Thank you guys for reading, and I'm glad you like it so far. I hope the end doesn't disappoint!

Chapter Five

Brennan sat in the back of the ambulance, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and a cup of the motel's coffee in her hands.

Booth slowly walked over and took a seat beside her. Surprising them both, Brennan didn't inch away. "How's the knee?" Booth inquired.

"It hurts, and I'm going to have a significant bruise, but I think I'll live." Finally allowing herself to ponder the situation, Brennan made an inquiry of her own. "What happened?"

The agent sighed; obviously this was the last thing he wanted to relive right now.

"Angela came back to the lab. Told me she had planned on calling me and letting me know where you were. And then I showed her the newest picture."

"But that shouldn't matter now, right?" The anthropologist pointed out. "If the pattern was continuous, then we've saved whoever the picture shows."

"Yeah, we have." Agreed Booth. He turned to look at her. "The picture was of you, Bones."

"What?" Brennan narrowed her eyes in confusion. "Wait, the other victims were all teenage girls who attended the same high school. I don't fit that profile at all."

"No," the agent said, "but you still inadvertently played a part. Our murderer, Carson Reimer, has already given us a full confession. He's a teacher at West Payton High, and he had his class read your books. Let's just say he's a 'major fan'. Reimer killed girls from his class to 'flesh you out', so to speak. He wanted to kill you, Bones."

Brennan shuddered. Reimer was the noise she heard before her partner burst in. And then realization swept over her.

She replayed the scene in her head: Booth, gun poised, ready to fire. But not at her. The agent had yelled at Brennan to get down. She was allowed confusion for only a second before Booth pushed her to the floor. He quickly rose again and aimed at the back. Barely a second had passed when Carson Reimer came darting out from hiding, crowbar raised. Booth fired his weapon, hitting Reimer in the shoulder. The bullet, Brennan believed only seconds earlier, meant for her. And that's what all of this had been about. Her dream was a warning, but as it was said that science wasn't an exact science, details were inaccurate. Especially the most important detail of who, precisely, got shot.

"I guess this means I should tell you everything." Said Brennan timidly. "Why I've been avoiding you."

"Great." Booth nodded. "Because whatever I did was apparently so horrendous that you felt the need to flee from me in terror."

"You make me sound like a rabbit," muttered Brennan. She took a deep, unsteady breath. "I had a…dream."

"A dream." Repeated Booth, not comprehending.

"Yes. A few nights ago. I was in a room somewhere, and you had your gun trained on me. You…you shot me, Booth."

The man next to her looked as if he'd been slapped. Brennan tried to continue her story fast, like the proverbial 'band-aid', hoping it wouldn't be as painful to hear. "I couldn't rid myself of the images, and I didn't know what to do."

Booth stared at the ground, as if seeing past it. Brennan swallowed a lump in her throat. "I thought it would be as simple as putting a temporary distance between us, until the dream fully left my consciousness, but I kept having it over and over…I could feel the bullet in my chest…" Brennan bit her lip to keep from crying.

For a long time, Booth was silent. Brennan could tell he was letting it all sink in. Then he asked, "Why didn't you tell me? I mean, I thought you were mad, or getting me back for something. But the whole time…" he paused, focusing his gaze on his partner again. "You were scared to death of me, Bones."

As much as Brennan wanted to tell him it wasn't true; convince him that she would never be afraid of him and ease his mind, she couldn't. She was ashamed to admit that Booth—or a version of him—had frightened her.

Booth rubbed the back of his neck wearily. "Angela had to have known. She was making up all kinds of excuses for you. What, you swore her to secrecy?"

"Yes. Except, when I first informed her of my dream, she did say I should tell you."

"Why didn't you?" Booth wondered softly. "Why didn't you listen to her and let me know what was going on?"

"How was I supposed to tell you?" The anthropologist nearly shouted, forgetting that she was at fault. "In what way should I have phrased that? 'By the way, Booth, I had a devastating nightmare in which you, my trusted partner and friend, shot me dead?"

"Yeah, exactly like that!" answered the agent. "Had I known, I could have given you your space, and you wouldn't have been easy prey for a psycho!"

He stood quickly, putting distance between them.

"Booth, where are you going?" Brennan asked.

He faced her, saying, "I'm just a little hurt, Temperance. I need some time."

And as he got back into his SUV and drove away, Brennan let the tears fall.

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The doctor was grated time off from work to recover. However, Recovery Time only merited Thinking Time, and Brennan had done nothing but think the entire week. Needless to say, she went back to the Jeffersonian immediately, where she received mixed greetings from her friends.

"Man," Hodgins shook his head, "you sure have some record for people who want to kill you."

"Thank you, Hodgins." Brennan said. She frowned. "I think."

"Are you sure you're alright, Dr. Brennan?" Zack still seemed concerned. Smiling, the woman nodded. "Yes, Zack. I'm getting there."

Angela's Look was the infamous 'I Told You So', though she did her best not to rub it in. "You were right, Ange." The doctor told her.

"Bren, I am so sorry." The artist said, putting a hand on her friend's shoulder. "I know you never wanted any of this."

"No. But what's done is done. We can get justice for those girls, and now it's Booth's turn to avoid me." Brennan half-smiled, attempting to end on a joke. The action failed, and everyone was quiet.

"Wanna talk?" Angela offered, turning toward Brennan's office. Foregoing her usual workaholic routine—at least for the time being—Brennan allowed herself a real smile, and followed.

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"I'm not even sure why I had the dream," admitted the anthropologist, moving a finger to and fro on the couch.

Angela set her chin on her hand. "Well, you said it yourself; a random firing of neurons in your brain. Simple as that.

Shaking her head, Brennan replied, "But it wasn't random. It all happened, save for it being me Booth shot."

"Sweetie, it's over. What's your point?"

"That I'm not a holy person or a prophet, Angela. Why would I dream what I did? To warn me? And if so, some warning. It wasn't even accurate."

Angela shrugged. "Okay, let's say it was a warning. Maybe your friendship with Booth is strong enough now that you're able to advise yourself of danger. But on some subconscious lever, you're still afraid he'll hurt you. And I don't mean physically."

"That's more psychology, Ange." Complained Brennan. "And you're definitely wrong about my relationship with Booth. I don't think we have one to speak of after what I've done."

"Give it time," counseled the artist, smiling. "Like I said before, there's not much you could do to make Seeley Booth mad at you." At Brennan's skeptical Look, Angela added, "For long, anyway."

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Booth was signing his John Hancock on some papers when a fellow agent knocked on his door.

"C'mon in, Bailey."

The rookie poked his head in. "There's someone to see you, Agent Booth."

"Okay. Send them in."

"She said she needs your permission." Bailey explained, shrugging.

The other agent frowned. "Who is it?"

"Says her name's Dr. Temperance Brennan."

Booth swallowed. She hadn't been around in a few days, but to be honest, he was relieved. Apparently, Bones had had plenty of time to process what was happening to her; Booth needed a bit of his own. Although, he had to admit, things weren't nearly the same without her.

Granting this 'permission' with a wave of his hand, Bailey retrieved the Lady Scientist and then went about his business. Brennan stood stock still in the doorway, hesitant to proceed.

"You can come in, Bones." Booth moved around his desk and leaned atop it, arms folded. Brennan complied, daring to place herself in one of the chairs across from him. At least he was back to calling her 'Bones', something she never thought she'd be grateful for.

For a long time, the woman tried to think of something to begin with, but nothing seemed right. Booth grinned internally. Bones seemed to always have something to say, and despite recent events, the agent found this quite amusing.

Finally, Brennan extended her hand, holding brown paper sack. Déjà vu set in as Booth asked, "What is it?"

"A peace offering."

The man leaned forward and took the bag from her. He opened it and pulled out its contents. In spite of himself, he grinned. "A smiley face cookie."

"From Manderfield's. You told me you liked them."

"That I do."

Another wordless moment, and then Brennan said, "Saying 'I'm sorry' just doesn't seem…enough. I owe you more."

Booth didn't know how to respond. He was still a little hurt, a little confused, but he held no malice against his partner. With a little more time, he would get past it, no harm, no foul. And Booth knew that he had to tell her as much, to clear her conscious. There was just one last thing he had to know.

"How could you ever think I would hurt you, Bones?" inquired the agent, setting the bag down on his desk. Brennan lowered her eyes, having no answer to give. She was still trying to figure it all out herself. "You're my partner. My friend." Booth continued. "I can hardly blame you for a dream, but…"

She'd had enough, he thought. Her own guilt was punishment enough as it was. So he let her know what he'd concluded. "Give me time to wrap my brain around all of this. I'll come around."

"Fair enough." Brennan tucked a lock of auburn hair behind her ear and got to her feet. She took a step toward the door, stopped, and turned again toward her partner. "Promise me something, Booth?"

"What's that?"

"Please don't hate me for this. You are my friend—my very good friend. I…I don't think I could take it if…"

Booth rose as well and went to her. "Hey," he said, looking her in the eye. "I do not, repeat, do not—and never will—hate you, Bones. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," answered the doctor, a smile beginning to light her features. "Thank you."

She left, and Booth took a deep breath. It was going to be hard to concentrate on paperwork now, even if it was simply signing his name. Not that it had been any easier ten minutes ago.

Sucking it up, Booth returned to his desk chair and got back to work. Remembering the cookie, he brought it out of the bag and took a bite.

Savoring the treat, Booth contemplated letting Bones off the hook much sooner.

..The End...