Betrayed By Those Loved Best

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Recently accepted to the FBI Academy, Booth struggles to complete his training as he clashes with an instructor & is pulled into the investigation of the Broken Promises serial killer. AU.

A/N: As promised, a new story, a new start, and a new way to torture my readers (old and new). For those who have been waiting for this story, some of you will know that it was inspired by certain elements of my other tale "Buried with the Bones." Although - particularly from the viewpoint of the first chapter - it may seem like this is a sequel to that story, it's not. I repeat, this is NOT a sequel to "Buried with the Bones", but is something that readers should assume stands on it's own two feet (translation: while there are some similarities to characterizations established between this story and the other, make no assumptions about past character history, personal relationships, and/or their motivations). Constructive criticism is not only welcomed, but encouraged. However, annoying and useless comments are summarily ignored, anyway, so my advice is don't even bother posting them. All exclusions, disclaimers, and standard warnings apply. Now, let's see what happens...~

Ch 1: Bested by a Fender-bender

FEBRUARY 2000

Seeley Booth knew it. He knew it before he even walked through the garish faux mahogany wood doors of the establishment. Yes, he knew very early on that he really, really hated this particular restaurant. It wasn't even really appropriate to refer to it as a restaurant, Booth thought. The Bungalow Alehouse was located in the Potomac Mills area on the Prince William Parkway, just to the west of the junction that he used to pick up the Jefferson Davis Highway that took him home to his small apartment in the DC suburb of Woodbridge. In some ways, it was your typical sports bar and grille - dirty red and brown brickwork trying to give the place grittier and more historical feel that was actually true, while light from the various flatscreen TVs offered dull illumination as a by-product of streaming every possible sporting event from baseball and football to hockey and soccer on its myriad of screens. Recreated street light fixtures hung over the bar, while the small seating area was littered with a mixture of free-standing dark wood tables and chairs and an even smaller number of high-backed dark wooden booths. A number of pool tables and dart boards stood ready to be utilized by those individuals who were not there to watch sports and/or to drink. The goldenrod/mustard colored walls tended to depress a person if their attention wasn't quickly drawn away by the eclectic mixture of odd wall decor that had been haphazardly tacked up throughout the bar.

Booth sat staring at what he believed to be the most garish of all the wall decorations - a stuffed deer head that stared back at him, seeming to mock him for agreeing to be waylaid into coming to this place once more even though he hated it. But, that's what he always does, Booth thought wryly. Because that's just how he is. And, while I'm still not real clear on how it happened, when was the last time he guilted me into coming here, and I actually said no?

Glancing down at his half-empty pint glass, Booth shook his head with a sigh. God, I really don't like this place.

In reality, while the Bungalow Alehouse did serve food, the majority of people who went there didn't come to eat the homemade Guinness stew or baked crab dip. Instead, it was a well-known place frequented by a number of men and women in the 20s and 30s who liked to drink, talk, and score a hook up. However, despite the fact that Booth wasn't really clear which tradition had been cited as the latest reason as to why he had allowed himself to be guilt-tripped into another visit to this place that Booth didn't really, really didn't like, despite whatever reason had gotten him to make the agreement, he, eventually, had made a promise. Glancing at his watch, Booth sighed again in annoyance, as he realized that he had already spent the past twenty-five minutes trying to keep that promise to no avail.

Late, Booth thought. How can he be late *again*? You know, you'd think considering what the guy does for a living that he'd understand the importance of being at least relatively on time. But, no-

To his left, a slight shuffling suddenly drew Booth's attention. He glanced up quickly, and he saw a petite red-head attempting to be as stealth-like as possible in her movements. Booth mentally groaned as he realized he was about to be hit on again by another girl who was far too young, far too shallow, and looking far too hard for too good a time to be of much interest to him. However, as he sadly glanced down at his near empty pint and sadly thought that his beer was almost gone, Booth realized – could he really blame the redhead when he looked at things from her perspective? After all, Booth was a guy who was sitting alone in a bar – and, particularly since he was sitting alone in *this* bar, that's what guys who wanted to hook up did, right? He knew what he must've looked like to other people in the bar. A guy like him, sitting alone in the bar - he had to just be waiting to make his move on the right girl. Booth knew he certainly looked the part. At barely a day over thirty, he still cut a pretty damn good figure. He had only been out of the Rangers for a couple of months, after all, and while he'd cut back on the PT, he still hit the gym on a regular basis to keep up his endurance for when he knew he'd have his ass up at the crack of dawn running once more as a part of his new training regimen. So, Booth knew what he looked like, and he knew he really couldn't blame the redhead for her aggressively proactive behavior. But, on the other hand, she also happened to be the fourth girl in the past half-hour who hadn't taken an obvious hint that Booth wanted to be left to his lonesome when she had first tried to make eye contact with him and failed. Nor, did she understand that when he politely declined the waitress bringing over a pint 'with the lady's compliments' that it meant 'thanks, but no thanks.' Booth was afraid he was going to have to say something that might be construed as slightly rude as he eyed the red-head's slow movements out of the corner of his eye.

This is the *last* time that he's going to drag me here, Booth thought to himself. I don't care what random made up traditions he pulls out of his ass, he can just by me a six pack next time. And, I don't really care what other type of news he has to tell me. I'm not coming here again. I hate this friggin' place, and this is the last time. Seriously, this is it. Done. Finished. Finito.

Sighing a heavy sigh as Booth knew the redhead seemed to have finally gathered enough courage to make her move, Booth were slightly surprised when a blur of blue buzzed past her and threw himself into the empty seat on the opposite side of the booth which he currently occupied. At the unexpected movement, the redhead let out a small yelp, stared at the source of her ruined plans with annoyance clearly evident on her face, and then reluctantly turned around and conceded defeat with a large scowl present on her face as she gave up and walked away.

Laughing a bit as Booth realized what had just happened, Booth pointed at his friend and laughed slightly. "I take it back. I take it all back."

"Take what back?" came the simply inquiry.

"You've got impeccable timing," Booth said with a nod at the red-head who was now glaring daggers at Booth's companion from the opposite side of the bar.

Tim Sullivan laughed a hearty laugh as he reached for the list of draft beers and other drink specials that sat tucked in front of Booth between a bottle of ketchup, a bottle of Heinz vinegar, and the salt and pepper shakers. With a waggle of his eyebrows, Sully said, "Yeah, well, that's what they all tell me. I have great timing... all the time." After Sully took a few seconds to scan the list, he set it down and gestured for their waitress.

As soon as Sully had ordered, Booth looked at him with a straight face and said, "So, why do you even bother any more?"

"With what?" Sully said, playing with one of the warped cardboard coasters that sat unoccupied on the top of their wooden table. It had clearly seen better days, becoming frayed with repeated use. Sully took his nail and continued to separate the layers of cardboard that had been begun by someone else at some point in the coaster's glory days.

"We must've been here a hundred times, and you always order the same damn beer. By this point, I'm just wondering—why bother looking at the damn menu when you know you're gonna get a pint of the Magic Hat Odd Notion?" Booth asked, a bit of annoyance creeping into his voice at the illogical thought of Sully going through such repetitious and unnecessary motions.

Sully shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe I'll see something that I think I'll like better one of these days and order something different. You never know, Booth. Once of these days, I'm such a wild and crazy guy, I might just surprise you."

"Sure, sure," Booth said, finishing what was left of his beer in a single gulp. He set down the empty glass and then sighed, "You know, if you didn't enjoy that damn mild ale as much as you do, you know I wouldn't let you drag me here. I hate this place, Sul. I hate it."

"You know, I've never understood that about you," Sully said, shaking his head. "It's got a great drink selection, cheap prices, just about any game you'd want to watch on TV, and is just a hop, skip, and a jump from how you get home when you're coming back from Quantico. You should love this place."

"Okay, maybe that explains why I should like it - setting aside the fact that I kinda sorta haven't really started making the commute to the Academy because, bone brain, trainees don't commute to the Academy, but live in the dorms on site - but it's also a meat market in here, Sully. And, considering the fact I slept about ninety minutes last night because it was my night with Parker, and I had the baby last night and had to spend the entire time walking a colicky seven-week old, going out trolling for girls in a place like this is really the last thing I want to do right now. All I want to do is sleep, Sul. As in, my face flat on a pillow collecting a respectable puddle of drool because I've been sleeping in the same position for far too long since I'm too exhausted to move because I'm dead-ass tired."

"Hmmm, I seem to be sensing some hostility there, Booth," Sully said, looking at his friend. "What's got you so cranky, huh? 'Cause I know it's not just the thing with Baby Booth," Sully mused. Booth stared at him, glanced at the clock, and then it dawned on Sully what was really irking Booth - aside from the sleep deprivation and the fact that Sully had convinced him to come to the Bungalow. "Ahh, okay. I got it," Sully said with an understanding nod. "So, is this your way of telling me you're pissed off that I was late?" Sully asked. "Because, if it is, I'm sorry, but it really wasn't my fault this time - and I'm not just saying that. I really do have a legitimate excuse this time, since, you know, I can't really help it if a call takes longer than I think it would. Sometimes triaging an auto accident can take longer than you might think it would take, and you're right, it does wreck havoc with the social schedule. But, there was this really bad pedestrian versus motorcycle crash over in Anacostia, and it took me longer than I thought it would. Now, I'm sorry that I was late, Booth. But, I'm really glad you stayed, and there is a bit of good news that's directly related to that, which is why I really wanted to get you to come out - even if it's just for a little bit - besides the fact that I owe you are celebratory round to mark you getting into the Academy."

"And, what's that?" Booth asked blankly.

"Well, since I won't be answering calls anymore, me being able to use that as an excuse for my perpetual tardiness won't be doable, and, even more importantly, the really good news is that I shouldn't be as unpredictable a date as I have been in the past, so you're social schedule should get a lot better looking with me on your arm for date nights—"

"Wait," Booth said, suddenly stopping his friend. "What do you mean 'won't be a problem anymore'?" Narrowing his eyes suspiciously at Sully, Booth said, "Did they finally wise-up and fire you, Sully? Because, I gotta tell you, I'm kinda surprised it took FEMS this long to finally figure out what a crack paramedic you actually are."

"The preferred nomenclature is EMT, smartass," Sully said, taking the coaster that he had been playing with and tossing it playfully at Booth's head.

"Paramedic, EMT? What's the difference?" Booth said, a twinkle in his eye as he caught the coaster with a sharp flick of his wrist. "Don't you guys like to wear those tight blue uniforms of yours while you run around with the sirens blaring just to get attention?"

"Oh, yeah," Sully said. "And, remind me again, Booth- Army, Marines? What's the difference?" Don't you guys like to wear those ugly ass fatigue uniforms of yours that could even make People's Sexiest Man Alive look like a dog catcher while you're all trying to trying to run around scaring people by scowling at them?"

"You're just jealous because I look better in green than you do in blue," Booth laughed, starting to feel a bit more relaxed now that Sully was here, and Booth wasn't alone in the bar.

"Maybe," Sully said. But, he stopped when he reached into his pocket and withdrew a crumpled envelope. "But, from here on out, we're even-steven, buddy. And, while I did drag your ass out here to congratulate you on be accepted to the ranks of Playschool for G-men, I also wanted to tell you that you won't be doing it alone, my friend."

As soon as Booth glanced at the envelope, he knew what it was even before he opened it to pull out the well-worn form letter that stared back at him of familiar looking letterhead. He glanced up at Sully and said, "No!"

Grinning, Sully said with a firm nod, "Oh, yeah."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I wasn't good enough to get in on the first pass like you were, Mr. Hotshot," Sully said, taking his pint glass from their waitress who had returned during the progression of their conversation. "I got wait-listed, and I didn't want to tell you that I got in unless it was a done deal."

"Damn!" Booth said, his eyes a light with happiness. "So, are you telling me what I think you're telling me?"

"If you think this is my way of telling you I'm gonna kick your ass in everything while we're in the same class at the FBI Academy over the next six months, than the answer is... hell yes," Sully grinned.

Gesturing to their waitress, Booth pointed and indicated his desire for another round. A new wave of energy washed over him as he said, "Well, damn, if that doesn't make this a great night, I don't know what does, Sul. That is fantastic!"

"I thought you might like that tidbit of news," Sully said.

Handing him back the envelope, Booth said, "You never told me you wanted to be an agent, Sul."

"Well, to be honest, until you started talking about it, I didn't know I wanted to do it either," Sully said before he took a sip of his beer. He then narrowed his eyes as he continued, "But, it's not like you don't need someone to watch your back and make sure your ass stays out of trouble. And, besides, I was kinda getting bored with the whole EMT thing. I've been doing it for almost five years. It's sorta 'been there, done that, got the t-shirt', right? So, I, uh… I'm just ready for something new, and the FBI Academy seemed as good a thing as anything else."

At this Booth chuckled. He nodded his thanks when the waitress returned with a fresh pint of Yuengling. Raising it, Booth saluted his friend as he said, "Well, then, here's to us. Congrats on me for getting in and congrats to you for waking up this morning and deciding you wanted to be an FBI agent when you grew up."

Sully nodded, "Amen to that, Brother Booth. Amen to that."

The pair then clinked their glasses happily, and as Booth drank his pint, he vowed to finish the drink, say goodbye to his friend, and then call it a night, because, after all – as he had said, it had been a long day.

A couple of hours later, Booth sighed with exhaustion clearly evident in his bearing as he climbed into his compact Jeep Cherokee SUV. The black SUV wasn't the car he really wanted—in many ways, it was too small. He'd always wanted a bigger car, either a pick up or a full-size SUV. But, on his meager post-discharge budget, the used SUV was the best he could do while satisfying his need for a car that could transport Parker's car seat safely (which nixed the pickup idea) and assuaged some of his desire for getting as close to the car he really wanted. It wasn't perfect, but, for now, it would do.

After his second beer, while Booth had kept his silent promise and not ordered any more, despite Sully's constant encouragement to do so with the promise of splitting a cab fare, Booth knew he was probably too tired to be driving. But, he was only a few miles from his apartment, and he figured that if he kept the A/C on high and blasted some 80s music loud enough, he should be able to stay awake the ten minutes it would take to get back home. Glancing at the clock, Booth saw it was still relatively early—only 9:45pm. But, he also knew he had to pick up the baby the next day from Rebecca.

This probably isn't the best way to be doing the co-parenting thing, Booth thought. He needs to be in one place when he's getting into the routine Becks and I are trying to get him onto, but I can't help it. I can't stand being away from him, and I'm just happy Becks agreed to the every other day schedule with me taking him and her picking him up so we can each have some separate bonding time. I guess I should just be glad she didn't breastfeed him or else she might've used that as an excuse to keep me from him, too, Booth thought to himself. Knowing that the following day was his to spend with the baby, and that he wouldn't really be sleeping when he had Parker, Booth knew time to sleep would be at a premium the following day. If he wanted to get any decent shut-eye, it was now.

Thus, Booth was in the process of thinking about the best way to return home, and he had decided it was probably best to go with the route that consisted primarily of traveling on the John Hanson Highway, when he put the car into reverse and started to back out of his parking spot. However, Booth hadn't had the car in gear for more than thirty seconds, or driven more than two feet, when he suddenly felt his head lurch forward with a sickening jolt of force. Booth recognized the crunch of metal for what it was as soon as he heard it, and a foul expletive escaped from his mouth as he glanced in his rearview mirror and saw what he knew would be there… a car, headlights still on, far too close to his rear bumper. Great, Booth sighed. This is just what I need. Friggin' great-

Putting the car in park, Booth ground his teeth as he yanked off his seat belt and pulled his car keys out of the ignition. Sighing, he reached for the driver's side door handle and slowly climbed out. Going around to the back of the car, he immediately grimaced as he saw a four-door Toyota Corolla sedan – a new model, too, Booth thought, from the shininess of the car's formerly pristine cobalt blue paint job - hugging his black SUV's fender like the two cars were dating. Booth thought 'formally pristine' because the entire front fender was completely smashed and dented. But, from what Booth could see as he glanced at his own vehicle, it appeared as if his Jeep had actually held up fairly well, but for some minor dents and scratches.

Booth was about to go around to the driver's side of the Corolla to see if the other driver was okay when he was beat to the punch. The driver's side door of the Corolla flew open, and a walking, talking, spiting ball of fire was suddenly standing in front of Booth. Arms placed on her hips in a clearly aggressive posture, eyes blazing, dark auburn hair blowing in the evening breeze, and body a barely contained quaking with fury, Booth didn't know quite how to respond when the Corolla's driver took one look at him and yelled, "What kind of an idiot are you? Didn't you see me? Two-ton moving vehicle with 110 watts of headlights announcing it's presence in the flow of traffic, right there. How can you not have seen that? How can you have possibly hit me?"

Taken aback by the woman's tirade, Booth didn't know whether to laugh or be offended. Finally, he opted for blithely amused as he said, "I'm sorry. Were you talking to me?"

"Of course," came the immediate response. She stopped and tilted her head at his as she narrowed her very blue eyes at him in obvious suspicion. "Please don't tell me you suffer from some physical malady or impairment that means I need to repeat everything I just said."

"No," Booth said. "I heard you call me an idiot perfectly, thanks very much."

"Then, perhaps you can stop prevaricating and answer my question?"

"Sure," Booth replied. "The simple answer is… I didn't hit you—you hit me."

"What?"she snapped.

"You heard me," Booth repeated, as he folded his arms and nodded at her. "Now, maybe if you could stop blustering over there for a minute, you could calm down enough so we can decide how we want to handle this, huh?"

Several hours later, Booth watched drowsily as the young woman reached down and began to gather her clothes from the floor of his apartment's bedroom. As she bent to grab something off the floor that had been hastily discarded in a fiery maelstrom earlier in the evening, Booth appreciated the view of her creamy curves, and he smiled lazily at the sight.

Stifling a yawn, Booth said quietly, "You know, you really don't have to go."

Lithe body twisting at his words, a pair of mischievous blue eyes locked on Booth's as she said, "You said it yourself… you need some sleep."

"True," Booth admitted with a certain reluctance audible in his voice. "But, there's no reason why I can't get sleep if you're in bed and laying next to me." He stopped and then eyed her again, his appreciation of her physical attributes quite clear in his gaze. "Besides, I think I might sleep better if you stayed. And, it would definitely be more fun."

Coming over, clad only in her recently reclaimed nude colored push-up bra and a pair of cream-colored lace panties, the woman sat down on the edge of the bed. She leaned down, pulling Booth towards her, and gave him a soft kiss as she said, "I should go. If I stay, I get the distinct feeling neither one of us is going to really do much sleeping. And, even though I don't know you very well, I think I feel fairly confident in saying that it's clear that you need your sleep tonight... and so do I."

"But, it's already the middle of the night," Booth complained, his voice almost taking on a slight whine to it that would've annoyed him if he hadn't been as sleepy as he was. "Don't go," he told her. "Stay, and in the morning, I'll make us breakfast."

She had a torn look in her eye, and Booth could tell she was tempted by the offer. However, after a few seconds when Booth thought he might when the debate, she slowly shook her head and said, "As much as I might like to, I can't because I've got to be to work very early… and, plus, I need to leave enough time to call my insurance company before I morning." She narrowed her eyes at him, Booth had the good grace to look a bit sheepish, and she rewarded him with a smile as she had only really been teasing him.

"I'll drive you to work if you want. You can call the insurance company on the way in," Booth added, sweetening his proposition.

She inclined her head at his counter proposal, but said nothing.

"Where do you work again?" Booth said through another half-yawn. "I don't think you ever mentioned where it was specifically."

"That's because I didn't," the woman said simply. "And, if it's okay with you, I don't plan to, either."

"Hmmmm," Booth mused. "That's awfully mysterious of you."

"I don't seem to recall you minding the mysteriousness about six hours ago," she chided him lightly. "As a matter a fact, all I can seem to recall about you as of six hours ago was that you seemed really stressed out."

"Well, that's because some woman—" Booth found himself suddenly interrupted as he looked up and saw his companion frowning. She had placed both of her hands on her hips in a look of displeased warning that eerily echoed the same stance she had had the first time he saw her - despite the fact that she was now seat on his bed in on a bra and panties as compared to the Bungalow's parking lot. Booth smiled slightly as he continued, "—was apparently having a really bad day and decided to rear-end my SUV."

"Hey," she said, her frown deepening. "I listened to your suggested course of action, didn't I?"

"Well," Booth replied. He sat up in bed and reached out to pull her closer to him. "Eventually… after we spent about forty minutes arguing in the parking lot before the Virginia State Police showed up."

"And, they gave me the ticket, thank you very much," the woman replied. "I still fail to see why I was 'driving carelessly' when you were the one—"

Reaching over, Booth placed a hand on the back of her head. Guiding her towards him, he gently kissed her. The kiss was brief, but when they broke a part, Booth smiled at her and said, "Now, at the very least, I thought we'd settled that one."

"No. That's not accurate. I didn't formally concede that point," the woman said softly. "I just acquiesced to your right to interpret the situation as you wished."

"Right," Booth laughed. "So, you're not going to give me that one even after everything that's happened—"

"Such as?"

"Such as you following me, coming all the way back here just to try to browbeat me into saying it was my fault—" Booth began.

"No, no, no," came the reply. "That's not what happened."

"Oh?" Booth asked with a lazy grin.

"No," she told him emphatically. "If you recall, it was you who invited me back here-"

"Because you said you needed to explain things to me again," Booth added.

Nodding, the woman said, "And, since you didn't want to do that in the Bungalow's parking lot, I agreed to remove to a more private location. I wasn't try to 'browbeat' you—merely logically persuade you as to the superiority of my interpretation-"

"Hmmm," Booth said, as he shook his head. "I don't think I've been persuaded."

"Well," she said with a laugh. "That's probably because we ended up in bed before I could finish persuading you as to the validity of my argument."

"Oh?" Booth replied. "That's all it was? Because, if you want, you can try to persuade me now. But, I gotta say, as I recall, it was more along the lines of us arguing-"

"Debating spiritedly-" she countered.

"-and then you doing something that I vaguely recall might've been the point where you stuck your tongue in my mouth."

"Well," she said. "You didn't protest it once I made my move, and I seem to recall that you responded quite enthusiastically."

"Yeah, well, I'm just like that. I'm that sorta guy, ya know? Enthusiastic's my middle name-" Lifting his hand, Booth began to absentmindedly draw a series of random circles on the softness of the woman's shoulder. She shivered a bit at his gentle touch and seemed to be lost in thought for a few precious seconds. Booth barely knew this woman, but he took great delight in being able to affect her in such a way. He pulled her towards him again, and Booth knew he could feel her resolve crumbling.

"Stay," he whispered, tempting her again.

Allowing herself to be pulled into another very pleasing kiss, she murmured, "I really shouldn't."

Booth deepened the kiss. She started to respond, wrapping her arms around his neck as he whispered again, "Stay."

"But—"

"Stay," came the command once more. Booth punctuated the command with another intense round of very passionate kissing and very pleasurable touching. In fact, his expert attentions elicited a very pleasing response when the woman began to whimper at his touches. She gave a breathy sigh of very weak protest when when he reached for the clasp on the back of her bra.

"But, I really have to get up early in the morning. Work—" came the token protest.

"Can wait," Booth mouthed into her ear. "Call in sick."

"I can't—"

A couple of more movements rendered Booth's goal achieved as the bra fell away, and he tossed it back on the floor. Where it belongs, Booth thought with a satisfied smile. He grinned at her again, and said, "I think I've demonstrated by now I can be quite persuasive when I want to be, right?"

She nodded slowly, her eyes heavy lidded and clouded with desire once more.

"So, I think I've been very persuasive, and you need to stay."

She looked at him curiously, biting her lip for a minute before she nodded. "Well, yes, that's true. Your recent actions have made a very convincing argument, particularly when considering the fact that I normally don't make it a habit to fall into bed with strangers—"

"Neither do I," Booth said, his voice thick with desire. "But, for you, a special exception needed to be made."

"Hmmmm," came the response. "Well, in that case, maybe I should reciprocate."

"So, you'll stay?" Booth asked, almost moaning the question as she started to press against him, and he moved his hands to reward her for her movement.

"If you keep doing that, then, yes, I'll stay," she breathed.

Grinning up at her, Booth barely had enough time to murmur his appreciation at her concession to him before he was fully distracted and completely immersed in his goal of 'persuading' her to stay—just as he had promised he would so expertly do so.

-TBC-