A/N: A sugar coated Seeley/Ange for anyone who spots the Buffy reference, and can name the episode!
The title for this chapter is lifted from a Jeanette Winterson novel of the same title. I read it over ten years ago, yet it is still fresh in my memory as being one of the most perfectly written, well crafted and emotionally grabbing books I've read, and told in the second person.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Fox, Kathy Reichs and whoever else is behind the genius that gave us this show. Not mine - don't sue.
Chapter 12 – Written on the Body
Booth watched as Brennan paced round the table, making notes about the condition of the bones, the age of them, and what evidence there was to suggest how the boy had died. His attention, however, had drifted from the skeleton onto the woman studying it, noticing as she smoothed her hair back away from her face, and spoke words he was unfamiliar with in a precise tone, clearly certain of what she was doing, the empress here, over her court.
He had woken up on her sofa, a single duvet tucked over him, and a pillow pushed under his head. He had slept peacefully; he was sure it had something to do with being near her, his dreams had been forgetful, merely the blurring of colour. For a second after waking he hadn't remembered the events of the previous day; and then he had recalled the heated kiss they had shared, and her regret of it, and a pain in his chest awakened him fully.
The rest of the evening had been passed pleasantly, but with the undertone of not discussing something that needed to be brought out into the open. They both knew that their relationship had changed; they both knew that there were feelings there that were more than friends or colleagues shared, the kiss had proved that. But it was a door that Bones was obviously not yet prepared to go through. He knew she kept her self distant, away from people and any means of being hurt or hurting somebody else. She didn't want to go through the pain of losing someone again, as she had done with her parents, he understood that. But by not allowing that risk she was barring herself from so many good things, and it frustrated him. He knew that however he tried to reason this with her, it would be pointless. She needed to understand it for herself.
He watched her as she examined certain bones more carefully, before passing the skull to Angela, who had given both of them several telling glances already that morning. He now understood how he felt about her; it was blindingly obvious to him now, as he imagined it had been to Tessa. He knew that the way he felt when he spoke of her, told people about her, would have been written across his body, in his mannerisms, in his eyes. If anyone studied him now as he watched her they would know that he wasn't watching a colleague, or someone who was good at their job. They would know he was watching the woman he loved.
Angela stood beside him, looking at her friend. "You want to come with me while I put a little make up on our friend here?" She asked, tactfully for her.
Booth nodded, and began to follow her in the room she worked in, sitting down on a chair while she set to work.
"Do you have the missing persons files coming over?" She asked.
"Yeah, Agent Smithson is on it," he answered in a monotone.
"Booth, sweetie," Angela began. "You wanna tell me what's happened with you and Bren? Since I got here at stupid o'clock this morning something's clearly not been right."
He looked up at her, knowing that she could probably read what had happened from the expression on his face, she just wanted to hear it from him.
"Booth," she began, sitting down near him with a large piece of paper and the thing she used to lean on when she was sketching. "I'm guessing that you don't want to talk to me about this; I am Bren's best friend. My theory is that you've finally kissed her, and after she had put her all in beginning to get her rocks off, she went cold."
"That's sounds like a good theory," he answered.
"It's Brennan," she said, seriously. "We know she has issues, but don't doubt for one second, Booth, that she doesn't love you."
"How can you say that? Has she told you how she feels about me?" He asked, the words lighting hope in his chest.
"I've known her too long. I've seen the way she looks at you when you come in. I know how she reacts to you, she thinks you're more than hot, and if you're honest with yourself, you know that too," Angela said without looking up from her drawing. "Let her analyse her feelings and understand what she wants. It won't take her long."
"What if what she decides isn't what I want?" Booth looked at the artist.
"Then you will just have to accept that," she said with a smile. "Booth, you are the only chance for a happiness she has never thought she could have. She will make the right choice." Angela smiled optimistically.
Booth nodded and stood up, feeling a little less like he was walking along a tightrope.
"I'll talk to her, Booth. She'll be expecting me to anyway," Angela said.
"Thanks," he replied uncomfortably, hands in pockets. "I'd better go and see what she's found out."
Angela nodded deep nods, squeezing her lips together.
He left her to work, heading back toward Temperance who was stood talking to Zack, clearly explaining something. As soon as he came into her peripheral vision she stopped speaking, her eyes going to him for a second, long enough for him to know that she was still analysing what had happened last night, and how she felt about it. He thought about what Angela had said, don't doubt for one second, Booth, that she doesn't love you. Did she love him? He wasn't intending on leaving, or going anywhere; he just wanted - needed - to be with her.
He approached her and Zack quietly, hands in their usual place. Their conversation continued as he got there, which was good, as it meant that they'd not been discussing him, not that he'd think for one minute that she'd discuss him with Zack.
"Whatcha got?" He said, as normally as possible. Unfortunately, he knew he had an edge to his tone, although given that Zack was half robot he wouldn't have noticed.
"The body is of a Caucasian male, aged between fourteen and sixteen. In good health; he has an old fracture to his left femur and another to his left tibia. There is no sign of any illness, or anything to suggest he died naturally or otherwise," she told him.
He nodded. "Like Thomas, then."
Zack woke from his scientific fantasy. "Exactly like Thomas. Even to the point of what the bones have been washed in, although the person who did this did not as good a job as he did of Thomas; there was a good bit of flesh left." Booth wondered at the young man's enthusiasm for the skin.
"Hodgins has been looking at the blow fly eggs that the forensics team preserved for him. His estimate is that the body had not been outside for any longest than three hours before the samples of the eggs were taken. There are also no other insect eggs or lava present, which confirms that the body wasn't out there for very long," Brennan added. "He put the body there while we were in the hut."
Booth looked at her directly. He knew that that discovery had pissed her off. It was if the killer was tormenting them, had he known where they were going to be.
The doors into the secured area of the lab opened and a young agent approached Booth, a look of fear on his face.
"Smithson," Booth addressed him, omitting the agent part. Smithson had only just started working for the Feds, and in Booth's eyes was a little too conceited to be allowed the full title just yet.
"Yes, Agent Booth. I have the test results from the containers Dr Brennan found at the fishing hut," he said, annoying Booth even more with a smile. Booth snatched the envelope from him and passed it to Bones.
"We need a list of Caucasian males gone missing within – how long, Dr Brennan?" Booth looked toward her, trying to ignore the feeling that was now becoming familiar every time he saw her.
Bones shrugged. "The last two years. That's probably too broad. I'd also suggest keeping the search within this area, too. He has the same extra fluoride that Thomas Dyer had in his teeth."
Smithson nodded. Booth resisted the temptation to flick his ear. "Aged fourteen to sixteen when they disappeared."
"I'm on it, Agent Booth," Smithson gave him a mock salute and Booth silently counted to ten.
Brennan began to open the envelope, looking at what had been written there. "Sodium Monofluoroacetate," she confirmed.
Booth looked at her. "That's rat poison," he responded.
She nodded triumphantly. "Banned in the United States in 1972, as it was found to be an extremely toxic poison. We have cause of death."
"How does it kill?" Booth asked, not sure if he actually wanted to know the details.
"It interferes with Kreb's cycle," Bones rechecked the paper.
"Kreb's Cycle – Bones?" Booth shook his head.
"Kreb's Cycle is the exact sequence in which the body breaks down lactic acid, hence giving the body its major energy source. If anything was to interfere with Kreb's Cycle then the body would not be able to function and it would shut down," she looked at him, eyes bright as she revelled in her love of passing on knowledge.
"How come there was no trace of it in the bones or on the skin you found on the teenager's body?" He asked.
"This is a poison that isn't traceable. It works quickly. Within a few hours of ingesting the non toxic flouroacetate ions change into toxic flourocitric acid, which blocks Kreb's Cycle. This then results in vomiting shortly after ingestion, and it begins to affect the central nervous system and the heart. There can be seizures and the possibility of slipping into a coma. Death occurs because the ventricles of the heart start to beat to rapidly without actually doing anything, not pumping any blood around. Pulmonary edima may be another cause of death – when the lungs fill up with water, causing respiratory failure," she said, as if reading from a simplified textbook.
Booth nodded. "And this is what you think killed John Doe here and Thomas Dyer?"
"It's circumstantial evidence, but as a poison, Compound 1080 is virtually undetectable in a body. It's almost a perfect poison, and a horrible way to die. There were three jars of it – obviously left over from before it was banned. Whoever had those jars is your killer," she answered, any discomfort between them had gone with their focusing on the case.
"Could it hold up in court?" He asked, almost to himself. "No finger prints were found on the jars."
"If it's presented in the right way then, yes, a jury could be convinced. I am certain that this was the cause of death. It makes perfect sense. When I first saw the jars, I thought the substance was Compound 1080. It all adds up," she was cute when she was positive about something. He felt his heart skip a beat.
Angela had walked over to them, clipboard in her hand. "Bren," she interrupted. "If you have a minute I could do with your help." Bones turned, and began to go with them. Booth started to follow, but then saw Angela discreetly shake her head at him, and he retracted back, wishing he could be one of Hodgin's beetles and listen into their conversation.
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Brennan followed Angela into her room and sat down where Angela pointed.
"What is going on?" Her friend asked her.
"Do you have a face to show me? We're expecting someone back with the missing persons files anytime soon," Brennan's eyes flashed, knowing what this conversation was likely to entail.
"You can have it once we've had a little chat. Now, Bren," Angela settled down in a chair she had pulled round so it was facing Brennan. "What's happened with you and Booth?"
"Nothing, it's just… nothing," Brennan's gestures became erratic.
Angela widened her eyes. "I'm sorry, sweetie, I don't believe you. All morning, since I got here at six o'clock - and had to leave Ryan asleep in bed on his own - I have been watching you and Booth sneaking glances at each other. He looks like someone has told him that he's about to go on a mission to the South Pole, and you look like you're actually not concentrating on your job. What's eating you?"
Brennan knew that this was one battle she was not going to win. Angela was going to suck the details out of her, and Brennan wasn't too sure if she wanted to refrain from telling Angela about what had happen, she just wasn't quite sure how to phrase it. "Booth," she began. Angela's eyes lit up. "We – he – we – kissed." She said the last word very quietly.
"Was it bad?" Angela looked puzzled, Brennan's tone made it sound terrible.
The anthropologist shook her head. "No, it was good, better than good," she said in a monotone.
"Then why are you sounding like it was horrific? You and Booth kissed. It's only been waiting to happen since like years ago," Angela said, her voice rising in tone.
"Because - because, I don't understand," Brennan slumped back into the chair.
"What is there to not understand? You've been in love with the guy since you practically met him. He's sexy, and gorgeous, intelligent, caring, and you know, Bren, he's saved your life on at least one occasion," Angela persuaded.
"Because I don't do this, Ange," she confessed, feeling like she was dying inside as she said the words.
"Don't do what? Bren, sweetie, you're human, you're an anthropologist; you study human behaviour. You know that what you're experiencing is completely normal. People fall in love, they build a life together, and some even have children. Work doesn't make the world go round, love does," Angela's tone became serious.
Brennan shook her head, not knowing quite what to say. She knew that it would be difficult for most people to understand, including Angela. She was just so terrified of getting hurt; keeping people at arms length was the easiest thing to do, curling up into a ball like a hedgehog and flaring her spikes, which was what she had effectively done last night.
"Bren, I'm going to be blunt with you now; I know you've had a dreadful childhood, and you experienced a loss that no one should have to go through, and I know that it's hard to understand what's happening as it means making some changes, but there is a man there who is willing and desperate to accept you and all your baggage, and that is something so hard to find – God knows I've tried hard enough. You need to relax, hon, spank your inner moppet…" she paused at Brennan's confused look. "Never mind. You are going to have to deal with this, because if you don't you are going to end up spending the rest of your life wishing you had, and I think you know that, and that's why you're finding this so difficult," Angela finished, looking directly at her friend, trying to read her expression.
Brennan stayed silent. Angela's words had proven what she had assessed. This was not just going to go away. The kiss had been too good; having him in her home had been too good. Had he been another Michael then she wouldn't have been having these qualms, but Booth wasn't another Michael. Something more than just lust had entwined them together, and these were vines that she wasn't sure would snap easily or even knew if she wanted them to. She remembered the feeling she'd had when she had been in the kitchen, the thought crossing her mind about Booth's capabilities as a father. The fear that had caused pierced her again, and the expression on her face was telling of it.
"Bren, honey, what is it?" She heard Angela ask as she made her way closer to her chair, kneeling down next to her and placing a hand on her knee.
"Booth made dinner – after…"
"After you had kissed, and probably freaked out in him," Angela finished for her.
"I didn't freak," Brennan protested.
"Okay, you didn't freak. Booth made dinner," Angela prompted.
"And I was thinking about him, and what he was like, and I thought of Parker, and how good he was with him…" Brennan couldn't explain any more. She could write a book; develop characters with good, high levels of emotional intelligence, but when it came to verbalising her own feelings, she was illiterate.
"You know, Booth wants you. He won't pressure you into having more children… Oh my God, Bren! He made you broody!" Angela's nails dug into Brennan's leg. She shifted her pained limb away, frowning. "That's what's completely terrified you."
"It's just not something I want," Brennan argued.
"Until you've met the right man. You've explained to me before about how your body unconsciously seeks someone who's genetic details support your own, and can counteract any weaknesses," Angela attempted to use science against her.
Brennan nodded. "I don't want children, Ange. You know that. I'm useless with kids."
"You just think you are. You'd never be a conventional mom, but that doesn't mean you'd be a bad one."
Brennan felt unwanted tears prick at the back of her eyes. These were words she'd never thought she wanted to hear, but right now they were soothing, and somehow brightened the darkness that had flooded the inside of her.
"You need to talk with Booth about all of this," Angela said, knowing she was trying to encourage the impossible. But Booth was good at reading people; it would only take a word from Brennan and he would become her antidote to this fear she was in. Only Booth would be able to provide the reassurance she needed.
Brennan predictably shook her head. "We've never even been on a date. It was one kiss. He'll be over it and onto his next blonde lawyer before the end of the week," she stood up, showing that she wished to end this topic of conversation.
"I somehow doubt it, Bren, but you're going to have to suss that one out yourself," Angela stood up and passed Brennan the picture she had sketched of the boy whose bones were lay out on the table. Brennan took it and nodded.
"Thanks, Ange," she responded. A knock sounded at the door and a sheepish Seeley Booth entered. Bones looked at him, all the emotions from last night causing a downpour that knocked down the dam she had built. She passed the sketch back to Angela and fled out of the room, heading for the bathroom, almost running. She locked herself in one of the cubicles and rested her back against the closed door, inhaling deeply, trying to control her physical response to seeing him after her conversation with Angela. She did not understand how to deal with this. She could ask to be taken off the case, and have the Bureau find another forensic anthropologist to work with, or she could pass more of the police work onto Zack, but she doubted Booth would like that, or agree to it. She rested the back of her head against the door, looking up slightly at the ceiling, wondering how the hell she was going to solve this puzzle.
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Booth looked at Angela once he had regained his composure having seen her bolt through the door at the sight of his presence. "If that's the effect I'm going to have on her, then I might as well forget it," he murmured.
"I think that's a good sign," Angela said, her eyes still watching Brennan as she scuttled away. "It means she's dealing with the feelings she's got rather than ignoring them."
Booth gave her his half smile, eyes showing obvious hurt.
"Hey, it will work out," Angela put a hand on his arm and gave it a squeeze. "Whatcha got, anyhow?"
Booth handed her a few pieces of printed out paper. "Missing persons reports. I would hope that one of these would be your guy." She gave him the sketch that she had drawn. He studied for a few seconds and nodded. "He's in there."
She flicked through the papers, stopping at one near the top. "Patrick Kearney," she read, nodding. He fits everything," she looked at Booth. "Does this mean another devastating visit to the parents?"
He shook his head, looking at the details over her shoulder. "His parents moved to California six months ago after he had been missing for three months. It seemed pretty quick, but I think from what I've read, they thought he'd ran off there. Dreamt of being a movie star."
"He was only fifteen," Angela said, staring at the picture.
Booth nodded. "He was. What's even more interesting is that his elementary school was Greenhold." He pointed to the details on the sheet that gave them that information.
"It's somebody at the school, isn't it?" She said, eyes widening.
"It appears that way. When your friend gets back we'll be heading over there," Booth said, keeping the worry from his voice. He did not want to cause Bones any pain or fear; he wanted to alleviate that, in any way he could and if that meant disappearing from her life for a bit then so be it.
"I'll go check on her," Angela passed him back the papers and moved speedily out of the room.
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She found Brennan in the bathroom, rinsing her face with cold water and looking a little flushed. "I know," Brennan said as she locked eyes with her through the mirror. "He probably thinks I'm a complete idiot."
Angela shook her head. "No, he doesn't. He's just worried that he's upset you," she reassured. "The skeleton has an identity. Patrick Kearney – he used to go to Greenhold. Booth wants you there pronto."
Brennan nodded. "How do I deal with this, Ange," she looked scared.
"I actually think you're doing just fine, sweetie," Angela gave her smile. "You've got to handle it the best way that you can. You should try talking to Booth, though. That would make both you and him feel better."
Brennan nodded. "I have to refocus on the case now," she sank her elbows onto the unit next to the sink, holding her head and pushing fingers into her hair, looking anything but refocused.
"You do," Angela comforted. "You do."
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Brennan sat silently in the passenger seat as Booth drove them to the school. The air between them was pregnant with a conversation that both needed to have, but were reluctant to initiate, particularly given the circumstances of the ride they were taking.
"It's too much of a coincidence. Three boys missing, two dead, and all went to the same school. That's the connection, that's the link. It's someone there, that's where he picks them from," Booth said, his face contorted with concentration.
"But why pick them from the same school? Surely it would be too easy to trace him. It might not be someone closely associated with the school; it could be someone who stands outside the gates and picks them that way. And Patrick went there years ago, but was only taken nine months ago. That doesn't fit," Brennan argued, her face still flushed and blood still pumping too rapidly as Angela's advice lurked in the back of her mind.
Booth shrugged, checking his rear view. "It might be someone associated with the school that still had contact with Patrick. We'll know more when the detectives down in California speak to his parents. I've let them know what questions we need answering. They'll call me back when they have spoken to the parents."
Silence fell again. Brennan struggled to stop her heart from pounding. "Booth," she began, her eyes on him, wanting to see his reaction to her statement. "We need to talk about…"
"Bones," his tone was cutting. "Now is not the time."
She fell back into her seat, eyes staring out of the windscreen without saying anything. It could wait. Maybe forever.
Thank you to all those people who reviewed the last chapter - and to Claire for reviewing one of my poems on fictionpress.
Eldred says hi, and would like to ask for people to review this chapter too, as he got very excited everytime a new email came through from botatfanfiction. He reminds people that all reviews cause him to do a little dance on top of Sarah's laptop and squeal in a very high pitched voice. (Including anonymous, smileys etc)
I would just like to point out that I am not insane. I just have a very fertile imagination.
Sarah x
