Disclaimer: I do not own Bones.

Warnings: Mentions of abuse

"Those kids couldn't have done this."

"Oh, my God!" exclaimed Angela as she bounded up the forensic platform, swiping her card along the way. "Did I just hear that correctly?"

Wendell grinned, and reassured her, "Yes, you did. Neither one of them is tall enough to have thrown the ball that caused his stroke and ultimately killed them," then Cam butted in, "Of course, we'll have you run some scenarios with the kids standing on different objects in the room just to be sure, but we're fairly confident in our results here."

"I am so glad to hear that! I never thought, even for a second, those little kids did something as awful as this. We have to tell Brennan!" Angela gushed excitedly, before her smile was cleanly swept away by the news that Brennan had been removed from the case.

"Well, fine," the artist finally said, with determination gracing her petite features. "I'll go work on proving it wasn't them. With that, she turned on her heel and ambled down the steps and into her office. Once inside, she pulled out her phone to tell Booth she would be needing the heights of all the objects in the boys' room, then snapped it shut to begin her scenarios with the crime scene photos she already had.

Across the city at the Hoover building, Booth quickly set to work rounding up FBI techs to head to the Gregory's home to take more detailed photos and measurements for Angela, but decided it may be best for him to accompany them there. Without Bones being allowed to do her regular fieldwork, and with the kids who were staying in his home now being nearly taken off the suspect list, he felt a personal responsibility to make sure things were done absolutely right on this case. With his decision made, the agent left the building right behind his techs.

Unaware of the newfound discovery and beginning to go stir-crazy from the lack of work, Bones paced her office, unsure of what to do. The amount of online shopping she'd done would require less-fortunate families to take out a second mortgage, her scientific research bored her when she knew she couldn't apply it to this case, and she was beginning to wear tracks in the carpeting she'd been stomping on for nearly an hour. Still, despite the restraints placed on her, she knew she wanted to help the boys in any capacity she could, so she returned to her seat at the computer to research methods for healing abused children (unfortunately, one of the only answers being therapy,) but thankfully, the other option being to provide support, love, and security. So, with her mind perhaps not in its sharpest state, she vowed to do just that and searched for adoption practices in Washington, D.C.

Everybody on (and off) the case seemed to be buzzing with a frantic air, knowing that each piece of their puzzle put in place would work towards finally ending James and Lance's connection with the Gregory family for good. However, the two people who mattered most in this case were nowhere to be found, with no updates given to them, with nobody having any clue of what they were doing: James and Lance themselves.

The FBI techs, followed by Booth, were finally arriving on scene and entered the house with no resistance, seeing as both the Gregory's were being held in custody. The techs quickly swept up the steps towards Chase's room and the foster boys' closet, and took enough photos of the room to rival the average day of the paparazzi. Booth, however, slipped into the closet where the two children his wife had fallen in love with had been held captive. Despite the presence of law enforcement workers being right outside the door, this little prison still had a haunting aura about it. The inside doorknob and surrounding area was dressed in scratches, and the carpeting in the corner as far away as possible from where James and Lance were found was stained and gave off a foul odor – a strong, however frightening indication the boys had not even been let out even to use the restroom. Despite the stench, Booth took a deep breath and felt a couple of tears stinging in his eyes when he noted the empty deli meat container James had told him about, and saw the expiration date was set for two days before the murder had occurred – meaning they'd been so hungry they'd chosen to be stuffed in a closet the size of a handicapped bathroom stall just for a couple of pieces of rotting turkey. Looking past that, he found a ratty, blue blanket with blood staining (which would, of course, be sent to the lab to test who it came from,) but despite his lack of forensic training and with the knowledge that Chase's fatal injury would have caused internal bleeding as opposed to external, Booth was nearly certain the results would confirm that this blood would be that of James and Lance. Having seen enough, Booth finally called in a tech to bag the evidence he found – even if it couldn't be used to solve the murder, it could be used to put James and Lance's abusers away – and when the tech lifted the blanket, that's when they both spotted it: a baseball, covered in the signatures the entire New York Yankees team. Not only did the ball have an incredible monetary value, but now it had an even more important value – it could be responsible for putting a murderer away for good. His tech put it away to be properly catalogued, and having collected all the remaining evidence and measurements from both the closet and the room, the FBI team moved out.

Within moments of them leaving the crime scene, Angela's inbox was flooded with new photos, precise measurements, and hope: Thus far, none of the objects in the room, ranging from the desk, to the chair, to the bed, could have fit the scenario when either James or Lance were placed on top of them. Unfortunately, as she continued onto their other two most likely suspects – Hazel and Ricky Gregory – she quickly found that there was also no feasible way that they could have killed their own son either, as in every application she ran, Ricky was too tall and Hazel the opposite. Now somewhat discouraged that all of their leads had failed, Angela called Booth with the news then retreated to her desk and sank down in her seat, studying her recreations of the murder and trying to figure out where they'd failed.

Despite the fact that Booth and Angela were feeling rather let down, Hodgins was teeming with excitement in his lab. After the new forensic evidence was delivered to him, he set to work first on the baseball, and found traces of an acrylic substance and nail polish on the ball – most likely caused by acrylic nails, which reduced their suspect pool to only women. Still, though, Hazel had been the only female suspect and had since been taken off the list, so they seemed to be back at square one. Desperate and unsure of what else to do, Booth decided to call in James and Lance for one more round of questioning. Although weak, it seemed like their best lead was a teenage girl, perhaps Chase's girlfriend, who may have become angry with Chase during a fight and thrown the ball without the intention of killing him. Hopefully, these two would know something about a girl Chase was seeing.

There was one problem, though: Nobody had seen James or Lance since that morning, and nobody had even realized they'd been missing. Worriedly, Booth pulled out his phone and dialed Bones, who answered before the first ring had even completed.

"What? Is there any update?" she begged, then heard a sigh on the other line.

"Bones, have you seen James or Lance?"

"Did you lose them?"

"No, Bones, I did not lose them. I just don't know where they are."

And the line went dead.

Booth ran his hands through his hair, then stormed out of his office. Within minutes, he had every FBI intern's priority set to searching for James and Lance, and both he and said interns had the entire building covered. With no sign of them, Booth hit the road, deciding to go see if they'd tried to go back to their new home.

Meanwhile, Brennan had called in all of her interns and they'd been all over the Jeffersonian, but had also come up with nothing. Not sure of why the boys would have run – their questioning that morning hadn't been overly distressing – Brennan grabbed her keys and headed out of the Jeffersonian, choosing to set her GPS to the children's center they had previously stayed in. Who knows – maybe they had returned to find their social worker? While it didn't seem likely they'd decide to run back there, it was the best she could think of.

Of course, neither Booth nor Brennan found them in either place.

Then, they thought, "Where would I have gone?"

"I was a lot like Lance… what would I have done?"

"I was a lot like James… what would I have done?"

What neither Booth nor Brennan knew was how much they were like each other.

"Quiet, intelligent, shy, scared, studious…"

"Strong, smart, caring, protecting…"

And that's how both Brennan's crossover and Booth's SUV ended up at the Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial Library. Barely acknowledging each other, both hurried inside and, to the uptight librarian's dismay, flashed their credentials then scoured the library, beginning with the children's section and working their way around the building until they found them in the American History books, both on a soft, burgundy couch, Lance quietly reading a World War II memoir and surprisingly, James curled up on his side, head on Lance's lap, asleep. Despite the brave, protective front he put on most of the time, when sleeping, James looked just as young as the little boy he dedicated himself to caring for. With his skinny frame, edgy jaw, bruised face, and relaxed eyelids, he finally was allowed to be just what he was: An exhausted child.

Quietly, Booth and Brennan walked around to the opposite side of the coffee table at which the boys were sitting.

So as not to scare him, Brennan asked gently, "Lance?" Having not even noticed them yet, his head popped up and he nearly dropped his book, then caught his wild actions when he seemed to remember James was still asleep on his lap. He stilled immediately, then once sure James would remain asleep, he stared back at Booth and Brennan.

"Hey, buddy," Booth began, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He appeared to be speaking quite honestly.

"Then why'd you run? Did something happen?"

"No."

"Well then… why?"

Lance gestured to his lap so as to say, 'duh.' Booth, still confused, just scrunched up his face in response.

Having realized he may have been a tad disrespectful and not wanting to learn the consequences of that, Lance sucked in a deep breath and responded more plainly, "Look at him. He's so tired. It's quiet here."

Both husband and wife immediately understood his point. Booth remembered being the protector in his family – of himself, his mom, and Jared – and wishing so hard sometimes for some peace and quiet. When his mother went to work or his brother was at football practice, he himself would run off to the school's playground when it was deserted after school, or to the baseball dugouts after games. Brennan herself had this same habit, as after bad days with foster parents, she was known to escape to half-price bookstores to look at thrift titles she still couldn't afford.

"Listen, Lance, there was a development made in your case today," Booth opened, and earned a hard look from Dr. Brennan. "You two are no longer suspects. Your alibi checked out, and there's no way either of you could have created the injury that killed Chase. We know you didn't do it."

Lance seemed to visibly relax at his words, and even gave a small smile to the sleeping figure below him. Then, though, he looked back at Booth and studied the older man's features.

"But what?"

Booth breathed out heavily. Of course, Lance would know there was still a string attached. So, he decided to come out with it, not to beat around the bush. "Well… we still need you guys for one more round of questions."

"Why? We didn't do it. We don't know anything."

"Because, we think you guys would be the best ones to possibly know about a new lead we have. You guys could help us solve the murder. We need you," Booth spoke persuasively in a calm, soothing voice, and it worked – Lance relented, but asked, "Could we wait until he wakes up? Please? He's so tired."

"Here, Lance," Booth put a hand on James' shoulder, and the other under his knees, then noticed Lance tense up. He dropped his hands immediately, suddenly remembering what Bones had revealed in the interrogation room that Lance had been through with the last adult male in his life. "Lance," he tried again, despite the wary look in the little boy's eye, "I don't want that from either of you. I just want to carry your big brother back, so he won't wake up, so you won't have to worry. Let me take care of you both. You're both what matters."

Lance's features were subdued and downcast, and he didn't even look up when he whispered tearfully, "But he took care of me. It's my turn to take care of him, not yours."

Brennan interjected here, "Lance, it's okay to want to take care of your brother. But the best way for you to do that right now is to let us help you two. Let Booth, okay?"

Lance nodded and leaned back into the couch cushions, but still took in a sharp, shuddering intake of air when Booth replaced his hands under James' back and legs. However, Lance's anxiety dissipated when he saw how gently the agent cradled his big brother in his strong arms. He looked and acted like he was holding a baby the way he shushed James' whimper, and then carefully beckoned Lance to follow him. With that, all four exited the library and retreated to Booth's car where Brennan left them, knowing full well and uncharacteristically understanding that she wouldn't be able to accompany them to the interrogation room. She retreated to her own vehicle and started the drive back to the Jeffersonian, all the while consumed with the comforting thought of her husband's strength, patience, and love of the two boys who've made themselves such an important part of her life so quickly.

In the FBI issued vehicle heading the opposite way, James was still napping soundly, Lance watching over him carefully, and Booth on the phone with Beth to inform her that she would be needed at the Bureau one last time. She promised to head their way immediately, and Booth hung up the phone, grateful that their social worker was being so cooperative as opposed to defensive. He'd dealt with enough social workers and court-appointed lawyers in his time to know that some of them were so difficult to work with they'd earned an obstruction of justice charge, so Beth was a welcome change in his usual routine. With the work of this ride done, Booth now focused his attention on the little guy sitting pensively in his backseat.

"Lance," he said, then continued once the curly-headed kid looked up, "You know, that was a brave thing you did to take James somewhere you could take care of him. I'm proud of you for being there for him." Lance just grunted and shrugged his shoulders.

Booth, slightly discouraged, continued on anyway. "And I know that, uh, you want to take care of him like he has for you. I haven't talked to either of you enough yet to know what all you've been through… but your bond is so obvious. You're each other's rock, and that's really admirable. You both took hits – literal and metaphorical – for each other. There are blood brothers who don't do things like that for one another. So, I guess what I'm saying is that… you should just know, you've done as much for him as he has for you."

The eleven-year-old was silent again save for a sniffle that escaped his nose. Booth inwardly groaned as he upset the kid yet again, but was surprised when Lance croaked out, "You really mean that?"

"Yeah, buddy, I do. I know it'll to take you awhile to believe me, but I do. But just as importantly, and I know that it'll take you awhile to believe this, too, but just know that that's not necessary anymore. You don't have to be, um, abused for each other ever again. I know it must be scary coming to stay with us, we're people you don't know and have no reason to trust, but I promise you're never going to have to feel so afraid and lonely again." Booth's sentences were choppy but the words in them were sincere. He never wanted James and Lance to have to feel the way they'd spent the entirety of their combined 24 years again.

Throughout Booth's whole speech, Lance had sat solemnly in his seat, trying to absorb everything this strange, new man had told him – and ultimately believing him. The entire situation thus far had been incredibly overwhelming, but had made him feel safer and more loved than he had in months, perhaps year. A few tears slid out of his eyes, and unbeknownst to him, the same happened to James, who'd woken up sometime in the middle of Lance and Booth's conversation.

Before either boy could respond to Booth, the car stopped as they'd arrived at the Hoover. After Lance "woke up" James, who faked a sleepy yawn and a groggy "where are we?" the pair followed their new, less threatening foster father back into the interrogation room, where they met a chipper Beth. She gave both boys a friendly grin and a kiss on the cheek before taking a seat at the table in between them – weird, she normally sat on Lance's left side, with him in the middle and James on the far right. Beth asked the kids how they were doing, commented on the lethargy that had snuck into James' appearance – "good morning, sleepyhead!" – and then snaked her arms around the kids' shoulders to hug them close one more time before the questions started.

That was when Booth noticed it.

Unnaturally long, pink nails decorated her agile fingers.

"Excuse me, Beth, kids, I need to make a call."

He exited the interrogation room and pulled out his phone, dialing the number of one person he could trust to tell him all he needed to know about acrylic nails: Angela Montenegro. Once she received the call, she was at the Hoover within minutes – shocked at who their killer was, grateful for the fact that she, a mere artist, would be the one to help Booth make his arrest today. She walked confidently through the door Booth held open for her that led into the interrogation room, and waved a sweet hello to the boys and stuck out her hand to greet Beth.

"Hello," she crooned pleasantly, "It's so nice to meet you. My name is Angela, and I'm an artist with the Jeffersonian and FBI. I'm here to draw a sketch of anyone that the boys may be able to describe to me." Angela clasped Beth's hand in her own, and exclaimed, "Oh! How beautiful your nails are! I love them," and Beth responded with a warm thank you.

"Huh," Angela stopped, "it looks like they need filled, though. The polish starts a quarter of the way up your nail! It's almost like you got them done… what, about two and a half weeks ago?"

Beth had no idea what Angela was implying, but just shrugged and said, "Oh, I suppose that's about it. It's probably time for a trip to my nail salon." She giggled, but stopped when she saw Angela's look grow accusing.

"I think so too. Man, it's been awhile since these have been done! Maybe since just a couple of hours before you murdered Chase Gregory?"

Both boys looked horrified, and they stared at their advocate with wide eyes. Booth called to have both children ushered out, but when the agent came to do so within seconds, James began to cry and holler at Beth.

"You… you promised you were here to protect us! To take care of us and all your other kids but, but you were no better than that family was! You killed Chase, he didn't do anything to you! Look at what you did!" he wailed as he gestured to him and Lance, who'd now lost the only person who'd consistently cared for them, even though she'd failed sometimes, over the last few years. The agent took both kids gently out of the room, and the door slammed shut behind them.

Beth opened her mouth in immediate protest, but Booth just held up a hand. "Beth, save it. There were traces of an acrylic powder and nail polish found on the ball that killed Chase, and one call to your regular salon will prove that you had a nail appointment early on the day that you murdered Chase. This will go a lot better for you if you just cooperate and confess what we know you did."

Likely out of desperation, she began the line Booth had heard so many times throughout his career. "It was an accident!"

Angela interrupted dryly, using finger quotes to drive her point home, "You know, I, for one, would like to know why everyone who says it was 'just an accident' doesn't just call the cops right after they 'accidentally' kill someone? I mean, you've got a chance to save the person and maybe even your name, but instead, you all just drag the body to the woods and say you 'panicked.' It makes no sense."

"No," Beth was begging now, "It really was an accident! Listen, I, I haven't been a social worker for that long. And I've obviously failed. But before these boys, I've never had an abuse case before. And when they showed the signs, instead of telling someone who could handle the situation better than I could, I just went into mama bear mode and thought I could stop the abuse myself. So, listen, I went over to the Gregory's house to talk to James and Lance about exactly what was happening and to confront Hazel and Ricky. But neither of the adults were there, and James and Lance were nowhere to be found, but Chase was. And I know it was wrong, but I confronted him, even though yes, I know, he's just a child, too. But he wasn't being abused, and when I asked him what was going on, he confessed that he knew his parents were abusing the foster kids but didn't tell anyone and didn't try to stop it – God, he was just a scared kid, he didn't know what to do – I just got so angry that he was unscathed and that my kids were being hurt. I-I blacked out for a second, really, and in that second, I just grabbed the baseball sitting in one of those souvenir stands off his dresser, and I threw it, and I didn't mean to hit him. But it did, it hit him square on and he just dropped."

Voice hard and emotionless, Booth asked, "And how did he get to the forest, then?"

Beth was crying and shaking as she looked up to answer him. "I panicked," she finally admitted.

Having finally got his full confession, Booth took Angela by the hand and said, "Well, I think we got all we needed to here," and he felt guilty, because she was young, and inexperienced, and sorry, but he added anyway, "I hope you know you failed three children today. Just by being in that environment, Chase was experiencing mental abuse you could never understand. He needed out, too."

Sorry about the delay – I have been on vacation and working, but hope to be back on a predictable schedule with the next chapter. Please leave thoughtful reviews – they are so motivating and really make me want to write.

I have big plans for these boys – expect a rather long story. See you soon!