Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot and the original character created herein.
Author's Note: Okay, I know I promised a sequel to Skeletons in Her Trash Bag, but seeing as it is a complete story in itself, I have decided to postpone the sequel to write this. This is titled so because it shows the beginning of how the alternate life in End in the Beginning might have been.
It had only been six months since her parents had disappeared. Her brother had walked off. It was so strange that six months ago, her life had been normal, or as normal as life for a teenage genius ever was. She was sitting on the edge sidewalk near her school. Although it was June, she was still shaking with cold. She had always been slender with a rare Victorian beauty, but in the last half a year she had become skeletal. She was wearing a knee length black sleeveless she had sewn herself on the sewing machine in her foster father's factory from the scraps leftover after work. The bag she had brought into foster care had been stolen by her first foster father, and now all she had were her school belongings, which child services had no choice but to ensure she had enough of, all neatly tucked into her school bag, which too was in good condition. It came with a lunch box and a water bottle, both of them as empty as her stomach. She was glad they were tucked in her bag. Looking at them would only make her stomach rumble more and her throat burn with thirst.
On her other side was her trash bag, nearly empty for lack of belongings. She was wearing rough dress. In her bag she had a black knee length dress, a knee length black skirt, a white blouse and a sea green blouse. She had sewn all of them from scraps from the sweatshop. Luckily, she had managed to use the machines, so all of the clothing was tightly sewn. In her bag was a pair of black flats that were in good condition. She had stayed up countless nights to sew and embroider three handkerchiefs that she was able to sell to a gift shop before sneaking off to buy the shoes. Before that, she had nothing but the free flip flops, distributed by the free clinic.
In addition to her school clothes and the dress she had one, she had a long men's tee shirt for sleep, one more rough cotton dress made from cheap scraps, unlike her other clothing, which was made from the scraps from the clothing they made to sell, good quality. These skimpy cheap cotton prints were meant to be worn when her foster father made her scrub the entire house on her hands and knees again. With them was a pair of flip flops. In one paper bag in her trash bag was a comb, a couple of clips, a cake of soap and a small towel she had salvaged from the textile shop before it was shipped. In the other bag was a needle book with the needles she had saved, knitting needles, a small pair of sewing scissors, these too she had salvaged from the factory, and all the thread, yarn and pieces of cloth she had managed to save. There were enough large pieces that she could make a few new clothes when these wore out and still save a few pieces for the first clothes she would need to go to college. The smaller scraps, most around three inches by three inches, she was carefully sewing into a quilt. So far, she had less than a square yard, not even enough to cover her legs. It didn't even have any stuffing that might make it warmer; it was just the beginning of the front of the quilt. Together these things didn't even fill a quarter of her bag.
She had returned to her foster father's after school today and cleaned up as she always did, changing into yesterday's cotton dress, she scrubbed the house and including the den which had been turned into a sweatshop. She was the only girl there right now. Normally there were at least five. Two girls had aged out and two more had been reunited with their parents. Her foster father had thrown a plate at Temperance in his anger over losing his workers. Her reflexes hadn't been fast enough and her upper arm was still cut up from the impact. She finished cleaning and had washed her own clothes, bathed and dressed in her clean cotton dress. While her laundry dried she had started dinner for her foster father. Her stomach had grumbled even then. She hadn't eaten since Thursday morning. The school was supposed to give her free meals, but they didn't of course. But she couldn't risk her foster father walking in. She folded her clothes and put them back in her bag, feeling more secure that they couldn't be taken from her. They were all she had. She was finishing dinner when he walked in. She had started shaking as she always did when she saw him. The salt slipped, pouring onto the counter. She had jumped in fear. She knew what was coming. He slammed her into the wall and kicked her hard in the ribs. She had tensed her body, expecting another blow and was surprised when he lifted her, her school bag and her trash bag and dumped them on the porch. She knew what that meant. She was supposed to get lost. At least for this weekend, she wouldn't even have the shelter of her foster father's home.
She did what she always did. She walked to her school carefully. She had slipped on her flip flops and walked through the pain. While she loved learning, she dreaded school. The reason she was heading there was that a new wooden shed had been built with a rubber floor. It had a window, and was right under the flood light, so there was light inside all night long. The inside of the shed was clean and empty. The perfect place for her to spend the next few days. She could even get some water from the fountain, she thought. She lifted herself off of the curb and walked the last hundred feet to the shed, storing her things in the corner. Her poor stomach growled. Maybe if she worked late into the night she could finish the handkerchief she was embroidering. Maybe the gift shop would buy it. But that would be tomorrow. She sighed, stepping out into the chilly, Chicago, summer evening and walked slowly through the yard. After an hour, she had found three nickels, a dime and nine pennies.
Across the street was a convenience store, but she knew she couldn't afford anything there. Instead, she forced her body to walk the half a mile to the grocery store. She walked in and headed to where a few cheap snacks were available for a quarter. Nothing actually healthy, but maybe her stomach wouldn't growl so much. She could normally find a pack of peanut butter crackers for less than a quarter. For the first time that night, things were going well for her. The crackers were on sale for two packets for a quarter. She picked up two packets eagerly and quickly paid for with her three nickels, dime and one penny for tax. She clutched her shopping bag on the way home, picking up change in the parking lot. She ended up with food for the night and forty cents more. When she arrived back, she quickly hid her change in her bag and put her crackers in her lunch box. She filled up her water bottle and drank while slowly eating a packet of crackers. There was another one left for tomorrow and a little change. She curled up on the rubber mat and fell asleep.
He didn't know what he was doing in Chicago. After the Gulf War ended, he had finally returned home from his first tour. He had joined up two years ago when he turned eighteen and since then had seen more death than he cared to think about. And now he was a sniper. The army gave him 10,000 for the hits he performed. He blew it in three days gambling in Chicago's underground games. The army said come back and be a sniper, we'll send you to college. The senator whose kid's life he had saved in Iraq told him to pick a military institute, any institute and the senator would get him in, he would be on the officer track, set for life. He said no, he found honor serving with enlisted men. And where did that leave him, an enlisted soldier, with an abusive father, a lost mother, a sniper with a gambling problem and nowhere to go. All he could think about was that he knew he did the right thing. He knew he saved people's lives, then why was it so hard.
All day Saturday she had sat in the sun, letting it warm her bones while she was hunched over finishing the embroidery on the handkerchief. It was late afternoon by the time she took it to the gift shop. She walked out in near tears. It was Sunday now and she was bent over the ground, looking for more change. The gift shop had given her a dollar for her handkerchief. She had a dollar and forty nine cents. She had eaten the second packet of crackers last night and she was hungry, but too afraid to spend her money and not have any for later. She didn't know when her foster father would let her come back.
He was walking past a school when suddenly he stopped. There was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. As he watched, she bent, picked something up and then kept walking. She was so thin, he thought, and so beautiful. There couldn't be anything on God's green earth more beautiful, not in the heavens nor on earth. Her skin was porcelain colored, her eyes were sapphires and her hair was copper toned. Her bone structure was the most striking. She had Victorian features but was utterly unique in her absolute beauty. He stepped closer. Her arm was wrapped around her ribs, as if holding them in place. He walked towards her.
He was walking towards her. She felt panic rising from within her. Another man, a military man, what did he want from her. He walked purposefully, but she didn't feel any malice coming from him. Where had that come from, when had she been able to figure out what another person was feeling. He was right in front of her now. His eyes were kind, but she could tell he had seen something horrible. He gave her a gentle smile and she almost broke down. No one had been kind to her in so long. There was such understanding in his gaze that she knew somehow that she belonged with him.
When she looked at him, he could forget about the war. All he wanted was to take her away to somewhere safe and protect her. From the second his eyes had met hers, he knew she would be his wife. Already, he loved her so much it hurt, so much that he didn't think it was possible to love anyone that much. If God loved the world half as much as he loved her, he could understand why He sent Christ. "What's your name sweetheart?" he asked gently. She felt something pulling at her heart when she was with him, something she had never felt before. "Temperance Brennan, I don't like to be called Temperance." She didn't know why she felt safe enough to tell him that. May that's what love feels like. Love, she scoffed at herself. There is no such thing as love and certainly you do not fall in love with people you met thirty seconds ago. But when she looked at him she knew she loved him more than any person had ever loved any other person. Maybe that was why she felt safe.
"Okay baby, "he continued, "What do you like to be called?" She shrugged; no one had ever asked her that. She hated Temperance because that was what her family called her, and because that was what the men called her when she was working in her second foster father's brothel. They said it sounded like a whore's name. She didn't want her name to sound like a whore's name. She didn't want to be a whore any more. When he found out what she was, he wouldn't be nice to her anymore. She found she couldn't bear that thought. "How about Brennan, "he asked, "or Bren?" She liked that, Bren, and gave a little smile. "Okay, Bren, I am Sergeant Seeley Booth, but why don't you just call me Booth, Seeley sounds a bit girly doesn't it?" Her poor empty stomach grumbled just then. She looked horrified and stepped away from him. "Hey, are you hungry." He couldn't help but notice her skeletal frame. He dug through his pockets and found a chocolate bar, opening it and offering it to her. She seemed scared to take it, but when he placed it at her lips; she couldn't help, but take a small bite, chewing slowly. He pulled her to sit next to him. She eventually finished the bar. He couldn't help but notice she looked a little better. He didn't know what to say, finally asking, "What are you doing here?" Before she could answer, an angry man came up and pulled at her arm, "get your things, good for nothing foster freak." She scurried into the shed. As she came back the strange man punched her hard in the face. The poor thing fell backwards helplessly and when Booth caught her he felt evidence of breaks all along her body. He lay her down and with as much rage as he had ever felt, knocked the other man out before coming to kneel against Bren.