The Perfect Path in the Pie
Chapter 4 - Gimme Shelter
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Disclaimer: BONES does not belong to me, even though I tried to bribe Santa for it... I also do not own Gimme Shelter, by the Rolling Stones
A/N: Yes, I'm back again! I'll bet all this daily updating is making your head spin. For those of you following Progeny - Yes, there will be a Christmas update...and Yes, I've asked Santa for sanity this year. I'm loving all the reviews and messages, so thank you! For some reason this chapter exploded into super-long for a daily update…sorry about the extra length!
Friday, March 11th 2011 - The Jeffersonian Institution (3rd Day of Lent)
For reasons that Dr. Temperance Brennan still couldn't quite fathom, she'd been advised that her presence at the Hoover was optional today. The FBI flunky who had called her on the previous evening had made broad-sweeping comments about her valuable time and procedural issues being covered that were not pertinent to her role on the task force. The upshot was that she gained some valuable time to be able to catch up on her responsibilities at the Jeffersonian, which were sorely needed because of the time that she would be spending in Chicago next week. If she'd actually cared about the motivations behind the change of heart at the FBI, she would have quickly deduced that Seeley Booth was playing firefighter over the incident with Hacker, attempting to save some face for his boss's boss, or perhaps what was left of his face if you wanted to be literal about it. Overall, it was a win-win situation; with Andrew Hacker the biggest winner by far, on account of his guarantee of an injury-free day.
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Some of those 'procedural issues', however, were pertinent to Dr. Camille Saroyan; and judging by the thunderous expression on her face as she re-entered the lab, either her briefing at the Hoover had pushed her buttons like a teenager with unlinited text messaging, or DD Hacker had been throwing his charms around again.
Mr. Nigel-Murray was pontificating over the skeletonised remains of a World War One soldier on the platform, as Brennan engaged in academic target practice on him, by firing volleys of questions across the gurney to test his knowledge of all things Anthropological. The mildly annoying squintern pushed his gift for knowledge retention to the limit, as Brennan lobbed obscure questions in amongst those that the merely competent should know; a sheen of perspiration broke out on his brow with the effort. A small audience had gathered at the perimeter railing of the platform to watch the entertainment.
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"Dr. B sure is giving that English Breakfast a good grilling," observed Hodgins.
Wendell smothered a guffaw of mirth. "I know, man. When I'm in the cross-hairs of the Brennanator, I feel like a man-sized Philly Cheese-steak."
"So, following your manly-meat metaphor, what would that make me?" asked Angela, nudging Hodgins with her shoulder.
Hodgins gave a low chuckle. "Oh, you're a prime, juicy Texas rump, baby!" he replied, slapping his very pregnant wife on her rump and attracting a glance of censure from the Brennanator.
"Which I suppose would make me a New York Rib-eye...and don't even think about trying to tenderise me, Dr. Hodgins," said Cam, who despite wearing four inch Prada heels had somehow approached the crowd of spectators without making any noise. The woman was a Haute Couture Ninja.
Hodgins gave a snort of laughter that earned him a death glare from Brennan. "Is there something pertinent that you would like to contribute, Dr. Hodgins?" she asked archly.
Cam stepped in to save Hodgin's bacon. "Actually, I needed to let you know that Booth will be here in ten minutes. I'll also be needing to speak to the team about the workarounds that we need to have in place to assist you during your trip to Chicago. I've sent the FBI briefing notes to everyone to look over via e-mail. This includes the list of constraints that the task force has placed upon the Jeffersonian, but they've left the implementation strategy to us. I'd appreciate your thoughts and input, Dr. Brennan. Would you join us for coffee on the Mezzanine in say, a half hour?"
"Certainly, Dr. Saroyan. A half hour," replied Brennan, immediately turning in a dismissive gesture in order to address the squnitern bracing himself for the next barrage of questions. "Mr. Nigel-Murray, your responses were highly satisfactory. Given time and continued application, you may become a competent Anthopologist one day. Please pack up and return these remains to Limbo. You will need to join the team for Dr. Saroyan's briefing."
"Thank you, Dr. Brennan," gasped the intern, before scurrying off to do her bidding.
"I'll be in my office, waiting for Booth," announced Brennan to no-one in particular as she stripped off her gloves and strode off the platform.
"So, Hodgie... What kind of steak are you?" asked Angela slyly as they left the platform.
"Oh, so many cuts of meat, so little space left on the grill; but you can butcher me anytime..." he said.
"Eww!" exclaimed Angela, punching him in the arm. "I think I'm gonna puke!"
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Brennan was catching up on her e-mail and voice mail messages when Booth arrived to find her responding to an urgent message from her Building Supervisor. She gave a distracted wave of greeting, frowning at whatever the person on the other end of the conversation was telling her. She pressed her lips together in annoyance and rubbed absently at the small red mark that had been revealed by earlier absent rubbing, resulting the removal of the cosmetics that she had applied to cover the injury earlier that morning.
Addressing herself to the Building supervisor on the phone, she huffed and cleared her throat. "So you're telling me that the entire building is off-limits...the whole block has been evacuated?...Is there a risk of an explosion? Because I have a number of valuable artifacts in my apartment which are...Fine, I realise that the Fire Department make the rules...Can you provide an estimate of how long before the gas main is repaired?...How about the damage to the sewer pipes?...Well, I'll be in Chicago next week, but I'll need to access my apartment to pack some personal items...Sunday. Fine...For what it's worth, I hope you have a nice day too, but it sounds highly improbable."
She looked at her phone, then glanced over at Booth. "The call was disconnected," she commented with a shrug.
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Her partner had made himself comfortable on her couch while waiting. "Trouble at your apartment?" he asked.
"Yes. A major gas main has ruptured in the vicinity of my building causing damage to sewer and water pipes in the process. The Fire Department and local authorities have evacuated residents, I won't be able to access my apartment until Sunday," she said.
"Make sure you tell the Fire Marshall to feed your goldfish," said Booth, attempting to lighten the moment.
"I don't have a goldfish...oh, you're trying to cheer me up. Very funny!" she said with a small laugh. "I had a goldfish as a child. Russ overfed it and it died."
"Aww, did you cry? Did you do an autopsy?" asked Booth with a teasing grin.
"I was seven, Booth, I can't remember if I cried...and it's not an autopsy, it's a necropsy..." Brennan gave a small sigh and rubbed at her aching forehead. "Now, in addition to my other weekend plans, I have to find a hotel and purchase toiletries."
"You don't need to find a hotel," he said.
"Why?" she asked, then answered her own question. "You're correct, I could just stay here at the Jeffersonian. I was intending to work tomorrow anyway because of the Science Fair. Dude is going to be here."
"Yeah, I know. I'm bring Parker. He's been bouncing off the walls and driving Rebecca crazy about it all week. I'm picking him up in the morning." Booth stood up and sauntered over to her desk and leaned forward assuming a cocky smile. "Why don't you hang out at my place tonight...?"
"I don't think that would be appropriate," she replied quickly. I'll ask Angela if I can stay at her place for a few days. I can borrow some of her clothes, something that I couldn't do from your wardrobe...," she added with a flash of a grin.
"Well, if you change your mind, there's grilled cheese, classic rock and Superman sheets at my place tonight," he offered.
"Don't you think that you're a little old for Superman sheets?" she asked with a tone of amusement, standing to put her jacket on.
"Funny. Real funny." Booth took a closer look at her forehead. "Hey, you've got a mark like one of those Indian red dots on your forehead, Bones. y'know, like Gwen Stefani used to wear when she was the lead singer of No Doubt."
"I don't know who that is..." said Brennan, putting her fingers to her forehead as she fished a small mirror from her desk drawer. "That is the mark left from yesterday, I suppose that it does look a little like a Bindi," she mused, grabbing a small make-up compact and covering up the small mark.
"A Bindi, is that what they call it?" asked Booth.
"Yes, it traditionally represents the status of a married woman in India, particularly in Hindu customs. Although it is popularised in modern societies as a fashion statement," she informed him.
Booth pointed at his chin. "I've got this mark from where you head butted me yesterday. Is there a name for that mark? Does it mean that I'm some sort of traditional Indian superhero?" he asked obtusely.
She laughed. "No, but it may go some way to explaining your Superman sheets. I can't even see any mark on your chin."
"It's there...see?" he said pointing.
Brennan leaned forward, bracing her arms on the desk, to examine his chin more closely. Then regretting the move as she recalled the frustrated kiss she had laid on him in the elevator.
Focus. Chin...chin...lips...lips...CHIN, dammit!
"I see slight residual swelling, but the mark that I'm observing appears to be razor burn." She extended her index finger to point it out, but Booth tilted his head to the side a little to avoid the poking phalanges.
"No, no. Don't poke it again! It'll hurt..." he whined.
Her finger gently ran over the slightly swollen spot on his chin. "Baby..." she chided with a smile.
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Dr. Camille Saroyan, who had seen enough performances of the 'Love Game' at the Jeffersonian to understudy for Lady Gaga; she gave an epic double-take as she saw Dr. Brennan with a soft smile on her face, caressing the jaw of her off-again / off-again partner...calling him 'baby'. Why on Earth Dr. Brennan had chosen this moment to decide to take a ride on Booth's disco stick, Cam would never know. After all, love was blind; and so would Cam be if she didn't put a stop to this soon.
"Ahem. I'm going to forego my standard lecture on fraternisation policy to just let you know that we're gathering on the Mezzanine now," said Cam, promptly turning on her heel and leaving.
Brennan frowned as Cam exited her office and gave Booth a serious look. "I find it very frustrating to be called out for flouting fraternisation guidelines, when we've committed no such crime."
"Then we should make the crime fit the punishment," suggested Booth, leaning in with the intention of planting a chaste peck on her lips. Objectively, it could have been classified as chaste if held up against a standard that was say, French...adult...X rated...
"Less frustrated now?" asked Booth, pushing back from the desk and preparing to leave.
"Yes, but..." began Brennan.
Booth gave a cocky smile. "I owed you that for yesterday in the elevator."
"We need to join the others," she said, lowering her eyes and fiddling with the position of her ID badge on her jacket.
Booth strolled out of the office. "I still owe you a couple of slaps to the ass," he teased.
She followed after him on autopilot, her mind racing, wondering what the hell had just happened. That sure as hell hadn't felt like she was kissing her brother. Come to think of it, it hadn't felt like that the first time either.
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Arriving on the Mezzanine for the briefing, Booth made a bee-line for the coffee pot and poured them both a coffee. They sat down on one of the long couches. Booth let out a groan of disappointment as he spied pie on the table in front of them, his hand involuntarily reaching forward to take a slice. He received a light slap to his hand from Brennan.
She leaned toward him as he shook his stinging fingers. "If I can resist the urge, so can you," she murmured.
He tilted his head to reply. "It's easy for you, Bones, you don't even like pie!" he complained.
In a tone that almost made Booth stroke out on the spot, she asked a very valid question. "What made you think that I was referring to pie?"
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Angela Montenegro was complaining bitterly about being forced to trudge up too many stairs in her condition. She waddled over to sit next to Brennan and Booth leaned forward to pour Angela a glass of water.
"Aww, thanks Booth!" cooed Angela. "It's a damned shame that'll be making me pee in three minutes flat, but it's the thought that counts right?"
Hodgins cut himself a slab of pie and started munching happily until the rest of the gang arrived.
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Angela turned to Brennan. "I don't know how he can eat after what we just saw in those FBI briefing files. Murder, rape, kidnapping children, throwing families out on the streets, random shootings, fire bombings; this group are animals!"
"I know, Ange," said Brennan, patting her friend's hand supportively. "Animals are much better than...whatever these evil people are..."
"Well, if anyone can help break this case, it's us, right?" asked Angela.
"We're going to give it a red hot go," commented Booth.
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"Oh, Angela!" said Brennan, suddenly remembering her homelessness. "My apartment building has been designated off limits because of ruptured gas mains. Could I come and stay with you and Hodgins this weekend?"
Hodgins groaned. "Oh, Dr. B...sorry...any weekend except this one. We have...house guests," he said evasively.
"But you have ten bedrooms. How many house guests can you have in one weekend?" wondered Brennan aloud.
"Oh, plenty..." began Hodgins before being shushed by his wife.
Angela eyed her husband. "You know you're not allowed to talk about it!" She rotated herself to face Brennan, as much as her belly would permit. "Sweetie. My Dad...and some of his...friends are coming to our place for a...reunion..." she hedged.
Booth sat forward, picking up on the conversation. "Rock and Roll Hall of Fame friends?" he asked, his voice getting a little squeaky with excitement.
"Booth, just shut up, okay?" hissed Angela. "Why do you have to use your FBI superpowers to bust open every secret you stumble across? We can't talk about it...security is already a nightmare."
Hodgins gave a grin. "It's gonna be great though," he said, bursting into an impromptu guitar riff. "Boww, nana, bow wa wa wowww!"
Vincent Nigel Murray had just arrived back from Limbo. "Ooh, I know that one! That's..."
Angela pointed a finger at the squintern. "Don't even think about uttering another word! If you lock in those lyrics, I guarantee that the wrath of Texas will descend upon your house for generations!"
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"Don't worry about it. I'll book into a hotel," said Brennan, ignoring the fact that her intern looked like he was going to pass out.
"Good luck with that," said Hodgins conspiratorially. "We've had to put up members of some of the entourages in tour buses at my place...hotels are booked solid."
"Well, I'll just sleep in my office then," Brennan decided.
"No, Bones. You can sleep in Parker's bed. I'll even change the Superman sheets for you. there is no reason for you to sleep in your office, okay?" said Booth decisively.
"See?" said Angela. "Go and stay with Booth. I won't feel so bad about not being able to shelter you in your hour of need..." she said, beginning to tear up. "I'm sorry Bren...hormones, y'know."
"Please, don't be upset Angela. I'll be fine. Parker's bed will be fine. I don't want you to worry about me," said Brennan as her BFF began sobbing on her shoulder.
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"You redecorated." commented Brennan as she stepped into Booth's apartment. They had just finished a couple of hours of prep work for their Chicago trip and had taken a rain check on grilled cheese, grabbing a light meal at the Diner. Booth had not even flinched when he walked past the pie plate displayed on the counter.
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Booth threw his keys into a bowl near the door and pushed the door shut. He flicked on the stereo which was tuned to a classic rock station. "Yeah, Parker wanted a more grown up theme in his bedroom, so a couple of months back, we painted his room...I kind of got a kick out of it. I've been fixing things up a little at a time. Pops came to visit last month and he gave me some furniture that he'd been keeping in storage since he moved to the nursing home. I got his old bed, come see, it's practically an heirloom!"
Brennan walked through the apartment that was familiar, but different. From an Anthropological perspective Booth was trying to surround himself with things that he associated with happier times in his past. On another level, he had scrubbed the apartment of every trace of Hannah. It made her sad and happy all at once. He must have hurt badly when his relationship failed, but she found that she no longer felt uncomfortable here, unlike some of her visits following her return from Indonesia.
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The bed was antique, hand carved, by a European if she wasn't mistaken. She walked over to the headboard, entranced by the intricate dark stained wood work. Her fingers reached out to touch the scrolls and leaves, the varnish was old, but well maintained. It must have been stored carefully.
"This bed pre-dates your grandfather, Booth. Has it been in your family for a long time?" she asked, flicking a glance at him watching her in a guarded fashion from the other side of the bed.
"Yeah, it was given to his grandmother as a wedding gift a long, long time ago. I don't know the history, but Pops has promised to tell me someday," he replied.
"You should take a voice or video recording when you do, Booth. Oral histories are lost too easily in modern times," she said, now running her hand over the twisting curves of the finials. "It was probably a marriage bed. A symbol of love, honesty and lifelong commitment. Your ancestors have more than likely been born, died, and mated for life in this bed. Do you lie here and think of them? I would...if I were you..."
Booth wondered when she'd become so...free around him. He thought about it for a moment and he knew when it had started, even if he had been trying not to pay attention. That case, where she'd gone off the rails, when she'd admitted the truth, her mistake. He hoped it wasn't too soon to be thinking about them this way, because he seriously didn't to mess up any chance of a future.
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She took his silence to be an objection to her words. "I'm sorry Booth. Did my referring to your ancestors being born and dying in your bed offend you...I was just looking at it through the eyes of an Anthropologist...it's a bad habit..."
"No, that's okay, Bones. It's a part of my family history, people being born and dying doesn't bother me. Besides, I bought a brand new mattress. It cost me a packet, but my back has never been better." He hopped up onto the mattress and lay down with an exaggerated sigh of satisfaction.
"That is very good news. You won't be needing adjustments from me then," she said with a genuine smile as she looked down at him wearing his 'kid in a candy shop' smile.
He patted the space next to him and she flinched. "C'mon give me a professional opinion, one of your doctorates is in human movement right?" he said, not letting on that he'd seen her balking at his gesture like a skittish horse.
"Kinesiology," she corrected with a small smile, her confidence reasserting itself. "I'll try it and then you can tell me what you paid for the mattress. Then I'll tell you whether you were taken for a ride by the sales clerk."
"You're on," he said with a laugh. "But I'm telling you, I screwed them to the wall for the deal I got on this mattress."
Brennan kicked off her shoes and gracefully arranged herself on the right side of the bed, all business-like, and cleared her throat before closing her eyes.
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After two minutes of complete silence, Booth began to worry. "Hey, are you awake?" he whispered.
"Yes," she replied, opening her eyes. "Why are you whispering?" she asked.
"Doesn't matter," said Booth. "I promised never to tell anyone about the price, but here, I'll whisper it to you." He turned onto his side and spoke the low, low price next her ear.
She fought the impulse to squeeze her eyes shut at their proximity. When she heard the price, she smiled. "Did you use you badge and gun to screw them to the wall? Because I want to take you with me next time I want to purchase a bed."
"It was great deal, right?" he said flopping back onto the mattress and letting out yet another mammoth sigh. "Hey, Bones...can I ask you a question...it's kind of personal, so you don't have to answer if you don't want to."
"Okay," she said. "But only if I get to ask a question too," she added quickly.
"Deal," he agreed, before she could back out. "You've told me what you think of this bed looking at it as an Anthropologist. What do you think of it looking through the eyes of Temperance?" he asked.
The eyes of Temperance closed to hide the telltale signs of tears. "You want my opinion as a woman? I'm not exactly the best candidate to provide the generic female perspective," she deflected.
"I'm not interested in generic. I'm interested in what you think about it...you don't have to answer," he said quietly, his voice was almost drowned out by the sound of the Rolling Stones drifting through the apartment.
She took a breath. "No. It's okay. I just wanted to clarify what you were asking is all."
"So, you think my bed is...," he began.
"A special place. A peaceful place. You're lucky to have it. If you ever decided that you didn't want it, I'd buy it from you..." she offered with a smirk; trying to wind him up.
"Not for sale," he said bluntly.
"I know, I'm being affectionate...or at least I'm trying to be," she explained. "Did that answer your question?"
"Yeah. Okay, your turn. Question time, shoot...and no squinty questions either!" he said with a chuckle.
"Fine, I'll keep it simple," she said in a teasing tone, marveling at the roller coaster that her emotions were on in this conversation. "When you're here lying on this beautiful piece of furniture, with generations of history; when your mind is at rest...What do you think about?" she asked turning her head to one side to look at Booth.
He turned his own head to meet her gaze and when he saw the expression on her face, he very nearly chickened out. He answered honestly. "I think about you."
She turned onto her side, struggling with the truth, but not struggling against it. Things were different now; she had learned a thing or two in the past year. "Why?" she asked. Because despite everything that her heart was screaming at her, she still sought the shelter of her rationality. It was like breathing.
He rolled to face her. "You know why. You've known for some time."
"I know," she replied. "I think I need to sleep now. Can I kiss you goodnight?"
"Only if I can kiss you goodnight," he retorted gently, moving in to do just that.
The kiss was mainly sweet, with just a hint of sensual; it was intended to be a precursor to sleep after all.
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Parker's bed remained unused. Safe in the grip of a horizontal guy hug, Temperance Brennan slept.
A/N 2: Another 37 songs to go...OMG! Am I completely insane for taking this on?