Chapter 2: Misreadings and Macaroons
Three Hours Earlier, Aiden and Sandra Barnwell's Residence, 344 Ewing Street, Princeton, New Jersey
"I'm just saying, Booth, that Parker has a valid point." Dr. Temperance Brennan's voice carried across the street, letting the straggling FBI crime scene investigators in on the latest news from Special Agent Seeley Booth's family. "You have not been out with any women romantically in the past few years, and so your son's conclusion was logical to him." She smiled, thinking of what her Parker Booth had said to her while she waited for his father to pack his suitcase for the trip they were to take to New Jersey to examine her type of remains. She knew, as soon as she had heard it, that Booth would not at all like what his son had concluded.
"He think's I'm gay now, Bones, how is that logical? I am NOT gay. I'm very interested in the opposite sex, thank you very much." The FBI agent heard someone chuckle behind him. He shot them a withering look, and their expression became one resembling something someone might have at their best friend's deathbed. Sometimes it paid to be large and intimidating.
"Well, Parker hasn't seen you with any women for a long time, and today's children are constantly bombarded with information about homosexuality, both negative and positive, so he must have put two and two together and concluded that you aren't interested in females sexually." Brennan wasn't the kind of woman to laugh at such a situation, but the expression on her partner's face was almost enough to send her into a fit of giggles. Almost. There was still a crime scene to investigate, and Brennan was nothing if not professional.
"Yeah, but I had him with Rebecca, didn't I? That must have told him that I'm not gay!" And if his son knew how much he lusted after one Dr. Temperance Brennan, perhaps he would change his mind about his father's sexuality. Then again, a graphic account of just what he would like to do to his partner would most likely not be appropriate for a boy his age, and in any case, Parker would likely mention something to Brennan about him wanting to make love to her, long and hard, for the rest of his life.
"At that point in time, perhaps. Maybe he concluded that this was a recent development." At that point, their discussion had carried them to the backyard, where a large greenhouse waited for them. A nervous looking couple stood off to the side, the small European man rubbing his even more miniscule wife's shoulder tenderly.
"Don't let too many people in at a time. All the warm air will be let out." Aiden Barnwell said, just a hint of an English accent remaining in his voice. It was obvious to Booth that the man was quite unnerved by all the activity in his modest backyard, perhaps due to the fact that he and his wife hadn't expected to come home from their vacationing in Greece for three months to find quite the smell in their greenhouse. The wife, a former coroner and avid mystery reader, was quick to identify the odour as that produced by decaying human remains. Investigation had revealed three bodies almost at the last stages of decomposition buried under a pile of mirror fragments. The couple, both heavily into home improvements, had been planning on using the pieces of mirror they had collected from various recycling depots and landfills in a pathway they were planning to twist through the garden and out to the front of the house. Unfortunately for them, the project would have to be set back.
"I'm going to need a shovel." Brennan said, trying futilely to access the skull by brushing away the pieces of mirror with her gloved hands.
"You can use this one." Andrea Barnwell told her, handing her a gleaming new shovel with a green handle. For a few minutes, everyone was silent as she removed the variously sized shards of glass from the bodies.
"Judging by the shape of the skull on the left, one of our victims is a male in his late twenties, eastern European." She moved slightly to the right to examine the next skull visible through the pile, offering her professional -and only professional- partner an unfortunate view of her derriere. He tried to avoid examining it more closely than was strictly necessary, but his son's comments to her about the possibility of his homosexuality had sparked a desire to prove to God, or someone, that he was, in fact, straight.
"This second skull belonged to a woman, early fifties, of African descent." The forensic anthropologist's voice jolted him out of his admiration, and he quickly scolded himself for drifting off into fantasy land. Ever since that wonderful and terrible (only for the consequences after, of course) dream that he had had, Booth's mind often drifted to the part of his memory that liked to think of her as Bren, and lusting after her seemed only natural. The way she acted around him seemed more and more like the way she would act if she were interested in him, but his mind put down the possibility. He was just over-analyzing everything in the hopes that one of his most secret (at least to her) desires would become reality. But as he knew it, that was a long way off.
"What about the third?" he asked, trying to sound as if he hadn't just been ogling her. It wasn't his fault, he reasoned. He was sure that if she had caught him, he would have been treated to some sort of anthropological explanation of his involuntary staring. That, however, was the last thing he needed. When his Bones started getting all squinty about sex, he tended to need to change the subject very quickly.
He wondered when exactly he had started thinking about Temperance Brennan as 'his'. It had started before the coma, he was sure of that, but as to how many years ago, he wasn't entirely sure. All he knew was that the overly logical, socially awkward forensic anthropologist had somehow managed to become so entangled in his life he was sure it would hurt him more than any torture to lose her.
This, of course, was why any thoughts of a romance with her were shoved off to the back of his mind as soon as they were formed, to come out in the hazy state between sleep and consciousness. He couldn't risk losing her, not when her sanity rested on the thin line between things she could control and things she couldn't.
And he was sure unreciprocated romantic feelings towards her would fall under the 'couldn't control' category.
"Asian, male in his late forties." Three victims, seemingly unrelated, just as he had been told. While others had been working on the case of the suspected killer, no new sets of bodies had been discovered since the Fredrick Walker had escaped that required his partner's special skills until now.
The FBI had been lucky with the other set of remains. They had been buried under a pile of garbage in the local dump, and two very unfortunate teenagers had stumbled on them while trying to drag a couch out from under the rubbish. They had been put there the previous day, and had not yet fully begun decomposition, so identification had been quick and easy. In Fredrick Walker's other murders, the remains had been considerably harder to indentify. A few of Brennan's grad students had been lent out to help when he had still been at large, and she had even identified a few herself.
Brennan brushed aside more fragments. "All three bodies are the beginning of the mummification stage. No apparent causes of death can be seen, although only around 30% of the bodies is visible. A blue rope, most likely made of synthetic material, is holding the bodies together. A thin layer of dust, presumably from micro fragments of mirrored glass, covers all three bodies."
His partner's analysis of the remains had only confirmed what everyone had suspected. There would be more work to be done.
"I need the entire pile of mirror fragments shipped back to the Jeffersonian, along with the remains." Booth sighed. This looked like it was going to be a long investigation.
He got his phone out of his pocket, and dialed the local FBI's number.
"This is Special Agent Booth. I think we have another set of victims for the Walker case." Brennan listened as her partner talked with what she assumed was the FBI agent in charge of the case. She had always enjoyed listening to him speak. He had a warm, masculine tone. His voice had become a comfort to her over the years, and hearing it made her feel safe. Obviously that was because she associated his presence with a reliable protection, not because she had begun to associate him with 'home' or anything ridiculous like that.
Her feelings were based on fact, after all, even if her conscious mind didn't always go over all the reasons every time she felt a thrill or a lurch in her chest when he gave her that smile. She was sure he felt some sort of logic-based strong emotions towards her as well, even if they weren't coupled with romantic interest.
It was obvious in the way he always tried to protect her, whether it was from murderous dinner dates or jealous bullets aimed for her heart. But as for any interest he might have in her sexually… well, it was quite apparent to her that he would never consider her the way she considered him.
All that almost indecipherable garbage about someone being out there for everyone, and all the rest of the romantic mumbo-jumbo Booth had been spouting for the past few years was obviously meant to make her want to expand her horizons and look for love. Booth would want that. Booth wanted her to be happy. Booth wanted her to be safe, and loved, and cared for, respected and appreciated.
What her partner failed to recognize, however, was that she already had all of those things from him, and couldn't stomach the idea of depending on someone else. That left her in a kind of limbo, trying desperately to decide whether or not risking her 'heart' would be worth it.
Normally, when it came to matters of emotion, she would ask Booth, but as he was at the center of the problem, that option was unavailable. As for Angela, she didn't feel comfortable revealing such a big secret, even if her best friend constantly shoved what she thought was the truth in her face.
It would be best to see what happened in next few months, evaluate the situation, and move on from there. If Booth didn't want her, then the logical course of action would be to leave him and live somewhere else. That might, however, be a thousand times worse than the daily struggle between her heart and her head. She wondered whether it would hurt him as much as it would hurt her to be separated. He wasn't as acutely aware of the harsh sting of abandonment, but surely there was something holding them together?
She had had hope for a while, after the initial shock of Booth's confusion had worn off and her trip to Guatemala over. She had been so…well, disappointed when his long-awaited (if only in her subconscious) declaration of love was disqualified and possibly attributed to his altered brain after the vivid dream he had experienced.
She had let her hopes get up again while he 'taught' her how to fix the sink, but that too had ended like all their other interactions, with an overpowering element of deep friendship and a hint of sexual chemistry that she wasn't even sure was there anymore.
Then of course, there had been the night of the Egypt exhibit, where she had been so sure they were going to kiss she had managed to convince herself he wanted it as much as she did. Perhaps the effect of champagne had distorted her judgment, because surely the look in his eyes didn't convey anything other than his deep, platonic affection for her. He was right, though. The more she thought about it, the more she wanted what happened between them to remain between them.
The was Temperance Brennan thought and saw the world often let her down, but it was the only way she could function. If she was missing anything, hopefully she would figure it out soon.
"Alright, Bones, Agent Fields wants us to come to a meeting about the case later." Booth said, drawing Brennan out of the deep though she had fallen into.
"Why would we need to go to a meeting? I assumed that there was no emergency regarding this case, and even if someone were in immediate danger, having been identified as a target, I don't see why there would be a meeting. I imagine we are available for field work and remain indemnification, nothing more."
"Aww, Bones, why do you have to go and complicate things? It's just a talk given by the psychiatrist in charge of the case. Maybe he'll give us some information we can use."
"Or she, Booth. Females are emerging in the field of psychiatry." Booth grinned. His Bones was always one to point out gender equality and the antiquity of viewing females as the weaker sex. Well, he sure as hell knew girls were just as good as boys, hanging around his ass-kicking, crime-solving, jaw-droppingly gorgeous partner.
"Actually, this time it is a he." His mouth was practically splitting at the opportunity to reveal a secret.
"How do you know?" she asked, putting the shovel down. Her work was done for now, but would continue as soon as they got back to the Jeffersonian.
"Because, we're going to catch up with an old friend. Guess who's been dragged back into psychiatry?" Brennan's small gasp of happy surprise told him that she knew just who he was talking about.
"Dr. Wyatt?" his partner asked incredulously. "I thought he had given the profession up for good!"
"Not when there's a tricky serial killer to put back behind bars, Bones. Look's like we're going to see Gordon Gordon."
***
"Ah, Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth, how good to see you again!" Gordon Gordon Wyatt said as he showed the two early comers to the presentation he was to give in fifteen minutes time to their seats.
"So this is where you disappeared to." Booth said, smiling as he sat down, before wincing slightly. The seats were as bad as the ones back in D.C.
"You've been looking for me, Agent Booth? Something you wanted to discuss, perhaps?" The FBI agent blushed slightly, remembering their last conversation. He had hoped, after hearing the former (or not so former) psychiatrist's words that he would find the courage and opportunity to tell Brennan what he felt about her. Unfortunately, nothing ever came up. She was her usual endearing, overly rational self, and he couldn't seem to find a way into the less predictable part of her mind.
"No, just, wondering, you know?" Brennan looked at him strangely, wondering if Wyatt's comment had any significant meaning. None that she could decipher, although she knew that wink had to have meant something.
"Well, I suppose it's a rather fortunate turn of luck that you two got called here, then, isn't it? I must admit I was getting rather lonely, spending all my time here in Princeton without any close acquaintances, but I've been working closely with the Bureau, trying to track this man. I haven't had the opportunity to do anything remotely amusing, although I've made friends with one of the regulars at Sharries' Bar. Quite a nice young chap, though by the way he talks it seems he's been through more than most. Well, we have about ten minutes before everyone else arrives, so what would you like to discuss? Anything new in the world of Booth and Brennan?"
"No." Booth said matter-of-factly, giving Wyatt a significant look meant to tell him that no, the time had not yet come.
"Nothing I would consider important, no." Brennan added, brushing the dust that had settled on her skirt off her lap. The room seemed like it wasn't used very often.
"Well, I thought I'd mention to you that I ran into a very old acquaintance of mine and extend my invitation for a few drinks after this afternoon's most likely long-winded and incredibly dull meeting. I suspect that the agents in charge will want to blither on about ways and means, while I sit there and wonder what the devil my half-hour speech about the depths of his mind have to do with anything. But, such is life, I suppose."
"Who's the acquaintance?" Brennan asked. She didn't know too much about Wyatt's life, and as always, was curious.
"Dr. Gregory House." Wyatt said, grinning. The short time that they had had together in England had given him a lot of memories, most good. Dealing with the adolescent's overbearing, rules-obsessed, frequently abusive father had been no walk in the park, though. It had been one of the only things they hadn't been able to bond over, he having had a relatively stable family life. The two teenagers had both shared a love of music and knowledge, and it wasn't uncommon to see them sitting on a river bank, writing songs on their acoustic guitars.
"Never heard of him." Booth said, stretching his arms out. It had been a long drive from D.C., but they hadn't been able to take a flight into New Jersey on such short notice, and in any case, Booth preferred to have his standard FBI SUV. He was tired as hell, and the last thing he needed was a long meeting.
"He's a highly esteemed diagnostician." Brennan told him, her eyes sparkling with admiration. "Dr. House is supposed to be very insightful and incredibly brilliant."
"Well, he certainly is all of those things, but I have to warn you, he's a bit of an ass." Wyatt said, chuckling to himself. That was one thing he knew for sure hadn't changed.
"How much of an ass are we talking here?" Booth asked. He knew that Brennan didn't deal well with unpleasant people, and he didn't want to get into a fight defending her. Especially since she would get angry at him for being such an alpha male. He couldn't help it though. He seemed to have two main priorities in life now: protecting Parker and protecting Bones.
"Well, he's a bit of a bitter old man, but I'm sure he'll warm up."
The Gregory House Wyatt had known had been closed off, drinking heavily and partying until he passed out, but he had always been able to talk to the right people. Then again, from what Wyatt knew about chronic pain, he suspected that the infarction in his leg had affected the man considerably.
"I hope so…" Booth muttered, and Brennan frowned slightly. She suspected that his desire for pleasant bar company was not out of desire for his own enjoyment but hers. She could take care of herself. She had dealt with enough disagreeable people, hadn't she?
"Well, old teenage friends aside, is there anything you two would like to ask me about the case? Or not about the case, if you'd prefer?" Booth racked his brain. He didn't find anything he wanted to discuss with Gordon Gordon, at least not with his Bones there. She didn't need to hear any of his longing for her, not when it was obvious it would make her quite uncomfortable.
"Not at the moment, Dr. Wyatt." Brennan said, reading a quick text message. It seemed the remains were on their way to the Jeffersonian, after a slight mix up with the vehicle's driver.
"Oh, goodness, how I hate being called Doctor Wyatt now." the psychiatrist said, looking rather glum. A little more than glum, Booth noticed.
"Are you feeling alright there, Gordon Gordon?" the FBI agent asked. "You're looking a little pale there, maybe you're sick."
"I am taking some medication. Actually, that's where I ran into Greg; he was doing clinic duty, which I correctly imagined to be incredibly boring for such an incredible mind. He gave me some of that Tamiflu stuff, but I'm afraid it's yet to have any effect on me. I've been nauseous all day, and have an awful headache, now that you mention it."
"Should you be here, then, if you're sick?" Brennan asked. "If you have H1N1, you could pass it on to the people here."
"I've been assured everyone attending this meeting has been vaccinated." he answered.
"When's this meeting going to be over, anyway?" Booth asked, seeing three important looking people file into the room.
"I have no idea, Agent Booth." Wyatt replied. "No idea… Would you like a macaroon?" Booth looked to the bowl sitting on the center of the conference table. He reached for one at the same time as Brennan, and as their hands touched, he felt a jolt of electricity. He became rather warm after their eyes met briefly, and all through the meeting, he couldn't seem to cool down.