Title: The Dream in the Nightmare
Author: Cerasi J.
Rating: R/M
Archive: FF.N, Bones FanFiction
Category: Angst/Romance/Suspense
Spoilers: Wannabe in the Weeds,The Pain in the Heart
Summary: The woman in the foyer was dripping wet; her face was thin and gaunt, eyes dark from lack of sleep. The woman before him was stripped; bare. This woman was not Dr. Brennan. This woman was not Bones. This woman was Temperance. [Season 3/B&B]
Disclaimer: Nothing recognizable belongs to me (like Booth, sadly), no infringement intended.
Author's Note: A big special ooey-gooey thank you to the best Beta on Planet Earth—my mom. She is my best critic, strategist and biggest fan, for that I will always be grateful. Also, this is my very first foray into the Bones universe, any mistakes are my own, and I always welcome constructive critique.
We run on fumes
Your life and mine
Like the sands of time
Slippin' right on through
And our love's the only truth
That's why I run to you
- I Run to You, Lady Antebellum
Monday, September 1st
Murder was a complex thing.
It was twisted, immoral, confusing, terrifying and senseless. It was wrong. It was unimaginable. Yet, it happened. A lot, it seemed. Sometimes for the right reasons, sometimes for erroneous ones. Sometimes it made sense, and most of the time, it didn't. It was her job to make murder make sense. Murder happened for reasons that seemed valid when you stripped away all the police jargon, evidence bags, and federal prosecutors. It was basic, human function that simplified the act of snuffing out another's life. Jealousy. Greed. Fear. Love.
But reason? Logic?
No.
Was it really reasonable or logical to take another's life, whilst thinking it was for some greater good that served humankind? Of course, she deliberated, that was a double-edged sword, as well. Case in point: hundreds of thousands fought back against the rise of Nazi Germany during World War II… that, in the end, served a much greater good. Given that position, she mused, it made sense to kill in certain situations, such as times of war, or in self-defense. But to kill because it may or may not impact a subset of human culture that only a fraction of sentient life knew existed? No. Which lead her back to her original line of thought:
Zach Addy was a murderer.
Dr. Temperance Brennan couldn't place those words in a sentence together. Leaning back in her chair, she tapped a pen against her denim-clad thigh contemplatively, mind still racing for an alternative explanation. Just hours ago, Zach had confessed to her and Booth his involvement with a serial murderer. Never in all the infinitive years to come had she ever once considered her most trusted assistant would be so easily swayed by the lexicon of a killer. A cannibalistic killer, no less. She took a deep breath; the pen tapping faster. There had to be another answer, another reason. Was Zach covering for someone? Maybe he was being blackmailed? But, the evidence against him was overwhelming and irrefutable, and it all pointed toward her young protégé.
Brennan forced herself to stop tapping the pen; it was an obvious sign of nervous energy. With strained and clipped motions, she slowly turned and replaced the pen carefully in the container on the edge of the glass desk. She needed to channel that energy into something constructive and useful; something that would perhaps give back to the society that Zach had helped destroy. With another deep breath, she thought again of her friend, and carefully tucked his memories away, deep in the recesses of her rational and intelligent mind, where they could no longer hurt her.
She pushed her chair back from her desk and rose to her feet. She needed to try something. Striding gracefully to the mirror tucked away in the corner of her office, she stared into it, vehemently thinking of just one sentence that she tried to vocalize, but couldn't. Physically, nothing was impeding her oral functions, so she should have been able to the utter the offending phrase until she was hoarse.
But, the fact was, she couldn't. Deep in a place she'd heard Angela call her heart of hearts she truly didn't believe Zach could have killed one of Hodgins' insects, let alone another, living, breathing, feeling, loving, human being. She sighed for the third time in mere minutes, hoping that the act may dislodge the unfamiliar lump that wedged itself in her lungs. Brennan had to focus. Taking a deep breath and looking straight at her flawless complexion she said, "Dr. Zach Addy is-…"
"Is what?"
Shocked and still looking in the mirror, her eyes cut to the foyer of her office. Her heart rate accelerated, and for a brief moment, panic fluttered in her stomach. Brennan spun toward the voice, "Zach!" He inclined his head, smiling lightly, "Dr. Brennan." Bones lingered back for just a moment, a million thoughts tumbling around in her head. She had a hard time trying to pull them apart to make sense of this suddenly bizarre situation. The first and foremost contemplation tumbled out of her mouth before she could compose it properly, "How did you get out? Did they let you go?"
He stepped fully into the room, and she noticed for the first time that he was dressed in neither his hospital gown nor prison garb. He wore a finely tailored charcoal suit, with a colorfully fascinating tie that Booth would have turned green over. His leather shoes clicked lightly on the polished stone floor, "No," Zach answered; his eyes clear and unwavering, "I just came to say goodbye, Dr. Brennan." She felt her face and resolve soften.
"Goodbye, Zach," she intoned quietly. Their gazes met and for one brief moment, something insalubrious flashed in his eyes, but it was gone just as quickly. He took another step toward her, the material of his fine suit whispering as he moved. "I brought you a gift." Zach produced an average-sized box seemingly out of thin air, and extended it out to her. Brennan noticed, curiously, the gauze on his hands was gone, and there was no sign of trauma whatsoever. "Zach… your hands?" He ignored her question and gently placed the package in her grasp.
It was beautifully wrapped in a heavy, cream colored paper, secured lovingly with a ribbon the color of tangerines. She contemplated it for a moment and looked up at her former student, "A gift?" She struggled to wrap her mind around this unexpected and unusual visit, but she found her thought process was sluggish and her movements slow. Brennan wondered briefly if she was having a stroke. "Yes," Zach continued, "I chose it specially for you. Let's say… it came from the heart." She was no good at reading people, but even with her stunted social abilities she was able to detect the sinister implications in Zach's tone.
If Booth were here, he would have said Zach was acting creepy. Her eyebrows furrowed together and she stared at him, trying desperately to read him, to understand him under the layer of intellect that he wore like a shield. He only smiled, and reached for her. His newly undamaged fingers brushed her cheek, leaving an icy, burning trail on her skin. She was too stunned to inform him that his motion made her feel uncomfortable and was totally inappropriate. "Goodbye, Dr. Brennan." Zach turned briskly on his heel and strode away, determination powering his tread. Suddenly trembling and afraid for a reason she couldn't comprehend, she turned and set the attractive parcel on her desk.
Brennan stood there, regarding the box for a long moment; unsure of what would be inside. She toyed briefly with the idea of calling Booth, if only for his strong, supportive presence. Bones shook her head, sending her auburn locks flying. She had been to the Middle East… South America. She'd seen the horror the world had to offer. Whatever was in this box could never be as bad as some of the things she'd seen in her life.
Finally, she plucked two latex gloves out of the box on her coffee table and carefully loosened the ribbon. It was real silk and felt to her desk with a vibrant flourish. Steeling herself, Brennan lifted the lid with as much clinical detachment as she could muster. The smell hit her first. Something metallic and coppery… like… blood. Brennan peeked over the lip of the box. It took her all of five seconds to identify the object at the bottom. She recoiled in horror, the lid of the box making a hollow clatter on the floor as she staggered backward; away from the atrocity.
There, at the bottom of the box, nestled on a bed of white silk, was a human heart. A thin, silver wire had been threaded neatly though the superior vena cava, attaching a heavy cardstock gift tag to the severed organ. Spidery calligraphy left one macabre dedication:
To: Dr. Brennan,
With all my heart.
Love,
Dr. Hodgins
TBC…
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