Disclaimer: I own neither Angel or anything associated with him, and "Bones" is equally out of my reach control-wise
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Angel of the Bones
Investigating crimes on a campus would have prompted some memories of the time he'd spent helping Buffy and the other Scoobies deal with the various crimes and demons drawn to Sunnydale High, but after hearing Bones's story about the low lecture attendance she'd received, Booth knew that he had to come up with something that fit in with his new, more 'human' past; he couldn't afford to make a mistake right now.
"Oh, hey," he said, smiling slightly as he followed Bones behind the bleachers where their latest body had apparently been discovered, grateful that an appropriate story from Booth's past came to mind for this situation. "Y'know, last time I was under the bleachers, I was, uh, getting ready to smoke a cigarette and make out with Vanessa Taylor."
"I didn't know you smoked," Bones noted as she pulled on her gloves while he toyed with a basketball he'd picked up earlier.
"Eighth grade, Bones," Booth said (He wasn't going to discuss what Angelus had done after regaining control following that first night with Buffy, or what he'd done during that bleak period after Darla's resurrection, but that didn't mean he had to lie completely about what he'd done in the past). "C'mon, didn't you ever get naughty with a jock under the bleachers?"
"Wait; you were a jock?" Bones asked.
"Well, you know, you had to be one if you wanted to make out with Vanessa Taylor," Booth said, once again disturbingly grateful for the distraction from his fictitious past when they found the liquefied remains covered in flies and maggots; it looked like the corpse had been crushed behind the bleachers into the grate on the wall, the bones seemingly pulverised judging by the limp condition of the clothes and flesh that he could see, which at least gave him a reason to stop talking. "What is it?"
"Male," Bones said, sniffing slightly as she put her bag to the side and crouched down. "Smell that?"
"You're kidding," Booth said; he didn't need his old senses to smell this body…
"Well, I don't mean decomp," Bones said. "Alcohol."
"Vagrant passes out by the heating grate and somebody closes up the bleachers," Booth said; he didn't like to sound dismissive too often, but this particular problem looked like it should be relatively straightforward…
The sound of squeaks coming from the body startled Booth before his partner picked up the resulting rat by its tail.
"That would account for the accelerated decomp," the anthropologist noted, pulling back some of the clothing to double-check the corpse. "And the babies."
"Baby rats?" Booth said, leaning over to examine the small pink baby rodents.
"Yeah," Bones said. "We'll need them."
"'Kay," Booth said. "Yeah, uh… Chief Cutler, you got a rat carrier?"
"Yeah," the other man said. "I'll find something."
"We'll need the floor," Bones added.
"The floor?" Booth said incredulously.
"And whatever got pushed through that grate," his partner continued.
"Here you go," Cutler said, walking up to them with a large blue gym bag. "This do?"
"Yeah, that'll be great," Booth said. "Just put that rat there in the rat motel and we're good to go."
"We'll need to take the pinkies or they'll die," Bones added.
"Yeah, 'cause the world needs more rats," Booth said, suddenly noticing the ring on Cutler's finger, the ring inspiring 'Booth' memories that at least prevented him saying something from his 'Angel' memories. "Eighty-two Champs… Eighty-two Champs? Let me see that ring?"
Examining the ring more closely, it took a moment for Booth's 'donated' memories of college football to kick in- he'd tried to do some research in his spare time to reinforce the false memories, but there was only so much time he could spare now that he was restricted to a human sleeping pattern- but once they came back to him, Booth was amazed it had slipped his mind. "Wait a minute… Chief Cutler, as in Jack 'Cutter' Cutler?"
"Yeah," Cutler said with an awkward smile. "Haven't heard that one in a while."
"Ha!" Booth said; even if the memories of his life as Booth were fake, they were always better than remembering his time eating rats in the sewers like he had been at that point in his life. "Bones! You're looking at the star point guard for one of the best college basketball teams, ever!"
"Huh," Bones said.
"Drafted by the Detroit Pistons," Booth continued, looking at the man in appreciation.
"Knees blew out," Cutler said dismissively; his response was brief, but at least he didn't sound too resentful of the topic Booth had brought up. "Ended my career."
"Booth," Bones said, picking something up from the corpse before Booth had to decide how best to respond to that comment.
"Yeah?" he said, glancing back to see his partner holding a chain, a number eleven dangling from it. "Eleven?"
"Oh my God, no," Cutler said, shaking his head grimly.
"What?" Bones asked.
"Hey," Booth said, looking over at the other man as he recognised the relevance of the chain, "did he wear one of these?"
"He never took it off," Cutler confirmed.
"Who?" Bones asked.
"R.J. Manning," Booth explained for his partner. "He's one of the best college forwards in the conference. I mean, he was destined to be the number one pick."
"I don't know what that means," Bones said, in her usual blunt manner, "but if this is Manning, that's not going to happen."
His partner's assessment of the situation was a grim one, but at least they now knew whose death they were dealing with…
"I can give you a few pointers, Bones," Booth said, as he and his partner tossed a basketball around the college gymnasium while waiting for their next suspects to be available for interrogation. "Colby doesn't get out of class for a few minutes. You've gotta sort of flip your wrist you see, like this?"
Demonstrating the manoeuvre, Booth smiled in satisfaction as he took the shot and tossed it through the hoop; it was a minor thing, but when he'd spent so long developing less conventional skills, it was nice to know that he could pull off normal as well.
"Sports should not have such a priority in the university," Bones said, shaking her head as he ran forward to grab the ball.
"Alright, you know what?" Booth said, turning back to look at his partner. "That's crazy."
"No," Bones said. "Anthropologically speaking, sports are a way for boys to practice their battle skills."
"Yeah, OK," Booth said, shaking his head to try and dismiss that issue; he preferred to think of sport as an opportunity to maintain physical fitness in a society where manual labour was less of a necessity than it had been when he was alive. "So you want to just focus straight up, get up on your toes and just sluff…"
"The truth is athletes are basically emotionally arrested in boyhood," Bones said, even as Booth scored a rapid series of baskets while she talked, "acting out childish games as if they have adult importance. The only thing more juvenile are grown adults who watch sports."
"Why do you gotta say stuff like that?" Booth asked, cutting off his repeated scoring of basketball hoops to look at his partner.
"What?" Bones said, arms folded as she looked at him. "You mean the truth?"
"Alright," Booth said, rounding on Bones as he put the ball down at her feet. "You know what? I'm a jock. So when you say those, you know, things that you say, what are you saying about me?"
It was a stretch, but the idea of sport serving as a modern form of conflict was enough to get him thinking about everything he'd had to give up after he became Seeley Booth, his years of training as Angel irrelevant now that Booth didn't have the strength to hold his own in that field any more…
"Nothing," Bones said. "You grew out of it."
"No, I didn't, all right?" Booth said, going for the best explanation he could think of off the top of his head. "My shoulder crapped out on me. Otherwise, I would have gone all the way with it."
"What?" Bones said.
"You know what, and another thing, alright?" Booth continued, wanting to say something truthful after bringing up such a significant lie as he picked up his jacket and walked out of the gymnasium. "I fought in a war! So if sports is a 'childish substitute'? I can live with that."
As he left the court, he was privately relieved that at least that part of his statement was true; even if he missed the difference he could make as Angel, he'd be far happier in a world where people only competed against each other in sport rather than open conflict….
"One of you is taking steroids and the other one is being treated for the clap," Booth said as he addressed their current two suspects in the interrogation room.
"Somebody tested positive for steroids?" Jimmy Fields said in shock
"Ah," Booth said, indicating the speaker in satisfaction. "Thank you for your candor, Jimmy; thank you."
"I didn't admit anything, I asked a question," Jimmy objected.
"That's great," Booth said. "The guy on steroids would be worried about steroids; the guy with the clap- that would be you, Eddie- wouldn't worry."
"Well, why worry?" Ed said. "It's just a shot in the ass."
"Thank you, Ed, I appreciate it," Booth said; he didn't entirely approve of the guy being so casual about his health, but at least he hadn't gone out to actively use drugs like his compatriot. "You can leave now."
"Why can he leave?" Jimmy protested.
"I really don't care about where he's been dipping his, you know, wick, alright; I care about illegal steroids," Booth clarified. "Get lost, Ed. Leave."
"What's steroids go to do with what happened to R.J.?" Jimmy asked, after the clearly confused Ed had left the interrogation room.
"Oh, I don't know," Booth replied as he sat down. "Maybe R.J. is just worried about the, uh, the side effects. You know, all the, uh, the yelling and screaming, you know, the zits on his pretty face, his…manhood shrinking. So maybe he just gets nervous and he wants to confess to Coach Morse."
"What, so I kill him?" Jimmy asked, Booth shrugging in response; he knew that people could do foolish things for power after some of the stories he'd heard about how sires could 'convince' others to turn, but it still made him feel sick to think of what people would do without thinking long-term. "That's crazy! R.J. made me look good enough to go to… Europe leagues! Maybe even the NBA! You can't even prove I'm on steroids."
"Nah, nah, see," Booth said, pulling out the appropriate sheet of paper and sliding it across the table. "I execute this warrant to check you for steroids, uh, it's a paper trail and it becomes public knowledge my friend."
"I'll lose my eligibility," Jimmy said, his tone weak as he considered the implications.
"Bingo," Booth said, taking out a sample cup as he continued. "So you tell me who provided you with the steroids and this stays between you and me, or, uh… you gotta pee in a cup."
"C'mon, man…" Jimmy protested weakly.
"Oh, and this time I'm going to have to watch you pee in a cup," Booth added; if he could just make this guy see sense and recognise that confessing would be easier, they might be able to get through this mess without it becoming too embarrassing. "I hope you don't have a bashful bladder."
"Do you know why we're doing this?" Booth asked Dallas Verona, the last girl in the cheerleading squad in the queue waiting to be tested for the clap.
"I can guess," Dallas said, raising her eyebrows and folding her arms in frustration.
"We found evidence that one of the cheerleaders might have been with R.J. before he died," Bones said. "Sexually."
"I know what 'been with' means," Dallas said bluntly.
"You know the DNA will tell us if it was you," Booth noted, deciding to test the waters.
"It wasn't," Dallas said, her manner still blunt.
"Why isn't she upset?" Bones asked, looking over at Booth in confusion after taking a moment to process that news.
"Oh, please," Dallas said, rolling her eyes. "Oh, I get it. You think because R.J. compulsively played around, I might have lured him to his death or something?"
"Wow, she's smart," Bones said.
"Mmm," Booth noted. "Well, do you want to pick out anyone in particular here?"
"Did you see R.J.?" Dallas asked, scoffing dismissively. "Before he was dead, I mean? He was a very good looking guy. You factor in his sex drive and how he played…half these girls have done him. Hell, he even did the towel girl."
"Great," Booth said, as Bones looked contemplatively at the younger woman, clearly trying to understand what this woman felt about her life. "Do you know about Justine Berry?"
"R.J. liked girls," Dallas said. "All kinds of girls. I'm just one kind."
"Which kind is that?" Bones asked.
"The permanent kind," the cheerleader said firmly.
Booth could understand that definition even if he didn't like to think about it; he was disturbingly reminded of his and Spike's relationship with Drusilla, even if they'd never even managed to define whether he or Spike would have been the 'permanent' one in that relationship (Darla had never been interested in doing anything with Spike to his recollection; she admired his skill at killing, but she was notoriously picky about her sexual partners).
"You planned to live like that?" Bones asked.
"R.J. came home to me," Dallas explained. "That's the way it would have stayed. From his crappy student apartment to the giant mansion he would have gotten."
As the girl turned away while tearing up, Booth was left in a rare situation for a murder investigation; facing a potential suspect that he knew couldn't have committed the crime whom he still had absolutely no sympathy for whatsoever.
Walking into the gymnasium to confront Cutler, Booth knew even at a distance that the man they were here to talk to was at least not going to be the kind of suspect who ran away when they tried to get a confession from him; it was just harder to be sure what he'd do instead…
"Just a moment," he said to Bones, before addressing Cutler from across the room. "Hey, Chief."
"If I hadn't spat on that son of a bitch, you never would have caught me, right?" Cutler asked, as he sat solemnly on the bleachers where they had discovered the body.
"Well, Celeste might have told us," Bones noted.
"She doesn't know," Cutler said, starting to break down in tears as he spoke, the formerly strong man breaking down as he made his confession. "I came in and saw my little girl, saw her with R.J.… doing what she was doing. She heard me and took off. None of the girls could resist R.J. Kid had it all. Magic boy. You know what else he had? The clap. And he knew that when he took my daughter underneath the blea-"
As Cutler broke down crying, he reached into his bag and pulled out a gun, Booth quickly pulling out his own in response; he wasn't vampire-fast any more, but he could still do this if he had to.
"No," the agent said firmly. "He's got a gun, Bones; I need you to leave now."
"Don't worry," Cutler said, raising the gun to his head as he spoke. "It's not you I intend to shoot…"
"There's no way Cutter Cutler kills himself," Booth said; no matter what this man had done, suicide wasn't an option for someone who'd made one bad call because he was angry at what had happened to his daughter. "No way Cutter Cutler goes down without a fight."
"What are you doing?" Bones asked. "Do you want him to shoot you?"
"Go," Booth said, his voice low, but his partner clearly understanding his suggestion as she hurried away.
"I was just like him, you know?" Cutler said, the gun staying close to his head as he spoke even if he wasn't pointing it at his head any more. "Under these same bleachers, in fact. I was as bad as him. You wouldn't understand."
"We were all like that," Booth noted; even if he hadn't been an actual jock, he'd done the equivalent when he was Liam and human all those years ago, and he knew enough from Cordelia's stories to know that some things hadn't changed (Xander had been limited by a lack of opportunity rather than a lack of interest).
"It changes your life view," Cutler continued. "You see your little girl… it's a different perspective."
Booth could certainly sympathise with that; even if he hadn't had Connor and Parker as children of his own, getting his soul back had certainly flipped his perspective on his past actions.
"People are gonna understand the action that you took, OK?" he said, trying to draw on his artificial memories of college statistics to reinforce this man's memories of his past. "I do. Man, you're Cutter Cutler. Lowest assist and turnover ratios. Twelve triple doubles in your last season. Nobody could change direction in the open court like you, man, nobody... no, do it now. Change direction again."
"Cutter Cutler died a long time ago," Cutler said, tearfully holding the gun to his chest as he made his last statement. "I'm just putting him away."
Booth raised his gun as Cutler moved his own weapon to his head, but the agent was saved from attempting a difficult shot as Bones moved up behind Cutler, slipping her hand between the hammer and the firing-pin before they could connect, pinching the skin but preventing the gun from firing.
His partner's hand would be sore for a while, but as she took the gun away from the now-sobbing Cutler, Booth was certain that she'd consider that a fair exchange…
"Your hand hurt?" Booth asked, indicating his partner's injury as they sat in their usual table at the Royal Diner, Cutler in lock-up and all evidence logged.
"A little," Bones admitted.
"So," he continued, as he pulled out his wallet to count out the change for their meal, "jock mentality… teams… not all bad, huh?"
"Why are you telling me this?" Bones asked.
"You just said we're all stunted adolescents who take children's games too seriously."
"I never meant you," Bones protested.
"Bones…" Booth said, appreciating her defence but knowing he wasn't worthy of it.
"What?"
"Bones," Booth said, deciding to cut to the chase before this became awkward. "I'm one of those guys."
"No you aren't," Bones corrected him. "You don't play at being a warrior; you are a warrior. Every day. You're definitely… a fully developed man."
"OK, OK," Booth said, touched at his partner's statement but not wanting to draw out the issue as he put down the money for their food; it was nice to be recognised as a warrior even when he was only human, but he didn't want to risk getting big-headed about it. "You leave the tip."
"Even Cutler knew you were lying when you said you treated women like that beneath the bleachers," Bones said, as she pulled out her own wallet.
"Oh, and you believe him?" Booth asked (He might not have treated anyone like that behind the bleachers, but that was only because Liam hadn't been alive at a time when people used bleachers).
"Yes," Bones said. "Because you still remember that first girl's name."
Booth felt suddenly ashamed at the false impression he was giving his partner. He appreciated her view of him as Booth, but there was so much of his past as Liam, Angelus and Angel that countered that view; even if it was only because it had been so long since he'd actually done it, he couldn't remember the first girl he'd done… that… with…
