An hour later, everyone had made it back to camp in one piece, but not necessarily unscathed. After being hastily released from his confines by a horrified Jenny, a flagging, but furious Bob had promptly been rushed off to have his raw wrist bathed and bandaged, muttering something about being eligible for a worker's comp claim after Alex had forcibly dragged him the considerable distance to camp. The blonde's callous determination hadn't stopped them from arriving thirty-five minutes after Sandra and Mark, who had maintained a stoic silence since their arrival, clearly dissatisfied with their lowly position in the group's pecking order – especially after discovering that their Guides had implemented a points system to keep track of the partners' respective successes and failures. Brennan and Booth were currently topping the leader board with five points.
Now, Jenny and her two male associates were bustling around the camp, handing out hot coffee and biscuits in an effort to rejuvenate the Agents' waning spirits, and offering pointers to everyone as they set about erecting their sleeping quarters. Most of the group had brought their own individual tents, but some of the Agents had opted to share one between them to lighten the load. Otis and Dean were already offloading their backpacks into their expertly assembled ridge tent, but Alex and Teresa – who were apparently incapable of differentiating between a ground sheet and a flysheet – were rapidly thwarting the theory that 'two heads are better than one.' Booth watched in amusement as Alex temporarily set the instructions aside, clearly underestimating the power of the potent breeze as it promptly sent the flimsy sheet of paper careering across the clearing.
"Bones, look," he whispered, nudging his partner as she was in the process of diligently securing the poles of her compact dome tent.
Brennan glanced upwards, her lips quirking into a smile as she watched Alex making an increasingly desperate bid to retrieve the wayward sheet of paper. She sought out her partner's gaze to convey her amusement, but frowned when she realised that Booth had picked up the outer layer of her tent and was poised to manoeuvre it over the sturdy frame.
"I can manage, Booth," she informed him tersely, snatching the fabric out of his hands, and he shook his head in amusement.
"Yeah, I can see that, Bones. Just humour me, OK, and let me help."
"But I don't need any help," she protested, gesturing to her efforts so far. "I have an exemplary sense of spatial awareness, and I've done this plenty of times before, Booth. You may think that I'm accustomed to modern conveniences, but I lived in a tent for a month when I was in Guatemala. It was very rudimentary, but I coped remarkably well."
"Yeah, I'm sure you did, Bones." Booth tried to hide his surprise at her revelation, and frowned when he saw Sandra's tent flapping wildly in the breeze, threatening to depart from its frame completely. "At least let me hold it down while you fix the guy lines and pegs," he implored, and Brennan rolled her eyes in defeat.
"Fine," she snapped exasperatedly, taking a moment to secure several loose tendrils of hair that had been ripped away from her no-nonsense ponytail.
Booth struggled to keep his eyes averted as Bones tossed aside her coat and kicked off her shoes, crawling into the tent and providing him with an unprecedented view of her shapely ass. She made quick work of attaching the inner awning and they finished the task just as dusk was starting to settle, taking a moment to admire the outcome.
Their tents were adjacent to each other on level ground, sheltered from the elements by an imposing rock face and strategically positioned to avoid the areas that were likely to become boggy if it rained. Still, that did little to alleviate the cold, and Booth shivered when a particularly strong gust of wind billowed through the clearing. His clothes were damp with sweat, and he was eager to change them as soon as the opportunity presented itself.
Several minutes later, a Guide who looked to be in his late thirties strode into the centre of the clearing, flanked by Jenny and a compact young man. His upright posture and commanding presence gave Booth the strong impression that he was ex-military, especially as his authoritative tone had little trouble winning its battle with the wind. "OK, everyone, it looks like you're making pretty good headway with your tents, so could you gather around for a moment, please?" he hollered, and Booth frowned, wondering whether his initial assumption had been wrong. From his experience, military personnel were not in the habit of doling out praise or saying please and thank you.
Everyone reluctantly obliged, and the new Guide favoured them with a tense smile. "I understand that you've already met my lovely associate, Jenny, so no introductions are required there," he began, frowning when some of the Agents started whispering amongst themselves and sniggering at the all-too-apt description. "I'm sorry, is there a problem?" he demanded, looking pointedly at Teresa, who appeared to visibly wilt under the intensity of his gaze. She shook her head slightly.
"Good," he snapped, momentarily abandoning all pretences of civility. "I'm Simon Winchester - I guess you could say I'm the guy in charge around here - and this is my colleague, Ross." He gestured to the brown-haired, youthful man besides him, who offered them a curt nod. "I'm sure you're all feeling the cold by now, so Ross is going to get a campfire started in a second." He titled his head towards the harried-looking young man, who obligingly scurried off to find some kindling. Simon watched his progress for a moment, and then turned to regard them with a penetrating gaze. "Now, I realise this probably isn't your usual scene, but we've made every effort to ensure that you're not too far away from some basic home comforts."
"Then you should probably know that I'm feeling way out of my comfort zone right now," Alex retorted, her expression defiant.
"Well then, you'd better suck it up, sweetheart, because this is about as good as it gets," Simon informed her, with a reproachful look that could have silenced a stadium full of people, let alone one ill-tempered FBI Agent with a superiority complex. Alex looked suitably chastised, and bowed her head in embarrassment.
Oh yeah, this guy is definitely ex-military, Booth thought, his lips twitching as he tried to repress an amused smirk.
"Those of you who aren't pre-disposed to whining will be pleased to know that Big Meadows has all of the amenities you could ask for given the circumstances – there are a few restrooms scattered around and a shower block that's about 400 metres up ahead. Just follow the signposts," Simon instructed, pointing to a wooden marker.
"Are the facilities cleaned on a regular basis?" Dean called out, looking somewhat concerned.
Simon rolled his eyes. "Oh God, don't tell me that we've got someone with OCD in our midst?" he asked exasperatedly, not even waiting for a response. "Look, this isn't the Crown Plaza, OK? The facilities aren't first rate by any stretch of the imagination, but the tourist season has been and gone, so at least you won't have to fight tooth and nail to use them. Just remember to take some quarters with you, because cleanliness isn't next to Godliness around here; it's next to a big pot that says 'profit.'"
Booth snorted, and Brennan looked at him in surprise.
"Booth, you just laughed at a blasphemous joke," she informed him flatly.
"What? No I didn't," he protested loudly, earning several curious glances.
"Excuse me! I haven't finished speaking yet," Simon yelled, glaring at them until he'd made it abundantly clear that he wouldn't tolerate any more interruptions. "Now, I know you're all probably pretty hungry, so we'll serve up some supper as soon as everyone's freshened up," he informed them. "For convenience purposes, we've opted for MREs, and you'll be pleased to know that there's a wide variety of culinary delights for you to choose from."
His sarcasm wasn't lost on the disgruntled Agents, and there was a collective groan that even Simon couldn't hope to contain. Brennan turned to her partner confusedly. "I don't understand, Booth. What's an MRE?"
"It stands for 'Meal: Ready To Eat,' Bones," he explained patiently, "Although there are a few choice alternatives. We used to call them 'Meals: Rejected by Everyone' or 'Meals: Rarely Edible,' back in the Rangers. You know, they're those little biodegradable pouches that soldiers take on exercises with them, when they don't have access to proper dining facilities. These guys must have been shopping at the Army Surplus Store," he concluded dryly, pulling a face.
"Are they really that bad?" Brennan ventured, and Booth laughed at her perturbed expression, shaking his head slightly and trying not to notice how cute his partner looked when she scrunched her nose up.
"Nah, you get used to them eventually. Some are better than others, though, and to be honest, I never tried the vegetarian options." He regarded his partner thoughtfully, before nudging her lightly with his elbow. "You've got to eat tonight, though, Bones. You already skipped lunch."
"Booth, I'm not a child. I'm perfectly capable of ascertaining when my body requires fuel," Brennan retorted. She was used to projecting an aura of self-sufficiency, but an errant part of her couldn't help but feel touched that her partner cared enough to monitor her eating habits.
"I'm just saying, you're going to have to keep your energy levels up if you want to carry on kicking everyone's collective ass, Bones."
"I realise that," she ground out, glaring at him in exasperation until his customary charm smile worked its magic and her expression gradually softened.
Simon was hoping that the exclamations of dissent would diminish of their own accord, but when the Agents showed no signs of quieting down, he stuck his fingers in his mouth, emitting a piercing whistle that resounded throughout the clearing and caused everyone in his vicinity - including Jenny - to flinch. "I thought that might get your attention," he yelled sarcastically. "Now, are you all finished whining like a bunch of three year olds? Because if your taste buds are that discerning, you could always hike to the nearest diner. It's only about twenty miles away," he informed them caustically, driving his point home by pointing into the distance. Then he stepped back, nodding towards Jenny and conveying a message that nobody else was party to.
"OK, you guys, there are a couple of other things you need to know while we've got your attention," Jenny stated loudly, her tone markedly more self-assured now that she had Simon to bolster her standpoint. "We've been pretty taken aback by how acrimonious a lot of your relationships are, and the vast majority of you clearly have a problem interacting with each other outside of a working environment - obviously, without realising the impact that kind of negativity can have on your professional relationships, too." She took a deep breath, receiving a look of encouragement from Simon. "We're all about fostering a positive mental attitude around here and, as I said before, we want to provide you with as many opportunities as possible to spend time getting to know your partner better, and to help you learn how to understand and appreciate your differences. Evidently, that isn't an easy thing to do when most of you aren't being very proactive about improving your relationships and you're using every activity as an excuse to hurt and insult each other."
Simon placed a hand on Jenny's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "What Jenny is obviously far too nice to say is that – with a few notable exceptions –" he glanced in the direction of Brennan and Booth, "You're a bunch of immature assholes who don't deserve your job titles. I don't give a shit if your boss paired you up because there was no one else left on the roster; there is no excuse for intentionally sabotaging an opportunity to become a better team and a bigger asset to the Bureau in the process. I know a lot of you harbour delusions about being professionals, but frankly, that's bullshit. I mean, just think about the image that you're projecting to other people for a second - because I know for damn sure that if I had suffered an injustice and Agent Johnson and Agent Norris turned up on my doorstep to tell me that they were the people in charge of making it all better, I'd slam the screen door in their faces. What idiot would put their faith in a partnership, when it's immediately apparent that the partners in question don't even have faith in each other?"
Simon's question hung thickly in the air, but was greeted with abject silence. Noticing the shame-faced expressions surrounding him, the imposing Guide turned his attention to Booth, his lips quirking slightly. "Agent Booth, I recognise a fellow serviceman when I see one. Would you want to go to war with any of these people?" he demanded, and Booth glanced up at him in surprise.
"I'd take Agent Lewis any day, but other than that, no, Sir," he responded with the crisp courteousness that had been instilled within him during his military years.
The Guide regarded him thoughtfully. "So, you wouldn't even want your own partner onside?" he demanded, his tone laced with both surprise and condemnation.
Booth glanced at Brennan, and the wounded expression on her face made his gut twist into a painful knot. "I'd put my life in her hands without question, Sir, I know she'd always have my back, but I… I wouldn't want to expose her to that. I wouldn't want to see her get hurt," he explained, silently willing Bones to meet his gaze, willing her to understand that he hadn't been questioning her competency, he'd been questioning his ability to handle losing what mattered to him the most.
Brennan glanced at him sharply, her expression unreadable. "That's not your decision to make, Booth," she said quietly, and their eyes locked intently until they realised that everyone else, including Simon, was staring at them with avid interest.
Sandra threw a tent peg in her partner's direction, offering him a wry smile. "You know, if you said things like that to me, Mark, I'd like you a whole lot better."
Everyone laughed, instantly diffusing the tension, and Simon allowed the group to enjoy a rare moment of unity before he clapped loudly to recapture their attention.
"OK, so I think I've made my point," he noted wryly, ""And, with that in mind, we've decided to set you another task for this evening. Now, from what I understand, partners often have to spend a lot of time together in a confined space… whether it be in cars, the interrogation room, looking over evidence together..." He sighed, already anticipating the pessimistic reaction his ensuing words were likely to have. "I know that kind of closeness is something most of you probably try to avoid unless it's absolutely necessary, but tonight, we're not going to give you that option. I know most of you have brought your own tents, but we're going to ask you to forsake them in favour of sharing with your partners."
There was a collective gasp of horror and, as per usual, Alex was the first to verbalise her objections.
"No," she said, shaking her head angrily. "I mean, I get what you're saying, I really do, but there is no fucking way that I'm getting gassed in my sleep."
"You'll be lucky if I don't smother you after what you put me through earlier," Bob retorted, eliciting a round of laughter.
"Let me ask you one thing," Sergio demanded, staring at Simon with a gaze that was almost as intimidating as the Guide's own, "Why the fuck did you stand there and watch us put up our tents if you knew damn well you were going to ask us to do this?" he spat out, clearly besides himself with anger. "I mean, what a waste of fucking time."
"No, it wasn't a waste of time," Simon informed him evenly, "Because we knew that a lot of you would be voicing your objections. And that's fine, if you really feel that you can't partake in this task, by all means, stay in your own tent. We don't want anyone losing sleep because they feel uncomfortable. Of course, that means you'll forfeit the three points that the partners who do manage to get through the night together will be awarded in the morning. In fact…" Simon looked thoughtful for a moment, "It would be fairer if we made this a permanent arrangement, just in case any of you change your mind after tonight - then you can reclaim points that you may have lost out on, or lose points that you may have gained, if you happen to discover that the experience was even more hideous than you'd anticipated. So…" he regarded Alex pointedly, "If you want to stay at the bottom of the league table, Agent Johnson, by all means, kick up a fuss."
Simon then turned to face the group in general. "Look guys, this task will either make or break you. For the sake of an easier, and much more enjoyable life, you can decide to cut the crap and try to get along with your partners, or you can continue to tear each other apart and drag everyone else down with you."
Booth made a valiant effort to listen to Simon's speech, but his thoughts were almost entirely consumed with the prospect of sharing a tent with his partner. It was going to be torture. Sweet, sweet torture. The scenarios playing on a continuous loop in his over-stimulated mind were limitless, and the hand that suddenly came to rest against his forearm certainly didn't help.
"Booth, are you all right? You look a little flustered," Brennan observed, neglecting to mention the inexplicable fluttering in her own stomach, or her elevated heart rate.
"Me? Yeah… no…. I mean, I'm good, Bones. I'm fine," Booth choked out, his bumbling speech pattern clearly emphasising that he was anything but.
"While I admit that it's… far from being an ideal situation, I'm… happy to undertake the task," Brennan informed him, her expression suddenly hesitant. "Unless… I mean… we don't have to… if you don't want to."
"No, it's… it's fine, Bones. I'm happy to… you know… give it a shot, if you are." So very, very happy. Booth hoped his grin wasn't too transparent. "I'm… pretty sure that I don't snore, or anything. You… you won't even know I'm there." Unless my subconscious takes over and I accidentally molest you in my sleep, he inwardly added.
Brennan nodded, looking thoughtful. "It's just that if Teresa and Otis – or Sergio and Dean, for that matter – complete the task, then we'll lose our position at the top of the leader board," she reasoned, in a desperate attempt to rationalise the surge of anticipation that she was currently feeling.
"That's not gonna happen, Bones," Booth reassured her with a tentative smile. "So…" he ventured after a moment's silence, "Which tent do you want to take? Yours or mine?"
"Well, mine is bigger," Brennan said needlessly, although suddenly the desire for her own space didn't seem quite so significant, "But yours probably offers better protection against the elements."
"Well, it is pretty windy," Booth observed, trying desperately hard not to smile. "And cold. My ground sheet's a lot thicker than yours."
Brennan nodded. "OK, I'll move my possessions into your tent once we've had dinner."
"Possessions?" Booth mocked, starting to laugh. "Why can't you just say 'stuff' like everyone else, Bones?"
"Because it is a ridiculously generic term that I dislike immensely," she countered, although she couldn't stop her lips from quirking in amusement. She glanced around at the Agents surrounding her, noticing their increasingly agitated state. "I don't know why everyone insists on making such a fuss," she complained, frowning. "I mean, it's no big deal, right? We're just sleeping together, that's all."
Booth's eyes widened, and then he accomplished the admirable feat of choking on his own saliva, relieved to see Simon walking towards them so he wouldn't have to explain the reason for his impromptu coughing fit.
"Ah, behold our reigning champions," Simon enthused, making something of a fanfare as he approached them. He eyed them with amusement, and then pulled a bottle of scotch from behind his back, discreetly handing it to Booth. "If it'd been anyone else, I would've given them the hot chocolate, but Jenny assures me that the likelihood of you two scratching each other's eyes out after consuming a couple of shots is pretty much non-existent. At least it'll warm your cockles tonight," he concluded wryly, leaning forwards conspiratorially. "Just don't drink too much, because we've got an early start tomorrow."
"I'm a very responsible drinker, and I have no intention of becoming inebriated," Brennan informed him earnestly, and Booth started to laugh.
"What she means to say is 'thank you very much,'" he informed their Guide wryly, rolling his eyes and shooting an affectionate smile in his partner's direction.
"I can speak for myself, Booth," she reprimanded him lightly, nudging his shoulder with her own before turning to appraise their Guide, "But yes, thank you very much."
"Did you two draw the short straw or something?" Simon asked, watching their interaction with an amused smile.
"I don't know what that means," Brennan informed him apologetically, turning to her partner with a quizzical expression on her face.
"Bones, one of these days I'm going to get you a bumper sticker," Booth joked, shaking his head despairingly. "That's kind of her catchphrase," he notified Simon, before hastening to explain the origin of the phrase to his partner. "It's similar to tossing a coin, Bones, except you use it when there's a larger group of people. If none of them wants to do a task, a member of the group takes a handful of straws and makes sure one of them is shorter than the rest, and whoever pulls the shortest one out of their hand ends up with the crappy deal. Simon basically means that he doesn't know why the hell we're here, either," he clarified, and his partner nodded to indicate that she understood.
"Does that mean we can go home?" Brennan asked, the hopeful tone she had been aiming for somehow amalgamating into one of disappointment instead.
"I'm afraid the rules are pretty rigid, Dr Brennan. Unless you happen to suffer a severe injury, the FBI has made it clear that you're obligated to complete all five days of the course. If you don't, you're deemed to have failed, and I'd hate to see you and Agent Booth suffer the repercussions of that when you're evidently going to pass with flying colours," Simon informed her regretfully.
"Can't you give us an official pardon or something?" Booth implored, and Simon started to laugh, shaking his head.
"Sorry, Agent Booth, no can do. I know it sounds like a hopeless cliché, but I'm a firm believer that everyone has something to learn from this experience, especially if they're amenable to the exercises from the outset, like you two. You could end up getting more out of this than anyone else, actually, and God knows, it'd be nice to have at least one success story to write home about," Simon joked wryly.
"I have to concede, that while I resent the assumption that Booth and I have anything in common with these people, and I disapprove of his superiors' arbitrary decision to send us here on such a tenuous basis, I have found the experience to be rather enjoyable and… enlightening thus far," Brennan admitted, and Booth offered her a warm smile.
"It looks like we're stuck in the madhouse for the duration, then, Bones," he deadpanned, and Simon grinned at them jovially.
"For what it's worth, I think you're both a very good influence on that rabble back there, and they're quickly going to realise that if they want to stand any chance of beating you, then they're going to have to make more of an effort to examine why you work so well together, and try to emulate that."
Booth snorted in amusement. "Well, they can try," he murmured, knowing perfectly well that what he and Bones shared wasn't something that could be replicated.
Simon nodded, reaching out to shake both of their hands. "OK, well, it was a pleasure meeting you both. I'll let you go and get freshened up now," he asserted amiably, and Booth clapped him lightly on the shoulder.
"Sure. Thanks, man," he said, and Simon nodded obligingly, sending a wink in their direction.
"You're welcome, Agent Booth - and make sure you keep up the good work, because you two make a great team."