Title: A Dangerous Aficionado
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine. So don't blame me because they haven't had sex yet.
Rating: This story is rated M.
A/N: This is my second chapter today. I hope you like. I talked enough shit in the last A/N…
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"He's been here?" Hodgins asks, and I feel my chest seize.
"Yes," I whisper, turning to look over the balcony. Booth has taken off down the steps again, racing through the laboratory in a manner only a federal agent can get away with. He's furious. I recall the image of his cheeks flushing in anger, his chest puffing out. He'd raced back into the Jeffersonian before I could even comprehend what I was looking at.
"Sweetie?" Angela touches my arm, and I flinch. "Sorry…" she whispers, tilting her head sympathetically. Behind me, Hodgins and Zach talk among themselves, theorising what had happened.
"Photographs," I say. "They're… digitally altered." I take a deep breath, removing the attached letter from my jeans and hold it out. Angela takes it. "He has put them inside my car." She looks horrified, as if understanding how I feel. As my best friend, I know she's trying to empathise. But no one has successfully made me feel like they understand. Except maybe Booth. Because I can see how haunted he is, every time I look at him.
"I don't want to sound as though I am violent, my love. I promote anti-violence and I have never held a gun in my life. But I bought one today. I felt compelled because I of him. He's always around, these days. I don't like it. I feel as though you've betrayed me. It's been such a long time that you've been alone that I convinced myself we were two loners together. And then you invited him into your home. I have images you allowed him into your bed, too…" Angela looks up at me and I shake my head.
"He hasn't. We're not. Continue, please," I hasten to say. I feel my cheeks blush because I cannot deny I have imagined it, too.
"I shan't be happy if I discover he has touched you. You don't belong to him. I purchased the gun because I want him to know I will not disappear from your life without a fight. He may think he loves you, but he doesn't. Not like me. He wouldn't yield a gun in your honour. He wouldn't imagine in his arms almost every minute.
"I have enclosed some images. These are the things I think of, my love. This is how you have effected me. How you will continue to effect me until I have you. I must.
"You'll be in my thoughts." Angela stands still, her hands trembling a little. "No signature. Jesus, Brennan, he actually believes all this stuff?" I take the letter, passing her the photographs. Her lips part in disgust, and Hodgins stands, followed by Zach. They peer around her, three pairs of eyes fixed on the glossy images.
"Whoa," Hodgins says. "That's sick, dude." I don't look at it, because I have committed the image to memory. The original photo had been doctored, the print now depicted a collage, bombarding several pictures into one. Most of them are me. But the central picture, the one which makes my stomach churn, is Booth. His face is placid. It looks like a time whenever we were out together, recently. I try to place it, but I cannot. I know he'll press me later for details.
A bullet hole, gory and fleshy as been incorporated unto his forehead. Beneath, at the bottom, scrawled in a barely legible font are the words 'how it ends'.
"Isn't it a little… over-the-top?" Zach asks, taking the photograph from Angela's hand. I half shrug.
"Since infatuation is, on it's own, an over-the-top emotion, Zach, I doubt this guy is concerned about how this photo might look to us," I say. Angela moves on to the next, and her lips part in astonishment. My cheeks flame red, now. "This is entirely fake," I stress. Hodgins' eyes flicker away, as though he's looking at something he isn't meant to be seeing. Zach's mortification follows seconds later. "Look," I point at the photograph. "You can see where my head had been attached to the body. Guys… it's not me." Hodgins drops his hand to my arm, and nods slowly.
"We know it's not Brennan. You don't own those eight inch porno shoes, I'm sure. That's really what gives it away." I look at the woman's body, and realise the creator of these vile works has done his research. My frame is similar to hers. Although I'm not sure I could spread my legs that wide.
"This is a nightmare," I say at last, taking the pictures and shoving them into my pocket. "I was having such a nice day. There has been no activity in days. I thought it was over…" I move across the gallery, slouching unto the sofa, pressing my fingers to my eyes. I've a headache. I feel as though it's a common ailment, recently.
"I told you it isn't over, yet." We all turn our heads to Booth, who stands at the top of the stairs. "I guess there's one good thing about this," He sits next to me. I would be bothered at his proximity, normally, but as his thigh brushes mine, hard and warm, I feel something else. I almost imagine he'll drop his hand to my knee. But he does not. "This guy has some serious beef towards me," he gestures to my pocket. "Which means he probably isn't going to harm you. He'll target me which-"
"I don't want him to target you," I say, frustration creeping into my tone. "You're not my knight, Booth. I do not need to be rescued." I lean forward, dropping my head into my hand. I feel his hand fall to my back, stroking along my spine. I know he's comforting me, but through my fear, I feel a stirring I haven't felt in so long.
Zach speaks.
"You do, Dr Brennan," he says, positioning himself at the edge of the sofa opposite. When I look up, Angela and Hodgins have taken residence there too. "You were the one who mentioned infatuation. Infatuation rarely ends well." I wonder if he's hinting that I should accept the inevitable. Is he suggesting that Booth will, in the end, get hurt? I won't allow it to happen.
"Bones?" His hand moves again, close to my waist. I am struck again by how much I need him here. I haven't admitted it to him, and I don't know if I will. But I have finally accepted it myself. I am dealing with my inability to be completely independent, right now. I know I should show my appreciation. My body tilts towards him, only a few inches, but he feels it. His thigh tenses against mine. The other three remain oblivious.
"I'm fine," I say to him. To them all, in general. "Did you find Goodman?"
"He's getting everything set up with security. How did this guy get your car keys?" I shrug helplessly, slipping the photos from my pocket again, my mind reeling. Booth leans forward too, his chin brushing my shoulder as he peers over at the image of his head, bullet pierced. "Who are you…?" He asks softly.
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Goodman looks at me for a long moment before asking me to take a seat. Booth stands behind me and I feel heat radiate from him. He fingers clutch the back of my chair, brushing the back of my neck. My head tilts against its will, as if encouraging his fleeting touch. I stiffen my spine and clear my throat.
"Did you find anything?" I ask, and Goodman reclines back in his chair. He taps his pen against his chin, watching me with impenetrable black eyes.
"No," he says. I don't know why, but I expected this response. "We reviewed the tapes from the time you arrived this morning, at 7.09 until you and Agent Booth returned to the car at lunch. There was no gap in the tape and it hasn't been tampered-"
"Are you sure? You do remember the incident of the stolen bones, right?" Booth asks, leaning forward. His torso his pressed to the back of my head. I pull my lip between my teeth, chiding my school-girl fixation.
"Agent Booth," Dr Goodman says patiently, "I am certain these tapes have not been altered. Where was the letter left?"
"I found it between the handbrake and the seat," I reply meekly. "I don't know… maybe it was already there. Maybe we missed it…?" I look up at Booth, who stares down at me. His eyes are unseeing, lost in thought. I turn back to Goodman. "Either way he was in my car." Booth shakes his head.
"We parked in lot C, yesterday," he says. He turns his head to Goodman. "You had the executives here yesterday. Everyone was on their best behaviour and Bones was sent to lot C to park." I remember, now. How could I forget? Zach complained about it for hours, because Hodgins had to relinquish his space, too. "Is there security cameras there?" Goodman shifts a little, indignant.
"Of course there is, Agent Booth," he says. "We pride ourselves on our-"
"Stolen bones," Booth says, his tone slightly ticked. I feel my lips tug a little. "We'll need to see the footage for yesterday. The entire day. In the mean time, I'm going to get us some takeaway for lunch. So much for eating out…" he turns on his heel, his body heat suddenly gone. I wonder at how much I notice the absence of him. When Goodman's door closes, my boss stands, tall and imposing.
"How are you holding up, Dr Brennan?" He asks. I inhale.
"I'm fine, sir," I reply, aware at how my fingers tremble ever so slightly. I am repulsed by my weakness, and how this person has instilled fear within me. I am not afraid. I am not. My mantra doesn't work. I know I am.
"Agent Booth doesn't think so…" I let his insinuation linger in the air. "I will get the tapes from security. We can go through them together." I follow him through the Jeffersonian. We are silent for the majority of our journey. Despite having authority over every scientist here, I know Goodman has a strange attachment to the Anthropology department. Our time together in Christmas Quarantine brought us together. I don't show my feelings often. But I like Goodman. He is a good person. He has authority, which he uses, but beneath the exterior that radiates business, he is normal. He is in touch with the world. In ways I am not.
"How are you coping with the invasion of the federal agent?" He asks as we pass a tray of skeletal remains. I cannot help but notice that they are that of a young female. A pre-teen female. My job is ingrained so deeply within my mind. I find it difficult to switch off.
"Is there a movie reference in there?" I ask. Goodman smirks at me.
"Very good Dr Brennan. Finally get that TV?" I glance sideways at him.
"Nope. In answer to your question of how I am coping with Booth, if I told you he spends hours reciting movies from bygone eras would you understand?"
"Being taught the movie basics, then?" We enter the security room, eyeing the monitors that may hold the answer to my problem.
"The Blob, 1958, The Fly also 1958, Plan 9 From Outer Space 1959...the list goes on, sir," I say as we approach the security desk.
"I didn't realise Booth would be a B-Movie kind of guy…" Goodman replies. "Maybe a blue movie…" I frown.
"I don't know what that means…?"
"Never mind. James," he smiles at the security guard who is immediately intimated by Goodman's stature and authority. Most people are. "Yesterday's security tapes that cover lot C? May we have them, please?" I like this about Goodman. He says 'please' as though he is asking a question. But I know he is not.
Booth returns with Chinese food which he doesn't make any attempt to eat because Goodman is forwarding the tape. We can see my car. I parked it in the morning and the space next to mine is empty until one fourteen when a red van parks next to it and effectively blocks the view. When it moves away at two eleven no one approaches my car until I arrive at six forty. I stayed a little late last night.
"Do you think that was him?" I ask when Goodman freezes over the van. When he pushes play, a man in a blue boiler suit gets out, carrying a box of tools. I notice how he doesn't go near me car. Not even when returning. Shaking my head, I sigh.
"He was there," Booth says, studying the screen for a long time. "But the view is blocked. Dammit!" When his fist bangs the desk, the Chinese cartons jolt a little. Goodman doesn't snap, like he normally would. I appreciate his patience. Booth has certainly not been affording us much of it, recently. "This is the only angle?" He asks, turning to my boss. Goodman nods. "Shit."
He's quiet for a long time.
"I'm taking the photos to the FBI. Maybe Wilcox can determine something." I cannot help how my eyes roll.
"Do you honestly expect her to? So far all O'Malley and Wilcox have done is waste their time." Booth shakes his head.
"If it shows up nothing then at least we've eliminated something. Plus," he smiles a little. "I can start on making a list of weapon retailers in the greater DC area. I might get lucky." I know he won't. We don't even know what make of gun he bought.
Goodman's cell phone rings and he excuses himself, leaving the office. "What if you don't get lucky?" I ask. Booth chuckles.
"I'll just have to take you to bed and make him really, really angry. Maybe then he'll show me his gun." He pulls chopsticks from their paper casing, chuckles a little and begins to eat soft noodles with an odd smile.
I blush a little, removing my own chopsticks. "Maybe that wouldn't be so bad…" I whisper. Booth swallows.
"What?" He asks.
"Nothing," I reply, thankful he hasn't heard. And as he goes back to eating his lunch, I go back to imagining just how we might make my adoring fan angry.
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Any of my fellow X-Philes out there will have caught the Hollywood A.D. reference with Plan 9 from Outer Space. Sorry, couldn't resist, this was one of my favourite episodes of all time - because apparently David Duchovny was a genius in writing/directing it.
Please review! Oh pretty please…
