Glad everyone liked the last chapter…or, the people I heard from enjoyed the chapter. Closer and closer we get to the reunion!
It's been a weird few days; I woke up to an earthquake this morning. Yeah, I live just outside of Washington D.C.; Bones on the Blue Line anyone? Of course, by the time I finish this, the earthquake will be long gone.
Twitter - Objectivemiss
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Day 360
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Not surprisingly, Washington D.C. hadn't changed in a year. The monuments were still in the same place, the tourists still swarmed with cameras, and the government still squandered tax dollars. Dulles International Airport was still overcrowded and chaotic. Brennan and Keith had just landed in Northern Virginia. All that stood between her and an actual mattress was customs, and a taxi ride. Together, they picked up what little baggage they had, and headed to the proper way just to get out. Luckily, all the important articles had been shipped, so she didn't have to worry about being stopped with a human skull in her bag.
"So, why were you in Indonesia for almost a year?" the customs agent took the passport and documents she handed to him. He was obviously trained to make conversation to expose any anxiousness.
"Anthropological research," she drummed her fingers on the counter. She just wanted to get home; she didn't care how she appeared to the worker.
"Looks like everything is in order Ms. Bren-"
"Doctor Brennan," she corrected.
"You know," he placed a few stamps in her passport and on some official looking documents, "if it wasn't against protocol, I'd ask you for your autograph. But everything is set. Enjoy your time back in the states."
She never did understand why autographs meant so much to fans of her books. It was essentially just the scribbling of ink on a scrap of paper. But, she did know that it was an easy gesture to make. Quickly, she pulled a piece of loose leaf from her bag, signing her signature and slipping it to him with a smile.
"T-Thank you! Enjoy your stay!" he called after her, obviously enthralled by the yield of his work.
As Brennan's mother used to say, "Being nice doesn't cost you anything."
"Ready to go?" Keith met up with her on the other side of customs. "It's so great to be back."
"Why do you say that? I know I'll miss the weather in Maluku."
"Oh the US, land of still no health care, deep fried Twinkies, beer guts…how could you miss it?"
"Well when you put it that way…" she reseated the shoulder hanging bag.
"That was sarcasm Dr. B. Sarcasm."
They stepped out through the motion operated door and over to the cab lane, sliding into the yellow minivan. She spoke her address a few times, slowly enough that the cab driver could enter it in to his GPS device. Unfortunately, with all the time it took to get through immigration and security, their drive home was smack in the middle of Washington D.C.'s rush hour. Commuting from Northern Virginia was particularly hellish.
Home. It almost sounded foreign to say. Home. Her apartment. She had one of the Jeffersonian interns check in on her apartment once a week, so she knew the pace wasn't in total disarray. She would have asked her father or Russ to check in, but with their track record, she wasn't sure how dependable they could be. But Booth's apartment, on the other hand, had probably not been checked. Perhaps Rebecca and Parker had dropped in to recover a favorite toy, but other than that, she couldn't imagine he had thought forward enough to pay someone to look in.
If they could get back to her apartment in decent time, she could run by and check…the key to his apartment was still on her key ring.
"Where do you live in DC?" Keith looked out the window eagerly. "I have been here since I was fifteen on a high school trip. We went to the Capitol, and the Washington Monument, oh, and the Jeffersonian!"
"Northwest," she looked out the window. "We're getting close."
For the first time in almost a year, Brennan pulled up into the circle in front of her apartment. It had truly been too long.
"How much do I owe you?" she pulled out her wallet, ready to make use of the US dollars she finally had use for.
"On the house if you give me an autograph," the cab driver slipped a hardback cover of her newest book through the plastic-paned window.
Just as the customs agent placed so much value upon her signature, this cab driver valued her autograph as much as fifty-five dollar cab fee. As much as she wished to protest, she realized that it would probably be best to humor and indulge the man and get inside as quickly as possible. Whipping out the Sharpie her publisher insisted that she keep at all time, she scribbled her signature, and slid out of the cab to meet Keith on the curb.
"Nice building," he remarked.
"Dr. Brennan!" the doorman called as they walked through the lobby. "How did your dig go?"
"Quite well actually," she moved to check her mailbox.
"Oh, the interns that visited weekly brought your mail up to your apartment. I believe you have quite a lot. It has been a year, after all."
They stepped into the elevator together, a sense of familiarity washing over her. "I have a spare bedroom and bathroom. My apartment is actually quite large and will easily accommodate the two of us with plenty of personal space," Brennan unlocked the home she hadn't inhabited for a year. "I apologize that I don't have a TV…but I fully plan on procuring one very soon. Perhaps you could pick one out that is to your liking. I'm afraid I don't know much about the specifications and desired quality."
She eyed the paper bags of mail on the kitchen counter. If there was anything she hated about being away, it was assembling all the pieces afterword and placing everything back in its neat space.
"The door on your left is your room; please make yourself at home. I-I know there isn't anything to eat here, but we can go grab a bite later. I have something I need to do."
Back out the building she went, but this time, to the parking garage. Her instructions to the interns had been to start her car every time they visited; the last thing she wanted was to return to a drained battery. She slid into her Prius, starting it up as it always had. It had been a year since she had driven. But never less, the route to Booth's apartment was sometimes flickering street lights guided her.
Brennan couldn't contain her excitement as she entered Booth's apartment building. She had only seen pictures of him; she hadn't felt him…or smelled him…
Instead of taking the elevator as usual, she opted for the stairs. Her heart rate had already risen, but she felt the need for the cardiovascular exercise. She surmounted the few flights of stairs, isolating his key from the dozens of other keys she carried. Hastily, she thrust the key into the lock, opening the door to his apartment.
But wait, she froze instantly. His TV was on…things had been shifted from their normal places. Someone had been here…a guest. Feeling the need for self defense, she grabbed for the first heavy and wieldable thing she could get her hands upon: a frying pan. It was small enough to swing to reach appropriate acceleration in the small corridors to produce the necessary force to knock someone out. She really should carry a gun…
On stealthy tip toes, she crept towards the living room, frying pan at the ready. "Stand up slowly, hands where I can see them."
The man, lounging on the couch in green scrubs, stood up slowly.
"Drop whatever is in your hands."
The bag of Cheetos dropped to the floor; the cheese-covered puffs scattering on the carpeted floor.
"Who are you and what are you doing here," Brennan leered at him, staying out of his range.
"I'm Marcus Moore...Booth's letting me stay here while I interview for a job at Johns Hopkins…just don't hit me with the frying pan," Moore turned slowly around to face her. "Wait, you're Dr. Temperance Brennan!"
"Yes, that would be me."
"Booth talked about you all the time," he extended his right hand to shake.
Brennan only took a step back, still not comfortable with the strange man in the apartment. "I'm not sure I'm comfortable with leaving you here," she pulled her phone out, ready to call the authorities if needed.
"I can prove that I'm supposed to be here," Moore picked up a piece of paper from the coffee table. "It's housekeeping instructions-"
"Handwritten…" she immediately recognized Booth's familiar scrawl and writing tone. At the bottom it read, "Don't be a Moore-on; don't burn my place down."
"Can we try the introduction again?" he held his hand out again. "I'm Marcus Moore M.D.; trauma surgeon and former Major in the Army."
"Dr. Temperance Brennan, forensic anthropologist," she accepted his hand for a quick shake.
"You can put the frying pan down now," he smiled.
"Oh," she placed it down on the coffee table. "I apologize for the trouble…I just wanted to check the condition of his apartment and he didn't mention that he would have someone staying here.
"As far as I know, he'll be back in five days."
Just 5 days until reunion…
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"You're a lucky man Sergeant," the Army doctor flipped through the chart at the foot of his hospital bed. "No vital organs hit, no bones hit…but you still need to keep it easy." The doctor glanced at the bedside. "I see they already got around to awarding you your purple heart."
"I'm supposed to be home in five days," Booth whined.
"Well that's good, because I'm going to have them fly you back. But you'll need to report to Walter Reed for a checkup."
"Home?"
"Yeah, after they finish checking you out there. By my estimate, you'll be ready to leave on your discharge date in full Army dress to impress the ladies."
"Like I'd do that," he watched as his vitals were checked.
"Come on, it's not like this is Vietnam. You're gonna walk through the airport with your shiny shoes…people are going to say 'thanks for serving our country' and stuff. I'm going to check the dressings on your wound now," the doctor pulled back the blanket.
"I'm not really an attention whore," Booth winced as the doctor probed.
"Yeah, but that doesn't mean you can't enjoy it every once and a while," he stepped back, making a few scribbles on the clipboard. "You're healing up nicely. I'm going to let you go gather up your things and say your goodbyes. You're out of this hell hole first thing tomorrow morning."
"Thanks doc," he ripped the pulse monitor off his finger.
"You're clothing is in the drawer here. Just meet the transport at the airstrip tomorrow morning." The doctor moved on to finish the rest of his rounds.
Booth couldn't help but be excited. He was given a mostly clean bill of health, and he got to go home. He would be right on time to meet Bones at the coffee cart after the one year of separation. He would get to see his son, and the United States, Bones…he was going home.
Did he regret taking the year off? He had some regrets. He missed a year of Parker's life. He hadn't seen Bones in a year. But yet, he knew he had accomplished quite a bit. He was able to train Rangers and arm them with the knowledge it had taken the better part of his life to obtain. He saved lives. He met new people.
"Hey Boss!" Herring caught him walking across the base to the recreation facilities. "They finally let you out huh?"
"You got it," they bumped fists.
"So what are you doing? Lookin' for a good time?"
"I'm on my way out tomorrow. I just wanted to say bye to the squad before I pack up and leave."
"Y-Yeah. The guys and I are settin' up for an evening of pure chill. You want to join us?"
Booth shrugged, "Sure. I don't think I'm allowed to drink or do anything insane though."
"Like we'd ever do that," the Master Sergeant rolled his eyes. "I'm really gonna miss you around here Boss."
"I'd miss me too," a cocky grin spread about his face.
Together, they pushed through the double doors to the recreation building. It was probably the last time he'd ever be here. Somehow, that really didn't upset him; the place did always smell odd…and it didn't get many TV channels.
Maybe I'll upgrade to digital cable when I get home…
"What took you so long?" Bartlett met the two halfway across the room. "You brought Sarge along too."
Herring nudged Booth, "I found this guy coming to say goodbye. They're sending him home tomorrow."
"Congrats," the young Corporal shook his hand. "You know we'll all miss you around here."
"Nah," Booth plopped down on to a badly stuffed, lumpy couch. "You guys will get along just fine without me. I've had a really tame year."
"You've been shot twice," Herring pointed out.
"You've been in a warzone," Bartlett added.
But compared to his other deployments, this was tame. He wasn't on the frontlines, he hadn't been captured and tortured for information, he hadn't had a comrade die in his arms; in his book, the year was a success. Or rather, it wasn't a complete loss or failure. Quite frankly, he wasn't sure how to view his year. Bones would probably say that 'he needed to step back to gain an objective view' or something like that. For once, that sounded like something that would help him.
"Thanks for the reassuring words guys," he cracked a smile.
"So it's your last night on base, what are we gonna do?" Herring smiled a diabolical smile. "We could spend it on the firing range."
"I can do that back in D.C. at the FBI building," Booth said.
"Not with us you can't," Bartlett and Herring each took one of the Sergeant Major's arms, dragging him out of the building and into the cool desert night.
It always amazed him how cool it could be with how unbearably hot it became during the day. Washington was simply hot and humid all summer; no wacky night to day temperature variations. Once again though, not something he particularly anticipated missing.
"Look, I know making war ain't somethin' you do anymore after tomorrow, but once more at the range. For old times sake?" Bartlett selected his M4 of choice.
"Hey look," Booth stopped the two in their tracks. "If you ever find yourself in Washington…" he pulled out two of the FBI business cards he kept in his pocket. "…Call me. We can have dinner, lunch, I'll show you around the city, whatever really. Don't come for me for a job though. I don't do that crap…anymore."
"I'm career military man," Herring clapped him on his back, grabbing for a 5.56 mm caliber magazine for his M16A4. "So I'll never need another job. I plan on being a really, really old Colonel or somethin'."
"I'll be working at the family business when I'm done…unless I reenlist," the Corporal dropped to a pone position, resting the barrel of his rifle on a sandbag. "But otherwise, I'll totally come and beg you for a job Sarge. Maybe I can make copies for you."
"Great," Booth laughed. "I see how much you guys have learned from me and my training program."
"I heard the higher ups tryin' to get you to stay on…but I hear you held your ground like the Ranger you are," Herring let loose a few shells down range. "I don't blame ya though; you did your service. You got your pity purple heart," he laughed. "And don't forget all that shiny stuff you already had for your dress jacket. You'll do just fine on the outside buddy."
For one hour, they enjoyed just shooting off rounds and stress at the same time. But, it was getting late, and he still needed to pack up his stuff. Alone, he wandered back to the barracks.
The barracks were only a steel frame with sheet metal hastily bent over. Luckily, he hadn't unpacked much; just a few toiletries in the communal bathroom and a set of clothing in a drawer with "Booth" velcroed on. It was like they expected him to go; like they knew he would. He ripped the label off, tossing it into his duffel bag; Parker might like it. His duffel bag only had the bare necessities and was surprisingly light. He left it neatly by his bed, tucking the socks he had left out in. Despite the late hour, the pace was deserted. So alone, he slipped under the covers on to his poor excuse for a mattress, and fell asleep.
Just 5 days until reunion…
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Hope you enjoyed! Much much more on the way! I hope to have a chapter out next week before I head off to drum major camp during the last week of July, then finish that week of with Otakon (I'll be dressed as Zoey from Left 4 Dead!) that weekend.
Reviews are awesome sauce! Send some my way!