I sulked in the loft. I hate not knowing what's going on. All I know is that Booth got a phone call, he stuck me here with the boys, and then ditched me with firm warnings to stay with the squints, no ifs, ands or buts.

I normally liked the loft - it was a quiet and cozy space, with furniture and a rug and snacks and everything. There were a couple of vending machines, usually some doughnuts or fruits on the coffee table, and there was a small countertop by the wall that held things for coffee and cappuccino-making. It was a place that I went to to take naps when I was told to sleep or when I just needed to calm down and think. But it's different; being up here voluntarily is one thing. Being up here, confined by Hodgins and Zach and waiting for Angela and Brennan to get back from the FBI headquarters after being shot at while going to her date with Mr. Dick431 (according to Booth, anyway), is a pain.

Trying to persuade the boys to let me go, even under the pretense to at least look at Cugini's or the mystery girl's remains, got me no where. Hodgins had jumped before Zach had a chance to agree and he'd accused me of using it as a front to run off myself, and I pursed my lips in irritation and threw myself back onto a couch while Hodgins just lifted his magazine back up to his face across from me.

Eventually I ended up sighing miserably and lifting my legs up onto the couch; lying sideways I twisted around so that I was laying back and I closed my eyes when staring up at the ceiling got boring. My feet dangled off the arm of the couch and my head rested on the other. If I were actually trying to sleep I'd need to curl up a little so I actually fit on the furniture. Once it was clear that I was docile, Hodgins and Zach separated, Zach going to work on the bones of the murder victim most recently found.

Meanwhile, I just closed my eyes and seriously thought about what was going on. One thing was clear; something was going to give, either the adults' patience or my secrets. I didn't see any way to possibly keep both intact. I like them all enough, yeah, and while I wouldn't exactly be comfortable staying the night at any of their homes, Booth does have a valid point. It's better than witness protection, or staying at the FBI all night, anyway, and at least I'm pretty damn sure that none of them are going to freak out on me randomly and attack with no warning. Still, being alone is what I've gotten used to and I associate alone with safety. Keeping my distance has always worked.

There was no viable solution to get out of that particular issue, so I found my thoughts wandering to Brennan. Why would someone shoot at her? The first thing I thought of was Cugini's body in her laboratory. That was entirely plausible; but then, someone tried to kill her the same day someone tried to kill me, with mere hours between the attacks. Overlooking coincidences seems like a bad idea, and I didn't even know about James Cugini's body until after my attack.

The girl in the warehouse seemed more likely to be the cause. Given past routines, it wouldn't have been too farfetched for an outsider to assume that I would be involved in the case, nearly killed and under protection or not. Then again, it was conjecture based on the first assumptions; that a case had anything to do with it, or that Brennan and I were attacked by the same person or group.

I nearly shot up off of the couch when I heard the clicking footsteps rapidly sounding and echoing through the dome-shaped main building of the Medico-Legal lab. In fact, I tried to get up so quickly that I ended up falling off of the couch.

"Nice trick, Xena," Hodgins snickered. "I'll have to try that sometime."

"Nice trick, Xena, I'll have to try that sometime," I mimicked in a shrill, high-pitched voice, sending him a very bitchy glare as I picked myself up off of the floor.

"...Need enlargements of the supraorbital notch," I started to hear Brennan say. "Where's Holly? And Hodgins?"

I scrambled over my own feet to get to the rail of the loft and I leaned over it, calling down to Brennan as she swiped her card. "Up here! Hodgins wouldn't let me leave." I finished with a pout but quickly stopped in favor of asking more important questions. "Are you alright, Dr. Brennan?"

"I'm fine," Brennan said quickly and slightly snappishly, which told me she was asked this question several times already. Angela followed Brennan up onto the platform, watching her friend with big brown eyes full of concern and I left the top of the loft in favor of moving towards the stairs.

"Was the shooter the same guy that tried to hit Holly?" Zach asked. I chanced a look at him as I paused at the top of the stairs. So it wasn't just me being paranoid; one of the smartest people I know was considering it to be more than a coincidence, too. "Maybe you're both under threat."

I grimaced at the thought. It's not necessarily my fault someone tried to take a shot at Brennan, but I got the nagging feeling that I should have done something to prevent the shooting. All she'd been doing was going on a date, for God's sake, and then she gets nearly killed.

Brennan didn't indulge Zach's musings and so I took the stairs at two at a time. If she wasn't going to think about it like that, then I wasn't, either. "Has Hodgins examined the dogs' excrement?" She asked no one in particular, her voice loud but also slightly distant as her mind went at a speedy pace, trying to think of everything and get it all out at the same time.

"I'm doing the fecal floatation right now," Hodgins confirmed. I jumped off the last of the stairs and twisted my neck to see Hodgins with an absent-minded smile. "I don't get to say that a lot."

"Check for fibers the FBI might have missed as well," she ordered. It seemed pretty obvious but it was also clear that she was not having a very good night, first tasked with my protection, then handed a particularly gruesome homicide, and then nearly murdered. I think she deserves a little leeway on this one.

"Are you sure you don't want a drink?" Angela offered. Her voice was strained and tired but I could tell she was pushing onwards out of concern.

Zach was unwilling to drop the subject quite so quickly. "You know, it wouldn't be difficult for someone to encode a secure data strip, implant it on an ID card with a correct digitally encoded authentication data, and sneak in here," he theorized thoughtfully.

I sent him a look - not cold or rude, just exasperated. "Yes, Zach, we get it. Someone wants us dead. Please don't make me feel in danger in the place where I feel safe." Lord knows my home isn't safe.

"It is possible," Hodgins pointed out with a weak "don't-shoot-the-messenger" vibe in his resulting shrug.

"Are you two going to help or not?" Brennan demanded harshly of the boys. I grimaced at her bad mood because while she saw it as conjecture, I understood that they were trying to help. They thought she was in danger and wanted to prevent her getting hurt. Maybe Brennan realized that and just wanted the subject dropped, but maybe she was too stressed to pick up on the meanings behind the paranoia.

Angela followed the anthropologist that walked like she thought there were wings on her shoes. "You know, Booth is pissed that you came here. He had more questions for you at the scene."

Hodgins and Zach exchanged looks before they decided not to comment. Smart boys. When Brennan was agitated it didn't usually bode well to bring up Booth because she'd throw out a sharp comment, since Booth was, more often than not, the source of her agitation.

I was not disappointed. "He just doesn't want to come here because he has to park in the structure," Brennan primly stated, her voice sharp and scathing at the thought. She reached the table with the girl from the warehouse and her fingers tapped the steel edge. "I need her face as quickly as you can." She moved over to Cugini's remains, unable to do anything with the girl's right now, and looked at the gunshot wound in the skull. She scowled and her eyes found her intern. "Zach, these bullet holes haven't been cleaned!"

At the accusation in her tone, Zach looked up at his boss with big eyes and he opened his mouth to explain, but nothing came out in light of her glare.

I sighed softly, going to Zach's defense. Brennan is tense, yes, and she has every right to be, but she shouldn't take it out on Zach, who did nothing wrong. "He worked on them for hours, Dr. Brennan."

"Then that wasn't long enough, was it?" She snapped at me angrily.

I wasn't a stranger to verbal abuse. While most people would have received a retort that was sarcastic or just plain bitchy, I wasn't willing to go down that antagonistic path with Brennan, so I just bit my lip and bowed my head to stare at the floor submissively, taking it quietly. I rolled my shoulders up defensively to cover my neck and I blinked, not letting myself get angry or upset.

Brennan must have realized that I wasn't defending myself because it was her giving out the words and I heard her sigh softly. "I'm sorry, but…" she started, contrite. I looked up slightly at her through my fringe and she moved to grasp the edge of a metal table on wheels, pulling it over towards the exam table. "You take a sinus probe, you put a little cotton swab on the end of it. You dip it in water and you dab it inside the wound until it's clean." I assumed it was directed towards Zach but I made note of the trick anyway, even as Brennan went through the motions while she explained. After a couple of touches to the bone, she set the probe on the table next to it. "The Sistine Chapel took thirteen years to clean properly."

Zach stood up next to her and stammered, "I-I didn't think we had that kind of time."

"Bones!" Booth's voice echoed so loudly that, combined with my already upset mood, I jumped and whirled around quickly. He stalked through the doors that were already closing behind him towards the platform, his arms out indignantly. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Working," Brennan answered, irritation back in place although not as much as before. "Why does everyone find that so odd?"

"Why? Oh, I don't know why. Maybe because an hour ago, someone tried to kill you!" I wasn't sure if his frustrations came from someone trying to kill Brennan, Brennan's refusal to stay put at the scene, the sudden administrative workload hanging over his shoulders, or a mix of all three. He swiped his card so angrily and so quickly that he had to do it a second time before the security system was able to accept it, and then he barged up two at a time. "I don't think it's a good idea for you to continue to work these cases," he deadpanned.

Brennan growled, glaring at Booth as she walked by, chin lifted as she pointedly avoided looking at him. "This is what I do, Booth."

Booth put his hands up in the air before taking a deep breath. His voice was pitched higher than normal like he was trying very, very hard to keep his cool but was very stressed at the same time. "Alright, look. Whoever killed these victims wants to make sure you don't finish your investigation," he rationalized.

"Hundreds of criminals would like me to stop what I do," Brennan retorted tartly. "Are you suggesting that I just give up my career?"

"Booth, be fair, there's not any proof that the bodies are the motive behind the shooting," I added. I wasn't trying to take anyone's side, but if we dismiss any other option then we might not actually find the person behind Brennan's and my near assassinations.

"Just be reasonable. Please, Bones, Holly, stop being stubborn and think about your lives for just a little while." Booth eyed us with those big chocolate eyes trying to win over Brennan and shooting me a please agree look.

I rolled my eyes. "Logic is what we've been using, Booth," I pointed out in irritation, crossing my arms and turning slightly to watch Brennan bend over to look through the microscope like she was trying to do five peoples' jobs at once.

"Logic," Brennan repeated sharply, agitated by Booth's insistence that she needed to stop working. Work is like her vice, her distraction, and it must be good for stress relief to be able to focus on something other than that she was nearly murdered. "Suggests that the shooter is involved in one of these cases."

"Therefore, we should find out who killed a girl and left her to the dogs and what happened to Mr. Mafia before we get shot at again," I finished for her and sent Booth a pointed look of warning to get him to stop. This was a fight he most certainly wasn't going to win.

Brennan sent me a slight nod, acknowledging that despite her snap, I was still on her side. "Did forensics recover the bullets that were meant for me?"

Booth massaged his temple with one hand, the other finding its way into his pocket. "Ballistics is running tests on them right now," he answered with a weary sigh.

"What about the suspect in the female's murder?" I asked, before scowling and inhaling deeply, trying not to recall the crime scene too vividly. That, on top of the emotional duress of freaking out because, hello, Brennan was nearly killed, would not sit well with my stomach at the moment.

"Hollings," Booth reminded me. I honestly couldn't care less about what his name was at the moment, although, admittedly, it would probably be important to know about it for future reference. "I don't want to spook him until we have enough evidence, but I've got guys watching him."

"Makes sense," I sighed. I'd personally been hoping that he'd been brought in and, assuming Booth would stop being such a fussy mother hen for long enough, I could slip into the role of the interrogator - flippant and manipulative, the way that it worked for me. There are many ways to interrogate but none of them are technically correct. It just depends on your attitude and what comes easy to make it not seem forced. Even if I would have been aiming for something, at least my world could have temporarily narrowed to myself, a suspect, and some information.

I may love danger and act reckless, but I do value my health and would prefer life to death. Very much so, in fact, although if I'm dead I doubt I'll be able to sulk and whine about it.

"Did you get a list of women missing, ages eighteen to…"

Brennan's voice was kind of lost as Booth spoke over her, keeping his voice low and relaxed and trying to relax, her, too. "Eighteen to twenty-five, yes. They are on your server - Brennan, everyone is doing their job."

I smiled softly then as I caught it, how he'd called her Brennan instead of Bones. It's just like when people give their friends nicknames but then they call them by their full names when they're worried. He's genuinely concerned for her, but she just doesn't realize it.

Booth happened to glance over in my general direction and he caught my expression and did a double-take, fixing me with a wary frown like he thought I was going to tease him about it like I had after I'd met Tessa, his "sexy lawyer girlfriend." Unfortunately, they had presumably broken up not long afterwards due to commitment issues. "What are you grinning at?"

My grin turned into a smirk rather quickly. "Nothing of importance." I said it in a sort of half-singing way that usually implied it was something that was of a lot of importance - very much so - and that I wasn't going to tell him, and he fixed me with a halfhearted scowl and swung his head back around to Brennan.

Brennan leaned down over the table Angela sat at and Angela took it as her cue to roll her chair a bit to the side so that Brennan could reach the computer mouse without it being too close quarters. "What about the Romano family?" She asked, completely dismissing the small exchange. The Romanos are a wealthy family that live just outside the city limits. No one person knows too much about them but it's rumored that they have their hands in a lot of dirty schemes and organized crime deals. "Hodgins says they were feuding with the Cuginis."

"Of course he did," I sighed. "He's a conspiracy theorist, Dr. Brennan. It's practically his second job to know these things."

"Kenton is pulling all the files on the case on all mob activity six years ago," Booth answered like he had recited them previously and I wondered how many cases he and Brennan had done together before I'd met them. They worked exceedingly well together, whether they were fighting or not. "Brennan, there is one other person we have to look at. Your date."

I was afraid for a moment that Brennan would get frosty again, and Angela winced slightly, pulling at her bottom lip with her teeth and looking to Brennan like she expected the same. Brennan looked to the side, away from the computer monitor, and although she tried to brush it off I could tell that the idea bothered her. "Well, I spoke to him, Booth. He was in his car, in traffic, and why would he want to kill me?"

I crossed my arms, half expecting to get snapped at again as I countered, "Why would somebody want to tie up a person, gouge their eyes out, and feed them to feral dogs?" Brennan tensed her shoulders. "I'm sorry, Dr. Brennan, but you were this close to killed. You should never cut corners in a high-risk job like yours, but especially not when someone's bringing things this close to home."

Booth sent me one of those looks that was generally followed by an exasperated comment he knew I wouldn't like. "Good, you understand why you're both being guarded. And you'll agree that you're coming with Brennan and I to the FBI building and not leaving us."

I opened my mouth to argue immediately. It's not that I don't like that he wants me safe - actually, that's a lot more than I thought I could have expected of anyone who thought me a murderer at the first meeting - because actually, I do like that he's concerned. I don't like that he's taking energy to worry about me, stressing himself for my benefit, but it is nice to feel like someone cares. But I don't want to be kept caged like a puppy the whole time.

Booth didn't even give me the chance. "Look, Holly, I know it's hard for you to admit you're wrong about things, but I really don't care about your feelings right now!" His tone was harsher and louder than it had been before and I snapped my jaw shut instantly, looking mutinously away from him and glaring at the ground by my feet. It stung to hear him sounding rough or angry with me. "I'm a lot more concerned with your life." I blinked several times, trying to keep unwanted emotions in check, and it was easier with the recent sentence and the proof that yes, he cares, he's just more concerned with safety than with emotions. "So the FBI's bringing your date in for interrogation," Booth added, looking back over to Brennan and bracing his shoulders, expectant of another argument. "Grab your coat."

"I'm working," Brennan insisted, closing out one tab and opening another before maximizing a third on the computer.

"Brennan!" The snap made me keep my head down out of habit even though I wanted to know how Brennan was reacting. "I'm not letting either of you out of my sight until I find out who is trying to kill you!"

The computer stopped clicking and that's how I knew that the words and concern had finally processed with Brennan. It wasn't fair that he had to get a bit mean to get us to realize it but he did have our best interests in mind.

"Get your coat," he told the anthropologist again, while I unrolled the oversized sleeves of my sweater and pulled the collar tighter around my neck.

Booth shepherded me into the interrogation room just behind Brennan, so even though I was getting something I wanted, I still scowled in a characteristic, bitchy mood, arms crossed and feet close to dragging on the floor. Booth pulled the door closed behind us but Brennan didn't seem to care about anything at the moment other than her online match sitting at the table and twiddling his thumbs uncomfortably.

He wore jeans and a dark blue button-up - casual, but nice, and judging by the product that was in his hair, he'd been dressing to impress. He was clean shaven with bright brown eyes and a sort of youthful, energetic disposition and a wiry frame. His dark hair was smooth and combed aside from just in back where a patch stood up defiantly. I looked between he and Brennan and I had to admit; I could see it. I wouldn't be a big fan of it, but yeah, I could see it.

Apparently Brennan could see it, too. Her date stood up quickly, chair scraping against the ground, and reached out, offering her his hand. "Temperance," he breathed, sounding shocked and happy but mostly relieved to see her.

Brennan shook his hand happily. "David," she replied. I noted the unusual tone of her voice - quiet, personable, and even slightly timid - and saw the rising blush in her cheeks. I rolled my eyes. Yep, I should definitely go for the Disney approach and lock her up in a castle. Irrational as it may be, the idea is getting more and more appealing.

"Someone shot at you?" No, we just called you here for fun. Surprise! Late April Fool's!

"Yeah." Don't sound too bothered, Brennan, someone might think you're actually upset about it.

"Oh my God." God had nothing to do with it.

"I know." What do you know? He hasn't said anything other than 'oh my God' yet!

"What can I do?" Judging from your voice you're about five seconds away from babbling. If you could shut your mouth and stop with the googly eyes, that would be lovely.

Watching Brennan hit it off with a guy really should not irritate me this much, prior bad mood or not. I wonder if maybe I'm more attached than I realize. It's entirely possible that I see her new relationships as threats; it would explain part of why I was so abrasive to Jesse Kane.

"Excuse me," Booth interrupted a bit louder than was strictly necessary. "I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth and this here is Holly Kirkland, my colleague." If we weren't in the company of a murder suspect, I would have let the warm surprise show on my face. Whether or not I felt like things had changed, Booth clearly seemed to think so, because I'd gone from, in his words, "ward" to "consultant," and now I'm being promoted up to "colleague." "We'll be asking the questions. You want to sit down?" It was more of an order than it was an offer, and the way Booth said it, radiating alpha authority, made it impossible to miss.

"Sure…" David sat down again awkwardly. "I mean, I didn't see anything. When I got to the restaurant, I saw the cops, but I had no idea that it had to do with you." He looked back to Brennan with a hesitant smile and a slightly breathy, awestruck tone. Brennan returned the smile after a moment's tentative glance at Booth, like she was wondering if he would send her out.

"You're an investment banker. A good looking guy, but yet you find your women online." Booth said this very pointedly and he did that thing where he turned his hands so his palms were pressed against the edge of the table as he leaned forward, trying to make the suspect feel smaller or weaker.

David, bewildered and surprised at the insinuation, raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "Excuse me?"

"Can't you find any women at work?" I asked with a roll of my eyes.

David looked almost hurt and he motioned with one hand to Brennan, sneaking another look at her before flicking his gaze back to me. "Well, she was online too, and she's a great looking doctor," he countered. I grit my teeth in frustration at the point. He smiled at Brennan again. "Your picture doesn't do you justice, by the way."

Brennan seemed slightly flustered but she smiled, taking the compliment with visible admiration as she returned the beam. "Thank you. Yours either, the resolution must not be very good online." I just looked from one to the other, disgusted. I'm watching my "mentor," for lack of a better word, flirt with someone who we're accusing of attempting to murder her.

Well this day just gets better and better, doesn't it?

I looked over at Booth to see the same pained, barely-hidden frustration in his expression and I pretended to stick my fingers down my throat and gag. The corner of his mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile but he clearly shared my sentiments, so childish or not, the action was warranted.

"Bones!" Booth hissed as Brennan slid into the chair next to David, angling herself so she was facing him more than she was the table. This is mutiny! She lifted her eyes to his and their gazes met like something from a chick flick, and they kept staring into each other's eyes for several long seconds.

I do not need to watch them have eye-sex. It's not even mildly appropriate in this context. Target on my back or not, I think if this goes on much longer I'll have to leave.

"Oh…" Brennan broke the staring contest (I mean, seriously, moments like that only happen on TV and it should stay in the world of Supernatural and rom-coms, not transcend themselves into my life). "He's a Luddite," she told David almost apologetically.

"Hey!" Booth snapped.

Brennan gave him a comforting expression and calmly explained, "That's someone who's afraid of technology."

I snickered. Ouch, she thinks he's an idiot.

"I know what a Luddite is," Booth complained shortly. "So are you saying that you were stuck in traffic?"

"What? You think I shot at her?" David looked up at Booth for a long moment before his eyes widened, realizing that what he'd thought was a snide shot was actually the truth. "I'm a fundraiser for the Brady campaign against gun violence!" He looked over to Brennan quickly, hoping for support. "Do you think I tried to kill you?"

Brennan opened her mouth to reply but she paused, stumbling slightly over a vowel, but then changed what she was going to say, looking apologetic and uncertain as she did so. "They have to do this."

I felt a lot better with that; she was acknowledging that we weren't trying to go after her by interrogating David, and that made me a lot more confident that I could actually do what I was supposed to without risking her getting angry at me again.

"Yeah. We have to do this," I reiterated, pushing myself up slightly to sit on the edge of the table about three feet to Booth's left and across from Brennan. I straightened my back slightly and while one knee bent over the table, the other leg dangled off, leg bowed slightly over the other. "So, bearing that in mind, what time did you leave work?"

David seemed to realize he was on the losing side here but he took it graciously, leaning back in the chair with a slight slump. "About six forty-five," he answered, if a bit sullen.

"Any witnesses?" I asked, already falling back to the normal questions. Without he and Brennan engaging in any "chick-flick moments," as several TV characters so elegantly phrase it, it was a lot easier to think of this as a normal interrogation.

"Yeah." His hands rubbed, palms-down, over the thighs of his jeans. I wondered briefly if he was wiping sweat off of his palms. Was he nervous out of guilt or just the overall discomfort of being interrogated by your date, her partner, and their teenage consultant? "My assistant, Margaret Jensen; the client I was with, the valet that saw me pull out of the parking garage - I mean, unless they're all suspects, too." He gave me a bitchy look to go along with the mouthy jab, like he thought I was being unreasonable.

I returned it with a patented bitch face in full-force. If Brennan or Booth noted the odd exchange, they didn't comment on it.

"We'll be talking to everyone," Booth said in reply with a forced smile that seemed more patronizing than anything. I highly doubted we'd actually be talking to some random valet, but I'm pretty sure I'd be the recipient of that patronizing glare if I called his bluff.

"Well, did you check the traffic report?" David blustered. "It was a mess!"

"He did," Brennan answered quickly. When David turned to her, eyebrows pulled together in confusion at how she was suddenly siding with the crazy people interrogating him, she looked up to Booth for help. "You did."

"We did," I confirmed for her.

David looked between the three of us before sighing softly in defeat. "Do I have to get an attorney?"

I considered this with an arch of one eyebrow before shaking my head very slightly. "I doubt it, but don't even think about leaving town too soon."

"Sure," David replied. "I mean, anything I can do to help." He stood up and pushed his chair in like a gentleman, preparing himself to leave, and he sent a long look to Brennan, seeming almost hopeful that she'd stop him.

"So this whole online thing, how long does it last?" Booth asked, snorting softly in derision as Brennan stood to follow David out to the elevators. "Because if it's just a way to, you know, hook up-" he stopped to whistle. "I've gotta tell you, it's pretty low."

Both online daters stopped just inside the threshold and turned back to face Booth and, consequently, me. I slid off the edge of the table and sidled up on the FBI agent's side, but not close enough for it to seem like I was really taking his side on this issue, too.

David crossed his arms, cocking his head to one side irately. "You know, one of my partners met his wife online," he stated coolly. I had to hand it to him - the diplomacy was admirable.

"You're kidding?" Brennan asked, her smile soft and almost shy.

"No," he assured her. "They've been married for five years."

Booth rolled his eyes. "Doesn't mean it's not creepy," he retorted, sulking slightly.

David paused and then froze before he seemed to shake himself out of it and he looked between Booth and Brennan uncertainly. "Okay, I'm sorry, did I… miss something?" Both adults looked confused although I smirked slightly at where it was going. "Because I don't want to get in the way or between-" he cut himself off as he looked at me with growing apprehension, pointing to me quickly with wide eyes. "Is she your - your daughter or something? Because I-!"

My little smirk melted into a scowl by the time he'd said daughter. "Absolutely not!" I snapped angrily, hands balling into fists at my sides. "What the hell do you think you're implying?! Look at us, Dr. Brennan and I don't even have a familial resemblance! Think this through, for God's sake, before you make ludicrous assumptions!"

He had the decency to look chastened and he lifted his shoulders slightly as my voice rose. The gesture made me stop, close my eyes, and take several deep breaths, focusing on something aside from the people with me - the feel of my sweater over my arms and the soft hum of electricity.

"Well, then, maybe we could reschedule dinner?" He asked Brennan stoppingly, sounding hopeful.

When I opened my eyes again, emotions in check and not about to snarl and bite like a wild animal at a mention or implication of parentage, Booth had turned so he was shoulder-to-shoulder with Brennan but facing the opposite direction. "No," he muttered rebelliously.

"Sure," Brennan agreed softly, her eyes happily brightening.

"Great!"

"You know, I think someone needs this room," Booth lied, holding out his arms to shepherd the other man out the door. "Let's go."

"Ah, yeah, sure," David complied with Booth and looked over his shoulder to the anthropologist. "Well, I'll email you. Stay safe!"

"She will," I swore tensely, glaring at his retreating shadow cast on the ground.

I'd probably shoot myself before admitting it out loud, but I would do whatever it took to keep Brennan safe, even if it was something mundane or totally, completely, insanely dangerous. She's one of the first adults I've met to treat me decently, like an equal even, and not only does she have my respect and admiration, but she acts like she cares and she teaches me the same way she does Zach when I'm around.

Booth turned back to face inside the room and looked over Brennan's shoulder, rolling his eyes to me in a completely clear message of his thoughts on Brennan's date. Brennan herself didn't notice, looking over Booth's shoulder and leaning forward to watch David leave.

"He's nice," she commented, sounding happy and surprisingly unbothered by the dominance fight that Booth had instigated and the verbal lashing I'd given. "Don't you think?"

"Yeah, he's nice as a suspect," Booth allowed sarcastically, looking back to her to read her reaction. Instead he saw her looking after David like a lost puppy and his eyes widened almost comically. "What?" He waved one hand just in front of her face but she didn't even blink. "Hello?" He sidestepped further to the side, blocking her view, and she just tried to stand on her toes to look over him.

"Hey," I called softly up to Zach as he worked diligently on the platform. I held the sleeve of one arm with the opposite hand, looking up to the intern tiredly. "Do you mind if I join you?"

"Not at all." Zach set down the tools he was using on the stand by the skull and walked over to the stairs, getting his card out. "It's nearly six in the morning. I assumed you would still be sleeping." He didn't sound like he was upset, or even particularly confused; just slightly curious, but matter-of-fact.

The floppy-haired graduate scanned his card and when the light on the panel turned green I stepped up the platform stairs next to him, feeling the eyes of one of the security guards leave my back. "I didn't sleep to begin with," I answered. Hence the tiredness. "Kenton stuck me in Angela's office and when I didn't relax he took me out of the lab to the tourist part of the Jeffersonian, to the cafeteria. Booth got back an hour ago and apparently it took him as long to get over his paranoia."

"They're just trying to keep you safe." Zach gave me a long look with the sweet puppy eyes before he walked with me back over to the male skeleton on the exam table across from the girl.

I didn't meet his eyes as I looked away, moving over to the steel cart of instruments. I mimicked Brennan's earlier fluid motions, spearing the back of a cotton ball with a sinus probe and then dipping it in saline before dragging the cart in between the two exam tables. Since Zach was already working on Cugini, I might as well get a start on the murdered girl from the warehouse.

"I know," I admitted after a long moment. "But after so long without people trying to protect you, you can't help but second-guess motives and actions." I saw him look up from me, pausing, before resuming the task of sterilizing the shattered cranium where the bullet had hit. "It's not a big deal. Forget I said anything," I muttered, very carefully pressing the cotton swab against the ridge of the supraorbital foramen. Already I could tell that once I cleaned up, this would be one of those cases - well, skulls, I suppose - where they actually look worse once they're taken care of.

The majority of the cranium didn't look too gut-wrenchingly awful, although if Angela could get a face out of the damage and strain done by the dogs' teeth, then she deserved a freaking medal. The mandible made me wince when I looked at it, surveying it analytically and forcing myself to think of it as simply a bone - not the jaw of a once-living girl roughly my age - because it had been strained by the mandibular notch and ramus. I tried to imagine what could have caused that. She'd probably had a ball gag stuffed in her mouth so that she couldn't scream.

The orbits were another thing entirely. Whatever had been used was so sickeningly careless that the bone was chipped and ragged, going from just inside the orbital frame and down to the zygomatic in some places. We didn't know cause of death for sure, but damn, I really hope she was already dead before she had her eyes hacked out of her skull.

I stopped and set the sinus probe down on the cart, leaning slightly over the edge of the cart and taking several deep breaths to calm my uneasy stomach. I was thinking too much. I can deal with a lot of crazy things, as I believe I've aptly demonstrated, but… Jesus Christ. No one deserved that kind of brutal, horror-movie treatment, even if they were dead first, forget about being alive in the process. It was worse than any of the movie deaths in the slasher flicks like Saw or Child's Play.

She'd been abducted somehow, bound and gagged and forced into a warehouse with snapping feral dogs with a taste for meat, had her bones strained and worn and muscles pulled as she hung from a chain attached to the ceiling, knees forced forward and bent, back slumped, shoulders straining with her own weight, been slashed up, had her eyes carved out, and then been fed to dogs. Not even Criminal Minds had much over that.

My stomach stopped twisting around after a few seconds and I straightened up, swallowed, and tried to pretend that it didn't happen, picking up the tools again. As I returned to clean the blood and whatever the hell else had gotten into the cracks in the bones, I noticed a barely visible tremor in my hand. I glared at my hands and squeezed my hands into fists before going back to the job.

"You know we're all worried about you." The sudden sound broke the collegial silence and my fingers tightened around the handle of the probe. Zach didn't seem deterred in the least, merely continuing to work. Then again, it was his voice, so I doubt it startled him that much. "You've been acting differently lately."

I frowned. I hadn't actually noticed that - aside from that I was becoming more protective and maybe a bit more… I don't know… affectionate? I mean, I was pretty buddy-buddy with the boys during the "Woodchipper Debacle," as I'd mentally dubbed it.

"How so?"

"You've been different since you saved that kid." I grimaced slightly at the mention of Donovan Decker. I have nothing against the child, and given the choice I'd go back and do it all again, because even with my whole "no-touch-no-involvement" attitude, the stress of the case and the massacre (because there really was no other word for it), one of the most rewarding things I'd ever experienced in my life was gathering Donovan up in my arms and letting him curl up against my chest, hiding his face in my neck and trusting me while taking him back to someone who loved him. "You've taken bigger risks more frequently when you think there's something to be gained, but when it's not about a case, you don't seem to be talking as much."

I blinked and straightened my back, setting the probe down again with a gentle clicking noise. I couldn't work and have this serious conversation at the same time, especially not with someone like Zach, with whom I have to be clear about my points or risk confusing him or hurting his feelings. But they were right. After being part of that bloodbath, I'd then done something reckless in every case - nearly getting killed twice, risking my standing with the Jeffersonian once. And what was really staggering - aside from that they cared enough to notice those little things like my speaking habits - was that Zach was the first person to talk to me about it. I would have thought Angela or Booth would have before any of the others, but the only reason I could think of that they wouldn't is because they knew I wouldn't like it.

And maybe in a way they're right. I probably wouldn't be as forward with them as I was reluctantly willing to be with Zach.

I wanted to say it's complicated but that was pretty much a given, and it was more dismissive and rude than Zach's gentle concern warranted, especially since he was telling me as a friend, merely stating a fact, rather than pressing for information. Instead I frowned down at the mutilated skull smiling eerily up at me.

"You weren't there, Zach," I said softly, feeling the irritating itch of saltwater rising up in my eyes. I blinked several times and forced myself to sort of detach from it so I didn't start crying. Showing vulnerability or instability was the last thing I needed to do. While I didn't have the resources to lock Brennan in a castle far away from all men I didn't like, Booth probably did have the resources to lock me in a safe house far away from anyone but five to ten select people. "It was awful. I went in thinking that we'd get the kid and maybe one or two of the mercenaries would get killed, because, you know, it was a raid, right?" My voice faltered slightly. "Only one of them survived and that was only because I maimed him myself. The SWAT team was shooting to kill." I didn't add that Booth had probably been shooting vital areas, too, because admitting that to myself was risking shaking me further. "I stabbed one of them myself and then the boy barely even trusted me. He was afraid of me and he had good reason to be. I lost count of how many corpses were carried out."

"I didn't realize it was that bad." When I lifted my head to look at Zach through my fringe, he had stopped working on his skeleton and had tipped his head to me, listening intently. "It must have been even worse because you weren't mentally prepared for it."

I nodded tensely. "So since then I guess I just realized how bad humanity really is. It's crazy, I know, because you'd think I'd have already figured it out." I rolled my eyes at myself. "Honestly?" My voice cracked slightly. "I've barely been sleeping since. I've been working more at the bar and I've taken up skateboarding in the time when I can't work."

"Have you considered seeing someone? To help you sleep, if nothing else?" The sweet concern was endearing.

I sighed and shook my head decisively. "I don't like psychologists and I try to avoid doctors." I keep up with my shots and whatnot, but other than that, I like to keep excess bills away. The last time I went to the doctor's was actually last year when I'd had a particularly nasty virus that hung around, and Aaron had literally dragged me out of my bed and into his car. I avoided his eyes as I looked down again. "Can we please stop talking about it now?"

Zach hesitated and I wondered if he was trying to figure out what Angela or Hodgins would say in reply before he settled for what he thought was best. "Yes, of course. I'm sorry if I bothered you."

I shook my head slightly in amazement. He just listened to me whine about my life and now he's saying sorry?! "It's really not an issue, Zacky."

I decided then that I liked how the unintentional nickname sounded and how easy it was to say without thinking and then decided that if Zach didn't object, then that's what I'd call him every now and then.

Zach and I knocked on the doorframe at Brennan's office in nearly a mirror image of each other, our heads tilted at the anthropologist and one hand still dragging along the frame. The scientist looked up from her computer, her eyes widening in surprise. I suspected she'd been nodding off while looking at the monitor.

"We've cleaned the bones, Dr. Brennan," Zach explained without making her question our presence. He sighed softly. "You could eat off of them," he told her with a slight wince at the reminder of the extra hour we'd spent after the heart-to-heart that now made my ears and cheeks burn when I thought about it. I really must be more tired than I thought to spill my feelings like that.

I frowned and stuck my tongue out in disgust in response to Zach's comment. "But really… please don't."

"Hey." Angela's light but serious voice made me slink further into the room to give her room to walk through the doorway, holding a laminated picture close to her chest. She set it gently on Brennan's desk. "The victim was Penny Hamilton, nineteen. She was a student at American who disappeared walking back to her dorm." I stepped further in to see both women's expressions. Brennan looked at the photo sadly and Angela's frown was pronounced like she was already grieving for the life lost. "She was about to go to Haiti to work at a medical clinic."

I looked at the picture of the bright-eyed, dark-haired, green-eyed college girl beaming at the camera with a blue-grey backdrop. It must have been a school ID photo. She had a light splattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks and the makeup she wore looked nearly natural and warm.

I sighed, looking away from the picture. No one deserved to die the way that she had. "Booth is going to think her death was his fault," I stated quietly, scuffing my shoe on the carpet in a temporary fit of frustration. The man was really a great guy but he seemed to take things personally when there was nothing he could have done.

"He knew her?" Angela looked surprised but even more distressed.

I shook my head, soothing the worry that had grown in her eyes before she went after Booth to mother him, too. "But the killer has done this before. He didn't leave enough evidence for Booth to make a solid case against him, so he walked."

Angela nodded slightly in understanding. "Where is Booth, anyway? I thought he wasn't going to let his partners out of his sight." The casual lilt and slightly joking tone was too forced and I realized she was trying to lighten the mood. It's okay for her to be upset but she can't be okay with all of us being quiet and depressed.

"He got the official positive ID on Cugini," Brennan informed. "He's out calling it in to Kenton."

Angela smirked and she pushed herself up on the edge of Brennan's desk, her hair falling over her shoulders as she looked down at her best friend. "So, how do you like David?" She was thirsting for anything to take her mind off of the brutal murder. "It's not often you can interrogate a guy on a first date."

"I like him," Brennan admitted with a grin. "Booth… still doesn't approve." I saw how her smile faltered for a moment before she recovered. "But I told him to mind his own business."

Angela gave Brennan an "are-you-serious" stare before she realized that Brennan was completely serious, and she changed how she was dealing with it, instead smirking slightly. "Hey. Booth is a big, strong, hot guy who wants to save your life." She raised her arms slightly up for emphasis. "I mean, you actually have a knight in shining, FBI standard-issue body armor!" She let her hands fall back to her lap and gave Brennan a fond, if exasperated, smile. "So cut him some slack."

The office was decidedly less roomy as it gained more and more occupants, the ranks swelling further as Booth pocketed his phone and stepped into the dimly-lit room, bypassing Zach without so much as a nudge of the shoulder. So he's still doing that "guy thing" excuse. "Kenton heard the Romanos were pissed that they were reopening the investigation," he shared with a slightly grim expression. "They get pissed, they shoot." His eyes landed on the picture of the smiling, beautiful college girl. "Is this her?" Something unidentifiable was in his voice and it made me look away, not liking how he sounded subdued, sad, even slightly guilty.

Brennan seemed to hear it, too, because her lips tightened into a thinner line as she nodded. "Yeah." She stood up abruptly, reaching to a little cardboard box of latex gloves and pulling a set out. "Let's go see the bones now that they're clean," she suggested, walking around Angela, who turned to watch her with a sad smile.

Zach followed his boss to the platform and our little parade took a minute to get all up, Angela and Brennan both needing to scan their cards to prevent the system from going off. I walked up just behind Booth. I wanted to stay near him, just in case he started getting too worked up, and it's not like he'd complain that I'm finally staying within range after hours of arguing against it.

"Nice work, you two," Brennan praised, smiling in satisfaction at Cugini's cleaned bullet wound. Zach, who stood across the table from her, visibly relaxed, shoulders slumping forward in relief. Does she realize how much he idolizes her? "You can see some of the markings left on the bone where the bullet passed through!"

"I can?" Booth leaned over the side of the table, squinting curiously at the cranium.

Brennan raised her eyebrows at Booth but motioned to what she'd actually been talking about - a magnified image being streamed to the monitor at the foot of the table. "Yes," she confirmed, reaching out by the screen. "Here and here, on the outer compact brow." She looked hopefully to Angela. "Do you think you could use a computer to recreate the complete imprint the bullet left?"

Angela surveyed the image skeptically. "I don't know if I have enough here to work with," she said uncertainly.

"What are you getting at?" Booth asked. Apparently, he did know that what Brennan asked wasn't the common practice.

"Well, after it's discharged, every bullet has a distinct pattern etched into it from the barrel of the gun, right?" A slow, proud smile started to tug at Brennan's lips and she maximized the monitor to a different page, one with fired bullets magnified in solo pictures with the names of the guns they'd been fired from written underneath in plain font. "That same pattern would be etched into the bone as it passes through. If we can recover that pattern, we can reverse engineer the bullet."

Booth smiled at her, enthused and praising. "Then you'd be able to tell which weapon was used, its make, model - the whole shebang," he finished.

Zach looked over at me in question. I just shrugged. Although I had never heard of the theory before, when it was explained it made a lot of sense. There would have to be a variable of error, but reverse engineering the bullet would make it easier to pinpoint the weapon, and therefore eliminate suspects.

"I've never heard of that technique," Zach called out.

Brennan reached to the hem of her shirt, pulling it down over the belt loops in her pants, slightly embarrassed at having been called out but mostly proud. "It's a theory I've been working on," she admitted. "I thought this would be a good time to test it."

"Great, knock yourself out," Booth encouraged before swinging his head around to me. "Did you find anything more about the girl?"

I hesitated. "It's not very nice," I cautioned.

Angela sighed deeply. "It never is, sweetie."

I tipped my head to acknowledge the truth in that statement before I continued. "The injuries that don't appear to be made by dogs were made by some sort of smooth-edged blade. There was a nick on the fifth cervical vertebrae that makes me think her throat was slashed." Oh, yes, the bones definitely looked worse clean.

I reached behind me to my back pocket and slipped my pocketknife out with only a second of pause. The security guards would see it as a weapon, but I was Booth's charge and he was here, and besides that, everyone in this place seems to think, "hey, she's cool." I depressed the switch and the blade snapped out. My pocketknife was one of the better quality ones that are sold in sporting goods. I got in the habit of buying the more heavy-duty ones when I moved to Chicago with another foster home and lived in a not-very-nice neighborhood. It was painted an auburn, almost red color with a golden five-point star in the center of one side, a matching yellow circle painted around it. It fit nicely in my hand, the handle just barely longer than my palm, and the blade was about as long.

"I can't prove it, but I think the knife was something like this." I held it by the handle and turned the blade so Brennan could see the smooth, razor-sharp edge. "Given that she was female, she probably didn't have a very large frame even before the dogs got to her. The blade is long enough to have hit bone depending on force and angle, and it's about the right size for the grooves I found. It would be easy to handle and control because it's so small."

"You carry that everywhere?" Angela asked me, eyeing the knife in my hands.

I could tell by the way she shifted and her tone that seeing me with something like that was unnerving her, so I pressed my thumb along the duller edge of the knife and pressed it back into the handle before pocketing it. "Yeah, generally." I shrugged. "That riot in the club? I kept them from attacking because I had this. It's how Ted McGruder got me to comply to being bound."

Angela didn't look like that made her feel any better, so I shut my mouth and cast her an apologetic half-smile that didn't reach my eyes.

"What about her eyes?" Booth asked, cringing slightly when he asked. I could entirely relate.

I shook my head. "No. Unless the killer went out of his way to chip the bone randomly, then it wasn't any knife that I've ever seen." It kind of went without saying that I'd seen a lot of knives. "Zach isn't sure what made those, and he's the weapons expert."

Booth clapped his hands together and reached out to set one hand on Brennan's shoulder in a gentle motion to move. "I'm going to overlook the knife," he told me. Since he was an FBI agent and I had an unlicensed concealed weapon, I knew it was a favor, so I attempted a smile. "Let's go."

"What?" My smile fell. "Where are we going?"

"Kenton is putting together everything he's got on Cugini's disappearance," Booth answered. Although it wasn't a direct answer, I knew what it meant. Kenton might have something. I want to check it out. Kenton's not here so you have to stick with me anyway. I supposed at least I would get to see the files, too. I mean, it's not like other things, when they'd be perfectly within rights to keep me from reading FBI files. This time, I have a right to see whatever the scrounged up, because my life was already being threatened.

"I'm… probably more valuable here," Brennan objected, although judging by her momentary hesitation, I could tell she was recalling the last time she'd tried to shy too far away from Booth and how epically she'd lost that argument.

"No," Booth countered immediately. "You're definitely more valuable alive. Alright? I'm not leaving you alone, so come on."

Zach's eyebrows pulled down and he frowned, trying to decide how to interpret that, before alarm dawned on his face. "If it's so dangerous here, why are you leaving us?"

Booth punched Zach's arm with deliberate force but shrugged it off with a smile and a borderline mocking comment to make it seem more like a friendly jab than anything. "Big, strong guy like you? You'll be able to take care of yourself."

Zach grimaces and his mouth opened, but stopped himself before he exclaimed something along the lines of "that hurt." "Ahh…" he sighed.

I couldn't resist taking a parting tease at Zach, so I smirked. "Big, strong guy or not, I could totally take you to the floor."