Prompt 31- Flowers
"On the worst night she'd had in years, she found a bouquet of her favorite flowers, and a guy hug waiting on her doorstep."
Her fingers ran through her hair in bitter stress, the waves of her hair falling back around her face. The day had be hard, working into the night even more difficult.
Serial killers were always hard on her- the pure, unyielding hatred for their victims- for perfect strangers- made her wonder about herself. Did she possess those feelings? She couldn't…could she? When the murderer was a forensic anthropologist, not unlike herself, that copied an ancient serial killer in modus operandi, choosing his young victims solely by their residence, she couldn't help but think of herself. She was studying the remains of those very ancient victims of cruel, irrational torture when body number one-- eleven year old Kayla Mathis-- showed up in a field behind an industrial warehouse. Less than three days later, body number two-- seven year old Alex Sheppard-- was found in a box outside the Ancient Studies exhibit in the Jeffersonian museum.
It was then , and only then, that she realized that the fractures of the Mathis girl and the Sheppard boy matched---and that they matched her ancient murder victims. According to the old case, three more victims would show up within the next two weeks, all under the age of twelve. And they did--all but one, Mia Bondo, who was found in the anthropologist's house. Recovering Mia was a plus, but that didn't replace the fact that one of her own had abused the power that was so carefully given to him. No one saw it coming, so who was to say she wasn't capable of doing the same thing?
Perhaps what scared her the most--more than pure hatred for strangers-- was the fact that they made her question her own sanity--her own abilities and disabilities. They made her question herself, and that made her feel weak.
Pulling her keys out of her purse, she rounded the hallway corner, her eyes on the ground. She found the house key and separated it from the rest. Slowly, the brown floor turned to the dull green mat in front of her door. But something wasn't right. Two large water footprints on her mat weren't supposed to be there. She looked up, and her fear quieted.
Flowers.
A cellophane wrapper tied with a blue ribbon was held in the strong grip of her partner, a dozen daffodils tucked safely inside.
Her favorite.
A boyish smile graced his features as she took the flowers. "You okay, Bones?"
It was then that she started crying--first, a silent tear, alone and warm, then another, and another until the world became a blurry mess of confusion and color. She felt his arms wrap around her then, the cellophane wrapper hitting the floor. She collapsed into his arms, wondering why--how she was doing it.
His face became solid, rock-like, when her head hit his shoulder, an attempt to be strong for the woman. He was sad for her, truthfully, but he was also proud. After years of difficult cases that brought him nearly to tears--and he hardly every cried--she finally let it all--the raw, pure emotion of a strong, distinguished scientist--out.
Her tears kept on, and after her tears soaked his shirt and she hugged him a little tighter, did he realize that her crying was really a thanks. She was thanking hi for being her rock, for being there when no one else was, for caring. She was catching up for what she had skipped--the emotional trauma that was dead children and dead mothers, lost hope, and feeling lost herself.
It started with the body of Kayla Mathis--her overwhelming feeling to cry, and it ended with Booth on her door step.
It ended with flowers.