A/N thank you to everyone who left a review, favorited, and added to story alert. I'm so glad you're liking it! And I will reply to your reviews ASAP, I promise. I just figured you'd rather have a new chapter than a review reply. So here it is! There is some smexiness in this one, you have been warned. Thanks again, MC
It is already late by the time we reach the Jeffersonian, the sky above our heads an inky, ominous black.
The chill is enough to make my ears burn as we quickly shuffle from the car, but I do not seek refuge in the warmth of Booth and he does not offer. We are all business now.
Angela is waiting for us in her office, anxious to go home after her many hours spent reconstructing a face that will never be seen again on this earth, except in pixels. The Angelator is up and running as we enter her office, shedding our outer layers in the relative warmth of the lab. The face of a blonde woman rotates on the base of the state of the art machine, her eyes bright and shining. Angela herself can be seen through the translucent image, the face of this young woman reflecting hauntingly in her large brown eyes.
She looks over as we come in, her solemn expression breaking into a smile. "Hey guys, how was dinner?" Her eyes are glittering in a mocking way that I know no amount of scowling will hinder.
"It was fine, Ange," I reply icily, hoping she will take a hint and knowing she will not. "What do you have for us?"
"Down to business, I get it," she acquiesces, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Well this is the victim, Our Lady of the Cornfields. Dental records say her name is Cory Taylor, 23. I don't have much on her beyond that, except an emergency contact number. She was never in the system for anything, criminal or otherwise."
"Hm," I reply. My eyes lock on the rotating face of the young woman. She was pretty, her eyes large and friendly, though Angela may have had something to do with this. She tends towards making people look happy, which I always found strange considering the line of work we are in, and the condition these people are in when we get to them. I suppose it is Angela herself that would like to think of them this way.
Booth chimes in from where he stands behind me. "Who's the emergency contact?"
Angela refers to the notes in front of her. "Annie Daniels," she reads. "She actually lives here in DC. From the looks of it, I don't think she's related but she could be a friend of the family. Here's her address," she adds, offering Booth a post-it note. He takes it, reading what she has jotted down.
"This isn't far from here," he muses. I feel his gaze turn to me. "Feel like making a late-night house call, Bones?"
I can feel the beginnings of a smile turning the edges of my mouth but I suppress it. I don't want to give Angela any fodder. "Sure," I agree, reaching for my coat. "Thanks for all your hard work, Ange," I call over my shoulder as we leave.
"Anytime, sweetie," she replies. "I'm gonna head home too. Don't keep her out too late, now, Booth!" her voice echoes behind us, biting at our heels, as we quickly make our exit.
XX
Annie Daniels house turns out to be an apartment, in a rather non-descript building in a rather non-descript area of town. Booth and I buzz her apartment number and she lets us in at the sound of the words "FBI". We enter her house and I smile as Booth introduces us, but my focus is already on analyzing her home. It is something I always do when I enter someone's house for the first time, I can't help myself. It's part of what I do, piecing together the objects and memories that make up a culture, a person, a life.
I half-listen to Booth apologizing for the hour as my eyes scan the walls, nearly every surface covered with a photograph of a moment in time that this woman believes was important enough to capture and hang on her wall. Birthday parties, backyard barbeques, graduations, nights spent in with the family. They are all here. I think they are beautiful. I would give a lot to have something like this.
We sit on a well-worn couch, and my eyes turn from the photos and porcelain trinkets to the owner of them. Annie herself is perhaps sixty; slim, with a friendly face and small, watery-blue eyes. Her hair is a salt and pepper brown, the fine lines around her eyes and mouth telling the tale of many years of laughter and happiness. It makes me feel uncomfortable inside to know that we have brought the opposite to her.
Beside me, his leg pressed against mine as he declines her offer of coffee, I can tell that Booth is feeling the same.
I watch her face, barely hearing Booth's words as he breaks the news to her, and I see something within her crumple. I recognize it well, that feeling, that knowing that your life has changed drastically in the matter of a moment.
She begins to weep and I shift in my seat. Booth is soothing her, asking her how she knew the victim. Although he doesn't say "victim", he uses her name, but I am already trying to distance myself from her, from this, so that I may work.
Annie confirms that she was a friend of the family, her tears clinging to the laugh lines around her eyes, trailing into the creases around her mouth where normally a smile would play across her lips.
"Cory's parents passed away in a car crash a few years ago," she explains, accepting the offer of a tissue from Booth. "She doesn't have any other family, but I was very close with her and her parents. And Eli, of course."
"Eli?" Booth asks, and I can tell his interest is piqued.
"Her little brother. He's nine. Cory is his legal guardian but I look after him a lot while she's working."
"And where is Eli now?" Booth asks, leaning forward with interest.
"He's sleeping in the guest room. Cory was supposed to be coming by to get him yesterday, I had him all week while she worked doubles, but she never showed. I figured she picked up an extra shift at the restaurant."
My focus slides to my surroundings again as I look through the pictures, finding who I believe to be Eli in a black and white photo on the wall. He is smiling up at the camera, riding what appears to be a brand new bike. My heart aches for him for a moment, before I quickly quell these emotions and do my best to remain objective.
Annie asks that we allow her to be the one to tell Eli, requesting we speak with him another day. Neither Booth nor I feel the need to wake this child and tell him he has no family left in the world, so we agree to leave and give him one last night of his sister, of the belief that she is still alive.
Suddenly a thought comes to me, and I speak for the first time. I feel Booth tense beside me; worried I will say something callous to this freshly broken woman. 'Mrs. Daniels, who will be taking care of Eli now that he has no legal guardian?"
She falters and I can see she has not thought of this. Booth is staring at me hard and I look anywhere but in his eyes.
"Well, I don't exactly know," Annie stammers, "I would be happy to take him here, I don't have much money though, and I have no legal rights to his custody."
Booth takes over again, "Yes, Mrs. Daniels we can put you in touch with a social worker to start the appropriate paperwork if that's what you decide you might like to do. You should be aware though that while the process is underway, Eli might have to go into foster care."
My insides writhe at the thought, at the sound of the word even, and I know that Booth is aware of this as he says it.
He asks a few more questions but my mind is again too busy to listen, and soon Annie is standing and we are taking our cue to leave. As we make our exit from the modest apartment, I see what I have been looking for, a picture of our victim.
Angela has depicted her face very accurately, and I am not surprised.
I do notice that this woman, the victim, really does have a look of friendliness in her eyes, and about her countenance, from the picture that I see.
It appears Angela did not fabricate this after all.
XX
The drive to my apartment is quiet.
I stare out the window, my eyes fixed on tiny smears that populate the lower half of the glass. I realize they are fingerprints. Parker has been allowed to sit up front, as a special treat no doubt. I can clearly imagine his delighted shrieks as he points to things he sees from his new lookout next to his father, his fingers smearing the glass in his excitement.
A small smile flickers across my face at the thought, and then I think of other little boys who do not have a front seat to sit in, or a father to sit next to, and the smile is gone.
Booth clears his throat and I glance at him. I can see that he is trying to find a way to speak to me, and accurately assess if something is the matter. As if to confirm my suspicions, he speaks gently, the car coming to a stop at a red light. "You alright, there, Bones?" he asks.
I nod, do my best to smile. "Just a long day I guess Booth."
He reaches over and squeezes my knee. He doesn't take his hand away as he releases, and his skin is hot through my jeans. It makes me feel nice, to be anchored to something so warm and real. We turn into my parking lot and the car is idling in place. Booth looks at me and I don't know what the appropriate course of action is. It isn't incredibly late, certainly much earlier than some occasions we have spent together. I want him to come up. But I don't know how to ask, so I just look at him.
He looks back and I can see a similar debate is going on within his own mind. I decide to make the decision for us this time. I unhook my seatbelt, letting it slide back and clatter against the door. "Goodnight, Booth," I offer. I can see the disappointment in his eyes, the same way that I can feel it in myself. But I know if he comes up he will try to get me to talk about things that I do not currently have the energy to contemplate. However, I decide to be impulsive, and lean forward to press a soft kiss against his cheek. The smell and proximity of him as I do so is nearly enough to make me change my mind, so I quickly withdraw, letting my nose brush along his jaw.
When I look back at him, the disappointment is gone from his face, replaced with mild surprise. I smile and exit the car, his "Night Bones," the last thing that is spoken between us before I shut the door and make my way upstairs to spend a night between cold sheets, alone with my thoughts.
XX
The next morning, as a peace offering, I arrive early at Booth's door with coffee and yet another bag of donuts. I realize I have not yet gone on my run, and resolve to do that this evening. I hear Booth lumbering towards the door, and I decide to be playful, putting the bag of donuts in my teeth. He opens the door and his face breaks into a wide smile as he sees me with the bag dangling from my mouth. He reaches forward to take it, his fingers brushing my lips and making my stomach clench.
"Morning Bones," he greets, taking one of the cups of coffee he steps aside to let me in.
I walk in and drop myself comfortably on his couch, pulling some type of action figure out from underneath me with a wince. I place it on the table and he smiles as he sips his coffee. "Sorry. Parker came for a visit."
"Sure Booth," I tease.
He laughs at my insinuation and sits next to me, so closely I can smell the warm, sleepy scent of him. He is wearing sweats and a white muscle shirt, and my fingers nearly itch with the desire to run along the smooth planes of his body. I notice his hair is stuck down on one side and my heart squeezes with affection.
"So what brings you here so early?" he asks, reaching into the bag to see what I have brought him. I silently wager a guess as to which one he will choose, and as he draws out his selection, a cake donut with white icing and colorful sprinkles, I laugh to myself. I had bought it with him in mind.
"What?" I ask, echoing what he said to me the previous morning, "can't a girl bring a guy donuts in the morning?" he laughs, and I feel myself grinning like a fool at the sound. "Besides, I thought we were going to interview the victim's coworkers in Virginia today."
"We are, Bones," he confirms, taking another bite of his donut. "I got the address of the place from Annie Daniels last night, it's sounds like Cory spent more time there than at home."
I wince inwardly at the sound of her name, and I take a sip of my coffee to disguise it. I glance over and see that Booth has blue and yellow sprinkles on the side of his lip. I have the most irrational urge to lick them off, my mouth beginning to salivate at the idea. Instead I reach forward and sweep them away with my thumb.
He swallows thickly as I do so. I move to withdraw my hand but he stops me, grasping my wrist gently in his large fingers. I can feel his breath hot on my hand, and goose bumps rush up the length of my arm. "How's the thumb?" he asks softly, looking at the still reddened flesh of my hand.
"It's much better, thank you," I reply, feeling ridiculous at how breathless I sound. My lips part slightly as I see him lean forward, snaking his tongue across the pad of my thumb, licking off the sprinkles. Heat slithers down the base of my spine and I feel a shiver wash over my body. I know my pupils are dilated and that my chest and throat are most likely flushed with heat.
He looks up at me, my hand still in his, and I wonder if he is going to kiss me. My breathing has significantly increased and my eyes are locked on his lips. He leans closer to me and I have stopped breathing. His hand comes to touch my chin, his fingers grazing my lips. Yes, he is going to kiss me. His eyes are studying my face for a moment, and then we both lean forward at the same time, our lips meeting briefly, chastely even.
We both pull back to gauge the other's reaction. I can see his eyes are dark and serious now. I put my fingers behind his neck and pull him back to me, my lips pressing hard against his mouth this time. I open my mouth and his tongue snakes between my lips, hot and demanding. I can't help the whimper that escapes my throat, and this seems to encourage him. He drops his half-eaten donut to the table with a soft thunk, and pulls me closer, his hands roaming over my back. I suddenly feel that I have about ten layers on too many. I realize this is an irrational thought, as I am only wearing three layers.
I release the back of his head, my tongue coming to meet his, and I quickly discard my coat, the buttons clacking on the table as I toss it behind me. His hands are back, under my shirt now, and my thoughts are no longer clear to me, but instead one big, non-sequential stream of words and emotions. Our lips smack as we pull at each other's mouths, teeth scraping, and lips sucking. It is the most passionate and uninhibited kiss I have ever experienced, and I feel that there is so much more I have to learn.
I pull back hastily, and his eyes are wide with fear that I am running. Instead I push him back, hard, against the arm of the couch and quickly straddle him with my long legs, cinching us together tightly. This feels much better to me, makes much more sense, and I wonder that I didn't do it sooner. Our stomachs are pressed together, my breasts crushed against his chest as my hands finally get the chance to explore him. As our kisses deepen, I wonder at the perfect angles of his body, his muscles like that of a sculpture.
His thumbs brush the sides of my breasts and I whimper, I can feel him rock hard against the seam of my jeans. I have never wanted anyone so badly as this, and to my surprise it doesn't scare me. I suspect this is because with all this lust my brain has no room for any other emotions. I grind myself against the length of him and it is his turn to moan, as he tears his lips from mine to drop hot, wet kisses along the column of my throat.
I can feel him grasping the edges of my shirt to pull it off, and as I am about to assist him with this, his phone rings. We both freeze, panting, and reality crashes down around our shoulders. I am nearly reeling with the sudden weight of it. Booth reaches around me, one hand on my hip, to get his phone from the coffee table. I am still straddling him as he answers, and his eyes are locked on mine as he speaks. I watch him watch me, his voice still low and throaty, our chests still heaving. My pelvis is throbbing, nearly screaming in anger at this torture of so much desire going unfulfilled.
The fact that my legs are wrapped around Booth suddenly seems ridiculous to me, and I wonder what came over me, how I could think that this would be an appropriate course of action. I quickly slide off of him, and he sits up stealthily, readjusting his arousal. As insane as it is, I feel a secret sort of pride that I have done this to him. That of all the woman that he could have in the world, and I know that there are many, it is me that he wants.
He hangs up the phone and the silence is heavy between us. I am staring at Parker's action figure on the table, its villainous face pulled into a perpetual sneer. I have the feeling that it is mocking me. Booth clears his throat and my chest tightens, I am so afraid that he will try to take this away from me, away from us. I know if he does so, he will be doing it because he thinks it is what I want, and I know I must find a way to tell him that it isn't.
I look at him and he has a funny sort of smile on his face. "I have to have a shower, Bones, and then we should go."
I nod because I cannot seem to find my voice to speak; my throat is so tight with disappointment. I feel ashamed as my eyes prick with tears, willing them not to fall. I want to leave, and consider doing so, until I realize that Booth has not moved from where he is standing above me. I look up, regardless of the tears in my eyes and he is watching me.
He leans down and presses a soft kiss to my lips, holding it for several seconds before pulling back slightly. He brings his mouth to my ear and whispers, "This isn't finished, Bones."
My mouth drops open, and he takes my ear lobe in his mouth for a fleeting second. I gasp quietly and he laughs, standing upright and walking to the bathroom. My facial muscles are aching and I realize that I am smiling so wide I might just split my face in two. I let out a laugh at the idea and go to take a sip of my now lukewarm coffee.
As I reach for it, the action figure catches my eye again, glaring at me menacingly. Glancing up to make sure Booth is gone, the door shut tight behind him, I knock the toy off the table with a sweep of my hand, leaning back into the couch with my coffee, and a satisfied smile.
XX
We arrive at the victim's place of work just before eleven. The car ride was uneventful, and I am surprised, and pleased, at the ease with which we can slip from personal to professional. Though admittedly, while Booth and I spoke strictly of the case during the drive, the back of my mind was thrumming with the memory of him, the feeling and taste of his body.
We enter the restaurant; the smell of something deep-fried engulfing my senses as Booth introduces us to the hostess, a young red-haired woman with skin so fair it nearly hurts to look at it. It appears that the establishment has just opened, and there is no one but staff members milling about preparing for the day.
There are interesting decorations, old vintage artifacts such as typewriters and gramophones set strategically around the place, the framework and tables made of dark wood, all in an attempt to give the place an old-timey feel, but for all intents and purposes, it is not exceptionally remarkable.
The hostess' face clouds over at Booth's news, and he asks if she was friends with the victim. Her reply is lost to me as I see a waitress exit the back kitchen with a large metal serving tray, placing refilled salt and pepper shakers at each of the tables. I nudge Booth and he brushes my hand away, continuing his conversation with the young woman whose skin has somehow managed to become even paler during the course of their interaction. Getting impatient, I elbow him lightly for the second time and whisper, "Booth!"
He sighs, turning to me, his voice tinged with annoyance. "What, Bones?"
I point in the direction of the waitress, the large tray flashes as it catches a beam of sunshine coming in through the window. "That tray could easily be the murder weapon."
The hostess' watery blue eyes become large, and her mouth opens slightly.
Booth turns back to her, his cell phone pressed to his ear as he calls in local PD and crime scene techs to sweep the area. We may have found the crime scene.
A short time later I am standing with an officer, examining the 17th in a large stack of trays that have been compiled by the staff. The crime scene tech and I have each taken a pile and are spraying the large trays with phenolphthalein. Booth is behind us, interviewing the staff members, getting the names of the people who worked with our victim on her last shift. I spray the 18th tray and my pulse quickens as a dark smear becomes visible, trailing along the edge of the dull metal. I hold it up to the cop next to me before turning to seek out booth. My vision is washed with yellow from the goggles I am wearing, and I absently push them back on my head as I call for Booth.
He glances over at me and I hold up the tray. He nods knowingly and walks towards me.
I set the tray down, removing my gloves and coming to meet him. The cop eyes us as we talk in low voices, but does not insist on being part of the conversation.
"You're sure Bones?" Booth asks me, his face grim.
I shrug non committally. "Well the shape certainly matches that of the murder weapon, and there is a significant amount of blood on it. But I wont feel comfortable saying for sure until we get a DNA test done on the blood."
Booth nods. "I haven't gotten much from any of these people. I'm thinking we should check out Cory's apartment in town and see if we can't find anything before we head out and get that tray to the lab.
I agree, turning to thank the officer and claim the tray, now in a large evidence bag, and instruct them to do a sweep of the restaurant with the ALS and let us know if they can find anything probative. The officer glances at me and I know he is wondering whether I have any authority over him, but I speak with enough of it in my voice that in the end he does not question me.
I turn to leave and Booth catches my eye, smiling. A rush of relief washes over me to see this, as he has looked so serious all afternoon. Then I realize that he is laughing at me and my face pulls into a scowl. He reaches out and pulls the forgotten goggles off my head, laying them on the hostess' desk and saying his last thank yous to the staff.
I flush a little and he puts his hand on the small of my back, leading me outside. "Unless you were making a fashion statement, there, Bones, because I can always go back and grab them for you."
I roll my eyes but I can feel the smile on my face as I mutter, "Shut up, Booth."
XX
The victim's apartment is not far from where she works. The sun is setting as we pull into the parking lot of the modest looking brick building, sinking like a blood-red stone on the horizon. Booth and I buzz the manager's apartment, and with a not so subtle flash of his badge, we are invited in.
The manager escorts us to the victim's unit on the fourth floor. He is short and has a bald spot on the back of his head; about as unremarkable as the building he manages. I see him look me up and down in a sidelong way as the three of us stand in the elevator, and I shift closer to Booth, giving the manager a frosty glare. He sees this and averts his pale blue eyes, sucking in his rather prominent beer gut haughtily.
Booth, who misses nothing, notices all this and suppresses a smile, but I can feel him shaking with barely controlled laughter beside me. I accidentally step on his foot and he stops. Joe, the manager, unlocks the apartment and hands me the keys, telling us to lock up when we're done. He leaves as we enter.
The apartment is stuffy, the still air of a space that has not been entered in days. I can smell vanilla and something else, a soft and feminine scent, in the air as I walk into the room, and I realize that this must be what she had smelled like. I decide quickly that I no longer like the scent of vanilla.
Booth meanders off to look through her mail on the kitchen counter. I walk past him, taking in my surroundings. Her home is simple, an open kitchen and living room area, two bedrooms off to the left, and a small bathroom beyond that. My eye is instantly drawn to a string of fairy lights strung along the base of her living room window. They have been left plugged in, and they cast the room in a soft, multicolored glow. It is not often that my job has required me to enter a victim's home, but on the few occasions I have, I have always had the feeling of being a trespasser. This time is no different, a feeling of guilt coming over me as I go through this woman's meager belongings. Her couch and floor are littered with clothing and papers, and it looks to me as though she left in a hurry.
I tell Booth I am going to look in her bedroom and he nods, distracted by the tinny voice of a woman on her answering machine. He presses a button and the message repeats itself. I make my way down the hallway, pushing open the door of the master bedroom with my palm. The room is dark, the sun having set now, and I fumble for a light switch. My hand gropes along the wall before I realize that this room has no overhead light. Picking my way by the glow of a streetlamp, I step over piles of clothing and reach for her bedside lamp.
Before I have a chance to flip the switch, I sense movement to my left. Booth's name escapes my lips, high-pitched with panic as I see the silhouette of a man coming towards me. He rushes at me with something raised above his head and swings at me. I dodge it and try to ram him in the solar plexus with my shoulder, but he swipes the side of my head heavily with his closed fist, sending me flying backwards into the bedside table. I smash into the lamp I had been attempting to switch on, and it shatters all around me like razor-sharp snowflakes as I slide to the ground. I look up, dazed, from where I have landed to see the shadow of my attacker looming over me, his fingers reaching for me in the darkness.
XX
I know, I'm a terrible person. Leave me a review and tell me all about it! (honestly I hate cliffhangers as much as the next person but this was the best place to cut it off!) Anyway I hope you liked it, and I hope it didn't seem like I was jumping into the romance too soon. I didn't want to drag it out, as I've written this assuming they were already on the brink of breaking as it is. Love to you all! - MC