Author's Note: Lucky chapter thirteen! Thanks once again for all the reviews, they're great. From the responses I got, no one had a problem with upping the rating on this story, so I'm going to go ahead and change it, even though there won't be an M rated chapter until later. Hope you like this one! Go ahead and read now.
The next morning, after going through the daily routines of showers, teeth brushing, and coffee, Hodgins and Angela headed to NASA to get back to work on the remains while Booth and Temperance headed to the address for Vince's parent's house, which they had obtained from his file. The house was small and quaint, resting on a postage stamp sized lot. Unlike the Livingstone house, the building and surrounding yard were tended and well kept. The house was in no way impressive, but it had a certain quiet dignity.
Booth rapped on the door three times in quick succession. "Remember, Bones, these people just lost their son. Try to be gentle."
Temperance shot him a look. Booth smiled in apology. "Sorry, you know that," he said.
The door opened a few minutes later, and a woman in denim shorts and a loose fitting grey tank top stood before them. "Hello, can I help you?"
Temperance smiled at the woman, her heart sinking a bit. She hated this. Working with bones was easier; she didn't have to see the looks of devastation. She could pretend that people lives weren't being torn apart. Bones were a puzzle; dealing with people was too real.
"Hello, Mrs. Greogory, my name is Seeley Booth, I'm an agent with the FBI. This is Dr. Temperance Brennan from the Jeffersonian in D.C.," he flashed his badge. "Is Mr. Greogory home? We have some information concerning the disappearance of your son."
The woman stood still, her eyes scanning slowly over the pair. "Vince? You know where Vince is?"
Booth cleared his throat. "Is your husband home, Mrs. Greogory?"
She nodded, pushing the door open to allow them to come in. "Hank!" she called as the retreated into the house, her eyes never leaving the advancing agent and anthropologist. "Some people are here to see us."
Booth allowed Temperance to walk in first, and then followed her into the house. "Please, sit down," the woman said, her discomfort evident. "Can I get you something to drink?"
"No, thank you, Mrs. Greogory," Temperance answered as she and Booth sat down.
A man in tattered jeans, his middle softened by age, entered the room a few minutes later. His white tee shirt was dirty and streaked with oil and grease. He wiped his black-tinged hands a small red rag. He gave the two new presences in his home a polite nod. "Hank Greogory. Sorry about the mess," he said, gesturing to himself. "I was changing the oil in the truck. What can I do for ya'll?"
"They say they have information about Vince," his wife said, her voice unsure, as she sunk into a chair.
Hank Greogory stiffened. The grip on his rag tightened and his knuckles turned white. His gaze locked on the two people on his couch. "Vince? You found him? Is he alright?"
Booth and Temperance sat quietly for a moment. Before they could speak, Mrs. Greogory said, "what kind of doctor are you, Dr. Brennan?" Her voice was low and her eyes were downcast.
"I'm a forensic anthropologist."
The woman nodded as she repeated "forensic" under her breath.
Hank Greogory held himself a bit straighter. "Why are you here?" his tone was almost hostile. In her chair, his wife's shoulders began to tremble slightly with silent tears.
"Sir, your son's body was found a few days ago on the Refuge," Booth said, doing his best to soften the words, as if pronouncing them gentler would make the situation less real.
Mrs. Greogory hickuped a sob, and Hank spoke, his voice dry and hoarse with emotion. "His body?"
"Yes, sir," Booth answered.
The two people, now the parents of a dead boy, stood suspended for a moment in time. The dirty red rag slipped from Hank's hand and fluttered to the floor without a sound; he didn't seem to notice. He stared at Booth and Temperance, then looked at his wife, now a disheveled, quivering mass in his living room, and then back at Tempe and Booth. His eyes and face were blank. He gazed down at his hands for a moment, staring at them as if they were foreign, and then began looking around the room. His eyes displayed confusion, as if he didn't know what to do. Tempe's chest constricted when she saw two silent tears leak from his eyes. He made no move to wipe them away; it was as if he didn't even realize they had fallen.
Mrs. Greogory sobbed with such fierce power that Temperance wondered for a moment if the woman would be sick. Her breaths were haggard and forced, as if her only reason for breathing, for staying alive, at that moment was to grieve for her baby who was now forever lost.
Booth and Tempe sat silently, waiting, trying to respect the memory of the boy they had never met.
"How did he die?" Hank finally said. His voice was hollow, almost robotic. Booth wondered if the man even realized that it was him who was speaking.
"We aren't sure yet. The breaks in the bones seem to indicate that…"
Tempe's words were cut off by a sharp sob from the mother and pained look from the father. Booth quickly put his hand on her knee to silence her.
"We aren't sure yet," Tempe answered.
Booth cleared his throat. "Is there anything you could tell us about Vince? Anything at all that might help us in our investigation?"
Hank remained motionless, save for an almost imperceptible shake of his head.
"No!" Mrs. Greogory shrieked. "No! He was a beautiful boy! Everyone loved him! He was perfect! He was…" her words were choked away by sobs.
Booth and Tempe both knew that the Greogory's were in no place to give them information; pressing the pair further today would be obscene. They rose from their seats, and Booth removed a card from his wallet, laying it on the coffee table.
"If, later maybe, anything comes to mind, anything at all, please, don't hesitate to call me," he said.
"He was a football player," Hank said, his voice quiet, as if far away. "He was going to be a star. He was a genius on the field."
Booth gave the broken man a sad nod. "Yes, sir. We're very sorry for your loss."
"He was going to be somebody. My boy was going to be the best there ever was," his words were rushed, almost desperate.
"Yes, sir," Booth said. And then he and Temperance slowly extracted themselves from the house, still hearing the wailing sobs of the mother, and the ramblings of the father, proclaiming that his son was going to be somebody, somebody great.
Booth and Tempe rode back to NASA in silence. They both had experience dealing with grief, but the intensity dealing with the families the past two days, combined with the confusion of the case and disruption of sleep that came with being away from home had left them both worn. And, when they arrived back at NASA, they quickly learned that they weren't the only ones feeling the effects of the case. Hodgins and Angela were steadily at work, and steadily snapping at one another as they did so.
Everyone was on edge that day as they worked. They broke for lunch at one point, but found that they were unable to relax in one another's company due to the fact that the conversation always seemed to come back to the case, and so they cut their break short. They went back to work, and by 5:00 they had another clue.
"I have a face for our Jane Doe number two," Angela announced, pushing herself up from her chair, her eyes scanning the picture she had just completed. She carried it over to Booth, who was sitting amid a sea of files, looking at her expectantly. Temperance and Hodgins walked over to look as well.
"She was beautiful," Hodgins said softly as he stared at the image.
"Yeah," Angela agreed. "She was."
And so they set about the task of putting a name with the face. Hodgins pulled out the soil samples that went with the skeleton while Temperance began re-examining the bones, looking for anything that could speed the process of finding the correct file.
Three hours later, they still didn't have a name.
"You must have done something wrong, Ange," Tempe said, her eyes scanning over the bones once again.
"This is the face. I know it is," Angela replied, defensively.
"Well, so far the only match we have for the face is for a missing person who disappeared a year ago, and the soil around the skeleton of the girl you drew indicates she had been there for at least four," Hodgins interjected.
"And even the girl who is a close match is clearly a different girl. Their faces are similar, but there are still obvious differences," Booth said with a sigh.
Angela threw up her hands. "I don't know! I don't know what to tell you guys. But that is her face. I'm positive."
Hodgins sighed. "Okay, look, we're all tired, we're stressed out, why don't we call it a night? We'll go back to the hotel, get some pizza, and relax a little. No one talking about the case, no one talking about the girl. We can work on this tomorrow." He ran his hands over his face.
Angela took a deep breath. "Yeah, that's a good idea," she agreed. Hodgins smiled at her, and she smiled back, her tension easing a bit. A relief from the pressure was something they all needed.
She glanced over to where Booth was sitting and where Tempe was squatting beside him, as they searched the computer screen, looking for clues. Angela shook her head. They hadn't even been listening; they had been too engrossed in what they were doing. She mentally laughed; if they ever did get together and have a kid, the poor thing would be a workaholic.
"Earth to Booth and Brennan!" Angela called. Tempe and Booth looked at her. "We're going to get some pizza and head back to the hotel. C'mon, let's go."
Tempe nodded. "Okay, you guys go ahead and get it. We'll meet you there in about an hour."
Angela sighed. "You guys need a break!"
"And I think we're going to find one. Can we widen the search area?" Temperance said, obviously not comprehending Angela's meaning before talking to Booth.
"Not that kind of break! You guys…"
Hodgins cut her off. He placed his hands on her upper arms and began guiding her out of the lab. "Okay, we'll meet you there. Our room, one hour," he said.
"Okay," Booth replied, glancing up only briefly.
And so Tempe and Booth kept working as Angela and Hodgins drove away. They were using the FBI electronic archives to search for a missing person to match their face. After a few minutes they got some possible candidates, and Tempe headed back to study the bones yet again as Booth called out information to her.
"Broke her left arm when she was ten…"
"No, no broken left arm. Next."
"Um, born with a deformity in the spine?"
"No. Next."
And so they worked, on and on. An hour and half later, they were both drained and still had nothing to show for their efforts.
Booth sighed, looking at the time. "We were supposed to be at the hotel a half hour ago," he said, standing up.
Tempe nodded, straightening a few things and grabbing a few handfuls of files. Booth grabbed some himself, and they unceremoniously dumped them in the backseat before they drove away toward the hotel.
"So, how did she die?" Booth asked as he drove.
"I can't say conclusively," Tempe answered, as she stared out the window, her mind replaying the features of the bones.
"All of the bones were kids. So we have a serial killer who likes teenagers, and who lives on or around Chincoteague."
"We have two bones that are at least 65 years old. And we don't know if we have a serial killer; for all we know, a group of kids were having a party that got out of hand."
"A party that ended in four people and one old lady getting killed, broken into bits, and then dumped in the woods of a federal park at intervals of one or two a year? What the hell kind of parties did you go to in high school?"
Tempe sighed. "I'm not saying that that is what happened, I'm just saying we don't have enough evidence to assume that it was a serial killer."
"How do we not have enough information?"
"All of the victims, with the exception of the osteoporosis bones, were near the same age. That could suggest that someone else around their age killed them out of some sick kind of jealousy just as easily as it could suggest a creepy man-in-the-bushes killer."
"Yeah, but think about it, Bones. A serial killer just makes sense. It feels right."
"That doesn't mean it is right," Tempe pointed out.
They pulled up at the hotel, and Booth sighed in frustration. "Tell me that the serial killer idea doesn't make sense."
Tempe nearly groaned. "Yes, it makes sense, but that doesn't mean that there aren't other scenarios that make sense, too. Just because we find one possible explanation, that doesn't mean we should stop investigating and digging."
"When did I say we were going to stop investigating?"
Tempe sighed loudly as she climbed out of the SUV, slamming the door with a bit more force than was necessary.
"Geez, Bones, why don't you just break my car."
Tempe walked around to Booth's side and opened the back door as Booth climbed out. She began organizing the mass of papers in manageable piles. Booth joined her a second later.
"You're infuriating, Booth," she muttered, half to herself.
"I'm infuriating! What about you! We've been working with the same remains for days now and you still refuse to give me a clear cut idea of what we're dealing with!"
She stopped straightening and turned to look at him. "I don't know what we're dealing with, Booth! We need more information, more facts!"
Booth stopped straightening as well. "We have plenty of facts! What we need now are plans; all we have to do is figure out how get to the next step."
"We don't know what the next step is! We need more time. There's more we have to sort out."
"We don't have forever, Bones. We both know what the right answer is. We need to just go with what our hearts tell us!"
"Just because it seems true or right doesn't mean it is true or right," Temperance replied, shaking her head.
"We're smart people. Why can't you accept the idea of going with what we know?"
"Because we need all the evidence, not just some of it. There's a lot we don't know yet."
"Why can't you ever just trust your instincts?" Both of their voices were quieter now, less accusatory.
"Because snap judgments lead to mistakes. We can't afford to make a mistake."
"Mistakes can be fixed."
"Not this one." They were both vaguely aware that they had ceased talking about the case when they stopped straightening the papers in the backseat.
"How do you know it would be a mistake?" he asked as he moved a bit closer to her.
She swallowed and felt her heart beat like a mad drum in her chest. "We can't do this, Booth." Her voice was low, but she tried to force the sound of conviction into her words.
He was dangerously close to her now; her back was pressed to the SUV, and he was looming in front of her, his eyes dark. He moved his hands and gently splayed his fingers on her hips. Her breath caught sharply at his touch, and suddenly nothing existed by him. There was nothing but his musky scent, the uneven rhythm of his breathing, the subtle trembling of his fingers as he touched her.
"I know," he whispered.
Booth stared into her eyes for a moment, and then leaned toward her. Her eyes closed instinctually, as did his. She could feel the warm rap of his breathing play on her lips, and she felt herself tremble slightly. A moment later, she felt the sweet pressure of Booth's lips pressing against hers.
All rational though flew from Temperance's mind. She no longer cared that she was standing in a parking lot, kissing a man who was her work partner, and if anyone had asked her at the moment what brought them to the island in the first place, she would have been unable to form a coherent answer. Her hands found their way to his face, and she touched his cheeks gently as his hands held them close together. She felt the slight growth of stubble that had appeared on his face since his morning shave, reveling in the roughness. It made him feel concrete, real.
His lips shifted against hers, and soon he had taken her lower lip into his mouth. One of her hands found its way into his hair as the other snaked around his neck, urging his mouth closer to hers.
He, in turn, buried one of his hands in her hair, as the other threaded between her back and the SUV, coiling around her waist, his fingers dancing on her side and ribcage.
The contact made her gasp slightly, and she felt his tongue slide into her mouth. She accepted it, greedily, and all they could feel was their bodies pushing against each other, their tongues dueling for dominance, as their fingers tentatively moved, massaging through each others hair, pulling one another as close as possible.
Time lost all meaning as they stood, pressed against the SUV, the door still open, the papers forgotten, kissing one another. They broke, barely, at times, when the need for oxygen threatened to overtake them, but their gasps were shallow and they refused to let go of one another. They refused to stop.
And then, the sharp ring of Tempe's cell phone sliced through the night. They both kept their eyes closed, still desperately kissing, as Booth removed his hand from her hair and reached for the phone that was peaking over the top of the pocket in her jeans. With lips still connected, tongues still searching, Booth opened an eye and looked at the ID.
"Angela," he mumbled into her mouth.
"Mmhmm," was her response as she tightened her arm around his neck and took the cell phone from him with the other hand. She hit the volume button to silence the ring and tossed it through the still open back door, into the SUV.
Their hands returned, and the kiss continued. Tempe could feel Booth's arousal, and she suddenly realized that she didn't know if either of them would be able to stop.
They soon found out. Booth cell phone rang, and he reached into his own pocket. He checked the ID, and seeing the number for the Chincoteague Police come up, reluctantly broke contact.
"Booth," he growled, his voice low as he stared at Temperance who remained firmly in his arms, her eyes still half closed.
"Agent Booth, we have another body," came the voice of the officer.
Temperance was close enough that she heard the words. Her eyes flew open and she and Booth stared at one another.
"Where?" Booth asked. Apparently his searing kiss with Temperance had left him capable of producing only one word responses.
"Behind a miniature golf on Maddox Blvd. We're going to need you and your team to come and recover the remains."
"We'll be right there," Booth answered as he snapped his phone shut. He realized he was still holding Temperance. "We have to go," he said, softly.
She nodded, as they continued to stand still, looking into each other's eyes. He leaned in again and kissed her. She responded, and soon they realized that if they didn't stop they weren't going to make it to the site. They pulled away from one another with reluctance.
"We have to go get Angela and Hodgins," Temperance said, missing the feeling of Booth holding her.
Booth nodded. "Yeah, let's go."
They both turned and headed toward Angela and Hodgins' room in the hotel, each trying to think of things like shower mildew and the Ebola virus to distract them from their earlier kiss.
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