Disclaimer: I don't own Bones nor do I profit off of the time I put into writing this. I attribute my Maluku Islands research to Wikipedia, Google Maps, and prior knowledge.
Things You Might Need to Know:
- A hydraulic jump is a feature in open rivers that creates a current that you can sit stationary in while kayaking. One's such as "Charlie's Hole" in Great Falls, VA, (really close to Washington D.C.) can kill as it did in 2008. It was actually named for a man that was trapped in the current and dragged himself out underwater. I'm not that good of a kayaker, but I've put in under the falls, it's a good ride.
You guys are WAY too kind! I was really touched by the all the reviews and story alerts. Pressure is on! I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much as you enjoyed the last. Without any further ado, I present you with chapter two. Hey! That rhymed!
I apologize for errors, let me know if you see any so I can fix them.
B&B
The Maluku Islands, known more commonly as the "Spice Islands" to Europeans, were the destination of a very determined Temperance Brennan.
Famous for its nutmeg, cloves, mace, and other once exotic spices, the islands were an extremely popular destination for traders. Between 1200 and 1500 AD, the Venetian control of Mediterranean trade and trade with the Muslim states with overland connections to the Spice Islands gave them an iron monopoly. As a result of Western imperialism turned violent, many of the native island populations were killed in the Spice Wars of the 17th century. More interesting though, is the silver currency discovered in the region dating back to 200 BC.
Brennan and her team of anthropologists meet in Dili, Timor-Leste, and prepared to sail north towards the Banda Islands of Maluku.
"Be careful with the Raman spectroscope!" she called to one of the works loading their chartered boat. The man was obviously in pain, most likely suffering from a bulging disk from manual labor. The team couldn't risk their research being postponed by an incompetent accident.
"Lady," the laborer grumbled in a broken sort of English, "I see no Ramen noodles."
"I don't know what that means, but you are holding a Raman spectroscope," Brennan corrected, "named after Sir Chandrasekhara Venkata Raman of India. It measures low-frequency modes in a system by inelastic scattering of monochromatic light from-"
"That's quite enough Dr. Brennan," Dr. Curtis Mays approached.
A biological anthropologist, she really never cared for the man personally. While he had the potential to be fantastically brilliant, he was often overly concerned with the opinions and perceptions of others; he always tried to be on good terms with everyone, and, on more than one occasion, altered work to avoid controversy. In Brennan's opinion, this made for a poor scientist and quite frankly, he was what Booth once called a "moron" most of the time.
"Let the poor man do his job! It doesn't entail worrying about what we intend to do," he patted her fondly on the shoulder.
Mays' hand remained on her shoulder almost possessively. She fought back the urge to gag at the thought of him having any sort of attraction to her.
"Dr. Mays, stop brushing my scapula with your distal phalanges. It's unwarranted and unprofessional."
"Such a joker huh?" a Cheshire grin spread about his face as an anthropological assistant eyed the interaction questioningly.
With more words highly unnecessary, Brennan pushed past the despicable Mays, and supervised the rest of the loading procedures. The boat was to set sail at dawn. The journey would take all night and by morning, the crew could begin the 7 kilometer hike to the site.
The Banda Islands of the Maluku were truly beautiful. With a population of only 15,000, the Banda were renowned for scuba diving and snorkeling. She wouldn't be working the entire year; perhaps she could make time to enjoy the tropical climate. The Banda were also volcanically active; another thing that could certainly provide a distraction.
"Dr. Brennan?" Keith Merrill, a young anthropology student from UCLA emerged from the large chartered yacht. "Everything is ready to go."
She nodded, striding up the gang plank and to the small cabin that the team members managed to squeeze themselves into. It reminded her of a spelunking trip that she took during her time at Northwestern University, in which a burly football player tried to squeeze into a feature dubbed "the milkshake"; a tight shaft that led to the vertically compact "pancake room." After managing to force his shoulders into the narrow passage, the man promptly panicked with claustrophobia, dramatically proclaiming that "there was no way in hell he was getting out alive."
"Good morning," Brennan looked out about the twelve member team. "Here begins our excavation and study of the inter-hominoid species found in the area. From here to our destination, is approximately 365 kilometers, or 227 miles. Traveling at 30 knots, we will be there by 11:00 AM, and unloaded by 11:45 AM."
She surveyed the group, receiving an overly excited thumbs up from Daisy.
"Full briefs will take place once we have hiked to the site, and established our camp. Does anyone have anything useful to say?"
Mays stood, "I for one, and exuberantly honored to serve-"
"We are not serving; this is an all volunteer body."
He smiled in a sickeningly sweet manner, "-and I look forward to getting to know each and every one… of… you." He smiled once again at Brennan.
Dismissing the assembly, Brennan found a cozy space in the bow. While she was not easily nauseated (how many mutilated corpses had she seen in her life?), the loss of control over personal motion on the high seas always disturbed her.
Gathering the group together and properly convening all the quintessential gear took longer than she had originally intended; the project had lost nearly a week in the confusion in Timor-Leste. Luckily, one week was inconsequential to a full year of planned research. The remains however, couldn't wait. The Maluku Islands have a climate similar to one of tropical rainforests; precipitation was something to be expected and dealt with.
The group that found the remains called Brennan while she was in Jakarta, informing her that they had taken precautions to prevent erosion damage to the bones. She, however, was skeptical on what measures exactly they had taken. Like the particular way that she required FBI forensics teams to conduct themselves with the utmost care not to compromise the remains, the man's lack of detail was troubling. Were the remains secured? Were they safe?
Rummaging through her bag, she pulled out a Cliff bar, tearing off a corner into her mouth. She chewed the grain bar experimentally; sampling the texture.
"So, going to Malulu is worth more?
"Maluku…yes. The murders will never stop, but this find has real, finite value. I'd be able to answer questions about our origin, evolutionary tract. It has implications for history, science…"
"Listen… you're allowed to make life changes…without picking a fight with you old life."
"But I need a break from that life…I'm worried all the time. Worried that Booth might get hurt on a case, and I couldn't prevent it. Worried… about what our… partnership means."
"So you want to get away from Booth?"
"No, it's just…I just need some perspective so that I can view my life with some objectivity."
"Have you talked with him about it?"
Although she had taken literal steps away and across the world, Brennan didn't feel more objective or less worried. In fact, she felt just the opposite. Like a kayaker, trapped in a hydraulic, she could feel the undercurrent of anxiety drawing her in. Helpless in a river such as that, one has no choice but to succumb to the tendrils of dark worry.
"Dr. Brennan?" Daisy jumped excitedly into her personal space. "Can I sit in here with you?'
So much for peace and quiet…
"That would be acceptable Ms. Wick."
Daisy looked curiously out the window; she must be eyeing the dark clouds forming on the horizon. "Do you think it is going to rain?'
"Dark clouds typically adumbrate rain or adverse weather conditions," Brennan said. "Adumbrate meaning to foreshadow or-"
"-Prefigure."
"Sorry if I'm explaining too much or seeming phlegmatic, meaning-"
"-Not easily excited to action or display of emotion or apathetic."
"That's right. It's just been a long journey here."
"Oh, and you miss Booth," immediately with great gusto, Daisy clapped her hands to her mouth. "I'm so sorry; I didn't mean to bring up anything sensitive, not that you can't handle it. No, that didn't come out right, what I meant is that we're all tired but were excited to go on and-"
"Ms. Wick," she broke the girl's rambling speech. "I understand, you've said quite enough."
She was already beginning to feel sick in the churning seas. Without a mirror of any type, Brennan couldn't sure if her feelings were showing outwardly.
"I see what's wrong!" Daisy proclaimed. "You're sea sick! I can fix that!"
"That's not necessary-"
"Too late!" she pulled a box out of her bag. "Here, take a motion sickness patch."
"I'm assuming scopolamine through skin absorption?" Brennan eyed the patch cautiously.
"Yes! It will make you feel better," Daisy smiled. "I want to go watch us leave, feel better Dr. Brennan!"
As suddenly as she entered, Daisy ran off to another area of the boat.
Brennan looked at the small patch in her hand. The side effects of dry mouth and blurry vision were certainly better than vomiting all over a crew member.
Unless the target of that vomit is Mays…
She placed the patch behind her ear, closing her eyes to relax. She said it herself; the trip would take seven long hours on the sea to complete. With storms a possibility, Brennan could only hope she could pass out or fall into a short coma to avoid the traumatic experience. Giving into her desires, she fanaticized that Booth was with her now, saying something funny about work or some odd reality television show he would watch weekly.
But she was on a boat. In the middle of the Banda Sea. Alone. Seasick. Waiting for the seasickness patch to take effect.
Perhaps the patch was a sort of peace offering. Perhaps she could live with Daisy Wick yet.
359 more rotations of the earth…
B&B
Why did the Army have to cut off your hair? It's not like Booth's hair was long in the first place, not he had a head with nothing more than the spiky signs of new hair growth.
And why did Army flights always have to be do damn bumpy? It sucked enough that there weren't even real seats. Oh here, have some turbulence! It's free!
There was nowhere at this moment, that Booth would rather be than at his apartment with a bag of Thai food and his one and only partner.
Can we even be considered partners anymore? We aren't working together…
He was alone in the barracks; tomorrow, he would meet the new trainees for the four week course. He lay on his cot, looking at the uninteresting ceiling. The bases in Afghanistan were really the "camps," they were named for; with the US just getting settled, facilities weren't complete.
Feeling decidedly Bones-sick and homesick, he reached up into his breast pocket. Inside, was three photos: one of him and Parker at the park, him and Bones (taken by Angela) during a post-case celebration, and Bones all by her lonesome. He wouldn't even have those photos if Angela hadn't insisted that she take them in the first place; Bones was undoubtedly beautiful, but also incredibly modest. Yeah, she would openly admit that she had nice "symmetry," and she was extremely conformable in her own skin, but yet, there was this sort of shyness about her and photos.
"Whatcha' got there Mr. Sergeant Major?" Master Sergeant Edward Herring approached, glancing at the cherished photos in Booth's hands.
"Just some pictures, hey, I thought someone said you were setting up the running route for tomorrow?"
"Nah, I left that to Alvarez. Now stop sidesteppin' and be a good kiddy and share what you got!" Herring made a playful nab for the photos.
"Only if you promise to play nice," Booth laughed.
"Okay boss, you got my attention."
"This is my son, Parker," he pointed to the young Booth.
"Nice lookin' kid you got there. He's gonna be a ladies' man someday!" Herring nudged him. "After his old man huh?"
"Alright," Booth clutched the photos of Bones to his chest. "I'll only show you the next two if you promise to keep it PG. Got it?"
"Scout's honor."
"Sure sure. This is my partner and I, Bones."
"Woah!" Herring exclaimed. "What kind of guy are you to deserve someone like her?"
"A really lucky one."
"I bet she's one heck of a girlfriend."
"Oh, she's not my girlfriend…."
"Why not? You gay?"
"No way!" Booth said defensively.
"Not like it matters with 'don't ask don't tell' and all."
"Herring get this straight. I am not gay."
"But you ain't involved with that lovely lady? What did you say her name was-"
"-Bones. I call her Bones."
"Kinda an odd name, don't cha think?"
Booth chuckled, "Bones isn't her real name. She's Temperance, Dr. Temperance Brennan. She's brilliant; by far the smartest person I have ever met."
"So she's a doctor? She ever treat you?" Herring joked.
"Only if I were dead."
Herring gave him a funny look.
"She's a forensic anthropologist, she studies bones. While I was in the FBI, we would identify and find the killers of bones found."
"So no medical stuff?"
"Well," Booth began, "she did fix my back up once. It gives me trouble."
"So where's this beautiful chick now?'
"The Maluku Islands."
"Doin' what?"
"Studying some inter-something-or-other remains."
"Boss, I gotta go make sure our fresh meat gets somethin' decent in their bellies before tomorrow. See you bright and early at 0500 hours."
Herring… Booth shook his head with a chuckle. Okay, so the guy might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but he was a good guy to talk with, a combat experienced Ranger, and (from what he had heard) a level headed solider. As far as company goes in the Army, one could hardly do worse.
Like he had for the first few nights of his deployment, Booth wandered to the mess alone. It was a great way to clear his head.
He missed Bones more than he could have ever imagined. Okay, so he just admitted to imagining about missing Bones; it was difficult not to. After all, he was in the middle of nowhere in the Middle East.
Midway to the mess, Booth turned; his hunger seemed sapped from him.
She affects you so much, don't you see?
He still felt guilty for that terrible email he wrote her earlier in the week. Could all he really muster was ten freaking sentences? Needing to do something, he set off to the base's shooting range. He selected a sniper rifle and put the protective earmuffs on.
Sniping took all of one's concentration; it required mental calm and physical calm to control one's breathing and precise aim. It was as much as an art as it was a focus exercise. Focus is exact what Booth needed right now; to be able to pick a point on a distant target, and hit it with great accuracy.
It's too bad you aren't as good at communicating as you are at shooting.
In an instant, three shots from the semi-automatic rifle were propelled out with exactitude. One bullet after another pummeled the paper target, leaving only one hole through.
Having had enough, Booth returned the rifle and walked back towards the barracks. The Afghani night was still; one would never know that one was situated directly in the middle of a warzone.
Enough of the whining solider!
That's it; no more ruminating for the evening. He was excited for tomorrow. He couldn't wait to teach young soldiers something that it took him years to obtain the knowledge. He was ready to save lives, and nothing was going to stop him from accomplishing that goal. Nothing.
Just 359 days and you are out…
B&B
Thanks for reading. The "milkshake" and "pancake room" are both features in Whiting's Neck Cave in West Virginia. Tons of visitors, but it is a great place for beginner cavers to do some rope work. The football player incident was based off a caving trip my cousin took at John's Hopkins.
I 3 reviews! They really do energize the fingers for typing!
- Objective Mistress