Author's Note: So this chapter is a bit longer than usual, and is only Brennan, no Booth. Obviously this is a big chapter (plot-wise) and I felt like including Booth were he didn't belong just for the sake of sticking him the chapter would kill it. Innumerable thanks to my lovely beta Steph, without whom this chapter would have been a complete and utter failure. Special thanks to my most passionate reviewer, Candigirl510, for her lengthy and ego-boosting reviews. They make my day, thanks! As always, a disclaimer: I don't own Bones, because if I did, then Season 7 would air tonight! Still in England, so sorry if the timing's off- lots of love, and happy reading! (see you all next Wednesday!)
Secret Smile by Phish
Sometimes when the evening's young
The wind dies down, the setting sun
Crochets the clouds with yarn so fine
And fills the oceans with red wine
The trees, the sky, the forest fair
Bring a flavor to the air
I raise my glass and in a while
You answer with a secret smile
Hold on, hold on to me
An airborne leaf that landed near Has carried Dionysus here
He'll slip away but only when
He sees our glasses filled again
Chapter Six: Tears
She ran in to the hospital, vaguely pondering the average number of times someone went to such an establishment. Not recalling any such statistics, Brennan thought it fair to assume that her attendance at GW was far above average.
The white halls she and Angela were racing through were far too familiar. They made it to the emergency room. She knew the nurses and secretaries far too well. Stacy said that someone would talk to them shortly. She was far too accustomed to the chairs here. A woman she dimly remembered walked into the room towards them. She was here far too often.
Angela stood up, and Brennan started, so surprised at such a speedy update, that she rose a second late. Upon closer inspection, Brennan recognized the agent.
"Agent Parriera," Brennan greeted, searching her memory to affix the correct name to the face. Parriera dipped her head in acknowledgment.
"Dr. Brennan, Miss Montenegro," the agent said. Greetings out of the way, Brennan had some questions that needed answering.
"Agent Parriera," Brennan repeated. "What exactly happened? Who was the gunman? Has he been caught? Why did he target the Diner? How is Booth? Where was he shot? Why was I not informed?" Agent Parriera blinked.
"I'm sorry, but not all of that information is available, I hope you'll understand," she said worriedly. "But, of course, I'll do my best to answer your questions."
o-o-o
Parriera was torn. She, as well as half of the Bureau had been privy to the ongoing dynamic that was the Booth/Brennan partnership. She'd been an intern when they'd run their first official case as partners, after Dr. Brennan had returned from Guatemala. Eventually she'd scored a position on the team, and had continued to watch the drama like a popular television show. She'd heard Booth call Dr. Brennan 'Bones' for the first time almost five years back, and thought it was absurd, but adorable. She'd laughed with her friends during their lunch break at the thought of the quirky squint team stuck together in the Jeffersonian over Christmas. But she (and the rest of the followers of the partnership) had been torn between glee at the opportunities a holiday together posed for the partners and a silent dread that they might not make it out alive. She'd seen the dolphin belt buckle and the paperwork on the case when Allison from Archives and Filing stopped by her desk before delivering them to the Jeffersonian.
Parriera had been struck with fear for Brennan and the entomologist (but mostly for Brennan) when the Gravedigger had buried them alive. She'd seen Booth's frantic face as he stormed through the offices, yelling at Caroline and demanding more agents be assigned before angrily departing for the Jeffersonian. She was immensely relieved when they were found alive and the team reunited. She'd smiled when she walked by Dr. Sweets' office and heard them arguing about pony play dreams, wishing they'd just do it already. She'd heard that Brennan had accidentally shot Booth while rescuing a victim, and thought it hilariously endearing. She'd watched Brennan smile brilliantly as Brennan and Booth coddled a baby in his office instead of doing her paperwork. She'd also watched Brennan's stoic face at the funeral of her very much alive partner (feeling for once that the Booth/ Brennan almost-romance never would be) - and seen the great right hook the squint delivered. She'd selfishly (was it selfish?) hoped that Zachary Addy's imprisonment would at least bring them closer.
Parriera had been angry and snappy (but it wasn't noticed, because practically everyone else was the same) when the duo had shipped off to England, hating missing the action. She'd also casually gossiped about the side-romance that wasn't of the entomologist and the artist, and the triangle with the artist's lesbian girlfriend. She'd found that to be less interesting, however. She'd decided that the two had done enough travelling when they went to China, and had been perfectly cross when they'd gone again to Oklahoma. She'd then heard about the knife-throwing debacle and decided Oklahoma wasn't so bad. She'd almost died of jealousy when Payton Perotta got to work with the Jeffersonian after Booth went missing. She'd gotten the good details from her friend later, and felt proper guilty for being so petty when Booth was in danger. She'd practically fallen into a depression when she heard Brennan talking to Hacker about the surgery. She'd felt loads happier when Emily from Linguistics (who had heard from Alan from Cultural Anthropology at the Jeffersonian, who had heard from Camille from… well, the squint squad) had told her that Brennan had to retrieve evidence from Booth by stripping him down to his boxers. She'd also wished she'd been there, and realized at this point that she needed a boyfriend. She'd got her guy a few months later, and he'd mellowed her quite a bit,but she had still been intrigued (what a lie, she'd been fascinated) by the not-so-secret (Hacker had come back to the offices looking… ruffled) JFK case and the tension between Hodgins (she'd learned his name by this point) and Booth. She'd matured a lot by the time news spread of the unfortunate rejection, but still found the failure disheartening. She'd decided at that point that she'd stick through with whatever happened, because they had to get together in the end. She stuck with her belief through the sabbatical.
Parriera stuck with her belief until Hannah. Hannah. She'd been struck by the change in Booth his first day back, when he didn't defend Brennan, and rather chuckled with Caroline, comparing the two women in his life who simply could not be compared. She'd wanted to defend the squint herself, but realized that her relationship with the two was strictly from the sidelines. She'd swallowed her prejudice, however, and realized that Brennan had rejected Booth, and Booth was completely entitled to a new girlfriend. She'd stuck to her belief, no matter how difficult it had been.
So when Parriera first heard that Booth's one non-familial member was Hannah, she hadn't been worried. Because, in Parriera's eyes, Brennan counted as Booth's family. But the harsh reality truly set in as she stood in front of Brennan, so soon after ushering Hannah out, and sorted through the questions the squint had methodically posed, trying to find the best way to tell Brennan that the love of her life was dead.
o-o-o
"Thank you," Brennan said, honestly. She had always liked Agent Parriera, someone she'd encountered on several occasions at the Bureau, who seemed to know quite a lot about her and Booth's cases. Most of the agents did, really. She briefly wondered why, but then shoved that thought back as Parriera began to speak.
"Doctor Brennan, there's… there's something I need to tell you before I get into any of this. Something you need to know, before everyone else, before the press. I really have no idea how to tell you this," Parriera paused, and Brennan's heart sped. "Agent Booth was shot twice." Another pause. Parriera spoke in technical terms- she had been a nurse in college and figured it would set Brennan at ease.
"Once in the hand, fracturing the scaphoid, lunate, and trapezium, as well as bruising the radius… and once near the femur… rupturing the femoral artery."
o-o-o
It was the coldest possible way to do it. To say Booth was dead. The artist and the anthropologist had been working in forensics for long enough- they knew what this meant.
"Oh my god. Oh… oh my god!" The pregnant artist (Angelina? Angelica?) sank back into the uncomfortable hospital chair. Brennan simply stared back at Parriera. She opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again to speak.
"Gunshot wounds to the thigh are much higher-risk, as the trajectory of the bullet can impact the femoral arteries, resulting in high blood loss. If the bullet completely ruptures the femoral artery, the victim will likely bleed out in under a minute." Closing her eyes, Parriera collected herself, her mind flashing back to Brennan's face at the funeral three years ago. Her expression now was startlingly similar. She continued on as if nothing had happened. If anything, she knew Brennan loved routine.
"The gunman was Gage Fletcher Harley. As you are clearly aware, he is the subject of the case you are working. The Bureau will no doubt demand that you drop the case on personal interest. We will, without a doubt, have the FBI on it. He is, unfortunately, still in the wind. He targeted the Diner on an impulse, we assume, but we've assigned a profiler to pay closer attention the intricacies. And… you were not called because you are not Agent Booth's medical proxy." Brennan's eyes did not convey surprise. The artist was still in a state of shock, rocking in the chair, but she was not a priority.
"Of course. I'd forgotten. How did Hannah take it?" For the first time, Brennan's eyes held emotion- and rather than jealousy, it was concern. Could they possibly be friends?
"She… she went home." Parriera couldn't bring herself to lie. Brennan straightened, emotions all of a sudden rushing back to her face. Stress, fear, devastation… all was better than the cold stillness. Parriera was glad Brennan was clearly choosing to deal with her emotions rather than fight them.
"That's what I should do too," said Brennan, her voice suddenly worn. She carefully touched her friend, pulling her to her feet. The woman seemed to be completely out of touch. Parriera realized that her pregnancy hormones would be maximizing the volume of emotions she was feeling. Brennan seemed to be thinking along the same lines.
"Come on, Ange, let's go. Give me your keys, I'll drive." Parriera greatly admired Temperance Brennan in that moment. She was staying strong but not detached.
"Thank you," Brennan's voice broke through her thoughts.
"I'm so sorry for your loss," Parriera said sadly, and Brennan froze. It was the first time the truth had been acknowledged. Brennan dipped her head and led her friend out of the room.
o-o-o
The conversation with Hodgins must have been one of the worst of her life. He hadn't believed her at first. She couldn't blame him. She was still working on comprehending it herself. Brennan sighed, deciding to push away her inner scientist (something she had become increasingly good at) and resolved to spend the evening relaxing and taking her own time to deal. She would face the consequences of the tragedy tomorrow.
Of course all of this was shot to hell when her feelings surged forward in an unhealthy way, threatening to overwhelm her.
Booth was dead.
Booth was dead.
No.
She hadn't realized she'd said it out loud until she made it to her apartment, fumbling with the keys. The one utterance was now a steady chorus.
"No, no, no!" the last denial a screech, Brennan was suddenly irate. She grabbed the nearest item and threw it against the wall, feeling satisfaction as it cracked a bit and left a small dent in the plaster.
No.
Upset now for a different reason, the mindless Temperance Brennan ran to the figurine and squatted to pick it up. Jasper the pig had a crack running from between his ears to his stomach. As she cradled the toy tenderly, a piece fell apart.
No.
She set the pig down and ran to her vanity. In a haze of desperation, Brennan spent the next hour and a half gluing the pig together with clear nail polish, and using her most expensive shade of pink varnish to hide the crack. Carefully setting Jasper back in his rightful place, Brennan sat back. Without the distraction, she was left to deal with her feelings.
Steadying her resolve, Brennan returned the cosmetics to her bedroom and grabbed a large mug Angela had painted for her. She set water to boil, and set out to pick a tea bag. As the water boiled, Brennan took a shower, breathing in and out slowly. Salt water mixed with the shower spray on her face, and she stopped her tears angrily. She would not cry. Brennan slid on a robe, finished her tea, and sat on the bed listlessly. Flashbacks overwhelmed her as she remembered being in a nearly identical position three years ago. Except for then, Angela had driven her home from the hospital after the doctor had declared Booth dead.
Dead, thought Brennan. Booth is dead.
She thought about her coping mechanisms that she had used so long ago. Sweets had said she'd compartmentalized. She was doing that now, but she was facing the issue. She was proud of herself.
Sick, she chided herself, gaining from Booth's death. She would be calm and collected. She would not cry. She'd cried back then, however. Secretly, when Angela wasn't looking and in her office between limbo cases and paperwork. She'd gone to Booth's apartment, too. Wore his shirts, his crazy socks, used his shampoo. She couldn't do that now, though. Because Booth had Hannah. Booth used to have Hannah. Brennan figured Hannah was nicely grieving in their apartment, like a normal person, not throwing gifts from her dead friend at the wall. She pondered their relationship. She'd loved him, she was sure. He'd never loved her, not that she knew, but he'd wanted her. Once.
He'd wanted her then, but he hated her now. He'd hated her when he died.
She wondered if things would have been different, had she said yes. She thought they wouldn't have changed- she was too strange, abnormal, freakish. He would've left her for someone like Hannah. She could be like Hannah. She knew she was lying to herself. Not when she had to follow guidelines to mourn. Especially not when she didn't even follow them. She would not cry.
Indiscriminately, she realized that no one would ever call her 'Bones' again.
And she cried.
o-o-o
