A/N : Hey people! I'm really sorry for making you wait this long but I was in Bora Bora with Seeley Booth, that's why you thought that he was dead by the way, but I just stole him for some time. The truth is, as I said, I'll move soon, plus I had some annoying car problems, so life has been quite crazy lately, and it's not going to change soon, but I'm doing my best and it's a good transition as it's the title of this chapter. Good reading !
Chapter 4 – Best
Monday, January 6th
"So, how was Peru?"
A polite attempt from her partner to start a conversation, Brennan thought. Just like Angela, who began talking about what she liked on purpose to get straight into a more embarrassing subject. She still couldn't believe that she had been caught out like a beginner.
She was chewing on the salad that was in her mouth and swallowed it before she answered, saving her enough time to think about it.
"You're not expecting me to explain to you what I found, right?" she said after she finished chewing on her next bite and swallowed the salad that was in her mouth.
"Yes, I do," he said, looking surprised.
She screwed up her eyes, took her time to decide whether he was telling the truth or not, and gave him a mischievous smile eventually.
"You're lying. You always ask me questions about my work out of courteousness, but when I answer, you don't really listen."
"I do listen to you!" he asserted indignantly.
"You pretend to do so by saying 'yes, sure' regularly, but in truth you're thinking about something else, like what you're eating." She watched him slowly placing back his hamburger on his plate, puzzled, before she concluded, "That's what you do."
"No, Bones, it's not! I swear to you it's not," Booth protested in an attempt to defend himself.
"That's what you do, Booth, and you know what, I really think that we should talk about it with Sweets."
"What? Why would we even discuss this with Sweets?"
"Because we report to him everything that affects our professional relationship, and this behaviour of yours affects our professional relationship."
"We're not discussing this with Sweets," he declared in a stubborn tone.
"But— He's there to help us, Booth!"
"I thought you hated psychology."
"Yes but I admit that Sweets can be helpful."
"Helpful to find somebody who's on your side when you've got something on me."
"That's not true, Booth!"
"He's on your side because he's got five doctorates like you and Zach."
"I only have two doctorates and Zach has three," she corrected, out of habit, before wondering if it was really necessary.
"Exactly what I was saying."
"No, you said that we had five doctorates, which is wrong," she insisted, ignoring the waitress who had stopped next to their table to see if she could clear their plates. "Besides, people with more than four doctorates are very rare because—"
Brennan stopped herself as the waitress cleared her throat.
"I'm done with this," Booth grumbled, pointing at the content of his plate.
"Dessert?" the waitress asked with a polite smile.
"Yeah, a slice of cherry pie, thanks."
When the waitress turned her gaze to Brennan, the latter grimaced slightly. "No, thanks. I find it too sweet."
"You know Bones," Booth began when the woman was out of earshot, "you're not obliged to point out such kinds of things."
"Why do you suddenly feel like you're being persecuted? You often tell Sweets what you dislike in me, too!"
"I'm talking about the pie," he specified.
"Oh. Why can't I say that I don't like it?"
"Because it's not polite."
"Why? I'm only telling the truth. I'm sure a lot of people think like me who just don't dare point it out to the staff of the diner."
"And some others, such as myself, like this pie just the way it is," Booth retorted.
"Too much sugar isn't—" a deadly glare from her partner warned her that she had better not continue, so she just let out a frustrated sigh as a plate with a generous slice of cherry pie was put in front of him.
"Any regrets, Bones?" he mocked her, grasping the spoon.
She rolled her eyes and shook her head, feeling hurt. In truth, she was angrier at herself than at him. Most of the time, their usual bickering was sort of fun. Sometimes, though, it became annoying, and she became surprisingly emotional. Sometimes, she had the disturbing feeling that it was all her fault. There was this gap between her and the world, between her way to comprehend things and her partner's. She had always been aware of this. She didn't mind it before; now she understood how it could affect their relationship. And she had come to hate herself for being unable to fill this gap.
"Bones, are you sulking or something?"
Startled back from her thoughts, she raised her eyes to meet his, and realised that instead of eating he had been staring at her with his spoon hanging in mid-air.
"I don't sulk," she mumbled.
He gave her a smile, looking reassured, and she smiled back, surprised. Had he actually been worried about upsetting her?
She let her gaze follow his hand as he dug the spoon in the pie to cut a share. But before he was able to swallow it, his phone rang, making him groan with annoyance.
"Booth. Yeah. Okay. Yeah, she's with me. We'll be there."
He hung up with a bothered sigh and she couldn't help feeling amused at his sheepish look.
"No dessert for tonight, Bones. A body's waiting for us."
She couldn't help feeling slightly excited, either. A case, at last. Work was waiting for them, and it was what they did best.
The second his feet met the ground of the dump, Booth felt suddenly happy that he hadn't eaten the pie. The place was a real hell. The smell was so strong that it was almost impossible to notice that a body was slowly decomposing somewhere among the garbage. A hell for him; a paradise for Hodgins. The thought made him smile briefly.
After making sure that Brennan was still next to him, he kept making his way among the rotten food and rusty items, watching his step carefully, trying to forget that the stench made him close to vomit out the dinner which he had just enjoyed. His partner walked past him, for she didn't care ruining the rubber boots she always kept in the trunk of his SUV with all her stuff. Maybe was he silly to refuse wearing similar shoes, but looking ridiculous was something he hated.
When he saw her stop and bend, he lowered his gaze and pointed his flashlight to the ground. From what remained of the victim's body and clothes, he could only presume that she was female. There wasn't enough left of her for him to determine whether she had been young or old, Caucasian or African-American, plain or beautiful. But as she loved to claim, Temperance Brennan was the best in her field, and Angela Montenegro wasn't bad either.
"Female, Caucasian. Early thirties," the forensic anthropologist announced. She crouched and extended her latex-gloved hand to the victim's head. "Looks like she had blond hair, but we still have to check. A lot of women die their hair." Standing next to her, he watched her examining the remains. It was something like the three-hundredth time, but each time, he couldn't help feeling amazed. Nothing else seemed to exist for her except the body. As always, the way she acted at the crime scene was so perfect, so professional, as though the smell didn't bother her, as though she didn't mind working among disgusting garbage.
"The marks on her wrists indicate that she was tied up."
He turned his attention back to the poor dead girl lying among the trash. There was something curious about her, but he couldn't quite identify it.
"I can see marks on her neck, too. I think she's been strangled but we need further studies at the lab to confirm that."
Placing her hands on her knees, she rose and stepped back, allowing him to get a better view of the body.
"Wait—" That was it. Her clothes. "Wait wait wait. You said early thirties?"
"That's what I said."
"You sure 'bout that?"
She rolled her eyes and sighed to express her annoyance; then, without a word, she accepted to take another look at the body. It was something he knew she wouldn't have done for anybody else but him. He loved to think about how much he had grown on her since they had started working together a couple of years ago. She had lost this haughty, cold look she had with everyone she wasn't sure that she could trust. Sometimes, she even took a risk by confiding in him, which he knew wasn't that easy for her. With him, she wasn't Doctor Brennan; she was Temperance.
"Yes, I'm sure," she asserted after another quick study of the remains.
"But, Bones, look, she's wearing a cheerleader outfit. It doesn't make sense."
She took a closer look at the victim's clothes, something she hadn't been paying attention to before, then shrugged, as if it didn't strike her as abnormal.
"Maybe this is a costume. Maybe she was going to a party," she shrugged and got rid of her latex gloves.
"Yeah," he admitted. "Maybe. Or maybe the killer dressed her like that."
"Why would he do that?"
Obviously eager to leave this place, Booth wrapped his arm around his partner's shoulders and led her away from the body, indicating that they were done here, and that they could leave the rest of the dirty job to the people who were paid for it.
"Sweets' field of expertise."
"… in a dump near Washington DC."
He turned around quickly and his body froze, his eyes glued to the TV screen. He had known this time would come. He had been expecting this for so long. He had just been hoping that it would come at the right moment. At last, his work was on the news. He couldn't help feeling important at how excited the journalist was; he wondered who of the two of them was most excited, actually. It was silly, childish, but so enjoyable. He was on the news. Public enemy number one. The centre of attention. Someone dangerous, someone hated, but someone important.
"Authorities have accepted to reveal a curious detail: it just so happens that the victim, a woman in her early thirties, was wearing a cheerleader outfit. If you have any information about a missing person who could match this woman, please contact the following—"
He was eager to see how long it would take for them to identify her. She would be but the first one. It was so not over. They were not stupid. They had to be dreading that it was only the beginning of a series of murders. And it was. If only they knew. The journalists, the TV channels, he would give them so much more to say, so much more to show, that they should already thank him. These people were all hypocrites. They pretended to be horrified, but inwardly, the creepier it was, the happier they were.
He wondered if, at some point, the women of this city would be so scared that they wouldn't dare to go out alone anymore. The police, the FBI, would hate him. The families of the victims would wish he'd rot in hell. But about this, he didn't care. He was doing what he had to do.
He lit a cigarette and relaxed in his comfortable leather armchair.
They would try to set up a profile that would never match him, try to figure out who he really was and why he was doing this, and why he was doing it in this way. They would come up with elaborate theories, they would try to enter his mind, try to trap him in his own games. He knew how profilers worked. He wondered how long it would take for them to understand, how close to the truth they would get. Would they realise how careful and rigorous he was? Hopefully, they would never end up with him. He had made sure they wouldn't. But if they were that smart, then he would be waiting for them. He had prepared himself for that, too. But until then, he would do what he had to do. Until then, there would be a long way. A long period of a cat and mouse game he already enjoyed.
His lips stretched in a small smile and he let out a contented sigh.
A long, long way.
People used to call him a loser. Now, they looked at his success with admiration and envy. But it was not enough for revenge; murder was better justice. He had just discovered that he liked it, and that he was pretty good at it. In fact, it was probably what he did best.
A/N : In next chapter there will be a part with Sweets. I love this character, he's so for BB romance!! I haven't written about him yet, so I'm impatient to know what you'll think about it! I hope it'll be ready for next week end. It's likely to be, but I can't promise anything. Have a nice week-end!
