Okay, everyone this is the first fic that I've written that I might actually get somewhere.
I want to give a huge shout out to my friend Camille, who despite being a Bones aficionado like myself, does not frequent this site. She's been with me every step of the way, giving me plot ideas, helping with the grammar, and keeping the characters in character. This story is dedicated to her!
So, I have about ten chapters written, and I'll post one every day- for now. Enjoy the quick updates while they last. And of course, any feedback, suggestions, comments, feel free to tell me!
Disclaimer- I wish I owned these fabulous characters- I just like to play with them, though.
~Dolphinsramazing~
So here it is…
Suus Preteritus, Tendo, Suum Posterus
(Her Past, The Present, Their Future)
Seeley Joseph Booth skipped the last step as he approached her apartment, slightly out of breath from climbing the fifteen flights of stairs to get there. To see her, Temperance Brennan. His partner and so much more. Climbing the stairs in and of itself was out of the ordinary for him; despite her protests of the need for energy conservation, he always rode the elevator. But today, it was out of service. What wasn't a shocking occurrence was him appearing at her door at ungodly hours of the night without an invitation. Right now, it was 9:00 P.M., which was quite reasonable by his standards. He knocked on her door, plastered a smile on his face and waited.
When she came to the door, quite quickly, she had a smile on her face as well, knowing there was only one person who could be on the other side of the door at this time of night. Her suspicions were confirmed and she opened the door and invited him in.
She began to tidy up her already immaculate apartment, aside from the anthropological and forensic magazines strewn across the coffee table, and he opened all the boxes of Thai he had purchased and they sat down to eat.
As usual, easy conversation and pointless banter flowed effortlessly between them. It was not surprising- they were partners, friends, and near-constant companions. It was this wide spectrum of knowledge about the other that made it so effortless for one to sense something erroneous about their partner.
Booth could tell that something was off about his partner. Though she was the mistress of hiding weakness and vulnerability, the few times she had broken down had enlightened him to the indicators. A sag of the shoulders when she thought he wasn't looking, a gleam of tears quickly blinked away. He knew his partner, all right, and right now, his gut was telling him something was very wrong.
What led him to believe this the most were her eyes. Though her face could be stoic and devoid of emotion entirely, her eyes were able to be read like an open book. There was purity and innocence still present there that her heart and mind had lost a long time ago. He knew very little about her time in the foster care system, but with her unwillingness to talk about it, he inferred that it was a living hell. He also figured out that that it must be what is bothering her now, because as far as he knew, there was nothing going on in her life right now that could be adversely affecting her.
"Bones, what's the matter?" he questioned, his voice full of care and tenderness.
"Nothing. I'm perfectly fine!" she immediately snapped back at him, but the look of guilt on her face betrayed her fruitless attempt to hide her distress.
"Hey, if you don't want to tell me, you don't have to, but I'm always here to listen," he said reassuringly and sweetly.
She turned her head away, resting her electric blue gaze on the wall across from her. He released an exasperated sigh at her constant tendency to shut him out when he got too close. He was surprised when he looked up and met his gaze with hers. She began to speak, to tell her story.
"As you know, my parents walked out right before Christmas when I was 15. You saw the bitterness I retained toward them until a few years ago. You can't imagine the intensity of it that first year. Then, Russ walked out only a few weeks later. The last thing an insecure fifteen year old girl needs is to be abandoned by her family for no reason at all. It just heightens her feelings of hurt and anguish that lay just beyond the surface. I was given a single trash bag, not even a new one, and a used one, with a huge slit in the side. Meticulous as I was, I taped the rip with precision, and loaded my favorite clothes and toiletries in the bag. My first social worker was barely older than me, always with a huge wad of gum, platinum blonde hair, and no compassion for the children she represented.
I was put in a group home for the first three days, and had to share a bunk with three other girls- two were my age, and both had been in the system for over 10 years. What scared me more than the lack of food or space was the hardened look in their eyes, like they had seen all the evils in the world, and no longer had any fears. Their hair was knotted and unbrushed; clothes tattered and worn. And next to them was me, with my perfectly curled hair and pristine jeans. I spent those first two nights crying myself to sleep.
The fourth day, I was brought to my first home. They seemed amicable and nice enough at first, but first impressions can lie. The second my social worker stepped out of the house, I felt the first slap across my cheek. Stunned, I began to cry. After being slapped repeatedly, I realized it was better to not have a reaction- it would lessen the number of blows."
A hitch appeared in her breath as she began to cry. He wrapped his long, strong arms around her and the sobs began to quiet. She wiped her swollen eyes and continued with her story.
"This is the hardest part for me to tell. Just so you know, you're the first person who has ever heard this story- at least from the source. If you want to have an idea of what happened, I suggest you go turn on my iPod, and find the song 'Concrete Angel'. Take out the terminal consequences, and it's pretty much a summary of my first six months in the foster system."
He followed her suggestion and located her skull-adorned iPod touch. He laughed at the decorations, but the smile quickly dissipated as he began to listen to the song she had referred to.
She walks to school with the lunch she packed
Nobody knows what she's holding back
Wearing the same dress she wore yesterday
She hides the bruises with the linen and lace, oh
The teacher wonders but she doesn't ask
It's hard to see the pain behind the mask
Bearing the burden of a secret storm
Sometimes she wishes she was never born
Through the wind and the rain she stands hard as a stone
In a world that she can't rise above
But her dreams give her wings and she flies to a place
Where she's loved concrete angel
Somebody cries in the middle of the night
The neighbors hear but they turn out the light
A fragile soul caught in the hands of fate
When morning comes it will be too late
Through the wind and the rain she stands hard as a stone
In a world that she can't rise above
But her dreams give her wings and she flies to a place
Where she's loved concrete angel
A statue stands in a shaded place
An angel girl with an upturned face
A name is written on a polished rock
A broken heart that the world forgot
Through the wind and the rain she stands hard as a stone
In a world that she can't rise above
But her dreams give her wings and she flies to a place
Where she's loved concrete angel
The supposedly iron-willed Booth was crying uncontrollably at the close of the song. It was her turn to provide comfort, and so she did so. Once he regained the ability to speak coherently, he turned to her, bewildered.
"You mean...it was that bad?" he asked, fear recognizable in his voice.
She simply nodded, the residual effects of the trauma still affecting her, and continued her retelling of the story.