A/N: Welcome back everyone! Thank you all so much for the reviews; I love each and every one of them so much. Title for this one comes from Fountain, by Sara Lov. Most of you should be familiar with it; it was featured at the end of Verdict in the Story, and is a beautiful and powerful song that I can't get enough of.
Chapter 11: Fountain
Fountain, Fountain
We are the same
Fountain, Fountain
We are the same
All that anyone ever has for you
Are the things you reflect back to them
Don't you wish you could throw your pennies back at them?
Don't you wish you could throw your pennies back at them?
Back at them
At them
Fountain, fountain
We are the same
Fountain, fountain
We are the same
It is so beautiful how you remain
May 29th, 2018
Booth paced across his kitchen, eyeing the timer on the microwave and trying not to get tenser with every pulsing tick that it gave off. In the other room, he could hear Parker on his cell phone, arguing in a low voice. He closed his eyes and ran his hand down his face. His frozen pizza still had five minutes left on it. He glanced through the viewer, and observed the un-melted cheese with a scowl.
"No, that's not what I – will you please just – Clara –"
Parker passed by the entrance to the kitchen, groaning loudly and dropping the phone away from his face as he stared up at the ceiling for a long moment. Booth could hear Clara's voice coming through the receiver before Parker lifted it up again.
"Listen, okay? If you go, then what are we-"
He moved away again, and his voice faded out, the frustration still tenable in the tone of his voice.
It didn't take a genius to know that something had clearly changed in his son's relationship. He had known that there was a problem the other day, when Parker had left suddenly with something obviously on his mind. But he hadn't been aware of the reason why. He still wasn't, actually. And the part that was bothering him the most was that he didn't think his son was going to tell him what was going on. He wasn't sure if it would even be a good idea to ask.
Which was why he had currently sheltered himself in the kitchen, waiting out the storm and hoping his son would be off the phone by the time he was finished eating.
It really shouldn't have surprised him much, though. It wasn't like he was a very inspirational source of advice. His son had gotten a front row seat to his fallout after everything went to hell with Brennan. He wasn't exactly the role model he had always hoped to be.
At the moment, though, he had to accept that his situation was probably easier than the one that his partner was facing. James was free and gone as of a few minutes before Booth had left for lunch, so no doubt he would be at Brennan's any moment now. He'd called to give her the heads-up, but he doubted that much could prepare her for dealing with what was coming. Especially with Nicholas in tow.
And he wasn't even sure who he felt worse for; Brennan or her son. It was different, in both of their cases. Brennan he felt terrible for because of the obvious betrayal and the pain that would come with that. She had always had a hard time opening her heart; it had taken him years to make her even consider the possibility that she could love and be loved without getting hurt. And now that she had done so, had lived the life he had prepared her for – with someone else – it had ultimately let her down. Nick, though, wouldn't be aware of what was going on. No matter how abrupt and honest Brennan could be, she was different with her son. He wouldn't be aware of the situation any more than he had to be, and there was no way he would know that James had been unfaithful. Which would, undoubtedly, continue to hurt Brennan more. It was one thing, with him and their coworkers. Anyone would understand any decision she made, especially if she left James because of what he had done. But a four year old couldn't even be told the reasoning. All he would know was that things had changed.
Booth found himself somewhat grateful of the situation Parker had grown up with. He had understood from a young age that his parents were not together, but they both loved him. Nick had grown up with his parents together. If and when that changed, he would be incredibly confused, and Brennan would be powerless to give him the true reasoning.
And then the case itself was in a bit of a rut. The fingerprints on the closet door handle had come back as inconclusive; enough different people had touched it, so getting anything useful would have been nearly impossible. And as for prints on the bat itself, the thing had been wiped mostly clean. A partial had been found, but they had cleared it as belonging to Rory, and he'd already admitted to coming into contact with it. That, and he had no motive, and less guts.
James had been released because there was nothing to hold him on, and no matter how much Booth despised the man at the moment, his instincts were telling him that James was telling the truth when he said he hadn't killed her. The smug look on his face as he did so, though, was forever imprinted in Booth's mind. He had wanted to punch it off of him, and show him just what he really thought of him.
His words, saying that if Booth had been in his shoes, he'd have done the same… they crashed over him again, like a wave over the edge of a ship in the middle of a storm, and he felt the world shift around him. Nothing could have ever made him treat Brennan like that, even if she hurt him, even if their relationship fell apart; no matter what happened, he could never have maliciously gone about the way James had, without even feeling bad about it in the aftermath. Booth would have rather died than betray her, if he had ever been given the chance to hold her heart as fully as James had.
Parker had been filled in, when Booth had arrived home. It wouldn't have been possible to convince him that something wasn't devastatingly wrong, with the way his face probably looked, and so he had just spilled it out to his son, and told him what was going on with Brennan. It wasn't as difficult as it had been to tell Angela; that had felt almost like going behind her back. But telling Parker was different, and Brennan already knew now, as well. It made it easier, and he had been surprised at how much better he felt once the words were once more off of his chest, and he had his son nodding in fervent agreement with everything he was saying.
It hadn't been long after that that Parker's cell phone had gone off on him, though, and landed them in their present situation.
The microwave dinged, and Booth let out a relieved sigh and popped the door open, rescuing his pizza from the steamy depths and dropping it from his burning fingers into the waiting dish. He licked the sauce off his skin, wincing, and dragged himself over to a seat at the table, cutting another sidelong glance towards the living room. Parker was standing leaned against the side wall now, talking lowly. It sounded less like an argument now, and more like a desperate conversation.
Carefully, Booth tuned him out and gave his pizza far more interest than it really deserved. It was the low quality stuff, with the cardboard-flavored crust. He tried to bring himself to care, but found himself just eating it to fill the space. At least the cheese wasn't fuzzy like the last time.
In all honesty, though, he was lucky to still be on this case, he thought as he leaned back in his chair. It wasn't a secret, how close he had been to Brennan in the better days. A few years back, one of the other agents, Cooper, had even told him that there had been an office pool going around about it for a long time, and that he had lost a large pile of money when she got herself married to James.
Tanner had called him to his office, in the hour before James was released, and they had discussed the matter at length. It had been brought to the Director's attention that Booth might have mixed feelings about the case, and be too personally invested to be objective in the continuing investigation. The first thing Tanner had done was inform him that Brennan was finished. Booth had been expecting it, but it still almost hurt to hear that he was being ordered to not work with her anymore. Initially, Tanner had wanted them both off of the case, but he had been willing to hear Booth's protests against it, and he had seemed impressed that Booth agreed with him about Brennan being taken off of it.
In the end, that had probably played the greatest part in winning him over to the idea of allowing Booth to remain at the lead of the investigation. That, and the fact that it had been seven years since Booth had shown any actual inclination towards Brennan. In public, that was, but it wasn't something Tanner needed to be aware of.
All that mattered to Booth was that he stayed on this case, and solved it for Brennan. She might not be allowed to go near it, but he was going to find out the truth for her, and set things straight once and for all, whether it involved James or not.
Parker stepped into the kitchen, interrupting Booth's silent musing, and cast him a look that clearly said don't ask. So Booth turned back towards his food, and listened silently as his son fixed himself his own lunch before taking it to his room. The apartment was strangely silent once he was gone, and Booth chewed thoughtfully before finally tossing the second half of his meal away.
He wasn't hungry anyways, and there was only so much cardboard a man could take. That, and the entire ordeal with Brennan was still hitting his stomach.
His eyes landed on the clock, and he made up his mind. He scrawled a quick note for Parker, deciding that it was safer than knocking on his bedroom door to let him know, and headed out the door.
There wasn't much good for him to do on his own at this point. He needed another opinion–-about a couple of things, actually. The case was one of them, but Brennan was right up there at the top of his list as well. Sweets already knew what was going on; he was in the loop about everything. That, and he was a shrink. Right now, he could serve multiple purposes, even if he wasn't afraid of Booth anymore, and was perfectly capable of growing a beard.
~BxBxBxBxBxB~
"So… you're here to get help. From me," Sweets clarified, his eyebrow raised almost comically high on his forehead.
"Yes," Booth repeated firmly. "Your receptionist said you were free, Sweets. So, let's get this going, so I can be out of here."
"But you don't really want to get out of here. You wouldn't have come if you were in such a rush to leave."
He ground his teeth together. "Can you please just help me?"
"Alright, alright, of course," Sweets said agreeably, grinning as he dropped into his usual chair. Booth seated himself gingerly on the edge of his old spot on the couch. It had been a while since he had been here. He still got help from Sweets on cases, but usually he called the psychologist to his office, or he just poked his head in the door to ask him to come to the lab with him to work on a profile. He hadn't been in an actual session-like atmosphere in a very long time.
Sweets was looking at him expectantly, and he cleared his throat.
"So, I gave you the case file back when this was just starting."
"Yes, you did."
"Since we found out about… James… has anything changed? I mean, do you think he's involved… what sort of a reading do you get on this guy?"
"I'm not a carnival act," Sweets reminded him. "I don't get 'readings.' But from James' behavior, I can give you a few things, psychologically speaking. He acts sorry that she is dead, which I do see as being completely sincere. And he's also completely unbothered by what he's done. I get that from the way he, uh, addressed Doctor Brennan."
"So you watched the recording?"
"Naturally. I won't say it was easy, but FBI policy requires interrogations to be recorded for these very reasons. And it proved useful. James didn't kill his… he didn't kill Ms. Singer. And he is sorry she's dead. But at the same time… he's glad she's gone."
"That… contradicts, Sweets."
"I'm aware. It's a mixture of emotions that he's giving off. The pain is sincere. He did possess strong feelings for Ms. Singer, probably right up until her death. But now that she's gone, he feels free. He no longer needs to possess feelings for anyone, because he's exposed. And he is free to… end things with Brennan, as well."
"So you think he'll pursue that?"
"Without a doubt, if Brennan doesn't beat him to it." The psychologist shook his head sadly. "Booth, I can't say I like the man. He's… infuriating, in fact—but that doesn't change my assessment. He wasn't the one that bludgeoned her head in."
"Is that just from his behavior in the interrogation room, or something else?"
He had guessed right, because Sweets' expression changed. "No, it's something else. The killing almost seemed impersonal. There was anger there, for it to be done with such ferocity, and it almost appears to be a crime of passion because of the weapon's accessibility at the scene, but something still seems off about it. I get the feeling that this wasn't spontaneous. And James would have to be a much better liar than I believe him to be, for him to pull off this much deceit."
"Alright then, if we've ruled him out… then who's next? Who else is there?"
"The business partner has ample motive; this is likely to damage the business, once it hits the news. And you know it will."
Booth winced at the very idea. "Brennan's not going to handle that well," he muttered, mostly to himself.
"I know," Sweets agreed. "But… it's unlikely that she will seek aid from any of us during this time."
"What, you're profiling her now?" Booth asked, his tone angry even though he felt somewhat relieved that Sweets had insight into this as well. It was the other thing he needed so desperately to ask about, but hadn't known how.
"Not profiling her so much as speaking what I know from her character. Brennan is a private person, who deals with pain internally. I've observed first-hand, and I know how she behaves. This is going to be… a very hard time for her. But she won't know how to ask for help, because she sees this as a failure on her own part. Her responses in the interrogation room tell me that more than anything else."
"You're saying Brennan blames herself for James cheating on her?" Booth demanded incredulously.
"Unfortunately, yes. And I'm surprised you weren't expecting it, actually."
Booth made a sound in the back of his throat, but Sweets was speaking again before could even begin to argue.
"We both know that she didn't have the easiest time opening up to the idea of love, or long-term commitment to another person. Her past relationships haven't given her much reason to have faith in anyone, especially because of what her parents caused by leaving her at such a vulnerable age."
Booth breathed out a harsh sigh and leaned back, wishing Sweets wouldn't go down this particular path. He hated digging into Brennan's life with Sweets. It was one thing to try and help her, another entirely to listen to the shrink picking apart her brain. It was bad enough when she was present for it; it almost seemed worse without her, like they were rifling through her diary or something. It wasn't right.
"Booth," Sweets said, sensing his discomfort, "This is just the truth. I'm not trying to hurt anyone here. My point is, whether she's aware of it or not, Brennan was expecting this to happen eventually. She's been expecting it ever since she agreed to be in a relationship with him, actually. And not just because it's him, either, before you start thinking it. I suspect she would feel the exact same way if she had entered a relationship with you instead."
In an instant, Booth was on his feet and pacing. The atmosphere in the room crackled, the air tense.
Sweets knew he had said something wrong, because he looked almost frightened – the way he used to, way back at the beginning of their sessions – as he watched Booth stride back and forth up the length of the office.
"Could you explain what part of what I just said upset you?" Sweets asked hesitantly when it became clear that Booth wasn't going to say it himself.
"Everything," Booth said, steaming. "I am nothing like James. What Brennan and I had, what we were, before all of this… I'm not him. I wouldn't do things the way he did, and she wouldn't have… she wouldn't have thought that way. She wouldn't have had to."
"I'm not saying I know what would have happened," Sweets tried. "I'm just positing a likely scenario off of her past actions and her actions now, that might have conformed to a possible situation. And when did I ever suggest that you would have followed James' actions?"
"You didn't," Booth muttered.
Realization dawned on the psychologist's face, and suddenly Booth wanted to hit him almost as much as he wanted to hit James.
"But someone else did. Was it James? Or Brennan?"
"James," Booth snapped, his anger not improving with the implication that Brennan herself might have suggested such a thing. All these years later, and all this pain he was carrying with him… and the thing that could still make him shatter would be for Brennan to tell him herself that she thought he could ever betray her.
Sweets was nodding thoughtfully.
"I should go," Booth said swiftly. The air in the room was heavy; it was choking him. He wanted to get out, and get some room to think. He wanted to get Sweets out of his head, because that wasn't what he'd come here for at all. He'd wanted help, and he hadn't gotten much at all. If anything, he felt a lot worse than when he'd arrived. The sick feeling was back, festering in the pit of his stomach.
He didn't wait for Sweets' response, because he didn't doubt that the shrink would have attempted to make him stay to talk about these reactions and the reasons for them.
He fled from the office.
~BxBxBxBxBxB~
It was gloriously simple, spending time with her son. The world almost shrank away into a tiny, shining bubble when she was with him; seeing the world through his eyes was refreshing in only the best of ways. It made Brennan wonder what she had felt like when she was his age; she had almost no memories left from her childhood, and more and more in the past few years she had found herself regretting that.
There had been a time when she had remembered all of it. Birthdays, vacations, simple afternoons in the backyard. There were still scraps there. A scent, a sound, a certain photograph, would evoke the memory into the edges of her mind, make her close her eyes and try to recapture it. But for some reason, it never worked. It probably had something to do with how she had forced herself to move on with an iron-will that some might envy. It had worked, clearly. Her teenage self, furious at the world, hating her life and everyone that had betrayed her, hadn't wanted to dream about the past anymore. Not after she had hardened to the world and realized that there was no such thing as unconditional love, and the family life she had been experiencing had all been some sort of lie. Every foster home she was in had taught her that life wasn't like that. There was unrest and poverty and hunger and pain. The world held some of the most horrible people, and justice… well, justice didn't care about her. Justice was cruel; it was the sound of the gavel banging down and denying her petition to free herself from the system at only sixteen.
Staring at Nicholas, at her beautiful child that looked so much like her and wanted to explore and learn and play games and drink milkshakes, she could remember more glimpses of her old life. But not enough. And so she attempted to live through him, to pick up on the things that fascinated him, and try to imagine what it might be like, to wonder for the first time why grass was green or where apples came from. And she swore to herself that he wouldn't lead a life like hers.
She had promised herself, in fact, from day one, that he was going to grow up in a loving and structure family with no dark secrets and nothing but love and care to provide.
And yet, here she was, trying to pretend to be as carefree as he was while he sucked on a lollipop and sat on the floor surrounded by DVDs, crouched over as he tried to pick the 'best' one for them to watch next. It was so hard to pretend that nothing was wrong, that the future she had imagined when she had held him in her arms for the first time in that hospital bed… had all been made up of the very lies she had sworn he would never have to face.
Now, she'd already started weaving him into it, and there was nothing she could do to make that change.
She had sent an email to her lawyer, requesting the proper forms and counseling that would come with navigating the fields of divorce, earlier that same day. Maybe it was soon, but it still didn't seem soon enough.
The divorce rate in America is fifty percent, she remembered telling someone, years ago. Had it been Angela, when she had been sharing her interest in possibly marrying Hodgins? Probably. But it didn't matter. The statistic was what was stuck in her head, not the way the memory around it had come about.
Fifty percent. What sort of odds were those, with her history?
This had come from a mile away, and she'd been wearing a blindfold up until the last few yards.
She was still furious with James. Furious about what he had done, furious about the way he'd treated her, furious about the way he had lied. But what infuriated her more than any of that… was how little regard he had held for their son while he was doing it. He didn't love her anymore; he'd said it himself. But rather than attempting to work things out, to try talking to her or going to counseling, anything, he had chosen to cheat on her with his secretary. And in doing that, he had to have known that eventually it would come out. And that, when it did, she wouldn't stay with him.
He hadn't even considered where Nick would fall in the middle of the equation. He hadn't thought about the separation, about what their son would think when he got older and found out – as he was bound to – the real reason why his parents had split up.
She still remembered the devastating blow that had come with discovering her parents were criminals. To find out that the people you loved used to sneak out at night to rob banks was one thing, though. Because regardless of what had ended up happening, the one thing Brennan was absolutely certain of was that her parents had loved each other, and had loved her and Russ as well. She couldn't condone their methods, or their behavior, but they had been happily married. Nick wouldn't have that to fall back on. He wouldn't be able to think that, while his parents weren't perfect, at least they had made the right choice to be together. He would look back and see that they had made a mistake. And then he'd have the sorts of questions that she didn't know how to answer.
"How 'bout Tarzan?" Nick said suddenly, dragging her back to the reality of the present, where her son was a four-year-old and didn't need to worry about these sorts of things. She was jealous of his blissful ignorance, of his wonder and ability to see magic in the simplest of things.
Swallowing, she put on a warm smile. "Sounds good. Here, I'll put it in." She took the case from him, and snapped it open. The DVD was just sliding into the player when a key turned in the lock, and she tensed.
Booth had called, twenty minutes ago, to let her know that James was about to be released. Like her, though, he had been under the impression that he wouldn't dare show his face here. Brennan especially had thought he'd have the sense to stay away, given that immediately after hanging up with Booth, she had sent James a text letting him know that he was allowed to pick up his belongings after nine o'clock that night, and no sooner.
It seemed he had chosen not to heed her obvious warning. Now, he was going to show up and disrupt her afternoon with Nick, confusing him unnecessarily.
If her son hadn't been there, she probably would have gone straight to the door and given the sorry son-of-a-bitch a kick right where it hurt. Teach him a lesson that was a little late, but that would make her feel somewhat better.
She couldn't do that, though, and she knew it. He probably knew it, too.
While part of her was still unrealistically hoping that it might be Angela coming to check up on her with the spare key that she had never had to use before, she wasn't at all surprised when James stepped inside and shut the door behind himself. She stood in the doorway to the living room, keeping herself between him and his line of sight on their son, her arms crossed and her glare set almost as a permanent feature across her face.
"Your boyfriend doesn't like me very much," he said lightly, a smile plastered on his face that was so fake it was almost dripping off of him.
"I wasn't aware I had one. Although it would seem reasonable, given that apparently that's the norm in our marriage now, right?"
"Booth," James clarified, as if it wasn't obvious who he was tauntingly referring to in the first place. "He's got quite a temper, you know."
Her anger flared, but she simply ground her teeth together, letting her nails dig into the flesh on her upper arms. Whatever Booth had said or done, he probably shouldn't have. But she couldn't help but feel mildly grateful. Anyone on her side at this point, anyone against James, was someone she could thank.
"Really, now? Last I checked, he only got angry at scumbags and liars."
The retort might have been childish, or immature, but she honestly didn't care. She would have thrown real knives at him, if she could have gotten away with it. For now, words would have to do; they'd always been her greatest weapon. For a long time, they'd been her only weapon.
He shrugged the comment off as if he hadn't even heard her. "I already gave you my reasoning. That's the best you're going to get. Now, I got the impression, from your message, that you want me to move out for now."
She raised an eyebrow. "No, James. Not for now. For good."
"I think you missed the part where we both own this place," he pointed out, stepping forward. She moved to occupy more of the doorframe.
"I think you missed the part where we promised to be faithful to one another. And the part where I kept up my side of that, and you didn't."
"Because you made it impossible," he said coldly, his falsely happy demeanor falling away completely. "You told me yourself, years ago. You're not an easy person to get along with, to live with, or to care about. And God knows, I tried. But you were right, when you told me way back then that you didn't know if you'd be able to carry out a long time relationship like this, without it falling apart."
She bit back a sound that wanted to escape from her throat, and blinked hastily. "I didn't know if I would be able to be happy in a situation like this," she corrected. "Me. That whole thing was about me. It was never about whether or not you'd get bored."
"I didn't get bored. I just got tired of dealing with how much we were lacking emotionally. I mean, there was never a problem with the bedroom."
The tears were harder to fight, suddenly. It was one thing, to wonder if her husband had sought out another woman's company because he had wanted a different experience in bed, or because things had gotten too routine. It was quite another to find out that he had been perfectly happy doing her every night, so long as he could get the emotional pleasure elsewhere, because that was what she hadn't been able to give to him.
"Daddy!" Nick's voice interrupted them. They'd been getting continuously louder, and the obvious warning that her turned back and posture gave, plus the enticement of the movie, hadn't been enough to keep him from coming over to investigate.
"Hey, kiddo," James said, an easy smile spreading across his face. The kind of smile he never gave Brennan anymore. She suddenly wondered if she had been wrong; perhaps James still cared the same amount for their child as he had since the beginning. Perhaps it was only her who he had fallen away from, and not the entirety of their family.
A surge or protectiveness washed over her, and she reached down to put her hands on her son's shoulders, sliding so that he was square in front of her, her arms holding him to her. She glared at James, her eyes blazing with warning.
"Dad just forgot a few things," she said, trying to keep her tone light. She failed terribly, but if Nick noticed, he wasn't showing it. He just nodded, his hair bobbing in his eyes.
James motioned towards the stairs, making his intention clear. She bent down and told Nick to go back to his movie, promising to join him in a few minutes. When he had reluctantly returned to his position in front of the television screen, she followed James up the stairs, and into their room.
His suitcase was right where she had left it, beside the bed. She pointed to it, and stayed in the doorway to watch him pack his things up.
"I'm not leaving forever," he said.
She made a doubtful sound in the back of her throat, and he raised his gaze to meet hers over the shirt he was folding.
"What, you don't think I can win a divorce settlement?"
Her blood ran cold. "What?"
"I had Kevin and Joel start filing the paperwork earlier today. You know they've got some friends in high places… we'll be getting our settlement hearings much more quickly than your average couple. But hey, all the better, right? The sooner this is over with, the sooner you can start over fresh. Booth's a sucker for you, after all. Toss him in bed, you'll be all set so long as you keep him happy. Although, after he's gotten his curiosity satisfied, maybe he'll lose the lost puppy look and figure out the same thing I did. The sex may be good... but it just isn't worth it in the long run."
She barely knew what she was doing, but she heard the crack of the slap and felt the sting on her hand, and found herself standing in front of him with barely any recollection of either walking across the room or raising her hand.
He rubbed his jaw. "Well, that certainly won't hurt my cause," he said with a shrug, tossing the last of his clothing in and zipping up the case. She stood there, a few feet away, breathing heavily, trembling all over.
As he was leaving, though, suitcase in hand, he tossed down the final card in his hand.
"Just to let you know… I'll be suing for custody as well. Don't get too used to this."
Her knees gave way the minute he was out of the room, and she landed heavily on the edge of the mattress, staring down at her shaking fingers until all she could feel was the cold bite of the breeze from the window against the tear tracks down the side of her face, and all she could hear was the dulled sounds of the childhood her son still had to cling to, echoing up the hallways and trying to find shelter in her heart.
It is actually possible to hate James more than you did prior to this chapter, now isn't it? And odds are, you will hate him even more eventually. *evil smile* As always, feedback brightens my soul.
And for anyone with any interest in Castle (which should be all of you, because if you love Bones... there is no way you won't adore Castle. I'm serious. It's not possible to dislike Castle if you're a big enough Bones fan to be reading these fics) I am branching out and starting to write Castle fiction as well. You can check my profile if you'd like to see what I've got so far-it's on a different account called bxCaskettxb. It's just one fic right now, but I'll be working on more soon. Don't worry, though, this won't take me away from this story even slightly. I'm much too addicted to it, and Bones fiction, to ever stop.
