Thanks so much for the support and reviews guys, you are amazing! I know it always sounds the same, but really, you are! I'm going to try and reply or say something to everyone, but if I haven't yet, I'm sorry, work is being, well, THERE, so I can't pay as much attention as I wish I could.
Anyway, on with the story!
I don't own a single Bone.
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CHAPTER 13
The silence in the room could be felt from outside. I held my breath, wondering what Booth would do now. Margaret Stoker looked terrible: tired, no make-up and… old. No longer the beautiful aristocrat she'd appeared before.
I watched through the glass as he just looked at her, not saying anything. She avoided his eyes, and because of this I guessed she still hid something. If you had something to hide you didn't stare into Booth's eyes. They stole things.
They stole secrets.
Finally, with a sharp finality, he spoke one word.
"Anne."
She crumpled. I saw, transfixed, every tiny marker signalling the change: shoulders drooping, eyes fluttering shut, breath leaving her body in a rush of exhaustion. When did this woman sleep? Could she, knowing her daughter was at the mercy of her dangerous ex-husband and possibly another man she didn't even know?
"Please… please find her. Just stop wasting your time asking me questions and find her."
"Anne is afraid, Margaret."
She flinched, a spasm-like tremor making her whole body shudder. I placed a hand on the glass involuntarily, almost instinctively. As if trying to convey strength.
I watched this strong, dignified woman reduced to shaking in terror, and I felt all my problems shrink until the shadow of fear surrounding hers engulfed them. Until my worries and regrets became invisible, not to be seen again while the darkness remained.
"Anne can't understand why her dad would hurt her, Margaret."
I couldn't see Booth's eyes, but I knew what would be in them as he said these words.
"There's this other man she doesn't know, the one who kidnapped her from her safe-house more than a week ago. She hears them talking about women… four women, dead… and about you, Margaret. They want to hurt you, and she can't stand that. She's afraid for herself, sure, but more than that, her fear that they might hurt you is overwhelming. They don't listen to her when she pleads for your life, though. They keep her locked in a room where they don't have to stare into her beautiful blue eyes. Because she has her father's eyes, doesn't she? With those same, pretty eyes she that saw the body… it was so long ago, Margaret, five months, but she remembers."
"Stop it. Please stop."
"She can still smell the rotting flesh and hear the drip as her own blood mixes with the other woman's. Even though it was so long ago. How can you know this and still not want to help us?" he spoke with disbelief, indignant. I remembered Parker and my fingers pressed closer to the glass, as if trying to take away some of the pain inside that black room. He didn't understand this woman, whose agony I saw as plain as the structure of her bones. He was stupefied as to how she could simply sit there and not tell us anything else about her telephone call, about Mr Stoker or Frank Bram, about the last five months… all the details that would help us save her child.
For once, Booth's feelings were as clear to me as my own. Because they were the same.
"Agent Booth, I am done talking to you. Finished." Her words were measured, like mine sometimes were when I felt tense. Another sign of secrets, of lies. "I have nothing more to say, nothing more that will help you find my daughter. Trust this and…"
"How do you know what details are important? Are you the one who decides how we investigate your daughter's kidnapping? Are you a trained Agent, Mrs Stoker?"
"Agent Booth…"
"You're not! So leave the work to us and let us do it!"
"I said no! Nothing more! I've got nothing more!"
"Has Frank Bram tried to contact you?"
Silence. Did this mean yes? Booth usually said that silence meant yes, but I could never be sure. He was the one who always knew.
"Do you believe your husband is capable of murder?"
More silence. Tears rolled down her cheeks, but she bit her lip and said nothing. Why? Why was she doing this?
"Where would he take her?"
What did he sound like when he called you?"
How long did it take till you realised Frank Bram had deluded himself into loving you?"
Did Bram talk to you, try and seduce you in any way?"
Did he ever pay attention to Anne?"
What did your husband sound like when he called you from prison, before he escaped?"
Did he ever talk about your daughter?"
Who were his closest friends? The ones suspected of also working with Bohnn?"
"I told you…" her voice was a charged whisper, and it shook with anger and tears. Both my hands pushed the pane standing between me and him, trying to protect his thoughts from such incredible fury. Booth got hurt when people said things in the tone Margaret Stoker was using now. "I told you, Agent Booth. I. Don't. Know."
And he stood up and left, slamming the black door behind him.
*
"Booth!" I immediately opened the door but he'd been about to do the same. I ran right into him, and for a confusing instant he was everywhere, like when he hugged me and he became that 'everything' people are so fond of mentioning.
I took a step back against the wall, and he moved with me, still caught in the electromagnetic field, not strong enough to escape it yet.
"What is it?"
I feared falling back into our mad little cycle, but no hint of desire shone in his eyes now. Only weariness.
I tried not to ask myself whether I felt disappointed or relieved.
"I just don't want you to feel bad." I said quickly.
"Oh." He smiled a grim smile. "Look at you, being all human and worrying about me, Bones."
I returned the grimace and put a hand on his arm, playing it safe: the gesture was friendly and comforting, and he needed it. My feelings didn't matter right now.
"How do you feel?"
"I'll be fine. I just hate myself when I have to shout at a woman who may never see her kid again."
"It's counter-productive to assume the girl is dead, Booth. You… you saw her thoughts. I think she's still alive."
Lie.
I didn't know. I hoped the girl lived, but I couldn't know whether this was true or not. But Booth had taught me that it was right to convey this hope to others, and that is what I did.
"I know Bones. But this woman… she's hard to crack. She's hiding stuff, and I don't like our theory so far. So many missing pieces, so many things that fit together that shouldn't… it's like ink in water."
"Ink?"
"Right now everything is grey and impossible to distinguish. How can you tell the pure truths from the black lies?"
Booth had never been one for metaphors, but this one had me listening to his deep voice, captivated. The image of the swirling black tendrils threatening the clear liquid was as vivid to me as his face.
"And the more we shake it, the more difficult it seems to be to separate them."
"But… if we stopped the ink wouldn't sediment to the bottom, Booth. This is life, not a glass of water." He needed to come back to reality.
"Yeah, Bones. Life."
He took the final step closer and hugged me tightly for a moment, then let go.
"Thanks."
I nodded, slowly regaining control, and followed him to his office.
"She won't tell us anything. I want to bring Bram in for interrogation, but that isn't the most important thing right now. I want to know more about Anne Stoker. What has she been doing exactly during these months? Was Jeanie Whitmore dead when the Anne's blood dripped on her clothes, or was she still alive? Did Anne know about Frank Bram sending her mom letters? Did she ever talk to him?"
"Tomorrow morning I'll go to the lab first thing, I promise. Cam and Hodgins were scrutinising every inch around the stain, classifying every particulate that can't be tied to the murder scene when we left, but it's very late, Booth, and they need sleep."
"Don't you?"
"Yes, of course."
But I was being watched over by Margaret Stoker's anguished shadow. And if she couldn't sleep, then neither could I until I knew everything. Not until every fact, every detail of the strange events could be neatly tied together and explained. Not until I could tell her where he daughter was, and how we would save her.
"Bones…" his eyes scrutinised my face in a very decidedly scientific, none-sexual way. "You wouldn't be lying to me, would you?"
"I'm not a very good liar, Booth."
"Promise me you'll sleep, Bones. Please. I need you on top form tomorrow, okay?"
"Sure."
He raised his eyebrows.
"Bones, I'd hate to have to follow you home to make sure you sleep."
I looked away from his eyes. Occasionally people walked past us, ignoring the pair standing too close against the wall.
Right now it felt like everyone had simply disappeared. Including the woman in the black room behind us.
"It wouldn't work out." I admitted.
"Yeah, it would probably end badly."
"Very badly, yes. That is what would happen. The end would be… bad." How difficult it was, saying these things!
"Well, it wouldn't be bad, especially not the end…"
Oh God, no.
"But it would be wrong, that's what it would be."
"Right. Very… wrong." Somehow, saying it didn't make things better. I trembled slightly, still standing against the wall. I felt very vulnerable, here, with nowhere to run to if he chose to strike.
Strike.
Wrong word again, Temperance.
"Dangerous, even." I croaked, trying to convince myself.
"Yes. Danger."
Danger laughed at us from above as we fought not to touch. My hand was no longer on his arm, but like a phantom limb I could feel it there.
"Well, there would be no danger of it not happening. Because it would happen."
I couldn't even answer.
"Just danger of other things. Like falling. No one ever talks about falling off the bed, but it can happen. Sometimes I get carried away, see… but the floor works too."
"You think we'd make it to the bed?" I asked, because it was the first thing that I could think of just so that he'd stop talking about having sex on the floor…
"Couch, then."
"It's a very big couch."
"Yeah, nice colour, too."
"I bought it at IKEA."
"Really? I figured your furniture was all from some occult antique shop."
"Well, it isn't."
"Cool."
Willpower. It took a lot of it.
But for once… victory.
His eyes were panicked, pupils dilated (arousal or fear, now?), and he scrambled backward. For a moment, his gaze swept over me, leaving me breathless and leaning against the wall for support. I felt naked to him, but this time like a suspect, like he was cataloguing every possible weakness he would exploit, and loving it.
I caught his eye, finally.
"See you tomorrow, Booth." I said pointedly.
He grinned a strange grin, like a child caught cheating.
"Sorry Bones. You're so beautiful, sometimes I forget."
And he was gone.
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How was that for fluff?
Um, not much, I think (except for the last line, 'cause it doesn't get fluffier than that). Fluff is cuter than this chap, I think, like Booth wearing syrup.
This was more of a pouring hot chocolate over his chest kind of thing.
This is the last author's note where I cover Booth in various foods. And then tell you about it ;) Review and I absolutely promise it's the last one!