Thanks to whomever (I didn't feel like counting…) submitted the 100th review! It's like the 100th episode, but you don't have to throw a pillow at your TV in anger and storm out, and then later realize that it was actually an awesome episode!
Anyways, this one is a little bit of just pushing the plot so we can get to the visit by Angela and Hodgins, and eventually get our crime-fighting duo back to American soil. Hope it is still an enjoyable read.
I do not know how National Geographic people act, but I love their magazine. Their TV channel, on the other hand, has some crazy crap.
This one is dedicated to the anonymous readers. I know you are out there!
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B&B
Day 98
B&B
"Dr. Brennan," the National Geographic photographer looked through his camera, "if you could squat down and look at the skull that would be totally rad."
Brennan nodded, assuming the position that the man wanted. National Geographic's crew had arrived two days before; with them pounds and pounds of video equipment. According to their director, Nat Geo planned a two hour cable television special (which without a TV, she would be unable to watch), and a five-page feature in next month's magazine.
If anything, the crew's presence was disruptive. While she enjoyed the publicity for the discovery, her team acted very differently under the lens. Daisy became even more chatty than usual and was a fixture wherever the cameras set up. Merrill became extremely shy, acting like a crustacean diving beneath a rock. Mikel, while very experienced, began to stumble over everyday anthropological terms.
"Perfect shot!" the photographer proclaimed, receding back to his crew.
For some odd reason the crew wanted pictures of her. Brennan had great difficulty fathoming why their interest would not be solely focused on Adi and the excavation site. But on this matter, she recalled the telephone conversation she had the day before with Booth.
"Bones, they want to see the people behind the discovery."
"Why? The discovery is of much more importance than me and my team."
"People that like that sort of thing. They like knowing who discovered it and what they are like. You know, see the whole picture."
"That whole picture cannot encompass how I feel about the dig…that is just humorous."
"All Bones. Not just some. All."
Their conversations, whether by phone or email, were decently frequent. Brennan was just glad he wasn't in combat.
"So Dr. Brennan, tell us about yourself," the reporter shoved a microphone into her face.
"I don't see how this is relevant."
"If you would please, just answer the question."
Brennan just shook her head. The only good reporting she had seen on the dig was the NPR coverage and articles in many of the world's anthropology journals.
The reporter frowned, turning to Daisy instead. "Tell me…"
"Daisy Wick," the peppy anthropologist filled in the reporter's blank.
"What got you into anthropology?"
"Well, Dr. Brennan has always been my hero and I want to be just like here. So I studied extremely hard and read everything she wrote…"
Brennan walked away in disgust; could her team really degrade so quickly? Productivity dropped to an all time low while the National Geographic crew lingered.
She headed back to the hut she shared with Daisy. She turned her gaze to the sky; it was beginning to gray and darken with the usual signs of impending precipitation. The tropical nature of the island made rain a regular occurrence. In their first weeks on island, the builders turned their attention to waterproofing the communications hut and the examination hut; leaving the dormitories to temporarily fend the rain off without aid. In short, the roofs leaked terribly. Anything important had to be sealed away or else the rain would ruin it. Although Brennan had a waterproof sleeping bag, moisture would creep through the bug net; she hated waking up damp.
Entering the hut, Brennan booted up her laptop, hoping that the internet uplink was functioning.
"4 New Messages"
The first one was from Cam; Brennan hadn't heard from her since the day of her departure.
"Dr. Brennan,
Angela mentioned that you had email access. I hope the dig is going well and that you and Daisy are healthy and happy. The Jeffersonian is fine, but feels empty. A friend of yours, Justine, dropped by with her husband to say hello. She had no idea you were on a dig. What she did tell me was the story of your first (and last) frat party. Sorry Dr. Brennan, but I don't think I can every look at you in the same way ever again. EVER."
Brennan's cheeks flushed with embarrassment. That frat party story was one thing she intended to be kept from her co-workers (and friends) at the Jeffersonian. But now that Cam knew, the story would spread like a wildfire across the institute. She would never hear the end of it…ever. She read on, pushing her college days from the forefront of her thoughts.
"We have taken on a case or two. Luckily, bones can wait, so we'll have a nice stack of cases for you when you get home. Wendell and Clark have really stepped up to the plate with you gone; not that we don't miss you and need you. The Jeffersonian is thinking of you!
- Cam"
She couldn't help but feel proud of the two interns back in D.C. Both would make excellent doctorial candidates.
Brennan opened the next email. It was from Russ.
"Tempe,
I wish you told dad and me that you were leaving sooner. We didn't even get to say goodbye. I hope you're okay out there wherever you are. I know you're in Maluku, but I don't even know where that is. Just stay in contact, we want to know that you are okay.
Your Brother,
Russ"
Even after coming to terms with her childhood abandonment, Brennan still resented Russ a bit. Yes, it was highly irrational, but resent is a sticky emotion. Like gum on the role of a rubber shoe, even after prying the hardened bits off, the pigment and small morsels remain.
The third email was from Angela and Hodgins.
"Bren,
Jack and I just landed in Hong Kong, the weather here is awesome. We're going to spend a week in the city before going to Macau via hydrofoil to get on Jack's yacht so we can come see you! I'm so excited! Look, from the last time we talked, I know you are clamming up. You are. Don't deny it. Our phone call a month ago (about Booth and love) was a slip up for you; next time, I know you will try to be more careful with those messy emotions. I know you sweetie.
You really need to let it out. Anyways, Jack and I will be there in like three weeks, so I'll be able to force some girl talk upon you then. Jack's mumbling about some awesome flora and fauna on that island of yours. I have no idea what he's saying, but he's about as excited as a little kid catching fireflies. See you soon!
Love,
Angela and Jack
She was not clamming up. But Angela was right, her profession of love for Booth occurred while she was weak. It wouldn't happen again. Brennan knew she had to let go of her feelings for Booth…for him. She wasn't the type of woman that could give him the average American family he desired to raise, no matter how much he loved or liked her.
Ironically enough, the last email was from Booth.
"Bones,
What's up! Sorry we haven't talked by phone in a while. Anyway, I promised to tell you what that incident on base I was involved in. Before I say it, I swear, it wasn't serious. I'm fine.
I was hit by friendly fire during a training exercise. Yes, one of the files attached are my x-rays. I thought you'd enjoy them. :)
Nothing has really changed on base but more troops are coming in. I don't know how much news you are getting on your little island Bones, but the war is heating up. The strategy has changed though. They are focusing on bringing in civilian peace makers and aid and stuff. I think it's crap, but it's good for my guys.
We've got like what, 267 more days to go? Are you excited? But I know you; you love your bones Bones! See what I did there? Oh, I have the base address for you just like you asked for. Got any goodies you want to send over? Don't send any of that weird Indonesian food though. The only Asian stuff I like is Thai, and Wong Fu's. But stay safe Bones, I need someone to send me warm socks during the winter.
Your Partner,
Booth
P.S. The third attached file is a picture of me on base!"
Brennan quickly opened the jpeg attachment. Booth stood in his desert-camouflage uniform, the legs neatly tucked into his boots. His hair was a bit shorter; the Army must have given him a haircut when he deployed. He looked a bit more…rugged. Perhaps that's why she felt oddly attracted to him at the moment. Regretting that she didn't have a printer, she saved the picture and tucked it away into a neat digital file.
267 days to change…
B&B
"Hey guys! You got three days until you ship your buts out to Kandahar Providence and you are gonna sit there and slop through these exercises?" Booth yelled at the groups. "If you slop through this crap, you're gonna get your asses shot off! And trust me, that's the last thing I want."
He motioned for Herring to come over. "Just get these guy's minds in gear, okay?"
Booth wished that keeping these Rangers going was easier. Yes, they were the Army's elite, but they were just kids.
He wandered to the recreation center, hoping to catch a break. On a whim, he approached the mail window. Maybe Parker had sent that care-package he had been talking about.
"Name please," the bored looking clerk said.
"Sergeant Major Booth."
"One moment please," the clerk wandered back into the dusty stacks of mail.
Booth drummed his fingers impatiently on the counter. Some of the non-combat guys really were slackers. It didn't even look like they had an organizational system back there…
"Hey buddy? You want to go any faster, 'cause I don't know about you, but I got stuff I gotta do."
All he heard was some shuffling around in the back.
"Here you go Sergeant Major," the clerk dropped a shipping box to the counter and pushed it towards Booth.
He grabbed the box. Like a robber making off with a fortune, Booth ran his treasure to his barrack. He didn't care that he was running across the base like frolicking child; he only minded that he carried, in his arms, something from his son.
Reaching the currently empty barrack, he gently placed the package to his cot. He whipped out his knife, cutting the tape. The package had obviously been opened a few times, but that's to be expected when you mail something to a military base in the middle of a war zone where IEDs are common. The knife he cut the haphazardly taped package was the same knife Pops gave to him when he joined the Rangers the first time. He mentioned it to Sweets once; he called it a security blanket or something like that.
Right on the top of the pile of stuff was a card. On the front, drawn in multi-colored crayon, was a tall stick figure labeled "dad," and a smaller one labeled "me."
With a smile, Booth opened the piece of printer paper folded "hamburger" style.
"Daddy,
I drew me and you together! I miss you but I know you're a hero in the Army. I know you are getting all the baddies. Mommy talked to one of your old army friends and he told us what kind of stuff you would like to get in a package! Mommy says it takes a while to get to Afjanistand but I don't know why. Does it take a really long time to get there? Did you get to Afganistand by a hot air balloon? In school we learned about how they work. Did you know that hot air likes to float to the top? That's why it gets hot in your apartment in the summer. I want to tell Dr. Bones about it. Mommy said that she was off somewhere too. Is she with you in Aphganistan with you?
Mommy says to stay safe!
Parker"
On the bottom of the page, a hot air balloon was scribbled with two stick figures in it. One labeled "daddy," the other as "Dr. Bones." Her stick figure had wavy lines coming off her head as hair.
Okay, so it they weren't the most accurate likenesses, but it was perfect. Anything Parker did was perfect.
"Oh man," he smiled as he sifted through the contents.
Whoever Rebecca had talked to about what to send him knew what deployment was like alright. Ramen, shampoo, soap, Jeffersonian novelty playing cards, and Propel drink mix.
"This is great stuff!'
Coffee singles, Goldfish, Hamburger Helper Singles, bandanas, Pop Tarts, and candy. God this was going to be a blast.
Tucked in the bottom were two little Nerf Guns, and two paddle balls. You would be surprised how glad an infantryman can get when they see paddle balls. The little stuff really goes a long way when you're so far from home.
"Hey Boss, I thought I'd find you here," Herring barged in. "Wait, are those Nerf guns?'
Booth laughed, "Yeah yeah," he tossed one to the Master Sergeant, delighting the man's inner child.
Herring fell into a pistol shooting stance, shooting one of the Styrofoam darts to the wall. It stuck with a pop suction cup created a miniature air-tight seal.
"Dude, these things are frickin' awesome. Whoa, is that a paddle ball?" The grown man grabbed the plastic toy. "Man, durin' my last deployment, I beat our company Captain in a paddle call competition."
"That's enough of that," Booth took the toy away. "I'm sure you had some reason to come looking for me other than getting in some action with the kiddy toys."
"Yeah," Herring's face grew suddenly serious. "Staff Sergeant Marks showed up in the latest batch of wounded."
"Marks…he was Bartlett's Sarge."
Herring nodded. "I don't know what that means to you, but I thought you might like to know." He patted his superior's shoulder, leaving him alone in the barrack.
If Marks was hurt…that meant Bartlett was seeing action. Even though he only spent a month with the kid, Booth couldn't help but think of the guy as his little brother. The kind of brother you want to help.
You should go see him…
The medical pavilion was on the other side of base; a good ten minute walk. Feeling like he needed the exercise (and as Bones once pointed out, the endorphins made him happy), he broke into a sprint. It felt good, the dry desert air whipping at his face.
"Where's the fire?" someone yelled at him as he went.
He reached the medical building, sweat beading on his brow. He pushed into the air conditioned building, walking with purpose towards the closest solider he could find.
"Hey, do you know where I can find a Staff Sergeant Marks?''
"Yeah," the woman nodded, paging through a clipboard. "He's down the hall on the bay to your right."
Without even a thank you, Booth followed the woman's directions down the hall. Like any Army hospital or medical outpost, the sounds of wounded men and woman could be heard prominently. It was a sound that in his time in the Rangers, he had become all too accustomed to.
"S-Sergeant M-Major Booth?" a weak voice from his left spoke.
"Hey Marks, how ya doin'?"
The guy was in bad shape. It looked like shrapnel had entered the right side of his face, causing swelling and discoloration. His left arm was in a sling, his hand poking out in a cast.
Booth placed a kind hand on the younger man's arm. "You okay?"
Marks tried to nod, "I'm okay Sarge."
"That's great."
"…Car bomb. It was a car bomb on the side of the road…we pulled the humvee up…a-and it went off."
"Hey now," Booth said softly. "No reason to talk about that stuff now."
"I know you want to know about Bartlett," somehow, a smile formed on Marks' face. "The kid's fine."
Booth was flooded with relief.
"Now how about this," the Sergeant Major patted the hand of the injured Ranger. "Why don't I hang around with you for a while eh?"
"That'd be awesome buddy."
A nurse brought a tray of food over. "Dinner. Do you need help eating?"
"I'll help him," he took the tray. "What do you want first?"
"I don't care, as long as it isn't that crap pudding. J-Just hand it to me. I can do it from there."
"You don't like the pudding?" Booth eyed the vanilla pudding like prey.
"I hate the stuff they give you in the hospital. It's nothin' to what my grandma would make."
"You wouldn't mind if I took it then…right?"
"It's all yours."
"Great!" Booth dug into the pudding. Maybe the food on base wasn't so bad after all.
267 days to wait for care packages…
B&B
I have one more day of exams then I'm done! Reviews are like accelerants on a fire. Turns inflammable to oh boy. Add some strontium chloride, magnesium sulfate, and copper chloride and you'll be set for the 4th of July!
Twitter - objectivemiss