I checked the peephole, and wasn't surprised to see him standing there. I debated about stepping outside, letting him in, or just ignoring it-- I was still furious from earlier today. We'd made a break in the case, well, she'd made a break in the case, as she usually did, just within the hour she'd originally asked for, and I'd emailed him the information immediately, assuming he'd at least get this wrapped up out of duty. As soon as she'd approved the wording of the report to be sent, though, she'd shed her coat, gone back to her office, closed the door for an utterly silent twenty minutes, and then emerged, red-eyed, with her things, all in silence, merely lifting a hand to acknowledge us as she walked out the door. I've never seen her leave early. Ever. And I've never seen evidence of her crying. Ever.
Deciding, I opened the door, stood aside, let him in. He went straight to the living room, looking like hell. Good. She looked worse.
"I know you're not here in your official capacity, and I only said you should not come back to the lab, which are the only reasons I haven't called the cops for trespassing."
He flinched, blanched. Good.
"Camille..." He was lost for words. Well, he was the one who'd had too many words, earlier. He'd just have to find them. I stayed silent, taking the chair opposite him, and waited, just taking in his appearance. He'd bitten his nails to the quick, something I'd only seen once before, when he'd had to go undercover at a casino as a card dealer. His knuckles were bruised, not so much as if he'd hit something solid and unmoving, but as if he'd repeatedly struck flesh, or a punching bag, barehanded. His suit was disheveled, his hair a straight mess, rather than the intentional mussing he spent too much time in the mirror arranging each morning.
"I didn't mean it," he began.
"I know you didn't. We all do. But that you said it anyway? It's worse than if you had meant it." It was. I couldn't pretend to understand the relationship the two of them had, and one of the reasons I hadn't protested when he'd broken things off was the clear realization that while they might not be in love with each other, there was little room in their hearts for anyone else. They cared about others, but devotion? That was different, and there wasn't another word to better describe them, physical relationship or not. He clearly knew things about her that she'd never told anyone, perhaps not even herself, and I knew he'd told her things I only knew from reading his security file-- details I'd never know, that he'd never share. There'd been no point in being jealous-- I know an immovable object when I see it. Or I thought I had, until he'd, through mere words alone, done what I would have bet no outside force could do. Well, implosions are always more destructive.
He was shaking his head, again lost for words. Well, I could let him be mute all night, or get things moving again. "Seeley-- you broke something in there today. Jack, or Angela, or I might even forgive you at some point. But her? You know all too well that he may be as much of a son as she'll ever have, and you basically told her it was her fault that he did what he did. You know it wasn't. It was no one's fault."
"What did she say?"
I told him the truth. "Nothing. The two of us examined the remains some more before she found the needlestick mark on the bone, the third time she ran her fingers over it with her eyes closed. I swabbed it for DNA, found the suspect match, wrote it up, she approved the wording, and then she went back in her office to cry for twenty minutes. And then she left for the day. She didn't say anything."
He looked like I kicked him, and I might as well have. Jack and Angela had flinched as much as I had when she emerged, face paper-white, eyes and nose red, mouth set in a line.
"I told her I'd never betray her."
"Well, Seeley, it's too late for that. You don't throw someone's deepest secrets and fears in their face, accuse the one person as fearless and as passionate as you are of coldness and cowardice, and expect them to get over it lightly. Or at all."
"I should go see her."
"No, you shouldn't." He looked up at me, surprised by my vehemence. "Seeley, you have a bad habit of letting your temper get the best of you at the worst possible moments, and then, because you're at heart a good man, and yet, also an arrogant one, you assume you'll be forgiven if you just apologize enough, show up on someone's doorstep looking sorry enough. That's not going to work this time. If you show up at her house, or use the key you probably have, or even worse, pick that lock? I think no jury in the land would convict her of battery."
"But... I already got him in, he confessed, and he gave us the name of the dealer who supplied him with the overdose, the needles. Does she know that? Doesn't it help?"
"Well, it's good that you got him, but I'm not about to change my mind. Not unless she tells me to."
He looked mulish, then. "I thought you were my friend."
"Don't be a child. I am your friend, but I am also in charge of a preeminent laboratory whose experts deserve nothing but the best, most respectful treatment, including myself. I am telling you the truth, which is as much friendship as I think you deserve. More. I seriously considered not letting you in here."
His shoulders sagged, then. "What should I do, Camille? Please?"
He'd never asked me for help, ever, the whole time I'd known him. He'd worked his way through a short gambling relapse after that undercover operation alone, gone missing one weekend, then back to work and no humor about him the next. He'd been shot, stabbed, one time nearly hamstrung during a knife fight, but had always soldiered on. And now, he was asking for help.
"I don't know. But I'll think about it, okay?" He nodded, swallowing hard, then rose.
"Thank you. I'm sorry I disturbed you." He turned and walked down the hallway and let himself out, and as I watched him, I realized he'd broken himself as much as he'd broken her. Their shoulders were clenched the same way, postures equally defeated. I'd better think hard, and fast.
- - -
"Temperance Brennan."
"Dr. Brennan, it's Sam Cullen." Well, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that he's calling. Probably to tell me it's Booth or nothing-- he really hates me, he'll probably be glad to be rid of me, or to dispense with the lab's services altogether.
"Hello, sir." Since I wasn't sure what he wanted to say, I judged it best to keep silent.
"Dr. Brennan, I wanted to call to ... apologize. I am extremely sorry for what happened this afternoon, and I want to assure you that the Bureau has nothing but the highest respect for you and your colleagues, the excellent work that you do. Thanks to your findings this afternoon, we were able to get a confession and the name of the drug supplier from the suspect. We're hoping to collar the dealer tonight or tomorrow. Your efforts are greatly appreciated." We. I wonder what "we" meant. Did Booth bring him in? Did someone else?
"Thank you, sir. I'm glad to hear that the suspect confessed. Confessions are cleaner than court, I know." And they make it unnecessary for me to have to be in the same room of him, even a courtroom, six months down the road.
"Look ... Doctor, I don't mean to ... invade your privacy, but I think you should know that Booth was ... horrified ... by his actions, and that he fully intends to repair things."
"Sir, I appreciate your concern, but ... there are some things that can't be repaired. I understand from Doctor Saroyan that you and she have discussed alternate means of providing the lab's assistance on cases, and for my own part, I'll be shifting time spent in the field previously to other areas of efforts. I've left my work for the State Department aside for too long." It was true. I once worked recoveries for State and the United Nations several times a year, travelling to remote sites for several weeks at a time to assist International Court prosecutors with the initial assessments of genocide and mass murder cases. I'd had to cut back my trips to one a year, and though the work was not as directly fulfilling, it was important, nonetheless. And working with someone closely as I had with Booth was what had led to this impasse in any event. Letting someone in? Not going to happen again. I tried it. I failed-- I'm incapable of expressing myself so people understand me, despite how much I tried. For him. I've learned my lesson, now. I'm better off solo. I'm incapable of partnering anything but dried bones and paper.
"Well, Doctor, I'm sorry to hear that, but perhaps you'll reconsider once we've had time to work things through a bit more." What? He wanted me to stay in the field?
"I'm sorry, Director. You once made it clear that you preferred your squints in the lab." He inhaled. Oh, that was a bit harsh, I suppose, since he was trying to apologize to me, but still, he had said it to my face. Tactful, Temperance. No wonder he thinks you're cold.
"Well, I owe you another apology, then. The cases in which you participate in field investigation close more quickly, and more successfully, than any others in which forensic assistance is involved. If you'd like to remain in the field once ... things settle down, then you're welcome to."
"Thank you sir. I'll think about it." I won't. I've made up my mind. No more FBI agents for me, no more "partners." I would do my work, and they could figure out how to use it on their own. They want field assistance? They can take Clark, he's starting next week.
"Well, I'll let you go then. Again, I am sorry."
"I appreciate it, Sir. Goodbye."
"Goodbye."
I looked down at the phone after I hung up, and sighed, willing myself not to cry again. I'd already done crying, I'd emptied myself of my anger, my disbelief at his betrayal, because he hadn't really betrayed me. I could have worked faster. He was right. He always was. The only anger left was at myself, for failing to connect with the people I cared about, for failing to save them. For failing to save Zack. For failing to work hard enough, fast enough, well enough. I'd save all my attempts to connect for the dead; their empty sockets and silent mouths wouldn't accuse me when I failed them, too. And if I went back to working with State and the U.N., I'd at least have the chance to be put out of my misery by rampant guerillas or inside saboteurs. Better than waking up every day to more failure.