Author's Note: Thank you all for your patience. School got in the way of a lot of things, especially my writing. Anyway, I'm kind of regretting making this into a case fic. It has kind of taken on a life of its own, but I'm hoping to get in back on track. Feedback on this aspect, or any aspect for that matter, would be appreciated
Disclaimer: Bones and all affiliated material belong to its respective owners. References made to episodes: "The Man in the Cell," "Fire in the Ice," and "Devil in the Details." This story belongs to me. Its use outside of this sharing venue will not be tolerated.
Life is one large contradiction. Entropy is a natural force that pulls everything together at a subatomic level. Yet, there are some things that just never change. Two plus two equals four. I put sugar in my coffee and it tastes sweet. The sun comes up because the world turns. And, yet again, Temperance Brennan runs away. Well, I was walking at a brisk pace, but that is a technicality I choose to ignore for the sake of this argument.
Sure, I could turn around and go back. He surely wouldn't be expecting that, but I need time, and so does he. I'm not trying to punish him, though every time he seems to think the contrary, but there is a fundamental issue that he continually glosses over, one that he needs to understand. He set himself up and he still misses it. He told me just now that I'm a perfectionist, and it's true. When I do something, I do it right. I make decisions with my brain and not my gut. I utilize evidence and avoid conjecture. I don't agree with all rules and social norms, but when I can see and understand their benefits, I follow them. There are a lot of rules that Booth has laid out in our partnership that I've come to overlook in the interest of scientific discovery, and I know it irritates him. But there is one rule that I've followed so diligently, so obediently, yet his own logic escapes him and he seems to be irritated then too.
Friends share in each other's joys and misfortunes, he told me. It may not have come naturally, but I've done that. I share in his misfortunes every time a case gets personal. When Howard Epps poisoned his then-girlfriend Cam with methyl bromide and plaster dust, I saw him hurting. When Epps went after Parker, though thwarted by our crime solving prowess, I saw the anger. And that's when he said it,
You know what happened to Cam happened because we had a personal relationship.
Had? I'd asked him, confused.
Yeah, people in high risk situations, they can't be involved romantically because it leads to things like what happened.
High risk situations?
Every single day it's with us, there's this line and we can't cross it, you know what I'm saying?
I don't believe in Booth's invisible deity, but an imaginary line? Consistency, Brennan? I've let my lack of emotional know-how and a stupid line dictate everything. Sure, there's a difference between the relationship I have with Booth and the one he had with Cam. I might even argue that our partnership is even more high risk. Cam conducts her work in the lab, very rarely is she at a crime scene, and she's never actively pursuing a criminal. While it may appear as though I were jealous and am now asserting my dominance, I am simply pointing out that my partnership with Booth requires a more…ubiquitous role, which increases the risk and allows for a valid reason to obey the rule.
But, as with many rules, this rule in particular is restricting. It is restrictive of action, but, more importantly, it is self restricting. I am, for the most part, very comfortable with myself. I am the scientist. I like to be in control. I like to analyze and explore; to ask questions. There's one question, though, that I've never thought to ask. Where's that line now? Have we crossed it? Once you've crossed it, is it too late?
That last question haunted me for the rest of the day, especially after what I'd read in Kevin's journal and what Booth had told me about friendship. Once Melinda and Kevin developed feelings for one another, was it too late? Well, clearly it was, considering the young man has since died, but this wasn't an ordinary death. If this was a suicide, as the evidence increasingly suggests, was it love that killed him?
And that's when it hit me. Yes, love had killed him. Allow me to clarify. Love is not a murderer. Love is a chemical response, a feeling, perhaps even a gut reaction. It was love personified. Angela tells me that people in love do crazy things. They splurge on things that they can't afford. They manipulate their bodies with tattoos or cosmetic surgery. Mr. Nigel Murrary has relayed an anecdote about a mother's love for her child initiating a fight or flight response so great that she was able to partially lift a vehicle to save her trapped son.
There are also the acts of love that originate from clear delusions of grandeur. Marrying a dying man in the hopes that his newfound happiness will prolong his life. Staying in an abusive relationship because the night after he beats you, he showers you with attention, tells you he loves you and will never do it again. Stalking, viewing every reciprocated glance or greeting as a sure sign that that person pines for you with the intensity with which you pine for them. Assisting a young man in killing himself, or at least some of his selves, to make the suffering end.
The following day I had Hodgins re-examine the particulates gathered from the wounds and the young man's clothing, looking for anything that could tie Melinda to the crime; a strand of her hair, blood, anything we might have previously overlooked. I had Angela change the parameters on her simulation to account for the same injuries given an assisted suicide. I was just about to gather the interns for a thorough bone examination when Booth swiped his ID card and bound onto the platform.
"Put down the bone, we're going on a field trip."
I looked up. "Did you and Sweets find something in the diary?"
"Journal, Bones. Journal. And yes, we found something alright. We'll fill you in on the way, time is of the essence."
"According to the journal, Kevin met Melinda his first day there, in the infirmary." Sweets explained from the back seat. "Upon intake into the home, each teen is given a full physical workup, explaining his presence there. He writes that the girl in the next bed was miserable, fighting anyone who tried to lay a hand on her. Her forearms were wrapped in gauze. In a later group session, she'd admitted to cutting, trying to end her own life. She tried, unsuccessfully, at least two more times, but it would appear that, as her friendship with Kevin blossomed, she seemed to clean up her act. It was upon Kevin's insistence that she go back on her meds."
"That mustn't have lasted long," I figured aloud. "Dr. Alderman said that she'd agreed to take them when we last spoke to her, indicating that it was not her own choice. She must have gone off again, which could be behind any recent outbursts or misbehavior."
"If you look at the more recent entries, it would appear that way, yes. Kevin verbalizes his concerns that if she 'gets better' she'd leave and he'd be alone. He was bothered by the fact that she could get things under control, yet he continued to struggle with the guilt and his associated condition. They argued about it, but Melinda was ultimately persuaded to suffer alongside him and stopped her meds. After that, things just got weird."
"Weird is a very non-descript term, Dr. Sweets. Please elaborate." I insisted as Booth pulled into the parking lot of the home.
"I have to make it quick. If they know we're here, they'll collaborate on a story. Less prep time, the better. Melinda confesses her affection for Kevin and agrees to 'help him out'. She said she'd do anything for him. And in this case, anything included instructing him on the act of suicide. She knew he wanted out, and he knew she knew how. If she truly loved him, she'd let him go. She 'helped' him the night he died."
"Considering the man is dead, we have no way of knowing this." I pointed out.
"She had the balls to make a closing remark in the kid's journal," Booth told me.
"Melinda doesn't have—"
"I know Bones, I know. Let's just get in there, okay."
As Sweets had hoped, Melinda was unmedicated when we were finally able to sit down with her. In the time that we spent waiting, I was able to search her room for evidence, anything that could link her to the park where Kevin was found as well as anything that could provide a DNA source for the database. I had them rushed to the Jeffersonian by a kind orderly.
Dr. Alderman was present for the interrogation, given his legal guardianship over Melinda while she was under his care and supervision. Sweets didn't like the idea, citing that there would be bias in Melinda's answers given that she would say things that he'd want to hear. Booth allowed it, almost insisted upon it, which led me to believe that he knew something that I did not. Aside from professional discussion, we'd been avoiding each other whenever possible, so I was unaware of his additional knowledge, likely a gut thing.
As Booth and Sweets conducted the interrogation, I watched Melinda intently. She was more alert now and, by the look of her set jaw and clenched fists, I figured she was ready to get defensive. They first asked Dr. Alderman about his therapeutic techniques. They discussed the journal therapy at length, questioning its objectives and relative success. This I found to be rather boring and was relieved when my phone rang. Booth glared at me, not happy that their questioning had been interrupted, but I took the call out in the hallway.
"DNA evidence confirms Melinda's involvement and the story fits with all but one of the sustained injuries. We've also found DNA that doesn't belong to Melinda or our victim, but, if I had to guess, it belongs to the deliverer of the unaccounted for head contusions." Hodgins told me.
I pulled Booth from the makeshift interrogation room. "Not again, Bones. She's fine. Just let us get this done."
"Evidence confirms it. Melinda helped Kevin commit suicide. But evidence also suggests a second party."
"One step ahead of you, Bones" he grinned.
Back inside, Sweets had set the journal on the table, open to that final entry.
"Ms Reid, do you recognize the handwriting on this page?" he asked her. She looked up at Dr. Alderman, then back down at the journal, nodding. "Yes."
"Can you tell me who it belongs to?" he pressed, but this time Melinda did not answer. "I'm going to ask you to read the entry aloud if you would please."
I did not understand the purpose of this. He knew what it said. I though, did not. I watched and waited. She hesitated but obliged.
"I. Love. You. Alone, three simple words. Strung together, they have unmatched power. The power to heal, the power to bring out of the dark, the power to manipulate, the power and promise to please, no matter what the cost. With power comes responsibility. Today I take responsibility. My love alone could not heal, could not save, but I made my promise and could not, would not, rescind, not after seeing the plea in his eyes. I brought him to his favorite place then, seated by his side, I brought him home."