Agh, I'm a terrible, awful, lousy updater I know! And I apologize most sincerely!
I don't own Bones...certain characters would be smacking lips a lot more often if I did...
Later that night, Brennan sat at her desk studiously signing off on some mandatory paperwork. This was taking an awful lot longer than it should have as her focus refused to remain static on the job at hand. Thoughts of this latest case were flitting around aimlessly in her turbulent mind. Every now and again they would all surge together and fight for dominance, leaving the doctor slightly cross-eyed and more than a little breathless.
The latest victim had been female, early twenties. Brennan was trying desperately to focus on the high cheekbones, little nose and overall delicate bone structure of the deceased victim, all indicators of the girl's prettiness, if not even beauty. This made it so much harder, however, when her memory cruelly tortured her with images of a six-inch long gash cut across the throat, deep enough to slash into the vertebrae. Of the scraps of cloth still clinging desperately to the body's surface, the majority of which, on the upper area of the body at least, were stained a burnt brown colour from the masses of blood that had saturated them. Of the hands…the hands still clenched in a physical manifestation of the torturous agony endured by the victim before she was finally allowed to die.
Was it really easier to think of her as the victim? For one thing, it almost completely dehumanised her. This had always been Brennan's main objective when dealing with bodies, but there had recently been a shift in her stance on this particular method and she was no longer sure if this was the right course of action to take. Deep down, somewhere suppressed in her consciousness, she knew that this new uncertainty was brought about by her relationship with Booth.
Before becoming partners with him, she only ever dealt with the bones. The brittle, informative architecture that made up every human being. Only, it was always uncomfortably easy to forget that these objects on her table were once concealed beneath the skin of a living, breathing person. A person, who laughed, cried, sang, jumped, spoke, thought, shouted, worried and loved. It had been so much easier not to think of these aspects before Booth. Of course, it had been a lot easier not to think of many things before Booth. He had opened her up to so many new experiences and ideas, had ignited a passion for justice in her that she never could have guessed was hiding dormant inside, just waiting for that perfect spark… He had also, somehow, managed to kindle the embers of another fiery passion… But now was not the time to be dwelling on such thoughts.
Brennan sighed heavily and flicked her hair impatiently out of her face. The second reason she no longer liked to refer to bodies as victims was because it made them sound so helpless. Naturally, she was always aware of the struggles someone must have gone through as she examined their bones. But now, when she, with Booth, became acquainted with the person's family, had a visual of the space they inhabited, the job they might have had, the hopes and dreams they were chasing…calling them a 'victim' often seemed like an insult to their memory, to their indomitable, resilient spirit to survive, if not simply their fatal attack, then simply their life. The world was a difficult, unfriendly place to inhabit and to attribute someone's persistence to last as long as they had to victimisation was just inexcusable. The rational, empirical scientist bubbling inside of her was appalled at her emotions getting so up in arms over a simple label…but her more…human side was still horrified.
She ran her fingers firmly over her eyebrows, trying to alleviate the beginning prickle of a headache that was currently making its presence known. Her mind wandered to the new letter and the prickles became more like fiery stabs. The envelope had been lying on the…victim's stomach. Blood stains mottled the surface and the words, "For the eyes of Agent Booth" were scrawled across the front. The letters were so malformed it almost looked as though the author had written them with his non-writing hand. Booth's lips had almost disappeared inside his mouth when he first read the addressee on the envelope. Brennan hated the fact that, for some inexplicable reason, the killer seemed to be targeting her partner. Not that she'd wish this kind of attention on anybody else…but Booth cared so much. He cared for the victims, their families, friends, co-workers…everyone. She wondered if the killer knew that this was one of the cruellest ways to target Booth: direct the correspondence to him and then watch him destroy himself with guilt that another person was dead, presumably, on "his watch".
The letter itself hadn't been overly informative. It was less of a letter and more a couple of hastily scribbled lines. The top half of the sheet of paper was dominated by a large circle, divided into twelve sections, each section with the name of a zodiac sign written inside it, in chronological order. The Aries and Taurus signs had a thick red line drawn through them, obscuring the names. Above the circle, almost as an afterthought, were the words, "Two down…" The body of the text, if it could even be called that, consisted of three of the most disturbing lines Brennan had ever read: "This one was a screamer. She cried for her mother. Too bad you couldn't save her."
Upon her first perusal of the letter's message, Brennan was sure she was having a heart attack. Her chest hurt with the intense slamming of the organ inside of it and she went cold all over. It just wasn't fair. Even though she and all of the agents had told him it wasn't his fault and all of the squints had made reference to it in the lab and Booth himself knew he couldn't have prevented it, she still knew he would half kill himself with guilt.
There was a knock on her door. She waved a hand in front of her face, as though this might dissipate the fog of anxious thoughts currently surrounding her person. Without waiting for a reply, Booth pushed open the door and stepped into the room.
The two silently examined the other, trying to calculate the damage done. He raised his eyebrows at her, attempting to coax her into evaluating her current state of mind. She responded by jutting her chin upward.
He admitted defeat by deciding to talk first. He growled low in his throat, just to make her aware that he wasn't happy about doing so.
"Papers have got hold of the whole thing. They're making it out to be some kind of gruesome freak-show. Snivelling quotes from supposed friends and acquaintances nestled in with horrifically detailed descriptions of the crime scene and the damage inflicted…"
His voice trailed off. He rolled his head around a number of times, trying to regain control.
Brennan broke the stifling silence by whispering, "I'm sorry, Booth."
He looked up and focused his eyes on the wall behind her. He shifted his weight for a couple of seconds before croaking a response.
"There are few things as personal as someone's death…"
"Their life?" Brennan offered, locking her gaze with his.
Booth blinked rapidly a couple of times and gave her a rather lopsided smile.
"Getting philosophical on me, are you, Bones?"
She shrugged and clarified, "Well, maybe not their entire life, but certainly their more intimate moments…"
He shivered reflexively at her choice of words. She caught the move and raised her eyebrows enquiringly, head tipped slightly to one side.
"Intimate…" he breathed, his voice taking on a hoarse and ragged quality.
She could feel the blood rushing to her face and ducked her head shyly.
"Maybe not the best choice of words…"
"I think it was the perfect choice of words."
She slowly brought her eyes up to his level. The soft lighting from the lamp and the delicate rosy glow currently staining her cheeks made her look breathtaking. Booth was stunned anew at her natural and unassuming beauty.
"You…eh…you wanna go get some coffee?"
He didn't even have to think about it. A grin suddenly lit up his face and he nodded.
"Coffee sounds great."
She dimpled at him and quickly shut down her computer. As she was gathering up her coat and making her way towards him she tentatively stated, "You know, Booth, you're going to be alright."
He smiled easily at her, eyes shining with affection. He nodded as he slid an arm around her waist, pulling her firmly against his side.
"Course I am, Bones. I've got you."