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Chapter Six

The rain had stopped less than a week after the gunshots rang through the musty air of the gas station. In its stead snow had come, blanketing the city in patchwork of white that muffled the usual noise that a place like DC normally produced.

The Jeffersonian was also in a lull, most of the scientists off on an open-ended holiday until more work was found, in which case they, some reluctantly and some not, would come back in. Cam had long since escaped to her townhouse, and was apparently getting together with a bunch of her old Bronx friends to 'knock back shots and play poker.' Hodgins was still racing beetles with Zack, while Angela was perpetually found in either her best friend's or her own office. Booth was more or less in the same situation as the artist, and had not taken a break in favor of his troubled partner.

Brennan, to her own credit, noticed neither the lull in the city or in the lab. She had spent the last several days in her office or in Limbo, and often had not moved from one spot hours after the first time her friends had visited her.

At the moment, her eyes were riveted to a microscope, and she was all but counting the osteons in an attempt to escape reality. Her efforts were thwarted, once again, by the arrival of Angela Montenegro as she slowly clicked down the stairs to bone storage, the soft rustling of her knee-length skirt following her as she sidled up to the anthropologist.

"You know, if you stare at that thing any harder it may burst into flames," she kidded softly.

"That is highly unlikely," Brennan replied, her eyes still pressed into the goggles of the scope.

"Joke, sweetie. How about we look up?"

She did and raised a weary eyebrow.

Angela smiled, "Now that's something. I don't suppose I could get you outside, could I? It's so pretty. DC's first snow of the year."

She took an involuntary step backward and was met with the hard steel of the light table on which a skeleton sat. Her hands slid onto the cool surface, and she shook her head once. "No, Ange. I—I'd really just like to work."

"You can't avoid us forever, sweetie," her voice was firm but not unkind.

"I'm not avoiding you."

"We feel like you've pulled a Rip Van Winkle."

Her eyebrows knit in confusion, "The dog?"

"No, Bones," a familiar voice said as its owner padded down the stairs, "That's Rin Tin Tin."

"Oh." She stared at Booth and the file he clutched.

The artist and the FBI agent exchanged a look at her ignorance, but thankfully commented no further.

"Do you have something for me?" she asked.

"Yeah." He paused, "It's okay if you don't want to deal with it."

"No, Booth," she held out a hand, "It's fine."

After a brief moment, he gave the file to her, and she flipped it open as he started talking, "Forensics went over the gas station. They, uh, found several blood traces. Cam even came in and personally ran the DNA." He waited until she met his eyes, "Five women."

"Five?" she repeated.

"Yeah. One was Katherine."

"And the rest?"

He shook his head and she said nothing, her attention returning to the file.

"Bones?" her partner's voice cut in after eons had passed, "He's asking for you."

Slowly, her eyes crawled up and held his own, "What does he want?"

"You. Alone."

She shook her head. The nausea was back, "In exchange for what?"

"The identities of the women."

She continued to shake her head, the very prospect of seeing Richard Crout again sending shivers through her spine. But at the same time, another part of her wanted to give four women back to their families, to provide them with closure and truth.

Crout's mock kiss had sent her to her knees more effectively than the bullet that had brought him down. His own shot had pinged into the wall yards away from where she had stood, and the fact that he had never intended to harm her made her feel more revulsed than if he had aimed it straight for her heart. Brennan wanted to beat him to a pulp, but at the same time she wanted him to disappear so she would never have to see him again or acknowledge his twisted existence.

"You don't have to decide now," Booth said gently.

She nodded and exhaled, "You're not in trouble, are you?"

"For shooting him? No. FBI deemed it provoked."

"I'm glad."

He took a step closer to her, "Bones, you shouldn't be worrying about me."

"I'm your partner. It's my responsibility."

"You should really be more worried about yourself. Crout almost killed you."

"No. He didn't aim at me. He never had any intention of harming me."

"Bones," he suddenly sounded angry, "A few inches over and he would have. You never should've gone in there alone. Why didn't you call me?" he paused, "Don't you trust me?"

She was shocked by the hurt in his voice, "Of course I do."

"Then why risk your life? What were you trying to prove to that lunatic?"

"I...I don't know."

"Bones," he rubbed his face with his hands, sounding frustrated, "You really need to sort out your motivation before running straight into the lion's den."

"Well, what difference does motive make?"

"All the difference, Bones."

She flashed back to Crout but quickly blocked the memory before it could manifest itself.

"Just promise me you won't do that again?" her partner's voice was now worried. "Or at least that you'll call me?"

Her hands slid to her hips, "You make it sound like I get offers from serial killers all the time."

"It happens often enough that it's a concern."

She pursed her lips, "Fine. I won't."

He offered a hand, "Promise?"

After a moment's hesitation she reached forward and shook, "Yes. I do."

"Somehow, I don't think this is a promise you'll keep, Bones," Booth said with a frustrated sigh.

Brennan wanted to lighten the mood, to say something witty. But her mind was absent of ideas, so she just answered frankly, "Then hold onto your delusion until it shatters."

He rolled his eyes, and she smiled, glad that the tension was slowly dissipating at last.

Angela, forgotten by the stairs, clicked away, shaking her head at the antics of the partners and hoping that the resolution meant peace in her best friend's mind.

"So..." Booth said after a long stretch of silence as a twinkle wormed it's way into his eyes, "Would you like to have lunch, Bones?"

"Yes," she surprised herself by saying, "Yes. I would."

He smiled and stepped aside, holding out an arm in a mock presentation, "Then after you, Bones."

Brennan gave an exaggerated nod as she started forward, putting Crout out of her mind, "The Diner?"

"Of course."