Author's Note: Another inconsistency, as we are not aware that Booth has a brother at this point in the series timeline (I'm on episode 9, Season 3), but the moment was too good to resist. My apologies for the break in the fabric of the time-space continuum, but Spock is on his way to repair it.


Chapter Seven

Cam was taking scrapings when Booth got into the lab, coffee in hand. He'd dropped one off with Temperance in the bone room, going over the twins' skeletons with Zack. His only hope was the extra strong brew would help wake him up. It was only ten in the morning, and he'd been all over the city—back to his apartment for breakfast, dropping Parker off at school, to the FBI offices for their weekly meeting and to pick up the completed files on their online stalker.

"You said you had something?" Booth glanced around. The autopsy room always made his stomach turn, just a little. The idea of internal organs being weighed, stomach contents investigated, brains sitting on the scale oozing all matter of nasty, slimy ooze just had his gag reflex engaging. "Where's the rest of the team?"

"I'll inform them later." Cam was scrubbed up, hair back, gloves up to her elbows as she dealt with the sludge and the slime of the very ripe dead. It didn't escape her notice that Booth hung way back from the autopsy table. "I had something to talk with you about, just you."

Booth had an uncomfortable feeling. "This isn't going to quickly become awkward, is it?"

Cam laughed and noted the weight of the liver, or what was left of it. "Angela mentioned that Dr. Brennan is staying at your place while hers is off-limits."

"We're not…you know." Booth felt his eye twitch. "Camille. We're partners. We're not…"

"Sexual partners." Cam spoke matter-of-factly. "I wasn't insinuating any of the sort—though there have been murmurings around the lab about you two. What you and Dr. Brennan do on your personal time is none of my business, as long as it doesn't interfere with your professional relationship. What I'm asking about is what the risk factor really is for Dr. Brennan, and for the rest of the team. Do you think there is a higher than normal risk for us on this case?"

Booth sipped coffee, winced as Cam slid gooey remains into an oversized glass beaker for weighing. "Not for the rest of you, but this guy is very likely targeting Bones."

"You think so?" Cam paused, hands covered in muck. She measured the flinty look in Booth's eyes, sighed. "You aren't joking. You think Dr. Brennan is in danger."

He moved his shoulders. "I don't like thinking about it, but yeah, I think she is. This guy planted a bomb in her apartment, dug up this body—" he jerked his chin at the body on the table "—and deposited at the lab. It's definitely personal."

"I've heard you've got Parker with you."

Booth's eyes went from dark to dark and hot. "Parker is fine, Camille. I can keep my own safe. He won't be involved in this. He's not in danger."

"But if our killer is going after Dr. Brennan…"

"He won't get close to her as long as I'm around." Booth scowled over his coffee cup. "Not as long as I've got a say in it." He knew that look in Cam's eyes, and he grumbled, "It's nothing like that, Camille. We're partners. You know what that means."

Cam inclined her head. "I know what it means," she agreed. "But the rest of us are safe?"

Booth shrugged again. "As safe as it ever gets, when you work murder cases associated with the FBI," he said.

"True. What've you got there?" Cam nodded at the file tucked under Booth's arm. "Anything on our online fan guy?"

"Name and address." Booth shook the file. "As soon as we're done here, Bones and I are going to head out, have a go with this guy."

"Seeley." He paused in the doorway, turned back. Cam held her hands out so the ooze dripped off her gloves onto the table, rather than the floor. "If he's as obsessed with Dr. Brennan as we think it is, it might be better not to take her with you. You might be able to tease something out of him that way, but it's equally as likely that he'll lie to try to impress her."

A frown creased his forehead. He hadn't thought of that. "So who do I take instead?"

Cam's smile flashed, bright and not a little wicked. "Who else?"


"I don't get why I have to come when you go interview psychos and creeps," Angela complained from the passenger seat. Booth navigated the car to the quiet, upscale neighborhood where leafy trees lined the evenly-paved roads. Lawns were impeccably groomed, cars parked in driveways gleaming with good care. Booth imagined all the houses, on the inside, looked like poster children for some home decorating magazine.

"Cam suggested it," Booth told her with a sideways glance. "She thinks we should keep Bones away from this guy, at least initially. If he's as obsessed as we think he is, then better to keep him from face-to-face contact."

Angela shifted uncomfortably. "I'm an artist, Booth," she reminded him. "Not a cop, not a doctor. What do you want me to do while you interrogate him?"

Booth slid her a glance. "You're good with people. Watch his reactions, facial expression, hands, anything that might give him away. And you have a soothing personality—you inspire confidence. This guy might respond to that."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You want me to blush and flutter my lashes at him?" She batted them at him now in exaggerated parody of flirtation.

Booth's grin flashed. "Only if you think it'd help pry information out of our guy. Kellen Wright. Lives with his mom."

"Geek," Angela proclaimed. At Booth's glance, she elaborated, "He's, what, late twenties?" She flipped open the file, ignoring Booth's instinctive tensing. Temperance always let him read the files. "Twenty-seven, lives with his widowed mom, works part-time at the local videogame shop. Classic geek."

"Thick glasses, pocket protectors, calculator addiction?" Booth asked.

"That's a nerd," Angela corrected, scanning the file. "Wow, there sure is a lot of information in here. What an invasion of privacy. Hey—you don't have any files on me, do you?"

Booth snagged the file out of her hand, closed it and stuck it in the door, out of her reach. "You're affiliated with the FBI," he told her. "Of course we do background checks."

"You've read mine?"

Booth wondered if it would be worth teasing her, figured her reaction might be too extreme. He turned into a cul-de-sac, scanned mailboxes for the house number. "Only as far as to make sure you're not a security threat. Angela, you're fine." He pulled up in front of a quiet, two-story house painted a neat pale blue with glossy white shutters and beds of flowers in riotous full bloom. "Nerd, geek, aren't they all the same?"

"Nerds can grow out of their high school social awkwardness." Angela flipped her hair back as she got out of the car, waited for Booth to round the hood before starting up the front walkway. "Geeks are doomed for their whole lives. Take Hodgins, for example. He's a nerd, but he's sweet. Geeks have it worse."

Booth's opinion of that was muttered, uncomplimentary, and earned him a hard elbow nudge as he rang the doorbell. "Just you see," Angela said as they heard locks clicking back. "You'll understand."

A woman stood on the other side of the closed screen door, face wary. "Yes?"

Booth's first thought was that she matched the house. Her hair, chestnut brown naturally graying, was cut short, held back with sensible clips. She wore house slippers with a comfortable and shapeless blue dress. "Mrs. Wright? FBI, special agent Seeley Booth. Angela Montenegro, from the Jeffersonian Institute. Is your son home?"

Fear flickered through her eyes. "Kellen hasn't done anything. Why do you need to come talk with him?"

"We just have a few questions, ma'am." All solicitude, Booth offered an easy smile as he slid his badge away. "Completely voluntarily, of course."

Her reaction was evidence enough that this wasn't Kellen's first run-in with the cops. She flipped the latch on the screen door, stepped back. "Of course. I'll call him up." She led them to a tidy, old-fashioned parlor. Booth wouldn't have been surprised if she'd offered them tea in dainty china cups. As it was, he was afraid he'd break the antique rose-patterned sofa if he sat too hard, and balanced himself on the edge of the couch.

Footsteps came down the narrow staircase, and Booth got his first glimpse of Kellen Wright.

He understood immediately what Angela meant as the difference between a nerd and a geek. His mental image was of the nerds he'd known—and, admittedly, tormented—during middle and high school, kids with glasses and a tendency to talk about physics and calculus when everyone around them was discussing the last football win, the upcoming weekend party.

This guy was, most definitively, a geek. He didn't have glasses or a pocket protector, but there was an air of gangly, teenaged awkwardness that clung to him. On a teenager, that sort of awkwardness was expected and acceptable; on a man in the latter half of his twenties, it was downright weird. Kellen Wright slouched into the parlor, shuffling oversized feet. His hair, greasy and uncombed, hung to the collar of a T-shirt that looked like he'd slept in it. He had limp blue eyes that clung uncomfortably to Booth's face.

"What does the FBI need?"

His voice had an annoying undertone of a whine. Booth waited until Kellen sat. "We just have a couple questions for you."

"Who's she?" Pale blue eyes flicked to Angela, held. "You're not FBI."

Angela managed a smile even as her skin crawled. "Not at all. I'm a friend of Dr. Brennan's. We work together at the Jeffersonian."

His eyes lit, maniacal interest. "Dr. Temperance Brennan? You know her?" He leapt to his feet, reached out as if to grab Angela's hands.

Booth clamped a hand over the guy's wrists. His voice was hard as granite. "Easy, bucko." His eyes held unspoken warning. "Hands to yourself, or I might get suspicious."

Kellen shifted that eerie gaze to Booth. "Same goes, Special Agent Booth."

Their eyes locked, held. Kellen was the first to back off, shifting down so Booth released him. He sat. "What does Dr. Brennan have to do with this?"

"Someone planted a bomb to blow up her apartment."

"And you think I had something to do with this?" Kellen's smile was humorless. "Agent Booth, Dr. Brennan is a very popular lady. She has quite a number of fans, of which I am only one."

Booth didn't return the smile. "You have quite an extensive knowledge about homemade pipe bombs." He tossed a printout of the forum discussion onto the coffee table in front of Kellen. He'd highlighted the pertinent area of the conversation. "Brennanguy227."

Kellen barely glanced at the printout. "You have a warrant to access username information?"

"I don't need a warrant, unless you have something to hide." Booth lifted an eyebrow, once again won the staring contest. "We know you're Brennanguy227. You seemed fairly certain that you had the correct formula for a homemade pipe bomb. Funny thing," he added casually. "The bomb that went off at Dr. Brennan's apartment? Matched your specs exactly."

Kellen's face went sullen. "You can't prove that sort of thing. A bomb blows up by definition, destroys evidence."

Angela spoke up. "We do a lot of backwards reconstruction at the lab." She didn't shudder when Kellen turned his eyes on her. "You'd be surprised at what we can find out by the evidence we collect at the scene. You've read all of Dr. Brennan's books—you should know that."

Anger sparked. "I have read all of Dr. Brennan's books, been to a number of her readings, and am a registered member of the Dr. Brennan Devotees."

"The what?"

"The DBD, or Devotees. An online club, members spread across the globe. The application process is extremely arduous, very strict." Kellen's smile sent chills skittering up Booth's spine. "You might consider us a modern-day secret society. Nobody knows each other's real-life identity."

"How about you give us your secret one?"

Kellen's face was sulky, like a child denied a treat, and he finally muttered, "Detective Andrew Ryan."


"That is so insulting."

Temperance kept pace beside Booth as they strode to her office. "Secret societies have existed for centuries, nearly as long as societies themselves have existed. Not all secret societies have corrupt or illicit underpinnings, and some even began as purveyors of good and justice. While the idea of a fan club secret society is odd and, I have to admit, rather uncomfortable, it doesn't make it a personal insult."

"No. Bones, this creepazoid is Detective Andy. That's me." Booth gave a huge shudder. "I am nothing like that guy."

"I never said I based Detective Andy on you," Temperance pointed out. It was a familiar argument, one she continued on the purely illogical basis of prolonging the argument itself. She would never admit to Booth that she had, at least in part, drawn some inspiration on the character from him, and much of the characters' interactions were based on her own relationship with Booth.

Booth snorted. "Don't be stupid, Bones. I think we should take a look at other members of this 'Dr. Brennan secret society' thing, just to be safe, but my money's on this Kellen guy."

"You didn't charge him with anything," Temperance said.

"There's the law to deal with," Booth retorted. "I can't be charging people just because my gut tells me they're at fault. That's why you need to come up with the evidence."

"I don't 'come up with' evidence," she countered as she scanned the emails piled up on the computer. "The evidence is there, I just interpret it. You know, if you're looking into secret societies, you should talk to Hodgins."

Booth couldn't hide the wince. "You could mention it to him. When I'm not around."

Temperance glanced up from her computer. "You're avoiding Hodgins?"

"Not avoiding. Just…leaving that up to you. My partner." Booth backed up out of the office. "Parker has swimming lessons at four-thirty. We could get you before or after."

Temperance leaned back in her chair, juggled her schedule. Thought about Parker at his swim lessons. Smiled. "Before," she said firmly. "I think I'd like to see him." As Booth left, Temperance called, "I'm not the one worried about secret societies, so if it bothers you, you take it up with Hodgins."

She grinned as she heard Booth's curse.


Angela caught Temperance as she was leaving her office for the night. "Brennan."

Temperance pulled on her light jacket, fastened the buttons. "What's up, Angela?"

"Are you sure you're not in any sort of danger?" Angela came into the office, stood at the end of Temperance's desk. "I'm worried about you. And that guy that Booth and I went to talk to today, the secret society guy? He was a major creep, I tell you."

Smiling, Temperance pulled the handgun she'd bought for herself out of her purse. "We've dealt with creeps before, and I know how to defend myself. Besides, with Booth hovering, I won't have a chance to feel unsafe. You shouldn't take any undue risks, either."

"Believe me, I'm not." Angela shivered. "I told Hodgins he's not allowed to let me get out of his sight unless we're here in the lab. I've already asked him about this secret Brennan society thing, and he said he'll look into it later tonight. He should have something for you by tomorrow." She matched Temperance's pace as they walked around the central platform. "You going home already?"

"Parker has swim class tonight, so Booth's picking me up on their way." Temperance waved to the security guard at the door. "I got in early this morning. Zack said he'd call if he found anything matching the twins to the dead fiancé."

"The love triangle." Angela wiggled her eyebrows. "Normally the fiancé would be the first suspect, but in this case, he's just another dead guy." She watched Booth pull up in the FBI truck, gave Temperance a brief hug at the front doors. "See you in the morning."

Temperance hurried out to the curb, where Booth idled. "Hi, Parker." She smiled at him as she buckled her seat. "How was school today?"

"It was fun!" Parker bounced in his seat. "We read a new story in class today. It was really funny, about a boy and his pet turtle. Dr. Bones, you never told me a funny bathtime story."

She'd hoped he'd forgotten about that. "You seem to know a lot of funny stories already," she said, buying herself some time. "And I'm not good with funny stories. Ask your dad about that."

Parker poked his bottom lip out in exaggerated disappointment. "Not fair, Dr. Bones! I want you to tell me a funny story!"

Temperance met Booth's eyes, silently pleading. He just grinned at her and lifted an eyebrow. He knew she didn't believe in lying, even when lying would be both expedient and redemptive. Temperance blew out a breath. "I have to think of a good one. Your father might be adept at making up stories, but I have to think of one."

"Okay." Satisfied by the promise of an upcoming story, Parker sat back. "I'm glad you're going to come watch me swim. I'm really good. Mikhel's pretty good, too, but I'm faster."

"Mikhel?" Temperance remembered his friend, the small boy with big eyes who used a wheelchair. "You mentioned he swims with you."

"Uh-huh. Some of the other kids make fun of him, because he needs to wear floaties and have an aide with him, but Mikhel's gotten better." Parker's face set in stubborn lines. "Dad says if you keep trying at something, you can only get better."

"Really?" Temperance slid Booth a glance, amused. "Your father occasionally says intelligent, responsible things."

Booth made a face at her. "It's not as rare as a blue moon," he told her. He shot Parker a glance in the mirror. "Tell Bones about your spelling test, champ."

Parker entertained them with tales about his spelling test, and then his math lesson that day, which involved learning how to make line graphs, until they reached the boys' and girls' club. Mikhel was waiting with his father by the side door, and Parker excitedly took his bag of gear from Booth and ran off into the locker room, leaving Temperance and Booth behind.

Booth steered Temperance around back, where the pool was. Another class was in session, and older, more advanced swimmers did timed laps in cordoned-off lanes. They ascended the metal bleachers to sit near the top, away from the scattering of other parents watching practice. "I spoke with the dead fiancé's parents," he said, keeping his voice low. "They didn't seem particularly surprised. They do want to know when they can have the remains to take back to Japan."

"Cremation is often the preferred method of burial in Japan," Temperance said. "After Buddhism was first recorded to have been introduced to Japan in 552 AD, Buddhist rituals have melded with the Japanese culture, which itself is already heavily influenced by the native Shinto religion, or nature worship. The Buddhist religion mandates cremation as the norm, and cremation is a logical choice for such a densely populated area, where buying grave sites is a huge expense due to scarcity of the commodity."

Booth rubbed his temple. "So?"

"So, his parents are likely to be displeased when they find out we only have their son's bones left." Temperance shook her head, as if it were obvious. Below them, kids hauled themselves, sloshing and dripping, from the pool, laughing and calling out to each other as they grabbed towels and headed into the locker rooms. "Bones do not turn to ash in a typical crematorium, and are left to be encased in an urn, which is typically kept in a family grave. Likely his parents already have a gravesite."

That was so morbid. Booth frowned. "I told them we'd be in contact as soon as the remains could be transferred. They're planning on staying in the area until they get their son back, so, for their sake, it'd be great if we could wrap this all up soon."

"We're working on it," Temperance reminded him, then had to grin as Parker came out of the locker room wearing bright red swim trunks. He looked small and brave as he draped his Spiderman-designed towel on the lowest level of the bleachers. Parker caught sight of them, waved. "I remember my first swim lesson," she said. "I was four years old, and terrified of the water. My dad was with me, and he held me up as I splashed around. Russ would have been eight or so, and restricted to the shallow end. My mom had watermelon for us to eat, but we had to wait thirty minutes after eating before we could go back in the pool."

Her voice took on that misty, reminiscent tone that so rarely crept in without her knowing. Booth just grinned, eyes on Parker as he greeted the swim instructor, a leanly muscled man with sandy blond hair and striped swim trunks. "I used to tell my brother he'd die if he swallowed the watermelon seeds, because a watermelon would grow in his stomach. We'd have spitting contests to see who could spit the seeds further. I always won."

"You probably cheated," Temperance commented. "And it is impossible for a watermelon to grow in someone's stomach."

Booth rolled his eyes. "I knew that, but it kept my brother in mortal fear for years." His voice was smug with satisfaction. His stomach clenched as he watched Parker plunge into the pool, relaxed when Parker', broke the surface, blowing like a horse at the water trough. "Zack have any ideas about the swapped bones in the twins?"

"We know the switch was made post-mortem, but Zack doesn't do hypothesis. He doesn't speculate about the why, just the what and the how." Temperance watched Parker's friend, dressed in trunks that bagged around his bony knees, wheel himself out to the edge of the pool. A woman, dressed in a simple one-piece, helped him out of the chair and into the water. Mikhel clung to the edge of the pool until she slipped in beside him. The flotation aids on his biceps were bright orange markers, setting him apart from Parker and the other children that splashed in the water, waiting for class to start.

"There has to be some significance about the particular bones that were cut. The, what, right hand ring finger, left arm bone…"

"The right knee and rib eleven on the left side," Temperance concluded, the indicated bones vivid in her mind's eye. "We also know Evelyn had thyroid cancer, and Vanessa was engaged to a Japanese man."

"Evelyn's mother disapproved of her boyfriend," Booth added. "Tyrone Fisher. He's hard to pin down, but as soon as we catch up with him, I'll haul him in for questioning. Hodgins should have some info for us tomorrow, too, about your secret society stalker."

Temperance frowned at Booth, distracted from her observation of Mikhel and Parker at their lesson. "You talked to Hodgins?"

"Yeah." Though 'talk' was a loose description of the headache-inducing stream of words that came out of that man's mouth. "I gave him a call, asked him to do some research on your fan club. That's just downright creepy."

"Booth, fan clubs are completely legitimate entities." Temperance frowned at Mikhel, eyes sharp as she watched his movements in the water. "They're generally entirely harmless. What's wrong with Mikhel?"

Booth glanced down at the boy struggling through the water with his aide's guiding hands. "Radiation fallout, Ukraine, something." He waved a hand, the details foggy. "You're the one who knows that kind of thing."

"Evelyn's adopted mother said Evelyn had thyroid cancer." Temperance's brain began to whirl as thoughts coalesced, and a larger picture began to form. "Thyroid cancer is extremely rare in patients under the age of thirty, but is fairly common for anyone exposed to extreme levels of nuclear radiation. Both Vanessa and Evelyn are of indeterminate European heritage."

Booth scratched his head. "You think our twins were radioactive babies?"

Impatient, Temperance hurried on, "Did you see Evelyn's mom, Catherine? She had patches of scarring on her skin, discolored areas."

"She's not a model," Booth agreed. "But what does that matter?"

"People exposed to nuclear radiation can suffer from skin damage," Temperance explained. "Acute damage may explain the scarring."

"Wait." Booth held up a hand. "You're saying that Evelyn's mother is her birth mother? Hers, and Vanessa's?"

"I'm saying it's a possibility," Temperance replied. "If she were exposed to the same nuclear fallout that Mikhel's parents were, she could have suffered radiation sickness. That would explain Evelyn's thyroid cancer."

Booth thought about it. It didn't not make sense, but at the same time…"That doesn't narrow down the suspect list any. What motivation would Catherine Morris have to kill both her own daughters?"

Temperance sent Booth a level look. "I just work the evidence, Booth. You're the people person. You figure it out."

Booth sighed and turned his attention back to the figure of his son, happily swimming alongside his friend. Yeah, he thought. I'll figure this out.


~3.20.11