"How much longer is it going to take, Bones?" Booth asked impatiently.
"I told you, Booth, as soon as the mass spectrometer is finished analyzing the particulates, Hodgins can give us an estimate of location. Until then, you just have to wait." She gave him a look that clearly said, "You should know that" before settling into the chair behind her desk. She was instantly absorbed by whatever was on the computer screen.
Annoyed, Booth frowned and walked over to one of Brennan's bookcases. He'd never noticed how many little odds and ends she had laying around. He started picking things up, turning them over and putting them back in a different spot. He chuckled to himself when he saw Jasper, the pig he'd given her, standing next to Brainy Smurf. He sneaked a glance at his partner before carefully balancing Brainy on Jasper's back. He quickly moved to another bookcase before she noticed what he'd done.
"What's this, Bones?" He asked, holding up a small, stone figure.
Brennan looked up from her computer distractedly and answered vaguely, "That's a pre-Columbian fertility goddess."
"Huh," Booth said. He picked up another trinket. "And this?"
Brennan sighed, flicked her eyes up to the item in his hand and said, "That's a pottery shard from my last dig in Tunisia."
"Mmm," Booth said. He picked up a framed picture featuring a small group of people, including a younger Brennan, gathered around a decomposed body. "Ew," he said. "Hey Bones, who are these people?" He held up the picture for her to see.
Brennan slowly pushed back from the desk, stood up and crossed the room. She took the picture from Booth's hand, placed it carefully back on the shelf and said in a measured voice, "That's my doctoral cohort at our first crime scene."
"Hey!" Booth protested when she grabbed him by the shoulders, turned him around and marched him out of her office.
"I have to finish this chapter by tomorrow, Booth. I promise I will call you when the results are in," she said firmly, walking back into her office and pulling the heavy glass doors shut behind her.
"Fine," Booth said and looked around the lab. Knowing the results would come in by the time he got back to his office, he chose to wander around a bit, looking for anything to ease the numbness of waiting he felt creeping into his brain.
As he often did, he soon found himself standing at Hodgins' desk. It's not like he liked the guy, but he seemed to be fairly normal, all things considered, and there was usually something non-squinty and interesting there.
Besides, Hodgins has to come back here to look at the results anyway, Booth told himself.
His eyes scanned the top of the desk and he saw the usual microscopes and charts full of data. There was a new addition, however, that soon caught Booth's eye. It was a small sheet of thick paper that looked handmade. He recognized the curling, thick writing as Angela's. It appeared to be a short poem. Booth leaned closer and read:
More than bugs and slime
More than his money could buy
"Be my love," my guy
"A Haiku," he said with a small smile.
"That's right," Hodgins said, suddenly appearing. He smiled up at Booth. "Angela gave that to me for the anniversary of our first date."
"Nice," Booth said. "Are there results somewhere in that?" He asked, pointing irritatedly at the papers in Hodgins' arms.
Hodgins, slightly disappointed, sighed and said, "Yes, it looks like our victim spent some time in the Rocky Mountains before settling here in DC."
Booth slapped Hodgins on the back and said, "That's great, buddy, thanks," as he walk-jogged towards the exit.
By the time Hodgins said, "You're welcome," Booth was already on his phone and turning the corner out of the lab.
Later that week, Booth found himself alone in his office. Rebecca had taken Parker to visit her parents for the weekend and he had no plans. He looked around his office trying to decide if he needed to do anything else before he left. His eyes rested on the paper-mache dragon Parker had given him for his birthday. He laughed at the crooked tail and the long, broad back. Suddenly he remembered the homemade paper haiku of Angela's.
"Haiku," he said, pulling out a notepad from his top drawer. He stared at the paper for a minute before starting to write. He tapped on the desk, checking the number of syllables in each line. When he felt like he was finished, he sat back from the desk, leaned back in his chair and read what he had written:
Diatomaceous
Blunt force trauma to the skull
Decomposition
"Stupid," he said and crossed through it. He sat still for a moment and closed his eyes. When he opened them he started writing until he had:
She stares at bones like
I stare each time through my sight
At my next target
"Better," he said. "But not good enough."
He stood up and interlaced his fingers behind his head. He needed to move.
Not yet ready to drive home, he left the FBI building and started walking down Pennsylvania Ave towards the Capitol. He ran to the top of the stairs, then walked back down. He stopped behind the Peace Monument at the bottom of the hill. He had always liked the monument, but today, with the setting sun blazing in the sky as a background he saw it, literally, in a new light.
The marble, normally cold and stark white, seemed to soften and breathe with a life of its own. For the first time he noticed the long, slim lines of the neck of the figure representing "History." She stood above him, her head bent forward, studying the tablet she held in her hand, seemingly oblivious to the world around her. It reminded him of all the times he spent standing behind Bones when her hair was pulled back and she was leaning over, staring at something, lost in her observations.
The figure of "Grief" also made him think of Bones. She stood right next to History, her head bowed in anguish and buried in one hand, nearly overcome. Her other hand was extended, reaching to History's shoulder, seeking comfort, as Bones had reached out to him so many times in the past.
Booth felt a lump rise in his throat and suddenly what he'd been trying to write formed in his mind. By the time he got back to his office he'd worked out the syllables and simply had to put pen to paper and let the words flow out.
Brennan came into her office early Monday morning to find a single sheet of paper from a legal pad lying across her keyboard.
"What on earth?" she muttered as she picked up the paper. She immediately recognized Booth's handwriting. Her mouth fell open and she blinked against hot tears that stung her eyes as she read the haiku:
As strong as marble,
Delicate as draped fabric,
Beautiful in grief