Last night's episode was awesome. And your reviews are equally awesome. I regret to report that due to unforeseen demand, I have run out of Booth alarm clocks. In fact, even I didn't get one. Oh well, c'est la vie.

Disclaimer: They will never, ever be mine and that makes me consider therapy every day.


Ch. 7 – Sensitivity

Brennan sighed in frustration. Booth had promised to be back with the reconnaissance report in five minutes. That had been twenty minutes ago. Temperance was patient but knowing that new and possibly vital information was out there made her anxious. Attempting to distract herself, she stood up and wandered behind Booth's desk, sitting down in his chair. She noted as she sat down that his chair smelled of him and the scent comforted her, although she didn't know why. Her eyes skimmed over the desk, quickly skipping over anything that appeared top secret, and lighted on the framed photograph of a smiling Parker, hugging a football. She smiled back at the image and looked up at the familiar voice speaking to her from the doorway.

"I'm still the one with the badge, you know. Taking over my desk doesn't make you an FBI agent, nor does it entitle you to a gun," Booth teased.

"My plot is foiled once again," Brennan returned and stood up, walking around the desk to return to her seat. Booth walked around the same side and as they sidled around each other, Brennan felt an electric tingle go up her spine when his hand brushed against her hip. Finally seated, she hoped that there was no tell-tale flush on her cheeks and began to shoot questions at the FBI agent in an effort to detract from the suddenly palpable sexual tension.

"What did they find in the fraternity house?"

Booth gazed at Brennan, attempting to penetrate her armor and discover if she had felt the same attraction. Seeing the desperation in her eyes he realized she had but that she wasn't ready to admit it yet. He sighed in frustration and then answered her question.

"Everything Clark said they would find. Phone taps. Hidden surveillance cameras. Some rooms were even bugged for sound."

"How could our killer possibly get in there to do that?"

"Last month, the house's electrical system shorted out. They had to bring in a large team of electricians to re-wire the house and then some other repairmen to clean up the mess the electricians made."

"Making it easy for someone to go in and out unnoticed."

Booth nodded.

"What happens now? Do you attempt to trace the signal from his surveillance equipment?"

"We're going to try but Clark's not too optimistic. Considering how technologically savvy this guy is I'd imagine that these signals would be impossible to trace."

Brennan nodded.

"How did Clark's interview with the chapter president go?" she asked after a moment.

"Fine, but we didn't really get anything useful. He doesn't live in the house and he's been working on law school applications for the past few weeks so he hasn't been to the most recent parties. He also wasn't sure when they were planning another one. We've put some agents out to keep an eye on the house and to keep an eye out for anyone suspicious."

"Great. What do we do now?"

"Now, we wait."

"For what?"

"Well, for your lab report for one. Come to think of it, have you finished testing those muscle biopsies from Carrie Matthews?"

"There was an unusual chemical in the muscle tissue but toxicology was unable to identify it. Hodgins, on a hunch, sent the samples to one of his friends, a botanist. He's convinced it's derived from a plant. I think you've rubbed off on my team, Booth. They didn't have as many hunches before."

Booth shrugged, "What can I say? I'm an influential guy."

"Among other things. Well, if you don't need me here, I guess I'll go back to the lab to finish that report on Jenna Sorrel. You'll call me if anything new comes up."

"I will."

"And maybe you could just call tomorrow, let me know how things are," the forensic anthropologist suggested uncertainly.

Booth raised an eyebrow, "Things?"

"Yes, just things," she said, her eyes defying him to tease her. Realizing that Bones was reaching out, Booth jumped at the implicit invitation.

"Sure, Bones, I'll call you tomorrow. Check and make sure that skeletons of undead pirates haven't invaded your office seeking the treasure of Cortez."

"I don't know what that means."

"I know. I'll call."

Brennan gave him that smile that reminded him of how innocent she could be, "Good. I'll see you."

"Bye."

Booth watched her walk out of his office, hips swaying gently. Maybe she wasn't as oblivious as he'd thought.


Two days later, Brennan yawned as she closed her apartment door behind her. She'd spent another late night in the office, studying every inch of Carrie Matthews and Jenna Sorrel's remains. Many of their injuries were similar and their wrists were broken identically. Dropping her keys in the bowl by the door, Brennan hung up her coat and meandered into her kitchen where she put on the kettle. A warm drink and then some sleep were in her near future.

Booth had called her that day at around lunch, letting her know about how the investigation was going. He'd called at the same time the day before. At this point, he and Clark were chasing paper, working on the profile, and conducting seemingly endless and useless interviews with both Peek-A-Boo employees and Delta Phi Epsilon members. Booth had also mentioned earlier that day that Clark was still driving him utterly insane. Apparently he knew how to push Booth's buttons. Brennan was grateful that she didn't have to deal with the two battling agents. In her opinion, one agent was more than enough for her. On several levels.

The kettle whistled, saving her from giving thought to the new… vibe, as Angela would say, that she had recently noticed between herself and Booth. Removing a mug from the cupboard, she dropped in a teabag and added hot water. She was about to take her mug into the bedroom when her phone rang. She glanced at the clock. 11:47. It had to be Booth and it had to be important; otherwise he would never call this late. She scooped up the phone as it rang again

"Brennan," she answered.

"Hey Bones, sorry to be calling so late," the anticipated voice apologized.

"It's fine, Booth. What's up?"

"We may just have gotten a huge lead. Can you get here right away?"

"The Hoover building? I'm at home but I can be there in twenty minutes."

"Great, I'll see you in a bit."


Brennan smiled at the night guard who waved her through. Her smile widened when she saw Booth, coming towards her with long, powerful strides. She would only admit it to herself, but she had missed seeing the FBI agent the past two days. Booth waved at the night guard as he approached her and then took her elbow in his grasp as he did an about-face, pulling her towards the elevator, his face resolute. He was utterly oblivious to the silent greeting she had just sent his way.

"It's about time you got here."

"It's nice to see you too, Booth. Have you lost all your manners?"

Booth ignored her question, too intent on his own train of thought to be derailed, "Maybe she'll talk to you."

"She? I thought you said we had a lead."

"We do. Siobhan O'Byrne is our lead. She was attacked a block away from the Delta Phi Epsilon fraternity house after she… uh… performed there. He beat her up a little bit but he didn't kill her and Clark and I are positive that it was our guy trying to go for number three. But he didn't. And we want to know why. But she won't talk to us."

"There's a surprise, Booth," Brennan began as she hurried ahead of him, suddenly eager. "You're both large, hulking, male FBI agents and she was just attacked a few hours ago. She's hurt and frightened and the two of you grilling her probably isn't helping. Why is it that you can't understand that victims frequently need comfort and not the third degree? I really wish law enforcement could learn that one."

Booth stepped into the elevator beside his now fuming partner, confused at how he had suddenly ended up in the doghouse.

"Why are you so worked up about this?"

"Because Booth, I've been shot at several times, kidnapped more times than I care to count, my fridge was blown up, and I've been in fights where I didn't come out on top. And every time, someone wants to question me, get every single detail that I can possibly remember less than an hour later, when I barely understand what happened. All I want to do is spend some time doing something logical and comprehendible while I attempt to piece everything together and instead I get people like you sticking me in a small room and asking never-ending questions. Now, I'm not saying that this girl is exactly like me, she might want to huddle in a dark corner with a teddy bear for all I know, but I'm damn sure that she doesn't want to be in an FBI interrogation room at 12:30 in the morning."

"I apologize for the shortcomings of those in my field, Bones. But I could really use your help here," he said, giving her a questioning look.

"Of course I'll help. This could potentially prevent this man from killing another woman. I'd be an idiot if I didn't try to help. I'm just saying that the FBI should consider sensitivity training for its agents," she paused and then continued, "I'm sorry I snapped at you, Booth. It's just I've been where this girl is right now and it wasn't one of the most pleasant experiences in my life. You're one of the most sensitive people I've ever met.

The elevator door dinged as it opened, leaving Booth to smile at Brennan's back as she walked out. It was one of the nicer compliments she had ever given him. But something about her earlier speech bothered him. She'd been kidnapped more times than she cared to count? What did that mean? And why wasn't it in her FBI folder? He only knew about the once with Kenton and the idea that Brennan had experienced such terror before, without him there to save her made his blood run cold. Shaking his head, he stepped out of the elevator before it closed on him. Now wasn't the time for him to worry about things that couldn't be fixed anyway. There was a woman in the interrogation room who possibly held all the information he needed.

Brennan stood outside the door of the interrogation room, waiting for him to go into the adjacent observation room, before she entered. Booth stepped inside, nodding at Clark in greeting and then turned to watch through the window.

Brennan took a deep breath and let it out slowly before she turned the door handle and stepped into the interrogation room. The door shut behind her with a loud click, causing the young woman seated at the table to look up suddenly. Her emerald green eyes were red from crying and her chestnut brown hair was in disarray. She had a growing bruise on the left side of her jaw and Brennan's experienced eye noted the stitches on the heel of her right hand. The girl was wrapped in a blanket but Brennan spied a tear on the right sleeve of her shirt.

"Siobhan O'Byrne?" she asked gently.

The girl nodded, her eyes wide.

"I'm Temperance Brennan. I work with the FBI sometimes. How are you doing?"

The girl lifted her left shoulder in a sign of ambivalence and suddenly her eyes welled up. Booth watched in mild surprise as Brennan reached out and patted the girl on the back and then gave her hug. Siobhan cried harder, clinging to the forensic anthropologist, a compassionate, female presence, the first she had encountered that evening. Brennan rubbed the girl's back and murmured soothing, nonsense syllables until the tears slowed and then stopped. Pulling back, she handed Siobhan a tissue. After the girl had collected herself, she looked up at Brennan and offered a watery smile.

"Sorry about that," she said with a gentle Irish lilt, "I'm not usually the type to fall all to pieces but then again, this wasn't exactly a typical evening."

"I can imagine. Listen, Siobhan, I know this is difficult but I need you to tell me everything that happened after you left the fraternity house."

The young woman nodded and began to speak, "I left the house at about 10:30. The boys had been very nice, very respectful, and I'd made some good money. I walked down Greek row, that's the street where all the fraternity houses are. It's blocked off at the end so there's no traffic at all. I'd called for a cab and it was supposed to meet me at the corner of 34th and M Street. I'd just rounded the corner from Greek row onto 34th; maybe I'd walked past a house or two, I don't really remember. Anyway, I was walking down the sidewalk when this fist comes out of nowhere and socks me in the jaw. I was so stunned and all of the self-defense training I'd learned flew out of my head. The next thing I know, this tall man has grabbed my hair, pulled my head back and is pointing a knife at my neck."

Brennan put a reassuring hand on the girl's arm as her eyes welled up again, "Did he say anything?"

"Yeah, but it didn't make sense. He said, 'Lucky bitch.You couldn't be her, the hair's all wrong.' Then he threw me to the ground, kicked me, and ran off. There was some broken glass on the ground and it cut my hand. After that, I called the police. They sent me to the hospital and the next thing I know, the doctor's just finished stitching my hand when this insensitive prick, name was Clark I think, comes bursting in and saying that I need to come with him because I'm vital to an FBI investigation. What the hell was he talking about, Temperance? How could I possibly have anything to do with that?"

Brennan smiled reassuringly, "It's not really you, Siobhan. We believe that the man who attacked you has killed fourteen other women."

Siobhan stared at the woman seated beside her, her eyes wide with incomprehension.

"He killed fourteen women?" she paused, "Why didn't he kill me?"

"I have an idea," Brennan answered, "but I need to ask you one last question and then we'll confirm my hypothesis."

"Ok," Siobhan said uncertainly.

"Siobhan, in your file photo for Peek-A-Boo, was your hair red?"

The young woman started, "Yes. I… Madeleine teased me that the only thing about me that wasn't stereotypical Irish was my hair. So for my photo I wore a red wig as a joke. Is that why he…"

"It doesn't matter," Brennan interrupted firmly, "What does matter is that you are safe and alive. And you're going to stay that way. We're going to have an officer drive you home and if you want she'll spend the night. Ok?"

The girl nodded.

"Good. Now if you need to talk to anyone, just give me a call," Brennan said, pulling out a sheet of paper and writing her number on it.

"Thank you, Temperance," the young woman said, holding the paper tightly in her left hand.

Temperance nodded and turned to leave the room but halted when Siobhan called out to her, "Temperance?"

"Yes?"

"Can you apologize to," she paused to think, "Agent Booth? I was kind of reticent when he tried to talk to me. I understand that he was just trying to help but he was just so… big, you know?"

Brennan nodded and gave the girl a small smile, "I'll pass the message along. Take care."


Brennan rolled her head around, her neck cracking as she did so. Closing her eyes she steeled herself for what she knew was about to happen and stepped into the room next to the interrogation area she had just left. As anticipated, Booth and Clark were already facing off.

"You want to do what?" Booth shouted.

"You heard me just fine, Booth. I want to send in an undercover agent to catch this guy. It's the only way we're going to stop him and you know it."

Booth shook his head in the negative, his lips curling in a frown. Before he could shoot back a reply, Brennan interjected.

"He's right, Booth. I know you hate it, but it's true."

Both men turned to the forensic anthropologist in surprise, having entirely missed her entrance.

"Bones, no. Clark has a really horrible track record when he sends someone in undercover."

"Kate Mahoney?" Brennan asked. Booth nodded in the affirmative.

"It doesn't matter," Brennan returned, "You're working this case too. And I know you would never let anything happen to someone you sent in undercover."

Booth nodded in appreciation, "Fine. We'll do it. I'll talk to Cullen tomorrow and get an appropriate female agent assigned to the case. We'll brief her, set up her cover, and we'll go in."

"We don't have time to train a whole new agent so that she understands every nuance of this case," Clark interjected. "It'll take too long and we need to do this now before our killer gets ambitious, knocks off number three and moves on to another state."

Booth frowned; annoyed that he was once again forced to agree with the profiler. He was about to offer up another idea when the one woman in the room, chimed in.

"I'll do it. I'll go undercover."

Clark beamed at Brennan, like the proverbial cat that had swallowed the canary, but the anthropologist didn't see him. All she saw was the appalled look on Booth's face.


Dun, dun, duh! (my attempt at suspenseful music) I'm just so evil. Let me know what you thought, good, bad, ugly, whatever. Or you could bribe me with tasty treats so that my muse and I hit the keyboard once again with gusto. All up to you after you press that little button.