The Rings in the Heart
Chapter 17 – Much Ado About Soufflé
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Disclaimer: I do not own BONES. For legal reasons, TPTB won't read this; for my own reasons, I'm really happy about that.
A/N: Thanks so much to everyone for reading and reviewing. This chapter is going to exploring with everyone's favourite Psychiatrist and Chef - enjoy!
Lunch service had wrapped up ten minutes previously, so Gordon Gordon Wyatt, 'Masterchef' and erstwhile Psychiatrist, decided that it was time to take his leave from the cacophony of clanging and crashing which signified that the kitchen was in clean-up mode. Tossing a spinach salad in a raspberry vinaigrette, he took an elegant bowl with lines that drew the eye to the dark green leaves against the white porcelain when he placed them within it. Taking a small handful of toasted pine nuts he garnished the salad with a graceful flourish that belied a man of his imposing size. Sniffing suspiciously at the air, he glanced over to the now vacant line of industrial ovens and cursed.
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"Mon dieu! My soufflés!" he exclaimed, as he rushed over to save his lunch. "Where has that rapscallion apprentice of mine escaped to? No doubt taking another opportunity to dally, yet again, with Lady Nicotine."
Shaking his head to himself at the minor scandal of it all, Gordon Gordon opened the oven, taking the edge of his apron to form an impromptu oven mitt, with which he deftly slid the tray out of the oven, placing it gently onto the empty stovetop. Turing off the oven and taking his tray, complete with two ramekins that blossomed with almost identical cheese soufflés, the chef bumped the door of the oven shut, heading back to the Chef's table to plate up his lunch.
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Hearing the creak of the heavy kitchen door which lead to the rear of the restaurant, he turned and prepared to unleash a few choice words of reprimand to his nicotine-addicted apprentice, for dereliction of his soufflé duties, and so forth. Instead of the errant young man, he saw the beautiful and be-slinged Dr. Temperance Brennan attempting to negotiate her entry to the kitchen using her single functional arm. He rushed forward to pull the door open, and placed out an arm to steady her as she stumbled forward without the weight of the heavy kitchen door.
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"Doctor Brennan! What a simply delightful surprise it is to see you here. I would ask if you are well, but your appearance suggests that you have been in the wars, undermining the polite intent of my query somewhat," he rambled good-naturedly.
"Doctor Wyatt, I'm glad that you're still here. I just managed to escape from the lab for an hour," said Brennan in greeting, with a fond smile, as they exchanged kisses on each cheek.
"Please, call me Gordon. Doctor, or Chef, is too formal. If you have no objections, I shall call you Temperance," he replied.
"Certainly, Gordon. Either that, or Tempe is acceptable," she said.
"Ah, I must admit my preference for Temperance, my dear. Your given name has so many layers of meaning and rolls delectably from the tongue," he said in a conspiratorial tone, as he prepared two plates and added some sautéed vegetables beside the soufflé ramekins. Brennan related the details of her recent accident, that resulted in the sling and fading facial bruising.
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"You do know that Temperance is not actually my given name," she informed the chef, after consideration of his earlier statement of preference.
Gordon Gordon gave a bark of a laugh. "A mere technicality, I assure you. Come, join me for a late luncheon and I shall explain myself to your satisfaction." He swept out of the kitchen, with platters balanced expertly on his forearms, leaving Brennan with no option but to follow him through to the restaurant.
Placing the plates on the pristine navy linen tablecloth, the chef waved Brennan to take a seat in the corner booth behind the table. A couple of whispered words to one of the bar staff brought the accoutrements of a fine dining experience to the table; a small basket of French bread, a carafe of water, glasses, cutlery and serviettes. Taking one of the white serviettes and opening it with a flourish, Gordon Gordon indicated his intent to place it over the lap of his beautiful companion with a charming grin of self-depreciation.
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"Chef's Cheese Soufflé, served with sautéed baby vegetables, and a side of baby spinach salad tossed in raspberry vinaigrette. Bon appetit!" He announced, noting her carefully schooled response to the repetition of the word 'baby'.
"Thank you. I had planned on eating lunch after my visit to you…," began Brennan, taking a fork to her soufflé and tasting a small piece.
"Nonsense. Your visit is fortuitously timed and will no doubt prove to be a most efficient use of or collective time, yes?" asked the chef.
Brennan nodded in response, her mouth already occupied with a second, larger mouthful of cheesy goodness.
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"Returning to our earlier discussion, Temperance. I realise, of course, that you were christened Joy, but you have always known yourself as Temperance. The process of discovering your 'true' identity presents an interesting symmetry if you consider your parallel journey to discover 'joy' in your life, while wearing your virtuous protective armour of 'temperance'; or moderation in action, thought, feeling, or restraint." The chef took a large bite of his soufflé and made appreciative subvocalisations as he chewed.
"You are basing your assessment on my name? I fail to see the relevance," retorted Brennan.
"Try interpreting my analogy with your mind in the mode of a best-selling author, rather than that of the empirical scientist" he advised.
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She considered his advice over a couple of mouthfuls of salad. "You are referring to the development in the relationship between Booth and myself. I can appreciate the analogy within this context," she conceded. "But this isn't what I came to speak with you about."
"Of course, my dear," replied the chef with magnanimous wave of his glass of iced water. "I would imagine that your current concerns are centered around your conflicting desires to maintain control over the elements of your first serious committed relationship, or whether to throw caution to the wind and acquiesce to your biological imperative to have a child; with the man that you love more than you life itself."
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Brennan's fork dropped from her fingers, as her face blanched in reaction. The sound of the cutlery ringing against the edge of her plate triggered a flaming reaction in her cheeks.
Gordon Gordon placed a conciliatory hand on her upper arm, realising that he had hit a nerve. "Forgive me, Temperance. I do ramble on, and my clinical insights have an annoying habit of surfacing at the most inappropriate moments. Have I made a faux pas by referring your biological imperative when you are already in the early stages of pregnancy?"
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Brennan took a sip of water to suppress an irrational urge to scream. She simply couldn't fathom why everyone, including highly educated and rational individuals, were jumping to this insupportable assumption; and realised that this would be a moment where she could employ the sarcastic response 'Do I have a sign on my forehead?'
"I am not pregnant. Although for some reason, everyone around me thinks that I am, despite my denials. Just because I am engaging in sexual intercourse with Booth, it does not preclude our taking reasonable precautions to prevent an unplanned pregnancy. Furthermore, I haven't made a firm decision at this time, despite any 'biological imperative'. Booth and I still have to discuss this in further detail."
"Oh, but I think that you already have made a decision, Temperance. It is simply a matter of relinquishing the stranglehold that your virtuous constraint has over the joy which your heart ultimately desires. Here, have some more salad; spinach provides an excellent boost of pre-natal iron and folate," said the chef with a knowing half-smile, as Brennan stared at him.
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"This is not what I came here to discuss with you," she replied, the tension evident in her voice. It was almost as if Gordon Gordon had been a fly on her bedroom wall last night, listening to her discussion with Booth as they were sprawled naked across her bed. After they had abandoned those very same 'reasonable precautions' that she had just referred to in her own defense. Her cheeks flamed in response, yet again.
"Yet here we are, Temperance, discussing precisely what is on your mind. As a scientist, you can appreciate the spectrum of physiological and psychosocial responses to the behavioural triggers of reproduction. Why ever would you believe that you yourself would be excluded from the procreative constant that mankind has been subject to for eons? Yes. Modern women can artificially suppress and delay aspects of their reproductive function, but in your own scenario, why would you want to? Agent Booth is a virile man, a suitable mate, an Alpha Male." Gordon Gordon took another large bite of his lunch, smiling benignly as he chewed.
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They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes. The chime and vibration from her smartphone indicated a message from the lab. The chef waved a non-chalant hand at the device as it appeared in her hand, indicating that she should check her message.
The update was from Cam. Yet another series of twists in the case. There was no direct physical or temporal evidence that Asha Mubarak was involved with the death of her brother. The DNA from Asha Mubarak also turned up another anomaly. She was not Nizam's sister; she was his daughter. Knowing that Booth would be receiving an identical message, Brennan knew that she needed to get back to the lab as soon as possible. Booth disliked it when domestic relationships became convoluted and realised that she would probably need to sit in on a follow-up interview with the Emo, who was no longer a suspect.
"Urgent news?" enquired Gordon Gordon.
"I'm afraid so. Yes," replied Brennan.
"A great pity, my dear. But pray, why did you come to see me?" he asked.
"Cherry Brandy Pie," blurted Brennan.
"Oh! You would like the recipe to bake it for Agent Booth? How delightful!" He lowered his voice to confide something to Brennan. "I generally don't divulge my culinary secrets. But in this case, I will make an exception."
Brennan wondered why the chef would be inclined to make such an exception, but thanked him anyway. She would ask Booth later on tonight.