The Fan in the Fanatic
Chapter One: Setting the Scene
Right hand on the steering wheel, left elbow jutting out a couple of inches of his open window, wind in his face and sunglasses on his head, both of Seeley Booth's eyes were on the road. That is, when he wasn't checking his mirrors or rolling his eyes at the woman sitting next to him. She hadn't stopped talking since she walked off of the elevator in her building. How someone could ignore a cloudless sky, perfect May temperature and the freedom of the open road for a bunch of broken pottery in Metso-medeviel-East-Timbuktu was beyond him. But then again, a lot of what she said was beyond him. But that was okay – because he got to carry a gun and she couldn't. Tapping his fingers against the corrugated casing of the steering wheel, Booth smirked. Gotta love the way the Universe balances itself out.
An open MacBook perched on her lap and speaking into an ear bud, Temperance Brennan continued a conversation that started well before Booth picked her up at her apartment. Dr. Hans Boyd, while excavating a site along the steppes outside of Constantinople, had unearthed an anthropological conundrum. The pictures and cross-sections Boyd streamed to her computer were enthralling. How Booth could wax on about his appreciation for the DC skyline and yet have no interest in the anthropological fundamentals that enabled existence of everything he professed love about current society was beyond her. But that was okay – she was the one who always had a pair of gum-boots stored with her gear. Stifling a smirk, she mused that the number of times he used the word 'squint' in a derogatory fashion and the number of times he had to order new foot apparel were directly related.
"Yes – I see exactly what you're referring to Dr. Boyd." Eying the pictures on her screen, she zoomed in on the highlighted segments of clay. "For the era and location, the process in which that vase was created doesn't correlate with the existing information pertaining to that area."
Movement to his right had Booth looking in her direction. She was angling her screen, trying to maximize the amount of shade that fell across her machine. Reflexively, he brought his left hand to the wheel, reached out with his right and flipped down her visor. The 'tah-dah' motion he made with his hands once he regripped the wheel was something she never saw. He did feel the appreciative pat she gave his thigh. This time, he didn't smirk. A look of smug affirmation morphed into a pleased smile as he refocused on navigating the fast-moving, ever-congested, Beltway traffic. Oh yeah – the Universe definitely has a way of balancing itself out.
Swerving over to the next lane, he checked his mirrors and pressed the accelerator. It wasn't that he was in a rush to get to the office. Lord knew that the case files of those three women would still be on his desk whether he arrived at eight-thirty or eight-forty-five just as he knew that the files matched the three sets of skeletal remains that rested side-by-side in Bone's lab. No names, no cause of death, no leads. Not as of yet. But Bones would come through for him. She'd give him something, anything, to latch onto and take to the mat. The sooner he could get her to work, the better. But, within reason. There was no way he was going to enable her crack-of-dawn-to-the middle-of-the-night work schedule. In his book, work was done during work hours. Non-work hours were exactly that – hours spent not working. For him, it meant going to the gym, hitting the firing range, spending time with Parker and perusing flea markets for vintage Green Lantern comic books. For Booth, he knew she spent a lot of her time with her books: writing, editing, promotion, fan-mail response, karate class, yoga.
"Dr. Boyd, your invitation is generous and I would enjoy seeing your discoveries first hand," Bones answered. Without missing a beat, she added, "But at this point in time it would not be feasible for me meet you in Turkey. I have a commitment which cannot be delegated at this point in time."
The curve of Booth's smug grin flattened. It was moments like that which reminded him that her services – her time as his partner – were fulfilling an inter-agency obligation. Her skills and talents crossed every international boundary and social strata. She went where she could do the most 'good'. If that meant that she should be knee-deep in pond muck locating human remains, then so be it. But, if her skills could be used to ascertain key points of evolution in human events, then so be it. If her capabilities could lead the World Court to convict an individual of 'crimes against humanity', then so be it. He should be grateful he got so much of her time as it was.
"I will, though, send you a list of persons who may be agreeable substitutes." Smiling graciously to the man on the other end of the digital line, it wasn't difficult to figure out what Dr. Boyd said. "Likewise, Hans; collaborating on this project would have been a most unique opportunity for the both of us."
Now on edge, Booth shifted in his seat and reflexively checked his mirrors. A hole had opened up in the lane to his right. Smoothly sliding over, he glanced at Brennan. She had her hand to her ear and he could tell that her ever-lasting phone call was wrapping up. Pressing on the gas one more time, he slid out from behind the mini-van that was in front of him and seamlessly blended with the fastest flowing traffic. For one brief moment, he could see all the way up the highway. Behind it, the first of Washington's monuments gleamed in the morning's light.
Time suddenly slowed. Sixty-eight miles per hour became four miles per hour. Twenty car lengths ahead of him – them – a dark green sedan abruptly jack-knifed. Cars of every make had nowhere to go and no time to do anything about it. Sounds of breaking glass, fibreglass crunching and metal striking metal were drowned out by the 'whoosh' of air being consumed by a mighty fireball.
Time reverted back to normal with a roar. Then, it accelerated. A wall of propelled heat slammed into their SUV even as the flash-and-flare of exploding sedan momentarily blinded Booth. Eyes closed and jerking the wheel, he did the only thing he could do. He diverted the car into the median. If he couldn't avoid being in an accident, the least he could do was avoid making an already tragic situation even more horrific.
Bouncing hard as the tires fought for traction, the large vehicle fishtailed before completely rolling over. Landing on all four wheels, the car finally came to a stop.
Gasping for breath, adrenaline pumped through his veins. Scrabbling for the pen inside his suit jacket, he exposed the point and jabbed at the deployed air bag. The safety device saved him from having a steering wheel for a ribcage but it also prevented him from helping Bones. Expanding and shutting his eyes in attempt to shake the last of the blurriness from his vision, he groped for bearings. The windshield had spider-webbed and the roof was thoroughly dented, but the doors worked – with a little help from a pair of solidly placed size eleven shoes.
Walking around the front of the car on shaky legs, he reached the passenger side of the car. The side window was gone. The airbag looked like it never deployed. The backing of seat – her seat – was pushed all the way back, nearly reclined all the way to the back seat.
Oh, God!
"Bones!" Booth called out. Urgency deepened his voice. The need to find her underscored his urgency. "BONES! Talk to me!"
Images of her being thrown from the car as it rolled over flashed in his brain. From his right, sounds of cars literally driving into each other sent his anxiety level into the stratosphere.
"Booth – over here!"
His head whipped around. It was her! She was well enough to call out to him.
"Back here, Booth!"
Following her voice, using the side of the car for support, he came to the back hatch of the SUV.
Brennen was there, inside the car. Shaken, but clear headed. On her hands were the towels she kept in her bag. She was using the terry cloth to shield her hands as she pulled chunks of safety glass from the back window into the cargo area.
"Booth – help me." Her words were solid, her voice raspy. Determination set her shoulders.
Nodding, he walked up the back of the SUV and with several powerful thrusts of his elbows, succeeded in making an opening big enough for her to slither through.
Extending his hands, he expected to grasp her wrists. Instead, his fingers curled around two, heavy, plastic handles, each attached to cases marked with a caduceus.
Setting the first-aid boxes down, he reached in one more time. Pulling, bracing his legs against the earth beneath his feet, a battered Bones was freed from the wrecked car.
"We're going to need these." Reaching for her waist, she fumbled with a wad of blue nylon. Unravelling one FBI jacket, it was only a moment before the other one followed.
"Aw – but Bones – no corsage?" Booth quipped. Shrugging into his jacket, he had to say something. Too much adrenaline and other glandular secretions only squints could name were pumping through his system.
"I don't know what that means."
Tucking a tendril of hair behind her ear, she picked up one case and offered it to him. The other, she kept for herself.
Leading the way, Booth picked the best path back to the highway.
So much for getting Bones to the lab...
***~~~***~~~
Thick smoke, too laden with motor oil and other contaminates to rise more than a few meters above their source, brought the visibility of anything at eye-level down to less than an eighth mile.
Fire crews and EMS personnel were continuing to arrive. Overhead, news copters circled.
By virtue of his assertiveness and her creditials, the premptive, harried, 'you can't be here, let us do our jobs' voiced by the more junior members of the emergency response teams gave way to being directed to the on-site commanders.
Separated by skill, Booth went one way and Brennen went another. Paired with the Fire Marshal Davies and Davies' assistant, the three of them systematically moved from one car to the next, tracing the deadly domino effect all the way to the charred remains of what was once a dark green sedan.
Approaching the vehicle, Booth grimaced along with the two men who flanked him. Water and protective foam coated everything - including his brand new shoes and funky socks.
"Should've worn gum-boots, dude." Lipton, Davies assistant, pointed at the water that seeped from the stitching in Booth's shoes.
Before he could say anything, Marshal Davies put a hand out and effectively stopped Booth from getting any closer to the vehicle.
Making an exaggerated sniffing noise, Davies looked at Booth. "Do you smell that?"
Inhaling deeply, Booth got a nose-full of something he definitely didn't like. Regardless of what Hodgins or Zach said, it definitely wasn't beef or chicken.
"I need a crowbar." Exhaling, he gave the Marshal an expectant look which was immediately passed onto his assistant. "And tell Dr. Brennen that she's needed up here."
Walking all the way around the vehicle, his ruined shoes forgotten, the creepy feeling curling in his stomach intensified the closer he got to the trunk. Squaring off with the back end of the car, he planted his feet and shoved his aching hands into his pockets.
Thankfully, his wait was short.
"Booth – what's up?" Brennen inquired.
Sparing her a look, he saw that she was battered – emotionally and physically. Assisting with triage would do that to a person. But, if his gut was right, this would be just the thing to get her re-invigorated. Beside her stood Lipton; he didn't have a crowbar, but he was carrying a fireman's axe.
"I think you," he waved at the still sealed trunk, "might want to do the honours."
Accepting the tool from Lipton and wedging the blade at what looked to be the weakest point, Bones gave the handle a fierce wrench.
With a groan, the tortured metal slowly lifted.
The Marshal gagged. His assistant puked. Booth closed his eyes and sent a prayer to God. Brennen's quizzical expression had him sending up another prayer just for her.
Seared to the roof of the trunk was a body.
Looks like someone forgot to buy cooking spray…