The Rings in the Heart
Chapter 20 - A Crazy Kind of Love
.
Disclaimer: I categorically deny owning anything except some BONES DVD box sets. This is a work of parodic fiction which is not intended to infringe upon the rights of FOX & Hart Hanson, etc.
A/N: Well, this is just about it. This massive chapter wraps up the case, with the exception of an epilogue, of course. Hopefully it has delivered what I set out to do - which was to tell a fun tale of Booth & Brennan working together whilst in a relationship. I hope that you've all had as much fun reading it, as I have done writing it :D
Botany Lab - American National University
The FBI Crime Scene technical team had descended upon the lab of the late Nizam Mubarak at 07:00 sharp. They barged into the humid laboratory, itching to take over the area and stake a forensic claim before the Jeffersonian team arrived. It was a petty and long running playground war, but forensic squints took their crime scene one-upmanship very seriously.
Barreling down the main thoroughfare, toward the masses of greenery; the FBI team, toting bags and boxes of equipment, saw the tables ahead that had been set up by the Botany team as their staging area. However, their confident progress was abruptly halted by a ten foot stake, four inches in diameter and coloured fluorescent yellow, being lowered across their path. Half a dozen FBI techs skidded to a halt in a hurry, resulting in a minor dog pile of people and equipment at the rear of the procession. The stake was held by large hands with black lacquered fingernails, belonging to a Jeffersonian jump-suited Fisher, complete with improvised Na'vi-style warpaint in dark loamy smudges on his face.
.
"About time that you guys showed up!" said Hodgins in his most snide tone of superiority. The tone was justified, because this victory over the FBI crime scene techs had effectively crowned Hodgins 'King of the Crime Scene.' "I'm guessing that you stopped off to get donuts for us on your way. Very considerate."
"I hope we're playing nice here, Bug Man!" said Booth, striding into the middle of what was shaping up to be a squinty re-enactment of a Mexican stand-off.
"No problems here, Booth," replied Hodgins smoothly.
"Right...," said Booth, in a tone which suggested that he didn't believe a word of it. He approached Hodgins, and turning his back to the FBI techs, he fixed the bug man with a death glare and growled at him. "Why do you persist in this pissing contest with the FBI crime scene teams?"
Hodgins shrugged, at that moment, the veritable poster boy decorating the side of a carton of 'je ne sais quoi.'
Fisher took the opportunity to supply the answer to Booth's rhetoric. "Because we can!" This earned a snigger from Hodgins, and he bumped fists with Fisher.
Booth gave a snort of anger. "What is this, some sort of squint smackdown tag team?"
"Is there a problem here, Dr. Hodgins?" asked Brennan who had just arrived on account of being delayed by another bout of nausea within minutes of entering the Botany lab complex. Fortunately, she had made a timely arrival to a bathroom on this occasion, harming the boots of no one in the process.
"None, whatsoever Dr. B!" replied Hodgins, who had opened up a sample jar purposefully. He glanced up to make eye contact with Brennan, his eyes widened with shock. "Whoa! Are you okay? You look a little peaky this morning."
"I am in perfect health, and my shoulder has almost regained full range of motion, thank you for asking," replied Brennan truthfully and evasively. She turned to Booth. "Miss Mubarak will be joining us directly. She is aware that we are due at the Hoover later this morning, to collect the Federal warrant."
"Great, thanks Bones. I'm just going to check on the Agent supervising the seizure of records, okay?" Booth placed a hand on her shoulder, before sliding it along to rub his fingers at the back of her neck. She gave a small smile and nodded.
.
"I apologise for being late, Dr. Brennan," said Asha Mubarak, who had just arrived in baggy black coveralls and an ornate wide studded next collar, accentuating her gothic appearance. She was also wearing scarlet vanity contact lenses that had Brennan doing an involuntary double-take.
"No apologies are necessary, Miss Mubarack," said Brennan briskly. "We appreciate your offer of assistance to our team. Dr. Hodgins will be coordinating the sampling and removal of each of the varieties of tobacco plants present in this lab. We will take them, along with your plant genome reference data, back to the Jeffersonian to conduct a comparative analysis of the plants found in the curing shed in Tightsqueeze."
.
Hodgins looked up at the mention of his name, his bright blue eyes popping wide open at the appearance of their local liaison. "Hello, tall, dark, and Manson!" breathed the bug guy to himself.
Fisher, crouched at the base of a tobacco plant, collecting a soil sample, looked around and dropped his trowel. "Of all the Goth fantasies, in all the labs, in all the world, she had to walk into mine..." said Fisher, his mouth agape.
"Dude!" said Hodgins cringing. "Seriously? Bogart is spinning in his grave right now."
.
Hodgins stood up to greet Asha Mubarak, and Fisher followed, a rapt expression on his face which was very much at odds with his usual melancholic demeanour.
"I'm Dr. Hodgins, and this is Colin Fisher, one of our interns at the Jeffersonian...," said the bug man trailing off as the willowy Emo reached out her extra long phalanges and brushed along the stripes of loam painted on Fisher's face.
"Eltur titxen si," said Asha, a shy smile curling up her mouth at one corner as her index finger ran over Fisher's cheekbone.
"Lor tuté," replied Fisher, gazing into the brimstone coloured depths of the Emo's eyes as they immolated his tortured soul.
Brennan observed the exchange with detached interest; after all, it wasn't every day that the opportunity arose to observe the mating rituals of subcultures. "I didn't know that Mr. Fisher spoke Egyptian," she commented.
"He's a chronically depressed cornucopia of surprises," said Hodgins.
The lead FBI tech cleared his throat. "That isn't Egyptian, Dr. Brennan. She just told him that he is intriguing, and he proclaimed that she is a beautiful woman."
Brennan nodded at the FBI tech, impressed. "It appears that you have considerable linguistic ability. I speak six languages, yet I couldn't decipher their words. How many languages do you speak?" she asked the tech.
He shrugged. "Just English...and a little Na'vi..."
"I've never heard of that dialect," mused Brennan.
"That would be because it is a linguistically engineered language designed for a fictional universe, Dr. B. Never to be used outside movie theatres, or internet chat rooms," chimed in Hodgins.
Brennan pouted thoughtfully. "Until now, it seems. They appear to be engaging in some form of ritual courtship." She glanced at the FBI tech and asked "Do you know how to tell Fisher to get back to work, in this Na'vi language?"
He nodded, and barked out a phrase. "Eltu si!"
.
It had the required effect and the couple snapped back into their respective reserved shells. Brennan smiled at the tech approvingly and returned to her reconciliation of the evidence list of samples required to be collected today. She had perhaps forty-five minutes before she and Booth had to leave to make it to their meeting with Caroline Julian.
The FBI tech directed a superior smile at Hodgins. "I just told them to quit goofing off,"he boasted.
The bug man simply shook his head and spoke earnestly to the sample jar in his hand. "...and people have the nerve to call me a geek!"
Conference Room - The Hoover Building
Brennan took a sip of peppermint tea and grimaced, before giving a covetous glance at Booth's cup of percolated coffee. He caught her in the act and gave her a grin.
"I fail to see what you find so amusing in my abstention from coffee, Booth!" she grumped at him.
"Aw, c'mon Bones!" he reasoned. "I'm smiling because you look like you're ready to knock me over the head, in order to get your hands on my coffee."
.
She tilted her chin defiantly at the suggestion that she couldn't cope without coffee, even though there was some truth to it.
.
"Perhaps, I would like to get my hands on something other than your coffee, Booth," she countered with a saucy grin.
"Not exactly the right time or place to be going there, Temperance!" warned Booth, leaning in toward her, his voice dropping to a discrete murmur.
"It was simply a statement of fact, Seeley. Since when have you had an aversion to the truth?" she challenged playfully in a loud whisper, softening the impact of her words by dropping a hand to his firm thigh.
"If the two of you can't manage to keep your hands off each other, I'm gonna have to ask you to sit on opposite sides of this big ole' conference table...and don't think I won't make you!" announced Caroline, as she bustled into the room and took a seat across from them.
.
Brennan sat up and placed her forearms on the conference table, poised for business. "The first batches of tobacco leaf samples from Professor Mubarak's lab are being processed at the Jeffersonian. We hope to have the early mass spectrometry results within the hour, which will hopefully assist us in our enquiries at Ricox Pharmaceuticals this afternoon. Do you have the warrant, Ms Julian?"
The Prosecutor raised an unamused eyebrow at the Anthropologist. "Mmm hmm,...but the first question is, do have something to show me, Dr. Brennan?"
"Yes. I took the test," replied Brennan.
"What test, Bones?" asked Booth innocently.
"The test that Ms Julian asked me to take," replied Brennan in mock evasion, perhaps overacting just a little.
Booth smiled at the Prosecutor. "Bones is a genius, so she's really good at taking tests, Caroline. I don't think she's actually ever failed a test...have you ever failed a test, Bones?"
Brennan unnecessarily made a small pout of reflection and shook her head in the negative. "No, Booth. I have never failed a test. In fact, my academic test scores have always been consistently outstanding."
"It ain't that kind of test, as you are well aware, Dr. Brennan! Are you tellin' me that you took the test without talkin' to Booth about it first?" asked Caroline, her voice rising in pitch and volume along with her ire.
"Oh, Bones!" lamented Booth. "You didn't apply for that automatic weapon permit...? I thought we'd discussed this. Your place is in a good neighbourhood, with almost no gang related violence. There's no need for you to be packing that kind of heat!"
"Enough!" said Caroline, raising her hands in the air. In the deafening silence that followed, Brennan produced the small white piece of plastic that she had removed from her pocket and held it up between her fingers, covering the result window.
"You should know, that were I inclined to deceive you in this matter, I could have easily fabricated this test, Ms. Julian. I have access to world class laboratory facilities, and the knowledge to carry out such a ruse," said Brennan.
Booth dropped the pretence that he had been using to wind up the Prosecutor. "Oh, that test, Caroline?...the one that is absolutely none of your business! Y'know, making a bargain to have us kiss under the mistletoe in exchange for granting some privileges is one thing; but cajoling my partner into taking a pregnancy test, without a reasonable deal in return is kinda low."
"My methods may offend your sensibilities, Cher, but I only have the best interests of Dr. Brennan at heart...and I'll thank you to drop that sassy tone with me, Seeley Booth!" countered Caroline. The Prosecutor's eyes narrowed. "What kind of deal are you talking about here?"
"You don't get to see the test result, and drop the subject, effective immediately," suggested Booth.
.
Caroline gave a derisive snort of mirth. "I think they put decaf in that coffee pot, Agent Booth, because you are fast asleep...and dreaming! Dr. Brennan here cannot be allowed to be placed at additional risk. She's too valuable, even if she isn't carrying your child. Until we know what the outcome of that test is, the two of you have to desist from running around getting shot at, and kidnapped and such."
"Twenty-four weeks!" blurted out Brennan.
"I beg your pardon?" asked Caroline.
"In return for disclosing the positive test result, you have to wait until I am at twenty-four weeks gestation before you can tell anyone about it." Brennan gave a satisfied smile at her tough negotiation line.
Booth put his head in his hands. "Bones. You just gave it away...," he groaned.
"Oh..., I suppose I did," said Brennan, looking slightly crestfallen. She turned to Booth and confided in a loud stage whisper. "Rationally speaking, she would have found out eventually, Booth."
Caroline gave a wide smile. "Well! It seems that congratulations are in order. This joyous news has made me come over all wistful and maternal-like." Dropping her light tone, she narrowed her eyes and fixed Brennan with a beady stare. "I'll stay silent until you're twelve weeks, 'cause there ain't a chance that you can hide a pregnancy for six whole months!"
Brennan glanced sideways at Booth, who rolled his eyes. "I disagree, Ms Julian. Winter will be here in a few months, and with bulkier clothing, I do not believe that my pregnancy will be conspicuous. I would be willing to consider disclosure at twenty-two weeks, in the spirit of this negotiation."
Caroline harrumphed. "Consider? Negotiation? Fourteen weeks, Dr. Brennan."
"Twenty weeks, Ms Julian!" retorted Brennan. Booth groaned and put his head down onto his folded arms on the conference table, unwilling to believe what he was hearing.
"That's a hell of a long time to keep a lid on something. Sixteen weeks! And that is my final offer...," countered the Prosecutor.
Brennan gave a wry chuckle, enjoying herself a little too much. "Eighteen weeks," she said firmly. "The anatomical scan will have confirmed the gender of the child at that juncture, which you may also disclose when you announce the news."
"You drive a hard bargain, Dr. Brennan. You let me throw you a N'Orleans-style baby shower, and you've got yourself a deal," said Caroline.
"Deal!" agreed Brennan, sticking out her hand toward Caroline, shaking on the deal.
Booth looked up and glanced at both women. "I don't suppose that I get any say in this?"
"Absolutely not..." replied Brennan and Caroline together.
.
"The two of you sure are gonna make beautiful babies," mused the Prosecutor.
"I know," said Brennan. "Booth and I are considered very attractive by our societal standards. Our progeny is also likely to inherit high intelligence, in addition to our superior physical attributes."
Caroline frowned and looked at Booth. "I'm not sure I follow..."
"She's agreeing with you, Caroline...," supplied Booth.
"Oh! Then why didn't she just say so?" retorted Caroline, before opening the folder on the table in front of her. "Now. About this warrant..."
.
Ricox Industries, Washington D.C. office
Stepping into the elevator that would take them to the 20th floor of the Ricox Centre, Brennan was still rubbing at the crease of her elbow absently. They had dropped into her primary health clinic at lunchtime to have a blood test taken, with an official result to be messaged to her in a few hours time.
Booth took advantage of the empty elevator car to canoodle up to his favourite Anthropologist.
.
"Are you okay? Does it still hurt?" he asked.
Brennan rolled her eyes. "It's only a blood draw. I am not afraid of needles."
"D'you want me to kiss it better?" he wheedled teasingly.
"I'd like to see you try," she retorted, poking him in the ribs.
"Hey!" exclaimed Booth, as the elevator chimed and announced their arrival at the 20th floor. "Saved by the bell..."
"We need to put on our gay faces, Booth. Did you bring the warrant document?" she asked, as they stepped out into an artificially lit reception area.
Booth had to brace himself against the wall, suppressing his mirth while he was shielded from view by a large potted artificial shrub. "Oh, Bones...it's 'game' face, okay! Gay faces are for Mardi Gras and Musical Revues."
.
They approached the reception desk and Booth flashed his badge at the receptionist. As they were expected, they were both shown through directly to a small, but well appointed conference lounge which had team photos and award plaques with company logos in frames along the walls. A tall, well built man of around fifty was waiting for them. He stood and made his way over to greet them, extending his hand.
"Welcome to Ricox Industries. I'm Hans Thoarn, Chief of Operations."
Booth shook his hand, Brennan followed suit. "I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth, of the FBI. This here is my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan, from the Jeffersonian."
"Please. Take a seat. Agent Booth, Dr. Brennan, can I offer you refreshments?" asked Thoarn.
"That won't be necessary Mr. Thoarn. We're just here to ask you a few questions to assist with our enquiries," replied Booth.
Thoarn took a seat in a low couch opposite them, a wide smile on his face that didn't reach his eyes. "Of course, questions. How can I assist the FBI?"
"Do you know Professor Nizam Mubarak?" asked Booth.
"Yes. I mean, everyone in the pharmaceutical research industry knows him. Our company has had dealings with him in the past. Although not for some years, Agent Booth. He started spending more time back in Egypt, maybe seven or eight years ago. Why? What has he done? asked Thoarn with a smirk.
"If you don't mind, Mr. Thoarn, I'll ask the questions, okay?" said Booth. "How about Asha Mubarak? Do you know her?"
"Yes. Of course I do," replied Thoarn magnanimously. "Asha is contracted via ANU to conduct a research project for Ricox Industries. Unfortunately, due to confidentiality agreements and the proprietary nature of our research, I am unable to answer questions pertaining to our contracted employees, or any details of their work."
"I had a feeling that you might say that, Mr. Thoarn," said Booth, holding up the Federal Warrant. "This is why the FBI prepared this warrant earlier, to obtain your cooperation in this matter. In light of your refusal to answer my last question, you can hereby consider this warrant duly served."
Thoarn blanched, before a flash of annoyance crossed his face, as he leaned forward to snatch the warrant document from Booth's fingers, glancing at the front page. "I see. I'll have to get someone from legal down to look over this, of course. Even though you've named me in this warrant, I'd be breaching my employment contract with Ricox by not following our procedures. I'll have someone down here in two minutes." He stood up and pulled his cell phone from his pocket and speed-dialed a number.
Brennan felt her Smartphone vibrating next to her hand, and glanced at the screen. She tapped Booth insistently on the forearm with one finger. "Okay, Thoarn. You've got two minutes."
Brennan stood and walked toward the window, Booth followed her and they huddled together for a low volume conversation.
.
"That was Hodgins," said Brennan.
"Has he got something?" asked Booth.
"Yes!" she replied. "The genome profiles of the commercial tobacco leaf and the traditional Dokham variety are a match, as is one of the Burley variety leaves. Hodgins suspects that Ricox Industries holds some interest in one of the farms using the tobacco shed in Tightsqueeze. Angela is doing a search of the financial records of the farmers that were interviewed at the crime scene by the FBI."
"So what does that mean, Bones?" he hissed, drawing her by the elbow to the opposite end of the room, where they faced a photo covered wall, feigning interest. Another man, presumably someone from the legal section of Ricox had just arrived. He was waving down Thoarn to stay quiet, while he read the details in the Federal Warrant.
"It means that someone here at Ricox has knowledge of and access to the tobacco drying shed in Virginia, plus the Botany lab at ANU. We just need to find out who that person is, Booth," she explained.
"Well it wasn't Asha," mused Booth. "We've confirmed her whereabouts. She's been inside D.C. city limits for the past six months. Her routine at ANU was logged, as was her access to the secure building complex where she lives."
"Plus the fact that there is no physical evidence linking her to the crime...oh!" she trailed off. She was staring at the photos on the wall her arm stirred Lazarus-like from the side of her body, index finger pointing to the image of a woman, perhaps 40 years of age.
.
Booth placed his hand over her extended wrist, non-verbally encouraging her to stop pointing. "Okay, the photo, I see it. No need to draw their attention to the fact," he whispered, indicating with a small jerk of his head to where Thoarn and his legal advisor were now engaged in an intense whispered discussion.
"The plaque reads: 'Jenna Mackenzie'...," she stated.
"Yeah, I know. I can read that from where I'm standing. 'Director of Pharma...co...kin...something, and Pharma...co...dy...something else'. What does that even mean, Bones?" he asked.
"Ms Mackenzie was Director of Pharmacokinetics and Pharmacodynamics. Two very specialised areas of science that describe how drugs work. The molecular structure and chemical composition of drugs, the various formulations and compounds that they are manufactured into, their in vivo and in vitro behaviour, times to reach peak plasma concentrations, half-lives, excretion routes..." she was stopped by Booth who placed his hand behind her elbow and turned her away from the picture, as he stepped in a little closer to face her.
He kept his voice low. "Okay, Bones, I'll just go with the Sesame Street explanation - 'how drugs work' - no need to give me the college curriculum on the subject."
Brennan gave that small childlike smile of delight that never failed to charm Booths' stripy socks right off. "I loved Sesame Street as a child. In fact, I thoroughly enjoyed all of Jim Henson's Muppets. My favourite character is the Swedish Chef." She flapped her forearms around in front of herself, "Udum schmooden der noodern!" Even with the omission of a white Chef's hat it was a passable impersonation, making Booth smirk.
"I never would have picked that Bones, Beaker the Science Geek, yes, but the Swedish Chef? Beaker reminds me a little of Zach, y'know...'meep meep!'" he said.
"The Swedish Chef is a culinary scientist, Booth. I hope that our own child will gain benefit from exposure to the rudiments of early learning by watching Sesame Street," she said with a grin.
.
Booth placed an arm around her waist and led her back over to the window, glancing at the two men still engrossed in their discussion over the warrant. He surreptitiously placed a hand over her lower abdomen and gave a gentle pat. "Aw, Bones, you're gonna be an awesome Mom...but we really, really need to stay focused here. What's so special about Jenna Mackenzie?"
"I can focus. Her facial structure indicates that she is Asha Mubarack's mother. Making allowances for the expression of Marfan's syndrome in Asha's features of course," she explained.
"So you're saying that Jenna Mackenzie had something to do with this...?" asked Booth.
"Not possible," replied Brennan.
"And why is that, Bones?"
"Because she's dead. According to the plaque below the photograph, she died two years ago. Which begs the question, who else at Ricox Industries found out about this?"
"Let's ask Mr. Thoarn that question, huh?" he suggested.
.
They made their way back over to the couch and took a seat. Thoarn shooed off the legal advisor and returned to his seat opposite them, his earlier self-assurance replaced with anxiety that Booth could spot at fifty paces.
Hans Thoarn kicked off the conversation. "The company legal advisor sends his compliments to whoever compiled that Federal Warrant, Agent Booth. It has no 'wriggle room' from the legal perspective, so I am bound personally, and on behalf of Ricox Industries to answer your questions."
"Just your tax dollars at work, Mr. Thoarn. I'll pass on those compliments to the Federal Prosecutor," said Booth smoothly.
Brennan sat forward in her chair. "Are you aware that Nizam Mubarak is dead, Mr. Thoarn? Murdered?"
Thoarn's jaw dropped in shock. "All of this is about Mubarak? We thought that this had something to do with industrial espionage. Wait? He's dead? Are you sure? Because he goes missing on his eco-warrior adventures for months at a time. Everybody knows that."
Booth placed a restraining hand on Brennan's forearm, he wanted to ask some questions whilst Thoarn was thrown off balance. "We found Professor Mubarak's body, in Virginia. With evidence of foul play."
"Oh, God! That's terrible. The man was an over-principled ass, but he was good at what he did," said Thoarn, still shaking his head. "Does Asha know? They weren't close, they argued constantly, lots of siblings do I suppose...you don't think she killed him, do you?"
"No, Mr. Thoarn," replied Booth. "We know that she had nothing to do with it. Our investigation has cleared her of any involvement. What we want to know, is about the connection between your research project at ANU with Asha, and why Nizam would object to it strenuously enough to get himself killed over it."
"Are you suggesting that someone here at Ricox was involved in this, Agent Booth?" spluttered Thoarn. "We maintain tight controls on our clinical research using legal methods, not by hiring a hit man! Nizam objected to Asha's project because it was examining the feasibility of genetically engineering the superior anti-inflammatory properties of Eastern Dokham tobacco into the more stable Burley variety of tobacco at concentrations found in commercial strains of tobacco. It's just one project in our Burley tobacco series of product research. We're trying to develop a recombinant stable compound that can be used as a powerful anti-inflammatory agent in patients too ill to use standard anti-inflammatory agents, without the side effects of other treatment options such as steroids. Asha's project was called 'Hannah' - Ricox uses palindromic names for all of our recombinant drug research projects."
Brennan took the information on board and spoke up. "Well, it appears that your attempt to Frankenstein the perfect anti-inflammatory agent has failed, Mr. Thoarn. Your Hannah Burley project has been linked to death by poisoning. Someone used the engineered leaf to kill Nizam Mubarak by transdermal poisoning."
Booth glanced at Brennan, pleased at her ability to tie up Thoarn in his own scientific mumbo jumbo. "Yeah, and seeing as the FBI can't lay charges against Hannah Burley, we need to find out who was responsible for wrapping it around our victim and charge them instead. Seeing as Ricox head-hunted Nizam's daughter to do the research, you can see why we're looking for the connection here."
"That wasn't a factor when we contracted Asha to work on the Hannah project," said Thoarn.
Booth sat back into the couch, relaxing slightly. "You knew that Asha was Nizam's daughter. She is known as his sister; even Asha didn't know it herself until a couple of days ago. So tell me, Hans, how did you know that she was his daughter?"
Thoarn back-pedalled, "I must have made a mistake, Agent Booth! I didn't..."
"Yes. You did, Mr. Thoarn. Because Jenna Mackenzie was your sister," said Brennan. Having had the opportunity to further study the facial structure of this man, she was convinced of this after seeing the photograph on the wall.
"My sister is dead, Dr. Brennan, leukaemia. She had nothing to do with this!" replied Thoarn getting angry.
"It had everything to do with it," said Brennan. "Because your sister had a child with Nizam Mubarak twenty years ago, and that child is Asha."
Booth took this new development in his stride. "Not a very nice way to treat your niece, Uncle Han. So why'd you do it? Revenge? Petty jealousy? Money?"
.
Thoarn broke under the weight of the truth. "It was an accident, I swear!" he wept. "Mubarak threatened me, threatened to tell Asha about her heritage before her twenty-first birthday. When he took full custody of Asha, like Jenna wanted, the agreement was that she wouldn't be told. The Thoarn's are old money, Agent Booth. Jenna was seventeen, it was a scandal, and we swept it under the carpet, gave Mubarak some money to support Asha's upbringing to make it go away. She moved on with her life, married; never had any other children though. Mubarak came up to see me at our house in the Hamptons a few weeks ago, stayed overnight. He used those archaic Dokham leaf poultices on his damaged knees, like the goddamned peasant that he was, swore by them. I swapped the leaves he used with some of the Hannah Burley variety that I had collected from the Tightsqueeze drying shed. I thought that it would give him some nausea and diarrhoea, due to them being a bit stronger. I had no idea that his putting Hannah Burley against his skin would kill him."
Booth knew that Thoarn was still holding back his true motive for concealing the 'accident'. "So if there was an agreement between Jenna and Nizam about Asha being told about her mother on her twenty-first birthday, was there something in Jenna's Will for Asha too."
"Yes," admitted Thoarn, with tears rolling down his face.
"Enough 'somethings' to ruin your controlling interest in Ricox Industries?" asked Booth.
Thoarn nodded.
.
"Hans Thoarn. Please stand. You are under arrest for the murder of Nizam Mubarak, interference with human remains, and transporting a corpse across state lines."
"And for being responsible for the development of Hannah Burley. You used science to cause harm," chimed in Brennan.
Thoarn remained mute as Booth continued to Mirandise him, wincing as the cuffs snapped around his wrists. Regaining a little composure, Thoarn faced Brennan.
"The development of Hannah Burley has a greater purpose, Dr. Brennan. As a woman of science, you should know that. If we achieve something with this development in a month, or a year, or five years, that saved someone you love...would it redress the balance?"
Brennan paused, her hand unconsciously resting where her own growing future hopes for fulfillment lay. "I will concede that the path of discovery is littered with failures, Mr. Thoarn. But you stepped outside the safety of the scientific method, causing harm that resulted in the death of Nizam Mubarak and will cause lasting pain for his family, and your family too. Personally, I cannot bring myself to condone your actions."
Booth made a call on his cell phone to arrange for Agents to collect Thoarn. He guided the defeated man by the upper arm. "C'mon, Pal. Time to go."
The Founding Fathers Bar
The Squint Squad had congregated in their corner of the bar, with the first round of drinks already being consumed, as they waited for Booth and Brennan to join them for celebration drinks. Hodgins was relating the story of Fisher's first meeting with Asha Mubarak.
"They ate lunch together, debating whether the Twilight Saga should be classified as Gothic literature," said Hodgins.
Angela gave a low chuckle. "I'm not even sure if it's legal to use 'Twilight' and 'Literature' in the same sentence, Jack."
Cam snorted with laughter. "It could be another match made in heaven...speaking of which...here comes one now..."
.
Brennan opened the door to the Founding Fathers, entering with Booth on her heels. They paused briefly as Brennan reached into the pocket of her trench coat to read a text message on her cell phone. Whatever was in the message made her smile broadly, she waved the phone in front of Booth's face, until her grasped her wrist in both hands to steady the screen of the device in order to read the message. He grinned and let go of her wrist to pull her into a brief hug, before they headed over to where their co-workers were sitting.
"Good news, Dr. Brennan?" asked Cam, nodding at the cell phone.
"Yes. It was," replied Brennan, not disclosing any other details. "I see that you are all just about ready for another drink. I'll get the next round. Same again, everyone?"
Hodgins and Cam nodded, but Angela frowned at the dregs in her champagne glass. "I'll have what you're having, Sweetie. I'm not in the mood for champagne tonight." Brennan nodded and made her way over to the bar to place an order.
"Not in the mood for champagne? Wow, Ange! Call the Washington Post, have we got a story for them!" quipped Hodgins, receiving a slap to his bicep in reply.
Booth laughed at Hodgins, and when Brennan returned he took his seat next to her after she had scooted along the curved bench seat to settle next to Angela.
"I'm starving," announced Booth, picking up the menu.
"I am also hungry, I could eat something," said Brennan, trying to grab the menu from his hands. Booth gave a melodramatic sigh and unfolded the large menu until they were almost hidden behind it.
"Mmm!" said Booth thoughtfully. "I'd like some of this..." He leaned in toward Brennan and stole a kiss.
"That is not on the menu, Booth!" she replied a few moments later.
"Oh yes, it is!" he countered, proving it by taking another kiss.
Angela tapped on the edge of the laminated menu. "Guys, we know exactly what you're doing behind there. Just so we're clear, the Founding Fathers is for 'glug glug, woo-hoo'. Back at your place is 'bow chicka wow-wow', okay?"
.
The menu was reluctantly placed back on the table, as the drinks arrived. Glasses were passed around, and Booth decided to place an order for food. Brennan handed a Mojito to Angela, which she sipped and immediately screwed up her face.
"Gah! there is almost no booze in this! Is it amateur hour behind the bar tonight?" complained Angela.
Brennan realised that there had been a mix up. "Here Angela, try mine," she said, pushing her glass toward her friend.
The artist braced herself and took a sip, breathing a sigh of relief as she did so. "Oh, thank God they got one right. I'll get Hodgins to go get a replacement..." she was stopped by a hand on her arm. Looking up, she found Brennan with a serious expression on her face.
"I asked for my drink that way. I was going to tell you tonight anyway, because you are my best friend, and this is what best friends do. But right now, I'd prefer it if you kept the news to yourself...please?" Brennan passed her cell phone over with the message from the pathology laboratory.
Angela frowned as she looked at the result, then her face lit up as she put the message and mocktail together. "Oh. My. God!" she murmured. "Bren...Wow!"
Brennan held up her Mock-Mojito to toast her glass with her BFF. "Here's to 'Wow'."
.
Post Script A/N: This chapter started out at just over 2000 words, before it ran away into the monster that you've just read. The section at Ricox Industries somehow turned into a not so subtle commentary about season 6 angst, but hopefully you got a laugh out of it (and worked out the anagram).
There will be an epilogue for this story, which is just requiring some finishing touches after I complete the next chapter of Progeny. Thanks again for reading. Really. Thank you. If you feel the urge to de-lurk and post a review, you'll be in the running to win a virtual shirtless Booth (sorry, shirt not included - you'll have to think of some way to keep him warm yourself...I know you'll think of something!)