Title: And the Center will Hold
Spoilers: Up to early Season 3
Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were, there would be a shirtless David Boreanaz in every ep. Seriously. Every one.
A/N: Two scenes that were in my head from the very initial conception of this fic. I hope I can make them as real to you as they have been to me. I love Jack Hodgins by the way. And I don't recall that it's ever been made clear whether Booth lives in an apartment or a house, but it looked like a house the times I've paid attention.
"Booth, man, long time no see. Are you here about the explosive signature? That was fast dude, I just called Agent Fletcher twenty minutes ago." Jack Hodgins was psyched to get this much done on a Friday morning before noon. If he could get everything wrapped up by three o'clock, he - damn the Jeffersonian – was leaving early. He and Angie had a dinner date and they were not postponing again.
"What? I don't know anything about an explosives signature," Booth was looking over Hodgins' head at the platform, then walking slightly past him to stick his head in Angela's office.
"From the case out of Baltimore? You know, Booth, the case with the smokin' hot agent with the delicious accent? Red hair, big…"
"Yeah, yeah, Sam Fletcher, I gotcha. Have you seen Bones anywhere, Hodgins, I really need to talk to her."
"So anyway, the timing device was a key fob – you know the keyless entry remote for a car? Some newer models actually have built-in timers that will start your car in five minutes or ten minutes, however you set it. You punch in the code, it connects to the timing device in the car, then vroom-vroom, your ignition turns. Or in this case, your warehouse is blown to smithereens."
Booth was continuing to poke his head into every office and work area, with Jack trailing him, explaining in great detail how he discovered the timing device for the bomb. Booth heard maybe every fourth or fifth word, making appropriate noises of interest and congratulations.
"So I said to Agent Fletcher, you know, Zack has never been with a redhead and really needs the experience."
That stopped Booth in his tracks. "You said what?"
"Dude, you haven't heard a word I said! Look, I'll just wait for Agent Fletcher to call back and fill her in, okay? And Brennan's gone to a meeting in administration, she should probably be walking back through the rose garden in the next few minutes. By the way, kidding about the Zack thing."
Booth ran a hand over his face and laughed shakily. "Sorry Jack. I just really need to talk to Bones. Call Sam about the key fob thingy, I'm sure it will be a huge help in the investigation."
Hodgins was almost out of earshot when he heard Booth call back to him, "And the thing about Zack? She'd have him for breakfast."
Booth could hear Hodgins laughter as he stepped out into the bright morning sunlight. The onset of autumn had scrubbed D.C. clean, freeing the city of the haze and smog of summer. It was a beautiful day to be outside, if only for a few moments. The grass was green from some Indian summer rains, and the fountains were crystal clear.
Scanning the expanse of green, Booth's eyes finally lit upon the tall, thin form of his partner. She had her messenger bag slung over her shoulder and was walking with the careless grace that he always associated with her. No matter the clothing, no matter the situation, Booth always saw an elegance in her bearing, an economy in her movements.
He was seated on a concrete bench as she approached, leaning forward with his hands tapping his thighs, and his shoulders slightly hunched.
"Booth, what are you doing here? I thought you were in court all day today," she slung her bag onto the ground and sat beside him on the bench.
He didn't look at her as he spoke. He stared straight ahead at the fountain in front of him, watching the water shoot straight into the air and fall back down.
"I need to talk to you about something, Bones."
Something in his tone made her turn towards him, but still he stared straight ahead. The fountain was sending mist out with the wind, away from them for the moment.
"What is it Booth?" There was an almost imperceptible twinge of fear in her voice. Something about his posture let her know things weren't okay. It didn't take a book on body language to tell her something was up that was not good news.
Since he knew of no way to soften what he had to say, and he knew her well enough to know she didn't want the truth to be softened, so he spoke quickly. "It's about Max. Caroline Julian just called and said his lawyer called her this morning and Max has rejected her latest offer of a plea agreement. She has until seven am Monday to give her boss an answer on whether Max will agree to turn over the names of everyone involved in his previous crimes. If he doesn't," Booth forced himself to look her right in the eye, "if he doesn't, then her boss has demanded she ask for the death penalty in the torture and murder of Deputy Director Kirby."
Booth wasn't sure what he expected to see in her face. Anger, maybe? She had every right to be angry at the latest cruel blow dealt to her regarding her family. Disappointment? Fear? He tensed unconsciously, afraid of what she might feel or think about the situation. About him.
The emotions never came. She knew Booth was expecting them, expecting her to feel something but she just… didn't. The wind had shifted and she felt the fountain mist on her face as the seconds ticked by.
"How certain is Caroline of a conviction?" Even to her own ears she sounded clinical and detached. Booth looked miserable, and she felt as though her face was a solid mask of nothing.
"She's pretty, um, pretty certain she has an airtight case, Bones," he fumbled, trying to follow along. "Caroline was trying to deal because of the circumstances surrounding Kirby, him being a dirty cop, and trying to kill Russ and all. But her case against your father for Kirby's murder is irrefutable. I mean, he has a good lawyer, but federal murder cases with the death penalty attached are usually a lock before the US Attorney gives the go-ahead on them to be tried. Those aren't cases a US Attorney thinks can be lost."
"I've paid a lot for that lawyer." If he didn't know her so well, her detachment would worry him more. But he knew that this was how she dealt with things; by taking a step back and looking at all the pieces one by one.
"John McAdams is the best, Bones. If anyone has a chance to beat this, he's your guy."
"He turned himself in to you. He could have run forever, but he didn't. You didn't even have to shoot him."
"I know."
"He helped find you when you were kidnapped. I couldn't have done that alone, Booth."
"I know."
They sat in silence for several more moments. The fountain spray moved on with the wind, no longer dampening their hair and clothes. He was content to sit there for as long as she needed; he knew she was working everything out in that limitless mind of hers, and would speak again when ready.
"What can I do Booth? What can I do to change this? To fix it?" She could feel her mask flaking off, one tiny piece at a time. Her voice was the first to betray her, as it trembled ever so slightly.
Booth's ears were well-trained, as good as his sniper's eyes. He could hear her detachment slipping. If he tried to comfort her now he knew she would hate him for exposing her weakness.
His voice was calm and sure. "Talk to him, Bones. Convince him to change his mind. Tomorrow's Saturday, you can drive up early and visit him. Caroline said she would wait all weekend to hear from McAdams; if Max changes his mind, she'll have her cell and her pager. That's all you can do."
Taking a step back from the two pieces of metal, Booth squinted at the glare reflecting back at him. The sun was directly behind him now, as he stood in his driveway. The two pieces of scrap metal were painstakingly painted and finished, their usefulness long outlived, except to help him decide which color to choose. The '77 Chevelle was nearly complete, except for the paint, and some finish work on the interior; a project that had taken him nearly 2 years of Saturdays to complete. His buddy Jimmy at the body shop had sent over samples of the two colors he was trying to decide between, a dark midnight blue and a much lighter sky blue.
He had been working on the car all day, from the time the sun came up until now, late afternoon. He was doing some last minute work under the hood – changing the plugs, checking the oil and filters, tightening belts. Anything to keep his mind from Bones and her visit to Max. It wasn't working, unfortunately, as he thought of her even as he took another step back from the paint samples. Jimmy was in favor of the darker color, but something about the light blue drew Booth's eye back yet again. He hoped she would call when she got back, but knew her too well to expect it.
Booth circled the painted metal pieces again. A car door slammed at the road and he looked up. Brennan crossed in front of her car and walked slowly up the lawn towards him. Her hair was loose and waved around her face; that along with the jeans and light sweater she wore made her look impossibly young. For a moment she looked like a Tempe to him, not a Dr. Brennan, or even his partner, Bones.
His heart was in his throat as she crossed the last few feet to stand in front of him. He prayed silently that she had good news.
Without preamble, which was her way, she said, "He's taking the deal, Booth." The fading daylight framed her face, so that he had to squint a little to look at her.
He tried to mask his long exhale, as he wiped his hands on a rag from his pocket. He hadn't been aware he was holding his breath. "Good. How?"
She knew what he was asking, and wasn't sure how to begin. How did she change Max's mind? She shoved her hands in her pockets and walked a few steps past him, scrutinizing his garage wall and its collection of tools.
Sensing she wasn't ready, he gave her a reprieve. "Beer? I've got some out here in the garage."
At her nod, he walked around the car and retrieved two cold bottles from the small refrigerator. Flicking the tops in the direction of the trash, he handed one to her silently. He crossed his arms and waited, leaning back against the unpainted metal of the car.
Facing him, she took a long drink before speaking. "I told him I forgive him. I told him I forgive him for leaving Russ and I behind, that I was okay with everything that happened because it made me who I am today. I told him…" she ran a shaky hand through her hair, "I told him I need him to stick around this time, to be a father to me again."
Booth watched her internal struggle as it played out across her face. He knew she was relieved that Max was going to avoid the death penalty, but that she was having a hard time dealing with the emotions this situation had brought to the surface. He could see the pain of it in her eyes. His fingers ached with the sudden overwhelming desire to touch her, so powerful it was clouding his vision, causing everything in the periphery to fade.
"He told me you went to see him."
Again, no preamble. Her words caught him off guard and he flushed. "I'm … I'm sorry Bones. I know you told me to stay out of this, with your father, but… I thought, you know, if I talked to him …"
"It's okay, Booth. I know you were trying to help."
She reached out and put her hand on his arm, wiping a smudge from his bicep with her thumb. A simple gesture really, but from her it was a powerful thing. Bones didn't reach out to people often, literally or figuratively, and Booth realized he was holding his breath again.
They stood there for a long moment; her hand had slipped down his arm and lingered at his wrist, her long fingers encircling it as if to measure the circumference of the bones. He'd seen her do it a thousand times in her lab. Just as she let go, he gave into the ache in his hand and grasped her fingers in his.
She smiled up at him a little, giving his hand a squeeze before letting go. She drank some more of her beer, then circled around the front of the hood.
"So this is the old car you've been working on?
"Old car? Old car? This is a classic 1977 Chevrolet Chevelle, Bones. The last year these babies were made under the Chevelle name. Come on, have a little respect for her."
"For her? Don't tell me that you objectify your cars too, Booth, engendering them as female, asserting your dominion over them…"
"Bones – I have worked and slaved over this beauty for two years," Booth met her around the front of the hood, "don't you even dare accuse me of not respecting…"
He stopped short when he caught her grin. "You did that just to get a rise out of me."
"Uh huh," she nodded and laughed a little.
He swatted her playfully on her arm. "Jeez, Bones. A little warning next time you plan to be funny, okay?" Her laugh was contagious. His heart was glad to see her happy. She looked so free, with her cheeks flushed from her laughter and her eyes bright without the shackles of worry.
His laughter died on his lips as it hit him. Holy fuck … he was love with her. Max had been right.
"Booth? Are you okay? You look funny," she frowned at him, tilting her head to the side.
"Uh yeah, sure, Bones. I just … I just remember I was supposed to pick some parts up at the body shop before five, and if I don't leave right now I won't get there in time." He backed away from her quickly, stumbling slightly over a wrench he'd left on the ground.
"Oh well, in that case I'll run along. Are you sure you're okay, you look pale."
"No, really, I'm fine. I just can't believe I forgot about those parts, that's all." He put the hood down on the Chevelle, and set the painted scrap metal pieces to the side, fumbling them slightly.
"I'll see you Monday then?" She still looked a little confused, but smiled as she started to walk back down his driveway.
"Monday it is. And I'm glad about Max, really glad for you, Bones."
"Thanks Booth, you know, thanks for everything." She lifted her hand in a wave, which he returned, snatching his hand back down when he saw that it was shaking.
He watched her pull away from the house, and then sank down onto an upended bucket. He felt cold and clammy all of a sudden, his world spinning like a top. This was not supposed to feel like this. Being in love was supposed to feel good, not feel like a left hook to the gut. Glancing over at the light blue piece of scrap metal, he pressed his palms to his eyes, when another realization hit him: he was about to paint his car the color of his partner's eyes.
A/N: I've never thought for one second Booth would like the idea of falling in love with her. What about ya'll?