A/N: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed - you've made me smile and giggle and probably sound quite insane!

Disclaimer: Not mine. Fox's. Kathy Reichs'. But not mine.


Chapter 8 – Fishing

Brennan watched as Angela poured over the drawings, a serious expression coating her face and her lips slightly parted as she picked up on the similarities between the two sets of pictures. For all of her light hearted banter, and obsession with Brennan's love life, Angela was devoted to her job, even though it did frequently cause her pain, as Brennan knew it would be doing now.

"I think they've been done by the same person," Angela announced, looking up. "I would almost swear to it. The pencil pressure is equal in certain places; the style is the same in all of the pictures. It's definitely the same person."

"Thanks, Ange," Brennan looked up at Booth, he nodded then looked back at Angela.

"I know you're not trained in this – but do you think they were done by a man or a woman?" Booth asked, picking up one of the pictures with a gloved hand. Brennan had been surprised with the rapidity of which he put the latex gloves on.

Angela sighed and looked back at the pictures. "I was thinking about that as I was studying the pictures. My instinct tells me it's a man. The pictures lack detail that I would expect a woman to add, and the pencil lines are more defined, the artist didn't hesitate as much as maybe a woman would do."

"What about the lack of a mouth?" Booth asked, pushing for more information.

Angela was quiet for a moment. "This is basic psychology, Booth. I only did a little on this at college," she responded, looking at him with apologetic eyes.

"It may help," he shrugged.

"Children who are being abused will often draw pictures of themselves with no mouth as they've been forbidden to speak," she said. "How that relates to an adult with no mouth, I don't know." Angela stood up and moved away from the desk, glancing up at the clock. "I can't believe it's only seven o'clock," she said. "And I left Jonathan in bed."

"New boyfriend?" Booth asked.

"Kind of," Angela answered. Booth grinned. Brennan felt a little jealous of the rapport that they had. "I hear you two are going to some fancy formal on Saturday?" Brennan almost smiled at Angela for making her feel a little better.

Booth grinned. "It was only a matter of time before Bones here fell for me," he teased. Brennan whacked an arm in his direction, which he blocked, laughing. His eyes met hers and she became oblivious to the fact that both Angela and Zack, who had just walked in, were watching them with curiosity. The urge to be held by him was almost overwhelming, or at least to be touched by him. They seemed to move slowly to each other, as if it was all happening in slow motion.

"Guys," she heard Angela cough. "Maybe you need to kinda have a little time alone before you go to this ball."

It broke the spell between them, and they stopped in their stride, their attention turned to Angela, who was looking at them with an 'I told you so' expression and a massive grin on her face. Brennan looked at Zack, who appeared to have just discovered a previously unknown fact, and now looked half amazed and half disappointed. Booth's hands went to his pockets, as did Brennan's and both looked a little guilty, shifting their eyes to not make contact with anyone else's'.

"Dr Brennan," she heard Zack break the silence. "What do you want me to get started on today?"

"The American Indian bones if you would," she said, explaining axactly what she wanted doing, glad of the opportunity to think of something other than Seeley Booth and divert everyone else away from the tension that had just gripped her and the FBI agent.

Zack nodded and disappeared, and Angela gave her a knowing look and sashayed away to where she was composing a picture of the aforementioned American Indian. Booth turned to Brennan, her eyes meeting his a little hesitantly before she felt the jolt of electricity swing through her. From the look on his face she knew that he had felt it too, and neither of them knew what to say.

"We've got an hour before we can go to the school," Booth said, his voice a little rough. "We haven't had chance to eat yet – why don't we go to that little café on the front and grab something from there?"

Brennan considered for a minute; this would mean spending more time with him, which was both a good and bad thing. Every minute she had spent in his company since learning of his split from Tessa had intensified the vague feelings she'd already had for him. This was pleasant and confusing. For her, relationships with men were purely recreational, no strings attached – they satisfied a need. But she had a feeling that should an attempt be made to satisfy that need with Booth it would not be completely quenched. Something lingered under that surface; she felt something extra that could not be defined as just lust. She found that she liked these feelings, but was also scared of them. They dug a little deeper into her comfort zone, and the urge to run and hide from them was balanced by an enjoyment of how they made her feel alive.

"That sounds good," she replied.

Booth smiled a little awkwardly. "Some women would be paying to have breakfast with me, Bones, and it took you far too long then to say yes!"

"Maybe you should consider a career change then, and become an escort," she retorted, discarding her lab coat across the back of her chair.

"Wow, Bones, you cracked a joke," Booth uttered.

"I can crack many things, Booth," she said back. "Including your bones."

Booth pulled his smug face and nodded. He began to walk to the doors; she followed him, hands in the pockets of her trousers, tiredness obliterated by the adrenaline flowing through her veins. Whether it was from the case they were working on, or him, she was unaware.

---------------------------

Booth sat across the plastic table from Bones, resisting the temptation to smack his lips. He had just polished of a rather large 'Truckers Breakfast' consisting of things that would now be causing his arteries to scream out loud. Bones had had a very healthy scrambled egg on brown toast, although she had not turned down his offer of fried bread, eating it hungrily, as if it was a real treat.

"I'll get this," she said, as the waitress came over to drop the check on the table.

Booth shook his head. These feelings, whatever they were, were making it impossible for him to treat Bones as anything other than a date, and he refused to let women pay for anything, unless they were considerably wealthier than he was. "I'll pay," he told her.

"You got the meal at Sid's the other night," she argued back.

"So. Consider this my treat," he said, grabbing the last piece of toast and shoving it into his mouth. Her attention was now taken by his lack of manners rather than who was going to get the check.

After he had finally managed to pay they headed over to the school, a short drive away into suburbia. The school, when they saw it, was a large imposing building, built during the last century, slightly gothic in its style and set in large grounds that had mainly been tarmacked over, benches spotted over the playground which was cornered off by a tall fence that it was possible to look through and see what was going on in the playground.

Children had already began to collect in the playground, several parents standing and watching over them, their eyes quick to discern any unusualities, such as him and Bones striding along the pavement to them. He wondered if he should start to ask them questions now, or maybe wait a little. He imagined that these parents would be around for a while, given that David's disappearance had been announced over the local radio along with the breakfast news.

He saw Alexandra Dunn standing at the doors of the school, eyes glaring frostily at them as they approached. He clutched the warrant in his hand, knowing that he was going to need it in order to actually get inside the building.

"Agent Booth, Dr. Brennan," the principal called to them as they approached, her tone civil.

"Mrs. Dunn," Booth nodded in return, preparing for the battle.

"I trust you have a warrant," she said, head held high.

"I trust you are aware that another of your pupils is missing this morning," Booth responded, standing almost on the step that led into the main entrance of the building. He could see the dark, narrow corridors that led into the bowels of the school. The building had been intended to be a school from the start, but back in times when could education was stricter, and the windows had been placed high so no one could day dream out of them. He shuddered a little at the appearance of the building, not liking the rather old fashioned appearance the corridors held.

"I heard that David Matthieson is absent this morning, although his parents have neglected to inform me personally," Mrs. Dunn retorted, her voice giving away no emotion.

"I would imagine that his parents may be a little too concerned by the fact that their son has possibly been abducted to call you personally, so please take the information from me, instead," he said, biting sarcasm eating at his voice. He heard Bones give a small noise, presumably a hidden laugh.

The principal did not respond, merely taking a deep inhalation of air as if she was dealing with a particularly annoying pupil.

"Your warrant, Agent Booth," she said, looking at him as though he was no more than something stuck to her shoe.

Booth took it out of his pocket and handed it to her, smiling infuriatingly. He did not like this woman. Quite clearly, she did not like him either, and he would imagine that Cullen would be receiving another call from her at some point soon.

She inspected every detail of the piece pf paper, before moving slightly out of the way so him and Bones could squeeze past and enter.

"I trust you will disrupt the learning of the children in my care as little as possible while you examine the buildings. You may have to wait to interview members of staff as they will be involved with the children until lunch time," she said, her voice cold.

"And I trust that when we do interrupt your lessons and interview your staff that you will realise that we are racing time to find this boy who has been in your charge before some psychopath makes sure he meets the same end as Thomas Dyer," Booth answered, looking at her as if she was now the cretin. She glared back at him, utter loathing in her eyes. He knew he had won this round.

"My secretary is available if you require any assistance," she turned and walked away, heels clicking against the hard surface of the corridors.

"Where do you want to start?" He looked at Bones.

"I think we need to walk around the building, particularly in the courtyards," she pointed over to where old windows boarded an overgrown garden, clearly untouched, although it had obviously once been used for nature projects, having a pond and a greenhouse whose glass had now been shattered, some pieces hanging precariously down like daggers from rusting frames.

They started their preliminary tour through the school, paying particular attention to the classrooms of Thomas and David. The corridors were still silent, the children still outside, playing in the sunshine before lessons began. Booth and Brennan entered the classroom where David Matthieson had had his lessons, and saw an olderwoman crouched down at a desk, her head poured over a work book, her eyes red with what Booth supposed had been tears.

"Mrs Sanderson?" Brennan spoke up, her voice shattering the quiet of the building. The teacher looked up, startled at the intrusion.

"I'm Agent Seeley Booth," he introduced. "This is Dr Temperance Brennan, we're with the FBI and we're investigating the disappearance of David Matthieson."

She removed the glasses that had been perched on the end of her nose and smoothed her hair back into its neat pony tail. "Valerie Sanderson," she stood up, holding her hand out to them. "I was – am – David's teacher."

Booth shook the hand, and Brennan followed. "We need to ask you a few questions about David, but I'm aware that your class will be coming in soon," he said softly.

Valerie shook her head. "I can ask my classroom support to do the roll call."

"Who is your classroom support?" Booth asked.

"Peter Wheeler," Valerie answered. "He's worked here pretty much since the school was reopened fifteen years ago, and is part of the furniture," without looking Booth knew that Brennan was puzzled by the phrase and he made a mental note to explain it to her later.

"David's parents mentioned him this morning," Brennan said. "He taught soccer?"

Valerie nodded. "He did a lot of extra curricular things with the children, but if you're looking at him as a potential suspect, you may as well arrest Santa Claus too. Pete is brilliant, and no one is more devastated than him this morning. He had a lot to do with both of the boys," she explained. Peter Wheeler automatically went right to the top of Booth's list to speak to.

"We need to know a little about that David was like in class," Booth diverted the subject, knowing not to push. "Was he bright? Where'd he come in the class lists? Who were his friends?"

"He was an average student, but excelled at sport and I could – can – see him making it professionally in some field of that nature. He came roughly in the middle of the class. He was friendly with everyone, especially Nathan Brigadend and Brandon Melling," Booth made a note of the names of the two boys. "He was a good boy," tears began to stream down the teacher's face again as a line of children began to enter the room that was lightened by high up windows that no one was able to see out of and fluorescent lighting that was a little oppressive. Booth watched as each child entered in good order, chatter stopping and eyes staring at him and Bones as they sat down at the old fashioned lift up desks, every child sitting alone.

"This is Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan from the FBI," Mrs Sanderson introduced once each child was settled and she had composed herself. "They are looking into where David might have gone. I am sure most of you know that he has gone missing from his home," she explained. "I am needed to go and speak to these people and to see if I can help them."

One small girl put her hand up, looking at Bones. The teacher indicated to her to speak. "Are you an author?" She asked in a childish voice.

Bones nodded. "I have written some books, yes," she answered. "I imagine they wouldn't be what you would read though."

"My mommy reads them, and once I read a chapter," she said chirpily. "It was really gross. Do you really boil bones?"

Bones looked to Booth for support, not quite knowing how to answer this.

"She does sometimes," Booth assisted. "But it's to help work out what a person might have looked like," he explained.

"Cool!" One boy shouted out. "Is that what you did with Thomas Dyer's bones?" Booth felt himself cringe at the question.

"No," Bones retorted sharply. "His bones were already clean when they were found." A hushed silence fell on the room, they children having been shocked by the fact that an adult had answered them directly.

"Maybe they shouldn't know too many details like that," the teacher intervened. "Mr Wheeler, do you think you could do roll call and a times table test on all the tables while I speak to Dr Brennan and Agent Booth?" She looked at he man who was stood near the board.

Booth regarded him closely. He looked to be in his forties, a closely cropped beard and short hair making sure that he didn't look any older. His eyes were dark and his physique was trim and lean, shoulder none too broad. He looked wiry and fast, quite lithe in his fawn trousers and casual white shirt that suited the weather.

"No problem, Mrs Sanderson. I think a multiplication test is exactly what's needed to focus some people's attention," his comment was now aimed at two girls who were holding books to shield their mouths, thinking that no one would realise that they were talking. Their eyes kept glancing over to him and Bones and Booth realised that they were probably assuming that Bones was his girlfriend.

He followed the teacher out of the class, wondering how kids got to be so blasé about death and the abduction of one of their classmates, and then decided it was probably a self defence mechanism. Valerie led them out into the corridor.

"I can let you have all of David's books, records, anything that you think will help," she offered, still clearly distressed.

"Did David draw?" Brennan asked.

The teacher pulled a slight face. "Not really," she said, frowning. "He was more into sports and didn't have the patience for crafts and art. He was more of a doer than a thinker."

Bones handed her a photocopy of one of the pictures they had found in David's room. The teacher took it and studied it carefully. "This isn't David's," she confirmed. "This is by someone I don't know," she handed the picture back. "I find it quite disturbing that the man doesn't have a mouth."

"Pictures drawn by the same person were found in Thomas Dyer's room also," Booth said, watching as the teacher almost fell down with the assumption that the fact brought.

"You think the same person who killed Thomas has got David, don't you?" She said weakly.

Booth shrugged. "The trouble is, whoever is doing this is not leaving us any clues, and what little things we can assume are being tainted by someone covering up the situation."

The teacher's eyes lit up with knowing. "You mean about Thomas' disappearance, don't you?" Booth nodded. "Dunn has said that Elizabeth saw Thomas getting into a car like his mom's?" Booth affirmed her question. Valerie shook her head. "Elizabeth didn't. She was supposed to be watching the children as they left, but Dunn had called her into her office, rebuking her for books that she considered to be inadequately marked. If you ask Phil, the janitor, he'll tell you that he saw Thomas come back into school while he was emptying the class bins."

"Aren't you meant to be covering this up?" Brennan asked.

Valerie nodded. "Dunn has most people wrapped around her little finger; they live in terror of her. Unfortunately, I've worked at the school a lot longer than Dunn, even taught some of the parents. She won't find a way to get rid of me, and I refuse to pamper to her bizarre ideas of education, including covering up facts. She doesn't care about the school; she's a robot who's programmed to take money." Her tone was bitter and filled with hate.

"Is there anyone else who doesn't share her ideas?" Booth asked.

"Most of the staff," Valerie answered. "But the majority of them are too in fear for their jobs to say anything against her." Booth nodded.

"Where can we find Phil?" Booth asked. Valerie pointed down the corridor toward a door right at the end.

"He'll be in his office having a cigarette and doing his puzzles," she told them. "There is nothing about this school that he cannot tell you."

Booth nodded and began the walk toward the janitor's room, taking one last glance in David's classroom as they passed, seeing the class support issuing multiplication questions and glaring at a couple of the children.

He knocked hard on Phil's door, and it was answered immediately by a large, thick set man, a cigarette hanging out of one side of his mouth, hair having left his head a while ago, and almost freshly shaven. Booth automatically felt a sense of safety around him. As abrupt as he expected him to be, he knew that this man would be a straight talker, reminding him very much of his father.

"Come in," he opened the door wide and let Bones and Booth in. They sat down on plastic chairs, facing a torn office chair that Phil took a seat on. "I heard you were here," he said, stubbing out the cigarette. Bones wafted the smell away from under her nose. "The queen was going on about it to someone on the phone. Made my day to see how flustered she was."

Booth smiled, enjoying that particular piece of knowledge. "Mrs Sanderson said that you saw Thomas Dyer back in here the day he was abducted."

Phil nodded. "I did. He was back in his classroom, sat at his desk, doing his homework. And that was the last I saw of him. It was about four fifteen. School finishes at four o clock, and his mom was often late."

"You didn't see him leave?" Booth asked.

Phil shook his head. "No. I also didn't see anyone in school who shouldn't be. But I can only be in one place at once. Someone may have come in without me knowing. Security isn't always what it should be here."

Booth didn't want continue down that road, sensing that Phil would take any opportunity to criticise the way things were ran. "What about the people who work here – the teachers, and the classroom supports? What are they like?"

Phil laughed. "All under her majesty's thumb and do as they're told," he answered. "'Cept a couple. Val's alright, and Denise."

"What about Mr Wheeler?" Brennan asked.

Phil gave a grunt. "He's a bit of a pansy. All into this sport and being healthy. Tried to get me to give up smoking for Lent one year. He soon gave up that idea. He's harmless; does as he's told and he's good with the kids. Sad life, really," Phil shrugged, picking up a packet of cigarettes and pulling one out, hinting for a lighter. Booth realised that the air in the small, cluttered room was about to get stuffier.

"He's had a hard time?" Booth asked, eyebrows raised.

"His wife and kid were killed in a plane crash fifteen years ago. He wasn't with them, as they were off to see her parents in Arizona, and he was running a summer school here. He's never complained about it, just gotten on with his job," Phil shrugged.

"Is this the cleaning fluid you always use?" Brennan interrupted, pointing to two large containers in the corner of the room.

Phil nodded. "Always that stuff as it's cheap. Doesn't do the job as well as the old stuff we used to use – that was much stronger – but her ladyship is cutting most the budgets, probably so she has a little extra to pay for her holidays in Key West."

Booth looked at Bones, silently asking her question he didn't want revealing to the janitor. She shook her head, and he realised it must be a different bleach to the one that Thomas' bones had been soaked in.

"Can we have a look in the courtyard, Mr…" he realised he didn't know the man's name.

"I'm Mr Phillips. John Phillips," he answered, taking a long drag on the cigarette. "And I would let you into the courtyard, but the keys went missing about six years ago, and no one's been in there since."

"I'm surprised at that," Bones interjected. "I would have thought it would have provided a valuable resource for learning."

Phil shrugged. "The queen says it's too much of a risk for health and safety, and that there isn't the money available to tidy it and bring it up to standard. She's had parents coming in, including a landscape gardener, offering to do it, but has always turned it down." Bones shook her head. "I don't know either, Missy. She's just like that."

"And no one has keys?" Booth repeated.

"No one. And no one's bothered to get any," he stood up. "I need to be getting to my tasks, else I'll be taken to the Tower," he told them, standing up. Booth and Bones stood too, stepping the short distance to the door. They exited, followed by Phil carrying a toolbox and a look of despair. "Poor kiddies," they heard him mutter.

Something caught Booth's eye as Phil closed the door. "That fishing rod," he began. "Is it yours?"

Phil shook his head. "Found it in a classroom about three months ago. I assumed some parent had been in, giving a talk about fishing, but I've never found the owner."

"We'd like to take it with us," Bones shot in.

"Thinking of doing a bit of fishing, Missy?" He said, opening the door once more.

"Something like that," Booth replied, taking the fishing rod from the janitor.

They didn't continue to look round the school, simply heading straight out of the main entrance and to the car. Booth turned round as they exited the play ground and saw the imposing figure of Alexandra Dunn, watching through her office window, as they placed the fishing rod in the car.


Thank you for taking the time to read this story. Feedback is very much appreciated and will be rewarded with a quick update. All reviews are loved, welcomed, and treated with care. And I am now off work for two weeks - the joys of being a teacher.

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