Buried with the Bones

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Imagine if Booth and Brennan never met. The exhumation of a cold case introduces Booth to Dr. Temperance Brennan, but not quite in the way you think. If you believe in fate, somehow might they get a second chance? Very AU.

Chapter 7 – The Coworkers of the Bones

Dr. Ian Wexler sat behind his desk, his legs casually perched on the edge of the surface. He considered Booth's question carefully.

"Well, Goodman is… an interesting fellow. He's an archaeologist by training, so a bit too… symbolic for my tastes. But, he's got an excellent memory and pays attention to details, which I can respect. As long as you know going in that he's a chap that may be adding some extra bit of interpretation for you, because that's just the sort of things that archaeologists do to escape the tedium of their field, you'll be just fine," Wexler said.

"Okay, good to know," Booth said. "And, what about the other one? Dr. Jack… Hogins?"

"*Hodgins*, my dear Agent Booth, *Hodgins*," Wexler said. He then stopped for a minute, and looked at Booth as he let his voice trail off, "Ahh, what to say about the lovely Dr. Hodgins?"

"What?" Booth asked. "Is that a rhetorical question?"

"No, not really. It's just that dealing with Dr. Hodgins is a bit of an... experience onto itself. The chap is somewhat of an acquired taste, if you take my meaning," Wexler said. "I've been telling Camille and the others for years that we really should let him out of the dungeon more often than we do because he's a brilliant fellow, and maybe having a spot of recess will help him learn to play nice with the other kiddies, and make working with him less painful, but-"

"But?" Booth asked.

"But," Wexler said. "Well, suffice to say... Agent Booth, I find I'm at a loss of words. Dr. Hodgins is a bit of a challenge to adequately explain if you haven't met him before."

"Why?" Booth asked. "Are there too many good things that you don't know which one to start with? Or, are there so many bad things that you're trying to scramble for an excuse that let's you off the hook about saying something mean about him?" Booth stopped and then looked at Wexler to add a bit of clarification. "That's my attempt at being more politic, by the way, since I'd probably just say he was an asshole and move on if it were me... all in deference to you English blokes since you aren't allowed to be quite as crude and vulgar as a dumb Yank like me, of course."

"Oh, I assure you, Agent Booth, I can be quite crude and pruriently vulgar when the mood suits me, and it's appropriate. Just ask Camille," Wexler grinned wickedly.

Shaking his head, Booth said, "You know what? Just stop right there. The last thing I need to hear about are any innuendos about you and Cam and your sex lives, okay? I get it. You guys are together, boyfriend/girlfriend, whatever. But, please, just spare me the details, okay?"

"Why?" Wexler said. "The fact that Camille and I are now living together, and have been 'together' exclusively for almost two years, to use a comfortable modern colloquialism… does that make you feel uncomfortable for some reason, Agent Booth?"

"Hell, no," Booth responded instantaneously. "I just don't like… talking about stuff like *that* at work, okay?"

"Ahh," Wexler said, comprehension dawning. "It's the professional nature of our current environment that's off-putting to you, then, and that's what's impeding the natural flow of our conversation?"

"Err, sure," Booth said.

"So, as long as a few pints are in front of us, trading tales is okay? You aren't a Puritan after all, then? If so, that makes me feel much, much better. I must confess, I've spent a great deal of time since I've met you trying to figure out how such a squeamish prude - like the one you appeared to be at our first meeting - could have ever caught and held the attentions of such a fabulous bird like Camille," Wexler confided in him. "It just didn't make much sense to me, I'm afraid."

"I'm not a prude!" Booth said a bit more loudly than he had intended, as he pointed at Ian, who was grinning. Recalling the annoyed disembodied voice of another squint that had seemingly accused Booth of the very same thing not a day before, Booth knew he was being a bit oversensitive on the matter. Lowering his tone of voice, Booth attempted a bit of damage control as he said, "Look, I'm not a prude, sexually inadequate, or sexually dysfunctional. I just... unlike *some* people, I take things like… *that* seriously, Dr. Wexler. I'm a gentleman. And, just because I don't like to kiss and tell doesn't mean I'm a Puritan, okay?"

"Yes, yes, of course. Forgive me, please," Wexler said, a bit of a wry smile still lurking at the edge of his lips.

"And, for your information, I'm not squeamish either. I just drank some bad orange juice the morning I got…sick," Booth insisted firmly.

Nodding, Wexler smiled and then said, "To answer your earlier question, about Dr. Hodgins? It's a bit of both. The man is utterly brilliant. He holds three degrees in entomology, botany, and mineralogy."

"Bugs, slime, and dirt?" Booth translated.

Wexler winced a bit at Booth's terminology. Shaking his head, he said, "First rule of advice with Dr. Hodgins, Agent Booth, is this: Don't ever use the word 'dirt' around him. You don't want to know why. Just trust me, and you'll save yourself a lot of rants and time in the process."

"Okay," Booth said. "What else?"

"He's brilliant, as I said, but Dr. Hodgins is also what Camille calls the 'cranky curmudgeon' of the lab. He has a bit of an anger management problem that means, as I said, he rarely plays well with the other children," Wexler said. "I wouldn't be surprised if he was clinically paranoid as well, but that last bit is just speculation on my part."

"Ahh, great," Booth said, with a bit of a dejection creeping into his voice. "So, the two people who knew Temperance Brennan best were a tall-tale telling archaeologist and an angry paranoid bug person?"

"Cheers, mate," Wexler said. "It sounds as if you've got the spot of it, after all."

Shaking his head, Booth glanced at his watch, and, after thanking Wexler, left the lab to start the first interview with Dr. Daniel Goodman.

"I just want to thank you again for agreeing to meet with me, Dr. Goodman. I know you're got a very busy schedule," Booth said, as he shook the older man's hand.

Politely nodding, Goodman said, "Of course. Anything I can do to help find out what happened to Dr. Brennan, please, just let me know."

"Well, I figured we'd start with the usual. A few questions?" Booth asked.

"Yes, please," Goodman said. "Proceed."

"What can you tell me about Dr. Brennan?" Booth asked.

"She was one of the most intelligent people, male or female, that I've ever met. And, that's not an exaggeration or a bit of overblown praise tossed out to assuage the dead. I've come into with a lot of different types of people over the years, Agent Booth, and if there's one thing I know, it's potential. I have no doubt that, had she lived, Dr. Brennan would have revolutionized the field of forensic anthropology. She was a legend in the making, the best and the brightest in her field, and it was a horrific tragedy when that greatness was simply snuffed out like it was in such a brutal fashion."

"I understand that you were the first person who found her body and reported it to the police?" Booth asked.

Nodding his head curtly, Goodman said, "Indeed. I went into her office, and at first, I thought she had merely fallen asleep at her desk. She was sitting at her desk, in her chair, and appeared very peaceful as I approached. It wasn't until I got closer that I noticed she wasn't sleeping."

"I see," Booth said. "And, what can you tell me about her personality? What type of woman was she?"

"As I said, Agent Booth, if there was a single word I would apply to Dr. Temperance Brennan, it would have been potential," Goodman said.

"And, so… her potential? Is that the reason you hired her?" Booth asked.

"Partially, yes. At the time she was hired, we didn't really have a formal forensics department here at the Jeffersonian. She was actually hired as an osteological specialist to work on cataloging some of our unidentified prehistoric and historic remains. I'm not sure how familiar you might be with it, but federal legislation known as NAGPRA was passed in 1991. The NAGPRA law resulted in a massive backlog of material processing for the Jeffersonian's extensive collections, as we attempted to identify and to repatriate Native American remains and funerary items back to their respective tribes. At the time of her death, Dr. Brennan was working on a case of a prehistoric hunter who was murdered approximately 4000 years ago. She was very close to determining cause of death before she herself was killed. It would have been a remarkable discovery for someone her age to make... and quite the feather in the proverbial cap of the Jeffersonian if she had managed to pull it off as it appeared she was in the process of actually doing."

"Was she working on any other cases at the time she was killed that are in any way considered controversial? Any other NAGPRA repatriation cases that may have made her enemies, for example?" Booth asked.

"Good Lord, no," Goodman said. "Dr. Brennan was… too good for anyone even to consider attempting to insult her. She didn't intimidate easily."

"And, at the time of her death, do you remember any… any odd changes in her behavior? Alterations of her routine?" Booth asked.

"No," Goodman said. "Not really. Dr. Brennan was extremely regimented. She very rarely ever changed her schedule. I was the one who worked most closely with her in the short time she called the Jeffersonian home. I know I would have noticed something like that if it had occurred."

Nodding, Booth stood and again extended his hand, offering Goodman a card. "Well, thank you very much, Dr. Goodman. You've been a very big help. If you remember anything else that you think might be relevant, even if it seems insignificant, please don't hesitate to call me. My contact information is on the card."

"Of course, Agent Booth. Of course," Goodman said with a somber nod of farewell, as Booth turned and then left the office.

Booth's next appointment was the one he was anticipating the most for some reason. Wexler's description of Dr. Jack Hodgins amused him. If nothing else, Booth knew it wouldn't be a routine interview, and that fact alone was enough to titillate him in anticipation of their upcoming conversation.

Following Goodman's assistant into the bowels of the Jeffersonian, Booth walked through a twisted maze of hallways until, at last, the young woman stopped at a bleak looking door and pointed.

"There he is," the young woman said timidly, when, prior to reaching the basement, she had seemed anything but. Spinning on her heels, she stopped only long enough to wish him luck before hastily retreating and then disappearing all together.

Frowning, Booth rapped loudly on the door three times before he heard a bellow of response.

"WHAT?"

Opening the door, Booth entered and scanned the room. A man in a blue lab coat with curly red hair stood behind a microscope. Booth took his badge and waved it in the air as he said, "I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth of the FBI. I'm looking for Dr. Jack Hodgins?"

"Well, you've found him. Or, interrupted him, to be more accurate. What do you want?" Hodgins asked, not bothering to look up from his microscope.

"Dr. Daniel Goodman told me you were expecting me? I'm investigating the murder of Dr. Temperance Brennan. He said you're one of the few remaining members still on staff at the Jeffersonian that had worked with her and might be able to help me?" Booth asked.

At this, Hodgins' head jerked up. "You're here about Dr. B?"

"Temperance Brennan? Yeah," Booth said.

"Well, it's about damn time," Hodgins said, coming out from around the worktable. He came to stand in front of Booth as he said, "Tell me, did my website about her death finally get your attention?"

"Uh, excuse me?" Booth said. "What website?"

"My website," Hodgins said. "Her murder was a part of an elaborate government plot to restrict the repatriation of certain priceless Native American grave artifacts from the Jeffersonian's collection."

His eyes widening in surprise, Booth said, "You have proof of this?"

At this, Hodgins flushed a bit. "Define 'proof'."

"Something conclusive that would hold to a test of intense scrutiny in a court of law?" Booth offered.

Frowning, Hodgins said, "Well, when you put it that way, then no. But, that's sort of one of the issues that you always have to deal with when you're working with stuff like this, you know? When it's a crime related to a criminal government conspiracy, actual 'proof', as you defined, is sorta hard to come by, Agent Booth."

"Uh huh," Booth said indulgently. "And, have you told anyone here at the Jeffersonian about this... theory of yours?"

"Of course!" Hodgins said. "But, Goodman just gives me this indulgent and patronizing wanktard nod of his and sends me on my way as soon as it ever comes up. Why do you think I've been banished to the bowels of the Jeffersonian basement? He's never taken it... or me, for that matter, seriously."

"Can I have the URL?" Booth asked.

"Sure," Hodgins said, suddenly excited.

As he scribbled the web address down on a piece of paper, Booth watched him curiously. Hodgins stood and offered him the paper. Taking it, Booth said, "Thanks."

"No problem, man. Anything I can do that'll help to let people know what actually happened to Dr. B... I'm all for it," Hogdins said.

Booth said, "Can I ask you a couple of other questions about her then?"

"Dr. B? Sure," Hodgins said.

"How well did you know her?" Booth inquired.

"About as well as anyone here... maybe slightly better, I suppose. She was in the process of hiring an intern when she was murdered, but hadn't actually made a final choice. I think she was going to offer the job to this really, really strange kid from Michigan who came from some tribe of like fifty family members who lived all in one house, but since she died, there kinda wasn't the need for him to work for her. Last I heard, I think he had taken a position at Stanford. Anyway, since she hadn't found an intern yet, it was really just the two of us working on the prehistoric hunter case in the months before she was killed," Hodgins said.

"Goodman said he knew her best," Booth casually mentioned.

"Yeah, well, like I said, Goodman's a wanktard. He's wrong," Hodgins said.

"And, why's that?" Booth asked.

"Goodman is a morning person, in at 9, gone by 5, if he can possibly help it. People like Dr. B and I are night owls. Later in and later out. Normally, neither one of us would leave limbo before 2am or 3am in the morning. Goodman was on the opposite schedule time-wise and so rarely saw either one of us for any prolonged period of time outside of the weekly staff meetings," Hodgins said.

"Okay," Booth nodded. "That's helpful... but, what can you tell me about her… aside from the fact that she was smart and liked to work late?" Booth asked.

"Brennan tended to keep to herself. But, since we were all kind of like that, I don't suppose that's very helpful," Hodgins said lamely.

"Yeah, well, not really," Booth confirmed.

"Okay, let me try again. It's hard to explain, though," Hodgins said.

"Right," Booth agreed. "Try, though," Booth replied.

"Okay," Hodgins repeated. "I know it'll seem a bit vague, but try this. You know those moments in time when you know you're seeing someone or something great, but then… something happens, and you know something that wasn't supposed to occur kept that someone or something great from happening in the first place?" Hodgins asked.

"Yeah," Booth said, a little too fast. He then ran back in his mind what Hodgins had said and then amended, "At least, I think so."

"Well, Dr. B was kind of like that. If she had lived longer… things here at the Jeffersonian would have changed. She… she had so much potential it was scary," Hodgins said.

Booth made a note that both Goodman and Hodgins had used the same word to describe Brennan - 'potential'. Deciding that perhaps another tactic was needed, Booth changed direction a bit in the way he was questioning the usually talkative and forthcoming squint.

"What can you tell me about her friends? People she was hanging around with before she died?" Booth said.

Hodgins shrugged. "Dr. B didn't have a lot of friends. Most of the ones she had were still in Chicago. I think she kept in touch with them by email mostly, and occasionally talked to a couple of them on the phone, But, here in DC? Not so much. She was what most non-squints like you might call the solitary type. She kept to herself, and as long as she had her bones, that was fine by her."

"Did she have a boyfriend?" Booth asked.

Shaking his head, Hodgins said, "No, I don't think so. The closest thing to it, I would say - and by close, I mean for lack of anything else, or anyone else, even remotely similar to meeting that description - was that she spent what little free time she had with that old professor of hers… what was his name? Skires?"

"Stires?" Booth asked. "Michael Stires?"

Snapping his fingers, Hodgins said, "Yup. That's the one."

"But, you wouldn't call him her boyfriend?"

"No," Hodgins said. "Brennan... well, it's difficult to explain, but she never got a happy or euphoric look whenever Stires came around. They talked a lot, and I know she had a weak spot for him, but I never got a lovey-dovey vibe from them. So, yeah, when she wasn't in the lab, she was usually with him, but no, I don't think they were necessarily hooking up."

"They were here together? You saw him with here here?" Booth asked, in search of clarification. He was slightly surprised by that as none of the case files indicated that Brennan had seen Stires in person after she had moved from Chicago to Washington the prior spring. "In DC?"

Hodgins nodded. "Yeah. I saw him come around the lab to pick her up a lot of times in the months after she started here."

"Really?" Booth asked.

"Yeah," Hodgins confirmed.

"You ever talk with him?" Booth questioned.

"Aside from the occasional 'hello' or 'goodbye'? Hell, no." Shaking his head emphatically, Hodgins said, "No way, man. That guy gave me the creeps. His smile was way too Stepford to be real. I'm not sure what Brennan ever saw in him."

"And, how did that make you feel?" Booth asked.

Laughing, Hodgins said, "Look, man. I know where you're going, but what Dr. B did on her own time was none of my business."

"Why?" Booth asked. "A beautiful, smart young woman like that... by your own admission, you two spent a lot of late night hours alone together working. You really telling me that nothing ever happened between you two?"

"That's exactly what I'm telling you," Hodgins said, crossing his arms defiantly.

"Okay," Booth said in a conciliatory tone of voice. "But, if nothing ever happened between you two, I mean, surely, it must have crossed your mind, right? Your personnel record says you're not married—"

"Wait," Hodgins said. "You reviewed my personnel file?"

"Yeah," Booth said. "You got a problem with that?"

Grinning, Hodgins said, "Not in the slightest. Most of the typical standard issue G-men that I've come into contact with over the years haven't even bothered. I'm impressed and flattered that you took the time to do your homework."

"Well, thanks, I think," Booth said. "So... like I was saying, you're not married?"

"No, I'm not. And, I wasn't at the time, and, before you ask, no I didn't have a girlfriend at the time of Brennan's death, either. But, me... and Dr. B? I mean, yeah, she was gorgeous… but, a guy like me and a girl like her? We'd never work. We're too similar. We would have killed each other if we ever tried to hook up. We both knew that, and I much preferred having her in my life as a friend, albeit a casual one, so no, I never even made a move to make a move," Hodgins said.

"So… if you weren't her type… what was?" Booth asked. "I mean, if you had to guess?"

Hodgins considered his words for a second and then said, "Dr. B was a very physical person. I can't say for certain, but I think she liked… good looking guys. On occasion, a few of us from the lab would go out for drinks, and I'd hear her making the occasional comments to one of the other women about some guy they might see. She liked them tall. Dark coloring, usually. Athletic build. And strong personalities. Whether it was in a romantic relationship or not, Brennan didn't like people that she could kick around or browbeat. If she did, if people let her get away with it too much, she knew she couldn't really respect them. So, yeah… I'd say she was into strong men with confident personalities, if I had to guess, you know... even though that's not really something we squints usually do."

"Granted," Booth said. He stopped for a minute and then said, "So, aside from Stires… you can't think of anyone else she might have been seeing by chance, can you?" Booth asked. "Anyone who might've asked her out during one of those rare happy hours?"

"No, not really. I mean…." Hodgins' voice trailed off. Booth waited for the squint to continue. Looking at him, Hodgins took a few seconds before he sighed and said, "Look, I never saw her with anyone. But, before she was killed, I've often thought she started acting a bit funny—" Hodgins said.

Feeling his spider sense tingle, Booth said, "What do you mean 'funny'?"

"Well," Hodgins began. "Dr. B wasn't the most… emotional of people. She wasn't the type of woman that made you think of bunnies and kittens on a first impression. But, about three or four weeks before she died, I had noticed she seemed a bit more…friendlier than I had ever remembered her being. A bit more… open, I guess? She was smiling more than I ever remembered her doing in the entire time since I'd meet her. Dr. B seemed more positive and... less cynical, I would say. Looking back, if it were anyone other than Dr. B, I might even thought she was happy about something, but she wasn't the type of woman that did happy. It was all about logic and rationality for her. She tended to avoid all emotions whenever she could, either good or bad. So, yeah, now that I think about it, I guess you could say that Brennan seemed to be a bit more emotional than I ever remember her being before, and those emotions were-"

"Positive?" Booth offered.

Hodgins shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

"Can you think of anything else that sticks out in your mind about anything out of the ordinary in the month or so before she died?" Booth asked.

Hodgins was quiet for a minute, but then said, "Only that about the same time her mood started to change, I know that that Stires guy started coming around less and less. I didn't see him as often."

Nodding, Booth took a card, and handed it to Hodgins. "Thanks. You've been a real big help. If you can ever think of anything else, please let me know. My contact info is on the card."

"Most definitely, dude," Hodgins said, taking the card. "I will definitely do that." Looking from the card back to Booth, Hodgins then asked, "Is this really a direct line to the Hoover Building?"

"Yes," Booth said warily.

"Sweet," Hodgins laughed.

"Why?"

"Men in black suits, dude... you work in the house of MIB. How can having a direct line to a place like that not be cool?" Hodgins laughed.

"Yeah, well, just remember we track and record all incoming calls," Booth said.

"Oh, yeah yeah yeah. I know that already," Hodgins said dismissively.

Shaking his head, Booth turned and left the squint to his microscope. As he walked upstairs from the basement, Booth wasn't quite sure what to make of the situation now, except that he knew a crucial piece of the puzzle surrounding Temperance Brennan's life was still missing. He could sense it was there, just out of reach, and he didn't know how he would get it.

However, Booth did know one thing. If he could solve the riddle of Brennan's mood change, he was willing to bet a hundred bucks he could crack her murder, too. He just had to figure out a place to start looking for the answer, and that was the one thing that left him more bewildered than even before he had started the Jeffersonian interviews. He was missing something all right. Now, Booth just had to find out what that was… and then, then he knew he could *finally* solve the murder that Booth was reluctantly coming to acknowledge might be something of a small obsession to him for reasons that Booth couldn't yet quite understand... or explain.

-TBC-