Chapter 2 – Fire
Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing!
I know this story is different, but I'm glad to see some people are enjoying it. I'm having fun writing this and I even stayed in one evening work on it. I told my friends I was staying home to do laundry though, cause they have no idea fanfic exists, let alone that I write it. Ahh fanfic, my secret hobby.
--
The tantalizing aroma of coffee greets me as I walk through my door. Angela is sitting at my table half-heartedly flipping through a magazine. She is never shy about using the key I gave her.
"Hi," I say, despositing my coat and purse on the nearest chair.
"You didn't sleep here." She states, wasting no time.
"Angela," I beg. I probably will tell her about the previous night, but I need to ease into it. And I need coffee. "Thanks," I say gratefully as I fill my cup.
She regards me for a moment and then says, "I brought bagels from that place you like by my house."
"Good I'm starving!" I exclaim reaching into the bag. I am suddenly ravenous. Of course, I didn't actually eat dinner last night. I sit at the table next to her and we chew in comfortable silence. "So," I finally ask between bites, "Why the special visit?"
"Do I need a reason to come over?"
"No, of course not." I say quickly. "It's just that it's been a while since you've been over." I actually don't remember the last time she was here. I realize with a pang that we haven't spent very much time together outside of work lately.
"I know," she says, "that's kinda why I'm here." For a moment, I wonder if she is going to tell me she is quitting. Or perhaps that she doesn't want to be my friend anymore. She continues, "I know how you are Bren and I'm worried that you're pulling away from everyone out of some misguided notion of keeping us safe."
As usual, Angela has me completely figured out. It is a good thing I don't always let her know when she is right.
"After what happened with Epps, I'm not so sure it is all that misguided. He would have never gone after you all if it wasn't for me." I rally and argue reasonably.
"Bren, we all know that there is danger involved in what we do. We accept that. It's the price we pay to help send murders to jail."
"I don't know Ange. I just … I never thought it would be this way." I admit, having given some thought to my recent career tract. The truth is that I love what I am doing right now; working with Booth to solve murders. Answers found in bones take on a greater importance when the death didn't occur several thousand years ago. There is tangible proof that I do make a difference in the world.
"You're letting Epps win. He wanted to hurt you by taking away your friends. Don't let him do that. I know you feel guilty Brennan but you shouldn't." She insists, grabbing my hand and giving it a quick squeeze.
I do feel guilty and I don't think that feeling will be going away anytime soon. However, motivated by my friend's passion on the subject, I analyze her argument. "Divide and conquer," I say slowly, finally understanding the point she is trying to make.
"Exactly," she exclaims her expression turning joyful. "So, now do you agree that separating yourself isn't best logical answer?"
"Fine Angela, yes." I actually feel better. It is logical that together and united we are stronger than alone and separated. "Too bad Booth doesn't agree." I mumble, more to myself than to Angela
"What do you mean?" She questions.
"He thinks that people who work in risky situations like we do shouldn't be involved. Romantically." I add.
"Does that bother you? The romantic part?" She asks carefully, surprising me. I had been expecting her to ask if I agreed. It does bother me. A little. Thought I am not sure I want to admit it.
"Maybe," I say softly, looking down at my hands.
"Bren, whatever feelings you have for Booth-"
"There are no feelings to discuss," I insist, perhaps a bit too quickly.
Angela sighs. "Forget everything else, alright. If you and Booth are really friends than you should be able to talk to him about this. Just like we are," She adds motioning to the two of us. She is probably right, but it's not as easy as she makes it sound. That's part of what I love about Angela, she is open and confident in all the ways that I am not. Sometimes, I don't feel confident about anything other than my academic and scientific pursuits.
I stand up and walk back into the kitchen, hopefully indicating that I would rather not discuss Booth anymore.
"So if Booth isn't the reason you're still wearing yesterday's clothes, who is?" Angela asks. I should have known that she would not let it go. Still, I am desperate to change the subject.
"I met a man at a bar last night named Buzz and went home with him." I say.
Angela snorts. "Good one. Seriously, Bren where were you?"
I stared at my friend, unsure of what I should say to convince her, or if I even want to. Before I can decide, she reads the answer in my face and whispers, "No way."
"You told me to!" I protest.
"No I didn't." She says incredulous.
"Well not specifically, but isn't that what you are always telling me to do? Go out, have a drink and meet a guy?" I have her here and she knows it. That is exactly what she is always suggesting.
"Yeah, but I never thought you would actually go, especially without me." She says filling her glass with water from the sink. I however, choose another cup of coffee. "Ok, so what is he like?"
"Well," I hesitate not exactly sure how to describe Buzz. "He's tall, he likes to wear black, he likes racing and motorcycles." I tick these attributes off on my fingers. I don't have a whole lot more that I know, or care to add.
"Is he nice? Is he funny?" Angela asks eagerly.
I think for a moment. "Not really."
"So he's hot." She declares knowingly. This fact I cannot really dispute. "Still, I don't know sweetie, it doesn't sound like you really even know this guy."
"It was just sex Ange and we didn't even exchange contact information. I doubt I'll see him again." I look at my friend and choose my next words carefully. "I'm not trying to be mean, but I expected you to understand."
She shakes her head slowly. "I do understand, believe me. It's just that you don't have the greatest taste when it comes to men." This is a low blow. I am trying to think of the perfect retort when her phone beeps and she quickly checks a message.
"It's Jack, I'm supposed to meet him." She looks at the display apologetically and I know she is considering staying here with me instead.
"I'm fine," I say sincerely, "and I'm glad you came over. Go meet Jack. Tell him I say hi."
Angela gives me a quick hug. "Just be careful, ok. And talk to Booth, Bren. Tell him how you feel." I smile while thinking, absolutely not.
--
It's Monday and I am sitting in my office waiting for Booth to arrive. Why is he coming? Because I called him. And may have told him I need a signature on an old file. A file that is currently printing, very slowly I might add, on the printer in my office. Finally, I remove the paper and sign my name, careful to date the document with the proper date, and resume waiting. I skim over several files on my desk, but they don't hold my attention.
All weekend I had been thinking about what Angela said. I'd also been thinking about talking to Booth. I almost called him several times, but I couldn't quite do it. Until just now, when I convinced myself that I don't have to talk to him about anything important if I don't want to. We can just talk for a few minutes and I can see how he is doing. Nice and casual. Maybe everything will be clearer once I see him.
Booth walks through the door twenty minutes later. He flops down heavily on the chair in front of my desk. I can't help but notice how tired he looks, from the dark shadows underneath his eyes to the wrinkles in his suit.
"Hey," he says wearily. "What's up?"
I drop my eyes to the file on the table and say offhandedly, "I was just organizing some old files and I found one that didn't have your signature."
"Oops." He says.
"Yeah." I brilliantly offer. He reaches for the file on the desk, but I snatch it away from him at the last second. He looks surprised. He's not the only one.
"Not here." I say, stalling as I gather my wits and then my courage. I'm not going to let him get away so easily this time.
"You still owe me lunch," I say in sudden inspiration.
"Lunch?" He questions and for a moment I am sure he will decline my invitation.
"Yes. I'm hungry and I need to eat and I miss you." I declare, sounding much braver than I feel. I do redden slightly, however, when I realize I actually said the part about missing him, aloud.
He looks at me with raised eyebrows. "The diner?" he questions. I nod, greatly relieved.
The walk to the diner is actually enjoyable. I haven't been outside very much and spring is definitely on its way. Despite whatever awkwardness is between us now, I still feel comfortable with him. There is a certain energy when we are together. We sit in our usual spot and it seems like old times. After we order, Booth grabs the folder off the table and opens it. He gives a little chuckle before producing a pen from his pocket and signing the document.
"What?" I ask, trying to remember which file I chose and if it was in anyway remotely funny. I don't think so.
"I've been going through a bunch of old files too." He says tapping his finger on the folder. Judging by the grin on his face, he finds this amusing. Suddenly, it occurs to my why and I just know that the paperwork for this case is probably sitting on his desk right now, boasting two original, one-year-old signatures. I feel incredibly stupid. He laughs again and I almost feel as if I could cry, or perhaps kick him.
"My phone works pretty well." Booth says dangling his phone in front of me. My reaction is now leaning more towards violence than tears.
"Have you ever caught me?" He questions, catching me off guard.
"Caught you what?" I ask, my embarrassment slowing down my comprehension.
"You know, pulling the old missing signature trick."
I finally realize what he is saying and I'm touched. I am also slightly aggravated that Booth knows his files better than I do. If he had asked for unneeded signatures, I'd never noticed. I shake my head, "No."
"Damn. I shouldn't have confessed. Apparently it worked pretty well."
"Did you do it often?" I ask, trying to remember trying to recall any specific signature seeking instances.
He pauses and I see it that he is embarrassed. It's definitely his turn, but before he can answer, our food arrives. He takes a big bite of his hamburger and grins at me. We eat for several minutes and I've just about worked up my courage to ask him a question when his phone rings.
"Hello sir," he says when he answers the phone. He listens intently for a minute than says, "I'll see you in half an hour sir."
"Cullen," He says by way of explanation.
"Is it a case?" I ask eagerly. Too eagerly.
Booth shakes his head. "No, it's a meeting about something else." He hurriedly resumes eating his lunch and I know that I don't have much time left. I want to ask him if we will ever work on cases together again, but I am afraid of the answer.
"I've been thinking about what you said," I begin nervously, not exactly sure what I am going to say, "about high risk situations and relationships." Before I can continue, Booth interrupts.
"Me too Bones, and listen, I should have made it clearer that those things don't apply to family."
"Right," I say, but I feel like the wind has been knocked out of me. All I hear is the word family and I know that doesn't include me.
He smiles at me. A large, very happy looking smile, which I find perplexing. Reaching across the table, he brushes fingers across my cheek. "I'll call you later Bones," he says softly. He leaves cash on the table and walks out the door.
I remain sitting after he leaves. My hand drifts unconsciously up to my face retracing the path of his fingers. Nothing seems clearer after seeing him; if anything, I am more confused now than ever before. It is hard enough to figure out my own feelings. Am I really expect to analyze all of Booth's action as well? He says he'll call. I concentrate on that fact as I walk back to work.
--
I click send on the last email I need to reply to and turn off my computer. After lunch with Booth, I'd passed the rest of the day working with the team on two skeletons from World War II. We were able to identify one of the soldiers. The other, however, will be returned to limbo. The lab is empty, everyone having left already. I've kept my cell phone close all day, but he doesn't call.
On the drive home, I take a slightly different route, one that takes me past Garver Street. Sitting at the red light, I peer down the road. I could go to Mularky's. Buzz might be there. I haven't seen or heard from him since Friday night, but I've thought about him a couple times. If I go home, I know what will happen; several hours spent trying to distract myself followed by another sleepless night. When the light turns green, I look across my shoulder checking the traffic before cutting across the lane and turning down Garver.
I walk in slowly, my eyes adjusting to the dim light as I scan the room. I don't see him. I sit at the bar and order a beer. Fingering the label, I sip it slowly wondering what I am doing here. I check my cell phone again, to see if perhaps there is a missed call. There isn't.
"You slumming again, sweetheart?" An older woman asks as she sits down next to me.
"I'm sorry." I say startled. "I don't know what that means."
She pulls a cigarette out of her gold purse and lights up, blowing the smoke right into my face. I cough. She says, "You don't belong here. You rich, fancy ladies comin down here to find yourself a real man." She stops and a rattley cough shakes her thin frame. It's obvious that she has been smoking far too long. "But you don't know what you're getting with that one."
"I am just having a beer. All by myself." I insist. It is true.
"Sure."
"The smoke." I say not wanting to spend another minutes with this person. "I am allergic. And judging by your cough you shouldn't be smoking either, unless you actually want lung cancer."
She glares as me and takes one last drag of the cigarette before crushing it in the ashtray before us. I stare at the smoldering white cigarette butt covered in pink lipstick. Disgusting.
"He'll be here. If he wants you, he'll be here." She says as she walks away. I can't decide if it is a promise or a warning.
--
Two beers and a half an hour later, Buzz sits down next to me at the bar.
"You looking for me?" He asks. The bartender brings him a glass of something brown.
"Maybe." I say.
He smiles at me, in that not very appropriate way, and drains his glass in one drink. "I knew I'd see you again." Somehow, his confidence doesn't come off as arrogant. Perhaps it's because of his voice; the deep timber gives everything he says an air of authority.
"Do you have any family?" I ask Buzz. Unable to get my thoughts off of the subject I'd been pondering all day. He stares at me intensely and I'm not sure he is going to answer.
"Family?" He repeats as if it's a silly question. I nod and he shrugs. "Sure. You met some of em the other night. My boys are my family." He says this in such a matter of fact way that I feel silly asking for clarification. But I do. I can't help myself.
"You're not actually related to them, are you?"
"No. Blood doesn't matter. Family are the people you'd do anything for. You know, they'd die for you and you'd kill for them. Right Shaun?" He asks the bartender as he passes by.
"Amen Buzz." He answers as he walks away nodding.
I suppose I should have been concerned with Buzz's example of how far he would go for family. Instead, I found myself thinking back to my earlier conversation with Booth. An idea occurs to me. Could Booth have possibly meant that I am in the family category? That would make more sense as to why he was so smiley after he delivered the news. He did tell me after my father and brother left that there was more that one kind of family. But … he is the one who has been avoiding me. I had to lie to get him to spend time with me!
"Let's go Tempe." Buzz says pulling on my arm and pulling me back to the present.
"Where?" I ask.
"For a ride." He says giving me his standard line. When I don't move he sighs and offers, "There's this thing. I'm supposed to stop by." Reaching across the bar, he grabs my beer and empties it. Apparently, the conversation has been taxing.
I hesitate for a second before I get up. This time he doesn't walk away first, but waits to see if I am going to follow. I do. In the parking lot, he stops in front of a large motorcycle, all black and chrome of course.
"You ride?" He asks, the question sounding like one word in his gravely voice.
I had actually ridden motorcycles before. Dirt bikes are a fairly common form of transportation in some third word countries, especially around dig sites. I'd even spent a day on the back of a BMW in the Italian countryside. Never before however, had I ridden a large, noisy American chopper with my arms tightly wrapped around a man named Buzz.
"I've been on motorcycles before, but not like this." I said honestly. Again, he gives me his crooked smirk.
"What about my car?" I ask remembering his previous advice.
He looks between my car and I before he speaks. "Anywhere around here you can leave it?" My house is not too far away, but something stops me from sharing that information.
"The lab is close. It'll be fine there."
"The lab?" He asks. "Thought you worked at a museum."
"I do. I work at the Jeffersonian Institute."
He follows me to the lab, where I park in my usual spot out of habit. It is dark and my car is virtually alone in the lot. I glance in the rearview mirror where Buzz is sitting tall astride his bike, waiting for me. Angela is right, I barely know him. I don't even know what he does. Usually, the first thing people know about me is my profession. It's part of what defines me, but not to him, and that fascinates me. I loathe to admit it, but there has always been a part of me that longs for definition and validation.
Buzz offers me his helmet as I approach the bike. I hesitate for a moment before I climb on, willing my phone to ring, but it stays silent. He waits until I am settled. "Hold on tight." He says as we roar off into the night. Again I can't help but feel a rush of exhilaration at the speed, and a perhaps a thrill at being so close to Buzz.
--
By the time we stop riding, almost an hour later, I am frozen. I'm not even sure if I can unbend by arms from where they have been tightly wrapped Buzz's waist. We are at Miller State Park. The warm glow of several fires appears in the distance and I am grateful. I untangle myself from the bike, though not very gracefully.
"What is this?" I glance around at the long row of motorcycles parked beside us.
"A party," Buzz answers. He puts his arm around my shoulders and leads me towards the fires. I rub my hands together in a vain attempt to get the blood circulating again. There is a pretty large crowd, probably several hundred people. Almost everyone seems to be wearing black leather and drinking or smoking something.
I should not be here. I do not belong at a biker bonfire party on a Monday night. I want to leave, but I don't see any viable options other that the way I got here. Buzz however, obviously belongs here. Every person we pass by appears to know him and it takes a while for us to get close to the main fire. Apart from some interesting looks, I am hardly noticed. We stop at a tent and Buzz leaves me alone for a moment, returning with a beer for each of us.
"I don't know about this," I say to Buzz.
He takes a long swig before he replies. "Won't be here too long. I'll take you to meet some of the women." Buzz takes off towards to the smaller of the two fires. I hurry to catch up to him.
"Tempe," He says stopping before several women, "This is Sarah and …."
"Daisy," the woman offers when it is obvious Buzz doesn't remember her name. I extend my hand to shake hers, but she seems confused at the gesture. I pull it back, embarrassed.
"Hi," I say, unsure. The women smile back at me, but their smiles aren't very friendly. I look up at Buzz.
"You guys talk," He says. "I'll be back later." Buzz leans down, kisses me roughly on the lips and then walks away. I stare after him. Unable to believe that he is just going to leave me here.
"Don't worry," Sarah says as she lights a cigarette. "He'll be back later."
Daisy giggles and adds, "Definitely." She carefully accepts the lit cigarette from Sarah and takes a drag, holding the smoke in. Ok. That is not a cigarette. Daisy offers it to me and I shake my head.
"No thanks," I say, trying to sound nonchalant.
"Are you sure? It's really good." Sarah adds. I shake my head again and thankfully, they accept the answer.
"So you're with Buzz, huh?" Daisy asks.
I am not sure how to answer. "Well I came here with him, but we aren't really together."
"Oh," Sarah says, deliberately drawing the word out. "I know what you mean."
This statement sends both women into a fit of giggles. Daisy recovers first. "Almost everyone knows what you mean. Except me." She adds with a sigh. "I was already with Jake when I met Buzz."
Several other women come to join us. I move quietly away from the group, towards the fire. I am cold and I have no desire to stand here with these women while they get stoned and drunk and discuss which of them is lucky enough to have had sex with Buzz.
--
"You look familiar?" A woman standing next to me at the fire says.
I've been lucky until now; everyone has left me alone. I look back at the woman, with her white jeans, colorful makeup and very big hair. She definitely does not look familiar to me.
"I'm sorry, I don't think we've met before." I answer politely.
"You look so familiar." She says again, still studying my face intently. I begin to feel self-conscious and take a small step back.
"It was you." She says snapping her fingers in revelation. "In the newspaper, right on the front. Some color picture and a story about how you work with the FBI." At her words, the drone around me grows quiet. Anyone standing near to us is obviously listening.
"I'm not sure what you are talking about," I stammer. Even I can tell that I probably don't want these women to know about my connections to law enforcement. "It wasn't me."
She eyes me suspiciously, then turns and whispers something to the woman next to her. The noise around me beings again as they discuss whether I am indeed the woman from the paper. I inch slowly towards the edge of the group and stand alone, staring into the fire. A hand on my shoulder makes me jump.
"Hey," Buzz says and I am grateful to see him. It's been two hours since he dumped me at the 'woman's fire.' He's actually not a very good date. At this point, I really just want to go home.
"What's going on?" He asks, alluding to the fact that all of the women are whispering and pointing at us.
"I don't make friends easily." I say, attempting a joke. "Let's go," I insist pulling on his arm. I don't want him to hear the FBI talk.
"Alright." He says after a minute. He puts his arm around my waist and we head away from the gossiping women. I am so grateful that he didn't overhear the gossip that it takes me a few minutes to realize that we are not heading towards the parking lot.
--
Cue ominous music - Sorry to stop there, but this chapter was getting long. Probably two or three more chapters. They will be almost all Booth and Bones, cause all my stories are just an excuse to get them together in various ways.
Please let me know what you thought.