Author's Note: I have blindassasin / BlindAssassinUK to thank for giving me the excuse to finally finish this story and ready it for posting. So thank her or blame her as you like. I favor blaming when it comes to her, but you know – go with your gut.

Also, I apologize for any/all facts that are wrong.

Obviously none of these characters are mine, so thanks to Hanson, Nathan, and company for giving me an excuse and tacit permission to wander away from my own original writing from time to time to re-fuel the muse.

14 installments (to help those who like to know what they're possibly getting into).

Chapter 1 - Booth

He awoke with a violent start, reaching for his gun and searched rapidly for the non-existent foe. He blinked and slowed his breathing.

"Booth?" Brennan laid a gentle hand on his arm and pointed at his ringing phone. "It's just your phone. Or did you hear something else?"

He slowly put his gun down while taking in all of his surroundings. "No. No, it's fine." He pressed the "talk" button on his phone. "Booth."

He absorbed Brennan's reassuring expression, glanced over at the video monitor to see Christine sleeping with her blankets kicked to the side of the crib, scanned the security frames on the other monitor, and noted no intruders or anything amiss. He nodded as he listened to the details of the murder victim his boss was calling him about, and flicking his eyes to the time on the backlit analog clock, – it was just after 4:00 am – he said he and his team would be at the crime scene within the next two hours.

He hung up, rubbed his eyes, and saw Brennan already out of bed and getting dressed while calling her dad. After… well … everything, they'd managed to get Christine re-admitted to the Jeffersonian daycare, but Max still helped them out for the off-hours stuff. It was better this way, really. And also lucky. Caroline had worked magic with her legal expertise, and even though Max had had to serve some time for aiding Brennan as a fugitive, he'd passed that and was now serving the rest of his time in community service.

Booth started to make his way to the bathroom to take a shower when Brennan stopped him. "I'm sorry about your nightmare."

He shrugged. "I'm fine."

She tilted her head and gave him that doubting expression of hers. He smiled and placed his hands reassuring on her shoulders. "I'm fine. I promise. It's just going to take a little time, that's all." Time before he could feel confident to lock up his gun again instead of keeping it at the ready by the bed. Time before he could completely shrug the feeling that danger had been in his house and he hadn't done his job to keep it out. But he wasn't going to become unhinged like Sweets seemed to think… or want, he thought to himself, almost giving a sigh of exasperation even at that moment. He leaned in and kissed Brennan.

When their lips parted, he rested his forehead against hers and grinned at the trusting smile that she gave him. Thank God she was who she was. She knew he was all right. She believed him, and that was all that really mattered. It was why they were partners.

~oOo~

The early hour and location of the crime scene made it a jeans and t-shirt start to the day. The victim, or at least parts of the victim, had been discovered washed up against some rocks in a creek just south of Gaithersburg, Maryland. He could have used a little more coffee, but kept himself focused as he waited on Brennan's and Cam's initial findings that would help him follow a more direct path. Hodgins was in wader heaven, collecting water samples and God-knew what else. Booth felt he had learned far more about bugs and their habits than he'd ever wanted to when he first started at the Bureau. Officers on the scene thought maybe the body had been dumped from the overpass, but then they'd discovered that "parts" of the body were missing. It was enough for them to lean on the "bone team" as the local authorities were calling them.

"Pelvic size and spread indicates a male," Brennan told him right away. "Hyperbolic arch of the maxilla indicates possible African descent. Age, mid- to late-twenties."

"This a normal dumping ground?" Booth asked the officers present as he jotted down his notes.

"Oh no. We've got a couple places along the turnpike instead for that."

"Been there, seen that," Cam chimed in.

"Nothing about the breaks on these bones suggests a fall from that height," Brennan added. "Looking at the tears of the articular cartilage and synovial linings, these bones were pulled apart, much like what might happen when traveling along a current and getting caught on sharp rocks or other outcroppings would hold a part of the body while the current pulls the rest away."

"So how far up the creek will we find the other parts of him?"

"These little guys," Hodgins held up an evidence dish, "would only jump on to the exposed joints if there was something worthwhile already developing for a good home. I'd say we could be finding parts as far up as a three to four kilometers."

"About two miles," both Cam and Brennan automatically converted for Booth.

"Got it," he acknowledged. "Any ideas on cause of death, yet? Are we looking at murder?"

"Injuries to the temporal bone may be as a result of a fall, and the hyoid is only cracked, but that is highly unusual."

"So, murder?"

"I can't say for sure."

"All right then, I'm gonna go with probable murder. We'll start a search from here northward and see what else we can find. I'll head back to the office and see about any missing person reports or other match-ups." He pocketed his notecards and started to turn away before Brennan's voice stopped him.

"Booth?"

"Yeah?"

"Will you call the Jeffersonian and make sure my dad got Christine there okay?"

"Yeah. Want me to do it right now?"

She had already re-focused her attention to the body and gave a distracted shake of her head. "No. I know you'll let me know if there's a problem."

He gave a little smile as he started to walk back to the SUV, pulling out his phone as he did so. He'd call right now anyway, and he'd follow up with a text to her because he knew it would still make her feel better. It was progress, though.

Home was on the way to the office, so he stopped by to check that all was as it should be and to change into the requisite suit and tie. Arriving at the Hoover, Sweets waylaid him as soon as he exited the elevator. Booth gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder.

"Sweets! I'd ask you what you're doing in my neck of the Bureau, but I probably don't want to know. I've got a case to jump on so whatever it is, I'll catch you later on it, right?" Booth charged past him. "See ya later, kid."

"Actually," Sweets called out, "I wasn't here to see you. I was checking in with Agent Flynn."

Booth refused to take the bait. He felt his jaw tense and slipped a hand into his pocket to grasp his dice, but kept walking. Unfortunately, he felt Sweets follow and catch up. Booth gave an exasperated sigh as he continued into his office and sat down heavily behind his desk, booting up his computer.

"You're going to have to deal with him sometime."

"Great. Sometime. Which means not now or even today," Booth replied giving him only a cursory glance as he started to type in what little data he had on his current murder victim. "I thought you weren't here to see me. What are you still doing here?"

When Sweets didn't answer, Booth stopped to look up at him. He was standing, both hands casually in his pockets, staring at Booth with that patronizing shrinky expression, the one that insisted he knew all of what Booth was surely hiding or denying. He hated that expression. He would have thought that Sweets would know by now that Booth would only glare at him in return, giving up nothing. Sweets kept staring, waiting silently. Once again, Booth won. Sweets looked away for a moment and shrugged.

"You have a new case, right? Maybe I can help."

"I don't even have an ID yet—" He stopped and swore softly under his breath when he saw the database search results pop up on his screen.

"What? What is it?" Sweets leaned in.

It was completely plausible that their victim was not one of the profiles listed that pulled up missing person reports and other sources. Their victim could easily be someone else. But until Angela finished her facial reconstruction, he was already sure that he would not share what he just found with the team yet. In spite of the fact that he felt confident that even if this was the victim that his death was completely unrelated, he knew the others weren't ready.

One of the missing persons that matched the profile was Steven DeGrast, a computer programming specialist.

"Dude," Sweets said in a low voice. "This is not good."