Title: The Evolution of Temperance Brennan
Rating: T

Chapter: 2 of 10

Focus: Nicknames
Spoilers: General 1-4 warning. Also semi heavy spoilers for season five as well.
A/N: Sorry it took me a while to complete this chapter. It seems all I ever do is work. Hopefully the next installments aren't so spaced out in time. Also, all grammatical and spelling errors are my own. I apologize for any mistakes.

"Bones identifies bodies for us."~

~"You never had a nickname?"

"Oh, no. Just what Booth calls me. Just Bones."~


He doesn't know where it comes from because it just sort of spills out of him. Everyone around him says "Bone Lady" or "Doctor Death" or "Hottie Scientist." Early on, before everything gets messed up and turned around, he doesn't join in with them or hop on the bandwagon of words.

He watches her walk the perimeter the crime scene tape creates with her head down, scanning the ground.

Temperance doesn't fit her, he muses.

Through word association, he has come to picture moderate climates and comfortable pleasantries. There is nothing temperate about her. She is either ice cold or a burning hot spark, which he finds oddly attractive.

She bend and the honey brown hair confined in a pony tail falls over her shoulder. Beside her, the trowel sits and she grabs it and a tiny shovel. When she works, she's meticulous, careful, precise. There is no hurried movements or impatient.

He goes to join her side, approaching slowly so as not to disturb the air that bends and flows around them. Dirt comes to embed itself in the ridges of her nails, caking to the cuticles. Sprinkle, shake, sprinkle, shake. The process is slow but he waits because these things take time.

A glint of something catches her eye, and his, and she delicately rakes through the soil. The curved, white speck emerges from the earth and she holds it up for him to see.

"We've got bones," she smiles. Radiantly.

He thinks that no one should look this happy at a crime scene. Any other person would not. But she's not just anyone, he admonishes himself. That is Temperance Brennan kneeling there. Author, anthropologist, curiosity.

"Yeah," he nods, reaching into his pocket for his cell.

After a few rings, his boss answers.

"We've got bones," he repeats, not sure entirely if he's talking about what's now in the evidence bag or who's holding its contents up, squinting into the sun.


The sound of sirens permeate the D.C. Night air as he stands in front on Lincoln, trying to think of anything but history and why she picked this, of all places, to meet him. He paces, one foot in front of the other. Back and forth, back and forth. He feels shadows form and move behind him so he spins mid step on his heel.

She comes to stand beside him, looking much darker than the last time he saw her. Circles color her eyes from puffy red to black. She stares straight ahead at the statue and breathes shallowly. Inside of him, he doesn't know what to say or how to begin.

"For someone so aligned with honor and duty and truth..." she says, huffs.

"What?" He has to ask. He's lost.

"I saw you on the news. You're quite the hero for putting Hasty behind bars," she answers. The corners of her lips twitch but he knows it isn't a smile.

A pang hits his gut because now everything makes sense. About why they are standing here, standing in this spot. He can almost feel her hand stinging his cheek again.

"I..."

"You took complete credit for the case! Not once did I hear mention of my colleagues or I. It was all about giving a good name and glory to the FBI. You used me to find the answers and then cut me out of the picture."

"Now hang on a second! You know you did your job well, along with your people. But that reporter was asking me about case specifics. You know, cop stuff."

"I would say I'm specific to the case," she laughs coldly.

"I handled the situation as I saw fit."

"Then you aren't who I thought you were," she sighs and turns to walk away.

"Bones," he reaches out, grabbing her arm.

Her eyes bore into him and a solitary tear slides down her cheek. He opens his mouth but only a puff of air comes out. She pulls her arm from his grip and steps back, hanging her head to look at the ground. Strands of hair fall into her eyes and she tucks them behind her ears.

"Don't call me Bones," she whispers, the last words he hears from her for two years.


When he sees her again, the chagrin leaps out in force. As she cuts her eyes at him, he looks at the Homeland Security Agent.

"Bones identifies bodies for us," he explains to him. As if they are a team. Or ever were.


The first time she hears it, it's cute. Even touching coming from him. But he's attractive because of his prominent brow ridge and asymmetrical features. He's a man and she's a woman, so she accepts the moniker passively. Over time, the words stagnate and repel feeling out of her. Passivity dissipates and anger grows.

When the word "Bones" rings in her ears, in that tone of his, it's all she can do not to scream.


He thrusts a brochure out and she strips the latex from her fingers, throwing them onto the nearby medical tray. He takes a step back and never says a word, just lets her look. Immediately she scoffs and walks past him, crumpling the paper against his chest in slight agitation. A waste of time. That is what she files this moment under and she breezes quickly to her office.

Behind her he follows, not like a puppy but like a lion. She can hear him growl in irritation but chooses to ignore it as she removes her lab coat and hangs it on the coat rack.

"You didn't even read it. All you did was glance at it and then crunch up your nose the way you do when I make you angry," he gripes.

She frowns and his eyes go wide.

"See? There it was again," he points.

"You want me...to go to couple's counseling?"

"They thought it might help us out. You know, as partners," he offers.

"Oh, so what you mean is that instead of catching murderers and giving families solace, things I could be doing in the hour that you want me to go to this, I have to be talking about what it is like to work with you?"

She sits behind her desk and withdraws a file filled with x rays of the current case they are working on. For a moment, she waits for his mockery at not being able to see the scans without a light source but he says nothing and continues on.

"Actually the sessions are an hour and a half blocks, two days a week," he corrects.

"Absolutely not! The mere meaning of "couple's counseling" suggests that we are a couple, which we most certainly are not. Moreover, you want me to sit and listen to the ramblings and wild theories of a soft science which holds no more credence or credit than...than a flying saucer or the monster of the Loch."

"It's the 'Lochness Monster', Bones, and I think this could do us some good. Maybe make us better partners."

Her blue-green eyes bore into him and he throws her a smile.

She wonders what good can come of this, of this nonsense. The first time she is seated in the Federal Building with Booth, she glances sideways to see him looking mildly amused at her side.


"Bones are the items I specialize in. It is not my name, nor do I find it amusing. I would be more than appeased were he to call me Dr. Brennan or simply by my surname, as I do him."

The young psychologist smiles slightly with his elbows raised and fingers interlaced. The action confuses her, oblivious as to what might have caused this reaction.

"Dr. Brennan. Did you ever..." Sweets pauses, picking his words carefully, "contemplate why Agent Booth might refer to you by this nickname?"

"While I am not entirely sure in my thoughts, because assumptions hold little ground when tested against truth," she begins. "I have often wondered if he simply used this to anger me. I expressed vehement displeasure with him doing so from our very first meeting."

Booth huffs loudly beside her and turns. "I do NOT do it to piss you off."

Sweets holds up a hand, as if to stop a fight before it even starts.

"I agree with Agent Booth. I don't think he uses it as a way to anger you. Perhaps, maybe, he uses it as a term of endearment."

"...Endearment," she repeats.

"Say what now?" Booth scrunches his face, confused.

Sweets leans slightly forward and takes a good look at each of them before continuing on.

"Agent Booth holds you in high regard. While he often introduces you as a partner or his work companion, his calling you "Bones" shows a deeper caring and friendship than either one acknowledge. While you often butt heads, it is in a healthy manner. You challenge one another, creating an environment conducive to intellectual stimulation..."

"Whoa, hang on there with the stimulation," Booth halts, holding up his palm. "We don't stimulate one another."

"I think what Dr. Sweets means is that, while we often respond to one another in a manner of hostility or heat, our partnership often yields positive results," Brennan tries to translate, but stops when she sees him shaking his head.

"Two too many PhD's in this room. So for the last hour and a half..."

"Hey, you're the one who got me to agree to come to these sessions," Brennan interrupts.

His brows knit together and she closes her mouth, allowing him the floor to speak.

He rolls his shoulders and moves his head from side to side, regaining his cool.

"What Dexter's Laboratory over here is trying to say is that we're...friends."

"Friends?" Brennan laughs.

The look on Booth's face, the mild hurt etched into his features, robs her of the noise in her vocal chords again. On the wall, the hand of the clock falls downward, another minute passed. No one says anything, no one tries. Even Sweets seems content to sit as they are forever, waiting for one of them to find the answer within themselves. She speaks first, keeping part of her vision on Sweets and her peripheral on Booth.

"Yes," she concedes, but not with guilt, "Booth and I are friends."


"You never had a nickname as a kid?" Angela asks in half amusement, half disbelief.

"No. Just what Booth calls me. Just...'Bones'," she smiles without really thinking, without remembering who it is she is standing in the room with.

A wide grin spreads across the artist's face, and she has to wonder what it is she just gave away.