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Warning: This chapter contains graphic violence. If you are uncomfortable reading about child endangerment skip the first section of this story. This story is rated T for a reason.

I don't own Bones.

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The day had started with terrified calls placed from Edmund Burke School which had brought swift action. Booth in his supervisory role, felt that his presence was necessary at the scene. The school was located next door to Howard University School of law so both the FBI and local Metro responded to the calls and had the school quickly isolated. The surrounding streets had been shut down and swat teams had been prepared to enter the school. As the minutes had dragged by while law enforcement had scurried to get their people on site the calls from inside the school had become more frantic.

After he arrived at the scene, Booth and his men quickly looked over a detailed layout of the school including all of the ways that would allow entrance into the building. Parsing out assignments, Booth had assigned each team a section of the school and had advised Metro Police that the entrances be secured before they entered. Assured that all of his teams were in place, Booth entered the building with his unit.

Listening carefully as they moved down the hallway, Booth and his men made their way to the library, the last call coming from a terrified student hiding in a closet in that section of the school. Carefully moving through the school, Booth soon found one of the victims lying in the hallway. Clearly in shock, the young girl was holding onto her arm as she watched blood seep through the spaces between her fingers. Motioning for one of his team to help the girl to the entrance, Booth and the rest of his agents moved down the hallway, their weapons aimed before them.

After finding the bodies of a teacher and one student further down another hallway, Booth felt the pressure building of finding the perp or perps before anyone else was hurt or killed. Determined, his breathing as calm as possible, Booth turned a corner and was confronted by an armed young man. Stopping in his tracks, Booth stared at the teenager through the scope of his rifle. "Put the weapon down."

Terrified, the trembling boy shook his head. "No . . . go away. I have a job to do. I have one more . . . Go away."

Slowly stepping closer to the boy, Booth tried to reason with the young man. "Listen, you and I both know that isn't going to happen. Put the gun down and you'll be alright. Put the gun down now"

Refusal clearly written on his face, the young man cried out, "No, I have one more. I have to do it . . . One more."

As he moved slowly and carefully towards the disturbed youth, Booth tried to calm the young man. "Put the gun down . . . You have to put the gun down now!"

Filled with terror and anger, the boy raised his gun up and placed his finger on the trigger. "You can go to hell with them."

Left with no choice, Booth took the shot and saw the gunman jerk back and then fall, the boy's gun flying out of his hand. As if in slow motion, Booth strode down the hallway, his men following closely him. After he reached the boy, Booth grabbed the pistol and handed it to another agent. Next, he squatted next to the boy to see if there was anything that could be done for him. Seeing that his bullet had hit where he'd aimed it, he knew that the boy was dead, the bullet clearing centered through the boy's heart.

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Staring through the blinds over his office window, Booth was unaware that he had company.

He knew Booth was upset, but they needed to speak. Staring at his friend, Harris cleared his throat. "Hey, Booth . . . earth to Booth."

Feeling numb, Booth rubbed his forehead and turned to stare at the intruder. "What do you want?"

His hand over his heart, Harris tried to lighten the mood in the room. "Anyone would think you didn't love me the way you talk to me sometimes."

Irritated, Booth shook his head and walked over to his desk. Settling on his chair, he leaned back. "What you want, smartass?"

Since Booth was talking to him, Harris took that as a good sign and sat down. "You said you wanted to see me after lunch, remember?"

Scratching the back of his left hand, Booth exhaled deeply. "Yeah . . . I need you to come with me to Cullen's office this afternoon. I've got a meeting scheduled with him at two. I don't want you to hear about this second hand."

Curious, Harris leaned forward and placed his hand on the desk. "So what's up?"

His hands suddenly still, Booth moved his gaze to the window. "I'm taking a medical retirement from the FBI. I talked it over with Bones last night and I think I'd be happier doing something else."

Sad for Booth, Harris tried to appeal to his friend. "Booth if this is about that kid yesterday, you didn't have a choice. He was going to shoot you."

Shrugging his shoulders, Booth swallowed past the lump in his throat. "I can't do this anymore, Morris . . . I just can't do it. It's bad enough that I've killed over fifty men in my life time . . . I . . . I can't start adding kids to my list. I just don't want to do it. I can't do it."

He knew that Booth had been debating on whether or not to leave the FBI and the death of the boy had been the catalys that he needed. Nodding his head, Harris turned his gaze away from Booth. "Yeah . . . No, I understand. You gotta do what you gotta do" Turning his gaze back towards his friend, he wanted to know what Booth was planning. "What are you going to do, retire? I mean I know the Army is out, you couldn't pass their physical and well it would be more of the same. You're a young man, what are you going to do?"

Staring at his friend, Booth rubbed his chin. "Bones found something for me to do. I'll be working with her. My partnership was over here anyway. If I take the position, I can work with her again. I like working with her . . . It'll be good for her and me."

Harris bit his lower lip as his friend explained his future job and what it entailed. Once Booth had wound down, he tried to force a smile to grace his lips and failed. "Okay, sure, it sounds like a good job . . . The pay sure is a hell of a lot better than a government salary.

Booth tapped his finger on the desk and tried to make his friend see that it was the right thing to do. "Plus I won't have to put up with the political bullshit around here. You know I hate that shit."

Shrugging his shoulders, Harris crossed his arms against his chest. "So why do you want me to be in your meeting with Cullen?"

Satisfied that Harris understood, Booth leaned back against his chair and grinned. "I plan to recommend you to my position. You're my lieutenant; you'd be perfect for the position."

Stunned, Harris shook his head. "Son of a bitch."

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Staring at his glass of scotch, Booth was lost in thought when Brennan entered the living room. Worried, she sat down next to him. "Booth are you alright?"

Her presence welcome to him, Booth tored his gaze from the glass, at Brennan and then drank the rest of his drink. Placing the glass on the coffee table, he leaned back against the couch. "You heard what the mother called me on the news? She said I was a murderer . . . She said I could have winged her son instead of murdering him." His laughter tinged with anger, Booth stared at the clock on the wall. "We're trained to go for the kill. If someone is going to shoot at you, you don't try to wing them . . . It wasn't a movie, it was real . . . If you try to wing someone you can miss. You go for the torso or the head . . . You sure as hell don't try to shoot the gun out of their hand."

Listening to him ramble on, Brennan knew that he was feeling the death of the child very deeply. "Booth, she's just a mother who doesn't understand why her child is dead. She probably can't come to grips with the fact that he'd killed one adult and three children. He also hurt two adults and two other children and she needs someone to blame, so she's blaming you."

Surprised, Booth turned to look at his wife. "Thanks Bones."

Kissing him, Brennan smiled at him. "I've learned a lot about human motivation since I started working with you. Sometimes even I understand the motive behind people's words."

His arm around her, Booth shook his head. "Don't say things like that, Bones. Don't tear yourself down like that." Kissing her, Booth sighed. "I've never killed a kid before. It's hard to accept that I killed someone that young. He was only sixteen. His biggest concern should have been zits or if he was going to get a passing grade on his next biology test. Now he's dead and I'm the one who killed him."

Witnessing his pain, Brennan leaned against her husband. "Booth, you did what you had to do. You couldn't let him shoot you. You gave him a chance to live, but he didn't take it. You didn't do anything wrong. The boys' mother shouldn't have said what she said. Her son was a murderer not you."

Feeling a tear roll down his face, Booth muttered, "He was just sixteen."

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