A/N: I've been a FF reader for a while now, and I just haven't been able to get this idea out of my head. In watching the first season again with my daughter, it occurred to me that until Brennan's mother's body was found, her brother was the only reason she had abandonment issues. She wasn't quite so jaded when it came to relationships yet, and I began to imagine that perhaps, if the circumstances were right, she might not have been so afraid of being more than 'just partners.' So this starts with the Pilot, but with all of the background info we know as of mid-season 11. I won't cover every case, but there is important dialogue and opportunity for character growth in a lot episodes, so I will be borrowing dialogue from the show to fill in the blanks of my own story line.

I have about 33K words of this written so far, and I will finish it for sure. I know exactly where it's going, it's just a matter of writing it. Plus, I hate unfinished fics. All of the chapters are about this length so far, so hopefully that's ok. I like long chapters when I'm reading; hope you do too. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Just having fun with HH's creations. I own nothing you recognize from the show.

Chapter 1

Ugh. There's that stupid nickname again.

"Don't call me Bones," she told him in what she hoped was a threatening tone. "And I do more than identify." She turned back to the Homeland Security agent, annoyed at Booth's inexplicable reappearance in her life.

"She also writes books," Booth said as he held up a hardback copy of her novel, Bred in the Bone.

The HSA agent picked it up and gazed at the cover before saying, "Fine. She's all yours."

Brennan was startled and outraged. The HSA agent didn't look even remotely abashed as he told her with a smug smile that he loved her book. She fumed as she grabbed her belongings and stalked past Booth, doing her best to ignore the words that were coming from his mouth and keep her eyes forward. How could she have ever found this man charming? He was infuriating. A presumptive, rude, pushy, obnoxious, arrogant alpha-male. She studiously ignored him as her mental list of negative adjectives grew longer. Not until she was in the passenger seat of his SUV did she speak to him again.

"That's the best you can do?"

"What?"

"Getting Homeland Security to snatch me so that you can stage a fake rescue?"

"Well, at least I picked you up from the airport, huh?" She glanced at him, seeing him smile that irritatingly charming smile of his and looked quickly away again. "Hey, come on. I went through the appropriate channels, but your assistant there, he stonewalled me!"

"Yeah, well after the last case, I told Zack to never, ever put you through. You can let me off anywhere along here." They weren't near her apartment, not even close. But she could call a cab. Couldn't the guy take a hint? She'd been dodging his phone calls and emails for nearly a year, and it still wasn't enough to erase the bad taste in her mouth that the Gemma Arrington case had left her with.

"Get a soul!"

"Get a brain!"

She shook her head at the memory and adjusted her posture to prop one leg up against the dash, hoping that she looked more relaxed than she felt and that maybe it would irritate him in equal measure.

Booth was certainly just as frustrated, whether she realized it or not. He hated that he'd had to go to such extraordinary measures simply to have a conversation with her, but dammit, what choice had she left him? Sure, they had argued a lot during the Arrington case, but it had the feel of foreplay more than fighting. As they had walked from the terminal to his SUV, he took advantage of her pouty silent treatment to look at her surreptitiously. She was slightly tanned from her trip to Guatemala, wearing a brown jacket, over a white button-down shirt, over a torturously low cut tank top. The large red and silver necklace did nothing to distract the eye from her breasts. If anything, Booth thought, it drew even more attention to them. How does someone spend weeks digging up dead bodies and still look that...hot?

Trying to get to the point, he gave her a resolute glance and said, "Alright, listen. A decomposed corpse was found in Arlington National Cemetery, down-"

"Arlington National Cemetery is full of decomposed corpses: it's...a cemetery."

"Yeah, but this one is your type of corpse; it wasn't in a casket."

She'd had enough. "If you drive one more block, I'm screaming 'kidnap' out the window."

"Do you know what, I'm trying to mend bridges here." Was it really asking too much to cut him a little slack? He'd done everything short of stake out her apartment trying to get her to talk to him again.

"Pull over." He did, and she practically bolted from the vehicle. He followed her quickly as she said, "I'm going home."

"Great… Could we…? Look, could we just skip this part?" He knew he should probably apologize again for his behavior the last time they worked together, but it wasn't like he hadn't made dozens of phone calls trying to get the opportunity to do it. She had refused to talk to him voluntarily. So here he was, chasing a beautiful woman down the sidewalk in a manner that didn't feel at all dignified.

"I find you very condescending," she said, still walking rapidly away from him.

"Me?! I'm condescending? I'm not the one who has to mention that she's got a doctorate every five minutes."

"I am the one with the doctorate." She was trying to maintain her irate exterior, but she couldn't help the hint of a smile that crossed her face. She was enjoying this. She knew it made no sense to find enjoyment in bickering with someone, but there was just something about him…

"Yeah, well, you know what? I'm the one with the badge and the gun, huh? You know, you're not the only forensic anthropologist in town." This made her laugh, which he found both frustrating and encouraging.

"Yes I am. The next nearest one is in Montreal. Parlez-vous Francais?" She was still striding away from him, a grin on her face that he couldn't see. Booth stopped abruptly.

"What's it going to take?" Finally, she thought. She smirked inwardly and turned to face him.

"Full participation in the case."

"Fine."

"Not just the lab work, everything."

"What? Do you want me to spit in my hand? We're Scully and Mulder."

"I don't know what that means."

"It's an olive branch, just get back in the car." She held his gaze for another brief moment, and his breath hitched a little as he looked at her. He'd forgotten how stunning her eyes were. Sometimes he didn't know if they were silver or blue, and he thought that perhaps they changed colors. As they walked back to his SUV, he found himself wondering what kinds of things would make her eyes change. He drove them to Arlington in distracted silence.

Brennan's focus fared no better. She peaked at him through quick sideways glances as often as she thought she could get away with. There were times that she appreciated her understanding of human physiology more than others. This was one of them. She allowed herself to catalogue his features, the musculature of his torso that his clean, black suit did little to hide from her. Perhaps if she were an ordinary person, she wouldn't be able to see it. As it was though, the roll of his muscles from his acromia to his antebrachia made her mouth suddenly dry. She looked quickly out the window, determined to get a hold on her wayward thoughts. Still, as they pulled to a stop and exited the vehicle at Arlington, she found her eyes moving over his body again. She just hoped he hadn't noticed.

As they walked down a hill toward the pond, Brennan noticed that the Jeffersonian's truck was already there. She wondered uneasily how Booth had managed that. He told her the context of the find while Zack appeared from behind the door to mobile lab RV.

"Hi Zack."

"This eco-warrior look works for you," he told her with a boyish grin.

"Thanks."

"Very action-oriented…" If Zack thought he was being subtle, he had a lot to learn. Booth watched their interaction with veiled interest, shaking his head at the kid's poor attempt at flirtation.

"Agent Booth, you remember my assistant, Zack Addy?"

"Oh yeah…" Booth rolled his eyes as Zack continued speaking to Brennan.

"How was Guatemala? Dig up lots of massacred victims? Learn a thing or two about machete strikes?"

Booth was mildly pleased that she seemed to have no idea the kid was flirting with her. Either that, or she was merely refusing to accept the premise of his interaction. He smirked a bit as Brennan continued speaking, wondering how anyone could be that oblivious.

"Zack, I need water samples and temperature readings from the pond."

"Right away, Dr. Brennan."

Booth grunted in irritation as Zack walked away. "He's got no sense of discretion, that kid. Typical squint."

"I don't know what that means."

"When cops get stuck, we bring in people like you. You know? Squints. You know, you squint at things."

"Oh, you mean people with very high IQs and basic reasoning skills?"

"Yeah," he replied, looking appropriately chastised. She continued toward the small boat waiting for them, and he followed. As they stood in the boat, looking at the screen which showed the bottom of the pond, he leaned slightly over her shoulder from behind.

"What exactly am I supposed to be squinting at?"

"Oh, you know. It's like pornography. You'll know it when you see it," he answered in a smooth, lowered voice. His breath danced against the back of her neck, and she repressed a shiver. She glanced back at him carefully, then quickly looked back at the screen. Had he been looking down her shirt? She couldn't be sure, but it certainly felt that way. She turned her full attention back to the screen as she saw the outlines of a skeleton become clear on the murky bottom of the pond.

"Yeah, ok. This is a crime scene."

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Brennan stretched her back with a slight wince as she sat on the platform, reassembling the skull of the pond victim. Before leaving the scene, she had been able to give Booth age, build, sex, and a few other details. But the ID would hinge on a facial reconstruction, and that meant reassembling the pulverized bones of the young woman's skull. It wasn't the most difficult reconstruction she'd ever done, but it was tedious work. She hadn't slept as well on the plane as she'd hoped, and she realized that night had fallen for the second time since Booth had conned her into working this case with him.

As she glued the last fragment into place, she couldn't keep her eyes open for another minute. The next thing she became aware of was the smell of fresh coffee nearby. The sun had risen and someone had placed a steaming mug on the exam table. She drank it gratefully and gave the skull to Angela for identification before finally heading home.

She had showered in the lab's decontamination shower but hadn't had any clean clothes at the lab to change into. Upon arriving home however, she couldn't summon the energy to do more than shrug out of her shirt and jacket before collapsing onto her bed in exhaustion.

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Booth sat in his boss's office, ready for a fight. He fidgeted a bit as he explained to Deputy Director Cullen that he had enlisted the help of Dr. Temperance Brennan in the case of the body found at Arlington.

"So, you guaranteed a squint a field role in an active murder investigation," Cullen said with no small degree of skepticism.

"Yes, sir."

"The one that wrote that book."

"Yes, sir."

"Thought you said she wouldn't work with you anymore," Cullen said, holding back a smirk. In fact, Dr. Brennan had declared she wouldn't be working with anyone at the FBI anymore, following several unsatisfactory attempts to pair her with other agents.

"Well, the last case we worked, she provided a description of the murder weapon and the murderer, but I didn't give it much credence."

"Why not?"

"Because she did it by looking at the victim's autopsy x-rays."

Cullen snorted and replied, "Well I wouldn't give it much credence either."

"Turns out she was right on both, plus the pond victim… Brennan gives me the victim's age, sex, and favorite sport."

"Which is?"

"Tennis," Booth answered with a small grin. The impressed look on Cullen's face told him that he would be able to get what he wanted, and Booth relaxed a bit.

"She's good."

"Oh, she's amazing. If the only way I can get her back to my side is to bring her out in the field, I'm willing."

Cullen narrowed his eyes a bit in confusion. "Well, squints like to stay safe, back at the lab. What's with Brennan?"

Booth hesitated a moment before answering, "Remember a case back in the early 90s, a couple goes missing on the interstate, car was found at a rest stop?"

"Yeah, Chicago area, upstanding citizens, nobody found anything…"

"Those are Brennan's parents," Booth told him. He hoped that Cullen would see what he had seen in Brennan. That her parents' disappearance had given her a personal reason to seek justice, a goal that was shared by any decent cop, himself included.

Cullen mulled this over briefly, then said, "Fine. She's on you. Take a squint out in the field, she's your responsibility."

"Thank you, sir." Booth sighed in relief as he left Cullen's office. He hadn't been entirely sure his boss would approve of him taking a civilian into the field on a murder investigation, particularly after she had broken the nose of a particular homicidal judge when they had worked together before. He hadn't wanted to consider the uncomfortable conversation he would've had with Brennan if his boss had denied his request. Vouching for her skills as well as her safety seemed like nothing at all if it meant that she would help him. He strolled back to his office, flipping his Gambler's Anonymous sobriety chip over and over in his pocket. Now he just had to give her the good news and wait for the ID.

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Brennan's eyes opened slowly, and she took a brief moment to take in that it was still daylight and she had fallen asleep in her shoes. She couldn't have been out for more than a couple of hours. A sound reached her ears from somewhere in the apartment. Like a door closing or footsteps. Immediately, she was up and reaching for the metal baseball bat she kept next to the bed. Had she been more awake, she would've reached into the nightstand for her gun, but her lingering exhaustion made her doubt her aim. She crept silently through her apartment toward the source of the noise, chest heaving as adrenaline coursed through her system. She realized with a chill that there was an intruder in her apartment and raised the bat cautiously.

She barely registered that the next sound came from behind her before turned and swung the bat in that direction. The bat whistled through the air, hitting nothing, then lowered to her side as she recognized the face of her ex-boyfriend. She was relieved for a moment, before remembering that their breakup had been less than amicable. She didn't let go of the bat.

"What the hell are you doing here, Peter?"

"I heard you were back," he replied defensively, as if it were perfectly normal to break into your ex-girlfriend's apartment and sneak in while she's sleeping.

"I changed the locks for a reason. You need to leave. Now."

"Oh, come on, Tempe, you don't need to be like that. I said I was sorry for what happened, I wanted a chance to make it up to you, but you just disappeared to some third world country as usual."

"Take the hint," she replied, wary of him as he edged slowly closer to her.

"While you were gone, I thought a lot about why we broke up."

"You hit me, Peter. You knocked me unconscious, and that's the only reason you're not recovering from surgical repairs to your genitals right now. GET OUT."

Peter winced a bit at the image her words presented, but stepped even closer to her regardless. "You don't mean that. I never meant to hurt you like that; I just lost my temper for a split second. And then I couldn't take it back." He did look very apologetic, but Brennan was having none of it.

"And what was your reasoning for threatening me and following me after we broke up then?"

He sighed and looked even more chagrined. "I'm sorry, okay? I just missed you. I missed you then, and I missed you while you were gone. We were really good together, Tempe. I know you haven't forgotten…" Peter was standing right in front of her by now and had the stupidity to reach out and touch her hip.

She pushed him away forcefully and shouted, "Get OUT!"

Later, she would ask herself why she didn't simply raise the bat right then and hit him where it would do the most damage. Why did she use her free arm to push him away from her instead? She would blame it on her fatigue and berate herself for her lack of foresight.

Peter reacted immediately, giving her no time to re-balance herself for defense. He grabbed her shoulders and pushed her backward into the wall, her head making a rather sickening sound as it made contact first. She was dazed for a moment as tiny lights danced in her vision, and he had his body pressed against hers, pinning her. Brennan's head cleared as he was pushing her lips apart with his own, and she tasted blood.

With a jolt, she felt the handle of the bat still in her hand and her instincts shifted her into action. She used her leg to knock him off balance and swung the bat hard into his abdomen before he could recover. She raised it again threateningly, but Peter didn't move from his place on the carpet. He gripped his stomach and moaned in pain.

"I'm not going to say this again. Get out. Now."

He got up carefully, still holding his hand to the place where the bat had impacted. As he walked toward the door she followed him, bat at the ready.

"You know, Tempe, I don't know why I ever bothered with you. You're a cold-hearted bitch who wouldn't know how to handle a real relationship if you tried."

She gripped the bat harder but said nothing, not wanting to give him the satisfaction that his insults had found their mark. As he opened the door, still muttering, he nearly walked into Booth, who had a fist raised as if preparing to knock.

Booth was startled and opened his mouth to apologize to them, assuming uncomfortably that he had interrupted something intimate. But he quickly took in Peter's wounded posture and the bat clutched in Brennan's hand, and his hackles rose instinctively.

"What's going on?" Booth growled.

"Ah, you must be the next notch in the bedpost, huh? Fucking whore…"

Before Peter could move forward another inch, Booth's hands were pulling him fully into the hallway and slamming him hard against the opposite wall. Booth held him in place with little effort and addressed Brennan without looking at her.

"Did he hurt you?"

"No, I'm okay. Let him go Booth, he was leaving."

But Booth wasn't about to let Peter just walk away. He pushed his face closer to him and forced Peter to look in his eyes. With one hand, he showed Peter his badge, and Peter swallowed thickly.

Booth's tone was deadly as he said, "Listen up, asshole. I don't know who the hell you think you are, talking to a woman like that, but if you know what's best for you, it'll be the last time you come around here. Do I make myself clear? Because if anyone sees you here again, I will shoot you, you got it?"

Peter nodded a tiny bit and grunted in pain as Booth pulled him away from the wall and gave him a good shove down the hallway. He and Brennan watched in silence until Peter disappeared onto the elevator, and then Booth turned to Brennan with concern.

"Jesus, Bones, who the hell was that?"

"Don't call me Bones," she replied automatically. Booth shot her a look, and she continued. "He's my ex. Our breakup was less than mutually satisfactory." She scowled as finally put the bat down and walked back into her living room. He followed her, still amped up and curious at exactly what had happened before he arrived.

"Less than mutually satisfactory? Is that code for something?"

Brennan looks confused, but says, "I had handled him, you really didn't need to make empty threats to scare him."

"Who says they're empty?" Booth muttered darkly. "You're sure you're ok?"

"Yes, I'm fine." Brennan's response sounded like one she was accustomed to giving, and Booth scowled a bit more in concern. Brennan knew that his actions had been unnecessary, but she found herself feeling grateful for his interference in spite of herself. She was perfectly capable of fighting her own battles, but the memory of Peter cowering away from Booth made her feel oddly satisfied. She wanted to change the subject though and decided to offer him some coffee, supposing it was the least she could do. As she turned her head to look him, however, a sharp pain coursed through her head, and she winced. Simultaneous waves of dizziness and nausea swept over her, and her body stiffened in response.

Booth missed her expression; his eyes instead darting around her apartment for signs of foul play. Nothing seemed obviously out of place, but his gut told him there was more to the story than she was sharing.

"Was there a reason you stopped by? And how did you get my address anyway?"

"FBI, Bones. I thought you might like a ride to the lab and some coffee on the way. I got a call that they're ready with the facial reconstruction."

"Ok," she agreed, surprised by the gesture but finding no reason to refuse. "Give me a minute to change."

"Thank God," he said under his breath. Her camisole was snug and cut low across the tops of her breasts. He thought that if she leaned over far enough, she might spill right out of it. It was all he could do to maintain eye contact as he told her in a louder voice to take her time. He watched her walk away appreciatively, noting that if she had changed at all in the past year, she had only become more attractive. Booth chastised himself silently for what were clearly very unprofessional thoughts about his colleague.

He distracted himself by looking curiously around her apartment, taking in the impressive number of books on her shelves, an extensive CD collection, and a vast number of artifacts that were undoubtedly rare and valuable. It was meticulously organized: everything had its designated place, and the surfaces were uncluttered and clean. A handful of framed photographs showed mostly shots that must have been taken at various digs in various locations. The terrains in the backgrounds ranged from jungle to desert and everywhere in between. Only one photograph stood out from the rest of the collection: a picture of Brennan with Angela, whom he remembered was the forensic artist at the Jeffersonian. Booth smiled a little and turned away from the pictures.

Brennan came back down the hall in fresh clothing which covered her assets fairly well. Booth felt relieved and disappointed in equal measure. She grabbed her bag and asked if he was ready to leave. He answered in affirmative, and as he followed her to the front door, his eyes were caught on the baseball bat, still propped near the door where she had left it. He wanted to ask more questions, but kept silent for the time being.

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They stopped for coffee and rode in comfortable silence for a few minutes. It was freshly in the back of Booth's mind that he had promised his boss to be responsible for her safety, and he told himself that must be the reason for his continued concern. He could tell something was off about the whole exchange, the phrasing she had used, even her posture.

"So this guy Peter…" he began hesitantly.

"Booth, let it go. It's over." Her tone was short, but her expression didn't conceal the emotional response to her ex's name.

"Look, I'm sorry if you think I overstepped some boundary, but I just… I really hate guys like that, you know?"

"Guys like what?"

"Guys who don't understand how they're supposed to treat a woman; guys who think they can treat women like shit."

"Oh," she replied softly. She felt a bit guilty that she'd been rude to him when he'd gone so far as to stand up to a bully on her behalf and show concern for her well-being. He seemed to expect nothing in return, but she felt compelled to give him something anyway. "Thank you," she said awkwardly. "I'm sorry I didn't say it before. I should have. It was nice of you to stand up for me, even if it wasn't strictly necessary."

"You're welcome." He smiled at her warmly and pressed his luck, "So what's the story there anyway? It looked like things got pretty heated before I showed up."

She chewed her bottom lip self-consciously and replied in a somewhat detached manner, "We dated for about six months. He has a temper and a bit of a drinking problem, and he hit me during an argument once. If he hadn't knocked me unconscious, I would've returned the blow of course, but instead I woke up alone. Obviously I broke things off with him immediately, but he followed me between home and work for a while and made a few idle threats. He only got close to me once more, and I defended myself sufficiently. When I got the request to supervise genocide victim recovery in Guatemala for a few months, I figured it would be a good opportunity to put some more significant distance between us. I changed my locks before I left, but I suppose he must've picked them…"

She had kept her eyes forward and her tone neutral as she spoke, so it was a surprise when she finally did glance at Booth to see that he was clearly furious. His hands gripped the steering wheel, his jaw clenched convulsively, and his face was flushed darkly with his anger. Brennan was startled at the response.

"Are you serious? Why the hell did you stop me from beating the shit out of that asshole?" His voice came out just a bit louder than he'd intended, and he worked to calm himself a bit.

"Because I'd handled it, and he was leaving," she said defensively. "I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Booth." She felt a bit irritated at his assumption that she needed him to fight her battles for her, and she was more than a little confused at his reaction to the information she'd given him. Why on earth would he care what Peter did or didn't do? It didn't involve him…

"Bones-"

"Don't call me Bones," she sniped back. He gritted his teeth but said nothing more. He was disturbed by the clinical way she had described being abused, stalked, and threatened by her ex. She was a genius. How did she come off telling a story like that as if it were a perfectly normal thing to have happened to her? The guy had hit her so hard he'd knocked her out, Booth thought as his fury mounted again. Yet she acts like I'm the one in the wrong for wanting to pummel the jerk.

They spent the rest of the car ride in a tense silence, and Brennan eventually closed her eyes against the harsh sunlight that amplified the pain in her head. She had hoped that with their compromise about her participation in the case, things would be more cordial between them.

Apparently not.

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Once they had all filed into Angela's office, she loaded up the image of the facial reconstruction. After his initial reaction to the magic that was the Angelator, Booth watched silently, gazing at the reassembled skull nearby. She had to have spent hours putting it back together, he thought, wondering just how much sleep she'd had since getting off the plane. He glanced at her solicitously, taking in her drawn expression and fatigued posture. Did she even take time to feed herself? He felt suddenly guilty that he must have made her feel pressured to work nonstop. That hadn't been his intention. He remembered her vehement insistence that she could take care of herself just fine and pursed his lips in disapproval. She didn't take care of herself nearly as well as she thought she did. Obviously she neglects herself in favor of her work, Booth thought. Someone really should be keeping an eye on that. But as he looked around at the other faces in the room, it seemed that he was the only one to notice Brennan's appearance. His gaze shifted back to her, and his brow furrowed as he watched her touch the back of her head lightly. Her expression was pained, and he knew instantly that there was more to her earlier encounter with Peter than she had let on.

Before he can think anything else about it, however, Brennan drew his attention back to the holographic image of a woman's face.

"Does she look familiar to anyone?"

"No…" Booth answered.

"Split the difference: mixed race," she told Angela.

"Lenny Kravitz or Vanessa Williams?"

"I don't know what that means." But Angela shrugged her shoulders a bit and made the change. As the image shifted, Booth felt a chill wash over him.

"Does anyone recognize her?" Brennan asked again.

"Wait…" said Angela. "Is that who I think it is?"

"The girl who had the affair with the senator?" Zack asked cautiously.

"Her name is Cleo Louise Eller," Booth answered soberly. "Only daughter to Ted and Sharon Eller. Last seen approximately 9 pm, April 6, 2003, leaving the Cardio Deluxe Gym on K Street, she didn't even make it to her car."

"Pretty good memory," Brennan said carefully, knowing there was more to it than that.

"Yeah, well, it's my job to find her."

"Well in that case, congratulations on your success," said Hodgins somewhat darkly.

"This isn't exactly the way I wanted it to end." As they walked out of Angela's office, he realized belatedly that Brennan had recognized Cleo even before Angela had finished with her computer magic. She's good, he thought with satisfaction. And he knew with certainty at that moment that he'd been right to put himself on the line with Cullen and take another chance on her.

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Booth walked quickly across the Jeffersonian lawn, Brennan following in his wake.

"So what do you do first, confront the senator?"

"Listen, Bones, I know-"

"Don't call me Bones!"

"I know we talked about you coming out in the field and all…"

"Ugh, you rat bastard."

He stopped and turned to face her before continuing. "A case this big, the Director is going to create a special investigation, and if I line all my ducks up in a row, I could maybe, maybe head it up."

"I don't know what that means, but I think I could be a duck."

"You're not a duck, ok! On this one, we stick to the book. Cops in the street, squints in the lab."

Brennan drew herself up in determination and said, "Well, in that case, the Jeffersonian will be issuing a press release identifying the girl in the pond." Booth looked startled.

"You do that, I'm a dead duck. What are you trying to do?"

"Blackmail you," she said simply.

"Blackmail a federal agent?"

"Yes."

"I don't like it."

"I'm fairly certain you're not supposed to," she replied. Booth considered her for a moment and tried to think through the ramifications. He knew she would be helpful, but damn if the woman's sheer nerve didn't make him want to kiss her senseless right then and there. He sighed in defeat.

"Fine. You're in."

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Booth and Brennan sat together in Cullen's office this time, briefing him on the case thus far. Brennan primarily observed as Booth presented the information, telling his boss that he wanted to look into the victim's former stalker first. As he said this, Booth permitted a glance in her direction, both of them silently making the connection between Peter's behavior and that of Oliver Laurier. But Brennan kept silent as the discussion continued.

"What's your first move?"

"I'd like to inform the Ellers that we found their daughter," Booth replied firmly. Brennan looked at him in surprise as Cullen spoke up to disagree.

"It's better to keep this quiet. It's been, what, two years? What's another few days?"

"With all due respect, sir, I've come to know the family pretty well, especially the Major. And two years is a hell of a long time in my book." More than long enough, he added silently.

Brennan spoke up to say that she would have details of cause of death by that afternoon, and Booth looked over at her with approval.

"Then that's where we'll get started."

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Booth kept a close eye on her as he drove them to the Ellers' home. He watched Brennan move her head around slightly, as if experimenting to see what caused her pain and what didn't.

"Got a headache?" he asked with quiet concern.

"I'm fine. Hodgins identified the particulates embedded in Cleo Eller's skull as rolled steel, most likely from a sledge-type hammer. Also there's concrete and diatomaceous earth."

He sighed at her clever topic change, but allowed it. "What's that?"

She handed him a small sample bottle containing a white powder and explained its origin and common practical uses.

"Diatomaceous earth. Common or not, it's a clue," he said with a smile.

This time, she smiled back.

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"Those people deserved the truth," said Brennan firmly. She was irritated at the way he had interrupted her when they were speaking to Major and Mrs. Eller.

"Their daughter was murdered. They deserve the kindness of the lie."

"There'll be an inquest report," she argued stubbornly.

"Which they won't read, because they don't want to. Especially because, toward the end, Cleo and her parents weren't even speaking."

"They told you that?"

"You know, getting information out of live people is a lot different than getting information out of a pile of bones. You have to offer up something of yourself first."

She contemplated that for a moment before asking, "What exactly did you do in the military?"

Booth went on the defensive. "See? See what you did right there, Bones? You asked a personal question without offering anything personal in return, and since I'm not a pile of bones, you get zilch. Sorry."

She narrowed her eyes in thought. Things like this were a prime example of her inability to understand people, she supposed. She'd been told more than once that she was cold and detached, and she wondered if he thought that about her too. Usually, she couldn't care less what people thought. She poured her energy into her work, and when she did allow time for a relationship of any kind, it was motivated primarily by the desire to satisfy biological urges. With the exception of Angela, her interpersonal relationships were short-lived and stilted, and she'd never really been bothered by that fact. But as Booth drove them toward the lab with an unreadable expression on his face, it occurred to her that she didn't want him to see her that way. She couldn't explain to herself why it mattered to her what he thought, and that alone was disconcerting.

She thought back to his words in Cullen's office. She'd been pleasantly surprised that Booth's first priority was to give the victim's family the answers they'd been waiting to hear. His reasoning held great weight with her. It was the very same motivation behind her career choice. She wanted to give other families the closure that she had never gotten after her parents had disappeared.

Brennan sighed and winced at the pain in the back of her head where it had struck the wall hours earlier. She knew she probably had a concussion, but she was fairly certain there was no damage to her skull. She could handle pain. She was still angry with herself that she let him get close enough to hurt her at all, and in a way, she welcomed the ache the way a sinner might welcome penance.

They were silent the rest of the way back to the lab, each distracted by their own thoughts. Booth hadn't meant to make her feel bad, but her tactlessness had made him uncomfortable in front of Cleo's parents. He recognized that she was the type of person who dealt in absolutes; black and white; right and wrong. Especially when it came to honesty. In reality, he found it to be an admirable trait, albeit an inconvenient one when it came to giving someone bad news. He glanced at her now and again as they neared the Jeffersonian. She seemed to be deep in thought about something, and he refrained from disrupting her.

But a pained expression flashed across her features, and his previous annoyance gave way to concern.

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Later that evening, Booth found Brennan alone at her desk, cradling her head gingerly in her hands. Her eyes were closed, and the pain was distracting enough that she didn't hear his footsteps approaching. She felt exhausted and raw. They had identified fetal ear bones among the remains, and she'd had a loaded talk with Angela about her personal relationship shortcomings. Not only had Angela successfully used psychology on her, but she had given her the same advice Booth had suggested earlier in the day-almost verbatim. Offer up something of yourself. She sighed in disgust. She really really hated psychology.

"Bones?" She groaned in response, lacking the energy to be irritated at the nickname. She didn't look at him and kept her eyes closed.

"Hey. I've been pretending all day not to notice that you're in pain, and I'm done with that," he told her sternly. "What really happened?"

She sighed in resignation and admitted that her encounter with Peter that morning had left her with a closed head wound and a headache. He made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a growl and moved toward her to get a closer look. She finally looked up at the feel of his hand on her shoulder and leans away from him.

"Just let me look at it. I won't do anything to make the pain worse," he pleaded. He was upset, even she could see that, though she didn't know why.

"I'm fine, Booth. The headache will go away. I'm sure I'll feel better tomorrow." But he was not about to settle for another 'I'm fine.'

"No. Enough is enough, you need to get it looked at." His tone was firm. "Come on, I'm taking you to the ER. You probably have a concussion."

"I don't need to go to the hospital, I can-"

"Take care of yourself, yes I've heard. But you're going to the ER right now even if I have to drag you every step of the way, so let's move."

She was stunned at his adamance. For one, she couldn't remember the last time anyone had spoken to her like that. It wasn't that his tone was demanding. No, it was more than that. She could hear the underlying concern behind his insistence, the stress in his voice sounding not unlike panic. Brennan stared at him in blank confusion as she tried to understand why he was so upset that she was injured. Booth saw bewilderment and interpreted it accurately.

"Just because you're able to take care of yourself doesn't mean that you can't accept help now and then, Bones."

She sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that day and relented. She allowed him to help her out of her lab coat and into her jacket, grabbed her bag, and turned out the lights. Booth led her out of the lab with a hand at the small of her back, and though it crossed Brennan's mind to raise issue with his touch, she found instead that she didn't mind the contact. If she hadn't been so disoriented by the pain in her head, she would have been surprised at her own reaction.

Angela gathered her things and watched from her office as they left the lab, her smirk turning into a full blown grin.

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"You have a Grade 2 concussion, Dr. Brennan," the ER doctor told her. This wasn't particularly surprising news, but it irritated her to have it confirmed.

"I want to see my x-rays please," she said the professional tone she reserved for her students. The doctor was a young man, fresh out of his residency. He knew Brennan by reputation and was determined to make a good impression on her, so he handed her the films without argument. He watched as she examined them against the light board in the small exam room. She didn't speak, but merely frowned and nodded in agreement with his diagnosis.

Booth sat in the room's single chair, resting his elbows on his knees. The doctor noticed that the eyes of the broody-looking FBI agent never left his companion for long, and he assumed that their relationship must be more personal than professional, even if Dr. Brennan had referred to him as a 'colleague.' There had been a rather sticky moment when they had first come in and were being questioned by the intake nurse. When Dr. Brennan had explained the cause of her head injury, the nurse had immediately (and not so privately) suspected that Booth was to blame. He had practically shouted at the poor woman that he would never hurt her, and that the man who had caused the damage sure as hell wouldn't be getting near enough to her to do it ever again.

"You can take aspirin or ibuprofen for the pain, avoid alcohol, and you should try to rest as much as possible."

"I know," she grumbled in return. The young doctor shifted uncomfortably and addressed Booth instead.

"She shouldn't be alone for at least 24 hours, sir. Just to make sure that further symptoms don't develop and her current symptoms don't get worse."

"Of course," Booth said. But he was feeling a bit uncomfortable too. He'd just convinced her to start talking to him again yesterday. He couldn't exactly push his way into her home and refuse to leave, even if it was for her own good. The doctor left to retrieve her discharge paperwork, and Booth looked over at Brennan hesitantly. She was laying on the bed again with her eyes closed, but he could tell she wasn't asleep.

"Bones... " Her eyes opened and she stared at him blearily. "The doctor says you can't be alone for 24 hours… Should I call Angela?"

Brennan rolled her eyes at the idea of imposing on her friend, but nodded anyway. She gave him her cell phone to make the call since he didn't have Angela's number, and he stepped out of the room to try to get a clear signal.

The line rang twice before Angela answered.

"Hey, Sweetie! I saw you and G-man leaving the lab earlier, looking awfully cozy, if you ask me. I knew he liked you." Booth grimaced at the observation.

"Nice, Angela."

"Whoa… Hey, Booth. Sorry about that." She didn't sound sorry at all. "Wait, why are you calling me from Bren's phone? Is she ok?" There was a hint of panic in her voice, and Booth rushed to reassure her.

"Yeah, she's ok, but we're at the ER…" He paused, not entirely sure how much Brennan had shared with Angela about the incident this morning.

"WHAT?!"

Apparently Brennan had shared absolutely nothing, and Booth filled her in quickly, becoming angry again as he retold the story.

"Wow," Angela said, stunned. "She told me he had a temper and that was why she broke up with him, but she didn't say anything about him actually hurting her. Back then, or today… Ugh, I can't believe she didn't tell me."

Booth empathized with Brennan's best friend. He had come to realize that Brennan kept a lot of things to herself, whether she should or not.

"Yeah, so anyway. She can't be alone for the next 24 hours, and I wasn't sure who else to call for her…"

"Oh, gosh… I'm sorry, but I had plans out of town for the evening and I'm already there. I left the lab right after you guys. My dad has a gig in Norfolk tonight, and I haven't seen him in a few months so I promised I'd come." A gig? What? But she was still talking, "I'm like 3 hours away, Booth."

He sighed and asked, "Is there anyone else she would prefer? I don't have a problem staying with her, Angela, but I get the feeling she really doesn't want me there overnight."

Angela held back a grin and said, "No, there really isn't anyone else that I know of. I'm sure it'll be fine Booth. Just don't take no for an answer, she needs a firm hand. Besides she'll be sleeping most of the time anyway, right?"

Booth gave a huff of laughter at her words. A firm hand? She made it sound like Brennan was an unruly toddler.

"Yeah, ok. I'll do my best. Any other pearls of wisdom?" he asked her lightly.

"Don't let her tell you to go away. She thinks she can take care of herself, and she can… but she doesn't."

"Yeah, I'd figured that much out on my own. Thanks, Angela. I'll tell her to expect a full inquisition tomorrow?"

"You know it," she replied with a chuckle. "See ya."

"Bye."

As Angela hung up the phone, she couldn't help but smile for her friend. Booth was a good man, and whether or not Brennan wanted to admit it, she needed that in her life. She'd better not screw it up, Angela thought wryly.

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Booth returned to the exam room to find Brennan signing discharge papers with a hassled expression. She turned to look at him as he walked through the open sliding door.

"Why are you still here? I figured you'd gone home by now," Brennan said in confusion.

Booth's eyes narrowed in concern. "I took your phone to call Angela, remember?" He held up the phone in question and then handed it back to her. She gazed at it blankly. "They said that you needed to be observed for 24 hours, so I called Angela to see if she could come stay with you… You don't remember?"

"No, I must have forgotten, but it's ok. Minor memory loss isn't uncommon with concussions." She said the words with a shrug and finished signing the documents before handing them back to the nurse.

"Yeah, I know the doctor said that, but I thought your memory was ok… Anyway, Angela is out of town visiting her dad tonight and can't make it. So it's just me and you, Bones."

She was shaking her head before he even finished speaking. "Don't be ridiculous, that's completely unnecessary. Just give me a ride home, and I'll see you tomorrow."

"Nice try, but you're not going to convince me to disobey the doctor's orders."

"I'm a doctor too, you know," she argued a bit petulantly.

"Yeah, I know, Bones," he said rolling his eyes for her benefit. "Trust me, I haven't forgotten."

They made their way slowly to the SUV, her dizziness now quite obvious in her deliberate gait. He opened the passenger side door for her and ignored the impatient look she gave him. At any other time, she would argue with his chivalry, but she just didn't have the will for it at the moment. So she allowed him to close the door behind her and watched thoughtfully as he circled around the front of the vehicle to his side to climb in.

She still didn't understand why he was there. She spent the ride home trying to come up with logical reasons why he should be so invested in her well-being. It wasn't his fault she was injured. If anything, it was her own. And Peter's of course. But Booth acted as though her welfare was his personal responsibility, and that baffled her. It had been so long since anyone in her life had been so interested in whether she was ok or not that she simply couldn't wrap her head around it. She reasoned that perhaps it was due to their agreement to work together on this case, but even that didn't add up. They weren't working now, and she had proven fairly succinctly today that she could do her job regardless of a head injury.

He stopped at a small restaurant and told her he'd called for take out before they left the hospital. She wondered how on earth he could possibly have known what to order for her, but then she remembered that he'd spoken to Angela and probably asked her. He was back quickly with the food, and she had to admit that it smelled delicious. She experienced an odd feeling of contentment as he flashed a charming smile in her direction. She returned it somewhat shyly.

She was deep in thought again as he pulled into her parking garage and asked her where her reserved space was. She directed him to it and exited the SUV as he did. There, she thought smugly, at least I didn't let him open my door for me. She knew she was being a bit childish about it, but that kind of thing really irritated her. She was perfectly capable of opening her own doors…

They rode the elevator to her floor in silence, but when they got to her front door, she fumbled with the keys. Her hands didn't seem to want to cooperate with her brain at the moment, and Booth calmly placed his hand over hers to hold it steady and turn the key.

His touch on her skin was electric, and headache or no headache, Brennan noticed. Her breath caught in her chest, and she avoided his gaze as they entered her apartment. He turned to lock the door behind them and moved to put the food on her coffee table before turning to look at her.

"I'm going to make sure everything's secure, since we know the asshole picked your locks once today already."

She opened her mouth as if to argue but thought better of it. He had a point. And he was back quickly, declaring everything sound and secure.

"Why don't you go ahead and sit down? I can get us something to drink," he said, glancing in the direction of the kitchen.

"I'll get it. I don't have much to offer at the moment, I'm afraid. I didn't want to leave anything to spoil while I was gone, and I haven't gotten to the store yet."

"Water's fine, thanks."

He thanked her as she handed him a bottled water and sat next to him on the couch. As they ate, they talked about the case, passing cardboard containers back and forth between them. Neither of them missed the intimate feeling of their interactions, but they both avoided talking about it. Each time their eyes met, the heat of it made them both blush before looking away. When they had finally finished eating, Booth gathered up the empty cartons and carried them to the trash.

"Ready to sleep?" he asked politely. Brennan looked dead on her feet, and Booth would feel much better once she was safely tucked into her bed.

"Yes… You really don't need to stay Booth. You've been very kind tonight, and I do appreciate it. But you don't need to trouble yourself any further."

"Nonsense, Bones. It's no trouble," he replied with a smile. Nice try again, Bones, but you won't win this one, he thought confidently.

Brennan sighed and gave up. It was just one night.

They argued a bit over sleeping arrangements. Booth wanted to camp out on her bedroom floor, in case she needed something. After all, the doctor had instructed that she not be alone. Brennan flat out refused his suggestion, insisting that it made no sense for him to subject himself to sleeping on the floor when there was a perfectly good guest room across the hall. He relented eventually but contended that the doors to both rooms be left open. Just in case. She acquiesced with a poorly concealed roll of her eyes and said goodnight.

As exhausted as they both were, one would think sleep should have come easily. But sleep took another hour to find them both. He lay quietly against the feather pillows in her guest room and thought back to their first case together. He smiled gently as he recalled her punching Judge Hasty and the way she had flirted openly with him in that pool hall. He remembered how brilliant she'd been, remembered the first time he'd noticed the adorable crease between her eyebrows that she got when she was analyzing something.

Across the hall, she was remembering as well. She thought of how his lips had felt when they'd been pressed against hers. At the time, it had seemed like their connection was the only thing she could sense. Like all the air and light and sound had been sucked out of the world, and there was only him. Kissing her. She recalled the FBI's non-fraternization policy that had led to the kiss in the first place. Because if not for that, she was sure it would have happened well before that night in the rain.

Eventually, they both drifted off to sleep, unknowingly sharing memories of the same sensations on the same night; both longing to feel them again. Several hours passed before Booth jolted awake and sat straight up in bed.

She was screaming.

Should I continue? Keep writing it just for me and never post again? Go live under a rock? Review and let me know!