So this is only the completion of the previous letter; I had planned to write two letters, but this chapter became very long very quickly with Brennan's dream sequence. Sorry for all of those who wanted two letters!
He sauntered up to where Angela and Cam were pulling their luggage to his suv; they were the first ones out. He gave them his best charming smile.
"I need a girl." He wiggled a finger between the two, 'eenie, meenie, miney moing' silently as their faces blossomed into twin grins.
"A girl huh?" asked Angela in her typical sultry voice. Booth's metronome finger stopped on her.
"Well I guess that leaves Angela." Cam scowled and rolled her eyes, shrugging as she said,
"I'm going to try and hurry along Brennan."
"Tell Hodgins to hurry up will you?" Angela called as Cam started to take off. She grinned over her shoulder sweetly at Booth.
"You can put my suitcase in the car." Booth huffed; Cam always packed heavy. Angela's wide grin faded as she turned back and raised a skeptical eyebrow.
"What do you need?"
"I'm wounded," Booth winced, "your tone suggests I'm being –"
"A dick?" Angela offered. Booth scowled for real this time. Angela laughed and then crossed her arms.
"Okay what do you want?"
"I kinda need to recreate an exact copy of this shoebox collage," Booth blurted. His mind raced to come up with a plausible story. "See, it was…" he fumbled before having a stroke of genius, "…Rebecca's. I was playing catch in the house with Parker waiting for her," he hung his head guiltily, almost believing himself, "and it got flattened. I had to stuff it under the couch. Unfortunately it was her favorite box in the world so…"
"So instead of manning up and telling her you're asking me to help you lie?" Booth flinched again.
"It sounds so wrong when you put it that way," he pouted. He stuck out his lower lip. "Oh please, oh please," Booth begged, his eyes wide. He gave her another charming fanboy smile. "Come on, I'll babysit your kid or something. I'll get you back somehow. I'll do anything." Booth regretted the words before they left his mouth, but realized they were the truth. He would do just about anything to avoid the confrontation with Brennan.
"Pose for me in the nude?" Suggested Angela slyly. Booth blushed, rethinking his options. Angela waved a hand. "Oh come on I wasn't serious. Of course I'll do it. Anything to avoid the wrath of your ex."
"You're the best!" Booth exclaimed. He swooped Angela up and squeezed her in a bone crushing congratulatory bear hug.
"Ow," she said in a tiny voice. He set her back on her feet. She grinned foolishly. Booth suddenly frowned.
"It has to be perfect," he warned, "properly aged and everything, same gloss, same pictures, same everything."
"All right! I'll run it through the angelator to stimulate damage control." He scuffed his foot guiltily.
"Well in that case," muttered booth, hot around the collar, "I might have stamped it flat to kick under the couch."
"Men" was Angela's only comment as she strode off to wrangle Hodgins back into the car.
"Where is Bones?" barked Booth for the fourth time. The squinterns and the squint squad were spread out across the pit that used to be a ring. Booth had to keep the bulldozer from filling in the hole four times as the impatient owner waited for them to clear out. Booth finally sent Sweets with Daisy and the rest of the squints into a van back to DC. He didn't envy that car ride. Cam had flatly refused to ride with the love struck but awkward couple and so Booth was driving back Hodgins, Angela, Cam, Brennan and himself in his SUV. They were all ready to go, and his partner was missing.
Typical.
Booth's eye caught on the RV. He realized beyond a shadow of a doubt she had to be inside, deaf to their calls. Of course, probably examining x-rays last minute.
He left the door open behind him as he creaked his way up the stairs. His puffed up lungs deflated like a farting balloon – the way Parker liked to stretch out the mouth of the latex – when he tried not to smile upon seeing her fast asleep at the tiny table. Her hair was cascading out from her scalp in waves and she was breathing heavily with her mouth open over her folded hands, ear pillowed over one elbow.
He didn't wake her right away, content to slide into the seat across from her, arms pillowed in front of him, his own face inches from hers as he watched her, waiting childishly for her to wake up and be startled. He blew on her face gently. Her nose wrinkled. He varied the puffed breaths and her lips parted wider before smacking together. He directed the jet stream at her hair. It fluffed up like a volcano had erupted under a strand. Booth forgot he was trying to wake her and grinned in delight, enjoying his game. He sucked in another breath to muss up more of her hair before she spoke.
"Don't." He sputtered in surprise and then laughed.
"You really had me going there Bones." She didn't open her eyes. He childishly blew on her face again, trying to get her mile long lashes to flutter.
"Don't," she said, her voice more irritated. Booth's cheeky grin crept up one corner of his face in delight. He blew in her ear.
"Please stop pouring dirt on me." Booth stopped himself from licking the inside of her ear for one hell of a wet willy at the outrageous comment she was had just said.
"What?"
"Stop," she tossed a little, her body convulsing, and the chair grating over the floor with a horrible screech.
"Bones," Booth said, his teasing tone gone, his voice urgent now. He put his hand over hers.
"Please," she whispered. "I can't breathe."
Brennan looked around, nonplussed. Her father was next to her and they were at the park. The one their family used to have picnics at. She walked aimlessly and then smiled, spotting their destination. She turned around and started walking backwards.
"Dad, you shouldn't have! A picnic?" She kept stepping backwards as her father's face wreathed itself in smiles.
"It'll be like old times, you're mother is here too."
"What?" she asked in disbelief, her face flickering lightning fast from joy to shock as the back of her heel met only air and she stumbled, falling backwards. She gasped up, staring at her father standing at the edge of the hole. She realized the sky was framed in a rectangular dirt frame. A grave.
"Hi Temperance," said her mother's voice, and Brennan, gasping, tears forming, turned around hoping against hope that it could be possible. She screamed when she saw the decomposing corpse lying on the ground. Her mother's face was partially visible, yet the flesh was rotting off of her ribcage, the flies swarming around her viscous fluids.
"Lie down honey," her mother said, and wrapped a skeletal arm around her leg. Brennan realized her ankle was injured when she stumbled and collapsed under the pressure from the tendon laced fingers gripping the outside of her jeans. She was hyperventilating as she was forced down, her face not six inches from her mother's.
"What's wrong baby?" asked her mother, and as she spoke a maggot bulged under the flesh of her cheek. Temperance – for she was no longer Brennan – watched in morbid fascination as the tiny larvae slowly ruptured the skin and ate its way out. Her mother seemed unaware of it.
Temperance curled up into herself, shrinking from her mother's fluttering, helpless hands as she whined a sob.
"Death is nice," her mother said quietly. Temperance felt something rain down on her face and she squinted her eyes up at the sky.
"Don't worry honey," called Max cheerfully, pouring another shovelful of dirt down to rain on them.
"Mommy's here," chorused Christine Brennan. Heather Taffet appeared next to her father.
"Goodnight," she smiled sweetly, and rained another shovelful down. "Don't let the grave bugs bite."
"Don't," said Temperance quietly. She realized she could still climb out. Hope relieved her of her fear. She struggled to sit up. However, upon looking down she realized her muscles were suddenly peeling away from her bones. She screamed. She struggled to sit up more and her mother's hand was suddenly on her shoulder, holding her down.
"Don't," Temperance barked at her. The dirt was getting in her mouth. She swallowed some just in order to talk some more. She reached her hand up for her father, hoping he would reach down for her. Another shovel rained down and the plucky face of Zack beamed out from behind.
"Hi Dr. Brennan!" he waved. "You look like you've been dead for six weeks!" She felt something horrible crawling along under her skin. She looked down and realized her own body was in the state of putrefaction, the insects bursting out of it. She panted, feeling her blood drain away, her saliva dry up. She tried to swallow but she hardly had an esophagus.
"Please stop pouring dirt on me!" she whispered. The soil was drying her out. She could feel her skin tightening like the worst sun burn she ever had. It peeled off of her skull, her vocal cords stripping away. She had seen it happen so many times. The dirt was up to her neck, her mother's insistent hand still trying to drag her down through the earth. Her father relentlessly shoveled. She could see a whole train of people, lined up to pour dirt on her grave, a shovelful at a time. He turned away to be replaced by the gravedigger, to be replaced by Zack, to be replaced by Gormogon, to be replaced by Epps to be replaced by…
"Please stop…" she barely managed to whisper but her vocal cords were working hard enough to scream as she heaved against the heavy weight on her chest. "…I can't breathe."
A huge wind picked up across the plane and the last shovelful of dirt flew into her face, effectively blackening her world.
"Bones!" she came awake with a gasp, her hand suddenly tightening in his own to bloodless; she jolted up, running her hands through her hair, wrenching her grip from his. She glanced around and looked at him, so obviously trying to speak normally.
"Booth." She shuddered a huge sigh. She was trying to conceal that she had a nightmare. She didn't realize how long he had been present.
"What can I get you?" Booth blurted, ignoring her wish to politely saving face. His concern was too great to trifle with such trivialities. "What do you need?"
"Water," she gasped, striding stiff legged to the sink, and turning it on. She stuck both her cupped hands beneath it and slurped hungrily, then gave it up as too slow and cast around for a cup. Booth was already there, cup filling under the tap. She didn't quite snatch it from his grasp.
On the stairs, Hodgins saw the two partners and opened his mouth to berate them for keeping everyone waiting. Out of their view, he realized Brennan was drinking…rather, trying to drink. She was trembling so hard the cup was visibly shaking up and down in front of her lips like a jackhammer, and she was obviously frustrated. The more she tried to clamp down, the harder her arm shook. Booth was instantly at her side once more, and helping tip the bottom of the cup up.
"Easy," he whispered to her. "Easy does it." She didn't protest, to Booth's relief and Hodgins' disbelief. He backed away slowly, not willing to intrude.
Booth carefully stroked the length of Brennan's cheek as she gulped the water down hungrily.
"I'm so thirsty," she gasped again, refilling the cup herself this time. This was her third.
Booth was immediately inundated with guilt. Had his childish games, his source of amusement, contributed to her terror? He placed a heavy hand on a heaving shoulder and was shocked to realize her heart was thundering.
"Come on," she said suddenly, shrugging off his hand mulishly, as if he were the one annoying her, instead of her terrifying them both. "Let's get to the car, I'm sure the others have been waiting for a while."
Outside, the others were cloistered around the car. One raised eyebrow from Brennan and Angela slunk hopefully from the front seat to the back, the hierarchy of shotgun apparently still applying as adults.
"Hodgins," Booth barked, gesturing the other man over as Cam strapped herself in next to Angela.
Hodgins came forward semi-reluctantly and semi-bewildered.
"What's up man?"
"You were in that trailer." Booth's voice was to the point and his words harder than the iron lines of his scowl.
"How could you-" began Hodgins. He hadn't been in his line of sight, he was positive.
"Sniper, remember?" Booth gestured sarcastically to his ears. Hodgins raised his eyebrows in respect.
"What, do I have a distinct smell? A certain tread? Something like that?"
"Something like that," Booth agreed absently, his face still murderous, his hands still fisted into his pockets.
"Let's just say it stays in the trailer ok? I don't want you making Brennan feel-"
"Hey," Hodgins threw up his hands defensively. "I get thirsty too."
"I'm serious Hodgins," snarled Booth.
"So am I," Hodgins said, blue eyes wide, and honest. Booth's dark ones flickered across his face and his face lost the edge that had Hodgins sweating. He didn't lose the scowl, but he no longer looked quite as imposing. Instead, Hodgins saw concern literally etched into the flesh of Booth's face, in the little lines between his eyebrows from the endless "special frowns" he reserved especially for Brennan. Evidently, Booth understood that Hodgins understood they were talking about the gravedigger nightmares. Booth had inferred that much from Brennan's prodigious water consumption. She had been like a sponge. Or bounty-quicker-picker-upper. Booth realized he was distracted, and in all probability scaring Hodgins.
"Ok," called Cam loudly. "Eight hour road trip, anyone?"
"Shoot me," Hodgins mumbled. Booth clapped him on the shoulder and steered him to the car.
"With pleasure."
"So can I drive?" chirruped Brennan cheerfully. Booth scowled, his mood foul. They were at their third gas station, to over compensate for both Angela's tiny pregnant bladder and Brennan's incredible thirst.
"No," stormed Booth, a headache pounding between his eyes. He stumped off towards the bathroom and groaned seeing that it was a single room on the outside of the building. He shut the door and put his back up against it; he didn't even have to pee. He just needed space. Too many people in one car. Not to mention the letter burning a hole over his heart in his jacket pocket.
Booth slipped it out and unfolded it; this was one of the worse for wear letters. His panic upon Brennan storming into his room had made him clench his fist and squash it as he tucked it under the phone. Booth set the sole of his shoe against the door behind him and unfolded the letter, scrubbing it across his knee to relieve the creases.
He felt like crap already, so why not use his already established bad mood to trick Brennan into thinking nothing more was wrong? Especially since he felt sure he was about to rip his soul out when finding out what happened between Brennan and Jared.
November 12th, 2008
Jared,
This is completely irrational and written in anger. And I still reek of the beer you slopped all over me when I shoved you off your stool in that bar. But I cannot believe the lies, the falsehoods, the deceit and the cruelty, which you led me to believe the lies you told me about Booth. Your snide insinuations that he chose to shy away from success were veiled in flattery and practiced charm. I, who am never a good judge of character, am ashamed to say that I fell for it like some gullible fool on the street, who believes in magic tricks instead of sequential lines of awareness.
When you kissed me –
Booth swallowed hard but finished the line, finally, forcing himself in a sort of sadism to keep going. – I was shocked. Surprised, pleasantly, I'll admit – Booth wanted to strangle himself – but also upset. Your words, while cruel, rang true.
"I bet you Seeley never had the guts to do that." Booth hadn't realized it would be so hard to read this letter. Jared's cruelty, purposeful or not, was shocking and much too reminiscent of their father.
The fact that Cam staged an intervention on my behalf to warn me away from Jared – Booth almost laughed and felt a surge of love towards his friend. She had known them for a long time. She was so loyal, like pit bull at times, but still somebody he liked to have on his side as evidenced by the letter in his hands.
-it surprised me. Angela too, and even Sweets, all informed me of my impaired judgments when it came to you. I was just so hungry to learn more about Booth – he's woefully quiet when it comes to his own past – that I didn't heed them. I wanted to know more. I think I learned too much.
Booth stumbled. What did she mean, she learned too much? What had Jared said? He was going to pulverize that kid.
What I learned about Booth is of no importance in contrast to what I learned about myself. While I am disgusted with cruelty, I am surprisingly capable of it, intentionally or not. I realize now that I've caused Booth great pain, and it distresses me that I do not know how to repair it.
Her penmanship suddenly transformed as it so often did in the letters to great, slashing strokes, bold with anguish and with rage.
Jared, why did you create so much friction? Why did Sweets guess from what you told him that Booth was abused? Why did Cam have to confirm it? Why, now when I look at my partner, I feel a deep sense of shame? It's not because I see him as weak, as he would probably believe, but strong. I want to tell him that I understand, but the conversation can never quite force its way past my teeth. There have been many moments when it came close, such as when Booth broke his arm on his birthday to save my life.
But what could I say to him?
Booth, I know what it feels like to be so afraid of someone, you duck on the other side of the car when you glimpse him coming out of the house? Or maybe, I know what it's like to sit in fear at the dinner table your heart pounding so hard you can barely swallow, much less eat, and then worry that your lack of eating will somehow offend him. When he calls on you for dinner conversation, you try to appear normal, but your heart is racing so much you are on the verge of hyperventilating, in fear of giving the wrong answer. In fear of having a sandwich thrown at my head, or worse, a knife thrown at my cheek.
Perhaps I should have told him I understand tiptoeing down the hall for a glass of water in the night because I was too scared to walk normally in a house that wasn't really mine. Perhaps I should have told him that the kind teachers who stared at the visible bruises thought I was an aggressive athlete. Booth would like that; he was an athlete.
Booth was finding it difficult to breathe around his swollen throat. It felt very tight, blocked with the memories of his father and almost identical memories to Brennan's. He wondered if Jared felt these tragedies. Probably not; he didn't remember as much, nor had he been as subjected to the abuse.
"Booth!" there was a pounding on the door and Hodgins' voice was filtering through the cracks in a muffled sort of way. "We're all ready to go!"
"And I have to pee!" squealed Angela. Booth realized he had a paragraph left. He pulled his foot off the door and lost his reading pad.
"Just a minute!" he called back; he realized they all probably thought he was terribly constipated and scrambled for an excuse. "I had to make a call!"
"Right," Angela smirked in a tone that left little to the imagination what she thought he was doing. Booth felt his face burn. He crinkled the paper under the light and with one foot pushed the handle of the toilet down so it would flush while he read. He also turned on the sink with the other hand as he squinted at the paper.
Jared, Angela was right. You are only a shadow form of Booth. You lack the courage of warfare Booth has seen. Your own wars have been with yourself, and I pity you. I hope you will find someone someday who will appreciate you for who you are, but I can only be disappointed. I had hoped, somehow, you would be like Booth. That I could have the best of both worlds and be with you without losing Booth as my partner.
Booth felt nauseated as his hand found the door handle.
If I'm honest with myself, I know that Booth is more than my partner, and you saw that as well and jeopardized it. Don't you understand that Booth is the only person who hasn't looked at me, really looked, and not shied away? Don't you see why I can't take that chance with him? I know, rationally, the odds of anyone ever seeing me the way he does will never again occur. I'm not like other people; I cannot fall in love easily.
Booth wasn't sure he was capable of thought, and felt his neck shrug into his hunched shoulders defensively as he finished the last few lines.
You wanted me for the wrong reasons Jared: out of spite.
And I'm glad I said no.
Honestly,
Temperance
Booth realized he was blinking in the sunlight, Angela staring stupefied at his probably dazed face. He swallowed and shoved the letter in his pocket.
"Some phone call," she grinned with raised eyebrows. Booth went inside the mini mart to pour himself some coffee. Brennan was there between the aisles; Booth could see the top half of her face. He crept down the adjacent aisle, content to stare between the packages of beef jerky as her blue eyes roved the shelves for something she could eat. Suddenly her eyes flicked up and went wide upon seeing him peering down at her between two chocolate bars. He cheekily stuffed his face between two boxes.
"Pick me!" he whispered theatrically. "Pick me!" Laughingly, she reached up and gently tweaked his nose. He squeezed his eyes shut and grinned. How he desperately wished picking him was that easy.
"Booth you are so strange," Brennan commented. She picked up a package of gummy bears and held it up to him.
"Those look good," he grinned, coming around the edge of the aisle.
"Gelatin is made with bone marrow," she informed him. Booth felt his stomach turn.
"Seriously?" Brennan nodded, a smile tugging her lips.
"And petrol."
"That's disgusting," Booth backed away in revulsion.
"Hardly Booth," she scoffed. "I could tell you the countless items that are made with-"
"That's okay," he hastily interrupted. He plucked the package from her hands. "Mmm, bone marrow bears." He peeked out from under one eyelid. "Yeah, doesn't sound as good."
She, to his credit, laughed. To his surprise, as Bones rarely joked, she grabbed his jacket sleeve and dragged him to the counter.
"One coffee," she told the bored looking woman, gesturing behind her to the coffee counter. Behind her Booth held up two fingers.
"Make it two."
"These gummy bears," she grinned, plucking them dexterously from his fingers. She scanned the shelves. "Dried pineapple. And…" she pretended to survey the store, never letting go of his hand. "This man." He felt himself stumble forward as she yanked him off his feet, placing his hand within scanning distance. Booth laughed when he realized she had somehow stuck a barcode to the back of his hand.
"How much do I ring up for?" he asked the cashier seriously. The woman, who looked about fifty, obligingly beeped the scanner over his wrist.
The machine buzzed and Booth gasped at the number.
"99 cents! Seriously?"
"And look," Brennan sang sweetly, "you come up as dried bean curds."
"What?" Booth yelped. "Gross!"
"Not at all," sniffed Brennan, "they're an excellent source of protein for vegetarians."
"You think bean curds – which by the way, sound like the poop from bean poles – sound good, but brightly colored gummy bears sound like bone marrow?" He grabbed the package to underscore his gesture as he waggled it in front of her face.
"At least you're my type," she smiled and finally let go of his hand. Disgruntled, Booth yanked it back and shoved it into his pocket.
"Sir I'm going to need that barcode," the woman said in a monotone. Guiltily, Booth pulled it off but then compulsively stuck it on the back of Brennan's jeans so lightly that she didn't feel his hand – which wanted to linger – on her bottom. Booth winked conspiratorially at the cashier who looked impatient.
Brennan was pouring coffee.
"Come on Booth," she said over her shoulder to him, gesturing for him to give it back.
"I would," he smiled devilishly, "but I don't think I'm allowed to touch where it's stuck." Brennan immediately looked down at herself and Booth almost swallowed his tongue to realize she thought he had slipped it either over one of her breasts or down her shirt.
"Other side," he choked and Brennan twisted around, both hands groping her back trying to find it. Somehow she managed to grab her ass with both hands simultaneously. Booth almost busted something and hastily turned to get the waiting plastic bag; he couldn't watch her peel the sticker off, but he could hear it slowly coming away from dark denim.
Brennan huffed past and handed it politely to the cashier.
"Where's my coffee?" Booth whined as she stalked out. She ignored him.
"Just so you know," Cam said, and Booth whirled around, not realizing she had been standing behind them in line the entire time. "Ass grabbing is not strictly work appropriate." She winked as she set her items down and Booth strode out the door, face on fire.