Spoilers/Timeline: Reference to 2x09 Aliens in a Spaceship/Set in future

A/N: Written in response to SSJL's prompt at LJ comment fic meme: Brennan & Hodgins, Gravedigger anniversary. Thanks to space77 for the read through.

Disclaimer: Do I really have to? Bones isn't mine; title from Keith Urban's Used to the Pain


Five years.

How was it five years?

Post trial, testimony, verdict.... they still didn't have all the answers...

After five years they should have all the answers.

She leaned back in her desk chair, breathing deeply. She didn't need Booth's lips lingering on hers that moment longer, his hand gripping hers just a little more tighter when he'd dropped her off that morning, to tell her today was the day. She always knew. The day had some odd feeling to it, which was completely irrational, but...

"Dr. B?" Hodgins' voice jarred her from her thoughts and she nodded as he walked in, taking a seat across from her without invitation.

His eyes darted around the room, lingering on the top shelf containing her novels; she wanted to ask why he was here in the middle of the day when they were waiting for victim identification and the results of paint samples, but she knew.

They both did.

"You," she glanced to the shelf he was staring at, the one they both knew still held two torn slips of paper, "you accused me of having faith and, while denied it, I did... I do. There's no one I trust more than Booth and you knew that, but" she paused, shuffling through the files in front of her, "I'm glad it was you down there with me... I needed someone who understood the science, could help me remain focused... logical... and, while Booth tries..."

"Logic really isn't the big guy's strong suit." He laughed, then sobered, mouth turning up in a softened smile. "You saved my life."

She nodded, her breath stilling. She could have just as easily killed him, but saying as much seemed as though it would somehow diminish the experience.

Weaken it.

Reaching across her desk, she wrapped her fingers around his and squeezed.

He lifted his head, determination now joining the appreciation and hurt apparent in his striking blue eyes. "We're gonna have all the answers one day. They're," he tilted his head towards the lab where their coworkers - their family - moved around quickly, attempting to determine the identity of the middle-aged murder victim on her lab table, "too brilliant for us not to. I," he rose, exhaling sharply, "I should go though; report on the paint should be back."

She found herself nodding again, watching as he stood in her doorway a moment before seamlessly blending back into the action of the lab. They might not ever have all the answers, but it was what they needed to believe... was what got them through this day every year.

Closing her eyes, she leaned back in her chair for another brief moment.

He had said she'd saved his life and, though it had taken her years to realize it, he'd shown her how important it was to risk hers.