Co-created by Labsquint and FauxMaven
Written by Labsquint
Edited by FauxMaven

A/N: The title of this chapter is ‘Redemption’ which strictly means ‘to buy back or recover something that was previously lost or sold’. In this chapter, Booth temporarily loses his purpose when he comes to a realization about his ‘cosmic balance sheet’. But with the help of his mentor and his partner, he finally understands that while he might have pursued his goal for the wrong reasons in the past, it is still an honorable purpose that he can’t easily abandon.

Writing is a learning experience. As I look back at the stories that first I wrote solo, and then those that FauxMaven and I have written together as a team, I can really see the growth in the writing. Stalemate taught us how to write intensity and emotional anguish. Human Puzzle in a Packing Crate taught us how to write a detailed scientific and technical case file as well as how to tastefully write a sexual relationship between two people while retaining all the meaningful emotion between them. Atonement has taught us a lot about how to write a descriptive story. That is probably the comment that we have had the most – that our writing allows the reader to ‘see’ what is it that we see. And we’ve put a lot of extra effort into this story towards that goal.

FauxMaven has been invaluable to me during this journey. She took on the role of co-creator from the initial planning stages of this fic to the very end of the last chapter, she edited at least 4 versions of every chapter (and up to 6 versions of some of them!), suggested important story issues (such as Edwards’ diary) and was my go to gal for all my research. All the plant pharmaceutical research was done by FM as was the finding of the specialized site that we needed to nail down the final kill site (Soldier’s Delight), as well as finding the information about the hunting season there that led us to the recurved bow concept. She also knew when the writing needed pumping up and found and sent the pictures that I would use to increase the descriptive content in that chapter and she picked every title and did all the research to support them all, even writing the title explanation for the majority of them. So a sincere thanks FM; as always, you’ve been an immense asset to my writing. I think that every fic we do together is better than the last and part of that is surely how cohesively we work together in our writing partnership. I’m grateful for all the time and effort you contribute to our stories. Thank you… -- LSQ

Booth sat silently by the hospital bed, his elbows braced on his knees, his head in his hands. The room was deathly quiet, the silence only occasionally interrupted by the bustle of the nursing staff out in the hallway as they delivered breakfast to patients on the critical care ward. A cup of cold coffee sat on the small table beside the bed. One of the nurses had taken pity on Booth and brought it to him more than an hour before, but, after several sips, the strong brew burned like acid in his empty stomach and he put it aside. So he sat in silence, keeping his solitary vigil.

The ER staff tried to get him to leave, to go home after he was treated himself, but he refused. Angela and Hodgins tried to convince him to leave after they came to the ER, but he still wouldn’t go. When visiting hours ended, even after Brennan was moved to a private room, the nursing staff tried to send him home; but Booth pulled out his badge and stubbornly drew his line in the sand, stating unequivocally that he was staying. And he had stayed, perched on the hard plastic chair by her bed, still wearing his wet, ripped, blood-splattered clothes. After coming in to check on her patient and seeing the quietly distraught man by the bed shiver from the cold, a soft-spoken nurse on the night shift finally convinced Booth to go home to change out of his wet clothes. He relented only after she promised him re-entry upon his return; he would not be budged otherwise. And when he came back just over an hour later, she met his gaze from behind the nurses’ station desk and winked at him. Then she purposefully turned away so she did not see him sneak down the hallway.

Booth spent the night beside Brennan, occasionally dozing in the uncomfortable chair; but mostly he sat in silence watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest, or agitatedly pacing the room.

It was hardly even a sound. It was only a subtle change in her breathing, but Booth was so attuned to every sound, to her utter stillness, that his head snapped up and he sat up straighter in his chair.

“Bones?”

Shooting to his feet, he moved to the side of the bed and bent over Brennan’s still form, gently stroking her hair back from her face. Her color was very pale and her skin was cool to the touch, but somehow he sensed that her stillness wasn’t quite so profound now. He wasn’t sure that he could even explain it, but somehow he’d known when she’d moved from the absolute, unnatural stillness of the coma into a natural healing sleep during the night; and now he could sense that she was starting to awaken.

Booth saw her eyelids flicker for a moment before she slowly blinked, squinting against the sunlight coming in through the window beside the bed. He sat down carefully on the edge of her bed and leaned in over her, cupping her cheek in his hand, being careful of the bandage that covered the gash on her jaw. “Temperance, wake up.” Her lids slid closed again and her head lolled heavily against his palm. He gently tipped her face to look up at him again. “Come on, you can do it.”

Her eyelids fluttered several times before finally opening slowly. She stared at him in confusion before blinking slowly then forcing her eyes open again. “Booth?” Her voice was a hoarse whisper.

He gave her a wide, relieved smile before letting out a ragged breath; and dropping his forehead down to hers and closing his eyes, he simply rested against her for a moment.

He raised his head, looked into her half-open eyes. “Hi. Welcome back.”

Her eyes slid shut again. “Head hurts,” she whispered on a small moan.

“Yeah, I know.” His fingers moved to her temples, massaging in gentle circles. He saw the pinched look on her face start to relax. “They said that you would have a wicked headache both from the concussion and as a side effect of the cocktail. Mostly from the ibotenic acid. Do you want me to call the nurse and ask if you can have something for the pain?”

“No, just give me a minute. It’s getting better. Just don’t stop.” She was silent for a moment, letting his fingers move softly over her skin. Finally she gave a quiet sigh and opened her eyes. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” He let his hands drop to the pillow on either side of her head.

Brennan’s eyes scanned the room around her, uncertainty written clearly on her face. “Where am I?”

“George Washington University Hospital. I applied a little FBI pressure and had the ambulance bring you back here yesterday, instead of taking us to a Baltimore hospital.” He sat back on the bed, took both of her hands in his, being careful not to disturb the IV needle taped into the vein on the back of her left hand. “Do you remember what happened? Out at Soldier’s Delight?”

He watched a distant look come into her eyes as she tried to remember what had happened the day before. “We…we went to Soldier’s Delight to find evidence against Edwards. But we found Edwards instead.” As she spoke, he noticed that her eyes and voice became clearer. She paused for a moment, gathering her scattered thoughts. “He killed the Ranger, and then he trapped us at the mine. We tried to get away… Then he caught us at the pit mine and—” She inhaled on a sudden jerking gasp as all the memories came flooding back.

He felt her body jerk under his hands and he knew that she was remembering her drug-induced hallucinations. Leaning forward, he cupped her face in both hands, stroking her cheekbones with his thumbs. “Shhh… Bones, it wasn’t real. Do you hear me? It. Wasn’t. Real.” She looked so shocked and distressed that he simply slid his arms under her and gathered her against him, taking care to not foul her IV line. She weakly put her arms around him and simply hung on, burying her face against the warm skin of his throat. He stroked her back until he felt her body start to relax in his arms, felt her shuddering breathing even out. He gently laid her back against the pillows, but remained bent over her, staying close.

“You remember it then?”

She nodded, a single sharp jerk of the head. “Yes, everything.”

“Can you tell me about it?” She started to shake her head ‘no’ and he caught both of her hands in his. “I need to know, Bones. You did it for me; you stepped between Edwards and me to save my life and nearly gave your own in the process. And then I watched you go through hell and I couldn’t help you no matter what I did. I was with you at the end in the pit mine. I could hold you, but I couldn’t save you from whatever you were seeing. I don’t think you even knew I was there. You just tried to fight me.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Please, Bones. Tell me. Let me share in what you experienced. It will make it easier…for both of us.”

Her gaze met his and she saw the depth of the guilt that he was feeling. Reaching out, she laid her palm against his cheek. “You’re not to blame. You can’t be responsible for what he did. We’ve gone over this, Booth.”

“But he hurt you, Bones.”

“If you remember, I put myself in his way.” He opened his mouth to speak and she cut him off, laying a single finger against his lips. “I’m fully capable of protecting myself. You can’t be responsible for my actions.” Then she paused for a moment as a thought occurred to her. “But this is going to cause problems for you isn’t it? With Rebecca?”

“Well, I’m not going to volunteer any information, if that’s what you mean.”

Brennan laughed softly. “Have you looked at yourself in the last…how long have I been here?”

“It’s Friday morning. You were brought in just before lunch yesterday.”

“Have you looked at yourself in the last 18 hours?”

Booth looked taken aback. “Not really. Why?”

Brennan’s gaze skimmed over the hair that stood up on end, washed clean of gel by the rain; but a testament to his distress from how often he must have run his hands through it. Then her gaze traveled over his swollen lip, and the neat white bandage over his left eye. She stroked her thumb over his lower lip ― “This…” ― before moving her hand to touch her fingertips to the corner of his bandage. “This too.” She let her hand drop to her stomach, and he immediately picked it up and twined his fingers with hers. “You are not going to be able to hide either of those.” She watched his eyes shift away from her, and she gripped his hands tighter, feeling alarm spike through her. “What? What else? There’s something else that you’re not telling me.”

Booth sighed heavily. “It’s nothing that bad,” he admitted. “Edwards grazed me with his knife.” He watched her eyebrows shoot skyward and he pulled one of his hands from hers to lift the hem of his dark green T-shirt so that she could see the second bandage that stretched across his abdomen.

Her eyes went wide. “How bad is it?”

“Not bad.” He let the hem of the shirt drop. “Really, it’s just a scratch—” He stopped as she gasped. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Your arms,” she breathed. “What happened to your arms?”

Mentally he cursed himself, regretting his choice of shirts; he should have gone with long sleeves. “They’re…uh, scratch marks.”

She grasped his forearm, turning it over to see the back of it. Angry red gouges ran in long streaks over his skin. “Edwards did this?”

“Um…” He stopped and then decided to tell the whole truth. She wasn’t really to blame for it anyway. “No, you did.”

“I did?!” She sounded appalled.

He hurriedly moved in to soothe her. “It wasn’t your fault, Bones. I was trying to hold you still during your ‘nightmare’ and you were trying to get away from me.” He glanced down at her neatly manicured hands. “Lucky for me you don’t have long nails.” He looked up into her eyes. “It’s okay, really. I’m alright. It’s nothing that won’t heal. And they won’t leave scars.”

Her gaze shifted to his forehead. “Will that?”

“Maybe. But they had a plastic surgeon come down to stitch it.”

Her gaze shot back up to his forehead. “It was bad enough that it needed stitches?”

“Eight stitches. Edwards caught me with a tree branch. The impact shattered the branch, but left a nice gash.”

“Edwards…is he—”

“Dead.” Booth interrupted her shortly, his voice flat and devoid of emotion.

Brennan was silent for a moment, absorbing both the statement and the way it was delivered. When she spoke her voice was quiet. “You killed him.” It was a statement, not a question.

“With his own bow and arrow.”

That did surprise her. “You shot him with his own bow and arrow?” she asked incredulously.

“Yeah. He was going for the gun. I knew that I’d never have time to beat him to it and the bow was sitting right there. I’d seen him shoot it and I was really too close to miss him.”

“And you hit him…”

“Mid-chest. He never had a chance.” Booth’s voice was harsh but his tone was sure.

Brennan’s eyes were full of compassion. “Booth, I’m sorry, I know how much it hurts you whenever you kill someone.”

Booth’s face went hard. “Not so much this time. Maybe that makes me a bad person, but—”

“No.” Brennan reached up, cupped his cheek in her hand. “It makes you human. And apparently I’m human as well because I’m not feeling any sorrow for his death either. He was insane, Booth, and if he’d been allowed to remain free he would have killed again, without a second thought.”

He turned his mouth into her hand, pressed a kiss to the center of her palm. “I know.”

“Tell me what happened. After I fell into the pit.”

Booth proceeded to outline the fight to her, explaining to her that he could also hear her struggles during the fight, but had been unable to come to help her.

“That was very effective, using that quote about Hannibal. That must have really twisted the knife for him in his last moments. How did you know that one?”

“I told you before, Bones, popular movies and great military minds. That quote came from Maharbal. He was one of Hannibal’s cavalry commanders during the Second Punic War and he said it to Hannibal himself after the Battle of Cannae. Anyway, when I finally could get down to you in the pit, you were so far gone from the hallucinogenic effects of the cocktail that you never knew that I was there with you.”

“You were there with me, but from my perspective you were part of the hallucination. I guess my brain was working bits of what I could see and what I could hear into the hallucination.”

“Will you tell me what you experienced? What you saw?”

Brennan swallowed thickly, but then took a deep breath and looking up into his eyes, she said, “Do you remember that I told you about how I went to Guatemala once to assist in the excavation of the mass graves?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that’s where I was. When I came to in the pit I thought I saw a dead body in there with me.”

“There was a body with you. Remember that Edwards made you push Anna in there. When I finally made it into the pit, you were half buried underneath her.”

Brennan released a breath, nodding. “Then that’s what started it. My brain was using the external cues around me to build its own reality. Between the pit itself and the body, it’s not a great leap to see how I got to where I was in the hallucination.”

“But you said that I was in the hallucination. I’ve been to Guatemala, but not with you.”

“No, but I somehow connected your past service in the Army, and my knowledge that you’d been sent down there once on orders to kill someone, with the soldiers in Guatemala. When I looked up to the edge of the pit at one point, I saw you there. You were standing on the edge of the pit, dressed in a Ranger uniform, carrying an assault rifle. I thought you were there to help me, but then you turned and walked away from the pit, leaving me with the dead.” Her eyes skittered from his.

But he drew her face back to his, drawing her gaze back to his. “You know I’d never leave you like that.”

“I know.” Her words were quiet, but he could hear her sincerity in them. “But at the time, being abandoned by you and being left there alone with the dead was a terrifying thought. They just kept pulling at me and then I was being buried by corpses and—”

Booth interrupted her quickening words. He could feel her tension mounting as she went over it again in her mind. “Okay, Bones, okay. I’ve got it. You don’t need to think about it anymore.” Reaching over to the bedside table, he reached for the plastic glass that sat there and poured ice water for her from the jug the nurse had left. Helping her to sit up, he held the glass to her lips and she drank gratefully as he steadied her. He set the glass down; then holding her shoulders, he gently lowered her to the pillow, settling her comfortably.

“What do the doctors say?’

“About you? They were pretty worried initially. We got you out of the pit and into the ambulance, but part way back you went from screaming terrors to the sudden silence of a coma.” His eyes met hers. “The hallucinations were pretty damn terrifying, but that was nothing compared to the coma. You were so…still. Sometimes I wasn’t sure if you were breathing.” He had to get up, had to move away to pace the floor at the foot of the bed. She watched him silently; saw the tense set to his shoulders and the rigidity in his back. “God damn it, Bones, you scared the hell out of me. I thought I was going to lose you.” He turned back to face her and their eyes met across the ten feet that separated them.

She held out her hand to him and he moved to take it, sitting back down on the bed. She cradled his hand in both of hers. “I’m sorry I scared you, Booth. But I’d do it again in a heartbeat. If our situations had been reversed, if it had been me that he was threatening, would you have hesitated to step between us?”

“No.” His answer was immediate, without to the need to consider her question.

“Exactly. Remember that then when you question the motivation behind my choice. Now, hand me my chart.”

Booth looked surprised. “Your chart?”

“Yes, I want to know how they treated me.” Booth simply stayed where he was, looking at her. “Please?”

He sighed, but got up and went over to retrieve the medical chart from a plastic rack on the wall across from her bed. “I did talk to the doctor the last time he was in.”

“And he said…?”

Booth’s eyebrows drew together. “A lot of things that I didn’t follow. But he said that they were doing blood work to rule out other mushrooms and toxins. We don’t really know what was in the cocktail that Edwards had prepared this time. They started to treat you in the ambulance based on what I could tell them; and then one of the paramedics talked to Hodgins on my cell, and Hodgins told him all the possible compounds that might have been in there.”

Brennan flipped open the chart, skimming its contents, absently reading aloud. “Patient presented at the scene with confusion, extreme agitation, hyperkinesia and convulsions. Hypotension, reflex tachycardia, labored respiration, ataxia. Patient fell into a coma…” She looked up. “How long did that last?”

“You slid into a coma during the ambulance ride here. But about 4 hours ago, I sensed that something had changed. I called the nurse and she came in and checked your pupillary response and said that you were out of the coma and were simply sleeping. That was when they took you off the heart monitor. And since then I’ve just been waiting for you to wake up.”

She smiled at him warmly before turning back to the chart. “IV delivery of Ringer’s Lactate, 0.04 mg/kg atropine sulfate to minimize cholinergic excess, 2 mg Lorazepam as an anxiolytic to calm agitation…” She was quiet for a moment as she continued to scan the chart. “It looks like they had me stabilized by last night.” She closed the chart, handed it back to him. “Yet you stayed all night.”

“Yeah.” He got up, replaced the chart. But when he came back, he stood at the end of the bed.

“You should have gone home, gotten some sleep.”

He shook his head. “I wouldn’t have been able to sleep there. I did occasionally doze off here, but I never would have at home. The bed would have been too big without you and I would have spent the whole night worrying. No, I was better here. Besides, it gave me time to think.”

Brennan watched a shadow pass over his face. There was something more going on here; but she kept her tone light, unobtrusive. “About what?”

He paced to the window, stood looking out with his back to her. The sunlight pouring through the window fell warmly on his face; yesterday’s storm was long gone. “You remember the ‘cosmic balance sheet’? When we first started to work together, that’s what you called it ― my need to balance out the number of kills I’d made as a sniper with the number of murderers I convicted.”

She considered him carefully from across the room. “Of course I remember.”

“Well, Edwards was the break-even point. The same number of kills made as murderers caught.”

Brennan gave him time to continue, but he remained silent. She tried to guess what was bothering him. “Do you think that you’re in the ditch again because you killed him?

“That’s ‘hole’ Bones, ‘in the hole’. And no, it’s not that. I know I had no choice in that matter. It was kill him or be killed, and your life also hung in the balance. If he’d succeeded in killing me, you would have been next.”

“Then what is it? And will you come over here and talk to me, please, instead of looking out that window?” She waited until he reluctantly turned around to meet her gaze, then patted the bed beside her. She shifted over in the bed, making more room for him to sit down. Once he was seated, she grasped one of his hands in hers, but he remained silent. “Booth, please. Talk to me. I can’t help if you don’t share it with me.”

“There’s really nothing to help, Bones.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?” She squeezed his fingers, encouraging him to continue. “So Edwards was the balancing point; the same number of kills made as murderers caught. And…?”

Booth let out a big breath. “I guess I always thought that when I reached this point, when I finally evened out those totals, that I’d feel…something. Relieved? Vindicated? I don’t know, just something. But now that I’m here…”

“It doesn’t feel any different does it?”

He met her gaze, comforted that she understood him so well that she would know how he felt about it. “No, it doesn’t. Nothing’s changed. It’s doesn’t change the fact that I killed those people. It doesn’t change the fact that children have grown up without their fathers, or that wives have been raising those children on their own.” He dropped his eyes and was silent for a moment. When he spoke again, his words were bitter. “None of it mattered.”

Brennan sighed quietly, feeling for Booth because she knew that for years this had been his goal. He believed in the system, he believed in justice. But behind it all, he’d been trying to set something right in his own life, something that he felt was out of balance. And she knew that he must be disappointed to find that the goal he had set so long ago, the goal that he had worked towards for years was gone; as if he reached for it in the mist and then opened his hand, only to find it empty. Reaching towards him, she tipped his chin up, clasping his face in her hands and raising it so that she could look into his troubled eyes. “Booth, no. Maybe it hasn’t settled the score the way that you thought it would. But to say that it didn’t matter? That’s just wrong.”

He started to shake his head and she simply clasped him tighter, holding him still. “You can’t deny the good that you’ve done. Long before we formed a partnership, you were already working towards the goal of finding justice for your victims. And then you offered me the chance to work towards that goal with you. Now, we’re together as partners and as the center of a team. Do you remember what you said that day after we closed the Gavin Nichols case?”

“Yeah.” He was silent for a moment, remembering. “I told you that the center must hold.”

“That’s right. The center must hold. And we are that center. And together as a group we’ve taken up the quest that you started as your own. We are the caretakers of the dead, Booth; when they come into our hands it’s already too late to help them. And in many ways that makes our job harder because we never have the satisfaction of seeing the person we are working for find that help. But from the moment we walk onto a scene, those victims become ours. We are their voices. We read the evidence at the scene, the evidence on their bodies. And we listen to what their bones tell us. They talk to us in ways that others can’t hear. And then we take that information and we find those who are responsible, those who think that they’ve gotten away with their crime. No matter how you thought your balance sheet would make up for your previous actions, you cannot discount the justice that we bring to those victims. It was your battle from the start, but I’m grateful that you are letting us share it with you now.”

“I can’t deny what I’ve done, what we’ve done in the past.” Booth’s voice was quiet. “I guess I just thought…I just thought that if I could reach that magic number, that I’d be able to atone for what I’d done before. I know now that I can’t. I’ve never even really tried to make amends, so how could I atone for what I’ve done?” He let out a small, bitter laugh. “If only Father Mike could hear me now.”

Eyebrows drawing together, Brennan looked confused. “Father Mike? What would Father Mike have to say about it?”

They both jerked in surprise as a voice spoke from the doorway. “He knows that Father Mike would explain the concept of ‘atonement’ from the Catholic perspective.”

Booth stood, pulling from Brennan’s hands, and turned to face the priest standing in the doorway. “Father. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

The older man entered the room, warmly laying his hand on Booth’s shoulder but looking down at the bed’s occupant; Brennan was lying back against the pillows looking tired and drained. “I know you didn’t. But I wanted to see how you were doing; how Dr. Brennan was doing.”

“Please, Father Mike, it’s Temperance.”

Father Mike smiled down at her. “Thank you, Temperance. How are you feeling?”

“Tired, with a bad headache; but otherwise I’m fine. How did you know I was here?”

“I was at the church late last night when I had a visitor. Seeley came in, and from the moment he entered the nave, I knew something was seriously wrong.”

“You always do,” mumbled Booth.

Father Mike wiggled his eyebrows at Brennan, who gave a small chuckle.

“The Lord works in mysterious ways. Seeley came in, lit a candle for you, and was going to sneak back out again—” He looked at Booth with one eyebrow raised for a moment as he stressed those last four words before he continued, “—when I met him in the narthex. He told me what happened to you yesterday morning. So I wanted to come in and see how you both were doing.” He looked Booth over thoroughly. “You look terrible.”

Booth simply looked at him from under his eyebrows, his mouth tight. “Thanks, Father,” he said, sarcasm heavy in his tone.

Father Mike turned back to Brennan, and winked at her. “You, on the other hand, look much better than someone in a coma should look.” He pulled up the chair and sat down, taking her hand, giving it a squeeze before releasing it. “I’m very pleased to see you awake, my dear. Seeley was frantic with worry yesterday. I have to admit that I feared the worst.”

“She took a turn in the night. A turn for the better.” Booth met Brennan’s eyes and she saw overwhelming relief in the depths of his expression.

Father Mike looked up at Booth. “And you look like you were awake for every minute of it. Sit down before you fall down,” he said, sounding like a stern father speaking to a headstrong child.

Booth’s gaze traveled to the already occupied chair and then he shrugged and returned to his spot on the bed beside Brennan. Father Mike noticed that Booth immediately took one of her hands in both of his and began stroking her skin softly as if she were a living touchstone. As if, even unconsciously, he realized how close he had come to losing her, and he needed contact with her to remind himself that they were still together.

“Father, what did you mean about the Catholic perspective of ‘atonement’?” Brennan asked.

“Just that strictly according to our teachings, there is no way to atone for a sin. We are taught that best that you can do is ask for forgiveness, live life as best you can, and to hope that eventually the gift of Divine mercy and forgiveness will be given to us because of our desire to make things right.”

“That’s a fairly bleak way of looking at things.”

He continued on as if she hadn’t spoken. “On top of that, a person has to forgive himself to experience reconciliation.” But then he turned to look at Booth. “As you know, I tend to deviate quietly from some of the stricter church teachings. You and I agree on some of these points. You’ve told me about your ‘balance sheet’ before.”

“Yeah.” Booth’s face was set in hard lines.

“But we’ve never really talked about it and I didn’t want to intrude upon your quest. It gave you purpose, and it gave you hope. But I heard some of what you said from the doorway. You’ve finally made it to your zero balance, but you’re not satisfied?”

Booth’s lips were a tight line. “How long were you standing there?”

“Long enough; you and Temperance were having a private moment and I didn’t want to intrude. Do you know why you’re not satisfied? ”

Booth was silent for a minute as he weighed his answer, finally realizing that he had known the truth all along. “I guess when I first started thinking about balancing the scales, I was thinking that I could make amends for the lives that I’d taken by catching those who had also taken lives, and bringing them to justice. But I’ve really not made any amends.”

“Why do you say that?”

“To atone for my actions, to atone for the lives I took, I’d need to make amends, make reparation to those that I hurt by my actions.”

Father Mike’s gaze traveled from Booth to Brennan. Booth’s head was down, his voice quiet. Brennan’s eyes were fixed on his bowed head, her eyes full of concern. Looking down, he stared at their joined hands, locked together for strength. And he wondered if they were even conscious of the depth of their need for each other.

“And how did you plan to make those amends?”

“That’s exactly it. There is no way, so I’ve really made no amends. I can’t bring those men back to life and that’s the only real way to make up for what I did.” He paused for a moment before looking up, into Brennan’s eyes. “And that doesn’t even begin to touch on what I might need to do to make amends for the mistake I made with Edwards. For those children that died after he was released. That’s a whole different issue.”

“You’ve made amends the best you could, Booth,” Brennan said softly. “Edwards will not be able to hurt anyone anymore. Those parents will know what happened to their children, and they’ll know that other parents will not have to suffer that same experience. And that’s because of you.”

“I guess.” Booth looked back to Father Mike. “I suppose that what it comes down to is that all this time I’ve been trying to make my peace with God, with myself, by making the world a better place. But maybe I’ve been doing it for the wrong reasons.”

Father Mike smiled, knowing that Booth was slowly steering himself in the right direction. “And what were those reasons?”

“If I’ve been doing it for myself it’s been for the wrong reasons. I should be doing it for the victims.” He looked back at Brennan; and letting go of her hand, he reached out and stroked her cheek lightly. “Those victims you spoke of; the ones who can’t speak so we need to speak for them.”

Father Mike laid his hand on Booth’s shoulder, causing him to turn to look at him. “I think you’ve come to the right conclusions, Seeley. You can try to make amends but you can't make it right, the way it was before, and that is the only true atonement. You can balance the number of men you’ve killed with the number of murderers you catch, but you cannot restore the lives you’ve taken. You can’t atone for the murders done by Edwards once he had been released, even by ending his life. But,” he said with emphasis, “you know me well enough to know that I wouldn’t shut the door quite that firmly on it.”

Booth stared at him silently, his eyes bleak.

“You’re a good man,” Father Mike continued. “Remember what Matthew writes about what Jesus said during the Sermon on the Mount. ‘Blessed are they that hunger and thirst after justice, for they shall have their fill. Blessed are the merciful, for they will find mercy.’ You are both of those things, Seeley. You show mercy to the victims and their families, and you have a thirst for justice that runs through you very strongly. You are one of the blessed.” He turned to Brennan. “I know that you do not share our Catholic beliefs, but I would offer the same words to you.”

He turned back to face Booth. “You may have come to the conclusion that there can be no atonement for your previous life as a sniper, or for your mistake in letting Edwards go. But you have been blessed with skills that you can use, and use well, in your chosen vocation. And you have the desire to make this world a better place, to find justice in the world; and I can’t believe that there will be no reward for you for a life that is so dedicated to doing good. I simply can’t believe it. And I don’t think that you do either. There is hope, Seeley. And with people like you and Temperance, we can make the world a better place. Even if it is only one conviction at a time.”

He turned back to Brennan, patted her on the arm. “Now, I will leave you, my dear. You look a bit tired and I’m sure you need some rest to recover from your ordeal yesterday.”

“Thank you, Father.” Brennan gave him a small smile.

Father Mike stood and Booth immediately stood with him. He put out his hand, and Father Mike immediately clasped it in his. “Thank you, Father. You always have the words I need to hear.”

“They were your words already, Seeley. Sometimes, I think you just need to be reminded of them. Take care of your partner.”

He grinned. “I will.”

Father Mike looked back at Brennan. “And you, young lady, don’t be a stranger. Stop by with Booth occasionally.”

“I will,” Brennan promised.

“God bless both of you.” He met Booth’s eyes. “And bring you the peace you deserve.”

They watched silently as the priest wordlessly made his way out of the room and disappeared down the hallway. Booth sat back down on the bed. Brennan struggled to sit up and Booth immediately slid his hands behind her shoulders, supporting her.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m okay. He’s right you know. We do make the world a better place, one murderer at a time, even if there is no cosmic balance sheet.”

Brennan nodded. “I know.” And leaning forward, she wrapped her arms around him and laid her head against his shoulder, sighing gratefully as his arms closed around her, holding her tightly against him. After all the angst and distress, the case was finally closed, Edwards was dead and they were both safe. For the first time in weeks she felt that she could truly relax.

Booth felt Brennan settle more comfortably against him and finally felt all his residual tension drain away. The past month had been pure hell, but Booth had to admit that he had learned something during that time. He had learned that the love and loyalty and support of his partner and his friends were enough to sustain him through anything that life could throw at him. And as he bent his head down to Brennan’s shoulder, as he held her, he felt very blessed indeed.