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-Mac 10

Chapter 22

Brennan felt numb all over as she knocked on the door, instantly thought of waving Booth over and having him come with her, but she was already relying on him more than she ever wanted – sharing everything with him at the lake and bringing him with her on this part of the journey. This was her moment, something she was thrust into as she faced the loss of Booth – this was meant to be an independence from him, an attempt to take back a piece of herself that was lost long ago – a piece lost that had led to much loss thereafter, including last week, as she listened to Booth laugh about her feelings with his girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend, her mind corrected. But what did it matter? The result was the same, finite result that the friend she held dear for years was no longer the man before her. That man would never have dismissed her, or discussed her, called her different, waved away her feelings while toasting his thriving relationship and the annoyance of someone who was basically just a work partner.

But he was here. And… something felt different. And old habits died hard; having him here still had the same effect of giving her a layer of protection and security when she needed it most. Like it used to be. And it meant something. She just wasn't sure what. But as much as she wanted to wave him in, to feel that safety, she needed to do this on her own. She needed to know that she could face things without him right there protecting her. How his protection had always managed to make her feel safer than she'd ever felt in her life. She called it his Alpha male tendencies, she'd brushed it off or tried to discourage it time and time again… and then she'd grown to love that feeling his protectiveness left her with.

The only time she'd ever hated it was when his protectiveness for her led to his own 'death'. He was shot so she wouldn't be. And it had split her in half, gutted her, swallowed her whole. His words the other day, agreeing that being shot was more welcome than dealing with 'things like this' left her reeling at the new loss of him. She still couldn't completely understand why he was here now at all. He'd apologized… but it was likely more to do with the fact that he realized she'd overheard and he'd hurt her feelings. Because he was still, after all, a good man. And he wouldn't have wanted to hurt her. She knew that with certainty.

And so, she waited and waited, refusing to turn around and look at her former partner. She knew he was there. And, if she was honest, that fact alone gave her much needed strength as that door finally opened.

She was face-to-face with Mary. The girl who'd lived here all those years ago. Mary looked confused for a split second and then her brow cleared and she put a hand up to her mouth.

"Temperance?"

Brennan nodded. "Hi, Mary."

"Oh my God… I never thought I'd see you again! I… I…. I…" she struggled with what to say, knowing that Brennan had left this house many moons ago in a stretcher, in a coma – and disappeared from her life forever. Because of her father, who was then taken away. And since their mother had left, Brennan didn't know what had become of Mary and her brother, Eric. They'd been a little mean. Teasing. But… nothing like the kids at school. In fact, Brennan remembered they'd seemed to actually like her, but gave her a hard time because of the kids at school. Having a foster sibling was something they were teased about as well, if memory served.

She could see a range of emotions flicker across Mary's expression. Guilt. Relief. Shame. Confusion. Fear.

"Why are you here?" Mary eventually asked.

"I wanted to see if you father was home. Because I have some things I'd like to say to him."

Mary's eyes got wide, but she stepped aside and let Brennan inside. And then, she closed the door.

B*B*B*B*B**B*B*B*B

Bones hadn't looked back once. Not for reassurance. For strength. Nothing. She'd stood there nearly shaking and it had taken every ounce of his strength not to rush over there despite her assertions that she was fine. Because she clearly wasn't. And at one time, his support had mattered. Had given her what she needed to overcome difficult aspects of her past.

When the door opened, he was relieved that a woman had answered. He honestly felt that if that man had opened the door, he'd walk over there and break his promise to Bones on the spot, to let her handle this alone. Because her words were haunting him. What she'd been through was leaving him with a feeling of pure dread in his gut. He was short of breath, and ready to kill. That feeling – and he knew it well – was taking over his body completely.

Bones walked inside, after a few words were exchanged, and the door closed behind her. And now… he was supposed to just sit here and wait. Knowing pure evil was possibly in there. A man like that had power over her. He had no doubt she could handle any physical threat – she'd handled herself in the field better than some of the field agents he worked with. It was the potential things he could say. This man had known her when every ounce of security in her life had been taken away. She'd lost her family, her brother, been removed from her first home… she'd been broken when he'd known her. And he'd probably treated her like trash. And then he'd broken her even more, almost killed her – she'd survived but was never the same. A man like that could torture her all over again. And he knew it. And he couldn't do a damn thing to help her.

After a few moments with the door closed, he saw a car pull up to the house and park in the driveway. An older man stepped out and walked to the walkway. He was wearing a wifebeater and sweatpants, a baseball cap, and holding a hot coffee and a newspaper. Booth's stomach clenched as he realized that this was him. And before he could think of any objections including what Bones herself had expressly told him she wanted, he walked over to him.

The man looked up, a cigarette hanging, unlit, between his lips. "What do you want?"

"Are you the man who lives here? Who's lived here for years?"

He nodded. "Who wants to know?"

"You fostered a teenaged girl?"

The man's eyes got wide and then they narrowed, suspiciously. "We fostered one kid. And we'd never do it again. What's it to you?"

Booth grabbed the man and swiveled him until he was up against his own car, trapped between the vehicle and Booth. Booth got right in his face.

"You listen to me. I'm FBI and I'm watching you. If you so much as say anything to upset her, I will kill you. People like you – they don't deserve to be here. People like you don't deserve –"

"I served my time. I already paid—"

"Oh no. If you honestly think you paid for what you did, you're very much mistaken. People like you do not deserve to be walking free."

"Are you honestly threatening to kill me? An agent of the law? I could have you reported and you'd lose your job."

Booth tightened his grip and moved in closer, his voice lower and fiercer. "I won't. And I don't care. She's my partner, and she has a lot of people on this side of the law who could can guarantee you never see the light of day again. Nothing would make me happier."

The man turned his face from Booth, rolling his eyes. "What do you want?"

"She is inside and she wants to talk. You will listen. And you will not hurt her – not with your hands, not with your words – if you don't want me to come in there and kill you. After what you've done to her in the past, self-defense would be on our side. And you know it."

The man grunted. "Why is she back here? She left this house because she wasn't woman enough for the real world and I thought I'd never have to see her or her trash bags ever again. So why is she here? She coming back for more?"

Without a pause, Booth punched the man across the face, grabbed his gun and held it up to the man's head. "You're really not getting this so let me make it crystal clear." He thumbed back the safety on his gun "You hurt her and I will kill you. Understand?"

The man swallowed hard. "I understand."

Booth waited for what felt like an eternity to let the man go. He looked into this man's eyes and showed him his hate, showed him that he had no power here, and that he was serious. Because he was. If his partner – former, whatever – walked out of this house looking hurt, scared, changed in any way for the worse, this man would be a dead man and he couldn't bring himself to care. Finally, he let him go.

"Good. Then we're done here. And you don't mention you saw me. Got it?"

The man touched his eye. "I feel like our altercation sort of speaks for itself."

"Then you got into a scuffle at the drug store."

The man backed away, nodding.

As Booth stared him down and walked back to the car, putting his gun back in its holster, he realized he was shaking from anger. He'd had to hold himself back after punching the man from punching him more – a lot more. He'd punched her. Kicked her. So bad that she wound up unconscious and placed in a medically induced coma to reduce the swelling in her brain, she'd said. It was a miracle she'd lived through her prom night. A miracle. The life she lives is a miracle after a night like that.

As he watched him walk into the house, he closed his eyes and put his hands up to his mouth, breathing into them. He was relieved that he got to warn him – that was his only goal today, before flying back to DC. And when he'd ended up having breakfast with Bones and her friends, that changed. And he worried that without the chance to threaten this guy's very existence, he'd cause her more harm than he already had. But alongside the relief was intense worry.

Because now, she was in there with someone who'd clearly viewed her – and treated her – like garbage, once upon a time. And he'd seen it before; she still carried that with her in so many ways. And right now, he, her former partner, best friend… he'd thrown her away, too. If she was feeling lost, weak, and abandoned for this confrontation – a confrontation where she needed to be confident and strong, as strong as she always was – that was on him.

B*B*B*B*B*B*B*B*B**B*B

Brennan had walked around the whole house with Mary. She was hoping that at some point in the past decade plus, they'd renovated the place. Gutted it. Painted, wallpapered, carpeted and tiled the old place away, covered the bad memories with new furniture – so the memories wouldn't be as sharp as she feared they might be.

But every inch of the place held little torments. Because it was crystal clear, walking in that front door and meeting Mary and her brother Eric. She'd been happy they were high schoolers like her. So she might have friends, which she hadn't had in her first home. But they'd looked at her, at her garbage bags, and left the house to go see friends. They didn't even introduce themselves. She'd felt so intrusive. Like she was invading their life. And this was a life she hadn't chosen. She wanted to tell them that it was okay, that it wasn't ideal for her either. But they'd never given her the chance to. They never talked to her.

She remembered awkward family meals at the table in the kitchen with the faded wallpaper covering it, parts torn off. No one talked. They all stared at her. The mom was the worst of them all. The dad, actually, usually read the paper. She liked that he didn't look at her. Because everyone else made her wish she could disappear. He was one less person to worry about.

When they got up to the bedroom, her breath caught. There were still dark stains – bleached over – on the pale pink rug. From that night. That spot… it's where she'd lain when all of the hurt in the world had rained down on her.

"I'm sorry," Mary said, so quietly Brennan almost didn't hear her.

Brennan looked at her, her brow creased in confusion.

"I was horrible to you. So was Eric. We… we all were. You had a hard enough time back then, and we'd made it ten times worse. I can see that now."

They went back downstairs to wait for Clive, the father. She sat on the couch and looked at Mary. "What happened to you? After he went to jail?"

She looked at Brennan knowingly.

"You ended up in the system, too."

Mary nodded. "Yes. For a few months. They did manage to find my mom and bring her home. She stayed – probably because he was gone. We were so relieved to be back home, so afraid she'd leave again, Eric and I were model kids. So she stayed."

Brennan closed her eyes at the implication that moms stayed when the kids were good. She'd so often as a teen felt that it had been her fault her parents had left. She would rethink everything she'd ever said to them that hadn't been pleasant – every outburst, times she'd challenged them, said hurtful things – until it was irrefutable that she'd caused it all herself. Just by being her. And she still felt that way. All these years later. She was still battling the idea that when people left, it was because she was this person, this "different" person from everyone else.

"I hope you were okay for those few months," Brennan said. "I know how the system can be."

Mary looked down. "Thank God we never had something… something like… what happened to you never happened to us. No one ever kicked me or hit me. Nothing. And I got to stay with Eric."

Brennan smiled a small smile, truly relieved. She didn't want anyone to experience anything like she had. When the door finally opened, her stomach fell as her eyes landed on Clive.

Call me, Clive. I ain't your dad. I won't ever treat you, neither, like you're mine. So. Call me Clive, girl.

He'd aged quite a lot. Gained significant weight. His hair was mostly white now. He looked at her with some surprise. Then he looked at his daughter.

"You let her in?" he asked. "Why would you do that?"

Mary shrugged. "I figured if she came all the way back here, she had something to say to us." She looked at Brennan. "Was that what brought you here?"

Brennan nodded. "Yes," she said, and she noted the slight wobble in her voice. "To you, Mary, I want to say 'it's okay'. You apologized earlier," she added, at Mary's confused look. "For being mean to me. And you were. You really were not nice. Here or at school. I could've used a friend or just a little bit of kindness. But all I got was cruelty from everyone in this house."

Mary looked confused. "But… it's okay? You said it was okay. So… we're all good and I'm forgiven?"

Brennan stood up and looked at the woman. She was in her mid-30s now, and she looked like she was battling problems, drugs perhaps. And knowing she'd spent time in the system – she softened a little. "Yes. It's okay."

"Then you can leave," Clive said. He turned to open the door.

"What you did, Clive. That… that's not okay. It will never be okay."

He walked back into the living room, taking his hat off and squaring off with Brennan. "Feel better now?"

"No. I'll never feel better – not really. You have no idea what you took away from me that night."

"I know he hit you too hard," Mary said. "And pushed you into the bureau so you were concussed. And you went to the hospital. He went to jail. I know that was hard, but I'm sure you can understand, that's back when he was drinking, a lot more than he drinks now. My mom had just left. He wasn't himself. I know that hurt, getting hit in the head. And he should not have done that. But… I assumed you were here to forgive us?"

Brennan's eyes were wide as she listened to Mary. Oh, Mary had no idea what he'd done. Clive looked at Brennan, something in his eyes warning her against changing the narrative his daughter naively believed all of these years.

"You think he hit me? Just… knocked me a round a little? You think he went to jail for ten years for that?"

Mary looked at her dad, lost and scared – with no idea of what Brennan was implying.

Brennan walked until she was practically nose-to-nose with Mary. "He raped me that night. And he almost killed me." Then, she turned and walked over to Clive. She noticed, when she got close, a bruise on his cheek that was clearly fresh and she couldn't help the eye roll. "I see you've met my partner."

Former partner. Whatever.

"I had a scuffle at the drug store," he said, his mouth tight.

"You are a monster, Clive. I can't understand why your children even want to be in your life. Because you're not worth it. I was seventeen years old, Clive. Do you understand that? I was a child. I was a virgin. I begged you to stop, screamed that I'd never had sex. And you… didn't… care. You ripped me apart that night. And when you were done, you wouldn't stop. Your hands, your feet. I still have nightmares that I'm on the ground, looking underneath my bed at my biology textbook, while fists keep… keep punching me like I'm a punching bag and not a human being. When you kicked me, over and over, I could feel ribs breaking, cracking, feel the bone in my arm break. And then you kicked my head and I thought I'd died. I really did. I couldn't believe that I'd woken up in a hospital. I couldn't believe that I was alive. Because you had completely ripped me apart until I was gone."

Clive took a deep breath. "She was right," he said, looking at Mary. "I used to drink too much. My wife had just left. She shouldn't have left you alone in a home with a man. That was her fault." He looked at Mary. "You think your mom was so perfect. She wasn't! She left us! She caused this!"

Brennan held her arm up to Mary. "Do not believe him, Mary. I didn't like your mom but no one is responsible for a rape except a rapist. No one is responsible for hitting and kicking someone until they're on the verge of death except the person delivering the blows. You make excuses because you are a coward. And cowards don't win. You should still be rotting in a cell because you don't belong in society."

Clive took a step toward her, but as fear coiled itself into a knot in her stomach, Brennan's reactions kicked into high gear and she grabbed him and threw him down to the ground on his stomach, pulling an arm behind his back and kneeling over him.

"You took so much from me that night. But it stops now. I'm stronger than you."

"You think so, huh?" Clive said, turning and grabbing her. His fingernail scratched her cheek, but Brennan hit him hard and rendered him helpless again.

"Yes. I know I am. I am stronger. Most definitely stronger than a coward like you. And when I left here, I created a new life for myself. My work is important. I have friends. And family," she added, thinking of Russ and her dad. She had them. Angela. Hodgins. Sweets. Rob. Amy. Keeley.

Booth.

He hung on the end there, but she knew that in some way she did still have him and he did still care. In some way. It was confusing, but it was beginning to become clear that she did matter to him.

In some way.

After a moment of being held down, he thrashed. "Are you done yet? Have you said what you had to say? Because you've ruined my relationship with my daughter. She never knew and she didn't have to. You couldn't have talked to me in private? Was your moment of redemption worth all of this, little girl?"

Little girl.

That's what he'd called her that night. Without a thought, she punched him across the face. And again. And again. Until Mary finally pulled her off of him. He scrambled back towards the TV holding his face, looking at her like she had just transformed into a completely different person – gone from someone weak and helpless to someone he should be afraid of.

"She didn't ruin my relationship with you, dad. You did," Mary said. She let go of Brennan and got to her feet. "I didn't know what you'd done to her because you lied to me. But I knew what you were capable of. I'm just not as strong as she is."

With that, Mary ran out the door. Clive got to his feet and took another step toward Brennan, but this time she kicked him and he fell. Just as the door swung open and Booth ran in.