This little one shot was inspired by the song Run by Daughter. I recommend you all listen before/during/or after reading. I do NOT own the television show Bones, or any characters that may be familiar. Thank you for reading and let me know what y'all think!
There was nothing to see through the window, except for the blurred black mass of trees flying by. Charlotte's eyes were glued to the empty darkened road in front of her. The air conditioner, though on the lowest setting, whirred loudly in her ears. It was making her crazy, but she'd rather listen to than then hear anything the man in the passenger seat had to say to her.
Ask her a week ago, and she'd say loved him. Ask her now? She'd still say she loved him, now she just didn't know who exactly it was that she loved, nor what he was really capable of.
Charlie started having nightmares six months ago, after she and that man (that brilliant fucking goofball of a man she'd called her boyfriend for nearly two years) had gone on their Saturday run from their apartment, through Potomac Park and then back again. He preferred they went early on in the morning, when not many others were out, that way it could just be the two of them. The pair had made it halfway through the park before, quite literally on her part, stumbling upon the most grotesque scene she'd ever seen in her life (and with one brother working with the Smithsonian's forensic team, and the other suffering from Schizophrenia, Charlie had seen some things in her twenty-two years.)
Beneath the shade of an oak sat a single large chair, wooden and fairly tall, like some ancient piece from a museum. Strapped up and posed in some twisted position sat a freshly skinned and torn body. Legs dangling down against the upturned earth, mouth pried open and bleeding as the flies and other insects fed on the decomposition, with one arm strapped to the armrest, the other pinned up making the figure look desperate, pleading to get out of the torture.
The sight made her double over, dry heaving, the taste of sulfur bubbling up in her throat as a small squeak raced up and past her lips. Charlie slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes widening to turn back on the character in the chair. Another woman, not so far off from them, let out the scream that Charlie couldn't and rushed to call 911.
The man pulled Charlie's frame into his own a hug, turning her away as he continued to gaze on, unable to look away. The corpse looked almost like some ancient masterpiece.
The couple sat in their DC apartment, Charlie wrapped up with a mug in her hands while her boyfriend stroked a finger along her arm in a calming manner. The news stations ran the story of the scene from the park for almost two days after and almost nothing else.
Charlotte Hodgins sat, eyes squeezed shut, listening as FBI agents found no leads; though they had their suspicions, they said no names. She'd called Jack three times the night before, asking what he knew, crying, asking about Angela and Michael, and then choking up once again before hanging up.
Her boyfriend, woken up by screaming in the middle of the night, remained almost frighteningly calm as she had her attacks, reliving that Saturday over and over in her sleep. He would change her out of her clothes, carry her into their bathroom and shower with her, scrubbing her hair and skin, knowing that if he let her do it herself, she'd try to scrub the image clean out of her brain too. They would come back to bed, Charlie not making a sound, and he would give light scratches to her bare skin, always wary of those scarred patches from the accident she'd been in when she was twelve.
He made her more comfortable in her body, especially when it came to her scars, knowing that he had those of his own. He always thought it made it easier to love each other, knowing that they understood each other in their own way.
On nights when the dreams were the worst, Charlie would let him make love to her. Though she'd been detached and in her own mind during the day, he could still elicit soft mewls from her, he could still coax her fingernails into the skin of his back.
The gang stood around the large screen in Angela's office, studying the crime scene photos. It had been two weeks since the murder, and they were still putting pieces together.
The woman from Potomac Park had been identified as Marnei Karmen, born in Connecticut, well-known model, aged forty-three, mother of one (a daughter, seventeen, and a model herself). Karmen had only been described as a cutthroat, vain, jealous bitch. The only people who had anything good to say to Booth and Sweets were her followers on Twitter.
Brennan had already figured out so much about this case, with Booth calling every so often for any news, but it wasn't enough. It never seemed like enough. Angela had traced the image through the database and found no matches, though it seemed almost impossible that someone could do this with no base image. The team stood like this for almost an hour before Jack's idea face came upon him.
"I know this story...Angela, pull up the story of Andromeda."
Angela crinkled her brow but did as he asked, and Dr. Saroyan almost interjected, but Hodgins cut her off before she was able to speak.
"Her mother...vain, beautiful, mother of a beautiful daughter." He locked eyes with Dr. Saroyan, almost bursting knowing he could finally figure this thing out. "It's Cassiopeia."
"I…don't understand, Hodgins," Brennan told him honestly. She knew he was getting closer to something, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was. Jack crossed the room to the computer, pulling up a few tabs. He'd Googled Cassiopeia's Wikipedia page, and opened another for Facebook.
"Hodgins, unless this is relevant," Cam started, "I really don't think this is the time for social networking."
"Honestly I didn't even know you used Facebook, Jack." Angela laughed, attempting to humor the situation, but it went ignored by him.
Adjusting the tabs side by side, the Wikipedia page to the left of the screen, the photo of the crime scene, and a picture of a wrist with a constellation tattooed on it. Jack clicked around the screen for a moment, pulling up another tab under the Wikipedia page, showing a map of the stars, revealing the same constellation that was on the wrist.
"Cassiopeia's vanity had insulted the Gods, and as punishment she's tied up here in this chair by Poseidon and tortured, and this, as we already know, is Marnei Karmen. She's strung up in almost the exact same way. The constellation in both of these pictures is Cassiopeia, the tattoo is just turned on its side to fit on the wrist."
Angela looked at him, slowly understanding. "So what, this is a…a love note?"
Jack set his palms flat out on her desk, eyes glued to the computer screen. "I know that constellation because my sister got it as a tattoo when she turned eighteen."
"You know, there's only one person capable of putting this much thought into a murder and showing it off as a masterpiece. There's only one person sick enough to think this is a gift." Booth's voice came from the doorway in which he stood, hands in his pockets, causing the team to slightly jump.
Brennan swallowed hard, locking eyes with him. "But that is impossible, Booth. You shot him. We watched him die."
"No, Bones, we didn't watch him die. We didn't check for a pulse. I shot him, you hugged me, and we left."
Almost as if on cue, Booth's cell phone rang and he snapped it open without a second thought. "What?"
"Agent Booth."
Seely's fingernails dug into the rough skin of his palms. Putting the phone on speaker he gently lowered it onto the desk for all in the room to hear. "I finally understand you. I understand why you fought so hard to protect Dr. Brennan." His sickening laugh rang out into the room. "Love is an intense thing, Agent Booth. Changes people's actions for a very long time. Changes their perspective on life, on themselves."
Angela shook her head in disbelief, a sudden anger boiling up inside of her. "You're not capable of loving anyone. And there's no way in hell anyone is capable of loving someone like you."
"He is very charming, and really quite intelligent. He can pull off something like this for so long. It isn't impossible, Angela."
The team could almost hear the smile in his voice as he spoke. "Thank you for that, Doctor Brennan, I mean it. I loved you—you all know that. I love the woman I'm with right now. Actually, I think you would like her very much."
Booth clenched his fists even tighter, surely to break the skin if he continued. Memories of their past with Pelant flooded into his mind, hitting him like a brick. "You know, I really doubt that, Pelant."
"No," Pelant began, "I mean that. In fact, she's very much like you, Jack. Same attitude, very guarding. She acts tough, like you, but she's almost harmless. The kind of woman that would love me is the kind of woman that kind understand me." He was toying with him now, Hodgins in specific. Pelant couldn't help it. "A young woman with scars of her own."
It was with that final sentence that the phone went dead, and almost just as soon, Jack sent a fist slamming down on the top of the desk, shaking the contents.
"It's Charlotte. I fucking knew it. Booth, you can either stay here to try to help them trace a call that you know you can't, or you can come to her apartment with me."
Charlie's fingers tightened around the wheel, her eyes finally sneaking a glance over into the passenger seat. He sat perfectly still, hands folded in his lap as he studied her. Within a moment their relationship and changed completely. She'd learned everything about him and none of it could possibly considered good.
Taking a shaky breath, she slackened her grip. "So are you actually, uh..." she swallowed hard before attempting to continue. "You're the man that Jack and Brennan say you are?"
His gaze faltered, but only for a moment before he shifted back into an emotionless self. As he clenched his jaw, the scarred, tattered, raised skin of the right side of his face flexed, almost as if he was angry she'd even ask. The answer was simple. It was always so simple to him.
"Yes."
The apartment was empty. Not in the same way where no one is home, but rather completely stripped of all furniture. Any trace of her was gone.
Charlie and Isaac (or was it Christopher?) stared at one another in the kitchen of his apartment. Three days prior, she'd finally moved in with him after weeks of his practically begging her.
She dropped her hand from her ear, a call from her brother and Temperance. It happened so quick; one moment they'd been on his couch, he'd been showing her just how much he appreciate her finally moving in with him on seemingly short notice, and in the next moment, she was getting information spit into her ear that changed the dynamics of her entire life.
"Christopher Pelant?"
Charlotte's eyes brimmed up with tears, threatening to spill over with a sobbing breath. He couldn't discern if the look she gave was anger, confusion, or pure heartbreak, so he'd decided on all three. The person he'd kept from her came back at full force. While meeting her was no coincidence; at first it was about using her to get to her brother, and then the rest of the team, and that's how it played out, but slowly but surely he learned bits and pieces of her life that he found he loved. Of course it had always been his plan to reveal himself to her, he never expected it to be this sudden.
He hoped she could understand it all now.
This point, this single call, the truth. It all brought the couple to where they were now in Charlie's car. Rather a new version of Charlie that Isaac—no, Christopher— had already created for her. She didn't know what he had planned now, but she knew she would either live to send the end of it or she wouldn't.