Hey everyone! I know it's been a while, but I was away all weekend and I didn't have an opportunity to write. Then when I got back, I had writer's block. Thank you for your patience and enjoy!
One sentence of this is in Yoda speak (I did it on accident). See if you can find it!
Twitter - Objectivemiss
B&B
Day 201
B&B
"Absolutely not," Brennan protested vehemently.
Today, she was in Jakarta, the capital and largest city in Indonesia. She sat in Jakarta's National Research Centre of Archaeology, the dominant anthropological analysis in the region. Jakarta was a teeming metropolis, but the "office" (more like a darkened storage closet) she was in screamed obsolete.
"It simply isn't fair for the remains to be sequestered by a small group of scientists." Dr. Putra Wibawa of the center argued. "Just allow us to have them for a few months. Two or three perhaps?"
"Dr. Wibawa, I said no. Were it my intention to allow you to have the remains for any amount of time, I would have denoted that by saying 'yes.' 'No' is a negative used to express dissent, denial, or refusal, as in response to a question or request."
"I understand what no means Dr. Brennan!" Dr. Wibawa practically leap across the table separating her from the panel of, notably all male, doctors.
"Now now Putra," Dr. Purnoma Surya patted Wibawa's hand. "Dr. Brennan…may I call you Temperance?"
"Dr. Brennan will suffice," she crossed her arms.
"Please just consider our proposition. Our facilities can surely add tools to your arsenal."
Booth called this routine "good cop, bad cop"; apparently they did it well together in the interrogation room. It was essentially a psychological tactic used to induce stress on the subject. Whether this was intended by the doctors, was another story entirely. If they even trying to use this rudimentary tactic, then they were sorely underestimating her intelligence.
"No. My facility, compared to anything in this region, is state of the art. "
"This is our area Dr. Brennan," a third doctor, Dwi Tirto, leaned over the table, "we don't appreciate some…orang luar taking over the investigation."
Dr. Surya smiled sympathetically, "Orang luar means-"
"Outsider. I know," she nodded.
"I'm not afraid to use the…influence…that we have here," Dr. Wibawa leered menacingly.
"Is that a threat?" Brennan cocked her head. She was not about to allow these men to muscle her into any decision that she was not willing to make herself.
"No no no no no!" Surya, the "nice one," tried to calm the fuming anthropologist. "Please, the remains will be fine in our care. You and your team can take a month or two of rest and relaxation that you surely deserve. Students of the late Dr. Tenku Jacob would like to continue his manner of research with hominoid remains."
These men had no idea what they were talking about. Casually, she leaned forward. "December 2004, Teuku Jacob removed Homo floresiensis' remains from your repository. February 2005, remains were returned; portions severely damaged…two missing bones of the leg…deep cuts marking the lower edge of the mandible…one mandible snapped off and glued back together misaligned and at an incorrect angle…"
"That's enough Dr. Brennan-"
"The pelvis was smashed, destroying details that would reveal body shape, gait and evolutionary history. So I can assume that you have heard enough? Because if by continuing Dr. Tenku Jacob's research, you mean the destruction of crucial links in the human evolutionary ladder, then I cannot drop the remains off here. Not to mention that your blocked access to the cave of H. floresiensis for two years until the death of Dr. Jacob in 2007."
"I understand your reservations," Dr. Surya, ever the negotiator, said. "We, just like anyone else, want to see the magnificent discovery you have on your hands."
"I am not trying to enisle the remains…'Adi,' as me team likes to call her-"
"Meaning precious…very fitting."
"You and any anthropologists or paleoanthropologists that want to see and examine the remains are welcome to visit the site," Brennan nodded.
"I think we can agree with that," everyone stood but Dr. Wibawa, who crossed his arms in obvious anger.
"Certainly," Brennan cordially shook hand with the two doctors; she simply acknowledged the sitting doctor with a nod.
She gladly left the moth-ball smelling room; Daisy and Merrill jumped to their feet. Reluctantly, she brought the two interns along after Mikel insisted that she not travel alone. Despite her stubbornness, the older anthropologist insisted that it wouldn't only be safer, but a broadening and educational experience for them. With an argument like that, she was unable to say no.
They caught a small plane run by Merpati once a week to Ambon and from there, a flight to Jakarta. It took them an extra three days to get to Jakarta due to bad weather; the small, one engine planes that few back and forth in the region were very unstable. With the seas somewhat notorious for piracy, planes, however wavering, were the safest means of travel.
"Did everything go okay in there Dr. B?" Merrill handed her bag back.
"Are we going to have to come back to this place?" Daisy looked disgusted. "It's gross back here."
Brennan smiled triumphantly, "They are not trying to seize the remains as long as we allow them to see and examine the remains."
"Well that isn't so bad," he shrugged, walking alongside the senior anthropologist. "I mean, we get a pretty steady flow of anthropologists who want to see the remains, so it isn't a big deal…right?"
"My thoughts exactly," she confirmed.
"Well, our flight is in exactly," Daisy looked hurriedly down at her watch, "13 hours. It's tomorrow morning pending weather."
"I booked us a hotel."
"You did?" Merrill halted. "That was…thoughtful."
"Yes, yes it was," Brennan grinned. "Let's flag a cab and head over there."
"I'll do it!" Daisy rushed to the curb.
She couldn't help but laugh at the antics of the peppy intern trying to catch a cap. Almost reluctantly, she waved her arms timidly, leaning out towards the rush of chaotic Jakartan traffic. Daisy wasn't conditioned to work in this kind of environment; perhaps it was good that both she and Merrill had tagged along.
Realizing that if Daisy continued, they wouldn't make it back to their hotel for hours, she stepped up to the curb. As the usual 'FBI you're all under arrest' wouldn't work in a foreign nation such as this, she settled for a shrill whistle. Like scared FBI techs exposed to the wrath of an angry Dr. Temperance Brennan, cabs seemed to fling themselves at the group.
Jumping into the first cab, the three anthropologists slid into the bench seat.
"Grand Hyatt," Brennan said curtly, already shuffling through her bag to make sure that she had enough Indonesian rupiahs to cover the trip.
The hotel was just 2.8 kilometers down the Jalan Mohammad Husni Thamrin road; they could have easily walked, but considering their very long day at the museum, a few rupiahs for a five minute drive was more than worth it.
Soon enough, the cab pulled up into the Hyatt's large roundabout. Brennan shoved a few bills through the cabbie's window; more than enough to cover that short trip five times.
"Woah, this isn't a half bad place," Merrill exclaimed as he pulled his well worn leather bag from the trunk.
"It's late so they should have our rooms ready," she walked up to the main entryway, muttering a thank you to the door man.
The lobby was opulent, with fountains in every direction. Daisy and Merrill looked around in wonder, admiring the stunning architecture and craftsmanship. She strode to the marble-floored reception; the walls behind the desks adorned with mahogany.
"I'm Temperance Brennan; I have a reservation for three rooms."
The receptionist looked down at her computer, typing undistinguishable words into the system. "Yes I have your reservation. However, due to the lateness of your check-in, we need some time to prepare your rooms. May I suggest you visit one of our five in-house restaurants, or one of the two bars and lounges that we have."
Bar please…
"We will send for you when your rooms are ready. You can store your bags with us in a secure holding facility."
"Sure," Brennan motioned over the two waiting interns. They all handed the small amount that they did pack to the bell man at the ready. "Are you two up for a drink?"
"Yeah," they said in unison, following her lead.
Brennan was just in the mood for a drink. At the site, they had access to various liquors, but she yearned for a shot of single malt Scotch whisky; like Booth and she would drink out of Dixie cups after a particularly hard case. Other than the intoxication and ignorance fueled bliss that came afterword, the burn of the amber liquid seeping down her throat. She wasn't a big drinker, but she did so in social situations; Booth always said that she could hold her liquor.
She slid into a stool at the bar, Daisy and Merrill scooting in on either side of her.
"Shot of single malt Scotch whisky," Brennan hailed the bartender.
"I'll have what she's having," Daisy nodded her head a bit too enthusiastically.
"That's way too much drink for you," Merrill leaned over the bar.
"I drink…often," the young anthropologist justified.
"Hey now," Brennan chuckled, her mouth pulling into a lop-sided smile. "Let's just enjoy our night in the city."
Just 164 (divisible by 1, 2, 4, 41, 82, and 164) days of bickering interns…
B&B
Booth jogged over to the recreation building, pushing through the heavy doors and into the poorly air conditioned recreation building. His destination: the mail window. He had visited the window once, often twice a day. It was ridiculous that after over a month (more like two), the package from Bones hadn't arrived yet. The clerk knew his first name; for a guy that only goes by rank or by last name, this was a massive milestone.
The perpetually bored clerk looked up from his crumbled and well used Playboy. "Let me guess Sergeant Major, you want me to check if you got any mail."
"You guessed it buddy, now get up off your ass and do some checking," Booth joked with the kid.
"Okay okay man, don't shoot me or anything," the kid got to his feet, walking back into the dusty stacks. "You haven't gotten anything for a week or two, what makes you think that you're gonna get anything more?"
"Not funny," he drummed his fingers impatiently on the counter.
"Oop," the kid grunted.
"Is that a good thing or a bad thing," Booth leaned up as far as he could against the barred window. Why would it need to be barred anyway?
The clerk pulled a large box from the very top shelf. It dropped heavily into his arms; he crab stepped awkwardly back to the counter. "Sign for it," the kid picked up the usual form with his mouth, depositing the scrap on to the counter.
Booth quickly scribbled his name of the scrap of paper; it was merely for documentation. Not like these things didn't get lost after a day or two in the crap filing system that they were bound to have.
The kid dropped the package through the one-way slot at the bottom. "Have fun," he managed a smile, before going back to his racy magazine.
"Thanks bub," Booth grabbed the package.
Like every time he received a package or letter, he went straight for the barracks. Some of the guys opened their packages in public. Like vultures on a dead body, guys would swarm around, looking at whatever they would see. The boys would hoop and holler at pictures of girlfriends and casually mock everything that came out of the musty cardboard box. In his opinion, it was just jealously; not all these guys had people back in the states waiting for them to come home.
Opening the door with his behind, Booth backed into the barrack, dropping the package to his bed. The thing looked like it had been hastily opened and taped multiple times; that what you got when you send a package on to a US Army base that dealt with bomb threats, car bombs, and suicide bombers every day.
Pulling out his knife, he split the masking tape, bearing its contents to the dry desert air. Inside was a nearly full box of carefully folded contents. It was so like Bones to do that; make sure that every single corner of the box was properly utilized. On top was a tri-folded piece of crisp white paper. Reaching down, he pulled out the hand written note.
"Booth,
While I am unsure on when this package will reach you, but I hope that it makes it to you before the cold of the mountains of Afghanistan sets in; I understand that the standard-issue socks are lacking. Either that or you are extremely overindulged as far as sock quality goes. Enclosed are exactly five pairs of winter socks, a hand-written not from Angela, Hodgins, and Daisy, a few photos, and a special gift (an extra note is enclosed in that).
While we communicate fairly often via phone and email, this note isn't exactly an excellent method of communication. Especially considering that this may be a week or two old when you receive it, the most up to date news you can obtain from me is from email. Stay safe.
Bones
P.S.
Knowing the security protocols of the Army, I hope that the contents of this box are not compromised in any way, shape or form."
Carefully folding the note up, he deposited in his breast pocket where he kept all his personal photos. Indeed, the box had five pairs of socks; all of the wool variety. Very warm, they would be. They weren't as flashy as he preferred, but Bones probably was just thinking of his military job and the dress code. He decided to save the notes for later; the one from Angela and Hodgins was bound to be interesting, but Daisy…if she wrote as much as she talked it would be…interesting and dozens of pages long.
Next, he went for the photos. The first was of a set of remains, he could only assume that this was the "Adi" that she was always talking about. The second was Bones, standing on the beach, a hand on her hip as she smirked at the camera. She looked…beautiful. Her hair was tied back, exposing her features. Her hair was much longer even when tied back in a pony tail; it looked like she hadn't cut it since leaving for Maluku. She was tanner also, but that was to be expected when one considers that she was working outside all the time.
The remainder of the photos were more of Bones in front of various beautiful landmarks. A few were of sunsets or various members of her team. She labeled each photo with the names of the people in it or what was going on in the photo with her familiar scrawl.
The last item in the box was individually wrapped in a sort of tissue paper. On the outside was a sort of sticky-note, fastened precariously with tape. He picked up the package first, carefully unwrapping the crinkling paper. Inside the paper was a sort of hand-carved pendant with a man on horseback slaying a dragon. Was it? No…it couldn't be. He grabbed for the note.
"By you reading this, I can assume that you read my other note. I hope you haven't opened the packaging yet. While most of Indonesia is either Traditionalist or Modernist Muslims, some of the islands are of the Catholic faith. Apparently, Saint George is one of the most venerated Saints of your faith, but also the patron Saint of soldiers. I find this fitting, and while I don't believe in it, I hope that your faith and this pendant help to protect you in some manner. I also talked to a priest there and had it blessed for you. It was a very interesting ritual to observe actually.
Stay safe"
He pulled the small pendant over his head; it lay right next to his St. Christopher medal. It was just such a…thoughtful gift. Bones wasn't even really comfortable with religion; she obviously went to great lengths just to get this for him, not to mention the trouble of getting it blessed.
Carefully, he placed the letters and socks back into the box so that he could enjoy it later. He was due to run a training session in twenty minutes.
Booth jogged outside to the training area; he always insisted that the guys be there fifteen minutes early. To be early was to be on time, to be on time was to be late, and to be late, was to be in big big trouble.
"Boss," Herring mock saluted the Master Sergeant. "Your guys are here early. You want me to start 'em early?"
"Sure," he nodded. "Tell 'em that they can get out early if we start early."
"Alright guys, bring it in!" Herring yelled.
The group of Rangers formed a semi-circle around the two veteran Rangers.
"Today," Booth began, "we're working on terrorist apprehension. Biggest thing, we need these buggers in alive, right!"
"Right Sergeant!" the group responded in chorus.
"The last thing we want is some terrorist with vital information coming in like Swiss cheese. But don't worry; by the end of today you will know how to deal with these guys!"
Just 164 more days of anti-terrorist training…
B&B
Kinda just furthering our favorite pair's year.
Oh by the way, anyone here watch Eureka? I only ask because someone said that I was like Allison Blake and I have no idea who that is. Is that a good thing? Should I be insulted insulted?
But anyway, drop me a review! They really do make me write faster. ;)
Twitter - Objectivemiss