A/N: For some reason, I found myself completely unable to resist the urge to write the terribly cliched trope of B&B as high school students. If that's not your thing, I understand, but you should probably turn back now. You should also be aware that the rating of this story is primarily for violence, including several allusions to domestic violence. When I first posted this chapter, apparently I was drunk or something, because I hadn't edited it at all. This version is significantly better, though not perfect. Constructive criticism is always appreciated.
As is true of most teenagers in love, they believe their story—the story in which they are captured and escape, fight for their lives, kill a man, and bring a killer to justice—began with the moment they met.
.~.
She is the only other living person in the exhibit. It is a vast room at the heart of the Jeffersonian Museum where body parts seem to grow from the darkness encased in thick glass cases and glowing shades of blue, green, and red. He feels like he's just touched down on the grotesque surface of some far-away planet. It is so dimly-lit that it appears to stretch on forever in three directions; he can see nothing of the walls except for a small doorway of light at one end. The human limbs, glowing with the room's only internal light sources, seem somehow extraterrestrial. She is the only thing his bewildered eyes can recognize.
127 days later, he will reflect upon the irony of meeting her in a room filled with dismembered bodies. It was the most obvious sort of sign from God, he will think, as far as these things go go—far easier to interpret than, say, a rainbow. At the time, however, all he thinks is that he has never seen anyone concentrate so intensely on anything in his life.
The darkness, the eerie lights, the room in its endless expansiveness combine to make the girl—who is, he thinks, no more than fourteen—seem particularly small to his eyes as she stands on tip-toe and leans over the railing that separates her from one of the glass cases to get a better view. As he approaches, he sees that her ash brown hair lies in a long braid between her narrow shoulders. Her blue eyes are wide. He would almost call them innocent, except they show no revulsion as they examine what is, according to the plaque on the railing, a human infant in the third state of decomposition. They are distant, calculating.
Despite her diminutive size, those eyes make her the most intimidating person he's ever approached, and he has approached a number of dauntingly beautiful girls in his eighteen years. He does not think he could muster the courage to speak to her it if it were not absolutely necessary. Unfortunately, he has about five minutes to find the Egyptian gallery before Cassidy Morgan decides he has stood her up. He hates being forced to act out Cassidy's version of Anthony and Cleopatra—and he has been forced to do so at least twice a week since she got an after-school job answering telephones at the museum—the idea of losing his regular make-out partner is even worse.
So, telling himself to suck it up, he moves to stand beside the strange girl with the intense blue eyes.
She does not seem to notice. He says, "Hey," but he gives no sign of hearing him. Annoyed, he taps her on the shoulder to get her attention.
She nearly jumps out of her skin. Then she twists to face him, wide eyes suddenly fearful, and he notices what he could not see before: a pair of worn grey headphones covering her ears.
"Can I help you?" she asks loudly. When she does not remove the headphones, he thoughtlessly reaches out to remove them for her, but she recoils violently from his touch. Something akin to panic registers on her serious little face, so he mimes taking them off his own head instead. It is a moment before she understands. Then comprehension dawns; she moves them to hang around her neck.
"If you wanted me to take my headphones off," she says reproachfully, "you could have simply asked."
He shrugs. "You wouldn't have heard me."
"It's not loud," she says.
"I said 'hi' to you and you didn't react."
As though it should have been obvious, she tells him, "I was concentrating."
For reasons he doesn't quite understand, her wariness annoys him. "What are you listening to?" he asks, trying to get her to relax. She indicates the cord that connects the headphones to a small black box on the railing beneath the plaque. "Oh," he says, "okay, that makes sense." Then, because she has him all off-balance, he asks, "But if it were music, what would it be?" He is painfully aware that he is making an idiot of himself, trying to pry personal information from a girl he doesn't know and will probably never see again when she so obviously does not want to talk to him.
"Why would it be music?" she demands, just in case he held any hopes that she might have somehow found his idiocy charming.
"I don't know." He thrusts his hand out at her. She does not back further away, but she does not take it, either. "Name's Booth, Seeley Booth," he says.
"Oh," she says. "Are you a fan of Ian Flemming?"
"Who?"
"The author?"
"Oh, uh, sure." Booth has no idea what she is talking about. "Are you?"
"No," she says. Then, as though elaborating, she adds, "I'm Temperance Brennan." Finally, she rewards him with a good, firm handshake. Her hand feels small, soft, and cool in his. It is also, he notices, covered in scrapes and bruises.
"What happened?" he asks.
She withdraws her hand as terror once again flickers across her features, which she hides by glancing away. "What happened to what?"
He doesn't have the heart to pursue it. "Nothing," he says. He remembers the reason he approached her now, and though it no longer seems so important, he knows he ought to leave her in peace. So he asks, "Hey, um, Temperance? Do you know where the ancient Egypt stuff is?"
"Yes," she says.
Booth waits expectantly, but she says nothing else. He scowls, annoyed again. "Uh, where is it?"
"Through that doorway and to your right," she says, indicating the room's only visible exit. "You should see it. The gallery has a sign which says 'Ancient Egypt' sign at the entrance."
Booth can't tell whether or not that was supposed to be a joke. "Oh," he says. "Thanks, Temperance. I think."
"You're welcome, Seeley," she answers. Then she slides the headphones over her ears again and turns back to the exhibit. He takes that as his cue to leave.
Booth almost makes it out of the room, but then her voice calls him back. "Hey, Seeley?"
"Yeah?" he asks, turning around.
"Foreigner."
"What?"
"If it were music, it would be foreigner."
"Oh." He grins. "Good choice." He hopes maybe she will say something else, but she doesn't. Instead she returns her attention to the partially-decomposed corpse, and he turns to go, feeling like more of an idiot than ever. Cassidy is nothing like Temperance. She is taller, more beautiful, socially adept, and a legal adult. Best of all, she seems to really like Booth—or to like making out with him, anyway, which is good enough for him. Really, Cassidy is superior to Temperance in every conceivable way—so why is it that the prospect of meeting the former only makes it harder to leave the latter?
.~.
Of course, like all teenagers in love, their judgment is flawed at best. It would be impossible to pinpoint the exact point at which their story began, but it certainly wasn't the day they met. By then, the other major players were already in place.
Temperance Brennan's family had already been destroyed by forces she could neither control nor, even with all her intellectual gifts, begin to understand. She had already moved in with her second foster family. She had already spent two days locked in the trunk of that family's car, though only recently.
Seeley Booth had already committed to doing everything in his power to fit in with his peers. He had already moved out of his alcoholic father's home and in to his grandfather's. He had already caused a fissure in the friendship between Cassidy Morgan and Emma Laurence, though he didn't know it.
Emma Laurence had already been elected captain of her high school's cheer leading team. She had already broken up with her long-time boyfriend in search of someone better. She had already set her sights on Seeley Booth, though he didn't know this either.
Cassidy Morgan had already met Richard Bach, who had already introduced her to his brother Chase. She had already announced to Emma Laurence that no one would ever steal Seeley Booth from her. Then again, she had also already slept with Chase Bach, though that had not yet begun to get out of control.
A/N: Reviews are some furious B&B make outs before the final chapter. Also, please comment with any character you're hoping to see in teenage form and I'll see what I can do.