(After 'The Doctor in the Photo' & 'The Killer in the Cross hairs')
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I don't own Bones.
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Max hadn't seen his daughter for a few days and when he tried to call her to set up a lunch date, she informed him she was too busy. He could hear something strange in his daughter's voice but when he had asked her if everything was alright, she had told him she was fine and ended the call. Worried, he had thought about dropping by the Lab to see her, but he realized that if she was putting this much effort into not seeing him then he might not be welcome.
Unable to see her, Max considered his options and chose the most likely one to give him some answers. On a Friday evening, he waited in his car until Booth came home and intercepted the agent before he entered his apartment building. "Booth, I need to talk to you."
Startled, Booth turned to face his partner's father and glared at the old con man. "How the hell do you know where I live?"
"You're my daughter's partner, you don't think I know where you live?" He found the question an odd one, especially since Booth knew who and what he was.
Annoyed, Booth shook his head. Of course the man knew where he lived and fretting about it wouldn't serve any purpose. "What do you want?"
He could see that Booth was in a bad mood, but lately he always seemed to be in a bad mood. "I've been trying to get Tempe to go to lunch with me, but she keeps turning me down. I don't see that I've done anything to make her mad at me, so I want to know what's going on."
Tempted to walk away, Booth decided that Max needed a little advice. "Look, Bones had a rough week last week. We had a case that made her rethink some decisions she made in the past and she's sad about it. You need to just back off and leave her alone. She's going to be fine, but she needs some space right now. We all do."
Puzzled, Max stared at Booth for a moment trying to understand what Booth was trying not to tell him. "What decisions? Does this have to do with . . . um, me or . . ."
Interrupting the older man, Booth held up his hand. "Max . . . Max this has nothing to do with you but if you keep bothering her she'll hold it against you. I learned a long time ago when dealing with Bones that sometimes she needs space. Sometimes she disappears on digs or on an assignment for the CIA or the Pentagon and when she comes back, she's back to normal, well normal for Bones . . . Sometimes things happen . . . emotional things and she needs to deal with it her way. Right now, I'm trying to give her that space and you should do the same. Okay?"
"But I'm her father, I want to help her." Max knew that Booth was hiding something and he didn't like it. "She should let me help her."
"Like you did when you ran away and left her behind." Angry, Booth was trying to control his temper, but Max was pushing into private business. "She was fifteen years old . . . fifteen."
Shocked, Max took a step back. "I . . . Tempe knows why we left her behind. We had to do that to protect her."
"Protect her! Protect her!" His voice was rising and Booth didn't care. "Her last foster parents almost killed her. Because of them, she was placed in a group home the last year she was in Foster Care. They locked her in the trunk of a car and the only reason she survived is because someone from the state came around to check on her. She almost died, Max. In the trunk of a car and that's on you and Christine, so fuck off!" He was shouting by now and he didn't care. Panting with anger, Booth turned and hurried through the entrance to the apartment building. He felt so out of control he was afraid that he might hit the old man.
Stunned, Max stared as the closed door and felt his body start to tremble with anger, not at Booth but at the outrage he felt about what Booth had told him. "Son of a bitch." He had known that his daughter had not fared well in the foster homes she had lived in just from the odd comments he had heard from Booth and Temperance over the years, but no one had ever mentioned that his daughter had almost died. "This can't stand . . . I . . . this can't stand."
Quickly moving to his car, Max unlocked the door, slid in the car, grasped the steering wheel and began to cry. He had tried to make it up to his daughter for leaving her behind when she was a child, but he hadn't realized just how bad she had been treated in Foster Care. After a while, the tears dried up and he thought about revenge. Cold, sweet revenge.
Ooooooooooooooooo
It had been several weeks since her conversation with Booth in the car and she had come to accept that the past couldn't be changed. Her partner was still her partner and they were still working together. Their friendship had been fragile for a few weeks, but now that Hannah was gone their friendship seemed to be getting stronger. Not as strong as it used to be, but stronger than when they had both left the District to travel to different parts of the world. She hoped that someday they might have the same friendship they used to have and she had time to wait.
It had been an odd week. Brennan and Booth seemed to be miscommunicating about something essential in their relationship but somehow they had finally got that straight and she felt that there was less tension in their friendship.
At home, bored and not willing to work on anything that had to do with anthropology or her book, Brennan was reading a newspaper that was two days old when she spied an article about a murder in Illinois. It had made national news because of how the victims had died. A married couple in their late 60's had been found dead in the trunk of a car. The car had been found parked in front of an abandoned convenience store. The trunk had been welded shut, but the smell emanating from the back of the car had been unbearable. Once the trunk was opened the police found the bodies of the man and woman inside. They had died from heat exhaustion and lack of water. As she read the article, she felt her skin grow cold and when she read the identity of the couple, Brennan felt nauseous. Robby and Corrine Atkins. She flipped to page six and there was no mistaking who these people were. After all these years, she recognized them in the picture printed in the paper. They had been the ones who had shut her up in the trunk of their car. She had almost died and now someone had killed them by locking them in the trunk of their car.
She didn't believe in coincidence. Booth had convinced her long ago that there was no such thing as coincidence when it came to murder.
Her hand trembled as she called her partner. "Booth, Robby and Corrine Atkins have been murdered . . . did you . . . are you responsible? Did you . . . kill them?"
"Who the hell is Robby and Corrine Atkins and why would I kill them?" She could hear the outrage in his voice.
"Booth, they were the couple that locked me in the trunk of my car when I was in Foster Care." She paused for a moment. "They were found locked in the trunk of a car . . . dead. The trunk was welded shut."
There was a brief silence before Booth finally said something. "Max . . . I told Max about you being locked in the trunk of a car while you were in Foster Care. I . . . I probably shouldn't have done that but he was bugging me about you not talking to him a few weeks ago. I lost my temper."
His words made sense. They were awful, but they made complete sense. "My father has committed murder again. Booth . . ."
Her partner interrupted her. "Bones . . . Look, we don't know he did this. We're just guessing that he did this. If the Atkins locked you in a trunk to punish you then maybe they did that to other kids and one of them decided to get revenge. This . . . This doesn't mean that Max did it."
"But you don't really think that's true, do you?" She was desperate to believe that her father hadn't done this awful thing, but it seemed like something he would do. Her father was a very dangerous man.
"Could he do this, yes, he could, but no, I don't believe he did this." There was silence for a few moments and Brennan thought Booth had ended the call. "Bones, your old man is a lot of things, but he's retired now. He's been on the straight and narrow for a while now and I think that trial for murder got his attention. You told him that if he ever killed anyone again that you wouldn't lift a hand to save him and he knows that. You told him that you'd kick him out of your life if he ever broke the law again and we both know he wants to be in your life . . . I don't think he did this. I think some foster child abused by the Atkins did this . . . okay?"
She thought about what he said and accepted that what Booth had said was logical and sincere. The Atkins were dead and she didn't really care. They had been monsters who should never have been given children to take care of. She had no tears to give them and that part of her past was closed. "Alright . . . thank you for helping me with this . . . situation."
"Hey, what are partners for?" She could hear that he was in a better mood. At least he didn't sound angry.
"Yes, I'm going to have breakfast at the diner tomorrow. If you wish to join me, I'll be there around seven."
"Sure, I'll be there."
Her call ended, Brennan sat on the couch looking at the paper lying on the coffee table. Leaning over, she picked up the newspaper, folded it neatly, stood up and carried the paper into the kitchen. Once the paper was in the recycle bin, she removed a bottle of beer from the fridge and sipped some of the cold brew. Going over her conversation with Booth, she knew that she had two choices. She could push Max away and never see him again or she could continue her relationship with him and leave the past alone.
She decided that Max was Max and she would let him remain in her life. There was no proof that he had killed anyone and she would give him the benefit of the doubt, for now.
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