"Here you are, Bones," Booth said as he walked into Angela's office at the Jeffersonian, "One black coffee and a scone."

"Thanks, Booth," Brennan said and took the offered package.

Angela was grinning, "Oh, wow. Coffee and a scone? He's a keeper, honey."

Brennan laughed as Booth blushed.

"You think so?"

"Definitely."

The two women grinned wolfishly.

"Autopsy results are in," Cam said, stepping into the room.

"Cam!" Booth said, rushing over to her, "You've got the results? What are they?"

The pathologist looked slightly taken aback. With an eyebrow arched, she said, "Homicide."

"Didn't we know that already?" Angela asked.

"Yeah." It was Cam's turn to grin, "I just like to make him squirm."

All three of them laughed.

Booth's blush was intensifying, "Can we just get on with it, please?"

"Aw, don't be that way, Booth."

"He got her coffee," Angela pointed out.

"Really?" The pathologist leveled a gaze at him, "How very kind of you."

"Wasn't it?"

"You know what?" the man in question said defensively, "You two aren't funny."

"I think they are," Brennan interjected, munching on her scone.

"Please, Cam. Just tell us," Booth begged, ignoring Brennan.

She nodded and sat in the chair across from the thief, "One shot to the frontal. Rifle. Not close-range."

"Sniper?"

"Yes."

"Like Kirby and Delaney?"

"Booth, they were killed in 1978, and we don't have the bullets."

"Yeah..." He looked sheepish. "I know."

She shook her head and smiled, "Any suspects?"

"Cabot." Brennan said.

"Simon Holt?" Angela.

She nodded and turned to Booth, "Do we have enough to search his house?"

"No. It's all circumstantial, Bones. Besides what would we be looking for?"

"Well, wouldn't that be what we would be in there for? To look?"

He shook his head, "No."

She tapped her fingers against the coffee table in front of her with one hand whilst the other directed the rest of the scone into her mouth. "I see."

"Hodgins has yet to take a look at the particulates, so he may find something," Cam said.

Brennan nodded and stood, holding her coffee, "You'll call when you find something?"

"You're not staying?" Angela asked.

"I just remembered that I had an errand to run. I won't be gone long."

"Okay. Just don't forget us, sweetie."

"I won't."

They traded quick good-byes as she walked out.

"What was that?" Booth asked moments later, chasing after her. "What errand?"

Brennan made a non-committal noise, "Probably shouldn't say."

"What? You're not—"

"Shh." She held a finger to his lips. "No talking. There's a lot of security here."

He blinked and reached up to hold her fingers, "You'll be careful? If you get caught there's nothing I can do."

"Of course, Booth, and I know. You won't have to worry."

Almost hesitantly, he kissed her hand. A shiver ran through her spine and she quickly withdrew it.

"I'll be fine."

"I heard you, Bones. Just want to make sure you know."

"I do."

"Good."

She smiled at him and walked away.

-----

The house didn't look any more impressive than it had during the day. In fact, it may have even looked less impressive. It was squat, but not looming, thin but not long, and all of it was crammed onto its tiny yard with picket fencing. Of all the places Brennan had broken into, this was by far the most banal.

But she wasn't here for valuables. She was here for something far more important.

Her earlier case of this place had revealed a cheap burglar alarm and uncomplicated locks. She did not know why a career criminal would leave himself so open, but the reason had become apparent as she had picked the lock on one of the back windows.

Someone in her line of work would not be afraid of the common criminal. The ones they feared would not be stopped by mere alarms and locks. Those people would get to them even if they were protected behind the strongest security systems known to man.

What was interesting was that Booth—who was on the opposite side of the law—feared the same thing.

The lock clicked free and she slipped through the window.

It was very dark in the house, that much was apparent immediately. This was a mixed blessing. Her movements may not be noticed, but that would mean that his movements—if he was here—would not be noticed either. But she would take what she could get.

Quieting her mind, Brennan crept into the room closest to her, then mentally cursed as she realized she had stepped into a bathroom.

Stepping out, she sidled along the wall to her right and kept going until she hit another door. Wishing she had her gun, she stepped in and looked around, her eyes adjusting to the dark. It was an empty room. There were only a few globs which she took to be chairs, and a box-like thing which she took to be a table. Other than that, it did not look as if she would find anything here.

She turned and started to head out, but was stopped by the sound of shuffling feet coming from nearby. Instinctively, her hand reached into her jacket for her gun, but it wasn't there.

The light flipped on.

Simon Holt was framed in the doorway, fully dressed, his legs blocked by two duffel bags.

Contrary to how she had seen him the first time, he looked like an old man worn from a tough life rather then a fiery ex-con. His eyes were tired and sad, his arms crossed around himself. Although still composed, he was definitely different in her eyes, and her hand dropped from her jacket.

"Why didn't you shoot me?" she asked directly, not knowing what else to say.

"I never killed anyone who didn't already have it coming," Holt said grimly. "Wasn't about to start."

Her arms slid across her chest, "Weren't you the one who shot at me?"

He looked over at her before shuffling to his chair and sitting down—apparently comfortable with her presence, "No. That was Kirby."

She walked across from him and settled in the chair that was there, her memory finally returning. She had met Holt a few months ago while having lunch in the Diner. Or rather, she had bumped into him as he was leaving.

"You killed Kirby?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"The past was coming up again and problems had arisen. He wanted to drag me down with him, and I don't approve of him shooting at someone unprovoked."

"You killed him for that?"

"Not much else to do in my position. I'm an ex-con. I just want to disappear."

"Is that why you're leaving?"

He nodded.

"Kirby killed Delaney and Harper?"

"Yes. You have the journals, and I'm sure you know that Harper wanted to expose the entire operation, while Kirby and the others wanted to keep enjoying the benefits. Delaney was killed because he wanted a bigger slice of the pie and had threatened to blow the whistle on the syndicate."

"No honor among criminals?"

"You can answer that yourself."

She said nothing.

Slowly, Holt rose and looked down at her, "I'm retired, Ms. Brennan. Aside from Max and Ruth, the past and everything that it was connected to is dead and buried. Beckett is released, Kirby is dead. I'll leave you in peace, unless you have plans of stopping me?"

Brennan took to her feet as well, "I do not." It was strange, this almost old-world sort of formality and ethical system. He was the upper class of the criminal elite, and he bore almost no similarity to the people she worked with most of her days.

Without another word, Holt walked away, leaving Brennan, his house, and any remnants of his old life behind in an instant.

----

"Hey, Bones," Booth said as she opened the door to her hotel room, "Where have you been? I was worried about you."

"You were?" Brennan asked absently, wondering how he had gotten into the room without her.

"Of course I was." He got up and gave her a quick squeeze, though they lingered longer than necessary. "How'd it go?"

Brennan blinked and quickly tried to think of something. She hadn't counted on him being here. She had wanted to use this time to come up with a viable cover story. But with the realization that he was here came the knowledge that she couldn't get away with another lie. "Not good. I didn't find anything." However, she could get away with a hedge.

He pushed her to arm's length, "I thought you weren't looking for anything; you were returning something."

"What would I have to return?" Did he think she had killed Kirby?

"Oh, come on, Bones. Don't make me spell it out for you. You know what I'm talking about."

She ran through what he could be referring to. She did own a gun, but it certainly wasn't a sniper rifle. Evidence? Evidence of what? Had he found something questionable? Or did it have nothing do to with Kirby?

Sudden thought: was it the piece of cake she had stolen from his fridge?

"I don't have anything to return. At least nothing I can return."

"Then what? Did you already give it back?"

Her mind was still on the chocolate fudge cake that had so captivated her attention that morning, "Well, I can't return it, Booth."

"Why not, Bones?"

"Well...Um...It's already gone."

"Where is it?"

"Where else would it be, Booth?" Her hands slid to her hips, "My digestive tract."

"You ate it?" he asked incredulously.

"Well, what else would I do with it?"

"I don't know. Whatever it is you thieves do in these situations. Sell it?"

"Why would I sell it?"

"Isn't it worth thousands of dollars?"

Her eyebrows crimped, "No. I imagine it was only about five to ten dollars."

"Then why did that guy return it to you?"

Now she was really confused, "Wait. What are we talking about, Booth?"

"Hodgins' statue." He paused. "Why? What were you talking about?"

"Uh, nothing. Nothing."

He stared at her for a moment, taking in the guilty look on her face. "Wait. Hold on a moment there, Bones. I believe I do remember missing something as of late." He leveled a finger at her, "It was you who ate that cake, wasn't it? I thought I hadn't seen it this morning."

She nodded sheepishly.

"Well, was it any good?"

"Very."

"And you didn't even save me a bite, Bones?"

"Well, you were sleeping and Angela had called me out to the lab."

"You're going to have to pay for this."

"I am?" she asked playfully.

"Oh, yeah. Dinner. Tomorrow." He smiled at her, his finger once again leveled at her nose.

She kissed his hand, much like he had done earlier that day. "You're a tough customer, Agent Booth."

"As are you, Lady Temperance."

She gave him a light cuff as they settled on the couch.

"So seriously, where were you, Bones?"

"I'd rather not say."

"You didn't steal anything, did you?"

"No."

"Then why..." his voice trailed off as he seemed to consider his own question, "Wait, Bones. You didn't."

"I didn't what?"

He shook his head, "You didn't go to Hodgins', the Jeffersonian, or out stealing. There's only one other place you would go."

She waited.

"You went to see Cabot, didn't you?" Her silence was his answer. "On your own. Bones, do you have any idea how dangerous that could've been?"

"He's over sixty."

"Weren't you the one who told me not to underestimate him?"

More silence from her end of the couch.

"You're not hurt are you?" His voice sounded surprisingly tender. In moments he was beside her, looking her over. "It doesn't look like you were."

"I'm fine, Booth." She insisted quietly, liking his closeness.

"What happened, Bones?"

She briefly recounted Holt's words and his abrupt departure, only omitting that she had been wide open in the middle of his living room—because that, she knew, would definitely get Booth worked up—all the while slowly shifting closer to the agent.

"So you just let him get away?" Booth asked, his chin now resting on the crown of her head. She could feel his breath stir her hair, his warmth making her feel a little sleepy.

"Yeah."

"Why?"

She had been considering the question herself and provided the answer that she felt to be the truth, "He reminded me of my parents—still locked in the past while, at the same time, being caught in the present. Going after him would've been the equivalent of going after my father." She turned and the space between her head and his neck reduced to zero, "You understand, Booth?"

"Yeah. I understand, Bones." His hands slipped around her waist.

She wrapped her fingers around his own, "I didn't betray your confidence?"

"No."

Silence stretched between them, and although she had already asked once before, she wanted to hear it again. Just one more time to sate her fears as exhaustion tried to pull her eyelids down, "Are you going to betray me?"

He was quiet for a beat before squeezing her hand. "No."

"Nonetheless I shall be vigilant," she muttered as she snuggled into his chest, her eyes closing.

Booth chuckled as her breathing slowed and her muscles relaxed as she drifted off. "Nonetheless?" He kissed her forehead. "Didn't even know people said that anymore, Bones."

Her only response was a gentle exhale as she shifted in her sleep.

"Good night, Temperance."

--

Author's Note

--

First off, as the final edit, I am going to say that the sequel to this story has been started and is called "The Blind Rooster's Crow." That was the reason for the abrupt end to this story.

All of the information in this fic that deals with the Keenan family history was taken from the episodes wherever I could find it. Mostly, one can see a lot of the information here in "Woman in Limbo" and "Judas on a Pole," although I also referred to "Killer in the Concrete," "Man in the Fallout Shelter," and "Stargazer in the Puddle." Anything that could not be obtained directly from the episodes was brainstormed as logically as possible, which had the benefit of not only understanding what happened for "real" in the 1970s, but also being able to determine what could possibly have changed to trigger the events thirty years later. And, if anyone was wondering about the strong-arm crew FBI code names/real names, those came from the FBI code name list which can be seen in "Judas on a Pole."

I apologize for any inconsistencies or errors of any kind. At this stage in Bones not every single detail of the Keenan family history has come to light, and if something does, then it's possible this fic will then become inaccurate. If this happens and I am in the middle of writing for this series, then I will work around that.

Special thanks, once again, goes to Thnx4theGum, who pushed me to not only start the series, but continue to write it even when I was ready to give up, as well as giving me the confidence to even make this thing into something that can be continued. Everyone who read and commented also deserves a thank-you, as well as those who privately PMed me because my grouping of the chapters did not allow them to comment. Again, I apologize for any inconvenience that posed to anyone. I was just a little panicky about dealing with a story with twenty-one chapters.

So I hope that you enjoyed the ride and that I stayed believable and relatively on character; it is my hope to see some of you guys again and that time around I promise not to mess with the chapters nearly as much. :)

Bone_Dry