Spawned from my frustration about blind Booth and hurt Brennan. My attempt to fix some things.

Oh, and I've been so bad about replying to reviews lately. I sincerely apologize and promise you that every single review is read and appreciated. Thank you. I will do my best to start replying to them again.

Disclaimer: Three guesses as to who owns Bones. And no, I'm not one of the choices.

The Call in the Night

Booth lays panting and laughing in bed with Hannah, feeling deliciously satisfied and deeply content. He hugs the gorgeous woman in his bed tightly for a long moment before she pushes him away, laughing.

"I can't breathe," she gasps, pushing at him. "You're squishing me."

He laughs evilly and squeezes her harder, loving the way she squirms in his arms. She hits him again, harder this time, and he lets her go, laughing.

"You're an ass," she accuses, but she's smiling.

"Yeah, I am," he agrees, kissing her quickly on the lips. "But I can be charming when I want to."

She rolls her eyes. "Which is almost never."

Raising an eyebrow, he smiles suggestively at her. "I have to have some incentive to be charming."

"Incentive?" she repeats slowly. Locking eyes with him, she leans forward and presses a hot kiss on him, making him groan against her lips. After a brief moment—too brief—she pulls back, her eyes wide and innocent. "Incentive like that?"

"Exactly like that," he growls, reaching for her.

And his phone rings. With a groan, he pulls back slightly, debating whether to get the phone or to just forget about it. After a moment, he decides on the latter and smiles, leaning forward again, but his phone rings a second time before he can get any further with Hannah. Damn it.

She laughs and pushes him gently away. "Whoever it is really wants you."

He groans as he rolls off of her to the bedside table where he keeps his phone. "It must be the FBI," he says apologetically, reaching for the phone. "Sorry."

She shrugs. "No problem. You've got to go do your white-knight thing. I get it."

With a sigh, he flips the phone open. "Booth."

"Booth! Thank God!"

"Angela?" His irritation at being interrupted vanishes instantly at the complete panic in the artist's voice. "What's wrong?"

"It's Brennan. God, I…She's just…Oh my God, oh my God…"

"Angela!" he says sharply. "Calm down." He tries to corral his own panic as he reaches hurriedly for his pants. Damn it, where the hell are his clothes? He rockets off the bed, ignoring Hannah's questioning look as he grabs his clothes up from the floor. "What happened?"

"Okay, I'm calming down. Hang on. Uh, okay. Breathe. Breathe."

"What happened?" he demands, shoving on his pants. "What the hell happened, Angela? Is Bones okay? Did something happen to her?" God, she's okay, isn't she? He'd just seen her a few hours ago at the Jeffersonian, and she'd looked fine. He tries to recall how she'd looked. A bit pale, maybe a little tired, but he'd figured she was just overworked from their latest case. God, she wasn't sick, was she? He can't have missed that. He would've seen something was wrong with her. He would've noticed.

"She's…" Angela sounds like her house is burning down around her ears. Booth grabs his gun and badge from the bedside table and races out of his apartment, the phone jammed to his ear.

"She's what?" he demands impatiently, his heart hammering in his chest. "Is she hurt?"

"No. Yes. I—I mean, a little."

"Which is it?" he snaps, fear spurring him on and making his tone harsh. He yanks open the SUV doors and leaps inside, screeching out of the parking lot. He blazes past a police cruiser, which starts after him almost instantly, but he flicks on his own sirens to ward them off. He pulls a dangerous left turn and waits tensely as he hears Angela take a deep, steadying breath.

"She's okay. I mean, she's a little bruised, but she's standing up, which I guess is a good sign. Okay, hang on…She's saying she's fine."

"Jesus," he says, his mind automatically leaping to every scenario possible. Bones has been shot. She's been mugged. She's been…Good Lord, raped. Even the thought of such a thing happening to Bones makes bile burn the back of his throat and his fists clench hard on the steering wheel. If anyone's dared to do that to his Bones…

"Booth," Angela says anxiously, "where are you? I think—I think you should come down here. There're police—"

Police? Jesus. What the hell happened?

"Where are you?" he asks tightly.

"Golden Palace. It's a—"

"Bar downtown. Yeah, I know where it is."

Angela breathes an audible sigh of relief. "Thank you, Booth. You have no idea how much…Anyway, how long will you be?"

"Five minutes," he replies. He figures if he blasts his sirens the whole way, he can make it.

"Good. Because I think they're…God, Booth, they're arresting her!"

He nearly causes a ten-car pileup in shock. "What?"

"I thought they were just going to question her or something! Booth, they have their handcuffs out, and they're arresting her! Oh my God!"

He races through the next to red lights, barely noticing the screech of tires and honks from behind him. They're arresting Bones? What the hell for? The idiots. Can't they tell that Bones is the last person who'd knowingly break the law?

He screeches into the parking lot of the bar minutes later. By some miracle, the squad cars are still there. At least they haven't taken her away yet, as far as he can tell. He snaps his phone shut and bolts from his SUV, wondering what on earth is going on.

The scene is subdued in the dim-lit bar. There's a small crowd, but from the looks of it, many of the bar-goers fled the instant police showed up. Officers have their notepads out and are interviewing people off to the side. Booth ducks around them hurriedly and takes in the rest of the area.

It looks like a scene right out of a movie. The evidence of a bar fight is all over the place: overturned chairs, broken glass, spilled drinks. Booth steps gingerly around a couple of shattered mugs on the ground and wonders what the hell happened to the place and how on earth Bones is involved.

His phone rings, and he yanks it out. "Angela?"

"It's Hannah."

Oh. Of course. "Sorry about running out like that," he says, eyes still scanning the bar for familiar faces. "It's just—Bones is in trouble, and I have to help her."

He can almost picture Hannah nodding understandingly. "Yeah, sure. Of course. Let me know if there's anything I can do."

"I will," he promises, even though he doesn't think there's much to be done at this point. He doesn't even know what the problem is, let alone how to solve it. Snapping the phone shut again, he walks past a few lingering partiers and finally spots Bones and Angela standing near the wall. They both look fine, thank God, and he hurries toward them, his expression anxious.

When he's almost to them, a uniformed officer throws up a hand to bar his way. "I'm sorry, sir, but you'll have to keep back."

"FBI," he says impatiently, his eyes on Bones as he yanks out his badge.

The man doesn't move, his expression confused. "The FBI has no jurisdiction over local—"

His patience, already short to start with, wears thin. "They're both my friends," he snaps, jerking his head toward Angela and Bones, "so that makes it my jurisdiction. Get out of the way."

The officer hesitates, so Booth just shoves past him, closing the distance between him and Bones in three quick strides.

"No handcuffs," Angela is saying, her voice fierce as she faces off the officer in front of her who has a shiny pair of handcuffs in his hand. "Can't you see her wrist is hurt?"

The man tries to push past her, but Angela's much stronger than she looks. She shoves back at him and stands in front of Bones, her expression hard.

"Ma'am," the officer says in a tightly controlled voice, "I'm going to ask you to step out of the way. If you don't, I'll have to arrest you for obstruction."

"Arrest me then," Angela says brashly, her hands on her hips, "because you aren't touching her. And any moment now, our FBI friend is going to show up, and he's going to straighten all this out, so you'd better back off until he gets here."

"I don't care if your friend is a senator," the officer answers, his patience clearly slipping. "I'm going to arrest you both." He swings up the cuffs, but Booth catches his hand firmly.

"Whoa, you aren't arresting anyone."

The officer turns smartly, his expression angry. "Would you like to be arrested too, sir?"

Booth doesn't release his grip. Instead, he grabs his badge and raises his eyebrows challengingly. "FBI, buddy. Mind telling me what this is about?"

"Thank God!" Angela exclaims, relief suffusing her face. Her hostile expression eases instantly as she catches sight of him, and she turns toward Bones. "Look, Bren, it's Booth. Phew! I thought I was really going to get arrested there for a second."

"You still might, miss," the officer says severely, turning toward her.

"Hey," Booth says, waving to regain his attention, "before we talk about arresting anyone, mind telling me what happened?"

"Yeah." The man turns and points at Bones accusingly. "She and him—" He swivels around again to point across the room at another man, already in handcuffs, next to another police officer. "—got into a huge brawl in the bar. Not a little thing either. They're both all battered and not looking too hot. Got tempers, those two."

"Tempers?" Booth repeats, his eyebrows climbing. Sure, Bones has got a temper, but he's only seen her unleash it once or twice in all the years they've known each other. Usually she keeps it in pretty good check, behind the walls of logic she builds up. He wonders what the hell riled her up enough to have her dealing out punches in the middle of a bar.

The man nods solemnly. "They were still fighting when we got here. Had to drag 'em away from each other. We're going to have to take them in to the station for questioning and possible charges."

Well, that doesn't sound like Bones at all. Booth shakes his head and holds up a hand. "Hang on a second. I know that my partner doesn't punch someone for no reason, so the guy must've had it coming for him. Either that or there's some sort of mix-up here. What happened exactly?"

The officer shrugs. "All I know is what the witnesses have told me. The man was with his girlfriend, they exchanged some heated words, then this young lady—" He gestures to Bones. "—stepped in and exchanged a few words, which turned into blows. That's all I know."

Booth sighs and runs a hand through his hair. Making an effort to soften the sharpness in his tone, he says, "Officer, do you mind giving us a couple of minutes?"

The man hesitates for a second before shrugging. "Sure. Just keep in sight."

"Of course." Booth waits until the officer steps out of earshot before coming toward Angela and Bones, his expression worried. "Angela, what happened, really?"

The artist shakes her head. "I really have no idea. One moment I was getting our drinks at the bar, and the next, Bren's punching the living daylights out of the guy. Then someone called the police and…" She shrugs helplessly.

Well, that doesn't help much. Rubbing Angela's arm comfortingly, he moves toward Bones, a question on his lips as he reaches for her.

"Don't," she says sharply, recoiling away from him.

He's so surprised by her reaction that he freezes on the spot. Staring at her, he asks in confusion, "Don't? Don't what, Bones?"

"You shouldn't be here," she says, her voice rough. It has none of the collected, calm edge it normally does. She sounds suspiciously close to emotional.

"What do you mean?" he asks, still not moving.

She takes a deep breath. "I don't want you here, Booth. Go home."

He feels like she's slapped him in the face. She doesn't want him here? What does that mean?

"Bones?" he asks slowly, at a loss on what to say. When she doesn't answer, he sends a searching glance at Angela, wordlessly asking for help.

She moves forward obligingly, taking Bones's arm. "Bren? What do you mean you don't want him here? It's Booth."

"I know who it is," Bones retorts, her voice angry. "My slight concussion hasn't affected my memory in any way."

"Slight concussion?" Booth echoes sharply. Ignoring the way Bones steps away from him, he moves toward her, catching her arm before she can run. Jaw clenched, he tilts her head toward the light and catches sight of the gash on her forehead, purpled with bruising.

After a moment of reining in his anger, he asks tightly, "Are you hurt anywhere else?" He remembers what Angela said earlier and reaches for her hand. "Angela said something about your wrist—"

"I'm fine," she says stiffly, pushing him away with her left hand while hiding the other behind her back.

He's stronger than her, so, as he does every so often, he uses this against her. Grabbing her uninjured hand, he twists her around so that he can get a hold of her other one. He handles it as gently as he can, but still she winces as he touches her. It's already swelling, and he probes it gently. It's broken, or, at the very least, sprained.

"I'm fine," she says, trying to pull away from him. "It's not bad, just a simple fracture, probably of the scaphoid or radius. A simple cast is all I need."

She winces when he keeps his hold on her as she tries to pull away, and a quiet whimper escapes her lips. He's so startled and alarmed at the sound that he releases her instantly.

"Sorry," he says quickly, throwing up his hands. "Jeez, you okay? Did I hurt you?"

She shakes her head quickly, her expression unreadable again. "I'm fine, Booth. Please leave me alone."

"Bren," Angela hisses, casting a glance from Booth back to Bones. "If Booth isn't here, you'll get arrested."

"I don't care." She keeps her eyes stubbornly averted from his so he can't tell what she's thinking. He tries to duck his head to catch her eyes, but she turns her head away quickly.

Someone touches his shoulder, and he finds the officer standing close behind him. "Sir, I'm going to have to take her in now. So if you'd just let me…" He holds up the handcuffs and moves for Bones.

"Her wrist!" Angela exclaims in exasperation, and Booth snatches the handcuffs from the officer quickly.

"She's hurt her wrist," he says, holding the handcuffs out of reach. "So forget the cuffs. I promise you she won't run."

"Well…" The man doesn't look convinced.

Booth looks at him and raises his badge again. "From one officer of the law to another, I swear she isn't looking for another way to get out of this. And I'd consider it a favor if you'd let me drive her down to the station."

"I can't really—"

"Interagency cooperation," he says quickly. "Isn't that what they're all touting these days? I won't take her anywhere, I'll just drive her straight to the station. You can even follow us, or lead us. I don't care. Just let me take her."

"No."

He's taken aback to hear the protest because it comes from behind him, from Bones, and not from the officer. Surprised, he turns toward her incredulously. "What do you mean no, Bones?"

She looks at him for the first time that night, and her eyes are burning. Her gaze is so hostile that he steps back involuntarily, set back on his heels. Only once in their entire partnership has he seen this sort of anger from her, and that was after she'd thought he'd died. What the hell is it about this time? He doesn't think he's done anything in the past week—the past month even—to earn this sort of fury.

Has he?

"No," she repeats, her voice impassive. Gone is the emotion from earlier. She's stonewalled again, strictly logical. "I'll ride with you, Officer. There's no need for you to worry about me, Booth."

No need? No need?

"Of course there's need!" he exclaims. "I'm your partner, Bones! And you're being arrested!"

She looks at him with that chilling gaze again and says coolly, "Go home to Hannah, Booth. I can take care of myself." And just for a moment there, he can hear an undercurrent of emotion in her voice, anger and something else. Something deeper. Raw. Hurt.

And then she's gone. The officer's taken her arm and lead her away, out of the bar, leaving him standing in bewildered silence. Angela gives him an indecipherable look before running to catch up with Bones and the officer, her expression worried. He still stands there in the middle of crushed glass, trying to make sense of things.

She's hurt. She's hurt. Not in the physical sense, though she's plenty hurt there too, but she's hurt inside, in places he can't see. And he can't fathom what's she hurting about, except that he's the cause of it.

He needs to find out what's wrong.

Unfreezing, he tucks his badge away before hurrying out of the bar and back to the SUV. He pulls out of the parking lot and runs the siren as he follows on the tail of the police cruiser, his shoulders tense and his thoughts jumbled.

What the hell's wrong with Bones?