Disclaimer: I don't own the song or Bones. I do own the OCs Rocko, Beauford, and Muriel. Any resemblance they bear to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Author's Note: I was so excited about the reviews I recieved from people who live/ lived in Memphis! The locations in this story were vaguely Google Map'd (which is to say, the broad details are there, its the specifics that I just made up.
"W.C. Handy won't you look down over me
Yeah, I got a first-class ticket
But I'm as blue as a boy can be
Then I'm walking in Memphis
Was walking with my feet ten feet off of Beale
Walking in Memphis
But do I really feel the way I feel?"
- Marc Cohn
A few hours after talking to Brennan, Booth was already wanting to talk to her again. He couldn't call, though. That would be desperate and needy.
Seeley Booth was not desperate and needy.
He just really missed his Bones.
Really, really missed his Bones.
He groaned and ran his left hand through his hair and sighed deeply.
"Gaa!...This isn't normal!" he shouted up at his ceiling.
He dropped his head down into his hands on his lap, "I've gotta fix this," he mumbled. He stood up and walked over to a cabinet and dug out an atlas. He flipped to the U.S. highway map and used his fingers to measure the distance from Memphis to D.C.. It was probably about 700 miles as the crow flies. Probably around 900 miles along roads. At an average speed of 65, he could be there in- he calculated- about 15 hours.
If he left now, he could make it there by 11 tomorrow morning.
Before he could think about what he was doing, he threw together a suitcase and threw it in the back of his SUV.
9:00 p.m., Front Royal, Virginia
It was at this time that a thought that should have occurred to him in his apartment finally caught up to him: If calling her was desperate and needy, making a hasty trip to Memphis was probably getting dangerously close to psycho territory.
He checked his atlas and watch and decided that he had came too far to turn around now.
He pulled into a truck stop and bought a big cup of turbo coffee and made a mental note to come up with a less crazy story to use should he ever need to explain this to Sweets.
12:00 a.m., Blacksburg, Virginia
His knuckles were white around the steering wheel.
His eyes were wide open as the aroma of his fourth high octane coffee danced around his nose.
An empty 5 Hour Energy bottle rolled around in the floorboard on the passenger side and an unopened one taunted him from the dash.
He shoved a handful of sunflower seeds into his mouth and began shelling them and spitting the seeds into an empty coffee cup.
He was a mad man.
God!
What was wrong with him? What the hell possessed him to get out here and drive all the way to Memphis?
His eye twitched a little with a mixture of caffeine overload and sleep deprivation as he drove down the highway.
Most of the time it was just him and the long-haul truckers.
They were men on missions.
4:00 a.m., Knoxville, Tennessee
As the sun began to peak up over the Appalachians, Booth's stomach protested. It begged for real food rather than the beef jerky and sunflower seeds he had been snacking on all night.
He pulled into a truck stop with a diner and went in. He found a seat at the counter and ordered.
A grizzly-looking truck driver sat next to him. The man looked Booth over with his heavy-lidded dark eyes under the brim of a cap bearing the logo of some Midwestern truck stop and smirked, "Don't look like any trucker I seen," the man chuckled.
"I'm not a trucker. I'm an FBI agent," Booth replied, not making eye contact.
"Watcha drivin' for then?"
"Didn't have time to get a plane ticket."
"FBI can't getcha on a plane?"
"Not on FBI business."
"Watcha doin' then?"
"Driving to Memphis?"
"But not fer business?"
"No. Not for business."
"Then what fer?
"A friend."
"They sick?"
"Nah, its just...nothing."
"Now come on, tell Big Rocko yer prollems," the man coaxed with a comforting grin.
"Well, ya see, I work with this woman-"
The trucker slammed his hands on the table and smiled, "Knew it was a woman!" he declared.
Booth blushed a little, but continued, "So, I work with this woman and she isn't...isn't normal. She's- uh- hyper-rational and doesn't really get feelings or love or things like that. Anyway, she's at a conference in Memphis-"
"And you can't stop thinkin' 'bout her," Big Rocko completed as Booth's food arrived.
He nodded as he began eating.
"Tell me somethin', J. Edgar, you think 'bout this lady often?"
"Uh...yeah, I guess. I mean, the thoughts have changed a bit. I'm sure most men who meet her probably give her a few lustful thoughts and I did...for a while, but- uh- my thoughts have...changed."
"To?"
"More...domestic thoughts," Booth mumbled, looking at his plate.
"You imagine seeing her everyday fer the rest of yer life?"
"I- uh- yeah. That'd be nice."
"You imagine her as yer wife?"
"She'd never go for that."
"Not what I asked. Do you?"
Booth used his fork to play with the scrambled eggs on his plate, "Mmhmm."
"Having yer children?"
"I- uh- yeah, I guess I do."
"Huh," Big Rocko sat back and smiled knowingly at Booth, "So, how long ya been drivin' to see her?"
Booth checked his watch, "About eight hours."
"Shoo! So, whaddiya think's the reason? I'm pretty sure there's only one reason I'd do something like that."
"I- uh-"
"You're in love with her!" Big Rocko shouted, clapping Booth on the back,
Booth froze for a second.
He loved Bones.
Absolutely.
Without a doubt.
Completely.
He loved Bones.
"I've gotta go," Booth said, fumbling for his wallet.
"Don't worry 'bout it. I'll cover ya," Big Rocko said with a smile.
"Thank you so much. Anything I can do for you?" Booth exclaimed, enthusiastically shaking Big Rocko's hand.
"Tell your lady whatcha know," he smiled.
"I will," Booth promised with a side grin as he ran out of the cafe.
11:00 a.m., Memphis, Tennessee
Booth pulled into a parking spot near the Peabody and ran into the building.
The lobby was opulent with a man playing soft jazz on a piano and ducks quacking in the fountain. Tourists and guests milled about, looking at maps or pointing at items in the shops.
Booth didn't notice any of this; he ran up to the desk and slammed his hands on the marble counter.
A black man in an expensive suit gave him a disapproving once over and drawled, "Can I help you, sir?"
"Yeah, I need to find one of your guests," Booth explained.
"I'm sorry, sir, I cannot divulge our guests' room numbers without authorization," the man stated calmly.
"I really to know. Don't make this get ugly," Booth threatened.
A flash of panic momentarily flickered across the man's dark eyes.
Booth was sure that were he in the man's position, he would be calling the police. An unshaven man with disheveled clothing and hair, bloodshot eyes, and coffee breath who was demanding to see a guest. He understood the man's skepticism.
He glanced at the man's name tag, took a deep breath, leaned on the counter, and began again in a calmer tone, "Okay, Beauford, I know this looks bad, but you see," he pulled out his badge and subtly showed it to the man, "I'm FBI and I drove all night from Washington, D.C. to see one of your guests...She's really important to me, so unless you want me to go federal on your ass, you'll tell me what room Dr. Temperance Brennan is in."
Beauford stared wide eyed at the badge before taking a deep breath and typing on his computer.
"Room twelve-eighty-seven; would you like a key?"
"Please," Booth grinned.
Beauford scanned a card and handed it to booth, "Have a good day, sir."
"You, too."
Booth practically jogged to the elevator where he bounced on his heels as it ascended to Brennan's floor.
He exited the elevator and made his way to her room.
He knocked four times and waited.
Nothing.
He knocked three more times and called, "Bones?"
More nothing.
He knocked twice and put his ear to the door and listened.
Silence.
He knocked once more before putting his key in the door and opening it.
"Bones?" he called out again as he entered. He looked through the hotel room. She wasn't there.
He sat down on the end of the bed and put his head in his hands. It seemed that he could never get his timing right.
He noticed a brochure on the desk; it was for the convention she was at. Booth looked it over and saw that the speaker listed for 11 today was 'renowned forensic anthropologist and author, Dr. Temperance Brennan'. He sighed. She wouldn't be back here for a while. He decided that it would be best to not be sitting in her room when she came back so he sulked back to the elevator and down to the lobby.
He felt like a dark cloud loomed over him as he bought a city map at a gift shop and he left the hotel. He set out walking with no particular place in mind to see, but he eventually ended up in Tom Lee Park alongside the Mississippi River.
He walked down to a rail overlooking the river and leaned on it. He looked north and watched traffic flowing across the Hernando de Soto Bridge like blood through a vein; like ants in a line.
Constant.
Going, going, going.
He looked across the river at Arkansas and imagined how scary this place would have looked during the time of de Soto's expedition. For all de Soto knew, there were headhunters armed with bows on each side of the river, but that didn't stop him. Of course, if Bones were here, she would remind him that de Soto eventually died and his body was sank into Lake Chicot in southern Arkansas because his crew was afraid that if the natives knew that they weren't' gods, they would have them all killed; so de Soto was really more of a showman than a man of no fear. Booth shook his head to get her voice out of it.
He stared down into the river and watched it flow. It could easily kill a man; crush their bones against the pilings of the Harahan Bridge just a little downriver. Then it would carry the bits past the Civil War dead of Vicksburg, past the plantations of Natchez, past the tigers of Baton Rouge, past the levees of New Orleans, and out into the deep dark waters of the Gulf of Mexico. This river had been here for millenia; never stopping, always going. Always moving along without ever stopping to rest. In a constant journey to the end.
Sometime during his pondering, the sky had opened up and rain was now pounding on Booth's head, back, and shoulders.
His stomach churned and he decided that the least he could do was eat. He spotted a cafe across the street and walked in.
A heavyset older woman with a grandmotherly air looked at him from the other side of the counter, "Oooh, honey, what's got you out in the rain? You gonna catch your death out there like that!"
"Didn't know it was raining," Booth grumbled.
"Son, don't you talk to me like that. What's got you so blue?"
"Nothing...must be the rain."
"Not if you didn't know it was raining it isn't."
"You got me there," Booth grinned, unable to resist the calming vibe the older woman seemed to emit.
"See, that's a good boy. Shoot! With a smile like that any girl'd be lucky to have you."
"Well, that's why I'm in Memphis."
"Oh, so its woman troubles you're havin'. Luckily, you are talking to none other than the Muriel St. John, Memphis' top expert on love," the woman smiled as Booth took a seat at the counter and she poured him a cup of coffee.
"Well, Muriel, I'm Seeley Booth, Washington's top expert on being really confused. Let's see if you can sort out my problems."
"Honey, I know can," Muriel smiled, pulling a stool up to the counter, "Tell me your troubles."
"Well, you see, I work with a woman; she doesn't understand heart-things so well, but I love her more than I ever thought I could love someone. She came down here, but forgot to tell me she was leaving. I called her and we talked, but it wasn't enough so I drove all night so I could get down here to see her-"
"Shoot, honey! You don't need my help; you know exactly what you're doin' and you're doin' it just right," Muriel said, patting Booth's hand.
"But I can't find here. She's never anywhere I look," Booth continued.
A bell jingled behind booth and he heard the room becoming more crowded. Muriel watched the crowd filtering in over Booth's shoulder before replying, "Maybe ya just gotta keep looking." Booth, who had been rubbing his eyes with his hand, opened his eyes to question Muriel, but she was gone.
He scanned the room, looking for her, but he didn't see her. However, his eyes kept going back to a large group talking near the door.
Then it happened.
On his fourth sweep, he glanced at the group and brown locked onto blue.
"Bones!" he cried out involuntarily.
"Booth?" she questioned, breaking away from the group. She walked toward him with a worried look, "Booth, is something wrong? Why are you here?"
Rather than answer, he took her into his arms and said, "I missed you."
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Muriel standing there with a coffeepot and a smile.
A.N.: Well, two down and one to go. The last chapter is the one I'm most concerned about OOC-wise, but I've made it this far so I might as well go ahead and post the last one. Thanks again for all the reviews and please continue to review!
Also, Muriel's first name might be a referance to someone mentioned in the song Walking in Memphis, but I never specified if she plays the piano every Friday at the Hollywood.