What He Offered

Chapter 22: Cardinal Sin

Bones could ill-afford to squander time reflecting on what she'd just read, but she couldn't resist returning to those last few lines. Adam and Eve, really! A bit grandiose, but funny all the same, particularly the snake. Booth's familiarity with the Bible was serving him well; that reference to Job was especially apt. And, there was Tim portrayed as a minister, too. She wondered if Booth had been inspired by Max' one-time impersonation of a priest, but decided against it. Would the religious theme be continued? Bones resumed her reading.

A Tale of Twin Booths, cont'd

Following that romp in the shade of the fig leaves, Vic resolved not to see Hannah Burley again. He was ashamed of his faithlessness, but given the fatal conjunction of Hannah's exceptional boldness and his own desperate sadness, he forgave himself, even as Tim did, for succumbing to temptation. It was entirely understandable, and would not happen again, particularly as their enormously satisfying coupling had taken much of his edge off.

If, soon after, Hannah and her crew had been directed elsewhere, Vic likely would have forgotten her completely, or, at most, remembered her gratefully as a very pleasant interlude, but in the event, she remained in the immediate area, and frequently crossed Vic's path. A lusty young woman, pursuing a high-profile career in dangerous circumstances, Hannah lived for the moment: she had no compunction about grabbing with gusto all the many and varied pleasures life had to offer. She believed firmly in not putting off until tomorrow what she could enjoy today, and, when she determined she wanted something or someone, she did not take "no" for an answer. Vic had shown her a damn fine time in the fig arbor, and she saw not a single reason why he should not continue to do so.

Now into the seventh month of Brennan's silence, Vic's spirits had reached their nadir, and so, when Hannah put the moves on him, he did not always refuse to lose himself in her for a time. She was a very agreeable companion, always up for fun and frolics, charismatic, light-hearted, and generous. She found ways to make him laugh, to make him forget, if only briefly.

On one occasion, as they lay tangled in her sheets, their sweat-drenched bodies cooling, she raised herself up on one elbow, and looked down at him admiringly. "Wow," she said. "Just… wow! You know that little thing you did…?"

"Which little thing?" He grinned at her.

She slapped his arm playfully. "You know! The one you picked up from the pages of that recent best-seller. Don't deny it! That move was described in a sex scene I read. Hold on just a minute… it'll come to be me. Oh!" Her brown eyes sparkled, and her smile spread from ear to ear. "It was in a crime thriller, I can't think of the name, but the main character's an FBI man. Agent Lester… no, Lister! That's it. Come to think of it," she said, with a teasing lear, "you remind me a lot of Agent Andy."

Vic kept the grin fixed on his face with an effort. "I get that a lot."

Tim continued to maintain that no one person is indispensable, but he had become so much in demand by the soldiers on the base that he came as close as made no difference. Consequently, when Tim set aside time to seek him out in the weight room, Vic was both thankful and gratified. "Good to see you, bro! Hey, man, I've missed you!"

Tim shook the hand Vic extended, but his demeanor was oddly cool. "That right? From what I've heard, you've had plenty of company lately, far more entertaining than mine."

Vic reached into his duffel, took out two bottles of relatively-cold water and passed one to Tim. He broke the seal on his own container, and drank deeply. He had a strong suspicion he knew what was on his brother's mind. "I've been keeping busy, yeah."

"By 'busy,' you mean shooting off your gun? The one that wasn't firing so well a short while ago?"

Vic did not like Tim's tone. "You want to just spit it out, Tim? I take it this is not exactly a social call."

"Have it your way, Vic," Tim said, with a shrug. "Hannah Burley: you know what she is?"

"A gorgeous, intelligent woman who's sexy as hell and a barrel of laughs?"

"Okay, fine: she's all of that. She's also a player, Vic, a good time girl, a thrill-seeker. She's not cut out for settling down. You know that, right?"

"Sure, sure, I know that. I've got eyes."

Tim regarded his brother thoughtfully for a long while, then nodded, apparently satisfied. "Just a wartime fling, then? Nothing more?"

"Of course not!" Vic attempted a hearty chuckle, with limited success. "What do you take me for?"

Later that night, as he lay in his cot courting sleep, Vic called up the sacred image of Brennan, and tried with all his might to possess his troubled soul in patience. The familiar mental film clip played against the screen of his closed eyelids: Brennan walking away, trailing her carry-on suitcase behind her, her head over her shoulder, looking back at him with… longing, he'd always thought, but was it? Conditioned by six full months of silence, Vic examined Brennan's look afresh and saw how hope, wishful thinking or a combination of both might have misled him. There was sadness in her eyes, certainly, but was that sadness for both of them, for the separation they were about to endure, or only for him? Her message might not have been I want to stay at all, but I'm sorry, and not I'm sorry I have to leave you, but I'm sorry my leaving hurts you, but you are not enough to hold me here. Maybe what he had, willfully, mistaken for longing was, in the final analysis, mere pity.

Vic Booth had never been a quitter; he'd been knocked down many times, but he'd always gotten back on his feet and taken up the fight. But, in this, the darkest moment of his soul, when his last lifeline to Brennan failed him, he acknowledged himself defeated, and withdrew from the long game. For Tim, the game had ended with a bang: he'd called Jay's bluff, only to discover he held the losing hand, but, for Vic, who simply folded, conceding the game, it ended with barely a whimper. Vic, like Tim, made the heart-crushing choice to move on.

From that night forward, Vic gave himself over completely to Hannah. She wanted the little he could offer? Fine, whatever: they would laugh themselves sick, drink themselves blind, and screw their heads off until exhaustion overcame them. If it was not what he wanted, it was what he had, and it was far, far better than nothing.

When, early one morning in the seventh month, a forceful knock sounded on Hannah's hotel room door, she immediately assumed it was her cameraman come to roust her for the day. She was running late, as usual, but it only remained for her to grab her equipment bag. "I'll be right with you, Wesley!" She threw the door open, and stared, taken by surprise. "Oh! Sorry! I was expecting… Never mind! Come in. Vic! He's in the bathroom," she explained, in a lower voice. "Vic! It's your brother."

"I've come at a bad time," Tim said, retreating into the corridor. "I'll just wait for Vic in the lobby."

"No need. Seriously! Come in. I'm sorry to rush out on you like this…" She hefted the strap of the heavy bag onto her shoulder, and smiled brightly. "But you know the old saying: the news never sleeps!" Vic, garbed in nothing more than his boxer shorts, emerged from the bathroom. She turned to him, and lifted her face imperiously for his good-bye kiss. "Got to go! See you tonight, lover! Catch you next time," she called to Tim, as she filed her way swiftly out of the room.

Vic snatched up his pants, and began to pull them on. "So… long time no see."

Without bothering to close the door, Tim ambled into the room. "That your way of admitting you've been avoiding me?"

"Avoiding you? Hell, no!" He picked up his rumpled shirt, and slipped his arms into the sleeves. "Been… occupied, that's all."

"That's one way to put it," Tim muttered. He gestured vaguely toward the disordered bed, the clothes strewn about pell mell, the general clutter. "What's going on here, bro?"

Vic attacked the button band with a vengeance. "What's it look like?"

"A cheap brothel, at a guess." Tim's nose wrinkled primly. "Smells like one, too."

"Judging from first hand experience, Father Tim?" Vic finished the last button, and began tucking his shirt tail in.

"Always the joker." Tim stepped over to the window, and stood for a moment gazing down into the street. In the early morning light, he looked thinner, his face haggard. "I won't beat around the bush, Vic. Tell me straight up: what's with you and Hannah Burley?"

Something in his twin's attitude rubbed Vic the wrong way. He struggled to put his finger on it: Tim was not quite scornful, or condemning… sanctimonious, that was the word. It made him want to take Tim down a peg. "I've been meaning to tell you, Tim. I love her."

Vic had the satisfaction of seeing Tim blanch. "You… love… her," he repeated, as if this were a statement that defied immediate comprehension. "You love Hannah Burley." When Vic let silence speak for him, Tim went on, "And Brennan, Vic? Just where does that leave her?"

"Brennan doesn't love me, Tim. I've made my peace with it. I'm moving on."

"So, Brennan doesn't love you. And you know this, how? Not enough physical evidence? If she'd let her grieving sister go off alone in order to stay with you, would that have been proof enough? How about if she'd jeopardized her expedition so she could phone or email you once a week…?"

"How about just fucking once?" Vic broke in, unable to contain himself.

"Is that what this is? A temper tantrum? You can't get what you want when you want, so you throw in the towel?"

Vic balled his hands into fists, trying to hold onto his anger. "Just shut your trap!" he hissed. "What do you even know about it?"

"Really? You're seriously asking me that question? You think I don't envy the hell out of you? If Jay had asked me for a year to let her go and think about giving us a chance, do you think I'd've flinched? Do you think I'd've folded?" He took a moment to collect himself. Even at a distance, Vic could see that Tim was trembling. "Don't do this, Vic. Don't give up on Brennan. She deserves better from you."

"And, what about me? What about what I deserve?" he countered, bitterly. "You're so all-fired concerned with protecting her interests. What about mine? Why are you siding with her against me? I'm your brother!"

The look Tim turned on his twin was deeply sorrowful. He shook his head. "I don't know who you are anymore, Vic. The brother I know would never choose Hannah Burley over Temperance Brennan."

Vic laughed, a short, humorless sound. "That right? Well, if you think Brennan's such a prize, why don't you take her on, sweetie? She likes you a whole lot better than me these days."

Tim stared at him, stunned. "Oh, my God," he breathed out. "You really are a moron."

Their father, Brennan, now Tim: three voices, always the same verdict. "What'd you just call me?"

"You heard me," Tim said, coming away from the window toward him. "You don't like it, go ahead and knock my block off. That's a brother I'd recognize." He stood well within arm's reach, doing nothing to defend himself, his eyes full of challenge. "No? Too bad." He pushed past Vic, and wended his way toward the door.

"Hey, where're you going? We're not done here!"

Tim paused on the threshold and turned back to face him. "That's where you're wrong, Vic. As long as you're with Hannah, you and I are done. You got that? When you get your fool head out of your ass, you know where to find me." He swept into the hallway and disappeared from sight.

Vic rushed out after him, and stood watching his tall, slender brother stride away. "Don't hold your breath!" he called after him, but Tim gave no sign of having heard.