So, if you haven't actually read The War in the Woods… Well, you should totally read it, what are you thinkin'? BUT, if you haven't read it – this picks up immediately afterward. Brennan has just gotten back from an Outward Bound course with the rest of the team in Maine, during which time there were some pretty interesting developments. Other than that, though, you should be able to follow along just fine.
Technically, Temperance Brennan knew that she should go straight to the Jeffersonian as soon as her plane landed in D.C. She knew that she should disregard her exhaustion from a rigorous week of teambuilding in Maine with her colleagues; rise above the relatively inconsequential aches and pains that went along with eight days of kayaking, hiking, rock climbing, swimming, and sleeping on the cold, hard ground; and, most of all, forget her trepidation about the relationship that seemed to be burgeoning between she and her partner, FBI Special Agent Seeley Booth. Brennan had always been adept at compartmentalizing in order to perform her work as a forensic anthropologist with the utmost precision and objectivity. She liked this about herself – the fact that she could relegate both her physical and emotional selves to a remote corner of her mind, focusing instead on whatever case required her attention.
This afternoon, however, returning to the stifling heat, crowded streets, and endless demands of her life in D.C., Brennan was finding compartmentalizing considerably more difficult. Though she knew it was illogical, she realized suddenly that she'd been expecting something to change upon her return – a shift in the weather, lighter traffic or less noise, brighter colors or less hostile pedestrians. That the city had not changed when it seemed as though the rest of her world was suddenly very, very different… It just didn't seem appropriate, somehow.
Brennan returned to her apartment for a change of clothes, allowing herself the luxury of a hot bath before what she was sure would turn into an all night session trying to catch up with everything she'd missed at the Jeffersonian. While she waited for the bath to fill, she accessed her work voicemail and began sorting through the eighty-two messages requiring her immediate attention. After she'd gotten through nearly half, she set her phone aside, checked the temperature of the now-filled bathtub, and shed the clothes she'd been wearing since Maine, dropping everything into the hamper.
Before she got into the tub, Brennan found herself studying her reflection in the full-length mirror hanging on her bathroom door. Her hair had faint blonde highlights that weren't present before, bleached from a week in the sun. She had more muscle definition now than when she'd left, her external obliques considerably leaner and her trapezius and deltoid muscles rippling beneath her tanned flesh when she moved her arms.
She took a step closer to the mirror, looking her reflection in the eye. It hadn't really changed anything, she reasoned. So she and Booth had kissed. More than once. More than twice, even. Not on a dare, and not by mistake. It seemed, even, that they would kiss again – or, at least that seemed to be his intention in Maine. It was harder to read his intentions here, where things were louder and faster and much, much more complicated.
She rolled her eyes at her reflection.
"Stop thinking about him," she told her mirrored self.
Her reflection blushed, just faintly, and Brennan pulled herself back to reality. She climbed into the bath and forced her mind to return to the bodies awaiting her return at the Jeffersonian. There was work to be done, and not even the memory of kissing Seeley Booth was enough to keep Brennan from that work.
Of the eighty-two messages awaiting her attention, Brennan was able to forward more than half to interns. Another dozen were meant for different departments entirely, and nine were hang-ups. Ten of the calls were from a man named Alex Washington, who said he was from the University of Oregon and had a matter of utmost importance to speak with her about. If she didn't regularly receive so many calls from mysterious strangers regarding matters of utmost importance, Brennan might have been intrigued. As it was, however, she typed his name and number into her PDA and promptly moved onto the next urgent message requiring her immediate attention.
Brennan was slightly more interested when she checked her mail and found a letter and two postcards from Mr. Washington. She also had a card from her father and a letter from Russ, with two elaborately decorated, colorful cards addressed to Auntie Temperance. She smiled at the childish writing, then after a moment's hesitation went into her kitchen and posted each of the cards on her refrigerator, the way her parents had done for she and Russ when they were children.
It was nearly six o'clock by this time. Brennan dismissed the idea of putting off her return to the office until the next day as impractical, got dressed, and managed to get to the Jeffersonian by seven. The security guards waved her through at the door, and before long Brennan had succeeded once more at pushing everything but the vocation she loved far, far from her mind.
In truth, Brennan received a great deal of comfort from the sterile surfaces and hard edges of the Jeffersonian. The lab was empty, which wasn't surprising – everyone had been exhausted after the Outward Bound course, so she hadn't expected anyone but herself to show up to work before tomorrow. Quite happy to be on her own, Brennan took her time on the elaborate platform where a good portion of her hands-on duties were performed, inspecting some of the work done by interns in her absence, cataloguing supplies, and getting an idea of her more urgent cases.
In her office, Brennan found eight written messages waiting for her on her keyboard. One was from her father, two from her agent, and the remaining five were from Alex Washington. She frowned, caught between curiosity and annoyance. Before long, however, curiosity won out – she sat at her desk, picked up the phone, and dialed the number waiting there.
He answered on the second ring, his voice more youthful than she'd expected, for some reason.
"Washington here."
There was just an instant in which Brennan thought this an odd way for a college professor to answer the telephone, before she dismissed the thought.
"Yes, this is Dr. Temperance Brennan of the Jeffersonian. I just returned after a week away, and saw that you were trying to reach me."
There was a pause. She could hear him riffling through papers before he finally answered. "Dr. Brennan – yes, wow. Thank you for returning my call. I'm a great admirer of your work – been following you for years now. Wow."
Brennan frowned, put off immediately by the man's unprofessional tone. "Thank you, but as I said, I've just returned after a week's absence, and I really have a great deal to catch up on. What can I help you with, Mr. Washington?"
He seemed to pull himself together at her words. "Yes, of course – I understand. I was actually wondering if we could meet."
Brennan's frown grew deeper. "Um – I'm sorry, I thought you were in Oregon?"
"I am – I am, yes. But I could be on a flight tonight, and meet you tomorrow. Honestly, Dr. Brennan, I'm not usually this pushy, but this really is important."
"Perhaps if you could just give me some idea what this is in reference to, we could discuss it over the telephone and then set up a meeting in the next week or so, once my schedule is a bit more malleable."
Another pause followed, longer this time. More riffling of papers on the other end, and she heard the man take a deep breath before he spoke again.
"Have you heard of the Northwest Ladykiller?" he asked.
Brennan didn't even have to think about it – she actually knew the case quite well. "Of course – three victims discovered in 2001 and '02 in Oregon and Washington. Mid-thirties, high-profile, professional women, brutally raped and tortured for an extended period before being strangled to death and dumped along major highways. The killer was never caught."
"Well, those three victims just jumped to eight – the killer's dumping ground was found last week, five more women fitting the same M.O. were buried there. We've been trying to keep it quiet, but the story's gonna break in the next day or so and then we've got a panic on our hands out here."
"I'm sorry," Brennan said in confusion. "You're with the University of Oregon? What is your connection to the case, exactly?"
Another pause. "Dr. Brennan, I'm sorry, but I'd really rather discuss this with you in person. Please. Six o'clock tomorrow night, there's a café on K Street called the Mighty Bean. I understand that you're reluctant, but I promise this is something that will be of great interest to you. Meet me there, hear me out. That's all I'm asking."
She hesitated, already thinking of what Booth would say to all this. The man on the other end of the line spoke again before she could respond, as though he'd read her mind.
"There's just one last thing, Dr. Brennan. I must ask that you not involve your partner in this – it's very important. Just hear my case tomorrow, and then you can make your decision from there. But until then, please don't share any details of the case or our conversation with Agent Booth."
She frowned. "Mr. Washington, I'm not certain – "
"It's Agent Washington, actually, Dr. Brennan. With the FBI, Portland office. Now, please? Tomorrow night, six o'clock. It's a public place, you can even tell Agent Booth where you'll be if you're worried that you won't be safe. Just don't give him the details until we've had an opportunity to meet."
Brennan hesitated an instant longer before she finally nodded. "All right – six o'clock tomorrow night, the Mighty Bean. I'll meet you there."
"Thank you, Dr. Brennan. I can't tell you how much this means."
He hung up. Brennan was left sitting in silence, trying to fathom exactly what she had just agreed to.
A moment later, she got up – she wasn't positive, but she believed she had a volume with an extended section on the Northwest LadyKiller somewhere in her collection. She poured herself a fresh cup of coffee and began selecting books from her bookshelf, still holding the notes she'd scribbled while she was speaking with Agent Washington. After a moment's perusal, she finally located the volume she was looking for on the topmost shelf – with coffee and notes in one hand, perched precariously on a stepstool, she reached for the volume. Which was when the phone rang.
Normally, she would have merely let the phone go to voicemail, but then she thought it might be Agent Washington again, or maybe Booth, and so she attempted to grab the book, hang onto her coffee and notes, and still turn on a dime to get to the phone on time.
Which was when the book - and several other books, and everything in Brennan's hands – came crashing down at once. Brennan landed with an indelicate thud amidst books and papers and coffee, her ego and her ass equally bruised. She was on her hands and knees trying to mop up the coffee when she heard the door open behind her. She looked over her shoulder to find Booth standing just inside her office, his eyebrows up and a concerned look on his face.
"Bones – you okay? I heard a crash."
Brennan noted irritably that not only had she missed the call, thrown her books in every direction, and spilled coffee all over her carpet, but the sudden appearance of Booth at her door had increased her heart rate exponentially and actually prompted a fairly strong physical (chemically induced, she reminded herself sternly) reaction.
"Booth, what are you doing here? Don't you have paperwork to catch up on, or criminals to apprehend?" she asked grumpily over her shoulder.
"Geez, somebody's in a crappy mood," he said, grinning now that he knew she was all right.
She noticed that he'd brought an order from Wong Fu's, which he set carefully on her coffee table before coming over to help her clean up the mess she'd made. She also noticed that he was wearing jeans and a black t-shirt that accentuated the definition in his biceps and upper body. He looked tanned and rested from their week away, whereas she felt frazzled and suddenly very, very uncertain.
"I'm not in a crappy mood," she informed him, though she had to admit that she certainly soundedlike she was. "I just have a great deal of work to catch up on, and I was trying to get to the telephone when I lost my balance and…" she pulled up short, taking a moment to pull herself together before she looked at him questioningly.
"Why are you here?" she asked again. "I didn't expect to see you until tomorrow."
She realized instantly that she'd said the wrong thing – Booth looked hurt for a moment before the hurt was replaced with a kind of resignation that made her feel instantly guilty.
"Forget it, Bones – I just figured you'd be working late, maybe needed a break. Then on my way in I heard a crash and I thought you'd, you know, fallen or something. Geez."
She brushed her hair out of her eyes and stood, dabbing ineffectually at the coffee on her blouse until she finally gave up and straightened, meeting his eye.
"I am hungry," she admitted.
The grin returned, though slightly dampened now. "Yeah?"
She nodded. He took a step toward her, so that they were standing eye to eye and just a few inches apart. She could smell his aftershave – a subtle, masculine scent that he'd been wearing for as long as she'd known him. She realized suddenly that, regardless of what happened between them, she would always associate that scent with her partner – with the security she felt when he was near, the excitement of an impending case or, now, an impending kiss.
There was a moment in which neither of them spoke and neither of them touched, the room thick with tension. Finally, Booth smiled, his eyes seeming to sparkle slightly.
"Here, Bones - you've got a little coffee on your cheek," he told her, grinning as though he thought she was hopeless. He ran his thumb along her cheekbone – Brennan felt a tiny shimmer of electricity run from her knees to her navel at the contact, but with some effort managed to remain standing.
Once the spot on her face was apparently gone, Booth didn't remove his hand. Instead, he cupped her cheek, running a finger along her mandible while he rested his other hand at her waist, pulling her closer. After a moment's hesitation, she rested her hands on his chest, not missing the flicker of desire that crossed Booth's face at her touch. Another instant passed before he leaned down and their lips met, the kiss beginning as tentatively as that first one a few days before, but it built quickly. She was getting used to his lips, she realized – how surprisingly soft they were, the way he opened to her, the skillful way he used both teeth and tongue to build passion.
She fisted her hands in his t-shirt, pulling him closer. She could feel his heart beating erratically against her chest, and gasped slightly when his attention shifted from her lips to the point just behind her right earlobe, her knees physically weak when he whispered,
"You like that, huh, Bones?" before he flicked her earlobe with his tongue, sucking on it for just a moment before he released it and returned to her lips.
Showing commendable restraint, Brennan managed after another few moments to pull away, nodding toward the couch.
"We should – uh, maybe we should eat something."
She was pleased to note that he looked no less flushed than she, taking a step back and rubbing his palms on his jeans briefly before he managed to nod.
"Uh – yeah. Right. Food could be good."
They sat together on the sofa, the tension vanishing as soon as they began eating, both of them recounting their afternoons apart. Occasionally, their hands would touch when Booth passed her a container of food, or her knee would bump against his thigh when she leaned over him for something. She liked the way her body felt more alive at those moments, the way all of her nerve endings seemed focused on the exact spot where contact had been made. Brennan was well aware that her reactions were all chemically induced, dopamine and serotonin crashing through her veins in order to snare her into mating and thus propagate the species, but it didn't make the high any less intoxicating.
When Booth was finished, he stood and wandered her office listlessly, pausing at the books and notes she'd picked up and left on her bookshelf. Brennan still had a mouthful of spicy szechuan when he began leafing through her messages.
"Wow – who's this Alex Washington guy? He left like a dozen messages."
Brennan wiped her mouth and stood, going over quickly to retrieve her notes. "Booth, those are private – you can't just go through my messages, I work with classified information."
He held them out of her reach, grinning at her. "Oh, and this Alex Washington is classified?"
She rolled her eyes, setting her jaw. "Booth, cut it out – just give them to me."
He hesitated a moment, then looked at her with an unmistakable smirk. "All right – what'll you give me for 'em?"
She took a step closer. "They're my messages – I shouldn't have to give you anything for them."
He shrugged, turning his back on her as he began to read one of the notes. "All right, have it your way. Hmm, now this is interesting."
"Booth!" she raised her voice impatiently. "Fine, what do you want?" She took another step toward him as he turned to face her once more, and he didn't back away this time. The room seemed warmer suddenly, her heart pounding, and she managed a seductive smile. "Just tell me what you want?" she said, her voice lowering to a silken whisper.
He took a step closer, loosening his grip on the messages, which is when she pounced. She managed to retrieve all of the scraps of paper, make it to her desk, throw the scraps inside the top drawer, and lock it before Booth caught up to her. When he did, he grabbed her around the waist and turned her around.
"Now, that's just playing dirty," he said, and the smile on his face was part fun but also a large part desire. He trapped her against the desk, their bodies pressed together, hearts pounding. She reached up to wrap her arms around his shoulders, pulling him down closer because suddenly not touching him, not having his lips on hers, seemed ludicrous. She pressed her hips against him wantonly, feeling the pressure build and wanting suddenly, desperately, for him to relieve that pressure.
Booth wrapped his arms around her, one hand tangled in her hair while the other was at the small of her back, pressing her still closer. They paused for a moment, Booth resting his forehead against hers while they got their breath.
"Christ," he breathed softly, shaking his head. "You're… God, Bones, you're gonna kill me."
She smiled uncertainly, studying him for a moment to see if he was teasing her. He didn't appear to be, however – in fact, he seemed almost heartbreakingly sincere. With his hands at her waist, he lifted her lightly onto the desk and they remained that way for a few seconds of silence – she with legs parted slightly, him standing between, his hands resting lightly on her thighs and her hands on his chest. The moment had gone from charged to tender to something else, something she couldn't identify yet, and she waited for Booth to give her a sign. Finally, he sighed and looked at her seriously.
"So… We're really doin' this, huh? Not just in Maine, not just a one-time thing."
She nodded, recognizing the gravity of the decision. "It seems so. Although I hadn't really intended to consummate the relationship in my office. At least, not tonight."
He grinned at that. "Yeah – probably not a good idea. I'll get out of your hair, let you get back to work. But I was wondering…"
She looked at him curiously – he seemed uncharacteristically uncertain, which made her feel strangely powerful.
"Well, the week's probably gonna be nuts for both of us – I've got a new case, so I don't know how much I'm gonna be around here, and I'm sure you've got a thousand bodies to ID before the weekend. And I've got Parker all next week, starting Saturday, so… I thought maybe Friday night we could do something. I mean, you know, if you don't have plans."
"You mean, like on a date?"
He rolled his eyes, his cheeks flooding with color before he composed himself and the usual confidence returned.
"Yeah, Bones – a date. You and me. Dinner, dancing, who knows. You in?"
She hesitated just a moment, caught between an unexpected twinge of anxiety and the even less acceptable urge to grin like a lunatic, before she finally nodded. "All right – yes. That could be… yes. I'm in." She paused uncertainly. "But we're still keeping things just between us, right? I mean – just for now?"
He nodded immediately. "God, yeah – no way I want the squint squad knowing about this yet. So, you know – we just play it cool, same as always. No one'll know a thing."
She wasn't so certain of that, but she nodded gamely nevertheless. The success of their pact was short-lived, however, because just as he was bending down to kiss her once more, Brennan's door opened and Angela came breezing in, already mid-sentence.
"Bren, I'm sure you've got six million grisly bones to – " Angela stopped mid-sentence and stared.
Booth sprang away from Brennan instantly, and between the look of horror on his face and the wide-eyed shock on Angela's, Brennan had an inexplicable urge to laugh out loud.
She did not.
"Oh my god," Angela said. She reached for the door with a wide smile and turned on her heel, already on her way out. "Y'know what? It can totally wait until tomorrow. Forget I was here."
Brennan hopped down from the desk. "Angela! Wait!" She turned to Booth to see if an explanation was necessary, but he stepped out of her way and nodded toward the door.
"Go, Bones – you know she's already got Hodgins on speed dial, God knows who's next."
Angela was at her computer by the time Brennan reached her. The woman grinned and pushed away from the keyboard, quirking an eyebrow at her friend knowingly.
"Let me guess – it's not what I think."
Brennan shook her head immediately. "No – I mean, I assume it's exactly what you think. If you think that you walked in on Booth and me kissing."
Angela's grin widened. "Oh my god. Seriously, sweetie, I'm having a total pre-teen moment."
"I don't know what that means," Brennan said.
"It means I cannot believe what a vicarious thrill I just got from seeing you guys kiss. So, what does this mean? I mean… Not that it has to mean anything, of course. All that repressed sexual tension was bound to come out sooner or later, I'm just glad…" She pulled herself up short, taking a breath.
"I'm babbling, aren't I?" she asked dryly.
Brennan nodded. "Kind of." She paused, trying to think of a way to explain this. "Ange, it just kind of… happened. And it's new, and we don't really – I mean, we're just taking things slowly. But we'd really rather that no one knew about it, at least for a while."
To her surprise, Angela agreed. "That's smart – I wish Jack and I had been better at keeping things under wraps, at least at the beginning there."
Booth came in then, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "Uh – Bones, I'm just gonna get going, I still haven't unpacked or anything. I'll talk to you later?"
Angela winked at him. "Hey there, stud."
He turned bright red. "See? Now, this is why I didn't want them to know."
Brennan rolled her eyes. "Angela, stop torturing Booth." She turned her back on her friend, giving Booth a small smile. "I'll call you later."
Angela giggled, which made Booth sigh in exasperation. "I'm goin' home," he said grumpily.
The two women watched him go, Brennan actually laughing out loud when Booth shook his shapely ass in their direction just before he reached the door. When he was gone, Angela looked at her with a wicked smile.
"Okay, seriously? You have to tell me everything."
Brennan ended up staying at the office that night far later than she'd expected, getting far less done than she'd hoped, between Booth and Angela's impromptu visits. It was nearly midnight by the time she and Angela were through talking, finishing off the last of the Chinese food that Booth had brought and gossiping for hours. By that time, Brennan was far too tired to be remotely productive; she went home and collapsed in her bed, too exhausted to think anymore about Booth, or Angela, or even the mysterious appointment she'd made with Alex Washington for the following evening.
The next day was a blur. An ancient crypt extracted from a burial site in Paraguay had been shipped in that required Brennan's practiced eye, there was a mountain of red tape regarding an exchange of remains between the Jeffersonian and a museum in South Africa, the FBI wanted her help identifying the victims of a suspicious fire in New York, and then there were all the other no less pressing matters that hadn't been attended to over the past eight days. By noon, Brennan was beginning to regret her decision to take the past week off; by five, she was regretting that she'd ever returned.
Nevertheless, at ten minutes to six the forensic anthropologist announced that she was meeting someone at the Mighty Bean. She told Cam – who looked harassed and tired and no less pleased to be back than Brennan – that she would be back by eight o'clock, and requested that someone call her if she was not. She'd looked up Alex Washington's photo in the FBI database to ensure that she would be meeting the real Agent Washington and not merely an imposter with a photoshopped ID, and – having taken that final precaution – felt reasonably assured that she was not walking into anything inordinately dangerous.
It was actually cooler than usual that evening, considering that it was July in D.C. Agent Washington was already seated at a table outside the café when she arrived. He was tall – perhaps six foot two, probably a bit taller than Booth. Lean and athletic, of African-American descent, with symmetrical features and an easy smile. He stood and shook her hand, then gestured to the empty seat opposite him.
"The waitress should be by soon – I told her I was expecting someone. Please, sit."
She did. As soon as the waitress had taken her order, Agent Washington pulled a file from his canvas shoulder bag and pushed it across the table. Brennan looked at him curiously before opening the file.
She leafed through several enlarged photos of female victims in various stages of decomposition. The first three were photographed shortly after their deaths. She noted the broken hyoid bone on each victim; the torn fingernails and defensive wounds on each of the women's forearms; the bruising and shallow cuts around the genitals. The last five victims were photographed in advanced decomposition: skeletons, the hyoids of each also broken, the pelvic bones of two of the victims severely impacted by the sexual assault…
Bones fought to maintain her composure. These women spoke to her; they were like her, in many ways. Professional, strong, driven women – not victims, any of them. They'd all fought hard to survive, and they'd all been brutalized in unspeakable ways for hours – possibly days, in some cases – before they'd finally been killed and dumped. The last photograph, however, made her pause. She looked at Agent Washington questioningly.
"I don't understand – why is this last photo here? She doesn't fit the profile – and she died of a drug overdose, not strangulation." The photo of a teenager, no more than sixteen or seventeen, stared up at her. Her complexion was pale and blotched from advanced rigor, but Brennan looked beyond this to ascertain that the girl had been healthy, likely considered attractive among her peers.
"That's Abby Martin. She OD'd three weeks ago – runaway." Washington reached across and took the file from her, leafing through until he found a photo of one of the more degraded victims. "That was her mom – Rachel Martin. She was a surgeon at Portland Presbyterian. Went missing one night, never found. Her husband and parents died a few years before – no family, so Abby went to the state when she was thirteen. Ran away when she was fifteen, got caught up in drugs… And died, two weeks before we found her mom's body."
Brennan closed the file, trying to find her way back to solid ground. "Why are you telling me this, Agent Washington?" she asked quietly.
He smiled. Not a real smile, actually – it was what Booth would call a haunted smile, though Brennan found that term somewhat imprecise.
"Because I'd like you to come to Oregon and help us catch this bastard," he said, not taking his eyes from hers.
A long silence followed, during which Brennan's iced coffee was delivered and Brennan was left to consider what he'd just said. Finally, once the waitress was gone, she took a sip of her coffee and looked at the stranger sitting opposite her.
"How would I do that?" she asked.
It was apparently what Agent Washington was waiting for. He pulled out another file and passed it to her, taking the photographs back and returning them to his bag.
"You'd be safe – perfectly safe, I'd be there twenty-four seven, and you'd be very visible. But this guy… we think he's got a thing for you." He stood and leaned across the table, opening the file and leafing through until he found the page he was looking for. "He wrote this at two of the scenes."
Brennan read the words aloud, and instantly felt nauseas. "Violence and art, Your blood my heart. Together forever, Bred in the bone."
"The last line's yours, yes?"
She nodded, but said nothing.
"You fit the profile – thirties, attractive, successful, powerful. We think that if you came to U of O and taught for a semester, he couldn't resist. He'd have to be there – he'd take one of your classes, attend your workshops, something. We have a few suspects, so all we need is something like this to narrow it down, lure him out of hiding."
At his words, she suddenly came to. "A semester? I can't leave the Jeffersonian for a semester – I can't leave… D.C., for a semester. I just left for a week and frankly I'm regretting that decision, there's no possible way that I could see my way clear for an extended leave right now."
"But you've gone on sabbatical before, right? I mean – I read your file, you've traveled all over the world. A semester in Egypt, Christmas break in Guatemala, summer in Paraguay… You've done it before."
"But that's different," she said immediately, though she knew that it really wasn't, not that much. "And I don't travel that much any longer – not for extended stays. I'm assuming you'd need me soon?"
He nodded. "There's a writing conference in Portland starting on Monday – we'd actually fly you out and you'd be a featured guest for that, and then there'd be a couple of summer workshops before the semester begins in September."
"So I'd need to leave this weekend?"
Another nod. She wasn't thinking about it – not really, it was insane. Everything was going well here: work, and family, and… Booth. And yet, every time she started to say no, she thought of the girl. Abby Martin. Abby Martin, whose father died and whose mother vanished without a trace, leaving her with no home and no future and no answers. Brennan took a breath.
"I – " she shook her head. "I don't know – I don't think I could do this. I'm sorry. There must be someone else."
He took the file from her and put it in his bag quickly, nodding without meeting her eye. "Of course, I understand. Thank you for your time."
Brennan stopped him before he'd gotten very far. "Wait – just… Could I think about it? I'd like to discuss it with my partner – "
Agent Washington shook his head quickly. "No – I'm sorry." He paused, seeming to realize the ferocity of his response. "I mean, of course you can think about it. But you can't discuss it – particularly not if you come out there. We have a number of agents working within the University system right now, and so if you came out, you would be working with them. Your relationship with Agent Booth is quite well publicized at this point – anyone who follows your work knows that the character Kathy Reichs is based on you, and her partner is based on Agent Booth. We can't run the risk that Agent Booth's presence would spook the killer and compromise the investigation."
Brennan frowned. "Well, then – that's the deciding factor for me. I can't go out there and not tell him what I'm doing."
This time, she was the one who stood up and started to go. And this time, it was Agent Washington who stopped her.
"What if you just gave it a month? Instead of the semester, you just came out for one month and we could just see from there if anything happened."
She considered this. "Just a month. And Agent Booth…" she \paused, hoping desperately that she didn't blush when she said it. "If I didn't tell him why I was there, would it be possible for him to visit the area? I mean – obviously, for work related purposes."
Agent Washington didn't seem fooled by her words, but he also didn't disagree. "As long as you didn't tell him, that'd be fine. Oregon's beautiful this time of year, I'm sure he'd enjoy it."
Brennan nodded. Taking a breath, she reached out her hand and shook Agent Washington's firmly.
"All right – I'll speak with my supervisor at the Jeffersonian and make the necessary arrangements. For one month. E-mail me the details, and I'll make travel reservations immediately."
The man smiled broadly, and for a moment Brennan thought he actually had tears in his eyes. He was nodding rapidly, already gathering his things.
"Thank you, Dr. Brennan. You have no idea… Really. Thank you."
She attempted a smile, but suddenly the enormity of the decision she'd just made seemed too great. Instead, she said a final goodbye to Agent Washington and left the café, already trying to imagine just what kind of story she could possibly concoct to inform Booth and the rest of her colleagues at the Jeffersonian of her imminent departure.
TBC
And we're off! Let me know if you're engaged or it seems convoluted, if anyone seems out of character, all the usual things that keep me in line. Oh, and of course let me know the stuff you liked... I'm only human, I really like that part. Thanks for reading!