Chapter 3: Mail Call

Booth sat, still polishing his scope, still watching the men, still remembering the past. He was pulled from his thoughts when one of his young charges came in to announce mail call. The guys jumped up eagerly to collect the letters and packages that had been delivered. Mail usually came pretty regularly, but the latest transport plane had been delayed. It was clear the men were anxious to discover what awaited them.

They hated to admit just how much they relied on these reminders of home, of normal life. They often had spirited debates over which was better, receiving a letter or getting a package. Men who argued the advantages of packages reminded the guys who preferred letters that they often bartered for the very contents of those packages. And with email? Video calls? Almost instant communication? Why waste time with a handwritten letter? They had much better ways to communicate instead of waiting on snail mail. Snail mail was for their grandparents.

Those that argued for letters reminded everyone else they had the advantages of both. They had their cake and were eating it too. They got both the letters and sometimes parts of the packages through their bartering activities. What they'd never really admit to any of the other guys is that each one simply cherished the tangible reminder of the person who'd sent it. Girlfriends gave lipstick kisses and hugs in the form of cute hearts drawn at various points in the letter. Half the time, if the soldiers closed their eyes, they'd swear the girl was standing in the room with them, so powerful an effect the scent of perfume on paper had. Friends kept friends up to date with the latest gossip of home. Mothers and fathers said all the right words of comfort, reminding them how proud some people were of the duties they took so seriously. Just looking at a mother's hand writing, without ever reading the first word, could bring such a sense of comfort. Yeah, these guys wouldn't trade a hand written letter for a package of 'goodies' that would be gone in no time. They'd have their letters long after the contents of the package were gone.

Booth watched from his chair across the room. He was amused by the easy going arguments the guys were having. He watched as they quickly opened the packages and letters. He was happy for them. Things like this might help them avoid living the hell he'd sent himself into when he had returned to the States last time. He was older this time around. Remembered the pitfalls that sent him spiraling down into a world of gambling. He was acutely aware of how easy it had been to fall into that trap and he didn't want it for these...men. Geez, it was going to be hard to remember. He knew he'd slip up eventually and call them boys. He hoped his behavior over all would demonstrate his resolve to treat each of them with respect.

Booth was also a little envious of the men. He'd only been there a little over a week. Not long enough to receive any letters or packages. He knew Parker and Pops were probably already writing letters even though they didn't have an address yet. The ones he'd sent to them a couple of days ago would supply that information for them. Pops would remember how important letters were from his days in the service. Booth looked to be getting lots of letters from Pops and that was just fine by him. He figured he'd probably get an email from Bones at some point talking about all the excitement of her dig. He might even get some from the squints. But so far it had been quiet. Not a word from anyone. It was just too early. But it was lonely just the same. He knew he'd made the right choice in coming here. Another of those gut moments. He had sensed it was going to change his life. He wasn't sure how, but he just knew it. Besides, how was he supposed to keep on doing his normal FBI job carrying the guilt the Army had been so successful in instilling in him? His good old guilt ridden Catholic upbringing did that enough. Now he had the Army after him as well?

He thought about what life would have been like had he decided to stay once Bones had left. How was he supposed to work without Bones? He chuckled wryly, lost in his musings. He'd never been so happy to see someone's backside, literally, when she'd walked away from him after that first case. She had driven him absolutely insane. Fast forward six years later and she'd somehow managed to become a part of every aspect of his life. When he woke up, he wondered if Bones was already at the lab. When he drove around, he wondered if she was being safe. When he ate, he called Bones to remind her to do the same. Hell, most of his life was spent with her. They spent their days working together. They spent their nights eating and going over cases or just hanging out. Dammit. He was supposed to be moving on and even here on another continent, his thoughts continued to center around her. And this damned mail call wasn't helping. Until now, he'd not been around for the mail party. He was glad he hadn't been because it only made him miss his life more. He sucked it up and just kept working on his scope, concentrating on the banter around the room instead of missing home. Missing Bones.

A few minutes later, a shadow entered his line of vision. "Sir?" Booth looked up to one of the young men, Williams, standing in front of him. All the guys called him Fish for some reason and they hadn't let Booth in on how he'd come to have that nickname. He hesitated a moment, deciding how to answer.

"Yeah, Williams?" The man straightened almost imperceptibly, but enough for Booth to notice...right, decision made...Fish from now on.

"You have a letter, sir," he said as he handed Booth an envelope.

"What?...How?..." Booth stammered before he remembered his role here. He really did not need to verbalize his confusion...or show it. He plastered a blank look on his face. "Thank you," he said with a finality and nod that let the soldier know he'd been dismissed.

"No problem, sir," Fish said with the smallest of grins before he turned back to the group. Booth looked down at the envelope. It was a plain white envelope with his name and new 'address' typed on the front. No return address. At this point, he wasn't sure what emotion he should be feeling, but he knew that somehow in the last thirty seconds a swarm of butterflies had managed to take up residence in the general location of his stomach.

A thousand questions began fighting for supremacy in his mind and a look of worry crossed Booth's face unconsciously. Letters in plain envelopes could never be a good thing. A sudden sharp pain stabbed Booth in the stomach, he closed his eyes lightly, trying to move past it. "Oh no, not again," he inwardly groaned. Wouldn't this stupid bug just go away? Maybe this time it was just nerves. Yeah, nerves over this letter...had to be. Who was the letter from and how had it gotten to him so fast? The questions wouldn't stop. "This is ridiculous," he thought, but continued worrying about it anyway. Plain envelopes usually carried bad news and he didn't want to get bad news in front of this audience. He couldn't bring himself to open it. He needed to be alone.

Parker? Nothing from Parker or about Parker would come in this format. Besides, it wouldn't have had time to get here yet. Pops? No. The FBI? Jeffersonian? No and no. The Army would have used official stationary. What the hell was this? He suddenly realized the eyes of his men were surreptitiously watching him stare at the envelope. The previously raucous banter had decreased to the point Booth could no longer make out the details of conversations. Booth regained his composure, nonchalantly laid the envelope to the side and returned his outward concentration to his rifle scope. He would wait to read the letter in private and demonstrate a little discipline in the process.

He continued working on his scope while question after question plagued him. Worry ripped through every nerve ending. Why a letter? Something really bad would have warranted a phone call surely. Years of hiding emotions in the interrogation room allowed him to keep a stoic expression. He hesitated again after realizing the men were openly watching him. He could have heard a pin drop. Did they seriously have nothing better to do? He drew in a deep breath and held it. His brow furrowed and he pursed his lips as he looked up. He only released his hold on his lungs when he slowly scanned the faces in the room, not bothering to hide his annoyance. At his challenging glance around, the men quickly realized they were about to get reamed...and quick...if they didn't leave Booth to his thoughts. The hustle and bustle suddenly returned to their previous levels. Satisfied he was no longer the center of attention, Booth returned to his task as the myriad of questions returned to his mind. Who could the letter be from?

Once Booth had spent what he figured was a sufficient amount of time waiting, he took advantage of his new rank. He had his own quarters that would allow him some peace and quiet in which to read the unexpected letter away from prying eyes. He gathered his scope, polishing supplies and the letter that seemed to have developed a taunting attitude where it lay on the table beside him and headed away from the day room.

He chuckled just slightly as he walked the hallway, realizing how crazy it was to get so worked up over a letter. He thought about what Bones would say. His smile widened. He was sure she'd have a derogatory statement to make about psychology. She would remind him that it would serve no purpose to get worried about the content of a letter when it was in his hands, could be opened and read immediately. Why analyze the feelings about what the letter might say instead of simply reading the letter? He was glad nobody else was around to see his full grin at imagining bickering with Bones over this situation.

A sharp pain hit his mid-section, causing his step to falter. Wow, he was either more stressed than he'd realized or that stomach bug had just gotten a lot uglier. He'd love to be able to yell at one of the squints and blame them for making him sick. He knew that wasn't the case, but it would still make him feel better to vent. And they'd give it back just as good as they got, so they'd all be even, right? He continued his trek toward privacy. As he entered his quarters, he immediately put the envelope down and began to put his scope and supplies away. One of his golden rules as a sniper was to care for his rifle like it was another member of the team.

He grimaced at that thought. Member of the team? Had he really just thought of his rifle that way? Instead of an extension of himself? The longer he was here, immersed once more in the military life, the more he realized just how far the squints had begun to convert him. Hell, they hadn't begun, they'd succeeded. Were he at home, he might have been amused. Here? Knowing the lives of so many people depended on him? Feeling as crappy as he did? The thought made him irrationally angry. Angry with them, but mostly angry with himself for letting them succeed. He couldn't afford to be soft and these little moments made him feel that way.

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair and then down his face, getting his focus back. He had to stay focused. He also had a letter to read. As he turned to pick it up, another stab of pain tore through his stomach, enough to double him over. "What the hell?" he thought.

He straightened up, a totally different question on his mind now. Was he going to make it to the bathroom? With a sickening immediate knowledge that he was going to throw up everything he'd eaten since stepping foot in this god forsaken place, he turned and ran to the john. He stayed there for what felt like years, until he had nothing but bile and dry heaves to offer. He sat on the floor long after it was over just to make sure it was over. He wiped the sweat off his brow and weakly stood up. He slowly made his way back, praying his luck would hold and he wouldn't meet anyone in the hallway this time either.

"Sir?" called a familiar voice.

"Jesus. Christ. I just can't catch a break right now," Booth thought to himself. Luck was obviously not on his side. He turned and waited to see what Fish needed this time. Fish paused, taking in Booth's hunched posture and sweat drenched shirt.

"Yes...Fish?" Booth answered. Fish's mouth twitched up in the beginning of a smile as he heard the Sergeant Major use his nickname, but he quickly wiped it away as he remembered Booth's appearance.

Fish continued hesitantly, raising his eyebrows in question, "Sir, are you okay? Do you need help?"

"No, Fish. I do not need help," Booth stated emphatically with as much of a glare as he could muster at this point, then paused, waiting to see what Fish had to say. When Fish continued to stand there, his frustration rose. "Did you need something?" he asked.

Fish immediately began to shake his head. "No sir. Sorry to bother you sir." He hurried away, trying to invoke as little of Booth's wrath as he could.

Booth couldn't even bring himself to feel guilty about being rude. He could only think of getting back to his room, lying down, reading that damn letter and then possibly dying. This was not how he'd envisioned his first week here.

He allowed himself a moment of pity for his situation as he shuffled back. He loved Bones and had finally admitted he wanted a relationship with her. She'd rejected him and had run for the hills...again...like she usually did when confronted with emotions she'd rather avoid. He knew, he really did, that the stupid dig in the Mapoopoo...oh, he so needed to not think that word again right now. He begrudgingly thought of the correct name...the dig in the Maluku Islands was a golden opportunity for Bones. But this was his pity party and he resented the hell out of that opportunity. He resented that she left him. Now he was here, a continent away from his life and his son...and Bones. And to top it all off, because of this stomach bug, he felt like he was going to get the opportunity to once and for all put to rest his debate with her over whether or not God existed.

He made it back to his room without meeting anyone else. Thank God for small mercies. He picked up the letter and gingerly sat on the edge of the bed. He looked once again at the envelope, as if this time it would reveal secrets. It didn't, so he turned it over and opened it.

Inside he found another envelope, plain with no marking at all. This piqued his curiosity even more. He unsealed the second envelope and pulled out a single folded piece of plain white paper. He could tell before opening it that it was a hand written note. Who in the world? How? What? He unfolded the paper and sucked in a sharp breath. There, in front of him, in this awful place, was hand writing he'd recognize anywhere.

He slowly exhaled and whispered one word..."Bones."