Thank you all for the great reviews and encouragement. I will continue to write and update when I can. As a thank you for your responses, I wrote this short chapter based on the flashback episode from season 5. I won't be able to post for a few weeks after this, though I'll continue working on the next chapters as much as I can. When I do post next, it will be two, maybe three scenes/interpretations from the season 6 finale. Obviously, this will take me some time to write and life just got a whole lot busier. I hope you all enjoy this in the meantime

~AlphaGirl13

Disclaimer: Owning Bones is only a dream, not a reality


We were sitting in the conference room, informing Jemma's mother about the case.

"It was the Judge." Booth said, taking her hand.

"We found her stapes, a bone from the inner ear, wedged in the locking mechanism of his trunk. He had tripped her, and she fell down the stairs. Thinking she was dead, he got his car and proceeded to put her in the trunk. When she regained consciousness, he panicked and slammed the trunk down on her head, killing her."

As I started to explain the case, I expressed my concern on whether or not we had enough evidence to convict.

"But I don't know if this will be enough to achieve a conviction. He may be aquit-"

Booth cut me off. "This is definitely not the place to bring this up." His voice was hushed and angry.

I was furious. We had barely been working together as it was. He had gotten me drunk to fire me, then rehired me, and we had fought in the parking garage. This man was irritating and irrational. "Booth, I-"

He grabbed my arm, digging his nails into my biceps. Suddenly, I was sixteen again.

"Temperance. Honey." His voice drawled, thick with alcohol. He entered my room, stumbling and foul smelling. I pressed myself deeper in to the corner of the closet. His footsteps grew louder and as he threw back the door, I screamed. His greasy hand clamped over my mouth and nose, suffocating me. I tried to bit him, but he hit me. His fingers whipped across my face, stinging, and leaving long red marks. I struggled, refusing to let him take me so easily. But he held me, his size was too great an advantage. Gripping my biceps and digging in his fingernails, he viciously pulled me from the closet and threw me on the bed. Blood began to seep from the torn skin on my arm.

"Happy birthday Temperance. I have a gift for you…" He whipped off his pants, exposing his full naked frame to me. He was rock hard and throbbing. I whimpered and curled into a ball against the headboard. He slid his hands up my thigh, and I bristled, but I did not scream. He smiled cruelly and slid down my pants, then my underwear. Flattening me against the bed, he slid himself into me. The pain astonished me. I tried to gasp, but he covered my mouth with his hand. He thrust in and out, each movement bringing me excruciating pain. But I couldn't resist, I couldn't fight; I was helpless. I closed my eyes; I couldn't watch the blatant abuse of my body. He took something from me. He took something that should have been mine to give to someone whom I loved. But it was stolen, I could never give it to someone else.

I felt him collapse on top of me, but my eyes didn't open. He removed his hand and spoke, his voice sickeningly sweet. "Thank you Temperance. I hope I was worth the first experience."

I wrapped my hands around the posts on the headboard and waited for him to leave. The pain had dulled to a constant throbbing, but my mind was broken. My entire body ached and screamed for a release from the torture it had just endured. When I heard my door close and lock from the outside, I rolled onto my side and finally let the tears fall. I sobbed silently, missing my parents and my comfortable life. I missed being innocent and not losing my virginity to a middle aged alcoholic on my 16th birthday.

When I was able to stop the tears, I wondered if he would come back. If I would have to face such torture the next night. And I did. Every night after my birthday, I hid in the closet. And every night after my birthday, he found me, grabbed my upper arm, and threw me on the bed. He made me call him "The Judge" and "Daddy." He said I was a bad girl, who needed to be punished. I developed scars from his dirty fingernails, and I began to bleed unnaturally from the brutal assault on my body.

And every night, after he left, I convinced myself that it didn't happen. I promised my wounded body that I would give that gift to someone when I was ready. Someone I knew would give me a good experience, someone I knew wouldn't hurt me. I vowed to myself, that no matter how many times he raped me, I would still be a virgin.

Booths fingernails dug into the exact placement of my fading scars. I felt irrational fear rise in my throat. He dragged me out of the room, and I panicked.

"Let go of me!" I spat out the words through clenched teeth. I no longer saw Booth, all I saw was the giant man who had violated me all those years ago.

"I will if you-" I struck him, like the rapist had done me. My fear and panic translated into anger, and I freed myself from his grasp.

"Oh! What the hell?" he looked at me, anger and power evident in his eyes.

But when I looked into those eyes, I no longer saw a warm, chocolate brown. I saw the cruel, black eyes of my foster father.

"You are a bully! You grab my arm just like The Judge, you use your badge and your gun to intimidate people." I noticed my slip, but Booth had no knowledge of my past. He thought nothing of my wording.

"Really, like you use your big brain to make people around you feel stupid?" He leaned in, getting much too close to me.

I thrust my hand against his chest. "Well you are a stupid man! I hate you!" I couldn't see Booth, all I saw was my rapist. The man who ruined my childhood.

"Oh, you hate me?" he asked, mockingly. "What are you? 10 years old? I'm not our dad!" He scowled at me, furious and oblivious to the cause of my outburst. But I couldn't rein myself in anymore. I only saw red. He wasn't my dad. He had raped me. He wasn't my dad.

"I will never work with you again!" I fled the office, unable to think, unable to rationalize my actions. I just ran. I dimly heard him respond to my comment, but I only looked back once before escaping the building. I ran blindly to my car, locking myself inside. I braced my hands against the steering wheel, my arms locked and tight.

I let myself cry, something I hadn't done in years. I had pushed away those painful memories, telling myself they weren't conducive to living a life free of past burdens. But I finally let myself feel the full reality of what happened to me during those weeks.

"What are you? 10 years old?" No, I thought bitterly. I was 16. The tears fell, and I didn't wipe them away.