Hey. This is my first Bones FF, so... be nice. This is set during just after Season Two, as I've yet to see Season Three (no Sky, and the dvd's yet to make an appearance), so no BB so far, or whatever the hell else has happened in S3 that I don't know about.

Disclaimer: I don't do disclaimers. It's all in the terms and conditions that I agreed to when I signed up.

-x-

"Kenton. Jamie Kenton. Remember him?" asked Booth, striding into the room and slamming a wad of papers onto the grey bedside locker.

"Not likely to forget him," replied Brennan, shifting awkwardly in the unfamiliar hospital bed. "Remind me - argh! - why I have to stay here?"

"'Cos you broke your neck, Bones," he muttered, declaring this as if expecting it to foil the logic of the impatient doctor lying in the bed before him.

"Yeah - well, not badly!" she protested.

"Bones, there's no such thing as a broken neck that's not badly broken." He flopped into a garishly coloured plastic chair, resting his head against the windowsill and propping his feet up on the end of the bed.

"I could be dead," she said reasonably. "And feet off the bed," she admonished, nudging him with a pointed toe.

"Bones!" he burst out, throwing his hands in the air exasperatedly and ignoring her rebuke. "Surely even you, with your warped view of the world outside of your lab, can see how this might be a valid reason for just a weeny little hospital stay?"

"Okay, okay, I see your point." She abandoned her attempt to sit up and lay back on the crisp white pillows. "Kenton?" Booth lent across the bed, his elbow accidentally brushing against her as he reached for the papers he'd left on the locker. She winced, stifling a cry as blood slowly stained the covers, the multiple stab wounds to her stomach reopening at his touch and bleeding profusely. "Booth!"

Much apologetic mumbling and inept changing of sheets by disgruntled nurses followed, interspersed with worried exclamations of, "Hey, hey! Watch the neck!" from Booth.

The conversation restarted, a freshly stitched and patched Brennan sat up in bed, Booth with his feet on the floor and a nurse hovering around the door. Booth glared at her. She left hurriedly, mumbling about an emergency somewhere else.

"Kenton?" said Brennan pointedly.

"Huh? Oh, right, Kenton. Get this; he escaped from jail a week ago," said Booth, raising his eyebrows and fanning himself with the papers. "Phew, can we open a window in here? I feel like a lobster," he complained.

"You're the one with legs that work," she pointed out. "Why weren't we informed about this?"

"I dunno, ask Hodgins! Part of some FBI conspiracy, no doubt..."

"Hey, don't knock Hodgins."

"Yeah, whatever. We found Kenton's fingerprints in your apartment. Window frames, bedroom door, etcetera, on the closet next to where we found evidence of a struggle." He settled back in the chair, listing the areas on one hand and scratching the back of his head with the other.

"Wha-- evidence of a struggle? Evidence of a strugg-- the guy knifed me from behind and snapped my neck; it wasn't a struggle, it was a butchering!" she exclaimed.

"It's called blood, Bones, blood. Lots of it. Not to mention the messed up rug and bloody handprint on said closet. And you, the unconscious body, 'cos you know, that, that always helps with identifying a crime scene, a body."

"Wait, I don't - I don't remember hitting the closet."

"Yeah. I'm sure there's a lot of things you don't remember about that night, Bones."

-x-

So. Good, bad, or ugly?

Your reviews mean a lot to me. I won't hold my story hostage for reviews, but it's great to know what people think! Concrit is always welcome, but flames will be used to toast marshmallows... (to be shared, of course, with nicer reviewers! )