"So you'll support my request for his DNA?"
"Yes."
Pleased that he was agreeing with her, Temperance continued, "And you'll stall and hold him here until we can make a comparison? I should have the results within an hour."
"No."
She'd already been turning to re-enter the interrogation room. His refusal stopped her cold, "No? Why not?"
"Get the sample. We'll ask him to come back on Monday."
"Monday? Why? Shouldn't he know the truth now?"
Booth just shook his head and glanced skyward as if for divine help, "If he did kill his brother, he'll have four more days to carry the burden of that dirty family secret around."
"And if he didn't kill his brother?"
Booth bit the inside of his lower lip and shook his head in frustration before speaking through gritted teeth, "Then he'll have four more days before he finds out that his little brother is dead."
"Booth, I know this case is..."
"It's just a case. Not now, Bones. Just... not right now, okay?"
Uncharacteristically, Booth walked past her and back into the interrogation room. After standing there for a long moment, she followed him back into the room.
T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . .
Booth wasn't quite sure how Bones had managed to convince him to go to lunch with her at the diner. Stupid Park and his comparing him to his own abusive father... Booth needed to skip lunch and hit the gym to make some permanent dents in a punching bag (or twenty) or he needed a hard run or something. The absolute last thing he needed to do was to spend what was bound to be an awkward lunch at the diner with his partner. But she was Bones and he apparently had 'I'm an idiot for her" tattooed on his forehead. Grumbling internally, he followed her out of the building and down the street toward the diner for lunch.
As they'd approached the diner, Brennan and Booth ran into the prosecutor who would be working on the Park case. Stacey Villar was in her mid-thirties, recently divorced, and looking none the worse for it. She'd always had a thing for Booth and made no pretense of showing that she still wanted a shot with him—if not just a piece of him on a temporary basis. After brief awkward re-introductions, Temperance excused herself and headed into the diner. Once inside, she settled at the table and focused her attention on the conversation underway outside on the sidewalk.
I don't know what I've done
Or if I like what I've begun
But something told me to run
And honey you know me it's all or none
There were sounds in my head
Little voices whispering
That I should go and this should end
Oh and I found myself listening
She sat there feigning casual interest in the way that the well-endowed woman showed her ample cleavage off as she laughed uproariously at what Temperance was certain was only a mildly funny joke. She could tell from his posture that Booth hadn't expected the joke to garner that much enthusiasm. She wondered if Ms. Villar had been able to read him. No, she thought sadly. Nobody reads him the way I do.
With her attention clearly focused on events unfolding outside, Brennan gave the waitress their standard lunch orders. She swallowed hard and tried to pretend that she wasn't jealous of the way that the woman unleashed what was certainly a practiced routine on her partner. She was touchy without being offensive, chatty without going on too much, and witty and funny in her own right. She kept smiling up at Booth as if he were a Christmas present or the smartest man she'd ever met. In typical Booth fashion, he enjoyed the attention and appreciated the view she put on display before him, but Booth didn't make it appear obvious that the woman was getting to him.
She envied the woman her bravado, her blonde locks, and her skill at enticing men. Ms. Villar was smart, successful, gorgeous, a Justice Department staff member herself, and blonde—she was definitely Booth's type. Brennan wished just for a moment that she could be someone other than the person she so intrinsically was. She wished for the ability to be carefree and "normal" and female in ways that she had never mastered. She was still reeling from these unwelcome and unfamiliar thoughts when her partner entered the diner.
Cause I don't know who I am, who I am without you
All I know is that I should
And I don't know if I could stand another hand upon you
All I know is that I should
Cause she will love you more than I could
She who dares to stand where I stood
As he sat down across from her, Brennan felt the need to speak in order to stop the knot of regret that was forming in her stomach. She eyed Booth carefully and leaned forward to get his attention. She spoke directly but in a hushed voice, "I promise not to venture any further down this road, but you should know that Ms. Villar wants to have sexual intercourse with you."
After doing a quick double-take at her, Booth shook his head dismissively, "That's an old story, Bones. You know I've turned her down before."
"Well, she's beautiful and intelligent. And she's more than interested. I just... you deserve to be happy, Booth. Perhaps she can make you happy."
"I thought you promised not to go down that road."
"Well, I think it's important that we're honest. And I think that she seems perfect for you."
See I thought love was black and white
That it was wrong or it was right
"You're telling me to go out with her?"
"I'm not certain about these things, but I've read that dating helps people move on from… from their past."
He couldn't help smirking at her. That was such a 'Bones' thing to say, "Yes, that is often true."
"Well, you haven't been dating anyone, Booth. I just thought that...," Temperance trailed off. What? She thought that pushing Booth to date a woman completely unlike herself might be good? Why? Now her logic seemed fraught with stupidity and error.
"I'm meeting her for coffee next week, Bones. She asked. I said I'd go," he confessed, searching her eyes carefully as he did so, "Are you happy now?"
"That's good," she managed in an even tone before looking down to gaze at her salad as if it held the secrets to the origins of man. Although she'd been the one pushing him, she couldn't lie to him by saying that she was happy. Her heart now felt as if it had been pricked full of tiny holes that ached more with each heartbeat.
Booth pulled Temperance out of her private misery once their meals were delivered. They immersed themselves in conversation about the case and for a few moments things were blissfully normal. He tried to pretend that his partner wasn't in the midst of some internal freak-out he knew better than to mention. So he cracked jokes and tried to get her to help him create realistic scenarios—anything to keep them focused on work and out of the hellhole their partnership had become lately.
As they reached the parking garage and waited for the elevator to take her to her car, Booth nudged her with his elbow in that old friendly way and said, "Hey, about what you said to Park earlier? Thanks, Bones."
"It was only the truth, Booth."
"Well, you didn't have to say those things. I was grateful that you did."
But you ain't leaving without a fight
And I think I am just as torn inside
As the bell for the elevator rang more loudly than normal given the emotional electricity that suddenly surrounded them, she stepped into the small space and turned to face him. For the briefest of moments, the partners stood gazing wordlessly upon one another without the barriers and facades of their everyday life firmly in place. Brennan felt the warmth of those chocolate brown eyes stir something within her, and Booth had a glimpse—a tiny flicker of one—of the impact he could have on his partner. As the doors closed, Temperance slumped against the back of the elevator fighting tears as her partner sighed and turned to walk back into the Hoover Building to finish his day.
T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . .
On Friday afternoon, the entire team assembled to prepare for the coming week's busy schedule. They were to interview Mr. Park again on Monday morning and tell him that they'd confirmed that his brother was the third victim buried with the Westars. Then, they were going to hold him in temporary custody (or protective custody if that seemed more appropriate) while they invaded the gang and arrested all of its members. The interrogation room was planning central. When Brennan arrived, she noticed that the room was already a flurry of activity. Ms. Villar was there, sidled up to Booth. Dr. Sweets was talking with Charlie about plans for keeping the gang members isolated so that they could be interviewed separately. Several bureau SWAT team leaders were there discussing plans to invade and disassemble the home base for the gang.
Somehow unable or unwilling to enter the room, Temperance stood where she'd stopped across the hallway. She observed the workings of the team, but this was not an anthropological observation. She stood there watching as Ms. Villar made an observation that impressed her partner. In turn, he smiled and nodded at her approvingly with his eyebrows raised in that manner that made it obvious that he was pleased. She knew instinctively that she was witnessing the connection that could become the foundation of a relationship between them. She ached as she watched Booth lean down and whisper something to Ms. Villar. It was so easy for her to feel the way his breath would have tickled her ear and warmed her from the inside out. It had done so to her dozens of times before.
She was literally mesmerized by the image of Booth interacting with this new woman. It was different and unique, but Booth's glances and actions were so uniquely his. She felt pangs of jealousy rip through her even though she knew that she had no right to expect him to reserve anything—especially the intimacy of subtle touches-just for her.
She continued to stare at the pair, her heart aching as she watched Ms. Villar place a hand upon Booth's arm. The smile that simple touch engendered in him broke her already fractured heart.
Miserably lost in her own thoughts, Temperance had not realized that someone had walked up beside her. Without a word, Dr. Sweets put an arm around her and led her down the hallway to his office. He squeezed her shoulder tightly until they were safely ensconced in his office.
She'd steeled herself for the onslaught, fully prepared for Sweets to start interrogating her. Turning away from him, she stood and stared out the window, dreading what he was going to say to her.
Surprisingly, the man said nothing.
She took a moment to swallow hard and to swipe at the tears she hadn't realized had been falling. Years of practice burying her emotions came in handy and she was able to pull herself together rather quickly. Clearing her throat, Brennan turned to face the young psychologist, "Go ahead. I'm ready for your questions now."
He tilted his head a bit and smiled at her sympathetically, "I don't have any questions for you today, Dr. Brennan."
"You don't?"
"No. I just thought you needed a moment... I don't have any questions."
"But you always have questions."
"Not today. I think you have enough questions for both of us."
"Oh, I see. That was subtle. You're expecting me to offer my own questions for you to scrutinize. That's an impressive technique, Dr. Sweets."
"You give me too much credit, Dr. B. I brought you in here as your friend—not as your psychologist. If you want to talk, I'm happy to oblige. But I didn't bring you here to interrogate you. I just wanted to help. You looked upset."
"Well, I appreciate the gesture, but I wasn't upset. And I don't have any questions," she lied.
"Dr. Brennan, you have to stop lying. You're the only one who can't see through your own deception."
She stared at him for a long moment, unbidden tears welling in her eyes again. She turned away to stare out the window, unable to stop a few tears from trickling down her cheek. "There's nothing to question. I should be happy for him. He deserves to move on… be happy," she admitted boldly in a haunted voice.
"Are you?" Sweets asked, aching for the woman whose pain was radiating brightly.
"Am I what?" she asked, hoping to evade the question.
"You said that you should be happy for Booth," he said, watching as her shoulders flinched at the mention of her partner's name. "Are you happy for him?"
There was a long, unbearably silent pause. Then she turned to face him, tears falling, unable to answer the question because she was so programmed not to lie. Yet speaking the truth would be her undoing.
Cause I don't know who I am, who I am without you
All I know is that I should
And I don't know if I could stand another hand upon you
All I know is that I should
Cause she will love you more than I could
She who dares to stand where I stood
Without saying another word, Sweets leapt up and crossed the room, folding her into his arms and holding her as she cried. He was surprised how pliant she became. She allowed him to hold her, and she wept openly as the pain of her fear and the mistakes it caused washed over her afresh. They stood there silently for a long time. Then Sweets suggested that she go home or back to the lab. He'd make excuses for her. She resisted, ever afraid to shirk her responsibilities no matter how painful fulfilling them might be. Sweets reassured her that this one time it was fine for her to miss the meeting. He promised to relay anything important to her via email. She nodded and left the room silently, whispering a quiet "thank you" as she entered the hallway.
After giving her time to vacate the premises, Sweets made his way back into the interrogation room. Booth walked over immediately, concern on his face. "Sweets, Bones is late. She's never late, and she's not answering her cell."
"No worries, Agent Booth. She called and asked me to tell you that she can't make it over this afternoon. I told her that we'd e-mail the files to her and that we'd see her on Monday morning."
"Sweets?" Booth asked, his question and concern for his partner written all over his face.
"She's fine, Booth. You don't need her for this part," he said gesturing to Ms. Villar who was waiting eagerly for Booth to return to sit beside her. Booth glanced over, smiled at her and then looked helplessly back at Sweets.
"She just needs a little space. Things have been difficult for both of you lately. Take the break. You'll be working together next week constantly."
"You're sure. You're sure that Bones is okay," Booth demanded.
"She'll be fine," Sweets whispered, wishing there were some way for him to make things easier for both of them. With a wistful grimace, Booth nodded and returned to the table to brief the team on the rest of their plans for the coming week's work.
Lyrics: Where I Stood—by Missy Higgins
