Okay, guys – first off, I'm sooooo sorry that it's taken so long to get this up – if it makes you feel any better, it is an epic chapter. I've broken day seven into three perspectives – Sweets, Cam, and Brennan. Day eight will be Hodgins, Angela, and Booth. Thanks to everyone for the incredible comments, you guys all rock. And without further ado…
Day Seven
Sweets
5 – 11a.m.
Sweets woke at some point in the early morning, considered getting up, and promptly fell back to sleep before giving the idea any real thought. The cavalry didn't arrive until well after dawn – Sweets woke abruptly at the sound of the cowbell, to a splitting headache and two very agitated instructors. He'd been drooling excessively, undoubtedly a side effect of sleeping with his mouth open, as it seemed his nostrils had swollen shut. Before facing Belle and Tripp, he quickly wiped his chin and tried to prepare himself mentally for the upcoming day.
The rest of the group was also groggily coming to, though he noted with some interest that Booth and Brennan appeared to have been up and about for some time. He tried to ascertain from their body language whether or not something had happened between them the previous evening, but gave up in short order. Given the confrontation with Booth the previous evening, it didn't seem prudent to appear overly interested in the agent's interactions with Dr. Brennan, at least for a while.
The psychologist felt surprisingly primal after the exchange between them the night before, having never actually been in a physical altercation before. Yes, Booth's show of force had been brutish and Sweets certainly would have rather advocated for a meaningful discourse about their thoughts and feelings surrounding the events in question, but… Well, it was Booth. Meaningful discourse on any topic was virtually unheard of, at least where Sweets was concerned.
Besides which, the truth of the matter was that – regardless of how much Sweets was loathe to admit it – he could understand Booth's anger in this particular instance. Though the psychologist held to his right to observe Booth and Brennan's bizarre partnership, objectively he could understand why they might be upset with him. It was that understanding that had prompted the psychologist's ill-advised confession two nights ago, and that further propelled him from his solo site despite clear instructions to remain within the boundaries Tripp had set.
He'd found Cam before setting out for Booth's solo site late that afternoon. Initially when he'd stumbled upon her site, he'd gotten the strangest impression that she was not alone – in fact, he was almost positive he'd heard a male voice with her. He was mistaken, of course. Dr. Saroyan was indeed alone – flushed and quite surprised to see him, but definitely on her own. Sweets told her what he proposed to do: seek Booth out, and apologize. To which she had replied,
"Well, I'm sure as hell not missing that."
"What the hell were you thinking?" Tripp asked, pulling Sweets from his reverie abruptly. He directed the question at the group in general before turning to face Sweets directly.
"I know," Sweets said. He stood with some difficulty, which made his headache considerably worse. "You have every right to be upset. I know that it was against the rules, but I – "
He realized suddenly that Belle was looking at him with what appeared to be significant concern. He touched his nose reflexively, wincing at the pain.
"What happened to you?" she asked.
The rest of the group had gathered around, though at the question all of them seemed inordinately interested in their surroundings – the tree line, the water, anything but the scene unfolding before them. All but Booth, that is, who kept his head up and his gaze fixed firmly on Sweets.
"Oh – this?" Sweets asked, attempting to be cavalier. "I just bumped into a tree. Or – well, a tree branch, that is. And hit my nose. It actually looks worse than it is."
Booth sighed in exasperation. "What the hell are you doin', Sweets? I hit him," the agent said, showing no remorse whatsoever. "I popped him in the nose – no big deal." He looked at Sweets again. "Don't cover for me, all right? What the hell are they gonna do, arrest me? Kick me off the course? The worst that's gonna happen is they make me talk about my feelings until I shoot someone."
Actually, the last option wasn't completely out of the realm of possibility, though Sweets chose to keep that to himself. Tripp looked at each member of the group in turn, then shook his head as though he'd decided they were all completely hopeless.
"All right, gang – circle up. We've got a big day, and I think we need to have a talk before we get started."
The circle was more oblong than round, and completely lacking focus. Angela and Brennan sat together at one end, while Booth, Hodgins, and Cam sat on the opposite side. Both groups were deeply engaged in conversations, giving Belle and Tripp virtually no attention whatsoever. Though the previous day had been cold and overcast, this morning was clear and already very warm – even the ocean breeze did little to ease the heat of what promised to be a scorching July day.
Tripp stood and cleared his throat. "Typically after solo, this is a time for everyone to share their experiences while they were on their own. However, since you guys seem to have had your solo together, and since Belle and I just wasted the better part of two hours hunting for you, we'll skip that part."
The instructor paused, looking at each member of the group before he continued. "Now – at this point, you're all actually supposed to head out on final expedition. Which means Belle and I give you your mission, and then we pretty much leave you to get the job done. It's a fun day… It's a good day. It's a day when everything you've learned over the past week is put into practice, and you learn to rely on each other and trust each other, and then at the end of the day you're all rewarded for your hard work."
He paused, and Sweets looked around the circle uncomfortably. Everyone else looked equally ill at ease, clearly aware of Tripp's underlying message.
The instructor took a breath, still looking sincerely disturbed by recent events. "I just want to make sure before we get started, that you guys are really up for this. Because to be honest, I've never been less sure about sending a group off on their own. You're obviously all intelligent and accomplished and great at what you do. But in terms of taking instructions and then working as a team to achieve a common goal… Well, to be perfectly honest, this group leaves a lot to be desired."
There was complete silence around the circle, until finally Cam cleared her throat. Sweets looked at her in surprise – it wasn't that he'd necessarily expected the group to be stumbling over one another to apologize, he just hadn't thought anyone would actively argue Tripp's point. Clearly, he was wrong.
"I'd like to apologize if we worried you and Belle this morning – clearly, we could have done things a little differently," Dr. Saroyan said. "But, I personally take great offense to the idea that our failure on a week-long, recreational wilderness expedition bears any reflection whatsoever on how we work together in the real world. I'll stand behind the record of every one of my people, both individually and as a team, and I resent the implication that we are anything but exemplary at what we do – simply because we might not play by your rules out in the woods."
A moment's silence followed, and Sweets didn't miss the charged glance between Dr. Saroyan and Tripp – he actually did a double-take, uncertain if he'd merely misinterpreted the look they exchanged. But it did indeed seem that some type of silent challenge had been issued; after an obvious contest of wills, Sweets saw Tripp look away first. Despite his headache and the palpable tension around the circle, he was fascinated at this development.
"I – uh, I didn't mean to insinuate that you all aren't very good at your jobs. It's just that – well," Tripp seemed to have forgotten that anyone but Dr. Saroyan was in the conversation. "I believe that there are some things you might actually learn while you're out here, if you'd just be open to the experience. Clearly, Lance wouldn't have suggested the trip – and you, Cam, wouldn't have agreed to it – if there weren't some underlying issues."
Dr. Saroyan didn't seem to have a response to this. Sweets felt as though he should say something, but frankly he couldn't seem to get his thoughts in order enough to do so. And so they all waited in silence, until finally Tripp took a deep breath.
"All right – Listen, I'm not here to lecture you. You're all adults, you don't need me telling you how to live your lives. Regardless of what has and hasn't happened over the course of the past week, you obviously all care for each other, and you've all come a long way. And now I'd like to just do a quick check-in, make sure we're okay, and then let's move on."
Both Tripp and Belle looked at Sweets, waiting for him to add something to the conversation.
"Are you all right, Lance?" Belle finally prompted him.
He raised his eyebrows, which it turns out actually hurt quite a bit. Nevertheless, he nodded.
"I am. Dr. Brennan has assured me that my nose isn't broken, and I think Agent Booth and I have reached an understanding?" he looked at Booth, making a conscious effort not to flinch when their eyes met.
Booth nodded, and Sweets felt better at the obvious weight the agent was giving the moment.
"Yeah, Sweets – we're good. No hard feelings?" He came over and took Sweets hand in a firm, manly grip. They shook hands, and separated. Sweets was frankly somewhat taken aback at the agent's sincerity.
"And everyone else is good?" Tripp asked the rest of the group.
Everyone nodded – which wasn't a surprise, since Sweets had seen them all in a better humor the previous evening than they'd been in since beginning the course.
The instructors nodded their approval. "All right, then," Tripp said. "Let's get on with final expedition. You've got a big day ahead of you, and we're already a couple hours behind schedule.
"So – final expedition," Tripp continued. "We've actually set up something kind of special for you guys this time out – a little different from your standard final expo."
The entire group seemed intrigued by this, each of them waiting silently for him to continue. Belle picked up where Tripp left off, still seated beside Sweets – the psychologist was not oblivious to her glances of concern, which naturally led him to consider the relationship that seemed to be developing between them completely without encouragement from him. Nothing had happened, of course, and he was reasonably certain that nothing would. This was a harmless flirtation, and he did actually have Daisy waiting for him at home – a fact he had conveniently neglected to mention to Belle, but one he was beginning to think would eventually need to be brought to light. He quickly put that thought out of his head for the moment, however, and focused on Belle's words.
"Today, you guys are doing a treasure hunt."
Sweets waited for a group groan; surprisingly enough, one was not forthcoming. No one looked particularly thrilled, but they at least had the decency to remain silent after their less than stellar performance during solo.
"But instead of golden eggs, the treasures this time will be a lot more tasty," Belle continued with enthusiasm.
These words, at least, got the group's attention.
"What – you mean like more granola?" Booth asked suspiciously.
Tripp shook his head, unable to squelch a smile. "No – not like more granola. I won't give you the whole menu, but I will tell you it involves fresh Maine lobster."
Now, everyone was definitely interested. Belle smiled, appearing to actually start enjoying herself now that any issues within the group had been addressed.
"There are three packages hidden somewhere between here and Hurricane Island, where we'll return for our final night. Each package contains ingredients for a lobster bake we'll have once we're back on the island at the end of the day."
"And all we need to do is find these packages," Hodgins said, clearly skeptical.
"I don't buy it," Angela said, echoing Jack's distrust. "What's the catch – the boxes are hidden on the bottom of the ocean floor? We have to find them blindfolded and hog-tied with cement blocks on our feet?"
Both Tripp and Belle laughed aloud at that, though the rest of the group looked less amused.
"No ocean floor, no blindfolds or cement blocks. They won't be in plain sight, but they're not impossible to find by any means. Your first clue is back at the campsite – each clue after that will be hidden in the corresponding package."
Booth jumped up, ready to spring into action. Clearly, Tripp had accurately predicted what was most likely to motivate the agent. "All right, people, you heard the man – we've got real food to find. Let's move!"
"Seeley – will you wait and let them finish?" Cam said, a definite edge to her tone.
"What's to finish?" Booth demanded. "Lobster in a box in the woods. Clue at the campsite. Did I leave anything out?"
Belle took a breath, clearly making an effort not to be overpowered by the force of Booth's personality.
"Actually, yes. There are a few stipulations."
The agent rolled his eyes, but he did sit back down again. Once there, he folded his hands neatly in his lap and looked at Belle with exaggerated patience.
"Of course there are. Sorry, Belle. I'm all ears."
The instructor took a breath, looking flushed and slightly off-balance before she continued.
"Right. So… Um. In order to actually earn the lobster bake – and a bonus I'll tell you about in a minute – you guys all have to arrive together. With your gear and the packages, not later than four p.m."
"It's not possible for us to carry six people, all of our gear, and three full coolers in three tandem kayaks," Brennan said immediately. "Logistically, that seems impossible."
"Actually, it's totally doable," Tripp told her. "It takes some maneuvering, but we've done it more than once."
"So, what's the bonus if we do it?" Angela asked.
Belle held up two keys she was wearing on a string around her neck. "Two all-access passes to the bathhouses on Hurricane Island. Hot water, shampoo, shiny new razors…"
Angela was on her feet before the sentence was out. "Oh, I am so there. All right, you guys – "
Everyone else followed her lead – Sweets hadn't seen them all so motivated since their arrival seven days before.
"So," Angela continued. "We can do this. I mean – we put away bad guys for a living, for god's sake. We can find three boxes of food and get them back to an island."
"By four o'clock," Brennan added.
"By four o'clock," Angela agreed. "And what time is it now?"
Tripp raised his wrist to show them his watch. "Eight-thirty."
Booth raised his eyebrows. "Seriously? Damn. Okay, guys – everybody grab their gear. Bones – "
Brennan looked up in surprise, as though she'd been lost in thought.
"What?" she responded uncertainly, and Sweets was almost positive that something unspoken passed between them in that moment. He just couldn't say exactly what.
"You need a lift back to your stuff?" he asked, which Sweets didn't understand until he remembered that she'd had no shoes the previous evening.
Brennan looked similarly confused for a few seconds, before she shook her head.
"Oh – uh no, I'm all right. Belle brought my shoes."
Booth nodded, giving her another enigmatic smile before he began packing up his meager belongings. Moments later, the group had everything they needed in hand and began the trek back to the campsite, following Belle and Tripp's lead.
It took less than twenty minutes to get back to the camp now that they weren't blindfolded or being led in circles by their instructors. Even so, by the time they reached the site Sweets was sweating profusely, his head pounding and a gnawing hunger in his empty stomach. They ate a quick breakfast of oatmeal, eggs, fresh berries, and coffee – everyone ravenous after the virtual fast the day before, and silently intent on their meal.
When they were finished, Belle and Tripp stood and gestured toward the horizon.
"All right, guys – we're gonna take off. We'll see you on Hurricane by four."
Cam looked at Tripp in disbelief. "Wait – you're just leaving us here? Just like that?"
Tripp looked… what? Sweets tried to read him. Uncomfortable? Regretful? It was impossible to tell, but it was definitely something.
"You've got charts. Compass. Kayaks. A beautiful, clear day. You'll be fine. I'll – " he stopped himself, looking uncharacteristically flustered. "We'll see you tonight."
And with that, they left.
Which meant the group was left on their own. Sweets was definitely expecting a Lord of the Flies type scenario, but was surprised when Angela cleared her throat and took center stage.
"All right, here's the deal – we can do this, right? But I think we should decide here and now how it's gonna play out. Who leads, who follows, what goes where?"
Cam nodded. "Angela's right – we need to be as organized as possible. That means…" she did a brief assessment of the team, impressively focused as she looked over each member.
"Booth, Brennan – you take the lead. Jack and Sweets will follow in the second kayak; Angela and I will bring up the rear."
Booth looked at her in surprise. "Wait – really? Bones? But you and me did such a great job the other day – "
Sweets didn't miss the veiled look of disappointment Brennan gave the agent, though Booth seemed oblivious. Cam simply shook her head, however. "If we have to do that again, I will in all honesty – and I'm not kidding – kill you. I don't know exactly how you and Dr. Brennan do what you do – and honestly, it doesn't really matter. All that matters is that you guys work as an effective team, which is what we need. And Sweets isn't exactly at a hundred percent today, which means he could use a strong paddler to pick up the slack. And Angela and I will bring up the rear to make sure Sweets doesn't actually end up concussed on the bottom of the Atlantic before the day's out."
Sweets started to protest, but found that his head hurt too much to make any real effort.
Instead, he silently helped the others as they packed up the campsite and prepared to move on.
"Okay, so we've got the teams," Booth addressed the group moments later, all gathered on the beach beside their respective kayaks, which were laden with gear. "We're packed. We're ready. Now where the hell's the clue?"
Hodgins was the one who found it, placed conveniently on the seat of his kayak.
"Well, that's not very sneaky," Booth said.
"I don't think the point was to conceal it," Sweets told him. "I think they were trying to leave it in an obvious location to expedite the mission."
Booth rolled his eyes. "Well, whatever – I don't care what they were trying to do. I just care what it says."
The group gathered around Hodgins, who looked at each of them in turn before reading the note aloud.
"Mary had a little lamb,
Beneath a shelter black as night,
And everywhere that Mary went
The bells rang with all their might."
The group was silent.
"That's all it says?" Angela finally asked, a pained expression on her face.
Hodgins handed it to her. "Unless the rest is written in invisible ink." He pulled it back quickly. "Wait – just a second." He held the paper up to the sun, tilting it back and forth for a moment before relinquishing it.
"Nope. That's all it says."
Brennan furrowed her brow in puzzlement. "That makes no sense whatsoever," she announced.
"Well, yeah, Bones – that's kinda the point," Booth said. He looked at Hodgins. "So, what do you think – maybe like a substitution code, something like that?"
Hodgins sighed. "Well – hang on, let me see." He began writing out the alphabet in the sand, crossing letters out and adding numbers, putting in decimal points and fractions and a complicated string of symbols before Sweets finally interrupted.
"You know, we're not actually dealing with the secret service here. They want us to find these things. By four o'clock. I don't think we need a state-of-the-art computer program to decode this."
Cam nodded. "Sweets is right – we're making it way too complicated. It's probably just a simple riddle – where's the chart?"
Brennan produced it, unfurling the thick paper and laying it in the sand.
"So – Mary had a little lamb. Lamb… Could be sheep?" Angela asked hesitantly.
"There s a Sheep Island due east, on the way back to Hurricane," Sweets said, unable to conceal his excitement. "And there's an old bell tower on the far side of the island – I've passed by it like a thousand times over the years. I bet that's where they put the package."
"Okay – Sheep Island. So we should go there," Booth said immediately. "It's on the way – by the time we get it, we'll be halfway back to Hurricane. Then just grab the last two boxes, and we're home free."
It sounded deceptively simple. Unfortunately, Sheep Island wasn't easy to get to during low tide, surrounded as it was on one side by jagged rocks and driving current, and deep muddy clam flats on the other. Nevertheless, the old bell tower Sweets remembered was plainly visible as they paddled closer.
"So, how do we get to it?" Booth called to Sweets.
Sweets shrugged, glancing at his watch. Ten-thirty already, and they hadn't even gotten the first package.
"I don't know – I've never actually been on the island, just paddled by it."
He thought he read disappointment on the others' faces, but then it was gone and Booth and Brennan were paddling closer to the island.
"I think we should just beach here and walk in," Brennan said, calling over her shoulder.
Jack looked at Sweets with a shrug. "I guess it couldn't hurt," he said. The six of them paddled in together.
Once they'd gotten as close as possible to the shoreline, Booth called out.
"We need two people to stay with the boats, make sure they don't drift off. Ange?"
Angela nodded. "Hell yeah – Cam and I will stay."
Sweets felt strangely exhilarated when he realized he'd been chosen to go on the expedition with the others – something that rarely happened for him. He'd been staying behind, acting as lookout while others did the adventuring since he was a child.
He and Brennan each handed their lines off to Angela, and then the chosen four awkwardly stepped from their kayaks into the mud beneath. The cool water was a relief after the heat of the day, and Sweets was instantly immersed – both literally and figuratively – in the clam flats he'd frequented since childhood. They had a rich, salty odor that was as pungent as any live thing, the smell rising up in waves in the heat. Sweets sank to his ankles on the first step, clam shells scraping his bare legs as he pulled his feet out. The foursome moved forward slowly, the earth swallowing them up and belching them out once more with loud, undignified slurps and squelches.
"Jesus," Booth complained. "What the hell? People make their living digging in this sludge?"
Sweets thought of childhood outings in the summer, carrying shovel and pail, wearing sunhat and six layers of sunblock. He and his mother would scan the flats for the tell-tale, pin-sized air holes indicating the presence of clams or mussels. At the end of the day, his father would cook up whatever spoils he'd brought home, as proudly as if he'd supplied a five-course meal. Sweets sort of liked the clam flats.
"It'll get better once we're closer into shore," he told them. He scanned the shoreline, then pointed to a cluster of fine pebbles and packed sand. "There – just go that way and we'll be on solid ground soon."
He was right. Soon enough, they were rinsing their water shoes in a tide pool and preparing to hit the woods. Booth led the charge up a steep granite cliff toward the tower, none of them speaking in the intense heat.
It took less time than he'd expected for them to find the tower, a squat, round, granite structure at the highest point on the island. It was cooler inside than out, damp and dark and musty. Brennan was in front, with Booth behind her – Sweets heard her say something to Booth when they reached the top of the granite staircase, and then a quiet, surprisingly intimate laugh from Booth, but he couldn't make out their words. At the top, Brennan called back down the stairs.
"You were right, Sweets – it's here!" her voice echoed back to them, and Sweets couldn't help but grin in triumph.
The upper level was narrow, a rusted iron bar the only thing keeping them from plummeting to the cliffs below. Sweets purposely avoided looking that way, instead keeping his gaze fixed on the bright red cooler sitting directly below an old, cracked bell suspended from the ceiling.
"Okay, now we're talkin'," Booth said, rubbing his hands together before he opened the cooler and began rummaging through the spoils.
"Potatoes, corn on the cob, fresh green beans…" he laughed a little. "Chocolate. Damn." He shook his head with mock gravity. "I don't know if you guys have ever seen a grown man cry before, but this just might be the night."
Brennan stood at the railing, apparently having lost interest in the cooler. "You guys, you should see this," she said quietly, a kind of reverence Sweets had never heard from her before. They followed her suggestion, the four squeezed in tightly looking out over the island beneath. The water was a brilliant, pure blue in the sunlight, the granite cliffs breathtaking and jagged and wild.
"So…" Hodgins finally said, effectively ending the moment. "We got the cooler. Now we ring the bell, head back, and figure out how the hell to get it back to Hurricane."
Sweets did the honors, listening closely as the bell echoed across the water, over the cliffs, off into the unknown. He glanced at his watch with a shake of his head, unable to believe how quickly the day was passing them by. It was eleven o'clock exactly.
Day Seven
Cam
11a.m. – 4p.m.
She'd never intended to kiss Tripp Axel. For one thing, his name was Tripp Axel – which was a ridiculous name for a grown man to have. Of course, once she had kissed Tripp – the night after the Crack, when Angela and Jack were just getting back together and Booth and Brennan were dancing their dance and Belle and Sweets were reliving the best of Degrassi High – she definitely didn't intend for it to happen again. But then there would be those little touches here and there, and Jeremy showed up and had been so attentive that she thought Tripp was gonna blow a gasket before the night was out… And then came solo, and she definitely hadn't expected him to show up in hour three of her solitary day on the beach with a handful of condoms and soft-spoken promises.
Not that she believed the promises – she hadn't just fallen off the turnip truck, after all. She thought it a little strange that he bothered with them in the first place; she wasn't exactly that kind of woman. She was used to edgy, cynical men who knew the rules and generally abided by them – call within three days of the first date, the day after the first sex, don't talk about other women, don't ask about other men… There were a dozen other rules, so ingrained by now that Cam didn't really think about them anymore. Tripp seemed unaware of any of these, however – the first night after they kissed, he wanted to know about her relationship with Seeley, about how long Angela and Jack had been dating, how long she'd been single. He asked her how often she got to Maine, and when she laughed outright he'd actually looked hurt.
Hurt. Who the hell was this guy?
It turned out that Tripp was a widower, which set off all kinds of warning bells that Cam foolishly ignored. His wife died of cancer fifteen years before – he'd dated occasionally, traveled extensively, worked sporadically, ever since. He didn't get overly emotional while he was telling the story, which was good… Cam was pretty sure she couldn't have handled that. He was sweet when he talked about it, but they didn't dwell on the subject and before long he had her laughing so hard she could barely breathe, telling stories about leading corporate retreats in the Andes and teaching six-year-olds to surf the Barbary Coast.
She liked him.
Damn it.
When he crashed her solo, he said, "I shouldn't be doing this." And he seemed to mean it.
He apologized again when she was on top of him with his hands on her breasts and her eyes closed, finally beginning to really see some merit to this whole Outward Bound thing.
"I bet that's what you tell all the girls," she gasped, feeling the pressure build, that sweet coil tightening at her center.
Afterward, when they lay together in her sleeping bag, nose to nose with barely enough room for a full breath, he looked at her seriously.
"I've never slept with one of my students during a course before," he told her.
She didn't know what to say, but it occurred to her somewhat unexpectedly that he was telling the truth. She didn't really know what to do with that kind of honesty – it seemed corny, and yet he was this good looking, funny, intelligent, well-traveled man. Was it really so terrible that he had a little streak of corn in there?
They were in the middle of that conversation when Cam heard rustling in the woods. Tripp barely had time to grab his clothes and dive for cover before Sweets appeared. And then, Sweets's arrival led to the search for Booth, and ultimately to the Solo That Wasn't, and that little lecture from Tripp that had seriously pissed her off. Mostly because he clearly had no call to bitch about breaking solo when he was the one who'd shown up at her site with the condoms and the promises. She never could stand a hypocrite.
But, all that was behind her now, and the team still had two packages to find before Cam stood a shot at a shower and a decent meal. She sat in the kayak with Angela, and the rest of the crew had barely left the scene before Angela turned to her speculatively.
"So – Tripp, huh?"
Cam gave her a cool smile. Or what would have been a cool smile, if she'd bathed in the past week and it was less than ninety degrees out. "Yeah, I am so not talking about that."
Angela rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on – dish. He's obviously pretty into you."
"Where do you get that?" Cam couldn't resist asking, which was not a good sign.
"Oh, please. The way he was looking at you this morning – it was pretty hard to miss."
Cam shrugged. "It's nothing," she said dismissively. She thought of Grayson – Angela's Grayson, no less. God. It did actually feel good to date someone who had nothing to do with the rest of the group – wasn't in love with one of her co-workers or formerly married to another co-worker. That was a definite plus to this whole Tripp thing. Whatever it was.
Thankfully, the group returned before Angela could really start digging into what the relationship with Tripp was and was not. They dragged a huge red cooler through the heat and the rocks and the stinking mud flats, and Hodgins produced the second clue with a flourish.
"Where are you going little buoy blue,
All the way back to marker fifty-two,
Ring the ring and ding the dong,
But make it quick, you won't have long.
"And buoy is spilled B-U-O-Y," he added.
Booth snorted. "These are the lamest riddles I've ever heard."
Cam rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well just be grateful they are – it's after eleven and the blue buoy they're talking about is back beyond the island we just left."
Seeley stared at her in disbelief. "You're kiddin' me," he said, clearly exasperated.
"She's right," Sweets said immediately. "So – who's going? I assume someone should stay with the cooler."
"Yeah, that's good," Cam agreed. "No point dragging it with us if we don't have to. So – who goes, who stays?"
"We're definitely going," Seeley said immediately, before Brennan had a chance to weigh in one way or the other. Not that it appeared she was arguing the point – Cam knew from experience that Brennan was hardly the type to stay behind on any mission.
Hodgins looked game for anything, but Sweets was definitely getting a little rundown. Cam debated for a few seconds before handing down the bad news.
"Jack – mind if we swap? Ange, you stay with Sweets and the cooler – Hodgins and I will go with Booth and Brennan."
Angela rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I'm really gonna fight you on that one." She grabbed her sketch pad and daypack, gamely hopping into the mud and taking Hodgins's seat. As the scientist was walking away, Angela grabbed him by the t-shirt and kissed him quickly.
"Don't drown," she ordered.
He grinned, looking endearingly flustered. "Yeah. Uh – I won't. You either."
She smiled. "I'll do my best."
Jack gave them a push out to sea, then pulled himself into the front of the kayak.
"All right – let's get this show on the road," he said to Cam, still grinning. "Daddy needs a shower and a shave."
It took nearly an hour to get back to the buoy, working against the current and the incoming tide. Though she hated to admit it, Cam had been watching Booth and Brennan all morning, trying to figure out if something had happened between them after Angela's crafty little dare. There were no obvious signs, but it seemed to her that they were a little… off their game, maybe. They both had circles under their eyes, and even Seeley – who looked better than just about any man she'd ever known ninety-nine percent of the time – looked like hell. Their banter wasn't at its usual level, and a couple of times she noticed that rather than argue with Brennan, Seeley just dropped the subject and moved on.
But, maybe he was just tired.
Once they got to the buoy, Jack stripped off his shirt and maneuvered himself into the water with surprising grace – the kayak barely rocked, the water barely rippled. He swam over to the bright blue, metal buoy, holding a green rope up for them to see.
"Wanna bet this leads to something we're looking for?" he asked.
He vanished beneath the surface of the water, disappearing from sight long enough that Cam began to have some reservations about sending him down there. He resurfaced a good fifty yards away, gasping for breath.
"Got it!" he shouted. "Paddle on over and help me with it – it's heavy."
A few minutes later, they had the cooler balanced precariously between the two kayaks in an attempt to capsize neither the boats nor the cooler.
"So – we should open it now, right?" Cam asked. "In case the third clue is for something near here – we don't wanna have to back-track again."
Seeley nodded. "Just make sure it stays above the surface. Hodgins, can you help me hold it up?"
The other man nodded. The guys each took one end of the rope, holding it taut while they braced their legs inside the kayak seats to maintain their balance. Brennan opened the cooler and looked through the contents.
"Milk. Fresh bread. Butter. Shampoo." She sorted through until it seemed she'd forgotten herself and nearly capsized all of them – kayaks, cooler, and everyone aboard.
"Geez, Bones – careful, huh? We don't want to lose this stuff," Seeley said irritably.
She gave him a 'stuff it' look that was unusually effective – Booth shut his mouth, and Brennan produced a note from the bottom of the cooler.
"The last clue," she said proudly. She read it silently to herself – Cam looked at Seeley in surprise, waiting for him to pop a blood vessel while he waited for her to either read the thing aloud or hand it over. He didn't say a word. Okay, something was definitely up between them.
Finally, Cam couldn't handle it anymore. "Uh – Dr. Brennan?"
Brennan looked up, like she was surprised anyone was still there.
"It makes no sense," she finally announced. "And the rhyme scheme is extremely poorly executed."
That was the final straw. Mercifully, Booth broke. "Just read it, Bones. God, you're killin' me."
She shot him another look, cleared her throat, and read.
"Adrift at sea
You'll find the devil's world.
And there be the bugs
Plucked straight from the ocean's floor."
"Bugs are lobsters," Hodgins said immediately. "It's a colloquialism fishermen use. Plus, Tripp said we'd be getting some, so…"
"Yeah, but adrift at sea in the devil's world?" Booth said doubtfully. "What the hell does that mean? It doesn't even rhyme."
"I told you," Brennan said.
They sat there for a minute or more before Cam sighed. "Well – maybe Sweets will have an idea. Let's get this one back there, and get headed toward Hurricane."
It was already twelve-thirty, which didn't bode well. Depending on where they found the third cooler, the trip back to Hurricane Island could take anywhere from one to three hours – and they didn't have that kind of time.
They were quiet as they made their way back to Sweets and Angela. Cam was busy thinking about just what, exactly, she planned to do about Tripp and whether or not he was really pissed at her or just the whole group. And if he was pissed at her, he had some nerve. She didn't even really know why she was thinking about any of this – it wasn't like she'd ever see him again, once the course was over. How often had she been to Maine before this? Twice, and never willingly. And definitely not to hang out in the woods without a hot shower or a real bed.
She was so lost in her internal monologue that she almost didn't notice the lobster boat idling not far off their portside.
"Jack," she said, gradually coming back down to earth. "Can you read the name of that boat?"
After a second or two, he laughed out loud. "Hades!"
"Looks like we just found the devil's world," she said, unable to contain a smile. She wondered if Tripp was the poet in the group, or if that responsibility fell on Belle's shoulders. She kind of hoped it was Tripp – it would be nice to know there was at least one thing the man did badly.
"So, how the hell do we haul this and another cooler back to Sweets and Angela, then get all three coolers back to Hurricane? We're barely making progress with the one we're dragging now," Booth complained, once he and Brennan were drifting alongside them.
They finally decided that Booth and Brennan would stay with the one cooler, while Jack and Cam paddled over to the lobster boat and asked for whatever Tripp had left for them. The lobstermen looked exactly how Cam imagined Maine lobstermen should look – weathered and calloused and rough, Led Zeppelin cranked up high and the two men wearing only torn cargo shorts, thick gloves and rubber boots, their backs burned from the sun and their muscles taut from a life of manual labor. One was blonde, the other dark-haired, both of them probably in their thirties.
"You from Outward Bound?" the blonde shouted, turning down the music and calling out over the roar of the engine.
Jack nodded. "Yeah. Did Tripp leave something for us?"
The other man grinned. "Lobster bake tonight, huh?"
Another nod from Jack, the mountain man. It occurred to Cam that this must be a regular occurrence for these guys – that Tripp must know them, must preorder the lobsters and arrange the pickup.
"You guys should come," Cam said, which kind of shocked her.
They both grinned at that. "You gonna be there?"
She grinned right back. "Oh yeah, I'll be there."
The dark-haired man pulled a green, wire mesh cage up from just below the surface of the water. Once the ocean water had spilled out, Cam stared at it – it was teeming with lobsters and crabs, a cluster of mussels, a starfish somewhere at the bottom.
Jack turned back to look at her. "Holy shit. How the hell are we getting that thing back to Hurricane?"
Cam thought about it for a few seconds, before she finally came up with a solution. "I don't suppose you guys might do us a favor," she said.
Two hours later, the trio of tandem kayaks met up once more with the guys on the lobster boat, this time just outside the cove leading into Hurricane Island. The men – Will was the dark-haired one, Tim was the blonde – carefully handed off the two coolers and the lobster trap, which they'd agreed to transport this far.
"You sure you can get them the rest of the way?" Tim asked skeptically.
Cam laughed out loud. "Not at all. But we're almost there – Tripp won't let us drown if we start to sink, right?"
Will nodded. "Yeah, he'll keep an eye on you."
"Are you guys still coming out to the party tonight?" Jack asked.
The two men looked at each other and shrugged. "What the fuck, sure. Got nothin' better to do."
And with that ringing endorsement, they handed off the line for the lobster trap, turned up the music, and waved goodbye.
Booth and Brennan were in charge of the lobster trap, which was about three times heavier than the coolers. Angela and Sweets were doing okay with their cooler - they tied the line onto the back of the kayak and as soon as they got some momentum going, Cam was happy to see that the cooler trailed along behind them. The same was true for Jack and Cam, once they got going. She looked behind her to find that Booth and Brennan, however, weren't making much progress.
"We have to come in together," Cam shouted ahead, because it seemed like Sweets and Angela had forgotten all about that whole damned teamwork thing.
"If we stop, the cooler's gonna go down," Sweets told her.
Which was when Angela apparently lost her mind, because all of a sudden she stripped off her shirt and shimmied her way into the water.
"The hell it is," she shouted just before she went in. The artist swam back to the cooler, holding it up until Cam and Jack pulled their own kayak alongside.
Jack grinned down at her as they passed, shaking his head. "Hey, baby," he said casually.
"Hey yourself – get the hell in here and pull your weight 'til Booth and Brennan can catch up."
Moments later, Jack was in the water alongside her, the two of them treading water while they each supported their respective coolers. It took another ten minutes before Booth and Brennan had gotten enough momentum to propel not only their kayak but the lobster trap as well, through the water. Once they had, they paddled for all they were worth while Sweets and Cam did the same, Angela and Jack swimming along behind, pushing the coolers as they went.
Jeremy, Belle, and Tripp were all waiting for them on shore when they finally beached. Tripp seemed to have forgotten that he was supposed to be instructing, because he made straight for Cam and she got this weird, unfamiliar lightness in her chest when he grinned at her.
"You made it."
She stepped out of the kayak and helped drag it onto the beach.
"What, you thought I wouldn't?"
He sort of squinted in the sun, and she realized that he'd showered and shaved since she'd seen him that morning. She remembered meeting him that first day, and she thought about how much had changed since that time.
"Didn't cross my mind," he said honestly, in answer to her question.
"What time is it?" she asked.
He held up his watch for her to see, and she grinned triumphantly.
Four o'clock exactly.
Day Seven
Brennan
4 – 11p.m.
Booth told her the story in the early morning, a deep pink sunrise on the horizon and the others still sleeping around them. They'd long since given up on sleep themselves, but Brennan was comfortable where she was and too tired to think about what it meant, so they just talked. A couple of times over the course of the night, she'd felt his erection pressed against her, and she knew that physically she was beyond prepared for a sexual encounter. But he didn't say anything, and she didn't say anything, and the fact that they'd had the conversation the day before made the entire subject somehow moot.
By the time he began telling her about his first arrest, she'd decided she didn't want to know – it was clearly deeply personal to him, and she was certain that she would say the wrong thing, somehow ruining the trust he seemed to place so easily in her hands. Obviously, though, once he began talking about it, it didn't seem appropriate to stop him. Instead, she lay silently with her head on his chest, listening to his words.
"I told you a little about my old man, right?" he asked, and she nodded.
"Right. So, the thing is that when you grow up in a family like mine," he said quietly, a certain tension already coloring his tone. "You learn to read people pretty early, you know?" She didn't, actually, but she didn't say that. It didn't matter though, because he continued regardless.
"Like – what it means when the car door slams a certain way, or how to ask a question without setting anybody off, when it's safe to say something and when to keep your mouth shut."
He swallowed, and she listened to the sound of his heart and thought about the blood that coursed through his veins, the organs beneath his skin, the bones that she understood and the countless thousands of things that she did not. She lay a hand on his stomach and felt the muscles tighten at her touch, then relax.
"And when you're a kid," he continued, that tension still evident in his voice. "You follow the rules – you make sure the table's set and Mom has dinner ready by five-thirty. That she's dressed the right way, that you're dressed the right way, that your kid brother has his homework done and there are no toys on the living room floor. You get really good at keepin' things straight."
He shrugged. His voice had taken on a distant quality, as though he was lost in memories Brennan suddenly wished she could erase. It was an irrational desire, but it was what she wanted nonetheless.
"So, anyway… You get older, and you start to get tired of all those rules. Start to get a little pissed off, because you see other kids who don't walk that tight-wire every fuckin' day and you start to think, 'That prick. Who the hell does he think he is?' And that's when things start to get tricky."
She shifted, suddenly wanting to see him. A flock of seagulls was shrieking in the distance, diving headlong into the water, and it promised to be a beautiful day. She knew that they should get up – that the others would be waking soon, that Belle and Tripp were probably desperately searching for them by now, but all she wanted in that instant was to look him in the eye. To see that he'd made it through, that he wasn't as damaged as she was sure she would have been in his place.
"How old were you when things started to get… tricky?" she asked, hoping that it wasn't the wrong question.
He smiled grimly, never turning from her gaze. She liked that about him – other men were frequently intimidated by how direct she could be, but Booth never looked away.
"Thirteen or fourteen, I think. I'd been playing sports since I was a kid, then I started lifting weights, doing some boxing once I hit high school. I'd been sort of scrambling at home for so long, trying to make sure everything was just right so my old man didn't get pissed off – and then all of a sudden I just kinda realized that it wasn't working. He still got pissed off. He still…" He shook his head, didn't finish the sentence. "Anyway, it wasn't working. So, I thought... Time to change strategies."
They shifted so that they were lying side by side now, facing one another. He ran his thumb along her cheekbones, her forehead, her lips – it didn't seem deliberate, and she wondered if he even knew he was doing it.
"And you began to use intimidation?" she asked, still not sure whether it was appropriate to ask questions. But he hadn't balked at one yet, so she had to assume they were still all right.
"Pretty much, yeah," he nodded. "Even though I had sports after school, I always tried to make sure I was home before he got there. Or at least before he started getting wound up, which usually wasn't until eight or nine. And if he tried anything, I'd just be there to step in. I'd usually just take it on the chin, but at least it wasn't Jared or my mom by then. I told him if he laid a hand on them anymore, he'd…" he shrugged. "Anyway, I told him. It worked, more or less. But then there was this one night – it was fall, football season. I was sixteen. There was an away game that night, so I didn't get home until about eleven."
He fell silent. His jaw was tensed – his whole body, in fact, was tensed. His dark eyes had taken on a distant cast, and Brennan knew that he wasn't seeing her anymore. She wished that she knew what to do, what gesture to make or words to say to bring him back. But she didn't, so she just waited in silence before she finally prompted him.
"What happened then?" she asked, and when he continued she knew she wouldn't be able to bring him back until he was through.
"Something set him off while I was gone. I got home and there was nothing weird about the place, but you know how when we go to a scene sometimes, you can just… tell?"
She nodded, knowing exactly what he meant.
"So, yeah... I just knew something was wrong. The kitchen was cleaned up, the dishes were done, my dad was passed out in front of the TV and Jared and my mom were both in bed. But I just had this feeling, you know? So, I started looking around – checking the cupboards. Nothing weird there. The bathroom. Nothing out of place, not so much as a hair in the sink or a spot on the tile. But, I just couldn't get it out of my head that something had happened. So I checked the garbage."
She waited, realized she was holding her breath in anticipation.
"There was a broken casserole dish inside, most of the casserole thrown away with it. And mixed in with it was this huge gob of wet, bloody paper towels. And it just hit me, all of a sudden, that I couldn't keep them safe. Not unless I quit sports and never left home, or kidnapped Jared and my mom and ran away with them, or something nuts like that. There was no way. I'd been trying to get my mom to leave since I was a kid, and I knew it wasn't gonna happen. And so I just kind of… snapped." His voice was level as he continued, his forehead furrowed as though he was trying to sort through the details. "I took a knife from the kitchen drawer, and I went into the living room and watched him sleep for a while before I…" he trailed off.
Her eyes widened in disbelief. "You killed your father?"
He rolled his eyes, actually grinning at her. "No, Bones – Jesus, you think you can join the FBI if you bump off your old man at sixteen? I stuck him in the shoulder, he screamed, my mom woke up, she called the cops. They took me in and put me in a cell for the night, but they'd been out to our house enough over the years to know he had it comin'."
"So he didn't press charges?" she asked.
"Fuck no. He'd knocked out two of Jared's teeth that night when Jared said he didn't like the casserole they were having. What's my old man gonna tell the cops when his other kid shows up with a swollen jaw and his front teeth missing? He dropped the charges. I went home the next night. Survived two more years, joined the Army when I turned eighteen."
He continued to follow the lines of her face with his thumb, back in the present now.
"I'm sorry," she said, and she was.
"Yeah…" he shrugged. "I am too, in some ways. But in some ways…"
"You're glad your father was an abusive alcoholic who terrorized your family?" she asked skeptically.
He actually laughed at that, which was good because it definitely hadn't come out the way she'd intended.
"No, Bones. Geez. But… I mean, I know it's corny but I really do sorta believe everything happens for a reason."
"Because God has a plan," she said.
He rolled his eyes. "You don't have to say it like that, Bones. But… yeah. I'm sorry, that's what I believe. So, if my old man wasn't a jackass, maybe I wouldn't've joined the Army. Or become a sniper. Or met Rebecca, and knocked her up – which means I never would've had Parker. And you know I'm nuts about my kid. And if I hadn't been a sniper, I wouldn't have gotten into the FBI – and I love my job. And if I hadn't landed in the FBI, I never would've met you." He grinned endearingly, still not breaking eye contact. "And right now I'm kinda glad I met you, Bones."
"Me too, Booth," she said quietly, not sure if he understood just how much she meant it.
They got up after that, cleaned up the campsite and were reprimanded for breaking solo and then spent the day reading poorly written clues and retrieving coolers full of food. When they found the bell tower, she went up first and Booth put his hand on her behind while she was walking up and it was just a small thing, but the simple contact – doubtlessly combined with lack of proper sleep or nourishment and too much sun exposure – had been enough to make her momentarily lightheaded. She stumbled, just slightly, and he laughed at her.
"Geez, Bones – careful," he whispered in her ear, steadying her with a hand at her elbow. "I was just coppin' a feel, don't pass out on me."
She rolled her eyes, but she found it difficult to deny her quickening pulse when he touched her. With extraordinary effort, she didn't think about what would happen once they got back to D.C. She didn't think about what this shift meant, or what he was thinking, or what she was thinking. She definitely did not think about their partnership, or whether this meant that she should buy a bigger TV for her apartment or if he would expect her to go to baseball games or if she was supposed to begin spending time with Parker. And if she was supposed to begin spending time with Parker, what exactly were they supposed to do?
No, she definitely was not thinking about any of those things.
By the time they got back to Hurricane Island, towing their coolers and their lobsters and their bedraggled, very pungent selves, Brennan was exhausted. She hadn't slept at all the night before, despite having circumnavigated the island in ice cold ocean waters the previous day. The flood of hormones that seemed to accompany her overnight with Booth had left her shaky and off-balance, and she suddenly felt a very keen desire to retreat. She was aware that Booth was watching her, waiting for signs that she was 'freaking out,' as he called it.
Thankfully, Belle handed over keys to the showers as soon as they reached the island, which gave Brennan a perfect excuse to have some time to herself.
"Fresh towels are up at the bathhouse," Belle explained. "Just follow the trail up the hill here – it's your first right. Don't forget your shampoo."
The three women went up together, none of them saying a word. It seemed suddenly to Brennan that everything had been said – they'd been together constantly for the past seven days, discussing both the most and the least significant aspects of their lives in that time. She wondered if she would ever have anything to say to any of them, ever again. That was clearly an overstatement, but at the very least she knew she didn't have the energy to communicate with anyone just then.
The bathhouse was primitive, but it was better than the poorly ventilated, weak showers they'd taken before going to the medical clinic a few days before. The water pressure was more than adequate, and the water at least started out hot before quickly giving way to cooler and cooler temperatures. Brennan retreated to her own stall, and was surprised to find herself crying when the first spray of hot water hit her face. She did so quietly, not wanting to be heard by the others, and pressed her head against the cool tile, letting the water run through her hair, down her spine, trailing in rivers over the places where Booth had touched her, the points where their bodies had connected in the past twenty-four hours.
It wasn't despair, she realized – that definitely wasn't why she was crying. She had no idea how to feel about what seemed to be happening with Booth, but it seemed to her that that might be all right, for the moment. She was exhausted. Grateful for the people in her life. Moved by the ways that Booth trusted her when she'd done nothing to earn that trust; shaken by how much she cared about him, and terrified that she would do something to ruin everything that was happening, that she would push him away and the friendship would be lost.
But, despite all of those thoughts, it wasn't despair. Just exhaustion.
She washed her hair, working to untangle the knots until the hot water was gone and the cool water was almost cold. She shaved her legs, and under her arms. She flossed and brushed her teeth. When she finally emerged, Cam and Angela were nowhere to be found and she realized she'd completely lost track of time. Still, she felt renewed – as though she'd sloughed her old skin, emerging pink and shining and reborn.
For some reason, Brennan found herself slightly surprised to learn there were other students on the island when she emerged from the showers. It seemed that their group was the only one that had to work for their dinner – everyone else apparently merely had to arrive at the designated location at the appointed time, and they'd be fed. Brennan supposed that this was because no one else's group had broken solo, physically assaulted another member of their team, or repeatedly refused to answer the questions the instructors asked of them.
However, the other students apparently hadn't been given access to the bathhouse, which somehow made up for the lengths they'd gone to to procure their dinner. As she made her way along the trail leading to the rocks where the rest of the students were waiting, Brennan could already smell the food grilling in the open air. A group of teenagers in matching Outward Bound t-shirts and greasy, stained bandanas greeted her with smiles and an affable 'Hey,' and she appreciated the lack of downcast eyes or defensive body postures.
It wasn't as though the island was teeming with people – perhaps fifty in all, scattered in groups on the granite rocks, clutching paper plates and bright red, paper cups. A long, primitive looking grill had been set up at the edge of the woods, haphazard rows of foil-wrapped corn on the cob and baked potatoes waiting. She selected a bright red lobster and a small bowl of melted butter, baked potato, green beans and salad and corn, before she decided she could always come back if she wanted more.
After a few seconds of scanning the crowd, she spotted her group seated in a semi-circle on a rock at the water's edge, and made a concerted effort to ignore her quickening pulse at sight of Booth. His hair was still wet from the shower, and he wore a gray Outward Bound sweatshirt that he must have purchased from the school store. Despite how much she'd scrubbed, Brennan was still wearing clothes that reeked of campfire smoke, salt, and body odor – she wished silently that she'd thought of the school store.
Once she reached the group, Booth scooted over and she sat down beside him, trying to ignore the feeling that she was somehow doing something out of the ordinary. She always sat beside Booth, she reminded herself. Nothing was different.
"I thought we lost you for a minute there, Bones. Ange and Cam said they didn't think you were ever coming out."
She rolled her eyes. "I hadn't bathed in five days, and in case you forgot, I was forced to spend the night in an unventilated, overheated sleeping bag with someone else who hadn't bathed for five days," she looked pointedly at Angela, who grinned at this. Brennan breathed an internal sigh of relief – See, she thought to herself. Nothing's different. "I deserved a long shower."
Everyone ate too much. Laughed, told stories, talked about what they missed about home and what they were dreading upon their return. Booth told a story about protecting a diplomat who believed she was inhabited by the spirit of Jackson Pollock – the entire group burst into laughter when he admitted that the entire time, he couldn't figure out why the woman thought she was possessed by an overpaid CPA. Booth took one look at Brennan once the story was finished and just shook his head, a smile playing at the corner of his lips.
"Forget it, Bones. I'll explain later." She didn't know why, but the intimacy of the remark – the idea that she would see him later, once dinner was over and everyone else had gone their separate ways, seemed strangely thrilling. She supposed it was the lack of sleep.
When everyone was too full to eat another bite, Tripp stood with a grin and nodded toward a building sheltered by the trees.
"All right, gang – sorry to tell you this, but you guys are actually on galley duty tonight."
Cam groaned. "You've got to be kidding. We'll be up all night."
Even Brennan didn't miss it when Tripp rested a hand on the back of Cam's neck, letting it linger there a little longer than seemed appropriate.
"Don't worry – I'll help. You guys'll be done in no time."
Booth got up then, offering Brennan his hand as he pulled her to her feet. Once they were face to face, he waited until the others had ventured up the trail before he stopped her with his hand on her arm.
"Hey, Bones – hang on, I got ya something. I mean – it's nothing big, I just… you know, I just didn't want to give it to you in front of everybody, in case they thought it was weird."
He hesitated, and Brennan wasn't sure whether or not she was supposed to respond. So, she just stood there and he just stood there, until finally she raised her eyebrows at him in question.
"Booth? Is it… I mean, is it something… here?"
"Oh!" He came to at her question, though he seemed increasingly flustered. "Yeah – it is. But, like I said, it's nothing big." He rummaged through his day pack until he finally produced a sweatshirt similar to the one he was wearing, though this one was a dark blue.
"Like I said, it's no big deal. I just figured, you know, you wouldn't have any clean clothes until tomorrow, and this might be nice to curl up in. And if you don't like the color you can exchange it – you just… I mean, you look kind of pretty in blue. Because of your eyes." He took a breath, and she couldn't help but smile – she'd never seen him like this.
He rolled his eyes. "And now you're laughing at me. Nice. I knew I shouldn't have gotten it."
And then she really did laugh, because the whole thing suddenly seemed so absurd – Booth was rambling like a lunatic and she, Temperance Brennan, was the tactful one. When had that ever happened before?
"I'm not laughing at you. Well – I am, I suppose, but the shirt is very thoughtful. You didn't have to do that."
He sighed, but she could tell by the little twitch of a smile at the corners of his mouth that he was pleased.
She glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then quickly pulled the shirt she was wearing over her head and exchanged it for the one Booth had purchased.
"Bones, what the hell are you doing?" he stepped in front of her quickly, trying to block the view should anyone happen by.
Once the sweatshirt was on, she pulled her hair from the collar and adjusted the shirt before looking at Booth. She felt awkward and strange, uncertain of what was appropriate and what was not in these uncharted waters.
"It fits," she finally said, because she couldn't think of anything else.
He took a step closer, straightening the collar and pulling the hem down just a bit. Over the years, she'd gotten used to feeling a certain electricity when Booth touched her – a tiny charge when he lay his hand at the small of her back or brushed a piece of lint from her shoulder, lifted her chin or put his arm around her shoulders. Now, however, just seeing him seemed to set her alight in some bizarre way that she couldn't quite understand and was increasingly unable to ignore. He pulled her closer, so that they were suddenly just inches apart and she couldn't seem to stop looking into his dark eyes.
"Hey!" she heard Hodgins's voice up ahead, and the two sprang apart instantly. A moment later, he appeared on the path and looked at them curiously.
"Sorry, guys – didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted to let you know we'll be in the galley. Whenever you're ready to join us."
He looked like he knew something, a slight smirk on his face and a sparkle in his eyes. She wondered if he had seen them before he'd announced his presence.
Booth nodded, and he seemed to be avoiding looking at her. "Yeah, we're on our way."
They followed behind Hodgins, Brennan careful to maintain a safe distance from her partner as they walked the path to the galley. They could hear music long before the building came into view, and Booth looked at Hodgins questioningly.
"Have we got a live band to keep us company while we work or what?"
"No – there's an awesome sound system in there, though. The dude who runs the kitchen is apparently some crazy audiophile, he's got MP3s of every song on the planet. Sweets is going nuts."
By the time they reached the entrance to the kitchen, Brennan had been infected by the beat and the residual rush of endorphins from her near-encounter with Booth. She dashed up the steps and couldn't help but smile when she found the rest of the group moving in time to the music as they tackled the seemingly insurmountable pile of dishes awaiting them.
The galley was large and professional looking, with a row of commercial, stainless steel ovens, walk-in refrigerator and freezer, and a somewhat forbidding looking old, commercial dishwasher. Tripp explained that in the past, when Outward Bound had dozens of courses and thousands of students each summer, a full staff oversaw the kitchen and students regularly ate in the adjacent dining hall. Now, as competitors offered more glamorous alternatives to the organization's no-frills wilderness adventures, they had fallen on hard times. When the galley was open, volunteers oversaw operations; otherwise, the building was regularly rented out to company retreats and teambuilding exercises.
Brennan stood in front of a massive bulletin board covered with old photos, some that looked as though they dated back to the sixties. Dirty, unshaven, laughing faces stared back at her. She found herself wondering about their histories, where they were now – what they'd learned on the island, and the direction it had taken them.
But then the floor beneath her feet was shaking, the bass vibrating her eardrums and her spine and the walls around them. Booth came over and bumped her lightly in the ass with his hip, and she couldn't help but grin.
"Come on, Bones – let's get to it. I don't wanna be here all night."
She turned from the strangers' faces without a second thought, and went to join her friends.
While Tripp sifted through the lobster carcasses for any meat that hadn't already been picked clean and Sweets took charge of the music, the rest of the group dove into the cleaning process. There was an air of celebration about the place, with frequent dance breaks, water fights, and laughter. As soon as she heard the first strains of 'Respect' come on the sound system, Angela grabbed Cam and Brennan and the three women spun and danced together in the center of the kitchen while the men continued working, pretending they weren't watching every shake and shimmy from the shapely trio.
Afterward, Brennan returned to her station out of breath and giddy from the music and excitement and, admittedly, the lack of sleep. Soon, she'd settled back into drying and putting away dishes, sandwiched between Hodgins and Booth. They had a good rhythm going, an easy air of camaraderie about the scene that made her think of her childhood, cleaning up with Russ and her parents on weeknights when she was a child.
But then the next song came on, and suddenly she wasn't thinking about camaraderie. Or family. Or anything, really. Before she even registered what the song was, her chest tightened and her hands began to shake. She quickly set down the pan she'd been drying so that she wouldn't drop it, and Booth looked at her. Her head swam, and she realized that she wasn't breathing – trying not to appear overly dramatic, she quickly excused herself and hurried outside just as Cyndi Lauper launched into the chorus of a song Brennan had loved not so long ago.
The fresh air should have helped, but it didn't seem to. Somewhere far off, she heard Booth shout for Sweets to change the song, his anger palpable. Brennan sat on the front steps, trying to concentrate on her breath, but the song kept playing in her head long after it had stopped inside the kitchen. The night came back to her, the blood on her hands and the look in Booth's eyes and the way the woman fell, the feel of the gun in Brennan's hand… And Booth, the light fading. Booth dying. Booth's blood on her hands. Brennan realized she was crying, but she was too busy trying to catch her breath to worry about her tears. She remembered the dreams she'd had when he was gone, the look in his eyes when she couldn't save him –
And then he was there. Alive. Flesh and blood, completely intact. He sat down beside her on the step, watching her intently.
"Take it easy, Bones," he said, and his voice was surprisingly soft.
She still wasn't breathing properly – it occurred to her that if she simply allowed herself to pass out, her body would naturally resume its normal respirations, but she didn't know how to make herself pass out and she was getting weak, nauseas, something heavy and dark resting on her chest and the back of her shoulders. She realized that Booth was talking to her – he touched her chin, tilted her head so she was looking him in the eye.
He seemed almost unnaturally calm, and she tried to focus on that.
"Bones – hey, it's okay. Breathe. Just watch me, okay? Like this – in through your nose, right?" He did it – inhaled slowly, and she mirrored him. "And out through your mouth." His voice was soft, the way he got sometimes when he was talking to Parker, or a witness he didn't want to frighten. He continued breathing this way a few more times and she breathed along, aware that her tears were still falling. She focused only on the sound of his voice, on restoring a normal breathing pattern.
She had no idea how long they sat like this, just breathing, before her heart slowed and her tears subsided.
"Better now?" he asked, when she was no longer gasping for air. She nodded, but didn't say anything.
"After I got back from the Gulf, I used to get panic attacks," he confessed, studying her as though they'd just shared something she wasn't certain she'd meant to share.
"They're a pain in the ass," he said shortly. "I didn't know you got them – does it happen much?"
She shook her head. After a moment's silence, she finally found her voice.
"I began getting them shortly after my parents' disappearance, and then after that I'd get them occasionally in college. They came back again last year, after – " she stopped, but it didn't seem to matter. He knew.
"After I got shot," he said.
She nodded, roughly brushing away her tears before anymore could fall. "I didn't compartmentalize very well," she admitted.
He rolled his eyes, that tic in his jaw starting to move again. If he hadn't already done it, Brennan was fairly certain he would have gone in and punched Sweets then and there.
"I never should've trusted Sweets to take care of it for me, I should've told you myself."
She actually smiled at that. "Booth, that isn't even logical - you would have risked the entire operation. You couldn't have done that – you did what made sense. There's no way you could have known Sweets wouldn't tell me."
"Doesn't mean I can't hate the way it played out."
He took a deep breath, still watching her closely. "You think you're okay now?"
She nodded.
"Everyone's just about done in there – I could walk you back to the tents. Tripp said no confab 'round the fire tonight, so you can actually get a good night's sleep."
She smiled at this. "You'll be able to do the same – no reason to squeeze another person into your sleeping bag tonight, I suppose."
He grinned, stretching and cracking his back as he stood, before he reached for her hand. When he pulled her up, he did so carefully – as though he didn't want her to break. Once she was on her feet, they stood toe to toe and she was having trouble breathing again, though now it was for very different reasons.
"Nope, guess not. Though it's kind of a shame – I mean, I'm all showered and shaved, I'd be a helluva lot better company in a one-man sleeping bag tonight."
The music was quieter in the kitchen, but still going. Brennan could hear laughter, the clatter of pots and pans, the muffled voices of her friends. Booth was so close that she could feel the heat emanating from him, his hands resting on either side of her body, his eyes intent on hers. She reminded herself to breathe, and took a step back.
"I think – do you mind if I go back alone?" she asked, realizing even as she said it what it must sound like to him. He was clearly disappointed – or hurt, which certainly hadn't been her intention. But she was exhausted, and the idea of turning Booth away at her tent door suddenly didn't seem like something she'd have the strength of will to do when the time came.
He nodded. "Yeah – of course, Bones. No problem. I'll just see you in the morning, then."
The night air was cool and salty, the smell of pine and earth and ocean thick around her. Booth started to turn away, giving her a smile that she couldn't read but that didn't seem genuine. It certainly didn't seem like her partner, suddenly cloaked and distant. She thought again of the night they'd spent together – of the sound of his heartbeat, the strength of his arms, the trust in his gaze. She swallowed past her fear, pushed past her reservations, and said,
"Booth – wait."
He turned back, and before she could rethink her actions she bridged the gap between them and kissed him, hard. For one horrible moment, he didn't respond and she thought she'd misread him – or offended him, or overstepped the strangely shifting boundaries they were just beginning to set. The moment passed quickly, however, and in the next instant she felt his arms tighten around her as he pulled her closer. The kiss deepened, with a passion and hunger that had been absent the night before. She opened her mouth, felt herself begin to melt and moisten when his tongue entered, sweeping along her palate, his body pressed to her.
With a supreme effort, she pulled away after another few seconds. Breathed in through her nose, and out through her mouth. Swallowed.
"So – I'll just see you in the morning, then," she said, trying to be casual, though her voice sounded noticeably strained.
Booth smirked at her, and she flashed inexplicably on the belt buckle he wore occasionally. Cocky.
"Right," he said, but she was pleased to note that his voice was just as strained. "See ya in the morning, Bones."
She managed to marshal her senses enough to head down the path without stumbling and was feeling quite proud of herself when she heard Booth call after her.
"Hey Bones," he said.
She turned around, slightly annoyed to note that he was still wearing the same smirk, illuminated by the lights from the galley. She was debating whether or not to say something clever – and what, exactly, that clever thing might be – when Booth spoke again.
"The tent's are that way," he said, nodding in the opposite direction.
Brennan rolled her eyes, grateful that the darkness hid her blush. "I know where the tents are, Booth. I was merely getting some fresh air, before I return to the site," she lied. "If that's all right with you."
His smirk turned into a grin, and he just shook his head at her. "Sure, Bones. Anything you say. Just be careful – I'll see you tomorrow."
She nodded again, determinedly continuing down the wrong path without looking back, just to prove her point. Once she was under the cover of the trees, she stopped walking. Stood up straight and closed her eyes, allowing herself to revel in the memory of Booth's lips for just a moment before she determinedly pushed the thought away and checked her watch. Eleven o'clock, and she still had to figure out how to get back to her site without backtracking or appearing lost. Sometimes, she just hated her partner.
TBC
The final chapter will be up by next Wednesday – I promise, promise, promise not to keep people waiting this time out! But to keep me motivated, don't forget to leave a little love (and/or constructive criticism, of course) via that magic button below. Thanks for reading, gang!