:) Sorry about the delay guys! Here you go... ;)


29. A Black Screen.


Brennan had been examining Phoebe's remains for over an hour when the next text message came.

EVEN THE MOST IMPERVIOUS AREN'T BULLETPROOF.

Though she knew it wasn't wise, and the text message itself made her skin crawl, Brennan typed back with trembling fingers:

STOP TEXTING THIS NUMBER. YOU WILL BE FOUND OUT.

Simple - but it sounded wimpy.

Aggravated by her unknown messenger, she replaced the message with:

TEXT ME BULLSHIT THAT ACTUALLY MAKES SENSE AND THEN I CAN TELL YOU YOU GET F'D WITH GOOD CAUSE.

Shoving the phone back into her pocket with a dismissive huff, she felt a crack in her defensive wall; though she feigned confidence and hard cover, she worried, and her profession was chipping away at her. Turning her attention back to Phoebe, her eyes locked with remains before her, and she once again slipped into a trance. Though her stomach gnawed hungrily for a little while, it was soon overridden by a sickening churning, so Brennan repelled against the idea of stopping and getting something to eat.

"What are you trying to tell me?" She whispered to the victim after another hour or so. "What is it, that I can't see?" She picked up the separate bone, and examined it carefully. In her left hand, she took up Phoebe's right tibia. Compared the two.

Squinted.

Why hadn't she seen it before?

Cam had tried to run a DNA sample, but there was almost no marrow left on the tibia with the gaping hole. Perhaps we don't need one, though, Brennan thought as she finally made a discovery: there were consistencies in the bones that corresponded to a form of disease - though she couldn't quite put a finger on what exactly it was.

Wendell Bray was excellent at identifying diseases.

Pulling out her phone - and shrugging off a strange mix of irritation and relief that there was no reply from 'anonymous' - she dialled her intern's number.

"Hello?"

"Mr Bray - it's Dr Brennan. I understand that it's your day off, but I need your help."

The door at the top of the staircase opened. Gazing up at it, she saw her intern staring right back down at her.

Still speaking into the phone, he said, "What is it that you need?"

Brennan wanted to smile, but she only felt her face tugging into a grimace.

.

-~B&B~-

.

"And you're sure?" Cam pressed, over half an hour after Wendell and Brennan had made their discovery.

Both nodded confidently.

Brennan passed her notes over to Cam. "You can read our diagnostics."

Their boss scanned the page thoughtfully. "Hypophosphatasia," she read aloud.

Again, the two anthropologists nodded.

"It's very rare," Brennan told her. "But it's consistent in both Phoebe's bones, and the Jane Doe tibia."

Cam eyed her colleague speculatively. "Genetic?"

Brennan looked at Wendell, and then back to her boss. "Yes."

"The two victims are related," Cam relayed.

"Yes. And, the disease is sometimes fatal," Wendell supplied, peering at their notes. "Genetic inheritance is autosomal recessive for the perinatal and infantile forms, but either autosomal recessive or autosomal dominant in milder forms."

"We believe that both victims were exposed to autosomal dominant, and that their cases were not severe," Brennan concluded.

Cam placed her hands on her hips. "Excellent. I mean, don't get me wrong - I'm glad you found something - but, why were you even working on Phoebe? She's supposed to be in storage."

"I won't just let it go, Cam."

Cam paused, and tried a different approach. "So what does this prove? That they're related, and share the same disease. Do we have cause of death?"

Brennan shook her head. "I can't find anything - and, although I could probably just say in my report that the disease killed her... it doesn't make sense; she was buried - no...disposed of. She was a jockey, a mother, and a hard worker; it's not consistent with someone who is chronically sick, and her grave isn't consistent with someone who just happened to 'die' either."

Cam sighed. "How can you be so sure? Did you know her?"

"No-"

"Look, Dr Brennan…I just really think you need to let this one go, because I need cause of death, and I need a murderer. I need leads; this case is drier than the Sahara, and it's for that very reason that the victim was moved down to Limbo."

"Then let me find out what happened to her. Doesn't she deserve that?...I'll find it," Brennan argued. "I will."

Cam sighed, and sat down. "This isn't going to be another Lauren Eames case; I won't watch you let it tear away at you again."

"That isn't up to you. And I won't let it get that far-"

"You already have," Cam cut in. Sighing, she continued more evenly with, "You're supposed to be working on our current case, anyway."

"Then I'll make time for both."

"No, you won't. Not on my clock; I really need you on the Crane case - it's our main priority."

"Fine."

Cam frowned hesitantly. "Fine, as in, you'll stop? Or-"

"Fine, meaning I'll do it in my own hours," Brennan answered tersely.

Wendell observed their argument quietly, but when the silence came, he had to break the ice. "I'll work extra; I don't mind. Put me on either case."

Submitting, but not taking her eyes off Brennan, Cam told Wendell, "Work on the Caullts case, because it'll be insulting Mr Nigel-Murray if we bring in another intern to help with his case."

Brennan folded her arms across her chest. "It shouldn't have anything to do with hurting anybody's feelings."

"You need the help," Cam answered shortly, patience tiring. "So this shouldn't have anything to do with your pride."

"Pride-?"

Wendell coughed. "And prejudice," he muttered, trying to add a touch of dry humour to the tense atmosphere.

Brennan's leg vibrated from an incoming message on her phone. She opened her inbox:

IMPERVIOUSNESS ISN'T STRENGTH.

Her expression gave her away.

Wendell put a hand on her shoulder. "Dr B?"

She shoved the phone deeply into her pocket. "My publisher," she lied. "I have to get back to the remains." She went to move towards the door.

"Whose?" Cam intercepted.

Brennan was already gone.

.

-~B&B~-

.

Minutes. Moments. Hours, had passed. And, all the while, Brennan had been doing what she did best; analysing. Being objective. Feuled by her argument with her boss, and driven by a personal attachment, she wasn't going to stop anytime soon. Until -

YOU THINK YOU HAVE IT UNDER CONTROL.

Fighting the urge to throw the phone as far as she could down the halls of bones storage, she deliberately placed it as far away on the corner of the gurney as she could. Like it made a difference.

She had been stalked before; crazy fans, creepy guys…and these messages could be from any combination thereof…but they were different. And this time, it felt as though the sender would jump out and present themselves...

"Dr Brennan," Cam called from the behind her.

Jumping out of her skin, Brennan turned to face her boss, and tried to catch her breath. "Dr Saroyan."

Cam looked sideways, and then back at her. "Expecting someone else?"

No reply.

"I think it's time to stop, Tempe," she told the anthropologist - all authority gone, and replaced with genuine concern. "It's getting late; you look exhausted."

Brennan glanced at her watch. "It's only quarter to seven…"

"And you have rings under your eyes bigger than Limbo itself," Cam replied shortly. "Come on." When it looked like Brennan was about to protest, she cut her off quickly with, "As your boss, I command you."

The side of Brennan's mouth lifted in a half-smile. "You command me?"

"Yes, I do."

Resolving with the decision to come back to Limbo after Cam had gone home, she followed her boss upstairs.

As soon as they had emerged from the deepest basement, Brennan was alarmed to see all of her interns present - and Booth.

"What's going on?" she mumbled warily.

Angela met her eyes with some sort of sympathetic sadness - though the stare that bore into her felt more like one of regret.

It wasn't in any way reassuring.

"What's going on?" Brennan repeated, more firmly.

"We're bringing in additional workers," Cam announced.

"What do you mean?" The anthropologist immediately questioned.

"We're bringing in the anthropologist and his team from Montreal."

"But I have more than enough capable, educated students to complete research t-"

"We're not just doubling up on an anthropologist. We're getting an entomologist, a pathologyist and a couple of others too-"

"Bu we don't need them."

"Yes, we do."

"We haven't ever needed to before-"

"But we haven't been in this situation before!" Cam fired back. She took a deep breath. "Dr Brennan. We're all exhausted. Angela is pregnant. You're barely standing on your own two feet. We just need a bit of extra assistance to cover the other work that we can't manage at the moment."

"Cam-"

"Bones." Booth was the one to interrupt her this time, and he stepped forward when he did so. "It's for the best."

Brennan's eyes shifted from and irritated glare to a blaze of anger. "…For the best? You're siding with her?"

"This isn't about sides," Booth answered calmly. "It's about being smart; making the most logical decision."

Brennan stared at the small circle for a moment, meeting each of their eyes with same hurt, confusion - and then turned and stormed towards her office.

Cam moved to follow her, but Booth restricted her with an arm. "Let me go ," he counselled.

His old friend nodded once in understanding.

Booth took off.

"Bones," he breathed lowly as he entered her office. She stood in the centre of the room, facing away from him, hands on her hips. "Bones."

"What is it with you just standing by these days?" Her response was coated with bitter razors. She turned. "Do you doubt that I can do it too?"

He shook his head. "I never said that I doubted you. I'm taking care of you."

"Yeah, well I don't need you to. I can take care of yourself."

"And you have, for a long time now - but now you have me by your side, and I care about you - I love you." He stood in front of her, and bowed his head towards hers. "I care about where you are. What you're doing. When you're putting yourself in danger - sometimes of yourself. I care about you all the time."

"We both know that that hasn't always been the case," Brennan muttered in reply, remembering Hannah.

Booth straightened, face pinched. "I'm not going to pretend you didn't just say that, but, hell, Bones - it's irrelevant, and it isn't the truth. I've always looked out for you. I love you. I've always loved you - despite of what might have come between us in the past." He positioned his face closely to hers again. "Anthropologically, you would say that the male will always, instinctively protect their mate, right? Well that's what I'm doing."

Intoxicated by his proximity to her, she wavered towards him on unbalanced feet.

"So come home," he coaxed in his low, husky voice, as he took her left hand between both of his.

She leant her forehead against his exhaustedly, and sighed.

Accepting her unspoken answer, Booth moved to pack up her things.

.

- ~ B&B ~ -

.

"I can cook dinner," Brennan offered as she walked through the door to her partner's apartment over twenty minutes later.

"I'll just call for takeaway," Booth substituted.

She dropped her belongings on the couch. "Am I to be rendered useless?" She collapsed down next to her things.

"Never." He leant over and kissed her head. "But tonight, we're gonna put our feet up, eat takeaway and watch crappy television shows. We're going to be normal."

Brennan smiled. "Is that even possible?" She reached for her laptop.

"What are you doing?" Her partner mused.

"Checking my emails," she replied coyly. "If you must know."

"What - you'll have a full mailbox since you left work half an hour ago?"

"I just might," she replied lightly, tugging on his tie with the hand that didn't hold the computer in place. "I mean, I do get a lot of fan mail…"

Booth laughed. "Sure."

He made for the bedroom, and when Brennan could hear him rustling about in the bathroom, she opened up an internet page.

Typing into the local phone number and address website, she brought up her mobile phone, and entered the corresponding number from her mystery messenger. Wrapping her fingers against the metal of her macintosh notebook while she waited, an uneasiness stirred in her stomach. It was a stupid decision to be doing this while Booth was within a close proximity - and an even stupider decision, because she knew that she should have just told him when she received the first message.

The page loaded, and her heart fell dismally when it only read:

No results found. Number unlisted.

Exiting the page, and deleting her history, she was just in time to turn towards the sound of Booth's feet.

"What were you looking up on Pages?" he asked curiously, plonking down beside her on the couch.

"The phone number for Wong Fu's," she replied quickly.

"But you know it off by heart," he said.

"I couldn't remember whether there was a five, or three on the end. But never mind. I've done it now."

Booth cocked his head to the side.

Brennan rolled her eyes. "You and I haven't had Chinese since before you went to Afghanistan. Is it so crazy that my memory would be a bit dodge?" She set down the laptop on his coffee table.

"For you?" He pulled her towards him, and kissed her. "Totally insane."

.

- ~ B&B ~ -

.

"Previously on The Vampire Diaries…."

"No. Change it," Booth ordered immediately.

Brennan looked up at her boyfriend indignantly. "Stop back-seat channel surfing!"

"Oh please - The Vampire Diaries? What are you - sixteen?"

"Coming from the man who just sounded like a sixteen-year-old!" She scoffed. Shrugging, she added, "I don't even know what it is - and you'd just prefer it if I switched to CSI or something, wouldn't you?"

Booth shook his head. "No way."

"Why not?"

"Because all I'd hear from you the whole time is how they're messing up the procedures, and how they're not factually correct."

"Because they're not," she argued lightly. "You're a better cop than them anyway - if that's any consolation."

He smiled. "Of course it is."

Brennan snuggled into his shoulder. "And you're better looking than any of them, too-"

"Apart from him?" Booth cut in, pointing to a fine specimen on the television screen.

Brennan watched the young, shirtless man for a moment. "No," she answered after a moment of observation. "He doesn't appeal to me. Boy-toy isn't my type." Her index finger played with the edge of his shirt.

"Really?" Booth seized the remote, and flicked onto a channel where middle-aged men were fishing on a pricey boat. He nodded his chin towards a topless man with a hairy beer-gut. "Me versus him," he challenged.

Brennan gagged.

Booth laughed. "Nice act."

Except his partner's expression didn't alter.

He straightened, and supported her up against him. "You okay?"

She tore herself from his arms and made a bee-line for the bathroom.

"Bones?" He shot from his seat and followed her.

She crouched beside the toilet, her hand sliding against the toilet's flush lever.

He knelt beside her, and combed the hair from her face. "Baby - you okay?"

"I think it's food poisoning," she coughed. "...I thought my noodles tasted off."

He reached up for the hand towel by the sink, and wet it under the tap. Dabbing it to her clamming forehead, he then helped her stand when she was ready.

"I think I'll just…" she began slowly, looking about her surroundings.

Booth stepped back. "Shower?"

She nodded. "Do you…mind?"

Though he couldn't really understand - given that they showered together almost all the time - he gave her the space she needed.

Brennan stripped down the clothes that now felt like a suffocating corset, and as she piled her bundle garments on top of Booth's cane washing basket, her phone sounded. Sticking her hand into the layers of material in search of her jean pocket, she was finally able to retrieve what she sought.

She wasn't even surprised; she'd been expecting it.

HOW WAS YOUR DINNER?

She swallowed hard.

'You poisoned me?' She typed back in reply.

And she immediately received one:

NO.

Confused by the response, she wrote one last message.

'Back off.'

She held down button to shut the power off a little more forcefully than necessary.

The screen lit up.

NO.

Throwing her phone into the basket, she stumbled backwards, and utensils clattered.

"Bones?" Came Booth's concerned voice from the next room.

"I'm fine!" She called back to him, switching on the water for a bath. "I just tripped."

Daringly, she pulled her mobile from the sea of clothes.

The screen was black.

The power was off.

She stared up at the basin mirror and met her own eyes.

They starde back at her with reserved terror.


It gets scarrier.

You know where the button is - don't make me beg ;)