Another day in Temperance Brennan's life was coming to the end. But this day differed from the others. It was Christmas Eve - the night before a magical celebration, full of joy, happiness and smiles. And it was tended to spend it amidst close people, friends and folks. So, the team from Jeffersonian Anthropology Unit decided to gather in their favorite nice place called "the Founding Fathers", where they were used to celebrate something special.
"And let everything be as we want!" Hodgins said solemnly, getting up from his seat, holding a glass filled with expensive champagne; "Here's to us!"
"To us!" repeated the rest.
The hall became loud, sinking in laugher and ludicrous anecdotes. It began to snow outside, large white flakes were falling from the almost night sky to the wet asphalt, but there was no wind, so the weather could be called truly wonderful, match for the upcoming holiday.
"How's amazing to meet here. Not frequently, unfortunately, but soulful. Isn't it?" Angela said to Brennan and smiled. They leaved their company just for a while and stood next to the bar to talk tête-à-tête, without excess men ears.
"I suppose, you're right. Although, usually I don't prefer all this turmoil," she answered and touched her glass; "Do you still believe in magic?"
"Partly. Actually, it's so breathtaking to believe in something unexplainable and desirable. For instance, I adored Santa in my childhood, so now Jack and I try to do our best to make Michel-Vincent believe in magic, too. And what about you? Oh, wait, let me guess: you're saying something scientific and super clever."
"You'll be surprised, but no, I am not. I did believe, except that, at a very young age," she shrugged; "When our fantasy plays to the fullest and we all want to live in our own different world. And later I understood there're no miracles. Everything is explainable, one way or another, and that one that humanity can't realize doesn't mean it's impossible to find out. But Booth is on the contrary," she grinned and looked at her favorite man who was sitting with a Santa's hat and telling hilarious stories everyone who would listen him; "You know, sometimes he still reminds me a child."
"All men are like this, darling," her friend agreed; "Most of them. They don't miss the chance to be kids again, but maybe it's good. Face it, they make our lives brighter. Besides, they're clear like opened book and you always know what you should expect."
"Then I suggest we drink to men," Brennan lightly hit her glass about Angela's and took a sip; "Not to everyone, of course, but only to those who deserve it."
"Listen," Montenegro continued, pushing her to the side gently; "Do not consider my question stupid, because it's not even mine, I saw it in the Internet."
"Do you understand that after these words I'm subconsciously going to count it stupid?"
She got confused for a few seconds, but then she asked:
"What would you wish if you knew it would come true, but only for three days?"
"Three days?" 'Bones' laughed; "It's silly, sorry. But okay, let me think."
Good booze and relaxing atmosphere melted the ice dome of her heart, and she decided to continue the conversation, not to change the subject, previously having commented on such a ludicrous naivety.
"So, I have no borders for my desire, correct?"
"Yes. Except time."
"And everything will disappear after?"
"Exactly. But life is going on, and people will remember about it."
Temperance frowned, musing, and bit her bottom lip. She was looking somewhere deep into the polished bar rack, but suddenly began to smile mysteriously:
"Just promise me you won't count me crazy," it was look like she finally found what to answer; "You may laugh as long as you want."
"Okaaay," Angela came closer, burning in curiosity; "Go on. I swear."
"In general... No, forget, it's absurd," she waved her hand and chortled.
"Please, I'm begging you! You know me, you can fully rely on me."
"I wish I..." Brennan sighed, slapped on the table with her palm and dropped her eyes. She got to regret it, but now she has no choice but to finish the sentence; "I wish I would like to be Pelant for a while."
Montenegro started coughing because of amaze, having choked with air. It took her breath away. But she tried to concentrate and could ask why she wants to morph into the psycho.
"For scientific purposes only, surely," Temperance felt herself trapped. She probably shouldn't have talk too much, it multiplied her concerns; "Although, I sincerely hate him, no criminal has seemed to me as interesting and strange as he yet. And there's no way to get to know someone better than to get into his head, but he doesn't let Sweets down to himself, he's afraid of him."
"He's a sick genius. And the focus is on both words at the same time. But you're absolutely right: we can't imagine what's happening into his mind. To be honest, I'm a bit scared to think about it. But I have to admit that in the event of the theoretical impossible success it would twist everything. In a good sense. He would stop being a pain in our necks."
"Just please, don't tell Booth, he might misunderstand me," 'Bones' smiled, forcing herself not to laugh, and turned back with kindness and caring into her bright eyes. And she caught his return glance on herself, so relaxed, but still confident, soothing.
"I won't let you down, sweetheart. I don't want him to suspect you in some strange interest in Pelant. So, here's to unreal dreams," Angela finished her speech, blinked and raised her glass again.
As a friend, she was glad to see that Brennan dared to share with her something so personal, even if it's a little odd. However, like the rest of the people, she - Temperance - had every right to dream about everything her soul would want, because there's a part of human happiness: the ability to dream, truly or superficially.
The spacious apartment with a very rich furnishings and high ceilings was filled with silence, diluted only with a quick and almost never-ending keyboard clicking. Christopher Pelant - the man who combined polo and elegant jacket on him - sat behind the desk and looked at the bank of video screens. As usually, he was browsing the Web, connecting to unsecured servers, inserting himself into phone conversations and reading peoples emails - he preferred to entertain himself this way, to spend his time left between his legal work and somebody's murders. He knew perfectly well about today's celebration, without Christmas trees, garlands and all this stuff, and he tried not to pay attention to it once again.
On the central monitor, the largest one, there was a broadcast from security cameras in "the Founding Fathers". There was no sound on the recording, but there also was absolutely no need for it, because only a complete fool wouldn't catch the atmosphere of joy, warmth, comfort and satisfaction reigned there. Pelant almost could hear all these disgusting happy voices, irritating laugher and smiles he hated.
He grabbed the bottle of Italian wine which had been standing in the kitchen cabinet for years and got its pleasant tartness. Having poured a glass and took a mouthful, Christopher quickly realized that it would affect him too much if he'd overdoes with the amount, but he didn't care about such things, he didn't want to think about next day, about everything. He was looking at Temperance without stopping, and his sight was going more and more turbid with every single sip. He drank seldom, and almost never he drank so much, but he couldn't restrict himself this time. And one insane thought has flown into his tipsy mind, a dream: to become Brennan at least for a while, to discover how it feels to be needed for someone. How it feels to know that you're respected, inspiriting, even despite your complicated personality. All Pelant's problems lied in his inward contradiction: he wanted to become normal at heart, to have friends and family, maybe, but besides, he stepped on his own toes and burned the bridges he built. He was a total recluse for living, a spoiled boy who's always used to get what he wants and make his sick fantasies come true, and it completely explained his behavior. It was difficult to judge Christopher for his ferocious deeds in the moral point of view, because his mind did really work a little back to front that was officially diagnosed, but it didn't diminish his danger for society.
But nothing stopped him from dreaming about something impossible and unbelievable on Christmas Eve. He had spent hours this way, staring at cold blinking monitors, until the bottle of vine got emptied by a third and its contents didn't cause pleasant relaxation throughout the body. And then he determined it would be better to finish and go to bed, naively believing that tomorrow it would be easier. Easier to accept reality.
In contrast to Christmas Eve, everybody stayed home in Christmas Day. Houses were decorated magnificently: mistletoe wreathes, wide ribbons, bows, golden bells - these traditional little things created the atmosphere of the holiday. The lights of the garlands blinked with different colors on the trees and facades, the thematic figures of deer and snowmen delighted everyone who gave a sight. And there was a soft light in each window, there were voices, smiles.
Booth donned a spiffy shirt, family cufflinks, and Brennan put on a dark-olive dress to the knees. Her hair was arranged with a volume at its roots, slightly curled locks fell on her shoulders covered with a cape.
The table was laid in accordance with traditions; a tall adorned Christmas-tree took its place in the corner of the living room. Beneath, in shiny and rustling packages, there were the gifts bought with all trepidation languished: a new car DVR for him and a fashionable scarf made of real silk - for her. The TV worked as a background, another New Year's film was played, but both Brennan and Booth were much more pleasant to enjoy each other's company and expensive semi-sweet wine. Temperance found herself thinking that she's imbued with the spirit of Christmas for the first time in many years, just like in her childhood. She looked at Seeley with loving, enchanted eyes, and understood she wouldn't be able to live her life without him, that she needs him. And she knew: now he was feeling the same.
Pelant wasn't used to associate the main winter's celebration with something good. For him, this day doesn't separate from the others - he consoled himself, anyway. But there was still nasty within his soul, and it made him mad that he couldn't get rid of it. He couldn't even find any distractions: banners, reminders and advertisements like: "Don't forget to buy presents! Make your folks happy!" chased him everywhere. Besides, he felt himself surprisingly briskly after yesterday. Due to the fact he used alcohol hardly ever, his pancreas and liver founded a fantastic alliance to avoid the worst consequences, and, to be honest, it was hard to count a third of the bottle a dangerous dose. It was look like a warming up. Unfortunately. Because Christopher had hoped that maybe sickness would force him to switch. But there was an exit, quite obvious: to drink more. The idea enlightened him late afternoon, when he has spent all day doing absolutely nothing, and he found it so perfect that the bottle of wine got emptied up to a quarter by midnight, and alcohol affected his mind so hard that it has become impossible to control the situation.
From now on, there were no plans surfaced, instead some surrealistic pictures, similar to true dreams. Persons, emotions, words - all mixed up in one strong knot which wasn't possible to unravel. Pelant reached his bed, trying not to stumble upon something and not to break his head critically about the corner - everything was cloudy in front of his eyes.
But despite all this mess inside his head, he suddenly recalled his fugitive desire to become another person for a little, in the literal sense. To morph into somebody else, to change personality, keeping his own mind. To go beyond the impossible, in other words. He fell asleep with these thoughts.
Brennan felt like her skin was burning when the strong, sturdy body lowered on her. Her cheeks were blazing, the grey eyes couldn't stop astonishing these wide shoulders, these muscles, even the scars. They were a bitter reminder of the cruelty of war, of its stupidity and tragedy, but they also emphasized the resilience and bravery that Booth had a lot. Seeley covered her softly, carefully, pitting their foreheads against each other, and then connected their lips in a passionate kiss. He was contouring every bend of her naked frame with his hands and wondering how did he deserve this happiness, why did she choose him amidst the rest.
"Hey," she distanced herself reluctantly and hugged his face with her palms to make him focus on her; "Have you made a wish?"
Booth was so unwilling to talk, that he didn't switch instantly. With a heavy sigh, suffering from impatience, he had to held himself:
"Yes, I have," he smiled and leaned so close that she could recognize all the depth of his charming eyes; "And I can advise you to do the same, if you haven't done it already. It's about midnight."
"I don't believe in magic, you're informed," Brennan touched his back. She almost whispered it and gazed at him in uncertainty: she wanted him to begin to pursue her, but at the same time she wasn't going to change her mind. Seeley felt as she bended her knees much more and threw her legs over his lumber, having crossed her ankles.
"But you won't loose anything if you try."
She was up to answer, but Seeley interrupted her with another kiss, displaying perfectly clear that he's done with discussions. And then, before to gave herself fully to him, Temperance listened to his words and and repeated the desire inwardly one more time. She didn't hope for a miracle, of course, but it got warmer within when she gingerly believed just for a moment in something nonexistent, without asking for proofs.
Pelant woke up after a deep sleep because of feeling that someone's lips have touched his cheek. He smiled satisfied and murmured something indistinctly: in his interrupted dreams he was being kissed by Temperance Brennan. Talking ahead, he felt a light weakness and willing to stay in the bed instead of a headache and an unbearable drought. But he excused it: probably, he hasn't fully recovered yet.
"Good morning, darling," there was a low men voice that made Christopher shudder in horror and open his eyes: Boоth was standing above him, holding a tray with the cup of coffee, and he was smiling kindly.
The criminal noticed he wasn't being at his home. But he had already seen this room before... It was easy to recall: Booth's and Brennan's house, their bedroom. Pelant pulled in with fear and stared at the agent amazedly, not moving and still hoping that all this mix-up must be just a nightmare, a drunk nonsense. He stared doubting the quality of wine that he drained a lot yesterday, almost a full bottle.
But, unfortunately, these thoughts disappeared quickly. Seeley was putting the tray down, when Pelant twitched carelessly, because of what a hot coffee spilled on his hands, having caused extremely painful burning.
And he didn't wake up...
He hissed, shouted and removed his hand automatically, putting it over his mouth: his voice. It was... female. Not only female, but so damn similar to Temperance's.
"I'm sorry, sorry, sorry," Booth hurried to apologize, moving the tray aside. He felt himself extremely ashamed and confused, as he didn't realize such a strange reaction from the woman he loved. Especially, taking into account their magnificent last night.
Pelant didn't say a thing, he just sighed, having forced himself to smile, although his smirk was look like a fake grin, and dropped his eyes, still striving to find a logical explanation of what's going on. However, it was hard to find an adequate interpretation of the presence of such a large breast in the male. He bulged his eyes, staring intently at the so-called man of his life.
"Wait a second ... " the only phrase he could squeeze out of himself, trying with all his might not to scream at the top of his lungs.
He flew out of bed and rushed to the bathroom full-speed, ignoring any questions from bewildered Seeley, closed the door, locked it frantically and stood before a mirror: Brennan looked at him in all her glory: beautiful, slim, with dark hair to the shoulders. With only one light nightgown on her body to the middle of the thigh. The mouth was opened in terror, and wide gray eyes viewed with horror through the reflection.
"Impossible ..." he whispered, touching the face and the body fearfully.
Then he suddenly felt something that he hadn't experienced all his conscious life - warm tears on his cheeks. And he got afraid of it: he couldn't control this inner hysteria. Despite his consciousness was completely preserved, for some reason the female body hasn't obeyed him, and tears began to drip down into a velvet mat near the sink, washing away the makeup left from yesterday, and his voice began to break in desperate cries, so he could only shut the mouth with his hand, rougher this time, knelt onto the floor and force himself to breathe as deeply as he could, just to calm down.
Temperance opened her eyes and stretched out lazily in the bed. Being encompassed by unforgettable memories from yesterday, today she was waiting for the same. But morning, contrary to her expectations, turned out completely different.
Her head ached wildly, came apart at the seams, and her throat was so dry that she couldn't say a sound. It felt as if she had drunk a few liters of disgusting cheap booze in one gulp yesterday without even snacking. Touching her cheek, she suddenly gasped, frightened by the incomprehensible feeling of stubble on her face, and looked at the palms - these hands, rough, male hands, didn't belong to her. It took a few seconds to get extremely nervous, almost panicking.
Brennan jumped out of bed and grabbed the wall at first: she was wobbly and about to loose her balance. Turning around feverishly, not recognizing anything, she frightened more every second: she woke up in someone else's house, in someone else's bed, moreover she was all alone, which couldn't but lead to final horror in itself:
"Booth..." as the voice appeared, she screamed, shutting her mouth: she knew perfectly well who was the owner of such a pleasant timbre, however, she aspired to the last that everything was some kind of misunderstanding or even a dream. A sort of nightmare, caused by recent obsessive thoughts.
She took a look down to the floor, and barely kept herself on her feet, not fainting: the body clearly didn't belong to her. Moreover, the body clearly didn't belong to any woman, which could be judged with confidence by the characteristic narrowness of the hips, the absence of mammary glands, and also by the presence of another distinctive organ, which was extremely indecent to talk about.
Brennan didn't navigate in an unfamiliar house at all, as she was rushing back and forth along the huge estate, peeked into every room to find a mirror, anything she could look in, and the result didn't make her wait for long. Having turned across the shoulder, she saw Pelant with his eyes wide opened, with his hair disheveled after sleep. And she was like got frozen: everything was falling apart within so hard that a mental pain was almost morphing into a physical one, but she couldn't do anything. Neither to shout, nor to cry, - she could only gawk at the reflection of him... of herself. And muscles were like bound, and the face didn't show any emotions, except that terrible composure with a hint of anger.
However, the feelings were so strong that the organism couldn't cope with them: the stomach suddenly twisted, an unbearable nausea rose to the throat. Temperance only had time to step into the bathroom and bend over the toilet, before she throw up either on nervous soil or from yesterday's drinking.