AN: Isn't it nice to have "Bones" back on our screens? *wonders if question mark was needed* :D

The Officer in the Oubliette

Chapter Ten: Same Old Heartbreak

Harriet Randall was trying with everything she possessed to hold it together. On the back of the morning from hell (which had been a most unwelcome follow-up to the night of torturous misery), she now found herself stuck on an baking hot and overcrowded train, which had been held up approaching Clapham Junction Station. That morning she'd had a stand-up row with her husband. They rarely argued, and even though they both understood that their frustration was as a result of too little sleep, once they started taking it out on each other, they couldn't seem to stop. In the end, both kids had joined the chaos and all of them had ended up in tears. It wasn't their finest moment as parents but she'd long ago abandoned the idea that they wouldn't screw up every now and then. Actually, if her own parents were anything to go by, she and Dave were doing just fine; they were ahead of the curve, in fact.

She dialled her partner's number and waited for him to pick up.

"Rob here."

"I'm stuck on the bloody tube. I'm going to be late in."

"Where are you?"

"Just outside Clapham Junction. There's some sort of problem with the train ahead of us...sorry."

"No worries. You'll be here when you're here."

"Obviously." She said sharply, and then winced. Clearly, she was still in a fighting mood.

"You alright, Har?"

"Yes. No. It's just been a hellish few hours. Sorry for snapping at you."

"Forget it."

"Have our American friends made it in yet?"

"Agent Booth is here. In fact, he was here before me – the man obviously isn't afraid of an early start. Doctor Brennan called in sick."

"She did?"

"Agent Booth seemed surprised. I got the feeling this is a very rare occurrence. Anyway, while I have you, we need to drop by and see Trent's flatmate, the one that reported him missing. Seeing as we're having no luck tracing Trent's parents, we may as well start with him."

"Okay."

Harriet was then thrust forward as the train moved off again. The phone she was holding fell onto the floor and she rushed to pick it up before someone trod on it.

"Har?"

"I'm here. Bloody driver! We're on the move again. No…wait…we've stopped."

"Okay, I'll..."

"Oh, fuckshitbugger!"

"What now?"

"I've got baby rice all down the front of my jacket!"

Rob smiled but didn't allow his good humour to seep into his tone. He knew his life wouldn't be worth living if he did so. A stressed-out Harriet was not someone you wanted to trifle with, even in jest. As he hung up, he again thanked his lucky stars that his life was far less complicated. He'd dodged a bullet with Sophie – smart, fun and fantastic-in-bed she might have been, but the woman was as mad as a box of frogs. Backing out on their wedding was the best move he'd ever made, despite the fact that by doing so he'd ended up paying for all of things they couldn't cancel in time. Eight months later, he was still making monthly credit card payments on a honeymoon to Mauritius that never was.

Pushing aside Sidibe's latest report, he reached for his Tottenham Hotspur mug. He'd spend the time waiting for Harriet preparing for their meeting with Matthew Trent's flatmate.

"Booth, can I get you a brew?"

When he saw the confused look cross the other man's face, he laughed, and then explained that he wanted to know if he could get him a hot drink. The agent thanked him but shook his head.

Leaving the office for the small kitchenette, he couldn't help wondering if Doctor Brennan really was under the weather. He wasn't expert in deciphering subtext or body language, or whatever else it was that allowed Harriet to wheedle out people's secrets, but something was off with the bloke. God only knew what time he'd arrived that morning, but Rob had made it in just after seven. Since then, the agent had read-though Sidibe's report and the ever-growing record of interviews and statements by Trent's friends and colleagues, and answered emails waiting for him back at the FBI. The man seemed to have an endless supply of energy. Frankly, Rob was starting to feel lax by comparison.

Booth waited until Rob left to make himself a drink - then he called her. He couldn't keep his knee from jumping up and down or the fingers of his free hand from drumming against the desk top as he waited for Brennan to pick up. She didn't. And shealways picked up...well, except that one time when she was chewing Jared out. He didn't leave a message.

He set the phone down on the desk with too much force than could be good for it. She hadn't even bothered to call him to say she wasn't going to make it in. Instead, she'd emailed Rob, who then gave him the news. Brennan wasn't sick, of that he was certain. What she was doing was hiding, and he was so mad with her that he couldn't think straight.

xxx

Later that day: King's Road, Chelsea

Jason Kemple-Smith couldn't believe he was having this conversation. Matty was dead. Dead? It didn't seem or feel possible – and he couldn't stop thinking that any minute now Matt would appear at the front door, more than a little mortified about all the fuss he'd caused.

Rob felt for the slightly-built, blonde man who was seated in front of them on an identical oversized beige sofa. The bloke was clearly still in a state of shock. He'd asked them five times during the course of the past ten minutes if they were sure that it was Trent's body that they had pulled from the river. Each time, Harriet had gently and patiently explained that there was no doubt. Jason would then nod, take a deep breath, and continue answering their questions – only to ask them for confirmation again a short while later.

"Okay, Jason, I just need to recap. You and Mr Trent became friends at boarding school, a little over fourteen years ago, and you've been flatmates for the past two years?"

"That's right."

"And you became concerned for Mr Trent when you returned from your business trip to Rome last weekend...which...erm...would have been the 21st, to find the flat empty. Since coming home, you say that you called, texted and emailed Mr Trent but received no answer to any of your communications."

"Yes. I knew something wasn't right. Matt would have told me if he was going away somewhere, and besides, he only got back from Afghanistan a few weeks ago. He was grateful to be home again."

"You say that you tried calling his Grandmother, a Mrs Durand, repeatedly over the past few days but couldn't reach her. Can I ask, why call his grandmother, why not either of his parents?"

"Matty didn't get on with his mother. She left when he was five or six...went off with some Russian artist. She sent the occasional postcard and letter, but they weren't close. He got on okay with his dad, but Mr Trent would go away for months at a time on business and so he spent most of his time, before he moved in here, living at his grandmother's place in Kent."

"Do you have his grandmother's address to hand?"

"I have it stored on my phone...just a minute..."

Booth used the break in conversation to ask a question of his own. He knew he should hang back, but something was bugging him, something was off somehow. The other man wasn't just upset, he was distraught and lost. He'd seen the same expression on too many faces over the years.

"You said earlier that Matthew wasn't in a relationship. But could he have been seeing someone casually, without you knowing it?"

"No. Matt wasn't like that."

"Like what?"

"Like what you're suggesting. He...he didn't play around...Matty wanted a family, kids...and I..."

"You and Matthew..." Booth let the words hang for a second. The blonde man looked up at him, his blue eyes bloodshot and tired, and nodded. Then he gave into the tears that had been threatening since they had entered the expensive loft-style apartment in Chelsea.

"There wasn't anyone else...for either of us."

Rob looked at Harriet. As he suspected, she was staring daggers at the agent. He wondered if she'd twigged that Trent was gay - probably. He, on the other hand, hadn't even considered the possibility. He felt the sofa give a little as Harriet leaned towards the grieving man.

"Jason, we're sorry for your loss. Can you tell us for how long you and Mr Trent were in a relationship?"

"We were on again off again in the last year at school...but nobody knew. After school, we went our separate ways, but we stayed in touch, just as friends. Then, a few years ago we met at the wedding reception of a mutual friend. Shortly after that we got together."

"So the second time, when you reconnected, how long from that point until now?"

"Just under three years. Matt moved in here with me about a year ago. I...I...have that address you wanted."

"That's great, thank you." Harriet jotted down the address in her notebook.

"She doesn't know. Matthew didn't tell anyone in his family about us."

"Had he told them he was gay?" She questioned, but she could tell from the pained look on his face that the answer would be no.

"I wanted him to. It was the only thing we ever fought about. But I understood. Matty's family is...well, they're connected, you know? Mrs Durand is worth millions and Matt's father is some big-shot marketing manager. They expected great things of him. And he was making good on all their expectations, bar one."

"They wanted him to get married." Harriet confirmed softly.

"Yes. His grandmother even arranged a couple of introductions for him. That's how she put it. He went on the blind dates just so he didn't upset her but always managed to find a reason why it wasn't going to work out. I told him that he should just be straight with her. She loved him like a son. Then, a few months ago, his father set him up with this girl. She was the niece of one of his American clients. He stalled for weeks, but eventually he ran out of excuses for why he couldn't meet up with her. They went out a few times. Matty said she was a real laugh. The last time he saw her was last week. He called me while I was in Rome to tell me about his 'big date'. The pressure was on because they'd been invited to attend some function his father's firm was putting on for their clients...you know the thing."

Harriet nodded, but she really didn't know. Matthew Trent's world of millionaire grandmothers, boarding school and fancy apartments in Chelsea was nothing like hers.

"Anyway, it was a disaster. Matt said that his father kept on dropping these big hints about them getting engaged. Usually he could laugh it off, pretend that he'd rather play the field, you know, but this time his father tried to pin him down. I got the feeling that the girl's father was a favoured client, someone Mr Trent's firm wanted to keep sweet. They argued. I don't know...maybe Matty had enough – he told me he stormed out."

"Do you think Matthew told his father about his sexuality?"

"No. No way. He would have told me if he had. He said they argued about the fact that he wasn't ready to settle down. He left the party with her...Natalie...that was her name. Natalie Miles."

"Did you speak with Matthew again before you returned home?" Rob asked as he stretched out his long legs. The sofa they were sat on was low to the floor and his large frame didn't take kindly to being folded almost in two. Two seats over, Agent Booth looked similarly uncomfortable.

"I spoke to him the night before I left Rome. I was in a hurry. I'm a sculptor, and I'd been showing my work at a gallery. Someone was interested in two of my pieces...I...I told Matt that I couldn't speak for long because the couple that ended up buying my stuff wanted to meet me."

Rob watched as Jason broke down again. He really hated this part of the job. Witnessing someone's heart breaking was not something you could prepare yourself for. It was different, yet somehow the same every time. People said different things. Some cried, some couldn't summon a single word from anywhere, while others hoped to silence you by running away or trying to punch your lights out. But they all had that haunted, lost look in their eyes.

They waited for Jason to become calm again, and then Harriet assured him that they only had a couple more questions to ask.

"Jason, I wonder if you know how and when Matthew sustained the old injury to his leg. We suspect..."

"It happened while he was over there."

"In Afghanistan?"

"Yes. He...he...all he would tell me was that he got into it with a couple of guys from his unit. He tried to gloss over it...tried to tell me that it had been an accident, but I knew better. What you need to understand is that Matthew is exceptional. Not only is he smarter than everyone in his unit but he's a gifted pilot. He was awarded the Queen's Medal, you know. While he was at Sandhurst, he scored the highest marks of all the cadets in military, practical and academic studies.

People are jealous of him. It…it started small. Inane notes left in his shoes, glue spread onto the seat in his jet, clothes going missing from his wardrobe, only to end up tied to a fence somewhere or ripped to shreds and shoved in his pillowcase. It isn't anything he can't handle...that's what he said."

It was hard to ignore that part way through his explanation Jason had referred to the dead man in the present tense. Booth kept his sigh to himself. He'd seen enough of the type of bullshit the other man was describing during his time in the military. The kid might not see it, might not want to see it, but he'd bet that Trent had been singled out because he was gay. The fact that he was smart and a gifted pilot just gave the assholes that were bullying him more reason to hate him.

"Did Matthew tell you the names of the people involved?" Rob asked.

"No." Jason wiped his eyes temporarily free of tears and tried to remember how to breathe.

"Okay, just one more question. Mr Trent, Matthew's dad – do you have a contact number for him?"

"Yes, but just a mobile number. I'm not sure if he's in the UK or overseas...I've been trying to call him. That's why I pushed to get that article in the paper. I couldn't get hold of anyone!"

Rob jotted down the phone number and they finished up the interview. As they walked over to the front door, he looked back over to the sofa. Jason looked up at that same moment.

"You're sure it's Matty?"

He felt like a monster when he confirmed it for the sixth time.

xxx

"Okay, so I'll look into this faux-girlfriend of Trent's and you try and get a hold of the father and speak to the millionaire grandma."

"Deal." Rob agreed, as he maneuvered the squad car away from the pavement and into the steady flow of mid-day traffic. From time to time, he looked in his rear view mirror to check what was behind them. Each time he did so, he saw that the man in the backseat was concentrating on the cell phone in his hand. Something was definitely not right. In the short time he'd known Agent Booth, he understood him to be very talkative and infinitely curious as to how their detection techniques and processes might differ or align – the fact that he seemingly had nothing to say now, struck him as odd. In fact, apart from asking that question of Trent's boyfriend, he had barely spoken since they left for Chelsea an hour before.

To compensate for the frankly awkward silence that had descended, Rob did what he always did in such situations; he talked crap for the rest of the journey back to Southwark. A few times, Harriet shot him a quizzical look or rolled her eyes in exasperation, but he managed to keep a conversation afloat (a conversation that occasionally included the other man) until they reached the police station.

Who knew that the tension that had been present all morning would pale in significance to the highly charged dynamic that replaced it once they made it back inside the building. They were greeted by the sound of laughter as they climbed the stairs to the CID Unit. One voice deep, the other pitched higher, lighter. Rob recognised Doctor Sidibe's laugh, despite only hearing it a few times – the coroner was not, in his experience, usually the most jovial of men. But something had amused him.

Booth tensed the moment he heard her voice. It was one thing to be mad at her when she wasn't there, but now he was going to have check his tone and his actions, or else risk scattering their partnership to the wind. They needed to work out what last night meant and what it could mean for them. But then he walked through the office door and saw the way she was smiling at Doctor Death, the way her body angled towards him, the way her voice had taken on that breathless quality that hit him in the gut and most times someplace lower and he realised that he couldn't take anything for granted.

He watched her take a step away from the doctor upon hearing them enter the room. Then she looked at him and he had no time to mask or hide his anger. As he stared back, heart pounding in his chest, his stomach a whirling mess of acidic tension, he thought about how that kiss in the taxi had escalated. How she had gripped his shirt and pulled him tight to her, the way that her hands eagerly roamed his chest until settling around his waist. Despite his anger, he was the first to look away.

"Doctor Brennan, I'm so pleased you're feeling better." Harriet said smiling as she placed her handbag down on her desk.

"I am sorry about this morning. I feel much better now." Brennan smiled back at Harriet before again flicking her eyes to Booth.

"So you're okay?" He managed in a voice that didn't sound like his own.

"Yes. Just a headache. I'm perfectly fine now." Her hand hovered just below her collarbone, as if trying to shield herself from him, and all he could think about at that moment was how when he had kissed her throat she tasted like the rain.

"Excellent." Rob said brightly as he took a seat. "So, Doctor Sidibe, to what do we owe this pleasure?"

"Actually, I came here looking for Doctor Brennan. I've been called away on another case, the timing of which is most inopportune…I wanted to say goodbye in person."

"You got landed with the Sonos murder?" Rob asked as he browsed his latest batch of emails.

"Unfortunately, yes. You are aware that homicide hasn't been established."

"But wasn't he found missing his head?"

"Yes."

"So then, isn't it kind of a given that he didn't take his own life?"

Doctor Sidibe tuned out the police officer, not because he wished to be rude, but he only had a few more minutes before he needed to leave and he still hadn't gotten around to asking Doctor Brennan for her phone number. He should have asked her the moment he found her alone at the station, but they had started discussing some of the more high profile cases they had both worked and then about his plans to one day return home to Mali. Time, as it so often did in such situations, slipped by in an instant. And now he had an audience. He could of course ask for her number, one professional to another, but he wanted to be clear that he wished to contact her in a personal capacity.

"Doctor Brennan, might I have a word with you?"

"Yes." She replied but made no move to follow him when he slowly turned and started walking towards the door.

Booth smiled despite himself. Sidibe obviously wanted to get her on her own before he asked her out, or over to his place, or whatever else he might have had in mind, but Bones being Bones hadn't picked up on the implied request. He placed his hand at the side of his mouth and stage whispered, "I think he wants you to follow him, Bones. You know, get a little one-on-one time with you."

"Oh. Why didn't he just say that?" She followed after the doctor.

Harriet glanced over at Rob and then quickly looked away before they both cracked up laughing. Doctor Brennan was brilliant, of that there was clearly no doubt, but when it came to interpersonal matters, she didn't seem to be on the same page. Agent Booth on the other had seemed to posses the ability present in all good investigators – the ability to read a situation and the people in it. Together they made a formidable team.

Brennan reached the doorway where Sidibe was waiting, a rare, shy smile softening his handsome but usually stern face. He was surprised by how nervous he felt. He was about to speak when she picked up the thread of their previous conversation.

"So what will you do when you return to Mali?"

"Open a clinic. I have friends there, doctors, who want to help get it off the ground. It is important for me to give back to my family and to Koulikoro."

"And you think this will make you content?"

"Yes, in part. But I also want to return to the world of pure science. There is always much to learn, much to experience."

"Will you find it difficult to leave your life here behind?"

He thought about his answer, and not for the first time realised that expressing his feelings came easier when speaking in Bamanankan. Sometimes, English fell short, or couldn't quite describe the sentiment behind the words.

"Yiri be se ka sigi ji kono san chaman, nka a te se ka be ke bama ye."

"I am familiar with the saying."

"You know, despite taking on this job as a result of circumstance, I do enjoy it. It's challenging and important, but it's not enough to sustain me long term. My future lies elsewhere. It always has."

"But you have friends…ties…won't you…" Brennan couldn't seem to finish the thought. She turned to look behind her. Booth was nowhere to be seen.

"Saying goodbye is always the hardest part."

"Yes. Yes it is." She answered softly.

AN: So, the good Doctor Sidibe exits stage left. I'll miss him.

By the way, the Malian saying above translates to (according to Google): "A piece of wood [a log][a wood canoe made from a log] can sit in the water many years, but it won't become a crocodile." Apparently, this is used to describe Peace Corps Volunteers – they can stay in Mali for a long time, but they won't become Malian.

Thanks for reading.