Author's Note: After this week's episode, how could I not? Loved it. Simply loved it. And really, really, want to hug her. Poor dear.
On the note of how this fic is working: I'm not really sure. As you can see, I jumped from the season premiere to the fourth episode. That isn't because the other two weren't good; they were. It just that not all of them inspire a 'conversation' as well as these two have. So in short, not all episodes will be covered, and since I don't know if future episodes will have the same effect (yeah, right!), the status of this fic will remain complete, although updates may be made.
Enjoy.
Chapter Two - The Blonde in the Game
"I killed someone today." The words came out a whisper, but the cold truth in them still stunned her.
She was lying on her side, clutching the edge of the sheets to her in the darkness, the heavy blanket her protection from the retribution some part of her feared was coming.
"It was so quick. Just one shot, one second…I had to do it. I had to shoot him. He would've-he would've killed Booth."
Closing her eyes, she could still see it all so clearly. The iron swinging through the air, the sound of the impact, the sound of him in pain. And then the shot. There had been no hesitation, no thought. Just the knowledge that he had to be stopped and she had the means to do so.
Her grip on the sheets tightened. It was harder then she thought it would be. Not that she'd ever thought taking another person's life would be easy, but…
"He was a bad man. A murderer. He killed those girls, so why do I-why do I feel so horrible about it?"
She had no answer. Her mind knew what she had done was right, that she had done what was necessary to protect Booth, herself, Helen, and all the other victims he could have claimed had he lived. But her heart, all it knew was that she had killed. Taken another life into her hands, and destroyed it.
"Am I-am I a bad person?"
This time, she was glad there was no answer. She wasn't entirely sure she wanted one. It had seemed so simple before. He was a murderer, and therefore, she was justified in shooting him, especially when he was beating her partner with a tire iron.
But it wasn't like hunting an animal. He had a family; a mother who loved him. A dog. A face. Oh god, she could see his face, eyes slightly open, but blank. Devoid of life. She had done that.
"What will I tell Russ?"
She knew immediately that she wouldn't tell him anything. He didn't need to know, and she didn't want him to know his little sister was a murderer.
"I'm not a murderer," she insisted softly, protesting the silent darkness. "I'm not. I'm-I'm a good person."
And yet she could not quite convince herself. Not this time.
"Is this how Booth feels?"
If it was, she couldn't imagine how much worse it would be for him. He had killed dozens of people, and lived, survived. But there had been a cost. He said there was a cost. Only she didn't know what that would be.
The cold gaze of Howard Epps came to mind, and she shivered involuntarily. Is this what he had wanted? To play her, play them, to make her uncertain? To make her doubt herself? Or was it about the kill?
He had been pleased to find that she had been the one to kill Lappin; there was no doubt about that. Had asked her about the pleasure, about the rush that came with taking a life.
She felt sick. Plagued by an unknown, unnamed disease, that stemmed from the moment she pulled the trigger.
Angela had been sympathetic, Jack uncharacteristically quiet, and Zach looked a little bit more like the grad student she'd first met: slightly terrified. And Cam…she didn't even want to go there. Not tonight.
None of them would understand, and for that, she was glad. They should never have to know what it was like. She wished she didn't know, wished she could go back to the protected world of the lab. But there was no turning back. There was only forward, she told herself firmly, yet she teetered on the precipice.
There were questions she didn't want to ask, and answers she was afraid to hear.
The phone was in her hands, her fingers dialling the number before she could stop herself. Glancing at her nightstand, she smiled slightly.
"You're a great listener, Jasper, but not much of a conversationalist."
One ring. Two. Three.
She nearly sighed with relief when he picked up. Somehow, him being there, hearing his voice, convinced her more deeply than any argument she could produced that everything would be okay.
Taking her first breath in what seemed a lifetime, she smiled as if he could see her. "Booth, it's Brennan."
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