It was almost 2AM when Brennan finally made it back to her apartment. They'd given her some pain medication at the ER that had made movement tolerable albeit still unpleasant. Danny and his friends hadn't left her side. She wasn't left alone with the doctors or nurses once. Every time she tried they flashed a badge and said she was involved in a criminal incident and couldn't be left alone.

Other cops came by to see Danny, eventually an unmarked car bringing them back to her apartment.

In a brief moment of clarity, she realized that whether it was ahead injury or the pain medication or the confusion over the absurdity of the situation, she had become compliant, and she hated herself for it.

He took a chair from her dining room table and set it in the middle of an open space, bringing her to the chair and putting her in it.

"At least half a dozen cops saw you tonight, Tempe, and they'll all back me up." He took out his phone and started to swipe through pictures, stopping on each one to put the phone in front of her face. "We have pictures of you at the accident. Pictures of how you wrecked my car. Pictures of you in the back of a police cruiser. You had a few too many, and got behind the wheel of my truck and wrecked it."

"I absolutely did not," she protested.

"You did if I say you did," he informed her.

"It won't even take twenty four hours to bring it all crashing down on you. You know that right? Your whole life. Everything you do is based on your reputation. Maybe it's a story about a drinking problem. Then a whisper about a drunk driving incident. And then suddenly they'll question your judgement." He taunted her. "Then maybe the publisher wants an author with fewer scandals. Then the Jeffersonian can't use you as an expert witness. Then the cases you worked get opened on appeals where people wonder if you were drunk while you worked their case."

She sound of his voice was actually making her want to vomit. He circled her like a predator while she sat in the chair not knowing how to respond. Maybe she and her team could refute his version of the story. If not, maybe she could survive the scandal. Maybe it wouldn't be as bad as he said, but he read her expression and had an answer for her.

"And I can see the wheels turning in your head. If you won't do it for yourself, then maybe think about Booth – because once they start overturning your cases what do you think happens to him? Oh, I mean, people will feel bad for him and all, about how your vices ruined his career, but it won't change the facts. Eventually, he'll be reduced to some sad desk jockey or just let go. How long do you think he lasts after that? The drinking will start pretty soon, and once that happens he'll be gambling again. And when he loses it all and he can't face his little boy maybe he puts his FBI issue sidearm in his mouth to see what a bullet tastes like."

The pain and the drugs and the exhaustion left Brennan with low defenses, and she fought back tears as she thought of Booth losing everything. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"All you have to do to stop it is to stay away from Booth. No more cases. No more diner. No more drinks. Just stay away from Booth. It will keep you safe. It will keep him safe."

"He's my partner," she reminded him.

"Then stop being his partner."

"He isn't just going to accept that."

"Then make him." He came to stop in front of her and looked her square in the eye. "But don't you dare tell him why."

"He's been your friend for ten years. I don't understand."

"You don't have to understand. You have to comply. Comply and remember I'm more dangerous than anyone you've ever come up against, and if you cross me I'll destroy you. Do you believe me, Temperance?"

She nodded her head yes.

"Good girl."

And with that he left her alone in her apartment.

Friday was a lost cause. Brennan called in sick since there was no good way to describe what had happened until she figured out what to do next. She said she was under the weather and was going to spend the day writing at home. Cam didn't question it, just told her to take care of herself and that she would see her next week. Booth was busy working and had Parker coming that afternoon, which would keep him busy through the weekend.

The pain on Friday night was bad. She took painkillers because there was no other way she would get any rest, and to wrap her mind around a way forward she needed a plan. And to think clearly, she needed sleep. So she took the pills against every fiber in her being. She took the prescription as written and it knocked her out. The last week caught up with her all at once, and when Saturday morning rolled around she'd slept for ten hours, the medicine had worn off, and even thinking about moving hurt.

She took half of another painkiller and grabbed a shower hoping the hot water would help. Then she got dressed in whatever she could get on without doubling over in pain and called an Uber. It was going to be a hard day. An hour later she settled into her chair at her desk at the Jeffersonian. She needed to get her plan down on paper – that was how she organized her thoughts. It was clear that missteps were going to hurt, both her cause and her body, and she needed to minimize mistakes.

And collateral damage.

There was a lot at stake, and if McGowan followed through on his threats and Booth paid the price she would never forgiver herself. So she had a first principle that needed to guide her decisions.

Protect Booth. From fallout. Even from himself. If he found out that Danny had hurt her, he would risk anything, from his sanity to his job to his life to make it right, and she couldn't let him do that. When she had enough evidence she would figure out how to stop McGowan. For now all she could do was insulate Booth from the coming explosion.

And the corollary to that principle? That if people thought she was in trouble they would tell Booth, so she couldn't involve her friends or it would all come crashing down. She would need help, and she needed to reach out for it.

She picked up the phone and called her publisher. Janine was an unapologetically forward woman. Brennan was of two minds. On one hand Brennan found her transparency refreshing but also found her proclivity to share unwanted opinions annoying. It was also a critical time in her relationship with her publishing house. Her contract was for three books. The third book would hit the shelves in a month, and Brennan needed to make a decision on the future of the series.

Temperance didn't like change. Her agent wanted her to test the waters at other publishers, but she didn't want to. Her first choice was to bring an outline of book four to the table, sign another multi-book deal, and keep going. But she was behind on the outline and now her laptop with what little she had written was a shattered mess. And a scandal would change her bargaining position.

Brennan picked up her desk phone and dialed.

"Janine," was the curt voice on the other side.

"Good morning, Janine. It's Temperance Brennan."

The tone of the conversation changed immediately.

"Temperance. Where have you been? I've been expecting to hear back from you for days."

"Work's been busy. I apologize for the delay."

"Do you have good news for me?" Janine asked excitedly.

"Well, I need a favor, and I'm hoping that after that we can set terms for the contract and start outlining timelines for book four."

"Have you told that to your agent? We sent terms over this week. He's been insufferable."

"That's his job, Janine."

"I don't have to like it. Now, tell me about this favor."

The conversation lasted about ten minutes. Brennan was careful about her words, conveying urgency without danger. She had a security problem, and knew that the publisher had a security firm they used for personnel and site security, as well as cyber threats. She wanted the name and a contact that she could reach out to.

"How about that hunky Special Agent of yours?" Janine asked luridly.

Brennan continued. She explained that she didn't want to involve the FBI in something personal and frivolous. Janine's recommendation was actually a surprise. The security firm Never Alone hired for the Gala was Janine's company of choice, and Brennan was a little relieved that she'd already met the man who ran it. She took down the name and number to save herself the trouble of finding it, and promised to review the upcoming publicity event plan and talk to her agent.

She grabbed her desk phone again, steadied her hand and dialed the number, somehow surprised that that a person answered.

"Anthony Vanik."

"Good Morning. This is Dr. Temperance Brennan."

"Dr. Brennan. Good to hear from you. Hope you are well."

"Mr. Vanik," Brennan said with more formality then she needed. "We worked together for the Never Alone gala, and Janine McPherson says you may be able to assist me."

"Yes, Dr. Brennan. What can I do for you?"

"I have a security issue and require investigation and cyber forensics support. Janine believed you would be a good match to my need."

That was all she was prepared to say on the phone. She underscored her need for discretion. He assured her that discretion was at the core tenant of a business like his. He told her that his company was likely more than she needed, suggesting she contact a private investigator instead. She asked for a face to face conversation and promised to pay him for his time. He agreed to make himself available in the next week. She asked him to come to the Jeffersonian that afternoon. He told her that was impossible.

She paused, deciding how much evasion she could sacrifice to convey urgency.

"I'm in danger. There's a man, and he knows where I am, where I go, who I talk to, and what I text. He has injured me, and he has police helping him. I need your assistance." She hated that she sounded needy.

She was met with silence, but just as she was about to say goodbye, she heard him.

"I can be there in two hours."