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It's a beautiful Saturday morning in the park, but it's still too early to be crowded. The carousel is near-empty, and that's good, because Parker isn't sure he wants to go anywhere near , and Booth expects that this very important daddy-duty would be even harder if there were an audience. As they close in on the carousel, Parker turns from cheerful and excited to nervous and whiny. He clings to Booth's leg when they're close to it, refusing to even look at the brightly colored horses he used to love.

"No, Daddy, I don't want to go."

Booth detaches a reluctant Parker from his leg over the boy's protests, lifts him onto one that used to be white but is now sort of a dirty beige color. If Booth were into symbolism, he'd find it fitting. "There you go," he says, settling the child into the seat and buckling him in.

He pats the subdued boy on the head, kisses the curly blond head before making sure that Parker's secure one last time. "Knuckles," he says, and the tiny, soft hand makes a small fist and hits Booth's larger one.

Booth smiles, steps back, not taking his eyes off his son until the carousel has actually started moving. Then the smile fades, the effort of acting happy showing a little around his eyes.

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Unobserved, Brennan smiles a little.

From an anthropological perspective (or any other perspective) Booth is a good father. One of the most difficult thing a parent can do is allow a child the chance to overcome fear.

Even when it's in the form of a carousel.

She stays at a distance until the ride begins moving, then steps forward to join Booth.

He would normally be surprised at Brennan's appearance here in the park, but today he's just a little worn out. A scared toddler is exhausting. Facing your own fears about your child's mortality are no less tiring.

"Hi," he says, amiably enough, but the smile he would usually greet her with is absent. "How'd you know I was here?"

"It's Saturday morning."

And of all the fall-out from the last day or so, Brennan knew that Booth would want to address his son first thing. She'd left a note and her cell number for Hannah (who was sound asleep on the sleeper sofa) and driven down to the park.

"How's Parker?" she asks, moving toward a nearby bench with a good view of the carousel.

"Yeah, I'm afraid I freaked him out, the other day," Booth says. It comes out tired, abashed and a little rueful. In hindsight, it seems like such a small moment, but such terrible things came of it. "He's really scared of this place, you know? I - I gotta put that right."

Slight pause.

"How's Hannah? She miffed about being stuffed away in the Bar?"

"That's you all over. Putting things right," Brennan says, taking a seat.

"I think Hannah's just glad to be back in the real world. And that it's all over. She was still dead to the world when I left. I don't think she got much sleep over the last..."

Brennan pauses to calculate the length of Hannah's stay in Milliways. And winces. Hannah hadn't gotten much sleep in a while. That was the downside of the time differential.

"And Cam gets released from the hospital today," Brennan adds.

He nods a little when she says that's you all over, and they sit on the bench and watch the carousel as it goes around, and again when she says Hannah's doing all right. He's glad of that.

When she says Cam's name, Booth leans back a little on the bench, looks up. He gives Brennan a quick look, as if he's about to say something, then looks back at the carousel.

"Yeah." His voice is a little hoarser than it was a minute ago, and he's jiggling his right knee up and down rapidly.

Brennan waits for him to go on. When it seems that nothing more is forthcoming except a case of jitters, she gives him a quizzical look.

"What?"

This is not the response she would expect to a loved one being released from the hospital after a near brush with death. At least, not from Booth.

Booth takes a breath, still not looking at Bones.

"You know," he says, and his tone is very close to the same flat one he used at her apartment when he told her his wrist wasn't hurt. "What happened to Cam happened because we had a - a personal relationship."

He glances over at her, just the barest flick with the eyes and the tiniest head tilt, just to make sure she understands the importance of what he's saying here. He then lets out a tiny, almost imperceptible sigh.

Brennan does understand. At least, she understands one particular point of significance.

"Had?"

Booth nods emphatically.

"Yeah, people who work in - high risk situations," he says, glancing over at her again, checking in to make sure she's still with him. "They can’t be involved..." He nods his head again as he works to get the words out here, as if he's trying to convince himself as much as he's trying to convince Brennan. "Romantically because it leads to . . . things like what happened."

Those last four words come out haltingly, almost as an admission of defeat. Which, in a way, they are. Booth can't bring himself to say what happened, can't make himself say, it leads to people I care about being put at risk and then someone dying, but that's pretty much what he means here.

"High risk situations," Brennan repeats slowly.

Even someone who scorns psychology knows a distance-creating statement when she hears one.

But she nods. Because, after all, Booth is right. Logically, a romantic relationship in the workplace, especially their workplace, has the potential to complicate already complex situations.

Booth speeds up his speech for this part - it's clear he's thought about it a great deal. It almost sounds rehearsed, but the emotion in his voice is clearly not false.

"Every single day, it’s with us. There’s this line, and we can’t cross it, you know what I’m saying?"

Another quick glance at Brennan, then away, as if he's afraid of her reaction, as if he knows she'll see through the logical surface of what he's saying to the fear underneath.

She does. But she can't fault Booth for feeling the way he does.

"Yes," she says, very deliberately and without judgment. "I understand."

Someone that he cared a great deal about could have died. That was nothing to be trivialized.

Parker goes by waving, looking perfectly at ease on the brightly painted horse. Brennan smiles.

"He seems okay now."

More than just one person he cares about could have died, and that's what makes all of this harder.

Booth shifts on the bench, as if he's shrugging off the conversation they just had. He almost smiles as Parker goes by, pressing the corners of his lips every so slightly up.

"Yeah. Yeah, it's important."

Booth leans forward, hands on his knees, his gaze on Parker until the small boy is whirled out of sight by the revolving contraption. "To make things right."

He opens his mouth as if he's going to say something else, then bites his lip, presses his lips into a thin line, and stares off into the distance, waiting for Parker to come back into view. "I just - don't know how." He shakes his head, and it's like he's trying to clear away some of the doubts and worries that seem to plague him today.

"I don't know," he repeats, very quietly, still shaking his head, his shoulders hunched.

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