Disclaimer- I don't own Bones.
Paris November 3rd, 2001
Monday 3:43pm
Seeley Booth followed Temperance's line of sight and gasped. Her hands were covered in dried blood. It was incriminating evidence enough. He just didn't want to believe it.
"What the hell happened, Temperance!" He looked into her frightened eyes. "There's a dead – no – murdered body outside your window. Do you know anything about that?"
"Oh God, it's true. The dream…" She started shivering.
Booth tried to calm her down. He put his hands on her shoulders to make her face him. "What dream, Temperance?"
"I- I don't know! It… You called me. I saw someone in front of my window. He kept coming. I didn't know what to do. There was a gun… I u- used – I killed him… and God…" Tears spilled from her eyes.
Booth pulled her to him. She rested her cheek on his chest. He could feel her tears soaking through his suit. The sensitive side of him said to comfort her and interrogate the next day. His business side told him to grill her here and now. He was angry and confused. Fuck my job!
"You're coming with me, Bones."
Tempe looked up at him. "Are you taking me to jail?" Guilt was swimming in her azure eyes.
"Of course not, Bones. You're innocent until proven guilty." He grinned trying his best to lighten the mood.
"Don't make this a joke, Booth." She wrenched herself from his arms and stood up from her bed. "I might have actually killed a human being. I'm the person that I work to put behind bars! Even if they don't put me into jail, then I'd still have to be around you all the time… to make sure I don't do anything." She turned away from the FBI agent still kneeling by her bed.
"Is that so bad?" Booth asked.
Temperance turned back to him, furious. "You'd be my fucking jail keeper, Booth! This isn't a trip to the fucking park!"
Booth wasn't used to Tempe cursing. He was in uncharted waters. Never in his partnership with Temperance had he thought this would happen. For the first time in his life, he didn't know what to do.
"We'll work this out, Bones." He stood up and tried to rest his hand on her shoulder, but she jerked away.
She took out some of her travel equipment: a small plastic Ziploc bag, usually used to store small bones and a cotton ball. She used the cotton ball to scrub some of the dried blood off her hands and into the bag for analysis. She focused on the chips of blood falling off her hand and into the bag.
Booth admired her persistence to solve the case even though she was the prime suspect. He was sure the blood belonged to the body outside her window, but one can never be too sure.
When Temperance finished, she went into the bathroom to wash the rest of the blood from her hands. Booth took this time to look around the suite. He walked the perimeter of the room paying close attention to the floor and walls, his eyes roaming up, down, and side-to-side. He spent extra time at the spot where he perceived the actual murder had taken place.
Booth heard the shower start in the bathroom. His eyebrows furrowed knowing that witnesses and victims in these situations often took extra long showers not only to clean their bodies, but also to scour away the unpleasant memories.
Booth sat on the bed staring sadly at the door to the bathroom. He turned around to see something shiny and silver glinting from inside the wall above the headboard. On closer inspection, he realized it was a bullet. I don't know much about forensic anthropology, but I do know guns. The bullet that killed that man was shot from below him. Even if it did go through his skull, which I doubt, it would have gotten stuck in the ceiling. There was more than one shot fired last night. …But that makes no sense. Witnesses said they only heard one shot. "Unless that's not how he died…"
"Unless that's not how who died?" Temperance asked behind him. He'd said that aloud. Booth turned around to see Tempe clad in lavender robe that perfectly matched the long curtains currently smeared with blood. Her hair was dripping from her shower and she smelled sweetly of cinnamon. Booth hadn't noticed her come up behind him.
"Your guy may have not died from that bullet you shot. This bullet, I believe, came from a Beretta 92FS handgun," Booth explained.
"That's the one I had," said Temperance.
"That's also the one you stole from me."
"I didn't steal it! I… borrowed it without asking, but I had every intention of returning it," she said, defensive as usual.
Booth narrowed his eyes. "Is there a reason you thought you needed a gun on a business trip to Paris?" he asked.
Temperance looked away from his mysterious brown eyes boring into the side of her cheek. "I've just had… experiences in Paris. I thought it was best to be on the safe side. You won't tell Cullen, will you?" she looked back.
"What kind of experiences?" Booth ignored the question. Before she could reply, Booth's cell phone broke the silence. He dug through his pocket and answered. "Booth… Oh God… Stay where you are!" He hung up. "Bones, we're leaving!" He got up from the bed.
"Why? What happened?" She didn't move.
Booth took hold of her upper arm and dragged her out of the room. "We're getting the fuck out of here! Now!"
Washington D.C. November 14th, 2002
Thursday 9:26am
We didn't know what to do. All we could do was run. But we had no place to go. Nowhere was safe. But he was there the whole time, protecting me and guiding me. It was short lived. There was nothing I could do. There is no one to blame but myself.
AN: I thank you ALL for the reviews. They're very encouraging. This is still mysteryish and horrorish. I apologize again. Hang in there. It's coming. Yes, I'm taking advantage of the M rating and throwing some swearing in there. There might be some mild sex scenes later on. But for now, keep reading and reviewing. I'll update as soon as possible.
