What He Offered
Chapter 9: Chasing Joy
A quick glance at the wall clock informed Bones that she did not really have time to stop and turn back to passages that annoyed or intrigued her, but she couldn't resist. She re-read the presentation of the girls' photos. There had only been one, of course, the candid supposedly picturing Joy Ruth. She could see from the way Booth and Dr. Cameron had chosen to portray "Brennan" that they were setting up a dichotomy to match Vic and Tim's. "Brennan" would display the characteristics of the masculine aspect (cold, rational, aggressive, the mother as disciplinarian) while "Joy Ruth" would represent the feminine aspect (warm, emotional, submissive, the mother as comforter). As an author, she knew that "Brennan" and "Joy Ruth" were narrative constructs, largely determined by the requirements of the theme or plot, and not an attempt to paint an accurate portrait of the individuals who inspired them. Hadn't she repeated that to her team after every new release? And yet, they insisted on seeing themselves in her creations, to the point of offering "corrections." She would not fall into that trap; she refused to take any parts of the tale personally.
That being said, she wondered why the words, "Tim, sweetie…" had been placed in her mouth. She had never used that endearment, mockingly or otherwise, to the best of her recollection. The paragraph evoked Lance Sweets quite strongly; she had often directed the cited comments and others like them to the FBI psychologist. Was this all a conscious homage to their deceased friend, a man whom Booth had once called something along the lines of the younger brother he'd never wanted, or was there something else intended? She conceded that she might also have been reading entirely too much between the lines. Time would tell. She turned the page.
A Tale of Twin Booths, cont'd
If he hadn't had physical proof in the form of that photo, Tim would have come to doubt Joy Ruth Brennan's very existence. Every trace he unearthed led nowhere. He had enough contacts and pulled enough strings to discover the name of the family who had fostered her for three years: Chase (seriously? Tim thought at the time). Her foster mother — Please! Call me Cordy! — had been an amiable woman and something of a chatterbox into the bargain with, in the end, very little real information to impart. From her, he learned that Brennan and Joy Ruth had originally been placed in her home together, but it had proven impossible to keep them both. Joy Ruth — always the two names as though hyphenated, mind you, never just the one! — was a calm, biddable girl, a bit withdrawn, it was true, but accommodating, never a moment's trouble, while Tempe, well…! Suffice it to say that Tempe was a disruptive influence in the household, and had had to be moved elsewhere for everyone's sake. But mostly for poor, little Joy Ruth's, bless her heart. Mrs. Chase had not had a letter or a phone call from her former foster daughter in years, so had no current address or number to give Tim, but she did pass on the names of some of Joy Ruth's high school friends as well as the name of the university she'd attended. These leads, too, failed to pan out. Tim was considering the drastic move of asking Angela to run a picture of Brennan's face through the DMV data base when Vic gave him new hope: Russ Brennan's contact information. A paroled criminal, Russ had been easy enough to find, but he, like Mrs. Chase, had completely lost track of Joy Ruth, and could tell Tim nothing about her current whereabouts, or even if she were still alive.
Ironically, it turned out that Tim's big break would result from Zach Addy's routine work in the Jeffersonian "limbo." The set of remains he was examining was revealed to belong to none other than Brennan's mother, Christine. An obvious homicide, the discovery allowed the Booths to open an investigation, which gave them access to documents they would not otherwise have seen. On the day Vic brought Russ to the lab to share with him and Brennan the information that their parents had been more than the inoffensive science teacher and bookkeeper they gave themselves out to be, Tim received the crucial missing piece of the puzzle: "Brennan" had not always been their family name. Originally, they had gone by the name of "Keenan." And, that was all it took.
That smile that had so tantalized his memory… It belonged to one J. R. Keenan, a lowly tech at the Jeffersonian Medico-Legal lab. Joy Ruth Brennan had been, incredibly, under their noses all along. Tim had probably walked past her at her computer, in the hall, entering and exiting the building hundreds of time, all without ever once suspecting her identity. So great was his initial disbelief, he didn't immediately approach her. He took advantage of Vic and Brennan's being out at a pig farm confronting Vince McVickers, a criminal acquaintance of Max and Ruth Keenan, to observe her from a distance, careful always to blend into the background as much as possible so as not to alarm her.
At a glance, no one would have confused her with Brennan: Joy Ruth had very dark, straight hair cut in a bob with long bangs that concealed her high forehead and eyebrows. It was hard to assess the exact shade of her eyes from afar, as she wore large, horn-rimmed glasses, but they were definitely light in color. She didn't appear to have Brennan's height, but that was likely due to her wearing ballet flats, hunching her shoulders and keeping her head down much of the time. There was no disguising that she was slimmer, more girlish in her figure, almost waif-like. A ruffly skirt peeked out from below her standard-issue blue lab coat, and a lacy white collar and a short strand of pearls could be glimpsed in the neck opening. One feature she did share with Brennan, and a clinching one: her gait. Due to an asymmetrical development of the hip, both sisters walked with a subtle swing to the left in their step. Biology is not only destiny, but evidence.
Late that afternoon, convinced he had penetrated her real identity, Tim introduced himself to the Keenans' youngest child. She was standing at a computer terminal, holding a clip board and jotting down numbers from the display on the screen. "Miss Keenan?"
She turned toward him, startled, her eyes gentian blue; enchanting. "Oh, hello! Agent Booth, isn't it?"
Tim was surprised into a smile. "You know me?"
She nodded, not quite able to hold his eyes. "You work with Dr. Brennan's team, you and your… brother, I believe?"
"My twin, actually: Vic. My name's Tim." He held out his hand to her, and after slipping her pencil into her lab coat pocket, she took it. "Pleased to meet you. Say, Miss Keenan…"
"J. R.," she said, releasing his hand. "I prefer to go by my initials."
"Er… J. R., then." Saying the letters out loud prompted a memory from childhood, and he said, trying for a jovial tone, "I don't suppose you own a large spread in Texas, and have a ten-gallon hat in your closet?"
She backed up half a step. "I don't know what that means."
"The classic TV show 'Dallas'? Who murdered J. R. Ewing?" Her eyes grew as wide as the proverbial saucers. "Never mind. Anyway, I was wondering… Do you have time for a drink, or a cup of coffee?"
"Me?" She did all but turn around to see if he was addressing someone behind her. "Do you mean, right now? Today? Is it about a case?"
"No, no," he assured her quickly. "I mean, it's not about a case. At least, it is, but not a case you're working on, not that I know what you're working on…" He floundered to a stop to see her smiling kindly at him. That smile… "I don't usually babble, J. R., trust me. Anyway, a drink? Coffee? Now is good for me, but I'm glad to wait…"
"My shift ends in half an hour or so…" She considered him uncertainly; Tim did his best to project carefree harmlessness. "I could go for some coffee, I guess…"
"Tell you what: I'll go grab the drinks and meet you in the upstairs lounge in thirty minutes. How do you like it?"
She looked at him quizzically. "The lounge?"
He barked with laughter. "No, the coffee. Caffeine? Cream? Sugar?"
"No, yes, and yes." She grinned up at him. "Lots of sugar."
Just the way he liked it, too. And that's when Tim knew: he and J. R., this could be going somewhere.