"Electrocution would have to match a certain voltage and amps to be available to the general public. Assuming it's not, we can rule out houses in most neighborhoods and look to different options with reasonable cause."

"But someone in an apartment could have access to a generator, which would produce higher electrical current."

"Hmm. That's a good point, but torturing someone would make noise. Do you really think it would be possible to electrocute a woman to death in a public area like an apartment? Besides, wouldn't the power drain? People would be sure to notice it. These guys are smarter than that, if they work for K.B.C.."

"I notice that both you and Agent Booth seem to be gravitating towards the suspicion that K.B.C. Systems is responsible for the torture, homicide, and abduction. Do you have any concrete proof?"

"Not the way you'd consider it, but it's highly likely and makes sense. K.B.C. doesn't want to go under. People like them, they'll do things that people like you and I wouldn't ever seriously consider as long as it benefits them."

"Eh-hem," Pickering cleared her throat loudly, standing off by the doorway while Zach and I exchanged our theories off of each other while we took closer observations in the bone room. She held her clipboard and pen and had been vying for our attention for several minutes now, but she wasn't going to get it if she didn't learn communication skills.

"There are vending machines in the loft if you need a drink," I said listlessly, pulling the neck of a sort of giant microscope over to myself and putting it over the radius closer to me. Zach was on the opposite side of the table, making note of a math expression or something to assist him with the voltage and amps variables.

"Could we start, please?" Pickering demanded impatiently, her calm finally wearing thin. Her heel clicked as she tapped her foot in irritation.

"Any time," Zach freely permitted. I gave him a look of disappointment. Don't leave me on my own against the security detail hell-lady! "I can do two things at once." Oh, that's better.

Pickering's voice rose in annoyance. "Mr. Zach Addy, I require your full attention!"

"No, you don't!" Zach replied, his voice rising in turn. I gave him a big thumbs-up when Pickering wasn't looking, but he cowered under Pickering's glare. "But I'll give it to you," he quickly relented. I sighed and punched the air in frustration.

"What was with the way you addressed him?" I demanded, grabbing onto the first thing I could think of that would delay the security until I had an excuse to leave the woman's company. I was also slightly irked that she'd emphasized his title as Mister, like she was deliberately pointing out that he didn't have a doctorate yet. "Is it important that he be referred to as Mr.? I'm sorry, is there a hierarchy here?" I scoffed and forced a derisive laugh out of my throat. "Because if so, you are way out of your league. You are playing with people higher up the food chain than you are, because – now, correct me if I'm wrong – but you're not a doctor, either!"

Pickering eyed me irately. "What is your problem, Miss Kirkland?" She asked incredulously, affronted.

"My problem?" I repeated. "My problem is that you came in, insulted Dr. Hodgins by basically saying he doesn't have the potential to tell a secret, bothered Dr. Brennan into trying to avoid you, and now you're picking on my friend because he's a super-genius, younger than you are, just because he doesn't have his doctoral degree yet!"

"I need to establish that neither of you are threats to the security of the country," Pickering justified, taken aback and also astonished by my behavior.

I spread my arms widely, inviting her to take some stabs at me. I'm acting wild and reckless, I know, but I can't help it. If she deems me a threat, I get taken away from the people who have treated me better than anyone I've ever known after only meeting them a month ago. "I'm seventeen years old without a family or a college education despite a high GPA and early high school graduation. What are you scared of from me? Worried I'm going to trash-talk your precious government? Don't worry, sweetie, half of the country's doing that already."

"I'm getting a degree in forensic anthropology, another in engineering. What are you afraid of? That I'll build a race of criminal robots who will destroy the world?" Zach asked in exasperation. He cocked his head and held himself up by pushing against the side of the exam table with the heels of his palms.

Pickering blinked repeatedly. "Do you have that kind of fantasy often?" She asked in concern.

Zach looked down to the bones in front of him, rolling his eyes. I don't think I've ever seen him this bothered… I know he wasn't this irritated by Pickering earlier, so is he annoyed that I'm making a fight out of it, or is he annoyed that Pickering is bothering me? It's probably not the latter, no matter how heartwarming that would be, because even if he did particularly care about my feelings and position in the lab, Zach is very rational and knows I can take care of myself. "Very often," he grumbled.

"Does it concern you that such adolescent thoughts are a sign of emotional retardation?" Pickering asked, going into an interrogative state of business. I growled at what she said (it could be taken as an insult), but Zach looked up at me, met my eyes, and shook his head very slightly.

"I've been told," he said, sighing slightly as he rolled a bone in the arm over so that he could observe the other side. "I'm working on it."

"Do you understand why this may concern us at the state department?" Pickering asked, shifting her weight and raising her eyebrows.

"Not really," Zach muttered.

Pickering closed her eyes and groaned softly before opening her eyes again and repositioning her clipboard so it pushed against her side. "Hypothetically," she started. "You have a piece of information."

"Secret and meaningful information?" Zach asked her, tilting his head analytically. Glancing at Pickering, I circled around the front of the table so I was next to Zach and further away from her.

"Yes," Pickering agreed with a nod. "Say the security of the nation is at stake. Could I bribe either of you to give it to me?" She dragged me back into it, glancing between the two of us expectantly.

Zach tightened his jaw for a moment before shaking his head in decision. "No."

I crossed my arms arrogantly when she turned her gaze on me. "If you've read my history, then you know I was in nine eleven. I'm not easily frightened but that was one of the most horrific events in America's history. There is nothing that anyone could do to inspire me to become an accessory to mass murder."

"Threaten either of you?" Pickering persisted.

"No," Zach said immediately.

"Absolutely not. If someone threatened me I'd return the favor."

Pickering swallowed tensely at my reply before crossing her arms, setting her clipboard on the edge of the exam table. It wasn't touching any bones, but it was not supposed to be there. I eyed it for a moment, resisting a very, very strong urge to reach out and knock it onto the ground. "What if I made a rational argument that was very persuasive?"

"I'd persuade them it was in their best interest to leave me the hell alone."

"Merely persuasive?"

You can probably guess between Zach and I who said what.

"Irrefutable," Pickering reestablished. "I make an irrefutable argument as to why you should give me this piece of information. Would you do so?"

"Fuck no. You irritate me too much to do anything to please you." Obviously, that one was me.

Zach put more consideration into his answer. "Not without checking with Dr. Brennan, Angela, or Holly first. They usually know more about this sort of thing." I blinked before smiling slightly, honored that I was on his list of trusted confidants. "I'd see what they say, and maybe Agent Booth if he talked to me – he probably wouldn't. I'd check with Dr. Hodgins, but he'd say it was all part of a conspiracy," which is probably right. "So I mostly only take his advice on women." Zach looked up from the bone's faint markings with a look of sudden realization. "Four hundred eighty volts, three hundred fifty amps."

Pickering frowned and leaned forward. "I beg your pardon?"

Zach smiled at her, being unintentionally condescending. "It's… sort of secret information. I probably shouldn't tell you."

I grinned at him. "Any other questions?" I asked Pickering before quickly adding, "Good, I didn't think so. C'mon, Zach, let's go find Dr. Brennan."

Zach went to go see Hodgins and see if Brennan was there while I went to look in Angela's office. I got rich on that guess, and found not only Brennan, but also Angela (big surprise, who would have guessed she was in her own office!) and Booth. They were looking through the tapes from the motel. "Carl Decker is one point seven meters tall," Angela was commenting, "And he weighs fifty-eight point two kilograms."

"He's an ultra-marathoner," I said, slipping in the room through the ajar door and announcing my presence. "That he's particularly lean compared to most men should make it easier to find him on the tapes using the Mass Recognition Program." Angela nodded at me with a slight smile as I frowned. "Hm. We need to come up with a better name for your computer systems. Imagine how much time it would save to use an acronym. MRP? No, there's no vowel…" I trailed off in thought before shaking myself out of it. "Hold on, back on topic."

"I talked to Pickering," Angela said as the videos fast-forwarded. We all just sort of watched in interest while the green and red digital boxes sized up the figures.

"Was it awful?" Brennan asked in unconcealed disappointment.

"Actually," Angela corrected, sounding pleasantly surprised. "I found it cathartic."

"I found it incredibly stressful," I told Brennan in the interest of giving her complete information before she formed an opinion. "However, I was admittedly confrontational."

I saw Angela try and fail to hide a smile. "Why does that surprise me?" She asked in pretend confusion, looking at Brennan playfully.

"I have no idea," Brennan answered truthfully while I crossed my arms and pouted. I'm not that bad… am I? That I couldn't really answer that for myself was the answer I needed and my pout fell as I realized that they weren't being that untrue to my personality.

Booth was sort of ignoring us, more interested with the videos. He was trying to focus on finding the boy, which I understood, because of his son. On the other hand, it was easier for me to not spend every moment fretting and focusing. I won't work objectively if I think of a terrified eight-year-old being electrocuted to death. "His head's down. What do you think?" He asked as the green box framed and analyzed a bald man leaving a second-story room from the balcony.

I watched the video of the man moving for a minute. His steps were short and fairly close together and he moved with the entire weight of his body in one place. Maybe a football player, but I doubted he was an athlete at all. "No, that's not him," I told him. "He doesn't move like an athlete. You and I, we run around a lot. We move a certain way, we take longer strides and when we walk we move our weight forward more fluidly, not just when our legs get ahead of our body."

"She knows a lot about us," Angela stated again, faintly smiling although seeming a bit disturbed and uncomfortable. She was still talking about Pickering. "It's creepy."

"Well, it's confidential," Booth replied, shoving his hands back in his pockets.

"Couldn't you get the file?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.

Booth considered this for a moment and shifted. "…Probably," he finally decided.

Brennan scoffed. "Then it's not confidential."

I blinked as Booth jumped and pointed at the screen sharply and suddenly. "That's him!" He snapped. "That's Carl Decker." I looked back to the screen and stepped forward, trying to see better. The lean, muscular form of the same man from the home videos was sneaking out of a ground floor room. "Fast forward. See if he shows up with anyone else," Booth commanded.

Angela fixed the system on Carl Decker and fast forwarded the tape. Eventually it came up to him talking to another man by the door to another room. "Back up," Brennan sharply interrupted. "Freeze on that guy. Can you zoom in?"

Angela hummed in agreement and zoomed in on the second man and a small smirk played at my lips. "A secret life can definitely cause marital strife," I said before frowning. "Oh. I didn't mean to rhyme. Sorry."

"He was having an affair with a man," Brennan said, her eyes widening in surprise.

"Alright, simmer down," Booth hushed her quickly. "For all we know, he's meeting a hit man."

Angela scoffed and shook her head. "He sure doesn't look like a hit man," she countered with a smirk.

"Looks can be deceiving," I quoted the age-old saying, attempting to sound wise.

"You would know," Booth shot to me with a raised eyebrow. I shrugged sheepishly. "Print the picture. I'll see if he's in any of the bureau's databases," he directed Angela.

"What do we do when we find him?" Brennan asked, her voice weary and tired as she pushed a loose strand of hair out of her face and back behind her ear.

I cast a look at Booth before answering. "Drag him in with handcuffs if he refuses to come by means of a smile and invitation. Maybe wave the gun around," I added with a little grin. "See if he's got both of his ears intact. Then we'll call, tell you what's happened, and maybe threaten him for information anyway, just to see him squirm." My eyes gleamed in the light reflected across the room and Angela shook her head at me in exasperation.

I stepped into Cullen's office with confidence. He called us here, so it's not like I can be scolded for messing around in granddad's office. Just inside, Cullen was sitting behind his desk, with a man with short black hair across from him. The stranger wore a business suit and his olive-colored skin contrasted with the lighting. A brown briefcase was sitting upright on the floor beside the chair. Unfortunately, both of his ears were intact, just like his tailored suit and polished, tacky dress shoes.

He looked over when Booth and I came in and I recognized him from the video. "I'm sorry," I said, pausing and raising a hand to my head like I was shocked. "We just posted that face in the hot seat half an hour ago. Are you arresting yourself for us? Because if so, damn, that's helpful."

The man sneered at me in annoyance. "My boss is the United States Attorney General," he informed me snobbishly. I got the feeling that he was used to being pampered. "You're not doing my career any good by putting me on the hot list."

I laughed, looking down to the ground and nodding for a minute before looking back and waving slightly, quieting my chuckles. "Ah. Sorry. I just think it's funny that you think I care more about your career than I do a kidnapped child and murdered woman."

Cullen rolled his eyes, leaning back and pushing his coffee mug further away from the edge of his desk. His chair squeaked slightly as the back leaned over. "Special Agent Seeley Booth, Miss Holly Kirkland, meet U.S. Attorney, Ken Weeks."

I visibly deflated. I blew at some hair that fell in front of my face as my shoulders slumped slightly. "Aw. I was hoping you'd turn out to be homosexual or only have one ear. Or both, but I'm not picky."

"Holly, play nice," Booth cautioned me. Despite his warning, I could hear the amusement in his voice at my flippancy and suppressed a smirk.

Weeks snorted and looked away from me, looking to Cullen – or, rather, Cullen's desk – again. He bumped his elbow onto the arm of the chair and pressed his cheek to his knuckles, irritated and not in the mood for me. Well, too bad. "Yeah. I get the gay thing a lot, because I'm so cute, but the one-eared thing?" He lifted his head from his fist for a moment to jerk his head at me irately. "That's unique to you."

I flashed him a cheeky smile, showing off my teeth. "What can I say? I'm full of surprises."

"You're Carl Decker's justice department handler?" Booth questioned, interrupting before it could evolve into a fight. He came up to stand next to me instead of slightly behind, making his authority known.

"Carl Decker was my prime witness against K.B.C. Systems," Weeks explained, still a bit irritable, but now his annoyance with me was ebbing slightly. Now he was just sulking.

"Was?" I prodded, thoroughly enjoying aggravating this guy. "Were you fired?"

"No," Cullen interrupted before Weeks could answer with a derisive snort. "They lost him."

I blinked. "What the hell, man?!" I exclaimed at Weeks sharply. "How do you lose a man with Marshals tailing him everywhere he goes? I get that he's smart but it's not like he's a modern-day Superman!"

Booth covered his face with his hand. "A material witness for a specially-convened grand jury…" he summarized, his tone giving nothing away except for stunned disbelief. "…And you lost him?" He pulled his hand away from his eyes, blinking at Weeks with this sort of 'you disappoint me' expression. Weeks shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with our reactions. Well, if he can't do his job right…

"The guy's pretty smart! Genius level," Weeks said, crossing his arms and shrinking back a bit, defensive and insulted at the same time. "Do you have any idea what it's like to interact with those types of people?"

Booth and I exchanged a look and I smirked. Let's see… Brennan, Zach, Hodgins, and maybe even I act like that sometimes. Yeah, I think we might have a basic idea. "Yeah," Booth commented mirroring my smirking expression. "A little."

"So what made him run?" Cullen asked Weeks. He sounded bored, and his posture supported it, but he was at least paying attention.

Weeks rolled his eyes, sighing with a pitiful, woe-is-me attitude. "Decker insisted upon talking to his son every day. This morning, we couldn't put him in touch with his son. He panicked and ran. The marshals will find him," he added with a weak conviction.

If there had been something near to me, I would have pounded the side of my fist onto the surface. "It won't matter," I said what I felt was very obvious with a bitter snap. "He won't testify! Not when he finds what's happened to his family!"

"You might as well pack up that grand jury and send everybody home," Cullen agreed in distaste.

I blinked and looked over at the deputy director. Did he seriously just agree with me? Twice? In one day? I rocked on my feet, leaning precariously in the opposite direction. "Look, I understand that you're saying that I'm right, but please could you not? You're kind of freaking me out when you agree with me." Cullen just sighed and rolled his eyes, not dignifying me with a reply.

Weeks sighed loudly, dramatically, and stood up abruptly, grasping his suitcase with whitened knuckles. "If I get the chance, I'll give him the 'don't let your wife die in vain' speech," he promised with little sincerity. I glared. "Who knows? It might work."

"Do you think this company is capable of putting a hit on Decker?" Booth asked the attorney just as Weeks' hand landed on the handle of the door.

"To torture and kill his wife, and to kidnap his kid?" I added, crossing my arms and staring him down. I want honesty. The only way I know for sure to get it is to intimidate. To show confidence. To not show fear or anxiety.

Weeks scoffed, his eyes dark. "K.B.C. Systems sent our boys into battle with faulty armor." He blinked and shook his head slowly, disgusted. "In my book, if you can do that, you can do anything." He gave the room a look around again, surveying the occupants, before he turned, interest lost, and walked out, the image of calm disgruntlement.

Except I noticed that the hand holding his briefcase was clenching the handle so tightly that his knuckles were still white.

Booth and I walked on either side of Brennan, keeping up with her fast, long strides. Her white lab coat fluttered behind her legs with her, her hair bouncing. Jesus, she could be in a motorcycle race – and maybe even win!

While we were practically jogging to keep up with her, she was trying to talk to us, which would be a lot easier if she would stop acting like she was trying to run away from us. "If Decker's as smart as they say, how will they catch him?" She demanded, storming towards her office.

"Forget Decker," Booth ordered, interrupting her before she could continue. "Our job is to find his son."

"You guys walk like your heels are on fire," I complained, following behind them. "I promise that it won't kill either of you to walk five miles an hour instead of twenty." After five minutes of walking at winged-shoe-speed, my heels were starting to hurt because I was putting the energy into my feet instead of my legs so that I wasn't actually running.

They didn't reply to my comment with words, but they did slow down a bit when we turned around a corner. I sighed, drawing my hand across my forehead in pretend exhaustion. Brennan swept into her formerly-empty office, making her way quickly to her desk, where she leaned over the papers and began to rifle through them. "If Decker doesn't show up to testify," she started, finding the paper she was looking for fairly quickly and straightening up again.

"No," I interrupted, stopping at the doorway and crossing my arms. Booth went just into the office before stopping, watching her lift the papers with a tilted head. "Whoever kidnapped Donovan had no issues with torturing his mother to the point of fatality. If there's any chance of it rebounding on them – Donovan recognizing or describing them, or of it possibly giving away something about their identities – which, of course, there obviously is that risk – then we cannot assume that his kidnappers will let him live."

It was depressing and saddening, of course. I don't want the child to be dead or hurt. Statistics and reason, however, are against me in this case. Even though I know that boy's chances are not favorable, I'm not going to give up. The way I see it, our best chance of getting him out alive is by locating him and then storming the place with heavy arms.

"Surely K.B.C. isn't going to-" Brennan started, her eyebrows furrowing as she didn't want to really believe what it was I had said.

"Bones," Booth interrupted. His eyes were sharp and focused although slightly bloodshot. He's running himself thin with stress. I made a mental note to get a soda for him if I passed by the loft. He could use the caffeine. "We don't know who hired these guys. K.B.C., military, disgruntled shareholders – or it could be someone we haven't even thought of yet!" He stopped, seeing Brennan staring at him with a big smile twisting her lips upwards. "What?"

She pointed at him, her eyes bright. "You just told me not to jump to a conclusion!" She accused, way too excited.

Booth rolled his eyes. "No offense intended."

"No, you were right," Brennan was quick to agree with him, but then the smile came back. "I just usually get to tell you that."

"Well, our relationship has taken a whole new turn."

I shuddered and raised my hands in a threat to cover my ears. "I really don't want to know."

"Not like that!" Booth exclaimed, his cheeks turning pink. He clapped his hands over his face in humiliation and I smirked, proud to have finally knocked him off of his game.

"Four hundred eighty volts, three hundred fifty amps, by the way." I turned to my side as Zach came to a stop beside me in the doorway. He crossed his arms over his lab jacket.

Brennan looked over at him for a moment before she went back to her desk. She set down the paper she'd found a moment ago, apparently having refreshed her memory on it. "Paulina Semov-Decker?" She asked for a point of clarification.

Zach and I both nodded seriously. I looked off to the side. I didn't enjoy getting shocked by a bit of static electricity on my doorknob after a thunderstorm – it must have been hell to be killed after a long streak of electrocution of that strength. "That's the voltage it would take to cause muscle spasms so strong, they would fracture the bone," Zach confirmed with a nod.

I held out one arm casually away from me, leaning my head towards the doorframe that I was resting against. "As you probably know, that's far from a household current. Zach and I have decided that they probably used a generator, meaning that they're probably not in a normal housing development and they'd probably somewhat isolated."

Brennan gave us both a warm smile. "You are both very smart," she praised, making me give her back my own little grin.

Booth looked over at Zach quickly in a short survey before he apparently decided that whatever he had in mind, Zach would work well enough. "Zach, this guy – Decker – he's like you. He's in the whole…" Booth fumbled for a word for a moment, waving his arms in the air just above his head. "…Stratosphere, IQ-wise."

Zach tilted his head at Booth curiously, intrigued. "What's his IQ?" He asked.

Booth half-shrugged. "One sixty-three."

Brennan interrupted, laughing. "He's not where Zach is," she corrected, very highly amused. She smiled at Zach.

Zach nodded smugly before he started to boast. "If he's in the stratosphere, then I'm in the ionosphere," he bragged, self-satisfied. I rolled my eyes. Honestly. Boys and their pride.

Booth shook his head at Zach after frowning, unsettled. "That's – That's not the point. Thing is, Decker escapes the U.S. Marshals, tries to contact his wife, and finds out that she's been killed. What does he do next?" He asked, pointing at Zach, prompting the graduate.

Zach's eyebrows knit together. "His IQ is not a variable," he stated in confusion.

I shrugged. "It was worth a try. Intelligence doesn't decide what you do – just, maybe how effective you are at it. An idiot or a genius could decide to assassinate the president. The genius is more likely to succeed, but the idiot could still have had the idea." Trying to explain something to Booth with an example of presidential assassination probably wasn't a good thing, I noted when Booth gave me one of those 'looks'. "What? It was the first example I could think of!"

"It depends on what kind of person he is," Brennan agreed, backing up the conversation so I was no longer in the direct line of fire.

Booth shrugged, hitting his fist against his palm in frustration. "Well, you know, he's a loving father. Estranged from the mother of his child…" Hm… I wonder why that sounds familiar, I thought sarcastically.

Zach, apparently, had thoughts on the same wavelength. He walked up in front of Booth and stood barely six inches away from the agent, having to crane his neck slightly to look at the agent's eyes due to the height difference in such close quarters. "Does that sound like anyone you know?" He asked evenly.

Booth reeled back a bit, giving Zach this look of disturbed, uncomfortable awkwardness. "Just… back out of my personal space, there, buddy," he urged.

"Zach's right, though," Brennan told Booth knowingly, crossing her arms. She waited until Booth had pushed Zach far enough away from him to be comfortable again before she added, "If you were in Decker's position, what would you do?"

I tried to envision it myself, just to see how similar my answer would be. If I had an eight-year-old son and my separated spouse had been tortured and killed, and my son was nowhere to be found and I knew that it had something to do with a testimony on warfare weaponry, what would I do? It didn't take long for me to have an answer. I'd go after the head honcho and demand – no, threaten – him to call off the mercenaries and to release my child to me.

All signs point to K.B.C. being responsible, so if Decker knows that, then...

Oh, no. Trent Seward, the CEO of the company. If I were in Decker's position, he'd be the first person I'd think of to attack.

With Brennan in the backseat, Booth and I were riding in front. Booth was driving, the sirens flashing and screaming even through the rolled-up windows. Booth was speaking into his FBI radio in the FBI van while I had forsaken my seat belt. Too anxious to sit still and do nothing, I had my gun out of the holster by my side and I was flipping the safety on and off, listening to the soft clicks that I could just barely hear and assuring myself that it was working. Even though I didn't like the CEO, there was no reason for him to be killed.

"Bugar-Four, to accessories, proceeding to four-four-one-three L Street, K.B.C. Systems." Booth spoke quickly in his urgency but he was managing to keep his voice on the same octave and within the same five notches of volume. "Requesting local cowboys for backup. Possible ten-thirteen."

"Roger that, Bugar-Four." The radio crackled.

Brennan leaned forward between the seats as I flipped the safety back on with a soft click. "Did you just refer to us as accessories?" She demanded Booth, miffed despite the pressing circumstances.

"You wanted to know what I would do if I were Decker," Booth started. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel, giving away his nerves, and the speedometer's needle slowly turned from the forty to the fifty on the dial.

"They kill my significant other, they take my child, I'm not going to go through police. I'm going to head straight for the person in charge," I added, agreeing. Vocalizing helped to calm some of the butterflies in my stomach and for a moment I was able to calm myself with that instead of listening to my very, very lethal weapon make clicks as I flipped the safety lock.

"I'm going to the source of the problem and I'm going to take him out," Booth finished, agreeing with a slight jerk of his head towards me.

"Take him out, like…" Brennan started, frowning nervously. She looked at Booth inquisitively and Booth looked away from the road long enough to give her one of his dark, serious looks. "Oh," she said quietly, understanding.

We stormed into the K.B.C. headquarters, Brennan behind Booth and I protectively. Although we hadn't said anything, Booth and I seemed to have agreed that the people with the guns (even if one is only seventeen) would be better equipped to deal with a shoot-off than someone without. Although I hoped that it wouldn't come to that, I had to accept that it was a possibility. If I couldn't understand the risk involved, I had no business being there.

Booth held up his badge with one hand, his other resting on his gun in the holster. I pulled up my wallet from my pocket and flipped it open, and where it normally showed my ID card, which had been replaced by my driver's license, it now showed my license to carry the sidearm that I held tightly. What? I figured that if I have a gun, then there must be a pretty good reason, so it's always good to not have to rummage through cards.

"FBI," Booth stated needlessly as we held out the badge and license to the security guard on duty. "Seward in his office?"

The guard nodded, wide-eyed. "Yes, sir."

Booth nodded and moved to the right, where Seward's office was down a hall and around a corner, and then through another room where his secretary was stationed. It's always good to have a good memory. While the agent went ahead, I looked back to the guard, shoving my wallet back into my pocket. "Secure the building," I snapped roughly. "No one gets in or out until we say."

I caught up with them down the hall and overtook Brennan, holding the gun in front of me with both hands. The anthropologist backed up behind Booth just before we turned to the right, into the secretary's office. A woman in a red top and grey pencil skirt, with blonde hair trussed up into a messy ponytail, laid on the floor limply. A trickle of blood ran from her nose.

"Usually, I enjoy your company, Bones, Holly," Booth said conversationally as Brennan and I both knelt by the woman's body. Brennan held her hand over her mouth and I pressed my fingers to her wrist. "It's times like these, though, that you both just give me a little something more to worry about."

"It was absolutely insane of you to think we'd agree to waiting in the car," I told him, standing up and letting the woman's arm fall over her stomach. "She's alive, just out cold."

"You enjoy our company?" Brennan asked, pleased. Booth didn't answer, just rocked his head back and forth like he didn't really want to have to say it again, and I moved towards the door to Seward's office.

Trent Seward sat at his desk, his back rigid in terror and his eyes shone with unshed tears when I entered. The man from the videos – Carl Decker – stood over him, pressing the barrel of a gun to his temple. "Make the call!" Decker yelled. The safety was off and his finger was on the trigger. I stopped in my tracks just inside the door and raised the gun to aim.

"FBI, Mr. Decker," I announced when Booth failed to do so within the first five seconds of our entry. Tensions had risen to a snapping point; one of the three parties had to give. "Drop your weapon immediately." I ordered.

Decker glanced over at us, but he didn't change the aim of his gun. "Nothing's changed," he hissed at the CEO. "Make the call, or I'll blow your head off!" I heard the click of Booth's safety turning off just behind me as I held the gun steady, aimed at Decker's chest. The lean athlete didn't seem to see a problem with how the standoff had just turned out of his favor.

"H-He wants me to c-call his son's kidnappers," Seward stammered, looking between Booth and I, his eyes flitting to the side to see Decker.

"Tell them to release my boy, or you die," Decker threatened. He made the gun click, pressing it against the CEO's head with more force. "It's that simple!" He looked back over to Booth and I, and in his eyes there was a plea that contradicted with his actions. "You both can shoot me after that, I don't care."

"I don't-" Seward started.

Brennan interrupted him. She was more focused on Decker than she was his intended victim. "Mr. Decker, Agent Booth and Miss Kirkland are excellent shots," she told him, her voice riddled with anxiety. She was completely serious.

Decker scoffed, biting the side of his hand tensely before he replied. "I'm not afraid to die." His throat was sore, his cheeks red, and his eyes bloodshot.

"Shoot him!" Seward yelled suddenly, his hands making fists around the edge of the desk. "For God's sake, shoot him!"

Booth gave a tiny, miniscule sigh. "Mr. Seward, please shut up."

My hands shook slightly as I held the gun, but not too much. If I shot, then I would still hit him with a fatal bullet. I don't want to shoot him. I don't want to kill. The other times I'd held a gun, I'd been nearly murdered and too high on adrenaline to think too much about it. "Mr. Decker," I started with a frown, trying to keep my voice steady. I didn't do too bad. "If you don't drop the gun, I will shoot you. You want your son safe and released from his kidnappers. You won't be able to make that happen if you're dead. You won't be able to make things happen right if you die here, tonight."

"Be rational, Mr. Decker," Brennan urged softly from just behind me. "What you're planning has failed. You have to adapt!"

"If we get your son back and you're dead, who will he have to come home to?" I asked. I raised my other hand up so that I could steady the weapon in my hands. "His mother is dead, and yes, Maria will take care of him, but how will he feel without his mother or his father? Knowing that Daddy was taken away from him because of his own stubbornness? Dr. Brennan is right. The best thing for your son is for you to adapt to the changed circumstances." I could only hope that his responsibility for his son would be enough to sway his determination.

"Adapt how?" Decker spat at me. I didn't even flinch at that, just swallowed and tightened my hold. "All I want is for my son to live." He met my eyes for several seconds, watching me closely. I raised my eyebrows and nodded towards my firearm pointedly. Finally, Decker seemed to decide that I had some more ideas what was going on than he did, and he turned the safety back on. I sighed deeply in relief. "You people just took away his best chance," he accused, slamming the gun on Seward's desk aggressively. I flipped the safety back on my own gun and lowered it down slowly.

"Good work, kid," Booth praised under his breath.