Chapter Two

Ache

Isn't it strange, the way things can change?
Life that you lead, turned on its head. Suddenly someone, means more than you felt for
house in its yard, turns into home.
Sorry but I meant to say, many things along the way, This one's for you.

Have I told you I ache, have I told you I ache,
Have I told you I ache, for you...

After an hour of Angela standing over her shoulder and looking pointedly at the clock, Brennan finally gave in and left the lab at 8:30.

It had been good to have something to do. None of the other team members mentioned the funeral breakdown, but the memory was clearly fresh in their minds; Cam, Hodgins, and even Zack still talked to her in that sickbed voice, and no matter how short she was with them, no one got annoyed.

There had been an incident two hours or so after her arrival; she'd been on the forensic platform, working through cases from Limbo with the others, when an unfamiliar blonde woman approached the steps of the platform."Um, hi. I'm Special Agent Payton Perrotta. With the FBI?"

Brennan looked up to see Cam scanning her badge so the agent could come up on the platform. Cam had clearly been expecting her. "Agent Perotta, this Dr. Zack Addy, Angela Montenegro, Dr. Jack Hodgins, and Dr. Temperance Brennan." She pointed to them all accordingly, then addressed the group, her eyes on Brennan "A body was found in a dumpster behind a restaurant downtown."

Brennan didn't look up. "Zack can go."

Startled, Zack stared at her for a moment, then began gathering his kit. Perotta, meanwhile, looked a little surprised, and after a moment's hesitation, approached Brennan.

"Dr. Brennan, I just wanted to say I'm very sorry about Agent Booth. I knew him at the Bureau, of course, and he was an excellent agent, and…well, we all know you two were very close."

Brennan shrugged dismissively, still not looking up from the few bones laid out on the table in front of her.

Awkwardly pressing on, Perotta continued, "Also, I wanted to let you know, you should definitely feel free to participate in the case as much as you'd like. I know you were quite involved with the investigative side of things with Booth, and you two were obviously doing something right, with your solve rate. So any help you give would certainly be…welcome…" She trailed off as Brennan slowly lifted her head to look at her, eyes blazing.

Across the lab, Hodgins glanced at Angela and murmured, "Oh, boy…" Nervous, Angela took a few steps closer to the table.

Her tone one of icy calm, Brennan stated, "I'm no longer participating in field work. I made that clear to the Bureau; I don't care how many agents they send over to try to convince me otherwise. Now, Dr. Addy is waiting to go examine the remains."

Perotta nodded silently; but instead of looking intimidated or annoyed or frustrated, her eyes had gone soft around the edges, sympathy filling her expression.

Now, Brennan was reluctantly leaving the lab. Angela and the others made offers for dinner, but she declined all of them. The sympathy was starting to wear on her, and for some reason she felt like crying every time Hodgins gave her that sad half-smile, or Cam patted her on the arm for no reason at all, or when Zack stumbled over sentences to avoid mentioning Booth (or the FBI), or anytime Angela so much as looked at her.

Still, when she opened her door to her empty apartment, she didn't feel like being there, either.

The only place she wanted to be, Brennan had to admit to herself, was sitting across from Booth in the diner, their usual after-work routine. Rehashing a case, bickering over the merits of pie, or just sitting in companionable silence.

Throwing her bag on the couch, Brennan scolded herself silently. It wasn't going to happen… not tonight, not ever.

She sat on her couch, arms folded in front of her, hating the silence. Funny how it never really bothered her before.

She had a deadline coming up, but she had tried working on her latest novel a few times the past two weeks, and couldn't seem to get more than a sentence down. She didn't have any paperwork from a case, because she'd been staying away from any FBI related business. And, thanks to Angela and her stupid sedative, she wasn't at all tired.

Brennan sat for about five minutes before deciding the silence was going to drive her crazy. She made her way over to the stereo, just to put on some background music.

The first thing her gaze zeroed in on was her Cyndi Lauper CD, and her stomach lurched violently. She was seized with an irrational desire to hurl the disc across the room. As it was, she removed it from the shelf and slid it underneath, out of sight.

Brennan grabbed one of the jazz albums, trying to ignore his voice in her head, echoing from two years ago like a phantom. Wow, I'd think all that free form stuff would a little bit too unpredictable for you.

She opened the CD part of the stereo and froze.

The Foreigner album was sitting in the CD player, as though they had just finished air banding around her living room to Hot Blooded (in reality, it had become a song she played often, anytime her mood needed a lift).

What is it about Booth and me and music that always ends in disaster? The thought popped into her head, unbidden, and she suddenly had the ridiculous desire to laugh. The laugh died in her throat, however, never making it out, when she realized that their 'rocking out', as Booth called it later, had preceded yet another time when he found himself injured in her place.

And just like that, rage gripped her, so strong Brennan couldn't see straight. The jazz album, forgotten, slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor.

"Fuck you, Booth," she whispered. She hadn't meant to say that out loud, wasn't even sure where that came from. She didn't believe in talking to a dead person even at a cemetery, much less alone in her apartment.

Still, the more she stared at the CD, the angrier she got. The continued silence in the apartment was choking her, and, foolishly, she wanted to fill it. "Fuck you!" She repeated, louder this time. Brennan violently jerked the CD from the stereo and tossed it away.

She was falling apart over this when it was his own damn fault. And if he somehow could answer her, the stupid, stubborn arrogant man, he would probably still insist it was for the best. Always presuming to know what was best for her, always thinking she couldn't take care of herself.

This was because of him. He didn't deserve her grief.

She tore into her bedroom, where Brainy Smurf and Jasper the pig resided permanently on her bedside table. Brennan grabbed both of the figurines in her fist, tightening it so that the plastic dug into her skin. "I hate you," she murmured to no one, pushing aside her inner Squint voice that was insisting that there was no use speaking to a dead person. "Damn you."

She let the figurines tumble from her grip and fall the floor, where she kicked first Jasper and then Brainy, as if they were nothing special.

Even after releasing the small figures, her hands balled involuntarily into fists, eager to destroy. The outrage coursing through her body was easier to deal with than overwhelming sadness, and Brennan wanted to hang onto it.

Her eyes darted wildly around the apartment, looking for anything else connected to Booth. Brennan thought unexpectedly of Angela, who, after a bad breakup, used to make an Event out of destroying anything related to her exes.

What else did she destroy? Gifts. That was Jasper and Brainy. Letters…but Booth never sent her any letters. Drawings, but Brennan wasn't an artist. Photographs…

Brennan scanned the apartment, as though she was expecting some photograph of Booth to manifest itself.

I have to have one somewhere…

Brennan rushed into the kitchen and opening up one of the less organized drawers. There were packs of photos, mostly from Angela, who occasionally got into a photography mood.

There was a whole roll Angela had taken at the lab, and Brennan rifled through them with inexplicable intensity. Booth must not have been there that day, because he wasn't in any of them.

The photos fluttered to the ground and spread out on the tile. Brennan continued to tear through Angela's photographs, not noticing that her fury was quickly being replaced by something more akin to panic.

"Damn it…" Finding nothing, Brennan slammed the door shut. She ran her trembling hands through her hair, her reason for wanting a photo of Booth completely forgotten once confronted with the realization that she didn't have any.

Again, Brennan glanced around the room, desperate, pausing at each framed photo around the room. A photo of her and Angela. The photo the team had taken last Christmas (without Booth). The photo of Russ and his family he'd sent. An old picture of her parents.

Brennan's heart hitched in her chest.

Booth was the most important person in her life, from either her biological family or her more untraditional one. Yet he was the only person not represented.

Anger completely gone, Brennan hurried to her bedroom, eyes on the floor. Brainy Smurf was easily visible in the corner of the room, and she retrieved it, but she saw the Jasper figurine had rolled under the bed when she'd kicked it.

Crouching down unsteadily, Brennan realized how violently she was shaking. Even after she had the small, plastic pig in her grip, she remained on the floor, her breathing shallow. For some reason she couldn't understand, it suddenly felt very important to find a photo of Booth. And, just as irrationally, she didn't want to be in her apartment anymore.

A decision made, Brennan got to her feet and grabbed an overnight bag from her closet. She stuffed it with toiletries, several outfits, and added the figurines she was still clutching.

Then she left her apartment.

~(B*B)~

Booth had had that idiotic hide a key rock in front of his door as long as Brennan had been his partner; she remembered noticing it, with amusement, the first time she went to his apartment, their second case, when she'd first met Tessa.

Now, Brennan was relieved to find the rock still in its place, doing a miserable job of looking authentic. She pulled it apart and extracted the key from inside; after she unlocked the front door, instead of returning the key to the rock, Brennan slid it onto her own keychain.

Before she did anything else inside Booth's apartment, Brennan practically ran to the coffee table in his living room and grabbed the first framed photograph she could. Booth and Parker grinned up at her, identical charm smiles. The knots in her stomach unfurled, and tears sprang to her eyes as she stared down at Booth's image, her original intent to destroy a photo of him completely forgotten.

She stared down at the photograph for a good three minutes, memorizing it as if his image was in danger of slipping from her memory.

Finally, she stood up, and began slowly and aimlessly wandering the apartment, reveling in the proof of her partners life. She touched his familiar handwriting on a hastily scribbled grocery list. She pressed the play button on his answering machine and listened to his voice tell her to leave a message.

By the time she made it into the bedroom, tears were streaming down her face and dripping off her chin, but Brennan barely noticed.

She hesitated only briefly before curling onto his bed, on the side she knew he had slept on, burying her face in his pillow. The achingly familiar scent of him hit Brennan all at once, and she felt as though her heart was suddenly too large for her chest.

Another thought forced it's way to the forefront of her mind before she could stop it. Booth should be here. The first time I'm in his bedroom, in his bed…he should be here with me. Maybe showing me what he meant by that 'making love' speech earlier this year.

Brennan had rarely allowed herself to even silently acknowledge feelings for Booth, beyond the undeniable fact that he was an attractive male. But hindsight was 20/20 and she had to admit that she had always thought it was an inevitability that something would happen between the two of them, something she had wanted for longer than she cared to acknowledge. That all the little moments that drew them closer together were leading somewhere amazing.

Instead, now, she couldn't help but look back and see nothing but missed opportunities. Their relationship would always be nothing more than a giant What if?

What the hell were we waiting for?

Brennan began to cry softly into Booth's pillow, and in spite of her earlier frustrations, she didn't particularly care.

That night, Brennan moved as many photos of him as she could into Booth's bedroom, including one she found of the two of them she found hanging on his refrigerator, obviously a recent one, taken the day they'd had baby Andy in the lab. Brennan vaguely recalled Angela snapping pictures of the infant, but this one was just she and Booth, smiling at each other. Brennan couldn't for the life of her understand why Booth had a copy and she didn't, but the smiles on both of their faces nearly stole her breath.

She took a shower in his bathroom, and squeezed a small, nickel sized amount of his shampoo into her palm, smelling the familiar scent for several long moments. She did the same with his aftershave, and then she pulled on one of his favorite, well worn T-shirts over her head and curled up in his bed, the room crowded with memories.

~(B*B)~

Angela was waiting for her at the lab at 8:17 a.m. the next morning, and when she saw Brennan, she broke into a delighted smile as though Brennan had just accomplished some significant feat, rather than just shown up to work like always.

"You came in at a decent hour!"

Brennan blinked, taken aback by the enthusiasm. "Why are you here, Ange? You never come in before nine."

Angela rolled her eyes. "Not never. Just generally. And I wanted to make sure you didn't come back last night."

"I promised you, didn't I?" No need to tell Angela where she did end up sleeping.

"You did." Angela peered at her friend, noting the slight puffiness around her eyes that always followed a night of crying, and Angela pulled her into a sideways hug. "You okay today?"

Brennan shrugged. "I suppose. Yes, I'm fine, actually." She paused, then said shyly, "Ange? Could you maybe do me a favor?"

"Anything, sweetie."

Trying to sound nonchalant, but failing miserably, Brennan asked, "Those photos you took, the day…we had Andy at the lab. I was wondering if I could have some copies?"

Angela's heart caught, like it often did when she spoke to Brennan lately. She nodded quickly, making herself match Brennan's light tone "Yeah, that's no problem. Actually…" She paused until Brennan looked at her. "I have a lot of rolls I took here at the lab that I never bothered to properly sort through. I could see if there's any…of use in those, too."

Grateful, Brennan smiled shakily at Angela. "That would be great, Ange. Thank you."

She nodded and smiled, and Brennan did the same. Then they both returned to work.

That was a Wednesday. No day for the rest of the week passed completely without incident.

Wednesday it was the photos, several of which Angela returned with after an extra long lunch break. Proving that her best friend had understand the reason beneath Brennan's request, all of the photos were of Booth, often of the two of them together.

After the previous night, Brennan shouldn't have been surprised by her own reaction. But after staring at the photos only briefly, she'd been forced to disappear into her office for twenty minutes.

Thursday it was another FBI agent, who was in charge of the latest case they were consulting on (Perotta's case a few days earlier had turned out to be a suicide). Special Agent Ken Roberson was arrogant and not happy about getting help from scientists.

Zack had taken care of the recovery, but Brennan was still over the examination of the remains. Roberson was hovering about three inches behind Brennan at the forensic table, sighing loudly every thirty seconds, and asking how long she was going to be every minute or so.

Finally, Brennan whirled on him, eyes blazing. "If I were you, I'd shut the hell up, and go stand over there. I will have my finished report for you soon as possible, and then you can do us both a favor and get out for good."

Angry at being spoken to like that, Roberson leered at her. "I heard you let Agent Booth be very involved in the entire process. I'd think you would extend me the same courtes - hey!"

In a fluid motion, Brennan twisted his arm behind his back and walked him a few paces to an empty table, shoving his face against the cool surface.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Agent, but I am fairly certain you are not Booth. Now get the hell out, and don't come back. I'll send the results to the Hoover, and then I don't have to see your miserable, nonsymmetrical , disgustingly inferior face here again."

Practically cowering, Roberson all but ran out of the Jeffersonian. While the rest of the team gaped at her, open mouthed, Brennan, gritting her teeth, returned to her work.

Friday was the probably the worst of all. Brennan had only been at work a few hours, and was engrossed in a set of Civil War era remains, ignoring a conversation between Zack and Hodgins behind her, until one word, bones, floated by her and Brennan instinctually turned to answer.

Zack and Hodgins didn't notice, but Brennan's could feel the heat rising to her face as she realized that of course they hadn't been talking about her. Only Booth called her that.

And Booth was gone.

The crushing truth hit her; she was never going to hear Booth call her the nickname again.

She remembered the beginning of their partnership, when she used to protest the nickname. Over time, she recognized that the nickname was affectionate more than anything, and she had begun to honestly like that Booth had a name for her only he used. Still, he really had begun saying it to annoy her, and she really had been annoyed by it in the beginning.

Even so, now Brennan couldn't help but think angrily, Why did I ever make a fuss over something so silly? Why did I never mention that I like the name?

Brennan couldn't pinpoint the moment that she made the transition, but after a few moments of contemplation she was definitely crying, silent tears coursing down her cheeks, her shoulders shaking. Behind her, Hodgins and Zack went quiet, and Angela and Cam both stared uneasily from across the platform, unsure of what to do. When Brennan showed no signs of stopping, Angela crossed the room and gently led Brennan into her office.

She continued to sleep at Booth's apartment, returning to her own only briefly to collect more of her things. She put the photos Angela had given her up in his bedroom with the others; she kept some of his more colorful socks laying out on the bureau, in sight. She had even taken to wearing his St. Christopher medal, which she'd found the first morning in his apartment, laying by the sink.

Brennan surrounded herself with memories of Booth, proof of the life he had led, determined not to lose him completely.

In the mean time, though, she was losing herself.

The logic driven, rational part of brain was growing less and less persistent. It was shockingly easy to ignore the voice in her head that was insisting that her actions were counterproductive. That moving on meant ridding herself of constant reminders, not surrounding herself with them.

The old Temperance Brennan wouldn't have broken down in front of her coworkers several times. She wouldn't be living in Booth's apartment. She wouldn't play his voicemail recording upwards of twenty times a day, just to remember what his voice sounded like, even it cut her to the quick every time. She wouldn't dissolve into tears at the slightest provocation.

Brennan was breaking.

Saturday she vowed to spend the day writing, but after two hours of staring at a blinking cursor, she deleted everything she had so far and began furiously typing what felt more like a thirty page confessional than a novel, opening with a scene of Kathy learning her partner, Andy, had died after a bomb meant for her exploded in her office.

Brennan was pretty sure she wouldn't turn those pages in.

Sunday, she was supposed to meet Angela at Hodgins' house to go shopping; when she was a half hour late, Angela had gone, worried, to Brennan's apartment, only to find it empty there as well.

She had eventually found her, in Booth's place, the door unlocked; Brennan, dressed only in one of Booth's dress shirts, was sitting in the living room floor in abject misery because Booth's pillow now smelled more like her than him.

"Sweetie…" The first word Angela said when she entered. "Sweetie, have you been living here all week?"

Brennan nodded. She looked down at the pillow in her lap. "I can't…it smelled like Booth. But I've been sleeping on it and, and I think now it smells like me, and I need…I need to get it back." Her voice cracked, and she looked up at Angela.

Brennan's chin was quivering with the effort of keeping her voice steady, and there were tears sparkling on her eyelashes; Angela was startled by how young her best friend suddenly looked. "Okay…okay, Bren, why don't you…you could stick the pillowcase in a drawer with some of his shirts. It may take a few days but maybe…"

Brennan seemed to consider this, and then she tentatively smiled. "Yeah, that could do it. Thanks, Angela, that…that was really smart."

"Here…" Angela gently took the pillow from her. "I'll take care of it…you get dressed, alright? If you're still up for the mall?"

Brennan nodded obediently. "I am. Okay."

Angela stopped short in the doorway of Booth's bedroom, her eyes beginning to sting. "Oh, Bren…"

Photos of Booth crowded every inch of surface space in the room, and some of the ones Angela had given her recently had been taped up on the mirror. Some of Booth's more recognizable accessories, ties and pairs of socks, were laid out in plain view.

Steps behind Angela, Brennan was staring at the ground. "It's stupid," she mumbled. "It's not…it's not rational. I don't know why I did it, but…but I needed to. Just like I need to be here."

"Alright," Angela said. "It's…it is going to be alright, Sweetie."

Brennan nodded a little, but neither one of them honestly believed Angela's words.

~(B*B)~

They had been at the mall for about two hours. Angela was in the dressing room, for the third time at this particular store, and Brennan had tired of attempting to provide commentary. Claiming the bathroom, she was wandering around alone, still trying hard not to be embarrassed that her friend had discovered the fact that she was living at Booth's apartment.

Then she heard it.

"Bones!"

And, God, she knew it was scientifically impossible, but Brennan still felt like her heart was being cleaved in two.

She turned and was hit somewhere above the knees by Parker Booth. And only then did she remember that there was one other person who called her by that nickname.

Rebecca wasn't far behind, and Brennan quickly crouched down to Parker's level, something she wouldn't normally do; but the all too familiar tears were prickling at her eyes like small, hot daggers, and it was one thing to cry in front of her friends (not that she was happy about that, either) and quite another to cry in front of Rebecca, whom she didn't know very well.

Forcing a painful smile, Brennan's eyes met Parker's. "Hey, Parker."

To her surprise, Parker wrapped his arms around her neck. "I haven't seen you in a real long time, Bones!"

Brennan glanced up at Rebecca, who offered her a tiny smile, before answering Parker, "I know. I've missed seeing you."

"I've missed seeing you, too! Maybe when my dad gets back from his trip we can go to the diner together again."

For a brief, horrifying moment, Brennan thought she might be sick. She swallowed hard, unable to think of an answer even if her throat hadn't closed.

She stood abruptly, finding it suddenly too difficult to meet Parker's warm brown eyes. Rebecca gave her a sympathetic smile, then said in an undertone, "This is all a little too much for him to understand, so I just told him Seeley's on an important trip for work."

Brennan wasn't sure how to respond; she just nodded, and said, "Of course." Privately she couldn't understand how that explanation was going to work in the long run. It didn't seem right to lie to him.

Parker tugged on Brennan's sleeve, not seeming at all bothered that she hadn't answered his last question. "Hey, Bones? How come you didn't go with Daddy on his work trip if you guys are work partners?"

"I…I d-don't know, Parker. I guess they only needed…one of us."

This seemed to satisfy Parker, who merely nodded before returning to his original question, "So when Daddy gets back, will you come to the diner with us? And me and Daddy can get pie but you don't have to cuz you don't like it." For a second, Brennan couldn't speak around the lump in her throat. Parker looked at her, questioning. "Will you, Bones?"

Her voice catching, Brennan plastered on a tremulous smile that hurt to hold, and answered, "Of course, Parker. I'd love to."

He beamed. "Awesome! I like when you hang out with me and Daddy."

She impulsively touched her fingers to Parkers soft curls. "So do I." She looked at Rebecca. "I've got to run, Angela's waiting for me…"

"Of course." Rebecca smiled. "It was good to see you. Tell Dr. Brennan goodbye Parker."

"Bye, Bones!"

"Bye," she managed before bolting.

Brennan ducked into the dressing rooms, which were closer than any bathrooms.

Angela was standing outside one of the stalls, in front of the three way mirror, admiring a pair of jeans. Spotting Brennan in the mirror, she whipped around, "Oh, good, you're back. What's your honest opinion of-" Stopping abruptly, Angela's brow furrowed in concern. "What happened?"

"Parker," Brennan whispered, her voice thick with tears.

"Oh, Sweetie, you saw Parker?"

She began nodding. "And Rebecca. Parker , he … he just thinks Booth's coming back. That he's on a trip or something. And, and he thinks we're all just going to g-go to the diner and they'll eat pie and I won't because fruit shouldn't fucking be cooked." Hot tears were spilling down Brennan's cheeks, and she wondered if she would ever be done with them. "And he wanted to know why I didn't go on the trip with Booth, and I should've just said that I was supposed to be the one going on the stupid fucking trip but he took my place…"

She was sobbing in earnest at this point in her speech, and Angela wasted no time before folding her friend into a hug, Brennan whimpering against her shoulder, "He…he called me Bones."

Any words she had caught in Angela's throat. She knew by now that nothing she could say was going to help Brennan; they just had to ride it out.

After a minute or so, a woman entered the dressing room holding several items over her arm. She stopped dead when she saw the scene in front of her, staring stupidly until Angela glared at her and said, "Do you mind?" and waved a hand toward the door as though the woman had absolutely no right to want to try on clothes in a clothing store.

Brennan drew back, the sobs dwindling to long, shuddering breaths. "I'm sorry."

"Don't ever apologize to me for this, Bren. I mean it."

"But…I hate being like this. I think I've cried more in the past three weeks than I have in the past fifteen years. I can't control it…I used to be able to compartmentalize, Ange. What the hell happened to me?"

Angela regarded her best friend seriously, dark brown eyes meeting glittering blue. "I know what happened to you. But you aren't going to like the answer."

Confused, Brennan's eyebrows drew together. "I don't understand."

"What happened is that you fell in love. With Booth. And then he died because he loved you, too, and now you're the one left here with half of your heart."

Brennan's face rapidly drained of color. After a beat of silence, she stammered, "It's…if half of my heart was missing, that wouldn't be compatible with life."

A corner of Angela's lips quirked up at the very Brennan-like response. "Metaphorical heart, Sweetie. When you fall in love with someone, you give them a big part of your heart…metaphorically. And you don't get it back."

Brennan was quiet, then said softly, "I've never understood why the heart became the organ metaphorically associated with love and emotions. In actuality that's all controlled by the brain."

Angela sighed. "Sweetie, you said last week that sometimes you miss him so much it literally hurts." Brennan flushed, wondering when she became so forthright, but nodded. Gentling her voice, Angela asked, "Where does it hurt, Bren?"

Brennan was unresponsive for so long, Angela was sure she was going to choose not to answer. But then, meeting Angela's eyes with a vulnerability that made Angela's own heart ache, Brennan tentatively pressed a closed fist against her chest.

Angela nodded slowly. "See?"

Only hours later, after she'd reluctantly dropped Brennan back at Booth's apartment, did Angela realize that in all Brennan's talk about the literal vs. metaphorical heart, she never protested Angela's assertion that she had fallen in love with Booth.

~(B*B)~

"…97, 98, 99, 100." Booth flopped down on his back, muscles burning, sweat pooled on his forehead. He'd just finished his third set of sit-ups.

From the next room, Agent Brown laughed at him. "Don't know why you bother, Seeley. No ladies around to be impressed."

"Like he needs help with that. My secretary doesn't get a damn thing done with he's in the building," Agent Latham put in from his place at the table next to Brown. They were bent over the latest transcripts sent from the man they had inside Reynolds' old crime team.

Booth tipped a bottle of water down his throat. "It's more to stop me from turning my gun on all of you and running like hell away from this place," he corrected them, earning laughs in spite of the fact that he was mostly serious.

Their inside man had recently sent assurances that Reynolds's was 'definitely making preparations to rejoin.' Information was coming much quicker since Booth had contacted Cullen, the only person the phone in the safehouse could dial out to, demanding to know just how long they were supposed to wait. He couldn't be dead forever, after all, and what if Reynolds never made a move?

The phone rang, and Brown, closest, picked it up. "Brown." He listened, smiling slightly. "Sure thing." He held the receiver in Booth's direction. "Phone for you."

Taking another gulp of water, Booth crossed the room and took the phone. "Booth."

"Hey, Daddy!"

Booth grinned instantly. "Parks! How are ya, buddy?" He asked, grabbing a chair and settling into it.

"I'm good! Are you coming home yet?"

Booth felt a familiar stab of pain somewhere along his gut. "Not quite yet, Bub."

"Oh." Parker sounded disappointed.

"What have you been up to?"

Instantly animated again, his son began giving him a play by play account of his week, from his last soccer practice to the story his teacher was reading him in class. Booth asked questions and exclaimed in all the right places.

"Oh! And Mommy made me go shopping with her, which sucked-"

"Parker," he admonished.

"Sorry, it stunk, but we saw Bones there!"

Booth automatically sat up a little straighter. "Really?" He was instantly relieved; in the past few days, he had allowed his mind to dwell on a couple extreme scenarios. What if Bones had been hurt? Who would be able to inform him? None of the other squints knew he was alive (something he also felt guilty about.)

"Yeah! She said she missed seeing me, and I asked her if when you got back from your trip we could all go to the diner. I told her we'd get pie but she didn't have to since she thinks it's yucky."

Booth smiled. "What'd she say to that?"

"She said she'd love to go."

Booth closed his eyes briefly, allowing himself to imagine being in the dinner with his two favorite people in the world. Suddenly, he missed Parker and Bones so much it ached. His voice slightly rougher, he answered, "That's great, Parks. I can't wait."

"Me either."

Still eager for any tidbit on his partner, Booth asked, "Did Bones seem okay, buddy?"

There was a pause, and then Parker said, "I guess so. She looked kind of sad when I first went over to her. And when I asked about the diner, she smiled in that funny way that Mommy does when she's about to cry."

His heart hitched in his chest. So she did miss him. Booth could definitely relate. He thought briefly of the last time he'd seen Bones, standing over him, terrified, pleading with him not to slip away. He'd never seen her like that.

It couldn't be easy for her, pretending he was dead, especially when the last image she had of him was him bleeding out on the floor of a karaoke bar, or maybe being wheeled off into surgery.

Maybe she really hadn't been given the number.

"Daddy? I think Bones wants you to come home soon, too," Parker told him solemnly.

Speaking around the lump forming in his throat, Booth answered, "I want that, too, Bub. You have no idea how much."

A/N: Hope you're enjoying! Please take the time to review, they are so addicting!