Title: Consecrated Ground
Summary: A glimpse into the decline of a partnership and the events leading up to Agent Booth being replaced by Agent Sullivan (as well as being forced into therapy).
Ratings/Spoilers: A character says a bad word – twice – in this chapter, although it's not that bad of a word. T to be safe – although I think it's much milder. There are references to some events for the next few episodes.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Author's Note: Italics are for flashbacks to one particular event. I thought this was an intriguing subject – I hope you all agree.
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Nine years ago, Sam Cullen took a risk.
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The soon-to-be Deputy Director eyed the background check, sitting across a large oak desk adorned with awards and personal affects, pausing to ask how long the hopeful recruit had been in Gamblers Anonymous.
"Sir, about six months, sir," he answered, obediently, if not a bit too loud. Looking over the man carefully, Sam noted his closely shorn hair and the tense way he held his shoulders.
"You're not a Ranger anymore – no need for all the pomp and circumstance," the young man nodded but his demeanor remained unchanged. "Impressive service record, graduated at the head of your class at the academy. Although your personal record – anger management, gambling issues, reckless behavior," he listed off the short list, gauging the young man's reactions as the charges were read against him.
"Considering the nature of the cases, and the stresses of this unit – how do I know you can handle this job?" The applicant eyed him wearily – unsure if the question was rhetorical or literal. He had heard from his friends at the academy that Sam Cullen was a hard man, facts and actions, uninterested in excuses or promises.
He tried to hold back the smirk, when the head of the FBI's Homicide Investigation Unit eyed him critically and said, "I'm taking a gamble on you, Agent Booth."
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As Dr. Brennan stands, excused from the panel, and walks out briskly, his colleges turn to look at him expectantly.
"He's my agent, my hire – my responsibility." The impromptu disciplinary committee nodded in agreement, while the man farthest to the right took his chance to speak up.
"While Dr. Brennan's testimony is compelling – and 'logically irrefutable'" he paused, using air quotes to emphasis the words used by the frustratingly dry anthropologist, "It seems a bit off – considering his training and his previous record." He pauses, considering his words carefully.
"Only three people know what happened on that roof yesterday – and considering the high profile nature of this case, this issue should be handled internally, quietly. Dr. Brennan's statement has been notarized – in case of any criminal proceedings." The female director added and smiled, "Sam – you own him. You handle this as you see fit, but it is my opinion that there needs to be no further investigation into this."
"Thank you, I'll see to it."
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"Thanks for the ride home," he says quietly, looking out the window shield, head tilted at an awkward angle as he examines the harsh lines of the apartment building. There are dark circles under his eyes that the pale yellow streetlamps only accentuate.
"Are you sure, you'll be ok…" she utters hesitantly, letting it drag off. He eyes her and she can't place what he's trying to communicate. She bites her lip in frustration and admits to herself that she doesn't want to be responsible for this. She doesn't want to be responsible for him. But she was and she knows she'd do anything he asked.
"Do you want to come up – just for some coffee or something?" She nods and opens the door, following him up the stairs. As he fumbles with his keys, she smiles gently and takes them from his hand, deftly opening the door and ushering him in. He doubts that anyone else could be so forgiving.
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At first she doesn't see him. Her head spins and she throws up her right hand to shield her eyes from the glare of the early morning sun. The fact that she doesn't feel cold tells her that her body is in shock – and she's strangely grateful – it will make the upcoming events easier.
She registers his voice first – menacing and low and somewhere to her right. She's too pumped up on adrenaline to feel foolish for having given Angela her gun a few moments ago – and she boldly approaches, taking care to be silent and slight.
When they come in to view she has enough time to see Howard Epps raise his hands in surrender and her partner smile while removing the safety from his gun.
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"What the hell were you thinking Booth?!" Sam Cullen is furious and for all his charm and finesse, Seely Booth has no clue how talk his way out of this one.
Pacing back and forth, Director Cullen hasn't been this inflamed since he interrogated the man who bought the graft that gave his daughter inoperable cancer.
"The only things keeping you out of jail are Dr. Brennan's testimony and your previous record of conduct." Thinking his words have finally reached the wayward agent, Cullen feels slightly satisfied as Agent Booth's head whips up.
"What did she say?"
"The truth – I hope for both your sakes." He bites out and remorse floods over Booth's face for a brief moment, before the neutral expression sets back in.
"This looks bad – this looks bad for you, for me – for the whole F.B.I. The media is all over this case and the last thing we need are questions into our processes!" He fumes, leaning his hands on his desk and staring straight at his charge. "So I ask once again – what the hell were you thinking?!"
"He presented a threat, sir." Booth says meekly, finding it hard to look his superior in the eye.
"A threat? A threat, Agent Booth?" He yells frantically, marching over the to younger mans seat and leaning down to look him in the face, "You discharged an entire clip on an unarmed man!"
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The coffee has gone cold and she offers to sleep on his couch because she doesn't want to leave him alone.
He tells her not to be ridiculous and takes her mug away, reheating her drink – she cringes because she knows that now it will not only be bitter, but it will also be burnt.
"You're going to drink that, Bones. I want you alert for your drive home," he says sternly, turning on the microwave and shutting the door. She walks over to the kitchen with the intent of at least doctoring her drink as he removes his suit jacket.
"What happened that day?" She turns to him and reaches out, gently touching his shoulder, the blue dress shirt that seemed inappropriate at the funeral early that day now looked wrinkled and dirty. He looks down at her hand and then the microwave beeps. He turns around, forcing the door open.
"You were there Bones, nothing happened – we got our man." It comes out in a dull monotone as he contemplates if he nuked the cup long enough.
"Booth," she says gently, grabbing his arm in an attempt to turn him to face her, "I'm your partner, please, let me in." He jerks away and she steps back, a slight look of hurt flashing over her features.
His shoulders heave and he keeps his back to her, "For your own sake, please just drop this Temperance."
"I can't – I won't."
He radiates tension, taking a deep breath, and reaches forward to grab the mug – growling as his hand grasps it and it burns him.
He wheels around and throws it against the wall.
She jumps only slightly, staying silent as she watches the dark brown liquid running down the once pristine wall. He says nothing as she grabs a washcloth and walks over to the shattered mug, carefully picking up the shards of ceramic and placing them in the cloth.
Too tired to fight, he walks to the closet down the hall and pulls out spare bedding, laying three blankets and two pillows on the couch before turning on the shower and closing the door, leaving her to clean up the mess.
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tbc…
I know I promised conclusions, but it just ended up being longer. I have no idea where this is going – hopefully the story will wrap itself up in the next chapter.
Thank you for the reviews! I hope you liked this.