Thank you ALL for the incredible response to this story. I failed to get thank you messages out. I'm still going to do them, but I wanted you to know now that your reviews and follows and favorites are very much appreciated. THANK YOU!
Despite the fact that they were often in a city only long enough to catch six hours of sleep before moving on, Brennan always made it a point to know the location of three things: The nearest airport, the nearest train station and the nearest internet access.
Her links to home.
Her father made it clear that they weren't to develop any habits and any habits they'd once had needed to be erased. No daily coffees. No browsing second hand bookstores. No walks to the park for fresh air. "We don't live that life anymore. We live a new life," he'd told her.
But she knew the life they were leading wasn't living. It was existing; and that wasn't the same thing.
She'd drawn the line when he'd said no libraries.
"It's too dangerous, Honey. Your face is on book jackets. Someone might recognize you. "
"Dad, once a week I need to access the internet. Once a week to check to be sure that I'm not needed at home. I'm not going to linger in the aisles or spend hours on the computer. I will be in and out within ten minutes."
"That kind of behavior is what gets people caught."
"That kind of behavior is what will keep me going."
"It's too dangerous, Tempe."
"Then I will buy a laptop and access it from wherever we are."
"That's traceable."
"I know."
She could see the moment he realized she wasn't going to back down and she wasn't surprised when he tried a different tack.
"Well, then, let me go. I can check it for you. I'm more anonymous than you are."
But she didn't trust him. Not for this. She didn't trust him to really look and she didn't trust him to tell her if he saw the message she was both hoping for and dreading all at once.
"Once a week, Dad. It doesn't even have to be the same day every time. But one day per week I will be in a library, using the internet. It's not negotiable." Her heart was thudding in her chest. As much as she hated it, she needed him. For papers, for plans, for connections.
For adult conversation.
She didn't want to cross him, though; didn't want to fight with him. The constant tension was already weighing her down. There was a dull throbbing in her right temple all the time and a kink in her neck that would not go away.
She needed the comfort the weekly task brought her. No message from Hodgins meant everything was all right at home. As all right as it could be, anyhow, and she could keep going for another week.
She had known from the moment she'd decided to go that she would need a lifeline to home. Some way to know if she was needed, if something had changed.
The only person she knew who could do it-would do it- without hesitation and with equal parts logic and heart, was Hodgins. He'd broken the law before, stolen evidence, shown a distrust for authority and a willingness to participate in conspiracies. But he was also aware of emotions and feelings. He understood the heart. If Booth needed her beyond logic, beyond practicality, Hodgins would recognize that, too.
So if he placed the ad, she would not miss it.
It had been seven weeks. Seven libraries. Seven computers. Fourteen searches of the Honolulu Craigslist Real Estate section (she always checked twice) and nothing. And that was a good thing.
Mostly.
She dreamed of the day that she would log on and see the ad. 'Big Island condo for rent. Fully furnished, beach views, washer/dryer and pest control included. Call and ask for Jack Stanley.' And despite the fact that the message could mean very bad things, in the moments she allowed herself wishful thoughts, it always meant she could go home.
It was the eighth week that it all went to hell.
Despite her father's protests, she had insisted that he stop as they drove through a mid-sized suburb of Indianapolis.
"Christine needs to eat. I haven't checked for the ad in a week. You can feed her while I look. Ten minutes, Dad. Enough for some rice cereal and a diaper change. That will keep her happy for the next one hundred miles at least."
"Honey, we really shouldn't stop."
"You said the next town was small. I can't be sure they have a library or that it will be open once we are there. We're stopping."
Max sighed, making a few loops around the middle of the town before spotting a library. "Ten minutes, Tempe. That's all we can afford."
She nodded and handed him the diaper bag. "A tablespoon of water. The rice cereal is in the bowl. And she needs some diaper ointment when you change her. She was a bit red when we stopped earlier."
"Okay. Hurry," he urged her.
Brennan stepped out of the car and shut the door on her father's worried look. Despite having done this seven times before, she found her anxiety level was high.
Normal. She had to act normal.
She took steadying breaths and resisted the urge to rush up the steps and into the library.
She pushed through the main doors, past the circulation desk and into the center of the library. She began to turn a small circle until she saw a bank of computers.
Resisting the urge to rush, Brennan forced herself to walk slowly to the first available computer. She took a seat, took a deep breath and began to type.
Three mouse clicks and two keywords later, she couldn't breathe.
The ad was there.
Something was wrong.
She yanked a pen and paper from her purse and wrote down the number from the ad. Her hand was shaking, and even though she tried to convince herself to remain calm, that perhaps Hodgins had good news, everything inside her was clenching and flipping in turmoil.
There was only one way to find out why he'd placed the ad.
She closed the page, kept the number in her hand and left the library in a half run. She didn't care if she drew attention to herself just then.
She reached the car.
"Hey! There's Mommy!" Max smiled as Christine gurgled at the sight of her mother, but his smile quickly faded when she spoke.
"I need the phone, Dad. Right now."
How about that new promo? Woo-hoo! The premier is inching closer!