These Games
AN: So I was up late and found this prompt on Bonesology's Summertime Weekly Fan Fic Challenge and all of a sudden, I started typing. It's short, but it's the first thing that I have been able to come up with in months, so here you go!
The prompt:
Imagine the scene where Brennan is interrogated by the FBI following the events of the Season Nine finale. Drabbles, one shots, multi-chaps all welcome.
The rules:
Each fic/one shot must include the words: preposterous, hang dog, delicious, bathroom, and spike.
This is preposterous.
After nine years of interrogating suspects with Booth, I have learned more than they all thought. While I still do not have the gift of a magical "gut," I have honed my deception detecting skills. A pause before answering. A hand in front of a mouth or eyes. Clearing of a throat or excessive swallowing. A sudden itch on a face. Adjusting a collar or sleeves. All of these help trained investigators detect spikes in anxiety levels.
I know these games.
Sitting in a quiet interrogation room while the FBI and the world bustles on the outside. Trying to prove you are guilty.
We find a suspect. Pin some sort of evidence on them so that they can be called in for questioning. Sit them in a room for hours until they are desperate for a bathroom, the cup of delicious coffee you drink in front of them; until they are desperate enough to confess.
I know these games.
But I will not give them that satisfaction. I will not sit here with some hang dog look on my face. I will not be intimidated. I have a lifetime of experience when it comes to keeping my emotions on the inside. I know how to keep my face blank, sit up straight and stare the bully, superior, criminal in the eye.
I know these games.
An agent I have only seen from afar at holiday parties enters the room. They would send in someone I didn't know. Someone I would be uncomfortable with. But I have learned it's not the investigator in front of you all the time. It's the person in their ear, standing on the other side of the mirror. Extra sets of eyes to make sure they notice every move. Every sign that I may have information. Every hole I leave, an opening that could be warped by a prosecutor. Every emotionally draining moment that might break me down enough to make a deal to save Booth's life.
I know these games.
Every agent I talk to tries a different tact. The first played tough cop. The second commiserated. The third played dumb. The fourth almost got me, playing to my ego. But I will not move. I will not speak. I will sit here and wait until my team, my family, gives me a sign.
I know these games, and I am not playing them.