49. Family
Seeley Booth's Apartment, Washington DC, late Sunday night
The apartment was finally quiet when Booth emerged from Parker's room after tucking his son into bed. It had been a long and draining day, and Booth was feeling every moment of it. He leaned wearily against the wall where the hall opened into the living room. Brennan was seated at one end of the couch, her legs curled beside her, with a file folder in her lap and a highlighter tucked behind her ear. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, long wisps trailing free. The weight of his gaze must have alerted her to his presence because she looked up to meet his eyes. "Is he asleep?" she asked in dulcet tones.
Booth nodded and pushed himself off the wall with a barely audible grunt to stride across the room and sit beside her, sinking heavily into the cushions. "He was asleep before I finished reading the third page," he said while gingerly raising each of his legs in turn to prop them on the low table situated in front of the couch, then stretched his arms wide, sliding both along the back of the couch and yawned.
Brennan slid her stocking clad feet off the couch and deposited the file folder and highlighter on the table. She stayed leaned forward, but turned towards him with her elbows propped on her knees and cradled her chin in palms of her hands. "Dad made me promise to tell you again that he really enjoyed having Parker today. And before you ask, the answer is yes. I made sure to tell him you were most appreciative of him watching Parker in the first place." She turned and grabbed two bottles of beer from the side table and handed him one of them.
"Thanks, Bones," he said, wrapping his arm around her shoulders as she leaned back against him.
She lazily ran a hand along his thigh and leaned back against his arm as she sipped from the bottle. "I want to thank you too."
He rested his bottle against his other leg, making damp rings on his jeans, and responded with a questioning "Hhmm?"
"You know I was not thrilled that you called my father." Sensing him tense under the light touch of her hand on his leg, she gently patted him and continued speaking before he could interrupt. "But," she paused and pursed her lips as if to practice the shape of the words she was about to speak. "I was wrong. I should have known he would be supportive. I'm beginning to think he has wanted us to get together for a while now. So, thank you—for calling him to watch Parker and for inviting him for dinner. It was nice to spend time together, even though it was a hectic day." She paused, a faraway look on her face. "Perhaps it was because of the hectic day that it was especially nice to spend time together."
Booth's heart soared at the depth of emotion and intuition she was allowing herself to use so freely. He thought his heart might burst with pride and love, and he found himself fighting back a tear or two. He didn't trust his voice and so said nothing, but he snugged her against him a little tighter. When the wave of emotion passed and he felt his power of speech had returned, he said, "You're welcome, Bones." Although he was unwilling to share the nature of a discussion he had with Max Brennan several weeks ago about the status of their relationship, he said, "You're probably right about your Dad. Hey, maybe we should make a habit of this. Have dinner one night a week with as much family as can make it."
"Is that what we are?" she asked sleepily.
"You mean in addition to partners and lovers?" She nodded. "Yea, Bones, you're my family."
"But we're not married," she said quietly.
He sighed into her hair and whispered, "More than one type of family, Bones."
"I still don't want to get married, Booth," she said even more quietly.
"I know. Archaic ritual and all that." He peered at her from the corner of his eye and gave her a lopsided grin, "Do you hear me asking you to marry me?" "Really. I mean, we did just start dating, Bones. That's at least five or six months down the line. And, I'd have to ask Max first if he would give us his blessing... ouch!" Booth exclaimed raising his beer to keep it from spilling, his teasing cut short by a jab to the ribs from Brennan's elbow.
She scooted away from him on the couch. "If you ever think to ask my father for permission to do anything with me, you better think again, buster," Brennan said with fire in her eyes.
"Geez, Bones. I was just teasing." He placed his beer on the table with a thud, splashing a few drops on the table. "Is this what it's going to be like? Am I going to be black and blue whenever we're together?" he asked, rubbing his side. "First my toes, now my ribs. What's next?" he asked, his good humor returning.
"You know how I feel about marriage, Booth. And you should know me well enough to know that even if I were to change my mind about the institution, which I'll add is not likely, I would still not want anyone, er," she shook her head as if confused, "you, to ask anyone except me whether I want to get married!"
"I think you missed the part where I said I was teasing," he said, still rubbing his side, but smiling again.
"Don't you try to charm you way out of this one. I mean it. Don't smile at me like that."
"Like what?" he asked sidling closer to her on the couch, pouring on the charm for all he was worth.
"Like. That," she said looking away from his smoldering gaze, her own anger dissipating rapidly.
"Okay, he said, giving a little ground and edging back just a bit. He grabbed her hand instead and pressed his lips against her palm. He could feel her tension dissolve as he slowly kissed his way up her arm. "Do you think we could skip arguing about how I may or may not ask you to marry me for the time being?"
"Did you have something else in mind we should argue about?" she asked, eyes half closed.
"No, I have something in mind that would take the place of arguing," he said sagely.
"And that would be?"
"Something much more enjoyable. Do you prefer the bed or the bath?"
"Mm, I think I'm too tired for water aerobics, Booth."
"Bed it is, then," he said with a chuckle. He stood and tugged her arms until she joined him.
It was Brennan who lead the way to his bedroom.
Hoover Building, Washington DC, mid-Monday morning
Jennifer and Kayla Sinclair sat close beside each other, holding hands at a long table in a small conference room. Both had a freshly scrubbed, ruddy appearance, but looked uncomfortable nonetheless. Jennifer's eyes were bloodshot, and she rocked almost imperceptibly in her chair. Kayla protectively worried her thumb across the back of her mother's hand. "I realize you have to ask, Agent Booth, but does it have to be now?" Kayla asked. "Mom's been through too much."
"It's all right, Kay," Jennifer said, shakily patting her daughter's hand. "I'm not as weak as you might think." Jennifer looked down at her still shaking hand. She pressed it against the table and only then did the tremors cease. "It's the withdrawal symptoms. They tell me it could take weeks for the shakes and this awful feeling to go away."
Booth leaned forward in his chair slightly, "I'm very sorry for all you've been through. I know this must be difficult for you."
Jennifer Sinclair's expression revealed raw pain when she met Booth's eyes. "Do you? My husband was involved with some very unsavory people. I know that. But I loved him despite his faults and his associates. This whole mess has been one nightmare after another, and now I have to find a way to pick up the pieces."
Booth nodded and was about speak when Brennan interjected, "Yes. We do. I can assure you, Mrs. Sinclair, that we understand how difficult your situation is. But our personal experience is not pertinent to this investigation, whereas yours is in fact critical to finding the responsible parties and bringing them to justice."
Jennifer Sinclair turned a steely gaze on Brennan and rose from her seat. Booth opened his mouth to speak, but Brennan was too fast. She stood quickly and leaned forward, her hands splayed on the table and said, "Would you rather me tell you my story and try to relate to you—which if I were in your position, I would likely find highly offensive—or would you rather tell us yours so we can help?"
Booth hissed under his breath, "Bones!"
For the first time since they had met Jennifer Sinclair that morning, a spark of life seemed to flair in her eyes, and then she gave them a rueful laugh. "Call me Jen, Dr. Brennan. You find out who is behind all this, and you put him and that sleaze Peterson away for good. After that, maybe we can have some coffee sometime, and you can tell me your story then."
"I look forward to it, Jen. And you may call me Tempe." The women shook hands across the table, much to the surprise of Booth and Kayla Sinclair, whose eyes met and silently sought an explanation from the other for the conversation they had just witnessed.
Booth rapidly regained his composure as the women regained their seats. "What can you tell us about the night of the abduction."
Jennifer grimaced, but began to recount the events of the night her family was sundered. "Jones. Mike Jones." She looked directly at Booth and continued, "The one who was shot yesterday at the airport. He was with WitSec. We never expected someone who was protecting us to turn on us. He came alone. . . ."
