Ah! Surprise! I whipped this out early just for you. Enjoy, or don't, because, well, it is sad.
"Mr. Booth we have some news regarding the autopsy, would you like to come by the hospital today if you have time?" The doctor's emotionless voice echoed through the cell phone pressed to Booth's ear.
"Can't you just tell me by phone?" he snapped. He had been interrogating people for years, he knew the tone of the doctor's voice without second thought. The news would be bad no matter what.
"Normally we are not allowed to disclose such information by pho..."
"Look, I work for the FBI, so unless you want me to find a kink in your medical practice records, your lips better start moving in the next three seconds!" He had dealt with enough the last two days and wasn't going to tolerate some inbred teenager with a stethoscope and an excuse for a medical license.
The man on the other end of the line could only smirk with satisfaction. It was far too easy to play this man. The great Agent Booth wasn't so strong without his partner.
"Although I would prefer telling you this in person, I guess an exception can be made... Mr...ehem excuse me. Agent Booth, our autopsy results came back as inconclusive. Sometimes, unfortunately, there is no real cause. We wish we could offer you more solace. Her body will be sent to the morgue shortly. I am so sorry for your loss. Good day." And he hung up.
Booth's fists clenched tightly, his finger nails digging deeper and deeper into his palm. How could tree be no answer? After all the pain and suffering, there was nothing? She died, for nothing?
He swiftly snatched his keys from his coffee table and raced down the flights of stairs to his car. Before he could take a minute to think clearly or change his mind he was on the footsteps of Cam's house, slamming his hands onto her door.
The chestnut door creaked open and slowly her figure emerged.
"Seeley...?" Her eyes were puffy and sodden, her face stained with grief.
"Cam. I need you to do it." He stated, moving past her and into the house. He walked quickly until he reached the living room. He noticed a single photo on the mantle over the fireplace.
"Do what Seeley?" she replied, finally entering the room.
He stayed with his back turned and studied the photo of her and Michelle. Happiness was spread across their faces as their arms wrapped around each other.
"The autopsy. I need you to do the autopsy. The hospital, they couldn't..."
Cam stared and the back of his suit jacket as tears welled up in her eyes.
"I... can't," she choked out.
"What do you mean you can't?" he yelled, turning suddenly to look at her dead on, his face twisted in anguish. "Don't you care?"
"I do! I swear I do, but it's Dr. Brennan, god, it's your Bones. Could you do it? Dissect her like some science project? We've both been through enough! Now I know you need some consolation, but I can't do it. I just can't!" And with that she knelt to the floor choking with sobs.
"You're right," he said, softening at the sight of her obvious feelings of being conflicted. "I shouldn't have expected that of you. I'm sorry."
He lowered to her level, and slowly brought her back up to a chair.
"I just..." he sighed. "Can I make you some coffee?"
Temperance Brennan was one of very few people who could say that they had escaped death on more than one occasion. She had, throughout her life, been kidnapped, beaten, kidnapped and beaten, buried alive, almost eaten alive, shot at, locked in the trunk of a car, and had numerous attempts at her life in general. This situation was no exception. She wasn't entirely sure what they meant to do with her, so she sat quietly, calmly rationalizing a way out.
The room that she was held in was cold and damp, it wreaked of dead fish, which had already made her vomit once, and there was no surface raised above the floor. All that she had was a worn towel to sit on. They had since taken her clothing, so she wore a simple t-shirt and jeans.
When she had first woken, they brought her, with her hands bound, into a room much like her current holding place. The only difference was that there was a silver exam table with a covered body on it and a separate table against one of the walls.
Immediately she was ordered to remove her clothing and set them at the corner of the exam table. She initially resisted, but the gun pressed against her spine made her decide otherwise. She thought that they might leave her in that state, naked and exposed, but one of the men tossed her a bag containing a basic set of clothing. She put on each item, but decided to skip on the underwear, well aware of the fact that all the items were likely used.
One man then pulled back the sheet on the exam table and exposed a body, female, with brown hair much like Brennan's. It wasn't until she was set down on a stool near the woman's head that she realized how alike they truly were.
The woman was an almost direct match for her, and likely, with a little make-up, she could be close to her twin. The same strong jaw, the soft features, even the curve of the eyes and shape of the nose were alike.
At that moment Brennan realized what was happening, and what these men planned to do. What was worse was that they brought other people into it. The woman was just an innocent person, maybe she too had a family, and people who loved her. And what did she die for? To be someone else. Her life was taken because she happened to resemble Temperance Brennan.
For the next hour Brennan had no choice but to remain standing while a young girl held at gunpoint studied and recreated her makeup and hair on the corpse of the woman on the table. The young girl's eyes were bloodshot and her hands trembled nervously, struggling to draw clean lines with the lipstick and eyeliner. With each mistake a guard would get agitated and poke her with the barrel of the gun, but it only made her tremble more.
At one point, Brennan managed to catch the girl's eye and did her best to reassure her of her safety and give her some comfort. But once the girl finished, she became useless to them. One man dragged her into a neighboring room, and after blood-curtling screams and pleas for mercy, there were two gunshots and the earth went dead silent.
Brennan's throat burned and her eyes threatened to burst with tears, but she knew that showing weakness would lower her chance of making it out alive and intact.
So she stayed stone, and cold. And silent. She still hadn't spoken a word since her arrival.
Back in her cell, on her towel in the corner, her eyes searched for a weakness in the structure of the room, or the source of a weapon, but there was none to be found.
Just then one of the men entered her room, carrying a small wooden stool and proceeded to sit on it, looking down at her. He had short, brown hair that crowned in a small tuft at the top. With a strong face and crystal blue eyes, he hardly looked menacing, but the expression on his face was of someone who was capable of pure cruelty.
"Alright, so why don't we start this off simple," he sneered with an accent that could only be English. "I know your name, so I guess it's fair that you should know mine. I'm Darek. It's very nice to meet you. Temperance." His filthy hand outstretched for a shake.
Brennan only eyed him blankly in defiance and refused to move or blink.
"Okay, touching isn't your thing. Well how about talking then? So, do you know why you're here? Or would you like me to tell you?... Just a yes or no, that's all. Just one little word."
But still she refused to react or speak.
"Alright well fine then. Until you start to talk, forget about eatin." He left angrily, bringing the stool with him.
Brennan normally could go for a long time without food. But in this situation, she knew it may not be the best idea.
Don't ask about the British accent, it was just how his voice sounded in my head. Almost Scottish maybe?