AN: Thanks loads to those who reviewed. I really do appreciate all your comments. Thanks also to those 'favouriting' and 'alerting' this story.

And extra special thanks with a cherry on top to MiseryMaker for reading this chapter over for me.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

The Officer in the Oubliette

Chapter Two: The Big Kahuna

New Scotland Yard, Metropolitan Police Headquarters: Monday 9:15 a.m.

"I can't believe you're sitting pretty in some fancy-ass rented apartment and I'm stuck in that dump of a place." Booth took a big bite of his banana, which, he tasted with dismay, was past its prime and took a seat next to Brennan. He looked around the still-empty conference room which was located on the top floor of New Scotland Yard and did a quick calculation of the seats in his head – he and Bones were going to be 'playing' to an audience of approximately 200 people.

"Are you going to mention the taxpayer's money again?"

"I should. This sucks." He whispered as he leaned in: "You know I have to share a bathroom with about twenty other guys."

"It's only for a week, Booth." Brennan said tightly as she consulted her speaking notes again, the anxious churning in the pit of her stomach making her feel slightly queasy. Despite giving countless presentations over the course of her career, she could never quite shake the tension and fear she felt before each one. She could deliver a lecture to a packed auditorium of eager, questioning students or to a room filled with colleagues without batting an eye, but when it came to public speaking of a mostly non-academic variety, she floundered, so convinced was she that she didn't possess the 'personality' to pull it off successfully. Because she understood that in addition to what she had to say, she was also presenting herself for scrutiny, for judgement. It was the same reason that she hated promoting her books.

Knowing that Booth was going to speak first didn't help to dispel her anxiety. Her partner had the annoying knack of doing very little preparation but still managing to win over his audience. That's not to say his presentation was likely to lack substance or that his PowerPoint slideshow wouldn't be chock-full of impressive visual and audio effects, but he worked without any notes and yet he never seemed to veer off point or run over time. Brennan knew that if she didn't refer constantly to her notes, she would almost certainly exceed her thirty minute allocation.

"You okay, Bones?"

"Yes. I just want to read over my notes one final time. I see you're 'note-free' again." She said with just a hint of envious annoyance.

"Yeah. But don't worry, I won't embarrass you – it's all up here". Booth tapped his forehead and smiled when she huffed by way of a response before burying her head in her stack of notes again.

Just then, a tall, well-built man, smartly dressed in a black police uniform approached them. Booth stood up. Noticing the rank insignia on the officer's upper sleeve, he greeted him as "Sergeant". The other man introduced himself as "Sergeant Rob Jackson" and returned Booth's firm handshake.

"And this is my partner, Doctor Temperance Brennan." Brennan also stood to shake the officer's hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet you both. I just wanted to let you know that things should kick off in about twenty minutes. But in the meantime, there's coffee and tea in the anteroom, just to the right of the main door over there, and there's a rumour going round that there might be some pastries as well."

"Great. I'm starving." Booth said cheerfully as he absentmindedly patted his stomach, still holding onto his half-eaten banana. "I skipped breakfast and this ain't gonna cut it."

"They put you up at Bernard Morgan House, right?" Rob asked, his serious, handsome face at once breaking into a knowing grin.

"Yeah."

"Sharing a bathroom and a kitchen with twenty other blokes takes some getting used to, don't it."

"That's one way of putting it. You've bunked there before?"

"Just for a few weeks when I first joined the police. Hey, you should check out "Fratelli's Coffee Shop" down the road from there, on Hanover Street. They do great breakfasts. When I lived at BMH, I ate most of my meals there."

"Thanks for the tip."

"No worries. Anyway, I'll let you get on." Rob nodded a quick goodbye and walked briskly in the direction of anteroom he had informed them about.

Booth turned to Brennan, who was again shuffling through her stack of typed notes, and held out his arm in invitation. "Shall we?"

She was about to decline his offer when Booth linked his arm in hers and pulled. She started to protest, to tell him that she didn't need refreshments, she needed to read her notes, but he kept pulling and told her that she would be brilliant, just like every other time. Despite her nervousness, she felt a proud smile tug at the corners of her lips.

Much to Booth's horror, the promise of food had indeed been a cruel rumour; well it was if you discounted the small plate of cookies that sat next to the neat row of coffee jugs on a large oak table at the end of the rectangular room. Worse still, the plate was covered with plastic wrap, and there was no way he (a foreigner!) was going to be the first one to tuck in. He poured some weak-looking coffee for himself and Brennan and walked past the pale blue china plate of cookies with a heavy heart.

"Here you go, Bones." He handed over her mug of black unsweetened coffee and took a sip of his own tepid drink. "You know, since we arrived I haven't had one decent cup of coffee. What's the deal...the coffee here isn't hot enough and the beers' too warm."

"Booth, the coffee's not good, I'll admit, but it's no worse than I've had at the Hoover. And if you want a cold beer, next time order 'Lager' instead of Beer."

"What's the difference?"

"All lagers are beers, but not all beers are lagers."

"Come again."

"Lager is a type of beer, Booth; the other category of beer is 'ale'. Lager is served cold, ice-cold if you want it."

"And you're an expert because?"

"It's common knowledge."

Booth shook his head and smiled. "Not that common."

Before Brennan could argue the point, he interrupted her as he recognised the tall older man who was making his way across the room toward them. "Okay, heads up, we have a 'big wig' approaching at 10 o'clock. Let's try to make a good impression, shall we."

"What? Are you implying that I would do otherwise?" Brennan looked scandalised, and if not for the fact that Booth knew the man walking over to them was their host, he might have cracked another smile.

"Special Agent Booth: it's a pleasure." The tall grey-haired man greeted him smiling openly.

"Commissioner Lewis, sir. Please let me introduce my partner: Doctor Temperance Brennan."

"Doctor Brennan. We are equally honoured to have you here."

Brennan returned the man's purposeful handshake and registered with a degree of surprise that her normally confident partner appeared nervous. Realising that the man they were talking to was likely very important, she stood up a little straighter.

"I spoke to your Director Cullen only yesterday evening and he again commended you both on your excellent solve rate and innovative detection techniques. You come to us highly recommended and we're very pleased to have you. I'm hoping you might clue us into some of your secrets during your presentations this morning."

"We'll certainly do our best, sir." Booth promised and tried to ignore the tension which had formed as an aching knot at the base of his spine. He was suddenly aware of the weight of their responsibility. They were representing the FBI, he and Bones together...they were there because Cullen thought they were the best of the best (who knew!)

"And I understand that you're going to be shadowing a couple of our officers in between your round of presentations."

"Yes, sir. We're looking forward to it."

"Excellent. Excellent. So, tell me, how was your journey across the 'Pond'?"

"Good, sir. Thank you."

"And we're treating you well?"

"Yes, absolutely." Booth lied; well he half-lied, Bones had certainly landed on her feet.

"Excellent. Now, unfortunately I must get on, but I hope to catch up with you both over the break. Before I go, I don't suppose you know if someone's laid some food on, do you?"

"There's a plate of cookies by the coffee jugs, sir."

"Bravo! One does like to see some initiative taken."

Brennan watched the retreating figure of the man who had Booth acting as nervous as she'd seen him. "Who was that?" She asked, only now taking a sip of her coffee.

"His official title is "Commissioner of Police of the Metropolis" – aka the "Big Kahuna"".

"I don't understand the reference."

"Like in that old movie...you know, it means the "Big Cheese", the "Main Man".

"None of that helps me, as again you're speaking in the vernacular. "Kahuna" is actually a Hawaiian word meaning, among other definitions, a priest, sorcerer or a minister?"

"I just meant that he's..."

"However, it also can apply to a person who is expert in their chosen profession. I assume this explains your reference."

"You know, Bones, sometimes it's like we're speaking two different languages."

"Well, perhaps if you didn't employ slang, unnecessary colloquialisms and obscure sports and popular culture references in your speech, I wouldn't have so much trouble trying to understand you."

Before Booth had a chance to comment further, the officer who had spoken to them earlier appeared and told them that the Commissioner would be starting his opening remarks in five minutes. They left their mostly-full coffee cups behind and followed Sergeant Jackson back into the conference room and retook their seats at the top table. With every step, Brennan felt nervous energy flooding her body, and more unsettling still, her partner was now looking equally tense.

xxx

A mere fifteen minutes later, Brennan watched her partner take to the stage. And true to form, he was brilliant. He walked the narrow line between being funny while avoiding being flippant. His presentation was heavy with detail, exclusively informational but it was never less than interesting and engaging. Exactly thirty minutes later, he wrapped up his speech, and then spent another twenty minutes taking questions. Then, all too soon, he was introducing her to the audience.

"Of course, doing my job, calling to account perpetrators of crimes would be a much taller and sometimes impossible order if not for the invaluable assistance of the Medico-Legal Lab at the Jeffersonian Institute. And so it is with great pleasure that I introduce my partner, Doctor Temperance Brennan. Doctor Brennan has been working on a regular basis with the FBI for four years now and I can honestly say that without her help, her expertise, our homicide solve rate wouldn't be half as good."

Brennan rose from her seat and held on tightly to the stack of speaking notes in her left hand. She walked to the centre of the stage, passing Booth on her way.

"I got 'em warmed up for ya, Bones." He whispered as they drew closer. Somehow this made her feel worse.

Brennan reached the wooden podium and carefully placed her note cards in front of her. She took a deep breath and forced her face into a smile. Then she started at the beginning.

Booth looked on from the back of the stage. He'd heard variations of her presentation a number of times but as before, he was enthralled. Her speech was dry in places and necessarily esoteric, but she breathed life and honest enthusiasm into subject matter which ordinarily would've have him and likely everyone else in the room struggling to stay awake. Her voice had taken on that almost breathless quality that always set his temperature rising a few degrees as she explained how de-fleshing techniques had advanced to the point where this method was employed in many forensics labs across North America (she modestly left out that this was in a large part down to her pioneering research). So she wasn't quite as modest when she moved on to discuss the finer points of examining signature bullet wound etchings in bone with a view to re-engineering the bullet itself, but hey, if he'd come up with the idea, he doubted he'd be coy about it. When, towards the end of her presentation, she came to the part where she explained the real world application of her scientific techniques and those of the squint squad, she really came into her own. And as Booth redirected his gaze at the sea of faces in the audience, he knew that they were thinking the same thing he was. She was brilliant.

AN: Barnard Morgan House is a real place. It's used by ex-police officers or those currently serving who are in the capital and need a cheap place to stay for the night. I think breakfast comes as part of the room rate charge, but I've conveniently ignored that fact in this story - it makes Booth's comparative hardship all the more fun.