Disclaimer: I work and work and work, and I still don't have enough money to buy Bones.
Thanks again to FauxMaven being an awesome beta.
Hopefully this will satisfy you fans-o-fluff out there. More fluffiness to come, including a guest appearance by Gordon Gordon, if only you'd review.
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The Jeffersonian's Medico-Legal lab was awash with activity when Brennan came through the doors. She moved quickly through the bustle, eyes straight ahead, hoping nobody would spot her. Her face remained impassive, although those that knew her best would have been able to tell that she was troubled. She strode past Hodgins' workstation, past Cam's office, past Angela's. Out of the corner of her eye, Brennan saw her best friend look her way, but she lengthened her stride to reach her office more quickly. Once inside with the door closed behind her, Brennan slumped into her chair. She went through the motions of opening her email but her mind was elsewhere.
She was expecting the knock on her door, but was nonetheless disappointed to hear it
"Come in, Angela," she called out.
"Hey, Bren," Angela said as she entered the office. She moved around to Brennan's side of the desk and tilted the stack of papers in her hand. The piece of paper on top bore the face of a young girl with plain features. Brennan looked up at Angela with an eyebrow raised.
"This is the fifth victim, the only one we haven't been able to identify yet," she explained.
Angela shuffled the papers and produced another paper, this one a computer printout. She only briefly glanced at the photo of the middle-aged man, instead reading the information to the side. Patrick Miraglia, 38, resident of Grand Rapids, Michigan. Disappeared in May of 2006. Last seen hiking the Appalachian Trail outside of Centralia, Pennsylvania. The fourth victim.
"Thanks, Ange. I'll give this to Booth when I see him."
"Sure," Angela responded and crossed to the front of the desk, dropping into one of the chairs. "So what's going on with you?"
Brennan looked up sharply at her friend. "Why is everyone asking me that today?"
"I'm asking you because you came flying down the hallway and nearly slammed the door to your office. Who else asked you that?"
"Booth," muttered Brennan.
Angela nodded once as if that explained everything. She gazed levelly at Brennan.
"What?" Brennan shifted uncomfortably.
"You haven't told me what's going on, Bren."
"That's because I don't know what's going on."
Angela raised her eyebrows. "Do you really have to be so cryptic?"
"I'm sorry, I just really don't know what's wrong with me lately." Brennan sat forward, resting her elbows on her desk, letting her fingertips massage her temples. "Why does everything feel so strange around Booth?"
"This has to do with Booth?"
She glanced up at her friend, debating how much she should confide. Working things out with Angela had been useful in the past, she might as well give it a shot.
Brennan cringed slightly. "I've been attracted to him for a while now."
"So what's the problem?" Angela smirked.
"I told you already, I don't know. I've never hesitated so much in initiating a relationship with a man before. Why can't I do that with Booth?"
"No offense, Bren, but none of your relationships have been really serious. You have fun with men, but that's about it. Do you think maybe this thing with Booth could be more than a fling?"
Brennan sighed and allowed herself a minute to consider. She had never been intimate with someone she'd known well beforehand. Maybe that was the problem. Booth was her best friend next to Angela. How could she just get what she needed from Booth without compromising their friendship? It was almost as if they had already been dating longterm, with sex being the only thing missing. To take that step with him would be like leaping into a full-blown committed relationship. Something she was completely unprepared for. Brennan glanced up at her friend.
"How do you do that?" she asked.
Angela chuckled. "So you're afraid of having a real, grown-up relationship with him."
"Yes. It could fail in so many ways, Ange. Where would that leave us?"
"You know, Hodgins once asked me, 'What if it doesn't end that way?' I think that's something you need to consider. You could have a such a great thing with him, sweetie. Do you really want to mess it up before it even starts?"
Brennan stared off into space for a moment before shaking her head slowly.
With a nod and a smile, Angela rose from the chair. "Good. So you'll talk to him about it?"
"I'll talk to him about it? What?" Brennan questioned, as a feeling quite similar to seasickness filled her stomach.
Angela rolled her eyes. "He's not a mind reader, Bren. Come on, let's go see what the boys are up to."
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It was near evening when Brennan saw Booth walk into the lab. Her team had made a lot of progress, especially since they had gotten the two bodies from the medical examiner's office. Booth called the ME while they were in the car earlier and was quite vehement in demanding that they send the remains over. It was nice to have someone stick up for her team, and the fact that it was a well-muscled, handsome FBI agent was even better. As the afternoon drew to a closeBrennan called Booth to tell him to swing by so that they could go over their findings.
He walked with a slight swagger, his suit jacket open and the topmost buttons of his shirt undone. Brennan let herself watch him for a minute before judging that any longer would arouse suspicion.
"Alright, guys, what have ya got for me?" asked Booth as way of a greeting, swiping his card to gain access to the platform.
The team was gathered around the most recent victim. Booth wrinkled his nose as he approached.
"These are the remains of Bryan Lessard," Brennan started. "There is a Colles' fracture of the right distal radius. Two of the other victims show similar breaks."
"A Colles' fracture indicates that the victim's arms were outstretched to break a fall," Zack chimed in, apparently for Booth's benefit.
"I know that," Booth glared. "What was the cause of death?"
Cam spoke up. "Exsanguination. The victim's throat was punctured."
"By what?"
"We're not sure yet. The remaining flesh on the two most recent victims have evidence of a puncture wound to the neck. All seven victims have similar markings on C4. Zack will work on matching the markings to a weapon," Brennan explained.
"They were all hikers. Maybe check camping gear," Booth suggested. To Brennan, he asked, "Were there any signs of a struggle?"
"No. Four of the victims show absolutely no damage to the bones other than the markings on C4. Also, this victim shows signs of being dragged."
"Well, we already knew the body was moved."
"Yeah," Hodgins said. "But the guy was dragged through the woods."
Booth raised his eyebrows at the entomologist.
"I found traces of Trillium cernuum embedded in the flesh, as well as various other indigenous plant matter. I also found resistant quartzite." Hodgins beamed proudly and received nods of appreciation from all of his fellow team members. Booth, however, just stared at him.
"What's that supposed to mean? In English?"
Hodgins sighed dejectedly. "Trillium cernuum, or nodding trillium, is a rare plant in Maryland. It can be found in some spots along the Appalachian trail, which our victim was hiking. South Mountain is composed of mainly resistant quartzite. All of which means he was probably attacked on the Trail."
"Any chance of this happening just from a fall?" Booth queried.
"It's not likely. If a hiker fell and got plant matter and rocks embedded in his wounds, he'd clean himself up. There's no sign of that here," answered Hodgins.
"Statistically speaking, three out of seven hikers falling hard enough to cause these breaks is very unlikely," Zack added.
"Yeah, I have more," grinned Hodgins. "I called the Potomac Trail Club, which is in charge of maintaining the trail in Maryland. There are only four known places along the trail where nodding trillium grows. Two are nowhere near where Lessard was supposed to be when he went missing. The other two are actually fairly close together."
"So we might have our crime scene?"
Hodgins nodded in response.
"Okay, great. So our victim is hiking along the trail and meets up with the killer. He falls, and the killer stabs him in the neck, then drags him off the trail out of the view of anyone else that might come by," Booth theorized.
"We think that the victim may have been killed after being dragged off the trail," Cam said. "The neck wounds don't have the same plant matter embedded in them as the other wounds do. If he had a gaping wound to his neck, it would have collected some debris as he was dragged."
Booth sighed and passed a hand over his face. "So the victim falls, the killer drags him off the trail, and then cuts his throat. How does he get them off the trail without a struggle?"
"It was more of a puncture, Agent Booth," Zack piped up.
Shooting a glance at the younger forensic anthropologist, Booth groaned.
"Alright. What about the other victims?"
Angela led the group down the row of exam tables, indicating the monitors at the head of each, five of which bore full color pictures of the victims. The last victim still had not been identified; the monitor behind that table displayed Angela's sketch.
"Meet Amy Chouinard, 32, of Massachusetts. Sarah DaSilva, 34, of Virginia. Patrick Miraglia, 38, of Michigan. Raymond Burke, 29, of New York. And Mark Favalora, 23, of Florida." Angela took a deep breath before continuing.
"Amy disappeared two months ago, near Mount Greylock in Massachusetts. Sarah and Raymond disappeared in April and June of 2006, respectively. Both were last known to be hiking on the Appalachian Trail near Damascus, Virginia. Patrick and Mark disappeared in May and August of 2006, both on the AT near Centralia, Pennsylvania."
"Thanks, Ange," Brennan smiled. "The last victim is still unidentified, but it's a female, in her early twenties. Hodgins has placed her time of death at summer of 2005."
Booth nodded to her. "So were the others definitely attacked on the trail like Bryan Lessard?"
Hodgins spoke up. "Amy Chouinard definitely was. Like the other victim, there were traces of plant matter embedded in her wounds that indicate she was attacked on the trail. In this case, Blephilia hirsuta, or the awesomely named Hairy Wood-Mint. It's endangered in Massachusetts but is known to grow around the base of Greylock."
Pursing his lips, Booth nodded slowly at Hodgins. "Great. Okay, so we're looking at a guy who takes hikers off the Trail, and apparently he likes to use the same spots more than once. I need to put out an alert cautioning hikers in Maryland and Massachusetts then."
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Only one lamp was on in Brennan's apartment, enough to cast a circle of light where she was reclining on the couch, but leaving the rest of the space in near darkness. She had tuned the radio to NPR but left the volume low—she only wanted background noise, something to fill the emptiness of her apartment. The book she had been reading was open but on the coffee table. She just couldn't get into it. Her mind was occupied with other things, and at that moment, she was just allowing herself to be still, something she rarely did.
A knock on the front door interrupted her thoughts.
She hastily turned off the radio and flicked on a few more lights before heading to the door. Smoothing out her clothes, she checked the peephole. Booth. She'd had a feeling he might stop by, which was why she was still dressed presentably, rather than in her pajamas as usual. She had actually considered dressing in one of her skimpier tank top and short sets, but in the end her rational, reserved side had won out. The now familiar yet still irritating sensation of butterflies arose in her stomach.
When she opened the door, she found Booth holding a brown paper bag from a nearby grocery store rather than the usual tray of take-out. He was dressed in his customary dark jeans and faded t-shirt. A hopeful smile graced his lips.
"Hey, Bones, I brought you a treat," he said, jostling the bag he held in front of him.
"A treat?" she inquired as she stepped aside to let him through.
Following him into the kitchen, she couldn't help appreciating her view of him. Through the thin material of his t-shirt, she could see the strong lines of his shoulder blades, and his jeans—oh, how she loved the way they looked on him. During the long hours of night, when she had trouble falling asleep, this was one of the many images that kept her company. The basic yet overwhelming masculinity of him and the easiness of spending time with him.
He was speaking, but she had missed half of what he had said.
"—like ice cream after a stressful day, right?" Booth placed several pints of ice cream on the counter, and with the familiarity of someone who spent a lot of time here, he opened a drawer and pulled out two spoons.
"Take your pick."
She surveyed the offerings briefly before choosing. "I'll have the chocolate raspberry swirl." Picking up the container and the spoon Booth held out for her, she looked thoughtfully at him for a moment. "Thanks, Booth."
He gave her a nod and a grin in return, and they both settled on Brennan's couch. Her ice cream was delicious and she was pleased that Booth had made an effort to connect with her. She knew she had been acting strangely around him earlier, and he must have been confused. Having talked with Angela and worked a few things out, she hoped that the awkwardness would ease up. Maybe if they had something to do rather than just sit here in silence, listening to the other eat.
"Do you want to play a game?" she asked.
"Sure," he said, and then the corners of his mouth turned up into a grin. "Scrabble?"
"Okay, but I'm not going to let you win this time," she warned.
Booth snorted in response. "I'll get it," he grumbled.
After he retrieved the game from the bookshelf in her office, they set it up quickly and began playing. Brennan took the lead right from the start, though after twenty minutes, Booth was catching up. She was a little surprised at the frequency with which vaguely sexual words had appeared in the mix of tiles before her. She had already used words like 'touch,' 'gentle,' 'grip,' 'muscle,' and 'harder,' though the last had been Booth's, she had only added the 'er' to the end. She considered the tiles now in front of her, dismayed with the coincidence. She couldn't use this word. Was this totally random, or was some subconscious impulse at work? She finally realized another option, and moved the tiles around. Perfect.
"Spine," she announced, putting her tiles in place on the board.
Booth glanced at the board, then up at her. "Spine?" he asked.
"Yes. Spine. You know, the backbone."
"The backbone, huh?" he grinned, only barely suppressing a chuckle.
She felt a flush creep up her neck and cheeks. Damn. Did he think she was doing it on purpose? She definitely wasn't. If she believed in psychology, she might agree that it was her subconscious coming up with these words. But she didn't. Really.
"It's your move, you know."
"Alright, alright." Booth bent his head, concentrating on his rack of letters.
Their ice cream sat abandoned on the coffee table. Condensation was pooling on the coasters, threatening to spill over onto the table. While waiting for Booth's move, Brennan absently stared at the water beaded on the cardboard containers. She rose abruptly and gathered the melting ice cream and their glasses of water.
"I'll be right back," she said and went into the kitchen. If Booth responded to her, she didn't hear him.
She placed the ice cream in the sink and filled the glasses with more water, but instead of returning to the living room, she stood in place, thinking. What was this game she was playing? She wanted Booth, and she knew that he wanted her. The nervousness she felt was obvious, but she was an adult. She and Booth had their ups and downs, almost like married couples do. And yet they had stuck together, realizing that their partnership was worth the effort to put things right when everything went to hell. Who was to say that they couldn't do the same in a romantic relationship? She still wasn't sure why Booth hadn't come clean about his feelings for her, but maybe he was trying to take it glacially slow for her benefit. Maybe she should make the first move.
The counter was cool under her palms. Her fingers curved down into the bowl of the sink, her skin still moist from the running water. She heard Booth stand up, his footsteps across her floor. She heard him pause at the entrance to her kitchen, then move closer to her. Her breath caught when he spoke her name.
"Temperance."
She turned slowly and was only mildly surprised to see him so close. Barely a foot separated them. Her gaze rested somewhere in the vicinity of his abdomen and she forced her eyes up his body, over the hint of taut muscles hidden under cotton, along the sinews of his neck, until she finally looked him in the eye. He was watching her, his focus intense. She smiled uneasily at him.
"I know," he said, tilting his head towards her, "what you were doing out there."
"I don't know what you mean," she whispered.
Booth stepped closer to her, scant inches from her now. She could feel his breath across her face, smell his clean scent. He leaned in toward her, his forehead almost touching hers. He was so damn close.
"Oh, I think you do," he murmured.
Temperance shifted her stance and searched his eyes briefly to be sure. Then she turned her head and rested her cheek on his shoulder. His hand came up to rest on her back, his fingers splayed downwards across the top of her ass, and he pulled her close. They were still for a moment, but then his hand slipped off her back and he intertwined his fingers with hers. She lifted her head as he stepped back, taking his smile as reassurance.
Seeley led her out to the living room, stopping in front of the couch. He turned to her and placed his firm hands on her upper arms. She knew what was about to happen and she was not surprised. What was unexpected, however, was the range of her emotions. How was it possible to feel such relief, anticipation, fear, excitement, and nausea, all at once? There was no point in fighting any longer, though, this she knew. Here on the brink, even if nothing actually happened, everything would be different.
Her fingers found their way to his face of their own volition. She let her fingertips wander along his jaw, brush his cheek, slide through his hair to the back of his head. Leaning into him, she had a moment of panic when she thought he wouldn't want this, but he met her halfway. His lips were soft yet firm, gentle yet insistent, and he tasted of mint and cream and chocolate. She opened her mouth for him and his tongue darting across hers ignited a fire in her belly. Their kiss grew ever more urgent as he pulled her roughly against him. The firmness of his arousal pressed into her belly, a teasing hint of pleasures to come.
Temperance let her hands roam over his back and down his arms as she gently eased them both onto the couch. Seeley's hand on her waist inched higher until his thumbs brushed the side of her breast and she hummed quietly in encouragement.
He broke the kiss abruptly, leaving her feeling as though she were desperately trying to catch up. She shook her head slightly at him.
"What--?"
"Temperance, I, uh," he winced. "We really shouldn't..."
She stood and stepped away from him, her cheeks burning. This was not how it was supposed to happen. She couldn't believe she had misread him so badly. Adrenaline rushed through her, and her body leaped into flight. She glanced towards the door and almost headed for it before remembering she was already home. Damn.
Brennan cleared her throat. "I need to go, you know, to sleep. You can let yourself out." And she turned and fled to the solitude of her bedroom.
She stood with her back to the door, her hand still on the doorknob. Fighting back tears, she took deep gulping breaths. She was such an idiot. Everyone had been right about her all along, she was so inept socially and here was just another example in a long line of embarrassing moments. Through the door Brennan could hear Booth moving around, and she found herself desperately wishing he would come and knock on her door, tell her it was all a mistake. She hated that feeling, that pathetic dependence. Even worse was the disappointment when she heard the door to her apartment close.
Finally she managed to calm herself slightly and began preparing for bed. Ten minutes later, as she slid between the cool sheets, her only thoughts were of how long she could possibly avoid Booth, when they had seven murders to solve.