Redux

Chapter 4 – Meaning

Bones tried to return to the dig site, but every time Mr. Adams or one of the other graduate students asked her a question, she had trouble answering. And it wasn't because she didn't know the answers. More often than not, she hadn't fully understood the question, since her mind was stuck in a disturbing loop of thoughts. Bones figured that if she could just tease out which thought came first, maybe she could start to put them in order.

She didn't used to have so many thoughts. Or, when she did, they had a clear cause. Her foster parents were mean to her, or one of her teachers misjudged her because she didn't speak very often. Or one of her professors made the mistake of thinking of her first as a woman and second as a scientist. Or cocky FBI agents said things she didn't understand and made her feel bad about not being very human. Or the same FBI agent managed to treat her with some respect on a case, and maybe it wasn't so bad working with him.

But now, there were thoughts about the dig, thoughts about whether Booth was okay or not in Afghanistan, thoughts about Zack and how proud of him she was, even though he'd escaped custody, thoughts about Sweets giving up his life for Daisy, and thoughts about Angela and Hodgins finding each other again.

Digs used to be so comforting. She would go, systematically remove evidence from the earth and be able to tell what happened thousands and millions of years ago to these early people, or people-like apes. It was logical, it made sense, and every skeleton was a new chance to discover something great about humanity.

No one really knew yet how to classify the division between people and non-people. Brennan favored a genus-wide cut off, where the genus Homo was considered human, while older branches like Australopithicus were considered bipedal apes. This classification used to give her comfort, but now it seemed wrong, to discount such highly sophisticated, upright-walking animals as inhuman when there was inhumanity all around her, every day.

And take this find in the Maluku Islands, possible evidence that Homo floresiensis interbred with early Homo sapiens, and that the species had not gone extinct before neanderthalensis as previously assumed, but after. If these two groups of people recognized each other as the same species and interbred, who was she to say that the phenotypic skeletal differences between them meant anything?

Brennan used to consider herself an expert in one thing – forensic anthropology. She made no claims that, while she was a genius, she was an expert on much else. And that worked for her. She was fine being someone who specialized closely in this one area. And she liked being the best in the world.

Why wasn't it good enough anymore?

She had changed. She knew that now, and she knew it was all Booth's fault. He'd shown her everything she didn't know before about dealing with people, about finding out why they did those horrible things to other people, and about why they decided to devote their lives to one another. Before, she could observe a couple like Ms. Wick and Dr. Sweets and feel nothing about their attachment to each other. Now, she felt such crushing jealousy and sadness that she wondered how she ever though letting Booth change her was a desirable proposition. Before, she could see men without forming attachments or feeling self-conscious about how casually she treated them. Now, every man she met just wasn't good enough compared to him.

She'd lied when she told Booth she didn't know how to change. He'd showed her how to change, and Bones had ignored every one of his lessons when the moment was upon her. She knew she wasn't most people and that change came to her more difficult than most. She knew she didn't want to throw away what had seemed like a good thing for the very real possibility that any change between her and Booth would end badly.

It turned out, not being able or willing to change was even worse. And being thousands of miles away from him didn't lessen the blow of that realization.

Brennan didn't think she knew how to love other people. She knew she became attached to people like her father, and her brother, and Angela. But, picking up the stack of dangerous wildlife cards Hodgins had made her, before dropping them back onto her desk, Bones remembered telling Jack that she loved him, too. And meaning it. She loved people. And they loved her.

And it wasn't just a word, or an attachment caused by pleasing brain chemicals. Or if it was, that didn't change the fact that it was real and meaningful. It didn't change the fact that she and Booth had missed their moment. Twice. And it didn't change the fact that she missed him so much it hurt to breathe. Was this what Sweets was talking about? Was this what it felt like to be unable to live without someone? It seemed a scientific impossibility that one person could actually die from being without another person. But it felt almost like dying.

And that feeling would never go away. Not unless she decided to be brave, like Sweets, like Booth. This was on her now. It was her turn to act, scientific find of a lifetime or no. Because without Booth there to give them meaning, the bones in the ground were just that. Bones. And she was just Dr. Temperance Brennan.

It meant nothing without him.


The second time Booth's phone rang, it was in the middle of the night, and he was glad he had private quarters, because that fucking thing rang really loudly. He didn't even know why he'd insisted on getting it. Taking this position was supposed to be about serving his country and moving forward. But he just couldn't let himself, could he? No, he kept letting the Jeffersonian pull him back with this craziness about Zack. And if it wasn't Zack it would have been something else. People were never going to stop killing each other.

And he was always going to want to know why.

"What?" he mumbled into the receiver. After a moment, when he didn't hear anything, Booth asked, "Parker, buddy? Is that you?" He'd given the number to his son just in case the boy needed to hear his voice sometime during the year. Parker was a brave kid, and he was used to only seeing his dad so often. But not seeing him for a year? Maybe it was Booth who couldn't deal with the separation.

"No," Bones said, clearing her throat. "No, Booth. It's me."

"Any more news about Zack's serial killer?" he asked, rubbing his eyes and sitting up in his bed. "The new one, I mean…"

"There was another…?" Bones asked, before breathing in quickly in recognition. "You meant Gormagon?"

"Yeah, Bones," he sighed. "That's what I meant. Listen, I'm only supposed to use this line for emergencies, you know. The more air-time we use, the longer anyone searching for signals has a chance to triangulate my position."

"I …" she said, startled. "I didn't think of that Booth, I'm sorry."

"Just," Booth sighed, "why are you calling?"

There was a long moment of silence. So long that Booth thought he'd lost the connection, "Bon–"

"I was wrong!" she blurted out, cutting him off, and it was so sudden that Booth thought maybe there was a long time delay in the signal. Or was it just her needing to say those three words so urgently, she just couldn't wait anymore? Bones thought she was wrong?

"About what?"

"About everything!" she insisted. "About you and about me. I was wrong, and I hate being wrong."

Bones was wrong? About … Holy Crap! Springing up out of his bunk, because he couldn't help it, Booth asked, "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"I'm saying I want to be brave," she practically yelled in his ear, like she always did when she was upset about something. "I want to be stupid, Booth! I want to change. I want to gamble. I want the bones I'm looking at to have a meaning, here and now! There's no meaning here, Booth! I can't find it anymore."

Sinking back onto his mattress, Booth couldn't do anything but laugh. It started out slow, just a chuckle, that little bit of emotion escaping, hitching in his voice-box and making a sound. But from there, the emotion grew, the relief and the giddiness and the sorrow and regret all rolled into one choking emotion and the only way it wanted to escape was through rolling, gut clenching, tears streaming, laughter.

"Booth?" Bones asked, her voice small and confused in the speaker held tightly to his ear. "Are you … You don't … I'm too late, aren't I? You moved on. I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry, Bones," he laughed, giggling by this point. "I don't mean to laugh. I just …" he took a deep breath and let it out, "Hooo!"

"Well, I'm sorry I bothered –"

"No!" he cried, shocked out of his fit. "Bones! Don't go!"

"You'd like to laugh at me further?"

"No!" Booth insisted, wiping the tears from his eyes. "I'm just overwhelmed. I'm overjoyed, Bones, really. But you have some of the lousiest timing!"

"I realize this Booth. But I've made a decision."

"Oh?" he asked, rubbing the muscles of his ribs, sore from his bout of laughter.

"I'm leaving Indonesia. I will no longer run the Maluku dig, but consult from the Jeffersonian. Ms. Wick will be my liaison."

"Jesus Christ, Bones," Booth swore, letting his head fall into his hands. "You couldn't have made this decision two weeks ago?"

"No," she replied simply. Another stretch of silence lingered between them, and Booth wondered if it would always be like this now. Now that he knew. He'd forever be coaxing her into saying more, wouldn't he? Booth found that he didn't mind.

"Okay, I'll bite," he sighed softly. "Why couldn't you have made this decision two weeks ago?"

"Because it took coming here and seeing Dr. Sweets risk everything for Ms. Wick to make me realize how much you gambled that night. I realize that you did not travel halfway around the world, but the comparison is valid, is it not?"

"It is," Booth agreed, surprised that she would have made that connection. She had learned something from him, hadn't she? "It definitely is."

"I'm sure there are other reasons why I've made this decision now," she said, "but I do not fully understand them. I will speak with Sweets before I leave to see if he has further insight."

"Well that's all well and good, Bones. But I'm kinda stuck here for another, oh, three hundred and fifty days. Give or take."

"I know. And I will try to see the meaning in my work at the Jeffersonian as you would see it, until you get back."

"Great," Booth agreed, wondering where that idea had come from. Sure, he'd talked about their work in Washington having meaning, he'd tried to use that to convince her to stay. And now, she brought it up? "That's great, Bones."

"We should hang up now," his partner said. "I would not want to endanger your mission any further."

"Thank you, Bones," Booth said, softly and evenly. "Thank you. I'll call you again when it's safe."

"I look forward to that, Booth."

"Later, Bones."

Cutting the connection with the press of a button, Seeley Booth briefly wondered if his St. Christopher's medal only gave him good luck when he was more than three thousand miles from home. If so, maybe he needed it re-blessed or something. Would there be an army chaplain in the base? Funny how he hadn't thought to check until just now.


When Angela woke up, the bed beside her was empty and so was the bathroom adjoining the bedroom. It felt ominous somehow, like Jack had skipped off without her. Or maybe, that he'd been taken somewhere, by spies or the government!

Oh, God. Married to Jack Hodgins for a little under a month and already she was on board with the crazy conspiracy theories.

Angela turned over, and saw that it was morning, if the bright light pouring in through the gauze curtains over balcony doors was any indication. It was morning and the bed was empty, but the apartment was as silent as Limbo on the weekend. Man, she'd been working at that place too long. A year off would do her good, if she could ever get that year off to start without crazy ex-coworkers showing up and pulling her husband into God-knows-what investigations.

Don't get Angela wrong. She loved Zack. She loved the way he over-pronounced some words and not others. She loved the way that he made her feel all maternal. She loved that he had a goofy smile hidden under all that knowledge. She loved that he could just waltz out of a secure hospital – which sort of worried her about the hospital. But she hated how single-minded he could be about his hypotheses.

He had next to nothing as evidence that everyone he'd ever met should turn their lives upside-down investigating a case that didn't even exist yet. And he'd gotten Jack hooked into it, no sweat.

Knowing that boys would be boys and she just had to let this thing run its course, no matter how she felt about it, Angela pulled on a robe and went to go check out the rest of the apartment. What she found was unexpected, but not entirely surprising.

Jack Hodgins sat at the kitchen table, a cold mug of coffee in one hand and a piece of paper in the other.

"What does it say?" Angela asked gently, smiling softly when Jack started in surprise.

Her husband cleared his throat, let go of his coffee, and smoothed the paper out in front of him. "It says, 'I had to leave. I am still working on the case. I will be in touch. Zack.'"

"I'm sorry, sweetie," the artist murmured, joining Jack at the table and squeezing one of his hands. "I know you wanted to bring him home."

"He didn't trust us," Hodgins concluded, picking up the note and waving it at Angela in emphasis. "He didn't trust us not to turn him in."

"Well, after that whole stink you made about calling the Paris cops, can you really blame him?"

Hodgins sighed. "I thought he knew me better than that. I was only bluffing!"

"Well, look," Angela said, pointing to the note, knowing better than to try to take it from him, "he said he'll be in touch. Why don't we just trust that he'll contact us sooner rather than later?"

"He is a pretty reliable guy," Jack shrugged, dropping the note like his fingers couldn't remember how to hold it any more. "You're right, Ange."

"I know," she smirked, leaning in for a short kiss. "Do you still want to go back to DC today?"

Jack blinked slowly a few times, long lashes fluttering over bright blue eyes. "Yeah," he nodded. "Paris can wait, right?"

"As long as it doesn't wait forever," Angela laughed. "Yeah, sweetie. It can wait."


By the time he got to the train station, Zack Addy had blonde hair and eyebrows, sunglasses, enough luggage to pass as your average traveler, enough cash to last him for a few weeks, and was named Henrick Jacobson, of Oslo, Norway. He kept his head down, offered his ticket when asked, and passed through scores upon scores of fellow travelers and no one noticed him. Zack had always been good at making sure no one noticed him.

Zack boarded the train heading for Istanbul, found his seat, stowed his luggage and pulled out a book entitled, "Learn Turkish Now!" Zack was already fluent in Turkish and twelve other languages that he'd mastered during his time in the hospital. The book was just for show.


A/N: I've been managing to post once a day, but who knows how long that will hold out.

For now, I just want to thank everyone for reading and for all the reviews, favorites, and alerts. I'm overwhelmed by the response to this story, and that makes me really excited to keep writing.

Until next chapter!