Title: Deja Vu
Disclaimer: Language, violence
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Chapter Twenty-five: Be Somebody
For the duration of the flight Booth tried desperately to think of anything other than what Brennan had said to him. Some seeing-off she had given him. His mind was bothered by the way she couldn't, or wouldn't look him in the eye. Was someone else putting her up to this torture? Had the death of Agent Stone pushed her so far away that she no longer wanted to fall in love with someone whose job could kill them any day? Or was she just being herself, running from relationships? He thought about using the airplane phone to call Angela and talk with her. If anyone knew what was bothering Brennan it would be her, but the more he chewed over the idea the less he liked it. The last thing he wanted to do was push Brennan when it was clear that she wanted to be left alone. Even with that decision made he still didn't enjoy the on-flight movie or the meal that he had ordered. He tried to sleep but all his dreams were of her. When the plane finally started to descend he began to feel a touch of hope. He would throw himself completely into finding the fugitive he was tracking. That would not only take his mind of Brennan but it would get him home faster.
He disembarked from the plane, picked up his luggage, and stepped outside into the damp cool air of London. He looked about, watching people scurry to catch taxis or getting rides from people who had come to pick them up. A light drizzle began to fall. A man with a head of gray hair and light blue eyes stepped up to him.
"Special Agent Booth, come with me," the guy said in a clipped British accent. He took Booth by the upper arm and began to direct him toward a waiting car.
Not quite sure of what was going on Booth tore his arm free of the British man's grip and stood his ground. "Who the hell are you and how do you know who I am?"
Startled, it took the other man a few minutes to reply. "I am Wesley Reginald. I work with the SOCA. Your boss in America sent me your file, which included your photograph. We are here to transport you to your hotel. On the way we'll discuss the man that you are here looking for. My guys already have a lead on him."
"What the hell is SOCA?" Booth asked.
"The Serious Organized Crime Agency," Wesley replied. "We are a relatively new agency but we're a lot like your FBI, sir."
"Forgive me," Booth said, "but where I come from, we don't take such things lightly. I want to see some sort of identification. I need to know that you are who you say you are."
Wesley smiled and pulled his wallet from his back pocket. He not only showed Booth his badge but he also showed him his driver's license. Booth did the same in return. "Are we good to go now, Agent Booth?"
Booth nodded and climbed into the car. Another man was behind the wheel. Without a word they took off into the streets of London. Booth had little time to take in the sights as Wesley began to pull out files and other paperwork to show him. It appeared as though the man who killed Agent Stone was in fact a London-born native. Both sides of the ocean had been tracking him the best they could to catch him with drugs. How he managed to smuggle them into and out of the two countries was still something they hadn't figured out. The drive to the hotel felt as long as the flight had taken. Jet lag was beginning to set in and Booth felt himself winding down. He couldn't wait to get to the hotel, lay himself down in the bed, and sleep for a few good hours. Work could wait until his battery was recharged.
Putting away the paperwork Wesley looked at the agent. "Something is troubling you, Agent Booth. I can see it in your eyes. Did you leave behind unresolved issues or something?"
"You could say that," Booth replied.
"Ah," Wesley smiled. "A woman, the woman who holds the key to your heart. May I ask why she did not come with you? It would have been a very nice vacation for her, I am sure."
Booth smiled. Had he not thought the same thing himself? "Nah, she doesn't take vacations, not that I've seen anyway. She's an anthropologist who works at the Jeffersonian. We usually work together."
"Does she not feel the same way about you that you feel about her?" asked Wesley, a frown on his face.
"I'm not really sure anymore," replied Booth, honestly. "We had a bit of a spark that was starting to grow into something more. Then Agent Stone was murdered and she pulled away. I'd actually rather not talk about it. My job is to find this bastard so that I can get home and return to work there. I have plans of taking my son to tour the White House when I return. He'll get a kick out that, I hope."
Wesley smiled again. This time when he pulled out his wallet he showed a picture to Booth. It was a picture of his wife and two little girls. The rest of the ride was spent talking about his family. But Booth couldn't get Brennan off his mind. She was all he ever thought about now. Maybe he shouldn't have jumped at the chance to come to London. Maybe he should have let another agent take the job so that he could have stayed behind for Brennan. She needed him and didn't even know it.
They finally pulled up in front of the hotel. Wesley gave him a handful of paperwork and the files that they had discussed. A room had already been booked for him; it was on the top floor. He didn't care. The room was modest, clean, and orderly. He hung the do not disturb sign on the door, throw the folders and assorted paperwork on a desk, placed his luggage on the floor, and fell into the bed. The pillow felt welcoming, as did the mattress. He wanted nothing more than to fall asleep but there was one other thing he felt the need to do. Reaching for the phone he followed the instructions for placing a long-distance phone call before dialing Brennan's number. He really wasn't sure what the time difference was so he worried that he might catch her while she was sleeping. The worry washed away as the answering machine picked up. He listened to her voice before hanging up at the beep.