Thank you all for your patience with the short delay on this chapter. To make up for it, this one is nearly twice as long as usual, but there just wasn't anywhere to break it up. This is the FINAL chapter! I know, it took me by surprise too, actually. Sorry I wasn't able to warn you. There's a longer note at the bottom, so for now...

Enjoy!

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Chapter 38

Brennan smirked at her reflection in the bathroom mirror and shook her head in disbelief. What the hell was Angela thinking? The electric blue bikini was the tiniest she'd ever seen. On anyone. Ever. She'd seen women wearing more material on topless beaches. The mere fact that her nipples remained concealed when she walked was a feat of engineering in itself. There was no chance in hell Brennan would be caught wearing this in public, and if she weren't confident that Booth was a man with a healthy heart, she wouldn't wear it in private either.

On their walk back to the villa, they had decided to 'do a few laps in the pool,' and Brennan knew full well that they'd be doing more than swimming. She could hear a splash from beyond the French doors that indicated her husband was already in the pool, and she gave her top a final tug to keep it in place. Does anyone actually expect to swim in this?

Booth had crossed the length of the pool a few times as he waited for her. When he reached the built-in stairs for the fourth time, he glanced toward the villa, wondering what was taking her so long. And there she was. He was frozen in astonishment.

Fuck. Me. Sideways.

"That could prove to be somewhat difficult in the water."

"Huh?" Did I say that out loud? She was approaching the pool and descending the steps into his arms before he even realized that his mouth was hanging open. She smiled up at him and used the tip of her index finger to push his chin upward.

"A sideways sexual position is probably best achieved on a flat surface," she grinned.

"I didn't mean to say that out loud… Holy fuck, Bones. Where did Angela even find that?" His eyes were still slightly glazed, but he couldn't stop looking at her. Or touching her...everywhere.

"I was wondering that myself actually." She palmed his pectoral muscles and slid her hands slowly upward, curving against his neck before thrusting into his hair to pull his head down toward her. They both moaned softly as their lips met, and Booth pressed one hand to the small of her back while the other drifted farther south. He hadn't been able to see the bathing suit from the back, but he could certainly feel it now. It was nothing but strings.

Christ, she's trying to kill me, he groaned inwardly. Death by raging hard-on.

Brennan gasped into his mouth when his wandering hand gripped her hard and crushed her body against his. Her hands were clutching his hair tightly enough to cause pain, but the sensation only seemed to ignite his arousal further. He reached wordlessly toward the backs of her thighs and lifted her legs so that she could wrap them around his waist. She ground her core against his erection, eliciting a predatory growl from deep in his chest that had her shivering. This was her alpha male, and however much the trait might frustrate her on the job, she loved it that much more when it came to their sex life.

Their tongues had been vying for dominance, but in that moment, Brennan felt herself surrendering to his conquest. She wasn't a naturally submissive person, but she had to admit that Booth's dominant side had the ability to set her skin aflame. She wiggled against him, using her thighs to work his loose swim trunks over his hips, and in the moment that she succeeded, she felt her back come into contact with one of the pool walls. She hadn't realized he'd been moving them through the water.

Booth released her mouth and buried his face against the soft skin of her neck, stifling the urge to mark her. A hickey on their tropical honeymoon would probably not go over well. He'd seen the majority of her wardrobe by this point, and he knew there was nothing she'd be able to do to conceal a lovebite. He continued downward, tasting her fragrant skin until he reached her breasts. With one swift tug on the knot behind her back, her top fell away to reveal two hardened nipples, and he spent several minutes paying tribute to each one. Brennan groaned as she felt his hands at the ties that held her bikini bottom together. Tug. Gone. She clung to his biceps, and her hips moved involuntarily, searching blindly for the connection she needed.

"Booth," she pled with a throaty gasp.

"Tell me, baby. Tell me what you need."

"I need to feel you inside of me. Please…"

"Like this?" he asked, pushing his fingers into her deeply and drawing a moan of pleasure from her lips.

"Yes… No…" She writhed against him, enjoying the sensations but wanting more. Needing more.

"No?" Booth smiled at her, loving the way she looked when she was this aroused. She was so responsive to his touch, no matter the time or place. He loved knowing that she craved him every bit as much as he craved her. He withdrew his fingers and quickly positioned himself at her entrance. "Did you mean this?"

"Yes," she cried out as he filled her with one smooth stroke.

"Open your eyes."

Brennan blinked rapidly in attempt to focus on his face, and she moaned again as he pinned her to the side of the pool and began to move. Booth wrapped one arm more securely around her waist and placed his free hand against her face, never breaking eye contact as he slid it slowly down her neck and to her chest. He flattened his palm over her heart, thrilling at the speeding pulse he felt there and knowing that she was dancing on the very edge of her climax. After a few moments, he moved his hand to cover one of her breasts, pinching her nipple with just enough pressure to send her rocketing over the precipice.

The instant change in her eyes combined with the exquisite way she clenched around him was his undoing. He shattered with a harsh cry of release, emptying himself within her and capturing her lips once more.

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The newlyweds rose early the following morning and made their way to the spa. They were scheduled for a couples massage, but Brennan was attempting to coax her husband into a facial as well. He was having none of it.

"It opens and clears your pores," she insisted, holding his hand as they trekked the stone pathway toward the spa.

"Bones, I'm a guy. You're lucky I agreed to a couples massage. I am not getting a facial."

"Men get them all the time. It's very beneficial for your skin-"

"Bones," he groaned, smiling in spite of himself. "If you want a facial, then you should have one. I'm happy to wait for you until you're done."

"I just had one before the wedding."

"Fair enough. Just the massage then," he replied. She rolled her eyes and decided to let it go.

Their massage therapists were both female. Brennan wouldn't have minded either way, but she was relieved to see that both women were courteous and not overtly attentive to her husband's physique. She knew that Booth would never be able to relax with a male therapist. As it was, he took quite a long while to relax even with a female. His therapist made a comment about his tension level, and he willed his body to relax. He hadn't realized how much the touch of a woman who wasn't his wife would put him on edge, and Brennan attempted to reassure him in her typical blunt manner.

"You can relax, Booth. I'm fairly certain she's not interested in men." His head popped up from the massage table to shoot a look of wide-eyed incredulity at his wife followed by an apologetic glance at his massage therapist. The woman laughed heartily in response to Brennan's observation.

"Very true, madam. Your husband is safe with me," she replied in thickly accented English. Brennan grinned at Booth triumphantly.

"See?"

"Thanks, Bones," he replied, rolling his eyes playfully before relaxing back into the headrest.

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By the end of the hour, their bodies felt blissfully limber and somewhat gelatinous. They enjoyed a casual lunch at the Cayenne Grill, the resort's third restaurant, and set off for Malé on a sightseeing excursion that afternoon. As usual, Brennan lacked the typical female urge to shop, so they spent their time on the historical landmarks of the city. She had brushed up on Maldivian history before their trip, and by the middle of their tour, the other guests were paying more attention to her than to the tour guide. Brennan's version of 'brushing up' was more thorough than any training material the guides had been required to memorize.

The next day was their last full day on the island, and they spent the majority of it exploring the parts of the resort they had missed. There were numerous leisure activities available, but as the day wore on, it became clear that most of the other guests preferred to spend their time either sunbathing or drinking to intoxication. Or both.

As neither of those activities appealed to either Booth or Brennan, they focused on capturing the beauty of the island through photography. Brennan was intent on photographing as many species of flora as possible to show Hodgins, and the resort staff was more than willing to take pictures of the couple in various tropical settings.

They returned to the villa briefly to freshen up for dinner, and Booth's excitement grew as he led Brennan toward the meeting place for their final excursion. He had arranged it covertly, and Brennan's eyes lit up when she read the sign posted on the dock next to a large boat.

"A dolphin cruise?"

"Yeah," he nodded, grinning widely at her delighted expression. "We'll eat dinner on the boat and come back after sunset."

She was smiling so vividly that her cheeks ached by the time they boarded with a handful of other guests. As they had come to expect, the food was incredible, and Brennan added another dish to her list of meals she wanted to try at home. As they finished dessert, one of the crew members drew their attention to the starboard side where several spinner dolphins were leaping playfully over the water. Brennan grabbed Booth's hand and pulled him to the railing, and he stood behind her, locking his arms around her waist. They watched the dolphins swim and play for nearly a half an hour as the sun sank below the horizon, and Brennan leaned back into Booth's embrace contentedly.

"Thank you, Booth." Her voice was thick with emotion, and Booth didn't have to search far for the reason. He hadn't meant to dredge up sad memories, and now he was worried that this experience had done precisely that.

"You're welcome," he replied softly, kissing her temple. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," she nodded. "I think I've actually forgiven her." Booth didn't need to ask which 'her' she was referring to. He squeezed her a little tighter.

"That's good, Bones. Do you feel better about everything?"

"Yes and no. I think it will take me a while longer to forgive Max. I know it's what my mother wanted from me, even more than she wanted forgiveness for herself, but…" She shook her head ruefully. "He's done a lot of things since she recorded that video. Good and bad things. I do believe that he loves me, but it's hard to reconcile his actions with my own sense of morality."

Booth nodded, somewhat surprised to hear her acknowledge that her father loved her. It was the first time that he could recall her saying those words out loud, and he knew how much difficulty she'd been having with placing any amount of trust in her father.

"There's no rush, baby. I think it would be nice for you to have your dad in your life, but you don't owe him anything." She turned to look at him with one eyebrow raised.

"You certainly seemed to think I owed him a prison visit." Booth grimaced slightly. That was partially true, though he'd been careful not to pressure her. It didn't surprise him that she had been able to read his silence so well.

"No, I thought it would be good for you. Cathartic, maybe. I know you said you felt uncomfortable… Do you think it would be less awkward not to have the safety glass between you? We could probably work out a private visitation room for next time."

"Maybe," she shrugged, not entirely sure she would be up to another visit any time soon. "You don't have to go out of your way, Booth. I don't even know when I'll see him again. We have a lot going on in the next couple of months. Zack leaving, the Chicago trip, Parker's birthday, the beginning of the school year…"

"I know, Bones. You're right, we should focus on us right now. On our family."

Brennan nodded and leaned back a little further to kiss him tenderly. They would be heading back to the States the next day, but they still had one last glorious Maldivian sunset to share.

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"You gave him a harmonica?"

"Yeah…?" Booth said, shrugging as the word came out sounding like a question. What's wrong with a harmonica?

"Does Zack know how to play one?"

"He can learn. Being a hero can get boring sometimes."

"Is that what you told him?" Brennan asked, smiling gently at her husband. Her hero.

"Something like that." They fell silent for a few moments, and Brennan's mind drifted a bit, wondering how her former graduate student was handling his new environment. Booth watched her expression darken slightly. "He'll be okay, Bones. Zack might not be as tough as you, but he's not on his own over there. I checked out the unit he's attached to, and it's a good one. Solid leadership, great track record… They'll have his back."

Brennan nodded, reluctantly accepting his assurance and uttering a soft, "Thanks," before leaning her head on his shoulder. They were on a plane again, but this time they were headed to Chicago. They'd had a week of respite from travel, and Parker had spent the first of his summer weeks with them. Booth had been thrilled to have his son for the Fourth of July, something that Rebecca had never allowed in the past, and the only dark spot on the week had been Zack's departure. Booth and Brennan had thrown a holiday barbeque/pool party/going away party on the fourth, and Zack had officially left the country the following day.

Shortly before the wedding, Brennan had been requested to give a presentation on her bullet reconstruction method in addition to being the keynote speaker for the conference at Northwestern. She'd been hesitant to agree at first, since she'd had very little time to put anything together in terms of media. Speeches, she could handle, but this sort of thing would require a visual aid. Angela had come to her rescue once again, creating a short demonstration that could be displayed for the audience. Brennan would have actually preferred that Angela come with her to Chicago, especially considering the huge part the artist had played in putting Brennan's theory to work in the Cugini case and several others since. Hodgins had already planned a tropical vacation of their own, however, and Angela hadn't been interested in skipping out on that opportunity.

Booth and Brennan got checked into their hotel before heading over to Northwestern to meet with the event coordinator at a cocktail party being hosted by the university. The man had been incredibly persistent in persuading Brennan to accept the honor of the keynote address, and she wondered if she (as well as her husband) would be able to tolerate his exuberance in person. Although this wouldn't be the first time she'd returned to her alma mater for this sort of occasion, she hadn't been particularly interested in attending the conference until Booth suggested that they go together. Brennan was slightly disappointed that Parker couldn't join them, but they were already making plans for a family vacation during the Christmas holiday.

"Dr. Brennan! Oh my God, it's so wonderful to finally meet you. I am such a huge fan. Dr. Gary Harding," he thrust his hand toward her enthusiastically. "We spoke on the phone, of course." Brennan smothered a groan of annoyance and reluctantly shook the man's hand.

"Yes, nice to meet you. This is my husband, Special Agent Seeley Booth of the FBI." She gestured to Booth, who extended his own hand and gave the irritating man a half-cut version of the stare-down. He hadn't missed the fact that Dr. Harding had been staring openly at his wife's breasts nearly the whole time he'd been prattling on. He gripped the man's hand firmly, smirking as Harding pulled away and flexed his fingers for relief.

Harding launched into a lengthy description of the presentations that would be given over the following few days, but Brennan was only half-listening. She took in her husband's tight frown and agitated expression, understanding almost immediately that he had seen something she hadn't. Dr. Harding wasn't merely a fan, as he'd proclaimed; he had a crush.

No wonder he wanted to get me here so badly, Brennan mused, smirking as she realized that he wouldn't have been expecting her to arrive with her husband. They hadn't announced their marriage publically, though she supposed it was only a matter of time before her publisher would want to release the information. Brennan was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn't register anything Dr. Harding was babbling about until Booth's voice interrupted him.

"Wait, did you say Stires?" he growled. Brennan looked up in alarm.

"Well...yes, he'll be speaking on Wednesday," Harding replied, flummoxed by Booth's surly expression. Brennan relaxed slightly.

"What day is your forensic speech?" Booth asked her.

"Both of my presentations are scheduled for Tuesday."

"So we don't need to be here on Wednesday then?"

"No," she smiled, pleased that their minds had been in the same place. Harding seemed to deflate as he listened to their conversation.

"I was under the impression that Dr. Stires was your doctoral advisor, Dr. Brennan. You don't want to hear his presentation?"

"Yes, he was my advisor, and no, I won't be subjecting myself to his presence this week or ever again, if I can help it. I'm honestly surprised that he was invited to speak, considering the fact that he all but destroyed his own credibility during a murder trial not long ago."

"When was this?" Harding asked, seeming both appalled and hungry for gossip.

"December of 2005," Brennan replied coolly. She hoped that Michael wouldn't show up to harass her on Tuesday; she had absolutely no desire to see him again. Though watching his face when he finds out I got married would certainly be amusing…

Harding frowned, trying to recall if he'd heard anything about the trial Brennan spoke of. True, Stires was known as something of a philanderer, and a good number of the university faculty didn't like him, but he'd had no idea that Stires' most famous student found him so distasteful. In fact, Harding had heard precisely the opposite, and he'd been looking forward to meeting the illustrious Dr. Brennan for reasons that weren't exactly professional. Being introduced to her husband had been quite a surprise...and a disappointment.

Booth and Brennan managed to sneak away from Dr. Harding a short while later, and they slipped covertly out the door to head back to their rented SUV. They drove around the campus for a few minutes so that Brennan could give him a quick tour before heading back to their hotel.

"Are you worried that he'll show up tomorrow?" Booth asked quietly as they rode the elevator up to their room.

"He?"

"Stires."

"Oh." She'd briefly forgotten the man's existence. "No, I'm not worried. I'd prefer not to see him again. Ever," she grumbled. "But I'm not worried about it. He's insignificant. I'll give my presentations, and then we can leave. Someone else is giving a closing address, so I won't need to return for anything else."

"Good," Booth replied, smiling down at her before unlocking the door and holding it open for her. "So we have the night to ourselves then."

"So it seems," she grinned back. "Did you have a particular activity in mind?" He pulled her against him abruptly, bending to leave a trail of kisses on her jaw.

"As a matter of fact, I do…"

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Booth sat in the large auditorium at Northwestern University the next day, doing his best to keep his eyes open through the third presentation of the day. Brennan's keynote speech had opened the conference, and he was proud to say that he'd been able to follow quite a lot of it. Her forensic presentation was next on the schedule, and as soon as she finished, they would be making a hasty exit. The man currently on the stage was likely in his sixties, and his voice was incredibly soporific. Booth stifled a yawn and grumbled inwardly. There isn't enough caffeine in the world to counteract this guy.

He glanced at his wife in the seat next to him and was unsurprised that she seemed to be having no trouble staying awake. Her eyes did look slightly unfocused, however, as though she weren't truly listening to the man's speech. That suspicion was confirmed when her forensic presentation was announced next and her expression remained unchanged. Booth elbowed her gently to get her attention, and she blushed slightly as she rose from her seat.

Brennan's mind had indeed been elsewhere… Back in their hotel room, replaying the activities of the previous evening. She felt the heat in her cheeks and forced her mind to focus on her task. Angela's visual aid was ready to go, and a helpful grad student handed her a remote as she climbed the steps to take the stage once more. The presentation itself was fairly straightforward, but the images Angela had used were the actual reconstruction scenarios from the Cugini case. Due to the aftermath of Agent Kenton's misdeeds, and particularly of Booth's very close call, this wasn't a case that Brennan enjoyed rehashing. As such, she kept her presentation as brief as possible, filling the rest of her time slot with questions from the audience.

Booth smiled up at his wife as she displayed an effortless command of the stage. He'd seen her in this particular element more than once, but his mind always seemed to drift back to the first time he'd laid eyes on her. She hadn't been what he'd expected at all. With a name like Temperance, he'd assumed he would be meeting an older woman, perhaps a female version of the 'Dr. Sandman' who had just finished speaking. But to his everlasting surprise and pleasure, the Dr. Brennan he'd met that day was a breath of fresh air. Intelligent, beautiful, sexy, adorably awkward… And now she was his wife. I really am the luckiest sonofabitch alive, he thought, grinning up at her like the lovesick fool he was.

To their mutual relief, Stires was nowhere to be seen, and once her presentation had concluded, they snuck out of the auditorium as covertly as possible. It was nearly lunchtime, so they headed south toward the downtown area to find a specific pizzeria that Booth insisted had the best pizza he'd ever eaten. Dimo's was located nearly Wrigley Field, which was how he'd stumbled upon the place to begin with, and he made a point to stop there whenever he was in the area.

After lunch, they spent the afternoon wandering around downtown Chicago. They managed to finish up their shopping for Parker's sixth birthday, and both agreed that there were a great many activities he would've enjoyed - Addler Planetarium, Shedd Aquarium, and the carnival rides of Navy Pier, just to name a few. Booth found himself missing his son more than he had expected, and he hoped that they would be able to return to the area as a family at some point.

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Brennan chose the restaurant for dinner that evening, opting for something a bit less formal than her usual preference. She knew that fancy restaurants had the ability to make Booth uncomfortable, and it had been a very long day. Neither of them were up for anything over-the-top. They were waiting for the server to come back with their desserts when Brennan heard a female voice call her first name from the next table.

The woman and her date had just been shown to their seats, and when Brennan glanced in her direction, her eyes widened in surprise.

"Melissa?"

"It is you! Oh my God!" The woman practically leapt up from her chair and rushed toward their booth, squeezing in next to Brennan and pulling her into a quick hug. Brennan was momentarily startled but returned the hug as kindly as she could manage. She was stunned by Melissa's sudden appearance, but she'd have known her anywhere.

"It's nice to see you. Unexpected, but very nice." She smiled softly and gestured to Booth. "This is my husband, Seeley Booth. Booth, this is Melissa Wilkes. We were in the same foster home together when I was seventeen." Booth reached across the table to shake the woman's hand, wondering which particular nightmare Melissa had shared with his wife and doing his best to keep that curiosity out of his expression.

"Yes," Melissa confirmed wistfully. "We looked out for each other when we could. Is this the same person you dedicated your second book to, Temperance?" Brennan nodded. "I've read all of your books; they're wonderful. I was so surprised when I saw the first one in the bookstore; I couldn't help but feel a little proud of you. You've come a long way."

"Yes, I have. Being an author is more like a hobby most of the time, though. I'm a scientist first and foremost," Brennan replied with a gentle smile.

"That doesn't surprise me at all," Melissa chuckled. "You were always the smartest person I'd ever met, and that's still true today."

The two women exchanged pleasantries for a few more minutes, and Booth listened politely as they caught up with the main details of one another's lives. He wondered if Melissa had been abused as well. Had she perhaps been locked in a trunk for a ridiculous 'offense?' Had she been beaten and thrown down a flight of stairs? Had she been made to feel as though she were insignificant and worthless? His silent questions seemed to penetrate Melissa's awareness somehow, because her next statement shifted the conversation to that very topic.

"Did you hear about Mr. Taylor?" she asked, lowering her voice conspiratorially. Brennan stiffened at the sound of the man's name, and she shook her head, not entirely sure she wanted to know.

"We live in DC. We're only here for a conference at Northwestern." Booth heard the tension in her voice and reached for her hand beneath the table.

"His body was found a few months back," Melissa replied quietly. Her tone could've been mistaken as the somber tone of respect for the dead were it not for the satisfied gleam in her eye. "The cops found him in his home after a house fire, but apparently he was dead before the place burned."

"He was murdered?" Booth asked, taking in the stunned expression on his wife's face.

"Most likely. The article I read said the body had been 'mutilated' and that he'd most likely bled out. Slowly, I hope. Bastard…"

Brennan felt cold and knew that her face had probably lost most of its color. She swallowed convulsively, raising her glass of water to her lips with a trembling hand. Surely the man had made a number of enemies over the years. What are the odds that… She mentally shied away from the disquieting thought that had crossed her mind and forced her mouth to move.

"Do the police have any leads on who killed him?"

"I don't think so, but I don't know if the investigation is still going on. They had his picture in the paper for a while asking people to come forward to claim his remains, but that stopped a few weeks ago. I don't know what's going on now. Temperance…why do you look so upset? I mean, sure, it was a violent way to go, but the guy had it coming. I'm sure he probably messed with a lot of girls over the years. Any number of people could've wanted the guy dead."

"Yes," Brennan replied distractedly, doing her best to maintain her composure. Melissa eyed her curiously for another moment before changing the subject, and a few minutes later, she said her farewells and returned to her own table. She and Brennan exchanged email addresses so that they could keep in touch, and Booth scooted closer to his wife once they were alone. She met his eyes nervously, and they exchanged their typical nonverbal communication for a few moments before Booth broke the silence.

"Are you thinking…?"

"That Max might've killed Bill Taylor? Of course. Aren't you?" She felt sick to her stomach at the idea that her father could've killed yet another person for her. Booth sighed, squeezing her hand in support.

"Well, first of all, which foster father was this?"

"The one who molested me," she mumbled under her breath. "And Melissa. And who knows how many others."

Now Booth was feeling sick as well, and not just at the reminder that his wife had been raped as a teenage girl, though that would've certainly been enough. Unfortunately, Booth was pretty sure that if Max had figured out what had happened back then and how to find the bastard, there was a very good chance that he would have killed him. He decided to keep that opinion to himself, however; it was clear that Brennan was very disturbed by the idea.

"You know… Melissa was right," he pointed out. "There are probably quite a few people who wanted the guy dead." Brennan sighed and leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. He let her sit for a few minutes before suggesting they head back to their hotel, and she nodded mutely, waving one last goodbye to Melissa as Booth guided her out of the restaurant with a hand at her back.

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"You're really sure you want to get into this?"

"Booth, I need to know. I barely slept last night; my mind just wouldn't let me rest. I'm sure I could talk my way into whatever crime lab processed the remains. Maybe they still have the bones if the case is still open. I need to know," she repeated.

Booth cradled her face in both of his hands and stared into those disarming blue eyes for a few moments. This could potentially be the start of a very long trip down the proverbial rabbit hole, and although he knew she was strong enough to handle it, the last thing he wanted was to see her in pain. Particularly more pain caused by Max Keenan.

"Okay, Bones," he relented. As if he could have denied her. "Let's start at the beginning. What can you tell me about this guy Taylor?"

"I was there for about five months. Melissa was there for longer, I think. He was physically abusive to all of the children, but to my knowledge, he only molested the girls…" She trailed off as the memories flooded her mind, and Booth put his arms around her gently, recalling the conversation they'd had about this particular home not long after they'd gotten together. She had said that she'd been molested on 'at least one occasion that she knew of.' When he'd asked her what that meant, he hadn't been sure what had stunned him more: her answer or the matter-of-fact way in which she'd given it.

"I know of at least one because I was conscious, but in that particular home, my foster father was partial to hitting or slamming our heads into something. Losing consciousness wasn't a rare occurrence."

"This was the guy whose wife said you were the one at fault, right?" Booth asked, remembering more of the conversation.

"Yes. I don't know if she knew that he was molesting the other girls as well, but she was quick to point the finger at me when I reported his actions to my caseworker. The abuse was never confirmed, and as far as I know, no charges were pressed. I'm sure he couldn't have gotten away with it forever though. I would hope that at some point, enough girls would've come forward with allegations of their own and that at least one would've been taken seriously."

"You never looked into it after you aged out?"

"No. I just wanted to move on," she sighed, pulling out of his embrace to meet his troubled gaze.

"I can check his record. Maybe we can track down the guy's social services file too," Booth told her, already forming a mental list of sources to check.

"If he has a criminal record, then I'm sure you can find it, but you may not be able to get his DCFS file. Not only was the system incredibly corrupt during that time period, but their document retention period has lapsed. The files were only kept for seven years after the child aged out. The records weren't digitized until the late nineties, and that practice wasn't retroactive. They only did the current cases on file, not those of children who had already come of age."

"How do you know all of that?"

"A foster child is permitted to request his or her own file once they age out, or it may be obtained by a child's adoptive parents. But that opportunity is gone after that seven-year period, at least for the files that were never converted to an electronic format. I requested mine as soon as I turned eighteen."

"You still have it?"

"Yes. It's at home in the safe I brought from my apartment, along with my will and other documents like that. It gives no record of the other children in the homes, unfortunately. That sort of information is kept private unless someone makes a special request. Even then, the details are only released with the other person's express permission. That wouldn't be an option at this point."

Booth frowned, slightly surprised at the news that she'd hung on to that file for so many years. He knew without looking at it that it contained any number of ugly details about his wife's childhood, and the thought that it was sitting in his home at that very moment was discomforting. He gave himself a mental shake and refocused his attention on the matter at hand.

"So seven years, huh?

"Yes. It would've been destroyed in 2001."

"And the files kept on foster parents work the same way?"

"I don't know about that, but I'm sure we can find out. Checking criminal records would be the most obvious place to start. If that doesn't turn anything up, then we could try talking to someone at DCFS."

"Okay," he nodded. "It's a shame we don't have your file with us. Though I'd really rather not have to see it...ever...there might be something in it to point me in the right direction with the local PD."

"What is it you want to know? I can give you the list of names and some details about each home," she offered.

"That would help. Do you remember the timeframes?"

Brennan nodded and paced across their hotel room to dig a legal pad out of her messenger bag. Booth rubbed the back of his neck as he watched her write the list of names followed by the dates and details relating to each one. These names were etched forever in his wife's memory, and now they would be trapped in his as well. When at last she handed him the notepad, he sighed deeply and willed his uneasy stomach to toughen up.

Mr. and Mrs. David Anderson - December 1991 thru March 1992. They requested a change of placement.

Mr. and Mrs. Paul Carter - March 1992 thru July 1992. Neglect. Food/water deprivation.

Mr. and Mrs. James Hammel - July 1992 thru September 1992. Physical and emotional abuse. No visible proof to show the caseworker.

Mr. and Mrs. Jack Campbell - September 1992 thru December 1992. Physical abuse. Removed from the home after being locked in a trunk for two days.

Mr. and Mrs. Aaron Roberts - December 1992 thru April 1993. Physical abuse confirmed by social worker. Removed from home after being pushed down a flight of stairs.

Mr. and Mrs. Michael Lewis - April 1993 to August 1993. Emotional and verbal abuse. They requested a change of placement.

Mr. and Mrs. Troy Collins - August 1993 to December 1993. They requested a change of placement when Mrs. Collins became pregnant.

Mr. and Mrs. William Taylor - December 1993 to May 1994. Physical abuse including sexual assault. Reported but never confirmed. They requested a change of placement.

Mr. and Mrs. Nathaniel Edwards - May 1994 to October 1994. Emotional and verbal abuse. Aged out.

Booth's hands were trembling by the time he reached the bottom of the list. His wife had suffered some sort of abuse in seven out of her nine foster homes, and five of those placements had resulted in physical abuse. He felt his stomach roll and fought to keep his breakfast from making a reappearance. Booth placed the notepad on the small coffee table and pulled Brennan into a tight embrace. Neither of them spoke, and it wasn't precisely clear who was comforting whom.

"I need a few minutes, baby. Just some fresh air, okay?" he told her, tilting his head toward the balcony outside of their hotel room. She nodded and watched him go, but she kept her seat, knowing that he usually preferred to process things alone.

Booth stepped onto the balcony and closed the sliding door behind him. They were on the ninth floor of their hotel, and he hung his head toward the ground, gazing blindly at the pedestrians on the sidewalk below. The names and details she'd written echoed persistently through his mind. She had been displaced, in one way or another, every December from the year her parents had left to the year before she'd turned eighteen. Yet another reason for her to hate the holidays, he thought sourly. Though he had to admit that after the trunk incident she most likely would've wanted to be moved. He hadn't realized that the incident had taken place in December. Chicago in December. No wonder she had to be treated for exposure.

Booth found himself wishing they were back home at that moment. He would've very much liked to go a few dozen rounds with his punching bag. Although the fresh air was welcome, the humidity of July in the midwest was stifling, and he retreated back into the air-conditioned comfort of their room after a few more minutes.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly. Booth frowned.

"I feel like I should be asking you that."

"None of this is news to me, Booth. I've made my peace with it as best I could over the years. However, I can sympathize with your perspective. For instance, I would be quite reluctant to investigate the murder of someone who had hurt you in the past."

"Yeah," he nodded, accepting her logic. "But you'd still do it if I asked."

"Yes."

"Which is why I'll do it for you. If you're really sure you want to pursue it." He held his breath, knowing her answer but desperately wishing for a different one.

"I need to know."

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After a quick internet search on William "Bill" Taylor, Booth and Brennan were able to determine which area of the city to focus their efforts upon. A few well-directed phone calls led Booth not only to the Cook County crime lab that had processed the man's remains, but also to the local homicide division that had opened the case. They had intended to fly back to DC that day, but they decided to prolong their departure by a few days in order to speak to as many people in person as they could manage.

Their first stop was the crime lab, and as Brennan had predicted, her reputation was enough to get her through the door. The medical examiner was all too happy to share his records, but unfortunately that was the end of the evidence trail.

"You don't have the remains?" Brennan asked the young man.

"No, they went unclaimed for ninety days. We're required to hold onto them for that long, but then the remains are cremated and buried in a local cemetery." The man shrugged helplessly, and Brennan scowled back at him in shock.

"But this man was the subject of an open murder case. His remains were evidence of a crime. Surely that should've required a different protocol."

"Unfortunately, long-term storage of human remains is beyond the capacity of our current resources. In most cases like this, a family member comes forward to claim the remains. They're released for burial or cremation at the discretion of the local or state police department, depending on who is handling the case. In this situation, there were no solid leads for long enough that it became a cold case, and at ninety days with no one to claim the remains…"

"So they were cremated last month?" Brennan asked, glancing at the date of the autopsy report in her hands. The remains had been found in March.

"That's correct," the medical examiner replied. Brennan pursed her lips and shook her head in frustration, and Booth shifted uncomfortably at her side.

"I work in the Medico-Legal lab at the Jeffersonian Institute. We have thousands of skeletal remains in long-term storage, some dating as far back as the Civil War era. Older, even. They're sent to us from all over the country, all over the world. We're the best, but we're certainly not the only facility of our kind. Why doesn't Cook County utilize such resources?"

"I'm not sure, Dr. Brennan. I'm sorry."

Brennan sighed again and frowned down at the autopsy report. The 'mutilation' Melissa had referred to was actually castration. The tissue of the severed organ had been found near the body but still far enough away to indicate that it had been removed prior to the fire. She squinted at the autopsy photos with a practiced eye. Taylor had been identified with dental records, but his face was unrecognizable. There had been enough remaining lung tissue to confirm the absence of smoke inhalation, indicating that he had indeed been dead before his home had caught fire. Her eyes fell upon yet another detail that provoked her ire.

"This report says that cause of death was exsanguination by means of castration," she announced. Booth's eyes widened in shock at the new information. "Did you perform the autopsy?"

"Yes, Dr. Brennan."

"Your report doesn't include evidence of any bone trauma or severance of the femoral artery. How did you determine that the castration caused him to bleed out?"

"Well…" The medical examiner avoided her piercing gaze, feeling as though he were back in school, being drilled by one of his professors. "I thought it was a reasonable conclusion," he muttered.

Booth closed his eyes in anticipation of his wife's response, and he wasn't disappointed. She took the startled young man to task for several minutes on the perils of jumping to conclusions in their line of work. The man hadn't defleshed the bones to analyze the skeletal remains, meaning that there could have been evidence of some other cause of death that would now remain a mystery. The tox screen had been negative for drugs or poisons, but there was no mention of any examination of the hyoid to check for signs of strangulation, no in-depth study of the skull to check for indications of an intracranial hemorrhage… On and on she went, and after fifteen minutes of listening to her berate the poor man, Booth felt compelled to step in.

"Look, Bones… It is what it is, right? We'll have to work with what we've got and see what else we can get from the local PD. I'm sure this guy will take your advice into consideration on future cases." The medical examiner opened his mouth to reply that he was obligated to follow an established protocol, but Booth silenced him with an intense stare.

"Certainly," the man squeaked.

Brennan read through the file twice, committing the details to memory before handing the manila folder back to the medical examiner. Booth ushered her out of the lab with a hand to her back and thanked the man for his help. Brennan scoffed and remained silent until they were back in the rental car.

"That was utterly ridiculous. How can they knowingly and deliberately destroy forensic evidence in a murder case? It's outrageous."

"I agree, Bones, but unfortunately there's nothing we can do about it. Let's hope the cops have something else we can use, alright?"

Brennan sighed and nodded, pouting at the scenery gliding by outside of her window.

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Their visit to the local Chicago PD precinct seemed doomed from the very beginning. The front desk was being run by an older, rather abrasive woman in a standard desk sergeant uniform, and even after Booth flashed his badge, it took a good twenty minutes for a homicide detective to favor them with his presence. Booth analyzed the man's demeanor as they spoke, and it was quite clear that the detective thought they were wasting his time.

Detective Whitson explained that their crime scene team had done a sweep after the fire department had given the all-clear, but that the building had been too unstable to leave in its ruined state for any significant length of time. The fire department had allowed time for the CSI team to collect as much evidence as they could, but the charred remnants of the home had been cleared less than a week after the fire. Not only were there no human remains for Brennan to analyze, but now they were being told that there was no crime scene to investigate either.

Booth cursed under his breath and asked, as politely as possible, if they could take a look at the casefiles and whatever evidence they had stored. It seemed as though the detective was going to refuse the request, but after a few moments' consideration, he gave a stiff nod and led them to a large storage room.

"Anything we've got will be in here," Whitson told them, handing them a box labeled with Bill Taylor's name and the date his remains were discovered. Next, he thrust a clipboard at Booth and said, "You'll need to sign in. Keep the box in this room. There's a table over there you can use."

Booth glanced in the direction he'd pointed and signed his name quickly, taking the box from Brennan so that she could sign in as well. Detective Whitson took the clipboard back and handed them a business card.

"I need to get back upstairs. You can page me at this number if you have any questions. Otherwise, you can sign out at the front desk when you're done."

"Thanks," Booth replied sardonically, frowning at the man's dismissive attitude. He was well aware that relations between the Chicago PD and the FBI were strained at best, but he didn't appreciate being treated like a nuisance. He exchanged an irritated glance with his wife and followed her to the long table near the door.

"That man was rather rude," Brennan observed, lifting the lid from the file box and sifting through its contents carefully. There wasn't much to go on. Most of the home had been photographed after the fire, but very few items had been retained as evidence. Among the physical evidence were the remnants of a wristwatch, a melted cell phone, a blackened leather wallet, and four thick, partially melted cable ties, which had been closed and subsequently cut open again.

Booth grunted in agreement and started reading the casefile. It was ridiculously thin. The body had been found sitting upright in a kitchen chair with no obvious signs of forced entry or struggle within the home. The majority of the victim's clothing had been reduced to cinders, and all that had remained on the body were the cell phone, wallet, and wristwatch. The severed cable ties had been found on the floor, one near each leg of the chair. There had been traces of an accelerant, but only on the body itself. The rest of the home had burned more slowly, but unfortunately the time of day and the location of the home had resulted in a delayed call to the fire department. By the time the trucks had arrived on the scene, there had been very little left of the structure.

Brennan had shifted her focus to the photographs of the scene. It was gruesome, but certainly nothing she wasn't accustomed to. The CSI team had found evidence of a large pool of blood on the floor beneath the chair, and the sample had been matched to the victim. That information hadn't been included in the autopsy report, and she wondered if the medical examiner had known about it when he ruled cause of death as exsanguination. If that were the case, she supposed she should feel guilty for tearing into him as she had. Given the presence of so much blood at the scene, she would've been likely to come to the same conclusion.

"Anything?" Booth asked, glancing up from the file in his hands. Brennan shook her head.

"Not really. Lots of blood at the scene, confirmed to have come from the victim. He probably did bleed out, though whether or not it was due to castration remains to be seen."

Booth shuddered involuntarily at the mental image. As a man, his brain was hard-wired to empathize with an injury to the male genitalia, but he had to agree with Melissa Wilkes - this guy had it coming. It also didn't escape his notice that it was a fitting way to kill a rapist, particularly one who had forced himself upon teenage girls. The issue, of course, was that it was precisely something that a vengeful father would do. Brennan was thinking in a similar direction, and her next words caught Booth off guard.

"I'd like to check police records for any other cases with similar circumstances. Going back to…" She paused, running through a timeline of what little she knew about Max's recent activities. "Let's say as far back as June of last year."

Booth sighed but couldn't find a reason to dissuade her. He knew precisely why she'd decided upon that timeframe, and he had to agree that it was as a good idea. She'd been kidnapped in June of the previous year, and Max had disappeared from the scene without a trace. He had resurfaced in December only to disappear once more, and he hadn't made another appearance until April. They had no way of knowing what he'd been up to during those months he'd been gone.

Booth paged Detective Whitson and made the request. The man was predictably slow to complete the task, but eventually he showed up once more with a list he'd compiled from the local crime database. Booth thanked him and scanned it quickly, reading through eight months' worth of names until he reached on that was familiar.

"Bones," he said quietly. She looked up from the crime scene photographs and met his troubled gaze. "That list of yours… Wasn't there someone named Hammel?" He had the list in his pocket, but he didn't want to pull it out in front of Detective Whitson. The details of his wife's troubled teenage years didn't need to be called into evidence unless it was absolutely necessary.

"Yes," she replied. "James Hammel." Booth nodded and handed her the list so that she could read the name for herself. The case dated back to mid-February and was listed as closed.

"Would you be willing to pull another file for us?" Booth asked the detective. "This one here from February. James Hammel?" Detective Whitson rolled his eyes theatrically but copied down the case number before shuffling away. He returned a few minutes later with an accordion file.

"You think these two are related?" he asked, reluctantly curious. The Hammel case had been handled by a different detective, but the dates were less than a month apart.

"Maybe; maybe not," Booth shrugged, unwinding the thin cord of the file. Brennan gathered the files from the Taylor case into a neat stack and pushed them out of the way before leaning in to read the Hammel file over her husband's shoulder.

The cases were eerily similar, and yet not. It was another house fire, this time in a mobile home. The fire had burned longer than it should have before responders arrived on the scene, once again due to the time of day and the poor location. There had been no trace of an accelerant detected, but the fire had burned long enough that the body had been almost completely skeletonized. Hammel had been found in a horizontal position on what had remained of his couch, and there had been absolutely no trace of foul play of any kind. No sign of forced entry; no discernible cause of death. He was presumed to have died in the fire, but there hadn't been enough tissue left to confirm or deny that theory. Cause of death was listed as 'undetermined.' Once again, no one had come forward to claim the remains, and they had been cremated after ninety days.

Brennan placed her elbow on the table and leaned her forehead into her palm. She wanted to speak openly with her husband, but she knew that it would be unwise to do so in front of the detective. She met Booth's solicitous gaze and gestured toward the door with her eyes to indicate that she was ready to leave. They reorganized the files to their original states, thanked the detective, and signed out with the grumpy desk sergeant before heading back to their hotel.

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Brennan paced the floor of their hotel room, her head spinning with the influx of information. Booth held his tongue but watched her for signs that she was ready to talk. In the meantime, he pulled her list from his pocket and re-read the details she'd given him for Taylor and Hammel. They'd discussed Taylor at length, and the sexual assault seemed to be the primary factor, since someone had literally castrated the man. Brennan had written that Hammel had been physically abusive as well, but he'd left no visible proof of the abuse that she could've shown anyone. He was pulled out of his reverie by his wife's voice, and he looked up quickly.

"There are no coincidences in a murder investigation. That's what you always say." She wasn't looking at him. She paced slowly, watching the carpet pass beneath her with unseeing eyes. "Hammel never left a mark on me. There never a bruise or laceration that I could use as evidence to prove the abuse…" She reached the end of the room and turned around again, still pacing. "And there was no physical proof that he was murdered. At least, nothing that a medical examiner or pathologist would've found. If I'd been able to see the remains…"

"Bones… I know I've said that in the past, about coincidences, but-"

"You think the deaths of these men are coincidental?"

"I don't know, but-"

"There are too many similarities, Booth. The connection to the foster system, to me, the fire, the lack of evidence, the lack of anyone coming forward to claim the remains, the cremation… They died less than a month apart. That can't be coincidence."

"Maybe, but that doesn't mean that it was Max. Both of these guys were scum. Bastards. Sick fucks who got their rocks off by abusing children. I'm sure you weren't the only one. These assholes could've had dozens of enemies," he insisted. Brennan was silent for a few moments. She had stopped pacing and was standing a few feet away, looking at her husband with a tortured expression. She wanted so badly to believe in her father's innocence. Am I a fool for hoping? Am I that naive?

"Do you think he could've killed them?" she asked, dreading the answer she saw in his dark eyes. He clenched his jaw and considered his response carefully before speaking.

"Could he have done it? Yes. Do I think he did? ...I don't know. My gut says that Max would go after the people who hurt his kids, but without any proof, it's just a hunch. A theory that we probably won't be able to prove or disprove. So where does that leave us?"

Brennan cringed and sank onto the edge of the bed, burying her face in her hands, and Booth moved to crouch down in front of her, pulling her hands away gently. He held them firmly and waited until she met his gaze with watery blue eyes.

"Tell me what you're thinking, baby."

"I want to believe that he didn't do it. That this is all just a strange coincidence, but… That night that he stayed in the guest room, he answered some of my questions about the time he'd been away. The years following their disappearance as well as the months after he left with Russ last December. I specifically asked him what he'd been doing during the time he'd been away since Christmas, and he said something that I didn't understand at the time. But now…"

"What was it?"

"He said that he was 'making some things right.' And that he wasn't going to say anything more than that about it." Booth felt a chill wash over him at the implication. "He could've very easily been referring to this. The timeline fits, and he certainly has the motive… Though I'm not sure how he would've known the details of the abuse well enough to mimic anything. That part doesn't make sense." Booth lifted a hand to her cheek and gazed at her for a moment before speaking.

"Let's go home, Bones. If you want to keep digging, we can, but the local cops aren't going to give us anything else right now. I can check out criminal records and all that from DC."

"I think we should check to see if any of my other foster parents have died under suspicious circumstances. I don't want to believe that Max could've done this, but I have to be honest with myself. He's a murderer. And even if I can forgive him at some point, I'll never be able to rebuild a relationship with him if this is hanging over my head."

Booth nodded his acceptance and leaned forward to press a long, soothing kiss to her lips.

"We'll figure it out, Bones. One way or another," he promised. Brennan took a deep, cleansing breath and kissed him once more.

"Okay," she agreed. "Let's go home."

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The End (for now)

As I've said many times before, this is the second of three installments for this series. The next story will pick up pretty much where we left off with this one. I apologize for the slight (?) cliffhanger, but in the end, I really felt it was necessary to give the reader a taste of what is to come. As Booth has already realized, this will be quite a 'rabbit hole' they're going down, and season three will still be interwoven into the next story as well.

There will be another break between stories, like last time. This one will probably be a little longer due to real life interferences, but I have absolutely no intention of abandoning this series. I've put way too much work into it to just walk away and leave it unfinished, so please don't worry about that. I will be back, I promise.

I want to give a super big thank you to my wonderful beta, chosenname. She has proofed every chapter of this fic, she's given me great feedback on the character development hurdles I was struggling with, and she's been a fantastic sounding board every step of the way.

Thank you also to everyone who has reviewed, tweeted, PMed, favorited, followed, etc. Your feedback really does mean a lot, and I'll never get tired of reading it!

Love to all, and as always, please REVIEW! *smooch*