What He Offered

Chapter 19: Criss cross

It was fortunate that the phone rang just then, breaking the spell of the unhappy past and recalling her to the wonderful present. She wiped a little moisture from under her eye with a knuckle, and picked up the phone. "Hello, Booth!"

"Hey, Bones! Listen, Mom tells me it's okay with you if she and Reggie take me and the kids out to dinner, but there's no reason you can't join us. I don't like the idea of you sitting home alone while the rest of us are having a good time."

"Don't give it another thought. I'm in good company."

"You're..?" A few seconds of silence on the other end. "What, did Angela drop over?"

"No. I've been spending the afternoon with two fascinating young men."

"Two… Bones, I don't like the sound of this."

She had to laugh. She did so enjoy pulling his nose (or was that leg?). "Their names are Vic and Tim Booth. You may have heard of them?"

"Oh, those two. I thought for sure you'd be done by now. It was only seventy pages. That's, like, two hours' reading, tops, for you."

"Yes, if you don't figured in the time necessary for writing comments. Look, don't keep everyone waiting. I love you for thinking of me, but I'm perfectly fine here on my own."

No immediate answer. "If you're sure…"

"'Bye, Booth!" Call ended. Back to the screen.

A Tale of Twin Booths, cont'd

Vic had looked for her everywhere: on the platform, up in the lounge, in the bone room, even in Limbo. Eventually, he found her in the last place he tried: Brennan's office. She was sitting on the couch, reading a scholarly journal, a cup of coffee cooling near to hand. He noticed that she had arranged her hair in an unusually severe chignon, and that her dress, to judge by the collar and hem not covered by her lab coat, was a somber affair, all over large lavender and grey plaid. The color brought out the violet shadows under her eyes. "Jay?"

She jumped, startled. The journal slipped from her fingers and crashed to the floor. Vic rushed forward and retrieved it for her. "Sorry," he said, holding it out to her. "I thought you heard me come in."

"Agent Booth." She took the journal from his hand with a twitch of the lips that was meant to pass for a smile. "Tempe's not here. I believe she ran over to the Founding Fathers to meet a colleague."

"Actually, it's you I came to see. Do you have a minute? I promise I won't be long."

"Of course." She indicated a chair, her eyes never rising above his shirt collar. "How can I help you?"

For starters, he wanted to say, you could look the hell up at me, but instead, he dragged the chair a little bit closer, and sat down. "I want to apologize, Jay…"

"I think," she broke in, "while we're here at the Jeff, or at headquarters, you should call me 'Miss Keenan.' It's… more professional."

If she had spoken with bitterness, or snidely, he might have been irked, but her tone was impersonal, even pleasant, unobjectionable. "I was unfair to you the other night…" He stumbled over the new form of address, but eventually brought out, "… Miss Keenan. I lost my temper, and said things about you I had no business saying…"

"Things that you meant, all the same. There's no need to deny it, Agent Booth. I treated Tim…" She paused, drew a breath. "… your brother badly. In my defense, I would just like to say that it was never my intention to hurt him. In my own stupid way, I thought I was being honest with him, but I can see, now, why he misunderstood me. I am not a cruel person, Agent Booth. Thoughtless, self-absorbed, oblivious, yes, I plead guilty. And sadder, too, if it makes you feel any better."

"No…" He only just stopped himself from calling her "Jay." He felt a stab of grief at the loss. "I don't want you to be sad. I want you to forgive me, not only for the things I said in anger, but for anything I may have done to make you think I harbored feelings stronger than friendship for you. What words did you use just now? Thoughtless, self-absorbed, oblivious? I plead guilty, too. I didn't mean harm any more than you did, but that's neither here not there. The fact is, I hurt three people I care about, and for that, I am truly sorry."

She did venture to look at him, then. "I forgive you, Agent Booth, but I hope you understand we can't be friends. Someday maybe, but not now. For the moment, I think we should confine ourselves to being colleagues." She set the journal aside, stood up, and extended a hand to him. "Thank you for stopping in today. I appreciate your candor. Please let me know when I can be of assistance."

There was nothing to do but take her hand and her dismissal. "Good-bye… Miss Keenan."

Meanwhile, at the Founding Fathers, Tim was sitting at the bar, nursing a glass of Scotch. He was usually a beer or ale man, but he was more in the mood, of late, for higher-proof libations. When the woman appeared at his elbow, he noticed her perfume first, the heady fragrance of jasmine, familiar. He'd given Jay a bottle one Christmas, mostly because he liked the name: Patou Joy. The woman wore glossy black pumps, and a jersey wrap dress, patterned all over with blue, pink and gray splotches more suggestive of flowers than any recognizable variety. When he raised his eyes to her face, he saw the same enchanting blue eyes, but they were not Jay's.

"Are you drunk?" Brennan asked.

"Not yet, but that might be this train's final destination."

"Mind sharing the ride?"

"Suit yourself. I have it on good authority it's still a free country."

Brennan settled herself on the stool next to his, and motioned to the bartender, who set her usual drink in front of her. "Vic said I'd find you here."

"Vic?" He shot her a glance out of the corner of his eye. "I'm surprised you're giving him the time of day, the way you lambasted him the other night."

"That was the anger talking. The way he lit into Jay…" She shook her head, remorseful. "It wasn't my finest hour. It's not as though he sets out to seduce women, after all. I don't think it even occurs to him that women might fall for him. He's not at all vain, which is remarkable, really, considering his symmetrical features and broad shoulders."

"I remember your cousin Margaret criticizing his eyes as being too close together."

"Ah, Margaret!" Brennan said, with a fondness Tim found surprising. "There's one woman he couldn't charm — not that he didn't try. That flirting of his, I know he doesn't mean anything by it. He just doesn't seem to understand the effect it has. You're much more sensitive than he is, Tim. I've often thought Vic could stand to be a bit more like you."

"Brennan, if I had a dime for every time I've heard that from a beautiful woman, I could retire right now to a tropical island."

She took a sip of her Scotch. "I hear Turks and Caicos is nice." Brennan smiled to hear Tim's short burst of laughter. "Anyway, enough about Vic. I came here to apologize to you, Tim. I hope you know I never meant to hurt you."

"Forget it, Brennan. You didn't act out of malice, I'm sure of that. And, besides, I should have known: Vic always did get all the girls."

"And, I should have warned you about Jay's infatuation, but, well, it was told to me in confidence, and, in any event, I thought I could help her see that Vic wasn't interested in her romantically. That was a major miscalculation."

Brennan admitting to a mistake? Now she had his attention. "How do you mean?"

"I shouldn't have to explain it to you, Tim. You're the psychologist."

Tim was intrigued despite himself. He thought back to what Brennan had told him. "You used the word 'infatuated.' So, you don't think she really loves Vic?"

Brennan snorted, a most inelegant sound. "Heavens, no!"

He turned the facts over in his mind: Jay's lack of self-confidence, her abysmal choice in men, her doomed relationships… "You think Vic was Jay's girlish crush, a man she could safely assume wouldn't want her, the man enamored of her sister."

"Exactly. She put all her energy into loving an unavailable man as a way of avoiding a real relationship where her fears of inadequacy might be proved right."

The one thing Tim had never lacked was respect for Brennan's genius, but now he regarded her with new esteem. "You astonish me, Brennan!"

"I learned from the best, Agent Booth!" She clinked her glass against his.

They drank companionably for a few moments. Then, Tim was moved to say, "Brennan, do you remember the time - we were on our way here, I seem to recall - when I told you I loved you?"

Brennan favored him with a wry look. "As if I could forget! It was not long after your brain surgery. You no sooner said it, than you took it back."

"That's not what I remember. I added: 'as a friend'."

Brennan laughed. "And, you socked me in the shoulder — not hard, more as a form of ritual violence intended to cement our bond. What of it?"

"Well, I've just now realized it's true: I do love you, Brennan, as a dear friend."

She smiled at him. "Wonders will never cease, Tim. Just think: after the terrible start we got off to, I've come to love you, too."

Tim gestured to the bartender. "Another round here for me and my drinking buddy."

When they had been resupplied, Tim raised his glass. "Here's to you, Temperance Brennan, a true and faithful friend."

"And, here's to you, Tim." Brennan lifted her glass in turn, and grinned wickedly. "Sweetie."