For RositaLG and sunsetdreamer: because, well, you know.
Thanks one N Jen for the beta and the feedback.
I've had a strange relationship with Bones the past season. So, I wasn't sure if I had anything to add. Until this.
"And I loved her, all of her, for how I watched her crawl beneath my skin and into my soul. And I loved her, all of her, for how she would glide over my dark fields and leave trails of roses to grow. And I loved her, all of her, for how she devoured me whole and made sense of all my bones. But most of all, I loved her, all of her, for healing my pieces and guiding them all back home."
#529 – Robert M. Drake
Booth's clammy hands ran across his face. He knew it was his face but it seemed gaunter, the friction from his three-month old lack of shaving. He turned over his hands a couple times, studying the faint tan line where his wedding ring was supposed to be. He wanted to scream, he wanted to hit something, and he wanted to get out of this godforsaken hellhole. He didn't belong there. He shot up off his bed, his body shaking. He was enraged. The prison cell slid open, and by rote he stepped into the hallway and put his arms down. He didn't feel like himself wearing the orange prison garb – stripped of the individuality he so coveted. He didn't belong there.
Booth spent his alone time dwelling on the past. Contemplating all the missteps, there were times that he knew he had fucked fate (as expected) depended on Brennan and the squints. He knew, whatever the outcome, shewas doing everything she could. They had been separated before. This time just felt off kilter. He believed in the institution. He had to, right? His thoughts went to Christine – the realization that she understood why her father wasn't home made him shudder.
He was just angry at all of them. When the fuck did he get to stop looking over his shoulder? When could he finally live without the fear of someone coming after him or his family? When did get it to eventually? Did he have to walk away from them to protect them? He didn't want to seem ungrateful. He had the love of a woman, a woman whom he couldn't live without. A woman who gave him more than he could imagine. A home, a family, a purpose. He longed for her, he always would. Even if Brennan was right next to him, he wanted to be closer.
He lay on his back in bed. The single twin with the crap mattress. The pillow that hadn't a proper fluff since before he was born. He didn't even want to think about the stains or anything else that happened in the cell before he got here. He rolled onto his left side and reached his hand out. He knew she wasn't there. But maybe she was lying in bed wanting to reach out and touch him, too. He had to hold onto that image. Booth imagined lazily flitting his fingers across his wife's arm. He tasted her. The heat of her body made him feel warmer– her head perched on his chest (brain vs. heart). Her hand dancing across his stomach. The throb in his loins – the primal urge to make love with her. The act of undressing her. He let out an audible cry. God, how he needed her. Wanted her. Loved her.
At the worst times memories make their way to the forefront. Nothing can change the past. It molds the person you are. It got you to where you are right now. One memory that is ever present is the day the road was set to where you are now.
After Booth stopped the elevator and asked Cam the name of the scientist, he returned to his desk to write her name down on a post-it and called the Jeffersonian. While the Jeffersonian doesn't tend to reveal the whereabouts of their employees, Booth was able to glean that Dr. Brennan was also a professor at American University. He thanked the person on the other side of the telephone and hung up. As he grabbed his keys, Booth hoped that Cam was right.
He contemplated turning around as he drove the 20 minutes to American. He still wasn't convinced Dr. Brennan could help him. He let out an exasperated sigh. He didn't need to partner up, he was a good agent, and he could do this himself. But he heard Cam's voice talking about insanity and doing the same thing over and over. So with that, he opened the car door and went to find the mysterious anthropologist.
As Booth approached the lecture hall, he adjusted his tie and made sure his belt buckle was positioned correctly. Automatically, his hand touched his head, reaffirming that gel was holding his hair in place. He stopped at the door one last time, assuring himself he had ample time to still turn around, and then pushed the door open.
He heard a booming voice, and even before he saw Dr. Brennan, he knew she could assist him. She was not what he expected to see. He sauntered down the makeshift aisle created by the student chairs on both sides. He was listening to what this woman was telling her students in a self-assured, no nonsense voice.
". . .works quickly but the bone itself, is cooked; transforming the marrow. The first step is to use conventional surgical instruments being very careful that the scalpel, forceps never come in contact with the bone. Any questions?"
He didn't quite agree with her methods. He believed that cops solved murders, not scientists. "Yeah, I have a question. It seems to me if you, uh, remove the flesh aren't you, uh, destroying the evidence."
She chided him, "On the contrary. I am revealing evidence." The bell rang and the students shuffled out. "Thank you. See you next week." As he made his way to the corpse-filled podium, he looked around the room. This lecture hall was much fancier than any he has seen at college. Booth felt it in his skin. A tingle. He knew she could help him.
Call it self-doubt, call it experience, call it inevitability - however you classify it the worm nestles in and you begin to question everything. It envelopes you. It strangles you. Everything you've built, every person you love, every monstrous decision, including which coffee mugs you chose that day plants the seed in and around your mind. You've gone through separations before, but this time it seems worse. This time, you know exactly where your family is, what they might be doing, where they might be staying and you are stuck. She comes to visit but you can't hold her, you can't kiss her, you can't reassure her that you're fine. You spent so many years not giving in to the temptation of reaching out for her that going back to that place of denial is maddening. You listen to her talk about what the squints are doing, what she is doing to get you out. You're waiting for the solid evidence. She believes what you say because well, that's what partners do.