Can you believe we're finally here? It took longer than I would have liked, but it's about the journey, right? I plan on having this finished before the Season 6 premiere ruins all our dreamy notions. But don't worry; this story isn't done with this chapter. We still have a bit of a ways to go, some troubles to clear, and some fun to be had. So sit back and enjoy!
Once again, I apologize to all tourists of Washington D.C., I hope no animosity shows in this...or how much I hate the Metro. And the "Forensic Friday" I mention is a real thing at the Smithsonian Institution on some Fridays in the summer. It's run by the real forensic anthropologists of the Smithsonian. A good time; check it out if you're around.
This one is dedicated to all the men and women service women of the US armed forces and those all around the world (unless you are fighting the US ;) kidding).
Twitter - ObjectiveMiss
- - - - - - - - - -B&B- - - - - - - - - -
Day 0
- - - - - - - - - -B&B- - - - - - - - - -
Today was the day. After one extremely long year of wait and separation, it was time for Dr. Temperance Brennan to make her way to the coffee cart at the Lincoln Memorial to meet Booth. Her entire being felt excited to see him and be there. It was the feeling she always got on before the first day of classes for the semester in college and graduate school. It was a feeling of eagerness; of moths in the stomach…or was it butterflies? Either way, it was a happiness laced with nervousness; she couldn't really be sure what to expect, Booth did insist that it would be impossible for a year not to change things.
"Sweetie," Angela snapped her fingers. "Earth to Brennan. Where is your mind today?"
The agreement was that she and Booth would meet around midday, so she decided to meet Angela for breakfast at the diner in the morning. The staff was glad to see her back, and of course, asked about Booth. But it was the nature of food service that positions turn over, so some of the employees they had become familiar with had left and headed their separate ways. Sort of like her and Booth; parting because it would yield the greatest…well, not happiness.
"I-I'm just thinking-"
"About Booth," the artist smiled knowingly, stirring her double chocolate milkshake. "Of course, I can tell you have been thinking of him for that entire year."
"How could you possibly-"
"You forget, I know you," Angela pointed a fry at her before munching at the potato sliver.
"All you've done is talk about me," Brennan played with her salad. "Tell me about Paris. How is Hodgins doing?"
"God he's amazing. Married life has been treating me so good. Paris is romantic as ever and boy, did I create some phenomenal paintings. I have one for you."
"Really?" she perked up in genuine surprise.
"I have a picture of it," Angela leaned down to shuffle through her garish handbag. "Here," she pulled out a small printer page sized copy.
Brennan had no doubt that Angela was a gifted artist, but her pieces could still manage to surprise her. The oil painting was of two skeletal hands, one male, one female, in an embrace. The thumb of the male hand smoothed over the dorsal surface of the female one. Despite the fact that no muscle or tendons held the bone in its pace, it was beautiful; it a macabre manner. As one who was exposed daily to decomposed human remains, morbid was something she was willing to deal in.
"This is anatomically correct, especially in the carpals," Brennan placed the copy on the table, sliding it back to its creator.
"Well I knew you'd never hang it up if it wasn't perfectly perfect," the artist smiled broadly.
"Thank you," she looked up, truly touched by her best friend's gesture.
It was easy to buy a gift, even if one had to spend much time ruminating over what to select. Making one, however, showcased a much higher level of effort and care. It was like that Christmas they spent in lockdown, fashioning gifts from lab supplies to simply simulate gift giving which began as Roman gift exchanges during the new year. In fact, the church, at one time, attempted to outlaw the gift giving tradition. However, under enormous pressure from the masses, they simply justified it with the Magi bringing gifts to Jesus. While this was something that she did not believe in, it didn't stop it from being an interesting story.
"It's no big sweetie," Angela leaned back in her chair. "Can't wait to see your knight in standard issue Army Kevlar huh?"
"Booth isn't a knight...but he does operate under a moral code similar to that of chivalry. The FBI could be his feudal lord...but besides, he might not have even had the need for body armor; he was training Rangers in counter terrorist techniques."
Armor was worn by someone who knew they could potentially become a target. Booth wasn't, ergo, no body armor...she hoped.
"You aren't going to change the subject when you talk to him right?" she quirked an eyebrow.
"I-I don't know what you mean."
"Don't tell me you've forgotten," the artist leaned over the table, concern evident in her eyes and brow. "Remember what I talked about when Jack and I visited you? Remember? 'Cause I sure hope you haven't forgotten. Don't tell me you've gotten cold feet-"
"No-" Brennan cut her off. "I plan on telling him-"
"Today?" Angela seemed to percolate at the notion.
"Perhaps not today...but soon."
"Let me tell you," she slurped the last of her milkshake, gurgling noises emanating from her bendy straw, dissatisfied in the sudden reduction of fluid to suck. "The sooner the better. You told me Booth wanted to do something stupid like move on. Don't even give him the chance to do that."
"That still might be for the better for us both-"
"No," the artist silenced her protests with a heated, "I know exactly what I'm talking about" glare. "He loves you. You know it, I know it, basically all of the Jeffersonian knows it and that's all that matters. He wants you. You want him. What's so complicated?"
Brennan scowled; since when were relationships simple. "You're the one who always stressed the complexity of romantic entanglements."
"That doesn't mean you have to make them difficult."
The forensic anthropologist sneaked a look at her Rolex. She didn't want to be late or miss him.
"I'm going to be late," she pulled out a twenty dollar bill, slapping it to the table. "Thanks for lunch."
"We should totally setup a meal with Booth and the whole Jeffersonian crew before we head back to work."
"Call me!" Brennan called as she exited, the door bell tolling as she left.
She slid into the driver's seat of her Prius, deftly maneuvering it out of the spot she had tightly parallel parked. The Lincoln memorial wasn't far at all from the diner; the diner, of course, being a location of convenience near the Jeffersonian institute. She drove up over to Constitution Avenue, parking along the side right near the Constitution Gardens Pond. For May, the weather was excellent. While the parking space she had selected wasn't the closest available slot, she really enjoyed the walk. The asphalt paths winded through the trees and waning shade, casting leafy shadows on the ground.
Soon enough, she approached the reflecting pool, taking a moment to look along. To the front, the Korean War Veteran's Memorial poked through the foliage. To the left, she could see the National World War II Memorial in the shadow of the Washington Monument. And to her right, the Lincoln Memorial and its coffee cart.
Almost apprehensively, she strolled towards the monument and the coffee cart. Should she get Booth his usual? Or wait until he arrived? She wasn't sure when his flight would land, so it wouldn't be pleasant to hand him a lukewarm cup of coffee with a "welcome home." Instead, she opted to fork over the cash for her four dollar latte and sat on a nearby bench. It was May, still too early for tourists to clog the city with camera flashes and "I love DC" shirts bought of street vendors. She had to be used to it though; the higher ups insisted that she run "forensic Friday" in the summers to "involve the community."
Her eyes scanned the wandering masses for Booth's unmistakable broad-shouldered figure. She saw a man across the reflecting pool that could be him. He had the same approximate stature, but then he turned around. Definitely not Booth. A few false alarms later, she saw him.
She saw him.
Brennan felt terribly stupid that she was looking for Army fatigues. No, he was in his dress uniform. His well pressed blue slacks hiding lean legs, shined black dress shoes, and black jacket. He looked terribly handsome. Although she was not familiar with the various bars, ribbons, and medals, he looked rather distinguished. Stripes on his arms, rank on his shoulder, beret worn proudly on his head (of which she could tell, his hair was certainly cut down); he was amazing.
Every confidant step he took brought him closer and closer to her frozen-in-place form. Every step brought them closer and closer.
Finally, he stepped into range.
"Booth," she smiled, stepping towards him to envelop him in a hug.
The day had come at last…
- - - - - - - - - -B&B- - - - - - - - - -
That Army doctor was right. After being flown all around the world (or at least, it felt like it), he finally made it back on a commercial flight to Washington Dulles. He had the overseas service bars added to his sleeves, and he proudly pinned his purple heart to his chest. The Army doctor was right; he didn't plan on all the attention he was about to receive.
He knew that every step took him closer and closer to where he wanted to be; that coffee cart near the Lincoln Memorial.
"Thank you for service sir."
"Welcome home."
"Thank you sir."
The warm welcomes home from people he had never met before warmed his heart. All he could think of was seeing Bones again. He had to suppress the feeling to run up to her, sweep her into his arms, then plant a sweet kiss on her lips to show him how he truly felt.
But no; he had promised himself that he would move on. Doing something as rash as that would only complicate matters further.
So much had changed in his year away; it was rather inevitable. Dulles had gotten rid of the "creepy crawler" bus transport system, and now had sleek, state of the art trains that zipped people from terminal to terminal. The Metro purple line had been completed; home was now only a subway ride away. But for Bones, subway wasn't her preferred method of transportation. He teased during that body that turned out on the blue line that she didn't like being underground. That, of course, was not the case, but she still would rather move about in the fresh air.
He took the escalator down into the dank subway tunnel, sliding a few crinkled dollar bills into a machine for a fare card. Sidestepping through the retracting orange turnstile, he stepped aboard the train just before it left the station. Commuting by Metro was dismal; no one talked, only sat staring aimlessly at the passing tunnel lights or their personal electronic devices. Setting his army green duffel bag on the orange seat next to him, he closed his eyes for a moment. It had truly been a year since he'd been in an all American city.
He wanted to swing by his apartment to say hello to Moore before heading off to the Lincoln Memorial. His car…would his SUV even start when he tried to drive it?
Soon enough, he changed trains and was emerging up to the May sun. He hadn't walked to his own apartment in a year. Like he had countless times, he bounded up the stairs. Booth frantically checked his pockets; he didn't have his key. Briefly, he thought about going for the spare key under the apparently obvious fake rock, but Moore would have retrieved that one to get in when he got back a month ago.
He smacked his fist on his door, "Moore, if you're in there. Open up!" He heard some shuffling in the apartment.
"What's the password?" came the sarcastic, muffled reply from the other side. Had it been anyone other than Moore, he would have waited for the following evil cackle.
"Just open it up you moron! That's my apartment you're in! It's my house!" he almost laughed at the end.
"Alright already," Moore chuckled as he opened up the door. "Look at you soldier boy, all with your Army Service Uniform on."
Booth smiled broadly, his tongue sticking through his teeth as he checked out his apartment. It was cleaner than he remembered it; that was probably Moore's doing. "I figured I had to get some wear out of my ASU."
"Why not right? No more army for you or me," the surgeon dropped to the couch.
"How did that Johns Hopkins interview pan out?"
"Really really well," Moore shrugged. "I got the job as a trauma surgeon. Apparently, treating Army trauma isn't that different from treating victims of gang violence and car crashes," he deadpanned.
"Guess so," Booth walked over to his refrigerator, taking a quick swig out of the open carton of milk.
"But yeah, I start in two days actually, so I'll be commuting from here to there and I hear it sucks. But I don't really want to live in Baltimore either."
"You can stay here as long as you need," Booth picked up his cell phone from the kitchen drawer he had left it in. He turned it on, eyeing the time.
"Probably won't be for too long; I hate being dependant on you like this."
"It's really not a big deal-"
"Booth," Moore stopped him. "I like to have my space. That's not exactly something I got a whole lot of in the Army. Besides, I can't seduce ladies to your place," he elbowed him.
"Very funny, but I'm going to be late."
"To where, you only just got here-" the doctor paused, smiling knowingly. "You're going to see your doctor, aren't you? Tell her 'hi' from me."
"I-I will," he slipped back out the door, leaving his duffel bag at this place next to the door.
The weather was beautiful and he didn't live more than a ten minute walk away from the Lincoln Memorial, so he decided to walk. In Afghanistan, he'd be boiling and wishing to get back inside; that year had almost convinced him that the sun was an evil thing out to get him. He had forgotten how benevolent of a star it could be, warming his skin and his soul.
Things had changed; but he hadn't gotten the opportunity yet to assess whether the change was for the better or worse. He was expected to start back up with the FBI next week, but he had to recertify as a marksman and jump through all the bureaucratic hoops before he would get his badge and gun back. Ironic really; he spend much of the last few months as a marksman, now he had to go shoot some paper targets to get another piece of paper and signature saying that he could shoot.
He could see the monument in the distance now, looming in his gaze like a flashing beacon. It was surreal, almost like a dream. Suddenly, he realized that the faster he walked, the faster he got to see Bones. Quickly, he picked up the face to a forced march, practically running towards where he imagined she would be. But wait, he paused mid-stride. What would she think if he looked like he was extremely rushed to see her? He wouldn't want to send the wrong message. He slowed down to a relaxed, but yet brink, pace.
Booth couldn't help but feel a bit anxious about well…them. They were like a jigsaw puzzle, torn apart through the middle. Through the year in which they hadn't been reassembled, neither knew what had happened to their half of the puzzle. Had the condition deteriorated? Had they lost some of the pieces? Had they simply forgotten how to piece it all back together?
But he was a faithful man to the core; he knew they could work out anything that might have arisen between them. In fact, he could think of a few.
Number one: he had been shot…twice. The friendly fire one hardly counted though. But, it was never less a wound; one that Bones would certainly notice. Wait, when had he expected that she would see him without a shirt on?
Number two: he killed people. To Bones, well, she would justify it with some anthropological mumbo jumbo, but only on the surface. He knew that knowledge would affect her intimately.
Number three: his active duty. He had promised her before he left, and over email and phone that he would only be training. Booth could only imagine her ire.
Number four: love. That had already been discussed; she rejected him.
Brushing off the feelings of dread, he found himself staring into the reflecting pool. His mind's eye pictured Bones sitting on that bench that they always drank coffee on; sure enough she was there.
He saw her for the first time in a year.
He took a few moments just to look at her from afar. He could already tell that her hair was longer and her skin tanner, but that was all he could discern with the distance.
Slowly but surely, he walked over; his pace exponentially picking up with every step. Even if he had wanted to, he couldn't have concealed the spark in his eye when she noticed him, standing up to greet him.
After when seemed like an eternity, he found himself at arm's length.
"Booth?" she stepped to him, wrapping her arms about him in an embrace.
"Bones."
The day had come at last…
- - - - - - - - - -B&B- - - - - - - - - -
Don't kill me for leaving it there! I have a good reason I promise! Just please, put down the pitchforks for one second and I'll explain.
You see, with them meeting, the writing style will change. How you ask? Well, now that they are together, the once a chapter view shifts will disappear. Don't forget, I'll be away all week, but I'll have a pen and paper to write. Reviews make their reunion sweeter! No, that's a lie. But I'd still like them. ;)
Twitter - ObjectiveMiss