September 2005

Tuesday morning shone clear. Booth snapped his phone shut as he exited his office, heading to his truck. He had a case. Involving skeletal remains. If this didn't count as urgent, he didn't know what did. Time to put his plan into action, he climbed in his SUV and drove to the Jeffersonian.

He wasn't going to call ahead and give her time to make an excuse. He wanted to drive her from the lab to the crime scene on the pretense of going over the case notes, though he had close to nothing. His real purpose was to get her alone so he could question her about her Andy Lister character on the way.

He smirked to himself, remembering the exchange as he drove the short distance to her office. He had concocted his plan the moment he'd gotten off the phone with her boss the week before.

"Dr. Goodman, this is Special Agent Seeley Booth with the FBI. I was the agent who worked with your team last summer." He leaned forward on his desk, anxiously tethered to his phone. This man was either going to be the catalyst to something great, or the roadblock stopping his plans to get Bones in his corner.

"Yes, I remember you Agent Booth. What can I do for you?"

"Dr. Brennan has been assisting the FBI's forensic lab on a semi-regular basis for the last six months or so." He stated directly. "Your lab's contributions have been a great asset in catching criminals. I'd like to get a contract put in place to formalize the association between our organizations."

Goodman's brow furrowed as he took his time to respond. "Why now?" Only vaguely cognizant of past requests that had come in, he couldn't help but wonder why the FBI hadn't required a contract from the beginning if it was necessary.

"Excuse me?" This was not a response Booth had anticipated.

"The Jeffersonian works without contracts with many government agencies Agent Booth," he explained. "What makes you more special?"

Says so right in my title: Special Agent. He bit back the sarcastic remark, instead appealing to Goodman's bureaucratic side. "I want to be sure I go through all the proper channels now so when a case comes up, my investigation isn't sidetracked. Red tape and all, you know." He fidgeted with his pocket poker chip while he allowed the other man a moment to think.

After a sizeable silence, the director finally asked, "How much of their time are you asking?"

"It's all dependent on the cases," Booth spoke truthfully.

"Hmm."

The typical squint tedium magnified by the administrative mind made Booth squirm unseen in his office while the silence ensued.

"This would be good testimony for congress when it comes time to renew our budget," Goodman admitted.

"We do plan to continue using our own lab for the regular stuff," the agent tried setting the other man's mind at ease. "We're mostly interested in having a specialist in forensic anthropology available for our murder investigations. The FBI's lab doesn't have those kind of resources."

"Dr. Brennan is our only forensic anthropologist with the expertise you're looking for," he spoke slowly. A second, less innocent motive for partnering with the FBI was taking shape in his mind, namely in the form of petty retribution for her lack of timely notice before she left.

"Is that so?" Booth played dumb.

"Yes," he spoke with pride for one of his own. "She has been in Guatemala identifying victims of genocide for a while now. In fact, she's coming back Tuesday morning and bringing one back with her."

Stilling in his seat, the agent was grossed at the idea. "A body?!"

"Heavens no," Goodman chuckled amiably. "Just a skull."

Booth squinted his nose in disgust but reverted back to a voice of calm professionalism. "So she will be available Tuesday to meet?"

"Better plan on Wednesday," her boss advised, "unless something urgent comes up. I suppose it would be a professional courtesy to alert Dr. Brennan and the team to their new roles before she gets back to the office," he finished speaking more to himself.

Booth cursed inwardly that he wouldn't be able to catch her off guard just showing up in her office.

"So that's a yes, then," he confirmed.

"Yes." Goodman sounded pleased. "I believe this will be a mutually beneficial arrangement."

Booth celebrated with a silent mini fist pump. "Great. I'll get that contract sent to you this afternoon."

When Dr. Goodman had shared the new arrangement with the FBI with the team, Hodgins smirked, pleased to have his chance to prevent government corruption, Angela grimaced, leery of what kind of facial reconstructions would come her way, and Zach pouted, annoyed for his teacher's sake, knowing she was going to hate this.

Now arriving at the museum complex, Booth got directions from the visitor's desk and took in his surroundings as he walked back towards her office. Spotting her assistant to the side using a microscope, he sauntered closer, loudly demanding, "Zach, where's Dr. Brennan? We have a case."

Without looking up from his work, Zach grumbled in reply, "Dr. Brennan hasn't arrived yet."

The agent stopped short and jerked his head towards the younger man. "I thought she was supposed to be in first thing."

Sighing with impatience, the assistant finally looked up from his work. "She missed her flight. Angela just left five minutes ago to pick her up at the airport."

Shit. There goes my plan. His tongue subconsciously licked his lower lip and he rubbed his neck as he reassessed and quickly made a new plan.

Clapping once, he began taking backwards steps. "Fine. Go to Arlington National Cemetery with whatever equipment you think Bones will need. I'll meet you there." He spun on his heel making a beeline for the exit.

"I don't know what she'll need for current remains!" Zach called after him.

Never stopping, Booth shouted back, "Bring it all. I don't care," as he strode away purposefully, waiting until he reached his vehicle to make another call, this time to his buddy at Homeland Security.

"Gibson, this is Seeley Booth… Yeah, long time. Listen, I need a favor. A Dr. Temperance Brennan is flying in from Guatemala via San Salvador to Washington Dulles International Airport on Aviateca Airlines this morning. I need your guys to hold her for me… I just found out she missed her original flight so I don't have her new flight number… No, she isn't dangerous. I just need her held for questioning for me… She's bringing a skull into the country if you need an excuse… You and I both know it's legal, but… Fine, call it a favor. I owe you one… Thanks Gibson."

He hoped it would be worth it. He hated owing favors, especially to other government agents.

Arriving at the airport, he quickly parked in the short-term lot, glad for special law enforcement parking. He arrived with plenty of time to take his position, across the corridor from the TSA offices.

Intermittently strolling among the flag poles and pretending to read the book, he didn't have to wait long to see her swagger out from the concourse with her friend galloping alongside. What was it about her that he couldn't help but stare? She was still attractive for sure, but there were plenty of beautiful women in the world, most of them less infuriating.

"Oh shit," he cursed under his breath, his eyes widening as his target took down the TSA agent assigned to bring her in for questioning. It was so hot the way she could take a man down, but he had only been planning on getting her out of the trumped up charge of illegal transportation of human remains, not assault of a federal agent. At least his watching her wasn't making him stick out in the crowd. She had earned almost everyone's attention at the scene she had created.

He watched as they ushered her back to their offices, her friend trailing behind to get her own instructions from Homeland Security.

Brennan crossed her arms, watching her plane taxi down the runway without her on it. The drive from camp to Guatemala City had been slow and tedious with all the rain, something she and Dr. Summers had anticipated when they had started off before dawn. What they had not predicted was the flooding on the airstrip once they arrived causing a four hour flight delay.

Dr. Summer's flight was a continuation on their original aircraft, departing twenty minutes after their arrival in San Salvador. Dr. Brennan had sprinted across the near empty airport in an attempt to catch her redeye connection, arriving at the gate just as the jetway was pulled back from the airplane.

Now, as she watched her plane roll out of sight, the only sound to be heard was the tap-tapping of a lone gate agent working furiously at his computer, rebooking the traveler's flight so that he could go home for the night.

"Señorita Brennan," he called impatiently. "Su vuelo sale a 4:50 de la mañana. Necesitas algo más?" He handed her a new boarding pass for the next morning and asked reluctantly if she needed anything else.

"Gracias. Dónde está el cibercafé?" Glancing at her watch, she thanked the agent and asked for the internet cafe. She needed to find a computer to let Angela know her change in travel arrangements.

Pointing her in the right direction, the agent disappeared the moment she turned her back. Minutes past midnight, all the shops and restaurants were closed and she was stuck in the El Salvador International Airport, practically alone. Trudging past gate after gate, she hauled her satchel and duffel to the opposite end of the terminal where she found her desired computer bay.

Digging out her wallet, she inserted some American coins and logged onto her Jeffersonian email account. She typed a brief email to Angela to warn her of the later arrival time. Hopefully Angela will open her e-mail before leaving for the airport.

She didn't dare allow herself to sleep lest she miss another flight, she went back to the bulk of her inbox. Her e-mail would provide at least twenty minutes of distraction. Two hundred forty-seven unread messages! She immediately set to sorting through her e-mails. Glancing at the trash icon, she noted the additional five hundred sixty-three unread messages there and silently thanked herself for setting up the interview filter before she had left. The majority in her inbox were science alert bulletins, easily sorted into a sub-folder to read through later. Eighty-one. Much more manageable.

Starting with the most recently received, a red exclamation mark noting a high priority message from her boss just the Friday before caught her attention.

Dear Dr. Brennan,

Welcome home. Be advised of the following change in your absence. The Jeffersonian Medico-Legal Lab has entered into a contractual agreement to partner with the FBI, specifically providing forensic anthropologic support to aid in homicide investigations, beginning the week of your return. The FBI agent has requested a meeting on Wednesday morning, the time of which to be determined upon your arrival. I have alerted the rest of the team to this change.

Regards,

Dr. Daniel Goodman

Director of the Sciences

Jeffersonian Institute

Her lips pressed into a fine line. All motivation to work through the administrative obligation left her.

She logged off and stormed through the airport once more to her gate, sitting on the hard vinyl seats with a huff.

A contract meant she had no choice and she did not appreciate being told what to do. Brennan caught herself spiraling in a whirl of frustration and willed herself to practice some meditative breathing to regain control of mind.

There was no point in making a fuss at the moment though; she would have to wait until she saw Dr. Goodman. Besides, she had been helping the FBI's lab identify victims and weapons for several months before her departure. At the same time, she had had the freedom whether or not to take cases at her own choosing before. This new contract took away the option. What if the lab work became boring and she missed her old work, what then?

She plotted her arguments in her head for the eventual conversation she would have with Dr. Goodman when she arrived back at the lab. What was going to happen to her World War II victims? She had other obligations outside the Jeffersonian as well. She had her publisher she had to be accountable to, though, who knew how much a publisher demanded of an author for an already released book. Then there was the University, though her teaching schedule had been reduced to a single night class due to her conflicting schedule in Guatemala. And the guest lectures were optional. If she were completely honest with herself, teaching had become her least favorite part of each week.

Perhaps life would be too monotonous without some excitement added. As long as she remained in control of her lab, nothing would have to change under a contract. Besides, it could be enjoyable. She had felt a certain level of satisfaction in helping take dangerous people out of society in each of the previous cases. Especially Gemma Arrington's case with the arrogant judge who thought he was above it all. Being out of the lab and connecting the real world to her science had been exhilarating. But now she would have no freedom in the matter.

Vacillating internal dialogue occupied her mind for the hours-long interval until her flight boarded, finally settling on an agreeable outlook by the time she settled in her seat. Satisfied with her conclusion, Brennan fell asleep promptly and did not wake until a flight attendant shook her upon landing five hours later.

Opening her eyes to the virtually empty plane, Brennan quickly grabbed her satchel and duffel bags and deplaned. Thirty-six hours on five hours of sleep was the only reason she didn't vent her annoyance as she found herself joining her fellow passengers in line at customs.

Moving faster than anticipated, she had hardly decided to have Angela bring her home to sleep (instead of going straight to the lab) before she found herself next in line.

Handing her paperwork over, the customs agent gave her declaration forms a cursory glance, asked the standard questions, "anything to declare Ms. Brennan?"

"Dr… Dr. Brennan and no."

Silently raising an eyebrow in response, the agent handed back her ID and went back to flirting with her coworker as she waved the scientist through.

Wanting no more than to collapse on a soft bed, she dragged herself towards the baggage claim to find Angela. She watched on amused as her friend flashed a gate agent. Brennan felt a small resurgence of energy, knowing her two-month excursion was done.

Until it wasn't and she had her hands up with three guns pointing at her. Too tired to care, she allowed herself to be led back to the Homeland Security offices while Angela trailed behind.

Booth followed with enough distance to not be noticed by either of them until Brennan had been taken into a room and Angela was told to wait on the bench under an indoor tree. He watched her slouch on the hard seat with a sigh and cross her legs. She leaned forward, propping an elbow on her top knee and resting her chin on that fisted hand while she looked around for a clock. That's when she spotted him.

"Booth?" Angela questioned nervously. Thinking he had been called in to arrest Brennan, she stammered excuses, "I swear, it was all just a misunderstanding. They didn't tell Bren they were Homeland Security until after…"

He put his hand up slightly to stop her. "I'm here to bring her to a crime scene, not arrest her," he interrupted. "Why don't you go back to the lab and I'll give her a ride when she's done here. We have a case."

She studied him curiously, noticing he was carrying Brennan's book, but his face was unreadable. Deciding to trust him anyway, she reluctantly agreed to leave. "I suppose I don't have much choice, do I?"

"Not really, no," he responded, desperately hoping he sounded more confident than he felt.

Walking away, Angela looked back just once to appreciate his physique, but by then, he had turned away with one hand at his hip, staring intently at the door she was behind.

Breathing deeply, he tried to slow his racing heart. Now was not the time to show emotion.

Taking one last slow breath, he hoped she wouldn't figure out his ploy… or at least wouldn't refuse to work with him because of it. This was his now or never moment, no room for mistakes, he needed to stay in control. His future depended on it.

He entered the room showing as little emotion as possible.

Seeing her, he forced himself to look away to keep his chest from constricting too tightly. Looking up, he focused on the other agents in the room to maintain his composure until she turned to address him.

"What are you doing here?"

Thank you all who stayed with me for this. This is the first time I have ever put my writing out there for anyone else to read and many have you have bolstered my confidence in this area considerably.

If you find any inconsistencies with the show, please let me know. I have watched the Pilot and The Parts in the Sum of the Whole more times more times than is healthy I think.