A/N: I am thoroughly embarrassed by how long it has taken me to update this story. No excuses...I just plain got stuck in a gaping hole in the plot. But the ideas are starting to flow again, so the next chapter shouldn't be so many months in the making. In the meantime, I truly hope that you enjoy this chapter of the journey! -Ana
And many thanks to my most wonderful of betas for the great advice on this one. It made all the difference. -A
He barely had time to acknowledge the the young intern that entered his office to add another file to the stack on the corner of his desk before she hurried away like the hounds of hell were after her. Not that he blamed her. He was well aware of the reputation he had earned over the last few weeks. 'Approach with caution' was the polite version. 'Touchy bastard' was probably more accurate. And he didn't know what bothered him more—his behavior or the fact that everyone knew the reason for it.
'Screw it', he thought, dragging the new case folder across his desk. It didn't matter what anyone thought. Besides, a person was entitled to a period of adjustment after his partner…left. Right? He opened the file and studied the summary report on the first page, not realizing that he was holding his breath until he reached the most relevant section of the crime scene description. Plenty of flesh on the victim.
Which was definitely a good thing. Well, not for the poor guy that had been knifed, of course. But it did mean that he didn't have to come up with a reasonable explanation for avoiding the Jeffersonian. Cullen wasn't an idiot. It wouldn't be long before he called Booth on the carpet about shuffling assignments with other agents.
"Booth."
He looked up, unnerved to find the very person that he'd been thinking of standing in the doorway to his office. Taking in both the stone faced expression and the case file in his supervisor's hand, Booth realized that the jig was already up. His theory was confirmed when Cullen firmly shut the door.
"Sir?" He asked, standing as the other man crossed the room.
"I'm assigning you the Sommers case." Cullen said without preamble, tossing the file in the middle of Booth's desk where it landed with a dull thud.
Sommers. His mind immediately flashed to the charred skeleton found in the alleyway behind the Foggy Bottom townhouse owned by a retired federal judge. A real blueblood and former partner in a white shoe law firm inside the Beltway. The case was a stone cold whodunit, ripe with powerful political connections and tricky political situations. Not to mention plenty of bones.
"Sir, I thought Kincaid was working…"
"Yes. In exchange for you taking on two of his investigations. That's not the way things work around here, Booth."
"I closed both of those. Gave the U.S. Attorney slam dunk cases." Booth said, wincing at the defensiveness in his voice.
"So you will have plenty of time to work on Sommers." Cullen responded without hesitation.
"No disrespect sir, but I don't see why Kincaid can't…"
"Because Kincaid refuses to go back to that place. He said I could transfer him to the Fargo field office before he would work with the squints again."
Booth thought the idea of ridding the office of Kincaid wasn't a bad idea. The guy smelled like old cheese. But somehow he knew that Cullen wouldn't appreciate him pointing that out at the moment.
"What about Young or Sims?" He said instead, thinking of two other agents to whom he'd farmed out bone cases to recently.
"No. Once was enough for them too. Face it, Booth. You're the one here with the special touch with the squints. Apparently you speak their language."
"And you're leaving anyway."
"I have to."
"Why? If you meant what you said, if you really…"
"Not when it counted." Booth muttered under his breath, though judging from Cullen's raised eyebrow, still loud enough for the other man to hear him.
"Something you need to tell me, Booth?"
"No, sir. But…"
"Let me make this clear, then. This is an order, not a request. We need this one off the books. Now." Cullen said, nodding his head in the direction of the unopened file before turning to leave.
"Yes, sir." Booth replied and slumped down in his chair, only to straighten quickly when the other man stopped at the doorway.
"Time to suck it up, Booth." Cullen said, this time his gruff tone tempered with a paternalistic edge.
He stared through the open door long after Cullen walked away, the other man's words echoing in his head. Then, with a heavy sigh, he opened the Sommers file and began to read.
xxxxxxxxxx
Booth paced outside the door, with each circuit moving closer and then further away from the lab. On some level, he was more than ready to enter the familiar space, a place that he missed more than he would like to admit. But that was the same reason that he could not bring himself to walk through the door. Why he had avoided the place since she'd left. Too many reminders of too many things.
He stopped and stared at the blurred images moving behind the glass, thinking about what was on the other side. The problem wasn't simply hurt feelings or a bruised heart.
This place, was the biggest reminder of the life he had lived, the person that he had been, before things fell apart. He'd finally allowed himself to be content—to find accomplishment in his work, to be happy in the knowledge that he could look to his left or right and she would be there by his side. Not just as a partner, but as the person that understood him. That knew who he was.
It was a void that he faced every time he sat down in the diner, picked up a new case file, checked the display on his cell phone or closed his eyes to sleep at night. Sometimes it was a little easier, hurt a little less. Most of the time though, it hit him like a sledgehammer. And he knew that going into the lab, being forced to see himself through the eyes of people that knew them both, more importantly knew them together, would be worse than any of it.
Yet Cullen had made it pretty clear that if he didn't work the Sommers case, it wouldn't be Kincaid that ended up in Fargo. And Sommers meant bones and bones meant working with the squints.
Booth knew he didn't have a choice. But, he thought, that didn't mean he couldn't accomplish this on his own terms. Decision made, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and began to scroll through the stored phone numbers..
How the hell it happened, he had no idea, but all the squints' numbers were programmed into his phone. Problem was, there wasn't a single one he could call to bring the evidence reports out to him. Hodgins would see it as a chance to bond. Angela…well, he knew what she thought. Forget Zach. And Cam would probably call him Seeley and then proceed to tell him that…
Of its own accord his thumb pressed the buttons to access his voicemail.
"You have…one….saved message."
As soon as he heard the robotic voice, he snapped the phone shut. He'd already listened to her last message enough times to have memorized it. Not just the words, but every inflection in her voice. The disappointment that he wasn't there to say goodbye. The hope when she asked him to call her.
But he hadn't called. At first, it had been all about bandaging his wounded pride with a hefty dose of anger. Then he buried himself neck deep in work and firmly in denial, telling himself that he was just too busy. Once that excuse wore thin, he was embarrassed about the length of his silence and what it said about him.
Most of all though—and it took him a long time to admit it—most of all he was afraid of what would happen once he made that call. After all the time that had passed, after all that they had said to each other that last time, would he have the right words now or would there be an uneasy tension between them? Or worse…would he find out that she was happy wherever she was—without him? And the longer he waited, the more the fear grew and the more the gulf widened.
Until he got to this point. A grown man, he thought, shaking his head in disgust, that could not walk through a door because squints were on the other side. That couldn't dial a phone to talk to the woman that he loved. Cullen was right, he told himself. Maybe it was time to suck it up.
Holding his breath as if trying to prevent the spark of courage from escaping him, he quickly entered the numbers and waited for the line to connect.
"Booth?"
It took him a moment to realize that the voice wasn't coming from the phone but from directly in front of him. Ignoring the hint of relief hiding behind his disappointment, he closed the phone and slid it into his pocket.
"Yeah, Cam?" He asked wearily.
xxxxxxxxxx
She entered the lobby and headed directly to the service desk and following the pattern she'd established the day that she registered at the hotel, sounded the small brass chime twice to summon the clerk.
"Any messages, Marco?"
"No, signorina."
"You're sure? Room 214?"
"No, I am most sorry but there are none."
Without responding, she turned away and headed to the stairs, suddenly exhausted by the weight of the bag she carried.
Back in her room, routine dispensed of the small tasks available to occupy her mind, and she found herself once again drawn to the small stone balcony. The hillside below her sloped gently towards the sea, the crystalline blue of the Mediterranean brilliant below a cloudless sky. The pristine beauty of the panorama did little to soothe her however.
Not even the most perverse logic could justify the disappointment that plagued her. She knew what it was like to be the one left behind, knew that even the most well-intentioned explanations did little to alleviate the pain that came with abandonment. This time the decision to leave had been hers and she had no right to the disappointment that came with his silence. It was a direct consequence of the path that she had chosen. The person that she had been just a very few years ago would have understood his reasons.
For so long, she had wrestled with the impact of being the one left behind. Now, as she turned her back on the vista below, for the first time she began to truly understand the weight of the grief that came with being the one that said good-bye.
Somehow she knew that this was a piece of whatever she'd set out to determine. But as her eye fell on the silent phone on the table next to her bed, she also couldn't help but wonder if the price she was paying for those answers was too high.