Disclaimer: I own no part of Bones and make no money from this, I just like to have fun with the characters. The dialogue herein is copied direction from the Mastodon in the Room.. only the interpretation is mine.
Set during the Mastodon in the Room, this is my attempt to make the premier just a little less disappointing.
The title, Wheelburn, refers to the phenomenon when a locomotive wheel spins without moving the train forward and the small section of rail directly under the wheel gets heated by the friction between the wheel and itself. This makes the rail more susceptible to breakage, which obviously can lead to derailment.
Thanks to FauxMaven for helping me a lot with this piece, and for suggesting the title.
"I find it interesting that I'm only afraid of snakes when Booth is around to be jumped upon."
Brennan has engaged in a lot of introspection during the long hours of fruitless searching for the origins of humanity. Lately her life has felt like a roller coaster, not for the wild ups and downs (she's always loved the vestibular stimulation and adrenaline response of thrill rides, after all), but for the sense that she's stuck on a track and unable to find a way off. She hasn't decided that she was wrong in rebuffing Booth's advances that night, but she has definitely entertained the possibility. Ever since he forced her to say, out loud, whether she was willing to risk their relationship, she's had these sickening feelings of doubt and regret. She feels trapped, unable to go back and change her response, and still not even sure if that would be the right thing to do. But all she can see of her future is an endless cycle of peaks and valleys, no growth, just stagnant redundancy.
Brennan finds herself thinking of Booth often, dreaming of the days when their sexual tension was a constant undercurrent and everything was possible. At first, she's ashamed to admit that she still harbors an irrational hope that she'll somehow be able to find a way off these rails, to salvage the promise Booth held. Daisy either helps or hinders (Brennan isn't sure which), constantly talking of the young pseudo-scientist and how she just knows he'll be waiting for her when she returns. Daisy has decided to stay celibate—faithful, as she calls it—and for reasons Brennan can't quite elucidate, she does the same.
She thinks of her problem as just another puzzle to be solved in the lab. Brennan once explained her concept of faith as her certainty that there is always a cause for the pathology she sees in a bone, even if that cause eludes her at first. Similarly, she knows that there is a solution to getting her life back to where it makes sense, to where she won't feel so helpless and impotent, so stuck on the wrong track.
Here, without Booth, she must be brave. Wrangling snakes, fending off guerillas, killing the giant spiders that find their way into Daisy's living quarters, admitting the possibility that their search for some anthropological revelation will be a dismal failure—it's just one thing after another. With roller coasters, great force is required to derail the cars unless the track itself fails. She suspects that the same is true with her life. If she wants to get off these rails, maybe she'll have to come up with something forceful, something drastic, because she can't wait for the rails themselves to break down. Finding a way to beg Booth's forgiveness, formulating the words that will persuade him to give her another chance, it's just another kind of bravery. Caroline's call is the perfect excuse, the opportunity to go home and be brave.
The hours on the plane are nerve-wracking. She still hasn't decided what to say. Every opening she rehearses seems either too emotional or too clinical. Daisy chatters incessantly with an enthusiasm like fingernails on a chalkboard; but Brennan is too tense to even reprimand her.
Even though she knows the chances of Booth being at the reflecting pool are slim, Brennan decides to stop by on her way home from the airport. In an incredible stroke of luck, he is there, striding towards her, his duffle slung over his shoulder. Clearly, he's just come from the airport as well, and if she were the superstitious type, she'd think it was a sign. She is ridiculously excited to see him and even contemplates leaping into his arms in a needlessly whimsical display of affection, but she settles on an appropriately restrained hug. He pulls back first and she feels a pang of remorse for his hurt; it wasn't so long ago that he sought out reasons to hug her, always holding her longer than strictly necessary.
As they sit and make small talk, she looks at the photograph of Booth in his Army gear. She can't deny that he looks good in his uniform, but something about the picture of him, armed to the teeth and surrounded by comrades-in-arms, speaks to the primal, essential woman in her, the part of her that seeks a strong alpha male who will protect her and her (hypothetical) offspring. The tightness in her chest and belly and the flush of warmth are unexpected but not unpleasant.
"So, was it dangerous in Afghanistan?" She can see that it was, that he couldn't heed her plea to not be a hero.
"No, what I did was mostly administrative." Liar, she thinks.
"Because you seem really very heavily armed in this photograph."
Booth reaches across and takes the picture out of her hands. She suspects that she stepped across that line, asking a soldier for information they're not willing to give. She thought she had those rules learned, but she must have gotten rusty during his absence.
"How about you? Any headhunters or cannibals?" Booth asks. A deft change of subject, since Brennan is still quite pleased at her prowess in fending off three men bent on doing her bodily harm.
"Daisy and I were attacked by several armed guerillas, but I beat them up and we got away." She can't help the grin that spreads across her face at seeing his surprise.
"You beat up armed guerrillas?"
"I had to. You weren't there to save me."
The reminder of her bravery bolsters her, and she looks for an opening to discuss their relationship. She's as sure of his feelings for her as she is of her feelings for him. It's just a matter of apologizing, convincing him that she's ready to take a chance. She knows from Angela that men have delicate egos, but she hopes that some of her rationality has rubbed off on him during the almost six years they've been working together.
"Ah, Bones." He laughs, and she feels a thrill at his familiar use of her nickname. "So, did you meet anyone special?"
"You mean did I have sex with anyone?" At first, she felt silly for keeping herself chaste, but now she realizes that she's relieved to be able to admit it. It's sentimental, and she can't help herself.
"I missed that about you. You know, you just cut right to the chase."
It's hard not to over-analyze everything he says, but she can't help feeling hopeful—he missed her.
She stumbles over the words a little, wanting to explain that she was waiting for him, but the words get lost en route from her brain to her mouth, and she blames it on the work. "I was working, so there was no time or inclination for sex or romance." A pause. "How about you?"
She feels it coming, the opening she's been waiting for. He'll say that he was too busy as well, acting nonchalant as is his way. She'll understand that he hasn't been able to move on either, and then her words will somehow flow smoothly. With any luck, she'll finally be off the endless, stifling track she's been on.
"Yeah, I'll show you." His face lights up as he reaches into his pocket, bringing out his phone, and she feels as if she's falling. No. "Hannah, she's a journalist, war correspondent." Somehow he's smiling at her, showing her a picture of a pretty blond, totally oblivious to the world crashing down around them.
Years of practiced self-preservation kick in, and she's incredibly grateful for her ability to compartmentalize, to seal off her emotions, hide her true self and detach.
"How…" For a moment her breath catches, but she masters herself. "How did you meet?"
"I arrested her for being in a restricted area," Booth tells her, pocketing his phone.
"You arrested me once." It slips out before she can stop herself. She's not sure whether it was a random association or a desperate attempt to remind him of their past.
"I remember." He smiles, but it's not the familiar, easy grin she expects. She both craves more information and doesn't want to hear another word.
"Where is Hannah now?" Is it wrong to hope she's somewhere dangerous, someplace where she might just disappear?
"She's in Iraq." A small victory in a night of resounding, crushing disappointment.
"Well, is it serious between you?" She doesn't want to hear the answer because she knows what it will be. She can see that he's moved on. Yet she can't help hoping, and she hates that she's setting herself up for more disappointment when he confirms what she already knows.
"Serious as a heart attack." It feels like a slap in the face; she remembers misquoting that idiom and that he would use it now, of all times…
"Heart attacks are serious," she manages to say.
"Yes, they are. Very serious." He gazes at her defiantly. There's something underneath the surface of his demeanor that she can barely guess at, though she suspects Dr. Sweets would have an idea.
She stares at Booth, willing the tightness in her chest to ease. Their reunion has been an utter disaster. For a moment, the ache is too much to bear and her façade slips; she can feel the corners of her mouth turning down and if she lets her lip tremble, she won't be able to stop the tears. She refuses to cry in front of him, though. After all, this mess is of her own making. With tremendous effort, she finds another kind of bravery—the courage to soldier on despite her heartbreak.
"So, I find that I'm looking forward to seeing everyone…"