A/N: I am terribly sorry for the horrendous delay in getting this up, but here it is, in honor of Shark Week to boot ;). I will do my level best to wrap this up before the season premiere. I'd like to thank all of you who've favorited/alerted this story, but it's kind of sad that I've only gotten four reviews. I promised myself that I wouldn't beg for reviews, but they do truly make my day and give me encouragement to keep going. Also, I do not own Bones. Dialogue in italics is from the show, the rest is my inspired filled-in blanks.
Two relatively quiet weeks had passed since their trip up to Burtonsville to catch the reunion killer. The mound of paperwork on Booth's desk has diminished considerably since then, and though he misses Bones' presence, he is also grateful for the reprieve. The sting of her rejection is still enough to send him into a foul mood for hours if he lets his mind go there.
A knock on his door interrupts his concentration, and he looks up to see Hacker standing in the doorway.
"Agent Booth, a moment, please?"
"Certainly sir, what's going on?"
Booth knows that Bones and Hacker had rescheduled their failed date because Hacker had seen fit to inform him of the fact. Ever since then, he's been largely successful in avoiding the man. No sense in adding insult to injury.
"A call just came in from some squint over at NOAA specifically requesting that you and Temperance help on a case."
Booth does not like the way Bones' name rolls off of Hacker's lips. It's not only too familiar, it seems to lack respect somehow. He'd prefer it if the guy called her Dr. Brennan like the rest of the world. Then again, he'd really prefer it if his boss had nothing to do with Bones at all, but clearly, that's not happening any time soon.
"NOAA?" Booth is puzzled. He's aware of most of the Federal acronyms, and if memory serves, he usually hears about NOAA during hurricane season, so he can't figure out why they need an FBI agent and a forensic anthropologist, but there must be a body involved somehow.
"Yeah, no idea on the details yet, but a squint from NOAA will meet us at the Jeffersonian. I thought I'd head over there with you."
"You're coming with me, to the Jeffersonian?" He repeats Hacker's words to make sure he hasn't misunderstood.
"Yeah, I thought I should be involved, you know, Federal interagency cooperation and all that."
"Right, sure."
Hacker's pathetic attempts to impress Bones really grate at him. He does his level best to conceal his displeasure, and hopes like hell that his boss isn't good at reading vocal or body language cues.
Twenty minutes later, they arrive at the Jeffersonian, where they are met by Bones and by a woman who introduces herself as Dr. Catherine Breyer. He is immediately struck by her good looks, and can't help but admire the view in front of him as her shapely ass moves under her tight black pencil skirt. He feels slightly guilty – after so many years of covertly trying not to admire Bones' figure, this feels almost brazen. When Dr. Breyer flashes him a smile with a deep dimple, blue eyes locked firmly on his and tells him she's glad there are still law enforcement officers like himself out there who care about their victims, he is a goner. He's so taken with her that he misses Hacker's mangling of NOAA and barely even registers Bones' pathetic excuse for the guy except that it gives him the opportunity to make a joke.
"Well, everybody likes to laugh, except that guy," he cracks, gesturing towards the body.
Catherine gives a polite chuckle but quickly resumes eye contact with him, and he can't help checking her out, his gaze flitting appreciatively over her fine form. Before he knows what is happening, he's trying to impress her like some gawky teenager. Hacker makes some ridiculous comment about how he's seen "Temperance" ID a victim just off of fingernail clippings, and when Bones protests that she has never done such a thing, he feels the need to elaborate further.
"Well, maybe not that, but y'know, things like that. She's my partner. I'm sure we could help you out." A raised eyebrow and another charm smile earn him an "I'd be grateful" from Catherine, and all his addled brain can say is "Yeah. Sweet."
When his eyes meet hers once more, the rest of the world suddenly fades to nothingness before some part of his brain suddenly remembers they are in the middle of the Jeffersonian, and both Bones and Hacker are giving him curious looks. He reluctantly tears his gaze away, making some excuse about getting out of the way but can't bring himself to turn his back on this gorgeous woman and so walks out backwards, crashing into the stretcher. He walks out with a grin plastered on his face, hoping that he doesn't seem too awkward.
Brennan notices Dr. Breyer's interest in Booth almost immediately. She may not be an expert at reading people, but any anthropologist worth their salt recognizes the basic signs of human sexual interest, especially when confronted with an attractive alpha-male specimen like Booth. Andrew, in comparison, pales, which makes her oddly defensive. When he mangles the meaning of NOAA, calling it the "National Atmos-Ocean Admiral Association," she feels the irrational need to prove his worthiness as a choice of partner, and praises his ability to put people at ease. She is pleased when her efforts are rewarded by a smile, which she returns.
At first, Dr. Breyer's behavior and her flirtatious smile do not bother her. She trusts Booth to be professional. After all, she is standing right in front of him, as is Hacker, and Booth is very conservative about matters of sex. Except that he does respond, in a highly foolish manner to boot, batting his eyes at her and flashing her his charm smile (this particularly rankles). When he makes light of the work they do, she feels even more betrayed. She has always believed in the deeper purpose of what she does, what they do, providing not only identities for victims and closure for families, but helping to catch murderers. She has held this sense of duty close to her heart since the day she promised him she would help him level his cosmic balance sheet, and to hear him using it to impress some strange woman cheapens it all.
His joke about the victim causes a flare of anger. Booth has never once disrespected a victim's remains in any way, and yet, in the face of an attractive woman, suddenly he finds it okay. She certainly doesn't miss the way Booth's eyes flick over Dr. Breyer's body, blatantly admiring her, and she sees her surprise and shock at his behavior mirrored in Andrew's raised eyebrows. She struggles to compartmentalize and largely succeeds, until Booth leaves them, his reluctance to be parted from Dr. Breyer obvious. Once he is gone, she cannot help but slide a discreet glance at Catherine, her eyes filled with jealousy.
Control yourself, her inner voice tells her, this is not the time or the place. She obeys, as she always does, and is grateful when she hears Andrew say "Shall we?"
"Yes," she replies, "why don't you and Dr. Breyer follow me to the platform, and I will begin my preliminary analysis of the bones." She turns, and they follow her as she swipes them into the secured area. "This way," she says, gesturing to them to come over to the examination table.
She stands over the remains, feeling a familiar comfort wash over her. Nothing has changed since that day that she told Angela how she knew Cleo Eller without ever having met the girl. Her gaze sweeps quickly over the meager remains, her mind working at lightening speed to form preliminary findings.
"The victim is likely male," she tells Dr. Breyer and Andrew. "These shallow cuts and deep gouges, in conjunction with location of recovery are likely indications of cause of death," she continues, indicating some of the markings along the bones. "We need to count osteons to determine age, but the length of the tibia indicates a height of between 5' and 5'6".
She points out the six ridge dermal denticles along the bone shards and then proceeds to point out other marks that Dr. Breyer identifies as tiger shark, red snapper, and a hammerhead. Though it's not professional, she cannot help smirking internally at Dr. Breyer's obvious confusion at the findings. She is never wrong, because bones don't lie. It's not her job to make sense of the fact that the man has marks from four or five different predators on his leg.
When Andrew suggests the aquarium as the likely murder site, she beams at him. She isn't really impressed; truth be told, she had been testing Dr. Breyer to see if she reached the obvious realization that the types of marine life involved in the attack and their natural habitats could not coincide anywhere but in an aquarium. Andrew tells her he'll inform Booth of her findings, and Dr. Breyer goes to go coordinate with the Baltimore Aquarium. She finds herself suddenly alone, with little work to be done, so she decides to go to her office. Witnessing the obvious flirtation between Booth and Dr. Breyer hurts, and she feels the need to retreat in order to process her emotions and master them.
She sits down at her desk, eyes closed tightly, hands on the desk. She inhales, deeply. She feels the air filling her lungs, stretching her muscles, the tension building to a satisfying peak before she exhales slowly. She does this several times, the rhythmic in and out of her breath calming her, allowing her to refocus.
You knew this would happen, her rational side asserts. He gave you a chance, you walked away, and he told you he had to move on. And now he is, and so are you. This is what you wanted, isn't it?
The doubts she has had since that night have not abated. If anything, the voice in her head sounds snider, harsher, as time passes. Her emotional side asserts that Booth could not possibly possess the depth of feeling everyone else seems so certain he held for her, that if he truly did love her, he would have said so, instead of just asking for a chance. If he did love her, then how can he move on so soon? Yet, deep down, she knows she is being wholly unreasonable, which frustrates her even more. She is not used to being unreasonable. Or jealous. Or emotional. And yet, since that night, she has experienced all these emotions at an alarming frequency.
A knock at her door causes her to look up to see Angela standing there, a determined expression on her face. The look on her face indicates she is here to talk and will brook no opposition to the idea. Her friend is scrutinizing her with a look that is equal parts concern and pity.
"Ange, I…" her voice trails off. She has kept silent on the events of that night, but she feels almost desperate to confide in Angela. Angela and Booth are the two people she feels have ever seen past the façade she presents to know her. It is a far cry from the days where nobody in the world cared or understood her.
"What's wrong, sweetie?" Angela asks, coming to sit on the couch, patting a spot beside her.
"How do you know something's wrong, Angela?"
"Because, sweetie, I know you, and I know Booth, and I have eyes, and my eyes tell me that things are not ok between the two of you."
"I don't know where to begin." She feels overwhelmed and confused, and it's all too much to deal with – she is never good with emotions, particularly her own.
"Start at the beginning," Angela replies, encouragingly.
She takes a deep breath.
"It all happened three weeks ago. Sweets gave us a copy of his manuscript, and I noted a significant factual error. He believed that the Cleo Eller case was the first time Booth and I worked together, which is incorrect."
Angela nods. She continues.
"Sweets then asked us to recount everything that happened during the first case to see if his ridiculous theory would hold up, and so we began to tell him about everything, and when it was over, he insisted that one of us had to break this stalemate, that one of us had to take the first step towards bringing our supposed feelings for each other into the open, and he started talking to Booth, telling him he was the gambler, that he should do it."
"Alright, and then what happened?"
"We left Sweets' office and started walking, when suddenly Booth stops, and says that he wants to give us a chance, that he has always known that we belong together, that we could have the kind of relationship" (the word love feels too raw to use) "that could last for thirty, or forty, or fifty years."
She turns to gauge Angela's reaction and sees that her mouth is slightly agape.
".God." She finally breathes out. "So what did you say to him?"
"I told him I can't do it. I can't, Ange. I can't lose him. I can't hurt him. I can't change who I am, and Booth deserves someone who can return his feelings with the same certainty, and I can't guarantee that I will feel the same way about him next year – how can I manage fifty years? I can't hurt him, he's too good for that, and so I told him no, because I have to protect him from me."
This admission brings tears to her eyes. Admitting her shortcomings has never been easy, but this particular fault hurts more than most because it does not seem fixable, and yet, fixing it could bring an unimaginable level of happiness.
Angela notices her tears and gathers her into a welcome hug, squeezing her before releasing her. She feels Angela's scrutiny before her friend begins to speak again.
"Look, sweetie. I can't change your mind. But I will say this. You underestimate your capacity to love. You can love. You do love. You just have to stop being afraid of it. And let me tell you, the kind of understanding you two have? The way you know each other, know the darkest parts of each other and still care? That's love. That's the kind of love that most people never experience, but you two, you are in love even if you don't or won't say the words. Actions speak louder than words, Bren, and both of you have shown, repeatedly, that you love each other. But only you can decide to take that risk, to let yourself love and to be loved openly."
Angela's words impact her strongly. She tries to breathe, but feels an overwhelming sensation of constriction in her chest, just as she did that night. It is a relief, talking with Angela, but she is equally glad when Angela gets up to leave, but not before offering some last words of advice.
"You know, Bren, you can try to substitute in Hacker or some other guy who won't make you feel as much as Booth does, who doesn't make you have to confront things you feel unready or incapable of dealing with, but you deserve better than that. I just hope you can realize that one day."
With that, Angela turns and leaves her office, and she is left alone with her thoughts. Confusing, bewildering, thoughts. Getting up from her desk, she decides to go to the one place where she is always certain, where she can feel like herself again - Limbo.
He feels ridiculous, like a giddy teenager instead of a grown man in his late thirties, but he can't help himself. It has been so long since he flirted openly with a woman who is clearly interested that he's almost forgotten what it feels like. It's been too long, he tells himself, so he's going to revel in it.
As he thinks back to that morning, he winces, remembering how he bumped into the gurney. Still, Catherine had flashed him a smile as he'd turned to say goodbye, and this buoys his spirits. His conscience pricks slightly when he realizes he'd been flirting so openly in front of Bones, but he reassures himself with her lack of response. It hadn't been good form to flirt in front of the boss, though, and he makes a mental note to avoid doing that again.
As if on cue, Hacker materializes in his office.
"Agent Booth?"
He snaps to attention.
"Yes, sir?"
"I thought I'd update you on Temperance's findings."
Booth schools his expression into neutrality, but finds he is still irked by the familiar use of Bones' name.
"What did she find, sir?"
"Well, it seems as though the victim was attacked by several species of fish including a hammerhead shark, which Dr. Breyer says can't be found so far north."
"So the victim was likely killed at the aquarium," he guesses, putting two and two together. Hacker looks a little put out by his theory, and the reason why is revealed when he admits he reached the same conclusion. Once again, Booth finds himself underwhelmed by his boss' skills.
"Anyways, you continue working on whatever you've got at the moment, and I'll get in touch with the people at the aquarium and make arrangements for you and Temperance to check out the scene tomorrow."
"Really sir, it's ok, I can do that."
He sees through Hacker instantly. This is like the time the squints had been taken hostage and kept under lockdown and Hacker had come charging in to "save the day."
"Nah, it's fine. Sometimes these things require an executive touch. Besides, I'm sure you have more than enough to do" – he nods his head in the direction of the pile of paperwork. "And it's good to keep the old skills sharp."
He grits his teeth in frustration.
"Appreciate it, sir. Is there anything else?"
The guy really needs to leave his office before he says or does something he regrets. Fortunately, Hacker leaves, allowing him to sulk. He knew that working with Bones after that night would not be easy, but they'd done a decent job of managing the ensuing awkwardness. What he resents is Hacker's need to tag along and show off to Bones. He did not sign up for this.
Sighing deeply, he turns his attention back to the paperwork, trying to ignore the impulse to drop by the Jeffersonian to pick up Bones for an impromptu lunch. That was then and this is now.
Brennan awakes the next day to the perfect Washington spring morning – sunny, with a slight breeze. As she stands on her fire escape with her coffee, she feels refreshed. Last night had been productive – she'd managed to identify some remains and then written an entire chapter of her next book, and then for the first time in ages, slept reasonably well. The tulips and daffodils bobbing in the window boxes along her street make her smile, adding to her sense of well-being. Yesterday's hurts are buried. She resolves to be happy for Booth, to support him as he did her, a fact of which she is acutely aware.
Her phone beeping summons her into the living room.
"Morning, Bones. I'll be by in twenty to pick you up to go to the Baltimore Aquarium."
He rarely messages her, preferring instead to call. The sadness she feels from his more distant contact suddenly threatens to overwhelm her resolve. Shaking her head to clear the unwelcome sentiments, she gets ready, and then heads down to wait for Booth.
Ten minutes later, he pulls up. They exchange brief pleasantries before lapsing into the silence that pervades most of their non-case moments these days. The tension breaks when the morning rush hour gridlock provides an acceptable topic of conversation. Booth grouses about incompetent drivers and the inevitable traffic snarls of the Beltway. She, in turn, lectures him on the absurdity of expecting that heavy traffic volumes combined with an inherent tendency to selfishness would result in anything other than a massive jam. Suddenly everything feels right again. They are not broken, merely slightly off-kilter. The thought reassures her.
The journey takes nearly an hour and a half owing to a particularly nasty accident, and Booth announces their arrival as he pulls into a parking spot. She gets out and walks around the car to meet him. She is acutely aware of the absence of his hand placed on the small of her back, noticing that it hangs at his side. Nor does it escape her attention how their bodies keep accidentally brushing against each other as they walk.
As they discuss the case, she is surprised by Booth's apparent knowledge of sharks. He informs her that it is television week about sharks, but does not elaborate further. She misses that, the warm, joking way in which he filled in the gaps in her pop culture knowledge. She knew, when she turned him down, that she was losing something, but the magnitude of how much she lost is only now becoming apparent. As if to emphasize the point, there is suddenly a distance between their bodies. These are the thoughts that flit through her mind as they stand, side by side, gazing at the shark that drifts in front of them.
She is interrupted when Dr. Marilyn Stoddard comes to meet them, and once again, she introduces herself, since Booth has apparently become incapable of doing it for her. She regains control by asking, briskly, if anyone had been eaten in the aquarium over the weekend, and she resents the skeptical scoff of amusement that Dr. Stoddard gives her. And then, faster than she can blink, she and Booth are back to normal again.
"Since when do fish have husbands?"
"Animal husbandry is the science of breeding livestock."
"Since when are fish livestock?"
"Well, the term can be applied loosely."
Booth begins to question Dr. Stoddard, and she steals glances at him on the off chance that their eyes will meet and they will share a moment of silent insight. She still dislikes the way in which Dr. Stoddard dismisses her questions, for no matter how ridiculous they sound, someone died here. When the grouper spits out a human skull, she feels a tiny surge of vindication. She is Bones, and her bones never lie.
Booth seems less than pleased however – admittedly, securing this crime scene poses additional challenges, but she is more than up to the task of collecting the necessary forensic evidence. She has done some of the most challenging dives in the world – what is a six hundred thousand gallon tank? Booth, however, seems to have other ideas.
"Ok, now who's gonna go in there and get that?"
She shoots him a look, which he misses.
"Well, naturally I will retrieve the remains."
"What?" His tone is startled. "Nah, no Bones, there's no need for that."
" Why not? This is hardly a dangerous crime scene, I'm not asking for a gun, and besides, who do you trust more to handle the remains? Me? Or some fumbling FBI tech?"
His frown indicates that she has won this argument. She excuses herself to go call Hodgins to come and assist her.
"Hodgins."
"Dr. Hodgins, this is Dr. Brennan."
"What's up? Got any particulates for me?"
"Not quite. I'm at the aquarium with Booth, and despite the assertions of the doctor who works in animal husbandry that they would have noticed someone being eaten by a shark, a grouper just coughed up a human skull. I need to not only retrieve the skull, but to search the tank for any other human remains. Given that the tank is approximately six hundred thousand gallons, your assistance would be highly beneficial."
"Sweet. I'll grab dive gear and meet you there in about an hour."
She returns to where Booth is standing with Dr. Stoddard, casually seeking information from her. She maintains her distance, not wanting to interrupt him, and her position allows her to admire him more fully. Even now, after five years as partners, she is amazed at how easily he gets information from people. How he knows exactly what questions to ask, how people open up to him. It is a trait she envies, one that she has studied endlessly through observation, and yet it remains something that not even the most diligent study has been able to teach her. She has improved, yes, but she will never be as good as him.
Hodgins arrives in record time, and after he greets Booth, the two of them go off to don their scuba gear. When they return, fully suited up, Booth is waiting for them. He sees them and walks over to them, his voice full of worried concern.
"Okay, you know what? You don't have to go in, Bones."
Irrational, but comforting nonetheless.
"Yes I do! We need to recover what's left of the victim to have any hope of identification,"she retorts. Gratifying though his concern is, his alpha male protective instincts are also highly annoying.
"Time out, okay? Have Hodgins do it."
Her argument is interrupted by Hodgins' strange notion that they need a boat to retrieve the remains from the tank and his absurd hat, but Booth will not be dissuaded.
"Make Hodgins go in there and do it."
"There is nothing to be afraid of, Booth."
Honestly, maybe that shark week he referenced earlier is not such a good thing if it produces a mindless fear of being eaten by sharks.
Thankfully, Hodgins sees her point.
"Yeah, you know, sharks – they don't eat people."
Booth remains unconvinced.
"Really? Tell that to the guy who got, y'know, coughed up by a grouper, okay?"
Fortunately, Booth seems to give in, accepting defeat once more. Diving into the water feels wonderful – she has not had the opportunity to go diving in years, and the calm, tranquil atmosphere of the tank soothes her. The sound of Booth's voice in her earpiece is strangely intimate, his anxiousness palpable.
"Bones. Bones, you there?"
"We're right here, Booth," she reassures him. "This is beautiful. Hodgins, I'll get the skull, you see if there's any other bone particulates."
She obtains the skull and places it in the bag, when something catches her eye.
"Hodgins. Over here."
She swims down to get a closer look – it is the remainder of their victim's skeleton. With some difficulty, Hodgins helps her lift the remains to the surface before finishing his own sample taking, and then they are done.
Booth drives her back to the Jeffersonian, and accompanies her inside, but they barely say a word until he's about to leave.
"Hey, Bones, how about we meet later to go through the potential list of victims? I should have a full list of everyone in the aquarium by about lunch time."
"That should be acceptable," she replies. "I will begin examining the remains immediately."
"Great. So I'll see you later, then."
"Yes," she affirms.
"Alright then, see ya, Bones."
With that he turns and leaves, and she begins her work, studiously ignoring the expression on Cam's face. If she can just focus on the work instead of the tumult of feelings inside her, all will be fine.
After the aquarium trip, Booth finds himself back at his desk. In theory, he has paperwork to be doing, but he cannot focus. Lately, it seems he's been spending more time than ever inside the Hoover Building. He'd never realized just how much time he spent at the Jeffersonian, at the diner, or out in the field until now, when two thirds of his reasons for being out of the office have disappeared.
He decides to take a breather and take a walk down the hall, and when he returns to his office, he is hugely surprised to see Catherine approaching. Maybe this day is about to get better.
"Hi."
"Hi! I thought I would stop by and see if you've made any progress today."
Her admission that she has stopped by expressly to see him strokes his ego, though he tries to play it cool.
"Oh, well, yeah. Dr. Brennan, she's still working on the identification."
"Wow."
"It's what we do."
"Do you mind if I ask you a question?"
He invites her into his office, and feels the need to clarify that it is his office, hoping she will be impressed. She indulges him.
"It's very nice."
"Yeah, right?."
"Yeah. I was wondering if you wanted to go out sometime? Maybe this weekend? Unless, of course, I'm a suspect, because I know you can't date me if I'm a suspect, right?"
He turns to face her, unable to contain the surprise on his face. Her question, her forthrightness, catches him completely off-guard.
"I…I can't date anyone who's a suspect," he manages to say.
"I understand."
"Yeah, right? It's FBI, rules, and regulations." He tries to sound casual, jokey.
"Yeah," Catherine replies, her tone a whisper, a hint of disappointment in it. He turns to go back to his desk, then reconsiders. What the hell, right? He's decided to move on, and here's the perfect opportunity. He faces her again.
"But, um, y'know, when we're done with you, um, you know, I can give you a call. And uh, you can go out with me, or I can go out with you."
Though he knows he sounds like an idiot, Catherine does not laugh at him, but merely grins, her dimple deepening, her blue eyes sparkling with laughter.
"How about both?"
"Hey, look at that!" he laughs.
"Well, I'm looking forward to not being a suspect," she tells him, her amusement barely concealed.
"I am, too," he tells her, and he is surprised to find the sentiment is reasonably true.
He moves out from behind his desk towards her again.
"Let me know if you hear anything more about the identification."
"Yeah. Yeah, I will."
"Alright,"she replies, and he does not miss the quick flick of her appreciative glance up and down his body before she turns to leave.
"Bye."
"Bye." She walks out with a soft smile on her face that hints at more, and he watches her leave, his legs suddenly feeling like jelly. He bumps into his desk, grabbing it for support. He's got it bad.
Forty-five minutes later, he is with Bones at the diner. The energy between them is amicable, but anyone who knows them would instantly sense the subtle undercurrent of tension. Still, at least they are getting work done, trying to piece together a timeline of evidence.
His phone rings, and he is less than thrilled to hear Hacker on the other end.
"This NOAA thing is turning into a full-fledged investigation."
He resists the urge to point out that generally, when a dead body is found in suspicious circumstances, a full investigation is the result. His already irked state is heightened when Bones asks him to convey her greetings to Hacker. When Hacker asks him to return the greeting and inform Bones, on his behalf, that he is looking forward to their date, his remaining patience snaps.
"Did you two want to speak to each other, or is there something that you wanted to tell me, sir?" The term of respect is ground out with every ounce of self-preservation he has inside. Luckily, the answer is negative, and Hacker tells him that Jazz Gunn, the famous self-help author, is unaccounted for. When he hangs up, Bones immediately asks,
"What did he say?"
His mind though, is still preoccupied with the idea that his boss has scored yet another freaking date, and he doesn't realize what he's saying until it's too late.
"Oh, he's looking forward to our date. Your date."
Damnit, he swears silently. This is exactly where he did not want the conversation to go. But this is Bones, and she doesn't think about things like this.
"So am I. He emailed me, and said he had tickets to a play."
No such luck.
"He emailed you? For a play?"
He can't help scoffing. How lame is this guy?
"I believe that 'a play' is Andrew's code for sex."
She is speaking in a low tone that should not be sexy, but is. He hates how proud she looks figuring out Hacker's 'code.' He also hates entertaining the thought that Hacker wants to jump into bed with Bones. That she might let him kills him. She seems to sense his discomfort, and to her credit inquires,
"Is it okay for us to talk like this?"
Okay? Yes. Pleasant? No. But he knows her, so he swallows his discomfort and reassures her as nonchalantly as he possibly can.
"Well, when he invited me to the play, I thought it was code for sex, so I said no."
Thank God for small mercies.
"Oh."
"But I said yes to coffee."
"Maybe that's a code."
"Uh uh, Angela said that coffee isn't code for anything."
She better be damn certain of that, he thinks. Suddenly feeling a bit put out by this news, he decides to play hardball to see how she reacts.
"Ah. Well, I have a date too."
"Good."
He is too observant to miss the slight pause before she replies, and the tiny flicker of something that he can see in her eyes does not go unnoticed either. It is not good, and that pleases him. He pushes harder.
"Catherine Breyer."
"Everyone at the aquarium is a suspect."
Her tone is a little curt.
"And once she's eliminated as a person of interest…"
Bones cuts him off immediately, changing the subject. He has gotten to her. This satisfies him.
"Why did Andrew call?"
Right, the real reason they got into this conversation.
"Oh. Um, number 19 on the list isn't accounted for."
He hands her the list, and she looks it over then looks back up at him.
"Jazz Gunn?"
"Yeah."
"What a ludicrous name."
He can't help give her an "are you serious?" look – he knows she lives under a rock, but sometimes it's still hard to fathom how wrapped up in her own world she is.
"You don't know who that is?"
"No, am I supposed to?"
She sounds slightly irritated.
"I just thought that maybe you might have heard of him, that's all."
She fixes him with one of her inscrutable looks, which he avoids by calling Sweets.
"Sweets? Yeah, it's Booth. Listen, I need you to pull anything you've got on Jazz Gunn. Great, thanks. We'll be there in fifteen minutes."
"Who is this ridiculously named man?"
"You'll see when we get to Sweets' office," he tells her.
Again, he catches a glimmer of what might be disappointment in her eyes, but ignores it and his guilty conscience. They pay the bill and leave, heading to Sweets' office for what he imagines will be an interesting meeting once Bones learns all about Jazz Gunn and his rules of the sea.
They meet for lunch to work on the case, and Brennan finds she is grateful for the interruption. She has always prided herself on being a diligent worker, but the absence of their shared lunches and coffees seems glaring these days. She wonders when spending so much time outside the lab and enjoying it had become such a significant part of her day.
They are interrupted by a call from Hacker. She thinks it polite to convey her greetings to him, though she is surprised when Booth relays the message to her that Hacker is excited for their date. She is too, at least, to a point. He is nice, and the time they spend together is pleasant.
She shares her hunch that Hacker had been angling for sex by inviting her to a play, but suddenly senses that Booth seems ill at ease. Sensitive to his feelings, she asks if it is acceptable to talk freely about this with him.
Even though it isn't his business, she wants him to know that she is not sleeping with Hacker and turned down his invitation to the "play." He is nice, yes, but she does not feel any raw attraction, and so she is in no rush to advance their relationship. And then, without warning, he informs her that he, too, has a date. With Dr. Breyer.
She is stunned. Twice now, she has witnessed Booth tossing aside his usual behavior. She would never have expected this from him, and hearing the phrase "And once she is eliminated as a person of interest…" stings her, sharply. The voice in her head returns with a vengeance, mocking her. Quickly, she diverts her eyes away from Booth's, lest he discern her true feelings, and redirects the conversation back to work.
"Jazz Gunn?"
"Yeah."
"What a ludicrous name."
"You don't know who that is?"
She is annoyed that after all this time, Booth assumes she knows the name of some insignificant pop culture figure. Surely repeated instances of observing her lack of knowledge in this area over the years has taught him something. And again, he does not explain who this stupidly named man is, but tells her to wait until they get to Sweets' office, so she does.
Thirty minutes later, she remains wholly unimpressed with the gullibility of human nature that has catapulted Mr. Gunn into the spotlight, but more angry at this man who has so obviously lied with his preposterous story to shear people of their money. Still, the session hasn't been a complete waste of time. She is able to confirm that the victim's skull is an approximate visual match for Mr. Gunn, and they net a potential suspect, Tad Benedict. Booth leaves to go bring in Mr. Benedict for questioning, and she goes back to the Jeffersonian to continue working on the remains.
Later that evening, Booth threads his way through the crowd inside Founding Fathers, bringing with him his beer and Cam's Long Island Iced Tea. He sets the drinks down and takes his seat opposite her, wondering what is going on, though he has a pretty good inkling. He has known Cam long enough to know that she has razor sharp observation skills and has summoned him here for a reason. Still, he figures it's better to play it cool and not give away anything unless strictly necessary.
"So Cam, what's up?" he asks, casually, taking a sip of his beer.
"Oh, I think you know exactly what's up," she replies, fixing him with a level gaze.
"I'm not a mind reader, Camille," he teases.
"And I'm not an idiot, Seeley," she shoots back.
He sighs.
"Is it that obvious?"
"About as obvious as being smacked in the face by a 2x4, yeah."
He knows she can read the obvious misery written across his face because her expression and her tone soften as she asks, "What happened?"
He takes a deep breath and tells her everything. To her credit, she doesn't bat an eyelid when he tells her of that night, six years ago, standing on a bar stoop in the rain. When he tells her about his gamble outside the Hoover Building on a cool spring evening three weeks ago, she says nothing. When he finishes relaying the source of his pain and sadness, he looks at Cam, a sorrowful expression on his face.
"What do I do, Cam?"
"I don't know, Seeley. I mean, what more can you do? She has changed. You know that, I know that, everyone who has known her for the past five years knows that. But if she doesn't see that or doesn't believe that, what can you do? Look, I'm very fond of Dr. Brennan, but you know as well as I do that once she forms an opinion, there's no changing her mind."
He shrugs his shoulders in a half-hearted, defeated way.
She continues. "I know you're in love with her, but at least try to make an honest attempt to move on. For your own sake."
"Yeah, I know. I am trying – Catherine – Dr. Breyer – came by my office this afternoon and said she'd like to go out with me – once she's no longer a suspect, of course," he adds, hastily, lest Cam get the wrong impression.
She gives him an encouraging smile, and this reassures him that he is doing the right thing in giving this a shot. It buoys his spirits considerably, and the two of them finish drinking their beers as they talk about the other concerns of their lives: Parker, Michelle, Jared and Padme. By the time Booth leaves the bar, he feels much more at ease with his decision. He has always put stock in Cam's sensible opinion, and her approval means more to him than he had realized.
The rest of the case speeds by as the pieces begin to fall into place. The murderer turns out to be a fourth grade teacher suffering from fibromyalgia, angry at discovering that her idol had taken her money and was nothing but a fraud. Booth obtains their confession, Ms. Redmon is arrested, and their work is done. When they are finished, Booth walks her to the elevator.
"I'm going to have coffee with Andrew," she tells Booth.
"Alright. Have a good time." His lack of reaction and apparent ease with the topic comforts her. The last thing she wants is to cause him more pain than she already has.
"Thank you."
"I'm going to see someone too."
She plasters a smile on her face.
"Dr. Cathering Breyer." Suddenly she feels very awkward.
"The case is closed," he replies.
"She's very nice. The two of you seem compatible." What she really means is that they seem to have an apparent shared physical interest in each other. To her surprise, Booth is somewhat reticent about the idea.
"Maybe. We'll see."
"She's easily as pretty as I am. I mean, using me as a standard."
She's not quite certain why she says this, but it is true, objectively speaking. Her words seem to have a curious impact on Booth, however, as he looks down, then looks at her intently, his voice hushed and serious.
"Bones, you are the standard."
She cannot dwell on what this means, not now, so she forges ahead.
"Andrew is not as handsome as you – using you as a standard. He is, however, taller. Catherine isn't as smart as I am." She refrains from adding that Hacker comes up deficient in essentially every comparison she can and has run between the two of them.
"I'm not as smart as Hacker."
She does not contradict him, but uses his own words to convey to him that she thinks nothing is further from the truth.
"But you once said he was a doofus."
"He is a doofus. A smart doofus."
The elevator opens and she steps in, facing him.
"Well, I hope you have a good time together." She does hope so. At least, she thinks she does.
"Yeah, you too."
"Thanks."
She manages a half-smile as the doors close, ignoring the crushing sensation in her chest. These emotions are exhausting. Life was easier when she didn't allow herself to feel so deeply.
These thoughts preoccupy her as she walks, but she pushes them away as she reaches the diner, determined to give Andrew her full attention. After a few moments of conversation, he reaches in to embrace her across the table, kissing her politely on the cheek. She tries hard not to dwell on the fact that the kiss produces nothing within her compared to the veritable inferno Booth managed to incite in her with the most innocent touches.
She feels uncertain about how to proceed, and so blurts out the first thing that comes to mind (it would be too much like psychology to ponder why this is the first thing that comes to mind), which happens to be how Booth is now free to have sex with Dr. Breyer. As she clarifies her comment upon seeing Andrew's puzzled expression, she suddenly realizes something else. Lines. Rules.
"Oh my god, Andrew, are you allowed to see me socially?"
"Absolutely. I got clearance."
"From whom?"
"From myself."
She lets out a startled laugh.
"In fact, I not only granted permission, I insisted that I see you socially."
"That's funny, because you're satirizing bureaucratic rules by adhering to the letter of the regulations instead of the spirit of it."
She laughs, and so does he, but it does not feel right or satisfying.
"You've got a great laugh," he compliments her. "You do. It's a Rat Pack laugh."
She has no idea what that means.
"You don't know about the Rat Pack? That's awesome."
This completely befuddles her.
"I-I-why? The Rat Pack does not sound like a good thing."
"Because you will not be able to resist the man who showed you that the Rat Pack is a good thing."
"Okay," she tells him, giving him a big smile. It still doesn't feel right, though.
They chat amiably as they drink their coffees, and when they leave, Andrew kisses her once more, but the gesture still feels forced. As soon as he is gone,the thoughts she has been ignoring for the past half-hour return with a vengeance. Nothing about this feels right. Andrew is nice, yes, but the plain truth is he is not Booth and he never will be.
She thinks back to her conversation with Angela about "belonging" to someone. The notion is ridiculous – she is not a possession to be owned, but maybe, just maybe, her friend is right. Maybe the reason things feel so natural and right with Booth is because she should be with him. But this is a dangerous and disconcerting thought, not just for the emotions it stirs within her, but for all the implications it represents. She wants so badly to take the chance, but she cannot, at least, not yet. Though she knows it is impossible, the ache in her heart just will not go away.
He walks her to the elevator after they have wrapped up processing Ms. Redmon, who confesses to the murder of Jazz Gunn. She informs him, brightly, that she is off to have coffee with Andrew. He's determined not to let it get to him, so he tells her that he's also going to go see someone, and she guesses correctly that he means Catherine.
"She's very nice. You two seem compatible." Compatible seems like a very strong word, especially given his doubts that there's nobody quite like her out there for him. And then, the conversation goes somewhere unexpected.
"She's easily as pretty as I am. I mean, using me as a standard."
He stares at her for a moment, then looks away. When he finds his voice, it comes out soft and serious.
"Bones, you are the standard."
And that's the kicker. They can stand here, chatting in this falsely enthusiastic way about their respective romantic engagements, but they are comparing them to the other. They are the standards. It's fucked up, he thinks, as he walks away after wishing her well, no, it's beyond fucked up. Other, sane, people would recognize the foolishness in settling for less, but here they are, attempting to do just that. But that's life, he supposes.
He heads back to his office, tying up some loose ends, and then makes his way to the aquarium to see Catherine. Truth be told, he's not entirely sure what will happen, but he's determined to find out. If he's going to settle, he might as well see if it can work with an attractive, flirtatious, intelligent marine biologist, right?
He finds his way to her office and they greet each other, before she invites him to go on a tour of the aquarium. They mix talk of the case with nuggets of information about the various species of exotic fish swimming around them, when she suddenly asks,
"Tell me the truth. Did you think, even for a second, that I might be the murderer?"
He moves away from her, turning to face her instead.
"No. I may not know who did commit the murder, but I definitely know who didn't. Yeah, yeah, I know. You're a scientist, so that whole intuition thing is just a load of crap, right?"
If there's one thing Bones has taught him, it's how to speak squint. Catherine does not contradict him, but smiles, eyes twinkling merrily, and replies,
"I have an intuition about you."
"Really." He smiles, not quite a charm smile, but close.
"Mhmm." He can't help but laugh at her openness. It's a refreshing change. "It tells me that you could use some company."
Does he really seem that desperate? Jeez.
"Oh, I could use some company? Really?"
"I make you laugh, you make me laugh."
He's certainly provided her with a good deal of klutzy entertainment, but he's glad to know it makes her laugh in a good way.
"You're gonna make me laugh?" She is confident, that's for sure. It's kind of a turn-on too, to be pursued.
She turns so that she is sideways, then lifts back her glossy black hair to reveal a delicate earlobe with two tiny, feminine diamond studs.
"Do you think these diamond earrings are real?"
"I don't know." Seriously, he's a man, how is he meant to know these things?
"I could tell they were real the minute my ex gave them to me," she informs him solemnly, the glint in her eye giving away her contained amusement.
"How so?"
"Because no one would buy fake diamonds this small."
He laughs. He has to admit, it's clever, her joke.
"See," she teases, chuckling with him, triumphant in her victory. "So, give me a call if you want to have dinner sometime." She turns and walks away. The ball is firmly in his court now. She's nice. She's attractive. She seems fun. Why the hell not.
"Hey, Catherine?" he calls after her, causing her to stop and turn. "Wanna have dinner sometime?"
"Sure," she smiles, then continues to walk away.
He's grinning like an idiot, proud of himself for taking this leap, pleased to know that he's still got it, that he's not entirely damaged goods. This could be good, he thinks to himself, this could be good.
A few hours later, they sit together at their usual table inside Founding Fathers, drinking their beers and talking. He has missed this, relaxing, relaxed, listening to her speak. Suddenly, a voice reminds him this is too intimate, too them, so he switches gears, forcing himself to ask her in a genial tone how her date with Hacker went.
"Oh, quite enjoyable. Andrew is charming, and very funny," she informs him, smiling.
He tells her he knows she had a good time since she's still smiling, but he sees right through her façade. She is not smiling a genuine Bones smile. When Bones asks him about him and Catherine, however, he feels the petty urge to exaggerate their little meeting at the aquarium, making it sound more like a date without actually saying it was a date (which it wasn't).
"Yeah. Yeah. We laughed. A lot. It felt good. I'm gonna see her again."
Ok, so they'd shared a brief, awkward kind of laugh, but they were going to see each other again, that part was the honest-to-God truth.
"Excellent," she says, "You deserve a good woman, Booth." He appreciates the sentiment even if the woman he wishes he had is sitting in front of him.
He stumbles awkwardly over his words as he replies, "So do you, Bones. I mean, not a woman, but…you know what I meant."
As much as it kills him, he means it. She is the most incredible woman he's ever known, and she deserves someone who loves her for who she is, even if that man can't be him. Bones surprises him by asking what he and Catherine laughed about, then mentions that Hacker plans to introduce her to an exceptional group of rodents known as the Rat Pack. He has to fight the urge to tease her gently and explain who the Rat Pack really is because he has to move on, and part of moving on means not focusing on the million and one things he loves about Bones,including her astounding lack of cultural knowledge.
It surprises her when Booth asks her how her date with Andrew went. Once again, she feels the need to justify her choice in turning down the man sitting in front of her, the one who, if she's truly being honest with herself, she really does want to be with instead of the one she has chosen.
"Oh, quite enjoyable. Andrew is charming, and very funny," she tells him, forcing her tone and expression into a false brightness. She gets the feeling that Booth can see right through her charade, so she changes the topic.
"What about you and Catherine? Did you have a good time?"
"Yeah. Yeah. We laughed. A lot. It felt good. I'm gonna see her again."
Brennan ignores the pain that surges through her. This is what she wanted, for him to find someone else, to be happy.
"Excellent. You deserve a good woman, Booth." And he does. It's just that she wishes that she had the ability to be that woman instead of someone else.
She hears his return of the sentiment, but is more focused on the fact that he and Catherine laughed together. She feels both jealous and sad at this fact – she can't remember many times when the two of them have laughed together, but the instances she does remember are treasured memories.
Yet, despite the hurt, or perhaps because of it, she feels a perverse desire to know what they laughed about, but she is thoroughly confused when Booth narrates some anecdote about Catherine's earrings. She can sense too, that Booth is not telling her everything he knows about this talented group of rodents known as the Rat Pack but accepts that his prior explanations must have been a sign of his affection for her, which is why he has ceased them now. She has wrought this change, and now she must learn to navigate a world in which she is not so reliant on Booth to guide her through life.
Gradually, their chatter drifts into companionable silence as they finish their drinks. They pay their respective bills and then say goodnight, each heading home to their respective apartments, each consumed with doubt over the decision to move on and cultivate relationships with people who fall so obviously short of their standards, each refusing to allow these doubts to linger lest they bring regret or a change of heart.
He will not be hurt again, his heart still badly bruised by her refusal. As for her, she will not let herself examine how an action that was meant to protect him, to protect her, to protect them can have caused so much pain. No, instead they will go home, and try to sleep, and wake up and face tomorrow with a fresh resolve to forge ahead in their new normal, even if it means living with a few more lies.