A/N: Hey, everybody! I told you this would be a quick update…and you most definitely deserve. I think we almost hit a hundred reviews on last chapter, which completely blows me away! You guys are the best, and I can't tell you how much I love hearing from you and what you think about the story. I also need to go all awards show and thank the amazing biba79 who's been proofing for me (so you guys should thank her to, haha) and offering up her thoughts/suggestions. She's awesome and has a fic coming out fairly soon...lots of angst, just as we love, so keep an eye out.

No more rambling from me, this chapter's song is by Andrew Belle, and it's amazing. Enjoy! f

Chapter Four

In My Veins

Nothing goes as planned
Everything will break
People say goodbye
In their own special way
All that you can rely on
And all that you could fake
Will leave you in the morning
Come find you in the day

"You okay, Angie?" Hodgins' voice was rich with concern; he'd found Angela hiding in Brennan's office, sitting perfectly still on the sofa, her face ashen.

She touched her stomach instinctually and nodded, grimacing, "I'm just not feeling very well."

Looking vaguely alarmed, Hodgins came and sat beside her, slipping her hand into his. "All this stress isn't good for you."

Angela gave a hollow laugh. "Not much we can do about that right now." She paused, "How much time?"

"Just a dropped below an hour," Her husband admitted quietly, eliciting a small moan from Angela. "Hey, it'll be alright. Booth'll come through, he always does."

"I don't know." Angela wasn't feeling so optimistic. "Even if he figures out who this guy is…what's the chance that we can find him in an hour? That's if Booth figures it out in the next few minutes, which doesn't seem likely."

Outside the office, Booth was getting in touch with people from Hannah's office, asking questions about when she'd left, if any of them had noticed any unusual people or vehicles loitering near the office. Cam was looking into places someone could have potentially purchased the kind of cell phone that couldn't be traced, as well a voice disguising machine. Sweets was going over case files again, keeping in mind the new information that it wasn't anyone who'd been arrested.

None of them seemed like strong last ditch efforts.

"What do you think he'll do?" Angela whispered after a moment, voicing the question on both their minds.

"I honestly don't know."

"But…" Her voice caught. "It's Bren. And it's Booth. He can't let her die, right?"

Hodgins met her eyes, his expression somber. "It's an impossible choice, babe."

Angela wiped her eyes. "I know. And I really think he's going to have to make it."

~(B*B)~

Hannah went lurching forward, colliding against the back of the seat in front of her as the car screeched to a stop.

Her whole body tensed. She was blindfolded, her hands tied behind her in the backseat. The whole drive she'd been terrified, halfway expecting it was all a trick, that soon she'd hear the click of a gun and realize, in the last split second of her life, that she was just being taken to a convenient dumping ground.

But then his voice was commanding, "Turn around." She did so, with difficulty in the cramped car, and his hands began untying her own. The ropes fell away, but he kept a grip on her wrists.

"Now in a second you're going to get out of the car and I'm going to drive away. And if you try anything stupid…" He tapped something cold, metal and round against the back of her hand. "We'll forget all about this little deal and I'll shoot you."

Hannah nodded, feeling small and stupid. For some reason, she had a feeling Brennan could have come up with some way to use this moment, to keep him from driving away and getting caught.

But she just wanted to get away from him.

"Great. Now go." He let go of her wrists, and Hannah instantly pulled the blindfold off her eyes. "Now."

Terrified, shaking, Hannah pulled open the door and jumped out into the street. She'd barely closed the door before the car was speeding away.

For a moment, she stood dazedly on the street, shivering. Her surroundings momentarily disoriented her; she'd been expecting the Hoover, or maybe even she and Booth's apartment. But after a second of blinking confusedly against the unnatural brightness of the sun, she realized she was across the street from the Jeffersonian.

Hannah started to run.

~(B*B)~

As soon as the clock had dropped below the one hour mark (which had been exactly sixteen minutes and twenty-four seconds ago), Booth had been overly aware of the cell phone in his pocket.

He knew he'd been promised four hours, but Booth was filled with an irrational panic that he would call early, and he wouldn't be ready.

Although it was starting to look very, very possible that it wouldn't matter. They were no closer than they'd been three hours ago, and he was out of ideas.

Hodgins and Angela emerged from Brennan's office. "Booth," Hodgins asked. "What can we do?"

"Um…" He turned away, not wanting to admit he had no tasks for them. There was nothing else.

His stomach lurched violently, and Booth pressed his lips together, worried he may actually be sick.

For the first time, he forced himself to accept the truth: he was going to have to choose.

"Oh, God..." He grabbed the railing on the side of the platform for support, bent over and nearly gasping for breath. Any activity behind him on the platform had ceased, giving way to total silence.

And Booth did the only thing left. He prayed.

Please. Please don't make me do this. Please bring them both back, please don't make me choose…

For several long moments, he was aware of nothing but his own silent, desperate pleas, until Cam's voice said his name, shocked enough to get Booth's attention.

He lifted his head, just as another voice penetrated his consciousness. "Seeley!"

Booth dimly registered her presence before Hannah slammed into him, burying her face in his chest. Booth's arms went around her automatically, but he felt strangely and suddenly disconnected.

There was a roaring in his ears, and his heart was pounding painfully in his chest. Some vague, distant part of him registered her presence and safety with relief, but for the most part, Booth felt like he was drowning in his own lack of comprehension.

She couldn't be here yet. He had forty-two minutes. He hadn't been called. She couldn't be here yet.

She couldn't be here alone.

Unless she'd escaped. His heart lifted unexpectedly, and he tightened his grip on his girlfriend.

If she'd escaped, it hadn't been alone.

Booth abruptly pulled back and, voice urgent, he demanded, "Where's Bones?"

Hannah's face fell, regret etched in her expression, "She's still there. Seeley, she-"

But Booth cut her off, already shaking his head, rejecting the scene in front of him. "No, no. No. He…he said I had four hours, no…"

"Temperance convinced him to bring me back early," Hannah admitted quietly. She touched his cheek, her eyes filling with tears. "She did it for you, she…she didn't want you to have to choose. I didn't know until it was too-"

He recoiled from her touch, his eyes wild. "How did you get back?"

Looking bewildered, Hannah answered, "He dropped me off across the street?"

"What color car?"

"B-black, but Seeley, he's already gone…"

But Booth was running before the second word had even formed, tearing out the door and into the street.

His feet pounded out a war rhythm on the street. Booth ran until his muscles were burning in protest, until his lungs felt tiny and ready to burst. He ran long after some dim part of his rationale realized he was too far behind a car.

He ran until, turning and running across the street, a blaring horn, the high pitched squeal of brakes and the skidding of concrete filled his ears and a blue van barely stopped in time to avoid running him down.

Frozen, Booth stood in the middle of the street, staring stupidly at the driver, who was mouthing something at him that seemed angry and probably expletive.

Only after a few honks of the horn did he remember how to move, and stiffly walked to the side of the road as the van sped off.

His legs, throbbing with effort, suddenly gave way beneath him, and Booth sank to his knees on the sidewalk.

The world around him was spinning. He couldn't get enough air.

It felt like drowning.

He could hear the blood pounding in his ears, but after a moment another sound cut in through them, an indecipherable, animalistic sort of sound. It was followed immediately by another one, a cross between screaming and sobbing. It sounded like an animal in pain.

It took one more before Booth realized the sound was coming from him.

Booth pressed his hands on the sidewalk, trying to focus on the texture, holding on as though it could anchor.

But he was spinning out of control, and before he could stop it, he was screaming again. They ripped out of him, one after another, never words. Booth was half out of his head, as though he was trying so hard to reject the reality around him that part of him had been removed from it.

When he came to after a good two minutes of screaming, it was only by biting on the inside of his cheek, so hard that the warm, metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. Booth's throat was raw, and when he looked down, he found his palms and knuckles bloody, beaten or scratched raw on the sidewalk. He didn't remember doing that.

Well, you must have known someone had to die here, Agent Booth.

She did it for you, she…she didn't want you to have to choose.

Fine, go. I don't need you.

After everything he'd said to her…hell, after the way he'd treated for the past five months…she'd done this for him.

Surely this was what dying felt like. This much pain, this utter inability to move forward, it had to be.

He hadn't been exaggerating earlier, what he'd said to Angela. If Bones was gone, if she died because of him, with the last conversation he'd had with her ending so cruelly, he was sure he would die. Those were not facts he could survive, and though that assertion made no sense, he fervently believed in it.

It would kill him. He wouldn't need another reason, another cause.

But he didn't know, yet, if that had happened. This was Bones. If anyone could save herself, it was her.

He could still save her. He could save the both of them.

Booth stood shakily and walked back to the lab.

~(B*B)~

When Booth got back, he found everyone sitting in Angela's office, in a circle, Hannah the apparent focus.

Angela, though it was obvious she'd been crying and seemed on the brink of it again, was sketching a person as Hannah described him, in between fielding questions from Sweets and Cam, both of who were writing on notepads.

"Hi," he muttered, his voice scratchy from all the screaming. "What have we got?"

Hannah was staring at his hands. "Seeley, what…?"

"What have we got?" He repeated, louder, ignoring the hurt and then sympathy that flickered across Hannah's face.

"I'm working on a more specific profile…but it seems like something happened to him, probably connected to you and whatever you supposedly did to him, that closely mirrors the choice he gave you…someone lived, and someone died. That remind you of anything?"

"No," Booth said brusquely, not pointing out that they'd tried to think of anything involving a choice.

Cam tapped her pad. "They were held in basement of somewhere that smells like paint and is about a twenty minute drive away. A lot of turns."

"So that doesn't help us much."

Hodgins spoke up quickly, "Well once I get Hannah's clothes and analyze them we can find some more specific particulates."

Booth pinned his gaze on the younger man. "Then what the hell are you waiting for?"

Sighing, Hodgins glanced pointedly over at his wife, who he was sitting next to. Before Booth could protest this reasoning, Angela glanced up from her sketchpad and looked at him. "I'm fine. You should go."

"Okay," he grabbed two evidence bags behind him Booth hadn't noticed before, one containing Hannah's shoes and the other her socks. "Uh, Hannah, if you could come out as soon as you're done, I'm going to need your other clothes, too. We'll find you something to wear."

"Sure, I'll be right there," she agreed.

As her husband left the room, Angela held up a pad to Booth. "Look familiar?"

He stared at the man in the drawing, his heart sinking when no instant realization was sparked. "I don't…not really, no."

Angela's face fell, too, but all she said was, "Well it's vague. The most distinctive thing was the no eyebrows, see?"

His chest hurt, and the spinning was coming back, but forced himself to speak normally. "I don't remember anyone without eyebrows. Ever."

Angela nodded, then tossed the pad onto the table in front of him and stood quickly, ducking out of the room.

Cam stood next, and nodded for Sweets to do the same. "Hopefully Hodgins will find something on the clothes. That's our best shot."

"Tell him I'll be right out with the rest of these," Hannah told them as they left, obviously giving Booth and her a moment alone. When the room was empty, she regarded him seriously, asking softly, "Are you alright?"

Booth could feel himself losing again, and he was in danger of curling into himself, disconnecting from reality. He focused his gaze on Hannah with difficulty, trying to use her as an anchor. "I should be asking you that. I…God, I'm so sorry this happened."

"It's not your fault," she told him, standing up, but seeming to hesitate before approaching him.

"Come here," he said finally, and Hannah approached him, grateful. He pulled her into a hug. "I'm glad you're okay. You are, right?"

"I'm fine. Really." She kissed him softly. Booth returned it, but broke away after a moment; familiar as the gesture was, it left a bad taste in his mouth. Bones could be dead; how could he be doing this? Hannah didn't notice his discomfort, however; she was too busy staring at his bloody hands. Taking his wrist in her grasp, she looked up at him. "Are you?"

He pulled back, ignoring the question. But the blood made him think of something; the stain in Bones' apartment. "Is…is Bones? I mean, I know she's not…" His voice caught. "She's not safe, I know. But..did he hurt her?"

Hannah's gaze skittered away. "She's fine."

"Hannah," his voice came out harsher than he'd meant. "Don't lie to me."

Sighing, she admitted without looking at him, "She tried to get away a couple of times. She was already bleeding when he brought her in, and I think she had some broken fingers. But she still tried to get away before he went back out, so he through her against the wall and knocked her out." He made a strangled sound, and Hannah hastily added, "It was less than a minute. Then one other time…she was able to knock him down and nearly got out, but he had a gun, and…" Hannah shuddered at the memory. "Anyway, he hit her with it. It cut her face pretty bad."

Booth turned his back on his girlfriend, clenching his fists, fighting nausea. Unjustified resentment rose in him, and he felt like asking Hannah, What about you? Why didn't you fight? How are you perfectly fine? Did you try to help her? Were you glad she wanted to give herself up?

She touched his arm. "Seeley, I need to tell you something.."

Before he could stop himself, Booth shrugged her off. "You need to go change. Hodgins needs those clothes. We can still get her in time."

Hannah looked like she might protest, but then she simply nodded. "Alright."

She walked out of the room, leaving Booth alone with Angela's sketch.

~(B*B)~

Brennan was huddled in the corner of the room, leaning against the wall, shivering. She'd stopped crying long ago.

She thought of her father, and of Russ. Of Cam and Sweets and Hodgins and especially Angela, of the baby who was supposed to have her name, in some way. Angela would still do that, most likely, though it would have a much more tragic implication…in memory instead of in honor.

More than anyone, though, she thought of Booth.

Brennan wasn't sure how much time had passed before the door creaked open, and she straightened, instantly on alert. One practical thing she had decided amid all the sentimentality of the past hour or so: she was going to die fighting.

She hadn't been able to run earlier, not without risking Hannah. But now she was no longer part of the equation.

He was going to kill her. That much she was certain. She was injured and hurting and unarmed, while he had a gun and was knowledgeable about wherever they were.

But he was going to have to work for it.

"Well, that's done. Dropped your friend off," he said conversationally. He tapped his pocket, where Brennan could clearly see the gun. "Just one thing left to do."

"She'll be able to identify you, you know," Brennan told him coldly. "When Booth finds you. And he will."

The man only chuckled. "Probably. But so what? What can he do to me?"

"Put you in prison, obviously. If he doesn't kill you, of course. He's killed before."

More laughter. "Trust me, that means very little to me."

He paused, but before Brennan could question that in order to keep him talking, he pulled out his gun, almost cradling it. "And now that I've done this…I've got no reason to keep living." He laughed again, manically. "Agent Booth'll find my body when he finds yours."

Brennan stared at him, any vague strategy she'd had forgotten. "You mean all this…revenge on Booth…it's just so you can kill yourself after?"

"Always wanted to make him pay," he murmured darkly. "It's because of him I'm alone. He's why my baby sister's dead. He's why my wife hasn't spoken to me in years, why she took my kids."

Brennan couldn't imagine what kind of scenario would have put this man in that situation, or what Booth had to do with it. But she wasn't interested in asking; motivation never mattered to her.

He didn't seem to plan on expanding, either. The gun was now trained on Brennan. "Turn around."

She did, her heart pounding. "At least Booth will know I didn't suffer," Brennan murmured, almost to herself, hoping that she had correctly understood Sweets constant lectures on the 'real' meaning of reverse psychology.

The man laughed again, though this time it sounded genuine. "That's a matter of opinion. You haven't seen a mirror lately."

Brennan's hand moved automatically to her swollen cheek, but she kept speaking, "I was referring to the cause of death. A gunshot wound is simple compared to some of the things we see."

There was long silence, and when he spoke again, his voice was close to her ear, his breath against her neck. "I know what you're doing." He ran the gun slowly down her back, and Brennan shuddered. "But you reminded me of something else I wanted to do before I finish this..." The hand not covering the gun was suddenly tangled in Brennan's hair. "My wife left me so long ago…"

In a quick motion, he had Brennan shoved against a wall, the gun in his hand the only thing stopping her from attacking him. She had to be careful, she had to think this through. But it was hard to think straight when she felt shaky and sick; his intentions were more than clear as he tied her wrists together, his body keeping her pressed against the wall as he did. "And this will be something nice for Booth to discover, too. Autopsies are a beautiful thing, aren't they?'

~(B*B)~

Booth was back in Angela's office with Cam and Sweets, going over the new information Hannah had provided. So far it hadn't been very helpful.

Now he was staring at the sketch so hard his eyes ached, willing something to register.

"You'd think I'd remember someone with no eyebrows," he muttered angrily.

Sweets suddenly straightened up, his eyes taking on a strange, focused look. "Unless that's a recent occurrence."

"What are you saying?"

"Well…Hannah said he was clean shaven. The hair, yeah, it could be a wig…what if he's a cancer patient?"

Cam and Booth stared at the young psychologist, considering it.

Sweets began to warm up to his theory, "And, you know, that would explain his trigger."

"His trigger?" Cam repeated.

Sweets nodded. "We know this is an older case because it wasn't one Dr. Brennan was involved in. Since we also know he hasn't been in jail for the interim time, there had to be some sort of trigger to make him seek revenge now."

"So cancer's a trigger?"

"Dying is," Sweets explained. "He has nothing to lose."

Booth shook his head a little. "So how does that help us?"

"Um…" Sweets shrugged a little, but Cam jumped in.

"We can get the description to local oncologists. The patients probably terminal, but not sick enough yet so he couldn't pull off a double kidnapping. We know an age range and basic appearance…it's something, Seeley."

Booth stood up, nodding hard, the first bit of hope in so long igniting him. "Yeah, okay. Let's do that, then. Good job, Sweets."

He ran out of the office, determination renewed, suddenly certain that if he just got the results back from Hodgins, there'd be enough information for him to remember.

Booth hadn't yet allowed himself to consider the possibility that it might be too late.

He was heading toward the platform when he heard Hannah's voice behind him. "Seeley?"

Booth turned, glad to have something to tell her, but his face darkened as soon as he saw her.

She was wearing a long blue lab coat. The kind they'd put him in after his clothes had been removed for cleaning last Christmas.

The kind Bones always wore.

Hannah's eyebrows drew together at his expression. "You okay?" She touched his arm, but he jerked back, actually taking a few steps back.

"Why are you wearing that?"

Bewildered, Hannah glanced down, as if to remember her own outfit. "Hodgins took my clothes to test….this is all they had, I guess. Why, what's wrong?"

"Take that off."

Hannah sighed, suddenly looking exhausted. "I don't have anything else to wear. What the hell is wrong with you? Anyway, I have to talk to you-"

Booth was already backing away, his eyes fixated on a point above her head. "Just…just take that off." She was staring at him like he was certifiably insane. "Please, just…right now." He turned around, ignoring the feeling like he'd just been sucker punched in the gut. "I have to go…"

"Seeley…" Anger pulsed through her tone now, but still Booth kept walking. "Damnit, Seeley, I promised her-"

At that, Booth froze. "Bones?"

Frustration palpable, Hannah replied, "Yes, Bones. She wanted me to tell you something."

Throat constricting before he even heard it, Booth nodded once. "Okay, yeah. Wh…what?"

"That it's okay, and she forgives you," Hannah said softly. "She really wanted me to tell you that."

Booth's heart felt like it was being cleaved in two. Hot tears pricked at his eyes and he closed them.

He was sinking, that's what this felt like. Because he knew what Bones meant, what she was forgiving him for. And she was wrong. It wasn't okay. It could never be okay that he said what he did, just like it could never be okay that she was gone.

Oh, God.

She was gone.

Because what reason could he have for keeping her alive?

She was gone, because she didn't want him to have to choose and the last thing he said to her was I don't need you and he barely noticed her for the past five months and he couldn't even remember the last time they went to the diner or sat at the bar together and even with all that she'd done this for him and she'd wanted to forgive him and make him think it was okay but it wasn't and nothing would ever be okay again…

A dry sob escaped him involuntarily, and Hannah's face was etched with sympathy. "Oh, honey…" She tried to close the distance between them, her arms out, but he stumbled backwards, closing his eyes so he didn't have to look at her in Bones' lab coat.

Hannah was alive because Bones wasn't (or at least wouldn't be soon).

And that was all he could think when she looked at him.

"Sorry…God, I'm sorry…" He stammered, not exactly sure who he was apologizing to, just before he turned and left her behind.

~(B*B)~

Moments later, he ducked into Brennan's office to find Angela, lying on the sofa with a cold washcloth over her forehead.

Booth froze; he hadn't expected anyone to be inside. Stupidly, mostly to alert her to his presence, "What are you doing?"

Angela didn't look up, merely snapped, her voice bitter, "Why? Are you going to accuse me of taking a break, too? And then maybe yell at me for being alone and unloved? Say you don't need me? Probably shouldn't, though, Hodgins'll kill you if I get kidnapped, too."

When she was met with only silence, Angela glanced back, and instantly sat up, horrified by the crumpled, guilt-stricken expression on his face.

"Oh my God, I'm sorry. That was…unnecessary and cruel and..."

"Completely correct," he muttered thickly, Bones' forgiveness ringing, unwelcome and undeserved, in his head.

"Yeah, but…not what you need right now…" Angela's face twisted, and she started to cry, "I'm just really scared, and I want to help but there's nothing for me to do and I can't believe she did this, except I totally can because it's for you…" Booth sucked in a ragged breath, earning him another, "Sorry."

"No, you're right." Rubbing a hand tiredly over his face, Booth sat down next to Angela. "Are you alright? You've been up for like forty hours, that can't be good for the baby. You could slee-"

"No," Angela cut him off. "I'll sleep when I know she has her godmother." She looked up, staring at Booth through a sheen of tears. "Do you think she will?"

Voice trembling, Booth answered, "I…I don't know." A sob tore out of his chest, and he admitted in a broken voice, "I think she's really going to die. And I can't…I can't handle that…"

"I know," Angela choked out, rubbing a hand on his back as Booth bent over, crying softly against the back of his hand.

"And I can't even look at Hannah," he burst out after a moment. "Even if she wasn't wearing that thing, I can't look at her without thinking….God, and she said Bones wanted…to, to tell me that she forgives me, which is just…how could she?" He sighed, shaking his head in disbelief at how far they'd fallen. "Jesus, if I had a choice now…"

Booth stopped talking abruptly, staring at Angela, frightened of what he'd almost said.

Finally, Angela said gently, "It doesn't matter anymore. She took the choice away."

Before he could reply, Cam stuck her head in the doorway. "There you are. Come on, we have a list of potential cancer patients….slash suspects. Hodgins has some results, too."

~(B*B)~

His hand was fumbling with the button on her jeans, and Brennan had to fight the urge to vomit.

He pressed against her, sandwiching Brennan between himself and the wall. For now, though, only one his hands was roaming her body; the other still clutched the gun, holding it against her neck.

She had to wait.

His lips, cracked and dry, brushed against her neck. He dragged her zipper down and let his fingers drift between her legs.

Panic swelled inside Brennan, and she felt herself shaking, fighting the urge to squirm as memories rushed to her, of being sixteen years old and at the mercy of a particularly bad foster father. Tears rushed to her eyes and all thoughts of her plan dissolved…she just wanted him off her; she was going to scream…

He let out a low moan, and the hand holding the gun slowly drifted toward her chest as the other started to free her of her jeans…

The feel of the gun, the side of it rather than the barrel, against her chest made Brennan snap back into herself.

She waited until he dropped his head slightly, and then threw an elbow back against his nose with a satisfying crunch.

He reeled back, letting go of her and, better than she'd expected, dropping the gun. It skittered across the floor and Brennan made to grab at it, but he got a hold of her leg and pulled her down on top of him.

There was a momentary scuffle. Brennan made a grab for his throat but he managed to seize her wrists, and he gave the broken fingers a hard tug. Brennan gasped, momentarily distracted by the pain, and he rolled away, changing his objective, making a grab for the gun….

She couldn't wait anymore. Brennan leaped to her feet and managed to get one good kick in the stomach before she ran for the door, slamming it behind her.

Outside, she fumbled with the button on her jeans with one hand, the other moving to lock the door. Her heart sank; it was a key lock. She's suspected that, from the sounds of his entrances, but had been hoping she was wrong.

There was nothing to block the door, so she took off down the corridor. The hallway was narrow, not large enough for two people to walk side by side down. The floor was the same cool cement as the room she'd been held in, and the walls were nothing but exposed cinderblock.

But there was a door at the end with a 'stairwell' sign beside it. She just had to get there.

The door was locked. Of course; he had her trapped.

The small glass window at the top of the door shattered suddenly, a gunshot echoing in her ears. Adrenaline pumping, Brennan ducked down the side corridor, running. She slung open a few of the doors only to find small, closet size rooms.

She couldn't put herself in a position to be cornered.

Finally, at the end of the hall, she flung open another door to find a larger room, stacked with boxes. And in the corner, a panel in the floor was propped open, revealing a wooden staircase, going down to some sub-basement.

Before Brennan could duck inside, two more gunshots rang out.

The first missed.

The second didn't.

Brennan crumpled to the ground in the doorway.

So, there we are. Next chapter should be fairly soon, as well, so you know what to do! Tell me your thoughts haha. Thanks for reading!