Author's Note: First, the lyrics below belong to Social Distortion, from the song Booth was playing in his bathroom: Bad, Bad Luck. Kudos to the Bones Music Editor for choosing that song because it really resonates with what Brennan is going through in this episode.
Second, thank you to everyone who is reading this story and for sharing your thoughts with me when you feel moved to. To show my appreciation, one thing I try to do for you all is to present you with something unique. Something a bit unexpected, to make reading this story worth your while.
~Q~
~The Viper in Their Midst~
~Q~
"...Whatever cunning fiend it was
That wrought upon thee so preposterously
Hath got the voice in hell for excellence:
All other devils that suggest by treasons
Do botch and bungle up damnation
With patches, colours and with forms
Being fetch'd from glistering semblances of piety:
But he that temper'd thee bade thee stand up,
Gave thee no instance why thou should'st do treason,
Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor..."
Henry V, Act II, Scene 2
~Q~
"Sweetie," Angela began as soon as she caught up to Brennan, which wasn't as easy as it sounded even though Angela usually could match Brennan's long stride. "Brennan, will you slow down?"
"No." The abrupt refusal sailed back and Brennan sallied forth at an even faster clip. "I'm not staying here."
The car's scorching interior engulfed her, and Angela followed her in before Brennan could shut her out. "Where are you going, then?"
"Back to work. I never should have left."
"Yes, you should have," Angela corrected gently. "If it was real..."
"It wasn't real," she snarled. Brennan blinked back tears, bit her lip fiercely, struggled for composure. "I don't want to talk right now, Angela."
"I know. But you're going to have to face him."
"Why wasn't his family there," she demanded instead. "They knew. He told them but not me."
Angela knew she was somewhere very far away from being a genius, but for once her own thoughts might be clearer than her friend's were. Drawing Brennan's resisting body into a comforting embrace (that lasted only until she spoke), Angela tried to inject some logic into the conversation. "Booth would never hurt you on purpose. There must be a reasonable explanation."
That's what made her pull away. "I never want to see him again."
Sighing, Angela reminded her of opportunities lost and found. "Ten minutes ago you would have given anything to see him again..." Brennan's eyes glowed at her (or was it glowering? sometimes even Angela wasn't sure) so she pushed ahead. "You've got him back, Bren. Let him explain."
~Q~
As Cam dragged Booth away and a distant door slamming heralded Dr. Brennan and Angela's departure, Zack turned to see several FBI agents swarming the man Booth had tackled and Dr. Brennan had felled with a manikin arm. Then he experienced a tug on his own arm as Hodgins briskly pulled him towards the last Town Car. "Come on, Zack."
"Where are we going?"
"We've gotta save Booth from Doctor B." He noted that his friend had curled one side of his upper lip into a strange little smile, almost like inappropriate happiness trying to sneak out unnoticed. Even Zack knew one did not smile at funerals, but this series of developments had certainly exceeded the limits of a conventional funeral.
Puzzled, aware that Dr. Sweets was scrambling up the small incline beside them, Zack was fairly certain Hodgins had exaggerated the risk his mentor posed to the large and robust FBI agent she worked with. "Doctor Brennan would not commit a crime of violence against Agent Booth." Especially not now, Zack reasoned, when she'd been so shattered by his (apparently feigned) death.
At the door, Hodgins turned to crow, "Are you kidding me? What do you call what just happened? You saw her take him down! Get those two alone together and who knows what she'll do next? We've gotta give him a fighting chance, not that he particularly deserves one."
Sweets actually looked a bit pale at this declaration. "You don't seriously think..."
Diving into the car, Hodgins tossed back, "Unless he has like, the best explanation ever, she's not going to forgive him. I love Doctor B, but dude ... once you get her temper boiling that woman can hold a grudge. You remember, Zack? The last time he pissed her off so bad she hit Booth?"
"Oh..." Zack deliberately increased the speed at which he entered the car. One might describe it as nearly frantic scrambling as the thought of repeating history took hold. He was pretty certain Agent Booth still had not truly forgiven him for the two hundred twelve different times he'd had to take a message during that year when Dr. Brennan refused to speak to him.
"What? She's hit Booth before?" Sweets took in this news with keen interest as he piled in as well and the driver asked for a destination.
"A long time ago," Hodgins dismissed. "Their first case. I don't know what went down but she hit him and refused to speak to him for a year. The point is, unless we get her side-tracked enough to let her cool down, he's going to say the wrong thing and this time she may never speak to him again."
Agreeing with Hodgins' urgency, Zack quickly supplied the Jeffersonian's address and urged the driver to expedite their journey.
"What?"
"He means hurry the hell up," Sweets snapped, suddenly gripped by fear of what might explode between his patients if they didn't get there in time.
Settling back into his seat, Zack ran his agenda against this new development. It had been abandoned during the last two weeks already, the plan entirely scrapped after that night at the Checkerbox. Watching over Dr Brennan had taken first priority, and it still did because she was very important.
Zack calculated that Dr Brennan was important because she was a Master too, his first Master whom he had gratefully served. She'd taught him how to read the bones that so interested the man who had offered to become his new Master. She'd taught him the importance of justice and seeking the truth.
Zack had known he could not serve two masters, had known he would have to sever one of the apprenticeships at some point. Even though it pained him to do it, he had prepared the plan that would take him out of her service and two weeks ago he was poised to put it into action, but had stalled at the last moment. He'd stalled because he knew it would hurt her and he cared enough to hesitate even though that meant he was placing one woman above the multitudes.
Then Agent Booth was shot and they were told he'd died. Dr Brennan collapsed in upon herself, and he could not leave her in such a vulnerable state because ultimately she was more than simply his master. She didn't just teach him; he knew she'd come to love him, had given him a home in her lab and a place in her world, a metaphorical family that understood him better than even his own biological relatives did. The people surrounding her were all like a family and Zack understood how important family was.
They arrived at the Jeffersonian and tumbled out of the car only a few moments behind the others. Booth had caught up to Brennan and was hurriedly explaining something about a terrorist and national security, pursuing her all the way into the lab while she walked exceedingly fast and snapped out her lack of interest several times. Zack slipped away from the group and paused at the door to his work area, briefly torn by doubts.
It was only a question of timing. It had always been a question of timing, right from the moment of conception. He had carefully calculated the impact it would have, and fully comprehended the irrevocable nature of the plan. Once started, it could not be stopped. Zack was ever mindful of the greatest happiness, the least harm, the unstoppable progression once he started. He'd hesitated and stalled out of concern for the impact upon himself and the people he'd come to love as family.
Then Booth had died and the plan was abandoned.
But now...
Now Booth was back and they were falling apart. Zack reached for the box, carefully addressed to her in block printing. Slipped it into his palm and turned to rejoin the others. Returned to watch what unfolded and let events beyond his ken decide his fate. If it was necessary, if it would help, he would do it. He swallowed uncomfortably as Booth's passionate pleas increased in volume and Brennan's passion scaled back into glacial coldness.
"After I got shot, the Bureau faked my death so I could finally get that guy."
"I don't care," Brennan declared with breathless indifference.
Perhaps Hodgins was correct. She was too angry with Booth to forgive him even though Zack thought Agent Booth's decision had been completely valid and rational under the circumstances he'd described. If given enough time, Dr. Brennan's rational mind would undoubtedly agree that Booth had taken the wisest, most reasonable approach. Removing a dangerous terrorist who posed a threat to national security and dozens (perhaps hundreds) of lives certainly must take precedence over the temporary discomfort of a few employees at the Jeffersonian. Booth had made a logical decision: to maximize happiness and reduce suffering, one must act in terms of what will bring the greatest good for the greatest number. It was strict Utilitarianism though he guessed Booth probably was not aware of what it was called.
Agent Booth tried again. "Look, I drove him underground. He said the only way we'd ever see him again is at my funeral, so—"
And Dr. Brennan cut him off sharply, her voice chipping like ice. "I don't care." She kept walking, leaving him to slip and fall on the trail of ice in her wake. History did repeat itself. "Tell him I'll speak to him when hell freezes over." She was shutting him out, just like she did so long ago.
And they were all loyal to Brennan, all turning against Agent Booth, and if Hodgins was right it would reinforce Dr. Brennan's anger towards her partner. It would make her even more reluctant to forgive him, which meant they would not work together any longer. In turn, murderous criminals would escape, bringing greater risk and unhappiness to the public. Zack fingered the box tucked against his leg, still indecisive even as more of his friends were pulled into the fray. They were all coming unraveled.
Hodgins asked a question and Booth snapped at him. "What part of 'national security' don't you understand, Hodgins?"
"National security," Hodgins sneered. "Catch-all phrase for 'we can do anything we want.'"
Dr. Brennan lashed out at Booth again, verbally this time. "I knew I shouldn't have gone to that funeral. It was a complete waste of time, just like I said."
The arguing continued as Zack trailed behind, growing more worried and ever more torn by the price of acting on his principles. If he himself would be guided by strict Utilitarianism, then he must proceed with the plan now. Now, when it would do the greatest possible good. He drew a sharp breath in preparation.
Disgusted, Angela growled, "You guys are pathetic."
"Just know that I won't be attending your next funeral," Dr. Brennan declared.
And Zack winced as the barbs flew among them all. Everyone was fracturing, falling apart. His hand clenched the box tighter, until its hard, sharp corner dug into his increasingly moist palm. They were so busy fighting that none of them saw Zack slide the box onto a table in the corner, or turn and rub his hand uneasily against his thigh.
"Bones, I'm telling you: you were supposed to know that I wasn't really dead. I swear! That's why I thought you weren't crying."
And now Dr. Saroyan had entered the battle, siding with Dr. Brennan against her old friend. "Informed by who, exactly?"
"I gave a list of people to the Bureau to inform that I was not really dead. If they didn't tell you, it's not my fault."
Dr. Brennan flashed Agent Booth a glare that clearly pinned all the blame on him. Hodgins was right, they needed to save Agent Booth's partnership with Dr. Brennan for the sake of public safety.
When Dr. Sweets interjected his own observation, he merely introduced another source of agitation that further risked splitting them apart. "Dr. Brennan is actually upset because she had to face strong emotions that she'd rather deny." He turned to Brennan. "Striking Agent Booth indicated the depth of your feelings for him. It was a very passionate act."
"Thank you," Agent Booth snapped before turning back to his estranged partner, provoking her. "Did you hear that? Passion."
And when what Agent Booth said only served to reactivate Dr. Brennan's fury, Zack knew it was for the good of all of them. He had to do it. Zack returned to the box on the table a few feet away, paused to watch her with a sense of strengthening resolution. This was for their greater good.
"Yes! Passion! Because anger is a passion. Anger at being manipulated!" She stepped into his space, hissing like a tigress and primed to slam another fist into his face. "Pretending to be dead—"
Agent Booth was giving up, turning away from her. "Aw, forget it. I'm not—"
Swallowing a last gulp of irrational fear, Zack set the plan in motion. "Doctor Brennan, someone left a package for you..."
~Q~
In the Bone Room, Zack watched Dr. Brennan turn the mandible very carefully. Her eyes were always so sharp, like a finely honed steel blade that took in every possible detail and sheered away anything that was not important. She would find it; that was why he knew there could only be one outcome now. Though she'd finally rested somewhat since the previous day, Zack noted Brennan's still pale skin and slightly hollow cheeks. The stress was taking its toll on her, and he knew it was only going to get worse now that the plan had been initiated.
"Doctor Brennan," he interrupted her softly. When she glanced up, Zack offered his opinion. "Agent Booth made an illogical decision."
Without a sound she returned to her examination but he knew she would listen if he continued speaking. "There are greater considerations than just one individual person. The opportunity to flush out a dangerous criminal could not be passed up or risked for the happiness of one person and yet, he left instructions with the FBI for someone to tell his family and you when he could not do so himself."
He watched Dr. Brennan pull in a sharp breath, her cheeks flushing, and he sensed that she was still angry. It would benefit her to redirect that anger. "The person entrusted with that message was the person who betrayed you both."
"It's not that simple, Zack." She put down the mandible, her fingers tracing over the gouges Zack had said were made by prosthetic teeth with waning interest. The bone lied under her fingers, whispering false promises just like its owner had and she couldn't muster empathy for the liar he'd been in life. False things like hasty promises and delayed funerals should not invoke strong feelings but she couldn't help feeling deceived.
"Yes it is," Zack persisted. "You should find out who that person is."
Brennan halted and stilled, lifting her gaze at last to find him waiting for her acknowledgment of the sensibility of his suggestion. Someone had betrayed Booth, someone he'd trusted to tell her. This wasn't a personal betrayal so much as a game of chess and she was just a piece to be moved and manipulated. Even the Queen is merely a piece in the larger game.
~Q~
So she went immediately. Since beginning to investigate the circumstances surrounding Zack's discovery of Gorgomon's mandible on the forensics platform, Brennan had not seen Booth. He'd spent the day away from her, maybe visiting Parker or resting after that morning's exertions, and she tried not to read anything into his intentional absence.
What Angela and Zack had each said ran through her mind on a repeating loop as she drove to Booth's apartment. She would have done anything to get him back, and he was back without her having to do anything but find a way to understand and forgive. Setting the events into context, she acknowledged that Booth had trusted someone to tell her and she could accept the possibility that it wasn't entirely his fault that person had failed him.
Zack was right: it really might be that simple.
When she got to the apartment door and knocked (it was almost ten that night) she heard music coming from the depths of the walls but no sounds of movement inside. Why didn't he answer? Conditioned over the last two weeks to now expect the worst where Booth was concerned, she was helpless against irrational worries that spilled into her mind and magnified minor risks into epic disasters. What if he'd re-injured himself? What if he was unconscious? What if she lost him again?
"Booth!"
Brennan knocked twice more, growing more anxious at the lack of response and her answering sense of panic. What if...?
Turning to go back outside, Brennan's bowed head allowed her eyes to see a brown lump tucked up against the door. It was supposed to look like sandstone, which is not indigenous to the Chesapeake region. She bent and touched another plastic object forging itself as authentic. A fake, plastic rock. (A plastic manikin in the coffin, Booth's fake funeral, but she wouldn't allow her brain to skip forward to fake anything else. Wait for evidence, wait for proof...) She lifted it and saw the hidden chamber, saw a key inside that matched the grooves on Booth's key that she'd watched him use on the front door so many times in the few weeks they'd begun having coffee together outside of work.
The key slid easily into the lock, turned the knob, opened the door. The music got louder, distorted. A singer complained very loudly from a back room.
Some people like to gamble,
But you, you always lose.
"Booth?"
The lyrics followed her through the short hallway, into the small living room, around the dinette and into the kitchen.
You gotta nasty disposition,
No one really knows the reason why,
You gotta bad, bad reputation,
Gonna hang your head down and cry...
He wasn't in the living areas. She halted at the hallway, biting her lip, realizing she couldn't relax until she saw him but in order to do that she must go where she'd not yet been allowed. He'd always stopped at the third base. Brennan pushed aside any fear of offense and charged back to his bedroom, finally seeing it with a shimmer of sadness—because she was afraid he was hurt, that's why she was going in where he didn't allow her—and he wasn't there.
You got bad, bad luck
Bad, bad luck
The music was coming from his bathroom.
She hesitated at the door, but then pulled the pocket door just slightly, just enough to see.
You're looking through a cracked mirror,
No one really knows the reason why.
As her eyes saw, as her mind processed, a blizzard of emotion scoured her skin and blinded her eyes, just like gritty, blinding snow. He was doing it again. She was worried, filled with pain and once again he was just fine. Booth sat taking a bath, relaxed with some magazine, while she drowned in insecurity and fear outside. Brennan turned away from the door, struggling to put a rational spin on the hurt.
He didn't know she was worried, right? He didn't know what she didn't know. But he also didn't care.
Blinking back further tears, she sat down on the edge of his bed and accepted the truth. Booth had been angry at the lab and had spent the rest of the day away from her. Now he was taking a bath like she didn't matter, making no effort to explain, showing no concern for what she'd been through.
Because he didn't care.
Your enemies are gettin' nearer,
Gonna hang down your head and cry...
You got bad, bad luck
Under the hurt an ember of anger sparked back to life because he was always leaving her in the dark. Like the time he'd kissed her and hired her back the next day without telling her why any of it happened. Like the time he kissed her and she later learned he was having sex with Cam. Like now, when he kissed her and promised they'd always be coffee, but he didn't care that she'd spent two weeks in hell over his fake death.
Fake rock.
Fake body.
Fake death.
Fake funeral.
Fake love.
Authentic emotional impulse.
The door slammed to the side at the sweep of her hand and the words hurled out, startling him thoroughly. "I need to talk to you!"
To say he was shocked might be an understatement. "What the hell, Bones! I'm in my house, in my bathroom, in my bathtub!"
Bad, bad luck, the singer taunted. Wanting his full attention, she wrenched the needle off the record, probably scratching the vinyl and maybe that was his bad luck.
Booth sputtered, "How the hell did you get in here, anyway?"
He was alive.
Her eyes hung on the small square bandage covering the entrance wound. "Well that fake rock by your front door wouldn't fool anybody." She forced her glance away, answering his question and trying to comprehend what motive had him in this damn bath acting like nothing was wrong. "Why are you wearing a hat that dispenses beer?"
"Hot tub plus cold beer equals warm beer. Hat, equals solution." It was his house and his bath and he was annoyed to find out that her catching him using the contraption could make him feel a little embarrassed. Impatiently he deflected, "Why are you—?"
"And that cigar?" Did he have a death wish? Didn't he know that consuming alcohol in a heated environment accelerated the body's metabolism of alcohol, rapidly increasing the rate and intensity of intoxication and putting him at risk of falling in the slippery bath, or falling asleep, either of which could result in drowning? Didn't he know that smoking leads to lung cancer? Didn't he see that holding a cigar that close to a paper magazine risked fire? Didn't he know she cared about him? "Very unhealthy."
But all she'd succeeded in doing was annoy him. "Okay, what the hell do you want now, Bones? 'Cause I'm not really feeling too relaxed."
He wasn't feeling relaxed? How relaxed did he think she'd been during the previous fourteen days of hell? She just wanted him to acknowledge her suffering and he was here indulging himself in a bathtub. "You should have told me that you weren't dead."
Booth glared at her. "I already explained this to you. The Bureau has to vet everyone when there is a security issue. I was just following protocol."
"Protocol!?"
"Yes!"
Oh, she saw how it went with him. Protocol was the convenient excuse he used to get what he wanted and to avoid what he didn't want to deal with. Like the time he broke protocol to date Cam and Brennan was kidnapped by the Gravedigger. That very night Brennan had let him off that hook as soon as he'd blamed himself, but now she pulled it out and threw it at him, the reminder of how protocol was not something he always followed with such devotion.
"We've been partners for three years! You've broken protocol before, sometimes putting my life in danger. Which makes sense because you clearly don't have any real concern for me!" This last came tumbling out in an emphatic rush because he was taking a damn bath! With beer and cigars and there was the proof that he didn't care.
All the subtext of that single sentence slammed into him, activating guilt. The lapse of broken protocol from a year ago, the lie of omission that she'd caught him concealing. Now furious himself at the implied accusation, he leaped up fast. He'd forgotten for the moment that he was naked. "I took a bullet for you!"
"Once! That only goes so far." Water sluiced off him in sparkling drops, catching her eye and she halted, drawing in a startled breath. He seemed to recognize his nudity at the same moment, freezing as he waited for her to give in to temptation. All those times he'd stopped her, stopped them, claiming it was better to wait, to anticipate, and she'd been so frustrated with his puritanical morality. There he stood, exposing his 'home base' and Brennan felt a smirk slide across her lips.
With consummate self-control, she held her eyes steady on his face but long overdue satisfaction twirled a victory dance around her question. "Would you like a towel?"
The balance shifted and corrected itself somewhat with his exposure. Slowly, he sank back into the water, feeling his ears smolder and his cheeks sizzle even though she had respected him enough not to look. "Fine." As if that one small word could restore his dignity and her trust. Brennan had relaxed a little because of his unscheduled peep show, but clearly she wasn't going anywhere until she was fully satisfied.
And so he sighed and then surrendered. "What is it that I should have done, Bones? What did you want me to do?"
It should go without saying by this time but she said it yet again. "Well you could have called me."
His eyes hardened, his arguments against breaking protocol gearing up for a repeat performance that she quickly cancelled with the question that might have mattered most. "Did you really think I needed to be vetted by your boss? Don't you trust me?"
"Of course I do!"
"Then why wasn't I told?" Didn't he wonder? Why didn't he understand how important this was? Why didn't he care? "It must have been something you said."
"No, I don't know why you weren't told!" Why was she harping on this? It was the FBI, a tentacle of the Federal Government, a freaking bureaucracy. What the hell did she expect? The Army had coined terms to describe this very phenomena when dealing with the Federal government: SNAFU. Situation Normal, All F-d Up. This was the same organization that had fired her and hired her back in a 24 hour span. This was the organization that had suspended him for shooting a mechanical clown on an ice cream truck, but not for dropping a man off his partner's balcony one week previously. While he dearly loved his job and the Bureau, it was no secret that local cops preferred to think the FBI stood for 'Fumble, Bumble & Incompetent.'
Really, did she honestly expect the FBI not to screw it up...?
Brennan was nothing if not persistent. "But you said that I should be. I mean, aren't you curious why I wasn't?"
Finally, he heard it: You'd better be curious. You'd better pay attention to the question. You'd better find the answer. So, he finally got curious. "Yes. Do you want me to find out why you weren't told?"
Very calmly and almost nonchalant, she warned him. "If it's important to you."
It had better be important.
"Fine. I will." She relaxed at last, tension draining out of her body and he griped, "Next time I die, I promise I will tell you."
It was ridiculous, he realized, what he'd just promised. But she agreed to his offer as casually as if they've just agreed to lunch next week. "I'll look forward to that."
Acutely uncomfortable now at the thought of truly dying and thus not being able to tell her anything, he muttered, "Me, too." Pointedly he snapped the booklet in his hands back open and attempted to lose himself in the pages of a vintage Green Lantern. Now if only she would take the hint and let him finish his bath privately, as God intended.
"What are you reading?" she inquired conversationally.
What the hell? He flushed. "A novel." Off her silent contradiction (Brennan no doubt expected novels to be 500 pages without illustrations), he amended, "It's a graphic novel."
Her appreciative gaze slid unapologetically over his naked skin and her parting shot reminded him of the stakes. What had developed between them, what he'd denied her, what this confrontation had exposed. "Just so you know, I find your lack of Puritan modesty very refreshing."
She left just as quickly as she'd entered, dropping the needle back onto the record after the second chorus and sliding a barrier in between them once more.
Some people go to church on Sundays,
others they pray at home.
You tell them that there ain't no God,
that they're better off standin' alone.
He tried to settle back into the water, tried once again to forget how screwed up everything had become but Social Distortion knew the score and sang her out of his apartment.
No one really knows the reason why.
You get to the top and then you fall,
Gonna hang down your head and cry.
~Q~
Sweets was there when the explosion happened, destroying Zack's hands and flooding Brennan with more terror, more grief, more pain than she could tolerate. It was all so loud in her head that even the bones had to scream to get her attention. She was deaf from overstimulation. But Sweets kept picking at her.
He followed them to the Diner, after making a jibe about Booth seducing her with pie. After Booth had dragged Sweets into her office and revealed Sweets's 'professional' decision not to tell her the message Booth had asked the Bureau to send. Sweets was the one who decided not to tell her Booth was alive.
Even here in a public restaurant Sweets pursued her. He sat down next to Booth with a stack of personnel files on her friends: Angela, Hodgins, Zack, even Cam. She grabbed the top one, outraged. "Whoa! You've been spying on us? More experiments?"
"What experiments?" Booth caught it, glancing back and forth and she knew he would pick up subtext.
But Sweets was brilliant at deflection. He pushed Hodgins's file towards her and began pointing fingers. All circumstantial evidence pointed towards an inside job and Hodgins had access. He was paranoid. He was suspicious. He worked with Zack.
And she refused to believe it. "It's all supposition, there's no concrete evidence."
She still couldn't read people very well, no matter how hard she tried. But it could not be Hodgins, her heart insisted and her mouth begged Booth to stop Sweets, to shut the psychologist up. Her head heard Booth urge Sweets to continue, knew Booth was correct to be objective and consider the evidence Sweets had.
But all he had was suspicion and circumstance. And what she knew was that Zack couldn't work anymore and Sweets had deliberately broken her trust with Booth, and he had files on her friends and now another friend was in his sightlines. He was isolating her, she felt it. His eyes swarmed over her, watching and again she saw the little gleam of anticipation.
So she called him out, tried to get to the root of what he wanted with her. "I also had access to the chemical Zack made, why am I not a suspect?"
"You have a reverence for life that belies the cold calculations of a killer," he stated.
But that wasn't what he'd said about her on the witness stand during her father's trial. Then, Sweets had argued that she was more than capable of rationalizing murder. Brennan dropped her gaze, feeling acutely observed and uncomfortable as the contradiction disoriented her, and then she felt him probing her again. "And the emotional connection you share with Agent Booth is—"
"No, I— I don't have time for this," she stammered. "No!" God damn it! Damn him. What game was he playing? She bolted from the table, still heartsick over Zack's injury, still struggling to understand why Booth didn't understand her and now Sweets was accusing Hodgins and digging into her again.
Why?
Brennan slammed outside and nearly barreled into the street without even noticing the car bearing down on her, felt her arm caught and herself pulled back so fast she stumbled backwards against the curb and nearly fell. But he had her, Booth had her and caught her and she trembled with the strain.
"What's the matter, Bones?"
"I don't trust him," she snarled.
He glanced backwards and tugged her to the corner in time to make the crossing with the light. "Why not?"
She didn't know, didn't know how to read anyone. Didn't know how to trust anyone but Zack, Angela and Hodgins. Lachrymal fluid seeped over the edges, spilled before she could blink it away and Booth saw it. Sweets took Booth away from her, made it hard for her to trust. Now he was trying to take Hodgins.
Which meant she didn't have anyone but herself to trust. Drawing herself into a tight bundle, Brennan pulled away from her partner and left him trailing behind. The bones were calling, bones that never lied. She would find the truth on her own.
~Q~
Author's Note: Two questions prompted this interpretation. 1) Why did Zack wait until that particular moment (when Booth was back from the dead and everyone was arguing) to give Brennan the mandible...? And 2) you will find out in the next chapter. (That's just Evil of me, I know) Meanwhile, carefully consider the Shakespeare quote from the beginning of this chapter, as it gives clues. Some people turn traitor for noble reasons, others just for personal gain.
