The Rings in the Heart
Chapter 12 – Viva la Vegetarian
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Disclaimer: BONES does not belong to me. It is just a play date, simmer down, okay?
A/N: Thanks for patiently waiting for an update. I do intend to see this through, so don't give up on me yet! To those of you reviewing and alerting, kudos for doing what this site is designed to do. To all those lurking readers...I can still see you, I'm just not sure if you're having fun. A shout goes out to Myzinglink – this is partial retaliation for the spontaneous combustion of my Blackberry!
Following the announcement that both a cause of death and a positive ID were close, the team buckled down to work. The squint squad spent the rest of the afternoon doing what they did best, applying their knowledge and expertise to the myriad of small tasks which would build a body of evidence to support their findings for the case. It was the kind of work that was vitally important in the real world, but rarely made an appearance in procedural TV dramas, unless it was accompanied by a track from the Directors' playlist accompanying said imagery, constructed into an epic montage; usually to denote some arbitrary passage of time.
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So the afternoon passed. Angela gathered and collated the electronic evidence, using the amazing technical set-up that could only be described as the World's Largest Siamese iPads. The main distinction here was that comparatively, Angela Montenegro made Steve Jobs look like Gollum.
Hodgins' workroom had turned into a Tobacconists pipe dream with, leaf samples displayed and identified on boards like carcinogenic butterflies – Jack also spent some of his afternoon in a singlet, bending pipes of the metal variety for no specific reason, other than to maintain the perpetual hope that Angela would pass by and spontaneously jump him. But she didn't, and therefore he didn't, but a lot of Jeffersonian interns stopped by to admire the magnificent display of lean muscle...erm, tobacco leaves.
Cam reviewed toxicology results and discussed tissue sample degradation with a mummification specialist from the Egyptology Department, a man who was blatantly trying to divest her of the Prada number she was wearing, by unwrapping her with his suspiciously kohl lined eyes.
Mr. Vasiri had been instructed to run Dr. Brennan's database queries, because she was running out of Mongolian curses, and his ability with SQL was actually superior to hers. Arastoo prayed fervently during his intermittent sessions facing Mecca on the prayer mat, that this superior ability over the brilliant Dr. Brennan would never be noticed, the shame would be unbearable.
Brennan was catching up on her e-mail backlog following the disastrous road trip and reviewing the 3D reconstruction that Angela had completed in her absence. The final stages of the isotope analysis of the bone and tooth samples taken from the victim were underway; she was supervising the progress of the testing and validation. These tasks had been allocated to a doctoral candidate and three interns, who collectively and secretly wondered if the opponent of the injured anthropologist had actually survived whatever misfortune she had been involved in. The hero worship of the famous Forensic Anthropologist had taken on a decidedly Chuck-Norris-esque flavour ever since she had returned from Tightsqueeze.
Seeley Booth had decided, in the interests of World Peace, to hang around in Brennan's office for the afternoon and finish his field reports. Cam had threatened to send Brennan home if she refused to comply with the Medical Doctor in the room and take it easy. Booth employed a combination of subtle and juvenile tactics to ensure that Brennan didn't overtax herself; mostly it was keeping her out of Cam's way, but he also had some new workplace games that he could play now that the boundaries of their partnership had been shifted. The main theme of the afternoon was based upon a puerile FBI workplace safety program which encouraged 'safe seated work'. When Booth had completed his mandatory training earlier in the year, he was disappointed that it had nothing whatsoever to do with refraining from shooting annoying colleagues mooning after your sexy anthropologist, from the comfort of your lumbar-supported office chair. The program was actually aimed at avoiding injury and repetitive strain from sitting doing office work for hours on end. Booth spun some bullshit for Brennan about taking mandatory ten minute breaks for each hour of work, doing some walking, breathing and stretching to make sure her injuries didn't start stiffening up.
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There was just enough credible fact in Booth's pitch to get Brennan agree in principle to the concept. In reality, the enforced breaks involved 'walking' to the nearest perpendicular surface out the line of sight of those able to see them through the glass from the lab. Being pinned against said perpendicular surface and kissed, nibbled, grasped, etcetera...until 'breathing' became an issue. Then, of course, avoiding 'stretching' of a whole swag of rules and regulations about having intimate relations, albeit with your clothes on, in the workplace. When Brennan queried how exactly safety was the underpinning aim of this exercise, Booth referred her to the box of Trojans in her desk drawer, which she didn't realise that he had knowledge of. Brennan rolled her eyes and wiped the cocky grin off his face by using her functional hand in retaliation, making an intimate anthropometric assessment, in order to take a 'safety' measurement. Booth nearly lost it, sandwiched up against the wall of an alcove. This scenario was anything but safe, he wondered with a sense of desperation if the Decontamination Showers had a cold setting.
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Thus, Angela Montenegro discovered them at ten minutes after five, when she called into Brennans' office to give them a ten minute warning for the end of day case briefing. All the lab runs had been completed for the day, with results validated. The team needed to sketch out the plan for the following day. Booth had his back up against the wall; Brennan had him pinned there. His hands were positioned on the back of her head and her derriere. Her hands were not visible at all, the left one understandably immobilised by a sling, the right hand was between them with the intent of obtaining valid anthropometric data for safety purposes. If the growl of frustration escaping Booths' lips in the parallel battle for oral dominance was any indicator, she was being particularly methodical in her quest.
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"You didn't tell me that you had given up on being Vegetarian, Sweetie" said Angela in a voice that was dripping with a fusion of sarcasm and delight.
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For the sake of safety (and modesty for Seeley Booth), the sprung couple maintained their position, only disconnecting their lips and turning their heads toward Angela. Because frankly, if they were to step apart in that moment, it wouldn't require the skills of a Forensic Anthropologist to take measurements – actually, anyone who wasn't legally blind could manage it without a problem.
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"Why would you make that assumption? I am still Vegetarian," stated Brennan, with a puzzled crease appearing on her brow, completely unperturbed by her potentially compromising position. She glanced at Booth, who gave her a 'How the hell would I know?' look.
"From where 'I'm' standing. You, with that delicious hunk of man-meat. I'd go back to being an omnivore too, in a heartbeat." Angela gave a sly wink. "Case briefing in my office, ten minutes."
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Angela turned on her heel and strutted out of the office. On her way out she delivered her parting shot.
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"Do you want me to throw you the packet of Trojans from your desk drawer, Bren?"
"No. That won't be necessary" called Brennan after her friend, who gave a silvery laugh in response as she exited the office.