Secret Service

A/N: This story idea about Max's past popped into my head early this morning. It is very AU, so don't be surprised by its revelations. I apologize if my historical assumptions are faulty.

Christine groaned when her alarm clock jangled at 6:45 am, followed by a chorus of 'You Gotta Get Up in the Morning' from her cell phone. A month of waking up to Irving Berlin's "Oh How I Hate to Get Up in the Morning" was the inventive penalty imposed by her mother for having missed curfew one recent Friday night. While she detested the song, Christine knew it was effective. She'd make sure not to violate her 12:30 am curfew again. Mr. Wilson had assigned an intriguing AP US History winter break project, which she was enjoying but on this snowy morning, she'd rather have slept in.

Forty minutes later, fortified by cinnamon oatmeal, hazelnut coffee, and a hot shower, Christine was on the road. Her destination this morning was a residence in Silver Spring. She had an appointment with Barbara Bennett, a family history researcher who enjoyed her mother's books. Brennan had struck up a conversation with the diminutive genealogist after one of her earliest book signings. The pair had become fast friends with much in common. Both women had numerous fans and guarded their privacy assiduously. Christine had been fascinated on more than one occasion, hearing Mrs. Bennett speak. She had worked up the nerve to request an interview with the genealogist which was graciously granted.

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Christine's class assignment was to research her family's past using specifically U.S. Census data, military rolls, and immigration records. Brennan had blanched at this revelation during dinner a few evenings ago, and the teenager didn't miss the look her parents exchanged without comment. When their meal was finished, the couple had disappeared into Brennan's office, ignoring Hank's and Christine's squabble over who had dish duty. She wasn't surprised when they asked her to join them an hour later.

"Hava seat, honey," Booth began. "About this project of yours, you already know that Abraham Lincoln had a tragic encounter with one of my ancestors. . ."

"Yeah, Dad, you told me that in the fourth grade."

"Well, that's not the only secret in the skeleton closet," he trailed off.

"Booth, bones do not own closets; let me handle this," Brennan interjected.

"What your dad is trying to say, Christine, is that your grandparents had a rather checkered past, to put it mildly. Max and your grandmother were bank robbers at one time, before I was born, and they assumed false identities to hide from a criminal gang trying to kill them, Russ, and me."

Christine stared at her mother, speechless. Temperance Brennan believed in the truth; bald, bare, straightforward truth.

"Grandpa Max was a crook?"

Booth glared slightly at his wife and took up the story. "Chrissy, your grandparents rifled bank deposit boxes after hours, but they never hurt anyone. They discovered evidence in an Ohio vault, which incriminated some unscrupulous FBI agents, and put their family in danger. It's a long story, but Max eventually helped release an innocent man from prison and convict some seriously evil people. He and your grandma did some shady stuff, but they protected their kids at all costs. Let's just say Max would have absolutely been a hero in the Old West."

"We'll tell you more as you're older, but you may find some unsettling information as you research my father, Christine, and we needed to make you aware of that," Brennan said resolutely.

"Max loved his family fiercely, and that guided all his actions," she stated softly, tears in her eyes, remembering a long-ago conversation with her father.

"You could have lived an honest life Dad."

"You know, sometimes circumstances move your life in a direction you never thought it would go….Your mother and I, we never intended to live outside the law…"

"Then why did you?"

"I can't tell you why. Not yet. Certain people are out there still alive could get hurt. I don't want to hurt anyone else…"

"That's not a real answer."

"I know, but you're just going to have to trust me."

"It's not easy, Dad."

"I'm sure it isn't. But when all is said and done, honey, your childhood wasn't so bad. You used to love playing tag when you were a kid….You loved it…and you always got me…. I can still hear you laughing and squealing with joy every time you got me…" (Episode 9.18: The Carrot in the Kudzu)

"Mom. . . " Christine said.

"Honey, we'll talk more. All you need to keep in mind for now is that your Grandpa Max was an amazing man who never ceased to surprise even those who thought they knew him well," Booth assured his daughter. "For now, this isn't something you can share with your brother. Understood?"

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This early on a weekend, there were very few cars on 495, and Christine had plenty of time to mull her parent's revelations during her half-hour trip. Her grandparents had robbed banks? She laughed out loud. Grandpa Max had played 'Cops and Robbers' with both her and Hank dozens of times; a complex game of tag which always ended in gentle tickling and lots of hugs. It was one of her favorite memories.

She pulled up in front of a compact well-kept home, exited her car, and rang the doorbell. Mrs. Bennett opened the door and welcomed her in. She didn't accept genealogy research clients, but was an avid fan of Temperance Brennan's books, and more than happy to assist the author's daughter. While the Montgomery County Historical Society was actually in Rockville, Mrs. Bennett preferred to access its archives from her home office. Familiar with her mother's fight for privacy, Christine readily understood.

Mrs. Bennett's office was a plant-filled sunroom, with low bookshelves and a spacious desk holding several computers and display screens. She carried a pot of fragrant tea to a side table, sat down and poured two cups while describing her research techniques for gleaning warm human facts from dry statistics and aged documents. Looking at her teenaged guest with bright eyes, Bennett chuckled.

"Your father's side of the family has some interesting members, doesn't it?"

"Yes, m'am. I think that's partly why my dad joined the FBI, to offset John Wilkes Booth's horrible deed."

"Well, all the Booth men since then have served their country honorably, from what I hear. What about your mother's relatives? What have you learned about them? What were your grandparents' names?"

Christine hesitated. "It seems they both had more than one name…I'm not sure which ones to use in my search."

Already aware of this fact by a phone call from Brennan earlier in the week, Mrs. Bennett smiled.

"Well, then, let's look up your grandfather using both nom de plumes," she suggested.

"Max Keenan and Matt Brennan," Christine replied.

Mrs. Bennett pulled up the military draft records database. "When was he born and where?"

Christine consulted a small notebook. "October 8, 1941, in Somerset Pennsylvania. My grandmother was found in Salisbury about 20 miles away," she said softly.

"I know, your mother told me. She said they were very much in love, despite their colorful activities."

She briskly changed the subject. "Okay, we enter his name, date and place of birth, and see what we come up with…he registered for the draft in 1959. Here's his record. He's noted as attending Bucks County Community College, while working as an electrician's assistant. Completed an associate degree in science. Enlisted in the Army in 1961, reported for basic training at Carlisle Barracks Army Base. It says here, upon completing basic, he volunteered for Airborne Special Forces training at Fort Bragg, North Carolina. During Special Forces Assessment and Selection; he was disqualified for a heart murmur, and had to drop out."

Christine's eyes widened. "I don't think my mother is even aware of this."

"That doesn't surprise me. Most kids aren't cognizant of their parents' earlier lives," Mrs. Bennett assured her.

"Considering your dad's stellar military record, your grandfather likely never mentioned this to him either. Most men don't like to admit failure. A heart murmur wouldn't necessarily have kept your granddad out of the regular Army, depending on his MOS, or assignment. However, he couldn't join Special Forces with that physical condition. Can't fault his intentions, though. He wanted to serve his country and was able to fulfill his two-year commitment as a pharmacy assistant. Received an honorable discharge in 1963."

"Do you see how we looked him up and followed the records to uncover his past? It's the same process you'd use for researching immigration records, ships' manifests of Atlantic crossings, Ellis Island entry, and the like."

"Now, let's look up Max Keenan in the census records. Hmmm, that won't help much. Data is only released 70 years after a particular census is taken, and your grandfather wasn't alive in 1940. The 1950 US Census information won't be published until 2020. But the technique is the same. What was your father's grandfather's name? He was around in 1940, and would most likely have been alive in 1930."

"Great-grand Pops' name was Henry Joseph Booth. He was born January 13, 1930 in Philadelphia. His parents were Joseph Henry and Emma Frances Hawkins Booth," Christine read from her notes.

Mrs. Bennett logged into . "You can search the public census records, but need their home address to find the recorded entry. Ancestry has catalogued the information by name, which is much easier to manipulate. Here he is. Joseph Booth was a police clerk. Their address was 172 Franklin Street. Your great-grandfather was two and a half months old."

"Great-grand Pops was a baby? That's so cool. My dad is gonna love hearing this," Christine said with a laugh, as she jotted down the notation.

"If we skip ahead to the 1940 Census and use the same address, maybe we can find your great-grandfather once more….Yup, they still lived on Franklin Street. But now, Hank Booth is ten years old. His father was a police constable by then."

"Family history is fascinating to explore. You never know what you'll uncover; good or bad," Mrs. Bennett agreed. "That's why I'm so passionate about teaching people how to go about it. Of course, African-Americans are at a distinct disadvantage due to the slave trade. Many people's lineage was disrupted and obliterated by the Middle Passage. I am fortunate that my forebears were Yoruba royalty in Abeokuta, Lagos. My great-great-grandfather studied medicine at King's College in London, my great-grandfather was educated at Edinburgh University. Both were appointed staff assistant surgeons for the British Army."

"My grandfather was trained in thoracic surgery at the University of Durham; my father studied in London, and was chief surgeon at Moorfield Eye Hospital before joining Wilmer Institute at Johns Hopkins. Education has always been tantamount in my family as it is for your mother, a way to overcome adversity and small-minded people."

"I've enumerated my ancestry, not to impress you, Christine, but to demonstrate how different my experience has been from that of most African-Americans who can't trace their families. My brother followed the family business into medicine; my sister works in public health administration, my lifework has been history, education, and genealogy. None of us has less than a Master's degree."

Christine had been listening intently. "My parents have stressed the same thing to us. Parker is pursuing a Master's degree in Epidemiology; I'm hoping to follow Dad into the FBI or law enforcement of some kind. Hank is too young yet to predict. Right now, he wants to be a fireman."

"Even so, honey, he's already got your dad's spirit for serving others," Mrs. Bennett observed. "Your parents have given so many people closure through their work. My college roommate lost her brother in Baltimore and they apprehended his killer. I enjoy your mother's books, but I admire her forensic work even more. If I can bring a fraction of the peace to people that the Jeffersonian-FBI partnership has, I'll count myself a success. You're blessed, child, with much to live up to."

Barbara Bennett swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "Just listen to me, blathering on; this isn't getting your project finished—"

"Mrs. Bennett, don't apologize. You've taught me more than research methods this morning. I've taken up too much of your time, but I so appreciate hearing your experiences, philosophy, and ideas. Aunt Cam said you consulted on deciphering the cargo logs from the Amalia Rose. Your comments helped her deal with finding a woman with her great-grandmother's name. Mom told me she had a hard time coping with that case. Dad's always saying you have to march to the drummer in your head. My grandfather was kind of like that, I guess, doing what he saw as right for himself."

"Yes, I think you're right. You definitely come from strong-minded people, Christine. Give my best to your momma, and that handsome hunk father of yours!" Mrs. Bennett said. "If he wasn't married, and I was single, my oh my….!"

As Christine turned beet red, the genealogist apologized. "Sorry, honey, I got carried away."

"No matter, Mrs. Bennett, I'm pretty sure most of my teachers all feel the same. They don't hide staring at my dad very well. Thanks for all your assistance this morning. I hope you have a merry Christmas with your family."

"You too, Christine, the same to your folks."

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Christine buckled her seat belt, turned on the heater, and carefully backed out of Barbara Bennett's driveway. What a morning this had turned out to be! Mrs. Bennett's feisty personality reminded her of Caroline Julian's uniquely outspoken approach to living. The prosecutor was one of her favorite people. The traffic was heavier now, and she drove alertly back to Rockville.

As she came down her street, Christine spotted Hank at the base of an extension ladder, feeding a long string of Christmas lights up to Booth who was clipping them to the roof gutters. He turned as she pulled into the driveway, and started down the ladder.

"Hank-o, let's head inside and warm up. Please go ask your mom to make some hot cocoa, Buddy."

He put his arm around his daughter's shoulder and pulled her close. "Whad'ja find out, honey? Any deep dark secrets?"

Christine's expression stopped his teasing. "Dad, I found out something about Max. I don't know how Mom's gonna feel about hearing it."

"Is it bad?" her father asked.

"No, no, nothing like that, just surprising, that's all."

Seated at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around warm mugs of cocoa, Booth and Brennan waited for their daughter to speak.

"Max was in the Army. He started Airborne training, but he had a heart murmur," Christine told them. "It apparently wasn't serious enough to disqualify him from the service; he was a pharmacy assistant for the rest of his two years instead."

Her parents' eyes met in one of the silent conversations their children were accustomed to, and Booth leaned over to kiss his wife.

"The pacemaker," she said softly. "I never knew he was in the Army..."

"He never let on, did he?' Booth asked her gently.

"Grandpa Max had a heart condition? Is that why he died, Mom?" Christine asked.

"Your grandfather was getting on in years, honey, but yes, he had some cardiac issues which effected his demise."

"Christine glanced at her father who nodded. She knew her mother well enough to recognize the scientific jargon Brennan used to mask her emotions at time. The girl asked no more questions, but continued describing what Mrs. Bennett had shown her.

""Daddy, we found Great-Grand Pops and his parents in the 1930 Census; he wasn't even three months old when it was conducted, just a baby. They lived in Philadelphia on Franklin Street!"

"Pops would love that! We'll have to look up Grams too. Sounds like you had an interesting morning!"

Christine agreed, "This family history project involves way more than dry dull statistics, that's for sure. Each entry is a person!"

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Much later that night when their children were in bed, and Booth had checked the house as he always did, he quietly entered the master bedroom, knowing he would find her lost in thought. Brennan was sitting in bed, her knees pulled up to her chin, her arms wrapped around them; as he imagined she might have as a child, waiting for Max to answer her questions. She looked up at him, her blue eyes stormy and troubled.

"How could I not have known my father served in the Army, Booth? Did he ever reveal that to you? Do you think my mother was aware of his heart abnormality? How many other damn secrets did he take with him to the grave? Why would he hide things like that from his own children? He wanted me to trust him but apparently, he didn't trust me."

"Bones, I don't believe it was anything like that. There's no doubt that Max was a very private man, kinda like me, but I think his motivation sprang from a desire not to worry you. To him, worrying was his job; about you. Not the other way around. He never told me he enlisted either, but I think that was just his way. I daresay he never told your mom about his heart for the same reason. He saw worrying as his responsibility."

"But-"

"And as far as trusting you, he trusted you explicitly. You wanna know how I know that? He came back just for the chance to be with you, knowing he'd likely be arrested. He trusted you with his heart and his love, hoping his daughter would forgive his missteps."

"Of course, I forgave him. I always loved him, even when he crushed my heart by leaving. He was my father," Brennan sobbed.

Booth enveloped her in a hug; for once, he had no further answers, no more words to comfort her. And so, he repeated himself, one more time.

"I know he loved you too, Bones, always, and so did your mom. As twisted as it seems, that's why they left you. I'm sure it broke their hearts too."