What He Offered

Chapter 29: Contrition

Bones had a decision to make: in fifteen minutes or so, the Zoo Brigade would be coming through the front door, and she would have to abandon her reading for who knew how long. She had the urge to phone Marianne, and ask for a return favor: would she take on the evening rituals of bathing and story time so Bones could escape to her office to finish up an important document? The temptation was strong, but she thought of Christine, who would be bursting with impressions and incidents to share with her, and little Hank, who would, doubtless, be seriously overtired by now and want the familiar comfort only his mother could provide. The story, or her children? Put in those terms, there was really no contest. She had missed her darlings, she was anxious to see them, she would be happy to hug their little bodies to her and smell the outdoors on their skin.

She would read as much as possible in the next quarter hour, and then, as the tale often counseled, she would possess her soul in patience until the next opportunity.

A Tale of Twin Booths, cont'd

In those initial moments of his reunion with Tim, Vic felt nothing but joy in his brother's company, and gratitude for his support, both physical and moral. Tim was wise enough, however, not to expect this unconditional embrace of his prodigal self to persist past the return of sobriety and the onset of a massive hangover, and his expectations were not disappointed. If Vic was sore at the women in his life, when he woke the next morning, he was doubly so with his twin. There followed a period of sulks, recriminations, snide remarks and dark looks, but Tim weathered the storm with the stoicism gained from long experience with Vic's volatile temper, and humbly, in the recognition that Vic was not entirely unjustified in his feelings of having been betrayed and abandoned. Gradually, Vic's animus spent itself, and, with Tim's reinstatement at the FBI, the brothers' relationship reverted to the easy fellowship and trust of their pre-estrangement days.

With the departure of… the foreign correspondent, it was as if, yet again, Fate had pushed the reset button. The Booths and Brennan, with more and more frequently the participation of Jay Keenan, worked their cases in professional harmony while experiencing a certain uneasiness in their personal relations. There was, nonetheless, this one notable difference from previous resets: if put on the spot, each of the four principles would admit to a cautious optimism. They all felt, if only obscurely, that this time around, the rosy future which psychic Avalon Harmonia had once foretold — "this all works out eventually" — might actually come to pass.

This optimism likely arose from the fact that, for the first time in their long association, neither Vic nor Tim, Brennan nor Jay worked under a fundamental misapprehension. The latest of these — that Tim and Brennan were romantically involved — had been thoroughly dispelled; once Jay had recovered from her temporary insanity, Brennan had taken her sister aside and explained both how Jay's insecurities had led her to misread Tim's behavior, and why (to her mind, at least) Tim had lied to her on that crazy night. Once that issue had been resolved, it was clear to all concerned where matters stood.

Hair freshly trimmed, and disguises packed away in favor of his old stand-by conservative suits, white shirts and occasional colorful tie, Tim took up his work as profiler and company shrink with the new energy and dedication born of a long and rejuvenating sabbatical. In his professional capacity, he often crossed paths with Jay, and, in spite of a lingering wariness, kept his interpersonal antennae tuned for any "dim and staticky" signals regarding her which the universe might deem fit to broadcast his way. He received an entire series of such signals (or, the same signal often repeated) on Valentine's Day (no less), when Jay fielded invitation after invitation, only to refuse each out of hand. "Dates on Valentine's Day," she explained, "come with an expectation of affection and sex," neither of which she had the least inclination of supplying.

Tim was further encouraged by an exchange he and Jay had one evening as they sat over drinks at the Founding Fathers discussing the polygamous marriage that had featured prominently in a recent case. The investigation had revealed the curious fact that, while the husband dutifully devoted two nights a week to each of his three "wives," he had chosen to spend his "free night" with his legal spouse. "You can love a lot of people in this world," Tim had told Jay, "but there's only one you love the most."

Jay had looked at him with a combination of earnestness and anxiety. "What if you let that person get away?"

He had answered straight from the heart, without second-guessing himself, "That person's not going anywhere."

With the advent of March, Tim began, if not precisely to court Jay, at least to seek her out socially. He would "coincidentally" be out jogging at the same time and place as Jay, and take advantage of this "accident" to buy her coffee. If she mentioned in passing a lecture she was planning to attend, he would feign interest in the topic and invite himself along. One evening at the Royal Diner when she idly wished her dance moves were not limited to swaying more or less in time to the music, he offered to teach her one or two standard dances — without charge.

Another time, when they were out running together in the park, Tim challenged Jay to a footrace. She agreed but only on the condition that the winner be allowed to set the forfeit of his or her choice. "If I beat you," she said, "you have to sing karaoke for me — in public — one night next week."

"And, if I win, you have to go bowling with me, same time frame."

With his gambling history, he ought to have known better that to make that wager. To Jay's vast amusement, he wound up torturing the audience at the karaoke bar with his stumbling, off-key version of "Mandy," the girl who came and who gave without taking. If there had been rotten fruit immediately to hand, he would have been pelted to within an inch of his life.

As for his brother, for all he was still peeved at Brennan for colluding with Tim against him, Vic was also on the qui vive for encouraging clues and signals coming from that direction. The first positive sign occurred at the end of a long Valentine's Day he'd been obliged to spend dealing with unsolicited sympathy and downright nosiness. While discussing with Brennan their mutual lack of plans, he'd let drop that he'd likely repair to the firing range for the evening, hoping she would take the hint and join him, but Brennan, that glorious girl, went him one better: she showed up with vintage tommy guns so they could commemorate together, not the lovers' holiday, but the Valentine's Day Massacre. As thoughtful gifts went, hers to him was unparalleled.

Other heartening indicators followed; he especially cherished the evening when, in responding to his concern that she considered him no better than the rogue sniper Brodsky, she stated unequivocally, "I'm standing right beside you. Like always. Like I always will."

Vic believed her… and he didn't. His insecurities as far as women were concerned ran too deep; he'd been hurt too often and too recently to trust again with ease. Unsure in himself, he was not above putting Brennan's loyalty to the test, and behaved particularly badly when Walter Sherman, whose finding powers they had flown to Florida expressly to enlist, asked Brennan, point blank, if she'd sleep with him. "You know," he jumped in, not giving his partner the chance to answer for herself. "You find the map, maybe you get a shot." He was fortunate Brennan only smacked him in the arm. He deserved much worse.

Midway through March, on a Wednesday, Tim came home with a smudge of ashes on his brow, and discovered that Vic had added to their living room furniture. "Stadium seats? From the Vet?" he asked, in astonishment. "Where did those babies come from?"

Vic ran a loving hand over a royal blue plastic seat back. "I spotted them curbside, left out for trash collection. Brennan and Sweets helped me get 'em up here."

Tim whistled his admiration. "Couldn't've been easy."

"Yeah, tell me about it!" Vic gestured to the mark on his twin's forehead. "You made it to church in spite of the blizzard raging out there?"

"What can I say? Once an altar boy, always an altar boy." Tim settled in one of the seats, and gauged it for comfort. Catching the lingering trace of smoke in the air, he wrinkled his nose. "Smells to me like you tried to make your own ashes in here. What'd you burn?"

"Scraps of paper with dates on 'em." Noting Tim's frown, he continued, "You remember, when we were kids? We'd write down a date when we hoped something we wanted would happen, and then set it on fire to make it come true? Brennan and I did that, this afternoon."

"Brennan?" Tim had to laugh; it sounded so unlike her. "So, what future event were you hoping to predict with those paper sacrifices of yours?"

"Us… ah… getting together. As a… y'know… couple."

Tim could scarcely believe his ears. "Seriously? No fooling?"

"Swear on a stack of bibles," Vic said, raising his hand as if to take an oath.

"Man, oh, man!" Tim was so excited, he couldn't stay seated. He jumped up and began pacing up and down the room. "What date did she write? No, don't deny you snuck a peek! I know you."

"Couldn't make it out," Vic admitted. "She was too quick for me."

"All right, how about you? What date did you write?"

Vic reared back, offended. "If I tell you, it won't come true. Those're the rules."

"How about I guess, and you tell me right or wrong? That work?"

"I don't see why not… Okay, shoot."

"If it was me, I would have chosen… our birthday! That'd make one sweet present."

"Sooner."

"Feeling your oats, eh? All right… How about the Fourth of July? Talk about fireworks!"

Vic made rolling motions with his hand.

"Whoa, son, those're some serious stones. Not Memorial Day… Mother's Day, no, too ookey…"

"Think 'catholic,' altar boy," Vic hinted.

Tim studied his twin carefully, and then, his jaw went slack. "Easter, Vic? Really? But, that's only forty days away!"

Vic shrugged. "It just seems right, you know, symbolic: death to an old, out-dated pattern, and rebirth into a new and better one. The promise of Spring after a long, hard Winter. A very, very long Winter," he added, under his breath.

"Wow! No offense, Vic, but that's unusually thoughtful for you."

"Yeah? Well, I was an altar boy, too, remember, and better at it than you. Father Donovan always asked for me first."

"We'll agree to disagree on that one. So…" Tim dropped onto the edge of the recliner, and looked Vic square in the eye. "Does this mean you're done being angry? You forgive Brennan all her real and imagined transgressions against you?"

Vic nodded. "As I hope to be forgiven in turn. I'm done fighting it,Tim. I've known from the start: she's the one. I thought I could settle for second best, but I was only kidding myself. You were right, and since it's officially Lent now, I guess, in the spirit of the season, I'll ask you to forgive me for not listening to your sound advice. I've learned my lesson the hard way, and it's this: it's Brennan for me, or no one. I'd rather never be with a woman again, than be with someone else."

"Whoa! That's…" Tim was at a loss for words. "That's… the longest speech I've ever heard you make."

"Yeah, well, when it comes to feelings, I'm not so good with words, but the long and the short of it is: I love her. She has the truest, most steadfast heart in the world, and if she'll have me, I'll be the luckiest man that ever lived."

"You'll get no argument for me, Vic. Since we're admitting fault, I acknowledge I didn't get her at first, not like you did. You were right all along. She can be a royal pain in the hindquarters, and she's led you a merry chase, but she's worth all of that, and more."

Vic's eyes glinted with good-natured mockery. "So, you're not going to try to talk me out of it?"

"Would it do any good?"

"Not a bit." Vic grinned, and Tim answered in kind. Their gazes met and held, and in that long moment, they shared an openness and an amity they had not known in over thirty years. Vic was the first to look away. "I've got one more act of contrition to make. About Jay. I thought she was a silly, self-absorbed little miss who treated you badly and didn't value you as she should. I know it's not my place to say, but I've come to believe she really does care about you."

Tim drew in a calming breath, let it out. "I'm beginning to think she might, at that. The last few weeks have given me new hope. She's a lot stronger than she used to be."

"Do you still love her?"

"Oh, as to that, I've been resigned to the fact she's my one and only for an eon now. So, you see, Vic, I know just what you're talking about."

"So, what're you going to do about it?"

"Do?" Tim bowed his head, and considered the question, but what was there to think about, after all? "I guess I'm going to follow your lead, Vic. Forty more days. A time for prayer, penance, and atonement, and then, with any luck, redemption and rebirth." He held his hand out to his brother, who took it in his firm grip.

They were agreed. "Forty more days."