Author's note: another work, guys! Will be great to see your reviews :) I really want to know your opinion about it, 'cause this experience is very important to me, so... enjoy reading!
"Booth, have you taken the pills?" Temperance worried during she put some things into her bag.
"No, I haven't yet," he answered, running into the kitchen with the undone tie around his neck and thinking 'bout hot and taste pancakes with syrop; "I'll drink it after a meal."
"Okay, beg you, don't forget," she said it by voice full of care; "And take it to work, I bet, you'll obviously need it today."
"Bones, dear, stop it" he said it with "bad-feeling face". " I don't want to remember about this stinker in the morning. He takes away my appetite."
She laughed and came towards the husband and kissed him softly in the vertex, during his pleasure 'cos of breakfast.
"Do you want it or don't - there's nobody cares. Tou just need to talk to him," Brennan put her arms onto her husbonds' shoulders.
"I know," laughed tensely; "I'm going to get all information he has."
"Try to do it. By the way, he had a birthday recently. Just a note. Maybe you'll find how to use this information. "
"How much?"
"Thirty years."
"He became this asshole in age of thirty." Although, it's never too early to become an asshole," he added by the sad voice; "So, I'll decide what I have to do by the time."
"I just beg you," sha whispered; "Do it without extremes."
Now, I guess, it's time to talk 'bout pills behind: it wasn't the simple pills (have you ever seen the simple pills?) It makes people to keep calm and takes hard energy, making this one softly. So, why does Booth need it? Fortunately, he hadn't had any serious problems with his mind, which would got injure him and his family. He takes it 'cos of Pelant with his distractive things. He spoild the nervous system of Booth; thats why Booth forget sometimes who is he. He could talk back or tell black jokes, and some time ago he started to laugh like crazy. And it concerned the killers mostly. It doesn't mean he hits them. No, he invented another method — pressure. At some times when he talks to killers he looked like Hongins with his addiction theory. He usually asked Angela for find some confidence information about human, all, that can broke him even without recognition of murder and the suspect only had to sign a frank confession. It was cruelly, violently partly, but lawfully and always worked. An FBI department was absolutely lucky with this. They won about ten hearings on different murders, including gravest crimes which were worthy of a punishment. But this system didn't work with Pelant 'cause the most important information about him disappeared from time and again, though rewrite it by hand, truly! Computers — our world, our present, and it's hard to play a race with a man who keeps the present in check and turns it how he want. Brennan was most afraid that Booth would cross the line and be immediately dismissed from investigation if not fired at all. One way or another, pills, prescribed by doctor Sweets, had no narcotic descent, but this didn't prevent it from coping with their task excellently and keeping his emotions under control. He took it rarely: only twice for the last month, since his behavior usually didn't go beyond, apart from his alternative approach to extracting recognition, but now the risk of breaking away was higher than ever.
Booth didn't like to feel faint. In other words, he hated it. And What normal person will be delighted with this? He prepared for interrogation for a week, tried to make himself liable to stress less, even agreed with Temperance and drank some stinky fresh teas just to regain checkout over the nerves. He finally put the jar of pills in his pocket, having not taken a single one in the morning, and set to work, trying to prove to himself, first of all, that he completely owns his mind.
~oooOOOooo~
The door to the dark room opened abruptly. Booth flew inside as an enraged beast and plopped a folder with evidences on the desk so hard that Pelant shivered from surprise.
"How can I help you?" the criminal asked, pursed his lips and opened his eyes wide. If he would have a hat and boots, he would look like the famous cat from Shrek.
"You know," Seeley sat down, "Nothing, I'm afraid."
"What a pi..."
"Except with confession of murder and a detailed account of how it happened and where did you hide the body. We can give you a paper, even more than one sheet, a pen. Maybe you want to write an essay, as in a high school, or decorate your story with butterflies on the margins — you're welcome, I don't care, just write."
"What are you talking about?" he raised eyebrows indignantly; "A murder? No-no-no, it's a mistake, probably."
"Well," Booth clapped on the table loudly and smiled falsely, regretting he can't clamp these hands around his neck; "Then I'm going to buy a coffee. Want to?"
"No, thank you"
"That's right. There are rumors that it influences negatively on the heart. And it will sad if you die from the infarct in my shift."
"Oh, so cute than FBI agents care about my health. I almost whined."
"Always glad to help,"
He abstained from reverence heavily and leaved the room again after their short and empty dialogue: he saw proper to give him a little time to put his thinking-cap on and sigh above the folder of indirect evidences. He also didn't want to hand-feed it for him 'cause Pelant knew it anyway.
He returned across about twenty minutes with a glass of latte. Christofer was still sitting on his place, viewing chain of handcuffs from boredom or just glancing over the room where he was quite often before. Confident, calm, talkative sufficiently — impeccable tactic for a cold-blooded serial killer.
"Any progress?"
"Nothing interesting, agent Booth," Chris sighed tiredly; "I don't understand why you're refraining me here."
"I left you a document, actually. Everything is written there. Fortunately, you know how to read."
"Oh, that documents," the hacker took the papers in his hands and began fanning them; "I've read — boredom. No direct proof."
"By the way, hurrying to congratulate you," Seeley had a sip of his coffee, drinking a glass dry.
"With what?"
"With the last birthday, of course," he tried to put as much positive into his voice as he can; "Thirty years, great date."
"Thank you," He smiled in embarrassment and dropped his eyes; "I didn't think you're so sentimental."
"And how did you celebrate it? Alone, as always? You even haven't got friends," Seeley spot out poisonously; "Keep sure I'm sentimental?"
"Seemed," he glanced darkly at him, with hatred and injury; "What did she find in you... Not a sense of humor, certainly."
The caustic phrase that even barely affected Temperance was as a real red rag for Booth, and Pelant knew it very well, knew how to get him out of himself in seconds and use it for his own purposes.
A bit more and the agent would become ungovernable. He went angry immediately, flashed as a match, but if the match dies out quickly, it didn't work with Booth. The FBI employee jumped up from his seat and punched the table with fists, when the criminal recoiled in horror and shouted our his arms, ready to scream: "Rape, help!" and stray faintly, but it didn't happen: Booth gritted his teeth until the scratch and run out, leaving Christofer stay partly in confusion, partly in disappointment.
He exited in a hall, ran for the dispenser and gathered a full glass of cold water. Then he pulled out the oblong jar and poured pills on the hand. How many does it need for one time? Two? Three, maximum? He took five at once and ingested. Brennan was right: he had to took it at the morning and kept his mouth closed.
"Hey, is everything okay?" Sweets who just walked nearby asked; "Has he already rouse you?"
Booth nodded silently, drunk the whole lot at a gulp, then crumpled a plastic glass crossly and threw it away.
"Maybe you need to stop interrogation? Let me talk with him," Lance had the best of intentions; "I'm a psychologist, besides, I really want to finish my report about Pelant".
"Not worth," he rubbed his bride of the nose and gathered brows; "After what time these pills will affect?"
"Depends on how much you took. How many did you take?"
"Enough".
"From ten minutes until a half-hour, I think," the psychologist moved the sleeve and looked at his watch; "Sorry, Brennan is waiting me at the bottom. She said will be better if I estimate bones and murder reconstruction from the professional point of view".
"So, good luck. We have to take him, otherwise he will reach us," he turned back cautiously.
"Just ignore if it happens again — a good council. He tries to find you weakness and instigate a conflict. Then you will be suspended from the investigation and that's all — he is on a roll".
"Huh, I'd like to tell you where he is, and he wriggled into it over his head. And I'm afraid it's late, 'cause he has already found my weakness, now it is my turn," Seeley coughed, fixed his tie and went to the room in a third time.
"Have these pills an adverse reaction?" he stood in front of the door with that thought, put the jar out again and began to read the small text on the label; "So, it can have an opposite effect with an overdose: increased sensitivity, emotionality, changes in mood, hyperexcitability. Well, six tablets - not too much ... It is not recommended to eat with energy and stimulating drinks? Really? Although, there isn't much caffeine in the latte. I hope ... "
"Something else?" asked Pelant right off the bat.
"Listen to me," Booth prayed to God for help him control his anger; "We haven't got a body, right. In point of fact we can't approve it was murder at all, but I know: this sin is on your soul".
"So prove it, onward and upward," he put his arms on the table defiantly and chains rattled loudly upon the metal сountertop.
"No matter how you are clever and prudent, you will you'll make a mistake one day. Even Achilles had his heel, so we'll necessary find yours," threatened the FBI agent, but then he put on a brave face; "If you haven't got secrets, I think l'd go and get a search order. You don't mind, do you?
"For God's sake. You was there so many times that absolutely can call it your home too. Come in if it becomes boring".
"And how can you entertain me?" Seeley wanted to say, but resisted. On top of that, possible answers seemed to him so stupid and partly obscene, that he felt disgusted by own dirty mind.
"Do you want to go with me?"
"Is it necessary? You know l'm a lazy person, agent Booth," he walked tall again, suppressing the urge to yawn.
"Come on, come on, it isn't far. A dozen steps to the elevator, and there to the second floor".
Christopher sighed heavily and leaned his head down, getting up from the chair, but didn't oppose and trudged off from the room.
~oooOOOooo~
Usually thе level was fully crowded: someone practiced with documents, rustling among the reports, someone ran from pillar to post, noise is everywhere, but at hard Monday morning all the staff scattered at their places and work quietly with their own. People who wanted to join them and go down also didn't appear, so Booth dragged Pelant in an empty elevator by the hand and pressed the button. There was a typical signal, the steel doors closed and an arrow on a small electronic scoreboard at the bottom of the panel caught fire. However, they didn't have time to think about anything else, to come to their senses from the interrogation, when the elevator froze with a roar, flying just a couple of floors and stopping between them, and after a moment the light turned off and a hush fell over there.