A/N: IMPORTANT! Do you remember last chapter, when I said that 2021 was the year, and it wasn't a typo? I lied. It was a typo... the year is really 2018. I fixed it in the last chapter, and it won't happen again. Sorry about that...
This chapter is considerably longer than the prologue, and this can be around the expected length for the rest of the chapters as well :)
Chapter 1: Every Ship Must Sail Away
Have you ever heard the sounds, in the shadows of a song?
Have you ever felt the words blow right through from beyond?
Years pass and people change, the bluest skies could turn to grey
Though its gonna hurt for now every ship must sail away
Every ship must sail away
May 25th, 2018
Special Agent Seeley Booth awoke in the early hours of the morning, glancing at his alarm clock to see that, as was per the norm in the past week, it hadn't gone off. His internal clock had earned the unfortunate habit of waking him up, thanks to not one, not two, but three days of arriving late at the office without his morning coffee. It didn't put him in the most pleasant of moods.
And so it was approximately six o'clock when his eyes snapped open and focused blearily on the digital display. Groaning, he pushed himself up and tossed the blankets off onto the other side of his very empty bed. He and Rebecca had been on and off for the past six years, and now just happened to be a very abrupt, although not entirely unwelcome, off time. Which meant he had himself to look after, and no one telling him to pick up his clothing from the day before off of the floor, where he had tossed it on top of the rest of his clothing from the week. A growing stack that did nothing to ease his mind as he realized he'd have to do a laundry run.
"Parker!" he called as he pulled a pair of socks out of his drawer, tossing them back in as he dug for a black pair. He really did need to do some laundry.
"I'm up," his son called lazily from a direction that sounded like the kitchen. "Do you want me to leave out the cereal?" he added, probably as an afterthought.
"No," he answered, shaking his head to himself as he tossed his clothing through the doorway of his bathroom, letting it land in a heap on the tile floor. He couldn't bring himself to care, though. "Do you want a ride in?"
"Dad, I think I'm capable of getting myself to school," came the patient but slightly frustrated answer. It was just another healthy reminder that his son was grown up, something he still had trouble adjusting to, even after living with him through the rather trying period known as the 'teenage years.' Scary didn't begin to describe the experience, and he was almost grateful that he only had the one kid.
Parker just happened to be the ripe age of eighteen at the moment, and in his first year of college. After all the time at the lab as a child, and all the science kits and good grades, he'd been very much expecting his son to become some sort of squint. In the end, though, Parker had surprised him when he suddenly announced that he had other plans.
Plans that involved law enforcement, and ones that had led to a great deal of friction between the two of them. While the idea had at one point seemed unpleasant, Parker becoming a squint had been something he'd been almost sure of, as well as something he could have lived with. With the exception of one specific anthropologist, most lab jobs were undeniably safe and secure. Especially if he wasn't working in conjunction with the FBI, which Booth had also been hoping for.
Instead, though, Parker had gained an interest in criminal psychology, insisting that he wanted to not only be a profiler, but an agent as well. No office work for him. No lab time. Heck, he wasn't even going to settle for the half-role that Sweets lived out. He was having a hard time getting over it, and his son hadn't even learned to fire a gun yet.
That was something else he really didn't want to think about.
And yet, Parker had thoroughly ignored all of his arguments against going into such a dangerous field, cutting him to the quick more than once about how dangerous his own life was, and how he had nearly died and left his son fatherless on a number of occasions. It wasn't like he could hold a logical argument, either, because not only was Parker correct, but he knew it. And he knew that Booth knew it, too.
Rebecca had, infuriatingly, taken their son's side in the argument, stating over and over again that it was something he was passionate about, and something he had every right to pursue. Under the fiery exterior, though, he could see that she was just as worried as him. Only she was playing the good guy, and leaving him in the role of the villain. Clearly, she had figured out that nothing was going to change Parker's mind and had just chosen to ride it out on the safer waves, tossing Booth to the sharks in the process.
They'd been in an off time then, as well, he recalled grudgingly.
Now, he had mostly adjusted to the idea. Enough so to realize that he might as well help his son, if he was truly so serious about pursuing this particular career path. He'd gotten him back in his good graces by calling in a few favors and earning him the opportunity to speak with several profilers from a unit over at Quantico. While a small part of him had been hoping that the talk would change Parker's mind, it had only seemed to reinforce his interest in the subject, and after that... Booth had been forced to accept that it wasn't going to change.
They'd gotten through the college application process together, digging through scholarships and financial aid options frantically when Parker got accepted to the school at the top of his list... which was unfortunately rather pricey, to say the very least.
It would have evolved into a large issue had his partner not done something about it. He still didn't know what to say to her about that completely unfazed way she had mentioned that she had started a trust fund for Parker's college years ago. As if it was no big deal. As if she hadn't done more than her partner-like duties.
She was his very married, very happy, very moved-on-and-now-unavailable partner. Who he still worked with on a day-to-day basis.
That was something else he couldn't get used to.
He sighed at the thought as he climbed back out of the shower, tousling the towel through his hair and yanking on his now wrinkled suit from its crumpled position on the floor. By the time he made his way to the kitchen, Parker was gone. Be back early. Study group canceled, the note he found stuck to the fridge read. He nodded to himself and took a swig from the orange juice carton, contemplating whether or not to make a coffee run or settle for the crap they kept in the break room for the fourth time that week just as his phone buzzed. He picked it up off the counter and glanced at the caller ID before answering.
Work, as usual.
"Booth."
"Hey, we've got a doozy of a case for you," answered the familiar voice of Charlie, who had since been promoted to desk duty a few levels up. He now had the pleasant responsibility of doling out cases, which meant that at least Booth had some minor influence over which crappy cases he got dumped with. From the tone of the other agent's voice, though, it sounded like this one might be of actual interest, unlike what he'd been slogging through for the past two months. And from the background noise, it sounded like he was actually on a scene himself.
"Fill me in," he answered simply as he slid the carton back into the fridge and made a bee-line for his front door.
"Fire alarms went off at a building on the East side at around midnight last night. The whole fire department was gathered out front, building all evacuated. Elevator stuck shut with smoke pouring through the cracks."
"Well that's a new one," he said with a raised eyebrow as he stepped out into the cool morning air, tossing his keys up and down in his free hand.
"Certainly is," Charlie answered, "I've seen plenty of elevator shaft murders, and more than my fair share of body dumps, but never this."
"So there was a body in the elevator?" he asked, his suspicions confirmed. He was already out on the road before Charlie answered.
"Yep. Burned to a crisp. Very well-done, you could say. Took a hell of a long time to get that door open, though, apparently. They just cracked it a few hours ago, and then they had to clear the building to make sure it was safe, have a crew check out the mechanics of the elevator..."
"The usual," Booth filled in.
"The usual," Charlie echoed. "They're holding down the fort right now... the building's still mostly sealed off, and we've got a few agents chasing down some of the apartment dwellers that weren't in, but we don't have an ID yet."
"And so you need my help."
"We need your lady scientist, actually," he answered. "Pick her up and get here as quick as you can. They're waiting on her before they go anywhere near that body, and the press is already having a field day, what with the whole circus of police and fire crew out in the street. Traffic ought to be a bitch."
He groaned. "Of course it will. Send the address to my GPS, will you?"
"Done and done, Booth. You underestimate me."
"Thanks, Charlie," he answered, snapping the phone shut and turning sharply as he took a back route to the lab. From the knot of traffic he saw a few miles up the stretch, he assumed that the damage from that morning was far from being corrected. He also had a good guess of what direction to start off in, without even checking the GPS, once he picked up his partner.
For a moment, as he was nearing the Jeffersonian, he considered calling her and telling her he was on his way in. But then he changed his mind, and decided that he'd take a moment to brief the rest of the team upon his arrival, so calling would be a moot point. Besides, he trusted what Charlie had told him. They would wait for him to arrive, and then they would follow Brennan's lead on handling the body. No doubt it would be packed up and sent straight to the Jeffersonian anyways.
He pulled into the structure, and scanned through the information Charlie had sent to him. Finally satisfied, he climbed out of the vehicle and flashed his ID to the security guard quickly before stepping through the sliding glass doors. The familiar whoosh was one thing that hadn't changed. A good portion of the rest had, however. The platform had transformed in the past seven years, morphing from the once shiny and well-lit environment to an even more secure set of stations. The barriers around it were now steel with glass plates, and the readers had been designed to scan faces as well as check for the ID badge; all without having to pause or scan the card.
He bounded up the stairs, scanning the area briefly but finding only typical squints; none of his team. While years ago it had seemed like they mostly had the place to themselves, the lab had since expanded, taking in more interns in different branches and spreading out. One specific corner of the platform belonged exclusively to Hodgins, and the rest of their section was built of examination tables and equipment. At Brennan's behest, the designers of the renovation had separated their section with its own recess of walls and a separate scanner. It was complex, and somewhat obnoxious, but he had to appreciate that it was probably the safest place in the city outside of the actual FBI building. No one was getting in here without authorization.
Brennan, Hodgins, and Cam all had their own offices still, and Hodgins had even been offered one of his own. After barely any consideration, though, the bug-man had turned it down. He didn't seem to find it necessary, and he was quite comfortable in his little section of the platform, surrounded by his big machines. Half of which Booth still didn't know the function of, and didn't much care to, either.
For the most part, the structure of the actual offices had remained untouched. Brennan had gotten new curtains installed, which meant she could more easily block off her glass office, and Angela had taken the opportunity to control decorating, but beyond that... it was much the same. At the moment, however, the curtains were bunched at the corners and the room was dark. He stepped down the other side of the platform and moved alone the side of it, heading towards Angela's office, which was the only one with light streaming from the doorway. It was assumable that the team had gathered there, seeing as they didn't seem to be anywhere else. Although he didn't doubt that Brennan could very well be down in Limbo, digging through boxes of bones like she was prone to do lately. They'd barely had any cases in the past month, and even when they did... well, it wasn't as if he saw her much anyways.
Seven years ago, Brennan had met a man named James Turner when she and Booth had investigated the murder of a young business woman. They had interviewed him as the head of the rival business, as a possible suspect. He had been cleared quickly, but it hadn't changed the fact that she and James had had an almost instant rapport with one another.
Booth still cringingly remembered how he had asked for her phone number, and how she had smiled in a curious, adorable sort of way that had immediately made him feel like he'd taken a kick to the gut. After that, he'd heard all about her dinner date, and how wonderfully it had gone, and how he was 'very flexible.'
Good God.
Angela had drank it all up, of course — congratulated her friend on meeting someone new, and done everything possible to help. Countless times, he had seen the two of them chatting animatedly up in the lounge, Brennan's eyes bright and excited and Angela clearly enthusiastic.
He hadn't had much of a right to complain, though. At the time, he had been dating Hannah. He had been in love with Hannah. He had been happy. The thought was almost snidely sarcastic, even as he was thinking it to just himself, and he resisted the urge to curl his hands into fists. He didn't need the temptation to punch a wall.
Things with Hannah had not ended in an amicable, pleasant sort of way. They hadn't even ended with tears, or a fight, or anything of the sort.
They had ended, rather, with her informing him very curtly that she couldn't stand him anymore, and that she was heading back to Afghanistan for her work. It had been implied that she didn't want to see or hear from him ever again.
In part, he had probably deserved it. But it had still hurt like hell, and nothing could have changed that. Maybe it had been watching Brennan be with another guy, but something inside of him had lost the fire he had felt about his relationship with Hannah. It had begun to unravel at that point, and it was when Brennan announced the engagement that Hannah ended things permanently.
True to her final words, they had not spoken since. He doubted she would ever return to DC except for work-related purposes.
Probably more painful than the breakup itself, though, had been the fact that Brennan had witnessed everything that had gone on. Her being friends with Hannah, and being in a committed relationship outside of the Jeffersonian had provided her the ultimate view of the whole thing; hearing everything first-hand from Hannah and seeing the effects of it for herself in the workplace.
Everything in him had screamed that he should talk her out of marrying James. He had almost done it several dozen times, dialing six numbers before hanging up or starting a conversation and then chickening out at the last second and bringing up some aspect of the case they were working on as an excuse.
It wasn't just that their relationships with other people had changed, though. It was that they weren't the same people anymore. He had realized a great number of things when Hannah had dumped him to the curb and taken the first flight out of dodge, and not all of them had been about his relationship with her.
A good portion of them had been about Brennan, to be honest. About how he had been wrong, all that time ago, and how he should have dived at the opportunity to have something more with her, to hell with Hannah. But hindsight was twenty-twenty, as it had always been. Nothing had been that clear seven years ago... he hadn't seen the thousand and one flaws with his relationship, and he hadn't noticed that he and Hannah barely had anything in common more than their attraction and their involvement in things of criminal, political, and war-related nature. By the time that had occurred to him, though, Brennan had been in the middle of dating James.
And Jesus, she was actually happy. She had found a way to move on just like he had thought he had. Except, it was clear to him that she was going to succeed where he had not. Especially after the year came to a close and she came into work self-consciously wearing a large diamond on her finger.
Angela had already known, from the way she had insisted on being shown the ring and had been all-knowing when her friend had walked in the doors. Cam and Hodgins had even been more in the loop than he had. Hell, Zach had known more than him, and the kid had barely been released from the asylum at the time.
So he had been the only one taken by complete surprise when he had joined the little gathering and realized what was going on. He was never going to forget the way she had looked at him as he stepped past Hodgins to stand directly in front of her, staring at the ring with huge eyes. The way her gaze had flickered with doubt and insecurity, and the way she had almost seemed afraid of how he was going to react. Like she knew that he would be upset, and despite everything else, despite all the time he had spent moving on from her... she still didn't want to do anything to hurt him. Even though she was happy. Even though he had held little regard to her feelings during his time with Hannah.
He was such an idiot.
And now she belonged to some other guy, who he still wasn't sure he approved of entirely.
Jameson Turner was a co-owner of an expanding manufacturing company. Brennan had explained the details to him on more than one occasion, but honestly, he hadn't been paying attention. He didn't care much about how amazing James was. Didn't want to hear anything about it, actually. He'd gotten quite tired of it over the past seven years.
But no matter how good the guy looked on paper, it never swayed Booth's all-encompassing thought... that he could have made her happier than anyone else. Than James.
He remembered the wedding clearly, as if it had been just a few weeks since the day, rather than just short of six years. It had been the day he had lost her for good, after all... and he wasn't ever going to be able to forget that, no matter what happened.
"Sweetie, you look beautiful," he could hear Angela saying, nothing but pure joy in her tone.
They were a few yards behind him, where he was standing with Sweets and Daisy, but he couldn't bring himself to turn around and look at her. She was gorgeous. Beyond gorgeous, actually. She was downright stunning, in her long white dress with a sequence beaded design embroidered across the top — something Angela had designed specially. It hugged all the right curves in ways he knew he had no right to think about, and her veil was hanging beautifully over those auburn locks, curled to frame her face.
Less than an hour prior, he had watched her walk up that aisle in that dress. Had watched Max lead her to James' side and step away. Had watched the whole procession, with Angela and Cam and Daisy standing on one side with their matching blue bridesmaid gowns, and James' friend… what was his name? Kevin; one of the company lawyers who was apparently his lifelong friend as well — and he didn't like that guy any more than he liked James himself.
Finally, though, he had watched the priest marry his beloved partner to this man he barely knew, and he had watched them kiss while the crowd cheered.
And now… now he was here, watching the rest of the event unfold. James and Brennan had danced to start it off, as was tradition, and after that he hadn't seen much of her. He had caught a glimpse a while ago, of her dancing with her father, but now was the first time he had heard her voice since the ceremony.
His uncontrolled side wanted to spin around, grab her, and run.
His other side wanted to get the hell out of their on his own, so he could stop torturing himself.
But yet, he had found a balance he still wasn't happy with. Which involved sticking around because she needed him, whether she was saying it or not. He had been doubting it for a long time, and had been wondering about whether he was masochistic enough to actually attend the wedding after Hannah left him in those weeks leading up to the ceremony… when Angela had shown up at his apartment.
She had talked him into going, having apparently found out that Brennan was worried he wasn't planning on it. She had told him, reassured him, that Brennan needed him. That she was distraught at the idea of him no coming, but wasn't brave enough to ask him to go herself, because she didn't want to hurt him.
"If it's the last thing you do for her, Booth, please come to the wedding," Angela had pled.
He'd never been able to refuse Brennan. Not when he knew it was something she needed.
So, regardless of his feelings about watching her move on with her life with someone else… he had resigned himself to the truth. This was how things were going to go. It was mostly his fault for not trying harder, and if she was happy… well, wasn't that what he had always wanted? So, he was going to give up his happiness now, for her. So she could live the life she wanted to live, without him standing in her way. She deserved that from him, at the very least.
With that in mind, he hadn't been expecting it when someone suddenly clapped him on the shoulder. He jumped, and realized that Sweets was now a few more feet away, engaged in conversation with Hodgins, and Daisy was nowhere to be seen. As he turned, he realized that it was Max who now stood beside him, looking at him in a curious sort of way that made him uncomfortable. Like he was trying to decide what sort of accelerant to use.
But then the moment passed, and the older man said calmly, "To be honest, I didn't see this coming, Booth."
"Neither did I," he answered under his breath, more to himself than the other man.
"You know, she still loves you," Max commented, as though he hadn't heard — or had chosen not to acknowledge — what Booth had just said. He closed his eyes and prepared himself to tell Brennan's father not to go down that road, but before he could, Max was already pushing forward. "I can see it in her eyes, when she looks at you. Like she just was, two seconds ago."
On reflex, he glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Brennan's head turn away. She was dancing with her brother, now, he noted with relief. He didn't enjoy seeing her with her new 'husband.'
His eyes flashed back to Max, his mouth open with a ready retort, but he got cut off once again.
"She still has feelings for you, regardless of… James."
If there was someone else who cared as little for the groom, it was certainly Brennan's father. But yet, he had approved of the wedding. Something told Booth that he was going to be keeping a close eye on the guy, though. Very close. He would not want to be James if he did anything that Max considered wrong as far as his daughter went. Hell, the guy would have both of them after him if Max cared to share whatever it was he found out about. And Booth would be glad to lose his job if it meant protecting her, or at least aiding Max in doing so.
But as far as her safety went, Booth had run enough background checks to be certain she would be unharmed in this marriage. That didn't mean he wouldn't be keeping an eye out as well, though. He would do everything short of following her home every day if he found it necessary, and God help him, he wouldn't regret it in the slightest.
Even if she killed him for it.
"I don't know what you're trying to do here, Max, but if you're trying to make me feel better… it's not working."
"Sorry, Booth, just trying to make sure that you understand. Tempe… has never been very successful in love. And to be honest, I thought you were going to be the end of that. I'm not even going to pretend to know why it isn't you over there in the fancy penguin suit, but seeing as it isn't… I'm just going to say that I'm not stupid enough to think you don't still love her."
"Max," he said, a warning note in his tone.
The older man held up a finger to stop him. "I'm serious, Booth. So I'll say this right now… I expect you to still be around for when she needs you."
Only Max could get away with such an ironic demand in such a threatening fashion, and not earn a suitable answer. From anyone else, such a hypocritical statement would earn an equally threatening response, if not a punch in the face. As it was, he wasn't planning on going anywhere, regardless of what Max told him. And so he simply nodded and turned to look over his shoulder again, cutting his eyes across the crowd until he found her again, standing to the side of the dance floor holding a glass of champagne and staring in what was clearly the opposite direction. It didn't take a genius to figure out where she had been looking only a moment before.
For a second, he almost dared to believe what Max had just told him. Maybe things weren't as finished with him as he thought they were. She was married, but that didn't mean he couldn't still be in her life. He'd been in her life for the past seven years, after all, without any actual romance being involved. That part wasn't going to change… well, any more than it already had managed to since she had gone to Maluku and he had gone back to Afghanistan.
When he turned back to Max, the other man was gone. He looked around in confusion for a moment, but Max wasn't anywhere to be seen. Sighing and giving a short bark of laughter, knowing that he should have expected no different, he turned once more to face where Brennan was standing… only to find that she was gone from her spot as well.
Only, she was coming towards him, now.
She stopped a few feet in front of him, biting her lip nervously. She looked amazing, and he couldn't resist running his eyes down her slender frame in that lovely white dress. He had always imagined what it would be like to see her in a wedding gown… only he'd always included himself as the one she was marrying. Never had he thought that something like this would happen. Brennan had always been adamant about hating the idea of marriage. So he had assumed, deep down, that one day he would be the one to convince her otherwise, and they would share a long and happy life together.
Somewhere along the line, that had gotten skewed. His emotions and his intentions had gotten mixed up, and this was where they had dumped him.
A new song started, and she glanced back over her gloriously pristine shoulders at the band before turning once more to him, looking up at him through her long, dark lashes in an adorably insecure way. He wanted to hug her for it, even after all she was putting him through right now.
While recently he'd lost touch with his old Brennan-radar, it didn't mean he couldn't still read her. And right now, he knew exactly what she was thinking. An easy, somewhat amused smile slid across his features. He barely dared to say it, but the question was already rolling off his tongue. "Bones, would you like to dance?"
Her lip, still pressured by the tips of her top teeth, curved up at the edge and she blinked a few times before nodding smoothly. "I would. Very much," she answered.
His fingers just beginning to tremble, he held his arm out to her, and waited until she hooked hers through it before he led her out onto the dance floor. Since the reception had started, he hadn't danced with anyone. Ange had offered, but had been understanding when he had just shook his head. After that, Cam had come by, but thankfully only to talk. He'd known that the thought to offer was on her mind, but she'd judged that he wasn't in the mood, and hadn't posed the question. Now he was even more grateful… it made Brennan's silent request mean that much more to him.
As they stepped into the middle of the floor, he didn't care about anyone else in the room. It didn't matter to him where Angela or Max had disappeared to, and he definitely didn't care where James had gone. Because the moment he took her hand in his and rested the other tenderly on the small of her back, the entire world fell away. He had barely touched her, let it be a brush of fingers on her arm or a hand on her shoulder, since the rainy night when she had shared the truth of her feelings for him from the passenger seat of his SUV with the rain dripping steadily from her hair down her fair skin, running together with the tears that had flowed so heart-crushingly free down her cheeks.
He started to lead them. She seemed unsure of herself for a moment or two, and then suddenly he saw her. Really, truly, saw her. The old Bones, the one he missed just hanging out with after a case, and eating Thai food with at ungodly hours of the night. A flame sparked in her eyes, and with a lopsided smile, she suddenly pulled them in the other direction, taking control. This was how he would have expected her to act, and it sent a sad shiver down his spine to think that while this was beautiful, it wasn't completely real. No matter how much it felt like she was his, while she swayed in his arms… she wasn't. And after this moment, it wasn't likely he'd ever get to feel this way again.
Rather than letting that destroy the moment, though, he soaked it in until he didn't think it was possible to feel anything but the way he was feeling in that moment. Her warm skin under his hands, her crystal eyes staring deeply into his dark brown ones, her dress swishing smoothly around her ankles as she guided them…
He could get lost in the moment forever, and never let go.
It was by holding on to that single moment that he managed to not hate the memory entirely. At least, when he had that, it meant that not everything was lost to him.
"Hey," he called loosely as he stepped through the open door to find the entire gang gathered around the Angelator V.3, which was her most recent design. Much like the past two, it handled all the complex information she programmed in as well as had the capability to recreate crime scenes and events. Since the wedding, she'd been working on it off and on, something that conflicted with her work and home schedule and led to more than a little friction between her and Hodgins.
The couple had three kids, now. The first, Garrett, was born in June, while Brennan had still been in the early phase of dating with James. While he and the others had all expected them to wait a while before having any more, it had barely been a year before she announced she was pregnant once more, this time with twins. He had a hard time keeping track of their ages at first, but now he just settled for counting off of the number of years since he'd lost Brennan. It worked, because it was something he never had the fortune to forget. Currently, Garrett was six going on seven, and the twins — Kate and Trace — were five.
He tried to stay out of the drama between the artist and her husband, but as always, he had managed to pick up enough to get the general idea of what was going on. Apparently their parenting styles weren't exactly in agreement with each other. It was similar to his situation had been with Rebecca, minus the whole custody issue. Angela was more of the free-going parent, and Hodgins always ended up playing the bad guy. With Garrett now in first grade, the two weren't on speaking terms after several arguments that had made their way into the work place, disrupting the last consultation he'd come by to do a few weeks prior. From the icy distance between them now, it was fairly obvious things hadn't improved.
"Hey, G-man," Angela greeted him, sounding tired but otherwise pretty much her same old self. "Need something?"
"I need a team that can solve the murder of a woman set on fire in an elevator, actually. Know where I can find one?"
She laughed, but Brennan was the first to speak, a familiar crease between her eyes.
"We have a case?"
"Yes," he said calmly, with a nod. "Grab your coat." She stayed for a moment, and then finally nodded and vanished out of the office, her hair swirling over her shoulders as she rounded the corner. He turned his attention back to the rest of the group.
"Anything you can tell us right off?" Cam questioned.
He glanced at the screen before answering, and realized gut-wrenchingly that they hadn't been working, but rather looking through a photo collection. Brennan's camera was still hooked to the platform device Angela used to input data from. Pulling his eyes away from the images of his partner with her husband and son, he focused on his old friend's face and forced a response from his lips.
"Body found in an elevator. Burnt to a crisp, according to my guy; the fire department had a hard time getting access to the elevator cart. Some sort of failure in the system, I'm thinking. Probably intentional, and if not, then pretty damn lucky for our killer."
"You aren't kidding," Hodgins said, joining the conversation. "Any leads yet?"
They were clearly starved for some activity around here. Especially if Cam had approved and joined in on this little photo-sharing session.
The image in the middle of the screen right then was of Brennan with her arms around her son, Nicholas. James stood to the side with an arm looped easily around to rest on her hips. It was at some sort of fair. He didn't pretend to know what it was or when they had gone, only that she hadn't mentioned it to him, and he hadn't expected her to.
Just a sad fact of his life.
"Booth?"
His eyes snapped away from the screen to land unfocusedly on the woman who had just spoken his name. "Bren is probably waiting for you."
Both of them ignored the fact that Hodgins had posed a question. Him because he didn't feel like answering, and Angela because… well, just because.
"Right," he said, glancing quickly over his shoulder before sending one more long look at the photograph, trying very hard not to let his brain replace James' image with his own. Torturing himself never worked out well; he had learned from plenty of experience in the past few years. "I'll fill you in on the details when we get back," he said abruptly, as an afterthought, and then half-jogged out of the office.
Brennan was standing impatiently by the main doors, looking around and tapping her foot. She was holding her jacket folded over her arms rather than wearing it, he noted. It was somewhat cold out. He was wearing a jacket. But trust her to not follow his obvious meaning in the statement when he said for her to get her jacket.
"You said nothing about putting it on," he could practically hear her telling him.
"Let's go," he said as he joined her, leading the way out. He didn't voice the comment that was going through his head. Didn't start a pointless conversation. It would have begun as banter like a thousand times before, and then it would have fallen into awkward silence. He'd learned that over time as well.
She followed him wordlessly, finally pulling the coat on as they entered the chilly parking structure. She climbed into the passenger seat and instantly requested the details of the case as he cranked the engine. He tossed his PDA into her lap, and she picked it up and scrolled through the emailed file he had received on what they knew so far. Things had advanced at the FBI, one of them being that every agent had one of these, and most files were digital. That didn't mean any shortage of paperwork, of course, but still, it did simplify some things. The mandatory and high-tech GPS system in his SUV's dashboard wasn't making him complain, either. He hadn't gotten lost in years, since they'd first taken all the government-issue vehicles into maintenance and installed them in waves.
"This was in a nice part of town," She commented with a raised eyebrow, sending one glance his way before turning her attention back to the file.
"Which is why we need to be careful. We don't know what sort of high profile people we might be getting involved with."
"Do they think the victim lived in the building?"
"The FBI is questioning the neighbors, but it's not exactly a small building. More than enough empty knocks… people stay out late working or clubbing."
"Or having sex," she added with a nod, not noticing how he cringed. It was no wonder she called him a prude, with his reactions to the topic, but what she never quite understood was that it was discussing it with her that was the problem. Especially now, seeing as he was all too aware of what she engaged in with her husband.
"The doorman," he continued, clearing his throat, "Remembers several people coming into the building late that night, before the alarms started going off. But he's new; the last one apparently moved away recently. He doesn't know faces and names yet."
"Is he a suspect?"
She caught on fast; had greatly improved at figuring out motives and suspects in the past few years.
"He's being questioned, but they aren't taking him in."
"Why not?"
"No motive we can find. He's young and freaked out. I haven't talked to him yet, but I don't think he's involved."
She nodded again, and continued to scroll until she reached the bottom. Wordlessly, she handed the PDA back to him, and he shoved it in his pocket as he rounded a corner. He hit the siren and blasted through the next set of lights, slowing down to begin the game of swerving in and out of traffic. The apartment building was straight ahead, and he could already see the flashing lights from the assortment of crime scene and fire department vehicles.
Pulling in against the sidewalk on the wrong side of the street, he stepped out and held out his badge to the cops that instantly started to approach, hands on their holsters.
"Special Agent Seeley Booth," he said, and then gestured to Brennan, "This is my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan."
The first of the officers reached out to shake his hand. "Glad you're here. Agent Sanders is in the building waiting."
"And I'm sure he's getting impatient," he offered with a smile.
"That he is, sir," the officer agreed with a soft chuckle and a shake of his head.
"Lead us to him."
The cop turned and led the way, talking on his radio as he went; letting his superiors know that the anthropologist had arrived on the scene.
"About time," Charlie said the moment he spotted them, moving away from the fire investigators he had been talking with.
"Where's the body?" Brennan asked at once, getting right to the point.
"Some things don't change," Charlie half-muttered before he answered loudly. "Fifth floor, Dr. Brennan."
She took two steps towards the elevators before he stopped her with a hand on her upper-arm. She froze at once and turned back to him with a glare set firmly on her face. He released her instantly.
"Sorry, Doc, but you're going to have to take the stairs. They shut down both elevator shafts. And from what I hear, they weren't very good elevators to begin with."
She blinked a few times, her expression blank, and then spun on her heel and started swiftly up the flight of stairs to their right. He took a step to follow her, but stopped short, and then ran a hand down his face and turned back to Charlie. Better to let her do her thing, uninterrupted.
It wasn't as if he wasn't used to this new operation procedure, anyways. For the past few years, all they had done was this. She went for the body, he went for the suspects, and beyond that… they shared the data, but never the experience. He rarely ever saw her on the job, anymore. Division of labor. The most advantageous use of our skills, she had said, more than once. He hated it when she treated him like that… when she gave him answers in that old, robotic way he hadn't heard from her so strongly since they'd first started working together. It was hard to remember the days when they had shared every aspect of the job together — the chase, the long conversations in the diner, the evidence analysis in the lab, the interrogations, the arrest… the paperwork over Thai food while they sat on her couch together.
Charlie introduced him to the arson inspector, who explained the use of accelerant, the unique way the fire had behaved under the conditions created once the elevator door had closed, and the duration it had burned while their crew had worked to open the doors. It was all information that Brennan would need to hear as well, but he was sure that she would be informed on her own, while she was upstairs working on the body. It made him feel almost unnecessary. Like he didn't belong in the same world as her anymore.
For now, though, he could do whatever possible on his own end. Maybe this time he'd get the chance to actually work with her again. Because what it had felt like, increasingly with the more time that passed, was that it was never going to start going back to the way it had been.
Some things he was never getting back, and he had accepted that. But there was other stuff, like working lunches, that he wanted to reestablish more than anything.
Charlie waved over a young man in a traditional doorman uniform, who looked shaky at best.
"I'll leave you to it," Charlie said, clapping him on the shoulder. "I've gotta go sort out the circus out there."
"Have fun," Booth said with a smirk before he turned his attention the younger man. "You are?"
"The doorman, sir," he answered, his eyes huge and his hands shaking.
"I know," he answered shortly, "What's your name?"
"Oh. Rory Hart."
"Alright then, Rory. Can you tell me what you saw last night?"
"I… I'll try, sir. But, the… the other police… they didn't… they weren't very happy with my answers… I just… I guess I didn't pay close enough attention…"
"Just give me what you know. You're not in any trouble, Rory."
He nodded frantically, looking very eager to believe that.
"Alright." He looked at his shoes, shuffling them for a second, before he looked up again and began. "I just can't believe this happened, y'know?" At Booth's pointed look, he stammered, "Sorry. Just… yeah. Sorry. I was… I was right out there, by the door. A few regulars came in… I'm sorry, I just don't know their names…"
"Focus, Rory. I understand that you don't know their names. Can you describe any of them? Perhaps you remember delivering a package for one of them and know what floor they live on..?"
"The… the body they found. Wasn't it on the fifth floor?"
"Yes, but that only means that it's where the fire was set. We don't know where the victim was going."
"Wouldn't that mean she was going further than the fifth floor?" he asked, looking excited now, like he was hoping maybe this time he could be helpful. Booth almost hated to burst his bubble.
"When you work in my business long enough, you'll learn that things are seldom what they seem. We don't know who the killer is, so we don't know where they came from. For all we know, they were waiting on the fifth floor and just… hit the button. Or maybe they were waiting in the elevator, and the fifth floor was simply where they stopped after she was dead."
"Oh."
"Don't worry about it, kid. Tell me, though, do you have any surveillance measures here?"
"We used to. When I first started working here, that camera worked." He pointed to the one that was aimed at the front doors from a mount on the corner of the wall separating the elevators and the opening to the stairwell.
"And now it doesn't?"
"Yeah. It stopped working. The building owner told me not to worry about it, but to keep the camera up. It discourages people from doing illegal stuff."
"I'm sure it does. Back to who exactly you saw going in and out of the building, though?"
"Right. Uh… about a dozen or so tenants went by me. Most going out rather than in. I'm supposed to be replaced by the night guy at eleven, but with everything that happened…"
"Did that night post man come at eleven?"
"No, I called him. Told him what had happened. The police told me that they didn't need him to come by… probably because it was already a zoo outside. I passed that on to him."
"Right." That made sense. "If you saw these people again, would you remember if they were the ones who went by you?"
"I… I don't know."
Well, he was done with this guy. He wasn't getting any more from him.
"Alright, that's all I need for now."
"Does that mean… I can go home?"
"We'll be in touch, but yes. You can leave."
The young man sighed in relief. "Thank you."
He just nodded distractedly and turned to find Charlie once more. Catching the other agent's eye, he pointed towards the stairs and got a thumbs up before he turned back to the conversation he was conducting in the doorway with what appeared to be a very uncooperative apartment owner. Most likely someone who had just arrived home and wanted to cut through the thick of their crime scene to get to her apartment.
Booth bounded up the stairs two at a time, nodding to the techs that he passed on the way, who appeared to be combing every inch of the stairs, bit by bit. He didn't envy them.
By the time he hit the fifth floor, his legs were burning. He wasn't exactly a young man anymore, something that he was reminded of on a regular basis every time he was forced to chase suspects or trek through difficult terrain. It gave him an uncomfortable twinge in his gut to think that his field career might finally be reaching its closing time. He wasn't looking forward to his future of desk duty, but he had to accept that it was approaching. At least, however, he had the safety net of knowing he could probably take a promotion and earn a somewhat decent pay to make up for the lack of action.
He had already been offered such a promotion, to be honest. More than once, in fact. Cullen had always been only half-eager to give the opportunity, though, a part of him clearly hoping Booth would turn it down each and every time. It was a nice boost to his ego, if nothing else, to know that he was still wanted in the field as a top agent.
When he rounded the corner he found the elevator doors surrounded by techies in uniforms. It only took him a second to realize they were all keeping a careful distance from the actual elevator cart, the door of which was locked open.
Brennan was inside, crouched down on her toes with her knees jutted out as she carefully peeled back a piece of skin with her gloved hand.
"What do we have so far?" he asked as he stepped into the opening, carefully to keep his feet at least six inches from the pool of fluid on the floor.
She glanced up, unfazed by his arrival, and answered calmly in her expected monotone.
"Female, early thirties. Back of the cranium was bashed in; it looks like cause of death. But I can't be sure until I have her back in the lab."
"So the fire was to destroy the victim's identity."
"It looks like it. Cam will confirm either way after she looks at the lungs and trachea."
"Anything else you can give me? A possible weapon?"
"Blunt object," she said with a concentrated frown as she bent over the body again, something new catching her eye. Whatever it was, she didn't share.
"Do you… want to help me question the neighbors?"
She hesitated a moment, and he could almost see the exact moment when she decided it would be a bad idea. And right after that, he saw the moment when her eyes shifted as she formed the necessary excuse. It was almost as if she didn't care that he saw through it, because she certainly knew he would. She just also knew that he wouldn't do anything about it.
It hurt like hell.
"No, I should stay with the body. There are a… few other things I need to look over before transport."
He nodded, disappointment radiating off of him in waves, even though he shouldn't have expected any different.
"Let me know if you come up with anything that might help," he said, trying to hide his frustration but probably failing miserably.
He turned away from the elevator, ignoring the obvious sympathy looks he got from a few of the men who had overheard his conversation before he stepped down the hallway to where a few agents had blocked off the neighbors from leaving. The last thing these people needed to see was a burnt body in their elevator.
"Booth," Agent Thomson said with a relieved sigh after he spun around to confront him. The other agents turned back to the neighbors as Thomson stepped away. "Glad you're here… this is quite the interesting lot, here."
"All of them from this floor?"
"No, they're from all over the building. Damn nosy neighbors flocked right to this floor the minute they found out the alarm didn't mean them any actual danger. You know that half of these bone-heads didn't even leave the building?"
Booth shook his head. "Why am I not surprised? Although, with the state this building is in, I have to say, false alarms probably aren't too rare."
Thomson laughed shortly. "No kidding." He waved vaguely over his shoulder as he posed his question, "Any of these crazies catch your eye for the first in line?"
"Might as well get the worst of them off your hands. Point them out."
"That one there is Stewart Hobbs. He claims to know about everyone in the building. Real super spy," he added sarcastically. "If he lets you in his apartment, I wouldn't be surprised if you find a stalker wall, to be honest."
"Good to know," he muttered before he walked purposefully towards the group, getting assailed at once with an overflow of questions.
"Who's dead?"
"Who pulled the alarm?"
"Was there really a fire? I smelled smoke, I swear I did!"
"Is Dr. Brennan really here?"
That last one made him cringe. The more books she came out with, the harder it was to go to a crime scene without getting recognized. The fact that they'd finally made a movie out of it didn't help matters. Especially with how well it had gone over in the box office.
"You. Hobbs, right?" he said, singling out the straggly looking man with the blonde hair hanging in wisps over his icy blue eyes.
"I… yeah."
"Come on, you're up first. The rest of you, you'll get your chance to answer my questions in a minute."
He ignored the complaints and the rest of the questions he had hurled at him as he hooked his hand under the young man's arm and dragged him down the hallway and around the corner.
"Where's your apartment?" he asked the instant they were out of sight.
"Up a floor."
"Then I guess we're going up," he said grimly, pulling his companion around the last few corners until they came back to the opposite side of the elevators, at the staircase.
Hobbs attempted to get a look, but Booth resolutely yanked him forward and upwards until they were finally on the sixth floor. That was where Hobbs apparently drew the line, because he jerked himself out of Booth's grip and rubbed his arm.
"Alright, who is it?" he asked. "Who's the body in the elevator. And don't tell me there isn't one, because I'm not that stupid."
"We don't know, Mr. Hobbs. Which is why you need to help me."
"You need my help?"
Good God, it was going to be one of those interviews.
"Yes. We need you. Now, tell me… do you know of any women in the building, in their early thirties, who might have enemies that would try to kill them?"
He looked almost disturbingly eager to answer that question, and he stammered as he tried to rush to spit out everything at the same time. "Kelly's got an abusive boyfriend, but she got rid of him a few months ago… the new guy could have something I don't know about yet, though. And then there's… Maggie, she lives just below me; she keeps to herself, which means she's got some sort of secret I'm sure. Uh… Rena's just got out of jail, but she's more in the forty range, I'm pretty sure. Gail is expecting an inheritance, so there could be a robbery motive there…"
"Have you seen any of these woman today?" he cut him off.
The man thought for a long moment. "Kelly went out this morning to get her coffee. She snuck out the fire escape and I heard her go past; I don't know if she's back yet, but personally I wouldn't blame her. It's been crazy in here. Can I see the body? Maybe I could help you identify—"
"No thank you, Mr. Hobbs. If we need you for anything else, we'll let you know. Which one is your apartment?"
"6F," the man answered on reflex, and received a slight push in response.
"Then I want you to go there and stay there. Understood?"
Scowling, he finally complied and sulked off, leaving Booth to clear his head for a moment before he went down to collect the next possible suspect/witness. Hobbs didn't seem likely, but he wasn't off the possibilities list. At the very least, he was a creep. Possibly a pervert. There was every chance he was actually involved, what with how invested he seemed to be in everyone else's lives.
"Next," he called as he finally rounded the last corner.
"Calvin Jacobs," a man in his early forties said eagerly, stepping forward to vigorously shake his hand. He had a slight British accent, and he hadn't been one of the ones rattling off questions. Booth had him follow until they were around a few corners, but stayed on the same floor this time.
"Anything that you might have seen or heard that could help would be highly appreciated," he said, watching Jacobs with interest. So far, he showed no signs of the nervousness or excitement that the man before him had possessed. It was a good start.
"I'm going to assume that you don't have an ID," the man began intelligently. "So I'll start with this. I haven't seen my neighbor in a few days. Her name is Gail Stafford."
"That's very helpful. We'll look into it. Anything else you have to share?"
"Unfortunately, that's all I have. I came out to see what was going on, and figured I might as well share."
"Much appreciated," Booth answered with a surprised raise of his eyebrow. Normally, he'd call this type of witness statement suspicious. But the guy was honest, and he had a look in his eyes that said he didn't really want to live here, and was just trying to get by. Booth liked him, and he believed him.
The other man nodded and headed the opposite way, letting himself into the apartment at the end of the hall, and Booth sighed, running a hand through his hair and breathing out a harsh sigh before heading back. It was going to be a long morning.
Feedback makes me happy. Very happy.
I have no set update schedule planned for this, and I'm hoping to stay ahead so I always have a couple chapters in reserve... but you can expect a chapter a week at the least.