Title: And the Center will Hold
Spoilers: Up to early Season 3
Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were, there would be a shirtless David Boreanaz in every ep. Seriously. Every one.
A/N: To answer some questions from reviewers: Yes, there is a case. But it's not really the focus of the story. No, Agent Fletcher isn't a "problem" for Booth and Brennan. (They are problem enough for themselves don't you think?) This is a story exploring their relationship and how they get to where we all want them to go. I'm trying multiple POVs, so hang in there.
Nine hours into what looked to be a twelve hour day, minimum, and Angela was ready to scream at someone. The most likely candidate was Jack, for the simple fact that he was hers to scream at. But she was really not annoyed at Jack. She was actually annoyed with whoever thought it was a good idea to kill the poor schmuck lying on the exam table on the platform. Because if no one had killed the guy, then they wouldn't still be at the Jeffersonian, trying to identify his remains for the FBI. Which in turn would mean they – she and Jack at least – would be at the fantastic new French fusion place in Georgetown, celebrating the discovery of her husband. Well, the discovery of his name at least, which was a small miracle, considering how little she had remembered about that whole Fiji experience.
Pushing her hair back from her face, she sighed as she slid down from the stool at her work station. "Seriously Bren, how much longer before you have a skull for me?"
Straightening slowly, as her muscles screamed in protest, Brennan glared at her pointedly. "Angela - I told you ten minutes ago that I'll have the skull ready as soon as I can. Zack has determined that it was smashed by a tire iron at least 3 times – after the fatal gunshot to the temporal bone. If you're in such a hurry to identify these remains, why don't you go see if you can help Hodgins collect particulates from the rest of the skeleton?"
"Eww. No thanks. I'm not scraping goo off of burnt remains. Plus, I thought the FBI was handling all that – aren't we just supposed to make a positive i.d.? Aren't they pretty sure who this is anyway?"
Stretching her hands up above her head and then slowly rolling her spine down until her palms were flat on the surface of the floor, Brennan's voice was muffled when she answered, "Yes, the FBI is pretty sure who this is. We however, are the Jeffersonian, not the FBI. To us this is an unidentified set of burnt remains, with a skull that was fractured into twenty-seven different pieces. Our job is to use empirical scientific methods – including the 'scraping of goo' as you put it – to positively determine the identity of this body. What we know so far-" she raised back up and looked across the table at Angela, "is that these are the skeletal remains of an adult male, approximately twenty -nine to forty years of age, whose facial structure is consistent with that of someone of Asian descent, probably Vietnamese, that was living in the United States from the age of two or three. What the FBI knows is of no concern to us."
Unfazed by Brennan's mini-lecture, Angela asked, "Speaking of the FBI, where's Booth? Usually he's breathing down our necks right about now, asking ten million questions and not waiting for any of the answers."
Bending back over the table, Brennan said, "I don't know Angela, he doesn't check in with me. This really isn't his case anyway, it's actually Agent Fletcher's case, out of the Atlanta office. I'm sure Booth is doing whatever Booth does when we're not working a case together, he does have his own career you know."
"So is this Agent Fletcher hot too?" Angela's earlier sour mood was nearly erased at this thought. As much as she loved Booth – and she truly did, he was the best thing that had ever happened to Bren, even if her friend was totally clueless about it – she loved seeing him get all jealous and bothered when other attractive men were around. His bluff and bluster, the sheer maleness of it all, was delicious to watch. Especially after the Sully debacle. Although she had really liked Sully, she had a sneaking suspicion that Booth wasn't going to take the chance of his "partner" sailing off in the sunset with any other men.
"Sure. Particularly if you are into redheads with big breasts," she answered with complete seriousness.
Angela frowned for a millisecond, then the meaning behind the words sunk in. Twisting her mouth at the top of Brennan's head, she continued after a moment.
"So Agent Fletcher is a woman huh?" Brennan nodded and continued to place tissue markers on the skull.
Well, that road does run both ways. Angela could always work with whatever she was given, it was her gift. If it was good for the goose …
"Did Booth think she was hot?" Her smile was wicked.
"I didn't ask. But I think they had a relationship, several years ago. They went to the FBI academy together and she seemed inordinately glad to see him," now she looked up, snapping off her gloves. "I asked him if they had slept together."
"What?" So much for her plan to get Brennan to admit she was jealous of the big-breasted redhead. This was definitely not where she thought this conversation was going. Angela could only gape as Brennan continued.
"I told him that her body language indicated a previous intimate relationship – you know that book I've been reading about non-verbal cues?"
Angela could only nod and grin.
"Well, every indication was that he in fact did have a prior sexual knowledge of her, actually it was more her body language indicating a prior sexual knowledge of him, but when I asked him on the way home he denied it, saying he used to tutor her or something, and she was just grateful that he helped her make it through the FBI academy. I let him think I believed him."
"Wait. Back the hell up. He lied to you about having slept with her, like ten years ago? Why does it matter now? And anyway, how did you know he was lying?"
"He didn't completely lie, it was more of a half-truth, which is actually a half-lie. But anyway, when he was telling me the half-truth or half-lie or whatever it was, he was tapping his fingers on the steering wheel – tappity-tappity-tappity."
She said this to Angela like it was the answer to everything, and handed her the skull, complete with tissue markers.
Angela took the skull without looking away from Brennan's face. "You've lost me, hon. Half-truth, half-lie. Tappity-tappity-tappity. What did I miss?"
"It was right there in chapters three and four, Angela. 'How to Recognize Untruths' and 'Non-Verbal Indications of False Information'. Clearly, Booth is like over seventy-five percent of subjects that indicate with some sort of repetitive motion when they are not being totally honest. It's a brilliant science Angela, I'm so glad you recommended that author," she finished with a slight smile. "Come find me as soon as you run the skull through the Angelator."
Angela could only watch her walk away, the skull in her hand and the missed dinner reservation long forgotten. The student has become the master, she thought with a chill, and shook her head.
Booth swore softly as the phone on his desk rang for what seemed like the millionth time. Unlike the portrayal of the FBI in the movies – hell, unlike that lucky bastard Andy in Bones' books – his job consisted mostly of paperwork, and preparation for court case testimony. Being a supervising agent, he didn't do the volume of legwork the younger agents in the bullpen had to do; instead he read reports, wrote reports, signed off on reports …. Booth would secretly give up the shiny office in exchange for less paperwork any day.
"This is Agent Booth," he growled into the phone.
"Mmm, cher, you sound like someone licked the red right off your candy today."
"Caroline," his face relaxed into a half-smile. "Just disappointed I hadn't heard from you all week."
"Ahh, I'll take your sweet lies any day, darlin'. Brightens an old woman's day, to hear such nonsense from a young man like you." The AUSA had a soft spot a mile wide for the FBI agent. Not only was he one of the best she'd ever put on the stand; his work ethic and flawless case-work made her job infinitely easier. But it was Seeley Booth the man, not the FBI Agent, that she cared for the most. And it was this Seeley Booth she had called.
"Nonsense? Never, Caroline. So what brings me the pleasure of your call?" His smile was full-blown as he leaned back in his chair.
"I've got some bad news, cher. Well, I figure it will be bad news to you, and that skinny little bone doctor friend of yours. I wanted to tell you before you heard through the press," her tone was weary, as she dreaded the rest of this conversation.
"Bones? News about what?" Booth sat up straight in his chair, gripping the phone a little tighter.
"That rat bastard Max Keenan she's lucky enough to have as dear ol' dad. I've met with him twice in the last week, trying to get him to take a deal. My boss wants the names of everyone he did a job with, and old Max isn't budging. If he doesn't take the deal, Booth, the US Attorney's office will likely seek the death penalty for Kirby's murder."
Her last sentence hung in the air for a moment, as Booth felt the ground beneath him fall away.
"What? The death penalty? For offing a dirty agent that was trying to kill his kids? Surely-"
"You and I know what a piece of horseshit that Kirby was, Booth. I'm with Max a hundred percent on that. But the truth is, he murdered – as in gutted and burned on a cross – the deputy director of the FBI. Dirty or no, that doesn't go down well with my boss's morning coffee. That on top of his previous crimes buys him a needle, cher. Unless we get him to deal, and I've had no luck."
"How long do we have to get him to take the deal?" Booth knew without asking what Caroline wanted him to do.
"My boss will be meeting with the FBI top brass next week, and he will inform them then what the US Attorney's office will be asking for in the case of United States vs. Max Keenan. Unless Max deals …" she let the rest of the sentence hang between them.
Booth was silent across the line, his mind churning with the thought of Max getting the death penalty. Because he would be found guilty. Because he, Special Agent Seeley Booth, had done such a damn fine job on the case.
"Cher, I'm really sorry about all this. I know how much you care about that partner of yours. I'll do everything I can on this end, but I need those names."
"Yeah, sure. I'll, um, get back to you as soon as I can. I just – I'll need to - I've got to talk to Bones. Yeah. Thanks – thanks Caroline."
Booth stared woodenly at the phone after replacing it on the receiver. Caroline's goodbye had not even registered. The words "death penalty" rang like bells in his head, clanging over and over. Bones' face, overwhelmed by her luminous eyes, floated through his mind. Early in their partnership, before he even considered her a friend, he knew there was a permanent layer of hurt in her eyes. Some of that was erased when they found out the truth about her mother, and even more was gone when her father came back. To imagine her eyes filled back up with pain, and knowing it resulted from doing his job made Booth physically ill.
Rubbing a hand over his eyes, Booth stood slowly and shrugged into his jacket. Palming his keys, he walked to his door and flipped off the lights. With a heavy heart and a bitter taste in his mouth, he headed towards the elevator, trying to imagine the conversation he was about to have.
A/N: I'm trying not to become a review-whore, but the last ones were really helpful in formulating this chapter. There will be more to the case in the next one, I promise.