He Shouldn't Have Done That

By: Lesera128

Rated: M

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Brennan ends her partnership with Booth after she considers his confession to Hannah about her the ultimate betrayal. AU.

Chapter 11 – Eleven Months After

The next Thursday evening, promptly at 7:30pm, Booth walked in, and sat down on the bar stool that stood next to mine. This time, however, I wasn't drinking anything alcoholic. A glass of club soda with a twist of lime sat in front of me. Booth ordered a Coke. We sat in silence for a moment. But, then he asked me a question, and I responded, and then continued to talk. We sat, we drank, we talked, and we passed the time. And, for once, during those talks... at least for a few hours, I didn't think of what had happened. I didn't think of the accident... I didn't think of the funeral... I didn't think of *him*... I didn't think of... Wendall. And, it was okay. So, we drank, we talked, and we passed the time.

During the first week, they talked about small things. By tacit agreement, they kept the conversation away from weightier issues. He didn't bring up Hannah. She didn't bring up Wendall. And, neither one of them brought up their former… situation.

It was early October, and the weather had started to change. They chatted, casually, that first night, about things of which people who don't know each other would usually speak.

"I miss being in Philly this time of year," he said randomly. "On a cold day like today, it's not so cold that it's unpleasant, but, ya know – crisp? A day like today makes a good Philly Cheese Steak taste even better."

"Do you like it with provolone or Cheese Whiz better?" Brennan asked curiously.

His eyebrow arched in surprise. However, Booth replied, "Provolone, definitely." He lowered his voice and said, "'Course, you got to be careful about where you make a preference like that known. You say Provolone when you're supposed to say Cheese Whiz in the wrong part of Philly, or vice versa, and you're liable to get your ass kicked."

"I was unaware it was such a symbolic choice," Brennan admitted.

Booth nodded. "In Philly, everything about a cheese steak can be riddled with meaning. We of the city of Brotherly Love take our sandwiches very, very seriously."

Brennan smiled. "It's very odd, but very… reassuring in a way. The Kali tribe of Marunda—"

And, so Brennan launched into a small anthropological jag that Booth tolerated with a smile. He was rewarded when Brennan then regaled him with a story that she had never, ever, in the six plus years of knowing her spoken of before, i.e., of how she had learned about the Kali tribe when she had spent a summer working at a site in South Africa when she was a first-year grad student and ended up getting drunk for the very first time in her life ….

Each night when Brennan went home, she wasn't drunk. Tired, yes. Usually, their talks at the pub coincided with long days where Brennan found herself striving to work a little harder. She began putting in just a bit more effort into completing case work with Sully and museum work for Cam. So, at the end of a day that she had usually begun at 6 am, and didn't end until an hour after she returned to the apartment at about 1am, she was very, very tired. And, each week, a small part of Brennan feared that - despite the fact that she was no longer drinking, and thus not necessarily leaving her mind susceptible to the domination of her subconscious - that she would start dreaming again.

If there was one thing that Brennan didn't want to do, it was to face Wendall again in her dreams. As the time passed, Brennan became more and more relieved when she actually didn't dream of Wendall again after the first time it had happened in the aftermath of his death. However, eventually, when Brennan did start dreaming again, she did have another reason for concern. The dreams were... scattered. They had no coherent pattern to them, and they were surprisingly erotic in their nature. It had been so long since she had had any dream that could honestly, in any way from her point of view, be described as having been sexual. However, there could not be any misunderstanding about these dreams. On occasion, but only after she had stopped drinking on her Thursday night visits to the pub, a new set of dreams had started. And, yes, they were erotic in nature, but they were also... confusingly exhilarating to her, despite their incoherence.

The first time Brennan had one, she hadn't been asleep more than a couple of hours. She jerked herself awake as the dream had just been starting to get interesting. Unlike many of her dreams, this one was hard to recall. Brennan knew it had been her in the dream, and she knew she had been with a man, and, although, she couldn't make out a single discerning characteristic about her partner, she knew that whatever they had been doing in the dream had been sexual. It had been her, on top of a male, in a sexual position. It had been dark, and somewhat cold... and, then... that was it as Brennan found herself wide awake, her dream lover having vanished with the arrival of her waking state.

It took Brennan several moments to slow her breathing to calm down enough so that she could have a chance at sleeping again. Shaking the dream off as a fluke, when Brennan fell asleep again, it didn't resume. As a matter a fact, over the next several days, she didn't really dream at all. Looking back, the randomness of her dream slightly rattled her, but Brennan also found herself fascinated by the experience nonetheless.

During the second week, it was Brennan who broke the ice first by mentioning the upcoming holidays.

"I was supposed to be participating in a three-week dig on St. Thomas over Christmas Break," Brennan volunteered. "I found out today that I'm going to have to cancel my participation in it."

"Why?" Booth asked curiously. "Last minute change of plans?"

"Of a sort," Brennan nodded. "Dr. Wiley of MIT will be chairing a panel at the annual meeting of the Society for Forensic Anthropology and Criminal Behavior in January. He almost never does it because he retired three years ago, but the conference organizers seem to have decided to dedicate the conference to him, and so he couldn't say no. Unfortunately, Dr. Zathers, who was supposed to give the key note address since the meeting is in Baltimore where he lives, had to cancel. So, I got a phone call today from one of the members of the host committee, and I was asked if I would be willing to take over Dr. Zathers place on the program."

"If the conference is in January, why do you have to cancel the plans for St. Thomas?"

"I'm going to need time to write the speech, Booth," Brennan said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"But, it's October," he pointed out.

"Yes," she said. "And?"

"And, January is like… three months away," Booth said.

Brennan shook her head. "You don't understand. This is Dr. Edgar Wiley. He is one of the foremost authorities on adapting criminological theories to the practice of anthropology. Three months is *barely* enough time to put this thing together. I almost said no, but—"

"But?" Booth asked, intrigued as Brennan seemed… almost flustered about the entire topic.

"But, it *is* for Dr. Wiley. I kind of don't have much of a choice," Brennan said with a sigh.

Booth lifted his Coke to his mouth, and then said, "Sounds like a scary guy if he's got you on edge."

Brennan shook her head. "You have *no* idea."

Again, Brennan was tired when she went home that night after explaining the significance of Dr. Wiley on her life and on her career. And, again, when she crawled into bed, all she wanted to do was sleep. However, her subconscious apparently had other plans for her once more. This time, exactly a week after Brennan had experienced the first dream, this time, she awoke at close to 4am after having been asleep for almost three hours. Again, she awoke herself just as things had been getting interesting. Like the first time, her second dream began in a very similar manner... it was almost identical, in fact. Brennan was there, and she knew it was her in the dream. She was there, and with a man, and she was on top of him. It was dark. and the room they were in was cold. But, unlike the previous week, this time she hadn't woken herself up before she discerned a few more details.

Yes, she was on top of a man, they were obviously of the same mind to be participating in their desire to engage in some type of consensual sexual act. Her bearings thus established, Brennan then finally realized that they weren't in a bed. They were horizontal, because she knew she was on top, and there was softness around her. But, they weren't on a bed. Yes, she wasn't sure *what* surface they were actually on... but, it was soft... and she could feel the softness of the source as her knees dipped down as she leaned forward and moved her hands down to roam over her dream lover's body. Yes, her hands moved... against... cloth. Rough cloth... the roughness of cotton, maybe? And, then her hands continued moving and the roughness of the cotton gave way to the soft stiffness of another material. Jeans? Was the man wearing jeans? Yes, she could tell as her hands tugged at the buttons and grazed the waistband of the jeans. The man was wearing jeans, and Brennan ruthlessly worked to unclasp them, push the zipper down, lift his ass to push the jeans off his hips and down his legs. Then, her hand was going to the boxers... and she had just made contact with warm flesh - the room was cold, but his skin was warm, so warm - when she felt him tense as she touched him. Nevertheless, she continued and, just as she was about to pull the waistband of the boxers down and reach the object of her explorations... Brennan found herself staring at the ceiling of her bedroom, eyes having snapped wide open.

Her heart was pounding, and she felt in her body the beginning stirrings of her own arousal. Swallowing, Brennan realized how thirsty she was. At some point, she had started to sweat, and so, shaking away the grogginess of the dream, Brennan pushed back the covers and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. As she calmly drank the cold water, Brennan tried to not think of the lingering images the dream had left for her conscious mind to process in the hopes that she would be able to get back to sleep as easily this time as she had on the last occasion. However, Brennan wasn't quite sure if she would be that lucky or not... but she would at least try.

During the third week, Booth entered the bar a little more subdued than normal… and Brennan already had a good idea why his behavior was altered before he had even wandered into the bar. In fact, Brennan had spoken with her partner not two hours before and their conversation had left her seriously doubting whether Booth would even show up or not tonight given the afternoon's events. She found herself pleasantly surprised when he did arrive, walking through the doors at 7:30pm exactly and taking his usual seat next to her.

When Booth had sat down, she nodded and said, "I take it you talked to Sully?"

He nodded.

"Maybe you should go with something stronger than a Coke," Brennan said. "How about a beer?"

Booth shook his head. "No. I'm fine."

"Booth—".

"I know you mean well, but right now, the last thing I want is a beer, okay?"

Brennan nodded

He looked away for a couple of minutes, and the pair simply sat in silence before he opened his mouth and started to talk.

"I know," Booth began, staring at her with a strange look in his eyes. "I know I've never spoken a lot about my old man."

"No, you really haven't," Brennan said.

"It's just not... I've never really talked about him. Not to you, not to anyone. Hell, if I couldn't talk to you about him, then I know I definitely couldn't talk to anyone else... but... well, today-"

Nodding, Brennan quietly urged him to continue as she prompted, "Today?"

"He… he's a piece of work," Booth said, his eyes looking off as he recalled something that seemed to make him happy, and then, almost a split second later, a more sobering memory took the earlier one's place and seemed to make him sad.

"When he left," Booth said. "I… I didn't ask questions. I tried to talk to Pops, but he had this depressed look on his face whenever I brought it up, and I just… I didn't want to make him sad. So, I stopped asking about my father, my mother..."

"And Jared?" Brennan asked. "Did he make it difficult? Keep asking about them?"

Booth waved his hand as a beginning to answering Brennan's question. "Naaaw. Jared was too young to understand what was going on... and, I think Pops and I both agreed it was better that way for him and easier that way for us. He wasn't even quite four when they left."

"But, you were older," Brennan observed.

Booth nodded as he looked back at her. He then stopped for another moment before he added, "I remember the morning after the day my father left. I have this image of my mother. She was dressed in her best suit. She only wore it for special occasions… Thanksgiving dinner or service on Christmas Eve or mass on Easter Sunday. She had this single strand of pearls… seed pearls, I think. And, I remember she was clutching this small traveling bag. I... I know that on the day after he left, she came into my bedroom the next morning and woke me up. It was early…so early, I know that the sun had barely begun to shine. It must have been dawn, I think. And, I remember her sitting on the edge of my bed, and she woke me up…."

He paused, his throat tightening. Booth bit his lip and then looked away. "She woke me up by calling my name. 'Seeley, come here. Come here, Seeley.' I hated it the way she said it. God, I hated it. Clipped, terse… and then I woke up, and she was saying it again and again. And, I crawled out from the warmth of my blankets, and she pulled me to her and said, 'Mommy has to go, but you have to promise me that you'll be a good boy, Seeley. Promise Mommy that you'll be a good boy… and take care of your little brother. You're responsible for Jared, Seeley. Do you understand? Big brothers take care of little brothers. Do you understand, Seeley?' She kept saying my name. But, I didn't understand what she was really saying. I was groggy… half-asleep… hadn't even turned eight yet. And, there she was… and I just remember how much it annoyed me to hear her say my name like that. Then, I nodded my agreement with whatever demands she was making of me. That's what I usually did to get her to let me go about my business. And, then she smiled this huge smile at me and gave me a kiss goodbye. I never liked my name before that day, but after that... I hated it. I just hated it. And, my mother, when she left, she was wearing this perfume… it smelled like flowers… lilies I think. I've always remembered how much I hated that smell when she pressed me to her. My head was in the crook of her neck, and I smelled it. It was this cloying, sickly sweet smell. Horrible. It was just... horrible. And, every so often, when I walk through a department store, and if I smell something similar to it even today, I start to gag. It makes me want to vomit. But, anyway, she gave me a kiss and a final smile, stood up, watched me crawl back under the covers, walked to my bedroom door, turned back for one last gaze, waved, and walked out the door, closing it behind her. And, after that, I never saw her again."

"She left," Brennan said softly.

Booth nodded. "Yeah, she left. She… God, Bones… she must have been pregnant then. And, she left… and went to be with that son of a bitch. She chose him over us… and look what happened."

"Your sister was murdered," Brennan said.

Booth nodded again. "Yeah. And, if that isn't enough, now Sully tells me that Hodgins thinks that wherever she was buried, the insect activity indicates she was buried with another set of remains." He stopped, and looked away, "My little sister… was murdered, buried for almost thirty years, dug up, and dumped in the Potomac. If that weren't enough, now Hodgins and Sully think she was originally buried with another set of human remains – and, if it wasn't my mother, Bones… who else could it have been? And, more importantly, who else could have done it but my father?"

Brennan reached out a hand this time, lightly resting it on his, and said, "I don't know, Booth."

"Yeah, well, that makes you and the rest of the Squint-Squad unanimous on that one then," Booth said. "Pretty much everyone's in unanimous agreement with the theory that the only person who could have murdered my mother and sister was my father."

On the third Thursday, although she would never actually admit it to herself, by the third Thursday, Brennan was more than half-expecting another dream. Her curiosity was piqued. Specifically, she wanted to know how far the dream would actually go. And, she wanted to see if some part of her mind would keep waking her up... or if the dream would proceed further than it had on each of the two prior occasions she had experienced it.

A small part of Brennan was quite excited by the time she got into bed, and it took her a lot longer than normal to actually relax enough to be able to be in a frame of mind that would actually *allow* herself to fall asleep. But, when she did... like clockwork, the dream came again.

It was dark, the room was cold, she was with a man, they were in a sexual position... and Brennan was on top. However, this time... this time... when she reached the waistband of the boxer shorts, she didn't wake up before her hands pulled them down. Again, both she and her partner shifted to allow her enough room to push the offending garment away. Her hands moved with a frightening sense of purpose, and her mouth began to follow in the wake of the motions of her hands. And, as the dream went from erotic to explicit, Brennan felt a surge of emotion that was also a new and added aspect to the experience. She felt... aggressive... very aggressive... almost feral in the emotion that drove her forward in her actions that focused on her partner. Yes, she felt... raw, feral, and sexual.

The dream continued, morphing into what Brennan felt could be more accurately described as a collection of sensations and feelings, as opposed to a truly linear narrative. Throughout it all, one thing that Brennan found frustrating was that, despite her best efforts to see his face, her partner still remained hidden. Whenever she looked at his face, searched for his eyes, all she found was what Brennan could best describe as a nebulous image that remained hidden from her view. There were also other aspects of her dream lover's personality that irked Brennan. For example, in many ways, he remained much more passive than most of the actual lovers that Brennan had had in real life... and that point gave Brennan something to consider. She wasn't sure if she liked the change or not. But, when one explicit sex act had reached a culmination, and Brennan began to wonder if she would wake up... suddenly her passive partner became active... grabbing her, flipping them over so that she was now under him, and just as Brennan felt the warmth of *his* hands grab for *her* jeans... again, her eyes flew open, and she found herself staring at the ceiling of her bedroom one more time.

During the fourth week, Booth actually beat Brennan to the pub. She was shrugging out of her jacket in the entry way, dusting off the first flakes of an early snow that unusually was threatening to batter DC.

"Sorry," she said sheepishly, as she made her way to the bar. It was crowded more than usual, and Booth was having to guard her stool vigilantly.

He nodded. "Is it getting worse outside?"

Brennan nodded. "It's not cold enough for the snow to accumulate on the ground this early in the season, obviously, but, yes, it's getting quite bleak outside."

Charlie had already brought Brennan's customary club soda and lime. Brennan looked at it was disappointment evident on her face.

"What?" Booth laughed.

Brennan made a face as she reached up and took a sip. "Nothing, I guess."

"You can order something stronger if you want it, Bones. No one's stopping you," Booth said lightly.

Shrugging, Brennan said, "It's okay… I don't really want to… not… not now. I don't need to… I just… it's just cold outside. Normally, on a night like tonight, I'd get something a bit stronger just to warm up. But, I'm okay with the usual." She reached for the drink with a smile. Booth gave her an appreciative nod.

The pair remained quiet for a couple of minutes before Booth said, "So, what do you think about Sully's news?"

Brennan's eyes widened. "Oh, you mean you've heard?"

"Course," Booth chuckled. "Perotta almost crushed his windpipe when he snuck up on her with the engagement ring." He laughed again. "I told Sully it wasn't a brilliant idea to sneak up on her life that at the gun range, but he wanted to surprise her... catch her off guard before he popped the question."

Brennan laughed. "Yeah, well he's almost the one who got popped."

Booth nodded. "They're an odd match… but, Sully's good for her. Helps her lighten up when she's so serious."

Nodding, her smile softening at this, Brennan said, "Yes, and Payton helps him… I don't know… be a bit more... grounded?"

"Or, will at least help him limit his resume to less than two dozen job specialties?" Booth joked.

"Well, there is that," Brennan said. "There is that."

Brennan didn't have any time that night to see what her dreams would bring her. Not an hour after she had gotten home, barely having had enough time to shower and change and get ready for bed, she found her cell phone ringing. It was Sully, and there was a case. Okay, technically not a new case, but an old one. JJ Booth had finally been found in New York City earlier that evening. He was being brought to the Hoover for questioning in the apparent homicides of his infant daughter and for issues related to the current whereabouts of his wife Sarah, and Sully needed his partner there to help in the interrogation. Apologizing as he explained, Sully told her he would have spared her participation given that the situation would require her to have proximity to Booth, but he didn't really have any choice. He told her that he desperately needed her help with the interrogation... because Sully fully expected to be needed and occupied in the observation room, holding Booth back from pouncing upon his father as soon as the older man walked through the door. Brennan, after telling Sully to stop apologizing because it really wasn't a big deal, added that she would be there within the half hour, if not sooner.

By the time I arrived at the Hoover, Booth's father had already been brought in... and, much as Sully had anticipated, Booth wanted to break down the door to the interrogation room as soon as he knew which one was holding his father. Sully stood between Booth and the door, and he didn't have much more time than the few seconds needed to nod at me in greeting.

"Is he in there?" I asked, although the way Booth kept angling his shoulder at the door made it clear what the answer to my question was.

Sully nodded. "Yeah. Payton's in there with him. I... I asked her to help in the interrogation so you wouldn't have to do this by yourself if you didn't want to, Tempe. I... we were both up anyway when I got the call, so I thought it made sense."

"I want to question him," Booth said, firmly. I knew from the tone it seemed as if this statement had already been made at least one time, if not more. Sully's vigorous head shake again confirmed that assumption which he followed with a verbal response, just so that there would be no mistakes on Booth's part.

"You shouldn't even be here now, Booth," Sully said. "If I let you enter that room, Caroline will have my ass for prejudicing the interview and tainting any information we get out of him - possibly even a confession."

"He's my father," Booth ground out.

Sully nodded. "I know. That's why I called you, and why you're here now, being allowed to watch things as they happen... instead of receiving a phone call tomorrow morning after the fact."

Taking a step forward, I inclined my head at Booth, my decision already made. "I'll wear an earpiece. If there's something you want me to ask him, or if you see something I need to press, you can tell me."

Booth's head jerked in my direction as he considered my words. At last, he nodded, and gave me some kind of look... in gratitude, perhaps? Turning, I glanced at Sully. His eyes quickly darted back and forth between us, a small look of surprise on his face. However, focusing his eyes back on me, he nodded himself in agreement with my plan.

Two hours later, Brennan sat in a chair next to Booth, in his office. She scrutinized his face, as he began to lower the icepack he held to his split lip.

"I think the bleeding's stopped, but it couldn't hurt to keep it on there for a few more minutes," Brennan observed.

Lowering the ice pack even further, Booth said, "What's the fucking point? Half of my face is already numb anyway."

Brennan shrugged. She then nodded, "How's your cheek?"

"Bruised," Booth grunted.

"He hit you pretty hard," Brennan conceded.

"Yup," Booth muttered. "What you saw in there were the beginning notes of JJ Booth's Greatest Hits when it comes to wailing on his son."

Somewhat taken aback by the candor of a comment that referenced the abuse he had suffered at the hands of his father during childhood, particularly when Booth had rarely even spoken of it is general vagaries over the years, Brennan stopped for a moment and considered his comments. The anger and bitterness in his voice especially caught Brennan's attention, and not for the first time that night, she found a small flush of sympathy for him coursing through her brain.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly.

"Don't," Booth said, waving his hand in her direction. "I've taken about all I can take tonight. If you start... pitying me, I-I... I just can't deal with that right now, okay?"

Nodding, Brennan was silent again as she watched Booth battle with his thoughts while he looked down at the floor. At last, he finally glanced up, and Brennan saw for the first time, that his eyes had started to fill with tears. Over the years, Brennan had rarely seen him so emotional. The night in front of the Hoover, certainly, and perhaps in one or two other moments of extreme stress... but, nothing quite like this.

"That son of a bitch," he said, shaking his head as his voice quivered. "Bones, that son of a bitch... what did he do to them? My mother? My sister... Jesus, she was just a *baby*. She wasn't even three months old yet... just a baby..."

Swallowing, Booth dropped the ice pack on the floor, and used his hands to wipe away the tears.

Hesitantly, Brennan reached out and lightly placed her hand on his knee. Booth's head jerked up, and the suddenness of his reaction frightened her so much that she almost pulled away. However, she didn't, and instead, said, "Don't worry. He may not being saying anything now. But, he will. And, we *will* find out what happened to them, Booth."

"How can you know that?" Booth asked.

"Because," Brennan said. "It's what we do... and we're very good at our jobs."

Pulling her hand away, neither one realized that it had been the first time either one of them had used the adjective 'we' in reference to Booth and Brennan's partnership in a long, long time... with, perhaps, the hope of it being something more than just a distant and painful memory confined to the past.

Brennan didn't dream that night. However, two nights later... somewhat unexpectedly given it was the first time that she had such a dream on an evening that wasn't a Thursday night, as soon as she collapsed into a very deep, deep sleep... she dreamed again.

Just like all the others, this one started in much the same way. It was dark, the room was cold... she was with a man, and they were in a horizontal position that implied some type of sexual activity was about to take place. Only, this time, instead of Brennan finding herself on top staring down into the formless face of her partner, this time, she was under him. He towered over her, warm and dominant and aggressive. His hands moved with a deliberate intent, almost mechanical in their ministrations. The sensations his actions elicited from her continued to increase with each movement and each motion. Pulling at her jeans, he then pushed them off her waist and down her legs at the same time she tried to shimmy out of them. Brennan felt him groping her hips, fingers running down the inside of her thighs, and a sudden swift intake of breath when his fingers hesitantly pulled at the edge of her soaked panties... more... she wanted more, she thought. Brennan needed more. Writhing in pleasure, just as he was about to lean down and let his fingers give her what she desperately craved... Brennan found herself once again staring at the ceiling of her bedroom.

Flushed, sweaty, and heart racing. Brennan's body quivered in unfulfilled anticipation. Cursing, she gulped down several deep breaths of air, both annoyed and terrified that the dreams seemed to be getting more intense... and her reaction, in turn, was responding to that intensity.

Needless to say, Brennan had a hard time falling asleep again later that night... and on several other nights that ensued. Each night, she saw, she felt a little bit more. But, each night she awoke before achieving release... and never, never did she get a clear inkling of who exactly her dream lover was.

On Halloween, he surprised me. We had agreed to meet early because the Jeffersonian's annual party started promptly at eight. When I arrived, Booth was dressed… exactly the same way I was… in a black pants suit, white button-down dress shirt, black tie, shiny black shoes, and black sunglasses.

"Oh, come on!" I laughed.

"What?" Booth said, looking down at his costume. "I'm wearing the same exact thing as you," he said. "What's so funny?"

"*Why* are you wearing the exact same thing as I am?"

"Because," he smiled. "Cam invited me… and… with an idea like that, how could I say no to Hodgins? The Squint-Squad does the Men in Black? I couldn't miss that now, could I?" He brushed an imaginary piece of lint off his jacket as he said, "Besides, the costume was really easy for me to find… seeing as how all I really needed was the shades."

I nodded, mildly amused. "You're coming?"

"Yeah. That okay?"

I shrugged. "Suit yourself."

He gestured at his attire. "I believe I did."

"Very funny, Booth," I smirked. "Very funny."

Brennan and Booth eventually left the pub and arrived at the Jeffersonian in separate cars. Both headed to the lab, and arrived only a few moments after one another. To say that the group, upon seeing everyone stand in one place, looked... eerily realistic, was an understatement. The costume *was* simple enough. Dark black pants suits, crisp white button down dress shirts, long black neck ties, and shiny black shoes - dress loafers for the men, and black patent leather shoes for the women. Standard black sunglasses lay propped up on the heads of women, like Cam and Angela, while Hodgins insisted on wearing his at all times. Brennan was holding hers in her hands while Booth's lay clipped on his dress shirt just where his tie began to fall. Once Brennan and Booth arrived, the only person the group was waiting for remained Sully. It took a few more moments, before, yes, he came talking into the lab, looking much like he did on any other day... except for the sunglasses he too was wearing.

Standing in front of the group, arms extended, Sully laughed when he saw everyone. "Wow. Look at us."

"Yes," Cam said. "It is frighteningly realistic."

"We should take a picture," Sully said.

"Don't worry, we will," Angela said. "Many, I'm sure, before the night is over."

Hodgins posed and said, "As well we should, because... I *am* the new hotness."

At this, Angela laughed lightly.

Hodgins looked to her and scowled. "Angie!"

"I'm sorry, Jack. As much as I love you, you just... I'm sorry, baby. But, *you* are not *Will Smith*," she chuckled.

"Yeah, well, at least for tonight you have to call me Agent J, Agent A," Hodgins countered.

"Hey," Sully chimed in. "I thought they went by last names. So, I'm Agent S?"

"Nope," Cam said. "We have too many people with last names that start with the same first letter. So, we're going with first names, except well... except, oh, that's right. Tim starts with 'T'."

"All my life," Sully grinned.

"But, according to your plan, I should be Agent T," Brennan pointed out.

"Err, yeah, that's true, Hodgins," Cam said, turning to face the etymologist. "Ideas?"

Hodgins shrugged. "Fine. Sully can be Agent S and Dr. B can be Agent T. Any other issues you need to esteemed Agent J to solve for you Agent C?"

"Yeah, what about Booth?"

"That's a fair point, Bugman," Booth said. "If Sully is Agent S, what does that leave for me?"

Hodgins turned to Sully and pointed. "Okay, I'm sorry, Sully. As much as I like you, your name is just messing with my nominative mojo too much. You're gonna have to stay here."

"Jack!" Angela chided him.

"What?" Hodgins asked.

Angela scowled and pointed. Hodgins turned back to Sully and scowled but said, "Sorry."

Sully laughed. "No problem. How about we just go with... Agent T2 then?"

"That's very complicated," Brennan said.

"But, it sound really cool," Sully said. "You know... I'll be able to mix my sci-fi metaphors all night. I think I like it."

"Fine," Hodgins conceded. "You can be Agent T2... but you are limited to twelve Arnold jokes or less before midnight."

"Good call," Cam said. "Now, if you can just explain to me why you seem to be enjoying this way too much aside from the obvious, Hodgins, we can go," Cam said laughing.

"Agent J, if you please," he corrected.

Angela rolled her eyes at her husband before she turned to the pathologist and said, "Come on, Cam. Aside from the 'men in black suits' angle... isn't it obvious? He wants to stick it to the Paleontology Lab staff after that trick they pulled at the Fourth of July picnic with the three-legged race."

"Yes," Brennan said. "I find the idea of exacting some retribution from them after that little stunt a very gratifying idea."

Several pairs of eyes widened as they turned to Brennan.

She looked from face to face as she said in confusion, "What?"

"Since when are you into 'exacting retribution', Dr. B?" Hodgins laughed.

Brennan shrugged. "They fought dirty. Angela had a badly sprained ankle for almost a month. And, on a slightly tangential note, I find that I am still quite annoyed that Dr. Brigands was able to convince Ms. Jackson to accept his internship position instead of the offer that I made to her in regards to accepting in my department here at the Jeffersonian. It was quite annoying considering the fact that she learned of the Institute's internship programs from me in the first place."

"Heh heh," Sully laughed, moving forward to give Brennan a light punch on the arm. "I knew it, Tempe. It's never something with you unless it's personal, right?"

Brennan narrowed her eyes and looked down, but smiled a small smile at Sully as she didn't bother to deny his words.

"So, people, we ready to get going or what?" Booth spoke up sudden. "We've got the black suits, black shades, and bad-ass attitude... so let's do it, huh?"

His exclamation was met with a rousing round of cheers from the entire group.

Several hours later, Brennan was tired and her feet ached a bit from the amount of dancing she had been coerced into participating in by both Hodgins and Sully all night. The entire group had just finished dancing a spirited impromptu routine to "Dead Man's Party." At one point, Brennan had found herself dancing next to Booth, and she laughed at him when he almost tripped in a step to avoid her uncoordinated movements in heels. The routine quickly shifted them away from each other, but Brennan still was smiling at the end of the song over their clumsy antics.

A few minutes later, Brennan had made her way to the edge of the dance floor and claimed a seat at an empty table. Her eyes scanned the room as they finally found Sully dancing with one of the Jeffersonian's older directors, who appeared to be still quite spry despite her age. Booth seemed to be competing with Cam in very involved dance step as the music continued to pulse with the sounds of Michael Jackson and other holiday-themed favorites. Not long after she sat down, Angela and Hodgins appeared to join her. Realizing how thirty everyone was, Hodgins immediately volunteered to go to the bar to get everyone a round of sodas to quench their thirst as Angela joined her friend in rubbing their abused feet.

Smiling, Angela nodded at Brennan as she said, "So, foot abuse aside, it looks like you're having a good time, Bren."

Nodding, Brennan smiled a true smile that her friend had not seen in many, many months as she said, "Yes, I am. Much more than I thought at the beginning of the night. It's... it's been a very fun evening."

Angela began to think that perhaps the real Brennan had just been in slumber, recuperating until the time she was finally ready to face the world again. Pleased and hopeful of her friend's genuine smile, Angela whispered a silent prayer of thanks to whatever deity that might be listening for the first real indicator that she had seen in many, many months that maybe she hadn't lost her best friend after all. Perhaps all Brennan had really needed after all was space and time before she would be whole once more. At least, that's what Angela dared to hope... and all because she had seen a glimpse of the old Brennan as had not been seen in a long, long time.

Later that night, although we didn't say much to each other, not for any deliberate reason, but because other people and things demanded our attention, that was the first time I had realized in months that I had walked into the Jeffersonian, gone to a function, and not thought of Wendall.

And, later, although I hadn't realized it... I should have known that, in the course of just drinking, just talking, and just passing the time... I had started living again. Life had somehow managed to tempt me into braving its tortuous grip once more. I had accidentally backed into the process without realizing it... while still thinking I was safely sitting on the sidelines. Hauntingly, at that point, I thought I had escaped the trap... and, that's the beauty of it really. By the time I realized I had jumped on the merry-go-round again, I was already on the ride, smack dab in the middle of it. After all, that's what happens when you least expect it. Life... it happens, it catches you off guard... and unless you chose to stop living... intentional or not... I had backed myself into something that I would later come to wonder if I had really ever really extricated myself from at all in the first place.

-TBC-