AN: Written for the fanfic challenge at Bonesology in honor of Laffer's birthday. The instructions are as follows:
"Well, well, well . . . we haven't had a challenge here in a while and we figured . . . what better reason to have another than to celebrate Laffers' birthday? And since she really doesn't like Daisy, the parameters are rather easy:
1. In the story, Daisy must either die or already be dead.
2. Sweets *cannot* die or be dead. Save the baby duck.
3. The death must be explained and you get extra points for creativity.
4. All fics are due by or on July 4th, 2012...Laffers' actual birthdate.
Kill Daisy? Well, I don't mind if I do . . .
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The camera pulled out wide as he made his way slowly down the carefully created natural pathway. He arranged his face to reflect the deep thought and sincere regret he'd decided (after hours of practice in front of a mirror) was the most appropriate expression to wear and gave the signal to begin recording.
The host, Jamie Pabst, began speaking. "In the twenty-five years Surviving has been on the air," he said, his voice perfectly modulated and cultivated to remove any trace of an identifiable accent, "we have had our share of misfortune. Our contestants have been struck by illness, felled by disease and some have even been sent home early to recover from injuries received as they competed. But never have we suffered the loss of one of our own." The artfully applied silver highlights in the hair at his temples glinted in the fire from nearby torches when he reached the bottom of the path and stopped. "Until now."
Camera 2 immediately panned to a rattan easel and a young woman who smiled brightly from the large photo placed there. Pabst walked over to stand beside it. He made sure his profile was presented within range of Camera 2 and looked at the image in an appropriately mournful way. "Ms. Daisy Wick," he murmured. "So young and taken from us much too soon."
Off to the side, a not-so-delicate snort was heard, followed by a grunted "ouch!" and then a whispered, "Sorry."
He turned to face a group of four women seated on an overturned log. Camera 1 followed as he moved closer. "These women, the rest of the members of the Ooga Booga tribe, were the last to see Daisy alive. Ladies," he said delicately, "our deepest sympathies are with you. I'm sure this must be very difficult."
The four women exchanged glances. "Um, yea." Diana, the oldest of the group, answered. "It so . . . hard . . . to accept that she's gone."
"Totally." Rachel, seated next to Diana agreed. After a moment's hesitation she added a deep sigh.
"We're devastated." Linda, the last girl on the log, splayed her hand across her chest dramatically. "Absolutely devastated."
Sitting between Rachel and Linda, the fourth girl, Melanie, examined her nails. Linda elbowed her in the side unobtrusively. Her head popped up. "It's a tragedy," she nodded.
Pabst waved off the makeup girl who'd appeared to pat down his shiny forehead while the camera was on the girls. "Due to the fact that you lost several challenges, you've been in the center of the island for almost a month." His eyebrows spasmed as he tried to force the Botoxed muscles into a frown. "Do you feel a sense of guilt that you were unable to report her disappearance for several days?"
Melanie snorted again. Out of the camera's angle, Rachel stomped on her foot. "It's a tragedy," she repeated quickly.
"We didn't realize she was actually missing," Diana said quickly. "She was some kind of anthropologist, you know," she explained, "and she was always going off to look at what she thought was a burial site or something. When she didn't come back we thought . . ." Her voice trailed off. Stuck, she looked to the other women for help.
"Yes!" Linda took up the story. "Yes, exactly. We . . . didn't know. That she was missing, I mean," she rushed to add. "We just thought she'd found the missing link or something." After an uncomfortable moment of silence followed, she brightened. "You know, Daisy is the one who gave us our name. The . . . Ooga Boogas." She forced a smile.
"That's right!" Rachel joined the conversation with a wide smile. "I wanted to call us Hera's Hotties - I'm a Greek Studies major," she simpered. "But no," she continued, her smile becoming fixed. "Daisy wouldn't hear of it. She insisted on . . . on the Ooga Boogas." She grimaced. "Very forcefully."
"Because," Diana interjected loudly, "because the Ooga Boogas were native to this area before they went extinct. She told us all about them. All about them." She nodded and smiled at the other women with her teeth tightly clenched. "So we were happy - thrilled! - to be the Ooga Boogas. Right?"
Rachel and Linda immediately nodded and agreed. Melanie rolled her eyes. "Yea, so she'd shut the hell up."
Linda laughed hysterically, slapping her on the back hard enough to bend her forward. "That's our Mel - always making jokes!"
Eyes watering, Melanie nodded quickly. "Yea, just kidding! It's a tragedy."
Pabst, who had been checking his teeth in the small mirror attached to Camera 1, turned back quickly when they fell silent. "It must have been such a shock to you when her body was found."
"You can say that again," Melanie muttered.
Diana cleared her throat loudly. "Yes! Yes, it was such a shock! We were . . . we were totally shocked."
"But it's so lucky, really," Rachel hurried, "because, you know, if her body had been covered correctly . . ." her eyes slid to Melanie and Linda, "it might have taken years to uncover her." She studied her feet intently. "At the bottom of that gorge."
Melanie and Linda avoided each others eyes carefully.
Pabst looked on the four women with insincere pity. "And she was in such an horrific state," he tsked. "How horrible it must have been for her to have all of that sap gluing her mouth shut as she tumbled to the bottom."
"It's a tragedy," Melanie said.
"Well," Pabst laughed, "I'll certainly be talking to our research department, too. They assured us there were no wild monkeys on this island but for that poor girl to be snatched bald like that, well," he shrugged, "what other explanation is there but wild monkeys?"
Diana bit her lip and covered her eyes with one hand. "Damn monkeys," she muttered, her shoulders shaking.
Rachel buried her face in Diana's shoulder, patting her back sympathetically. "Damn monkeys," she agreed, her voice breaking.
"It's a tragedy," Melanie agreed, dry eyed as she stared into the camera.
Eyes closed tightly, Linda turned her head away, her chin wobbling.
Camera 1 came in for a close up on Pabst as he finished the segment. "It is a tragedy," he intoned with a solemn nod. "Yes, indeed. Those few words say so much about the life of Ms. Daisy Wick, cut sadly short as she competed for the $1,000,000 prize given to the winners of Surviving. But let her life not be in vain!" he continued dramatically. "To give them time to mourn the loss of their friend . . . their tribe-mate . . . the remaining members of the Ooga Boogas will be given immunity and will be exempt from the next two challenges. Ladies," he put his hand over his heart, "it is the least we can do in your time of sorrow."
The women inclined their heads, looking sad but grateful. In the space between them, Linda and Melanie bumped fists discreetly.
Pabst walked over to a tall, brightly flaming torch. "Normally at this time someone is given the unwelcome news that their tribe has voted them off the island and they are sent home. Tonight," he said, his voice dropping funereally, "the ultimate Chief of the Tribe of Man has spoken." He raised one-half of the shell of a coconut. "Daisy Wick, you are now in that big island in the sky," he said and snuffed the torch out with the coconut.
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There was a moment of silence in Brennan's office when the TV went dark for a split second before the opening bars of a Kit Kat commercial began. Booth reached for the remote and clicked it off.
For a few minutes the only sound was that of Sweets sniffling.
Angela and Hodgins exchanged a glance. "That's completely . . ." Hodgins began, pausing when Angela shot him a silent warning. " . . . so sad," he continued.
"I told her not to go," Sweets lamented. "I warned her that Maluku didn't prepare her for that kind of primitive environment."
Brennan frowned at the blank face of the TV and then at Booth. "I don't understand," she said. "That story-"
Booth shook his head quickly. "Let's just-"
Angela stood up and hurried over to Sweets. "You know what you need, sweetie?" she asked. "A drink. Maybe two." She put an arm around his shoulders and led him from the room. "Why don't we go spend some of Jack's money on really expensive scotch?"
Hodgins nodded at Booth and followed them out. "Nothing drowns grief like a good single malt." His voice faded away as the three of them headed downstairs.
Brennan was still frowning at Booth. "That story was a complete fabrication, Booth. Those women . . ."
He shook his head again. "We're gonna let this one go, Bones." He put his hands on her shoulders and propelled her out of the office.
"But Booth-"
"Let it go, Bones."
"We can't-"
"Yes, we can."
"Booth-"
"Let it go."
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Happy Birthday, Laffers! :-)