AN: WARNING - FF seems to have gone wonky with chapter 11 - I didn't get the alert until almost 24 hours had passed. If you have NOT read the Zack/Hodgins convo or seen Angela post-blast, flip back a chapter or this will make no sense.
Short and bittersweet, but necessary... We move to day 34 and visit Arizona, where a fugitive anthropologist and her daughter are struggling to cope with the absence of their favourite guy.
MUSIC: Set The Fire To The Third Bar - Snow Patrol; Thirty-Three - Smashing Pumpkins
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or plot elements of Bones used for context and grounding of story. Original elements are mine, are not for profit and are done out of love. Typos are due to tendencies of writing past midnight.
2937890 Seconds
Flagstaff, AZ
The stack of photocopied journal articles had grown rather tall over the previous weeks, and while Temperance knew she needed to get through them more expediently, her concentration was lacking. She found herself swiping away at solitary stray tears she couldn't recall shedding. Her heart was always crushed, from the time she rose with Christine to the lonely hour when she finally fell into sleep. Her pen remained poised above the same page as ten minutes prior and she cursed angrily as she launched it across the room.
It hadn't taken long for the celebrity news chasers to learn of the explosion at the home of fugitive author Temperance Brennan. A slender brunette with overly perky breasts that were most certainly augmented and a smile without sincerity felt it necessary to show the house – their Mighty Hut! – in disarray. She thought it appropriate for her colleague to badger Angela's father for word of her condition. Endless speculation abounded. The worst of it was the insinuation that she would attempt to murder her family.
Of course, with their lack of television and internet access, Temperance had only seen this footage three days ago, a full ten days since the incident. She'd fled the University of Arizona library, scarcely reaching the car before breaking down in shuddering sobs not unlike those she'd experienced the night of Vincent's passing. Her best friend was in critical condition because of her. Because Pelant hated her. And she was not there at her side, as Angela would have been at hers.
Another surprise tear, another angry swipe. There was no good reason to allow herself to cry where her father might notice. He'd adamantly refused to allow her to phone Hodgins or Booth. She wasn't permitted to phone the hospital. Rationally, she understood his reasons. Emotionally – the side of her Angela's giving friendship and Booth's patient love had nurtured – she wanted to scream, throw things, pack her daughter into the car and drive until she was at Angela's side.
But oh, it was harder today to maintain control. Today was Father's Day. She wanted to strike her father. She hated herself for keeping Christine from hers. One could not re-do a milestone in a child's life. Booth was missing his first Father's Day since the arrival of their child. It was another thing she'd robbed him of.
"He'll never forgive me," she whispered, drawing her knees to her chest.
Nearly seven weeks had passed without him. Seven weeks of fear and running and cold sheets without warm arms. Seven weeks of feeling defeated. Four weeks of Christine sitting up without Booth having witnessed it.
"Sweetheart?"
Brennan glanced up at her father, struggling to suppress her anger. He's helping me. He didn't have to come with me. Her head drooped, resting on her knees. Even sitting upright was exhausting by the end of the day.
"I'm sorry about Angela, Tempe. I can check in with a contact but it will take a good four or five days to get the update." Max's tone was gentle, tentative.
"I shouldn't have to utilize a… a call-tree of criminals to find out simple information!" Brennan shouted. "I should be able to simply place a call to her husband and receive an update. I should be able to see her with my own eyes. But I had to go ask Ethan for help. I had to get him killed. And now… Now I drag my poor daughter around on a cross-country game of Hide and Seek!"
"You're right," Max said.
"It's Father's Day and Booth isn't with her," she said angrily, choking on a sob. "I am not a suitable mother. I told him I wouldn't be and here we are. What was I thinking?"
Max settled on the couch beside her. "Tempe, you're an amazing mother! You're just like Ruth. You're attentive and gentle with Christine. Everything we do is for her safety. I can't imagine a more devoted parent. The situation is crap, but that's not your fault."
"Angela needs me too. I'm not there for her or Hodgins."
Her father sighed, scratching his head. "Okay, honey. I promise you that I will find a way to send a message to Hodgins and Booth, letting them know that you're thinking of them. I can't risk your handwriting on anything, but I can do something."
Brennan sniffed loudly, disturbed by the excessive mucous in her nasal passages. "And we won't be found?"
"No, we won't. What will get us found is this," he said, gesturing to her stack of research. "Tempe, you've been to the university three times in the last two weeks. You're taking too many chances with this research!"
"My cover story is believable!" At this protest, she gestured to an equally large stack of journals and book chapters photocopied strictly for her "book". "Over there, I have several articles on the sociological and anthropological importance of small town customs and understanding the community dynamics within. I also have articles from geographical texts on the features of several small towns in the United States that I claim to be studying. I told you, Dad: the team needs me. Especially now, with Angela and Hodgins… otherwise occupied."
Max rolled his eyes. "Even if they buy that story, they won't believe that you're reading all of the papers you're hauling away! You're not going to the campus for at least another week."
"But it's my only means of finding out about Angela!"
"I will go find updates for you. You have to stop this." He shook his head sadly. "You're not made for this life. I knew that before I suggested it, but I did expect more cooperation from you."
Christine's whimpers from the other room signaled her stirring. Temperance glanced at the clock. It's too early for a feeding. Rising slowly, she made her way through the single-floor dwelling, studying her daughter from the doorway. Ah. The diaper face, as Booth calls it.
"Is she okay?"
"She's soiled. I'll change her." She scooped her daughter up, cradling her close as she fetched supplies from her bag.
"You were away from him for seven months before. It's only been a month this time," Max commented.
"That was different," Brennan countered, unfastening the diaper that smelled distinctly of something rather horrid she'd experienced once yet could not name.
"How?"
"We weren't in a committed relationship then," Brennan said.
Max groaned. "Sweetheart, you might as well have been. You were in love."
"It's still different! I was more… impervious then." she insisted, wiping Christine clean. "And Christine has never been away from her father. Infants form crucial understanding of psychological attachment and nurturing during their first two years of life. She fusses frequently because her father is not available and her sense of object permanence is not fully formed. She is non-verbal and thus I cannot communicate the reasons we cannot be with him, either."
Her father remained silent, unable to refute that point. Securing a fresh diaper, she held her daughter close, gently rocking her. The recording of Booth was barely enough to ease her daughter's crying now. She wanted the real person, as did Brennan.
"I'm going to do a perimeter sweep. Tomorrow, I'll send a message."
Her father left, shutting their front door behind him with a firm yet quiet click of latch meeting strike. A deadbolt engaged and Brennan found herself relaxing slightly. Christine, on the other hand, seemed reluctant to return to slumber.
"Shall I tell you a short narrative to lull you back into somnolence?" Brennan thought for a moment, seeking something fitting for a day in celebration of paternal family members. "There was once a mummy – not a British parent, but a deceased body processed according to Egyptian customs – in a maze of hay. I'm not certain why mazes are connected with the celebration of Halloween, but this was the setting. Your father is clever, Christine. He used his car alarm to successfully spare us a tedious walk with an inexperienced and shoddy guide to the exit."
The infant gurgled sleepily, her eyes beginning to flutter.
"Angela says to keep my stories to a 'G' rating, which I discerned via research as meaning it should be devoid of violence, sexuality and coarse language. So we'll skip ahead to the night of the Jeffersonian Halloween party and say that your parents worked hard to track down the villain. Dr. Saroyan came as Catwoman, a poor choice considering that she is not a female superhero. I dressed as Wonder Woman, although I fear I may have to reconsider this year due to my increased bust size."
Hmm… Maybe I'll just wear it for Booth. If he still wants me around…
"We tracked down the bad person and for some reason, I was uncomfortable with the snakes surrounding the young girl we needed to save. Come to think of it, I've long wondered if it was a subconscious urge to mount your father. I also managed to shoot him. Did you know that you need not be wearing indestructible bracelets to reflect a bullet? Please, never shoot your father or any metal doors near him where one might experience a reflective strike. He was very unhappy. In any case, he shot a clown, something he did often before his brain tumor, so you're not allowed to have a clown for any childhood parties."
Christine was nearly asleep now and Temperance smiled, gravitating towards the crib and laying her down in it. She smoothed the hair on her daughter's head as she watched her eyes flutter and close anew.
"Your father saved my life and Megan's. He had to take a life, which he truly hates. But that's your father, Christine: self-sacrificing, heroic, loving and noble. I could see his pain at having to add another person to the list he keeps but I couldn't ease it. I would do anything to take it away…"
Her voice trailed off, Brennan confident Christine would sleep well. She, on the other hand, would likely see the first hint of sunrise before slumber claimed her. Wearily, she fell onto the bed across the room and crawled beneath the covers in her jeans and t-shirt. She wondered if Parker was with Booth, if he was alone. He hated being alone, hated how far away Rebecca had taken his son. Had he visited Pops today? Had he gotten drunk to cope with what she was putting him through? Had he thought of gambling?
So many questions without answers. She'd never realized how vast and desolate a world of uncertainty could be until this experience.
Clutching the pillow tightly, she wept silently into it, longing for a sturdy chest instead.
3085208 Seconds
The bruises were fading, yellow blotches ringed in light blueberry hues. Still she slept, although the doctors planned to ease her out of the coma the next morning. Not that it guaranteed she'd awaken, much less be herself.
Jack was draining an enormous amount of money from his fortune on private medical care and security and couldn't care less, no matter how frantic his accountant sounded.
"Hey Angie, there's new drama with the Kardashians and Kris Humphries. You know you love the Kardashians," he joked lightly. "If you don't wake up soon, I may start reading TMZ out loud to you and that'll destroy several thousand brain cells I need to teach Michael cool science fair projects."
Machines were his only response: beeps, whirring and the inflation of the respirator.
"Michael misses you," he whispered. "I miss you. I miss your laughter and your sarcasm. I miss your smile, your cooking experiments… God, I just miss you." He buried his face in the sheet beside her motionless hand, drained from his near-constant vigil.
A knock at the door of their private room startled him. Glancing up, he eyed the large floral arrangements the nurse was juggling with confusion.
"These just arrived together for Angela," she explained. "Help me?"
Hodgins rushed to her aid, taking the bundle from her left arm. Enclosed in its own vase, the arrangement was a simple blend of two flowers: daffodils and daisies. Nestled in the paper wrapping, he noted as he sat it down, was a small envelope marked "Read First".
What the hell?
The nurse sat the second arrangement down beside it with a smile. "These will certainly brighten things up for Ms. Montenegro's big day tomorrow."
"There's no guarantee she'll wake up, Shanna," Jack noted sadly.
"But she'll be able to smell them, all the same," Shanna insisted. "She's going to be okay, Dr. Hodgins. I truly believe it."
"Thanks."
Left alone with his unusual and unexpected deliveries, Hodgins debated opening the envelopes. Would it be better to trace the flowers, determine if they were a sick gift from Pelant? Were they just flowers?
Think, Jack. Daffodils and daisies in one, azaleas and hyacinth in another… Jack's eyes widened in recognition, recalling a discussion several years ago between Booth and Brennan. Reaching for the phone beside Angela's bed, he dialed a well-used number.
"Booth."
"You need to come to the hospital."
"Is Angela okay?" Booth sounded panicked, papers shuffling in the background.
"Yeah, she's still asleep. There's something here. Something good."
Jack hung up, reaching for the first envelope with a half-smile. Shanna was right: these will definitely brighten things up around here.
Booth entered the room in a rush, his tie askew and jacket rumpled. Glancing around wildly, his gaze settled on a strangely peaceful Hodgins.
"What's with the cryptic call, Hodgins?" Booth demanded.
"Bureau can't be trusted. Now, shut up and look at the windowsill."
Booth obeyed, staring at the twin floral arrangements. The one on the left immediately clicked in his head and he looked to Hodgins expectantly.
"Are they..?"
Hodgins passed him a small envelope, nodding. "Read this one first."
Booth withdrew the tiny card from the envelope and studied it. The handwriting was unfamiliar but masculine – likely the florist or a friend of Max, he guessed. The language was sparse, but clear:
Get well soon, Angela. Love, Wanda and family.
"The daisies and daffodils," Hodgins said as Booth looked up. "Wanda sent her favourites."
"And the others?" Booth asked.
Hodgins handed him a second envelope, still sealed. "Let's find out."
With a trembling finger, he tore through the seal, withdrawing the card gingerly from its sleeve. The same writing style had completed this card as well, although the message was very, very different.
I'm so sorry, Buck. Please forgive me. Love, Wanda
"Hyacinth, in that shade, means 'forgive me'," Hodgins noted.
Booth swallowed hard, struggling to not cry. "And the other flower? What does it mean?"
"Starts with a 'T'," Hodgins whispered.
Booth nodded vigorously as he sunk into a chair, the message received. I forgive you, Bones. Just stay safe out there. Stay safe until I can bring you both home.
Max has good friends... and a soft spot for Angela, of course. Who doesn't?
Angela's induced coma is about to be ended. Will she wake up? Will she be Angela? Let's cross our fingers for Hodgins and find out next chapter (Tuesday-ish?) Thank you for continuing to review. It's truly appreciated. The love being shown for this story brightens my whole day and makes writing very, very easy.