AN: oh, I's scared. Somehow I've taken a break from writing, but I got into the Bones fandom late last year (reruns, then starting catching new epi's) and it's started an itch I couldn't ignore. This is my first Bones fic, but been writing fic (Alias then HP) for... goodness... years. Oh, and this is my first foray in posting on this site. I know high school stories are really cliche but pegging down Brennan's "voice" still terrifies me so writing how Temperance turned into Bones took hold of my brain. Hope you likies

Chapter One: The Cyborg in the Precinct

Sometimes in the dead of night, Booth would wake up from a particularly vivid dream of the first time he had ever laid eyes upon her. Sweat would cause his shirt to cling to his body as he remembered how the sticky heat had swelled inside the police station on that early August night. Though it had been well into the summer, Pittsburgh had had an unseasonal cold snap that week causing someone to over zealously turn on the heater. The outlandish temperature made the minutes of his graveyard shift stretch into some bizarre form of torture by boredom. Usually, he was thankful to have any excuse to be out of the house, much less one where he was making money. Yet, on that particular evening, he wished he could have just crawled into his bed and slept. Then, she snagged the corner of his vision, crashed into his life, and changed everything.

"We found her down at Penn Station. She was passed out on the bench."

"Passed out or asleep?" Mrs. Cooper chided.

Instantly intrigued, Booth tuned into the conversation that was happening to his left on the slick. If Officer Mullins knew that he was listening in, he'd claim that Booth wasn't doing his job and send him down to the basement to file old eye witness accounts as punishment. It was well past midnight so most of their usual traffic consisted of incoherent drunks and tranny prostitutes. The young girl Mullins had drug in by the arm didn't fit either category, causing more than a few heads to turn in her direction.

"Do you think she's a runaway?" Mullins asked blandly without concern. He didn't even bother to glance at the girl.

Booth could barely see her out of the corner of his eye - a leather patch on the elbow of a jean jacket, soles of ratty shoes. He filled in the gaps of what the rest of her must look like by Mrs. Cooper's expression. She couldn't take her eyes off the girl. The elderly widow who worked at the dispatch desk looked as if she wanted to take the girl home with her, or knit her a scarf... or something. "I would guess if she were a runaway she was..." Booth listened as she dropped her voice to a mindful whisper, "escaping from an abusive home. Did you try asking her, Thomas?"

Mullins frowned and Booth grinned to himself. The policeman didn't like being called anything other than 'Officer Mullins,' yet Mrs. Cooper didn't play that rank bullshit with the men in the precinct. Her husband had been Captain in Pittsburgh for twenty years before his passing, and she had known most of the current officers since their childhood. She was going to call them by their first names the same as she always had.

"No, but she won't talk anyhow. I damn near killed myself trying to bring her in. She's as skittish and feisty as a feral cat." Mullins grumbled.

"I wouldn't talk either if you spoke as if I wasn't in the room." Pushing off Mullins' grip, she addressed the girl. "Are you all right, honey?"

"Yes." The girl's words were hollow and barely audible. "I'm fine."

"Funny how 'fine' is quite the relative term, isn't it? Can you tell me your name?" Booth noted that Mrs. Cooper's voice was as welcoming as her homemade peanut butter cookies she often bestowed upon him.

"No ma'am, I can't."

"Can't or won't?"

The folder Booth was holding landed on the counter with a muffled thump as he gave up the pretense of doing any sort of work. He twisted his body to look at the action, his curiosity at the girl's reaction to Mrs. Cooper's gentle Spanish Inquisition winning out.

Blank. That's all his mind registered when his gaze took her in... it was almost as if it was too much to process at once. In a crowd, Booth didn't think he would have even noticed her. But dead on like this, she was very distinct. She wasn't atypically pretty, yet she possessed some sort of magnetic draw. Her clothes were clearly too big for her, and her hair - either red or brown, he couldn't quite tell in this light - was poorly trapped up in a long braid. Her expression was sheepish but not intimidated. Booth also found it odd that she didn't move to cover or wipe the dirt from her face. There was a long sweep of it across her jaw that was more defined that most girls, though not unfeminine. It made him think that she hadn't grown into a recent growth spurt or a sudden drop in weight.

The latter reason seemed more likely on the account of her sad eyes. Holy Mother of—, he thought listlessly. Her eyes were vivid, a startling shade of blue that he figured would look unnerving on anyone else. And one of the most captivating things he had ever seen.

He watched, hooked on the way the aqua waves in her eyes danced when she spoke, as her mouth inched in subtle movements. "Won't. I… It's… Won't. I'm sorry." She said, and flush from what he assumed was embarrassment evaded her high cheek bones.

"It's alright, dear. I appreciate your honesty." The elder woman said patting her hand. "I'm Mrs. Cooper, and in case Thomas has once again forgotten his manners, you've been brought to the Pittsburgh police station."

"Oh, cry me a river. Please stop treating her like she's some porcelain doll. The delicate flower kneed the boys, if you know what I'm saying. She better be glad I didn't haul her in cuffs."

The slight shift of weight from her right foot to her left and a tightened grip on the straps of the back sack she was carrying was the her only physical response. "I asked him to please not touch my personal affects." The girl confessed in her defense with determination. "He refused to show authentication by his badge to give proof to who he claimed as identification."

Mullins looked liked he wanted bestow a swift right hook for her backtalk, abet the most polite backtalk Booth had ever heard. "Look here missy," he growled. "I told you I was police officer that is proof enough. I don't wear this uniform for the fun of it."

Booth's eyes bounced from Mullins to the girl and back again. He knew Mullins wouldn't hit her, at least he think he wouldn't hit a child, and knew he definitely wasn't stupid enough to hit her in the middle of the precinct. Nevertheless, old habits and prejudices ran deep and instinctively his fists balled up against his side in a knee jerk reaction. Pops would have said that it was his "hero knight complex" kicking in. He grew up defending people from men with power trips on a daily basis. He didn't think he'd ever shake his impulse to protect people.

"Well," Mrs. Cooper said clapping her hands together to gain everyone's attention, "maybe this matter will be settled best by the Captain. Thomas, why don't you go see what other reports have come in since you've been gone while Seeley takes our guest to get some food and drink in her." Mrs. Cooper gestured her hand in his direction to call him over and to point him out to the girl. "Simply follow that strapping young man, dear."

She swiveled her gaze to get a look at him in the same moment he moved the few steps it took him to meet them. Her head tilted slightly to the side as she took him in and Booth felt as if he were some specimen in a lab on display. He nodded at her before jerking his head in the direction of the back. He must of past whatever silent test she had put him under because after two beats of silence she nodded back.

"Look, Mullins is a jerk. Give him a fake name and make up a story. It'll take him a few days to realize it doesn't check out and in the mean time you can figure out how to get out of this place." He told her while walking. He hoped that engaging her in conversation would keep the drunks loitering on the benches from trying to grab her attention.

"Your logic is extremely flawed. Once he discovers what I said was fictitious, he will label me as a person who speaks in untruths. Therefore, when I do tell him something factual, he won't believe me despite my sincerity because past experience leads him to believe that I'm a liar."

Startled by her response, Booth almost ran into the corner of the counter in front of him. He stopped and turned to be able to look at her, walking backwards instead. "Yes, but hopefully by the time he finds out your this untruthful, fictitious person your as--, I mean butt won't be still in Pennsylvania."

Her eyebrows rose slightly at his almost curse.

He flashed her a smile in return that usually swayed anyone and anything short of his father's fist. "I'm Seeley Booth," he added extending his hand toward her.

She glanced at his outstretched appendage. "Or, they could have sent you over here to lower my defenses in hopes that I will open up to someone of my similar age. Government agencies often like to use this peer group tacit against minor persons." She said thinking of the police and detectives who continually sent the young, perky junior officer over to speak with her like they were the best-est of friends. As if that would jog something in her mind that would help with her parents disappearance.

"I'm not trying to play you, trust me."

"Trust is a social construct. It has no basis in fact."

Booth had to school his face to keep from smiling, but he managed it. He didn't want her to think he was making fun of her. "Ah but thankfully like you, I'm also not one who speaks in untruths. You can count on that my trust is fact."

"Yeah, we'll see."

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, he thought. He wanted to ask who and how she had been burned so badly, but had an inkling it would only cause her to withdraw into her steel reinforced ice barrier further.

They had arrived to the empty kitchenette where on the table sandwiches from the around the corner deli had gone cold. He picked one that still looked in relatively good shape and shoved it in the microwave for a few seconds. "Okay," he told her as they waited for her food to warm, "let's do this." Ripping off the corner of a napkin, he wrote down his number on it. "Here's my beeper number. Call that if you ever need something. I'll show up, no playing guaranteed."

Her expression was curious, and this girl had thrown off kilter so many times tonight he was sort of glad he could surprise her too.

"You don't even know who I am."

"Course I do." The microwave dinged and he took out the sandwich before getting her a can of coke from the fridge and placed both in front of her. "Eat up, Roxie Connor."

Unbidden, a laugh escaped her lips. "Roxie Connor?

Booth plopped himself down in one of the chairs at the small, linoleum table. "I dunno, you look like a Roxie." He wanted to tell her that she had what his Pops called spunk and Roxie was the first spunky name that popped into his mind. "And, I mean, you won't tell sweet Mrs. Cooper your name so I'm guessing you're the long lost sister of John Connor."

She picked at the sandwich and took a bite to avoid looking at him. The lost sister part was closer than she cared to admit. "And you're waiting around for me to turn into a cyborg or something."

"Yep, that would explain all that literal-speak." He smiled at her to make sure she knew he was kidding. He then nudged the food and drink further in her direction since she hadn't eaten much. He was anticipating her answer, more than he cared to admit actually, when a familiar beep beep filled the air. Checking the number, Booth cursed internally to himself. "Alright Roxie, I got to go take care of something."

"Don't call me Roxie." She stated with a small shake of her head.

Booth grinned at her. Taking a leap of faith that she wouldn't smack him, he grabbed the scrap of napkin with his number and tucked into her jacket's front pocket. "Hang on to that. You trust that I'll show up and that I'm not some punk drug dealer on account of the pager. I'll trust that you won't beep me for chocolate at three in the morning for chocolate then obliterate me with your Rosebox shotgun."

He was five steps down the hall when he popped his head back in the doorway. "Oh and Roxie?"

She turned in her chair to give him a pointed look. He grinned.

"Hasta la vista, baby."

TBC.... *evil laughter*