Some of you have expressed concern on whether or not I plan on continuing this story past day 100. Yes, I plan to pushing this story until we get a...desirable outcome, whatever that may be. ;)
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B&B
Day 294
B&B
"You're just lucky that you're okay," Keith said, the rest of the anthropologists gathering around the dining area.
"I'm fine...really. I wouldn't say so otherwise," Brennan insisted, holding an instant cold back to her head.
With fewer than seventy-five days remaining in their stay on Maluku's Banda Islands, work was actually waning. The majority of the forensic work was excitedly completed in the first half-year, leaving individual papers and anthropology journal work to be done. She decided to take the time to use her little used scuba diving license (her writing and work at the Jeffersonain kept her so incredibly busy in Washington D.C.). Unfortunately, boaters in Indonesia were far less cautious than they should be. In her (supposedly) relaxing outing, she surfaced to scan where she desired to dive when she suffered a minor collision with a small boat. Luckily, the encounter left her only with flesh wounds.
"Dr. B," Daisy put a hand on hip, standing not too far away. "You would say you were fine if it meant avoiding a confrontation."
"Just be glad that she always swims with a buddy," Keith added.
"Temperance, Dr. Gresh is on her way over. She has an MD and I'd like her to check you out," Mikel smoothed his hand over Brennan's. "Please, would you kindly?"
"Fine," the forensic anthropologist sighed. "Don't you have work to do?" she turned angrily to the gathered crowd.
The body of assembled anthropologists slumped off, satisfied that their leader was in good enough shape if she had the ability to shoo them off.
Brennan just didn't like the attention; it felt too suffocating. She already knew that she probably had a concussion, and the laceration to her upper right arm would probably need several stitches. Yes, she wasn't a medical doctor per say, but she did have extensive knowledge of human anatomy. She was able to fix Booth's back a few times. Booth. He would become needlessly worried if he heard about her encounter. It took her quite a while to accurately discern why he was so protective of her. She could recall a conversation she had with Perotta on the topic when Booth was out with his back injury...
"I don't need a sitter. Booth gets needlessly protective sometimes. I have no idea why."
"You really don't, do you?"
"No."
How could she have been so blind? Well, it had taken Booth's open confession of love for her to realize his own feels. And then months for her to begin to become cognizant of her own feelings.
"Are you okay Temperance?" Dr. Debra Gresh had finally arrived. Although she was an accomplished anthropologist, being the group's only medical doctor took precedence over anthropological research. She was extremely generous, spending some time with the locals of the Banda Islands and surrounding islands to offer medical help.
"I'm fine, but the laceration to my arm will most likely need to be cleaned and steri-striped."
"Well let's see how good of a doctor you are," Gresh winked, delicately peeling away the hastily wrapped gauze covering. "Yeah, you are going to need to be stitched up, it's too deep for the steri-strips," she applied the gauze back, applying pressure to slow the bleeding. "Daisy, can you go get my bag, I dropped it near one of the tables along the edge of the dining are."
"Sure Dr. G," Daisy scampered off.
Daisy arrived quickly back, handing the well-worn bag to the doctor. Gresh pulled a few things from her bag, cleaning Brennan's wound with antiseptic.
Brennan winced in the pain. She had been blown up in a taxi cab, buried alive, and shot; she was undoubtedly tough. But that doesn't mean that she didn't feel the pain. She almost wished that Booth was there to comfort her. Whenever she was injured, he would sit by her bedside and tend to her, even when she protested his care was not needed. Despite her objections, she couldn't deny that she enjoyed the attention; was that what it felt like to be loved?
"Keith, you want to hold Dr. Brennan's hand? I have to do this without any anesthetic," she turned to Brennan, smiling tenderly. "I'm sorry about all this."
"I-It isn't your fault," she withdrew her hand from Keith's grasp. "I'm fine, I have been through worse," she squeezed her eyes shut. "Just begin so you can be finished."
She felt the needle pierce her skin; she tried to retreat into the recesses of her mind to find a more happy place. When she got back to Washington D.C., she would tell Booth how she felt. Everything truly does happen eventually; it was quantum physics. There is a probability of everything, no matter how slim. So thus, everything would happen eventually, even if it took billions and billions of years. Hopefully, the probability of a good relationship with Booth was high enough to occur very soon.
"All done Temperance," Gresh rolled fresh gauze over the now sealed wound. "You will want to take it easy for a few days. Take extra care to make sure that the wound stays clean; the last thing we want is it to become infection. Especially with the limited facilities in the region. If anything severe happens, we'll have to move you off island."
"Thank you."
"Oh, and you were correct; you do have a concussion. You'll need to avoid sleeping. Maybe you can get some work done on your next book. We're all waiting to see what other steamy stuff you have cooked up."
"Hey Dr. B?" Daisy approached quickly. "I could keep you company and keep you awake," she nodded eagerly.
Well, Daisy was...perky; she seemed to know the first thing about staying awake. She remembered how she and Booth had skated for hours when she was keeping him awake after his concussion. This certainly wasn't going to be as fun, but it was necessary for her health.
"Sure."
"Eeek!" the youthful anthropologist screeched, literally jumping with joy. "We're going to have so, much, fun," she accented every, single, word.
"No reason to become over excited-"
But Daisy didn't even hear her. She ran off to a cooler, pulling out a narrow light blue and silver can, bringing the beverage back to Brennan. "Drink this."
"I don't think this is an acceptable time for alcohol..."
"Don't be silly! Wait...you don't know what this is?"
Brennan shook her head in opinion. Over the last year, without Booth to educate her about common colloquialisms and products, her view had narrowed significantly. Perhaps he would have some military jargon to introduce to her already massive vocabulary. Angela always said that variety was the salt of life...or was it the spice of life...
"This is Red Bull."
"I don't know that that means..."
"It's an energy drink. It will help to keep you awake and perky! It gives you wings!" Daisy made a ridiculous flapping motion.
"Do you drink this...Red Bull?"
"Oh all the time! How do you think I manage to be so pleasant in the morning?'
She took the can from her, "sugar free," it proclaimed. Taurine, a inhibitory neurotransmitter seemed to be one of the major ingredients, along with many undoubtedly complex chemical compounds. She was not a chemist; she left that sort of thing to Hodgins. But, if the product was deemed safe enough to sell in the US, it couldn't be that detrimental to her health; the government did allow terribly caloric foods to be sold.
Tentatively, she pulled the stay-tab, hearing the carbon dioxide escape with an audible hiss. "I'm not sure about this, heart palpitations surely wouldn't be good for my present physical condition."
"Then don't mind if I do!" Daisy snatched the can, shotgunning the can in a few seconds.
"I can keep myself awake, but I appreciate your offer," Brennan walked off to the beach, not wanting to be within the radius of Daisy when she became hyperactive. While she didn't advocate medication as a sole solution, but perhaps a diagnosis of attention deficit hyperactivity disorder with the medication along with that would be good for everyone.
The beach had been a personal sanctuary in her almost full year on the island. All one could hear was the gentle crash of the waves on to the sandy shore. Just think; those grains of sand where massive boulders thousands of years earlier. Erosion was absolutely natural and was one of the biggest influence on the landscape of earth. From the Grand Canyon, to the Sahara Desert, to the very beach she stood now on, erosion took its grating toll. In a metaphorical manner, the walls that she had painstakingly created to keep her from others, had eroded from Booths continued efforts.
If she was a religious woman, she would have hoped to her deity that she had not missed her window with Booth. In the last week, her emails had begun to bounce; he hadn't called her her recently. There was no way for her to tell him to wait for her. Sending a letter was old-fashioned and slow to arrive; there would be even less assurance that her handwritten message had reached its intended target.
Just 71 more days until I see him again...
B&B
"Can you believe this?" Herring turned back from the wall mounted television.
"Barely," Booth looked down in disgust. Predator drone strikes in his region had killed three American soldiers. These were kids, just looking to serve their country. Now, they were killed by friendly fire, but not just any friendly fire; fire from guys sitting in a nice, air conditioned control room back in the states. They got to go home every night to see their wives and children; he and his guys were stuck in a desert hell.
"I mean seriously? These dumb asses are sittin' in Las Vegas, just relaxin' and oh, wagin' warfare from plush leather chairs," the Master Sergeant ranted.
"Don't cause a scene buddy," Booth leaned over to him.
"Why not? I see three freaking American lives as somethin' to get worked up about. Sorry you're so cold."
Cold. Bones was called that quite often. Was this how she felt? Insulted that one could not perceive the torrent of emotion running just under the surface? Bones was one of the most caring people he had ever met; her detached operating ways were simply the only way she was able to compensate for the morbid and depressing work she did everyday.
He physically shook his head; he had decided to move on. Ruminating on Bones wasn't going to help him. But a portion of him knew that a part of him would never be able to move on. That a piece of his heart would always remain fixated on Bones and her silky brown hair...that soft skin...
"Come on! Ain't anyone else upset?"
"I am," Brigadier General Kirk Richards stepped into the recreation hall.
The entire group of soldiers scrambled to attention; their arms snapped up into a rigid salute.
"I expected more out of you Master Sergeant," the General paced forward. "We're all upset at the loss of any American or Coalition life; don't go kidding yourself that we're all insensitive bastards."
"Sorry sir..." Herring said. His voice almost sounded like a whimper, like he was begging for mercy.
"I understand your anger. When I was on the front lines, stress builds up. That's why you have all this," he swept a hand around, motioning to the recreation area. "Kill your anger in ping pong or something."
"Yes sir!" the hall chorused.
"Sergeant Major Booth," the General gesticulated with a single finger. "I'd like to speak with you."
The hall broke out in an immature "oooo"; the kind of response that Parker's class gave when one of them was called to the principal's office.
"At ease, he isn't in trouble," Brigadier General Kirk Richards led the way out.
Booth couldn't help but gulp at the sudden calling. He had an impeccable military service record; he was honorably discharged before he reenlisted for this year. Jared, on the other hand, was dishonorably discharged; something (as he said when finding out), was something no Booth ever had before. But in the guy's defense: it had been because he helped both himself and Bones. That, he could forgive.
The General seemed to be leading him over to the officer's offices. Yes, that was completely redundant. The guys called the place the "double O." It was where all the muckety mucks sat around doing paperwork and that sort of crap.
What could they want with him? His email hadn't been working, but it wasn't like that was the concern of the higher-ups. Quite frankly, his broken email was an excuse not to call Bones. As much as he loved her, he knew he had to move on...for him. He spent his free time with his men, or calling Parker. It wasn't that he didn't want to call her; heck, that was like the only thing he wanted to do. But talking to her would only weaken his resolve to find someone else.
The Brigadier General flashed his badge to two military police standing guard at the door. They nodded with approval, allowing the two to pass through. Booth dipped his head in respect to the two guards as he passed.
The Officer Offices were stark and plain, only containing the bare necessities. Of course, they passed the classic war room, complete with massive map and all. But most of the facility were blank doors, labeled only with the rank and name of the man or woman who inhabited it. At the end of the hall, was the plaque reading "Brigadier General Richards." The General unlocked the door .
"Please, sit down," he motioned to a lone seat.
Booth nodded, dropping to the seat. "What is this about sir?"
Richards took his time settling in behind his desk. He shuffled through some paper work and pulled on a pair of reading spectacles. "Sergeant Major Booth, I'm putting you on standby for active combat duty."
"What?" Booth cried in disbelief. "That's not what I signed up for. I signed up to train Rangers without seeing any action.
"Sergeant, you signed on to re-join the Army of the United States."
"I duty already. I've served!"
"Why did you sign back up then?"
"To save lives," Booth held his ground.
"That's what I need you to do Sergeant. Save lives," Richards pulled off his glasses. "I don't have any men like you. I sniper, an FBI agent, and an officer with a great head on his shoulders. If I try to send out another guy, it might as well be like throwing away one of those lives that you came to save. I don't want to have to do that, and I'm sure that you don't want me to have to do that either."
"No sir," he began to come around to the man's reasoning.
"I need someone like you. But I have you, so I don't have to worry about finding anyone, because I have you. You'll be assembled into an elite six man squad for special missions."
"What kind of missions are you talking about?"
"You'll be briefed when we need you. I trust you remember Second Lieutenant Randal Hahn?" the young man, probably a West Point graduate, walked in just on cue. "He'll introduce you to the rest of the team. I believe your Master Sergeant, Herring, is on the team also."
"Sergeant Major Booth," Hahn led him over to a small lounge. "Here's your team, I think you might recognize some of these guys, they came through your program." He pointed to the first guy. "That there's Staff Sergeant Marks-"
"Marks!" Booth couldn't resist shaking the guy's hand. "You're back."
"Yeah, what can I say? I'm a quick healer," the shrapnel that had entered Marks face hadn't injured his eyes, but he hadn't escaped...well...without marks.
"And this," Hahn pointed to the next guy over, "is of course, Master Sergeant Herring."
"Sup Boss."
"This is Sergeant First Class Daniel Stewart."
Stewart just nodded in acknowledgment. He was a rather large man, not fat, but tall and muscular.
"Good to meet you," Booth nodded back.
"Sorry man, I'm not a big talker."
Hahn turned to the third seated man. "This is Gerald Bowie; he's a light machine gun specialist."
"Yo," Bowie tipped the cap her wore.
The Second Lieutenant went to introduce the fourth man when Booth interrupted him.
"That's First Sergeant John Hunter. Expert navigator and one hell of a shot."
"You're heard of me?"
"How could I not?"
Hahn looked down at his watch. "Our last guy should be here by now-"
"Sorry I'm late," the young soldier ran into the room.
"Corporal Adam Bartlett-"
"Corporal?" Booth smiled with great pride.
"Field promotion Sarge," Bartlett grinned widely, pointed proudly to the chevrons on his upper arm.
"Good to know you're acquainted," Hahn said. "You're in charge of this unit Sergeant Major; you know what you're doing. You're all dismissed; we'll call and assemble you when we need you. Take your time. But with new security protocols, we can't have you guys using the phones while you are officially on this unit."
"That's just dumb sir," Herring spoke up.
"Sorry Sergeant, it isn't my call. Enjoy your evening."
The experience was actually a bit jarring; he hadn't planned on going back into combat again. Being called upon to snipe again was bad enough, but being deployed in an extremely unstable combat zone was even worse. Damn it! He had a son to go back home to. When he was younger, yeah, he did his duty. He still had people that cared about him, but he didn't have people back home depending on him like he had now. The last thing he wanted was to get his ass shot of in the desert.
He didn't have that much time left, he could easily never be sent out before he went home. Yeah. That's what he would have to hope upon...or else.
Just 71 more days not to die...
B&B
Hope you guys enjoyed it! I'm off vacation so plenty of writing all around! No to mention the long car trip back home; I'm hoping to get a chapter or two finished.
Reviews are awesome and make me smile! Writing feeds of smiles, and smiles help my ideas to perform mitosis.
Twitter - Objectivemiss