Title: And the Center will Hold
Spoilers: Up to early Season 3
Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were, there would be a shirtless David Boreanaz in every ep. Seriously. Every one.
A/N: The reviews have been really helpful – you guys are awesome. Bear with this next chapter as we explore the case a little further, and get a little deeper into how well B and B understand themselves and each other.
The glare of the fluorescent bulb was unkind in the small visitor's lounge. It was actually a pretty nice room, with comfortable seating and the all too rare privacy. The walls even had a relatively new coat of paint, with no obvious graffiti.
"You look like hell, Booth," Max broke the silence from the doorway.
Booth flicked a glance over towards the doorway. He shrugged as he pushed himself away from the wall. He probably did look like hell, and right now couldn't care less. His jacket and tie had been discarded in the passenger seat of his suv, and now his sleeves were carelessly rolled up his forearms. His hair was mussed from running his hand through it as he drove and worked this conversation out in his mind; his five o'clock shadow told of the long day he had put in.
"You don't look so great yourself Max. Sit down, we need to talk," he gestured to the seat in front of him.
Max eyed him warily but sat. Booth chose to stand, leaning his forearms on the back of the chair across from Max.
"So to what do I owe the pleasure, Agent Booth? Did you miss me?" Max grinned in response to Booth's hard stare.
"Not hardly. This isn't a social visit, and you know it," Booth fought the urge to pace.
"Nothing's happened to Tempe has it? She's okay?" Max doubted Booth would be with him if something had, but he had to quash the irrational fear that sprang up.
"She is." Booth didn't elaborate. How okay she remained was the question, given the nature of this visit.
"Then what is it, son? Something's on your mind, I can tell. Spill it to your old buddy Max."
Booth pushed back from the chair, but held on tightly to the back of it. He wanted to punch something. He gripped the cool leather a little tighter.
"Take the deal, Max. I know your lawyer has told you to take it. I know Caroline has told you to take it. Now I'm telling you to take it."
Max pondered Booth's words for a moment, and then a ghost of a grin flicked across his face. "Worried about me, huh? Don't think I can get out of this one I see. Unless I turn into a rat and spill my guts for the feds, for your friend Miz Julian. Didn't know you cared so much, Booth." Max leaned back in his chair, still grinning.
"Max, I don't care if they give you a lethal injection and then put your cold dead body in the electric chair for good measure. This isn't about you and you know it." Booth really wanted to wipe that grin off his face. If Max couldn't understand why he had to do whatever was necessary to stay in Bones' life this time around, then someone might have to beat the sense of it all into him. And Booth would be the first to volunteer.
Max studied the younger man for several moments, taking in the white knuckles on the back of the chair, the tension in his neck and shoulders, the measured breathing. He could hear the anger in Booth's voice, but his eyes saw something else as well. Something he could only define as anguish. The kind of anguish a man feels when he's down to his last chance, his last dime, his last day. The anguish of a drowning man that knows he'll only surface one more time.
"So how long, son?"
"How long, what?" Booth looked up in confusion.
"How long have you been in love with my daughter, Agent Booth?"
Booth gave up the fight against the need to move and began to pace. "I don't know what you're talking about Max. Bones is my partner and my friend. She doesn't deserve to be hurt again by you, that's all. I'm here to convince you not to break her heart again by being hard-headed, nothing more."
"Ah… so that's the lie you're telling yourself these days. Don't try to con an old con, my friend."
Booth started to speak again, and Max held up a hand to stop him, rising from his seat.
"It's okay, son. You don't have to admit it to me before you can admit it to yourself. I appreciate your concern for her – I like you Booth – and I'll take your suggestion about the deal under advisement. You're a good man, my friend, and good for her – that's all that matters to me. It should be all that matters to you. She's a smart one, my Temperance. She knows who's responsible for the mess that Max Keenan's in, and she knows it's not you."
Booth just stood there and watched Max walk out the door, after throwing a careless wave over his shoulder at Booth.
This was not how this conversation was supposed to go, he thought, hanging his head as he slumped back against the wall.
"Dr. Brennan? The lady at the front desk said I could find you here."
The southern drawl from the doorway had Brennan looking up from her morning ritual of drinking coffee while reading emails at her desk. Everyone liked to tease that she was the first one at the lab, but it was really not so she could start working so early. It was so she would have at least thirty uninterrupted minutes to drink her first cup of coffee.
Brennan frowned at the woman in the doorway. For a second or two she didn't recognize who it was, and was not happy to have visitors so early. Her time alone with her coffee was precious to her, and woe be it unto those who interrupted.
Stepping further into the room, the woman began, "I'm sorry – we met in Baltimore, I'm Agent-"
"Fletcher, yes, I'm sorry. I remember you now; I just wasn't expecting to see you." Bones rose from behind her desk to shake the petite redhead's hand. She was certainly not expecting her interruption to be the agent whom she had just recently been telling Angela had most likely slept with Booth. Taking in the perfectly styled hair, flawless skin, and dazzlingly white smile she was now more than mostly sure this woman had slept with her partner, who seemed to have always had his pick of women.
"Is there something wrong with the identification we made, Agent Fletcher? I can assure you that my forensics team, as well as myself, were positive we had the remains of Ritchie Nguyen," Brennan bristled a little at the thought of her team's work being questioned. She would never have admitted her bristling might be due to other issues with the female agent.
"No, no of course not, Dr. Brennan. I was extremely pleased with your team's work, in fact, that's why I'm here – to ask for more help," Sam gestured to the file folder she was carrying.
"Were there other bodies, Agent Fletcher?" Bones frowned down at the file; they really were pretty busy at the lab at the moment and didn't have time for more burnt remains, truth be told.
"Actually, no. Can we sit?" she gestured to the sofa. She had heard through the FBI grapevine that Booth's "bone lady" was not exactly friendly, but her southern manners kept the smile firmly placed.
Brennan only nodded, and sat down eyeing her visitor suspiciously.
"Ritchie Nguyen was a small player in a big game of money laundering, drugs, and weapons. The FBI had been onto him for some time in Atlanta, where he laundered money through his chain of nail salons," Sam continued as she laid pictures out on the table from the file. "In the last year, we became suspicious that he was hooking up with a Vietnamese syndicate out of Baltimore, laundering money for a much larger drugs and guns ring, lead by the Phan family. The FBI's been after the Phan family for a long time and had serious hopes that Ritchie would take us right to them. It was Ritchie's contact within the Phan family that he was meeting that night in the warehouse."
"Agent Fletcher, this is … interesting … but I don't see how I or my team at the Jeffersonian can help you any further."
Sam laughed a little at this and nodded her head. "I know it doesn't sound like your area, at least for now since we have no more bodies. But actually, it was Dr. Hodgins' discovery during his examination of the trace evidence from Ritchie's clothes that gave us our first solid lead on the type of explosives used at the warehouse. Dr. Saroyan and I spoke on the phone earlier this week and she indicated that if you gave your approval, I could have our crime scene guys bring over some other evidence from the scene for him to run further tests on. You see, the Phan family has used explosives before to destroy evidence, much like in this case. If we can identify their explosives guy by the type of device used…"
"Then you can try to tie him to the Phans," Brennan finished for her. "Agent Fletcher, if Dr. Saroyan gave her approval for the FBI to utilize Dr. Hodgins and our equipment here at the Jeffersonian, then I can't really deny your request. I assume you will be working with Booth on this as well?" Bones stood, towering over the other woman; in a posture no more subtle than Booth exposing his gun and badge to a suspect.
Samantha Fletcher was a damn good FBI agent. She was one of the youngest women to lead a team in a large field office like Atlanta. Her colleagues respected her, her bosses appreciated her – she was widely regarded as a rising star. But she was also a woman. And it was with a woman's ears that she heard the challenge in the other woman's voice. To her credit, she didn't betray this observation.
Standing as well, she was all-business as she answered, "As of right now, Booth hasn't been read in on the case. Since you and your team normally work exclusively with him, I was planning on paying him a courtesy call at the Hoover Building this afternoon, to bring him into the loop. My agents and I will be doing the legwork and the investigation on this, but I don't want to step on his toes, borrowing 'his squints', as he calls them."
She must have said the right thing to Dr. Brennan, who seemed to exhale as she was speaking, and visibly lowered her shoulders. For all of Booth's protests that day at the crime scene, when Sam managed to pull him aside for a moment, she had a strong suspicion that there was more to his relationship with the good doctor than he let on.
"Fine then. I'll let Dr. Hodgins know to expect evidence from the warehouse to arrive today. If there's anything else…" she let the thought trail as Agent Fletcher gathered her things.
"That should be all for now, Dr. Brennan. Thank you for your cooperation; it was interesting speaking with you again. I'll be in Baltimore this afternoon, and then back here in D.C. before Friday."
Sam shook Brennan's hand again, hazel eyes meeting wide blue as she tried to convey her respect for the anthropologist. Instinctively she knew that making friends was out of the question. Working this case was her prime objective however, and the cooperation of Brennan and the Jeffersonian was a must.
At the door to Brennan's office, Angela and Agent Fletcher nearly collided.
As they excused themselves, and Sam continued on, Angela paused to watch her walk through the lab towards the exit.
Turning towards Brennan, she remarked, "So that's the 'redhead with big breasts' I assume? Isn't she just a Georgia peach?"
Brennan just nodded and sat back down behind her desk.
"She is pretty hot, in a pixie sort of way. Not what I expected from Booth, though. His taste usually runs towards long and lean, don't you think?" Her eyes twinkled as she looked up and down Brennan's lithe frame.
"Angela … Booth's tastes in women are none of our concern," she responded, not noticing Angela's perusal.
"Oh sweetie. Remember what I told you about how I tell you the truth and wait for you to catch up? This is one of those times. Booth's taste in women is definitely your concern."
A/N: So what's the consensus on Sam Fletcher? Is she a contrived plot device or a decent character with a purpose? How was my Max?