so, i said this story would be 20-24 chapters before and i can now guarantee that it will be more than that.
a general rule: never ever listen to me when i give a number of chapters. i have an outline, but as it grows and morphs i keep shifting the chapter markers. current estimate is somewhere around 30. of course, i also just told you not to listen to my estimates, so, um, ignore that. i'll tell you better when we're getting closer to the end. for those of you wailing in despair at what may seem to make the smut farther away, keep in mind i am also expanding and splitting smut chapters. ;)
i heart my reviewers. you peeps are the awesomest ever and make me want to keep writing when my motivation flags. thank you thank you to last chapter's heroes: mumrulz the brilliant, bluetigress, insert something memorable, aching bones, tempertemper, sassafrasford, n02e08k89, kari43, heatherberry, laperkin, tom's gg, sunny78, gorgeousgummybear, fanofbones, danireed, nanenu and mia101!
He knew that she had fallen asleep, but it wasn't until the end of the second episode that he could handle pulling himself from her stilled hands on his neck to verify. A contented grin crossed his features as he gently eased her to her side on the couch, then set about cleaning up as quietly as he could. When he'd finished, he looked at her for a moment, decided that he couldn't bear to wake her and considered carrying her to her room.
He imagined her response to waking up in her bed with no memory of getting there after a drunken evening with the man about whom she'd had repeated sex dreams.
Then, even more frightening, he considered her response should she awaken in the process of putting her to bed in the way he would his six-year-old son.
Probably best to let her sleep here.
Booth was actually impressed that he'd escaped with only a mild headache from the pleasant evening he'd spent. While his tolerance was still nothing to scoff at, he had long ago recognized that his body couldn't hold up as well as it once could.
He smirked. In some departments, anyway.
He firmly believed that some things got better with age. Like fine wine. Beer had its charms, but there was absolutely nothing that could beat a nice pinot, aged about 31 years, with long reddish-brown hair and ardent, soul-piercing blue eyes...
Dammit, Booth. Get a grip on yourself.
He loosened his tie and set about to delve into a pile of forms.
In this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes. -Benjamin Franklin. And paperwork. -Seeley Booth.
A particularly large stack was calling his name when long legs sauntered into the top of his field of vision.
He looked up. "Rossi."
"Seeley," she replied in greeting, straightening her bold red button-down top. "I thought you would like to know that my team has just arrested Robert Duncan for the poisoning of Agent Columbo."
"Really," he said surprised. "That was quick. Do you have evidence on this guy for the Quantico poisoning as well?"
"We do."
Booth's shoulders relaxed a bit. And drooped. "It's really good to hear that."
"There was never enough information back then, you recall. But when Doctor Hodgkins..."
"Hodgins."
"...Doctor Hodgins confirmed the link, we were able to combine the evidence we had on both cases and," she gave him a conspiratorial smile, "we had him. I will send evidence over to the Jeffersonian to compare to what you have on your case."
"Some of the grime from his shoes," he pondered.
"Yes. Perhaps we have caught the one person responsible for both incidents. All three, rather."
"Thanks. Good work, Rossi."
"Ciao Bellissimo."
She disappeared from his doorway. The space was shortly filled by another agent.
"So Booth," he started hesitantly.
"Yeah, Charlie?"
"I, uh, heard a rumor that you knew Rossi back at the Academy."
The look Booth shot him could have turned lava instantly to igneous rock.
"You want some coffee?" Charlie asked quickly. At least the kid knew when to quit. "They just got some of those flavored syrups in the kitchen."
Booth breathed and willed the irritation to drain from his system. "You know how much I love syrup, but for heaven's sake, not in my coffee."
The younger agent ran off to fetch the caffeine.
Booth felt disquiet run through his veins. It was good news that she'd caught the bastard responsible for Art and the rat poison incident all those years ago. There would finally be answers for the families of his friends who hadn't made it. But part of him didn't like the fact that she'd beaten him to it. Especially if she'd just solved his case as well.
He sighed and settled into his papers.
Lunch with Angela turned out to be a very good idea. It had been a while since the two friends had gabbed so completely, and while the artist was a world-class talker, she was an even better listener.
Brennan finally unloaded all that had been building up over the last few weeks. Sleeping so restfully with someone else when she was so used to having her own space; the new feeling of trust that left parts of her so unnerved; frustration at Booth's insistence on being the alpha; her immeasurable subconscious libido; adoration of his cooking; anxiety over Rossi; irritation at her relentless injury; the details of Booth's incident in Quantico; her mental indulgence from the night before. And, above all, how she could possibly maintain what she was sure was the best partnership she would ever know.
Brennan was glad that her friend was calmly rational. And in the end, they had been in agreement.
The city was all abuzz around her as she walked back to the Jeffersonian by herself. Her mind was nearly as noisy. So noisy, in fact, that she almost missed Angela telling her that she had to run a few errands and would meet her back at work later. She spoke her see you soon with a smile.
Faces flashed before her face. Her family. Past lovers. Sully. Angela. Her squints. And interspaced between each face was an angular one with marked smile lines, frown lines, and those sepia eyes that spoke volumes. His tongue darted out to lick his lips. She twitched. Could she handle her decision?
Her feet stopped at the streetlight across from the medico-legal lab, and she slowly followed the crowd of people returning from their lunch breaks when the light changed. Cam had spoken to her once about letting things ruminate in her head, and for the first time in her life she was there. She let thoughts rise and fall like waves on the ocean. The rush of the water filled her ears. It occurred to her that Booth would laugh at her using such a metaphor. A swell rose to her left, to her right. The one on the right was becoming loud.
And then she was jarringly brought back to the present. The wave to her right had materialized. Her heart stopped. A dark car was heading right for her and accelerating. Her mind, still waking up, was frozen.
A flash of red from behind her and she found herself flung onto the sidewalk. The grinding engine zipped past and was gone.
Brennan's lungs refused to work as she lay on the concrete, palms down. Her heart, however, had resumed beating and was now throwing itself frantically against her ribcage as though trying to escape. Her blood surged through her veins as though on fire. Calm, she told herself. Relax and your breath will return. She was alive and functional, against the odds.
She could hear her rescuer breathing sharply to her left, then a low angry lilt spit from her mouth.
"Testa di cazzo!"
Rossi muttered a long, irritated string of what Brennan assumed were Italian expletives, rubbed her elbow over the ruby-colored shirt and then turned to her with her deep accent. "Doctor Brennan, you are alright?"
She finally caught the breath that had been scampering away from her, spent a few seconds relishing the return of oxygen and checked herself over. "It appears so, but the adrenaline will be blocking my pain receptors for a while."
"Yes," the agent gave her a look she couldn't decipher. "Adrenaline is very convenient in that way."
Brennan tested her lungs again, then said, "It has nothing to do with convenience, actually. That response has developed over millions of years as a method for organisms to cope with immediate danger."
Rossi looked at her for a moment in grim silence.
"Um, thank you. I guess I wasn't paying attention."
"We all have moments when we get lost in our thoughts, no?" The words sounded sympathetic, her voice did not.
"I guess so."
"Did you get a look at the driver?"
"No," Brennan said, embarrassed. She chastised herself. This is what you get when you take yourself out of the moment!
Rossi looked down at where her suit's skirt had torn along the seam. "Porca miseria!" she cursed as she looked at her newly exposed thigh. Her rather strong thigh, Brennan noted. "I must be going. I trust you are able to make it back to your lab safely?"
"Yes. Thank you again."
Rossi nodded and rose. Two agents who had been trailing Brennan, she noted now with only mild irritation, rushed up to where they'd fallen. Rossi spoke briefly with them and left. One rushed off. The other helped her up and escorted her the rest of the way back to her lab.
She was certain that her head hadn't hit the pavement, but it must not have gotten the memo. It was beginning to throb as though it had. She pressed forward on her John Doe, only letting Zack take over while she went to pop a few pills.
When she finally looked up from her bones, nearly all of Brennan's crack team had assembled. They stood in a haphazard circle, light streaming down from the skylight to illuminate the platform. Rossi stood near but a little back from Booth across the way from her, now clad in black slacks. The scene gave her the fleeting impression of an all-star lineup preparing for action.
And she couldn't put her finger on what it was, but Booth looked a little bit deflated.
Hodgins beeped his way up onto the platform.
Booth aimed at him, "So what's the good word?"
"We have a match," he said. "The mud from the bottom of Duncan's shoes has the same levels of silica, alumina, and sodium sulfate as the footprints from your kitchen floor."
"Are those really rare enough to be able to identify as being from the same shoes?" Brennan asked.
Hodgins stepped to a monitor and called up a chart. "The individual elements aren't all that rare, but in these compositions, and in addition to other trace evidence I found, aluminum and steel fragments, I'm confident in saying that Duncan's shoes had the right chemical makeup to have made the prints from Booth's kitchen."
"While it is compelling evidence, it's hardly a smoking gun," Brennan pointed out.
Rossi finally spoke, "Hopefully we should acquire more conclusive evidence when we search his house. I am just waiting to hear from the judge." Her phone chirped and she looked at the display, smirking. "Speaking of which..."
Rossi answered and moved away from the rest of them to answer her cell. The group split up into smaller pods, Booth came to stand near Brennan.
She smiled at him, "We may have gotten our man."
"Rossi may have gotten our man," Booth corrected.
"But it's good news to have the guy in custody, yeah?"
"Yeah," Booth's tone suggested he was either unconvinced or distracted.
Brennan spent a few moments pondering. "You don't want to be shown up by a woman," she groaned, disappointed.
"No," he spoke clearly, "I don't want to be shown up by her. I have no problem being shown up by you." He shot her a giant smile in spite of his mood.
"Don't charm smile me," she retorted in a mild snap. She immediately regretted answering so abruptly when she noticed that anything sudden seemed to rile the pain in her head. All the same, Booth's smile calmed her.
The sound of Rossi's cell phone snapping shut reverberated in Brennan's skull. Listening to at anything at all was becoming increasingly unpleasant.
"The judge just issued the warrant for Duncan's home."
Booth clapped his hands, sending echoes bouncing, "Ha! Alright!" He turned, walking backwards as he spoke. "You coming, Bones?"
She stood there quietly, feeling her head's pace increasing.
Booth returned to her side and placed his hand under her elbow. "Bones? You alright?"
"Yeah," her voice cracked. "My head's kinda hurting again."
Booth frowned. "We shouldn't have had so much to drink last night."
"No, it's not that. I mean, I felt fine this morning. I just," she paused, "I had a close call with a," she struggled with the words, "fast-moving car after lunch today. Rossi had to push me out of the way."
Booth looked up at Rossi, who had also returned from the top of the steps.
"We never got a look at the driver and there were no plates on the car. Blake lost it after a few blocks. Though I suspect it might have been nothing more than a lousy DC driver."
Booth looked back to Brennan again, brow furrowed, eyes laced with concern. "You hit your head again?" His hand drifted near her ear and he touched her hair softly.
"No, but it's been twingeing since I got back." Twingeing? You are the world's biggest liar, Brennan.
He exhaled. "Well, go lie down. I'm going to see what i can do to get out of here early today."
Brennan began to speak, "Booth, you don't have to..."
"Stop." He looked at her firmly. It seemed like dialog was running through his head but not making it to his mouth for a few seconds. "I'm taking you to the doctor tomorrow morning too."
She tried for one second to glare at him but it hurt and she winced. Her hand flew to cover her eyes.
"Come on," he said as he took her elbow again and led her off the platform and into her office, depositing her on the couch before instructing Angela to keep an eye on her once again. He left the lab with Rossi trailing, hips swaying dangerously.
"Seeley."
He'd been poking around the kitchen for twenty minutes before Rossi called to him from the bedroom. He was there in moments.
Rossi looked up at him when he entered and indicated an open drawer that sagged under it's own weight. Amongst the unfolded socks inside, her pen had uncovered a small, oddly-shaped glass vial of white powder.
"Cocaine?" he wondered aloud.
"I don't know about that. How often do you see drugs in this kind of container?"
Booth admitted that it wasn't one he'd ever seen. After searching a bit longer, he finally suggested that they get the vial to the lab for testing.
She called a technician over and began filling out a form to have it delivered to the FBI lab.
"Rossi. What do you say we send this to the Jeffersonian on the off chance it's something a bit more sinister than narcotics?"
"You think this may be your poison?"
"I wouldn't rule it out. And Hodgins would be the one to verify it."
Rossi agreed and filled out the form, sending it on it's way.
Two hours after he had left, Booth was walking back into the medico-legal lab. Hodgins was at his station with Zack. They both stared at a screen, pointing at it occasionally and making short comments that he couldn't hear. Angela was at the edge of the platform facing Brennan's office with a portable touchscreen notepad, stylus flying. Cam was nowhere to be seen.
"Hey Booth," Angela addressed him as he approached. "I've been keeping an eye on Brennan. She's resting now. Hasn't talked shop a jot since you left."
Something about that felt odd to Booth. A foul foreboding cloud had been looming over him since he'd left with Rossi, and now the fact that she was obeying orders made him uneasy.
"Give me a hand bringing her out to the car, will you?"
"Sure." Angela laid down her notepad and followed him through the glass doors.
"Alright, Bones. Time to go home," Booth clapped his hands together lightly. "How bout we pick up some Thai on the way?"
Brennan did not reply.
Booth approached quietly. "You asleep, Bones?" he asked softly. As he rounded to see her face, however, it was clear that her eyes were open and aimed in the direction of the table, unfocused. She was sitting upright, shoulders lightly slumped back against the couch.
Booth's stomach flip-flopped. He knelt in front of her. "Bones?"
She gazed unblinkingly at nothing.
"Bones. Temperance."
She remained absolutely still.
Booth didn't take his eyes off hers as his insides began to quiver. "Call an ambulance."
ohno!
now it's brennan hanging over the cliff, but for real this time. review please!
btw, "porca miseria" roughly translates to "pig of misery" and is one of my very favorite italian curses. :)