(The Boneless Bride in the River)

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I don't own Bones.

Ooooooooooooooooooooo

While Brennan made a trip to the store for some items she needed to make rice pilaf, Booth sat on the front porch with his grandfather waiting for her to come back. The street was quiet with little road traffic which was just the way Booth liked it.

Hank knew that something was wrong with his grandson, but he wasn't sure if he should mention it. Booth had been through some serious trouble spots in his life and Hank knew the signs by now. Afraid his boys' PTSD was rearing its ugly head again, Hank decided to see if he could help him. "I noticed that you're kind of tense and serious right now. Is something wrong? Can I help?"

One of the reasons he'd wanted to come see his grandfather was because he needed someone to talk to that really knew him. He loved Brennan, but she didn't know him as well as his grandfather did. That's my fault. I need to talk to her more about me I guess instead of just changing the subject. "I shot an ice cream truck . . . well, the mechanical clown on top of the truck."

"For God's sake why?" Hank was shocked and now he was really starting to worry that his grandson was in serious trouble. "Are you still with the FBI? They didn't fire you did they?"

He hadn't meant to be that abrupt with what had happened and now he knew that his grandfather was upset. What the hell is wrong with me? "No . . . They didn't fire me. I just . . . I couldn't save someone from committing suicide and I guess I blamed myself. At least that's what my psychiatrist says. He said I have control issues . . . and other stuff . . . anyway, no one was in danger. I hit what I shoot you know that. It's just the vendor was playing music really loud and I was on the phone and I couldn't hear and I couldn't think and I wanted the music to stop and he wouldn't stop it . . . I stopped it . . . The Deputy Director is making me get therapy . . . I'm okay though, I think I am anyway." Booth shook his head and chuckled. "Bones hates psychology, she just thinks I'm impatient and that's why I shot the clown." Suddenly sober, the younger man stared at the lilac bush next to the porch. "I shouldn't have shot the clown, it's caused me nothing but trouble since I did it."

His mind racing, Hank knew that his grandson probably needed the help he was getting. Booth had seen psychiatrists after he'd been rescued from the Republican Guard and while he'd had numerous surgeries to fix his feet. "Watching someone die, it's a hard thing to do. You know I've been through that and it changes a man."

"Well this man deserved to die." Booth continued to stare at the lilac bush. He felt it made it easier to talk to his grandfather if he didn't see the old man's reactions. "Howard Epps was a serial killer. He killed several young women and his wife. The man cut his wife's head off and . . . you don't need to hear about that . . . He was going to kill Bones and Bones and me stopped him . . . he tried to jump from the balcony because he didn't want to go back to prison and I grabbed him . . . I held on as long as I could, but he wouldn't help me . . . he just hung from my hand, talking trash . . . he fell." He could still see Epps lying on the cement blood pooling around his body. It made him sick and he had to stop obsessing over it. "Dr. Wyatt says Epps was trying to control his death and he wanted to punish me for trying to control his life by saving him . . . I believe it, but still . . . I see him and his blood . . ."

Hank heard the pain in his grandson's voice and he knew that Booth might not blame himself, but that death was still controlling him. "Son, we don't always have control over the things that go on around us. You know that. You've been in battle. It's chaos. It's always been chaos and you know no matter how much you try to control what happens, most of the time, there is nothing to control. You have to let that kind of thing go. Epps wanted to die and he died. He was responsible for his own death. You tried to save him and you couldn't. If you think about it, you never had control of that situation to begin with. The minute he jumped from the balcony, he had control. He wanted to die and he took control and he died. Sure, it's tough you couldn't save him, but you tried and that's all you could do."

Booth listened intently to the words of his grandfather and he knew that the old man made sense. He just needed to accept it. "Dr. Wyatt says I have socio-economic rage. He says I hate rich people because I think they use their privilege to get away with shit."

A snort escaping from his, Hank nodded his head. "That's not rage, it's the damn truth. There are two sets of rules in this country. One for the rich and one for the rest of us. What you have to do is deal with it when it affects you and just ignore it when it doesn't. It's like Epps' suicide. We don't have control over stuff like that. We never have. We just have to do what we think is right and hope it all works out in the end."

His gaze shifting towards his grandfather, Booth smiled. "Right? I knew that Dr. Wyatt was full of shit about that rich people stuff . . . he says I wear fancy ties and crazy socks as a release valve. They help me cope with my rage."

Hank shook his head and wondered what Dr. Wyatt had been doing to his boy. "Look Son, Dr. Wyatt might have been right about Epps and his controlling things, but you wear nice ties and crazy socks because you like them. There doesn't have to be any complex reasons behind it. You know Temperance is right about you being impatient though. I think you should work on that and just ignore that other mumbo jumbo socio-economic crap thing. You grew up poor and when I took you in . . . well we were lower middle class so still poor . . . you did okay. You went to school, you served in the army. You got your degree in Criminology. You're in the FBI. You aren't that poor kid anymore. You're doing okay and so is Jared and I'm not doing too badly either. You're going to get through this mess because you always do. It's who you are."

The explanations made sense and made Booth glad that his grandfather understood him so well. "Yeah . . . I am impatient. I should work on that. Thanks Pops. I knew you'd know what was really wrong with me. No one knows me like you do . . . and I guess Bones." The feeling of pressure that had been sitting between his eyes for the last few weeks seemed to ease up. "I'm going to go for a walk. You want to come?"

Comfortable where he was, Hank smiled and shook his head. "No, I'm going to sit right here and enjoy the fine weather. You go ahead. Take your time. I'll help Temperance with lunch when she gets back. I hope she remembered to buy beer."

Booth stood up and stretched. "She won't forget. I just hope she buys real beer and not that fancy crap she likes. It tastes like ear wax."

"Yummy." Hank curled his lips. "I can always drive to the store later."

Ooooooooooooooooooo

After she got back from the store, Brennan placed her purchases in the kitchen and decided to prepare lunch. Hank came in to the kitchen and moved over to the counter. "Just tell me what you need Honey and I'll help. Seeley went for a walk." His conversation with his grandson on his mind, Hank leaned against the counter. "Seeley told me about shooting at an ice cream truck."

As she silently took her purchases out of the bags and placed them on the counter, Brennan debated how much to say about Booth. Handing the old man two six packs of Coors beer, Brennan made her decision. "Booth took Epps' death very hard. Not that he didn't want the man to die, he did. He just wanted him to die in prison. At first he seemed to blame himself for Epps' death which was ridiculous. He couldn't hold onto Epps' hand forever. Epps wanted to die his way and he did. I think that combined with Booth's impatience caused him to shoot the mechanical clown on the truck. Booth needs to learn to be more patient . . . The Deputy Director is making him see a psychiatrist." Brennan took the now empty bags and placed them in a bin Hank used for recycling. "I don't think the psychiatrist is helping Booth that much. He did help him accept that he didn't kill Epps, but he made Booth stop wearing loud ties and socks and his cocky belt buckle. That just seemed to increase Booth's impatience and Dr. Gordon relented. I don't trust psychiatry. It's a soft science and involves a lot of guessing. Dr. Wyatt guessed right about Epps and wrong about Booth's wardrobe."

Hank had seen the difference psychiatric help could make in someone's life so he didn't mistrust it like Brennan did. His grandson had been tortured while he was in the hands of the Republican Guard in Iraq and it had taken a lot of sessions with a psychiatrist to calm his anger. His grandson had survived what had been done to him during the war just like he'd survived what had happened to him as a child. His boy had a lot of inner strength, but he needed to talk things out with people he trusted. He needed to put things in perspective and Hank knew that Booth couldn't always do that by himself. "Seeley was in real bad shape during Operations Desert Storm after he was rescued . . . you know about the torture?"

Grimly, Brennan nodded her head. "I've seen his x-rays. I know about his being abused as a child too."

Embarrassed that his son Edwin had treated his own children so badly, Hank blushed but chose to continue the conversation. "Yeah, that too. I think that child abuse added to what was done to him in Iraq made him . . . I don't know, angry might not be the right word. He was mad at the world I guess, filled with rage. He thought God had turned his back on him, but after he talked it out with a psychiatrist and also with a priest that was working at Walter Reed . . . Seeley accepted what happened to him and he moved on. Seeley thinks with his heart and sometimes he gets into trouble because of it."

"You think with your brain not your heart." Brennan searched the cabinets for pots and placed two on the stove top. When Hank didn't respond, she turned to look at him and spied a smirk on his face. "Too literal?"

Amused, Hank chuckled. "A little bit . . . Seeley has these deep feelings and sometimes he just bottles it up inside until he explodes . . . You know I'm glad you two got together. He loves you very much."

It was her turn to blush and Brennan felt the heat in her cheeks increase. "Yes, he tells me he loves me every day. I've never known anyone like him before . . . I love him too."

"I'm glad." Hank patted Brennan on the arm. "Love helps make things better even when things are going wrong. Now, tell what to do and let's get lunch started. If I know my boy, he's going to be hungry when he gets back home."

Ooooooooooooooooo

Entering the house, Booth smelled something delicious in the air and laughed when his stomach rumbled. Moving across the living room, he stood in the doorway of the kitchen and held his left hand behind his back. "Wow, it smells good in here."

Brennan turned from the stove and smiled at her boyfriend. "Hank said you'd be hungry when you got back. He's in the laundry room sorting his clothes for the washing machine."

Taking advantage of the absence of his grandfather, Booth strode across the room and kissed his girlfriend. Their kiss growing deep, the sound of a clearing throat separated them. A quick glance at Hank standing in the doorway leading to the laundry room told Booth that his grandfather was amused. Moving his left hand, he presented Brennan with a posy of flowers.

"What's this?' Brennan took the flowers and held them against her nose. "You didn't have to bring me flowers."

"I know." Booth lifted the lid to see what Brennan was cooking. "I just wanted to give them to you."

Trying to be helpful, Hank entered the room, removed a vase from a cabinet and handed it to Brennan. "Seeley used to bring his grandmother a flower or two every week when he was a boy. She loved them and kept this vase for them."

The vase a pretty light green glass, Brennan took the vase, filled it with water and placed the flowers in it. "Thank you. They're lovely."

Pleased she liked them, Booth took the vase from her and placed it on the kitchen table. "I should bring you flowers more often."

Oooooooooooooooo

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