The Panic in the Partners
Booth and Brennan had each unflinchingly faced all sorts of dangers over the course of their lives. They dealt with uncertainty, abusive adults, uncaring authority figures, angry criminals, psychotic geniuses and other potential threats. But nothing had prepared either of them for the anxiety of this situation.
They were each tied up in knots. They disregarded a cardinal rule of their married life not to have electronics in the bedroom other than the cell phones their work required. They left his laptop running on the dresser all night long. Each time one of them awoke for the call of nature, they'd slip over to its keyboard, press 'Enter' to awaken it from sleep mode, and peer cautiously at the tiny icon crawling across its screen. Seeing evidence of movement, they'd slip back into bed, relieved for the moment.
Their dreams were agitated. Both woke the other up with unintentional restless attempts to get comfortable and settle for the night. Brennan had a nightmare, thrashing about and moaning softly, "The Gravedigger's abducted her. . ." Booth strong arms encircled her torso in a gentle embrace to calm her fears. He awoke an hour later in a cold sweat, which hadn't happened in several years; dreaming of conversations with a ghostly Teddy Parker aboard a doomed ship wired to explode.
During the previous evening, they'd both appeared outwardly calm all through dinner; discussing Hank's Saturday hockey game, and how soccer practice was going with its season quickly approaching. Max had called twice, asking if they'd heard anything, which of course, they hadn't. Cell phone calls from passengers during commercial flights were still frowned upon by the FAA. Even he, a wily old con man with nerves of steel and a poker face to match, was jumpy.
Brennan's laptop sat open on the kitchen counter, and during dinner, they'd checked the computer screen as regularly as if it had held evidence of the Flyers latest conference game scores, or her editor's critique of a new article on Raymond Dart's 1924 discovery of Australopithecus africanus in Bechunaland.
After an evening of trying, and failing, to focus on anything other than the Flight Aware live tracking application on her computer screen, Brennan closed her anthropology journal and went to bed. Booth checked doors, windows, lights and locks, and followed her upstairs. Both partners connected their cell phone to chargers and placed them in easy reach on the night stands. Kissing one another, they laid back on downy pillows and stared at the ceiling, hoping for sleep.
Finally, at 4:47 am, Booth's cell phone screen lit up and chimed. "We've landed. Off to see the Parthenon. Love you both," the message read. Handing the phone to his wife, Booth smiled broadly and sighed with relief. Brennan did the same, a tear slipping down her cheek. "Thank goodness. She's okay. Intuitively, I know that air travel is statistically far safer than automobile travel, but that didn't make me feel any calmer. Why were we so worried, Booth?"
"We're parents, Bones."
The cause of all this uncharacteristic worry? Christine's sophomore history class was taking a spring break trip to Greece and Crete. No FBI agent authority or Ph.D. forensic knowledge of anatomy could make her eighteen-hour overnight trans-Atlantic flight progress any more safely nor quickly. And so, like all others, her parents waited, and worried. (And in Booth's case, prayed as well.)
A/N: This story is a result of one of my kids taking a spring break school trip. Couldn't help but worry, and writing this little story gave me a welcome distraction. Once a momma, always a momma.