Thank you so much for your feedback and for reading - I really appreciate it! :) Here is the next chapter - finally a vacation for B&B . . . maybe . . . ;)
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Three more weeks had passed. Booth had just been cleared for the field again that week, but since no cases had come up, he and Brennan had decided it was safe to take their weekend vacation to New York.
"Now that was a game!" Booth exclaimed, happily pointing his foam finger at Brennan, as they made their way out of Yankee Stadium.
"It was . . . interesting . . ." Brennan replied.
"Interesting? Interesting? Bones, c'mon . . . it was way more than interesting! Did you see the way Jeter just knocked it out of the park in the last inning?" he argued.
"I'm just not sure I'll ever understand grown men wanting to retreat back to childhood through a game involving a ball and a wooden stick," she said.
"Bones, it's fun - it's entertainment – it's sports! What's not to love?" Booth debated, putting his arm around her waist.
"The fact that so much emphasis in our society is placed on athletics and pop culture instead of education and the arts," she stated.
"Says the woman who has best-selling fiction books and a seven-figure salary because of 'em," he smirked.
"My novels are based on facts, Booth. People learn anthropology and forensic science through what I write," Brennan defended.
"And they also learn a lot of other things . . ." he commented, sliding his hand from her waist to her ass. "Which reminds me – we've gotta try page 187 . . ."
"Stop it, Booth – someone could see us!" she swatted his hand away.
"Who? We're on vacation in a completely different city. Who could possibly see us?" he challenged. "The Squint Squad's all back in D.C. and so's the bureau. Relax, Bones – we've got one more day to be ourselves."
"I suppose your logic is reasonable enough," Brennan agreed and put her arm around him, leaning into his side as they walked along the streets of New York. "What would you like to do now? Angela said that the Museum of Modern Art is intriguing."
"I'm not really up for another museum, but if you really wanna go, we can," Booth offered.
"It was only a suggestion. We've both seen something we personally wanted to see, so why don't we find something we'd both enjoy?" she proposed.
"Thanks, Bones," Booth smiled and briefly kissed her lips. "Hey look – it's Madame Tussauds! What do ya say, Bones?"
"I thought you didn't want to go to any more museums?" she teased.
"Bones, this is not a museum," Booth argued.
"It says it right on the sign, Booth – 'Wax Museum'," Brennan pointed.
"Yeah, but when I said 'museum', I meant a stuffy old place with ancient artifacts or intellectual artsy crap," he clarified. "This place . . . This place is fun!"
"It's a museum of waxed duplications of well-known celebrities, Booth – not the actual people themselves. I don't understand what could be so fascinating about it?" Brennan stalled.
"Trust me, Bones – even you will love it!" Booth promised and dragged her inside.
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"Booth, I've taken twenty pictures of you at this sports section. That is not the real Derek Jeter," Brennan groaned. "Besides, I have yet to see this historical exhibit you mentioned."
"One more pic, babe – get in here with me. I wanna see if we can screw with Hodgins and Wendell a little, heh, heh," Booth said, mischievously, and put on his foam finger.
"Fine," she smiled and humored him, then pulled him toward the level she wanted to see.
"Okay, Bones – be prepared to meet the closest thing to your idols," Booth said as they walked into the historical section.
Brennan skeptically browsed the area.
"I have to admit these are fairly accurate replicas. Their bone structures are very similar in comparison," she observed. "I . . . am impressed."
Booth dropped his jaw, faking surprise.
"Wait – I gotta get a picture of this! Temperance Brennan impressed by a pop culture museum . . ." Booth reveled.
Brennan rolled her eyes as he snapped the shot with his phone.
"Oh, look! Booth – I think you should get your picture taken over here," she pointed to Abraham Lincoln and started laughing. "Because the irony of you – a direct descendant of John Wilkes Booth - standing behind Abraham Lincoln –"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Alright Bones, just take your damn picture and let's get outta here," Booth grumbled. She'd never let him forget that stupid piece of his heritage . . .
"It's just a genealogical fact – it's not like anyone can change their ancestry. I don't know why you're being so sensitive," Brennan said.
"How would you like it if you were related to – to – to Lee Harvey Oswald – or – or – Hitler?" he defended.
"That's . . . impossible. I've traced my ancestors back ten generations and –" she replied.
"Hypothetically, Bones, okay?" he clarified.
"Hypothetically . . . Yes, it would be disappointing . . . but it has no relation to my character or my actions - I've learned that through what my immediate family has done in the past," Brennan answered. "You're a good person, Booth. You have never displayed any signs of desiring to overthrow our government or assassinate our president. In fact, your actions have proven to be the exact opposite of that."
"Thanks, Bones," Booth smiled, poignantly, feeling guilty for being so petty, considering Brennan's family history. "You know you're nothing like your family, either, Bones."
Brennan smiled back and took his hand when they heard an ear-piercing scream.
"It's coming from the back door!" she noticed and ran to it, Booth close behind.
They found a distressed employee passed out next to a headless figure.
"Oh, c'mon! She fainted over this? Ken must've gotten pissed at Barbie for taking the Corvette out with another guy and popped her head off," Booth scoffed, checking the employee's pulse and pointing to the bleached blonde head. "It's over there."
"Do you think this Ken had something to do with the murder?" Brennan asked.
"No, Bones – first off, this is a mannequin, and second, didn't you ever play with dolls when you were a kid – never mind . . ." he shook his head once again at her lack of pop culture knowledge.
"I had a Raggedy Ann when I was five, but I didn't go around decapitating her," Brennan replied, pulling out a pair of gloves from her bag and handing it to him, then kneeling down for further inspection of the body.
"You keep a spare pair of gloves in your purse?" he questioned and proceeded to rifle through it. "What else is in here – your murder-ray . . . goggles . . . evidence bags . . . a probe?"
"You still carry your gun and your badge . . ." she countered.
"Yeah, Bones, but that's totally different -" he argued.
"Booth - this isn't a waxed replica. This is a human body," Brennan informed him. "Notice the exposed cervical vertebrae?"
Booth looked at the severed, bloodied neck bones.
"And . . . vacation's over . . ." Booth exhaled in frustration.
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"Angela and Cam just confirmed the identity of the victim. It's Avery Mandel –" Brennan said, hanging up her phone, five hours later.
"The police commissioner's daughter - she's been missing for a couple of days now," Booth replied.
"That fits the profile – female, Hispanic, eighteen to twenty years of age, deceased approximately two to two and a half days . . ." she described.
"I asked around and no one's seen anything unusual on the security cameras. There has to be a back door or somethin' around here," he said and began looking through the storage room for an exit. "Ah – found it!"
Brennan took out her black light and goggles, shining the light over the door.
"This is definitely how the murderer entered and exited. Blood is covering the handle and markings of nails scraping over the door itself suggesting a struggle," she observed.
"So she was alive until she was brought in here . . .?" Booth said.
"And then the murderer poured hot wax over her," Brennan finished. "I researched the process of making waxed figures. The first step is to make a clay model and the next is to make a wax mold by pouring hot wax over the model -"
"But instead of clay, this guy –" he interjected.
"Or girl –" Brennan added.
"Or girl," Booth sighed at her need to be PC. ". . . used the human body itself."
"I'll have the team investigate it more closely, but yes, that is what appears to have happened.
"Let's go talk to the parents. Maybe they can give us some clues to who Avery hung out with – her enemies?" he suggested and told his FBI team to ship the rest of the contents of the storage room to the Jeffersonian.
"I hate this part . . . telling parents their child is dead . . . in this case tortured and mutilated . . ." Brennan frowned as they walked to the car.
"Me, too, Bones," he agreed, as they got inside. "There's nothing worse than being a parent and hearing your child is in danger or worse. Just thinking about it . . . you can't . . . you'd go insane . . ."
"Is it worth it? The fear . . . the worrying . . .?" Brennan wondered.
"Absolutely. I wouldn't trade being a father for anything in the world . . ." he admitted.
"I guess some things are worth the pain," she smiled, poignantly.
"Yeah, Bones, they are. They definitely are," he smiled back.