January 2005
Life was so much simpler without a partner. No one to watch out for. No one to "forget" to put information in the files. No one to have to consult with on opinions.
It had taken weeks to convince Cullen to reassign Agent Gilman. After pawning the poor man off on Agent Burns, it took another few weeks to clean up and organize case files to the point that eighty percent had been solved and the rest were pending results from the bureau's forensics lab. For the first time in months, Booth had the leisure to take care of administrative crap, cleaning off his desk, clearing out unnecessary e-mails and throwing away old notes.
A celebratory lunch was in order. Booth swung his coat on over his suit as he swaggered toward the elevator bank, pleased with himself and his progress.
The agent stepped aside as the elevator doors opened.
A solemn Sam Cullen passed out of the elevator ordering him, "Booth, grab Reilly and Elliot and bring them to my office," before stomping down the hall to his office leaving a stunned Booth in his wake.
Hanging his head in frustration, he stuffed his hands in his pants pockets and sulked back to his desk to remove his winter coat.
Both Reilly and Elliot were senior in rank. What does Cullen want me for, with them? Collecting the agents from their offices, they went directly down the hall.
Booth allowed the senior agents to precede him into their boss's office. They each took a seat in front of the desk leaving the younger agent to stand in the corner behind them.
"I just came from the hospital," he greeted the men. The agent in charge had exhaustion written across his face and his desk was far messier than normal. Reilly and Elliot exchanged worried glances. Cullen didn't normally go to the hospital unless someone needed a healthcare directive delivered or there was family needing comfort. The realities of their own mortality always became much more real whenever one of their own was hurt or killed.
Seeing the worried faces, Cullen quieted their worst fears. "Agent Myers was shot in the shoulder last night. She got lucky, she'll make a full recovery. However, she has requested to return to desk duty instead of fieldwork."
Elliot, known for being a bit of a sexist, rolled his eyes earning himself a dirty look and rebuke from the boss. "This is the first time Myers has been injured in the field and the first time she's felt her life was at risk since her son was born two years ago. I don't blame her for being a little reticent about getting back in the field immediately. This is only temporary. However, her cases still need attention."
Cullen rose pointing to the stacks of files on his desk, "I want you two to take her files and lead or redistribute them as you see fit."
Both men rose from their seats and began piling the stacks to carry out.
"Agent Myers should be back in the office next week. If there are any questions, she can answer them then."
They murmured 'yes, sir's as they filed out and Booth could hear them begin barking names as they began the redistribution of work.
Rearranging the few files left on his desk, Cullen sighed and sank into his chair, putting most of the files into drawers and pulling a few other papers out.
Booth remained where he had been through the entire exchange, just watching, wondering if he was supposed to be there still. Or maybe he was supposed to have been the messenger to bring the other two? That would be strange though since he hadn't been dismissed at any point.
He started to move prompting Cullen to raise his eyes.
"Booth," he picked up the last file remaining on his desk and indicated to the young agent to have a seat. "I want you to take the lead on this Jeremy case, her current case."
"The one that landed her in the hospital?" Already serious, Booth grew more somber. If one agent had already been injured, it made the case that much more dangerous from the onset.
His boss nodded. "She got the ID of the victim this morning and went to notify the victim's next of kin, his brother. Apparently he had a warrant out for his arrest, failure to appear in court over traffic violations. Pshaw, he thought she was coming to arrest him." Shaking his head, Cullen glowered. "The idiot would have had to post bail, pay a fine and get back to life. Now the dumb shit gets to sit in prison for attempted murder and I lose a great field agent."
Seeing Booth open his mouth, he answered preemptively, "He's already been caught and he's not a suspect in his brother's case." He waved dismissively.
Feeling more relaxed, Booth took the file from his boss and flipped the cover open to glance over the summary. "Just out of curiosity, sir, why…"
"Why am I singling you out? He paused, pursing his lips, deciding how much he was willing to share with his agent. "Think of this as a test. Your performance over the last six months has shown remarkable improvement."
Booth's pride began to swell but fell as quickly as Cullen shared, "though I'm not thrilled with your unwillingness to work with others."
"If this is about Agent Gilman, sir…"
Cullen shook his head at his burgeoning agent. "Agent Booth, in all your time at the FBI, the only partner you've stayed with longer than two months was Agent Friedlander when you first started. Quite frankly, I'm sick of the back and forth. This is your chance to try it your way without a word from me: prove to me you don't need a partner."
A glimmer of excitement reached the younger agent's eyes as he closed the file. "I don't know what to say. Thank you sir, you won't be disappointed."
He stood and turned to leave the office.
Cullen called out as he reached the hallway, "Oh, and Booth, don't let me hear that you're using other agents' time on this. You want to work alone, you can do this by yourself."
Booth nodded in acknowledgement, slightly dazed by the last pronouncement, and walked down the hall toward his desk in the bullpen. The moment he turned the corner, he took a deep breath and exhaled heavily.
Alone. On his own. No one else to blame but himself. He grinned. This was going to be great.
A growling stomach reminded him of his original plan to celebrate cleaning up his caseload with lunch. Add this as another reason to celebrate. Making a quick detour to his desk to grab his coat once more, Booth kept the file to bring along to Wong Foo's.
Driving alone to the restaurant, the agent began analyzing what little he had gleaned from his meeting with Cullen and the glance in the file.
Obviously, Agent Myers had figured out the victim's identity, Matthew Jeremy, since she had been notifying next of kin. The victim's brother had a rage problem, would the victim have one as well? That wouldn't be known until he could read the file more thoroughly and talk to people who knew the victim.
Apparently, Cullen wasn't too concerned about catching whoever had done it immediately otherwise he wouldn't have forbidden him from using any other agents. They had probably used one of the bureau's profilers and already pegged the perpetrator as someone with a personal vendetta against the victim, someone who wasn't a threat to the general public. At least it didn't sound like he was searching for a serial killer.
Parking, he grabbed his prized file and strutted proud all the way to his favorite establishment, excited for his new challenge.
"Hey, you're late." Peter flipped the TV off and heaved himself off the couch, walking to meet her in the entry.
Brennan froze momentarily hearing the voice. She had, until that moment forgotten she had made plans for dinner with Peter. Not in the mood for company after her day, she took her irritability out on her boyfriend. Crossly she replied, "When I gave you a key, it was for emergencies only. Not to let yourself in whenever you want." She finished taking off her winter things and stood.
"It was an emergency." He kissed her cheek.
Then she noticed the hollow rattle and sway behind him.
"What the hell is this?" Her eyes widened in shock and flitted between the doorway to the living room and her boyfriend.
"Okay, not an emergency per se, but I did want to surprise you." Peter rubbed his hands together grinning, proud of his inventiveness. Between the entry and the living room hung a curtain of beads in various neutral tones, very tribal, something he was certain was his Tempe's style.
"You said you would fix the door!" Her voice raised an octave in annoyance and she planted her hands on her hips.
Brushing his hand across the beads to make them ripple, he disregarded Brennan's mood. "I did! See? Cool, isn't' it?"
"When you said you would fix it, I expected it to be fixed with an actual door." She huffed towards her bedroom until he spoke again.
"Yeah, well, funds are a little tight right now and doors are a little more expensive than I thought they were." Peter rubbed the back of his neck, refusing to concede that the beads were not comparable to a solid door. "Oh come on," he begged, "it's cool. Plus, we can't break this one slamming it too hard."
"We?!" she scoffed.
After a particularly heated argument the week before, she had slammed the living room door. He had responded by pounding on the cheap door to get her to open it until he accidentally made an indent to the molded composite material.
He put his hands up in surrender. "It will never happen again, I promise."
"Especially since there's still no door." She rolled her eyes and changed direction to walk around him to the kitchen. After working late, she was hungry and they had made plans to cook at home. Taking a breath, she calmly asked, "Have you started making anything for dinner?"
"Not yet, I wanted to see what you wanted to have." He leaned against the wall inside the kitchen.
She paused, irritation boiling once again. "Or you wanted me to do all the work. Typical," she accused him. She pulled a pot out and began filling it with water.
Frustrated that his girlfriend had barely been home two minutes and had been nothing but bitchy to him, he got defensive. Taking a step closer to her he jabbed a finger in her direction. "Oh, don't pull that Tempe. I do the cooking plenty. I made dinner twice last week."
Rather than backing off, she put her face into his angrily. "TWO! Of the FIVE meals we had together last week. And one of the meals you supposedly made was take-out." It was becoming a shouting match.
"Fine, I'll cook tonight." Peter tried to take the wooden spoon from her hand, but she whipped it away, holding it far from him.
"No, you're not. Otherwise you would have started already. You cannot take over something half-finished and then take full credit!"
"I was waiting to see what you wanted to have!" he yelled back.
"Ever hear of a phone? You could have called to ask." she chastised as she collected the box of pasta from the cupboard.
Forcefully quiet but tense, he asked in a false calm, "do you want me to cook or not?"
A moment's internal battle determined tired won out over stubbornness. "Fine." She slapped the wooden spoon into his hand and walked past him to sort through the dropped mail on her counter.
After giving Brennan a few minutes time to calm down, he worked up the courage to enquire about her mood. "Did you have a fight with Angela or something?"
"No, why?" She dropped the junk mail into the recycling bin.
"You're extra… feisty tonight." He chose his adjective carefully.
Sighing and closing her eyes, she admitted, "I identified some World War I remains this morning belonging to a fifteen year old kid. I was finishing the report this afternoon." She didn't mention a bothersome phone message left by a certain agent. He had left her alone for weeks. She couldn't understand why he would be calling again.
"Which is why you were late. I should know by now that it's always work. Sorry." His work was as important to him, he understood it was priority. He came up and hugged Brennan's waist from behind, kissing her neck.
Releasing his girlfriend, Peter suggested, "Why don't you go change? I'll start frying the hamburger."
With a nod, Brennan padded into her bedroom and started removing her jewelry.
"What do you want to do tonight?" Peter yelled down the hall.
Reappearing in the kitchen, she spoke at a normal volume as she began opening the few non-junk pieces of mail. "I have an article about a skeleton from the late Pleistocene era found on Flores Island I've been meaning to read for the last two months. It's a very exciting find."
Watching the hamburger fry, he asked, "The skeleton or the article?" When no answer was forthcoming, he turned to find his girlfriend engrossed in a letter. "Earth to Temperance," he teased.
"They accepted it!" Brennan sounded nearly giddy.
"What?" His calm contradicted her excitement.
She looked up, eyes shining brightly. "My book! They want to publish my book. I'm going to be a published author."
Still unperturbed, Peter was confused. "You've had works published before, what's the big deal?"
"I've had research articles published. Being the best in my field, I should have my research published easily. I need to call the publisher and set up a meeting." Grinning wide, she danced toward her house phone.
"Does this mean you'll let me read it now?"
Calling the number listed in the letter, she put the phone to her ear while responding, "You can read it when it's published."
"Seriously? Your friend from work got to read it." He didn't care about the book, but he was jealous of the closeness Temperance shared with her friend versus himself.
Dividing her attention between listening to the ring and responding, "Angela. And she only read parts of it because I wanted her feedback." Brennan hung up the phone having gotten the automated voice telling her the publishing office was closed for the evening.
"And you trust her more than me," he grew petulant facing off with the woman in front of him.
"Don't be so childish, Pete."
Raising his voice he complained, "I'm childish? For what? For pointing out that you trust Angela more than you trust your boyfriend? For wanting to read your book?"
She spun to face him. "No, you're childish for whining about it."
"Well excuse me for wanting to be part of something important to you." His fiery eyes met her icy ones.
Each stood rooted to their spot, staring each other down. The only sound to be heard was their own aggravated breathing and the overdone hamburger sizzling in its pan. The angry quiet was broken by the sudden shrieking of the smoke detector.
"Argh! Just… fine. Take the manuscript and go home Pete. I don't feel like fighting anymore tonight." Brennan rushed around her boyfriend to remove the pan from the heat and dump the burnt food in the trash.
"Fine. I'll call you later." He left the stack of papers where they lay and walked out, heading to the bar.