Major disclaimer: Most of the places and names in this story are real, but the people are not. For convenience, I have moved some buildings around, pretended buildings that were constructed a few years later are present in my "current" time-period for the story, and, for places I have never actually been into or around, I have made up what they look like.
Author's Note: I have finally decided, like Needles, to move my setting to my setting, my home turf. My streets, my town, and lovely, druggy, meth-and/or-pot-head citizens (kidding). The vast majority of the places are, like I said above, real, some I've walked in or through many many times. Now you, like me, can have the northern Cali experience, written by a native.
At any rate, we are set second season, in September of 2006, right around Shroud but before Game. Take a moment to refresh what the season was like in terms of relationships and character development at that time.
Warning to anyone who has never read one of my fics: Very little fluff, no B/B, and heavy emphasis on the case aspect. Also, my angst "bunny", formally known as Caustic, is likely to get loose and go on a rampage. But I try my best to keep everything in canon, so if you liked the second season, you should like this.
Enough of my blabbering. It's time to start.
--
The Woman in the Pit
--
An uncertain shaft of sunlight broke through its cover of stained cotton clouds, briefly illuminating a lab table and its occupant before choking out again. The building itself was quiet, the early morning ensuring relative peace before other employees started to arrive.
The woman at the lab table glanced up at the sudden light, staring through a skylight at the moody sky. Rain was threatening, but it wasn't like the signaling of red flags and war generals; rather, it was like a waiter hovering over the last occupied table in a restaurant, the rest of the staff having already gone home for the night. Not subtle, but not astringent either.
Her eyes traveled downward again and she gingerly traced the edges of a piece of ivory before popping it back into its former position on the skull that had held her attention since midnight of this morning. Breathing a sigh of relief, she flipped open a file, peeled off her now sticky gloves, and reached for a pen, pulling off the cap with her teeth. She scribbled notes, flipping between pieces of paper and copying things that needed to be copied. Her hand began aching after a few minutes of work, and her eyelids were slowly sliding down. Sighing, she slid the pen behind her ear and shut the file, holding it to her chest as she rose. She transferred it to her teeth and picked up the sandbox in which the skull rested with both hands before quickly making her way down the stairs and off the forensic platform.
"Need any help, Dr. Brennan?" the voice of Roberts, one the security guards, offered.
She looked over at him but shook her head, mumbling a muffled 'thank you' through the file.
He nodded and she continued to her office.
Once she reached it, she set the skull's box on her coffee table, removed the file from her mouth, and placed it on her desk. Then she sighed. After standing there for a few moments, knowing she should fill out the rest of the file but having no desire to do so, she picked it up again and walked to her couch, dropping into it. Her pen slipped from behind her ear and she caught it, pressing it to the paper with purpose. Her mind told her fingers to move the pen, but they didn't and after some time her eyes refused to stay open. Involuntarily, she felt her body relax and the sounds of her brain lulling into silence. She fell asleep.
There were odd noises coming from somewhere to her right. It was muffled at first, but then it sort of sounded like hollow roaring. Then it silenced, and she peaked open an eye to see why.
Her office was dark, shades having been drawn over her window and doors, which were shut tightly. Slowly, and with great protest from her lower back, she rose and trudged to the drawn shades to shift aside a small corner of fabric. Outside, the lab was in full bustle, the cubicles around the forensic platform filled with blue lab coats. There were scientists moving along walkways, wheeling tables or carrying small vials or boxes, and there was a small group of cops around one particular station. They were handed whatever it was they wanted before promptly leaving. She grinned to herself at the looks exchanged between the scientists before they shook their heads and returned to their work.
Yawning, she stepped back from the doors, allowing the shades to slip back into place. As long as her office was shielded from everyday lab life, she could, theoretically, be able to go back to sleep. For once, mind agreed with body, and she walked around to her couch and plopped into it, still able to feel the warmth from her previous nap. She was just oozing back into into the little nook between pads when the quiet was suddenly invaded by outside sounds.
"Bones?" a sing-song voice called.
She exhaled and squished herself into the pad, hoping it would give the illusion that she was actually still asleep.
"Bones?"
She leveled her breathing.
"You know, I saw the curtains move from inside the office," his voice seemed to be moving closer. "I know you're awake."
Dammit.
"Come on, lazy Bones, up an' adom." Her eyelids squeezed together as light invaded the room. "The day calls." There was a plop by her feet and she could feel his leg touching her knee. "Booonnneeeessss."
With a groan that spoke of every second of whatever sleep she had just lost, she sat up, opening her eyes again. The sight that greeted her was Seeley Booth—a cheery and awake Seeley Booth—with a genuine, albeit evil, grin on his face, and a file in his hands. Oh no. She was not dealing with either of the issues in that statement just now. She fell back into her couch pads.
"Oh, Bones, you can sleep on the plane." He grinned down at her. "Though I can't guarantee it would be any more comfortable than the couch, but..."
"What?" from her down position she tried to grab his file, but he easily moved it out of reach. "Why would I be sleeping on a plane?" she already could guess why, but was hoping she was wrong.
"Director Cullen got a call, he passed it down the grapevine, and it landed on my desk. It's your lucky day, Bones, we get to go to California."
She sighed, "Doesn't that state have a single coroner?"
His face morphed into one of faux horror, "The great Temperance Brennan is willing to pass off her job to a mere coroner?"
"Admittedly, they don't have the training I do, but..." she paused. "Where in California?"
"Um," he opened his file and glanced inside. "Grass Valley."
"I don't know where that is."
"It's up in the Sierras."
"Near Chico?" she said, her voice twisting into one of disbelief. "There are three forensic anthropologists there. It's one of the few universities in the country where one can obtain his doctorate in the field."
"His?" he repeated. "What's with the sexism?"
"Grammatically, it's proper to use the male sex when referring to either sex."
"That doesn't seem right."
"Then contact the MLA or something," she closed her eyes.
"Funny," he said, despite the fact that he didn't laugh. "But come on, Bones, we have to..."
"No," her eyes flew open again. "Didn't you hear me? There are other forensic anthropologists there. They should be the ones to handle the case."
"Yeah, well, apparently they're all out on a dig in Argentina. Won't be back for a few months." The grin was back on his face, "And you were requested specially."
She released an irritated breath. "I do have other things that demand my attention, you know."
"We've been working together for over a year now, and Goodman is still on sabbatical so, you know, he can't mediate our disputes anymore. And besides, a few Limbo cases against a real life murder—no competition."
"All lives have equal importance, at least according to what you believe," she had the urge to sit up and argue with him face-to-face, but her stubborn streak held out, and she didn't move. "Which contradicts what you just said."
"Come on, Bones, can't we just skip the technicalities and Webster definitions?"
"I don't know what that means—"
"Oh, look at you two, bickering like an old married couple," a smooth voice cooed from the doorway and Brennan pursed her lips but didn't move. "And it's only nine o'clock. Must be a new record," Angela Montenegro stepped into a view, grinning as evilly as Booth. "Did I interrupt something?" a pointed look was directed at Brennan, who was laying flat on her back, and Booth, who was above her.
"No," the anthropologist sat up quickly. "No, you didn't."
"Whatever you say." She focused her attention on the agent, "So what brings you here so early in the morning?"
"We got a call in for a body."
"Then why isn't Bren already frothing to get going?"
"I'm sitting right here," Brennan said.
They ignored her.
"Well, she doesn't want to fly out."
"Ooh. Sounds fun," Angela said. "Where to?"
"California."
"North or South?"
"North."
"Scenic. You two should have fun."
"She doesn't want to go."
"Why?"
"Not sure. Something about other obligations."
"I have other cases!" Brennan exclaimed.
"Ah." She leaned in as if to tell a big secret. "Well, to tell you the truth, I think Cam and Brennan need to put a little space between each other for a little while."
"Still fighting?" he asked.
"We made up!" Brennan cut in.
Angela nodded.
"Fine!" she exclaimed. "I'll go! Happy?"
The artist and the FBI agent exchanged amused looks.
"Ugh," she rolled off the couch, grabbing her warm and comfortable blanket at the same time to fold it slightly more violently that she would have liked. "Incorrigible," she muttered to herself then paused, her eyes searching her coffee table. "Where's the skull?"
"Oh, I took it this morning," Angela said. "File was scattered all over the floor though. You really should stop working before falling asleep, honey."
"It's not like I have any control over it."
"Sure you do." She made to leave, "It's called not bringing the file with you to the couch."
Brennan would've replied, but the artist was gone.
"Angela's right," Booth said, getting up. "So you want to drive to your apartment, pack, and then I'll pick you up in, say, an hour?"
She sighed, "Make it two."
"Sure thing, Bones."
She shot him a sickly sweet smile before he walked out as well.
--
Two and a half hours later, Brennan sat in her apartment, hands hooked loosely around the straps for her overnight bag, as well as a suitcase and a small faux leather bag, the latter of which contained some of her field equipment. She didn't know what to expect as far as supplies went over at the west coast scene, but she had learned over the years that making assumptions about anything work-related invariably led to trouble. And trouble invariably led to either disgruntled cops or uncomfortable questions at trial. Or both. It was a shame she couldn't bring a GPR, just in case.
Her thoughts fragmented, her leg jiggling a rough staccato against her table. Two hours of sleep. It was better to get none then to get so little. But the plane ride to California would be about eight hours, assuming there were no unexpected layovers or weather problems, so she could, in theory, sleep there.
There was a knock on her door and she rose, opening it after glancing through her peep-hole.
"Sorry I'm late," her partner greeted, offering a doughnut still wrapped in its paper sheath. "Turns out most of my lighter clothes were in the wash."
"California isn't going to be that warm this time of year," she said, accepting it and biting down.
"Yeah, well, the cop I spoke to told me to expect weather fluctuations. We don't know how long we're going to be there." He paused, glancing behind her at her bags. "Did you pack light clothes, Bones?"
"Of course. I brought my standard 'I-don't-know-what-temperature-to-expect-so-I'll-just-pack-it-all' wardrobe. "
He smiled, "Cute, Bones."
"I thought so too." She walked over to her bags and slung them over her shoulders. "And besides, if worse comes to worse, there are always clothing stores." She walked back over to him.
"I thought you hated shopping," he said as she shut her door and locked it.
"I do. With Angela. When I shop I go in, and I go out."
"Sounds good to me."
She nodded and took the lead heading down the stairs to the ground floor, all the while munching on her dougnut. It was three stories, but Booth didn't complain about the extra walking. His car was parked in front, illegally, and she shot him a look.
"It was faster," he said in his defense.
She nodded, accepting but not necessarily approving of it, yanking open the passenger-side door and climbing into her seat.
"Don't you want to put your bags in back?" he asked.
In response, she shoved her bags over the console with enough force that they landed on the back seats instead of the floor, keeping her faux leather bag at her feet.
"You feeling okay?"
"Yes," she said. "Just a little tired, that's all."
He gave her a once-over before shrugging and starting the engine, pulling into traffic.
"What kind of seats do we have?" she asked.
"First class. I love flying with you."
"Why?" her brows knit.
"Because when it's just me, I always get coach. When the Jeffersonian flies me and you, I get first class."
"I'm glad you are finding my presence so advantageous."
He smiled and she smiled back.
The rest of the car ride was spent in relative silence as Booth navigated recklessly through traffic. Normally Brennan would've been worried about the possibility of an early demise at her partner's hands, but exhaustion was pulling at her eyelids and she fell into a doze, aware and yet unaware of the blaring of horns and traffic lights that lasted half an eternity. Eventually, the car rocked to a stop and Booth tapped her shoulder.
"What?" she asked when she was lucid.
"Dulles."
Nodding, she opened her car door and stumbled out, grabbing her bag in the process. Once her balance had returned, she opened the back door and took out the rest of her burdens, asking Booth at the same time if he wanted her to take his bags as well. He shook his head and she shut the door, watching as he pulled back onto the main road to begin his search for a parking space. Once he returned, shouldering his own bags, they headed into the airport together.
An hour, and several explanations of the contents of her bags later, the two were rushing to their plane. Almost immediately after they had settled into their seats the pilot announced that the plane was taking off and to remain buckled in their seats. The engine boomed and whined, and abruptly the plane lurched forward to begin its ascent in speed. Outside, the scenery was flashing by, and the faster it went the louder the engines roared until there was an abrupt pull, and there was lift-off. The pressure in Brennan's inner ear increased and she began moving her jaw back and forth until she felt a pop and her hearing returned to full function.
"This is the only thing I hate about planes," Booth complained, pulling a stick of gum from his pocket and inhaling it. He began chewing with a great deal of force, obviously trying to relieve his discomfort.
"It could be worse, Booth," she pointed out. "We could be in coach surrounded by noisy people or even a couple of kids." She paused for a moment, brooding in memories of children incessantly kicking her seat as she tried in vain to fill out case reports or to study her notes for a trial. Or, even worse, the overly chatty neighbor who continually attempted to see or even read what she was doing.
"True," he said. The rate of his chewing slowed.
"So, I feel I've been patient about asking for information regarding the reason my expertise is needed."
"Yes you have, Bones, and I appreciate it," he smiled at her before yanking a briefcase from underneath his seat. "Let's see here..." he opened it and rifled around until he found the object of his search—a small notepad. Flipping through it, he paused on a page and skimmed for a few seconds before speaking, "Well, I didn't get much on context, but Cliffnotes' version—at approximately six o'clock, west coast time, a walker goes off the trail and she literally stumbles upon a body."
"Why did she go off the trail?"
He shrugged.
"Will she still be there to question when we get to the scene?"
He nodded. "She lives nearby, so the locals sent her to wait until we got there."
"Do you know if either her or the responding officers touched anything?"
"Nope."
"So you mean my remains are being left to a bunch of potentially untrained—"
"Bones," he held up a hand, "Relax. I ordered a freeze, alright? Nobody's going to touch anything."
She relaxed without ever having realized she had tensed to begin with. "Anything else?"
"No."
Nodding, she leaned back in her seat while pulling down the lever that would make it recline. "Tell me when we land."
"Think you're going to sleep through the entire flight?" he asked, sounding surprised.
She shrugged, closing her eyes, "I'm tired enough."
He could feel his eyes on her, "Okay, Bones. See you in eight hours."
For the third time that day, she fell asleep.
--
As she had predicted, her exhaustion was sufficient to last until they had almost reached Sacramento International. Upon waking up, she realized that outside it was already night, the glowing lights of the city below glittering like fireflies. Her clock said 8:29. Groaning, she sat up, rubbing her eyes, and felt every brain cell in her skull agree on one unforeseen, yet undeniable truth: she wouldn't be sleeping tonight.
"Evening, Sleeping Beauty," a cheery voice to her left broke in.
"Evening," she muttered, feeling refreshed despite her knowledge of impending insomnia. "We are in California, correct?"
"Yep."
"Landing soon?"
"Yep."
"I see," she yawned and stretched, her hands brushing the ceiling of the plane. When she felt her lower back loosen, she shifted back to her normal posture, swiveling her torso until she began hearing crunching.
"Ouch," Booth said.
She relaxed and looked at him, "It doesn't actually hurt. The popping sound is usually caused by either bubbles in synovial fluid or a build up of scar tissue around a joint."
"Which one for you?"
She shrugged, "Either. Possibly both."
He nodded but she didn't ask if he actually understood what she had said.
"We're about to land in Sacramento International," the intercom announced. "Please take your seats and make sure you're buckled in." He proceeded to thank the passengers for choosing Southwest Airlines and that he hoped they would remember him for most of their flight needs.
Shortly thereafter, the plane dipped and the blinking red and white lights on the runway became closer and more defined. Far away, another plane taxied to a terminal, where she could see people milling about through a few windows. They lurched forward when wheels hit earth, and the engine re-announced itself with a roar. When they had taxied to their terminal and had come to a complete halt, the pilot made another short speech and a cheer came from coach.
"Exciting, eh, Bones?" Booth asked.
"Enthralling," she replied dryly.
After a few more minutes of sitting, which was enough time for Brennan's stomach to begin forcefully reminding her of its needs, they were allowed out. At the waiting area, they quickly made their way through security and headed down to the bag trolley.
"Is anyone meeting us?" Brennan asked, watching bags ooze by.
"I think so," he grabbed for his cell phone. "Watch for my bags, will you?"
She nodded and he walked out the sliding double doors.
The airport wasn't nearly as large as Dulles, but it wasn't tiny either. Spaced around the luggage trolleys were three piers reaching to the ceiling—made entirely of baggage. She walked over to one and examined it. Real baggage. Raising an eyebrow, she looked around some more.
To her right were a few escalators, and behind those were a bunch of small set-ups for cinnamon rolls and the like. Upstairs she had noted that there was a mini food court. It had taken all of her self-control not to run over and purchase a crappy pizza. Now her control had waned, and her stomach was beginning to call the shots.
On cue, her luggage arrived, Booth's miraculously following. She trotted over and grabbed them, stacking each bag on top of the suitcases, then set off in the direction of the cinnamon rolls. She could smell them, almost tasted the sugar on her tongue. Five minutes and four dollars later, she was hungrily tearing into her pastry. Once it was gone, she walked over to the black seats arranged around the luggage trolley, sucking off every last morsel of sugar left on her fork before tossing it.
"Okay, there's two cars coming to pick us up," Booth said as he emerged from the double doors to her right. He dropped into the seat beside her.
"Why two?"
"One's our rental." He looked at her feet. "Thanks for getting my bags, Bones."
She smiled at him.
"At any rate, they'll bring us to our hotel and then give us directions to a restaurant."
"Haven't you eaten already?" she asked, feeling a twinge of guilt for eating her roll before Booth could have a bite.
"Yeah. On the plane."
The guilt vanished.
"But it wasn't all that good, so I am in the mood for some real food now."
"I see."
He glanced around her. "Oh. I think that's them."
She nodded, and they rose and grabbed their things in tandem before walking out.
"Agent Booth?" a man asked, stepping from his car. "Dr. Brennan?"
"Yes," Brennan said, pulling her Jeffersonian ID card from her pocket.
Booth nodded, "You're Officer Dayton?"
"Call me John," he said, then gestured to the man removing himself from a second vehicle. "And this is Sheriff Murray."
"Pete," the sheriff said.
"Pete Murray?" Booth repeated.
"Yeah, I get that a lot," Pete said.
"What?" Brennan asked, looking at her partner.
"He's a singer, Bones."
"Oh."
"Bones?" John said.
Brennan flushed and the policemen glanced at each other.
"So," John said. "I wasn't sure what kind of car you'd wanted, and the dealer recommended this." He jabbed a finger behind him at a blue SUV. "I have one myself. Turns on a dime."
"Thanks," Booth said.
"At any rate, it's about a forty-five minute drive to the hotel. We'll direct you there."
"Where are we staying?" Brennan asked, opening the back door of their new rental car and pushing her luggage over fabric seats. She loaded Booth's while he talked.
"A Holiday Inn," he replied. "It's new and virtually in town. Maybe a five minute walk to a bunch of restaurants, shops, et cetera."
She slammed the door. "Will any restaurants be open by the time we get there?"
"Yes. It'll only be about seven after all," he said. "And the hotel has some food if you get desperate."
She nodded, and they thanked him and separated.
"Want me to drive?" Brennan offered.
"Sure," Booth surprised her by saying.
"Really?"
"Yeah. I'm sort of tired from the flight." He smiled at her, "Unless you don't want to."
"No. I was just surprised." She walked around to driver's side and hopped in.
Once Booth had buckled, the car in front pulled out, and Brennan oozed onto the road behind it. The airport was located behind a few large roads and came off a highway, and by the end of a few turns they ended up at a small security outpost where a toll would be paid. They were waved through after forking over some cash, and ended up on the highway.
Their flight arrival had coincided with the back-end of rush hour, and the traffic about ten minutes in brought them to a standstill. Although Booth commented that he thought that this part of California was rural, Brennan remained nonplussed. After spending two months in India trying to identify victims of an armed struggle between the Muslim and Hindu populations, she had learned what the definitions of snarled traffic and reckless driving really were.
Less than ten minutes later the traffic loosened up enough to allow for a steady speed, and in few minutes they were rolling near the speed limit. They switched highways, drove through a small district which consisted almost entirely of clothing and knick-knack stores, as well as restaurants, and ended up on yet another highway. Once they had passed from the farthest influences of Sacramento, the scenery shifted rather quickly into moderate to heavy forests pierced by the occasional road, sign, or building. Some were lit by an external light source, but most were just dark at the late hour.
On highway 49, which, at the entrance at least, was labeled as Grass Valley Highway, they exited into Grass Valley itself. The Sheriff's car took a right and swung around a bunch of shops before coming to a new-looking Holiday Inn, which had a modestly filled parking lot. Stepping out, Brennan took the opportunity to stretch, her legs feeling cramped after sitting for so much of the day. John joined her as Booth exited the car.
"If you like, you can go check in and drop off your things then go out for dinner. We're only a few minutes walk from the heart of town."
"Sounds good," Booth said. "You agree, Bones?"
She nodded, "Are you going to join us?"
"I actually have a date with my wife tonight," Pete said. "We were going to go out in a little while."
John shrugged, "I have the night free."
"Then why not come with us?" Booth asked. "That way we won't get lost."
"Sure," he smiled.
Pete waved and departed, leaving the partners to unload and walk to the hotel.
Inside, the floor was tiled, but a few feet in a large rug took over. Directly in front was a lounge area with a few couches, which bordered a small area filled with tables and chairs. A fireplace was on the right, and around the walls were glass tables, a few of which were adorned with coffee and tea equipment, as well as two kettles. To the left was the reception desk, which they headed toward.
A blonde woman, whose hair was tied back in a barrette, welcomed them and asked if they had a prior reserved room. They said they did and were given theirs keys. A trip to the elevator and the discovery that their rooms were across from each other later, Brennan and Booth had their luggage in their respective rooms, and were back downstairs, where John met them.
"So, what kind of food you two in the mood for?" he asked.
"What would you recommend?" Brennan asked.
"Well..." he paused. "There's a Thai place down the street, a few Italian places up the hill, and several burger-and-fries sort of joints. If you felt up to more driving, there's an Indian place, a second Thai place, a fish'n'chips..." he continued to rattle things off.
"What's closest?" Booth cut in.
"The Thai place."
"Okay," he nodded. "We'll go there."
Brennan nodded and John assumed the lead as they stepped from the parking lot and hung a left.
"So even out of DC we're eating Thai food?" she asked her partner dryly.
"Well, at least it's not take-out."
"It may end up that way."
"Hm," he paused for a moment. "Good point, Bones."
"We're going to eat it anyway, however?"
"Yes."
She shook her head and looked around.
This segment of town consisted entirely of commercial buildings squeezed between either each other or single-lane roads. Parking lots were found either in back of them or on the other-side of openings large enough to accommodate even large vehicles. The streets were lit by windows or streetlights and the air was only slightly nippy.
"John?" she said. "What sort of weather should we expect tomorrow?"
He stopped and thought to himself. Finally, "Dress lightly."
She nodded.
That concluded talk of the next day for the night.
--
Brennan was up until about two a.m. west coast time before she was able to forcefully diminish brain activity to the point that she could sleep. She woke up at seven, feeling neither refreshed nor tired, and rolled out of bed to greet the day after unsuccessfully trying to go back to sleep. Cracking a shaded window, she noted the honey-colored clouds passing lazily overhead. Her view featured mostly other buildings and, from here, she could also see the highway. Cars were already in commute, making distant whooshing sounds as they passed.
Allowing the shades to slide back, she walked over to her closet and took out her clothing, dressing leisurely. Her necklace du jour was a large beaded affair, hand-painted wood beads of varying colors centered around a large pendant featuring an elephant. Grabbing her scrubs, she slung them over an arm, picked up her scene bag, and rifled through her purse for car keys. Upon finding them, she proceeded out of her room, and walked downstairs and to her rental car, where she set down her burdens, relocked the car, and headed back into the hotel.
Booth met her in the buffet area. "Bones," he said. "Good morning. Sleep well?"
"Eh," she made a noncommittal gesture. "Well enough."
"Slept too long on the plane?" he asked with a grin.
She rolled her eyes and helped herself to a plate of eggs with a large side of fruit.
"Jeez, Bones, they've got bacon and sausage here."
"And do you know what's in bacon and sausage?"
He held up a hand, using the other to tong said foodstuffs onto his plate. "Whatever I don't know, I don't want to find out."
Flashing him a semi-evil grin, she set her plate down on a nearby table and began forking food into her mouth, Booth doing the same across from her.
"Oh," he said after a minute. "Coffee. Do you want coffee?"
She glanced up. "No."
"Sure?" he asked, getting up.
"Yes," she looked back down at her food. "I'm sure."
"Okay." He left her, poured his coffee, and came back. "And Pete called. He'll be out to direct us to the scene in..." his watch-hand came up. "Twenty."
She nodded, "Then let's hurry up and eat."
"Think we'll need a jacket?" he asked.
"No. It's already a little warm. It may be cooler if the body is down several feet, but I don't think you'll be needing layers."
He nodded. "Okay."
Conversation dwindled as the partners steadily worked their way through their respective breakfasts. Brennan was just setting her plate in the drop-off area when Pete appeared at her shoulder.
"Ready to go?" he asked.
She glanced at Booth, who was devouring his last bacon strip.
"I suspect we'll need another minute."
"No. I'm fine," her partner said, quickly getting up and setting down his own plate. "Let's roll."
They walked out.
"So would you like me to drive you or would you prefer to drive?" Pete asked.
"We should drive," Brennan said. "If recovery takes longer than a day, I'd like to know how to get there."
He nodded and opened his car door.
"Am I driving again?" the anthropologist asked Booth.
"Nope," he said. "One time deal."
She rolled her eyes, but took the passenger seat.
Booth started up the engine and watched as the Sheriff pulled out, following him as they headed out. Their destination turned out to be on the other end of Colfax Highway, which meant the trip took about five minutes, enough time for Brennan to slip into her scrubs and stuff her feet into purposefully tight-fitting boots. Once there, Booth parked and stepped outside.
"So this is why it was federal?" Brennan asked.
"Yeah," Booth said. "Someone gets murdered in a state park, the artillery is needed."
"Apparently."
"Yeah," Pete said, walking over, "This is Empire Mine State Park, used regularly by walkers. On normal days, there are horse trailers and dogs everywhere."
"I would have guessed," Brennan said, stepping over the the low rope fence that separated the parking lot from dirt.
Before them was, in essence, a large dirt trail narrowing into a few rusted bars that had probably once served as an entrance gate. Here the ground was scattered with hay and manure, punctured by tire tracks, horse hooves, and paw prints. It was muddy in a few places, telling her it had recently rained despite the current weather, and the soil was loose rather than cracked or dry. Below was a flat trail, bordered by rocks and twigs, which was obviously for the cars driving in.
"It's better to walk," Pete answered her unspoken question. "The trails get pretty narrow and we want to minimize any damage caused by vehicles."
She nodded. "How far in is it?"
"Few miles."
Nodding again, the two set off.
"Wait. A few miles?" Booth said.
"About an hour and a half walk if you're fast," Pete said, his long stride maintaining a constant speed. "It doesn't feel that long though."
Booth fell in step beside Brennan.
"Glad I wore my walking shoes," he said.
"Yes," she replied. "I am too."
They stepped down the path on the other end of the remains of the gate and ended up in a cleared gravel-strewn path. On their left it was forested, a few stone buildings poking out enough to almost catch the morning light.
"Can you tell us anything about this place, Pete?" Brennan asked.
"Well," he ran a hand through his salt'n'pepper hair. "Some. What we're in now is the walking part, but above you can take a tour through one of the safer mines. It's fairly unexciting, just a dank and damp old thing, where a few carts have been restored and are lying on inactive tracks. Around here are what used to be some old homes and further in are a few old buildings. There's also the Bourn house, where one of the most famous miners in this area used to live."
"I see."
They came to the end of the gravel path and were back on dirt, shaded by the needles of large evergreens and a few broad-leafs.
"What I find amusing is that almost everyone I've talked to who lives here as never even been to the main mining areas, only the trails. Visitors on the other hand, always seem to go there instead of here." He chuckled to himself as if it called up funny memories.
There was quiet.
The trail forked after a few minutes, and they continued straight ahead, another crumbled stone building to their left. The trails were surrounded by trees and various other plant life, snarls of blackberry bush creeping up pine trees and tangoing with peach-green vines that looked like they would've supported flowers in earlier months. As they got deeper in, some of the evergreens were replaced by leafy greens, and they were surrounded by color from the boughs' dying leaves. Here and there were splashes of yellow and deep crimson, broken up by patches of green and orange. Eventually, they reached another fork, took the top trail, and ended up on the bottom of a dusty hill.
They marched forward, Brennan's legs straining from the near-vertical incline. Once they reached the top, she was panting quietly, the cool air feeling warm on her skin, but none of them paused in stride. On the right was a ridge of sorts, covered by foliage, and on the left the trail broke away into a straight drop down. Below she could see hundreds of trees, the color dazzling in the early morning light. Eventually the tree cover from above completely blocked out the sun and the air temperature dropped noticeably as they began treading downhill. The view to the right began to resemble a rain forest, a fallen tree leaning against many others of its kind, the tops of oaks and sugar pines beginning to rise taller as they walked lower. At the bottom of the hill, Brennan glanced to her right and saw another near-vertical hill, only this one seemed even more steep.
"Don't worry, Doc," Pete said. "We don't have to tackle that one."
She heard a sigh of relief from her partner and heaved one as well. She was in good shape, but hiking up and down dirt trails was something she hadn't done for many months, and the pace they were walking was trying for her city-spoiled ankles.
They continued straight.
"Wow," she breathed.
"Yes. You came at just the right time."
They were on a small hill overlooking a creek, which was surrounded by oaks blazing in yellow. The evergreens were farther beyond this point, making the area one unbroken patch of yellow. Leaves coated the trees and ground like protective cover, clogging the creek's exit and almost completely obscuring a small bridge that reached from their path to the one on the other side of the creek.
Pete walked to the creek and knelt, cupping some of the water in his hands and drinking it.
"Is it safe to be doing that?" Brennan asked, kneeling beside him.
"Probably not," the sheriff said, shrugging, "But it's the cleanest tasting water I've ever had."
She dipped her own hands into the freezing waters and sipped, relishing the cold liquid as it ran down her throat and cooled her body. Booth did so as well, pouring some of the water down his hair and back.
They rested for a moment, one of Brennan's fingers tracing small pebbles and roots in the silty bottoms.
"Where is the body?" she asked.
Pete pointed along the creek, upstream. "There's a small deer trail up there. It's a little beyond it."
"Is there space to walk along the water?"
He shrugged. "Some. May have to leap over a few of the boggier places but..." he rose. "Other than that it's a straight shot through."
"How far in are we?"
"Almost two miles."
Nodding, she pushed to her feet, wiping the dirt from her fingers on her scrubs, and followed him as he went off the path and ducked under a fallen tree. She slid over it, landing between two rocks and a patch of water, feeling better than she normally would.
"Bones, be careful," Booth's voice came from behind her as he crunched over twigs.
She nodded, stepping from rock to rock and feeling water occasional lap her feet, cutting her pace to assuage him.
"Through here," Pete said a few minutes later, bending back a bough.
Brennan stopped and looked in his direction, joining him after finding a path through the stones.
Revealed beyond the tree was a hardly discernible clearing, more an absence of underbrush then anything. She took the lead, no longer paying attention to the swatches of color that surrounded her; instead, her eyes were trained on something small and green dancing through the air. As she approached she could hear its whine, as well as the whine of all its comrades, and the crunching of leaves under her feet as she came to the object of the flies' attention.
It was a pit, formed between the creek and the gnarled trunk of a massive evergreen, a blackberry bush wrapped around its base. She avoided the latter carefully as she walked to the most accessible entry point and knelt, pulling on latex gloves in the process. Her sheathed fingers pressed into the damp earth as she made her way down between the tree and a ridge of dirt, and she ignored the ants already crawling up the dead leaves, twigs, and soil to greet her.
"Need help, Bones?" Booth called from above.
"No. But once I'm down could you hand me my bag?"
He nodded.
Once she reached the bottom the air no longer smelled of trees. It smelled of earth and water, but over that, with the almost lazy viscosity that it always had, was a sour smell. A smell that caught in her nostrils and stuck to the roof of her mouth, absorbing into her hair and gloved fingers, and bogging down her lungs. She inhaled it shallowly, breathing through her mouth, and knelt, flies slapping into her body and humming around her ears as ants made their way up her boots. She blocked them out, reaching out to touch the pale yellow thing poking from the ground.
It was a skull, devoid of all but the most tenacious remains of flesh. Its orbits were directed toward the sky, the jaw below opened wide. Brennan's finger moved down, caressing the earth, feeling additional bumps where bones were more than likely present. She looked up, "Booth?"
He nodded, sliding her bag down the ridge as far as he could reach. She walked to it and held up a hand. He dropped it and she caught it.
"Thank you."
"No problem."
She knelt again, reaching inside the bag and finding a small brush. She took it to the bones, brushing soil away as she worked her way down, exposing vertebrae. Nodding to herself, she looked up again, absently flicking a few ants from her sleeve.
"Do we have a CSU?"
Pete nodded, "I'll call them in."
Her eyes returned to the skeleton. "Good," she said to herself. "Very good."
It was to be a long day.
--