An agitated Special Agent Seeley Booth paced back and forth upon the raised platform of the Jeffersonian Institute's Medico-Legal Lab where Dr. Temperance Brennan performed her thorough investigations into the remains of dozens upon dozens of murder victims along with her team of professional support staff, colloquially referred to as squints by Agent Booth.
Booth had not been himself, at the moment he was impatient, and angry almost at the time it was taking Brennan and her team to discover the cause of death of their current victim.
The group of highly intelligent squints worked diligently over the victim's corpse—a heavily decomposed figure that appeared to have a shattered Ilium, several broken lower lumbar vertebrae and a cracked distal ulna on the victim's right arm.
The initial injures discovered were that of the Ilium and the lower lumbar vertebrae which were quite evident due to the extensive damage and the severe amount of decomposition in that region of the victim's body. However, the upper portion of the victim's thoracic cage still had a degree of intact flesh. Doctor Brennan had noticed the break in the distal portion of the victim's right ulna after cutting away some of the severely dissolved Extensor indicis muscle.
According to Brennan, the injuries the victim sustained in his lower lumbar region and pelvis were indicative of a large object crashing into the victim with great force, largely congruent with a motor vehicle. However, upon closer inspection of the ulna she noted that the break appeared entirely too clean and didn't seem to be related to the pelvic or lower back injuries.
Booth had pestered her and her staff for a definitive cause of death analysis, but Brennan protested his demands and told him that they would not know until all of the flesh had been removed and after Dr. Saroyan had performed her cursory examination, much to Agent Booth's chagrin.
"C'mon people, how hard can it be?" he asked irritated. "We've done this a thousand times; how is this guy any different?"
"You of all people should know each case is different, Booth," Bones replied with equal irritation. Something was amiss with her partner. "Each injury is indicative of something that happened to our victim, without a thorough investigation of the remains we can't be one hundred percent certain of cause of death. This isn't anything new, why are you being this way?"
"Being what way? Look, I've got the Deputy Director breathing down my neck about this guy. Everyone from the Department of Justice on down to the Department of the Treasury want to know if this was foul play or not," Booth shot back.
"Is the Deputy Director of the FBI suddenly so concerned because this guy is a major hedge fund manager and a former Deputy Secretary of the Treasury? Funny how your bosses only harp on us about time limits when it's someone important from the government," Dr. Jack Hodgins observed. "Just goes to show you the big guys upstairs only care about you if you're one of them."
"How about they're concerned because he was under investigation for running one of the largest Ponzi schemes in the history of the United States which has got a lot of people hot and bothered considering his personal friendship with the current Secretary of the Treasury and the Vice President?" Booth responded passionately.
"So we can expect facts to be twisted to suit the powers that be?" Hodgins said half-jokingly in his usual conspiratorial manner.
"No, but you can expect me to shoot you if you don't shut up and find out what I need to know," Booth snapped with some venom.
All of the Jeffersonian Institute personnel stopped momentarily and glared at the FBI agent as an awkward silence fell over the examination platform.
"Is everything okay, Seeley?" Dr. Saroyan asked after a few moments.
"What? Yes, everything is fine," Booth let out an exasperated sigh. "Bones… just call me when you've got something."
With that the experienced law enforcement agent stepped off the platform and exited the Medico-Legal labs whilst shaking his head in a seemingly agitated manner. His gait seemed to indicate he was extremely annoyed.
"Exactly what was that about?" Angele Montenegro asked curiously, having seen Agent Booth rarely act out in such a manner.
"I'm not certain. Last night I stopped by his apartment and he was agitated. He'd been drinking and seemed distracted by something, but he wouldn't tell me what," Brennan exclaimed.
"Booth drinking? Like drinking a beer and watching tv or drinking alone and feeling sorry for himself?" Angela asked with a raised brow.
"The latter… I think," Brennan responded with pursed lips.
"I'd have to see that to believe it," Angela said back.
"Oh don't sound so surprised. Years ago Seeley used to have bouts with alcohol. He's seen quite a bit of terrible things in his life," Dr. Saroyan offered.
"But haven't we all? I mean, God, it seems like every week we cart in another poor soul that's been brutalized by some psycho out there," Angela countered.
"But Booth has done terrible things to people," Bones pointed out. "He's never been very open about it, but he's taken a lot of people's lives and I think it weighs heavily on him."
"Then let's ease his burden and find the cause of death on our victim here," Dr. Saroyan suggested. With those words the staff went back to work, as professionally and proficiently as they ever did.
Brennan's eyes lingered on the door that Booth had stormed through. She exhibited a look of concern and in fact she was. Booth was acting strangely out of character the last few days and his outburst today only presented that further.
It seemed impossible to Brennan that Booth could ever let his emotions get the better of him. It was true he was incredibly protective of her and in the vein he'd let his emotions lash out, mainly at other people and he was passionate when he defended his faith, but both of those examples were wholly different than what she saw in him today or the previous night for that matter.
The idea that he was in distress upset her. He'd always done so much to alleviate her angst and difficulty that she now seemed foolish for not being able to contribute the same service. He'd always been there offering a carefree smile or a charming glint in his deep brown eyes which were always reassuring—it was the face of a man that no matter what he said you felt secure in the knowledge that he knew exactly what he was saying and he would always be right.
She banished the negative thoughts after a few moments and returned to the task at hand—identifying the cause of death. In this way, perhaps she could help Booth. It was her way after all and she was the best at it. After she finished that she would seek him out and pester him despite the fact that she had decided not to do so the previous evening at his apartment.
Booth sat at the bar of the King's Diner, his and his colleagues most frequented haunt. He picked at a piece of cherry pie, which he seemed to gaze at dispassionately. His fork probed the half-eaten pastry while his other hand propped up his sagging head. Thoughts traveled back to a rain-soaked afternoon at Arlington National Cemetery.
Sergeant Seeley Booth, Alpha Company, 1st Ranger Battalion, 75th Ranger Regiment, stood clad in his US Army service uniform, commonly known within the ranks as the Class A's. He wore a black beret atop his trimmed hair, indicative of his status as an Army Ranger. Also indicative of his status as an elite Ranger was the fact that his trousers were bloused within spit-shined black jump boots. This practice was only allowable if the soldier was an airborne paratrooper, Special Forces, or a Ranger.
Upon the left side of his broad chest sat several rows of colorful ribbons denoting the awards he'd earned during his service in the Army. Above those ribbons was the distinctive Combat Infantryman's Badge, an award given to infantry or Special Forces personnel who had personally participated in active ground combat. It appeared as a wreath which incased the revolutionary war era Springfield armory musket upon a rectangular field of blue. Sergeant Booth's badge had a star on it centered just above the musket and blue field indicating it was his second award.
He stood somberly observing the memorial display unfolding before him, his rigid demeanor befitting a soldier and a man of his discipline.
A group of soldiers, similarly dressed, were arrayed around an oak casket which sat ready to be lowered into the rain-soaked ground. Opposite the soldiers was a formation of civilians dressed in black, standing ominously with an assortment of umbrellas clasped in their hands.
Unlike their civilian counterparts the soldiers that were aligned in neat queues did not carry umbrellas. Instead, they allowed the rain to pelt them and soak their uniforms. Booth stood at the far right side of the first rank and watched the honor guard march off to the left of the assembled people unblinkingly. They clutched M14 service rifles within their sopping wet, gloved-hands.
Within the confines of that container was his friend and young protégé, Corporal Edward Parker. He'd served just over two years with Booth and had come to the Sergeant as a wet-behind the ears young man anxious for a fight. The young Corporal immediately looked up to his senior Sergeant, who was considered a seasoned veteran as he had served in the Gulf War and had even survived captivity and torture, something he never detailed to Parker (though he was aware it had occurred).
When they had arrived in the former Yugoslavia Sergeant Booth had painstakingly taken the time to detail everything he knew to young Parker. It was his job, after all, as the senior sniper and the shooter of their pair. Parker had yet to attend the US Army's Sniper School. He'd passed the Unit's Indoctrination course and as a result was assigned to a Surveillance and Target Acquisition Team within Alpha Company, but officially he was not a sniper. Time constrictions due to the immediate deployment of their Battalion to the Balkans had prevented him from completing the sniper course.
As a result it was much more important that Booth train him adequately so that he understood every facet of this highly-dangerous occupation. Booth had spent time teaching Parker about camouflaging himself, utilizing the natural contours of terrain, how to stalk a target in broad daylight and in the dead of night, how to 'burn through' foliage with his eyes in order to survey a target without needlessly exposing oneself from concealment. He'd spent time personally constructing his spotter's ghillie suit to ensure it was adequately made, taught him the finer points of marksmanship and how to fine tune his natural talent. He'd even taken it upon himself to detail to the Corporal all of the delicious combinations of food that could be constructed from various Meals Ready to Eat.
"See when they designed these things they didn't come up with good combinations. Instead you have to tear open a few different packages and pick and choose what you want to actually find a meal you want to eat, but don't tell anyone I told you this because it makes people angry," he had said.
But despite Booth's excessive training and tutelage, despite the promises and assurances he'd made to Corporal Edward Parker… he had failed to bring him home alive. Booth couldn't help but feel responsible for his friend's demise as he watched the honor guard snap to attention and present their weapons.
Was there something he'd missed? Did he remember to teach Parker everything he knew himself? They'd poured over every T and R manual Booth owned, spent hours upon hours chalk talking various outcomes to possible operations and events. Parker had even begun to get some experience as the two had completed at least a dozen surveillance and recon operations before the fateful mission to kill General Radic. They succeeded but Booth felt it was an empty victory because he could not share it with his protégé. Did Parker know his help was instrumental in the success? Without his accurate range estimation and wind calculations Booth may have missed.
In fact he felt guilt when he considered that possibility. It was minute in reality, Booth was so skilled he could perform range estimation and calculate windage without any help from a spotter and he was aware of that deep down, but even within his own mind he repressed the idea of it, repeatedly telling himself that he had needed Parker's help and that without it he would've been as useless as an untrained boy scout.
His thoughts were interrupted by the call to present arms and the sadly familiar tune of taps was played and then the all too familiar crack of gunfire as the Honor Guard presented their weapons and fired, cycled the action of their rifles and fired again and again and again.
Each shot reminded him of the critical bullet that Booth had fired through General Radic's heart, thus completing their mission and compromising his and Parker's position. Had he made the right call to pull the trigger? There was a company sized element in the valley below completely surrounding their target. Perhaps it would've been wiser to postpone the shot when it was safer and there was a better chance for a stealthy egress. His choice had gotten Parker killed and Booth was having a terribly difficult time trying to decide if Radic's death was worth Parker's life.
A detachment of soldiers marched toward the flag-draped coffin; Booth's ever-gazing eyes watched them ceaselessly. They halted before the casket then proceeded to fold the flag into its ceremonial tri-folded state. As the senior man, a Sergeant First class, finished tucking the flag into its necessary folds he saluted and then handed the triangular American flag to an officer; a Captain more precisely and the Company commander of Alpha Company.
The Captain turned sharply and marched over to the assembled civilians. He presented the flag to Corporal Parker's mother who stood sobbing beside Parker's rigid father and equally distraught girlfriend. Booth had never met any of them, he'd only known of them from Parker's stories; especially those concerning his girlfriend, Lauren.
The Captain snapped a crisp salute and thanked Parker's mother for his service and his sacrifice, lamenting the loss of such a good soldier. His mother accepted the flag, but not without a great deal of tears. With that completed, the Captain turned on his heel and marched away to leave his family to grieve.
"Dismissed!" the First Sergeant cried out, and the formation of soldiers began to break up and scatter.
Parker's family had already begun to make a move for a string of cars that were waiting. Booth watched them anxiously. Go say something… his mind screamed, but his feet were like cement blocks and his heart sank at the sight of Parker's mother and girlfriend. How can you face them? You're the cause of their grief, you're the reason his parents will never see Parker grow old, why Lauren will never have a husband… you caused all of that Seeley Booth and now you're too frightened to admit that to them.
"How long have you been picking at that?" Brennan's familiar voice shattered Booth's thoughts.
"Huh? What?" Booth stuttered, attempting to rejoin reality.
"The pie," she indicated.
"A few minutes I guess," Booth admitted with a sniff, attempting to compose himself. The truth was it had been far longer.
"I've got your results. Definitely foul play," Brennan offered, tossing the case file on the counter beside Booth's half-eaten pie. "After a secondary re-examination once Mr. Nigel-Murray had stripped the bones he noticed the hyoid was cracked and there was additional damage to the victim's scapula. Looks like our friend had his arm restrained behind him and then choked, at which point he fought back, had his forearm snapped and then strangled to death. It appears he was left in the road and run over with car afterward in a poor attempt to cover up cause of death. It was actually a pretty shoddy job and we should've noticed sooner."
Booth sat staring at the file, he didn't bother opening it—he just gazed at the cover and then considered Brennan's somewhat out of place admission regarding the fact that her team should've discovered that foul play was evident much sooner. He knew that wasn't true, she was only saying it because she saw something was wrong with him. Guilt pressed him. "No… no Bones, it shouldn't have been sooner. You have a process, you needed one hundred percent proof, you needed the facts and I was being impatient. I'm the one that should be saying sorry."
He turned and looked at her apologetically. A slight smirk appeared in the corner of her mouth, not because he admitted he was wrong, but because of the way he looked at her and the way he expressed so much emotion in something as simple as glance.
"I accept your apology," she nodded, then sat down beside him. "I think maybe now you should tell me what is bothering you."
Booth let out a heavy sigh and looked back at his pie, picking up the fork and then prodding the baked item once more. "I don't know, Bones," he began. "You know… I've done a lot of bad things."
"You served your country; you did what you were ordered to do. Nothing more," Brennan replied immediately, concern evident in her tone.
"It's not that… I mean it is, but it's so much more," he exclaimed uneasily.
"Is this about your friend Parker?" she asked, showing a great degree of intuition.
Booth was quiet, glaring at his pie, poking it repeatedly. Finally he looked at her; grief replaced the apologetic appearance his eyes had displayed previously. He pursed his lips. "I got him killed, Bones."
Bones jaw dropped a few degrees and she canted her head, her eyes melting into a show of disbelief. How could Booth even think such a horrible thing? "No, Booth, no, no, no. You can't possibly believe that."
He dropped his fork and his hand reached up to rub tired, sleep deprived eyes. "I'm a coward, Bones, a damn coward," he admitted heavily.
"That's impossible, Booth. You're the bravest person I've ever known; I can't listen to you say these things anymore," she blurted in response. Her hand reached out and rested upon his forearm, rubbing it methodically. "Why… would you ever say that about yourself?"
Booth paused, his head dropped back and his eyes looked up at the ceiling of the restaurant. He closed his eyes lightly, sighed once more then began to speak. "After Parker died… at his funeral, his family was there. His mom, dad, his girlfriend… I never spoke to them, never told them who I was, what Parker meant to me, what happened to him… I was… afraid… I couldn't—couldn't face them knowing that I didn't prepare him, didn't train him well enough," Booth began to show signs of distress as his forehead wrinkled in aggravation. He dropped his head once more peering down at the pie before him.
"Booth, you're not a coward. What you experienced-- anyone in your position would experience that," Brennan desperately attempted to allay his grief, but she felt it wasn't enough. Damn it, how could she get through to him? Why couldn't she find the appropriate words to reassure him? To make him feel right with the world again, like he'd been able to do for her so many times before.
"I have to make this right… somehow," he muttered, pressing his exhausted face into calloused hands.
Brennan was quiet, her hand had since dropped to the counter and her concerned eyes could do nothing but observe her tormented partner. Then an idea came to her.
"What if… what if you go to their home and… and you tell them what you didn't tell them that day?" she suggested sheepishly, unsure how he'd respond.
He dropped his hands and thought for a few moments. He was older now, wiser and more mature. The sting of Parker's loss was still strong as was the guilt which beat with every thump of his heart, but Bones was right. Booth had to do this, not just for his own salvation, but because Parker and his family deserved it. It was an old wound that lay open and Booth needed to heal it.
"Yeah… that would be good," he quietly stated. He rose from his chair, rifling through his pockets for a few bills to pay for his unfinished pie. "I'm going to do that. Thanks, Bones."
"Well, not without me you're not," she replied immediately, standing up before him.
"What?" he questioned with a piqued brow.
"Unless you don't want me to," she responded hastily and somewhat awkwardly.
A dumb smile crossed Booth's face and he silently chuckled, looking away from his socially inept partner for a moment. "No, I would like that a lot actually."