Author's Note: A kind-of-completely-but-not-really-AU Bones fic. Bear with me on this, please. I will admit that I do not have a wide extent of legal knowledge, so I apologize if some of this isn't that realistic. But it is an AU fic, so I digress.
While I was re-watching the show, I thought, would Booth and Brennan still meet and fall in love and all that other fun stuff if she had never been abandoned by her parents? Of course my answer was yes, and I set about thinking about how it would happen. This is the result.
Added note, 3/22/2020: Obviously, this is a difficult time for everyone. I'm one of the people that still has to work, but I've been re-watching shows that comfort me, and Bones is definitely one of those shows. Writing fic helps relieve some of the stress and anxiety I have, too. I have a couple of chapters written already, so I'm going to try and keep up with this multi-chapter. I have no idea how long it's going to be, but I'm having a lot of fun writing it!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. This story title comes from the song "Heart Beat Here" by Dashboard Confessional. The chapter title comes from the song "Vindicated" also by Dashboard Confessional.
She was nearly three years old when she was told her name would be Temperance Brennan.
She was too young, then, to understand what was really going on. But she had nodded her head and smiled brightly as she repeated "Temperance Brennan" as best she could in her little voice. Mommy and Daddy knew best, after all.
It was easy for her to forget life as Joy Keenan, and move into life as Temperance Brennan. She still had her brother, even if she had to call him Russ now. Mommy and Daddy were still Mommy and Daddy, so it didn't matter what their names were. She still looked the same and she still liked the same things and played with the same toys and identified bugs and plants and animals in the backyard with her Daddy, so it wasn't that hard for her.
Before long, Temperance Brennan was all that she knew.
She was seventeen years old when her parents told her about Joy Keenan.
At that point, her friends had started calling her Brennan, or Bren, courtesy of her best friend Angela Montenegro—Temperance was for her parents or teachers, Tempe for the people in her family that she was closest too. Temperance Brennan was who she was: class valedictorian, part of the honor society, president of the Science Club, and treasurer for the student body government. She babysat on the weekends, took yoga classes at the local Y two times a week, and volunteered to help her father with his fifth grade science class (anything to look good on the resume for college). She had a group of friends, but Angela was the one person she was closest with.
Then, one day, her parents sat her down and casually told her that everything she thought she knew… everything she had grown up believing… was a lie.
Their names weren't Matt and Christine Brennan (the names that she had remembered seeing on their mail when she had first started to read, the names she had seen them sign on countless permissions slips and forms for her, the names she had heard them call each other over and over and over again), they were Max and Ruth Keenan. And her brother wasn't Russ Brennan (the older brother on the football team who played their best running back, so everyone knew who he was, the brother who used to stop in her homeroom when she was a freshman, just to make sure that she was okay, the brother who would all "Marco" through the doorway when he would walk by her classroom, just so she could answer back, "Polo," the brother she had watched go to Notre Dame so he could play football), he was Kyle Keenan. And her name was Joy Keenan.
At first, she thought it was a joke. But then her father explained to her with sad eyes that she was going to be eighteen, soon, and that there was a lot they had to tell her. It all came out, after that: their lives as career bank robbers, the way a hit man came after them, threatening their lives, the way they had turned over information to the police about their old team so that they could be placed in the Witness Protection Program.
She stared at them, her eyes hard, and told them that she was not Joy Keenan—she had never been Joy Keenan. She was Temperance Brennan. And she didn't care what they had done or that they were in witness protection or even that they had spent the better part of their lives as criminals—though she was sure she would care about much more later, after everything had a chance to set in… after she had time to think about the fact that her parents had been lying to her for her whole life.
Her mother understood. She had nodded her head and told her that she knew she was Temperance Brennan. That this didn't have to change anything, but they had believed their daughter should know the truth. Russ knew (and he had chosen to remain Russ Brennan, because Kyle Keenan didn't exist anymore), and now it was her turn.
She continued to stare at her parents, until she couldn't take it anymore. Then she left.
She didn't know who Joy Keenan was. Even though her parents had lied to her, she wouldn't allow them to take Temperance Brennan away from her.
She spent the entire summer before college with Angela and refused to speak with her parents.
It was easy enough, since Angela's father was some famous rock star and basically had a mansion with more rooms than he knew what to do with, so it wasn't like she was in the way. Angela was a good best friend and gasped and was appropriately outraged when she explained the lies her parents had been feeding to her for her whole life… but they were lies that she only knew as the truth.
She went to college then, heading off to Northwestern University while Angela was nearby at The Art Institute of Chicago, and she kept in contact with her brother. She couldn't explain why she was so furious with her parents, but not with her brother. She didn't bother to try and figure it out, because she had no time for those feelings while she was studying.
Still, college was good for her. Angela was there to remind her to have a good time every now and then, and she either stayed on campus during breaks, stayed with her older brother, or jetted off to wherever Angela was vacationing too. Before she knew it, she was finishing her sophomore year and she hadn't spoken to her parents in over two years.
They hadn't pushed her, and they seemed to understand that she needed time to figure all of this out. Suddenly, halfway through her junior year, she was tired of it all—she was tired of the anger, tired of not speaking to her parents, tired of holding on to something that happened over twenty years ago, something that she had had no control over.
So she called them. They were still her parents, even if their names were really Max and Ruth Keenan.
She had just finished her doctorate when her father told her he was going to start consulting for the FBI.
They were moving to Washington DC, and she was already well-known in her field—it wasn't like there were that many forensic anthropologists out there, and she knew that she was damn good at what she did. She was twenty-seven years old and already she had people begging her to come work for them—word had gotten around when she finished her graduate degree early and moved on to her doctorate at a young age. So she flipped through some of her job offers, found the one from the Jeffersonian Institute, and took them up on their offer—after a bit of negotiation, of course.
Maybe it was because she had spent over two years not speaking to her parents at all (and even after they had patched things up, she was still consumed with the work for her graduate degree, and then, later, her doctorate, so contact had been sporadic at best), but she felt the urge to be close to them, to reconnect with them.
Her parents were going by their legal names now, not by the ones given to them while they had been in the witness protection program—apparently, nearly everyone in the bank robbing crew was dead, and there was no threat against them anymore (from what Brennan understood—when she had bothered to ask about it—one guy in the crew turned state's evidence against the rest of them in order to secure his own place in the Witness Protection Program. Two more members of the crew dropped off the grid and were assumed dead. The ones who had gotten caught had died in jail).
Brennan, on the other hand, had taken matters into her own hands and had legally had her name changed. She remembered, on that day, the relief when she felt when she knew now that no one could take that from her now, no matter what. For as long as she could remember, she was Temperance Brennan. There wasn't a person alive that could take that from her.
She wasn't sure how her father had gotten roped into consulting for the FBI, but she did know Max Keenan still had contacts in some rather unsavory places with even worse people. It was a part of her parents' lives that she refused to talk about, even after all she had seen and done in her studies as a forensic anthropologist. She couldn't shake the thought that her father would need someone to look out for him, someone to keep an eye on him. She'd be able to handle it, even with a new job at the Jeffersonian. She had seen enough in the third-world countries that she had studied in—the people in her parent's crew (if they were still alive, anyway), meant nothing to her. She wasn't scared of them.
She was Temperance Brennan, after all. She could do anything.
"Bren. Bren, come on. Wake up."
Temperance Brennan jerked awake and then groaned when she realized that she had fallen asleep, hunched over her desk. Again. She sat up and massaged her temples, groaning again when she saw Angela Montenegro standing in front of her desk with an arched eyebrow and a steaming cup of coffee in her hands.
"Damn it," she muttered.
Angela shook her head and wagged her finger at the woman sitting at the desk in front of her. "We've talked about this, Bren. You're supposed to sleep in a bed, you know. Preferably with a hot guy to keep you warm, but we'll take this one step at a time. And it's only two days after Christmas! We should still be recovering from festive holiday hangovers."
Yawning, Brennan simply narrowed her eyes at her so-called best friend. Deciding to let Angela's comments go, Brennan nodded her head towards the cup of coffee in her hands. "Do you have one of those for me?"
Angela pushed another mug—this one yellow with the Jeffersonian logo on it—towards Brennan. It was only then that Brennan realized that Angela's coffee mug was one of those artsy ones, painted with swirling splashes of water color. It was so like Angela to ignore the free mugs their workplace provided in favor of her own, more colorful ones. It made Brennan smile, because even in the fifteen years that they'd been friends, that had never changed.
"Have I ever told you that you're my best friend?" Brennan asked as she pulled the mug towards her. Having been best friends for over fifteen years, Angela knew exactly how Brennan liked her coffee. There was just enough creamer in it for Brennan to taste the coffee, but not so much that it was overpowered. Brennan hummed in appreciation, and took several long swallows from it.
"Once or twice," Angela confirmed with a grin. "Though I could stand to hear it a few times more." She plopped down into the chair across from Brennan's desk, still managing to look graceful as always. "So what's this I hear about Cam pressuring you to work with the FBI?"
Despite the fact that she now had some delicious coffee clutched between her palms, Brennan scowled. "Dr. Saroyan seems to think that just because my father consults with the FBI, I should want to work with them as well." Angela knew it was bad if Brennan was referring to their friend by her professional title, instead of by name. "She has asked repeatedly for me to work with him, even though I have stated numerous times that I have no desire to know anything about—"
Brennan stopped talking abruptly when she realized just how she was ranting. Angela was really the only one who knew just how horribly she felt about what she had discovered about her parents when she was seventeen, and it was something that she rarely talked about. In fact, she hadn't spoken about it since she had moved to DC when her father started working with the FBI, a little over two years ago.
"You don't have to say anything, Bren," Angela quickly assured her. "I know. I'll talk to Cam and get her to back off. You don't have to work with the FBI if you don't want to. She doesn't know the whole story, but it's still ridiculous for her to think that just because your father consults with them, you'd want to work with them, too."
Brennan sighed and set her coffee aside before she dragged her fingers through her hair. She frowned, thinking that she really did need to go home and take a shower and grab a change of clothes before she jumped into the new workday once again.
"That will be unnecessary, Angela, really," Brennan finally said. She knew that Angela was just being a good friend, which she appreciated. "I can handle Cam on my own. She says that she knows one of the Special Agents there, that he's someone she grew up with. I don't have time for that, however. Not when I just returned from Guatemala, with everything from the dig that we discovered."
"Brennan, don't you dare," Angela began. She knew exactly where this was going. She had seen it time and time again—especially around Brennan's birthday, which was when she finally learned who her parents really were. "You can't spend all night working, again. You need a break, you need some food, you need a shower—"
"I know," Brennan interrupted. She forced a bright smile on her face and stood up, gathering her jacket and purse. "I'm going to take a shower right now, and I'll see you soon. We'll have lunch, alright?"
Angela frowned and took another long sip of her coffee. She had a feeling that she was going to need the extra caffeine today. "Bren, come on—"
"See you later!" Brennan exclaimed as she waved and darted out of her own office.
An hour later, Brennan was showered and changed. She had even managed to eat a bowl of oatmeal, which was unusual, given that she normally didn't consume breakfast. Even though she didn't usually believe in what some other people called a "gut feeling," she couldn't escape the nagging feeling that she was somehow going to need the extra energy today.
She was just getting ready to leave her apartment when her cell phone started to ring. She swiped her finger across the touch screen, not recognizing the number, but knowing she needed to answer it anyway. Brennan received calls from unknown numbers all the time, and they generally were looking for consultations or inquiring about different job offers for her. If they couldn't reach her this way, they would contact her through the Jeffersonian, so it was just better to field the call now.
"Brennan," she greeted in her professional, slightly annoyed tone.
A young man's voice reached her through the other side of the line. "Temperance Brennan?"
"Dr. Temperance Brennan," she corrected. "How can I help you?"
"My name is Officer John Casteel," the young man told her. "I have your father here in custody—"
"In custody?" Brennan repeated. She froze in the entryway to her apartment, with her jacket half on and her purse clutched in her free hand. "What do you mean, my father is in custody?"
"We caught him participating in a drug deal, ma'am—"
"You must have the wrong man, then, for my father doesn't do drugs. Nor has he ever distributed such paraphernalia."
"Ma'am, if you would just let me finish—"
Brennan ignored the flustered officer's interruption. "Tell me where you are holding him. I assure you, you have no cause to arrest my father."
"Well… well, ma'am, when I said we had him in custody, I meant that he was actually being held at the Hoover, with a Special Agent Seeley Booth—"
Brennan hung up before the officer could finish speaking. Grumbling under her breath, she finished pulling her jacket on as she thought about the best way to get to the Hoover in the midday traffic. She had to find this Special Agent Seeley Booth and get him to release her father. What was wrong with those imbeciles at the Hoover, anyway? Shouldn't they know that her father was one of their undercover informants? She was just itching for a fight, and she couldn't wait to release her wrath on some poor, unsuspecting Special Agent at the FBI.
This definitely hadn't been on her list of things to do today.
Sighing heavily, Brennan crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the young agent who had the misfortune of covering the desk during the receptionist's lunch break. "Look, as I have said to you multiple times, I need to go to Agent Seeley Booth's office. Just give me the visitor's pass, and I'll be able to solve this problem on my own."
"Ma'am—" the agent said.
Brennan had been called ma'am one too many times today. "My name is Dr. Temperance Brennan. Dr."
"I-I apologize," the agent stammered. "Dr. Brennan, I simply can't allow you to go up to Special Agent Booth's office without a reason why, or without approval from him."
Brennan huffed under her breath and dug her phone out of her purse. She supposed that now would be the time to call Cam. If anything, Cam could get her in contact with the agent at the FBI she knew, and maybe he could get her up to this Seeley Booth. She was done waiting around.
"Agent Roberts, I got this," a new, deep voice said.
The young agent looked relieved, and he slumped back in his chair. "Thank you, Agent Booth," Roberts muttered.
Forgetting completely about the incompetent agent behind the desk, Brennan spun around on her heel and opened her mouth, ready to start in on this agent from the FBI. What she wasn't prepared for, however, was the way her voice caught in her throat and her heart skipped a beat without her permission. She slowly tucked her phone into her back pocket as she tried to regain control of herself and her involuntary reactions.
Special Agent Seeley Booth wasn't anything like what she had imagined—not that she had spent very much time imagining what he would be like. That deep voice matched the face and strong body that came with it.
He was broad-shouldered, impeccably dressed in a suit and a ridiculous tie, along with an outrageous belt buckle that Brennan raised an eyebrow at. She wasn't really as distracted by that as she was by the width of his shoulders, the perfect line of his jaw, or the warm, amused depths in his brown eyes.
Brennan usually wasn't one to get distracted by how attractive a man was, so she found her voice and pushed those thoughts aside. "Are you Agent Seeley Booth?"
"Special Agent Seeley Booth," Booth corrected, with a disarming sparkle in his eyes. "I've heard a lot about you, Dr. Temperance Brennan."
She didn't miss the emphasis he put on her title, and she scowled at him. There were very few people in her life that she allowed to tease her. "Listen, Special Agent Booth—"
He smiled at her, wide and charming. "Just Booth is fine, thanks."
"Booth, then. I hear that you have my father in custody, and I would like to speak with you about that just how wrong you were in arresting him—"
"Alright, alright, Doc." Booth put his hand lightly on the small of her back and ushered her forward, grabbing a visitor's badge from the desk as he passed by. He handed it to Brennan, gesturing with his free hand for her to attach it to the lapel of her coat. "Let's head up to my office, and I'll explain everything there."
Brennan had a hard time keeping her thoughts to herself as she was ushered into an elevator, with Booth following close behind. She crossed her arms over her chest and very purposefully stepped away from him, refusing to look him in the eye. When he had touched the small of her back, she hadn't missed the tingle that ran up her spine, and it had felt good. She knew all about the chemical reactions that signaled attraction in the brain, but it been a long time since it had affected her so immediately. She could still see the outline of his attractive profile in her peripheral vision, though, and she was annoyed at just how unnerved it made her.
Once they stepped out of the elevator, Booth put his hand on the small of her back again, guiding her with gentle pressure in the direction of his office. Once they were in view of his other coworkers in the bullpen, he dropped his hand, and she followed him into his office.
He shut the door behind him, and Brennan paid no mind to the glass walls of his office. "Special Agent Booth, I have no idea what you think you were doing, but if you had any sense at all, you would know that my father actually works as a consultant for you—"
"He doesn't really work for me," Booth corrected with another one of those infuriatingly charming smiles. "I mean, I've worked with him a few times, but he doesn't actually work for me. We loan out your father's services to a few different units."
"Booth." Brennan wasn't typically the type of woman to use the word "whatever," but she felt as though it could apply here. She huffed when sat back in his desk chair, putting his feet up on his desk as he lounged as if he didn't have a care in the world. "You should know, then, that my father was arrested by mistake. So if you could just release him, I would be very grateful."
He grinned at her and stretched his arms over his head, and as his suit jacket shifted, Brennan could see the firearm holstered against his side, courtesy of the leather straps of his holster. It infuriated her that she found that attractive, as well. "Dr. Brennan, your father isn't actually in custody. I only told that officer that I was taking him with me so there weren't any questions asked."
Brennan threw her hands in the air, furious that she had wasted so much time at the Hoover trying to track down her wayward father, and dealing with this cocky Special Agent. "Then where is he, Agent Booth? I don't have time for this. I have a lot of work to do, you know."
"I do know, as a matter of fact," Booth said. "Your father tells me that you're some fancy scientist over at the Jeffersonian. You work with bones, or something?"
"I'm a forensic anthropologist," Brennan corrected through gritted teeth. Even though Booth was asking ridiculous questions, she couldn't help but think that he was being obtuse on purpose. One didn't become a Special Agent in charge for no reason, after all—and Brennan hadn't missed the name plate on Booth's desk.
"I know," Booth told her again. He flipped a gold lighter in between his fingers, and then tucked it into his pocket. "Your father is actually going through with the drug deal he was supposedly arrested for. The dealer is a suspect in a murder I'm investigating. This is our chance to nail him."
Despite the fact that this was what her father was now involved in—and the constant reminder of her parents' horrible past—Brennan was enraged at the thought of the danger her father was put in. "So my father is in danger because of your investigation?"
"That is his job, Dr. Brennan," Booth told her. Though his face remained kind but neutral, she could see his brown eyes soften just a bit. "As I'm sure he's told you plenty of times, now."
Brennan inhaled deeply and sank down into one of the chairs sitting on the to her side of Booth's desk. She pressed a hand to her forehead and then dragged it through her hair, wondering why now, after over two years, Max Keenan's job consulting with the FBI was suddenly impacting her life. She closed her eyes briefly, exhaling slowly as she tried to get a hold of emotions that had been over twelve years in the making.
"Dr. Brennan," Booth asked, and she opened her eyes again, staring into those bottomless brown orbs. The kindness and worry that Brennan had seen in his eyes before was now open on his handsome face. "Are you alright?"
His deep voice, so amused before, was now full of concern. There was such sympathy in his eyes, such care, that Brennan had to look away. She crossed her arms over her chest once again, tucking her body into itself and closing her face off entirely, hoping to keep her wayward emotions locked away.
Instead of answering his question, Brennan said, "Agent Booth, you will take me to my father. Now."
"Dr. Brennan, I don't think you understand just what kind of situation you father is in right now. I'm not going to bring you out into one of the worst parts of the city, where your father is trying to help us catch a notorious drug dealer and suspected murderer. I wouldn't feel comfortable putting you in such a dangerous situation."
"Agent Booth." Now Brennan tilted her lips up at Booth, a smirk on her face. "I can assure you, I have been in plenty more dangerous situations than that. You won't need to worry about me." Uncrossing her arms, she pressed her palms onto his desk and leaned forward so that she could look him directly in the eyes. Her new vantage point, hovering over him at his desk, put Brennan much closer to Booth than she anticipated—especially when he leaned forward in his desk chair as well. She might have been standing over him, but he clearly had control here. "I don't think I need to remind you that I know some very important people. So if I were you, I'd take you to where my father is having his little meeting."
Booth stared at her for a long moment, returning her very direct stare. Brennan fought the urge to fidget under his brown-eyed gaze, feeling as though he could see directly into the very being of who she was.
Finally, Booth nodded his head. "Sure, Doc. I'll take you to him."
When they arrived where the drug deal was going to take place, though, Max Keenan wasn't meeting with the dealer.
He held his hands up as Booth and Brennan approached. If he was surprised to see his daughter with the FBI Special Agent he had been working with lately, he didn't show it. Instead of greeting them, he said, "I swear, it's not my fault."
Booth was already asking Max what the hell he was talking about, but Brennan saw what her father had been standing in front of. With a heavy sigh, Brennan dug around in her bag for a pair of latex gloves before she dropped into a crouch.
"The victim is female," Brennan announced as she studied the skull. Scavenging had already removed most of the flesh. She made a point not to touch anything for fear of disturbing the crime scene. "At least mid to late twenties. Racial markers indicate Caucasian."
"Holy shit," Booth breathed. He turned sharp eyes to Max. "You were supposed to meet with Hernandez. That was it. Meet with Hernandez, find the location of the drop, and then meet him there later, after you fed the information to us. And yet, I find you here. With a body."
Instead of looking concerned for the situation he now found himself in, Max just looked annoyed. "I told you, this wasn't my fault. I showed up to meet that guy you're after, and I found this—" Max gestured to the body, "—instead."
Brennan closed her eyes briefly and shook her head, wondering how in the hell she ended up in this position. Opening her eyes once again, she focused on the remains in front of her. "There appears to be a bullet hole on the right parietal, just above the squamosal suture. I can't be positive that it was cause of death until we get the remains back to the lab."
Booth was already scribbling into a note card that he pulled from the pocket of his jacket, and he snorted. "I'm guessing if someone got shot in the head, it's pretty safe to say that it's cause of death." Then, the rest of Brennan's words registered. "Wait, what do you mean, back at the lab?"
"My team is among the best in the country, if not the best," Brennan stated as she stood up and snapped off her gloves. "If you want to find out what happened to this young woman, than I suggest you let my team work on this case." She crossed her arms over chest, tilting her head as she feigned innocence. "I thought the FBI wanted to work with the Jeffersonian, anyway? This would be an excellent opportunity to build that relationship."
Booth was giving her that calculating look again, but this time it was paired with a knowing grin. "I suppose you're right, Dr. Brennan."
He might have been acknowledging that she was right, but that teasing tone was back in his voice, and it made her press her lips together and narrow her eyes. Booth just grinned at her in response. She jumped when her father spoke, reminding her that she and Booth weren't there alone.
"Someone is trying to frame me for this murder. It doesn't even make any sense, because this girl has obviously been dead for some time," Max pointed out. He looked kind of bored by the whole thing, as if this had happened to him before—which, it probably had.
Booth nodded his head in agreement, while Brennan sighed through her nose and shook her head. "There is absolutely no evidence that would suggest that someone is trying to frame you, Dad." He was right about the girl being dead well before she had been found in this alleyway, however. They would have to wait until they got back to the lab to determine time of death. The most likely scenario was that she had been moved.
If that really was the case, then it really was possible that her father was being framed for this murder. Brennan wouldn't accept that until she had hard evidence, however.
To Brennan's consternation, her father just chuckled and shook his head. "You're so much like your mother, Tempe. She always needed proof, too."
"Dad!" Brennan admonished. Booth was still standing there, watching her interact with her father with a grin on his face, as if all of this was highly amusing. Meanwhile, there was still a body behind them, and they were still standing in an alleyway in a not-so-great part of the neighborhood.
Max completely ignored the annoyed look on his daughter's face. "Tempe, the first time I tried to meet with this Hernandez guy, I got arrested. The second time, there's a body. Someone has to be trying to set me up. It's the only explanation!"
Sighing, Brennan pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and pointer finger. She had always known that her father would find himself in trouble sooner or later while he was consulting with the FBI. There was only so much he could get away with.
"Well?" Brennan finally asked as she turned to Booth. "Are you going to allow my team to work on this with you?"
Booth smiled easily at her and pulled his phone from his pocket. "Sure. Just let me call a tech team out here, and we'll gather up all the evidence and have everything shipped back to the Jeffersonian for you."
Her eyes narrowed again, and she pointed a threatening finger at the Special Agent. "You need to make sure that your agents correctly collect and process the evidence. I will not stand for the improper handling of evidence, Agent Booth."
"Temperance!" Max exclaimed. He knew how focused his daughter was, but he was unused to seeing her speak so harshly to someone she would potentially be working with.
Booth waved Max off. "Don't worry about it. Dr. Brennan just wants to make sure that this job is done correctly. That's what I want, too."
Rolling her eyes, Brennan turned and stalked away from Booth and her father. She had no idea what was making her so angry, but she knew if she didn't remove herself from the situation, she might end up saying something that she would later regret, and that just wouldn't do.
Besides, she needed to play nice. She was going to officially be working with the FBI now, after all.
Brennan's eyes narrowed as she watched Cam greet Booth enthusiastically. It was easy to see that they were old friends, and it didn't take much for Brennan to make the leap; Booth was the agent that Cam had wanted her to work with.
Brennan crossed her arms over her chest and huffed as she stalked over to Booth. "You've known this entire time that Cam wanted us to work together, haven't you?"
Cam tried—unsuccessfully—to hide her smile, while Booth grinned outright at her. "Of course I knew, Dr. Brennan. Why do you think I agreed to bring you to your father so easily? I know when I'm being blackmailed."
Brennan blushed slightly and Cam laughed. She wasn't used to seeing her friend and coworker so on edge just by someone else's presence, and she could tell that Booth wasn't completely unaffected. Cam had a feeling that watching the two of them work together was going to be pretty amusing… and a lot of fun.
Cam excused herself from Brennan's office, claiming that she had her own tests to run on the body that they found. Max was with Angela, describing Hernandez to her so that they could get a sketch, and then Angela could run facial recognition to see if they could pick up his whereabouts. Angela would later to a facial reconstruction on their victim, to see if they could identify her.
"You knew I was trying to blackmail you?" Brennan asked evenly. She wasn't embarrassed that she had done it, because she would do anything for her family. She just wasn't quite sure that Booth had so easily known what she had been doing.
"I'm a federal agent, Doc. It's not the first time someone has tried to blackmail me." He grinned at her. "It is the first time I've let someone get away with it, though."
Brennan lifted her chin. "I'm not going to apologize for doing it."
Booth laughed outright at that. "I don't expect you to."
There was something about his brown-eyed gaze that Brennan found very unnerving. "I should get up onto the platform so I can look at the remains again," she said.
Booth knew she was trying to escape, and he had no problem with that. He had a few things that he needed to be doing as well, so he'd let her go and play with her bones. They would be working together a lot over the next few days, anyway.
"Of course. See you later, Bones."
Brennan paused halfway through the door of her office. "I'm sorry… did you just refer to me as Bones?"
Booth gave her one of those charm smiles again. "Yup. Bones."
"Why?"
Booth hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and rocked back on his heels. "You work with Bones. You're supposed to be a genius, so I thought it'd be pretty self-explanatory."
She scowled at him, then. "Don't call me that."
As Brennan turned on her heel and stalked away, Booth was grinning at her the entire time.
With regards to Brennan's high school experience in this story: I was recently re-watching the early seasons, and I kind of got the impression that she didn't get really, truly awkward in high school until her parents abandoned her. They kind of went back on that in later seasons, but I'm taking liberty with the storyline and assuming that having someone like her mother would help Brennan stand up to bullies (as it were), or embrace her intelligence and use it rather than hide behind it.
I was also fortunate enough to go to a high school where yeah, we had the typical "popular" types who were cheerleaders and jocks and all that, but we also had lots of students who were very, very intelligent, and it was a particularly competitive atmosphere. Those kids with intelligence were celebrated as well, and held up just as highly as the athletes. I drew inspiration from my own high school to create the one that Brennan attended in the beginning of this story.
Well, sorry for the overly long author's note. I hope everyone is staying safe during this difficult time. Thank you for taking the time to read this chapter.