Chapter Two: Sibling Drama.
To the Guest reviewer that I couldn't reply to: there's plenty of examples on the show where they've continued to investigate the murders, despite the personal connections to the case. The Stiff in the Cliff being the most recent example, but there's literally dozens. Their relationship with Russ will have an impact on their role in the case later in the story, however, it IS fiction, and I'm allowed a little bit of creative licence.
Silence engulfs the forensics platform, nobody knowing what to say or how to react. The news that Russ – Dr. Brennan's beloved brother Russ – could potentially be the killer sends shockwaves through the team. They all know him well; they're all very fond of him and his small family and vice versa. They've never had any reason to suspect him of being a killer before, so the prospect of him actually murdering this girl in front of them is debilitating. It takes a long while for everybody to process the information, process the fact that whatever forensic evidence they find could be the key that will lock Brennan's brother behind bars.
Brennan doesn't know how to respond. She can feel everybody's eyes on her and she doesn't like the feeling whatsoever. They've already investigated a murder involving her father in the past, and now Russ is being accused of being a killer? It's inconceivable to her that her brother could take another life. It's simply not possible. And that's an objective fact.
Deciding to remain as objective and rational as she can, she continues her examination of the remains. She hangs up the X-Rays she'd taken before her husband had arrived on the platform and eyes the bones carefully, regarding every detail that could lead her to who this woman is.
Her finger indicating the area on the X-Ray, she says, "the pubic symphysis suggests our victim is in her mid to late 20s. Caucasian. And…" Her eyes diverting to the X-Ray of the skull, she notices an intriguing anomaly amongst the bones. Returning to the physical remains, she pulls the Mediocam over the left side of the skull, focusing on the ear. She purses her lips as she removes the anomaly from the bone using a pair of tweezers. She holds the material beneath the Mediocam, realisation dawning. "It's an artificial stapes," she explains to her co-workers who have been observing her actions with a mixture of puzzlement and concern. "Angela should be able to run the serial number and trace it back to our victim-."
"Giving us our ID. Nice work Dr. B." Aubrey.
Cam is not quite so relieved. "That's all well and good, Dr. Brennan, but we just found out your brother is probably the one who murdered this woman and you can immediately switch to talking about the stapes?"
"An artificial titanium stapes," she corrects. "They're surgically implanted when the patient's inner ear structure begins to deteriorate, resulting in a significant loss of hearing. The implant bridges the gap to the ear drum, allowing some hearing to return."
"Fine," Cam sighs. "How can you focus on an artificial stapes considering the news you've just received?"
"I can focus on the remains because they will lead me to whoever this victim is. Especially seeing as the skull is so deformed and getting reliable dental results are improbable, this is probably the only way we're going to ID her. Once we know who she is, then we can work out if Russ is involved. Our job is about discovering the truth, Dr. Saroyan."
"We know that, but this is your brother, Dr. B." Hodgins.
"I'm just saying, if it was Felicia, I would not be able to focus on the remains."
"Well, you and I are more different than I previously thought, then," Brennan declares. She's only being rational by trying to solve the case. Why can't her friends understand that? She shakes her head; it seems pretty simple to her. "I am only interested in finding out what really happened to this poor girl. If the truth is that Russ killed her, then I'll have to deal with that when I come to it. I'm not going to worry myself needlessly, OK?"
"OK," Cam murmurs quietly.
"Good. Now, if you'd excuse me, I made plans to meet with my children at the Royal Diner." Brennan lets down her ponytail and tugs off her gloves, balling them up in her hands and throwing them in the nearest trashcan. She hurries off the platform and towards her office to collect her belongings, pushing all thoughts of the case out of her mind.
There is no physical evidence yet that Russ is the killer and even if he were, spending time with her children before their world is turned upside down seems like the right thing to do.
As Brennan approaches the diner that she and her husband have been visiting almost daily for over twenty years, she sees her sixteen-year-old daughter and her ten-year-old son sat at their usual table, bickering with each other as always. Brennan laughs lightly; like their parents, Christine and Hank are extremely opinionated and stubborn and are not afraid to duke it out with their loved ones when they categorically disagree. (Which occurs more often than not.)
Christine takes after Brennan in the way she's so concerned with facts and the truth, whereas, like his father, Hank relies more on his "gut" and faith. As a result, debates in the Booth household can get pretty heated, pretty fast.
It's no different with their children. They adore each other, but they argue. A lot.
Increasing her pace so she can reach them sooner, Brennan is at the door to the Royal Diner in a few seconds and a wide grin blooms on her face when she opens it and Hank immediately shouts her over.
"Hey, you two," she says, planting kisses on both of their cheeks, ignoring the way Christine wrinkles her nose, embarrassed at how affectionate her mother is in such a public place. She sits down next to Hank, resting her arm on the back of his chair. "How are you?"
"Good. We've already ordered your veggie burger," Christine answers, earning a pleased, yet surprised, smile from Brennan.
"Thank you, sweetheart. Max was OK this morning?"
"Yeah, we didn't do much, just watched some TV, did some homework, you know…"
She arches an eyebrow, knowing her daughter all too well. "And did you finish all of your homework before you started watching television?"
Christine averts her gaze.
"I take that as a no," Brennan says.
Hank, who has no qualms about ratting out his older sister, happily confirms his mother's suspicions. "She still hasn't finished hers, but mine is all done and packed in my bag."
"Well done, Hank. And Christine, I assume you'll be finishing yours as soon as you get home?"
"Definitely," the sixteen year old responds, a false smile on her face as one of the waitresses brings their food to the table.
Brennan shakes her head; she can read her children so easily. Although, they won't be children for much longer – they're both growing up so quickly. Christine is so tall and has started going to out to late night parties with her friends and has even started wearing make-up, which Brennan insists she doesn't need – she's so beautiful without it – but she wears anyway. And Hank is getting big too. He's playing hockey now in the Little League that Booth coaches in and he's getting really good. Booth reckons he's good enough to go pro when he's older, but he would say that. He's been angling for one of his kids to become a Flyers player forever. Since Parker has taken a more creative writing route, and Christine interested in pursuing a science-related career, Hank is his last hope at having a superstar sports player. He's still got a long way to go, but they'll both be proud of him no matter what job he has. The same goes for all three of their kids. They've grown into beautiful, intelligent, kind people and that's all that really counts to Booth and Brennan. They're so fortunate to have such amazing children.
Honestly, she can't believe how old they are. Christine is sixteen and Hank has just turned ten. She's reminiscing about the day the two of them first met (Christine had been completely and utterly enamoured with her new baby brother), when she's pulled abruptly out of her reverie by Hank's loud outcry.
Her eyes dart between the two of them, their eyes shooting daggers at each other. "What's going on?" She asks furiously.
"She hit me!"
"He was annoying me!"
"I was not-."
"Guys," Brennan deadpans, not in the mood for the ensuing argument, particularly not when they're surrounded by all of the diner's regular patrons. She frowns at Christine. "Why did you hit your brother?"
"Because he's being an idiot!"
"I am not an idiot."
"Don't call your brother an idiot," Brennan agrees. "That's not very nice."
"Fine. He's being ridiculous – is that better?"
"Not really, but proceed." She turns her attention to her youngest. "What were you doing, Hank?"
"Christine's going to a party next Saturday. All the popular kids from her school will be going but she won't let me come with her!"
"Because you're ten!" Christine argues, frustrated.
"So?"
"So, you're a baby. I'm not taking a baby to a party!"
Brennan narrows her eyes. This is the first she's heard of Christine's weekend plans. "What party?"
"Kiara's hosting a party at her house next Saturday night while her parents are away. Everybody's invited."
"She means Finn is invited and she desperately wants to go because she luuuuvs him," Hank intones, snickering at his older sister's expense.
"Who's Finn?" Brennan questions, intrigued.
"Nobody."
Christine kicks Hank under the table, causing him to cry out again in pain.
"Mom! She kicked me!"
She levels a disapproving glare at the culprit. "Christine. Stop hurting your brother."
"Well, tell him to stop pissing me off!"
"Language, young lady," Brennan says sternly. Returning to the original issue at hand, she asks Christine if her father has given her permission to go to this party.
"No. I haven't asked him yet. But mom…"
"I'll consider it." She reaches over to steal a fry from Christine's plate, despite the ones in front of her. She pops it in her mouth and smirks. "Sooo, who's this Finn?"
Hank grins as his older sister blushes wildly and buries her face in her hands. "He's the captain of the soccer team," he announces, taking a great amount of enjoyment from Christine's humiliation. He unlocks his cell phone and shows Brennan a picture of Finn with a besotted Christine, a smug expression on his face.
"Soccer? Your father is not going to like him," Brennan points out, amusement twinkling in her eyes as they lift from the photograph to her daughter's bright red face.
"He's not gonna like him anyway. Dad is so overprotective," she groans, much to Brennan and Hank's extreme amusement.
"Oh, I know, honey. I had to deal with it even before your father and I were a couple."
"He's so annoying."
"He means well," Brennan defends her husband. "It's because he loves you and doesn't want you to get hurt, that's all."
"Yeah, well, he takes it way too far! He got Uncle Aubrey to do a background check on the last guy that asked me out – Evan – and got the FBI to follow him round. He's been avoiding me ever since. I'm never going to be able to date."
"Well, not never. Maybe when you're thirty," Brennan teases.
"UGH!"
Sitting opposite Christine, both Hank and Brennan burst into laughter. Before Brennan can ask for more details about Finn and the party, her cell starts to ring. "Speaking of the devil, it's your father." She accepts the call straight away. "Hi, Booth."
"Hey, Bones. You OK?"
"I will be. Don't worry about me." She catches the kids exchanging looks, both of them clearly wondering what their father has to worry about. They're both too observative for their own good sometimes.
"I will worry, I always do, but OK. We have an ID for our victim," he says.
"You do? Already?"
"Yep. Abigail Brooks. We need to go notify her family. Want me to pick you up?"
She glances at the time on her watch and realises it would be more efficient if Booth came to her, rather than if she drove back to the Jeffersonian first. "Yes, Booth," she answers.
"Great. See you in 5. And Bones? I love you."
"I love you too." She's smiling happily when she puts down her phone, her cheeks flushed pink and Christine doesn't hesitate to make fun of her mother's lovestruck expression.
"You can't really talk, sis. At least they're married; you look the same way whenever you talk about Finn and you're not even a couple!"
Christine swats humourlessly at him, causing Brennan to laugh jubilantly, despite her previous admonishments about her children getting physical with each other. She takes the right amount of bills from her purse and leaves them on the table as all three set about to leave the diner, Hank waving goodbye to the staff who've known him his whole life and are taken by the mini version of his father.
"We'll drop you off back at home before we have to go do some work things, OK?" Brennan says as they stand on the sidewalk waiting for Booth to roll up, the rain thankfully having eased up.
"Why's dad going with you?" Christine inquires, confused. "I thought you two didn't do that anymore."
Not wanting to divulge any potentially upsetting information with her children before they have all the facts, she simply says, "This could be a big case. The bureau wants your dad involved."
Just then, they see Booth's SUV pull up and they all get in. Booth and Brennan share a chaste kiss and then he takes her hand over the middle console, squeezing her fingers tightly.
Brennan doesn't miss the suspicious expressions on her children's faces. They know that something is going on and they're both smart, it won't take them too long to figure it out. She just hopes that doesn't happen before she and Booth can explain it to them properly, or preferably, after her brother has been cleared. Although as Booth slowly drives into the DC traffic, she doesn't know when, or even if, that will happen.
Brennan can't help but admire the front door as they wait for the homeowners – their victim's parents – to answer their knocks. There's a beautiful stained glass window design set down the centre of the wood, a red rose extending towards the right, where the knocker lies.
She hears footsteps approaching and, seconds later, the door opens to reveal a gruff looking man with a greying beard and wrinkles emanating from the corners of his eyes.
His brow furrows at the sight of Booth, dressed in his smart suit, and Brennan, dressed in an equally formal manner. "Hello?"
"Hi, sir. Are you Mr Brooks?"
"I am," he replies warily, his hand resting on the door, ready to slam it shut at any moment. "Who are you?"
"Deputy Director Seeley Booth of the FBI," he says, flashing his badge, then gesturing to his wife beside him. "This here is my associate Dr. Temperance Brennan with the Jeffersonian Institute. We need to talk to you. Can we come in?"
"I suppose so."
Booth and Brennan exchange meaningful glances. Mr Brooks' expression is taught, mistrusting. He clearly doesn't want government officials in his property. They enter anyway and sit on the floral sofa opposite the one he sits at, with a patchwork comforter thrown over it.
"Richard?" Comes a frail, high-pitched voice. "Who's there?" The body attached to the voice enters their view moments later, clutching a saucepan in her hands, poised for attack.
"The FBI," he responds gruffly, his eyes narrowing in their direction.
"And the Jeffersonian Institute," Brennan adds helpfully. "I'm a forensic anthropologist, not a cop."
"Oh, that sounds interesting, dear. Let me go make you some coffee." The tiny, hunched over woman with the floral pinafore tied around the waist of her skirt returns to the room she'd appeared from – the kitchen, Brennan assumes – and her eyes begin to survey the living room around them.
It's a quaint little space, the design antiquated, but clearly well taken care of. Their belongings all seem to be organised onto shelves filled with rows and rows of hardback books, their trinkets lining the mantelpiece of the wood burning fire and their photograph frames taking up any other space remaining. Most of them capture a young girl as she's grown. Her hair is a stunning golden blonde, curled into tight ringlets in the older photographs and loosening into beachy waves as she's gotten older. The style of her clothing has changed with the times, as have the people surrounding her, but her facial features remain the same. Her smile, her sky blue eyes, her slim nose that turns up slightly at the end… These features most definitely belong to their victim.
"That's our daughter, Abi," the older woman says, reappearing in the living area. She places two mugs on coasters in front of Booth and Brennan and they thank her politely. Her expression contrasts to her husband's; her face is filled with warmth, kindness. Mr Brooks looks like he wants the two of them gone as soon as possible. Brennan's certain his dislike of them will only increase when they reveal the real reason for their visit. "She's really beautiful, isn't she? Abi?"
"Yes, she is," Brennan concurs, a smile inking onto her face as her eyes meet those of Abigail's mother.
"Do you have any children?"
Brennan's smile brightens as she thinks of Christine, Hank and Parker. "Three."
"Congratulations," Mrs Brooks responds as she takes the seat next to her husband. "I bet it's wonderful having so many little ones running about the place." She ducks her head, her happiness fading. "We could only have Abigail."
"About your daughter," Booth starts, "the reason we're here is because we have some difficult news. We're afraid that we've found your daughter's body and have positively identified her as Abigail Brooks."
"Dead?" The mother gasps, grabbing her husband's forearm. Her knuckles whiten, her breathing shortens and all colour drains from her face. "It can't be… I just talking to her the other day… H-how… How could this have… What happen…" Her voice trails off, her head shaking from side to side.
"We understand this is not easy to process, Mrs Brooks, but we suspect your daughter has been murdered."
"Murdered?" Abigail's father barks with laughter. It morphs into a hysterical wheezing sound, wet, hot tears streaming down his cheeks as he laughs and laughs and laughs.
Brennan's eyes dart to Booth's. She's never known anybody laugh in reaction to discovering their daughter has been killed.
"Murdered!" He shakes his head at his own remark, his laughter slowly ceasing as he comes to terms with what's been said.
"By who?" The mother squeaks, her pupils wide, dark.
"That's what we're trying to find out," Brennan says. "We're so sorry for your loss. I can't imagine…"
"Th-thank you, dear."
Booth and Brennan watch silently as Abigail's parents embrace each other protectively, the mother burying her face in the father's broad shoulders. They both shake, sobs wracking through their bodies and Brennan's heart metaphorically breaks for them.
"Uh, Mr and Mrs Brooks, we have some… difficult questions to ask you about your daughter… only if you're ready, of course."
Richard Brooks releases his wife just enough so that she can turn to face Booth and Brennan, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy. His arm remains around her shoulders though as he draws comforting circles on her skin.
"We're ready," he decides and his wife nods firmly.
"Great. A witness described to our forensic artist the person they saw" – Booth looks at Brennan, his lips pursing – "or think they saw dump your daughter's body, meaning that we have a sketch of Abigail's potential killer."
Mrs Brooks' sharp intake of air is audible and stabs at Brennan's chest as she retrieves Angela's drawing from her satchel. She turns the picture to show them, steeling her emotions. "Do you know this man?"
Abigail's parents share terrified expressions. "This is her killer?"
"At this point, we believe so, yes," Booth answers, crinkling his nose. "Why? Do you know him?"
"Yes. That's her boyfriend – Kyle. Kyle Keenan."
Uh oh…
Also, a fun fact: I have the same titanium implant in my ear as the victim!
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