A/N: And here we are, for yet another Tuesday. In my original plan, this would have been the last chapter before the epilogue, but it has not worked out that way. I always find that, towards the end, my outlines tend to get a little fuzzy. This story was no exception. So, there is still a little more to come. Not much, but a little.
This chapter is titled for a beautiful song by Adele. Most of you should know it, due to it's part in the ending of Season 6.
Chapter 34: Make You Feel My Love
I know you haven't made your mind up yet
But I would never do you wrong
I've known it from the moment that we met
No doubt in my mind where you belong
I'd go hungry
I'd go black and blue
I'd go crawling down the avenue
No, there's nothing
That I wouldn't do
To make you feel my love
The storms are raging on the rolling sea
And on the highway of regret
Though winds of change are blowing wild and free
You ain't seen nothing like me yet
August 5th, 2018
Booth stayed in his place when Mass came to a close, hunched over in the pew. He hadn't been to church in a while—work was busy, and the usual stresses that he could find relief for in this place were heightened to the point where he didn't think praying here or at home was much of a difference. He also found that, if he had the opportunity, he would rather spend the day off keeping an eye on Bones. Actions spoke louder than any words, after all, and it was a lack of action that usually caused him the most grief.
Today, though, Brennan was with Angela, and the artist had requested that he keep himself occupied elsewhere. Parker was out with Clara; food and a movie, he had explained briefly. With the apartment completely empty, Booth had barely even realized where he was going when he left—until he had found himself filing through the doors among familiar faces.
A few greeted him, and he found that he remembered their names. He smiled, asked about their kids or their parents. Made small talk until they all found seats in the pews and slowly murmured themselves into a silence.
The service was long, and he found himself lost in the words, occasionally echoing phrases in his head when they came to a passage which he had memorized.
When he found himself to be one of the last members still lingering, he slowly got to his feet and slid out of the pew and into the aisle, making his way forward to stand before the alter and stare up at the crucifix that hung there above a painting of the Blessed Virgin Mary.
"Father Robbins," he greeted the priest when he appeared by his side.
"Seeley Booth. It's been a while since we last saw you."
He bowed his head. "Yes, I—"
"Don't explain. I've never asked for excuses before, and I still don't to this day."
Booth smiled sheepishly. He knew that, and knew it well.
"You are facing hard times right now, I can see that. You are in my prayers as always. I hope to see you more often, and I am always available… should you need to talk."
"Thank you, Father."
The priest nodded, and then leaned closer, "Bingo is still on Tuesday nights," he whispered.
Booth chuckled, and shook his head.
"You work too hard," Father Robbins informed him with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Take some time off; that's my advice for you."
He grinned. "That's excellent advice."
"As is all my advice," the priest noted with a wink. Booth knew there was a reason he'd always the loved the kindly older gentleman. He had a sense of humor that occasionally showed itself to the fullest. He had missed coming to this place.
The ride home was silent. He didn't bother putting on the radio, preferring to listen to the rhythmic, soothing sound of the tires spinning on the pavement beneath him.
He still saw Bones on a regular enough basis. He still visited her, and they still ate together and talked. But it wasn't the same. He missed her. Missed her more than anything in the world, because she wasn't who she had been before. She was changed, and she wasn't letting him in anymore. She was shutting him out, locking in her emotions and hiding behind her walls.
He was losing sight of her, and he didn't know how to handle that. He didn't know how to bring her back to him, how to renew the vibrance that used to exist behind those cerulean blue eyes, the life that used to reflect back at him with vigor whenever she spoke, whenever she argued or bickered with him. Whenever they laughed.
God, her laugh… that was a sound he hadn't heard in months. And her smile… her gorgeous, genuine smile. He'd seen attempts. He'd seen her attempting to look like she was okay. But he knew her well enough, now. Knew enough to know that it wasn't true, that she was trying to act in a role that didn't fit her. She was hurting, inside. She was aching, and she didn't want anyone to see it.
It was killing him.
He had hoped that, given time, she would come around to the idea of sharing with him. That maybe, she just needed a little space to recuperate before she was ready to talk. But as the weeks wore past, it became more and more evident that she was getting worse, not better.
She had no intention of coming back to work. He could see that.
And it scared him, sometimes more so even than the rest of what was happening around him.
The cases had not stopped simply because the infallible Dr. Temperance Brennan was no longer available as a prime resource. He still had to work just as hard, and it limited the time that he dedicated to her, to trying to show her that he was there, and he was going to always be there. If she wanted to talk, he would be waiting. For as long as it took.
What got to him most was not that she didn't want to talk to him, though. It was that she didn't seem to want to talk to anyone. He would have been hurt somewhat, sure, if she had preferred speaking to Angela, or if she had sought out Sweets or one of the other team members. But he would have been glad, at least, to know that she was getting help. This was a spiral that felt like it was never going to end, and they were all being tugged down it with Brennan at the head.
If she would only speak.
Then, maybe, he would have some idea of what direction to go in next.
Right now, he was lost. And he knew she was, too. They just couldn't find each other in the mist that had poured in over their heads.
He made himself a sandwich when he got home, not even really noticing what it was that he put on it until he took a bite and realized he'd forgotten to even cut it in half. He couldn't bring himself to care, just shoving it down and settling in front of the television to put on a game that he wasn't really going to watch.
It felt like he was repeating a familiar pattern, at this point. When he didn't have work to do, when he couldn't be with Bones… he mostly sat around and tried to keep his mind off of things. A task that was proving to be increasingly difficult.
When there was a knock at his door, he didn't know what to make of it. At first, he thought it might be Angela, coming by to talk to him about how things were going with Brennan. After all, they'd been having impromptu get-togethers a lot more often, these days. Brennan was always the topic of interest, and neither of them ever paid much attention to their food. The stress was eating at them, and when they were together… they couldn't seem to keep it from each other.
When he called out to ask who it was, though, he didn't get a response.
Frowning, he got to his feet and moved towards the door, tossing his empty plate on top of a stack of newspapers that he needed to recycle.
He was never so alarmed as he was in the moment that he realized it was Brennan standing outside of his door, shifting nervously and clutching her arms around herself in a tight self-embrace. She looked both ways up his hallway, and then back at his door.
He swallowed sharply, noticing the obviously redness around her eyes, and then pulled the door open. She jumped slightly, a nervous smile twitching on her lips as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
"Hey, Bones," he greeted, trying to sound as casual as possible. "Do you want to… come in?"
Without a word, she gladly moved across the threshold and passed him, into his apartment. His frown returned to his face the moment her back was turned, and he took a moment to study her stiff posture and the obvious pain that had clutched itself around her before he shut the door softly, locking it and finally moving to follow her.
She sat down on his couch only after he had claimed one end of it, and even then she didn't meet his gaze, preferring to stare down and twist the frayed edges of her sweatshirt sleeve cuffs between her thin fingers.
"Bones."
She bit her lip, hard, and her eyes squeezed shut. But she didn't turn towards him, and those were the only outward indicators that she had even heard him.
"Talk to me," he urged cautiously, sliding himself over so he was on the cushion beside her. He made no move to reach out and touch her, but he hoped the proximity might at least help their situation. Might make her realize she could open up to him.
Something had changed, today. That much was obvious. What it was, though, he couldn't even begin to fathom. And where was Angela? He had been sure the artist was going to be hanging out with her today, trying to make things seem more normal.
The silence stretched on, and she didn't move, didn't speak, didn't give him anything to go off of. There was nothing. Nothing at all. Her eyes opened again, but they stared hollowly forward, not taking in anything. Her fingers stopped moving, and her hands hung limply across her lap.
He didn't ask her again, settling himself into the silence and opting to wait it out. She would speak eventually, if she really wanted to. At this point, trying to force her to do anything was going to be pointless. He wanted her to do this of her own volition, after all.
It was a good five minutes before she even moved slightly. In all honesty, he had started to wonder—with some slight panic—if she was still breathing. The rise and fall of her chest had reassured him, but the longer she stayed like that the more worried he became that this was something he might not be able to fix. That maybe he might never get through to her.
That reality was simply not one that he could accept.
But she didn't force him into that corner, because she suddenly reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her hear, crossing her legs and taking a shallow, steadying breath before she spoke.
"I told Nick," she managed quietly. "I told him that… James was dead."
Booth winced, and was suddenly glad that she was not looking at him and so would not have seen his reaction.
"It didn't go well," he stated softly, interpreting her pained expression as proof. It was not a question, but she nodded her answer anyways.
"No… it didn't."
There was more silence.
"Do you… want to talk about it?" he suggested carefully, praying he wasn't crossing any lines. Hoping he wasn't causing damage he might not be able to repair later on.
She didn't say anything for a moment, and then she swallowed and gave a very slight nod of her head. He let out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding in, and nodded in return. And then he waited once more.
This time, it didn't take as long.
"I had already… I had waited so long. I should have told him, sooner. But I was… I didn't want to. I didn't think I could. And then… whenever he asked I just… I made an excuse. To him, or myself…" she hung her head. "And he asked. Yesterday. He wanted to know the truth, and I couldn't keep it from him anymore. I couldn't keep it to myself anymore."
Booth nodded encouragingly, and she was finally meeting his eyes. Drawing from his strength and the rapt attention in his gaze.
"He just… didn't get it at first. And then he said that I was wrong. He told me that… that I went away before, but I came back. That his father… couldn't be gone. And I… I had to tell him he was wrong."
Her voice broke on the last word, and she ducked her head again, her hair falling down as a curtain between them to shield her face from him. He felt the pain radiating off of her. He tried to think of something to say, but ultimately he ended up simply reaching out and placing a hand on her knee. She stared at it, and then let her gaze go back to where it had been before, on a patch of carpet between her feet.
"Is he okay?" Booth asked at last.
"I… I think so." She shook her head, though. "Angela is… watching him for me. He's having a sleepover with Garrett and Trace." She paused, but he didn't interrupt, watching and waiting because he knew there was something else waiting on the tip of her tongue. Trying to escape.
And then she was looking at him, and there was a fierce desperation burning in those deep blue oceans. She was looking for answers, and somehow she already knew that he didn't have them. That no one had them.
"Booth… he said he hated me."
He felt all the air rush out of his lungs in one sharp gust. "Oh, Bones…"
She reached up, brushing desperately at her eyes and fighting back a sniffle that was still terribly audible. The shame on her face almost killed him.
"He didn't mean it, Bones. You know that. You know that he didn't mean it."
She was shaking her head, the motion repetitive and almost too natural. "You weren't there," she whispered.
"No, I wasn't," he agreed quickly. "But I can tell you, Bones… that he doesn't mean it. Kids never really mean it, when they say it. He just… it's a lot to process. And he doesn't know how to handle it, so he does the only thing he can think to do with his emotions. He lashes out."
"Because he blames me," she filled in. "And for obvious reasons."
"Hey," he cut her off sharply. "That's not fair, and you know it. Do you... do you remember that day in the park? The Fourth of July?"
She nodded. He could see her thinking the same thing he was: How could I forget?
"When his father took him away from you, he was feeling the same things as when you told him the truth. He's only making the connection there because James forcibly took him away from you. And now he sees this as the same thing… only it's not. And he'll understand that, eventually. He'll see that it's not your fault, and then he'll tell you that he loves you because that's how he truly feels. That's how he's always felt, and how he always will."
"Did Parker ever tell you that he hated you?" she challenged, raising her head.
"Yeah," he admitted. He knew she could see the truth in his eyes. He remembered each and every time that the words had escaped his son's mouth. Sure, half of them had been over trivial things like times when he had been grounded or hadn't been allowed to do something fun with his friends… but that didn't mean they hadn't each left their mark. It would be impossible for them not to have.
She seemed calmed by this, nodding sadly and lowering her head once more. The silence turned pensive.
"They wanted this," she murmured at last. It almost felt like she was saying it more to herself than to him.
It was all she said on the subject, but he knew what she meant. And he knew that she was probably right.
~BxBxBxBxBxB~
A long time passed before she mentioned anything to him about her captivity or her captors. For the most part, when they met they were silent. Sometimes it was uncomfortable, but other times it felt just like the days of old, when they would just sit together and enjoy the others company, not even needing words.
But the hearing was only a few days away, now, and none of them could really hide from that fact any longer.
Brennan still wasn't re-instated, so Booth and Angela had organized a team dinner so that all of them could be together. They could catch up, and maybe it would make Brennan start to consider going back. Or at least trying to go back. He knew that she hadn't even glanced at the card that the doctor's office had given her, for the therapist who would be able to certify her again for field duty, and therefore get her back in Cam's good graces for the lab work as well.
Usually, he would have been eager to have her back as soon as possible. He might have even been glad to work around the rules or find a way to get her back on the job that didn't involve any of that shrink mumbo-jumbo. This time, though, things were different. He was suddenly grateful that Cam was so adamant with her decision. Eventually, Brennan was going to need to get back into the lab. They all knew it. And when that time came… she would have to make the sacrifice and talk about what had happened to her.
It would help her, and he was sure of it.
If only it were that easy to convince her that she should go.
The dinner went without a hitch, until it started to come to a close. He had started to think she was doing better. Her smiles had seemed fairly genuine all night long, and she had laughed with the others over a joke Hodgins had told them. Some of his hopes had begun to be renewed, and he hadn't been able to keep his eyes off of her the entire time.
With a clatter, Zach fumbled with his silverware, knocking over his mostly empty drink in the process, and a knife tumbled from the table and bounced against her leg before settling onto the floor.
It hadn't cut anyone; there was no blood, no markings, no damage at all.
Except for the sudden emptiness in Brennan's eyes, and the way her hands clutched at the table, her knuckles going white.
He placed a hand on her arm and murmured her name while the others were still focused on the main disturbance that had come with the tipped drink. They gathered their napkins while Zach apologized, and Hodgins reached under the table to fetch the knife.
Besides Booth, he was the only one to notice the change in Brennan's demeanor, giving her a long look when he reemerged, and then flicking his eyes towards Booth to confirm that he wasn't the only one seeing something wrong. When he picked up on Booth's focus, though, he turned his attention to the others, talking above them and drawing the attention. He stood to help with the cleanup, and Booth kept his hand on Brennan as he tried to get her to focus.
He knew what flashbacks looked like; he'd seen and experienced far too many in his time. It rattled him, though, to see her suffering through one. To know that she was gone, in this moment—that she was someplace he had never wanted her to visit again.
"Easy, Bones," he murmured, his voice earnest and low. "We're out with our friends… we're in a restaurant. Can you hear me?"
She wasn't shaking anymore, as she had been at the start. But she wasn't looking at anything in particular, her gaze blankly aimed straight ahead. As he continued to speak, she gradually seemed to register his voice. Her grip loosened on the table, her hands falling back into her lap. She blinked, and a tremble coursed through her thin frame.
"Bones?"
She cut a gaze briefly towards him, and he saw her flush with sudden shame. She pulled away from his touch at once, and stood hastily, stumbling away from her chair and fleeing towards the bathroom.
He swallowed sharply and fell back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling.
The mess was sorted out, and the others were settling back into their respective places. He saw Angela staring after Brennan with a frown on her face, but the artist didn't get up. She hadn't seen enough of what happened to know the reasoning, and when Booth caught her eyes he gave a slight shake of his head. A sign that she shouldn't follow; she should let Brennan come back in her own time.
~BxBxBxBxBxB~
"I can't even use my own knives," she said the next day, when they were sitting in her kitchen. He hadn't brought up anything about the night before. They hadn't even been on a topic close to it—they had been discussing the latest releases in kid movies that Nick might like to go see.
His eyebrows shot up in surprise when the words shot out of her mouth without preamble.
That was all she said, though, and there was a long moment of silence while he processed it.
"It will get better," he assured. "I promise you… it will."
He spoke from experience, and she could hear it in his voice.
She just nodded, picking up her fork and pushing around the noodles in her takeout container.
~BxBxBxBxBxB~
There was one afternoon, when he had dropped by after work, when he nearly saw her come apart at the seams. It was a Friday, and he had the weekend ahead of him. There were plans with Parker, and some free time that he fully intended to spend with her, even if they didn't talk much and even if they barely laughed or smiled at all. He just needed to be with her, and he was starting to get the sense that she needed to be with him as well.
He had come in the door, shedding his jacket and shaking the water droplets out of his hair. He had a bag with him, from the Farmer's Market he had stopped at on the trip over. The rain might have been pouring down, but that place was rain or shine—real dedication. Apples, red and gold, tumbled onto her counter as he dropped the bag there, and he pushed them back together into a pile, catching them before they could roll their way off the edge and bruise themselves on her cold tile floor.
Healthy food was something that seemed to nearly define her nowadays, when in the past it had merely been a good habit. She spent a large amount of her time in the kitchen, and he suspected that it helped her take her mind off of things. She made impressive meals for her son, and she specialized them when Booth was paying a visit. One of the few things that let him feel a sense of normalcy when he was around her.
He had watched her cut up an apple the other day, picking up the knife with a deftness that spoke volumes. She didn't flinch away from it, cutting with the natural skill he had always seen from her. Six quick strokes, and the chunks of fruit lay around the core. She scraped them from the cutting board onto a dish with a glob of peanut butter and passed it to her waiting son with a smile.
No trace of fear, beyond a slight shadow that passed over her face just before she tossed the tool into her sink. But even that faded quickly, the smile staying in place far longer.
A spark burned in him at that, and he couldn't have been more hopeful than he was in that moment. So he had bought the apples, partly because she had been running low… and partly because he had seen it as something. Something positive. Something to hold onto. And he had wanted to expand that, as much as he possibly could.
She wasn't in the kitchen, and he called her name curiously, knowing he had heard her when he had arrived. She had told him to let himself in, after all, with the key she had given him. A part of her had accepted that he wasn't going anywhere, and she must have been relieved, or at the very least pleased, because he hadn't even asked for it before he found it sitting on his desk with a brief note of explanation.
"Bones?" he called again, stepping away from the counter and peering around the corner towards the staircase. There was no response, and he stepped out and went up the hallway, heading back to the entrance.
He found her there, standing by his jacket. She was just standing back up, and she was holding something. Handcuffs. His handcuffs. They must have fallen out when he was removing his jacket and untying his boot laces—trying to keep her apartment free from the mud he had picked up outside.
The look on her face was not a look he had seen in a long time. It was a look he had seen in the hospital, a look he had seen when he had told her the truth about James. And it was a look he had gotten a glimpse of that day in the restaurant.
"Bones?" he tried tentatively, stepping softly closer and watching her.
Slender fingers ran over cold metal. Eyes locked, she didn't look up when he grew closer. But she knew of his presence there, because she stiffened slightly, her back tensing up when he stood only a few feet to her left.
She relinquished them when he reached forward and carefully pulled them from her grasp, but she did not move. Her arms fell back to her sides, but her gaze stayed downwards as though the cuffs were still there, right where they had been. Like their image was burned into her vision forever.
What she did next, though, haunted him to his core.
Her arms slowly wrapped together, and she rubbed at her wrists. Clutching them and stroking her fingers over them with a sort of desperation. As though if she were to let them loose and on their own… they might be trapped the next second in those shackles she had so long ago escaped.
"Bones…" he breathed, reaching a hand out. It hovered, only inches from her shoulder, and then slowly fell back to his side. He didn't know what to do anymore. He didn't know what she wanted, and he didn't know how to make this better.
Time wasn't working. Time wasn't returning her to him. If anything, it was making him feel farther away from her than he had ever felt before. She was on another planet, and he couldn't do anything to get her back home safely. That possibility had been taken from him.
There was no safe place. Not when the past could so freely float in and out of her eyes, haunting her until she was a ghost herself.
"It hurt," she whispered.
The breath rushed from his lungs.
"My arms… all that time, and they never let them out of those… out of those shackles. Sometimes… sometimes I just wished they'd cut me free of them, even if… even if it meant they would do something worse to me. Even then, if only they would let my hands loose."
He didn't know what to do, what to say. But she didn't seem to need his guidance. It was like she wasn't even speaking to him, until her head suddenly snapped up, and she met his gaze with a sort of disbelief resonating there. Almost like she didn't even believe she was saying it herself.
"I couldn't fight. And… if they had freed me… if they had let me out of those shackles… I don't think I even could have."
Silence. He shifted closer, his hand soft or twitching towards her but then settling at his side. He opened his mouth and closed it again.
Finally, she filled the empty space as she spoke once more.
"I'm not who I used to be, Booth." He could only stare at her, trying to convey his hurt and his love for her in only his gaze but knowing it probably wasn't enough. He wished there were words, but they all seemed to be used up. His well had run dry, and he was out of possibilities. "You don't have to do this anymore. Bones…" she shook her head. "Bones isn't coming back."
And finally, he was propelled into action.
For some reason, his body decided that now was the time to seize her in an embrace. He didn't understand it; wasn't even capable of thinking it through. But the next second, she was in his arms, and he was holding her so tightly to him that he wondered if he could ever make himself let go.
She had gasped, at first, but then she relaxed and clasped her arms around him just as fiercely.
They were both trembling with the threat of sobs, with the agony of it all weighing down.
He held on tight because it was all he could do. It was the only way he could possibly show her…
"You are Bones," he choked out, his breath catching in the strands of her hair that his face was buried in. But he knew she could hear him. "You are Bones, and… and I'm not giving up on you. You hear me? I'm not giving up, Bones." He squeezed her more tightly to him. "God, never…"
She shook with the waves as the weight rolled from her shoulders to shatter at the floor.
They'd pick it up together, later. They'd gather up the world and try to glue it all together, try to make sense of the pieces that didn't fit.
For now, he was content with the illusion that he never had to let go. Not if he didn't want to.
~BxBxBxBxBxB~
The nightmares got worse, not better. She was not getting better; she was simply becoming more skilled at hiding the truth of things from her friends. It became instinctive, after a while. The lie. And she could see the hope in their eyes when they looked at her. She could see that they were expecting things to keep improving.
They weren't, despite all appearances that said otherwise. They really, and truly, were only starting to hurt more and more with each passing day.
Her sleep was interrupted and sporadic. She no longer fought the nightmares. She let them roll through her, one after the other, and then she battled for her life in the aftermath. She could not stop them from coming, but she could try to stop them from ruining her waking hours.
Being at home all the time was a blessing as well as a curse. Her hours with Nick were joyous, but at the same time there were overtones of loneliness and despair. There were reminders, everywhere, of the things she had done wrong. The things she had failed at.
The pictures of houses that hung over her computer mocked her whenever she glanced at them. Those homes were long ago sold, and she knew it. Somehow, she couldn't bring herself to take them down.
It was getting easier to speak to Booth, though. That was the only thing. Talking to him… was cathartic, in a way. She hated the pain that the words put him through, but the relief and the hope in his eyes were her welcome reward when the quiet settled again and he saw that she was trying.
She was trying so hard, even when it felt like the world was collapsing around her.
Booth wanted her, regardless of how she had changed. He still felt the same way he had for her at the start, despite all the agony of the last weeks and the strain that had come between them. She was not making it easy for him. She was not opening the doors widely enough to allow a relationship to filter through.
He was trying, though. And he was waiting. Always waiting.
She found that she was waiting, too. Waiting for a day when the ache stopped. Waiting for a day when the nightmares cut out and she could start to forget the details of her time in that basement. It would never go away; not fully. She wasn't foolish enough to hope for that. She would never get rid of it entirely, because it had happened. It had infiltrated her very being.
It would fade, though, like old photographs, and she would be able to focus again. Be able to function in everyday life, and be able to find that happiness that she wanted, without the shadows creeping at the corners of her every thought.
The hearing was tomorrow, on August fourteenth.
She was going, because she needed to. She had to see what happened, for her own eyes. She had to be prepared when the verdict came down. No matter the reassurances of her friends, of Caroline Julian, she couldn't shake the feeling that hung over her at the very thought of what the next day would bring.
There was always a chance. Always a possibility that justice would not win out. Her father had gotten off after all, and he was as guilty as any murderer out there. There were others, too, and she knew that. She knew it was a very real possibility.
Tomorrow, the brothers who had drugged and kidnapped her, bound and tortured her, buried her in a casket… they could be walking out of the courtroom and into the sunlight that they most certainly did not deserve.
It could happen.
And it terrified her.
~BxBxBxBxBxB~
He sat on the courthouse steps, after it was over. The news vans were packing up, down by the sidewalk. He watched as a pretty blonde talked animatedly to her cameraman, pointing to the back of the truck and taking care of the tripod herself while he disassembled the rest of the equipment.
She looked almost like Hannah.
Kevin and Joel had not been offered bail.
He allowed himself one small smile of victory, but it faded fast. Bones hadn't spoken since the hearing began. She had sat stiffly beside him, focused solely on the events that were taking place at the front of the room. And then, stoically, she had merely nodded when the decision was made and finalized.
Then she had disappeared to the bathroom.
~BxBxBxBxBxB~
It did not feel better. Having them locked up until the trial… it didn't make any of it go away, as she had been secretly wishing with a sort of desperation. It had been one of her last hopes; that this might heal her somewhat. That, knowing they were going to be safely behind bars for the next few months, would make some of the pain go away.
The flashback hit her before she was even through the door, and she found the bathroom just before her vision began to blur. She didn't even shut the stall door behind her as she collapsed and heaved over the toilet bowl.
Her small breakfast emptied itself from her stomach, and even that didn't seem like enough. The agony was racing through her like the knife wounds that had long ago healed. She could still see the scars, though, still feel each slice as it was made. She could still hear the screams that had sounded so far away when really they were ripping themselves loose from her own throat over and over again.
It wasn't fair. She wanted it to be over… she wanted this decision to have ended some of it. There was supposed to be a satisfaction. There was supposed to be a weight lifted when her fears of their release had subsided.
Instead, she felt more numb than ever. She felt like she couldn't even get herself to her feet if she wanted to.
She stayed in the bathroom for a long time, eventually forcing herself to her feet and reminding herself of where she was, and when. She stood over a sink; stared at her reflection. Focused on the darkness behind her steely gaze. She stared herself down until she found she could not look away. Could not break the contact.
A few other women came and went. Some of them gave her a concerned look, others just passed by as though she was not there.
She didn't care. It didn't matter.
Her reflection was that of a ghost.
When she left, she was sure that the bustle would have died down. The reporters would be gone, Booth and her friends would have gone home, and she would be by herself. She could take a cab back to her house, relieve Daisy from babysitting Nicholas, and occupy herself with making a very satisfying dinner for just the two of them.
But instead, she found some reporters still gathered in the main hallway, and more just outside. They were handling other cases, she knew, reporting on the other events of the day. But she wasn't out of it. She knew that this case, her case, was the top news of the evening.
Booth tried to hide the headlines from her. She knew what he was doing when he guided her away from the newsstands or distracted her when they passed by someone holding a paper with the large words 'Justice For Temperance Brennan?' emblazoned across it.
She saw it, though, and she watched it on her television after Nick had gone to sleep for the night. She sat with her legs tucked up to her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around them, and she listened to every word they had to say about her.
The public was rallying behind her, at least. There was no negative twist, only a wide scale level of shock and sympathy. Her publisher had called, weeks ago, to first express her condolences, and then inform her that sales were up and her fan-base was pouring in with letters and emails.
She didn't read any of it, but she appreciated the thought.
"Dr. Brennan!" a voice called, and she cringed, expecting a reporter. She was only a few steps down, and the voice was high and female. But the woman who approached was young and brunette, wearing a striped, quarter-length sleeved stop and capris. She held no microphone and no notepad. Her brown eyes were wide, and she hurried to catch up even as Brennan kept moving swiftly down the steps.
A moment later, the younger woman fell into step beside her, out of breath but eager.
"Dr. Brennan… I'm Lyla. Lyla Wheeler."
Brennan blinked, slowing to a stop, and then her own eyes went wide.
"You're…"
"I'm Veronica's sister," Lyla filled in, nodding quickly. "I was just… wondering if you would like to grab some coffee with me?"
Brennan's mouth opened and closed before she finally nodded. "I'd love to."
~BxBxBxBxBxB~
Booth stood as he saw her come through the doors. She was paler than he'd like, but she was walking normally and there was no sign that she'd been crying or anything like that. He supposed that was probably a good sign, but he wanted to talk to her and confirm for himself that she was okay. Even though he was sure she probably wasn't, and that she would probably lie to him about it in an attempt to make him feel better.
He heard a woman's voice calling her name, though, and he stiffened at once, expecting a reporter. But none of the scavengers seemed to have noticed her quiet arrival as she started to move down the stairs. The woman who caught up with her looked familiar, and it only took him a moment to remember why.
Veronica Wheeler's sister.
From a distance, he watched them speak to one another. Brennan nodded, and the two walked off together, taking a wide arch to avoid the reporters. He stayed in place, watching them go.
A small smile played across his lips.
~BxBxBxBxBxB~
It was a tiny coffee shop across from the courthouse that they settled into. The booth looked out on the steps across the street, and she could see the bustle as it gradually died down in the next half hour. Every now and then, a flow of well-dressed men and women would erupt from the doors, but there was no rush of reporters for them. Just a simple disembarking as they all separated to their cars and cabs. Rushing away.
She smiled at the photograph as Lyla pulled it from her wallet and passed it across to her. They were teenagers in the picture, and it was obvious they were sisters. They had matching smiles, and the same flowing brown hair. Brennan could even see herself a little, in them. The thought sent a shiver down her spine.
The connection had a darker meaning behind it.
"She was beautiful," Brennan murmured softly, placing the picture back on the table and sliding it to its owner. Lyla shook her head and placed a hand on the edge of the photograph, nudging it back towards her.
"Keep it," she said firmly.
Brennan swallowed, and then nodded and accepted the offer.
Neither of them knew much what to say. They both had things weighing on their minds. They both knew what they really wanted to discuss. But neither of them could bring themselves to broach the topic.
"You were close?" Brennan said at last, her eyes still on the image as she lifted her mug up to take another short sip of the warm liquid.
"Inseparable," Lyla answered tightly, nodding. She clasped her own mug between her hands, and Brennan watched them tremble for a moment, unsure of what to say. "It wasn't… always like that, though," she continued after a moment, though, saving Brennan the trouble. "When we were kids, we were… the fiercest of competitors. Everything was a challenge. A chance to beat each other out. I was younger by three years, but I was the one who got the better grades. The one who was always getting the awards and the special notice from my teachers. Roni… she wasn't a big fan of that. When we were younger, she was the one who got all the attention. I was the cute face, and she could deal with that, because I was supposed to be. I was the baby, after all." She laughed shortly, shaking her head. For a moment, there was silence. Brennan watched her with a sort of fascination, observing each emotion that washed across her features before she decided to speak once more.
"But after a while, she resented me for all the attention I was stealing from her. She loved her spotlight, more than anything. When we were teenagers, though, she got herself in… a lot of trouble. She was angry at me, angry with my parents… and she got in with the wrong crowd. Started dating a guy who turned out to be… a real winner, you could say. When I caught him hitting her…" she stopped there for a moment, her breaths sharp but shallow. She shook her head darkly, her eyes meeting Brennan's with a vehemence. "I nailed him in the balls. Kept kicking till he was screaming for mercy. She was only fifteen; I was only twelve. I was fast, and I was stronger than I looked. But her and I, we had an… understanding, after that. She didn't resent me, like you would think she would, for the fact that I had to save her. No, she started returning the favor. I think it was a wake-up call."
"And you became close?"
"After that, yes. She was there for me, and I was there for her. When we were both old enough to understand things better, we were the closest of friends. I have never… told anyone half the things I've told her. Even my fiancé doesn't know a good portion of my life story from those early days. Not yet, at least. She was my confidant, in every way.
"When she went missing, I… I lost a part of myself. I didn't know what to do, and for the longest time, we held out hope, up until we simply couldn't any more. My dad and I, I mean. Mom… she kept thinking it was all going to be okay. At the start, that's great. She kept us all faithful in our happy ending. But then, when reality set in… it only stung, to believe she was suffering under the delusion and we no longer were."
"May 25th," Brennan said softly.
Lyla's eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and awe.
She nodded.
"You remember."
"I saw it on the news," she said in a whisper, rubbing her hands on the edges of her coffee mug to distract herself. "I… remember things like that." And she'd had a lot of time to think about it, as well.
"I knew she was dead," Lyla said softly. "I knew it, for ages. And… I guess I was just waiting. But it didn't hurt any less, when I found out for sure."
Brennan nodded. She knew the feeling. Knew it far too well.
"You made it out," Lyla continued, with a wonder-filled edge to her voice. "You made it through, and you got back. You got away from them. And you got them."
Brennan swallowed past the tightness in her throat. "They should have been caught… before. They should have… never taken either of us."
Lyla's eyes hardened. "No, they shouldn't have. We can't change it now, though. We can't… make it any different than it is. And… I just want you to know that Veronica… would be grateful for all that you've done. And she wanted you to get out of there, as much as she wanted to get out herself. She would be happy. To know that they didn't win, in the end."
She bit her lip, nodding.
"Thank you," she whispered. "For… for telling me that. Thank you."
~BxBxBxBxBxB~
The lab was quiet, and she felt like an intruder as she stepped across the cool tile floors. Her heels echoed, and she reveled in the sound while at the same time trying not to cringe at how loud it was. Announcing her presence to anyone in the vicinity.
But it was too early for many people to be present, and she tried to look purposeful. There was a chance that anyone she happened to pass might not recognize her, and might simply think she belonged there like anyone else.
Her pass card did not work anymore, but thankfully she did not need to get to the platform or her own office. She simply needed to go to Cam's space, which was not specifically barred to her as a visitor.
Micah had let her in without much of a question. He had seemed relieved to see her, really. Offering her a hug that she hesitantly accepted. And then he clipped on a visitor pass and waved her through and into the place she had once known as her home away from home.
Not much had changed. It was the same place she remembered.
Except for the feeling that enveloped her as she crossed the wide expanse. She didn't belong anymore. She was not this person; she was not even allowed to work here, among her peers, among her beloved possessions and her well-known bones. She was too broken for that. Too broken to even brave a psych evaluation.
Not yet, she told herself. Not yet.
There was something else, now, that took prominence.
A fear, a new one, was gnawing at her. And she wanted answers. Fast, secure, trustable answers.
She felt sick to her stomach again, the nausea sweeping through her like a cutting winter breeze, as she stepped into her boss's office space.
"Dr. Saroyan?" she called cautiously.
Micah had told her that the other woman was here, but she wasn't at her desk.
"Brennan?" Cam's voice gasped from behind her, and she spun on her heel to find the coroner just stepping back in, a few files in hand and her eyebrows high on her forehead. "What are you… what are you doing here?" she asked, bewildered.
Brennan couldn't hide the sheepish look that crossed her face. "I… find myself in need of a favor," she suggested hesitantly.
"If you want to be re-instated," Cam began swiftly, stepping around her and setting the files down heavily beside her keyboard, "Then you can turn around. I still need you to see someone before I can let you back here. Unless…" her eyes widened further, and she leaned forward. "Is that what you're here about?"
She smiled nervously, tightly.
"No, Cam. That is… not why I am here."
"Oh."
There was silence, and Cam tilted her head, clearly waiting for the explanation.
Brennan took a deep breath, mentally preparing herself.
"I would like it if you would… run a blood test for me."
"For what reason?" Cam inquired at once, stepping closer and crossing her arms. Not in a menacing way, but in a worried, motherly sort of way. She wanted to know the details—her concern was immediate and overpowering.
She ran her tongue over her lips while she considered the best way to explain it. And then, finally, she realized there was really no way to go about it other than to just spit it out and be done with it.
"I think there is a chance that I might be pregnant."
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