Author's note: This one has been trying to get out for a while, as a oneshot, but am open to extending...

The other side of a scene from Season Two's Killer in the Concrete...

Disclaimer: Not mine bubba.

Yawning, Booth rested his elbows on his desk, rubbed his palms over day old stubble and stared through, rather than at the screen.

His cell was on silent, so when the call came in, it vibrated just once and moved slightly towards his keyboard.

His eye was immediately drawn to the name on the screen.


He blinked and snatched the cell up.

"Hey Bones, you're late..."

He trailed off as a muffled voice floated across the line.

Hey, I haven't committed a crime in over 15 years. I'm straight.

He sat up straight, instantly alert and listening intently. Holding his cell against his ear with his shoulded, he moved swiftly to scribble two words on a piece of paper.

Except for killing, gutting and burning the deputy director of the FBI.


He had to get there – he had to get the team there. Now.

He was trying to kill Russ. He was going after you. It is not a crime to protect your family.

A dichotomy of emotions pulsed through him.

As much as he wanted to hate this son of a bitch's guts for everything he had ever done he knew he would end someone's life to protect his own son.

Without hesitation.

Some fathers do it without killing.

"Bones," he sighed.

So black and white. No grey.

He loved that about her.

Did uh, you and Booth take a look at my rap sheet?

Snapping into focus, he strode to the glass door and slammed the piece of paper against it. The only agent left in the bullpen started at the noise, shifted his focus to the paper and rose from his desk, nodding in acknowledgement.



He arrest you if he has the chance.

"Damn straight." He whispered, smiling proudly at her directness.

What else?

It went quiet.

He could picture her face, fighting to not betray her feelings to her father. He knew it would be a facade.

He knew Max would also know, which was maybe one more tiny thing they had in common.

So, the snickerdoodles. You don't remember? You loved them as a little girl.

And in immeidate contrast to his sympathy towards the man, repulsion surfaced. Max tried to take Brennan back to her childhood, to use times, events, memories that could connect them.

He curled his fist at his side. Those memories weren't Max's to use. Those memories still brought her pain.

I don't remember.

I'd come home and you'd be jumping around, you were five or six years old and you'd say. "Come on, put on the Trying Song, put on the Trying Song."

His fury rose like bile in his throat as he listened to Max try pathetically to connect with his daughter.

The Trying Song?

It was my favourite song. I used to sing it. It was, uh, by Poco, the band.

I've been thinking about, all the things you told me. I know you're full of doubt, cannot let it be. But I know if you keep coming on coming back for more, then I'll keep trying, I'll keep on trying.It's a good song.


He wanted to be there, wanted to put an end to this, throw the son of a bitch who pulled this emotional blackmail shit on his Bones into jail.

He waited for her response.

Two men, both waiting for her.

Then he heard the rustle of fabric. Was she moving? Leaving? Hugging her father?

He wanted to put his body between hers and Max.

God, he wanted to be there.

This time he curled his fist and thrust it into the wall.

Hugh Kennedy, bad guy, but he's dead. About five years ago in a crash in West Virginia.


Recent evidence suggests otherwise. How do you know him?

Was Max involved? How much shit had he been in?

Well him and his icepick were pretty famous in some circles...I gotta go.


Yeah. You speed-dialled Booth.


Now he's been listening to everything and the SWAT team's on its way. I'm mean I'm just guessing.

"You guessed good." he muttered, looking down at his words on the sheet of paper that had fallen to the floor.


But there is something I do want to say to you.

Closed his eyes in anticipation for Max to finally reveal the reason for his visit and he knew it could only be one thing.


Oh God, her voice.

It's not about Mom. It's about you and the stuff she wanted you to know. She never got the chance to tell you.

He heard Max's voice stumble.

"Don't." His prayer was granted.

Hey Booth, there's a couple of things you should know about Kennedy. He's got an addiction to model airplanes. Try some of these again, you'll love 'em.

He barely heard the insight Max arrogantly threw across the phone line, listening intently for her. Max was leaving, danger was passing.

He heard footsteps.

Then she spoke.

Wait, Dad. What's...what's the second thing?

Mmm, he's wily. You be careful ok?

And her door clicked on the latch followed by another moment of excrutiating silence.

"Did you get that?"

"Yeah Bones. I got that...You ok?"

No reply.

"I'm coming over."

"No Booth, there's no point. He'll be long gone."

He paused.

"That's not why I'm coming over."

Silence. Again.




And he clicked his cell shut and strode for the door.


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