Disclaimer: I still own nothing concerned with the show Bones, though I'd love to be on their writer's payroll.

Author Note: Oh. My. GOD! You guys are so incredibly awesome! It totally blew me away when I opened my mail to see all these wonderful reviews for my first attempt at a Bones story! You guys really made my day, ya know that! Seriously, fanfic reviews are more addicting than crack…and less dangerous too! Keep those reviews coming guys, it'll spur me on to start my multi-chapter Bones story sooner! Until then, enjoy Part 2!

Part II

Every now and then, Booth allowed himself to take a few moments to hang back…and just watch. While a case was literally on the table, he usually made every effort to be in the thick of it, listening to Brennan's descriptions (even though for the most part, it's all gibberish to him), watching the 'Squint Squad' do their magic. Honestly, he had to admit, what they did with evidence and remains really was magic – even though he often badgered their techniques and scoffed at their efforts. But when it came right down to it, his Squint Squad was an invaluable asset – especially with one Temperance Brennan at the helm.

But there are times, when Booth ascends the steps to the upper level of the lab - where Brennan and her associates are bent over magnifying glasses and computer screens – that he lets himself stand quietly in the background of the bedlam and observe. A new case had arrived; bringing with it a pitiful jumble of bones that had been found in the hollow of an elm tree at one of the many parks outside D.C – and Booth found himself, again, standing back and watching his partner weave her spell.

Brennan leaned over the lighted table, a magnifier in one hand, and part of what Booth guessed to be the forearm of the body, in the other. Her hair was swept back in a messy tail, stray locks of auburn hair falling around her face - which was showing nothing but the epitome of concentration. Booth watched her as she delicately, almost reverently held each bone to the magnifier, studying them for fractures or debris. He was amazed how meticulous she could be one moment, then break the silence to call her underling Zack Addy over to inspect something she'd found. The young scientist raced to her side, always eager to learn from this mentor – though Booth smiled at the thought that the kid probably had a hero-worship thing going for the good doctor.

Booth found himself drawn to the way Brennan's eyes lit up with exuberance as she explained the significance of what she'd found, and how she practically glowed when Zack caught on. She was a good teacher, even without an abundance of social graces. Booth suddenly frowned.

How long had he been standing there, staring at his partner? She was oblivious, of course, but he suddenly wondered who Brennan was weaving a spell over. The evidence…or him?

Booth rubbed the back of his neck, a slightly agitated gesture he realized – but he needed to get a handle on his emotions. They were in the middle of a case, a murder, most likely – and letting his mind wander off onto tangents about his partner weren't going to help. No matter how much he thought the light from the table seemed to make her skin glow in a certain eye-catching way.

Resident conspiracy theorist and forensic entomologist Jack Hodgins sauntered up to the table beside Zack, throwing a glance toward Booth in the corner.

"Insect activity in and around the body say the victim was placed in that elm tree at least three weeks ago. I reverse-dated the life cycle from the hatched eggs I found in the soil in the hollow trunk," he paused and looked over at Booth, "And if the loitering FBI guy would like to stop staring over here like a freak and actually join us, he might learn cause of death. Maybe some other helpful details of this murder…"

Booth had to mentally shake himself back into the land of the living, clearing his throat and hoping he didn't look as foolish as he felt, as Brennan and Zack's heads snapped up from the table to stare at him.

He strode up, glaring at Hodgins. "I was running through some of the points of the case, in my head, before I saw the evidence."

"Uh-huh," Hodgins drawled, smirking, "Don't hurt yourself with that thinking thing, man."

Hodgins quickly stepped back a few feet as Booth squared his shoulders, glaring menacingly at the squint and moved around the table. Hodgins was a smart-ass, but he knew when to give the FBI agent a wide birth – and he relinquished his spot next to Brennan to a hulking Booth.

Still fixing Hodgins with a cold stare, Booth directed his question to his partner. "What've you got?"

Brennan looked up. "Female, Caucasian. Around early thirties, I'd think. Died around three weeks ago, based off Hodgins' findings."

"Ah yes…my lovely little Attagenus unicolor! You can accomplish so much while still so young." Hodgins crooned, fondly gazing at his specimen jar.

Booth narrowed his eyes at the 'bug man,' wincing. "Dude. Who's the freak now?"

Hodgins opened his mouth to lob a reply, as Booth smugly crossed his arms over his chest with a taunting grin, when Brennan spoke up.

"Actually," she said loudly enough to break up the bickering, "They're flesh-eaters, Booth…and they give us a time of death. They've also cleaned the body fairly well, enough that I can determine cause of death."

"Which is…?"

"She was beaten to death. Savagely." Brennan's eyes met Booth's, locking in a mutual understanding. Booth could see the wheels cranking in his partner's mind – running the scenarios, and perhaps even falling back on her mother's murder. Her mother may not have been beaten as savagely as this poor woman, but the similarities of a woman being dumped in a makeshift tomb and left alone, couldn't be ignored.

Brennan's eye blazed for a second, cold fury mixed with sadness – Booth knew she was fixated on this case now. She'd find the person who beat this woman to death and stuffed her in a tree…come Hell or high water.

'That's my Bones,' he thought wryly, before turning back to the case.

"Fractures of the Zygomatic arches in the face, spiral fractures of the wrists and ulna, four cracked ribs…Booth, these are all indicative of spousal abuse." She said solemnly.

"Well, let's not jump ahead here, Bones…"

"Jump ahead? I'm following the evidence here Booth!" Brennan stepped into his personal space, her scent assaulting his senses for a moment as she squared off to him.

Booth held up a hand of entreaty, "I'm just saying…let's find out who this woman is first, okay? Jeeze, we don't even know if she has a husband yet, let alone if he beats her! Don't let this get emotional for you-"

"Emotional!" Brennan cut him off, and he knew he'd stumbled onto a soft spot. Booth winced as he prepared for the verbal assault to follow. "I'm not emotional, Booth…I'm being logical. Someone tried to beat this woman's face in. They tried to wring her arms off at the wrist, that's where the spiral fractures came from, and the cracked ribs probably came from being kicked in the sides. This was personal."

Booth could see his partner already replaying the stages of the attack in her mind, and it pulled at his heart. She'd been through so much already, a case as heart-twisting as this was not what she needed. The fact that she was ranting at him, so soon, and ready to kick in someone's door told Booth she was still on the dregs of the emotional rollercoaster of past weeks.

Zack awkwardly held up a small bag of personal effects found with the body and tentatively said, "Actually, we do know she was married."

Booth spied the small gold wedding band within the plastic bag – and turned back to Brennan. Her lips formed a thin line of frustration.

"We still need a name before we go busting down doors." He said quietly, trying to reign in his own burgeoning frustration.

Brennan and Booth were still facing off – the air between them seeming to vibrate like the shimmer of heat off a sun-scorched sidewalk – when Angela Montenegro bounded up the stairs. Sketch book in hand, Angela was the Jeffersonian's forensic artist. She, along with her science-fiction-esque hologram program, where often instrumental in recreating causes of death, as well as putting a face to the skeleton. Irreverent and quick-witted, Angela loved nothing more than finding ways to pull the rug out from under her friends – and though Brennan stodgily refused the implication, Angela loved to rib the doctor about her 'hottie FBI agent partner'.

Angela stopped short upon seeing the scene playing out before her, a slow Cheshire-cat smile creeping across her features.

"MY!...but isn't it hot in here? Light a match and the sexual tension would just explode!" she said happily.

Both Booth and Brennan gave her a withering look.

"What? Oh…please! Keep on riding that 'denial' train, you two!" She waved them off dismissively. "Meanwhile, I think I've put a face you our victim."

She held up the sketch, as Brennan moved to study it, Booth breathed a sigh of relief when the electric sensations bombarding his body at her proximity faded.

"Good. I'll run it through Missing Persons," he said.

"Sweetie," Angela said, sliding up beside Booth and handing him a photocopy with the victim's face staring back at him, "I am so far a head of you, it's scary."

----------------------

The case unfolded rather unremarkably, allowing Booth and Brennan time together as they followed leads and questioned suspects. Predictably, Booth knew he was going to have to concede that Brennan was right about her spousal abuse theory. They'd been to meet the 'grieving' husband once, and Booth's famous gut was telling him from the moment they walked into the man's house, this was their guy. Brennan must have picked up on Booth's tension, because she kept watching him during the interview – as if she was actually the one afraid he'd fly off the handle.

'Ironic', he thought.

As they drove, the traffic blurring into a continuous stream beside them – Booth's mind wandered back to Arlington Cemetery, a few weeks into the past. He was still unsure how all of those ghosts seemed to spill from his lips in Bones' presence so easily. Booth's history in the Army Rangers was something he kept under guarded lock and key – afraid of the complications that could arise if people knew what all he'd done. He'd been uneasy letting bits and pieces come out around Bones, of all people. He'd seen her devotion to the dead and heard how she'd spent huge chunks of time in war-torn countries trying to bring to piece and justice to the victims of many an assassination.

Booth swallowed involuntarily, wondering if any of his former targets had found their way into Bones' hands. He pushed that thought away though, as he glanced over at his partner. She was staring quietly out the window, and he could almost feel the sensation of her hand on his, that day in the cemetery. She'd accepted him and the dark shadows of his past actions that day. She'd accepted them, listened – and even comforted him. She'd known that wasn't who he really was inside. Her eyes had been so attentive, so understanding of the fact that while he'd done some monstrous things – that he'd killed more times than he could count – those actions had killed a little piece of his soul.

Every single time.

Bones hadn't said much, which had surprised Booth. She didn't offer a scientific antidote, nor did she dismiss his guilt as something 'deserved'. Brennan held onto him, and allowed him the same favor. Booth felt his insides warm (in more ways than one) with the memory of her skin on his – even if it was only brief.

Later, as the case wound around to its inevitable conclusion – to which Bones couldn't help but remind Booth that she'd predicted that day in the lab – Bones found herself staring into the cold, unrepentant eyes of the victim's abusive husband. Booth had just tricked a confession out of him, a feat that didn't fail to impress Brennan, since she'd been initially aghast when she'd heard Booth sound like he was agreeing with the man's assessment of "the problem with wives these days".

"That is one twisted bastard." Booth muttered as the husband was wrenched from his seat in the interrogation room by the guards and taken away.

As he gathered the photos and files strewn on the table before him, he peered over his shoulder at his partner, standing in the corner of the interrogation room with one hand fiddling with the beads of her chunky necklace.

"Almost makes a person wonder why people even get married these days." Her voice held a contemptuous tone that caught Booth off guard. "I mean, if lies, deceit and eventual hatred and abuse are the products of marriage…I can understand why the divorce rate is as high as it is."

Booth could see her jaw twitch as she hastily turned toward him and made a display of straightening papers, while shaking her head scornfully. He winced internally, knowing this again, was a little bit of Temperance being shown. Her years of mistrust and walled-off self-reliance, her misgivings about laying portions of herself out for others to scrutinize, were not unfounded. Hearing the coldness in her voice did cause an aching twinge to prick Booth's heart, and he felt the need to put the papers down and come to face his evasive partner.

"C'mon Bones," he tried, "When it's with the right person…marriage doesn't have to be like that. It can be a beautiful experience."

Brennan looked up at Booth from under a cynically arched brow. "I know you want to romanticize things Booth, but there was nothing beautiful about what he did to his wife. Someone he was supposed to love…to trust. Isn't that what it means to take those vows?"

She looked back down at the papers, shunning the painfully sympathetic look in Booth's eyes. Sometimes, he just let emotions cloud the reality that love doesn't conquer all. For an FBI agent, who deals with the monsters of humanity every day, her partner often confounded her with flights of fanciful romanticized ideals of love and trust.

'He just doesn't get it…' she thought.

Brennan was startled when a strong hand came to rest on her shoulder – her eyes flew up to meet the depthless dark eyes of her partner, as he gazed gently down on her. His hand had sought her out of its own accord, and before Booth's mind caught up with it, he'd reached out to his partner. He knew she'd been burned by the tricky business of trust in her fellow man (not to mention those who were supposed to care for her) – but that didn't mean everyone was like that. He wasn't like that.

"Not everyone is out to hurt you, Bones." Booth's voice was almost a whisper, head bent toward her, his breath lightly playing over her cheek. "Not every guy beats his wife. Not every wife ends up lying and cheating on her family. Some people actually mean it…when they let others know they care about them. Some people find that life is a lot fuller, when you let yourself trust someone."

Brennan stood motionless, letting his words sink in, and feeling his hand slip down her shoulder – passing lightly over her arm. The touch was almost a caress, tender and comforting – the steely cold she'd allowed into her being while the case was going on, melted away. Brennan knew what Booth was trying to tell her, even if the stubborn part of her brain still clung to the facts and figures associated with divorce and spousal abuse. For once, she decided not to argue with him – the heat smoldering deep within his eyes at the moment was beginning to rob her of coherent speech as it was.

Booth couldn't describe the feeling of his hand sliding down her arm. His entire being was infused within her cool blue eyes, as though telepathy was the new form of communication, and he was willing her to try to understand what 'giving of one 's self' meant… what it could mean to both of them.

There he was, in the middle of the Bureau, staring into Brennan's eyes and damning all the proprieties of partner-ish behavior to Hell.

A touch of a smile pulled at Brennan's lips, as she raised an eyebrow.

"If people only knew what a huge romantic you are," her tone had lightened, teasing.

Booth chuckled, letting his hand hover mere inches over hers. "Yeah…well, you can't tell anyone…or I'd loose all of my badass FBI rep. I have to keep up the façade of being a hard-ass jerk, ya know. The perps have to fear me." He grinned.

Brennan cocked her head to the side and smiled.

"Wow. That's a façade?" She replied, baldly incredulous.

Booth leaned toward her, narrowing his eyes with a sly smile, about to throw back a suitably sarcastic retort, when the shrill ring of a cell phone cut him off. Brennan's hand, which had been so close to Booth's – their knuckles nearly touching – slid from the near-warmth of his presence, retrieving the cell from her pocket.

"Brennan. Oh. Hi, David."

Booth made no effort to hide when he rolled his eyes. 'Perfect timing…' he all but said aloud.

Listening to everything Brennan said to the snooze-fest she called her 'sometimes' boyfriend, Booth finished clearing the table – his mind wandering back to the feeling of his hand on Brennan's arm and damning the fact that David had ever had access to a cell phone and Bones' number.

"Yes," Bones said, sneaking a glace at Booth's back and how he'd visibly tensed when David's name was mentioned. "No…no I haven't forgotten about dinner tonight."

Booth's head snapped to the side at the dinner comment, watching her out of the corner of his eye while he made his way to the door. He paused, heaving a sigh as though waiting for her to precede him out the door, and her phone call was taxing his time. Or, perhaps, taxing his patience.

"Yes. That's fine, David. No…I'll meet you there, if that's okay." Brennan hastily ended the call when she saw Booth's free hand go to rest at his hip – a stance she knew to be the one he took when his patience was waning. They had paperwork to do, she knew, and apparently…Booth had had enough of David taking up their time.

-----------------

Booth hated the niggling feeling in his gut that felt an awful lot like jealousy as he made his way to the Medico-Legal lab the next night. Surely, he wasn't jealous! No…it had to be simple concern for his partner and friend's well-being. Even if the guy she was purported to have gone on a date with was an irritating suck-up wimp – about as exciting as watching grass grow - his only concern was Bones' happiness, wasn't it? Booth mulled over that query, while ignoring the fact that he was practically flying up the stairs, through the checkpoint toward Bone's office, chafing at the bit to know what had gone on during that date.

A smile crept across Booth's face as he spied Bones' seated at her desk, slumped over papers and pens, her hair falling in a most attractive way across her face. It wasn't until he came to her doorframe, leaning against it cradling across his chest the folders he'd dug up as an excuse to come see his favorite anthropologist – that he saw the bone-weary fatigue etched across her features.

"Agreed on a rent rate with Goodman for this place yet?" He chuckled, remembering their last late-night conversation in her office.

Brennan looked up from her papers, Booth's grin infectiously spreading to her own mouth. "No. Really…I'm about to leave, I just have a few more things to finish up."

"Uh-huh. Always just that "five more minutes ma'! " thing, right?"

"I don't know what that means." She answered blankly.

Booth shook his head and settled in the chair opposite her desk. "Never mind. I…uh ...brought those files from the Nissen case."

Brennan looked at the folder curiously, then back at her partner, who was rubbing the back of his neck anxiously.

"I didn't need those 'til next week, Booth. There was no need in you coming all the way over here at this hour to bring them."

"Hey…well. You know. I was in the neighborhood." Booth tried lamely. Looking away from Brennan's prying stare, he tumbled straight in with, "So…how was your date with…Dave-o-whatshisname…?"

Cautiously, he looked up at Brennan from under his brows – a look Brennan was sure Booth had used to get away with murder, with anyone of the female persuasion. It was a little-boyish, half-pleading, half-mischievous look she'd seen him use to allure women into giving up information…and she'd be damned if it wasn't have some sort of effect on her as well!

'Must be the late hour,' her inner voice grumbled.

"Actually…uh," she said, looking away from his appealing grin, "A skull from a 19th century explorer found in the Andes was shipped to me last night. It really was fascinating the way the ice preserved the evidence of foul-play…and I believe…"

"You stood the guy up, didn't you?" Booth cut in, in a low, knowing voice. His eyes fairly twinkled in mirth, and Brennan wondered why he would be so happy she missed her date.

"No! I called David and explained that this foundation needed answers as soon as possible. That the evidence on the skull was time sensitive, with the rate of thaw…"

Booth chortled. Watching Bones get flustered was a very appealing activity, but knowing David Kiss-ass got left in the lurch was positively making his night marvelous! Still laughing, he made his way to perch on the edged of a defensive Brennan's desk, looking down at her as she glowered back at him.

"God Bones! Turning a guy down for another guy, who's been dead for a hundred years!" He ran a hand over his face, smiling. "Wow. What a turn-on. How does that kind of let-down go, by the way…? 'Sorry honey, I can't make dinner…I really, reeeally need to deflesh this ancient skull tonight'? Oh yeah, I can see that going over really well."

Brennan crossed her arms, bristling at Booth's sarcasm. What did he care weather or not she saw David, or what she did with her spare time, anyway?

"He is very understanding of the importance of my work, Booth." Bones stood to be at eye level with her snarky partner. "And honestly, I don't know why you care so much, one way or the other…"

Booth sobered at that comment, clearing his throat uncomfortably and tried to find a not-too-revealing response. "Oh, I don't care. I don't care if you see Davy-boy or not."

Then he added in a low mutter, not intending Brennan to hear, "Just wonderin' when the guy's gonna take a hint, is all."

Brennan had thankfully turned her back to him, so he didn't see the inscrutable look that flitted across her features as she heard his muttering. Booth sighed heavily, deciding to lay his proverbial cards on the table.

"Look, Bones. It's been a rough few weeks, and the last case was… well…let's just say that wouldn't have been my first choice for you to have to work so soon after your mother's–"

Bones turned and gave him a sharp look.

Booth held his hands up in surrender, his brows furrowed, "Okay, okay! Sorry! I get it - you can handle this…I get it. But…you know Bones, I'm not completely dense – contrary to what you believe. I can see that this is …wearing on you."

His eyes melted into compassionate dark pools as Bones peeked up at him from under her lashes. "I worry about you."

Slowly, cautiously he extended his hand to hers; letting it hover an inch or so near it – giving her an out if she so wanted.

Brennan watched his hand for a moment, running all the possibilities if what it meant through a tired brain. Finally she let her hand slip into his, his warmth shocking her system. She marveled silently at the feeling of his strong, calloused hand in hers. She wondered where the calluses came from – years of grueling work over seas, perhaps from holding a sniper rifle for too long. Perhaps from being the protector she knew him to be – innately drawn to stand between innocents, those he cared for… and the evils of this world. Suddenly, Brennan felt the mortar she'd been using to hold herself, her emotions together those past few weeks – crack and chip as the exhaustion washed over her like a wave.

She let out a shaky breath, watching Booth's fingers entwine with her own. He was feeling her starting to crumble, but he was holding fast. And Brennan knew, from that gentle but firm squeeze, that she could trust him to be there when she fell. When her walls came crashing down about her ears, she knew that Booth would be her tethering line, keeping her from being set adrift. She squeezed his hand for a moment, running her thumb over the muscles across his knuckles.

Booth's breath caught in his throat at the sight of his Bones - his friend - looking so vulnerable again. His heart screamed at him to take her in his arms and hold her until she realized how important she was to him. But he knew that would be too much right now…that it would have to come on her own terms and at the right time – and he was content to savor the feeling of her skin encompassed in his much larger hand. She was opening her doors to him, slowly but surely, and though he sometimes didn't show it, Booth could be a patient man. He would be patient with her…without question.

For those few moments, alone in her office, two friends held onto each other – every word describing the trust, caring and compassion being translated soundlessly through their connected hands.

Until Angela burst in Brennan's door, sketches in hand and a confounded look on her face.

"Bren…sweetie, what in the hell are you doing here! My god, I thought you'd be out with David again…steaming up some car windows somewhere. Or, you know…if you're particularly adventurous, you can always do it on the hood of the car! Its always fun!"

Angela stopped her bawdy rant when she saw the two partners suddenly jerk back from one another, as though electricity suddenly passed through them.

'Or, I just broke something up…,' Angela thought wryly.

Booth stood up quickly, smoothing a hand over his hair and scowled at Angela. "Bones didn't make her date with Whatshisname last night. She had work." His tone was almost defensive, causing a huge grin to split the artist's face.

"Yeah. I can see that she's found more stimulating work, right here." Angela purred. "Why go out when hunkier pastures are right here…in front of your face?" Angela leered at Booth, "Desk nookie has always been on my top ten list."

"Ange!" Brennan breathed, embarrassed and trying not to blush. Though the term 'nookie' didn't quite register, she had an idea what it meant coming from Angela.

Angela flopped the sketches on Brennan's desk. "Oh sweetie, unclench. All you had to do was lock the door and draw the shades, no problem! Food for thought for next time! Anyway, here are those sketched you wanted."

While Brennan filed the sketches away, Booth had collected himself finally and asked, "So, why are you here so late, Ange? No hot date waiting on a Harley Davidson outside for you?"

"No, he'll be coming to sweep me away on his giant, loud, leather vibrator tomorrow."

Booth cleared his throat a little too loudly, looking away, trying not to flush and mentally waging war to keep THAT image out of his head. Brennan's mouth had gone slack in astonishment, but she recovered. Angela's outbursts of sexual hedonism shouldn't have surprised her after this long.

"C'mon guys," Angela said, "Let's go have some drinks, and contemplate why alcohol is frowned upon in the work place."

Brennan frowned. "It's not appropriate. People wouldn't be able to work properly in an alcoholic stupor…"

"Sweetie? Kidding."

"Oh," Bones mumbled.

Booth chuckled as Angela began shuffling Brennan towards the door. "You two go ahead, I think I'm gonna call it a night."

"What's a matter, Booth? Too much estrogen for ya so late at night?" Angela teased.

"Something like that." Booth grinned. "Go on, Bones. You need to go have some down time."

There was a slight timber of disappointment in his voice, as Booth realized he would have much preferred taking Bones out himself - alone. After their moment was disrupted, he found that he didn't want to share Bones right then…he wanted her all to himself, to continue their silent parley. But Angela would take care of her; maybe get her to loosen up. He could be patient.

At the door, Brennan turned back to her FBI partner. He stood, hands in his pockets, regarding her with gentle eyes – a soft smile on his lips. She returned the smile, silently thanking him for their moment and hoping they could continue this talk later. The solid heat of his hand still tingled on her skin, constant and secure. His touch would linger for a long time, Brennan knew.

And while he tried to muddle through his raging feelings, Booth felt a similar warm tingle remaining on the skin of his hand. He would remember this as the night his partner, used touch…instead of words…to communicate with him.

And it had been a wonderfully illuminating conversation.

END

A/N2: There! Finally! So, what did you think of this ending? Any good? Did I stink horribly? Too fluffy? I meant this story to be a ramble through the Booth/Brennan connection, over some time, and during their day-to-day activities, for that's where we get to see them interact most. Did I convey their connection true to the show? I had to work the Squint Squad in there, I hope I got them down fairly well. I Love Angela! She's like a naughty little guardian-love angle, and she seems to ground Brennan somewhat.

Well, now you need to let me know how I did! C'mon, reviews are stimulants, and I'm all out of caffeine today! I should be starting on my multi-chapter Bones story as soon as I get back in the country from my belated Honeymoon. Maybe I'll get some good ideas for it while I traverse Ireland!

Feed the Author's need! And thanks to those who've supported me in my first Bones attempt! Smoochies and chocolate!