[A/N: I am awed by your kind reviews and attention to this story! Thanks for hanging in through the sadness and angst. Hope it doesn't seem overdone. Something worth fighting for is worth enduring a bit of misery, I believe.
I find it fascinating that—at some point in writing any story—the story just takes hold and demands that it be written at a more intense pace. Even with this fanfic writer has 100s of other more pressing things that should be done first. Does that happen to any of you? It's a pretty predictable thing for me. I just wish I knew what triggered it so that I'd be better able to plan around it…. Actually, I do think I know what triggers that event in each of my stories, but I'm not prepared to share the reason why with you—not quite yet, anyway. Just know that I am currently being held hostage by this story at the moment.
Not to be bossy, but if you own a copy of the amazing Like a Star by Corinne Bailey Rae, please put it on while you read the end of this chapter and the entire next chapter. If you don't, I highly recommend that you purchase a copy and fall madly in love with it. Bones fanfic is reacquainting me with all of my favorite old angsty love songs, and I'm enjoying racking up the repeats on my iPod while writing.
This chapter turned out to be so insanely long—just realized it was over 10,000 characters—that I just split it into pieces just before posting. Consider this one an appetizer—the next chapter will be longer and a bit more eventful.]
Chapter Twelve: No Translation Needed
As he left the office late on Friday evening, Booth had called Temperance and again gotten no answer. Tempted to drive over to check on her, he paused and thought for a long moment; Sweets had been sending him not-so-subtle messages that Bones needed space. He knew that an impromptu visit to the privacy of her home would likely stir the already boiling pot of their relationship even further. Sighing and putting his car back into park, he sent a brief text message to her and waited. He decided that if she didn't reply, he'd go over there anyway—risks be damned.
To his surprise, her response came quickly. "Struck with inspiration for several chapters. Plan to write all weekend."
All weekend. No translation needed there. That was Bones' not-so-subtle way of telling him that Sweets had been right. Booth sighed. Even tired or upset, Bones could compartmentalize. She was probably channeling her energy into the book. That was productive. He wished that he had such an outlet.
Sighing, he backed the SUV out of his space and wound his way through the parking garage. He'd head over to the gym. Even though he felt exhausted, he was certain that his energy would rebound once he had a punching bag in front of him. He quickly formed a plan of action. He'd wear himself out, let Sid fill his stomach with something from Wong Fu's that would settle nicely, and then 'veg' out for the quiet weekend. He reminded himself that he did need to start planning full force for next weekend with Parker. It would be his son's birthday. Booth had promised him a Friday night meal wherever he wanted to eat followed by a Saturday fishing expedition with him and Pops. He needed to pick up gifts and plan the details so that Parker's weekend would be just what his kid wanted.
Across town, Brennan smiled at Booth's response to her message: "Make sure Andy's wearing great socks. Call me, Bones... if U need anything."
Upon receiving his reply, she had blinked back tears—surely humans couldn't produce an endless supply of saline. She'd continuously insisted—probably too loudly-that the FBI agent in her books hadn't been Booth, but over time in response to Booth's prodding, she'd conceded to his oft-repeated request that she allow Andy to wear unconventional socks. Booth had relished that small victory, and she had thoroughly enjoyed watching him grin and comment every time she noted in her books that the agent had worn unusual footwear. She might have convinced Booth that he and Andy shared only FBI work and unique taste in socks, but she had known better. Andy had always been the metaphorical Booth for her Kathy. Andy had been the fictional man whom the fictional version of her had been able to woo and win while fighting crimes and solving murders. Unlike the authentic version, her alter ego in her books' hadn't been irrevocably broken and unable to love others in return the way that they deserved.
Writing had always been so neat and tidy—fatal flaws could be camouflaged or made to disappear in ways that simply weren't possible in real life. Impossible barriers could be demolished with a few dexterous keystrokes. Books could have happy endings—even for hopelessly flawed characters. Real life had not been as accommodating. Real life was as hard and its baggage was as impossible to erase as the trace evidence on the bones she loved so dearly.
Her tears fell again freely. Temperance had been attacked by bouts of crying since leaving the Hoover Building. She'd put on a brave face when she'd called and asked Angela to stop by and shut down everything in her office.
"I'm just tired. It was a long afternoon," she had said unconvincingly.
"Sweetie, do you want me to come over and bring dinner... or alcohol?"
"No. I'm going to work on my book this weekend. My agent wants to deliver the latest draft to the publisher sometime next week. It needs more work."
"Well, I can come over and help spice it up if you want. You are paying me way too much money not to demand more of my help, you know."
"Maybe next week, Ange," Brennan said, closing the subject carefully.
"Well, call me if you change your mind or if you need anything, okay Sweetie?"
"I will," Brennan said, clicking off the phone.
She'd reclined there for hours trying to regain her rational perspective. There was nothing rational about being jealous that Booth might move on and find someone else. She'd as much as told him to do so. And if he did move on—and she had to fight the invading tears again just thinking about that very real possibility—he'd be completely available to be her partner and friend. That was what she wanted most.
Wasn't it?
Her enormous mind seemed to have met its logical limit. She appeared to be incapable of imagining a real-life connection with her partner that worked and that still met her needs. Adding anything more than their fast friendship and working relationship tilted the balance of things in a way that made that alteration too dangerous, too likely to wound her partner, too risky. Besides, Booth was resilient and more adaptable than she. He'd move on. He'd already started. Averse to change, she determined that the status quo was the safest route for them to follow. She just wished her heart would get that message and stop making it hard for her to make peace with it.
T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . .
Monday morning arrived and beckoned the partners to work together whether they felt ready to do so or not. Booth sauntered into the interrogation room and immediately sensed that something was off. He paused for a brief moment to survey the scene: Sweets had been scrutinizing Brennan closely, and she sat staring at her notes as if nothing in the world could distract her. The set of her jaw told Booth that she was definitely upset about something.
Placing her favorite tea down on the table in front of her and mumbling something about his hope that she'd had a good weekend, Booth shot a long glance at Sweets, warning the man that if he'd been "messing" with his partner that he'd deal with him later—those extra hours punching the crap out of bags at the gym that weekend had him primed and ready to follow through on that threat. Sweets shrugged as if he had no idea what might currently be wrong with Brennan. Fortunately for him, Booth didn't have time to dwell on his partner's mood.
Charlie escorted Mr. Park back into the room and Booth gestured for him to have a seat. Making sure to keep a safe distance between himself and Stacey Villar and from his partner, Booth sat down at the end of the table. After looking around the room at everyone except the women whose interest he had garnered most, Booth began speaking in a somber voice. He nodded at Sweets as if to suggest that he pay close attention to the way the man reacted to the news he was about to convey. He also managed a glance at Bones and was relieved to note that she appeared to be ready to face the meeting with her emotions tightly veiled.
"Mr. Park, thank you for coming back in today. We appreciate your giving us a DNA sample and access to your medical records. We've analyzed them, and we have some... Something to discuss with you."
Confused by Booth's vague language, the man leaned forward expectantly.
"Mr. Park, I'm very sorry to have to tell you this, but we've found your brother..." Booth had intended to say "your brother's remains" but the man had cut him off.
"Richie? You found my Richie?"
"I am very sorry," Booth began, "your brother is deceased."
"What? No! Not Richie!" the man wailed, leaving little doubt about his sincerity or his honest shock over hearing this news.
"I'm very sorry for your loss," Booth began again, emotion coloring his cheeks and tinting his voice. Moved by the man's intense emotion, Booth reached out and put a supportive hand on his shoulder. He could only imagine the agony this man was now suffering having lost his little brother. He was grateful he could not actually share his pain.
Park leapt up, anger and confusion animating him despite his misery. "No, it's not Richie. He ran away! He's safe."
Brennan calmly walked around the room and showed the man pictures of his younger brother's burned clothing. She showed him the shreds of gang symbols on the fabric that Angela had found after magnifying the images. She told him that they had absolute proof that the remains they'd found on the boy were those of his brother. She rattled off evidence of childhood injuries and other things that Park knew meant she'd found his brother. Collapsing in his grief, the man stumbled into a chair. He kept mumbling that Richie couldn't be dead... that he hadn't been part of the gang...
Temperance had spoken carefully to the man and let him see in her expression how clearly she understood his pain, "I know this is excruciating for you. I know how horrible it is to wait to find the ones you love. We waited until we knew for certain that the boy we'd found was your brother."
"How long? How long has he been dead?" Park croaked.
"Seven years," Brennan said softly, tears filling her tender eyes in sympathy as the man broke down completely.
Nodding at Booth for approval to continue, Temperance walked adeptly through the evidence with Park. He finally admitted that the boy they'd found had been his brother, but he refused to even consider the fact that his brother might have joined up with the gang. However, when Booth informed him that the FBI was now considering the fact that the gang had killed his brother to hurt him, Park had bellowed loudly, cursed colorfully, and ranted at length about the gang and all of its secrets. He'd do whatever it took—even take them to the front door and let the gang leader kill him if that's what it took to find justice for his brother. He begged, pled with them to find out what had happened. They had all nodded and Booth had reassured him, but it had been Temperance whose promise that they would find out the truth that had given him peace.
There wasn't a person in that room who hadn't been deeply affected by the highly emotional meeting. The man's pain had been palpable. Brennan had managed most of the interview skillfully without much help from her unusually silent partner. The interview had been much more successful than any of them had anticipated, but the overflow of information hadn't come without a steep cost.
At the end of the interview, Booth had led Park out of the room to hand him off to marshals who would keep him in protective custody for the next several weeks. On the way out of the room, Park had stopped to talk to Brennan, his words leaving an indelible mark.
"Dr. Brennan... it's Brennan, right?" she nodded. "I am sorry if I was rude to you earlier. I... You will never know how much I appreciate everything you've done-the way that you made sure it was Richie..., the care you've taken to try to gather enough evidence to catch the people who killed him, the way that you talked with me so openly... You are an amazingly strong woman. Whatever your loss... Whatever your wounds... You have an enormous heart. Your husband is a very lucky man to have found a woman with such an enormous capacity to love."
Watching Bones struggle to deal with the man's misconceptions, Booth had gently ushered Park out of the room and thanked him for his kind words to his partner. Then, he had handed the man over to the marshals with repeated promises that he'd do everything he could to find his brother's murderer.
Booth had assumed that Brennan had returned to her work at the Jeffersonian to put the day's meeting out of her mind, but when he walked past the interrogation room, she was still sitting there alone in the room. Crap, he thought, maybe there are some things even Bones can't compartmentalize. Adrenaline coursed through his veins the way it always did when he knowingly entered a dangerous situation.
"You okay, Bones?" he asked softly, moving to sit on the edge of the table near her.
She continued to stare at the wall across the room and said nothing.
"Bones?" he asked again, searching her face and finding no clue about how he might help her. If he'd been able to focus clearly enough, he might have resented the fact that his own problems and pain disappeared the moment he suspected that something might be bothering Temperance Brennan. Fortunately for him, when she was concerned about anything, he was unable to think of anything else.
Just like a star across my sky,
Just like an angel off the page,
You have appeared to my life,
Feel like I'll never be the same,
"No," she replied. Booth paused. Bones never admitted to not being fine.
"Go ahead and laugh. I know you're eager to do so," she said, bitterness coating her words.
"Laugh? I'm not laughing Bones. Today was... rough. You handled it like a pro. I was so proud of you. I'm not here to laugh."
He'd expected a retort, but when she'd heard his response, she seemed broken somehow. She'd hoped that he would make some sarcastic comment about how 'ironic' it was that the man thought she was married and that she had a big heart. While her next words spoke of her respect for him, Booth could not feel comfort from them, "Of course you're not," she said, tears filling her eyes as she realized how unfairly she was treating him by trying to draw him into a fight when he'd been trying to comfort her. "You wouldn't laugh at me." She wasn't criticizing him. She was just admitting how dependable and loyal he was.
"Bones, tell me what's going on. Maybe talking about it will help," he suggested. Bones was so seldom this rattled by things. He was proceeding cautiously, afraid that she'd get angry –or worse—more quiet if he said the wrong thing.
Just like a song in my heart,
Just like oil on my hands,
Honour to love you
She looked up at him with such pain in her expression. What did it say about her that she could show her complete heart to a total stranger while she kept it locked tightly away from the man who wanted it most? The look on her face made it obvious that she was overwhelmed by emotions he couldn't begin to understand. "You can't fix some things, Booth. I appreciate the fact that you want to help, but some things are bigger... bigger than even you." She knew that there weren't many things on that list. Few problems were so big that Booth couldn't do something to make them better.
"Bones..."
"I just need a few moments. Would you mind leaving me here alone?" she asked, his heart breaking for her as she tried to remain strong and hold her raging emotions inside.
"Sure... Sure thing, Bones," he said sympathetically. He paused twice before making his way all the way out of the room. His inclination to run to her and scoop her up and carry her away from whatever was troubling her was overwhelming, but this was Bones, and he respected her too much not to do as she wished.
Despite his determination to leave her alone, Booth couldn't make himself move far away. Feeling guilty but not too guilty to stop himself, Booth ducked into the observation room so that he could keep an eye on his partner. He watched as she sat perfectly still—obviously dealing with something enormous that was weighing down on her. Then she started crying and put her head down on the table. Watching her and not trying to help her was a unique form of torture for Booth. Without realizing he had been moving, he walked slowly toward the glass and positioned himself as close to her as circumstances would permit. By the time Bones stood up and walked over to the opposite side of the room to pace, he'd placed his palm flat on the window as if he might somehow absorb a part of her pain.
He lost track of all time as he stood there watching his partner's silent struggle. He was so focused on her that he jerked back ready to attack when he felt a sympathetic hand land upon his shoulder.
"Watching her like this is like lying, Agent Booth. You should be in there talking to her instead of hiding," Sweets said sympathetically.
"Hiding? I'm not hiding," Booth hissed angrily, "She asked me to leave."
"And you don't feel guilty for hiding and watching her without her knowing about it?"
"Of course I do. But I can't... I can't make myself leave. She's hurting." Such tenderness was held in his voice that Sweets now felt like an intruder. Booth was never this open with him.
"Well, you know what she's upset about, don't you?" Sweets asked, drawing a glare from the agent before he turned his attention back to his partner.
"She loves you. She's trying to protect you by denying what she feels. She's trying so hard to justify keeping what she feels from you."
"Sweets... Don't. Bones could be upset about a dozen other things. I... We've been down that road and it ended badly. I can't be there for her-not the way I want to be there for her, but I can stand beside her and help... be her friend."
"You're not the only one whose heart is breaking being denied what it wants," Sweets said. "I don't know if she's strong enough to keep fighting the way she has been."
"Bones is strong enough to do anything she damn well chooses. It's gotta be Bones' choice, Sweets. I've said my piece. I can't hurt her more than I already have."
"If she gives you a window, a tiny opening... don't hold back. That might be all she's able to offer."
Booth nodded and swallowed hard, torn between wanting to hug Sweets for rekindling his hope and wanting to kick his ass hard for even daring to drag him down that road again. Unfortunately for him, he was soon distracted from those thoughts.
Temperance's semi-private struggle was interrupted when Deputy Director Hacker walked into the interrogation room through the wide-open door. Booth instantly stiffened, and Sweets fought the urge to run into the room and drag Brennan away. This situation was potentially catastrophic, and he had no idea how to protect either of his patients. He felt paralyzed, and he suspected this was going to end badly. Lacking an authentic reason for running in there and ruining his career and suspecting that he might actually die if he tried to make Booth move, he opted to stand there beside Booth.
Hacker had noticed that Brennan had been upset and rushed to her. Searching her face for clues about the crisis, he asked her what had happened and specifically inquired whether Booth had upset her. He suggested that he could punish Booth—give him desk duty or crappy cases if he'd upset her. Sweets watched Booth's blood pressure continue to rise at a dramatic pace.
Uncomfortable with anyone seeing her in distress, Temperance wiped her eyes and told him that Booth had done nothing. The tension in the observation room dropped off dramatically when Brennan continued by defending Booth. "He's a wonderful partner. He's infinitely patient with me. He should be commended for his work. He's a true hero."
Sweets watched as the stoic special agent returned his hand to the glass as if he might somehow reach out to his partner.
"Temperance, are you sure that you don't have a thing for Booth? All these glowing things you're saying aren't helping dispel those rumors," Hacker asked her expectantly.
Sweets saw as much as heard Booth inhale sharply upon hearing that question.
"No, Booth and I are just partners," she insisted the way she had hundreds of times. Only this time there was a sadness in her voice that had never been evident before. Ever clueless, Hacker missed it, but Sweets didn't, and he was pretty sure that Booth didn't either.
"Good, go out with me."
"What?"
"Have dinner with me, Temperance. I'm crazy about you. I'd love to take you out."
She started to say something but then Hacker surprised all of them by stepping forward boldly and kissing her. Sweets hated watching as Booth's open palm that had been splayed on the window curled slowly into an angry fist.
"Okay," she said, stunned by the kiss.
Booth moved immediately to leave the room and Sweets tried and failed to stop him from brushing past him. "Dr. Brennan didn't kiss him back, Booth. She was too upset to act normally. She didn't seem all that interested in the date."
Booth whirled and spoke through gritted teeth, "You'd better get over the idea that anything is going to happen with Bones and me. You need to get the hell over it, Sweets, so you can help me figure out how the hell that I'm supposed to..."
