A/N: Dear readers, I give you … Week 3!
Hard to believe it took 34 chapters to get here, but that's just how the story unfolded. Thanks to Eternal Destiny 304 for the beta, Skole for assistance with descriptions, and PosterQue for the second song suggestion.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o
TUESDAY
Booth dropped by the lab unannounced on Tuesday, hoping to drag Brennan out for a quick bite to eat. When his partner was nowhere to be found, he went looking for Hodgins.
"She's at lunch with Angela," the scientist informed him coldly, barely glancing up at him from the computer screen where he was analyzing something or other.
Wonderful, Booth groaned internally. If Brennan had stepped out in the middle of the day with her best friend, that meant definite girl-talk was being exchanged. And there wasn't much question about what—or, more specifically, who—their main topic of conversation would be.
"What's with you?" he asked curiously, as Hodgins shoved away from his desk and began storming around the room yanking open drawers and slamming them shut again. The usually congenial bug guy was being decidedly unfriendly.
Hodgins rounded on him, pinning Booth with a blue gaze so sharp it mimicked the feeling a butterfly must get while on display.
"Angela wants me to go skydiving with her. At night. Any clue where that gem of an idea came from, Agent Romantic?"
"Whoa." Booth held up his hands. "I can't help it if they're trading ideas for dates. What's so bad about skydiving anyway? I thought you were all hardcore, Hodgins."
"Oh, I'm hardcore. I am absolutely as hard core as I am malignant," he snapped. "On land. Underground. At sea! Anywhere there's a layer of sand or silt or hummus or clay or even peat that I can dig my toes into. Up there—" he pointed to the sky, "There ain't nothin' but nothin'. Dude." He shuddered. "You might as well put a psychrophile in the Sahara Desert. And next week I get to jump out of a perfectly good plane. Thanks a lot, man." The entomologist stalked away, muttering under his breath about conspiracies.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Booth spotted them as soon as he walked into the diner. Brennan and Angela, he'd been expecting to see. Cam, not so much. Since when did she take lunch breaks with her employees? But there they were, the Jeffersonian female three, whispering, giggling and sipping something that looked suspiciously alcoholic. Before noon.
If he'd been able to, Booth would've turned around and left before being spotted. Unfortunately, he had a mission specific to Week 3 that needed to be accomplished. He was steeling himself for the onslaught of squeals from Angela when Brennan caught sight of him.
Her face broke into a suspiciously huge smile. "Hi, baby!" she called loudly.
The diner staff knew Booth well and several waiters pivoted towards him, eyebrows raised. This was a development to entertain them on an otherwise routine day.
He swallowed a curse and made his way toward the back. For once, the famous gut had failed him. When she'd promised to prove how irritating the endearment could be, he hadn't seen her exacting revenge quite this way.
"Hiya, Agent Studly," Angela greeted him with a saucy grin.
Cam regarded him with an amused look and said nothing.
"How's your day going, baby?" Brennan grinned evilly, her voice carefully calibrated to carry through the whole place.
He ignored her question, extracted an envelope from his pocket and slid it across the table to her. "I've got to go out of town again, to finish that training the poison ivy interrupted."
"What about Week 3?" Her smile vanished.
Booth indicated the envelope. "Everything you need is in there."
He nodded at the ladies and turned to leave as Brennan ripped open the packet.
"Wait, Booth!" Brennan stared at the contents of the envelope. "I don't know what this means!"
"You'll figure it out, baby," he said sarcastically, heading toward the exit.
That was a mistake. As he passed the kitchen, her voice floated back to him victoriously.
"BYE, BABY!"
o-o-o-o-o-o
"Dirt?" Brennan held up the Ziploc bag in bewilderment. It appeared to be solidly packed with rich, loamy earth.
Angela reached over and snagged it curiously. She unzipped it and sifted the contents. "There's something else in here," she said, tilting the bag toward Cam for confirmation.
Cam levered a spoon into the soft soil and dug out a small piece of paper. She extracted it, shook the remaining particles off and passed it over to Brennan.
"Interesting way to package a love note," she commented. "Leave it to Seeley. I was under the impression that they usually came with hearts and roses, but it's been a while."
Brennan unfolded the square of what turned out to be parchment paper.
"BENCH," she read aloud.
"That's all it says?" Angela grabbed the paper and read it herself. "What …?" she passed the note to Cam.
Their boss contemplated the writing silently for a moment. "I think you might want to ask Hodgins about this," she finally suggested. "It's just a hunch, but I think I might know where Seeley is going with this."
o-o-o-o-o-o
Hodgins peered into his microscope while the three women hovered behind him impatiently. Finally, he raised his head.
"What you've got here is a mixture of cork bark and standard-issue hummus, peat and other decaying organic matter such as leaves. Nothing unusual. It's pretty much your average clump of mulch."
"Why would Booth give me common garden soil?"
"Because," Hodgins said with a grin, suddenly finding himself forgiving Booth, "The soil isn't what's interesting. This bag of dirt contains tetrasigma spores, from the grape family, Vitaceae."
For once, Brennan was at a loss. "And that is significant because …"
"They're vines commonly found in subtropical regions of Asia and Australia, in undisturbed rainforests."
Angela gave her husband a warning look, indicating she knew he was deliberately stringing them along.
He sighed and turned to his computer, typing quickly. "Species of this genus are known for being the sole hosts of parasitic plants in the Rafflesiaceae family, one of which, Rafflesia arnoldii, has no roots, stems or leaves, but produces the largest flower in the world, weighing in at up to 24 pounds." He pointed at the enormous, rust-colored bloom with 5 leathery petals that he'd Googled. "The petals can be as large as 39 inches in diameter."
"It's not very pretty," Angela observed in dismay. "Kind of looks like the back end of an octopus, but with a hippo's skin. I would have expected something more … delicate."
Hodgins grinned. "Not at all. It's also notorious for being one of the worst smelling flowers in the world. People say it's comparable to rotting flesh."
"Why would Booth give Brennan a clue to a flower that smells like a body decaying?" Cam asked.
"'Cause its colloquial name is Corpse Flower, baby." He rubbed his hands in glee.
Angela and Cam stared at him in horror. Brennan laughed, feeling a distinctly unscientific warm glow spread through the pit of her stomach. Squeamish as he was, Booth had found a way to joke with her about the frequently unsavory aspects of her work.
"Where can I find this flower, Hodgins?"
"The plant is extremely rare and only blooms every 9 months, if that. But …" he turned back to his computer and Googled away, "Booth did his homework. It just so happens that the DC Botanical Gardens have one such specimen blooming right now. You better hurry, though. The bloom only lasts 3 days to a week, and this one's been blooming for 4 already. Good luck getting in to see it. Every amateur botanist in DC will be vying for a ticket."
"My publisher's husband works at the Gardens. He'll be able to get me in after hours," Brennan said. "Perhaps Booth knew that as well."
"He probably did," Angela acknowledged, still obviously miffed at what she saw as a lack of romance in the offering. "How else would he get the dirt from something that's probably so well-guarded?"
"Dr. B, you so have to let me come with you to see it," Hodgins said eagerly. "It can take upwards of 15 years to produce a bloom when grown somewhere other than its sub-tropical environs! This could be the only chance I get to see one."
Brennan nodded. "I'll go make the phone call."
"We're coming too," Angela called, darting a glance at Cam, who nodded.
"I'm not missing this," the forensic pathologist added for good measure. She dropped her voice so only Angela heard. "All I ever got from him were roses!"
o-o-o-o-o-o-o
"Oh, God." Angela gagged, covering her nose with both hands as the stench of Rafflesia arnoldii hit her full in the face.
The huge plant was several yards away in a glass-enclosed terrarium carefully temperature-controlled for maximum humidity, but the smell was anything but contained by the enclosure.
Hodgins, on the other hand, looked positively giddy. "It evolved its horrendous odor to attract carrion beetles and flesh flies, which normally feed on rotting flesh." He pressed his face to the glass in ecstasy. "Look at the size of it!"
"Flowers attract bees without the added bonus of smelling like septic tanks," Cam said tartly, holding her own nose. "Dr. Brennan, have you figured out why we're here yet? I'm starting to get dizzy."
Brennan scrutinized a wooden bench nearby, apparently undisturbed by the overpowering odor. She crouched and began a careful examination of the slats, running her fingers over them. Not locating anything, she peered underneath. "Here it is!"
"Here what is?" Angela moaned. "It damn well better be a ring …" She staggered toward the exit with Cam following close behind. "I'm not waiting to find out, Bren. You coming?"
Hodgins remained behind, ensconced in the malodorous wonder of the rare botanical specimen, while the three women exited the building. Once they were far enough away from the smell that their eyes stopped watering, Brennan ripped open the second envelope and pulled out a sky-blue piece of paper. She read the note aloud:
Bones,
I'm out of town for 3 days. Consider this our 7th date. If you find the last clue before I get back, it'll tell you where and when to meet me on Friday. If not, we'll have to postpone the kiss another week …
~Booth
Approx. 5'3
Maybe 40 yrs old, female
About 150 lbs
Blonde hair
Blue contacts
Very round eyes, close-set
Thin lips
Round cheeks
Flat nose with a bump, looks like it might have been broken at some point
Bad acne, freckles, scar on pointy chin
Small head
Long black fingernails, way too much makeup
Surly looking, walks kind of hunched over, looks like she might eat little kids
Spock lives!
Angela took the paper from Brennan. "The last clue may have been for Hodgins, sweetie, but this one is definitely intended for me. I'm supposed to sketch this oh-so-pleasant person so you can somehow track her down."
"He's sending you on a treasure hunt, Dr. Brennan," Cam explained, in case the occasionally clueless scientist wasn't getting it. "You know, one clue leads to the next which leads to the next, culminating in some kind of prize at the end?"
"It's a metaphor for your partnership," Angela added sagely. "I'll have the drawing for you by morning."
"By noon should be sufficient," Brennan replied. "I'll use my lunch break to search."
"No way," Angela said firmly. "I get that your work comes first, Bren, but I am so not letting you risk that kiss. Six years is long enough, sweetie. You've only got 3 days, and who knows how many clues he's hidden? I'll be at your place at 6:00 am. We'll track this woman down, get the next hint, and maybe find a clue or three before it's time for work."
o-o-o-o-o-o-o
WEDNESDAY
True to her word, Angela knocked on Brennan's door promptly at 6:00, bearing coffee and a sketch of a distinctly unfriendly looking woman.
"I've never seen this person before," Brennan said as she climbed into Angela's car. "Did you run her image through the database?"
"I doubt Booth would have sent you treasure hunting in the direction a criminal, sweetie," Angela said patiently, pulling out of the parking lot. "The note says Spock lives. Jack thinks it's a reference to the Washington Science Fiction Association."
"I'm unfamiliar with the organization."
Angela rolled her eyes. "Believe me, Bren, so am I. My husband, on the other hand, is your type A geek, albeit with an unusually hot body. He says it's the oldest science fiction club in the area and that the members meet the first and third Friday of each month to discuss all things alien-related and then some."
"It's Tuesday," Brennan pointed out unnecessarily.
"Like Jack said, sweetie, Booth did his homework." Angela merged onto the freeway. "Believe it or not, this is National Science Fiction Month and the WSA has events going on all day, every day, for the next couple weeks …"
Traffic was surprisingly light for the time of day and the two women soon found themselves parking beside an innocuous looking two-story with a small sign in the window reading WSA. Even if the sign hadn't been in place, the proliferation of strangely costumed individuals drifting in and out of the building should have been indication enough that aliens had landed on DC.
Angela and Brennan squeezed past a large, hairy Chewbacca and apologized hastily after bumping into an imposingly obese creature clad in white which Angela explained was supposed to be "The Blob." They edged past Klingons, ETs and various other interstellar critters on their way to the entrance. A sullen Vulcan nodded curtly to them as they passed each other.
"Live long and prosper," Brennan called after him politely.
"Sweetie!" Angela grabbed her arm. "I know Booth started you on this whole Spock infatuation, but you need to keep it in check when you're around me. It's just creepy to see my best friend getting all hot and bothered about a green-skinned guy."
"Angela, these people are members of a subculture that has become almost mainstream due to the impact of mass media. They have developed their own language, their own customs and rituals. Their own community. Though the larger society they exist in ridicules them, they are in essence no different from religious groups or motorcycle gangs. In fact, they are perhaps more stable, given that oftentimes entire multi-generational families become entrenched in the science fiction culture."
"Sure, sweetie," Angela sighed. "Let's just focus, okay?"
The building was surprisingly large on the inside, overflowing with sci fi memorabilia from the last 100 years. An odd looking, stringy-haired entity on all fours and sporting a vicious pair of fangs sidled up to them.
"They looks losssst," it hissed in a helium-accented voice. "But we can helps them. Yes, we can, Precioussss. Ticketssss. We sells ticketssss that way." It pointed a stubby finger in the direction of a long line.
"Do you know where we can find this woman?" Brennan asked, handing the creature Angela's sketch.
It perused the drawing, pausing to scratch its leathery head. "Jesssssica," it lisped. "We thinksss thissss isssss Jesssssica. We don't sssseees her out of cossstume very often, do we, Precioussss. She worksss upstairsss."
It loped away, hissing at other equally odd passersby.
"Angela," Brennan whispered excitedly, pointing at a couple in the back of the store. "I believe those two individuals are Agents Mulder and Scully. Booth explained the parallels between our respective partnerships."
Angela covered her eyes in horror. "Remind me to kill Booth next time I see him," she muttered, holding onto Brennan's elbow tightly. "Come on, Bren. The sooner we find this person, the sooner we can leave Krypton and its inhabitants to their wayward ways."
The artist dragged her best friend through the crowds, shooting down an inquisitive Marvin the Martian with a Montenegro death glare. They made their way up the rickety stairs, squeezing through a small entrance into yet another museum full of intergalactic trinkets.
"Do you know this person?" Angela shoved her sketch in a nearby Ewok's face.
"Goopa, luu luufi," it squeaked. "Meechoo nuv chyasee!"
She crouched in front of the endearingly furry little creature. "If you even think of answering again in a language other than English, I'll feed you to Jabba the Hut," she warned.
"Behind the counter." The Ewok pointed and scurried away.
Angela straightened and eyed the woman standing behind the counter, sorting through a stack of plastic-wrapped comics. "That's our girl, all right."
Booth's description matched the woman to a T, minus the lip ring and neck tattoo.
"What circles was Booth running in when she met this chick?" Angela whispered. "She looks like Cruella DeVil crossed with Baba Yaga and the Wicked Witch of the West. Go talk to her, Bren."
"What do I say?"
"Ask her if Booth dropped off a package." Angela gave her a firm shove. "Hurry up. My hair is starting to frizz from all the geek vibes floating around this place."
Brennan approached the woman. "Excuse me?"
Cruella glanced up and glared at her silently, her powdered white skin glowing eerily in the room's dim light.
"I'm Dr. Temperance Brennan. My partner, Agent Seeley Booth may have left something with you for safekeeping."
Still scowling, the woman reached behind her and extracted an envelope from the dark recesses of an overflowing shelf. She tossed it across the counter to Brennan without further acknowledgment and went back to her task.
o-o-o-o-o
It proved surprisingly difficult for Brennan to compartmentalize her curiosity about the treasure hunt. As she worked on identifying the remains of a late 17th century unknown who had been unearthed at a location that dated back to the Bohemian Phase of the Thirty Years War, her mind occasionally drifted to the third clue.
Angela, Hodgins and Cam had been unable to help her with this particular hint, so she was left to her own devices. Before beginning work that morning, she'd Googled various numerical combinations, with no luck. Perhaps the numbers were a code. Or an algorithm, although that was unlikely, given Booth's dislike of the sciences.
"Lunchtime, Bren!" Angela breezed into the bone room. "Step away from the dead guy and start thinking about the big, strong, live FBI Agent who wants to jump your bones the minute you finish this treasure hunt. Any luck solving the latest puzzle? I know you've been thinking about it," her friend teased.
Brennan discarded her latex gloves, removed the note from her lab coat pocket and considered the numbers again.
1615919151492225
Angela grabbed Brennan's shoulder and steered her in the direction of her office. "My guess is you'll need a pad and paper to work this out, sweetie. Here you go. And I'll let you know when it's time to get back to work, so don't worry about keeping track of minutes and seconds."
Brennan settled down on her couch with the sandwich Angela had provided, paper, pen and the clue.
"Don't over think things," the artist called as she departed. "Booth is brainy, but not in a squint kind of way. Oh, and I already checked—there are no working phone numbers or zip codes lurking in the mix."
16-15-9-19-15-14-9-22-25
Thoughtfully, she began by dividing the numbers up into threes.
161-591-915-149-222-5
.
None of the numbers meant anything to her, and she suspected that the 5 shouldn't be on its own. There was some kind of a pattern here. She tried again, switching to pairs.
16-15-91-91-51-49-22-25
Several minutes of arbitrary Googling yielded nothing. She continued methodically trying out various sequences, based on logical groupings of the numbers, but continued to come up blank. Time slipped away from her and Angela was suddenly back in her office.
"Anything?" she asked hopefully.
"No," Brennan mused. "However, I know someone who has more time than I do and is even more mathematically adept."
She was certain that the answer was staring her in the face, and would have ordinarily enjoyed solving the puzzle on her own, but Angela was right. Time was limited. She reached for the phone and left a voicemail before heading back out to the lab.
o-o-o-o-o
Her cellphone rang just as she was wrapping up for the day. A quick glance at caller ID made her smile.
"Dr. Brennan, I've solved your mystery, but the answer means nothing to me." Zack Addy's voice filtered through the receiver.
Her former intern was finally being allowed phone privileges again after his latest escapade to the Jeffersonian, where he had, yet again, helped the team solve a baffling mystery before being summarily escorted back to the loony bin by an irate Sweets.
"What's the solution, Zack?"
"It was absurdly straightforward, actually. I must admit, in spite of your advice to keep it simple, that I wasted a great deal of time on mathematical constructs that Agent Booth has, in all likelihood, never even heard of. The code is childishly uncomplicated, so much so that I suspect his son may have helped him design it. When paired correctly, the numbers correspond to the letters of the alphabet. They spell the words poison ivy. You mentioned in your latest letter that you and Booth suffered from a case of contact dermatitis several weeks ago, so I presume this is his way of being amusing. Is that information at all helpful, Dr. Brennan?"
"Yes, Zack, it is," Brennan assured him. "I'm still not entirely certain how poison ivy is intended to lead me to the next clue, but it's a step in the right direction."
She hung up after chatting briefly with him, promising to keep him updated as to how the treasure hunt was coming.
o-o-o-o-o
"The answer is poison ivy," Brennan announced, interrupting Hodgins and Angela mid-kiss in the entomologist's office. "Do either of you know what it means?"
"My specialty is plants," Hodgins shrugged, unembarrassed at being caught getting handsy, "But somehow I don't think that's the direction Booth is headed."
Angela grimaced. "Corpses and poison ivy. You and Booth are so meant for each other, sweetie."
"Poison Ivy is a comic book character. Does that help any?"
All three turned toward the door in surprise as Lance Sweets stuck his head into the office.
"Sorry to eavesdrop," the lanky psychologist smiled, "I thought I'd stop in and find out where you and Agent Booth have been hiding, Dr. Brennan. You've missed our last three sessions."
Brennan had no intention of sharing the new developments in her relationship with Booth until they had had a chance to discuss things privately.
"Booth is out of town for a training until Thursday. We should be able to make next week's session."
Sweets grimaced. "I've heard that before. So, what's with the poison ivy bit?"
Brennan shot Angela a warning look.
"Parker's birthday is coming up and Booth has him running around on a treasure hunt. We're trying to help him figure out what the clue poison ivy means," the artist adlibbed swiftly.
"Poison Ivy is one of Batman's enemies," he explained, eager to help. "Her most recent appearance was in—"
"Batman and Robin," Hodgins filled in, slapping his forehead. "Of course! How could I forget?"
"Uma Thurman," the men chorused together, all but drooling.
The women looked at each other in amused derision.
"I'm thinking video store," Angela suggested. "Maybe there's something hidden in the DVD case."
"There are dozens of such stores in the city," Brennan objected. "How will we narrow the search sufficiently?"
"Go with the one Booth frequents," Sweets advised. "One near his apartment, maybe?"
Brennan departed, leaving Sweets to trade looks with Angela and Hodgins.
"They must really think I'm totally brain dead," the psychologist said dryly. "Or deaf. Like I haven't heard the rumors about them dating?"
o-o-o-o-o-o
Brennan speed-dialed Angela from the video store 45 minutes later. It had taken her two tries to find the correct location.
"Sweets was right. The clue was in the DVD case, which Booth had a friend hold behind the counter for me."
"What's it say?" the artist asked anxiously. "You're running out of time, Bren. Tomorrow's the last day."
Brennan glanced at the index card she was holding.
Ingredients
4 pounds Granny Smith apples, peeled, quartered, and cored
1 lemon, zested
1 orange, zested
2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice
1 tablespoon freshly squeezed orange juice
1/2 cup sugar, plus 1 teaspoon to sprinkle on top
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon salt
3/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/8 teaspoon ground allspice
Pie dough (fresh is best, frozen works too)
Directions
Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F.
Cut each apple quarter in thirds crosswise and combine in a bowl with the zests, juices, 1/2 cup sugar, flour, salt, cinnamon, nutmeg, and allspice.
Roll out half the pie dough and drape it over a 9- or 10-inch pie pan to extend about 1/2-inch over the rim. Don't stretch the dough; if it's too small, just put it back on the board and re-roll it.
Fill the pie with the apple mixture. Brush the edge of the bottom pie crust with the egg wash so the top crust will adhere. Top with the second crust and trim the edges to about 1-inch over the rim. Tuck the edge of the top crust under the edge of the bottom crust and crimp the 2 together with your fingers or a fork. Brush the entire top crust with the egg wash, sprinkle with 1 teaspoon sugar, and cut 4 or 5 slits.
Place the pie on a sheet pan and bake for 1 to 1 1/4 hours, or until the crust is browned and the juices begin to bubble out. Serve warm.
"It's a recipe for apple pie."
"The diner!" Angela cried immediately.
"The same thought had occurred to me," said Brennan, getting into her car. "I'm on my way."
"I'll meet you there, Brennan. This is getting interesting."
o-o-o-o-o-o
"It's a piece of pie," Angela said lamely, staring at the cinnamon-dusted dish in front of them.
"Booth said to keep it in the fridge and give it to the hot scientist lady," the waiter retorted defensively. "I can't help it if it's not what you're looking for. If you'll excuse me, I've got customers waiting."
They sat down at an unoccupied table and contemplated the dessert before them. It looked like your average piece of overly-sweet diner pie, minus ice cream, plated on a white dish.
"Maybe the clue is inside?" Brennan suggested, picking up a fork and beginning to dissect the flaky pastry.
"He had the chef bake a clue into the pie? I don't think so." Angela reached out and stopped the surgical operation in progress. "Even Booth doesn't have that much pull, Bren. Let's think about this."
"Perhaps it's not the dessert that's the clue," Brennan said slowly. "He's always asking me to try a piece of pie. It could be a joke."
"You mean kind of like a red herring?" Angela frowned.
"I don't know what that means." Brennan looked around the diner. "But I believe I know where the next clue is hidden."
She stood up and made her way over to the table she usually occupied with Booth. An elderly couple smiled up at her.
"Would you mind if I looked under the table?" Brennan asked. "The man that I am currently in the process of beginning a culturally ritualized romantic relationship with has created an exercise designed to lead me to his location tomorrow night. I believe my next clue is somewhere in the vicinity of your table."
"Please, go right ahead." The old woman gestured amiably and turned to her husband, not fooled in the slightest by Brennan's posturing. "Randolph was pretty romantic in his day, weren't you, darling? You remember when …"
Brennan tuned out their reminiscing and explored the underside of the table. Finding nothing, she stood and began to methodically examine the condiments, the vase of fake flowers, the mini-menu of desserts.
"When I was dating Becky, I would have hidden it inside here," Randolph commented, pushing his bottle glasses higher onto his nose and lifting the napkin holder. He carefully pried the back open and held it up for her inspection. "Right there."
She removed the slightly smashed object with care.
"What is it, dear?" Becky inquired.
Brennan stared at the carefully folded napkin-origami construction. "A dolphin."
o-o-o-o-o-o
THURSDAY
She loved her work, but the day at the lab had never crawled by more slowly for Temperance Brennan. When noon finally arrived, she dropped everything and made a beeline for the parking lot, where Angela was already waiting impatiently.
"I'll drive," Angela announced. "You think about where in the aquarium the clue might be hidden."
"There are no dolphin exhibits. The gift shop?" Brennan wondered aloud as they headed towards Constitution Avenue.
"Could be." Angela glanced in her rearview mirror, assured herself that there were no cops around, and accelerated through a red light. "He wouldn't have left it with that marine biologist, would he?"
"That is unlikely," Brennan answered coldly.
Angela looked over and spotted the cloud that had descended on her best friend's face. Oops. Guess that means the Florida Everglades Exhibit just got eliminated. She doesn't want him thinking of Catherine. He won't want her thinking of Sully.
"Sorry. I didn't mean—Booth would never—he loves you, Bren. Catherine was never even in the game."
"It's not in the aquarium," Brennan said suddenly, leaning forward.
"What?" Angela asked in surprise, glancing at the clock. 20 minutes gone already. "Where am I headed then?"
"Pull over," Brennan ordered, grabbing her cellphone. She speed-dialed a number as Angela pulled into the parking lot of a grocery store.
"Hodgins, I'm sorry to be interrupting your lunch. Can you Google any mentions of St. Magnus of Avignon in DC? Are there any churches by that name?"
"St. Magnus?" Angela mouthed in confusion.
"It's a reference to the first case we worked together," Brennan explained as she waited for Hodgins to get back to her. "The particulates embedded in Cleo Eller's skull included diatomaceous earth, which came from Ken Thompson's fish tank. Using the book found in Oliver's apartment, Hodgins informed us that St. Magnus of Avignon was the Patron Saint of Fishermen. The fact had no actual relevance to the case, but Booth would have remembered it due to his religious inclinations." *
"Sometimes the way your brain works terrifies me, and now you've got Booth thinking the same way," Angela muttered. "Brilliant, sweetie. Just tell me where to drive."
"Dr. B?"
Brennan put Hodgins on speaker.
"I couldn't find any references to St. Magnus in DC, but St. Andrew is also considered a Patron Saint of fishermen. There's a St. Andrew's Society of DC on Water Street. It isn't religiously affiliated—something to do with Scottish heritage, I think."
"I'm driving," Angela informed him, starting the engine. "What's the address?"
o-o-o-o-o-o
A friendly, rotund man clad in an authentic tartan kilt greeted them as they raced into the building.
"Can I help you, lassies?"
"Did FBI Agent Seeley Booth leave anything here for Dr. Temperance Brennan?" Angela demanded.
"Aye," the man beamed. "He did leave somethin' just last week. Said you'd be stoppin' by for it. Which one of you is his lady love?"
Brennan's eyebrows hit the ceiling. "Is that what he called me?"
"Nay," he said calmly, rooting around in a cabinet. "But tis the impression I got, for sure." He held out an envelope. "Here ya go, lass. Your young man sets great store by ya, I'd say. Written all over his face when he asked me to keep this," he called after the departing women. "Best wishes for a happy life together!"
Brennan refused to look at the clue on the drive back, insisting it would distract her from work. It's not like Cam would've minded if they'd been a couple minutes late, but Angela's crazed driving managed to get them back to the lab, miraculously still in one piece, at exactly 1:00 pm.
o-o-o-o-o
Cam, Sweets—who had mysteriously appeared at the Jeffersonian at the close of the workday—Angela and Hodgins hovered curiously and Zack waited on speakerphone as Brennan opened the envelope. Much as she cherished her privacy, she couldn't very well deny them access to the clue after all the help they'd given her.
She held up a photograph. "It's a picture of Jupiter."
"Why Jupiter?" Zack asked.
"He guessed it was my favorite planet," Brennan said vaguely.
Cam jumped into the conversation. "The Einstein Planetarium is where you want to go, Dr. Brennan. There's an entire section on Exploring the Planets before you get to the actual IMAX theater."
"I'm coming!" Angela reminded Brennan unnecessarily.
"I just bought a minivan to ferry around Michelle and her friends," Cam said. "Any takers?"
The caravan of squints, Sweets included, trooped down to the parking lot and piled in. Twenty minutes later they entered the Planetarium, paid for tickets, and made a beeline for the exhibit in question.
"What are we looking for?" Hodgins asked, scanning the Jupiter section.
"Places you can hide an envelope," Angela answered from underneath a bench.
Hodgins spotted an over-eager security guard on his way to ruin their party and headed over to distract him with Sweets in tow.
"Dr. Brennan?"
She felt her way around the steel railing at the edge of the display, acknowledging Cam with a vague nod. "Yes?"
"You're looking in the wrong place," the forensic pathologist said. "The clue won't be in the Planetary Exhibit. Booth was only intending to get you to the actual museum. I think he'll have placed the next hint somewhere in the display on the Sun."
"Why the Sun?"
"It's the brightest star in our solar system. The Earth revolves around it."
"I'm aware of those basic scientific tenets, Dr. Saroyan," Brennan pointed out. "How does that apply to the treasure hunt?"
"I know how Seeley thinks," Cam said, "And I would strongly suspect that you, Dr. Brennan, are the metaphorical Sun to his Earth."
Angela squealed from her spot on the floor. "She's right, Brennan! Corpses, Poison Ivy, recipes-it's about time Booth got romantic with this game."
"I thought the dolphin was very romantic," Brennan protested, turning in the direction of the Sun's display.
Cam and Angela followed in her wake as she resumed her methodical search, concentrating her efforts near a large photographic collage of Earth juxtaposed next to the Sun. Sure enough, she located a red envelope taped to the back. This one wasn't as flat as the rest.
She opened it carefully and peered inside.
"What is it?" Angela begged.
Brennan tilted the envelope so that two small objects slid into her palm. The first was a Hershey's kiss, drawing simultaneous sighs from her friends.
"I presume this is a couched metaphor for the anticipated end to our date?" Brennan said archly, raising an eyebrow in amusement at Angela, who pretended to swoon.
The second item was wrapped in dark red felt. With Cam and Angela breathing down her neck, she peeled the fabric away to reveal a delicately carved wooden heart, as anatomically perfect as a carving could be. A leather cord threaded through a small loop turned the carving into an exquisite pendant.
"Bren," Angela breathed, "There's gotta be a note left in that envelope. No way he gives you something like that without explaining."
Brennan looked in the envelope again and spotted a piece of paper. She extracted the note and unfolded it.
Bones,
You and Parker are my heart. You're the left ventricle, he's the right.
Without both of you, my blood stops pumping.
I love you, always.
~Booth
Meet me on Friday at 8:00 pm, by the steps outside of Sweets' office.
The scientist wasn't given to emotional displays in front of others, but there was no avoiding the tears that suddenly filled her eyes as she sank down onto a nearby bench and read the note again. And again. And again.
o-o-o-o-o
FRIDAY EVENING
7:57 PM
"Hold on, Jack," Angela called as they prepared to depart the lab for a romantic weekend her husband promised would outdo any of Booth's efforts. She answered her chirping cellphone while pulling on her coat.
"Angela, where's Bones?"
"Booth!" She glanced at the clock on the wall. 7:57. "Aren't you and Brennan supposed to begenerating fireworks in a very public place right about now?"
"Where's Bones?"he repeated, sounding borderline frantic.
"She left over an hour ago to meet you. Where are you calling from?" she asked. "Booth, please tell me you're standing on those steps waiting. Brennan is going to be there in about three minutes."
'Frantic' climbed the rafters of Booth's voice into full-out frenzied. "I've been stuck behind a bike wreck for the last hour and a half, right outside of town, and she's not answering her phone."
"She left it in my office when she was running around trying to get ready."
"I called half the Jeffersonian and nobody answered!"
"Cam had us in a VIP meeting and you know what's she like about cellphones ringing when we're supposed to be schmoozing." Angela's blood turned to ice. "Oh my God, Booth, Brennan was trying so hard not to show how excited she was … if she gets to those steps and you're not there …"
Hodgins stuck his head in the door and raised his eyebrows quizzically. "What's up?"
"Angela, you have to get to her and make her wait!" Booth was shouting, swearing, audibly slamming his fist into some part of the SUV. "She says she doesn't believe in bad luck but if I'm not there in a couple of minutes, that's exactly what she'll think my absence means. She'll freak out and bail me. I may never get this chance again. You have to get there before she leaves!"
"I'm leaving right now." She snapped the phone shut and stared at Hodgins in horror. "How fast can you make it from here to the FBI building in the Mini-Cooper?"
"15 minutes, maybe …" Hodgins' expression shifted as the pieces fell into place. "Booth got held up somewhere, didn't he. And Brennan's going to cut and run if she gets there and he's not waiting. Shit." He grabbed his wife by the arm. "Come on. I'll find a way to make it in less than 10."
o-o-o-o-o
9:43 PM
As Booth hurtled the SUV into an illegal parking spot, he spotted her standing at the top of the steps with Angela and Hodgins on either side. He jumped from the vehicle and hit the ground running.
"Bones!"
Brennan turned at the sound of his voice and moved away from Angela and Hodgins, toward the edge of the landing. It was hard to know whether his pulse sped up because he was afraid that she'd use his lateness as an excuse to shut down emotionally, or because she was so damn beautiful.
Her hair was parted on the side and hung in loose copper waves over her shoulders. She was wearing a sleeveless jade green dress, her arms and shoulders exposed by the barely-there straps, her curves suggested, rather than displayed, by the long, elegant fall of the fabric and the twisted ropes of material that accented the bodice. Booth longed to run his fingers along those raised braided lines, eyes closed, following them like a blind man would a Braille pattern, until they led him to where he was meant to be.
Booth stopped four steps below her, heart pounding. "Bones, I'm so sorry."
It came down to all or nothing, he realized then. This was their moment and they'd either grab it and hang on for dear life, or let it pass and go their separate ways. Words tumbled through his brain—explanations, excuses—but what he finally said wasn't at all what either of them expected.
"Bones." He spoke softly, holding her gaze. "I've never lied to you before, and I'm not gonna start tonight. I know you're afraid. I'm not saying you don't have good reason to be."
He watched her for signs of a reaction. Brennan was silent, arms crossed in front of herself, keen blue eyes tracking him warily. Booth took a step up toward her and she didn't move away.
"Things will never be easy for us if we take this step. We're as similar in terms of stubbornness as we are different in what we believe. We already fight about work, family, politics, religion—everything—and that's not about to change. If we ever have a kid, we'll definitely fight about raising him."
Still no response from her, but at least she was listening.
"You're not going to give up your career and neither am I, so that's something we'll have to contend with when the world pulls us different directions. You might end up at the North Pole digging up the magic bone that links human beings to arctic chimpanzees, while I'm blowing away bad guys from a submarine."
He wondered if he was imagining the slight smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
"It won't be easy, Bones. If I wanted easy, I'd have gone looking somewhere else years ago. I said it before. I'm that guy." Booth took another step, narrowing the distance between them to two steps. "The guy who fell in love the day we met and has only fallen deeper ever since."
One more step. He was standing directly below her now, desperately wondering what was going through her brain.
"You're everything good in this messed up world, Temperance. Knowing you're around makes it worthwhile putting on crazy socks and ties even on days when I'm tired and just want to give up and become a drone."
That was definitely a smile in her eyes. Booth's pulse pounded in his ears.
"I don't want to spend my life wondering what might have been because we were both afraid, Bones. Your heart is open, even if you don't see it yet. I'm willing to take the gamble that you will one day love me."
He took the last step and stood beside her, barely a foot away.
"What do you say, Bones? Will you take two steps forward and trust me to catch you like that parachute did?"
"Okay."
She spoke so softly that Booth almost didn't hear her. Except he did.
The breath rushed out of him and he found himself reaching for the stair rail. "Bones … really?"
"Yes."
Booth stood there stupidly, within arm's reach of everything he'd ever wanted, unable to move.
"You're wearing the necklace." For some reason that seemed important for him to notice.
The smile reached Brennan's lips at last, spreading across her face like a star gone nova. Blinding in its brilliance. She twisted the pendant sideways, exposing the notch at the base of her throat—supra something, Booth remembered vaguely—and directed a look at him that required no fancy words in squint.
"Rules are rules, Booth. And I believe we have now arrived at the point in the experiment where you can kiss me."
He moved forward in some kind of daze, reaching out to grasp her shoulder with one hand while with the other he brushed her hair away. His fingertips lingered on her collarbone, tracing their way across the graceful line of her clavicle until they came to the small, enticing hollow where the necklace had rested. Brennan tipped her head back trustingly, and Booth was lost.
He dropped his arm to her waist. His hand slid from her shoulder to her neck, cupping the nape gently as he bent forward and pressed his lips to the pulse point,. The softness of her skin, coupled with Brennan's sigh, caused fireworks to explode in the innermost recesses of Booth's brain.
Her hands tangled in his hair, urging his mouth closer to her skin. His mouth trailed hot, open kisses into the juncture of shoulder and neck, following the slender column of her throat upward and into the satin skin just beneath her jaw.
"You're so beautiful …" the words whispered out of him as he lifted his head to kiss her eyes, her temples, the tip of her nose, tracing the curve of her full lips with a fingertip before resting his forehead against hers and smiling crookedly. His breathing was shallow and accelerated; his heart felt like it was about to thump clean out of his chest; his self-control was hanging by a very thin thread. But he wanted her to know she was in control here.
"Tell me what you want, Bones," he rasped. "At this point I'll give you anything."
She smiled slightly. "Two steps forward should suffice." And her lips met his.
The moment their mouths touched, any kind of imagined self-restraint evaporated. Booth dropped both arms to lock around her waist, dragging Brennan against him. Her lips were soft, yielding, at the same time that they were demanding, opening beneath his and inviting his tongue in even as she tugged at his lower lip gently with her teeth, insisting on equal access.
Booth explored the sweet corners of her mouth, gliding across the surfaces of her teeth to tease the roof of her mouth, groaning when she punished him for that torture with a hot, drawing suction around his tongue that made him see all seven colors of the rainbow plus some that had yet to be named.
"Bones …" his voice was a low warning growl as one hands slid to his shoulders, using the pressure of her nails for additional leverage, while the other dug in beneath his belt buckle.
Booth chuckled darkly into her lips, hands dropping to cup her beautiful backside and press her closer still. "Two can play the same game, baby." This elicited a groan as he warred with her mouth, biting, sucking, pulling back slightly to tease before delving back in.
He dragged his mouth away momentarily to kiss his way across her shoulders, sweeping her hair aside to linger at the base of her neck, delighting in making her gasp as he discovered the sensitive spots behind each ear before returning to her lips and devouring everything she offered so willingly.
Oblivious to gawkers on the street, they explored what had been so long denied to them, kissing until Booth's promises were more than fulfilled—both their brains were steaming and the partners traded shifts coming up for air, then returning again and again for more of the same.
"God, Bones," he whispered into her hair when he'd at last managed to lift his head long enough to see the light of day, "If this is what just kissing you is like, what's Week 6 gonna do to me?"
Her happy, teasing laughter only compelled him to dive back in again.
They kissed their way down the steps and into his SUV, returning to each other in frantic need at every red light and stop sign. They kissed their way across the parking lot at her place and into the elevator, pulling the emergency stop just so they could have a couple more unrestrained minutes before arriving at her doorstep.
She looked so beautiful with her eyes sparkling, lips swollen and hair mussed, it was all Booth could do to kiss her one last time and shy away from the temptation of the bedroom a few feet away. They weren't ready for that step emotionally, even if physically they were already halfway to horizontal and then some.
Booth tugged his lips away, sighing at the disappointed look on Brennan's face. He wrapped her in his arms, pressing her into his chest so she could feel the acceleration of his heartbeat and know how she was affecting him. Now that the shields were apparently down, Brennan had no reservations to twining herself around him and holding on tight as Booth attempted to regain some kind of modicum of self-control. There wasn't an inch of her that he'd kissed tonight that wasn't softer than sin. If he allowed himself to think about the places his lips hadn't been yet, his brain would likely implode instantly.
There were reasons Booth believed in a Higher Power. It allowed himself to finally peel away from her, even if he did drop back in for a couple of lingering, softer kisses, and to hand her the latest musical Valentines.
"Two for tonight," he said, jamming his hands into his pockets in an effort to keep himself from reaching for her again. "Since it was our first kiss."
He backed away from her, eyes locked with hers.
She'd been silent most of the evening, incapable of expressing the emotions roiling within, but she called out to him as he left, attempting to share her feelings in the only way she knew how, "Phase one of the experiment has met with success, Booth. I found our interactions tonight extremely arousing."
Booth stopped his retreat and closed his eyes momentarily. When he opened them again, there was noother way to describe his dark gaze than smoldering. He started toward her again and she met him halfway. He pressed her up against a random doorway and kissed her senseless once more before muttering several curses under his breath and pulling away.
"I love you, Bones. I'll make the next 3 weeks worth it, I promise." I'll make a whole lifetime worth it, he added silently.
Brennan watched him until he disappeared completely into the stairway before looking at the songs.
Let's just kiss—Harry Connick Jr.
The best is yet to come—Frank Sinatra
o-o-o-o-o-o
Post-narrative A/N:
*kind of nervous here …* There was so much build up to the moment. I would love to know if you thought I did it justice. I would equally love not to lose half my readers now that the kiss has occurred! I promise, there's plenty ahead. However, I will be honest and say that when we do hit Week 6 I'm going to keep that scene rated a high T, not MA. It'll be like the above, minus some more clothing. But I don't do graphic, full-on sex descriptions. Just an FYI.
PS: Anybody wondering how long Angela and Hodgins hung around watching? ;)
On my profile page, I will attempt to post a link of Brennan in the dress she's wearing on the steps.
o-o-o-o-o-o
*Referring back to the part of this chapter where Brennan and Angela are chasing down the clue after the dolphin-okay, so technically it was their second case together, given the backstory we learned in Episode 100, but 'first case' sounds more romantic.