AN: After an obscenely long hiatus from writing, I'm back into it, after some butt kicking from a friend because of her need for a better conclusion to season three. Spoilers for season three abound. So after a short disclaimer, away we go into the world of Bones!

Disclaimer: I own nnnnothin'

The Strangers in the Mountains

"Booth!"

The distinctive shout of Dr. Temperance Brennan sounded through the halls of the FBI and reached Seely Booth even before she made it to the door of his office. He let out a sigh, knowing the tone of her voice could mean nothing but trouble. More than three years of working with that woman had taught him that despite her outward show of control and logic, she would give her emotions away in an instant by the mere sound of her voice.

The blinds on the door rattled as Brennan thrust the door open. Booth caught the curious glances of his fellow agents peering after her before she flung the door shut behind her. His jaw set in annoyance at the thought of the impending gossip this was going to cause. Brennan marched up to his desk and shoved a piece of paper in his face, one hand placed firmly on her hip. Although it was hard to avoid looking at the paper, seeing as how it was being held less than a foot from his nose, he managed to lift his gaze to meet hers and was not surprised to find her seething. Or at least as close to seething as Temperance Brennan got in public.

"What is this?" she demanded.

"Uh, it's… I'm not - "

She snatched the paper away from him and began to read it aloud.

" 'Dear Dr. Brennan: Given your recent trauma in the field as well as in the personal confines of the Jeffersonian, it is the opinion of the Bureau that you cease field work until further notice.' Booth!" she turned her eyes on him and resumed her stance of determination, the letter once again thrust in his face. At this point, he wasn't sure what he thought was more of a danger – receiving a gash in his face from the paper wielding anthropologist, or the daggers flying from those cerulean eyes. "You authorized this! You encouraged this."

"Actually, Sweets thought - "

"You consulted Sweets on this?"

"Bones," he started, rising from his seat and walking around the side of his desk to face her properly. "You've been through a lot in the last month. Your dad, the shooting… Zach."

"I feel that I must point out that the 'trauma' from the shooting was partly your fault. You did fake your death, after all, and you made the choice to exclude me from the knowledge that you were actually alive."

"Sweets made that choice, Bones," he said emphatically, feeling himself losing his patience already.

"Aha! So the man who is consulting you on this decision is the same one who directly disobeyed your wishes for your faked death!" she said, her eyes lighting up as she stepped closer to him.

"You know, that's really not the point here," Booth quickly sidestepped her argument, trying to keep his voice even. "The point is to make sure that you're dealing with everything in a healthy manner."

He could have slapped himself for the way the young psychologist's words were making their way out of his own mouth. He forced himself to buy it in order to make sure Brennan bought it. Fat chance, he thought.

"I'm fine, Booth," Brennan delivered her patented, but sincere, line. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked him straight in the eye. "Really. This isn't necessary."

Booth regarded her for a moment before letting out a frustrated huff.

"Fine," he said, pointing a finger in her face. "But you get to explain it to Sweets during our next session. And I'm not agreeing with you, for the record."

He turned and headed back to his chair, intent on filling out some paperwork before lunch. Brennan stared at him, her mouth slightly open.

"Wha – that's it, no argument? No trying to get me to see things your way?" she asked, slightly put out. She would never admit it to anyone, but she often enjoyed it when he challenged her opinion. It provided her with the opportunity to form better arguments and reasons why she was right.

"Bones, sometimes, I've learned, it's best not to argue with you. Okay?" he said, not meeting her eyes, instead focusing on the stack of papers in front of him.

For a moment she watched him, his hand flying across the paper, filling in dates, making amendments, and providing his signature. As she studied him, she wondered why on earth he would suddenly choose this moment to relent and give her what she wanted. He never did that. A realization slowly hit her. Narrowing her eyes, she stepped forward and leaned in over his desk so that her face was only a few inches from his. It took only seconds before her proximity unnerved him and the movement of his hand slowed to a stop. Ever so reluctantly, he lifted his head to once again meet her eyes.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"You're going easy on me," she said, a hint of a smile appearing on her face, proud that she had figured him out so easily. Normally it was Booth who was able to read the hidden text in people's behavior, but for once she felt confident that she had mastered the ability. She was not always so sure about her partner's motives.

"What? No," Booth immediately denied the accusation, dropping his pen onto the desk and shoving himself away from her, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms defensively.

"You are! You feel sorry for me, so you're giving me what I want because you think it will help me cope with whatever issues you think I'm dealing with."

"Okay, first," Booth started tiredly, closing his eyes and swiping a hand over his face in annoyance. "I don't think you're dealing with issues, I know you're dealing with issues, whether you want to believe it or not. Second, I am not giving you what you want."

That stopped her, the confidence that she had had only seconds before suddenly shaken.

"What do you mean?"

This time, he could not bring himself to look at her. His leg bounced nervously beneath his desk, and he was grateful that the telltale sign was not visible to her. He couldn't afford to appear weak on this issue.

"You're still being restricted from field work… until Sweets thinks you're in a better state to return…" he trailed off, not trusting his voice to remain confident. Not that he had mustered much confidence in what he had already said. Truthfully, he hated the idea, but knew it was the best choice in the end.

Hesitantly, he brought his eyes up to study her face. It nearly broke his heart. She might not have meant to show it, but the expression she wore was crestfallen. He watched, guiltily, as her eyes dropped away from his and the anger that he knew would surface overtook any hurt she was feeling. In a rare display of temper, she crumpled the paper she was still holding and hurled it at him, turning quickly on her heel and yanking the door open. She hesitated briefly, her hand on the doorknob, and for a moment Booth thought she would turn around and rip into him with a tirade of how unfair he was being. Instead, she let her hand drop slowly and walked away. Booth swallowed the lump that was growing in his throat. At that moment, given a choice, he would have preferred she yelled at him. This was somehow a million times worse.

"He did what?"

"Put in a request that I be removed from field work until the Bureau thinks it's alright for me to return."

Angela Montenegro stared at her best friend with a look of complete shock plastered on her face. She watched Brennan for a moment, watched her look of determination as she methodically arranged the skeleton of what would probably turn out to be a twelfth century crusader recovered from North Africa, seeing as how that is what Brennan predicted, and she was almost never wrong. Angela had wondered exactly what had transpired during Brennan's visit to the Bureau that would cause her to return to the Jeffersonian and launch herself into several hours of skeletal identification from the Middle Ages. Now that she knew, she was surprised it wasn't Booth lying on that slab of metal. Or Sweets, for that matter.

"Sweetie!" Angela exclaimed, not noticing the look of reproach from Brennan at the intensity of her voice. "How the hell could he do that?"

"Very easily, actually," Brennan answered calmly, moving a clavicle into place. The sound of the bone hitting metal as she pieced the body together was oddly satisfying to her. "I've always been in the field at the Bureau's request, under their direct invitation and supervision. If they have reason to believe I'm not fit to perform the job they have entrusted to me, then they have the right to retract the request."

Angela's mouth actually dropped open at the statement. She walked over to Brennan and placed a hand on either side of her friend's face, physically forcing her to look at Angela.

"Ange, what are you doing?" Brennan asked, her brow furrowing as she was forced to literally drop what she was doing.

"Making sure you listen when I say this," Angela said firmly. "You, sweetie, are so totally fit to continue field work. Yes, you've been through a lot recently. Yes, you need some help that you will probably not ask for, but that's what court mandated therapy is for after all. Yes, you should take it easy. But, no, you do not get to be bossed around by the big bad Bureau."

She released Brennan's face, hoping that she had gotten through. Brennan stared at her for a minute before a smile tugged at her lips. A bittersweet smile, but a smile nonetheless. Angela returned the smile.

"Good. Now I'm going to let you play with the crusaders for a few more hours, but after you are done, we are going out tonight for some serious girl time," Angela said. Brennan looked about to argue against the idea, but Angela held up a hand and shushed her. "Eh! No arguments, you have no choice on this. Seven o'clock, we are so outa here."

"Fine," Brennan agreed, somewhat reluctantly, but with a smile.

Angela gave her friend one more encouraging smile before turning to leave the room. As she headed back to her office, she found herself sorely tempted to march over to the Bureau and give Booth a piece of her mind. She agreed that Brennan needed some time to recover from everything that had happened in the last few months, but pulling her from the work she loved was most certainly not the way to go about it. Brennan was already slipping into coping behavior that Angela knew was dangerous territory – locking herself away in a secluded room with boxes upon boxes of unidentified remains, rationalizing her way through being ripped away from the work she had done for the past three years. Angela was stunned that Booth would do something like that without even consulting Brennan. She was certain the two partners shared a bond and an understanding that went deeper than anyone else was capable of grasping. Perhaps this time, though, Booth had misjudged the needs his partner.