A/N
Here is Part 2 of the original Mother of All Chapters, clocking in at about 6,600 words (not counting the A/N!) and grown so big I was tempted to split it again.
This chapter is dedicated to goldpiece's nervous stomach ache :)
I'll shut up now and let the work hopefully speak for itself…
Monday, Jeffersonian Museum, 11AM
Brennan led the way to Goodman's office, grumbling to Angela the whole way. When they arrived he was standing with his back to the door, apparently lost in contemplation. They paused, and it was Angela knocked who on the doorframe.
He turned and sat down in his chair, "Please come in and have a seat."
Brennan took the left hand chair and Angela the right one.
Angela couldn't quite hide a smirk. If these walls could talk. Jack had apologized to her after he saw Tempe, and he'd even talked to Zach.
"Is something amusing, Ms.Montenegro?" Goodman asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Uh, no sir." But at least Goodman was smiling. Perhaps he suspected what she was thinking. Behave.
"Good." He clasped his hands in front of him on the desk blotter. "Dr. Brennan, I presume Ms. Montenegro filled you in on the essentials?"
"Yes sir." She wasn't bothering to hide her frown of disapproval. "Some kind of last minute 'dog and donkey' show for a visiting VIP takes priority."
Goodman's eyes widened in puzzlement at the curiously mangled expression.
Before he could speak Angela interrupted, "Excuse me." She turned to Brennan, "I think she meant 'dog and pony' show." Out of Goodman's line of sight below the edge of the desk, she gave her friend a kick.
At Brennan's 'Ow!", Angela didn't look at her and instead just smiled sweetly at Goodman.
The director just shook his head to recover his obviously derailed train of thought and continued without comment.
"Where was I… ah, yes, just a little while ago I received a phone call from one of the Jeffersonian's Trustees requesting a tour of the Lab as a personal favor..."
Brennan interrupted him, "Then how come you're not the one giving it?"
Wow. She really was touchy, Angela thought. She was surprised that Goodman actually replied more or less patiently instead of snapping back at her.
"Because you were the one requested by name." Goodman looked like he was enjoying himself.
Brennan was taken aback, and fortunately had the good grace to settle down. "I'm sorry for interrupting," she apologized.
"Accepted. The tour is not for the Trustee, Dr. Harkness, but rather he requested it on behalf of a new benefactor of this institution, a Mr. Joshua Pollard the Fourth. The tour is actually for his favorite niece, one Miss Emily Pollard. It is simply unfortunate that we did not have any more notice."
It still wasn't computing for Brennan. She just didn't get the connection to her.
"You mean we have to stoop to kissing babies now? When there's real work to be done?"
Goodman sat back and steepled his fingers, "In a word… yes."
Brennan could tell which way the wind was blowing but still she groaned.
"Let me provide you with some more context. As I told Ms. Montenegro, I don't think you will actually find this task too onerous." For what it was worth Goodman seemed sympathetic. "Mr. Pollard is the executor of his mother's estate. It seems the dearly departed made a bequest in her will of one million dollars to the Jeffersonian. It turns out that young Miss Pollard is entering Johns Hopkins in the fall, skipping her senior year in high school. She has her eye on a career in forensics, inspired largely by you. She is a fan and apparently told her uncle of the valuable work done here at the Medico-Legal Lab. He did some investigation, and at his discretion, the entire lump sum of the bequest has been specifically earmarked to this Laboratory."
He leaned forward again and gripped the edge of his desk. "I trust you can do the arithmetic?" It wasn't really a question.
"Yes sir." She resigned herself to it, on today of all days when she had too much on her mind as it was. But she was cornered. Checkmate. She looked at the ceiling and sighed.
"Really, Dr. Brennan, as I said, I think you will actually enjoy yourself. The young lady is supposed to be extremely intelligent, and I can't imagine you would want to turn your back on the chance to mentor someone of her caliber with regards to your chosen profession.
She had to admit he had her there. "What about Angela?" she asked.
"You two will meet Miss Emily and her mother Janice when the next IMAX showing is over in fifteen minutes, in the gallery outside the auditorium, and bring them back here for a tour of the lab,. You will also take them to lunch, and make them happy in general. As another woman, the Pollards may also appreciate Ms. Montenegro's charming company." His eye held a mischievous twinkle. "At least she can help you with the small talk."
"Hey!" It was clear that Angela wasn't sure if she'd received a compliment or a put-down.
Goodman chuckled at her expression. "Or you can think of it as moral support. Seriously, we want to put on a good show, and your holographic system is most impressive."
Mollified, Angela stuck out her tongue at him anyway.
"Besides, whom else should I send, one of your male colleagues?"
Both women laughed at that.
He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a small envelope which he slid across the desk to Brennan. "That is some petty cash so you don't have to file for reimbursement for your luncheon. Make us proud. Now if you don't have any more questions that will be all."
Brennan asked, "How will we spot them?"
"I don't know. Make a sign," Goodman suggested curtly and picked up some of his paperwork. It was clear they were dismissed.
She rolled her eyes at Angela as they got up and left. Back in the hall Angela said she needed just a few minutes before they left. Brennan went back to her office to go online to determine when the current showing would be over.
- - - - - - -
"Let's go. It's showtime!"
Brennan looked up to see Angela in her doorway, the freshly made sign under her arm. She logged off her computer and joined her, taking only her key card.
After they left the lab they entered the long corridor which connected their annex to the L-shaped west wing of the actual Jeffersonian Museum. At first they both commiserated about the total lack of notice for their errand, then they briefly discussed Hodgins' apology. Brennan was pleasantly surprised to learn that not only had the man apologized to Angela, he'd even spoken to Zach. Now if only it would go as well with Booth later. Speaking of whom, she thought to herself, she was in such turmoil that she couldn't decide if she would be more angry or relieved if the 'dog and pony show' conflicted with his visit. She was a conflicted mess. She lapsed into silence, and fortunately Angela sensed it and let her be on the long walk. They were still in the secure, non-public rear of the wing filled with various offices, archives and preservation/restoration work areas.
Just when Brennan was ready to broach the subject of her feelings for Booth and her dilemma, they began running into various acquaintances in the curatorial staff. She was frustrated their talk would have to wait – she really needed to vent. They finally entered the public area through a security door which was totally non-descript on the outside but for an 'Authorized Personnel Only' sign and a key card reader. Her spirits perked up a bit because they were now in the Natural History exhibit hall. The four storey high atrium was dominated by the striking skeletons of an attacking gape-jawed allosaurus and its prey, a stegosaurus with its spiked tail raised in a defensive posture.
With some difficulty they quickly worked their way through the large spring time crowd full of school field trips and families vacationing on their spring breaks. Just before they reached the west entrance of the Rotunda they hung a right and entered the semi-circular Gallery which wrapped around behind the Rotunda to the east wing, and behind which was the IMAX theatre, their destination. The Gallery was crowded with a long queue snaking back upon itself full of people waiting for the next showing. The website had warned that the mid-day showtimes were regularly sold out and looking at the horde of tourists she could believe it. The architects had really designed the gallery too small in her opinion.
They waited a few more minutes off to the side, amusing themselves with observations of the human diversity on display until Brennan checked her watch again and noted the movie should already have let out. She and Angela went over to check with the usher at the velvet rope blocking the entrance.
"Excuse me, but I'm waiting for some friends to get out of the 10:15 showing. Is there a problem?"
The usher, a college-aged kid, answered, "Yes ma'am." She cringed inwardly – he made her feel old. " There were some technical difficulties with the first run this morning and it's running a little late. Instead of canceling a show they're trying to slowly get caught back up." He looked at his watch. "It should be about fifteen more minutes."
"Thanks." Angela replied for both of them, and led her over to sit on a bench in the slightly less noisy area by the south entrance to the Rotunda.
"Now that we have some time and some privacy, you are going to spill it." Angela's expression was determined.
Brennan looked at the mass of people all around their bench and smiled at Angela's definition of privacy. Then on second thought she supposed anonymity in a large crowd was effectively the same thing.
She started to open her mouth and paused, not having the slightest idea where to begin…
Angela went directly to the heart of the matter. "What's going on? All last week you were very happy, if a little nervous, about Booth coming back. You told me you had a great time with him, but today you don't seem very happy at all, a bundle of nerves as a matter of fact. What's wrong?
"Nothing," she said, "…and everything." She sighed, knowing she wasn't making any sense.
Angela persisted, confident in her ability to 'fix' things. "Let me guess. You ended up having fantastic sex with a hot guy you work with, but now it's Monday and you regret it?"
"No!" Angela was half right.
"The sex was terrible?"
"No!" Brennan couldn't help herself and laughed at Angela's expression of utter disbelief.
"You're upset because you didn't have sex?"
Now she knew Angela was using humor to coax her into opening up, and she didn't mind her friend's machinations. It was working.
She laughed once more. "No."
Then she continued more quietly, "We haven't even kissed. I think we almost did, a couple of times, but he's moving very slowly.."
Angela sighed and patted her hand. "Oh, sweetie… it's not about sex at all, is it." It was more of a statement than a question.
Brennan nodded in agreement. "We had an absolutely wonderful time together, Saturday as well as Friday night, but today…" She threw up her hands. She hated the way she sounded so weak and whiny.
"I know… you think you might really be in love with him. Yesterday it wasn't so scary, but today you're overwhelmed." Angela nailed it.
Although she had assiduously avoided the L-word herself, Brennan softly said, "Yes," simply grateful that Angela understood these things that confused her so much. She felt foolish for not more fully confiding in her friend sooner.
Angela continued, "You know you're right to be concerned about mixing up work and your personal life, but you're also afraid you might miss out on the real thing."
She nodded again, "Moving forward with him feels like taking a foolish risk, one I that can plainly see, but I feel like I'm being a coward if I don't. I want to be with him, but all I see are problems."
She proceeded to tell Angela about her latest fears regarding her expert witness status, but her friend interrupted her.
"Sweetie, that's definitely a case of getting the cart before the horse. If there's no relationship then that's all moot. If there is a relationship, and it's a great one, then it may be worth the inconvenience and risks anyway."
Brennan couldn't believe what she was hearing. "You call a threat to our partnership, to my career, an 'inconvenience'?"
Angela persevered, "I'm sorry, perhaps that wasn't the best choice of words, but look at it this way… your partnership with Booth could end at any time anyway. The FBI does mandatory transfers of agents all the time. Would you want to let him leave you without ever knowing how you feel about him?"
"No." She knew about the transfers but had not thought about it lately.
"Well looking at it another way, if the price of being with him was not working together as partners any more, wouldn't it still be worth it if he was yours every night, every weekend?"
Brennan licked her lips before answering in a small voice, "Maybe." She desperately wanted to believe her friend but couldn't quite let go of her fears.
Angela had one more argument to make, one that dredged up painful memories of her own.
"Remember our talk after Kirk died?"
"Yes," she said simply.
Angela continued, "When I told you I regretted not letting Kirk into my life more than our three weeks a year, you said that at least then I had him one hundred percent, which was more than you'd ever had."
Brennan nodded without saying anything, looking down at her hands on her lap.
Angela went on trying to get through to her, "I think Booth is your shot at that one hundred percent. You told me that the universe is such a big place that I will find real love again some day." She paused.
Brennan looked back up at Angela and nodded again.
"Well I haven't, not yet. The fact is that we may only get one chance, if that. I will never stop regretting keeping Kirk at arms' length. I guess I just assumed he would always be there, that I could always let him in later. I was wrong."
Brennan felt her eyes tear up, and it was her turn to squeeze Angela's hand. She had not known it still troubled her so.
"Sweetie, I just don't want you to make the same mistake out of fear. As hard as it is for you, sometimes you need to let your heart lead instead of your head."
Brennan could barely speak. "I'll try," came out in a croak.
Angela gave her her best full dimple smile, "That's all I can ask for."
Brennan felt her spirits lift and couldn't help but smile back. She wondered what she had ever done to deserve such wonderful friend. She followed up with a quiet question of her own…
"Do you think he… loves me?"
Angela replied, "I think you already have a good idea what the answer is to that question. And he'll have to tell you himself at some point. But, for what it's worth, Booth is more devoted to you than a lot of husbands. He has been for a long time."
Brennan nodded at the simple truth of it.
Angela wasn't quite finished with her. "Will you promise me something?"
"What?" she asked cautiously.
"Just be… open… even though it can be scary. Don't panic and shut him out. Deal?"
"Deal." Brennan hugged her tight.
"Oh, and one more thing…"
Brennan pulled back and looked at her askance, unable to imagine what else there could possibly be to discuss.
"Promise to talk to me sooner next time? And I'll promise to listen first and tease later."
"Always." Brennan hugged her best friend again. "Thank you."
"I just want you to be happy. Both of you. You two deserve it." Angela gave her a squeeze and let her go before looking at her watch again. "The movie should be letting out any minute." It was about time.
"Where's the sign?" Brennan asked.
Angela looked around and retrieved the missing sign from the floor beside their bench. It had the last name "Pollard" which she'd actually hand-lettered in a flowery script with an honest-to-God manual calligraphy pen using bottled ink. They both got up and headed toward the IMAX exits to find the girl Emily and her mother.
Brennan chuckled, "It would be a shame for all your hard work on it to be wasted."
The artist stuck out her tongue at her as she held up the sign in front of her. "This is so stupid. I feel like I'm picking up someone at the airport."
Just then the pair of double doors opened and the crowd began boiling out into the gallery between the theater and the rotunda which was already packed with the line of people waiting for the next sold-out showing.
They stood there, feeling like idiots, not having the slightest idea for whom they were looking other than a woman and her teenaged daughter. Come to think of it, Brennanfelt doubly foolish because realized she had simply assumed they were Caucasian, which might not be the case at all. Fortunately their suspense was ended when a well dressed blonde woman in her late forties and a gawky but otherwise cute brunette girl with glasses approached them first.
The woman addressed her tentatively, "Dr. Brennan?"
"Yes, that's me. Mrs. Pollard I presume?" She held out her hand and they shook.
"Call me Janice, please." She turned toward her daughter, "This is Emily."
"Pleased to meet you." They shook as well. Brennan remembered her manners and introduced Angela, who noticed that the daughter was holding Brennan's first novel with her photo on the back of the dust jacket. She laughed, "Another fan I see. I didn't need this thing after all." She tossed the sign in to a nearby trash can.
Apparently that emboldened the otherwise shy girl, who in some ways reminded Brennan of herself at that age, "While we're here could you sign my book?"
"Emily!" Apparently her mother thought she was being pushy.
"It's ok. I don't get recognized in public so signing autographs is still a bit of a thrill for me too." Brennan took a pen out of her pocket and signed her usual 'Best Wishes…' scrawl. She'd try to think of something else to personalize it more after getting to know her.
In spite of admonishing her daughter seconds earlier, Janice apparently shared the innate ability of all parents to embarrass their teenaged offspring.
"She really is your biggest fan. On the drive in she was just asking me if I thought she'd be able to find out if the love interest in your story is based on a real man in your life."
"Mother!" Emily was obviously mortified.
Angela noted apparently she wasn't the only one as Brennan wasted no time at all reflexively pooh-poohing the notion with her stock disclaimer.
"All of the characters in my novels are purely fictitious."
Angela found that particularly hilarious given the subject of the heart-to-heart they had just had. She a put a hand over her mouth to hide her grin at her friend's unmistakable discomfiture as Brennan hurriedly changed the subject.
"So… Dr. Goodman says you're interested in forensics and going to Johns Hopkins next year?"
The girl answered shyly but proudly, "Yes, Dr. Brennan…"
Brennan interrupted, "Please, call me Temperance."
Emily gave her a grateful smile, warming up some more, "Yes, Temperance. I haven't decided if I want to do it by way of medicine or physical anthropology. At least I don't have to make up my mind for a while longer."
"Well one of the deciding factors should be if you want to be bothered with live patients or not along the way." She smiled at Emily's laugh in response. Perhaps Goodman was right – she just might enjoy herself after all.
After a little more small talk with Janice and Emily, it was Angela who finally made the suggestion, "It's so noisy in here, why don't we head on back to the lab?"
Emily was eager. "That would be fantastic."
As they started to move Brennan thought of something…
"Are you going to tour the rest of the museum after visiting the lab and having lunch with us?"
Janice looked at her daughter before replying, "Yes, absolutely. It seems several of the big exhibits have changed since the last time we were here years ago. But probably just for an hour or so at most. I'm afraid we really need to leave before rush hour."
She could definitely help them out. "Do you have the brochure?"
Emily checked her pockets and came up empty. "I guess it fell out in the theater."
"No problem. Let me go get one and I'll mark it up for the exhibits which I think you'll find the most interesting. Wait right here." They were just outside the south opening of the Rotunda directly opposite the museum entrance.
"That would be wonderful! Thank you."
Brennan entered the Rotunda, which was thankfully somewhat less crowded than the Gallery. She was looking for the small stand of brochures which seemed to migrate around the place, which she finally located but only to find it empty. She crossed the Rotunda toward the buildings' foyer at the front where she knew several volunteers were always passing them out to entering visitors.
As always, she spared a moment to look around her as she walked. The subtly elegant Rotunda, particularly late on a quiet evening, inspired in her a rare feeling of what might be called reverence. As sappy as it sounded, her museum really was a temple of learning, a bulwark of civilization. It evoked in her a mood that she imagined must be like what Booth felt in a quiet cathedral. Just before she entered the foyer she patted the case of an old friend, the nearly 3,400 year old remains of an Egyptian priest-physician dating from the 18th Dynasty reign of one of the Amenhoteps. The mummy in its nitrogen filled display case and its elegant sarcophagus upright beside it were the first exhibits to greet visitors on this side of the Rotunda.
She obtained a brochure from one of the senior citizen volunteers, a short silver-haired man who vaguely reminded her of her grandfather, only kinder. After thanking him she turned around to head back inside, but for some reason her eye was caught by a cute little redheaded girl waiting in the line of people having their bags checked by Security. The little girl smiled sweetly and waved at her, totally oblivious to the adults around her apparently aggravated by the man at the front of the line whose backpack was holding things up. Brennan couldn't resist smiling, and waved back before continuing.
As she turned she practically bumped into two white-shirted security guards, one of whom she recognized from the Lab.
"Hi, Bob. What are you doing up here today?"
He was so intent on where he was going, it took him a second to recognize her. "Oh, hi, Dr. Brennan! They stepped up our rotation schedule. If you'll excuse me, I really have to go help out up front." He gestured to the growing line behind her and moved to catch up with his partner.
He seemed in a hurry and she didn't want to hold him up. "Sure. See you around."
She had just reentered the Rotunda and passed the mummy again when she heard a man's shout behind her cut short by the world-shattering explosion that blew her off her feet.
- - - - -
Lost in thought Booth had been driving on auto-pilot and so was surprised to already see the Ellipse and the White House in the distance to his left off Constitution. Immediately ahead to his right he could see the Washington Monument, and through the trees beyond it, he could just make out part of the Jeffersonian on the south side of the Mall. A couple of yellow school buses were just leaving the front of the museum's main entrance. He suddenly had to brake for the traffic backed up from the light at 14th Street which he almost hadn't seen in time while he was getting his bearings. 14th was where he would turn to cut across the Mall just past the Monument to get to the lab.
He was still shaking his head at almost ruining his lunch plans by causing a traffic accident in his official vehicle when the intermittent muted chatter on the FBI radio was interrupted by four rapid squawks. All foolishness left his head -- that was always a bad sign. He turned the volume back up.
"Calling all mobile units. Situation Tango, repeat, situation Tango! Apparent suicide bombings just reported in Union Station and the Judiciary Square Metro station, with substantial casualties. Teams are already en route from HQ. All other agents hold your current position report in on alternate channels. Await further orders. Secret Service is responding to a vehicle explosion on H Street at Lafayette Park behind the White House. Repeat, Situation Tango."
He slapped the dash. "God dammit!" It had always been just a matter of time, but they didn't have the slightest warning. The alert level was not elevated at all.
He changed the channel and keyed the mike, "Dispatch, 22705…"
He reported his position and was told to sit tight. It was obviously a coordinated attack and they were waiting to see if another shoe was going to drop, so no point in bunching up agents prematurely. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Traffic was congested enough that there was little point in turning on his flashers. The light should change any second anyway. While he waited he tried to call Temperance's cell number to warn her to sit tight and check the news but he couldn't get through at all. "Sonuvabitch!" After trying once more he had to resist the urge to throw his phone out the window – he'd just remembered that one of the contingency plans called for cutting or jamming all mobile phone service in the immediate aftermath since the phones were an excellent poor man's remote control for a detonator. She was going to have to look after herself. He had to settle for reminding himself that security in the Lab was actually pretty good.
The light finally changed and traffic started moving again. He turned right, where he'd been going to cross the Mall anyway, to get out of the major traffic flow which was going to get snarled up any minute with roadblocks and emergency vehicles. This was as good a place as any to wait. He immediately saw a clear spot on the opposite side of the street and cut across traffic to pull up onto the sidewalk on the left side. He had to honk a couple of times to clear a gaggle of tourists out of the way. This left him facing the famous "Museum Row" of the Mall's east end, with the Reflecting Pool and the Capitol Building in the distance – "Target Row" in his view. All three of the spots hit so far were off to the north or northwest, and he had a very bad feeling in his gut.
In his desperate need for more information he satisfied his senses by cutting the engine, rolling down all the windows of the SUV, and muting the radio volume again. In the distance he could hear the sirens of a fleet of police cars, fire trucks, and ambulances together with what must be dozens of car alarms and at least one chopper in the air. They were responding while he had to ignore the nearly overpowering urge to go help and instead twiddle his thumbs while he waited for hopefully nothing to happen. Gambler that he was there was no way in hell he'd bet on that.
Booth debated with himself as to whether or not he should get out his rifle and set up just in case. On the other hand he didn't want to cause a panic, and it wasn't like it was open season on guys wearing backpacks anyway. Just as he reached for the radio to ask for advice, he heard what he'd been fearing, the sound of an explosion. The sharp report echoed off the buildings in the area making it hard to determine its location. He grabbed the small binoculars he kept in the console, opened his door and stood on the edge of door frame, his head above the SUV's roof, using the extra height to try to locate the source. He quickly scanned the Mall, beginning with the National Museum of American History which was nearly due east, then the Natural History Museum, the Gallery, the Capitol building at the far end, and finally around past the Smithsonian to almost directly south to the Jeffersonian, several football fields away, where he saw a faint cloud of dust and smoke, shattered windows across most of the front entrance, and the bodies of several victims at the top of the steps... some of whom must surely be dead given how badly they were mangled. Bright red arterial blood was already starting to flow down the steps. He noticed an African-American maintenance worker leaning out of an upper storey window to the right of the entrance using his radio, no doubt calling for help as he too surveyed the devastation.
First Booth's blood ran cold. Fucking bastards! Animals... Then he tried to suppress the hot rage he felt growing within him. This was his city, his house. He'd come to think of the Jeffersonian as a second home. Motherfuckers're gonna pay. But to make sure that happened he had a job to do in the meantime. He took one deep breath and let it out slowly. Gotta be cool, make it count…
He hopped down then noticed his hand was shaking as he reached back into the vehicle for the walkie-talkie style transceiver with the corded mike – which also made him vow to find and beat the crap out of the bureaucrat who'd denied him a proper radio earlier --, and he paused for a second, making it stop by force of will. Steady… this was no time for the shakes, not yet, not by a damn sight. It was going to be a long day.
He radioed it in, trying to keep his voice level, cool, professional, "Dispatch, 22705. There's been another attack, an explosion at the Jeffersonian..."
The only consolation as he reported the few details he had was the knowledge that Temperance and the rest of the squints should be safe back in the lab, which was in an annex off the west wing, well away from the public areas and not an obvious target for any terrorists.
- - - - - -
Brennan slowly recovered from her initial shock where she lay on the floor bruised and stinging with dozens of cuts amidst broken glass and other rubble, her sharpest sensation being a burning pain deep in her left calf which upon examination was now bloody, with a deep puncture wound to the gastrocnemus muscle which felt like it still contained the shrapnel. Next she pulled an inch long bloody shard of glass out of her left triceps, but it did not hurt nearly as much as the leg. She ignored the myriad lesser lacerations, abrasions, and contusions. The ringing in her ears at first prevented her from hearing the wounded and panicked people she vaguely noted away from her. She could more clearly smell the smoke made acrid by whatever explosive must have been used as well as the iron tang of fresh blood mixed with the fouler stench of charred flesh and a whiff of fecal matter.
But her eyes worked all too well as she began to right herself -- she could not stop staring at the nearby overturned and shattered case of the priceless mummy where a woman's leg lay with the ancient remains spilled out on to the floor. It had been violently severed at the knee, the bloody patella still dangling from the tibia by the patellar ligament, but somehow the most disturbing thing, which made the horror all too real, was the white sneaker bright with spattered blood.
She remained there on her hands and knees, fixated on the limb in a daze for several long seconds. She then turned to look back at the destroyed foyer and instantly regretted it. She tried to be clinical as she viewed the carnage: the surfaces pockmarked by shrapnel, the smoldering debris, the obvious corpses and the body parts, some still steaming. She made herself ignore what she realized were the badly mangled remains of one of the security guards thrown near her, perhaps Bob with whom she'd just spoken, and she forced herself not to look for the grandfatherly volunteer or the little girl. But there was yet one more shock that rocked her tenuous hold on detachment. In the middle of the devastation there lay the more or less intact head of what must have been the suicide bomber, somehow eerily spared by the outward blast of his exploding bomb vest.
- - - - -
Booth leaned into the vehicle again to trigger the powered liftgate. He was going to check the big first aid kit before driving over to help the wounded, but he still kept his eyes on the museum a few hundred yards away while the gate was rising. The earlier crowd out front had dissipated, those not killed, wounded, or merely bowled over by the blast running the rest of the way down the broad front steps and scattering in either direction along Jefferson, the narrow street out front. He could easily hear some of the screams and cries all the way over here, but he was pleased to note a few bystanders that were made of sterner stuff. A half dozen men were actually heading up the steps, and he thanked God for good Samaritans. He took a one more glimpse through the binoculars and saw that one of the men already near the top of the steps was looking upward, talking to someone.
Booth remembered the maintenance guy in the upper window and tracked upward, finding him in the same spot. It took him half a second for the incongruity of binoculars around the man's neck to sink in. Suddenly that clicked with the fact that most of the men below were wearing jackets in the most horrifying Eureka moment of his life – the man in the window was one of the bad guys, a spotter, a traitor on the inside, and it meant the shit wasn't through hitting the fan yet.
Jut as Booth was about to drop his binoculars and run to the back of the SUV his worst fears were confirmed: one of the men pulled out a folding stock 'paratrooper' AK from underneath his jacket and cut down one of the others, apparently a real good Samaritan in the wrong place at the wrong time. The short burst of fire sent the stragglers in the fleeing crowd screaming in terror all over again. At the same instant the one man closest to the top of the steps started running full speed toward the entrance.
"SHIT!"
Booth tossed the binoculars on the seat and ran for the back of the SUV. The backpack the running guy was wearing certainly contained a bomb – he was the only one who had not produced a rifle. It was a race to see if he could get his rifle into play before the shooters made it inside, and the stakes were life and death... and he'd been totally suckered.
"Get back, FBI!" he shouted at the gawkers in his way at the back of the vehicle.
- - - - -
Brennan realized her hearing was starting to return as the sound of her own pounding pulse slowly gave way to the still muffled screams and cries for help. Looking at the damage wrought on this side of the Rotunda, and given the fact she appeared to be the only one relatively unscathed this close to the blast, she could only conclude that the now fallen sarcophagus must have partially shielded her. Adrenaline starting to surge as the fight or flight reflex instinct kicked in, she awkwardly struggled to her feet. She had just managed to stand, favoring her hurt leg, before she was nearly knocked down again as a man rushed past her into the Rotunda. She could just make out his repeated shouts as he rounded the corner toward the Security office, "Allahu Akhbar!" Arabic for 'God is great', before the concussion of another explosion tore at the building. She fell once more.
- - -
Booth forced himself to ignore the rumble of the new explosion deeper in the bowels of the museum as he set down the transceiver and focused on the most important task in the entire world, dialing the combination of the big arms locker perfectly the first time. Mercifully the locked lid opened and he lunged at the case of the PSG-1 sniper rifle which he tore open. He pulled out the rifle and snatched a 20 round magazine. As he stepped around the side of the SUV for a clear view of the building he inserted the mag, yanked back the charging handle on the left forestock and let it go, the rifle jerking as the first round in the mag was slammed into the chamber by the closing bolt. No time for finesse, he flipped up the cap over the front of the scope, and toggled off the safety as he brought the rifle up to his shoulder to shoot from an un-braced standing position, a real stretch at nearly 400 meters. He acquired the entrance of the museum through the scope just in time to see the last gunman escape inside, and he quickly scanned the top of the steps hoping against hope for a shot. Goddammit! He'd lost the race.
No luck with a second chance either -- the glare of the brightly sunlit building exterior made it impossible to see into the interior, dark by comparison, for any distance. Even if he could have seen a target just inside, he couldn't be sure about the background in case his round penetrated or missed.
Reluctant to give up, he continued scanning the front of the building for a few more seconds before finally lowering the rifle in defeat. Blinking back tears of frustrated, impotent rage he wanted to hit something, hard. His right hand let go of the pistol grip and balled into a fist on its own, but he managed to suppress the instinctive urge to punch the only thing handy, the SUV. Breaking his trigger hand would have left him even more fucked than he already was -- the near loss of control helped sober him. He stepped back into the shadow of the liftgate and radioed in the new developments in a voice artificially devoid of emotion while watching the building.
In the distance he could hear the scattered pops of gunfire from inside the museum.
He was an elite sniper with nothing to shoot at, who'd let his targets get away.
He had failed, and more innocent people were probably dying this very instant as a result.
In other words he was fucking useless.
A/N – long this time, but please read.
Poor guy – all the above action takes place within just a couple minutes of the first bomb, and there is no way humanly possible that Booth could have done any better but that won't stop him from blaming himself.
I hope the long, long delay to get here was worth it for my faithful readers.
If, after the long buildup to get you invested in my version of Booth & Brennan, I didn't get at least a couple of WTFs, OMGs or 'Holy $hits!' out of you while reading this chapter then I have failed.
Since this chapter is so long, and I passed on the opportunity to split it in two (tand a chance to milk more reviews, LOL), I would appreciate some longer reviews if possible. Once it was big enough, breaking it right after Brennan is blown up the first time could have worked, but I decided to pass on the cheap cliffhanger and instead keep going, allowing the tension to continue to build.
BTW, how's that stomach now, goldpiece? cues diabolical laughter
This chapter should have been dedicated to all of you who apparently forgot this story is not just a romance (part of the master plan, actually). Go back and read the original story summary on mammoth chapter probably needed to sit for a day or so and get another once over, from stem to stern, but I was tired of wrestling it and you were tired of waiting for it.
FWIW I have no beta reader. All typos, errors and general stupidity are my own.
I do want to thank a2zmom for some advice along the way.
PLEASE REVIEW AWAY… and if you've never reviewed me but have been reading, now's the time if you're ever going to do it! Anonymous reviews are turned on.
A few other points…
I am taking artistic license with the layout of the Jeffersonian, assuming that the exterior shot we always see with the fountain is just the building housing the Medico-Legal Lab and not the museum proper.
Oh, and if you want to know what the sniper rifle looks like, search LiveJournal for user newscaper, and scroll down to the post for the first chapter.
The bit about finding the bomber's head is for real – the force of a bomb vest goes inward and outward radially, obliterating the torso and nearby objects/people, but not directly upward. The Israelis know all about it.
In general, in this story nearly everything that looks like a fact actually Is one.
One more thing – the chapters will be generally be going back to more manageable lengths – that will also let me update more frequently. Funny thing is, I've had some of the later parts more nailed down than things in the middle.