36 Sunday Morning
Seeley Booth's Apartment
Brennan awoke slowly, aware only that she had a slightly stiff neck. The fog of sleep cleared quickly though, and she realized she was not alone. In fact, she was cradled in Booth's arms, her head on his shoulder, which would account for her stiff neck. He smiled down at her and whispered, "Good morning," and kissed her forehead.
"Good morning yourself. What time is it?" she asked sleepily, rubbing her neck.
"It's early yet. Just after six," he said. "Roll over, let me work that out for you. Besides, my arm's asleep," he said, winking at her.
"I'm sorry," she said rolling away from him onto her stomach. She felt Booth shift beside her. "Oh, Crap. We didn't finish reviewing the transcripts last night," she said and let out a puff of breath against the sheets as Booth's strong hands began to massage her sore neck.
"I'm not complaining," he said. She was silent for a short time while he continued to work out the kink in her neck.
"You're going to take Parker to church today, aren't you?" she asked.
"Yep. We usually go to 11 o'clock Mass, which means we can work on the files some more this morning if you like."
"Or, I could work on them while you're at church," she offered.
"Or that," Booth agreed. "Feel better?" he asked, smoothing his hands across her back.
"Mmhm. Much better, thanks," she said, rolling over again to face him. He was sitting cross-legged on the bed beside her. Her eyes were drawn to a long thick scar running down the inside of his left thigh. "I knew that one must have been bad," she said quietly while her fingers traced over it.
"It took a while to heal, but it's probably the cleanest wound I've recovered from. They did me a favor when they torched the metal," he said evenly.
She nodded and slid down on the bed so she could rest her cheek against his scarred thigh. The nearness of him and memories of the prior night stirred deep within Brennan. Last night, she had kissed the scar he earned protecting her from Pam Nunan. This morning, she kissed the scar he received when she was late coming to his rescue. She wanted to find a way to heal over all his scars, but most especially the ones she felt responsible for causing.
Booth, however, was lost in sensation. Her hair cascaded over his leg, and her warm breath between kisses was maddening. He ran his fingers through her hair and leaned back against the pillows, more than happy to let her lead their lovemaking this morning.
After a pleasantly lascivious morning, Booth and Brennan emerged from his bedroom relaxed and refreshed. Booth headed down the hall to check on Parker, and Brennan went to the kitchen to make coffee. She considered the case files scattered across the couch where they had been abandoned the night before with a twinge of regret, but quickly shook off the feeling. There would be ample time to finish reviewing the files later today.
Brennan heard peals of laughter from Parker while she rummaged through the kitchen until she found the coffee tucked in the freezer. "I could get used to this," she thought.
****
A Home Office in Fairfax, VA
The large, dimly lit office seemed to dwarf the presence of the man who occupied it. The wood paneled walls blended seamlessly with numerous bookshelves. In stark contrast to the warm wood tones, several mounted heads were carefully placed in positions of preeminence around the room—elk, bear, and deer. He was seated behind a large mahogany desk, a phone to his ear. The windows behind him were covered with heavy drapes drawn closed against the cold morning brightness. The filtered beams swirled with dust moats and cigar smoke.
"I don't care why he wasn't found until Friday." He listened to the caller on the other end of the line and rolled his cigar in a green veined marble ashtray. "Don't give me any bull about the weather or fool's gold. Your little game may very well come at a higher cost than you're willing to pay. Get them out of the country. Yesterday. They should have been gone weeks ago."
The voice on the other end of the phone climbed an octave, causing him to hold the phone away from his ear. When the caller took a breath, he returned the phone to his ear and said, "You're starting to make me regret my choice. But because I'm so generous, I'm going to share some information that may impress upon you the seriousness of the situation," he said pausing to puff on the thick cigar. "The Bureau has assigned your little gambit to S.A. Booth, which means…." The caller interrupted him once again, and he quickly pulled the phone away from his ear.
"Well, what do you know? You aren't a complete idiot after all. Now here's a bit of advice. You'd better pray you didn't leave a scrap of evidence behind. Because if you did, I'm not going to run interference for you. You wanted this job. Earn it." He listened again and said sternly, "Don't test me, son. I promise you, you don't want me against you. The last man who faced off against me is sitting in a federal prison. Don't think you aren't just as expendable." He disconnected the line and replaced the handset in a cradle on the credenza beside his desk. To himself, he said with a shake of his head, "They always get greedy."
He sat in silence for a long while and then picked up a cell phone from his desk. He selected a name from his address book, pressed send, and waited for an answer. "Sweet pea, are you ready for church?" His voice softened from the stern tone he used with his previous caller into a faint southern drawl. He paused for a response. "Okay, darlin'. You come get me when you're ready. I'm in the office." He paused again before saying, "Sure thing, sugar. I've got plenty to do." He pressed end on his phone, pocketed it, and turned his attention to a report on his desk. He opened a pressboard file folder embossed with a navy blue seal and gold lettering on its front that read: "OFFICE OF THE DIRECTOR OF NATIONAL INTELLIGENCE ◊ UNITED STATES OF AMERICA."