A Pain That I'm Used To—Chapter 33
Disclaimer: Alas, they are still not mine.
Author's notes: As always, I appreciate everyone that has taken the time to read this story and I want to give a special shout out to all of those wonderful people who continue to review. We are a ways off from any fluffy resolution so prepare for more angst—it's just the mood I'm in right now because my job officially thoroughly sucks at the moment…I'm serious, any place that you walk into that immediately takes away any joy is succubus material.
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Night had fallen quickly over DC but the scene on River Street was bathed in light from the still burning embers of the building, the mobile command post's floodlights, the lights that Brennan had ordered from the Jeffersonian and of course the news media's unwavering camera lights following all of the action. He heard the hungry piranha in the background shouting questions at FBI agents and at Brennan.
"Get those damn reporters back 500 more feet from this scene!" Barking the order at a young female agent released an ounce of the anger Booth felt at the situation—at Max Keenan; even at Temperance herself.
He stood on the other side of his SUV, watching as firemen put out the final stubborn flame that refused to go away. It was like watching a child attempt to blow out trick candles on a birthday cake. Brennan approached the scene, clad in her Jeffersonian coveralls, waiting for the firemen to clear from her work area. Booth had tried to reason with her that she didn't need to do this…she didn't need to be the person to comb through the charred remains of the building and pick up pieces of her father's body. For her part, Brennan ignored him and his concerns, which only managed to piss him off further.
The past two hours had not yielded any emotion from her. It was just the opposite, he thought—the hours had managed to help enforce her icy exterior. It was shock, he reasoned. It had to be shock. So he decided to take his girlfriend's logical approach to the situation and wait nearby for the shock to dissolve.
He leaned against the SUV, placing his elbows on the hood of the vehicle and buried his face in his hands. Feeling a hand on his shoulder, Booth glanced over to his right to find his boss staring at him with a concerned look.
"You okay, son?" Cullen already knew the answer but felt compelled to ask nonetheless.
Booth simply nodded, though they both knew his affirmative nod was a lie. His gaze returned to the scene across the street and he watched as she entered the rubble. He saw her pause and motion for Zach to hand her an evidence bag as she lifted part of a lower leg with a boot still attached to it. Seemingly unfazed, she placed the remains—her father's remains, his brain screamed at him—into the bag and continued sifting through the area.
Feeling his stomach lurch at her emotionless display, Booth cradled his head in his hands. "God," he whispered.
"Perhaps you need to take your partner home Seeley," the senior agent advised. "I don't think rummaging around the place picking up pieces of her dead father is going to help anyone—her team can handle this."
"I agree and that's what I told her. You see how successful that conversation was."
Cullen's eyes followed Brennan as she meticulously and carefully moved debris in her search. "Dr. Brennan has the uncanny, and sometimes enviable, ability to detach herself from these types of situations. There have been times in my career that I wish I could do that but….that talent comes with a hefty price, I'm sure. And sooner or later, Booth, she'll have to pay the price. You can only keep your emotions over a loss in check for so long. Believe me, I know. After Amy died…" He paused and took a deep breath as if it hurt just to say her name sometimes. "I made sure I kept it together for my wife. I allowed her to cry, to mourn. I held her and told her that we would be okay, even when I didn't really believe it myself. I held it together for a week and a half Booth…probably would've been longer if I hadn't taken Amy's art supplies that she'd had in the hospital back to her bedroom. I sat down at her desk and I finally allowed myself to mourn my little girl…."
He squeezed Booth's shoulder as he continued to stare at Brennan. "Dr. Brennan doesn't seem to be the type of person who has ever mourned a loss—and I've read the file, she's lost a great deal. I know your relationship with her has changed and I don't need the details…"
"Plausible deniability," Booth offered.
"Exactly," Cullen agreed before he continued. "You need to there for her when this all finally comes crashing down on her. I don't envy your position because from the looks of it….that's a lot of pain that's never been dealt with."
"Yes sir," he whispered. Cullen patted his shoulder and left him alone to ponder how he was going to his Bones back from the darkness in which she had shrouded herself.
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Angela had Jack's keys ready to unlock the front door when an elderly man suddenly opened it.
"Miss Montenegro, Mr. Brennan," he said as he motioned for them to enter. "Jack called and informed me that I was to see that you are both taken care of this evening."
"Did he mention leaving the liquor cabinet unlocked?" Russ asked as he removed his jacket.
"I second that," Angela said as she raised her hand.
The man smiled at both of them. "The study area; second entryway on your left. I left the cabinet open and built a fire."
"Thank you." Angela offered the man a small smile as she followed Russ.
He placed his jacket on the back of one of the chairs near the entrance. She watched as he walked over to the liquor cabinet, removed a crystal carafe of scotch and two small glasses and walked back toward her.
Angela had settled into the chair near the fire, finding comfort in the warmth, until the memory of the flames burning away the building on River Street surfaced. Russ' face remained impassive in true Brennan-like fashion as he poured the amber colored liquid into his glass and then Angela's. He downed his first glass in one swig and immediately poured another. The concern Angela felt for Brennan was now transferred to Russ—and she had a feeling that Russ would probably be more receptive of a proffered friendly shoulder.
"Russ…" she began as she watched him down his second glass and pour a third.
"It's just like it was all those years ago. She just shuts down and pushes everyone away as if that's going to stop the pain…but nothing stops it." His voice was low and raspy from the sting of the alcohol. He held up the glass and stared at its contents. "This will numb the hell out of it for a few hours though."
Angela leaned forward and stared at him intently. "You know that she's never really dealt with any of her emotions—not the hurt and pain over losing her parents and you; and now losing them all over again years later. You and your sister need each other now more than ever Russ."
His mirthless laughter filled the room. "I think she made it pretty damn clear tonight how she really feels about me…after I thought we had moved past that."
"Did you two ever really discuss how you both felt all those years ago?"
Russ shook his head as he leaned back and then drank his third glass of scotch.
"Then for god's sake Russ, get your head out of your ass and realize that she still harbors some animosity toward you and you're still angry with her for blaming everything on you!" She took a sip of her drink and grimaced as the liquid burned a path down her throat. "I believe the brother-sister exchange we all witnessed tonight proves my point."
He dropped his gaze to the glass in his hand and sighed. A single flame flared as it found a piece of wood that had not been touched by the fire yet. Russ turned his head toward the fireplace as tears threatened to spill from his dark eyes. "I lost my family again tonight," he whispered as his breath hitched and a sob escaped him.
She moved quickly to sit beside him and placed her arm around his shoulders. His father's death and his sister's rejection mixed with three glasses of scotch managed to break him down—so he did the only thing he could; he cried.
Angela let him have his release without interruption of false words of comfort. She sat quietly and stroked his back, waiting for the tears to stop. As his sobs subsided and his breathing became normal again, Angela sighed.
"You still have your sister Russ. She just allowed you back into her life…don't prove her right by deserting her again. She needs you now as much as you need her."
He lifted his sad, tear-streaked face and stared at her. "You're right," he admitted softly. "But how do I make sure that she realizes that?"
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He was dead tired after spending the last eighteen hours standing on his feet, pacing, watching over her. In all those hours she had never once relented or turned her gaze his way. He knew that he didn't exist in her world right now—the relationship Seeley Booth and Temperance Brennan had forged meant nothing to her in the midst of her current search.
Booth watched with tired aching eyes as she carefully scoured the area for any pieces of her father's body or potential pieces of evidence that had been overlooked. In all the hours spent at the scene, Brennan was the only person searching that had been there from the beginning. The FBI Crime Scene techs had switched off personnel so as not to overwhelm anyone. Hodgins and Zach had left five hours ago, exhausted not only by the search but by the relentless nature of their friend. He knew that if he didn't intervene, she would stay for days.
After borrowing a pair of firemen's boots to ensure that he didn't injure his feet on any sharp objects, Booth slowly made his way to her. Her intensity had been one of the things that had attracted him to her in the first place but now…now it was frightening.
She gently sifted through the last marked area of the rubble retrieving small fragments of what he perceived were bones.
"Temperance." She stopped for a moment as though contemplating whether she wanted to acknowledge his presence. When she didn't respond, he moved forward—physically and verbally. If he couldn't talk her into coming with him, Booth decided that he would physically remove her from the scene.
"It's time to go home and rest for awhile Temperance. You've done everything you can here…"
Brennan stood and faced him. There was still no trace of emotion on her soot covered face. Her blue eyes were ice cold and distant.
"You're right Booth, there's nothing more I can do here. If you can have some of your techs place the remaining evidence into the Jeffersonian van, I can transport everything to the lab and begin the reconstruction of the remains…"
"Your father's remains!" he shouted. He wanted to grab her and shake her until she came to her senses but he refrained. Instead he opted for running his hands over his face in a vain attempt to wipe the tiredness from his features.
"I know whose remains these are," she stated coldly. Those were the last words she said to him as she walked past him.
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He entered his apartment for the first time in two weeks. The thought of returning to hers without her there was more than Booth could bear at the moment. His only thought now was of sleep…he would be of no use to her if he was exhausted. Booth had made arrangements for Agent Richardson and Agent Moore to switch off shifts watching over Brennan at the lab. Not her apartment—but the lab—where he knew that she would continue her current state of denial and use her work to rid herself of her demons.
Removing his gun from his holster, Booth placed it on the nightstand and then dropped the holster itself to the floor. That item was quickly followed by his jacket, shoes and shirt. He fell onto the bed face first and buried his face in one of the pillows. Booth knew that his slumber would not be peaceful. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Brennan—her arms outstretched, screaming for her father, screaming at him to let her go running into a burning building to rescue a dead man—and his heart ached even more for her.
Damn Max Keenan. Why did he make that phone call? Why did he give his location away so easily? The answers eluded his sleep deprived brain as he turned to lie on his back and stare at the ceiling. The only thing he was absolutely certain of at the moment was that he missed Brennan.
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Exhausted, covered with soot and reeking of smoke and charred flesh, Hodgins entered the study eager for a stiff shot of whiskey before heading upstairs for a long hot shower and a few hours of sleep. He paused when he saw Angela, looking more forlorn than anyone he'd ever seen, sitting on the floor near the fire, her back flush to the side of the couch. All of the excitement and anticipation she'd had just the day before her art show was gone. Hodgins felt his heart wrench at the thought that she was sad—it reminded him of the weeks after Kirk's death when she had walked around the lab, a ghost of the person she usually was.
He quietly made his way to her and sat down. Glancing at his hands, he wished he had taken the time to wash up before entering his house. He didn't want to soil her perfect skin with his soot covered hands but the urge to touch her was almost unbearable.
"Angela?"
She turned her sad brown eyes toward him and studied his face, bathed in the glow of the fire. "You're just now getting in?"
"Yeah."
"Bren is still at the scene isn't she?" She didn't need to hear his answer. She knew her stubborn friend too well.
"Yeah, she is." He stared at her, studying her features, noting how she chewed softly on her bottom lip when she was worried. "Are you okay?"
She chuckled softly and turned her to face the fire once more. "I'm fine. I can call my father right now if I wanted to and I know that he wouldn't run away from me…but Bren." She paused and turned back to him. "Brennan…I can't even begin to imagine. I mean, I knew about her parents, her time in foster care and her problems with Russ but I never really took the time to imagine the pain she's endured."
"Ange…"
"Tonight, Russ broke down and I caught a glimpse of what Bren must have felt…what she must be feeling right now."
Hodgins sighed and gathered her hands into his own. "I'm glad that at least one member of her family is able to show some emotion because Brennan has completely shut down. You can't imagine her pain—and God knows I wouldn't want you to—because she doesn't even realize the depth of it yet."
Moving one of his hands away from hers, Hodgins wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close to him. "Don't do this to yourself Angela. Sympathize with her, be there for her when she's ready to deal with everything but don't throw yourself into an emotional tailspin over something you can't control. Brennan has to set the pace on this—not you, not Booth and not Russ."
She relaxed against him and sighed. "So now you're a wise bug and slime guy?"
"Yes, Grasshopper," he said. He smiled as she chuckled at his remark.
"You also stink," she informed him, although she made no effort to move away from him.
"Sorry." He started to remove his arm from her shoulders and back away but she grabbed the lapel of his coveralls to keep him from going anywhere.
"Can you sit with me for just a few more minutes?"
He gently brushed aside a stray strand of dark hair that had fallen across her forehead, leaving a small streak of soot in the process. Even that small imperfection didn't diminish her beauty. "I can stay for as long as you want."
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The sunlight streaming through the glass in the rooftop in the Medico-Legal lab area was the only proof Brennan had that it was next the day. Two o'clock in the afternoon to be exact, although she could really care less about the time.
She had returned to the lab and began the task of reconstructing the pieces of bones in an effort to form an entire skeleton. Her head ached, her shoulders and neck were tight with anxiety and tension and her body's demand for sleep was unwavering. But Temperance Brennan didn't stop—she ignored the pain, both physical and emotional, and worked on the task at hand.
Brennan lifted the lower portion of the leg that she had located at the scene from the evidence bag and placed it on the table. She stared at the boot that encased the foot of the severed limb. The laces and the manner in which they were tied, double knotted, provoked a long forgotten memory.
"And then we loop this and the bunny goes through the hole…"
Matthew Brennan's four year old daughter interrupted the lesson. "Daddy, that's not a bunny, it's a shoelace."
He laughed at his little girl's observation. "You're right Temperance…daddy's silly isn't he?"
Temperance nodded and crossed her arms as she stared at him. "What's next Daddy?"
He tied her shoelace once and then tied it again, creating a double knot. "Now your shoelaces will definitely not come untied, ever again!"
"Really?" She glanced down at her shoes, impressed with her father's work.
"Yes, really," her mother responded dryly from the doorway. "Matthew, you know it takes forever to untie those knots."
"Well my dear, would you rather untie these knots or place Band-Aids on your perfect daughter's perfect little knees after she trips over her laces?" He winked at Temperance before he picked her up and carried her over to her mother. She wrapped her arms around her father's neck and hugged him as hard as she could.
"You're impossible," Christine Brennan replied as she laughed. "And you're the one untying her shoes later."
"Sweetie?" Angela stood a good distance away from her friend, watching her as she stared at the limb and the boot sitting in front of her. She had called out to her friend several times in the last minute and had not received a response. Swallowing the nausea she felt at the sight of Max Keenan's severed leg sitting in front his daughter, Angela slowly walked toward her friend.
"Temperance," she said softly, placing her hand on Brennan's left shoulder.
Brennan blinked and came out of her trance-like state. Her gaze found its way to Angela's face as her eyes refocused on the present.
Angela's heart shattered into a million little pieces at the sight of her best friend. She seemed so lost and defeated…two words that she had never associated with Brennan before.
"Sweetie, why don't you take a break? Russ is in Jack's office…why don't you go talk to him for a minute?"
"No," she whispered as she fingered the boot's laces.
Angela placed her hand on Brennan's forearm and forced her to look at her. "Okay, if you don't want to talk to him, fine. But you are going to go and sit in your office and eat the food that I brought for you. Thirty minutes, sweetie." Her hope was that she could coax Brennan into her office, feed her and force her to sleep for a few hours.
"No, Ange, I've got to…"
"Everything will still be here Bren. I promise."
She pulled Brennan by the arm, forcing her to stand up. After removing the latex gloves from her friend's hands, Angela guided her toward the office. She had placed a container of sweet and sour soup on Brennan's coffee table, along with a bottle of water and a couple of aspirin. She knew that when the anthropologist went this long without any rest, a headache was inevitable.
Brennan sat down on her couch and stared at the container as though she had no idea what to do with it. Angela removed the lid from the container and offered her friend a spoon.
"If you want something different I'll go get it for you."
Brennan shook her head as she leaned forward and stirred the contents of the soup. Angela sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. Brennan has to set the pace on this. Jack's advice echoed through her mind.
"Okay, sweetie, I'll be in my office if you need anything." She stood and slowly walked to the door. "In my office…right around the corner…"
Receiving no reply, Angela reluctantly exited the office just as Booth entered the lab. It was obvious that he had not slept well. His bloodshot eyes locked with Angela's and he offered her a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Is she in her office?"
"Yeah, I managed to convince her to try and eat something. I'm hoping that she'll rest on her couch for a few hours." They both glanced at the office door. "Booth, I…I'm not sure if she'll…"
"She will, Angela," he stated firmly. "Is Russ still at Hodgins' place or…?"
"He's here, in Jack's office."
Booth nodded. "How is he?"
Angela exhaled deeply. "He is at least acknowledging his loss…he's scared that he's lost his sister again too."
"I know the feeling," he muttered as he left Angela and made his way to Brennan's office.
He stood in the doorway for a moment, watching her stir the contents of the container sitting on the table. She looked exhausted and frail, even more so than she did when she had left him standing in the rubble at the crime scene.
"Hey Bones," he whispered as he walked into the office. She ceased stirring and removed the spoon from the container, placing it on the lid that Angela had discarded.
"Hey," she replied.
"You know I think Angela intended for you to eat that, not stare at it all day," he teased gently as he sat down beside her.
"I'm not hungry."
"Okay, then how about lying down and resting for a few hours. I know you're tired." As he reached out to touch her back Brennan sensed his movement and stood.
"Don't." She moved around the coffee table and began to pace the area in front of her desk. She knew that the minute he touched her she would break. And she couldn't break—not now, not yet. There were too many questions to be answered and she had to find them.
"Don't what Bones? Don't comfort you? Don't care for you?"
"Don't come in here and try to make this better…or pretend that it will all be okay…" She stopped pacing and stared at him. "Please leave."
He sat on the couch, stunned by her request. "Temperance…"
"Please Seeley," she whispered. "Please, just leave."
His jaw clenched as he stood and continued to stare at her. "I'll leave your office but that's as far as I'm going."
She dropped her gaze to her shoes awaiting his departure. Shoving his hands into his pockets, Booth turned and left her office. He watched as she exited the office one minute later to resume her work on her father's remains.
Author's notes: Hmmm, was that angsty enough? Is angsty even a word or am I having a George "Dubya" moment? God, I hope not! Press the little button and let me know—not about "Dubya", cause really I could care less about that guy.