What He Offered

Chapter 8: Compromise

It irritated the novelist in Bones that she had not anticipated the introduction of Joy Ruth as a character in her own right. Every worthwhile story needed a twist now and again, and this one had been a downright curve ball. Perhaps her books had been a good influence on Booth. He did tend to read them carefully. He might have picked up some narrative tricks in the process. But then, she thought, no, it was far more likely Dr. Cameron's doing. In her experience, psychologists showed a marked propensity for storytelling. Look at Sweets, for example: he had written what was tantamount to fiction about her and Booth. The rewrite had been something of an improvement, but a flight of fancy nonetheless. If she were given to betting, she'd wager that Dr. Cameron was a would-be author of lurid thrillers with a number of unpublished manuscripts sitting in his desk drawers at home. She decided she would have to have him for dinner sometime soon — she would enjoy eating his liver with onions.

She returned to her reading.

The Tale of Twin Booths, cont'd

And so, Brennan and the Booths put the calamity successfully behind them, and set about finding their footing as professional partners in earnest. Dealing with Brennan was, at first, a tricky thing; Vic and Tim knew her mercurial nature by now, and walked on eggshells around her, doing their best not to set off her uncertain temper. After a while, she stopped glaring at them quite so much, and even, to their amazement, offered the occasional word of praise and token of trust. She was still something of a liability in speaking with the bereaved, but more and more, she followed Tim's lead and his advice to good effect.

It didn't take long for Tim to become, once again, the unnoticed third wheel. Watching Vic and Brennan together, Tim had the impression that fate had pushed the reset button: the two of them were back to interacting as they had before Calamity Eve. Vic deferred to her on matters technical and scientific, supported her when she was challenged, and protected her in situations ranging from dicey to merely importunate. In time, he felt comfortable enough around her even to flash his "charm smile" and rib her good-naturedly. Without Tim having to warn him, he was meticulous in not crossing the invisible line between colleague and suitor. Brennan interpreted his comportment as respect for her unspoken boundaries, and relaxed. It appeared they had, somehow, reached a tacit agreement, to wit: he would not chase her romantically provided she did not run from him professionally. The underlying tension was not resolved, but as a stop-gap measure, the compromise worked.

As a psychologist, Tim was aware that what cannot be expressed directly finds alternate ways to make itself known, so he was not surprised that, however little Vic acted on it, or however categorically Brennan denied it, the two couldn't entirely hide their mutual attraction. Vic grew irritable and overprotective when eligible men showed an all-too-natural interest in Brennan. With apparent nonchalance, he often stood too close to her, leaned too far into her, snagged every opportunity to steer her by the shoulders or the elbow, or clap her cordially on the back. Brennan accepted all of this without complaint, even with a certain complacency.

For her part, Brennan showed an unhealthy fascination with Vic's personal life. Out of nowhere, she would bring up Tessa, ask how she was doing, how they spent their time together. Upon meeting Amy Morton, a perky public defender with whom the Booths had a history, she even asked Vic off-handedly if he were going to be dating both lawyers at once. Listening to this line of questioning, Tim couldn't decide if she was reassuring herself that Vic's romantic attentions were safely directed elsewhere or if she was trying in a very roundabout way to experience being his girlfriend vicariously. He decided it could well be a little of both.

Later that year, on Christmas day, Tim had his strongest experience yet of déjà vu. He and Vic were at Wong Foo's waiting for Parker to be dropped off, and, in advance of their imminent departure, Tim had excused himself to use the facilities. When he returned, he found Brennan had taken his seat one stool over from Vic at the bar. They had assumed the same positions as that night in the pool hall, with more distance between them admittedly, but with the same attitude. Vic's head was canted to one side, and he met her unwavering gaze with a brazen mix of mockery, respect and deep affection. She had outdone herself that day, which for Temperance Brennan, star of the forensic world, was saying something: she had solved a decades-old murder, righted an old woman's crooked world, and gifted the woman's granddaughter with a key to unlock a brilliant future. Vic's look said it all: I never doubted you'd do it, because you are the best, baby, and you are all mine — professionally. The secret pact held.

As time passed, and case after case was successfully closed, Vic and Brennan found another means of cementing their bond: they cut Tim out of their working relationship as much as possible. Increasingly, Brennan accompanied Vic into the field, and if Tim was invited along, they made him feel like a useless appendage. They were united in downplaying the promptings of his gut instincts as "unsubstantiated speculation" and in dismissing his insights into criminal motivation as "pure guesswork." If he had a dime for every time Brennan announced, "I hate psychology," he could have retired to a tropical island before forty. The worst of it all was when Brennan, borrowing a favorite endearment of Angela's for her own mocking purpose, would look at him pityingly, and say, "Tim, sweetie…" He could have cheerfully strangled her then.

None of that mattered very much to Tim after the evening Brennan strode into Wong Foo, slid onto a bar stood next to Vic, and set a red file folder on the counter. "I want to ask you a favor," she said, addressing both Booths.

"Jeez," Tim muttered. He hadn't been enthusiastic about collaborating on the investigation into Max Kane's disappearance. "Another favor."

Brennan paid no heed to him, as per usual. "I wonder if you wouldn't mind taking a look at this." She tapped the red file folder.

"The file on your parents?" Vic asked. "Yeah… okay."

Because, of course, Tim thought sourly, Brennan had only to ask for Vic to do her bidding.

"You want to think about it? It's a pretty big favor."

Tim was momentarily distracted by the bartender, and as a result, lost some of the following exchange. The next thing he heard was Vic promise, "I'll take a look at it, see what they didn't give you, and get back to you on that."

She left shortly after. Vic set aside the Sports Illustrated article he'd been skimming before her arrival, dragged the folder into position between them, and folded back the front cover. The first thing to catch their eye was a good-quality snapshot of an attractive, middle-aged couple. The man had silver-grey hair but few wrinkles surrounding his lively blue eyes and his mouth was curled in an engaging expression, while the woman was a brown-haired beauty with a youthful look to her and a loving smile on her lips: Mr. and Mrs. Brennan, obviously.

The photo under that was of a young girl, aged maybe thirteen or so, with her head tilted to one side as though lending her ear to the youngster whose pudgy hand on her shoulder was directing her attention somewhere off-camera with a pointed index finger. The child had her mother's dark hair, her father's light eyes, and a smile that seemed, to Tim at least, somewhat tentative, as though she was prepared to be pleased but not yet convinced she would be. That smile… Tim had seen that smile somewhere, and certainly not on Brennan's face. It hadn't been that long ago, either. The memory just eluded him. He shrugged; it would come back to him.

Given the foliage background and the blue-and-white striped folding chair in both pictures, the next candid portrait had clearly been taken the same day, maybe just moments afterward. The child was very likely the possessor of the pointing finger, and Vic laughed out loud to see her. "That's my girl," he said, with a grin. There was no mistaking the youthful Temperance Brennan: she was sitting slouched in the deck chair, her arms crossed tightly across her budding chest, her eyes staring blue-fire defiance from under lowered brows and her mouth turned down in a very pronounced frown. "Isn't she something?"

Tim resisted the temptation to give his opinion of what, precisely, that "something" might be, and took up instead the portrait of the girl he now concluded was Joy Ruth. There was an unmistakable resemblance, but he would not have guessed, based on these pictures, that the girls were identical twins. It might have been the difference in facial expressions that distorted the similarities; perhaps if they were both scowling or both smiling, he would see it more. As it was, Joy Ruth looked like a sweet girl… Once again, the nagging sensation of having seen that face in the recent past tantalized him, but no, he couldn't place it.

Vic had finally set down the picture of the belligerent twin, and was shuffling through the remaining documents. "No picture of Russ," he said. "Too bad."

"So, Vic…" Tim was suddenly not as reluctant as he had been to do Brennan a solid. "How do you want to handle this? Divide and conquer? I'll look into locating the sister, if you take the brother."

Vic regarded his twin with a speculative look that held more than a hint of amusement. "You dog, you!" he said, punching Tim lightly in the shoulder. "Yeah, sure. What the hell. Go for it."