Author's Note: Next!

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CHAPTER TEN
A PIECE OF SOLITUDE

*

A heavy cross you bear
A stubborn heart remains unchanged
Dear God, I've sealed my fate
Running through hell, heaven can wait
Long road to ruin there in your eyes
No tomorrow, no dead end in sight
Let's say we take this town
No king or queen of any state

For every piece to fall in place
Forever gone without a trace
Your horizon takes its shape

-Long Road to Ruin-

Prepared and dressed for the new day, the partners set out in the truck with downtown DC as their destination. With her, the serum results of Compound Six, sealed away safely in a plastic evidence bag to test at the lab. This happened to be a good thing, due to how she now heatedly berates her companion for dropping it into the spaghetti sauce simmering on the stove.

"For the hundredth time, Bones–I didn't mean to." This is his maintained fervency. He takes the corner a little sharper than necessity calls for.

"You're the one with the quick reflexes," she prompts derisively from her place in the passenger seat. Rolls her eyes at his steep count of apologies. Her attentive eyes inspect the recently rinsed bag that's looking a little sullied.

He's certain her heavy perusal is severely overplayed. Piqued, he shoots her a chagrined smile she labels immediately as sarcastic. "Well, if you wouldn't have thrown it at me…"

"Tossed."

"You threw it."

"Why would I throw it?" she argues, eyes wide with stern disapproval. Oblivious to his logic. "It's a severely sensitive solution. I wouldn't just go flinging it around anywhere."

"I didn't say that you flung it, Bones. I said you threw it."

"I certainly didn't. We wouldn't even be having this conversation if it weren't for your untamed enthusiasm. Come on, Bones. Lemme see what came out of the little scrounger," she mocks in a falsetto voice, assuming a more heightened posture. Puffs out her chest for good measure.

His frown most resembles a pout, eyes rounded and pitiful looking. "I don't sound like that."

She hides her satisfied smirk by looking away and out the window at the passing scenery.

They ride along in silence for some time before she hears him clear his throat. Glancing over, she sees his hand draped indifferently over the steering wheel in a manner that oozes relaxation, but she can tell by his clenched jaw and wandering eyes that he's bothered. Tapping her fingertips distractedly on the windowsill, she is content to wait. No doubt he wants her to initiate the upcoming exchange, but she says nothing.

It isn't long before she hears the drumming of his own fingers on the wheel, creating an anxious tempo. "The solute," he begins quietly at last, tipping his head at the plastic seal in her hands. "It's okay?"

She knows he's truly sorry, despite their little dispute. He's aware just how much the tiny cylinder of vermin blood means to her. The importance it holds being far greater than the basic title of its label.

She faces him with a tolerant expression, issues an understanding smile. "Yes. No harm, no penalty." He tries to deny the amusement twitching at his mouth for her mispronunciation of the metaphor, but her skills in reading him have grown dangerously perceptive. "What?"

Silence.

"What, Booth?" She peers at him with a combination of curiosity and annoyance.

"Foul."

Her brow creases further, bottom lip jutting out a fraction from her face. God, she's adorable.

"No harm, no foul."

An exasperated sigh. "Whatever. Fine, then. And for the record, solute is the incorrect classification."

The truck slows to a standstill just outside the movie rental store. Killing the engine, both partners step out. Booth tosses the due DVD from hand to hand, whistling merrily with a bounce to his step. Brennan follows leisurely at his side. Reaching the entry door, they happen upon two unmoving individuals. One is female and dressed in likeness to some Hollywood starlet, and the other is male, dressed in plain jeans and a ridiculously bright orange hooded sweatshirt. The hood pulled up over his head in enigmatic fashion.

"Morning, Fred!" Booth hails enthusiastically, digging a set of keys out of his pocket and assigning them to the locked door. "New girlfriend?" His presumption is furtive and directed toward the sleek brunette at Fred's side.

Beside him, Brennan shies away from the tall and slender character. "Now you've got his attention," she mutters to Booth. "He wouldn't have noticed until you said something." She wears her most severe expression. He isn't intimidated.

"It's called being polite, Bones," he reprimands. Pausing, he glances between the one called Fred and his disgruntled partner.

Fred says nothing.

His partner's silence also withstanding, Booth rolls his eyes. "Nice. You probably hurt his feelings." Her eyes widen in comic disbelief before she expels an indignant huff, averts, and crosses her arms. "Nice sweatshirt there, Fred," Booth praises dynamically. "Don't set it down anywhere." Breaking from the door, he leans over to Brennan, speaking in a conspiratorial whisper. "Tell him you like his shirt."

The forensic anthropologist is clearly not devoted to that idea, and it shows on her face. With all the discretion of a billboard. His eyebrows shoot up, lips pursing and eyes admonishing. Like a parent forcing their child to apologize.

At last, forfeiting the upper hand, she schools her features into one of forced encouragement. "An impressive article of clothing you've obtained, Fred." Turning away, she goes on under her breath. "The brightly festooned material will do well in attracting yourself a mate."

Booth hides his abrupt bark of laughter by shoving open the jammed door, holding it open for his companion to enter below the arc of his arm. He aims a brusque nod at the two situated mannequins who stay behind–never able to witness the interior of the store.

"Fred appears to have acquired a new trainee," Brennan surmises after he joins her in the rental store.

"He's had the same trainee for the past three months," he contends, waving sociably to a family of mannequins located near the Children's section. He nudges her with his elbow. "Maybe Fred was finally bumped, huh?"

"I'll admit, I'm optimistic," she agrees. Moving away from him, she heads past the Thrillers.

He beelines for the alphabetical section, replacing their recently viewed film before claiming the next one in line. While screening the back cover so as to conclude ahead of time whether the film will be any good, she meets up with him again, waving one in his face expectantly.

"Showboat?" he reads, brow furrowing. "But we're only starting on the C's." He waggles his own find before her for emphasis.

A shrug.

"I'm a rebel," she smiles shyly. Blue eyes sparkle. "I want to watch Showboat." She pokes at him with quiet eagerness, and he almost swears she's asking him for candy or some sweetly enticing toy at the shopping center.

He chuckles, snatching the case from her and heading for the checkout. "Fine."

Behind the counter, a young mannequin dressed in an oversized denim coat and baseball cap greets them.

"Morning, Hank."

"Good morning, Henry," she seconds. At her partner's derisive look, she calmly goes on. Gives him her best disapproving glare. "I told you, Booth. He doesn't appreciate when you call him that. He prefers Henry."

Eyes widening in a juvenile expression serves as his only comeback. He turns back to the mannequin, scooping up their merchandise. "Whatever."

She privately smiles in victory.

On their way out, he swats Hank's hat over his plastic eyes and nudges Fred in his partner's general direction, as if the thing were moving for her. Earning a startled squawk for his efforts and another glare of doom, he chuckles delightedly and bumps against her. She bats him away in pouty annoyance.

He climbs back into their vehicle, Brennan in tow. She truly is the most adorable thing he's ever seen, surly expression and all.

"You want me to what?" he cranes his neck to observe his partner. She's gathering beside him.

Confusion paints across his face. His rifle is slung over one shoulder, muzzle aimed at the ground as he progresses forward at a gradual pace. They amble along through a healthy cornfield they've sowed themselves, breaking off ready ears for the taking. The bright sun shines high in the sky, barely a cloud in sight.

"We need to capture one," she repeats, tossing away a rotted ear of the vegetable. Her tone is formal, ever the empirical scientist. She wears a pair of tan cargo pants and a black t-shirt, a pouch slung over her shoulder with her own rifle. Her partner wears jeans, a black t-shirt also, and has discarded the stifling brown jacket.

He stills in his work, giving her a pained look. "That's just…" A grimace. He's quiet. "That's a bad idea no matter how you look at it."

This pessimistic attitude is unusual for him.

"I know." At last, she turns to face him, blue eyes sober. It's unusual for her, too. "But it needs to be done."

They relapse into more silence. She can feel his eyes on her, his features schooled and devoid of expression. Behind the brown of their color, she has a relatively good read, however.

Finally, he sighs and goes back to his gathering, stuffing another ear into his duffel. "So, it would be in the house." His tone is dull, reluctant. "You'd look after it. Like a pet." She isn't certain if he's being bitter, or just speaking his thoughts. When he glances at her though, she catches the fleeting upturn of his lips. "As if your little reaver rats weren't enough."

She feels the hitch that lifts the corners of her mouth. Shifting the sling more comfortably over her shoulder, she tilts her head in close scrutiny of him. "Alpha-Ranger is afraid of a rodent breakout?"

Booth looks appropriately offended. "Not afraid, Bones. They just creep me out. We get an escapee there, no big deal. Ghetto stomp, problem solved."

She dissolves into husky laughter at his colorful choice of resolution. "And by your methods, I assume you're skeptical it would yield the same results, should a human specimen escape. Which it wouldn't."

"Just saying." He shrugs, concentrating on his harvesting. "One well-placed boot heel would fall a little short, is all. Color me dubious."

"You think it will be difficult."

"Damn difficult. Easier playing leapfrog with a unicorn."

She laughs abruptly, rolling her eyes. But still feels that uncomfortable buzz. He jokes more when he's nervous. A well-known defense mechanism. "Well, considering your prior full flexibility to constitutional rights as a law enforcer, I didn't think you'd see the intricacy."

He looks up immediately, facing breaking out into a huge grin, even as an eyebrow goes up in skepticism at her amusingly uncharacteristic remark. "Well, what exactly did you have in mind?" he responds through a smile. "Chloroform and a rope?"

Her own face lights up in amusement. "Nothing quite so primal, no."

A moment, happy and at ease.

But the bright countenance fades, and it isn't long before that pensive frown is back. As she stands scrutinizing him, he turns back around, staring pointlessly at the quivering stalks of corn swaying in the breeze. The entire field is alive with whispered hushes of dancing leaves, yet his voice still carries the weight of a pin drop in a silent room. "I dunno, Bones."

She nods to no one, suddenly finding herself at a loss for words as a more somber expression falls over her features. Her gaze flickers to her feet. "You support me, though. Don't you?" Voice unexpectedly small.

He faces her, their eyes meeting. He holds her gaze steady for a beat before replying. "You say you need this thing, that's enough for me. So… mixed metaphors aside, yeah." He pauses, but his voice is evidence enough of the confidence and faith he has in her. He offers a crooked grin. "I'll just stock up extra on the elephant gun ammo."

She fiddles distractedly with a loose thread on her duffel. She'd felt a lifting in her chest at his words, but no pleasant thoughts follow suit when she speaks again. "I don't think I can do it without you."

His smile falls briefly, and he looks away. Kicking at the dirt halfheartedly with his feet, he manages a casual shrug. "I wasn't going to let you do it alone."

His boots kick up small clouds of dust. The hot sun beats down on them both, and already a sheen of sweat shines on their skin. The slight breeze ruffles her hair lightly, but it's warm enough that there's no relief from the afternoon sun and the oppressive, humid heat that wraps around them like a wet blanket.

"It's dangerous for you," she grimly reminds, not wanting to ask such a thing of him. He nudges a cornstalk in thought. "But… you know how to trap things. With your training, I mean…" trailing off, she sighs. He says nothing–only busies himself once more with the unpicked ears of corn. Enjoying the calming moment of silence while it had lasted, she breaks it. "Booth… if you don't want to, I understand. I'll find another way. Figure something–"

"No," he cuts her off before she can go on, his voice distant, quiet. "I'll help you. It's just," he shakes his head, shrugging off his original train of thought, "not important." He turns back to his work, throwing another smile over his shoulder at her. "I lost the ability to say no to you a long time ago, Temperance."

And she's content to watch him, evidence of a hidden smile peeking through. The things he does for her, in her name, blows her mind. For lack of a more clinical term. The task will be dangerous for her, yes. But not nearly the level of threat it poses for him. He shares the risk of possibly getting harmed, killed, along with her, just as it's been for the past year, true. But not only could he be killed, he could be…

She forces the upsetting thought away. Merely considering it causes a painful lump to rise unbidden in her throat and a deep ache to swell in her chest cavity. She notices her hands trembling as she dislodges another ear of corn and fights to steady them, hoping he doesn't notice.

What they premeditate to do was only inevitable. It's the next logical step. There's no alternative option. The test now calls for a human specimen. It's all for the better.

It's progress.

But why does she suddenly feel this incredible pit in the bottom of her stomach?

Yes, he'd said he'll help her.

She wonders if she'll let him.