PIECES AND SHARDS

(continued)

On TV, crimes are solved in an hour. In reality, an hour isn't even enough time to get the paperwork through to get phone records of the victim. It's not all breaking down doors and running down criminals. It is enough time to get the basics: Gerald Johnson, age twenty-two, birthday, March 11, 1988. Parents: Melinda Johnson, 49 and Daniel Johnson, 61. Mother teaches elementary school. Dad's a Vietnam Vet, Army. High School gym teacher and baseball coach. One sibling: Danielle, 19, a sophomore at UCLA. There are a couple dozen articles on Gerald. Played on the US little league team in the World Series at 13. Was all-state for all four years in high school. Full baseball scholarship. Has been playing for the Baysox since last year… does a lot of charity games, the most recent being a charity game for the D.C. police department about four months back. An all-around, normal, nice kid.

The photo jumps out at me. The two baseball teams are standing holding a giant check, and big smiles. Standing next to Gerald Johnson is Ryan Murphy. I don't think twice about it. It's a perfect opportunity to go have a chat with Mr. Murphy.

As I walk into the prescient, I remind myself that I'm just here to ask Ryan Murphy if he has any information on Gerald Johnson, not what his relationship with my partner has been over the past few weeks, or to tell him that the relationship is now over. Bones can do that part. I have come through the civilian entrance, even though technically, I could have gone straight to central booking. There are several people sitting a sort of waiting area, and officers, perhaps coming in from patrol or heading off duty walk in and out of the bullet-proofed glass offices behind the police receptionist desk. A single officer stands silently on duty in the far right corner, his gun clearly visible. I hear a couple of the guys snicker as I walk towards her, but don't bother to see where they are coming from. Luckily, the receptionist is a female officer, dark, African-American, and apparently a no-nonsense kind of woman. I see her look sharply behind and to the left of me and the snickers cease.

"Hi, I'm special agent Seeley Booth, FBI." I give her my badge for inspection. She glances at it and hands it back.

"Officer Deborah Jones, 68th prescient, how can we help out the FBI today?"

Her smile is genuine, despite the murmur of "Robin needs help." that floats through the room.

"I need to speak to an officer Ryan Murphy. He may have some relevant information on a case we're working on."

"His desk is the third from the far left back corner. She turns slightly to indicate the general direction. "Just go on through Special Agent Booth,"

I hear a sudden buzz, and she smiles at me again. "I'll let him know you'll be coming back."

I don't know what I've done to earn her graciousness, but I nod and smile back at her.

"Thanks."

"My partner for the last six years was killed on the job last month."

My head swivels back to look at her. "I'm sorry, that must –"

"He was a very strong man. Partnered with me when no one else would…. I'm the best shot in this prescient, Special Ag –"

"- Just Booth."

"Booth. But Jimmy always knew where to aim the gun."

I blink back tears, immediately getting the metaphor and walk over to take her hand. "I am very, very, sorry for your loss, if I lost. –"

"That reporter had no business talking about what she could never understand. When it's life or death, there is no 'who's' more important. You just do what you do best and if one of you isn't there…"

I watch her bite her lip and suddenly remember the story. It was one in a series of liquor store hold-ups, a veteran and rookie. The rookie had made the wrong guy and the veteran, but wait, the rookie was a guy, a Brian –

"I'd been sick for days, Jimmy told me to go home, get some rest, if I'd known he was going to go out –"

"Not your fault. You know that."

"That's what they keep saying."

"It just takes time. I'm sure Jimmy wouldn't be blaming you."

She gives me a small smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "No…he probably blamed himself."

"Equally wrong. Neither of you had the gun that killed him. You blame the perp, Jones."

I hold her gaze, willing her to take that idea in. After a moment she sighs.

"You're right, and when we get him I hope he fries."

"You guys will get him." Impulsively, I give her my card. "If you need anything, give me a call."

"Thanks." She takes my card, and I hear the door buzzer again. "I appreciate it."

I nod and head inside to main offices.

The noise is what hits me first: cops on the phones at their desk, sitting with victims, taking down reports, general chatter. The waiting room had been comparatively quiet.

I'm aware that some of these guys have noticed me. As I make my way back to the back left corner I catch a few smirks – pretty much from younger guys. Seems like there are a lot of rookies in this place.

"Hey Robin, where's batgirl?"

I don't even acknowledge this guy. I'm counting the desks back from the wall. The third one is empty, but as I get closer I see the nameplate "Officer Murphy" sitting on it.

"You lost, Robin?"

It's the same fucking guy. I can feel the tension in my body heighten. In another time and place I'd be getting ready to let the guy know just how out of line he was. However, things are tight enough as it is. I'm already thinking about the fact that I'll have to tell Bones I met with Murphy. So I continue to ignore the idiot and start to sit down next to Murphy's desk.

"You ever seen Batgirl naked, Robin? I hear she's –"

Bones. He's talking about Bones and I am standing up and turning to face this asshole before I can think.

"Shut up, Maxwell!"

I turn to my left and see Mr. Murphy walking towards me. He must have come in from Central Booking, which is on the opposite side from the waiting room – the office space is in-between. I catch a glance of the guy wanting to give me directions. Maxwell is older than I thought, probably about my age. He should fucking know better.

Maxwell just grins. "Look, just trying to help protect your turf, kid."

His turf! I can feel anger rising inside. Bones is not anyone's turf.

Murphy seems to agree with me, "What turf would that be, Officer Maxwell?"

I watch the kid stare Maxell down. Maxell's the one who breaks and looks away.

"Special agent Booth is here to discuss a murder investigation. I believe catching criminals is a "turf" we have in common."

He was looking at Maxwell, but speaking loud enough for those nearby to hear. My next thought is when did I start letting young cops fight my battles? I can't deal with that right now, and I have to admit, I am becoming a bit impressed with this kid. Bones taste in men seems to have gone up a notch…unless, of course, the guy is a murderer.

"Sorry about that Special Agent Booth."

"Don't worry about it."

"What can I help you with?"

The kid is all business, crisp, professional. He's also apparently seen Bones naked.

"We've identified the burn victim's body."

"Wow, you guys work fast."

"Yes, well, Dr. Brennan is the best in world at this."

"That helps."

The kid's dry humor makes me smile in spite of myself. I pull out a picture of Gerald John

The kid is all business, crisp, professional. He's also apparently seen Bones naked.

"We've identified the burn victim's body."

"Wow, you guys work fast."

"Yes, well, Dr. Brennan is the best in world at this."

"That helps."

The kid's dry humor makes me smile in spite of myself. I pull out a picture of Gerald Johnson and place it face down on his desk.

"This is our victim."

I'm watching him carefully. Is he going to deny knowing the young baseball player? Murphy picks up the photo and the color drains from his face, a sheen of moisture fills his eyes. His hands are shaking.

"I was wondering if you guys had any missing person reports on him. We're –"

"Gerry Johnson." Murphy's voice is a chocked whisper. "His name is Gerry Johnson."

He looks up from the photo, "Are you sure it's him."

Again, the whisper. Clearly, Murphy knows this guy.

"Yeah, we're sure. Did you know him?"

"Yeah. Yeah. Really nice guy." He brushes away a few tears. "He, he and the Baysox did a charity game with us a few months back for the Children's Outdoor Fund."

Okay, he isn't lying about it. Still, his reaction…"You seem pretty shaken."

Murphy is looking at the photo again.

"He was twenty-two years old. And great with those kids afterwards. Got a matching donation from the Baysox, plus a thousand of his own money. They were talking about him moving him to the big leagues. But, no pretensions by this guy. None."

He looks up at me then. "I haven't worked in law enforcement that long. Started at 22 – and I'm 28 now. I still get…shaken, you know? When really nice people get, get –"

"Brutally murdered." I stop myself from reaching for the kid's hand and just look him in the eye. "I can tell you, I've been doing this sort of thing a lot longer than you. If you get used to it, it's time to start looking for a new line of employment."

Murphy nods slowly. He's really upset by this news. A tough, sensitive type. Unless he's also been trained as an actor, I can't see him killing Gerald Johnson. I'm actually feeling a bit sorry for him. I can see why Bones…I don't want to go there. Temperance kissed me two hours ago and told me that she loves me. Whatever, went on with this kid…

"She speaks very highly of you."

Okay, maybe I don't like him so much.

"I'm assuming you mean Dr. Brennan."

"Yeah…she really thinks you're pretty amazing.

"Umm, yeah. Thanks."

"I don't think she likes your girlfriend so much, though."

Okay, what the hell? "Well, she's not my girlfriend anymore."

The kid grins, "Yeah, I got that. I think the news will make Dr. B' real happy."

He's staring at me like he's trying to tell me something, but can't say it.

"So, yeah…if you think of anything else, Murphy –"

"Yeah, I'll give you guys a call."

B&B&B&B&B&B

Being burned alive is a painful way to die. More than painful, the more accurate term would be excruciating, as the skin is filled with nerve endings designed to tell the brain of tactile contact, pain or pleasure, the sensory overload of pain is something I don't like to think about. As Dr. Saroyan continues with the flesh and I go over the bones, we both agree that the victim was dead before being burned. As I examine the bones, I find so many breaks and fractures…I know his death was still painful. I hope he went into shock and unconsciousness quickly. I consider the crack in the skull as cause of death, but quickly realize there isn't enough blood on the bone to have caused it. The blood had already ceased flowing to his brain at the time of impact. A single rib finally points to the cause of death. The victim was severely beaten, and in the process of that beating several of his ribs were broken, and not just in one place. As the beatings continued, a fractured piece of rib was hit repeatedly, and driven through his heart.

Despite my years of experience in seeing the aftermath of such brutality, the cruelty of our species is something I wonder about. Anthropologically speaking there are tribes of people who find the idea of attacking another appalling. It calls to question the idea of human nature being violent. Perhaps there is a collection of genes that create a tendency to violence in humans, or genes that create a disposition for peace and cooperation that have for the most part been reduced through evolution. I leave Mr. Bray to finish cleaning and cataloging the bones and their markers, and head to my office to start paperwork. A glance at my clock says its 8:45pm. I wonder how Booth is faring with his research and if he still wants to have dinner.

He kissed me this afternoon. He called me 'baby' on the phone. A week ago I was science geek who "didn't know how to talk like a normal person." Not like Hannah…

Angela has said to let him show me how he feels. It felt real when he kissed me. It felt real when he said he wished I'd stop talking so much. It looked real when he kissed her…

"Hey Bones."

I look up from my desk and Booth is leaning in the doorway watching me.

"Oh, hi Booth."

"I hear you found cause of death."

"Yes, we have established that in the course of being assaulted the sternum was fractured and the blows caused the bone to puncture the heart."

He continues to watch me and I feel myself flushing. "What is it Booth?"

"Nothing. It's just been a long time that I've let myself really see you."

I don't know what that means. He saw me before he left. He's seen me fairly often since we got back four months ago. Maybe not as often as before we left, but often enough. I am trying desperately to understand what he means. I don't want to be the science geek who can't understand basic English, I want to be –

"Bones?"

In my thinking I haven't noticed him approach my desk. Now he is watching my face with concern. I blink and force myself to smile.

"I feel hungry. Do you still want to go have dinner?"

He pauses, and I rush to fill in the silence. "We don't have to. I know it's late, and you're probably tired. I should just –"

"Bones. I'm staving too. There's just something we have to do first."

His eyes fall under the classification I have come to know as serious. They are also resigned and weary. It occurs to me that it has been a long time that I have been able to read his eyes. I realize it is because he is letting me.

"What is it?"

"We have to tell Gerry Johnson parents that their son was murdered."

"At this hour? Booth –"

"I don't want them finding out on the morning news."

"Why would they find out on the news…?"

The answer is in the set of his jaw and the narrowing of his eyes. I know before he says anything.

"The FBI wants to hold a press conference tomorrow updating the public on the case."

"That's not usual protocol…is it because of his status of a successful athlete?"

"No."

I wait for him to say what I already know. I need him to say it, though I don't know why I do.

He walks to my side and touches my shoulder. "Hannah did a somewhat…challenging report about the investigation."

"Challenging what? There wasn't any –"

"Challenging us. The FBI, our work…my work, really."

"But that, it's not logical Booth. We've the highest –"

"It doesn't matter, Bones."

His short laugh is harsh. "Media is a powerful tool – and she knows it."

"She knows our work too, Booth. She knows we're the best."

"She knows I love it. Look, she's always been jealous of our work. Always wanted to be a part of it, always mad that I wouldn't let her go as far into it as she'd like. She pushed it this morning to see what I'd do. To see if great sex – "

The sudden stop in his tirade tells me he'd forgotten me for a moment, or at least forgotten that he'd kissed me today. I know the sex between them had to be excellent. After all Hannah has been all over the world, and is young, healthy, and beautiful to look at. I'm sure he's enjoyed her long golden hair draped over his chest, her –

"Temperance."

He is kneeling beside me. I hadn't seen him move. His eyes are scanning my face the way I might scan a skull, looking for signs of trauma to the bones…I know he is searching for a different kind of damage.

"I didn't think you loved her because the sexual relationship was bad, Booth."

"I didn't love her, Temperance…I wanted to, I told myself I did…told you - "

"- Let's not discuss it now, Booth. We need to go inform the parents, and I'm starving."

She's quiet in the car. I wish to God I hadn't lost it earlier. I wish a lot of things. This morning I'd been fucking that bitch. I think of her long hair falling down the sides of her face and the bile in my stomach churns. How could I have gotten myself involved with her? A sweet piece of ass is one thing, but moving her into my home, introducing her to my son? What's worse…she isn't really a bitch. She's self-centered in the way the driven often are, passionate, and volatile. Bones is driven, too…but she isn't self-centered. She isn't interested in glory, even though she has received a lot of it. Bones is driven by knowledge, by truth, and in a way justice. I wish I'd noted that difference in ambitions much earlier. But, yeah, I wish a lot of things.

She's staring out the window, the way she was this morning, but not. She's not scrunched up against the door and there isn't quite the tension… I think about dinner…she thought I didn't want to go to dinner….

"Hey, Bones?"

"Yes."

I feel her turn to look at me. Again, so different from this morning…

"I was wondering what kind of food you're in the mood for,"

"We don't have too, Booth. It will be late and –"

"Come on, Bones, it won't be that late. I've been looking forward to it all evening."

She is silent for a moment, "Really?"

It has, in fact, been only a day. The tone of her voice, part surprise, part hopeful, makes mine break a little. She doesn't trust me, or at least she doesn't trust that she's whom I want to be with, spend time with. I've done that: broken her trust in my caring. Despite the talk and the kiss today, the wounds run deep. A day, a week, months…a lifetime, I wonder how long it will take for them to really heal. Not that it matters. I ran from her defenses before. I won't ever again. However, what I say to her is, "Really."