Four weeks later…
Temperance Brennan looked up from the draft of the final report she was proofreading, distracted by the minor commotion outside her office. Angela's bubbly greeting stood out slightly amongst the indistinct voices of the other squints, "Well aren't we all tanned and toned." Then louder, apparently for her benefit, "Booth's back!"
Brennan smiled to herself as she placed the pages of the draft back into the manila file folder and set it on her desk, neatly aligned with the edge of the blotter. Angela's grinning head suddenly poked through her doorway and stage-whispered, "…and he brought Special Agent Cutie with him," before disappearing again.
She supposed Angela's Agent Cutie was the substitute Booth had said he was going to be bringing around to introduce. Booth had received word just yesterday he'd successfully passed the two week "tryouts", and was now up for the actual training course which would be much longer. She hoped this temporary liaison would be a good fit with her team like Booth had turned into, somewhat surprisingly.
This train of thought was cut short by the arrival of the two agents in her doorway; she stood to greet them. Booth smiled at her guardedly before introducing the two of them.
"Dr. Brennan, I'd like you to meet Agent Chad Williams. Chad, this is Dr. Temperance Brennan."
She shook hands with the blonde agent, absently noting his movie star good looks while digesting the fact Booth had apparently deliberately left off adding her nickname. His uncharacteristically strict adherence to formality must mean something…
'I'm pleased to meet you, Agent Williams. I'm sure we'll work well together." Behind Agent Williams' back, Booth rewarded her failure to add "Please call me Temperance" with a small grin and a nod. She assumed he'd fill her in shortly. He'd better.
His smooth and apparently manicured hands held on to hers a second or two longer than was really appropriate, mildly annoying her right off the bat.
"The pleasure is all mine, Dr. Brennan, and I must add I'm a big fan of your brilliant work, both on and off the page." He put a hand over his heart, "I dare say your jacket photo doesn't do you justice." He flashed what he probably considered a winning smile, "Please, I insist you call me Chad. May I take the liberty of calling you Temperance?"
She couldn't really say no although his presumption bothered her. His charm offensive was, well… offensive. This time she noted, with some amusement, Booth scowled.
Said agent interrupted, clapping his hands together, "Ok. Since we're done with the niceties, Chad, will you give the doctor and me a few minutes? We need to discuss a few things in private. Go out and talk to the rest of the crew and get 'em to show you just what they do." He sat down on Brennan's couch and loosened his tie.
"Sure, Booth." Williams left the office, closing the door after himself.
"And don't let the door knob hit you in the ass on the way out, " Booth muttered to his back, once the door was safely shut.
"Sorry about that, Bones," he grimaced.
"Why, what's wrong?" she asked.
"Oh, Williams is perfectly competent, but I just really don't like him. I asked Cullen for someone else, but he was all that was available."
"Well I don't see anything wrong with him," she teased, "or is this your famous 'gut' talking?" Her needling failed to get a rise out of him.
"Don't trust him fully, ok? He's an ambitious political type who just sees this gig as another high profile bullet for his resume. And he'd probably love nothing better than to worm his way in here, and push me aside if he could," he fumed.
She shook her head, "Never, I'd go on strike first. Seriously."
He laughed, "Now I'd pay tickets to see that, Cullen and Goodman both popping aneurysms." Having vented, he gave her a sheepish grin, "Just don't you dare let him call you his partner. We're the partners."
"Not a chance," she agreed with a smile. "Even without your warning, he struck me as a little too slick."
"He's as phony as they come, but women generally don't see it for some reason. They usually eat his smooth-talking BS right up. He'll probably see you as something of a challenge, a trophy - don't fall for it."
"Hardly. I'm not like other women."
"No, you're not," he agreed, smiling warmly at her for several moments.
She couldn't help but smile back at what he'd clearly intended as a compliment. There was not even a hint of irony. His smile lasted a little too long, almost making her uncomfortable, but then she wondered when she'd first begun to realize that he wasn't just patriarchically territorial, controlling, but was being protective because he cared.
She cleared her throat, breaking the pregnant silence.
"I'm glad that's all settled. When does your training start?"
"The new cycle starts next Monday down at Quantico, then after a couple weeks it's the Marine Corps Scout/Sniper School down in Camp Lejeune with the friggin' jarheads for a couple more. We're also supposed to go borrow Delta's shooting house down at Fort Bragg for a change of pace."
Something prodded her to suggest, "Since you'll be out of pocket a while, why don't we plan on meeting for dinner Sunday evening?" She fumbled slightly, "Ah, that is, if you're already packed."
"That's a great idea. I'd love to," he happily agreed.
Then he sat in silence for a minute, rubbing his chin as he looked off into space, his face growing more thoughtful as she watched. She waited patiently, knowing by now that that look meant he wanted to share something important to him. She mentally patted herself on the back, knowing Angela would be pleased with her newfound empathy.
Finally he sat forward on the edge of the couch and spoke, still not looking at her...
"This is where it starts to get real, not so academic anymore. In just a couple months I'll be on call – I'm already past the biggest hurdle and well on my way..."
"Are you ready for that?" she asked. She got up from her chair and came around to lean back against the front of her desk, across from him.
He continued softly, not directly answering her question, "When you kill someone as a sniper it's different than being in the middle of a firefight. In both cases you pull the trigger, but in sniping from a set-up position in cover it's not 'kill or be killed', you can't pretend to yourself that its simply self-defense. You're deliberately putting a man down, who was no immediate threat to you, possibly not even a threat to your buddies. You have time to watch them smoke, smile or scratch themselves before you pull that trigger. To get the job done you have to just see them as targets, but sometimes late at night I still think about it." He sighed. "Intellectually I know they had it coming, but still…"
She wanted to offer him something…
"But they really were the enemy. And, anyway, you were doing your duty, following orders."
He gave a snide laugh then looked up right at her, intently. "Would you excuse those death squads down in Central America with 'They were only following orders'?"
"No," she whispered.
"Then don't do it for me. It's up to me to make sure I don't lose sight of right and wrong, and know when to shoot, or not. Or how to regret killing even though it was necessary, even if it was deserved."
"But you don't have to be alone. I'm here for you," she said.
That finally broke through his mood a little, earning her a bittersweet smile. She was truly moved by his concern with the morality of his actions, displaying depths she never expected.
"Forty-three," he added softly, looking right in her eyes.
"What?" she asked, just as softly.
"Forty-three formally confirmed kills," he explained. "Probably about that many more unconfirmed." He grimaced, "Half didn't even have a weapon in their hands."
She truly thought she was being helpful…
"If you're looking for absolution, perhaps you should see a priest," she said slowly.
She knew instantly it was the wrong thing to say as Booth jerked like she'd slapped him in the face, stunned. Looking everywhere but at her, after a moment he awkwardly rose to his feet, shaking hands aimlessly patting his pockets like he was making sure he had not misplaced his keys, smoothing down imaginary wrinkles, not seeing anything in her office, face a pale mask.
"Sure… sorry to have bothered you," he mumbled, voice uneven as he turned to the door.