A/N: PLEASE READ: I UPLOADED SEVERAL CHAPTERS TODAY – PLEASE GO BACK TO MAKE SURE YOU HAVEN'T SKIPPED ANY! Thanks!
Chapter 9
The sun pouring through the blinds woke Booth up slowly after a very restless night. He sat up groggily, rubbing his eyes, and glanced at his surroundings.
"Ohhhh that hurts," He groaned quietly, realizing he had fallen asleep awkwardly crammed against Bones' headboard. As he straightened, he rubbed his neck, already feeling the painful cramp that was forming there.
Glancing at his phone he saw that it was 10:15 a.m. "Dammit!" He muttered, quickly standing and running a hand through his hair. He had 5 missed calls – 1 from Cam, 2 from Sweets, 1 from John, and 1 from Angela. As he pulled his jacket over his shoulders, Booth caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror over Bones' dresser and froze.
He looked awful. His eyes were completely bloodshot and there were obviously tear tracks dried down his face. He hadn't shaved in a few days – and his hair was sticking out at odd angles. To top it all off, his clothes were a wrinkled mess. The agent quickly considered his options – run home, change and shower; freshen up here; or go to the lab looking like he had been up all night crying.
Deciding on the fastest way, Booth pulled his jacket off again and headed for the bathroom, where he splashed some cold water on his face, combed his hair to look somewhat presentable, and used the toothbrush Bones had let him stash in here during one of the many nights he crashed on her couch under the his claim of wanting to 'protect her.' Another glance in the mirror showed him he still didn't look much better. But why did he care, he reasoned.
Bones was missing. And probably, he was finally able to admit to himself, dead.
Glancing back at the bedside table containing the two framed photographs he had been studying the previous evening, he saw the newspaper he had purchased last night containing Bones' obituary. He grimaced, remembering the exact language of the obituary. "Dr. Temperance Brennan's life was cut short this weekend while her partner was away for personal reasons."
As Booth pulled his jacket on again, a rustling noise caused him to look down and see the picture he had been clutching all night fall from the pocket down to the floor.
Bending over to pick it up, Booth froze as something clicked in his mind. He had been staring at this picture all night and had never once made the connection.
Quickly, he ran towards his car and sped to the lab.
* * * * * *
"Zac! Where are you! Get your ass over here!" Booth yelled, storming into the lab. All eyes looked at him in astonishment.
"Whoa, you look like hell man," Hodgins said in concern, approaching the agent.
Booth waved him away, bounding up the platform steps two at a time to slap the crumpled picture of a beaten Dr. Brennan on the table in front of her former intern.
"Whoa," Vincent said, eyes widening. "She appears to be quite-"
"Yeah, shut it, Vinny," Booth said, looking at Zac, who was focused intently on the photograph.
"Zac, are the injuries –" Booth started, but was cut off by Zac, who was, as always, two steps ahead of everyone.
"No. They are not congruent." He stated loudly.
Booth's eyes widened, biting back a grin that was threatening to erupt across his face. "Angela!" He shouted down the hall toward her office, whistling with his fingers.
"What – Booth's here?" He heard Angela ask herself as the artist emerged from her office, where she had clearly spent the night if her hair and smudged makeup were any indication, and hurry toward the platform.
He held up the photograph right in front of the artist's face. "Can you tell if this was photoshopped in any way?"
The image she had been trying to push out of her head of her best friend bloodied and broken caused Angela to gasp. "Oh God!" She whispered, placing a hand over her mouth, tears threatening to spill.
"Ange! Focus! I think she's alive! I think it's ok!" Booth reassured her, grasping her shoulder. "Just tell me if this photo is accurate."
Angela nodded and grabbed the photo, scanning it into a nearby computer and pulling it up. "Just a cursory glance at the picture blown up to 300x magnification, I'd say it's legit," she said, glancing up at Booth. "I can be more sure if I look at it closer with my equipment," she said. "Why? Is that good or bad?"
Booth smiled grimly, "Well it's bad because it means she actually sustained those injuries."
"But good because none of the injuries that appear in that photograph are in any way represented in this skeleton," Zac interjected loudly.
Before Hodgins or Vincent could react, Sweets' voice echoed across the lab. "Agent Booth! I don't think she's dead!"
All heads turned to face the young doctor who was jogging in with the will tucked under his arm.
Unable to resist, Booth bit back a grin. "Oh yeah? Neither do we."
Sweets stopped jogging and looked at Booth incredulously. "Really? I thought I was going to run in here and…. Well, rats."
Giving up on ever topping the agent at his own game, Sweets walked towards an empty table and placed the will on top of it. "How do you know?"
"Skeletal proof," Zac stated. Sweets nodded, looking at Booth who just shrugged. "You know, squint stuff. Why do you know?" He asked, egging the frustrated psychologist on.
After some muttering about stealing thunder and egotistical cops, Sweets flipped through Dr. Brennan's will to the first page. "The will. According to the profile of the killer – captor – that I've developed, we've seen one thing in his behavior, a pattern repeated over and over. He is very personally angry of you, Agent Booth. Jealous, even. All of the evidence we've found has been directly meant for you. He's so jealous of your place in Dr. Brennan's life he would go so far as to erase your existence from her books. In the obituary in the newspaper he included that line about you being out of town for 'personal reasons.' It was completely unnecessary to include, but he added it to make you shoulder the blame. The headstone marking her fake grave even used your nickname for her: Bones."
Sweets paused to take a breath as the squints and Booth looked on. "And?" Booth prompted.
The psychologist held up the will and handed it to Booth. "And if that is true, if he is jealous of your connection with Dr. Brennan, he would never kill her."
Booth wrinkled his forehead. "Because of this will?" He held it up, still a bit reluctant to read it.
Sweets shook his head. "Because of what it says. Booth," he paused, looking the agent directly in the eye, willing him to understand the enormity of what he was about to say. "Dr. Brennan listed you as her sole benefactor in her will. Everything she has would go to you in the event of her death. Book rights, movie deals from those book rights, any proceeds related to her research, literally everything. Even most her material possessions she has left to you."
You would have been able to hear a pin drop from three offices down, the silence on the platform was so complete. "Everything?" Booth asked quietly, his voice threatening to break.
Sweets nodded, "Everything." He glanced at the shocked Angela standing slightly behind Booth. "She included you, Angela, in the will of course, along with Dr. Hodgins and Zac and her brother and father. You would all receive a specified amount of money, and she's listed some material possessions – things which seem to be of mostly sentimental value – for you to inherit. For her brother's children she's left some money for schooling."
He turned his glance back to Booth, "But all her material possessions that aren't specifically listed as meant for others would go to you. And the money."
Booth stood, completely shell-shocked. "Why would she…" He started, but Sweets cut him off.
"Sometimes in a will, the deceased will include a letter that explains what the benefactors meant to them and why they'll be receiving what, et cetera. And it's possible Dr. Brennan had such a letter intended for you, further detailing her decision. But if that's the case, then either the captor chose not to include it or destroyed it out of jealousy. But honestly, I think we both know Dr. Brennan's not the sentimental type."
Booth just nodded, slowly breaking out of his shock to prompt Sweets once more, "But how does this prove that she's not dead?"
Sweets raised his arms in disbelief. "Don't you see? If you stand to gain everything when Dr. Brennan dies, why would he, a man already so jealous of your connection with her, kill her so that can happen? He would want to keep that connection for himself – keep her alive so that he can feel the false sense of security that everything she has, everything she is, belongs to him. The moment he kills her, everything she was is yours."
Booth nodded in understanding, crossing his arms in front of him and leaning back slowly against the railing of the platform. "Ok…. Ok…" He trailed off, staring into space.
Angela slowly walked over and picked the will out of Booth's hands and skimmed through the document, smiling through tears when she read the items her friend had intended for her to inherit. Although Brennan would never admit it, Angela had always known how much their silly, spontaneous college adventures had meant to her best friend. And the few sentimental items listed here proved it.
Booth rolled his head from side to side a few times, loosening his neck before excusing himself to the bathroom. Sweets joined Vincent and Zac at the examination table, where the scientists were carefully comparing the skeleton to the photograph, point by point, the half-completed skull reconstruction sitting to the side, momentarily forgotten. Hodgins joined Angela with the will, putting a reassuring arm around her shoulder and smiling at her as she grasped his hand tightly.
Ten or fifteen minutes passed in which everyone focused on the hope that Brennan was still alive. The brief respite after nearly two days of utter despair, and the calm before the storm of beginning an intense search for her. Booth returned to the platform, pacing slowly as he ran his hand through his hair, staying as far away from Angela and the will as possible. No one commented on his red eyes.
"Booth!" Cam's voice reached the platform before she did. "Please tell me someone has spoken with him today!" She yelled, pulling out her cell phone and dialing his number without even looking up.
"Yes, Cam?" He picked up, causing her to look up at the man standing 5 feet away from her on his phone.
"Oh, thank God," she said, hanging up and hurrying towards Brennan's office. "Follow me!" She shouted behind her, causing all 6 sets of curious eyes to follow her into the office where they found her turning on Brennan's radio and tuning to a local talk show.
"Cam, wha-?" Booth started. "Shh!" He was cut off by Cam, waving her hands for silence.
"For those of you tuning in, we're discussing the rumor that best selling author Dr. Temperance Brennan is dead," the lively talk show host's voice filled the room. "After reading that obituary this weekend, what else are we supposed to think? I did some Googling, and it looks like the Jeffersonian, where she works, has yet to release any sort of public statement. But we've got a guy on the phone here who says he's a close personal friend of Dr. Brennan and there's no way she's dead. Why is that, sir? Have you spoken with her?"
A voice that Booth instantly recognized but could not for the life of him attach to a face filled the room, "Well, let's just say I know Temperance. And I know that that FBI boy toy of hers would never let something happen to her. I mean, what kind of a partner would he be if he just let her get taken out from under his nose like that? Clearly he cares nothing about her."
The blood drained from Booth's face as he stared fixated on the radio, closing his eyes and silently praying Bones, wherever she was, wasn't hearing this trash.
"FBI partner?" The radio host asked.
"Yeah, you know, the guy the Jeffersonian stuck her with. I know she does everything she can to get away from him, but he follows her around like some over controlling husband. Ah…" He paused, and muffled shuffling noises came across the speaker. "You know the guy. Hey, honey?" He called, moving his mouth away from the phone, clearly speaking with someone. "Honey, what is that FBI agent's name?"
More muffled shuffling noises came across the line and what sounded like a soft groan could be heard in the background. Then suddenly, very clearly, Temperance Brennan's tired and raspy voice echoed tiredly across the room. "Booth!"
A/N Part Two: C'mon. I think I deserve a review after THAT.