Author's Note: I'm posting this early, because tomorrow is a holiday in the U.S. One traditionally celebrated with fireworks, which, in my neighborhood, means that tonight and tomorrow night (at least) will probably resemble Beirut in the 1980's. All that is to say, I'll be up late...which hopefully means I'll be sleeping late. Thanks to my well-developed ability to think ahead, though, this chapter will not be posted late. Happy 4th of July!
Chapter 51: Out of Character.
He'd been pretty proud of himself- he'd made it through dinner, and his fist hadn't once connected with Max Keenan's face. There were moments when he'd been tempted, but there were also two little girls in the room...and his increasingly strained partner...and, if you knew where to look, the faint outline of a hole in the drywall from the last time things with Max had gone too far.
So he'd sat at the table and acted as close to jovial as he could muster. For Bones...and because it was Thanksgiving, and he hadn't forgotten all those bargains he'd made with God in return for her safety- enough to keep him indebted for three lifetimes. Swallowing his rage seemed a minute price to pay.
He wanted to understand Max; he really did. He'd always felt some sort of odd kinship with the guy. If he were into literature, he'd probably make some parallels between the hero and the anti-hero; if he were into psychology, he'd probably go on and on about projecting. As it were, he'd always seen a man who loved his kids and who wanted a little redemption. He could relate to that.
What he couldn't relate to was the lying, the need to manipulate, the refusal to accept responsibility. If he weren't so fucking smug all the time, if he would show even the slightest sign of brokenness...but Max Keenan seemed to buy into the Love Story theory of important relationships- love means never having to say you're sorry.
Booth had always hated that bullshit.
He wasn't the one, though, that Max pushed over the edge. He gave that toast that was just so goddamned unnecessary, and Booth had nearly snapped the stem of his glass in two, but he'd managed to stay in his seat.
Hodgins hadn't.
He'd pushed back his chair, and an intent to lunge was written all over his face. Booth had never had more respect for the Bug Man.
Shame he had to stop him.
Which he did, of course, because the man's pregnant wife was sitting at the table too...although, on second thought, she probably would have approved. But Booth had always been the kind of guy to stop trouble before it really got a chance to start. He anticipated his friend's moves, slung an arm around him, and made an excuse about needing to show him something in the car.
It was lame, but it did the trick.
So they walked outside together, and it took the cold air slapping them both to bring Jack Hodgins around. Who would have thought?
"What a prick!"
And Booth raised his eyebrows, because profanity wasn't Jack's usual style.
"You know, I liked that guy." The scientist was affronted, and Booth settled in for the rant. "A fellow scientist, a rebel...he didn't trust authority- I respected that."
Hodgins was looking at him, but he really wasn't in need of a partner in this conversation.
"But...but he's a prick. Dr. B is his daughter, and she was kidnapped, and she still weighs about fifteen pounds too little, and it was because he lied, and then he comes to her house and says some self-aggrandizing asshole bullshit like that?"
Booth saw no errors in the scientist's assessment. "The man's a piece of work."
"Booth, man, I'm going to be a father." He hit his chest for emphasis. "I'm going to be a father, and my kid isn't even here yet, but there is already nothing in this world I wouldn't do, and that guy... He's bad news." Hodgins slumped a little, some of the fire faded. "I know he was involved with most of that stuff before he had kids, and I know it isn't entirely fair, but Dr. B deserves better. She deserves better than him."
And you can't really argue with that sort of truth, so he didn't even try. "Yeah, she does."
"But I guess she also deserves a Thanksgiving that doesn't involve her friends beating up her father."
"Probably."
"Bummer."
And that was the Hodgins he knew. "Ready to rejoin the party?
oOo
When they returned, things seemed to have calmed down a bit. Angela was whispering with Cam, poor Michelle had been hijacked by Daisy, and Sweets was involved in what appeared to be polite small-talk with Amy. Max was teaching Emma and Hayley to play Chinese Checkers, and he would have found the scene sweet under different circumstances.
He searched out his partner, but was halted by Cam. "Don't bother, big guy. She's with her brother, getting first aid."
He'd been gone two minutes! How the hell could she need first aid? "Explain."
"Well, you were pretty occupied calming down Rocky Balboa over there, so you probably missed Brennan heading back to the kitchen and Russ following her. The best we can tell, she threw a bowl at him."
"What?"
"Or maybe it was an accident...how many glasses of wine have I had?" Cam stared at the red liquid as if it held all the answers.
"Camille..."
"A glass bowl was broken. She probably didn't throw it at him. That sounds out of character. So anyway, there was broken glass, and she must have cut herself, because big brother's up there bandaging her up. Seeley."
"Shit. Is she okay?"
"I'm sure she is, but maybe you should go see for yourself."
And he would have, except that he didn't have to, because Russ and Temperance had walked back into the room while he was interrogating a slightly wasted Cam.
Assessing her well-being came as naturally as breathing, and he could quickly tell that any physical damage had been minimal. But she wasn't okay, and, quite frankly, neither was Russ. They both had that dazed, vacant look that he had come to associate with the families he'd just informed of the death of a loved one.
He didn't like that look on his partner. He wanted to take it away, but he obviously didn't know how, and he feared he'd already used up all his leverage with God.
Russ seemed better able to shake it off than Bones. His eyes cleared with decisiveness, and he exchanged a look with Booth that seemed to indicate that they were in this together. Whatever this was.
He started to think that maybe Russ Brennan wasn't so bad after all.
"Well, folks, it's been great to see everyone, but we've got to start heading back. It's a long drive to North Carolina."
The others began their goodbyes. Emma gave an adorable pout. "But Grandpa Max was teaching us the checkers with the marbles!"
And maybe Bones wasn't the only Brennan with brains, and maybe Max wasn't the only one who knew how to work a situation, because Russ seemed to put it together that no one could resist his little girl. "I know sweetie. I bet if you asked nicely, Grandpa Max would come back to North Carolina with us and spend the whole weekend teaching you."
And God bless little Emma, because she turned to Max with eyes that would melt the strongest of men. "Yes! Grandpa Max, you have to come home with us! I'll show you the pictures I drew in school, and you can hold me up to put the star on the Christmas tree, because it's my turn this year, but I'm still too short. Please?"
Max looked startled, and Russ looked pleased. "What do you say, Dad? We'd love to have you for the weekend."
And Max had to know his son was working an angle, but it was packaged so nicely that he couldn't figure out how to unwrap it. He agreed. He had no choice.
As soon as that happened, Brennan was holding the door to usher them out, and Booth couldn't help but wonder if the siblings had planned the whole thing during their tete-a-tete in the bathroom.
Max gave her kiss on the cheek, and she stiffened. He looked ready to make another speech, but the girls were eager to say their goodbyes to Auntie Temperance, so Grandpa got pushed aside and walked to the car by a deliberately oblivious Amy.
Russ was up next, and Booth though he should probably turn away. Everyone else had the good grace to do so, but he had been burned before when it came to not watching. Russ wrapped his sister in an embrace, which she neither fully returned nor fully resisted. He moved his hands to her hair to pull the top of her head in for a kiss. Then, he pulled away and tipped her chin. "I am so, so sorry about the bowl."
It was the most heartfelt thing he'd ever heard Russ Brennan utter, and it would lead one to believe that either that was one hell of a glass bowl, or he wasn't talking about the bowl at all.
Booth was inclined to believe the latter, and he found himself a little jealous at the understanding the two of them had been able to build. It shamed him.
Gatherings bathed in tension tend to dissolve quickly once the first person leaves, and this one proved the rule. The next several minutes were a flurry of goodbyes and thank yous and see you on Mondays, and he found himself the last guest standing.
"Do you need some help cleaning up?"
She gestured to the table. "It's done. I guess everyone took care of it while I was getting my hand bandaged."
He took her hand carefully. "How is your hand?"
"It's fine."
He didn't let go. "How are you?"
"I'm-"
He shook his head, interrupting. "Don't say 'fine,' Bones."
She held his gaze, and he could see a war waging behind her eyes. She had something to tell, and she was so close to telling it to him. But, like always, something shut down, and the side that wanted to tell lost to the side that couldn't be reached.
"I don't know what else to say."
He smiled at her, because he knew that was an honest answer. "That's okay. Just know I'll be here when you do." He kissed her cheek as he put on his coat. "Happy Thanksgiving, Bones."
