AN: Sorry I've been MIA. Hopefully, I've responded to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, or who whizzed me a PM about it. I've some chapters in the bag this time round and so I'll do my best to keep posting until the end.

For those of you out there in the big wide world still interested in this little story - here's the next installment.

The Officer in the Oubliette

Chapter Seven: Cross Words

New Scotland Yard – Wednesday: 11:30

Brennan breathed a shallow, discreet sigh of relief and retook her seat next to Booth. The second of their planned run of three presentations appeared to have gone over as well as their first. Only half-listening to the closing speech given by the Commissioner, she looked out over the heads of their audience to the large rectangular window ahead. Rain pelted the reinforced bullet-proof glass; she was dismayed to see that the miserable weather that had greeted her that morning hadn't abated - the abrupt decrease in temperature and the storm-cloudy sky added to her already dark mood.

She had woken after an erratic night's sleep and as soon as her tired eyes adjusted to the shadowy cold bluish light of her bedroom she felt a sense of weariness take root inside. She'd initially attributed her uncharacteristic malaise to the vodka shots she had David had consumed the evening before, but a hearty breakfast and a strong mug of black coffee later she had to concede that she wasn't hung over, not even close. She fastened her brightly-coloured silken robe around her and went to collect the thick bundle of newspapers from outside her apartment door. Aware of the sound made by the soles of her slippers scuffing across the travertine tiles as she made her way back to the large well-appointed kitchen, she made a conscious effort to pick up her feet. She poured another mug of coffee and took a seat at the glass dining table. As she had the morning before she started with the American newspapers. After scanning their contents, she turned to the British broadsheets. The international news was much the same, and as was the case back home, the pages were mostly dominated by political issues and the odd public interest story. As she turned the final page before reaching the sports section (which she always ignored and always resented - how were the results of a sports game a truly legitimate form of news?), an article towards the foot of the page caught her attention.

"Body found in Thames. Police confirm it could be missing Army Officer."

She wondered if Rob or Harriet had provided the confirmation mentioned in the article, as certainly the body discovered in the river was the body she and Booth had seen the day before. She read on.

"Police divers recovered the body from a stretch of the River Thames close to Southwark Cathedral early yesterday morning. Police confirmed that the body was that of a man aged between eighteen and thirty years and indicated that it could be the missing army officer Matthew Trent. Mr Trent, 26, of Graveney, Kent, is a Sandhurst graduate and recently completed a second tour of duty in Afghanistan. The officer has been missing since the 22nd of March."

Brennan wondered what a "Sandhurst graduate" was – likely it was a military training academy, perhaps similar to West Point. She also wondered why this man's disappearance, among surely many others, had made the news. Taking a warming sip of her coffee, she leafed through the other British newspapers to see if the story was featured. It wasn't.

Half an hour later, and after completing "The Times" crossword in her head (and silently admonishing the paper's editor for failing to spot the obvious error at "twelve across"), she knew she couldn't stall any longer. She rinsed her mug and left it to drain on the rack and walked back to her bedroom to get dressed.

xxx

"We're on a roll, partner." Booth said as they walked across the conference room, towards the exit.

"Hmm... Yes. That went well, I think."

"You okay, Bones?" Booth asked as he reached forward and shoved one of the heavy double-doors open. Flattening himself against the wood, she strode past him. They never could seem to work out how to navigate doorways together. Usually, they both rushed forward, equally intent on being the first one through. Or, as was the case here, Brennan barged her way through and Booth did his best to get out of the way.

"Yes. I'm fine, Booth."

Walking through into the anteroom, they joined the queue of people waiting to be served lacklustre coffee.

"It's just...you look a little pale."

"I didn't get much sleep last night."

"I see. Burning the midnight oil, huh?"

"I don't know what that means."

"It means that you had a good time last night. That maybe you drank too much and got home a little late." He smiled. He'd figured it out, this mood of hers. Bones was hung-over. Bones! After her lecture the other morning when he'd shown up to the crime scene the worse for wear this was a gift. And there was no way he was going to let her off the hook.

Brennan found that his knowing, cocky smile had the opposite effect on her today. Usually it made her stomach churn in a not unpleasant way, but today...today, his smugness rankled.

"David and I spent an enjoyable evening discussing his work in Saudi Arabia."

"So what time did you get home?"

"Why?"

"I'm just trying to work out how good a time you had." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively and slapped on one of his patented smiles.

"Come on. We're holding up the line." Brennan said as she walked a few paces forward.

"So, this David guy...he's old, right?"

"He's fifty five, I think. Why should you be interested in his age?"

"I'm just making conversation."

"Not good conversation."

He ignored the uncharacteristic jibe and the prissy edge to her tone. He wanted to break her out of her funk, because honestly, she looked plain miserable. Besides, they had some free time that evening and he planned on having a night out on the town with his partner. A night that would be no fun at all if she was still moping over who knew what.

"I'm just happy to know that you had a good time."

"I don't see why that should that make you happy?"

"Because I'm your partner and your happiness matters to me."

"I sense you're making fun of me?"

"I'm not making fun of you, Bones. I'm just having a little fun with you."

"The distinction is lost on me. But I see. You think I'm hung-over, and you wanted to remind me that I chastised you for the same thing the other day."

"I was working towards something like that, yeah."

"Let me save you the trouble. I am not suffering the effects of alcohol abuse."

"Then what's the deal?"

"There is no 'deal'. I'm tired, that's all."

"But we're still on for tonight, right?" When she failed to answer, he asked again. She nodded her agreement and the relief that tracked a warm path from the pit of his stomach up into his chest genuinely took him by surprise.

He didn't want to think that maybe something had happened between Bones and that professor guy. But what else could account for her mood? He tried to remember the last time she had mentioned the other man. It was maybe two years before. Booth had dropped by her office to pick up a report on a murder victim discovered in a public park in Bethesda and she had been on a videoconference call to London. He'd asked if she wanted him to leave, in case her conversation was private, but she beckoned him in. So he had sat on the sofa in her office and flipped through the case file, half-listening to the transatlantic conversation. There had been no hint of a relationship between the two of them that spoke of more than colleagues and friends. And besides, the other man was considerably older than Brennan, and he'd imagined that their relationship had at some stage been that of student and teacher. Not that this precluded a romantic relationship. That creep Michael Stires evidence that Bones wasn't averse to sleeping with her teacher. But he hadn't picked up that kind of vibe.

So what was bugging her? And why wouldn't she tell him?

Finally, they reached the end of the queue and helped themselves to coffee. Taking a sip only, they then turned and prepared themselves for another meet and greet with London's Finest.

Over the next hour, he snuck occasional sidelong glances at his partner. Outwardly, and to those not conversant in "Bones", she appeared relaxed and comfortable. But he knew better. And so consequently he wasn't at his best. He gave one line answers to some of the varied questions asked of him by police officers and civilian staff who seemed to him to drift past on a conveyer belt of blurred black and white, and at other times he shut conversations down before their time. Yes, it was unprofessional, and yes, he felt like a jerk. But for some reason he couldn't ignore the niggling, insidious feeling that sought his whole attention - a feeling which made put him on edge, on alert and most frustratingly of all, on the back foot.

Bones was angry, upset, or maybe a mixture of both. She was fine when she left to meet the guy yesterday afternoon, and now she wasn't. It didn't take a squint to join the dots. Before he had the chance to question her again, the pompous guy from the crime scene appeared out of nowhere.

"Doctor Brennan, Agent Booth – I wanted to thank you for your extremely interesting presentation."

"Thank you, Doctor Sidibe." Brennan replied as she returned the other man's effusive handshake.

"Truthfully, I can't recall a presentation I've enjoyed more. Your discussion of bullet wound analysis and cranial reconstruction techniques are quite revelatory. And your speech, Agent Booth...again...interesting."

Booth thanked him and returned his broad smile. But as was the case with the other man, his smile didn't reach his eyes.

"If you don't have plans this evening, I would be honoured if you would join me for dinner. I would very much enjoy the opportunity to continue my education, Doctor Brennan."

"I'm afraid I do have plans tonight. Booth and I are going to do some sightseeing."

"Of course. Sorry, I perhaps didn't make myself clear...Agent Booth...my invitation was to you both."

Yeah, right it was, buddy.

"Perhaps we could arrange dinner for another evening, Doctor Sidibe."

"I'll hold you to that, Doctor Brennan, mark my words."

Booth's smile levelled out at that point. In contrast, the coroners' toothy smile broadened at the thought of spending the evening with his partner.

"Anyway, now I have secured a date with you, Doctor Brennan, I must take my leave."

Booth expected her to correct Sidibe on his erroneous assumption, but perhaps the doctor's intended double meaning simply passed her by. On the other hand, he was fully attuned to the other man's intentions. And it had also not escaped his attention that this time the invitation wasn't extended to him. But hey, Bones was a free agent. She could eat dinner with whomever she chose.

And tonight she had chosen him.

He'd figured they'd maybe take a ride on the London Eye and then grab a bite to eat somewhere along that stretch of the river, but now he realised he needed to do better. He needed to up his game. Suddenly it was important that he show her that a night out with him wouldn't always equate to chucking down burgers at the Diner and going for take-out at Wong Foos. He could be charming - devastatingly so with the right motivation. He could do romance. He could be what she was looking for.

But was she looking?