Leave of Absence

Chapter One:

Still dressed in his fatigues, Booth felt ridiculous hovering outside in the hallway. One day he'll be smart enough to choose a career that didn't require a uniform. And how he had gotten himself in trouble before things had yet to begin was a true testament to what big of a circus the whole situation was. He hated circuses, even when they didn't have clowns… which was debatable at this point. The part of him that had just taken off on an airplane to the other side of the globe with Bones was already regretting his decision to go through with this. He should have never approached that Green Beret and at the inevitable moment when the kid approached him, he should have said to tell Uncle Sam to find some other sucker. He had already served his country and wasn't gonna buy what they were trying to sell.

Man, he really was a dumb fuck sometimes.

A cadet passed by him for the third time – Booth was started to think that he was sent to keep an eye on him – when he stopped. "He's really not someone I'd keep waiting, Sir." he advised, motioning to the door. Booth gave him a sharp look, and the private quickly snapped to attention before giving him a salute.

"Go," Booth commanded, internally observing how easily his 'army tone' came back to him. He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that either. Though for arguments sake, he knew that Bones would point out that is wasn't that far off from the inflection he uses when ordering her squints around. (Not that they are mine, they are all highly qualified individuals employed at the Jeffersonian.)

Thinking he should probably be more concerned at hearing her voice in her head considering his track record for that sort of thing, Booth took a deep breath and knocked on the solid oak door in front of him.

"Come in."

Persons in positions of power always say 'come in' Booth noted idly. It signified to whoever was on the outside that they were too busy (with more important things to do was implied) to be bothered with wasting their precious time to cross the room and open it themselves. This was in addition to stating the claim and feeding their egos that they were to be respected enough to have a closed door in the first place. Both circumstances had to be present for the 'come in' directive. Those only with the first circumstance normally didn't remember to shut their door or if they did, the outsider gave a short knock before walking right on in. The acknowledgement that they were allowed to come in wasn't needed.

The man that had spoken was seated behind an equally solid oak desk. He had a full head of graying hair and a pair of reading glasses perched in front of light brown eyes as he studied the folder propped on his knees. Despite being in his late fifties, youth still clung to his features in distinguished grace. His army dress uniform gave him an air of dignity but Booth knew that he held the same decorum in gym shorts and a t-shirt.

After closing the door, Booth stood at a position of rest with his back straight and his arms clasped firmly behind him. "You demanded my presence, Sir."

"Take a seat, Sergeant Major." The man said, choosing to look over Booth's unwise choice of using the word demand. He waited for Booth to take up residence in one of the two club chairs in the room before continuing. "Are you going to present a problem for us?"

"That depends, do you mean us as in you and the Secretary of Defense or us as in the United States of America as a whole… Sir."

Taking his glasses off and rubbing his eyes, the man resisted the urge to groan. "A simple yes would have sufficed."

"My apologies. Yes, I will definitely be a problem if I continue to be treated like a private fresh off my first day of boot camp." Booth shifted in his chair. "Request for permission to speak freely, Sir."

The man behind the desk laughed. "Please, I'm dying to hear it."

"I didn't ask for this, Oscar. In fact, I recall you having one of your minions hunt me down in the middle of broad daylight while I was doing my job. Then you and your golf buddies over at the pentagon went on to strong arm the Director of the FBI into giving me the option of either being fired or complying to this plan you've concocted. Kudos by the way, whatever you had on Cullen must have been good because he isn't an easy one to push around. So, what I'd really love to know is why you're the man sitting behind the desk while my ass is being shipped off to the desert."

"Barbra has lymphoma and I've never been one for golf."

All the air that had been building up inside Booth for the past few days left in him a whoosh. Although there was still a long list of them to go, a lot his questions had just been answered. Booth had always liked Oscar Devoir, not only as his commander but also as a friend. He knew that for Oscar to want to pull him off his job, especially in the way that he did, that whatever was going on had to be important. Devoir was a First Sergeant for many years before becoming a Captain and Booth's chief skills instructor at ranger school. He is a fierce patriot and the best teacher and mentor Booth had ever served under. Nothing short of his wife would have torn him away from the hands-on region of training. What Booth wanted to know now was why was Oscar choosing him as his predecessor?

And there was the fact that Barbra had cancer and no one thought to mention it to him. Strike one for being a dumb fuck, strike two for not staying in better touch for the man he owed his FBI career to. Barbra Devoir was this high spirited, invincible force in his mind. She would boss the big, gruff military men around as if they were witless school children. It was hard to imagine her sick. "I… that's crazy." Even as he spoke, Booth knew that he sounded like an imbecile and no words he could say would be adequate enough. "When?"

"It's been touch and go for a few years now. I switched over to the administrative side as soon as she was diagnosed. Everyone's been very understanding."

"How are you holding up?"

Devoir glanced at the picture of his wife on his desk, a lovely blonde with laugh lines crinkled in the corner of her eyes and a care free smile with her arms wrapped around their three adult children. "Not that it matters, but I'm rolling with the punches. Sometimes when I'm wondering the halls of the hospital at two in the morning do I wish I was back at the school? Sure. However, that's only because I feel so useless here. I wish I could be doing more, strategizing. Trying to fight an enemy inside the body is a hell of a lot harder than tracking even the elusive of men." He smirked, "And every now and again I have the urge to yell at a squad of jarheads to let off some steam."

"That's what I have squints for." Booth quipped back before growing serious. "How is she?"

Devoir gave him a look that said they were unquestionably discussing the squint comment and all that it implied later. "A lot tougher than us for damn sure. Barbra is… Barbra. She's been using this 'time off work' as she calls it to refine her cooking skills and write a manual on how to be a military wife. When she does get down, the kids come out in droves. Shelly, our youngest, has been amazing."

"A doctor, right?"

"Pediatric Cardiac Surgeon," he said with pride. "She's put her practice on the back burner to stay with Barb when I have to be dragged in here."

Booth started to stand. "Let's wrap this up then. You need to go home to your wife and frankly it's been far too long since I've told her hello."

Devoir laughed. "Nice try. She's vacationing in Hawaii with the grandkids, though she would have gotten a kick out of seeing you. She has been really good for the past few months both praying that this time remission will hold, which has allowed me to concoct the plan that I've been working on." He tossed the leather bound folder he had been looking at into Booth's lap.

As the folder settled, apprehension dipped into the pit of Booth's stomach. He had already signed away his life to that army once without reading the fine print to know what awaited him. He didn't plan on making that same mistake twice. "Oscar, you know that I trust your abilities as an operations leader and I'd be the first to put my life in your hands."

"I'm sensing a but coming."

"Bingo," he clapped. "My gut is telling me that whatever this is, I've only heard the tip of the iceberg. You can't throw a position of Sergeant Major at me without my antenna going up. And the last I heard, the military didn't take people with flat feet much less a brain tumor."

"Standard army operating procedure is to throw fancy titles at you when they are trying to get what they want." Devoir said, gesturing to the nameplate on his desk declaring his promotion to Major. "Also you're being hired for the muscle, I'm the brains."

Holding up the folder, Booth was adamant. "Funny, but we're not discussing the particulars of the assignment until I get an agreement signed, sealed, and notified first. I want an iron clad guarantee that if anything happens to: Parker Booth, my son or his mother, Rebecca Stintson, the little old ladies at the home haven't strangled Pops yet so Hank Booth, or Dr. Temperance Brennan then I'm gone no questions asked."

"You know that they are already clauses for family emergencies."

"I'm serious, Oscar. My ass isn't hitting the sand unless I have a contract signed by you, Secretary of Defense, Sam Cullen, me, and Prosecutor Caroline Julian. I'm talking air right. Anything that I deem as an emergency happens to those four people, assignment over… no special cases, black ops delays, twenty-four hour rule… I'm gone."

"I'll have it drawn up," Devoir relented. He let a few moments go by for the tension to pass. "Well I guess you've won me the argument with Barb that your one of the main characters of her favorite series. Thanks."

The words fell from his lips on automatic reflex. "Bones and I are just partners."

"Booth, take advice from a man that has been married for thirty four years, the women folk usually prefer endearments like sweetheart, baby, honey, gorgeous, you can get away with bunny too if you're Australian. I don't think I'll ever meet a woman that swoons when you call her parts of a skeleton, even one who works and writes about them."

Grinning, Booth refrained from telling Devoir that Bones doesn't believe in marriage, would slam a door in his face if he called her honey, and does indeed enjoy his own personal endearment… though she'd never admit it out loud. But he knew – he could tell by the look in her eyes – and that was enough for him. "Bones is far from any woman you've ever met. Ye have little faith, my charm is still flawless. The name doesn't bother her in the slightest. You don't know her like I do."

"Of course I don't, I'm not her 'partner'" Devoir had the audacity to air quote the word. "However, I do know a bit about her. I do know that you left the base cowboy style less than twenty four hours after you got there to see Dr. Temperance Brennan of the Jeffersonian Institute, Micro-Medical Lab Department off at the airport. I do know that she boarded flight number 47101 to Indonesia where she will arrive in on the main island of the North Maluku Providence, Halmahera at approximately 1700 hours tomorrow. I do know she will then travel to the nearby island of Bacan where she is the lead on an anthropological dig for the American Anthropological Alliance. The security escorts on the dig are ex marine Liam Whitlock and former Tentara Nasional Indonesia officer Dimas Gunawan. I have your copies of their backgrounds here," he said, indicating to a small stack of manila folders to the left of his computer. "I also do know that Dr. Brennan held the plane for forty five minutes until you got there. This is in addition to me knowing that she met personally with the Secretary of Defense to instruct him that if any grave harm should befall on you in Afghanistan that she is to be contacted immediately."

Booth was stunned. Oscar had really done his homework. It let him breathe easier about his trip. Funnily enough, out of everything he said, he was the least surprised by the fact that Bones had instructed (which he knew really was more like demanding and blackmailing) the Defense Secretary. He was also just a little turned on by it, but those were nice thoughts to mull over later. Coughing to stifle his laughter, Booth scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah, I would suggest that you tell the SoD to follow through with that request. Bones can get crabby when she's left out of the loop."

Devoir wanted to point out that Booth was completely smitten with the lady doctor, boy did he have it bad. But, they were army men… not gossiping women at the salon. Nevertheless, he was happy for him. He had known Booth long enough to know that he wasn't going to accept what was coming easily. Especially if he felt that his loved ones weren't being cared for. Devoir had spent days organizing background information on the bone doctor and Booth's young son. He wasn't a great strategist without merit. He always knew just when to lay his cards out on the table.

He nodded to the folder Booth still held on to. "Open it, Sergeant Major."

Stark black and white text stared back at Booth. A severe red seal winked at him from the corner of the first page. "Oscar…" he warned, "this isn't special forces. This isn't even black ops."

"No son, it's Omega 17."

Eekk! I should not be starting another story, but the finale would not leave me alone. It was fic idea heaven. Alias fans have a heads up on the omega remark, the rest of y'all… *evil laughter* So worth continuing? I'd love to hear y'alls thoughts.