DRINKING BUDDIES CHAPTER 10: Another Night, Another AA Meeting
Author Note: Thanks for the great reviews and encouragement. I have to confess, for this chapter I needed all your reviews to keep me going. Here's Chapter 10.
"Hi, Temperance."
Anthropologically speaking, the soft chant of greeting for each attendee in turn seemed to Bones to reach back across time, awakening a long-lost cultural memory of mutual support and interdependence that something deep down inside her relished and craved. As she sat down after her turn and watched Booth get to his feet and stumble (less awkwardly tonight, she noted) through his own introduction, she had the ephemeral feeling that she was reaching back through the ages and experiencing a glimpse of the dangerous, interconnected world of her ancestors. Wow, this was actually a good idea, this AA concept of the support of a like-minded community in the face of human weakness. Brennan listened with rapt attention to the moderator with the bow tie as he introduced the evening's speaker.
"Hey, did you hear me?"
Brennan blinked and turned to her partner next to her. His toe was kicking the leg of his chair in a constant, jarring rhythm. Clamping a hand on his knee, she glanced at his face and knew instantly he was bored out of his mind and trying to annoy her to amuse himself. Typical Booth.
"No. What?" She responded.
"I asked you if you had any gum or candy." Booth licked his lips and a distasteful scowl formed on them.
"I told you not to eat the onion meat pie," Bones scolded. "The cook always uses too much garlic. Here." She handed him a stick of wintergreen flavored sugarless gum.
"So now what happens?" Hodgins asked from behind them, next to Angela and Sweets who were too preoccupied with another whispered argument to pay attention anyone else.
"Fran will start the evening off with an inspirational vignette," Bones said softly, pointing at the woman who had just made her way to the podium. Booth turned and gave Hodgins a "slash across the throat" sign and shook his head negatively. Jack's eyes widened in understanding.
"Good evening, and welcome to AA here at St. Benedictine's. We are grateful to this host church for graciously allowing us to use their facilities four times a week for the very important work of encouraging recovering addicts. Remember: the good news is you never have to drink, or overeat, or indulge in addictive behavior again."
Booth's cell phone chirped.
"You were supposed to turn it off," Bones whispered urgently, her eyes fastened on Fran.
"Sorry," he said. He flipped the phone on "silent."
"The task ahead of you is never as great as the power behind you. What does that mean? If you are powerless, then your power to prevail must come from a source outside yourself."
Bones raised her right eyebrow and pursed her lips, trying to figure out what Fran was talking about. Booth's cell phone vibrated in his shirt pocket, and Bones was sitting so close to his shoulder that the soft sound made her turn her frown toward Booth again. He sighed and turned the phone off completely.
"So tonight, let go of your need to make yourself happy, and let happiness find you. Be grateful for what you have instead of wanting what you don't have. I know it's hard, friends. Everything we addicts let go of has claw marks all over it. But you can do it. I've done it; your group leaders have too. Rely on your friends. You can't walk this path alone. Find your true friends. A true friend is someone who walks in when the rest of the world walks out."
Fran stepped down and Bones looked over at Booth, feeling a rush of gratitude for his strong presence, hoping he'd at least heard that last sentence. He hadn't. He was whispering to Hodgins behind him.
"Come on, let's go to our small groups," she grumbled, pulling on his arm.
"So, where do I go?" Hodgins asked, confused.
"Just go with Angela," Booth encouraged him with a mischievous grin.
Booth quickly reclaimed the same desk he'd sat in at the last meeting, directly behind Bones so he could whisper to her. Fran came in with a cardboard box and greeted her attendees cheerfully. The same eight people had returned; Fran seemed to think it a good sign. Booth wondered how many of them were required to attend due to the conditions of their parole, like Bones.
"I thought we'd have a preview discussion of next week's topic, which is Step Two. Can anyone tell me what Step Two says?"
A teenaged girl in the front row with stringy black hair and wearing rows of silver earrings raised her hand.
"Tell us your name again," Fran encouraged.
"My name is Skye," she said, looking expectantly at the room. It was amazing how quickly each attendee came to look forward to their standard AA greeting.
"Hello, Skye."
"Ahem. Hello. The second step says we come to admit that a Power greater than ourselves can restore us to sanity." She sat down proudly.
"That's right. At AA, we acknowledge that the source of power that we need to restore our lives to what they should be comes from a Higher Power."
Booth's face brightened while Bones' fell.
"Some call that Higher Power God. Since I call that Power God, for the purposes of simplicity let us refer to our Higher Power as God. However you view that Source, know that you will find strength, purpose and peace only through learning to acknowledge and draw from the power of God."
"Now I know why they meet in a church," Bones moaned. Booth tried to shush her before Fran set her sights on Brennan, but it was too late.
"Temperance, what are your thoughts on this step?"
"I don't believe in a higher power," she said bluntly.
"What would it take for you to believe in God?" Fran asked, walking closer to where she sat.
"Empirical proof, I suppose," she mused.
"You've never seen the core of the earth, or a magnetic field, or another planet that supports life—but as a scientist I'm willing to bet you believe in all of these." Booth was impressed. Fran had obviously done some homework on Dr. Temperance Brennan since the last meeting.
"I believe that the earth's core exists because of the Laws of Physics; same for magnetism. The idea that life exists on other planets can be extrapolated from the fact that life exists here on Earth."
"What if you could prove the existence of a Higher Power empirically? What if you try the 12 step program, having faith that it works because God is empowering you to live your life as it was meant to be lived, and consequently you are successful in conquering your alcoholism?"
"I would have to think about that. But, because I am here, going through the program, it makes sense to me that for the time being I should accept and act on the principles you are setting forth. I agree to…" she hesitated.
"Have faith?" finished Booth, smiling at her sweetly.
She faltered for a moment or two before answering, "Yes. Have faith, for the duration of the program, and only because I am trying this out, like the hypothesis of an experiment, as Fran suggests."
Fran grinned and a shocked Booth sat up straighter. "Good, Temperance," Fran concluded. "Wait everyone; before you go, here is your journal for the remainder of the course. Please read each week's material and try to write some of your thoughts down every day. Peace, everyone." She reached into her brown cardboard box and handed each participant a book as they left.
Booth drove slowly on the way back to Bones' place. They'd been having a lively discussion ever since leaving St. Benedictine's and he wasn't ready for it to end when he dropped her off. But when he finally pulled up to the front of her building, she didn't get out right away.
"Would you like to come up?"
"Sure," he said without a second's hesitation. "You know, I had a few things I wanted to run by you anyway." Booth reached over the seat into the back of the car and stretched to retrieve a file folder. They got out and headed for the elevator.
"What's that?" She pointed at the folder he was carrying.
"Pictures from West Virginia, from the crime scene down in Staunton, and of the suspected killer," he said. "I know you've spent a lot of time I. the victims, but I want to bounce a few theories off you regarding where we might find this guy." Brennan unlocked her door and let them in, being careful to relock the dead bolts. She turned on the hall light and led Booth to the living room. He spread the pictures out on the coffee table.
"This is the suspected murder weapon," he said, holding up a photo of a piece of thick bailing wire. Bones took it from his hands and looked at the picture carefully.
"Where is the actual wire?"
"I dropped it off at the Jeffersonian for analysis."
"This appears to be consistent with the damage found on the hyoid bones of all the victims," Bones agreed, studying the photo.
"This is a shot inside the cabin in West Virginia. He was living like a survivalist. And he may have at least one assumed name. We found equipment there that was probably used to forge fake driver's licenses. This picture is Richie Bauman about ten years ago; it's a mug shot from a break-and-enter at a convenience store in southern Virginia."
Brennan picked up the photo and frowned.
"What's wrong?"
"I don't know. He looks familiar somehow, but I can't quite place him." She stared at the picture intently before handing it back to him. "Angela can run an age enhancement program on this shot. Maybe that would help."
"Great, Bones. We'll try it first thing in the morning. This killer is invisible. We're running out of leads, and once the trail grows cold, we'll have to wait until there's another murder to get a whiff again."
"If it's not just another missing persons case for the first few weeks. The trail grows cold in missing persons cases because so often, the window of opportunity closes before the police take any action. Is there any way to have new missing persons bulletins sent to our team as soon as they are received?"
"Caroline can make that happen." Booth gathered up the contents of the folder but stopped when Bones picked up the mug shot once again and looked at it long and hard.
"Where do I know you from?" she asked herself. She handed it back and Booth packed the picture back into the file folder.
"I should let you get some sleep. Good night, Bones." Booth extended a hand, pulled her onto her feet and hauled her into a thorough hug. He looked down at her as if he were waiting for her to say something. When she didn't, he smiled ruefully.
"I thought you might ask me to stay," he said. "But you don't really want me to. I can see it on your face." The smile faded off his lips and his eyes grew cautious.
"No Booth; I do want you. Believe me. It's not what you think. I'll explain it to you—as soon as I understand it myself." She kissed his cheek and then leaned her head on his chest. His hand went up to stroke her hair. They both savored the quiet moment. When they broke apart, Booth was at peace with her decision.
"Okay; fair enough. I'll see you in the morning." Booth reluctantly pulled away and left.
He's getting into his gas hog SUV. It's early; maybe they had a fight. The important thing is she's alone now. As soon as he leaves. The sooner the better. I am ready this time. She has no idea that her building's attic has an air shaft big enough for me to slide through. And she has no idea I've widened it to make an exit into her spare room. Soon, lovely witch, you'll know. You'll know that I am the genius. Very soon.
My plan is perfect and tonight's the night.
Bones couldn't get the photograph out of her mind. She paced her living room, trying to place the oddly familiar features now etched in her mind. Standing still in the center of the room and squeezing her eyes shut, she worked on aging the image mentally, using what she knew of Angela's program to imagine what the man would look like ten years older. Her mind painted on a mustache. Now she imagined him without a mustache but with a beard. No; not a beard. Just a few days' growth of whiskers, enough to shadow his face and give him a gruff look. Darker hair. Add a scar over his left eye. Where had that come from? She knew who he was.
"Marcus!" She exclaimed at the moment her unconscious caught up with her. She'd been woozy and fuzzy that night, but she knew that was who she'd seen in Booth's picture; she was absolutely sure of it. Did that mean Richie Bauman and Marcus were one and the same person? She could think of no other explanation. She grabbed up her cell phone and speed-dialed Booth.
"Booth," he answered on the first ring.
"It's Marcus," she blurted.
"What? Where is he? Bones! Are you okay?" She heard the squealing of tires through the phone and regretted her one-word revelation. She hurried to explain herself and put him at ease.
"The picture of Richie Bauman. It's Marcus. That's how he meets them, through a dating service."
"Richie Bauman is Marcus?" Booth repeated, incredulous. "Okay. It makes sense. He meets them on the service, goes out with them once or twice to figure out how to get them alone, and when he does, they become victims of a serial killer." She heard him slap his knee.
"Nice work Bones! Okay, so where is this Marcus guy?"
"Marcus?" Bones gasped.
"Yeah, Marcus; that's what I said. Bones, your voice sounds funny. Are you okay? Bones?"
The connection ended in static. And in that instant, Booth knew what was happening. He did a wild u-turn and sped back toward Bones' apartment.
To be continued…
Hey, I know it's an incredible coincidence that the case Caroline randomly handed to Booth several chapters back is tied to the incident with Bones—but hey, this is fanfiction! Enjoy!