Disclaimer: I don't own them, but I admire them greatly.

Seasons without Sun

Chapter One

Seeley Booth usually regarded an unexpected knock at the door in the middle of the night as a precursor to danger. Adhering to standard FBI procedure, one hand on the butt of his service weapon, he peered cautiously through the keyhole. Angela Montenegro stood on the threshold with her head bowed, and an uncharacteristic frown marring her normally animated features. She had aged the equivalent of ten years over the past few months, as had they all. Still, the telltale gray streaks in her hair and sunken cheeks were always a shock. Sighing deeply Booth dropped his head wearily against the door, unwilling and unable to go another round tonight. He contemplated pretending that he wasn't at home. But seeming to sense his intention, she knocked again, more forceful this time, and accompanied by the promise of a temporary truce.

"I know you're there, Booth. I'm not here to fight. I just… I need to see her."

Awkward silence issued from both sides of the door while he considered her request. In the end it was Bones' haunting face that made the final decision for him, reminding him that he owed her this much. There was a time when he and Angela had been friends; after all they shared a fierce bond of loyalty to the same woman. That much at least hadn't changed. In fact, it was the only thing they had left in common anymore. And though she may have lost her faith in him, he had never once doubted her devotion to Bones.

After a time the chain lock rattled noisily on itself and the door opened on squeaky hinges. Angela brushed past him, afraid he might change his mind, and headed without greeting towards the living room. Despite their sordid history as of late she realized that she had never been to his place before tonight, so she took a moment to categorize the apartment. Sparsely decorated in a masculine sense with utilitarian furniture, it suited the existence of a virtual nomad. Much like the man, living in a state of perpetual flux; it was the sort of room that could be packed up at a moment's notice. She had always pegged Booth as a man who would resist setting down roots. And yet now she found little satisfaction in being proven right.

"She's upstairs," Booth informed her, dipping his head towards the ceiling, "taking a bath."

Angela nodded tersely, her arms folded stiffly, as she started towards the spiral staircase. But then she stopped just before ascending, keeping her back to him. "You're making a big mistake, Booth." She turned to face him again, imploring chocolate-brown eyes on the verge of tears. "It's not too late to change your mind."

Booth scrubbed both hands vigorously over his face, a two-day growth of stubble catching roughly under calloused fingers. When your whole world seemingly crumbles overnight, routine grooming habits are the first to be sacrificed. "We've been through this, Angela. In the event of diminished mental capacity, her living will dictated me her sole guardian. The court has upheld my right to make these decisions for her."

A dark shadow crossed over Angela's face, defiant and angry, with perhaps a small undercurrent of jealously intermingled. It blew over just as quickly, like a false winter storm, leaving behind only the emptiness she had come to expect. No one, Booth included, had been more surprised to learn that Brennan had made this recent codicil to her will. She had told no one of the change. But the legal records showed it, dutifully recorded, two weeks to the day, after Booth had saved her from being murdered in that warehouse.

"You don't have to remind me, Booth. I was there for the trial too."

They were both all too cognizant of the dividing line between them, and of the fact that they hadn't spoken a civil word to one another, except through lawyers, for the past month.

"If that's true, then why are you here?"

She didn't have a ready answer for him or for herself either. This was all new territory, and she had yet to find a comfort zone. "I understand your need for revenge, Booth. I feel it too. But why drag her along with you? You're risking her life unnecessarily, and she's already been through enough."

"I'm trying to save her life, Angela."

"How… by taking her back into the lion's den? That's crazy. She can't help with this suicidal quest of yours. She can't even help herself. What she needs is to be in a hospital, under the professional care of doctors, and…"

Angela's voice dropped off without finishing the thought, upon seeing that Booth's face had gone completely ashen. He was no longer actively listening, and his stare was fixated on something directly over her head. She turned quickly to find Temperance Brennan standing immobile at the top of the landing. A blue silk bathrobe was wrapped around her, still damp in places from her bath; it clung tightly to her body, accentuating a recent unhealthy weight loss. There was no way to discern just how long she had been there, or what she might have overheard. Not that it really mattered.

"Sweetie," Angela called softly, forcing a smile, old habits dying hard. She moved up a few steps to meet her halfway, but was unable to make herself go any further. It bothered her greatly, how ill at ease she was now in Brennan's presence. This was someone who she had always thought of as a sister. Now she was simply a stranger, masquerading in familiar skin.

As always, her eyes unconsciously drifted down to the rag doll clutched tightly in Brennan's right hand. Only this was no mere child's toy. The hair it bore was human, painstakingly rooted, strand by strand, and the color matched Brennan's exactly. There were other similarities too. Embroidered blue eyes and red rouge lips had been purposely cross-stitched shut, forever silenced, much like its human host. But unlike the sawdust that leaked periodically from its uneven seams, the secrets she cradled inside were locked deep within. All efforts to remove the doll from Brennan's possession had been met with wild fits and screaming outbursts. She would fight to the point of physical exhaustion, stopping only when the doll was placed safely back in her arms. The only sign of life she had exhibited since her miraculous return. Sometimes it was difficult to choose which was worse, the agonized cries of a tortured soul, or the endless eerie silence of lost identity.

The minute hand moving to the next station on the clock was the only noticeable sound in the room for far too long. If Brennan was aware that Angela and Booth were there with her, she gave no outward indication. Her eyes were opened, but registered nothing at all. As many times as Booth had witnessed this reaction from her, or lack of one, it always served to bring a sharp, twisting pain to his heart. Booth slipped past a frozen Angela to stand in front of Bones. He gently lifted her left hand in his, cupping it protectively within his own.

"You'll catch a chill out here, Bones. You should go back to your room now, and finish getting ready for bed. I'll be up shortly to turn out the lights."

Eyes, the color of a dark starry night, remained glassy and unfocused, and she made no move to comply. Booth's shoulders dropped noticeably at the failure, as he reluctantly cleared his throat. Then he turned her hand over, leaving it palm-down, now revealing a crudely drawn tattoo there. The bold, black ink design had been deeply etched into her porcelain skin, and was in the shape of a number five. Lightly tapping the tattoo under his fingers, he repeated the request, only this time his voice was deep and authoritative, without a trace of warmth.

"Number Five, you will return to your room."

The effect was immediate. Bones snatched her hand away as though burned. And she made her way quickly and silently back up the stairs. They both stood there listening, until the soft click of a door closing confirmed that she was safe in her bedroom.

Watching this exchange take place, Angela's anguish was more than apparent. She cried openly, her shoulders heaving, as the tracks of her sorrow streaked ribbons down her cheeks. "How can you call her that, Booth? Number Five…"

"It's all she'll respond to anymore."

"But it's cruel. It's inhumane. It's what… he called her."

The explosion was a long time coming, and it signaled the fall of the many walls he had placed between his deep love for Bones and the awful truth. The nearest wall wore the impression of a fist, his fist, smashing cleanly through flimsy barriers of wood and sheetrock. And just like her, he felt nothing inside… nothing. Not even the pain of broken bones could begin to penetrate the guilt he carried over what had happened. He slumped to the ground, curling into a ball, rocked by a flood of overwhelming emotion he had tried so long to keep at bay. Angela went over tentatively, bending down beside him, torn by former loyalties, unsure of what to do… whether she should just leave. And then he interrupted her personal reverie.

"That night… the night Bones disappeared…" His tone was halting, pivotal, and he spoke reverently, like he was hoping to cleanse his soul in a confessional. "She… she called me…"

Angela barely breathed, willing her heart to slow its beat, so afraid she might miss a word.

"But I didn't answer… I knew it was her, from the caller I.D.… and I didn't answer." He pounded the floor for emphasis, as though through remorse alone he could somehow turn back the hands of time. Stop the events from unfolding. He sat up now, his back against the wall, rubbing at his eyes with the palms of his hands. It was a little boy gesture, so at odds with the burdens of his big man's world. "I was with Cam that night… we were… in bed."

So that was the deep dark secret she had always sensed was eating at his soul. He might not believe it to be true, but he didn't need to seek absolution from her for his tryst with Cam. In that respect, he and Angela were of the same mindset. It was possible to have sex without strings, absent feelings, as she had done it herself on many occasions. She could not fault him for having needs. Certainly no more than he already faulted himself. And besides that, she knew something that he didn't know, or wasn't ready yet to acknowledge. That night, he was already falling in love with Bones, and he was just using Cam to try and convince himself otherwise.

"Did Brennan leave you a message?"

The question surprised him, not what he had been expecting after spilling his guts. And his head snapped up, like he had forgotten for a moment that she was there in the room. "No… no message…" It was the part that had always bothered him most of all.

Angela nodded solemnly, sitting down beside him, as she reached over and gently picked up his hand. This was going to be hard. She wasn't one used to initiating apologies. "I can't do this anymore, Booth. I don't have the strength. Can we at least agree that we both want what's best for her, and just leave it at that?"

"I would like nothing better."

"Just promise me one thing…"

"If I can…"

"If she's ever in danger, real danger, you'll bring her back home. It may be selfish on my part, but I'd rather have what's left of her alive, than nothing at all."

"I promise."

"When are you leaving?"

"The day after tomorrow… we have an early flight out of Reagan National to California. And then we'll rent a car to drive through to Nevada. The plan is to follow along the same stretch of desolate highway where she was found by that truck driver. I'm hoping something along that route will trigger her memory, illicit some sort of response."

"Or it could push her further into a catatonic state."

"I know the risk… and I'm taking full responsibility. But Angela, I believe that she's still in there somewhere, trying to find a way out. She's a fighter. She doesn't quit. It's why she survived… when numbers one through four didn't. And there's something else…"

"What?"

"The killer is still out there, watching her, waiting for her. His MO is rigid, unbreakable, so he can't move on to victim number six, until he's completed the job on number five. She's the one that got away, and he can't stomach the idea of failure. Until we catch him, until we know exactly what happened to her, her life will always be in danger."

(TBC)