Hey all, Jen here. I just wanted to say thanks for all your incredible reviews, I so appreciate them. Last week was a bear and a half, but this week I should hopefully get some time to respond to everyone's questions, comments, and random wonderments. And now... Booth's side of the story:

Booth didn’t want Sweets to ride with them. He wanted to drive Parker back to Rebecca’s, talk a little about everything that had happened over the weekend, find out the deal on the junior pep squad that had been following his kid around Jack’s freakin’ palace… And then, to be honest, he wanted to go back to Bones’s place and spend about three hours reminding her just how much she’d missed him, before he passed out for a good twelve hours.

Of course, he couldn’t do any of that – instead, he had to sit beside Sweets while Parker looked out the window and snow fell and Bones headed off to a crime scene with Captain Literacy. Alone. In a snowstorm.

He groaned, just a little, and Sweets looked at him; before the psychologist could say anything, Booth shot him a glare and the truck fell silent.

He’d been feeling antsy for a few days now – just tired, he kept telling himself. Or maybe he was coming down with something. Ever since he picked up Parker on Friday – or before that, even. Ever since he’d found out about the stupid assignment Park’s damned teacher had given, really. Ever since his kid said, I want to see where you and Uncle Jared grew up, Dad. It’s for school – Mom says it’s not far from the camp. It wouldn’t be a big deal to go, right?

Yeah, right.

And ever since he’d set foot in that house… He stopped himself. What the hell was his problem? So Parker had an assignment to see the place where he grew up; so he’d walked through the front door of a stranger’s house that still smelled weirdly like his childhood. Big deal. Who cared if he could still tell where the plaster had been patched after his old man put his fist through the wall one night after work; walked into the clean, sweet-smelling sun porch and all he could see was shattered glass and a pool of blood from one of the crappiest in a long line of crappy nights trying to keep his parents from killing each other.

One day, Parker would be able to look back at his own childhood home and see marks on the wall measuring how much he’d grown, the tree house Brent and Booth built together at the end of the summer, the stretch of road where he’d first learned to ride a bike. The kid had had a good life so far, and Booth was proud to have played a part in that. But Booth looked at the place where he grew up, and all he saw were crappy patch jobs over wounds that would never quite heal.

But he was probably just coming down with the flu.

Parker was quiet for most of the ride back to Rebecca’s. Sweets sat in the front and played with the radio, while Parker sat in the back and Booth could tell there was something going on in his head – Bones told him they got the same look on their faces, when they were thinking things through. He hadn’t seen it until she mentioned it, but now it definitely looked familiar. When he pulled into the driveway, Parker got out and then just stood by the truck for a few seconds – like he had something he wanted to say, but couldn’t quite get it out.

“Everything okay, bub?”

He hesitated, looking at the house and then back at Booth. “Yeah, Dad, of course. But I was just wondering…” Another long pause, while the snow continued to fall, dusting the shoulders of his parka and his blonde curls. “Do you think Bones would mind if I called her tomorrow?”

Okay, that was a new one. Booth hesitated.

“She’s pretty busy, Parks – ” his son’s face fell the second the words were out. Booth backpedaled fast. “But I’m sure she could spare some time to talk to you. Is it anything you wanna, you know, run by your old man first?”

Parker shook his head without even giving it a thought. “No – it’s kind of private, Dad.”

All right, then. Thank God Sweets was still in the truck fucking around with the radio – he’d have a field day with this. He wanted to push him – find out what the kid was so gung ho to talk to Bones about, hoping to God it didn’t have anything to do with building a house or, even more importantly, visiting Booth’s old neighborhood. He didn’t say either of those things, though.

“Okay… Well, you have her cell number, right?”

Parker nodded, his mop of hair flying. There was enough snow in the air to give everything that Norman Rockwell Christmas vibe Booth had always loved, but still not enough to make driving a problem. Rebecca came out and stood on the doorstep in bare feet, her arms crossed over her chest to try and keep in all the warmth that was probably leaking out her naked toes. Sometimes, he just didn’t know what the hell she was thinking.

They grabbed all Parker’s gear from the back, and trudged up the long walk together. Rebecca gave their son a big hug that the boy grudgingly returned, though Booth could tell by the way he held on that he was glad to see her.

“Hey, Seeley. You guys have fun?” She was smiling – which was good, because he was still never clear on when he might’ve done something to piss her off. Apparently, not today.

“Hey,” he returned, giving her a quick hug after Parker had scooted through the door inside. The hugs were new, and he wasn’t sure who’d started them. Probably her, he thought. He nodded toward her feet. “You know it’s snowing, right?”

She rolled her eyes. “Gee, I hadn’t noticed.” Her cheeks were flushed a light pink, part cold and part embarrassment. Back in the day, he remembered loving that look. “You know I love the snow. It’s not bad out - I just wanted to feel it.”

He actually remembered that, too – remembered how she’d stop everything the second the first snowfall of the year came, watching at the window or, more likely, standing outside until she was shivering and snow-covered and, more than once, he’d had to resort to carrying her back inside because she wouldn’t budge otherwise. Thinking about it now, it was a relief to know it wasn’t the kind of memory that tortured him anymore – he could look back on it all fondly, feel good about what they had then and what they had now, and get back to his life.

Which was a pretty nice change of pace.

“Parker scraped his knee pretty good on a climb on Saturday.” He waited to see if she’d freak out, but she stayed quiet. “I fixed it up, but you’ll wanna change the bandage. One of the dads there was a doctor. He said it was no big deal.”

“If a skinned knee’s the worst he came away with, I can live with that. Do you want to come in? Brent made hot cocoa.”

It was just a gesture, not an honest-to-God invite, but he was grateful to get it all the same. He shook his head, just like he figured she’d expected.

“I’ve actually got a crime scene waiting – I just wanted to get Parker in safe and sound first.”

Booth could hear Parks talking to someone – probably Brent – in the next room. Rebecca opened the door and called inside.

“Parker, come give your dad a hug goodbye.”

A couple seconds passed, before Parker reappeared at the door. He didn’t hug the way he used to – no more pouncing for all he was worth, just about bowling Booth over and then hanging on tight. Now, he had to be talked into hugs. Reminded. Bribed, every once in a while. Rebecca went inside once Parker was back, giving them some space.

“Hey, bub – I had a good time this weekend. Thanks for coming.”

Parker smiled, but things still seemed awkward. Booth couldn’t tell anymore if it was the kid or just more of that shadow that had been following him the last few days.

“Me too, Dad. It was a lot of fun.” He stopped for a second, thinking things over. “You don’t think I wrecked anything by telling Bones about the house, do you? I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”

Booth shrugged off his words, though he wasn’t actually feeling all that cavalier about the whole thing. But that wasn’t anything Parker needed to worry about.

“Are you kiddin’ me? You know Bones – she just needs a little time to warm up to an idea. Give her a month or two and she’ll be drawing up house plans herself.”

Parker grinned, seeming more relaxed now that he’d brought it up. “That’s good, Dad – I really want us to build a house.”

If he was being honest, Booth had to admit he was pretty keen on the idea himself. But he just gave a nod, roughing up Park’s hair as he turned to go.

“Give it time, bub.”

“’Cause everything happens eventually, right?” Parker said, taking him by surprise.

He smiled a little. Nodded. Gave him a big hug, and then held on longer than he knew his son really wanted. “Yeah, Parks. ‘Cause everything happens eventually.”

Sweets had apparently finished whatever the hell it was he was doing with the radio, and had spent the rest of his time in the truck spying on Booth.

“You seem to have a good rapport with Parker’s mother,” he started, first thing.

Booth just gave him a look, and the psychologist clammed up for a full two, maybe three seconds.

“You’re very good with him – there are certain people for whom parenting seems to come more naturally than others. Given the nature of your own childhood and your lack of – ”

They’d started driving, but had only gotten about half a block. Checking to make sure no one was behind them first, Booth stopped the truck in the middle of the street. Put it in park, and turned to face Sweets head on.

“Let’s get this straight: you’re here to evaluate me and Bones, because the Bureau has this stupid policy that we’ve gotta get around one way or another. That doesn’t mean you’re my shrink, okay? We’re not gonna ride around for the next two weeks while you pick Bones and my brains apart. Got it?”

Sweets hesitated, until Booth started reaching across him to open the passenger’s side door to boot his skinny ass out into the snow. At the move, the psychologist held up his hands quickly.

“Okay, fine. Though I think a closer examination of your heightened level of defensiveness might reveal – ”

Booth raised his eyebrows, daring the kid to keep going.

He stopped.

They started moving again. Booth changed the channel from the weird synthesized crap they were listening to, to a classic rock station he liked. Turned up the volume.

They drove on.

They got to the scene at about five o’clock, the snow slowed to fat, lazy flakes that clung to the fir trees lining the road, but melted the second they hit the pavement. A deputy he and Bones had worked with before – Carson was his name – was waiting for him. TJ was sitting on the hood of his rental scribbling away in a notebook, looking like some GQ ad for what a fuckin’ writer was supposed to look like: goatee, wool coat, torn jeans that probably cost more than some of Booth’s suits. Sweets was breathing down his neck, and Bones was nowhere in sight.

Carson was standing next to his squad car talking on the radio. He signed off as soon as Booth pulled up, looking relieved to see him.

“Your partner got here about half an hour ago – she won’t let anyone near the body.”

It was one of the first things to make him smile all day, though he tried not to look too amused. “Yeah, well – that’s what she does, you should be used to it by now. You wanna show me to the scene?”

The deputy nodded, pointing down a dark trail between some branches. There was a second or two when Booth got that uneasy twist in his gut; he cleared his throat.

“You’ve got somebody out there with her, right?”

“Yeah, of course,” Carson said, fast. “After that scene last month, I figured I’d better keep a few guys out there. I don’t need you going postal again.”

“Hey, I didn’t go postal, okay? It’s just common sense – you get some bone expert out at a crime scene in the middle of the night, you don’t just leave her in the woods because she’s a little difficult.”

“A little difficult?” Carson laughed out loud. “She told one of my guys he should never have become a cop because his IQ was too low – at least, that’s what I think she was saying – and she’s threatened every one of us if word gets out about the body before ID’s confirmed. Like she has to tell us that.”

They were headed toward a trail now, Booth noting all the footprints in the thin cover of snow on the grass. Bones might be a pain in the ass, but she at least knew how to handle a crime scene. Which was more than he could say for Carson and his cronies.

“Yeah, well – she’s right about that part. If this is Sheriff Lincoln’s kid, I don’t want him hearing about it on the morning news tomorrow. After waiting four years for this, he deserves a face-to-face. So, what Dr. Brennan said goes double for me: you tell your guys to keep their mouths shut.”

Carson tried not to look like he was as pissed as Booth was sure he must be, but it was still pretty clear. They were coming up on Bones, crouched over the body with her hair dusted with snow, focused completely on the remains. Booth made himself hang back for a second, to smooth things over with the deputy.

“Listen, I know you guys have been out here all afternoon – I appreciate you giving us the heads up on this.”

Carson nodded, looking a little happier now. “No problem. You know, everybody just gets a little more amped up when it’s a kid – and to have it be a cop’s kid…”

Booth nodded – he definitely got it. “Yeah, I hear you. But if we’ve got a body to work with, we stand a hell of a better shot at figuring things out. Especially with Bones on the case.”

So, he managed to kiss ass enough to keep the locals from wanting his nuts in a vice or his head on a platter; that was something, at least. He waited a second before he went to Bones, starting with the easy stuff before they got to the case.

“I thought you were gonna call when you got here.”

She looked up, brushing her hair from her eyes with the back of her hand. “Was I? Sorry, I forgot.”

Which he’d known would happen, no matter how many times they fought about it. It was pointless to say anything more, so he dropped it. Got down to business. Bones gave him what she could tell so far: a girl, eight to ten years old, dead at least a year and probably more. There was no obvious cause of death, which meant they’d need to get the body back to the lab for a tox screen and whatever analysis the squints needed to do to work their magic.

The body was wrapped in a cotton sheet – a nice one, too, with a high thread count. Pale, kind of pinkish color. It didn’t look like your typical body dump, either: she’d been placed here carefully, the sheet wrapped around, no effort made to bury her or hide her from anyone. It took a few minutes of really looking before he noticed the dirt clinging to the skeleton, which he pointed out to Bones. She nodded, lowering her voice so no one overheard her.

“She was buried before – for quite some time, I suspect.”

“And somebody dug her up?” Booth asked, trying to get his head around that little gem.

Bones nodded. “That’s the way it appears.”

So, maybe they weren’t trying to hide her at all – maybe whoever did this was trying to do the exact opposite. They wanted the girl to be found; wanted people to know who it was.

What the hell?

According to the poster and what Booth remembered of the case, the little girl – Izzie Lincoln – was the daughter of a small-town sheriff in rural Kentucky. She’d gone missing about four years ago. She was nine years old, last seen playing at the school playground with some friends. She walked home alone, the same way she always did…

Except she never made it back.

Booth could remember the sheriff doing press conferences, interviews, anything and everything to get the word out. As far as Booth knew, though, nothing came of any of it. One day there was a happy family with a laughing little girl at the dinner table; the next, she was gone.

It made him sick to his stomach, just thinking about it.

Sweets was standing on the sidelines taking notes, so Booth got up and went over to him while Bones continued to do her thing.

“So, whaddya say, Sweets? You ready to sign off on us yet? See how nice we play together?”

The kid just gave him a look. “You know this process will be more involved than that – and I’m frankly quite curious how everything will unfold, given the addition of Dr. Brennan’s friend this week.”

Booth swallowed all the things he really wanted to say, and just shrugged. “Look, Sweets, the Pope could be here all week, and it wouldn’t change the way we do our jobs – we’re professionals, all right? The sooner you and your head shrinker friends at the Bureau can get that straight, the better off we’ll all be.”

Sweets jotted something down as soon as Booth had finished his little speech, and Booth resisted the urge to say something more. Or take the notebook and jam it somewhere.

Around seven, he convinced Sweets and TJ that life wasn’t gonna get anymore exciting before they went home, and they left. Most times, a scene like this wouldn’t require much: tell the cops to bag and tag, get Bones and head for home… But he was still worried about word getting out before they had anything solid, so he stuck around and kept talking to the cops, watching how they handled the evidence, making sure everything got done right from start to finish.

By the time Bones was ready to go, Booth had been going straight for a good sixteen hours and wanted nothing more than some hot food, a hotter shower, and a soft bed. Before he could do that, though, he wanted to make sure everything was okay with them – especially after the whole big Building a House reveal that morning. It was hard to tell by that time whether it was him being weird or it was her, but he decided to take a gamble and just put it out there: he’d bring up the house, and see where it got them.

Nowhere good, it turned out.

It was all fine until Bones had to tell him all about how she’d talked to TJ about the house they were gonna build and the money he made (or didn’t make). Starting the whole story off with how TJ just bought a place, like it was the easiest thing in the world. And the thing was, it wasn’t like Booth didn’t have money – he’d been squirreling cash away for a while, even before he and Bones got together, because he knew he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life in a crappy apartment in the middle of the city. He didn’t have a lot of money – probably not as much as friggin’ TJ, and definitely not as much as Bones. But he had some.

Rather than getting into the whole thing right there, though, he just shut his mouth. Turned up the radio. Focused on the road. In just a few minutes, Bones had managed to take what he thought was a pretty good dream – long days hammering nails and putting up walls for a house they could share, a future together – and make him feel like a complete loser for wanting it in the first place. And the thing that was so frustrating, the thing that made him completely nuts, was how she didn’t have a clue she’d done it. Didn’t have any idea why he was pissed. She knew how to press his buttons like no one he’d ever known before – she just didn’t know she knew.

He’d learned a lot about Bones in the four months since they started dating. He knew a lot about her before, of course, but there are certain things you don’t figure out about a woman until you’re in the trenches with her, twenty-four-seven. Until you’ve seen her first thing in the morning and last thing at night, listened to her snore (which she did, no matter how much she refused to believe it) at three am when you knew you had to be up at six and at the top of your game by seven. Until she’d stayed up all night with you while your kid puked his guts out in her guest bathroom, and she never complained, never looked anything but sorry as hell for the kid when he threw up all over her best sheets…

Yeah, he knew her, now.

He knew, for example, that on the ride home from those occasional Sunday dinners with Max, she’d say something so fuckin’ thoughtless that he'd want to strangle her. And she’d play innocent – because she was, he knew that. There wasn’t a mean bone in her body, no question. But the things she said on those nights went beyond her usual lack of grace… Went beyond anything anyone with a brain in their head would say, without a reason.

The first time, she’d just mentioned in passing how Sully was back in town next weekend, and then followed up with how she still didn’t understand how he could believe in monogamy and wouldn’t an open relationship be more realistic?

Right.

So, he got pissed and they screamed at each other, and he stopped at a bar and drank too much before he got the connection between dinner with Max and her saying the one thing that would push him right out the door. See? Exactly the right buttons, not a clue why she was pushing them. So, he took a cab back to her apartment and unlocked the door and they fought some more, and he went to bed, and they made up.

The lesson he learned, that night?

Whether she knew it or not, Temperance only said the really shitty things to him when she was scared. It seemed to him that the whole house-money-TJ thing was a beautiful example of her subconscious picking at one of Booth’s scabs until she made it bleed.

They got back to her apartment and she slammed the car door and he did the same. Followed her to the front entrance, where she whirled on him.

“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded.

He was still pissed – not as much as before, but the hurt was still there, just below that thin surface layer of anger. Still, he knew better than to walk out on her after a fight, so he just stood there and met her eye. Kept his jaw tight and didn’t give up any space between them.

“I’m tired – I’m going to bed.”

He saw that little flicker of uncertainty in her eyes: she knew his tricks. Knew he wouldn’t leave, and so far he had to believe she was glad of it. He dreaded the day that changed – because God knew, the second Temperance Brennan really stopped wanting him in her bed, he’d be gone. She’d make sure of it.

“You have an apartment, you know,” she said, snotty as hell.

He nodded, just as snotty. “Yeah, I’m aware of that, Bones.”

They had the door to the building open, letting in the cold, and they were half-yelling at each other and standing way too close. The security guy was watching them, but he didn’t say a word.

“Then why do you insist on coming to my apartment when – ”

“Because I sleep better here, next to you,” he yelled, louder than he’d meant to. Okay, maybe he was madder than he thought. “Even when I’m pissed off, I sleep better in your bed, with pillows that smell like you and your arm on my stomach and you snoring in my ear. Okay, Bones? So, if you don’t mind, I’m gonna go upstairs and heat up some of that leftover Thai I’m sure you have in the fridge from when I was gone. Then, I’m gonna take a shower, put on some clean shorts, and go to bed.”

She kind of blinked at that, like she had no response. He pushed past her, into the lobby. Took the stairs instead of the elevator, just to work off some of the frustration. She followed behind, talking the whole way.

“So, you’re not going to say anything about why you got so angry? Are you jealous of TJ?”

He kept on going.

“Are you angry because I’m not more receptive to building a house with you?”

One more flight, and they’d be at her front door. He pulled out his spare key.

“You’re being an uncommunicative ass,” she shouted at him. She was really pissed now – even more than before.

He resisted the urge to turn around and try to make things right, and he wasn’t even sure why. What would be the big deal? He knew why the night had gone this way, knew why she’d said what she did. This was usually the part where he gave in a little and she gave in a little, and eventually they ended up having sex against a wall somewhere. He just couldn’t shake that… thing, that had been tailing him all weekend.

Once he was out of the stairwell, he waited for her at the front door. Even though he had the key, even though half his stuff was at her place and he spent more nights here than his own anymore… Still, he waited. She got there a few seconds after he did, and grabbed the key from his hand. Hard – she scratched him a little when she did it, but she didn’t say anything about it, and neither did he. Unlocked the door and went inside, but she didn’t shut the door behind her.

He followed her in.

She went straight to the fridge and pulled out a bunch of containers from Wong Foo’s. Got two plates, and practically threw them on the table.

“What do you want to drink?” she asked, still half-yelling at him.

He thought about it for a second, then shook his head. “Y’know what – forget it. I’m not hungry anymore. I’m going to bed.”

It was an asinine thing to do – he was being an idiot. In his head, he knew that full well… He just couldn’t seem to stop being an idiot. All he had to do was tell her why he was pissed. What the hell was so hard about that? It wasn't like she'd meant to hurt him by talking to TJ about the house. It wasn't like she'd actually done anything at all, and here he was acting like she'd committed some goddamn cardinal sin. He went into the bedroom and stripped down to his underwear. The bed was made – fresh sheets, he could tell. The really soft green ones, his favorite. He heard her put the food away, slamming the refrigerator door, and he felt bad because, even if he wasn’t gonna eat, she should have – she’d hardly touched the food at the shower, and they hadn’t had a bite since then.

He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but instead found himself listening to try and figure out what she was doing. The shower started in the next room. He could get up, go in there and tell her he was sorry for being such a dick. Towel her off and carry her in here with her head nestled in that space she always found between his neck and his shoulder, and everything would be fine.

He didn’t move.

The shower went off. She came in wearing his t-shirt, her hair still wet – he could see her silhouette in the doorway. Turned off the light, and got into bed.

They lay there in silence.

About two minutes later, the light on her side of the bed came on and he felt Bones’s pointy little finger tapping him on the shoulder. He twisted to look at her, but he didn’t roll over.

“Yeah, Bones? I’m kind of tired here – and it looks like we’ve got a big week ahead of us.”

She set her jaw, that little stubborn flash sparking in her blue eyes.

“Are you really going to sleep?”

She looked cuter than hell, with her lips pressed tight and the line in her forehead, the annoyance in her eyes. Still, he kept right on being an ass.

“Yeah, Bones, I am. In case you forgot, I’ve been in the woods for a week and a half. And now we’ve got a new case in the morning, and Sweets breathing down our necks all week. I could really use a good night’s sleep.” Ass, ass, ass, he thought to himself.

He turned back around, facing the wall. She was quiet for a few seconds, but he knew better than to close his eyes. Instead, he just lay there in silence. Waiting her out. Sure enough, he felt her roll over a minute later. Felt her breath, hot on his bare shoulder.

“Did something happen while you were away?” she asked. Quiet now, uncertain in a way he hated to hear from her.

A couple of seconds passed, and he could have said it all, right then. Could have told her about the stupid visit to Philly and the house with all the ghosts and how, in that second when he walked through the door that used to seem so huge into the living room that never seemed to get enough light, something seemed to shift. And he couldn’t shake it, couldn’t get the memories out of his head, and all he wanted was to rewind the past three days. Tell Parker they couldn’t see his old house because it had burned down or flooded or been hit by an asteroid or something, and go back to being happy as hell with where he was and who he was with and the way his life was going.

He didn’t say any of that, though. He just shook his head. “No, Bones.”

She blew out an exasperated sigh, flipping over and taking half the covers with her. “Fine.”

Another few seconds went by that way, maybe a minute or two, before he couldn’t handle it anymore. He rolled over, studying the line of her shoulder and the waves of auburn hair, the curve of her hips. He’d wanted her the second she got into bed – wanted her in the truck, in the stairwell, fighting in the doorway. Seeing her now, though, pushed things way past simple want. He moved closer, settling his hand on her waist.

“Tell me you missed me,” he said. Whispered it in her ear, and he felt her shiver.

“I already told you that,” she said. Still angry, but there was hurt in there, too – he couldn’t stand it when he hurt her.

“Yeah, like you lost a bet. You told Parker you missed him. That Perotta’s an idiot, and you got a ton done while I was gone.”

He ran his knuckles up the back of her leg, her muscles bunched tight as wire, and she shivered again. Put a hand on her hip and pulled her back against him, hard, so she could feel how much he wanted her. Her breath hitched. He swept her hair away from her neck, bit and sucked and pressed against her until she was gasping.

“I think you’re pissed that you missed me,” he told her, rough in her ear. “Pissed that I’m thinking about houses and Angela’s having a baby and Parker’s crazy about you. And I think there’s something else – something you’re not telling me. But whatever it is, all of it together’s scared the hell out of you.”

He flipped her around, maybe a little rougher than he should have, but the way she was breathing made him think she didn’t have a problem with that right now. He could tell she was caught between jumping him and knocking him sideways. Good, he thought. God help him, he’d felt the same way more than once when it came to Temperance Brennan.

They were eyeball to eyeball now, she still fighting mad and turned on anyway, and Booth knew exactly how she felt.

“Tell me you missed me,” he said again, his arms around her even though she hadn’t given in yet.

“I missed you,” she said, with an eye roll and that pissy little edge to her voice that drove him nuts.

He pulled her closer. Kissed behind her ear, sucked on her earlobe just a little too hard and she gasped. Bucked against him.

“Say it like you mean it,” he whispered. He ran his hands over her ass and up under her t-shirt, felt her skin warming at his touch.

She draped her leg over his hip. “I missed you.” Breathless, her voice low and raspy and so her that he just got harder at the sound. She kissed his neck; ran her tongue up just under his ear in that way she did that made him completely lose control.

“Say it again, Bones.” He didn’t know why it mattered so much – part of it was just about getting her to do what he wanted, maybe, but there was still this part of him that needed to hear it. Needed to know it was true.

She stopped moving. It took him a second to realize, but once he did, he stopped, too. She got very still, and looked him in the eye with her forehead wrinkled like she was trying to see something he didn’t really want out there, just yet. Reached up and ran her knuckles along his cheek in this way she did, sometimes, that no one had ever done before. Whenever she did it, she’d get this sweet, soft, completely… naked look on her face – like she was seeing something no one had ever seen before, looking at him. She smiled, but only halfway, her eyes on his like she’d never let go.

“I missed you, Seeley,” she said quietly, the wrinkle still in her forehead, still trying to figure him out. She leaned closer and kissed him on the lips.

He wasn’t sure when the kiss turned desperate – who pressed in first, whose hands found who… He just knew that nothing felt like it was enough: close enough, hard enough, deep enough. He pushed her shirt up and over her head, kissing every square inch of her he could find. It was cool in the room, so that she got goose bumps the second the air hit her naked skin. He pulled the blanket up over both of them, moving down lower. If he didn’t have the words, if he’d never be able to spell things out the way a guy like TJ could, he could at least do this.

Her hand was twisted in his hair while he ran his tongue around her nipple, took her into his mouth and sucked hard enough to make her gasp, her hips coming up off the bed. He reached down with his lips still fastened at her breast and pushed her panties down, over her hips. Ran his knuckles up the inside of her thigh, his teeth grazing the soft, toned plane of her stomach.

Outside, snow was still falling – if he looked up and out the window, he could see it in the light of the streetlamps outside her building. But he didn’t look up. Her underwear got twisted around her ankles, and she practically tore them trying to get them untangled. Gasped his name – his first name, the one he only liked when she said it – when his hands were on her ass and his lips were kissing up her thigh. Blowing hot air closer to her, breathing her in, until he was sure he could come just from this – being this close, making her crazy this way. He ran his thumb over her clit before pressing his lips to her sex, and she arched off the bed.

And just about took his front teeth with her.

He laughed, just a little. Pushed her hips into the mattress with both hands and ran his tongue over his teeth to see if he tasted blood.

“Easy there, Bones,” he said, looking up. He met her eye. She looked flushed and breathless and hot as hell, and not the least bit embarrassed.

“Booth,” she said. Whined it, if he was being completely honest.

He grinned, arched an eyebrow. “Is there a problem, Bones?”

She pulled him up by his arms, kissed his bruised lip until he forgot it was bruised, and wrapped her hand around his cock. “Don’t stop,” she said.

They rolled over until she was on top, and the sheet fell off her shoulders and she was straddling him with the light hitting her pale breasts in just the right way, her hands on his stomach and her eyes closed while she rode him. And he did stop, then – just for a second, not even enough for her to notice, but for that milli-second of time, he held his breath. Tried to memorize everything he loved about that moment: the snow falling outside, the look on her face, the sheets she’d put on the bed especially for him, the smell of her – sex and honeysuckle shampoo and biodegradable goat soap… The way her breasts felt in his hands, the way her muscles held him from the inside out.

He pushed her back a little so he could reach between them; ran his thumb over her clit in an even counter-stroke, and her hands moved from his stomach to his shoulders as she leaned closer. Kissed him, hard, her eyes wide open and his name on her lips as she tightened around him, and he tried to hold off and maybe could have until her hands were in his hair and her lips were at his ear, as she half-whispered and half-gasped, “I want you to come with me.” It was all he needed.

She lay in his arms for a long time afterward, silent, but he could tell she was still awake. Still thinking. He ran a hand through her hair – there were about a million and two things he loved about being with Bones, but this was probably in the top ten: the way she just kind of melted into him after they made love, all the tension and doubt and hard edges gone. He kissed the top of her head, still smoothing her hair back.

“I'm sorry, Bones," he said quietly. "We okay?” He couldn’t quite keep the uncertainty from his voice, though he definitely tried.

There was a long silence, while she traced patterns on his chest that sent shivers up his spine. He tried to figure out what she was drawing, the way he used to with a high school girlfriend he’d had once: she’d write silly love notes on his shoulders, he’d recite them back. Bones was a lot harder to read, though. Finally, he felt her give in, a second before she actually spoke. He kept holding her, his fingers still twined in her hair.

“I thought I was pregnant,” she said. So quiet he almost didn’t hear her.

His hand paused in mid-air; he stopped moving. Maybe stopped breathing, for a second there. She pulled back, so she could see his face.

“When?” he finally managed to ask.

“Last week,” she told him. She bit her lip. Thought for a second or two, her eyes skating away from his. “I was late – more than a week, which is very unusual for me.”

“So, you thought you were, before I left?” He thought back to the days before he’d gone on the training, trying to remember whether she’d been different.

She nodded. “I wasn’t certain, of course – it was too early to take a pregnancy test, and it’s not as though I had some mystical swirling color experience.”

She got his t-shirt from the floor, pulling it back over her head. Sat up and pulled her knees up close to her chest. It was too dark to see her face, but he could tell she was shivering a little. He pushed the blanket over her bare feet, and kept his hand on her ankle while she tried to figure out where to go next.

“So, when did you figure out…?” he finally prompted her.

“When I was in Oregon. I started menstruating while I was on the reservation. My second night there.”

Booth nodded. He wanted to pull her back down into the warmth of the bed and his arms, but he didn’t move. Gave her the space to tell the story in her own time.

“So… Are you okay, Bones?” He didn’t know how to phrase it, what to say. “I mean… How did it feel, thinking… that?”

She looked at him, blue eyes kind of swimming now, while she tried not to cry. “I don’t know. It was so strange being there anyway – speaking with the Umatilla elders, telling this man about Jack and Angela, and about you and me… And we stayed up very late one night, discussing the traditions that have been passed down and the rituals involved and…” She stopped, her voice getting thicker the more she tried not to cry. Shivering more, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“I’ve never wanted children, Booth,” she told him – like he’d said otherwise, somehow argued the point.

He nodded, his voice soft. “I know that, Bones.”

A single tear fell, and she brushed it away roughly. “Everything’s changing too quickly. I liked my life…” She rolled her eyes, brushing away more tears. “I was content to have my work. You as my partner, Angela as my friend. Content to write novels and solve crimes and bring criminals to justice.”

He finally broke - sat up, because he couldn’t stand to see her just sitting there, completely alone. Wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, and wiped a tear away with his thumb.

“You’re the one that told me once that nothing stays the same, right? Everything changes… You were content, Temperance, but were you happy? I mean…” he swallowed. Thought back to the words he’d said on a night years before, when he’d nearly pushed her right out of his life and into another man’s arms.

“We were living kind of narrow before, don’t you think?”

She smiled at that, taking a shaky breath. Wiped away more tears. “And now we’re living wide?” she asked.

He moved in. Kissed her nose and her eyes and her lips, trying to chase the tears away. “We’re tryin’, Bones. We’re sure as hell trying.”

The next morning, Bones was up early to try and confirm the ID on the remains at the lab as soon as she could. Booth slept a little later, then got up and took a run around the neighborhood before it was time to hit the office.

He spent the whole morning and a good part of the afternoon on desk duty, trying to wade through all the shit he’d left undone before the field training. By the time Bones called at one, he was grateful for the break – though not necessarily for the reason for it. After he hung up with her, he stopped in at Sweets’s office and ignored the “In Session” sign on the door to poke his head inside.

“Hey – you wanna watch us in action, I’m headed to the Jeffersonian now. You’ve got two minutes.”

Booth waited outside the office door with one eye on his wrist watch. A soft-looking guy with glasses came out a few seconds later, gave Booth a look like they knew each other, and left. Sweets followed a few seconds later.

“I typically require some advance notice for these types of outings,” he said. He didn’t look bent out of shape, though – he had that spark to his eye that told Booth he was enjoying this. To Sweets, trailing Bones and him around the lab was prime field work.

They were at the Jeffersonian by one-thirty, and up on the platform by one-thirty-five. The British squint with all the names was the intern of the day. Booth handed Ange half-a-dozen donuts he’d picked up on the way, and stopped just shy of pulling out his gun when the Brit started eyeing them.

“They’re for Angela,” he kind of growled.

Angela kissed his cheek. “You’re the sweetest man I know,” she told him. Which he could hardly argue with.

“You know, psychologically speaking, you’re continual preoccupation with providing nourishment for Angela’s child could be construed as – ”

“You know I love you, right, Sweets?” Angela asked, though she didn’t really look like she loved him all that much at the moment.

“Uh – yeah, of course.”

“Good. Then shut up. Sometimes, a donut is just a donut.”

Sometimes, he could just kiss that woman.

He and Bones hadn’t had a chance to talk since the big revelation in the middle of the night, and Booth was trying to figure out if she was acting any different toward him. TJ and Cam were off talking in the corner, and Booth only relaxed when he and Bones were alone for a second and she leaned in and kissed him, fast, on the lips.

“I’m sorry I missed you this morning,” she said. He realized she was watching him the same way he was watching her, making sure they were all right.

“It’s all right, I knew you had a lot to get done. Listen, if this is Izzie Lincoln…” he waited for her to confirm, which she did with a nod. “Okay – so, it’s Izzie Lincoln. That means I’m gonna have to fly down to Louisville tonight. I want to tell the parents in-person.”

She nodded. “I assumed as much.” When Cam and TJ joined them, Bones moved away from him just a little and got down to business.

“I’m confident stating the remains belong to Izzie Lincoln,” she repeated, as soon as everyone was where they needed to be. The Angelator floated an image of the skull, then reconstructed the face a few seconds later; minus the glasses, it was a dead ringer for the girl on the Missing Persons poster.

“Beyond the reconstruction, I was also able to identify based on the misaligned clavicle – consistent with falling off a horse at an early age, which was reported in her file.”

Booth nodded.

“What about cause – you any closer?”

To his surprise, Bones shook her head. “Not as yet – there are no signs of trauma beyond the preexisting conditions I specified. In someone this young, any type of significant sexual trauma would have impacted the skeletal structure.”

He winced at the thought, but kept writing notes while she talked. “So there’s no sign of that?” he asked.

She shook her head. “At least so far as the skeleton is concerned, she suffered no discernible trauma prior to her death.”

“What about being buried?” Booth asked. “Have you figured out anything about that?”

He was looking directly at Hodgins, who was watching Angela eat a donut while she plugged more numbers into the Angelator.

“Dr. Hodgins!” Brennan said, a little louder than necessary. Hodgins looked up quickly.

“Wha – oh, yeah. No – we’re running a tox screen to see if any kind of drug might’ve seeped into the bones. She was definitely buried, and the lack of insect activity would suggest she’d been under for a while.”

“A while?” Booth repeated, a little edge to his voice.

Sweets jotted something down, and Booth made a conscious effort not to strangle anyone or shoot anything.

Hodgins caught on. “Well – more than two years, based more on the degree of bone degradation and the particulates found.”

Booth nodded, taking down more notes. “And what about location – can you plug in all the, you know, dirt facts you need, and come up with where she was buried?”

Hodgins got that cocky look he had sometimes. “Way ahead of you, man – ” except that then, the cocky look faded. “Well, I would be way ahead of you, except the mass spectrometer’s been acting up – so I’m not gonna have what I need until tomorrow. But based on a purely surface analysis, I’d say she was buried locally. There’s a low percentage of organic material, common to Virginia… A lot of clay in there, too. Until I get the analysis I won’t know for sure, but I’d say a suburb in either Virginia or Maryland.”

“A suburb?” He looked up in surprise. “How do you know that?”

More cocky. Booth had come to like Jack in general, but sometimes he really thought the squint could use a good old fashioned ass-kicking.

“Simple deduction, really. She was buried close to the surface – based on the types of particulates and the remnants of insects that fed and lived and died on the bones. But, no sign of any larger predators gaining access to the remains.”

“Which would suggest an urban or suburban area, where wildlife wouldn’t be digging around,” Booth finished for him. He thought about it for a second, then gave a reluctant nod of approval. “Not bad.”

Once they were finished with the briefing, he called and made reservations for the soonest flight he could get to Louisville – which just happened to leave in an hour. He left Sweets in the squints’ capable hands, and raced for the airport.

Booth’s flight got into Louisville at just after five, and he was on the road in a four-wheel drive rental headed south on I-65 not long after. He tried programming the sheriff’s home address into the GPS, and the thing might as well have shrugged and given him a big fat raspberry. Apparently, Sheriff Lincoln lived off the grid. Instead, he put in the address for the police station, and figured he’d get directions the rest of the way once he got there. He was still in his suit, though by now he was looking pretty rumpled and was feeling tired as hell after his late night with Bones.

Still, he didn’t change into the jeans and t-shirt in his bag before he set out – the family deserved more respect than an exhausted Fed showing up on their doorstep like he was headed for a weekend at the ballpark. He did loosen his tie a little, though, and then took in the countryside while he drove.

Walcott, Kentucky, was an hour and a half due south of Louisville. An hour of that, Booth spent on the highway passing billboards that said things like “Hell is Real!” and “Do You Know When He’ll Call?” in big, black letters. Bones would either be horrified or she’d think it was funny, but Booth just took it in stride. He’d served with plenty of southern boys while he was in the Gulf – they were good men, put their life on the line and saved his ass more than once. If they were a little more hardcore with their Bible than he was with his, it didn’t make much difference to him: faith was faith. Sometimes, whatever got you through the night was enough.

He got off the highway and passed a strip mall with a Super Walmart, Dollar Store, and a giant Christian bookstore, and kept driving until he’d left all that behind and was headed into Sheriff Lincoln’s hometown.

Walcott was a little town of about 2200 people, with the courthouse set right in the center of the town square. It was almost seven by the time he parked and got out, taking in the Christmas lights, the storefronts with boarded windows, the Price Reduced! and Going Out of Business signs. A couple of young guys – too skinny to be healthy and, based on the way their bodies seemed to hum with energy even while they were standing still, probably meth heads – stood on the corner smoking. They watched him while he walked up the courthouse steps, but they didn’t say anything.

The door to the courthouse was locked, which only made sense given the time of day. He looked around, trying to figure out where the police station might be. He’d grabbed a value meal at Burger King a couple hours before, but now he was hungry again, and tired. Small-town Kentucky was losing its charm fast.

“Hey!” he yelled to the meth heads by the streetlamp, walking toward them.

One of the guys looked like he was about to run – he was smaller than the other one, eyes wide, and was probably tweaking right there. The taller one was older – more dangerous, Booth guessed, by the way he met his eye dead on. He felt for his gun, just in case, and stayed smooth and easy as he approached.

“You guys know where the police station is?”

“You need to report a crime?” the taller one asked. Drawled it, long and slow. Took another drag off his cigarette. The street was colder than Booth thought it would be.

“I’m looking for Sheriff Lincoln.”

The smaller one blinked a couple times, fast. His left hand was scratching his left thigh, like he was trying to dig straight through the denim.

“You here about Izzie?”

Booth studied him, keeping his face impassive – though in his head, he was thinking of all the ways he was gonna make Carson’s life a living hell when he got back to DC. He’d told him to stay quiet, and now even the tweakers knew what was up.

“Why do you ask that?”

“You got a government look about you,” the smaller one said, still scratching. “Government got no reason to look for the sheriff, ‘less it’s about Izzie.”

“’Specially not at seven o’clock on a cold Monday night,” the other one added.

Booth nodded, weighing his options. The smaller of the two was young – maybe eighteen, maybe less.

“Can you tell me where to find the sheriff?”

The tall one smiled, a greasy smile that made Booth set himself back, just a little.

“Anything you can do for us, if we take the time?”

“Cut the shit, Jay,” the smaller one said – hard, and Booth got the feeling by the way his buddy looked at him that he’d pay for taking a stand, once Booth was out of sight.

Still, the little one nodded to a road to the left of the courthouse. “Go about five, ten miles down there. There’s a church on the right – a little white one, set back from the road, just before a turnoff. Little Big Town Road – take that right. From there, just follow the dogs. They’ll bring you straight to the sheriff.”

Booth hesitated. The kid definitely wasn’t the most reliable person he’d ever turned to for directions, but it didn’t look like he had a hell of a lot of options. He thanked them and started to get back in the truck, then stopped. Turned to ask if they knew where he could maybe grab a bite to eat, but they were already across the street and headed up the hill out of town. He shrugged, and set back out.

Little Big Town Road wasn’t paved, but it wasn’t in bad shape, all things considered. It was a narrow stretch of road with forest on either side and moonlight overhead, and it was creepy as hell. Booth slowed down when the road veered to the right, looking in on a beat-up old barn with Christmas lights around it, some kind of animals – cows, he thought, though it was too dark to tell for sure – looking out at him from open stalls.

A few yards later, he saw the first dogs. They were in a kennel set back from the road, eyes glowing back at him in the darkness. Those dogs started barking, and it seemed like the whole forest was howling after that. There was another kennel farther down, then a couple of dogs chained to trees beyond that.

Where the hell was he? The thought crossed his mind that maybe this wasn’t the sheriff’s place at all – maybe the tweakers in the town square just sent him into some meth den, just to have a little fun playing Kick the Shit Out of the Fed.

He glanced over his shoulder, looking for a place to turn around. The road was too narrow, though – he’d either have to back up all the way out to the main road, or keep going ‘til he reached a wider spot.

He kept going.

There were more kennels. His heart rate kicked up a notch when he heard someone yelling, off to the left, running through a big, open pasture. There was an answering yell from the other side of the road. Booth stopped the truck. Reached for his gun. The dogs were still barking, but the road had opened up a little, and he could see a house up ahead lit like Times Square, a giant Christmas tree in the front yard.

Which had to be a good sign, right?

He put the truck back in gear, and headed for the light. Once he reached the house, he stopped and sat for a second, getting himself together. He figured, worst case scenario, he was about to step into some crazed, Christmas-loving drug den; best case scenario, he was about to tell a man his daughter was never coming home. After a second’s thought, he decided maybe he’d prefer the drug den.

He stepped into the cold Kentucky night, and heard more yelling off in the distance. There was a nativity scene with a big, glowing plastic Mary and Joseph, and a bunch of big, glowing plastic farm animals beside them. The front porch to the old farmhouse was draped in white Christmas lights, an animatronic Santa going down a chimney up on the roof. He was so caught up in all the holiday stuff, it wasn’t until the front door to the house was opening that Booth realized one of the plastic animals wasn’t glowing.

And wasn’t plastic.

And seemed to be headed his way.

“Lily!” the woman at the front door shouted.

A tiny goat with long fur and longer… antlers? Did goats have antlers, Booth wondered? Or horns? Either way, a tiny long-haired goat with a beard and horns or antlers or whatever and dark, beady eyes turned slow and lazy over her shoulder to look at the woman, before she turned back to Booth.

The goat took a step toward Booth at the same time the woman took a step toward the goat and Booth took a step backward, toward the car. He didn’t reach for his gun, but he sure as hell wanted to.

“You from the FBI?” the woman asked.

What, was he wearing a sign? He nodded, keeping an eye on the goat that was ambling closer.

“Yeah – um, is this your goat?”

“That’s Lily – she let the whole damned herd out tonight, the stinker. Bill and the boys are up in the field trying to get everybody rounded up before the coyotes get wind of an easy meal up on the ridge.”

So, that would explain the yelling up in the pasture.

“Listen, sugar,” the woman said to him. She had a little bit of a drawl, a little bit of a twang. She was blonde and short and curvy, solid in a feminine, country kind of way. All of which Booth took in while edging closer to the car, watching the goat all the while.

“Honey,” the woman said a little louder, when he didn’t look up. “The worst she’s gonna do is pee on your foot, just take it easy. Once she comes up to you, you mind just taking hold of her collar? She’s still P.O.’d at me ‘cause we wethered her boyfriend yesterday.”

Booth had no idea what that meant, but he suspected it wasn’t real good news for the boyfriend, either. A second later, the goat came over and snuffled at his pant leg. He leaned down awkwardly, steering clear of the antlers.

“Nice goat,” he said quietly. Her fur was rough, and when he pet her head she butted against him like a cat. Booth reached lower, holding his breath, until his hand hit the collar. He held on.

“I’ve got her,” he said. He sounded breathless, and way too triumphant for just capturing a miniature goat that wasn’t even trying to get away. The woman hurried down the steps, crouched down, and pulled the goat into her arms like she was a sack of flour.

“You’re more trouble than your worth, Miss Lily,” she said, just loud enough for Booth to hear, before she turned her attention to the FBI agent in her front yard. The goat squirmed and made weird goat noises, then rested its head on the woman’s shoulder and apparently went to sleep.

“Are you Mrs. Lincoln?” Booth asked, trying to inject some authority into his tone.

“I’m Maylene – Mary Todd was Mrs. Lincoln,” she said. It took a second for Booth to get it. “One of the boys by the courthouse called, told me you was on your way. Listen, hon, you got anything a little more comfortable than that get up?” she asked, nodding toward his suit.

His eyebrows went up. He was still trying to figure out how to get back in control, how to suddenly seem like someone they could talk to about their daughter… But he was hungry and it was dark and he was pretty sure the damned goat had peed on his shoes. So, he just nodded.

“Uh – yeah, I have jeans in with my gear.”

“Good,” the woman said. “Why don’t you go on in and get freshened up, then come on down and we’ll do a little goat herding.” She turned to walk away, then stopped before he could call after her. “Once everybody’s rounded up, we’ll come in and have some dinner. And you can tell us about Isabella.”

Her voice broke when she said the little girl’s name, but otherwise she stayed strong. Booth just stood there for a few seconds with his mouth hanging open, before he snapped it shut and grabbed his gear from the back. Went inside and roamed around until he found a bathroom, and then met the woman back on the front porch.

By the end of the night, Booth had come to appreciate all his years of training as a sniper in a way he never had before. Because, as it turned out, being a highly trained sniper came in handy when you were stalking renegade livestock. By the time the last goat was locked in for the night, it was eleven o’clock. Booth was tired and he smelled like sweat and goat funk, but the whole thing had been weirdly energizing.

He followed Maylene and Sheriff Lincoln inside the house, trailed by their three sons. The sheriff set the table while the boys got washed up and Maylene dished up a thick beef stew from a crock pot on the counter.

There were more dogs inside - Maylene did collie rescue, she told him. Three collies – two of them big, gorgeous Lassie-looking dogs and the third one smaller, rounder, and almost bald from mange – lay in a semi-circle at Booth’s feet while he sat at the dining room table. He bowed his head while the family said grace, then took in the old-fashioned, faded floral wallpaper and the antique China hutch and the photos of grandparents and parents and babies that lined the walls.

There were pictures of Izzie everywhere he turned.

Once they’d said the blessing, all eyes were on him. It wasn’t the way the news was supposed to be delivered, but he didn’t have much choice.

“You found Izzie,” the sheriff said. It wasn’t a question. The boys were watching Booth. The youngest was maybe Parker’s age, the oldest probably fifteen or sixteen. They were all blonde like their mother, tall and lean like their father.

Booth nodded, straightening in his chair. “I’m sorry, sir. She was found on a trail in a Virginia state park.”

“When’s she coming home?” the youngest asked. Excited. Booth swallowed.

“She’s not coming home, Ryan, she’s dead,” the oldest told him. Not mean, but matter-of-fact.

“Billy,” Maylene warned.

The sheriff nodded up the stairs. “Why don’t you boys finish up and go on to bed. You got school in the morning. Mama’ll be up to say goodnight shortly.”

Booth didn’t say anything else until the boys were done and safely upstairs. Once they were, the sheriff studied him.

“Any leads on who got her?” he asked.

Booth hesitated. “Not yet. But she’s – I work with a team of forensic scientists at the Jeffersonian Institute. They’re the best in the business, sir.”

The sheriff nodded. He had a rugged build – tall and broad, with a nose a little too sharp for his face, lips a little too thick. Maybe forty-five years old, maybe younger. Maybe older. Not a good looking guy, necessarily, but sturdy and honest looking.

“You know cause of death?” he asked.

For the first time, Maylene looked shaken. Booth watched her for a second, waiting for her to break.

She didn’t.

“Not yet. They’re running a tox screen, to see if it might have been drugs of some kind.”

“How long since she died?” the sheriff asked.

The questions were the rights ones to ask, Booth knew, if you were in law enforcement. But somehow they sounded all wrong coming from the father of the victim.

“It’s hard to pinpoint,” Booth told them. “Years, though.”

“Years,” the sheriff repeated softly. He shook his head, ran a hand over his jaw. He was wearing jeans and an old Army sweatshirt with grass stains on it – Booth had a similar one at home. He looked tired.

Silence fell over the table, until Maylene finally cleared her throat.

“Can you tell – do you know if she suffered?” she asked. Tears in her eyes, now.

Booth shook his head. “There’s no sign of injury of any kind. It doesn’t look like she would have had any pain.”

The sheriff got up from the table suddenly, pushing his chair back and making all three dogs scatter. “I’m going to bed. You’re staying the night,” he said to Booth. Again, it wasn’t a question.

“Uh – well, I planned – ”

Maylene stood at the same time. “Nearest hotel’s an hour away, hon, and you’re dead on your feet. Our oldest boy’s in school up in Chicago – you’ll stay in his room.”

Booth didn’t have the heart to argue. He followed Maylene up a narrow staircase lined with photos of a little girl with glasses and a gap-toothed smile, all the way to a low-ceilinged bedroom on the third floor with pennants and baseball posters on the wall. He reached for his cell phone as soon as he was through the door, but Maylene just smiled at him.

“Reception’s no good out here – you’ll have to use the landline,” she nodded toward a football phone by the bed. “We got unlimited long distance once Malcolm went to school out of state. Talk as long as you want.”

Booth nodded gratefully. He was standing in the doorway, and Maylene studied him for a second before she said anything.

“You got children, Seeley?” she asked.

He nodded, something heavy in his heart. “One – a boy. Parker. He’s eight.”

She smiled a little, her eyes shining. “That’s a good age. You keep him close. You never think of it, ‘til it’s done – you imagine how horrible it’d be, you feel sorry as hell for others who’ve lost a child, but you don’t really believe it happens until it’s your baby’s face staring back at you on the TV.”

She shook her head, wiping away her tears. “Keep him close,” she said again. Then, she straightened, nodding toward the closet. All business again.

“There’s an extra blanket in the closet there – it gets chilly up here at night. Malcolm was home over Thanksgiving, so everything’s still pretty clean, not too musty. Dosha – she’s the mangy collie, but don’t worry, it’s not contagious anymore – likes to sleep up here. She’s had a rough go of it and she’s expecting pups in a couple weeks, so we try and let her do as she pleases.”

She stopped, studied him again. Eyes squinted, a little smile on her face. “You like dogs, Seeley?”

Like he’d dare say otherwise. He smiled back at her and answered truthfully. “Yes, ma’am. I do.”

She nodded approvingly. “Good. Then you and Dosha can keep each other company. Now, call that pretty girlfriend I’m sure is waitin’ on you, and get some sleep. We’ll see you in the morning.”

Booth nodded. Waited until he heard her footsteps headed down the stairs, then changed into sweats and a clean t-shirt and picked up the football phone. Before he could dial, Dosha pushed the door open and waddled in. Climbed up on the bed without an invite, and looked a little put out that she’d have to share.

Bones answered her phone on the second ring, her voice weirdly crisp and professional.

“Dr. Temperance Brennan.”

He grinned. Even wiped out and smelling like goat, that voice could still get to him. He leaned back in bed and pulled the covers up to his waist.

“Hey, baby.”

“Booth?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, Bones – Booth. You got anybody else calling you baby in the middle of the night?”

To which she most definitely rolled her own baby blues. “Of course not, but the caller ID – ”

“Yeah, landline. Reception’s not great out in the boondocks, Bones. How was your day?”

“I just saw you at two, Booth. You know how my day was – you were here for a good portion of it.”

He sighed. Dosha the mangy collie rolled over and tried to make herself comfortable, while he looked for a patch of fur to pet. He settled for the top of her head and her soft, narrow muzzle, and she reached out and lapped at his hand lazily.

“Yeah, Bones – I know, it’s just something you say. So… How was it? Or, how was your night?”

“Fine.” She hesitated a second too long, and he got a little uneasy. “I discussed TJ’s case with him over dinner. When you get back, I think it might be worth looking into the investigation.”

He made a face. “Dinner where?” God, had he really asked that?

“Café Nietsche.”

Booth almost groaned out loud. “You went into Café Nietsche? Bones, that place is full of – ”

“It’s a nice café, with excellent vegetarian fare. One of TJ’s friends was doing a reading there.”

Booth chewed on his lip for a second. Get over it, Seeley. Scratched his neck. She was with him, right? She had plenty of opportunities to date guys like TJ before, and she’d turned them all down flat. He took a breath, and decided to get over himself already. Or at least try like hell.

“I’ll take a look at his case when I get back, Bones. Listen, you’re not gonna believe my night…”

And so he told her. He told her about catching the goats and chasing the llamas, about the little Kentucky town and the meth heads and the rescued collies guarding the place, the pictures of Izzie and the three brothers… He talked until he could barely keep his eyes open, and then only stopped when she laughed at him, low and sweet.

“What’s so funny, Bones?”

A little pause on the line. “I don’t know – nothing, really. Except…” A longer pause, this time. He waited her out. “I really do miss you, when you’re not here. Even…” She stopped again. He felt like he was willing the little engine that could: You can say it, Bones. “Even when it’s illogical. Even when it’s only a night. I do miss you.”

He swallowed past a lump in his throat, ignored a little wash of moisture in his eyes. Smiled. “Yeah, Bones. I know what you mean.”

It turned out that Dosha took up more space, snored louder, and smelled a hell of a lot worse than Bones had ever dreamed of. Still, Booth took one look at the raw, pink skin barely hidden by a layer of thinned out fur, the swollen belly, and the deep pink scar around her neck where he imagined a collar had been embedded until not too long ago, and he didn’t really have the heart to complain. He claimed a corner of the bed for himself, and woke the next morning with the sun high in the sky and the collie’s head resting on his stomach.

It took him a few seconds to re-orient himself once he was up, but he snapped back to life once he’d checked his watch and realized it was almost eight-thirty.

He jumped out of bed, grabbed his things, and hurried down the stairs with Dosha on his heels. Maylene was doing the dishes when he appeared in the doorway.

“Coffee’s made, eggs just need to be nuked if you want some. You sleep okay?”

He ran a hand through his hair, and stopped when he felt a piece of straw in it. He pulled it out and stared, wondering if he’d had the conversation with the family about their lost daughter while he had hay in his hair.

“Uh – yeah, I did. Thank you. Listen, I wanted to talk to your husband about – ”

She nodded, wiping her hands on a dish towel as she turned to face him. “He’s at the station, said you can meet up with him there. What time’s your flight back?”

He sat down. Got his breath, and gratefully accepted the cup of coffee she set in front of him. “Not ‘til six.”

“Well, then – relax. Eat some breakfast, get cleaned up. The world’ll wait twenty minutes, hon.”

Once he was fed and showered and dressed, he met Maylene on the front porch. It was a gorgeous day, cool and crisp, with a blue sky overhead and clean air in every direction. Dosha’d been following him since he got up – sitting at his feet waiting for scraps at breakfast, lying outside the bathroom door while he showered, resting her muzzle against his hand while he touched base with the squints.

Outside, Maylene smiled at him, nodding toward the collie. The dog was too pregnant to lay down the normal way, so she had to stay on her side, panting like crazy. She had one paw resting on Booth’s shoe, like she was keeping tabs on him.

“She’s taken a shine to you.”

He shrugged. “Or my shoes. She’s a nice dog.” He hesitated, not sure if he should keep going. Probably not. He did anyway. “What’ll happen to her, once she – uh, you know, has the puppies?”

Maylene crouched down and pet the dog’s head. “She’s actually got a good home waiting for her – real nice place. You wouldn’t know it to see her now, but Dosh here has a pretty impressive pedigree. Backyard breeders did a number on her, but she’s got some good years left. Once this litter’s out and weaned, she’ll get spayed and go into retirement on a farm near Memphis.”

He crouched down beside Maylene and pet the dog’s patchy, swollen belly. Tried not to look disappointed, and stay casual.

“And uh… What about the pups? Do they already have homes?”

Maylene raised an eyebrow. “You in the market?”

He thought about it for a second. He wasn’t, really – yeah, Bones had mentioned it while she was delirious on the mountain that night, and they’d had exactly one phone conversation about it since then. Still, she kept the plastic German shepherd he got her right there by the bed…

He’d always wanted a dog. And God, Parker’d go nuts.

“Maybe,” he finally said.

She nodded. Straightened up, and thought about it for a while. “Well, you give it some thought. We don’t know about the daddy, but Dosha’s a good mama who raises good pups, so she’ll make sure they’ve got manners before she lets ‘em go. They’ll be nice and socialized, probably smart as pudgy little whips. If you’re looking for a pup, this is a good way to get one.”

Booth ran a hand over the patches of fluff on the dog’s mostly naked chest, and she lay her paw on his arm. He rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help smiling.

Maybe.

Booth turned off Little Big Town Road and headed back into town at ten that morning. When he reached the courthouse, the same two meth heads were standing on the same streetcorner. In the light, he could see the charm of the tiny town a little better: the clear blue sky, tall oak trees, the old brick buildings and the clean, nice little houses with clean, nice little yards. He parked in front of the courthouse again, and the meth heads walked up to him this time.

“You found Sheriff Lincoln, I guess,” the smaller one said.

Booth nodded. “Yeah, thanks for the help.” He hesitated. “Listen – either of you guys know a good place to eat around here?”

The meth heads were Jay – the tall one – and Harry – the small one. Booth bought them breakfast at a roadside diner that smelled like homemade bread and fried chicken. They both ordered the biggest stacks of pancakes on the menu, and barely looked up while they ate. About halfway through the meal, Booth brought up Izzie Lincoln.

“Did you guys know her?” he asked.

Harry looked up. “Know of her, more like,” he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin he’d balled up and smoothed out no less than a dozen times now. His leg was bouncing so hard under the table, Booth thought he might knock something over.

“I was in school with Malcolm – one of the Lincoln boys,” Harry continued, “when it happened.”

“When she was taken, you mean,” Booth said. He took a sip of coffee, keeping things casual.

Jay rolled his eyes. “Yeah, when she got taken. The whole town got turned upside down looking for her.”

“There weren’t so much as a trace, though,” Harry picked up. He had scabs on the back of his hand that he started picking at while they talked.

“She was a cute little thing – sharp, too. Smartest kid in her class. I used to go over to the Lincoln’s place sometimes when my mama worked late. Izzie’d always be out with the goats. She did 4-H, you know. Won all kinds of ribbons for it.”

Booth stored the information away, trying to remember if he’d seen that in the file. “Did she do anything else – leave the town, have contact with outsiders?”

“All the Lincoln's done Bible camp out at Green River,” Jay volunteered. “Folks come from all over the country for that.”

Another tidbit to store away for later. He was about to ask something else when his cell rang, and he frowned when the ID came up. Deputy Director Warner.

“Special Agent Booth,” he answered.

“Booth – you still in Texas?” Warner demanded, sounding impatient as hell.

“Uh – Kentucky, sir. I’ll be back in DC this evening – ”

“Make it sooner – there’s a flight at two. I want you on it. We got another dead kid, same MO.”

Booth excused himself and found a quiet corner. “Same MO meaning…?”

“Cop’s kid, disappeared without a trace. This one up in Vermont, two years ago. Found over at Staunton River Park, wrapped in a sheet with a Missing Persons poster around his wrist. Dr. Brennan’s headed out to the scene now.”

Booth nodded, already digging for his wallet while he headed back to the table.

“I’m on my way, sir.”

He gave Jay and Harry a lift back into town, stopped and said a quick goodbye to Sheriff Lincoln with the promise that he’d be in touch with any news, and hit the road.

Again.

TBC

A/N - And the plot thickens. Be sure to hit that pretty button at the bottom of your screen and let me know your thoughts. Your dreams. Aspirations. Okay, you can leave out the dreams and aspirations - but thoughts on the story are always welcome. ;-) Thanks for reading, folks. See ya next Sunday! - Jen