Court had started out intimidating, but knowing that Brennan, Booth, Hodgins, and Angela would all be there made it slightly easier to walk in. Unfortunately for me, my literal-minded friend (Zach) wouldn't be joining us in making testimonies, since he's an intern and not an employee of the Jeffersonian. Still, I'd thought I was okay.
Then everyone else filed into the courtroom. At one panel was the Jeffersonian, and across the aisle were those on the Costellos' side of the case. In the boxed seating was a collection of twenty to thirty jurors, several of whom seemed almost as nervous as I was. The judge was sitting up there with the gavel, and the stand by the side of the pedestal for witness questioning and cross-examination suddenly seemed a bit too close to the judge.
Up front on our side of the aisle was Brennan and Booth, predictably. As the representatives of their sources of testimony, Brennan representing the Jeffersonian and Booth representing the FBI, they were cool and collected up in front. Hodgins and Angela were on either side of me in the second row, which most certainly wasn't assisting with my nerves. I mean, if I need to run in a hurry (I'm not sure why I would need to, but I'm sure there's a possibility), I'd have to clumsily shove past someone. At the table behind mine (which marked the end of the prosecution), Maggie Schilling's parents were trying to keep their composure in the federal court, with Zach sitting to the side of the table, unsure how to talk to them. What, you didn't really think that Hodgins would let Zach stay out of the drama, did you?
On the defendants' side, Mary and Scott Costello were sitting with Meredith, their lawyer. While Mary was confrontationally holding staring contests with everyone she could, Scott was talking in low, hushed tones with Meredith, like they were solidifying their story. Behind them, Michael Styres had his own table. While the judge introduced the case, several things happened. For one, Michael sent Brennan and winning smile, which she hesitantly returned. Mary locked eyes with me and smirked, looking back up to the judge in front. And my stomach began to knot up again.
The prosecution opened the argument, which, if you think about it, makes a lot of sense. I mean, what are the defendants defending themselves against if they haven't been accused yet?
"We will show that Mary Costello lured Maggie Schilling into her home with the promise of drugs."
After the summary of the accusation, Meredith took up his own clients' case. To his credit, he had a presence in the court room, probably due to his obvious confidence.
"She was not held against her will. She was, in fact, orchestrating the plot to extort money from her own parents, from whom she was estranged."
"They bound her for weeks, the pain growing. And to keep her quiet, the pumped her full of drugs."
"Her death was the result of a self-administered overdose."
"After killing their captive and ruining their chances of collecting a ransom, the Costellos stuff Miss Schilling's body into the refrigerator."
When this was said, I heard a choked cry from behind me. Twisting in my seat, I offered Maggie's mother a consolatory smile. Of course, I couldn't talk in court without reprimand unless I was testifying, but even if it was allowed, I don't know what I would have said. I'm sorry, this must be so hard for you? Don't worry, we have forensics backing us up, so keep enthusiastic?
"Knowing they could be accused of kidnapping and murder, my clients panicked and disposed of her body." Insert people-pleasing, meek shrug and a slight raise of the hands here. "While their behavior might be ill-advised, they are neither kidnappers, nor murderers."
By the time Meredith and Levitt were done knocking the proverbial verbal tennis ball between the courts, court had been in session for almost an hour already. As Booth was called up to the stand, indicating the beginning of the expert testimonies, my intestines began to knot up again. Not a good feeling.
I spared a look at the jury, trying to gauge their reaction to the socially-apt FBI agent on the stand. Unfortunately, Deaver had been right. I got the distinct impression that at least two women weren't really listening to what he was saying, because they looked a bit like they were in la la land. I shook my head, annoyed, and looked back to Booth.
What? I might need to know what he says during my own cross-examination!
"Pharmaceutical samples of hydromorphone were found in the Costellos' belongings." Booth spoke with an admirable calmness, although he's probably testified several times before. He seemed totally comfortable up on the stand, going so far as to sit at an angle and lean against the side of the judge's podium with his forearm resting on the stand in front of him. "The lot numbers match those that were in Dr. Barragan's office."
I looked over at Mary again. She had her eyes trained on Booth although she didn't seem concerned.
"When I went to the Costellos' kitchen, my former ward pointed out to me the marks from the old refrigerator on the floor." I felt eyes on the back of my neck for a moment, but didn't turn around, instead wondering slightly on his choice of words. Former ward? I suppose it's the best way to describe our relationship clinically. I'm not his colleague, coworker, or even intern. If it hadn't been for my work for the FBI while I was his ward, I wouldn't be allowed to be working cases now.
Booth looked down at the podium front and got deeply into the character of an emotionally-shaken, honest man. "It was like… these marks, they screamed at me, "These people… they did it.""
Meredith raised his hand. "Objection!"
"Sustained," the judge ruled. "Just the facts, Agent Booth," she reminded. I like this female judge much more than I liked the one in charge of Epps's death row sentence.
"I'm sorry," Booth said, although he really didn't look very apologetic. "It's just that the receipt for the new refrigerator was dated two days after the negotiations broke off with the kidnappers." Booth shrugged slightly. "I mean, you figure it out."
Meredith started to rise to his feet, probably to make another objection.
"I know," Booth sighed before the lawyer could. "I'm sorry."
I looked up at the judge to the side of me, waiting to be questioned by Meredith in the most patient way I possibly could. My throat felt slightly dry, but I passed it off as nerves.
The way Meredith paced from side to side in front of me was quickly becoming annoying. "Is there any evidence that Maggie Schilling wasn't a willing participant in sexual activity involving those cuffs and other paraphernalia?"
"Well," I started off slowly. "I know that some people think dominance and submissiveness is entertaining, but usually people don't struggle hard enough to cause bone damage if the reason they're tied up is for recreational purposes. Also, ending up in the fridge sort of tells me that she probably wasn't too interested," I added as a second thought, cocking my head at the lawyer and nodding in emphasis.
The jury laughed at what I'd said, although I really hadn't meant to be amusing.
"Your honor?" Meredith implored, looking up to the judge.
I sighed, rolling my eyes. "No direct evidence," I called, giving Meredith a dirty look. You say one thing that doesn't sound empirical and he goes whining to the woman in charge.
"Is there any evidence that my clients forced Miss Schilling to take that narcotic?" Meredith asked.
The tense bubble in my stomach was unclenching the longer I was up here. It didn't seem to be nearly as bad as I'd anticipated, mostly because the questions were pretty simple and no one really wants to stare at a seventeen year old testifying in a federal homicide case.
I locked eyes with Brennan and replied to the question steadily. "I will defer the judgment of those answers to those more qualified to comment." Booth gave me a subtle thumbs-up sign.
Hodgins' testimony was short and to the point. "Sciarids, also known as dark-winged fungus knats, went through several life cycles," he explained, enthused by his own love for entomology. "Also present were acaridae and anoetidae, but the most interesting find was not a bug at all, but was common bread mold." Hodgins took a minute to grin before he realized that next to no one understood completely. "All this data led to the same conclusion: Maggie Schilling was in that refrigerator between ten and twelve months."
"Even though we already had medical records and dental records from which to identify Maggie Schilling, I was also asked to do a sketch based on the architecture of her skull." Angela paused for a moment before saying, "That's sort of what I do." I smiled very faintly. The mild crisis Angela had gone through when Charlie Sanders had been killed had been resolved by Goodman before it had become a larger problem, but it was still good to see that she recognized that her job wasn't inhumane.
Angela looked down to the large sketchbook in her hands. It was big enough to clearly see, given your vision was okay and you had glasses or contacts if needed. While not awkward to carry around, it was the largest sketchpad I'd ever seen. She turned it around, holding it up to the side for the jury's benefit. "It turned out pretty accurate, if I do say so myself. She was a pretty girl… that's why I drew her smiling." I looked back behind me quickly at Maggie's parents. They seemed touched by Angela's sensitivity to their daughter, and it was in a good way, too.
"I'm really sorry for what happened to her, and I hope my work helps you," Angela said, turning the sketchbook around again so she could close it.
"The gelatinous puddle was decomposed tissue, from which our labs extracted and analyzed liver and kidney samples by mass spectrometer," Brennan explained. I was chewing on the inside of my cheek again; it's a bad habit, I know, but the key word there is habit, which is defined as something that you do without thinking. Although I had no trouble paying attention to and understanding her, the jury was having difficulty focusing on her because they didn't completely understand what she was saying. They don't have a doctorate in forensics like her, or an online and library education like I do. "The hydromorphone level in her liver was eight point four and six point six in her kidney. Death occurs at seven point seven and five point two respectively."
"And the reason they would be giving the victim this narcotic?" Levitt asked Brennan during her cross-examination.
I tried to catch the anthropologist's eye and I kept nodding towards the jury. Brennan gave me a questioning look at my behavior, but I sighed and gave up. I didn't know how to more plainly say "simple words" without actually speaking. "Short-term periosteal reaction on the right proximal lateral humorous was consistent with a bound individual."
I felt like groaning in frustration. Arm! Arm! Brennan, you're awesome, sweetie, but it wouldn't kill you to be imprecise just once! Just say "arm" instead of "right proximal lateral humorous" next time!
"So, to rephrase-" Levitt started, but Brennan interrupted him.
"And the placement of wrist restraints, coupled with her hyperparathyroidism, would account for the stress fractures on the distal anterior surface of both the radii and the ulni."
No. No. Don't do it. I know life's being particularly difficult now, but it is extremely unprofessional. Restrain yourself, Kirkland!
"Her bones broke because she was struggling to free herself," Levitt restated more simply, giving Brennan a weary look, trying to communicate with her to not interrupt and to speak in what she would probably liken to "child talk."
Brennan didn't get the memo. "Yeah. I believe I just said that."
I gave up trying. Oh, screw it. I let my head fall down to the table and my forehead connected with it with a thud. It hurt, but it was so necessary. Hodgins and Angela, on either side of me, jumped in surprise, but didn't say anything.
Levitt plastered a smile to his face. "Thank you, Dr. Brennan. That'll be all for now." He cleared his throat, dismissing Brennan from the stand. To the judge, he added, "I'd like to move for a recess with the right to recall the witness, your Honor."
The judge wasn't exactly cotton-candy and ice cream happy, but she agreed to it. "Okay. We'll meet back here in thirty minutes." She hit her gavel to make it official, dismissing court for the moment.
I rubbed my forehead, trailing a couple of paces behind Brennan and Booth. Sometimes I feel like a third wheel, which almost makes me wonder if they just have me around to intimidate their suspects. No, that's silly. There are people in the FBI that can do that just as well. And… probably much more legally. "It was well-reasoned," Brennan defended herself.
"Yeah, it was very scientific," Booth mumbled in agreement.
Fortunately for Booth, Brennan didn't have time to recognize his discouraged tone. Unfortunately for everyone else, that's because Deaver had come to confront us on our apparently epic failure of testimonies. The aloof jury consultant's whole outfit was blue; blue earrings, a blue button-down, and a blue pencil skirt, coupled with blue pumps. Well… that's a lot of blue.
"Oh, not the hell-consultant again," I muttered, sinking even further into self-pity.
"You didn't listen to a thing I said!" Deaver's tone suggested that she was taking this as the most serious possible offense to her. "Is anything you're wearing blue?" She demanded of me.
"Given that you look like a freaking Smurfette, you're probably not colorblind. Therefore, I think I'll let you figure that out on your own."
"See? You're rude, distant, and you speak like being nice would get you attacked!" I had to steel myself so I didn't flinch. Yeah, well, what the hell do you know?! Why don't you just go bother someone who won't be reminded of years of abuse when you act like your normal, bitchy self?! Deaver turned on Brennan angrily. "You were like Klaatu the robot up there. Would it have killed you to speak English?"
"I wore blue!" Brennan's voice pitched as she was taken aback by the brutal verbal lashing. "I looked at the jury!"
Booth leaned between Brennan and I and, over our shoulders, frowned at Deaver disapprovingly. "You know, for a people person, you're a little rude," he stated honestly.
"At what point did the facts stop working for you?" Brennan demanded.
"I have no problem with the facts, as long as the jury can understand them," Deaver shot back.
"Well, you're underestimating their intelligence!" Brennan accused.
Deaver leaned forward aggressively. "You're overestimating their ability to stay awake. When these S-and-M perverts walk, it'll be on your conscience."
I twitched. That's it. If one thing the foster system has taught me, it's how to give as bad as I get. "Why don't you just shut the hell up?" I snarled suddenly, taking an intimidating step forward. Deaver stepped back on instinct, surprised. Even when I'd yelled at her earlier, I'd kept myself somewhat in control, but now I was giving up on speaking loudly with my arms crossed. And when I get really angry, then I get really scary. The last time I'd gotten really angry was when I'd been played by Epps. But I didn't want to give him the satisfaction, so I didn't show it. The last time before that, I had gone a little crazy on Charlie Sanders' murderer and Shawn Cook's tormentor, and done some real damage to him.
"Excuse me?" Deaver squeaked.
I smirked, glad that her arrogance had finally fallen by the wayside. She's just like all of the other superficial idiot women I've dealt with; scare her a bit and she's not nearly as tough as she pretends to be. "I think you heard me perfectly. I'm done with you pushing people around, got it? You don't know anything about either of us. Just because you never had to deal with anything worse than being told "no" doesn't mean that the rest of the world doesn't have more serious things to worry about!
"You said that I was acting like being nice would get me attacked. How do you know it hasn't, sunshine? News flash: in middle school, I tried to help some girl's kid brother after he fell off of the swing set. Her boyfriend hit me for it. You want to know why Dr. Brennan doesn't speak with your vocabulary? It's because she doesn't need to. We use laymen's terms to simplify concepts for ourselves, but she's smarter than that. She can understand how the human body works when most people just take everything for granted, and she uses correct terms to properly explain how innocent people were murdered. I think it's you who can't understand her, not the jury, and you're taking out your own envy on us because we're what you pretend to be."
"Maybe you should leave," Booth quickly interrupted. Deaver nodded meekly and shrugged herself back together, eyes glued on me almost frightfully as she turned and rushed off down the hall, presumably to find Levitt again.
After she was out of earshot, I gave a large sigh of relief. "Oh, man. I needed that."
"What, to terrify a jury consultant?" Brennan asked, amused.
"No, to vent my frustrations on someone who deserves it so I don't feel guilty about it later." I crossed my arms and watched Deaver turn the corner of the hallway with a twinge of satisfaction. "She has no right to go at us just because she doesn't like us." Booth made a small noise in his throat and I turned to him, raising my eyebrows. "What? Don't tell me you actually agreed with her!"
"Well, not entirely," Booth said, wincing backwards like he thought I would punch him.
My lips pulled into a frown and Brennan looked insulted. "Not entirely. So that means partly. Well, I was perfectly clear! Didn't you think I was clear?" She asked, looking to me like Booth had kicked her dog.
"Crystal, in my opinion," I replied, and Brennan turned back to glare at Booth sharply. Oops. I hadn't meant to get her even angrier with him. "But Dr. Brennan, the jury – and their consultants, for that matter – haven't had the same experiences that we've had. We educated ourselves on forensics, and they chose to learn something different."
"Listen, Bones, I know you care about this case, but I think you should let them see that," Booth said, trying to regain his dignity from cowering away from a seventeen year old.
"So, I should perform?" Brennan translated, deadpanning him.
"Just a little bit, yeah," Booth nodded slightly. "I mean, do you see how I portrayed myself as a no-nonsense, tough guy cop?"
Brennan frowned slightly, not quite understanding. "You are a no-nonsense, tough guy cop."
"Exactly!" Booth beamed and poked Brennan's shoulder. "And I think that it wouldn't hurt if the jury saw who you really are."
This turned out to be the wrong thing to say. Brennan seemed like her feelings had been slightly hurt. "Well, I don't know who you think that is, Booth, because this is who I really am. Just this," she motioned to herself. Finally, giving Booth an irate glare, she whirled around and stormed off. Just before she turned around the corner, Michael stepped in front of her and Brennan stopped just short of running into him.
Booth groaned when the two started talking and the tension in Brennan's shoulders melted. "I really don't like it that they're getting along so well in these circumstances," I shared, annoyed at Michael more than I was Brennan.
"You and me both, kid," Booth grumbled, exasperated.
Michael's testimony started almost immediately after the court session began again. Although by no means do I like him, I have to grudgingly admit that he is slightly more personable than Brennan or I. His physicality gets the jury's attention; his speech gets their continued focus. He is confident and knows what he's doing, and tries not to leave any doubt as to who to believe.
"In my opinion, the high levels of hydromorphone are more consistent with recreational use than for pain relief," Michael shared with a slight smile. Dude, do you have any idea how stupid you look when you smile all the time?! This is a girl's murder that we're talking about! You seem like a psychotic! The "in my opinion" part seemed like a deliberate counter-attack to Brennan's decisive and factual testimony.
"Could you explain?" Meredith was patient with Michael, knowing that the reason he had to ask was to show off both the professor's intelligence and his nice communication skills.
"Well, I might not use all the technical language, but I'll try to make myself understood," Michael joked, chuckling.
The jury laughed, lightened already by Michael's presence at the stand. I clenched my fists and looked back to Michael. The bruise on his face was even more pronounced than yesterday, and it was quite satisfying to know that I'd been the cause of the mar on his skin. Levitt stood from his seat to object. "Objection. The witness is impugning another witness."
"Sustained. Continue."
Michael seemed flustered. "I'm sorry. I – uh – I don't do this professionally." Neither do I, but I didn't make jokes at the defense's expense. "People who need to relieve physical pain will stop after the pain disappears. It doesn't take more than an average dose to accomplish that. Drug users are trying to bury emotional pain, which means they'll medicate until they feel nothing."
I frowned, shaking my head very slightly. That actually wasn't true. Yes, the facts themselves were there, but you had to look at the facts of the case in context. Maggie was having drugs forced into her body because of the damage being done to her. She was in pain and kept crying out, but sometimes chronic, intense conditions become unresponsive to medication after a period of time. Hyperparathyroidism, Maggie's disease, is one such condition.
"This is why they have a tendency to overdose, like Maggie Schilling," Michael finished.
Brennan leaned closer toward Levitt to whisper, "That's not accurate. Sometimes intense chronic pain does not respond to medication."
"I'll bring it up in cross-examination," the lawyer quietly promised.
"What about Dr. Brennan's claim that her pain was somehow connected to the victim being bound for a length of time?" Meredith questioned. Well, I have to hand it to him; he covers all his bases.
"Well, the Costellos have already stipulated to the fact that they bound Miss Schilling as part of their rather unorthodox sexual life, and Dr. Brennan agrees that Miss Schilling had hyperpara-" Michael cut himself off, blinking as though the big, scientific word had blitz attacked him. Well, maybe. I can't give up hope, I thought to myself dryly. "Well, if I can simplify, a thyroid condition that could weaken her bones. There's no need to look for bondage scenarios."
"This is ridiculous," Brennan told Booth, affronted by Michael's disregard for contextualization. "He's ignoring all the facts!"
Michael wasn't done. "With respect to my former student, Dr. Brennan-" He nodded to her briefly. "-With findings like these, I don't know why she became a forensic anthropologist. She seems to have ignored all but her preconceived notions about the case."
Brennan flinched back like she'd been hit and I suddenly found myself pinching my nails into the palms of my hands to keep from going and giving Michael another bruise. Now it's not so much that he's hurting a friend's emotions, but it's also that he's being arrogant and tearing down not only her case, but also her reputation in a court of federal law.
"Objection," Levitt called from his seat.
"Sustained," the judge quickly ruled.
"I apologize." Michael bowed his head in a gesture of apology.
"Do you disagree with Dr. Brennan's data?" Meredith asked him, continuing the examination.
Michael shrugged, not saying yes, but not saying no, either. "Well, sometimes doctors can use data to confuse a very simple situation. I mean, I'm a doctor, but I could barely follow her!" While some of the jury laughed, my glare just intensified. Happy thoughts, Holly! "This case is about people, not incomprehensible technical jargon. I don't think that these people should be convicted of murder just because Dr. Brennan sounds smart."
"Yeah, well, I don't think murderers should be allowed to walk free because you're seducing half of the jurors, you manipulative, disloyal loser," I muttered under my breath. A smile flittered briefly over Angela's face before she focused on the trial again, and Hodgins sent me a slightly amused grin from my other side.
"Your honor, really!" Levitt objected, disgruntled.
"The jury will disregard Professor Styres's personal view of Dr. Brennan. Court will adjourn until nine a.m. tomorrow," the judge ordered, banging her gavel to release the jurors and witnesses.
"He wasn't acting as an objective expert," Brennan whispered furiously as I hung back to let Brennan and Booth (and unfortunately Levitt and Deaver) catch up with me on my way out the doors. "He was making up a story!"
"The judge chastised him in front of the jury," I reminded her, trying to be helpful. "That might work for us. His lack of professionalism makes him seem inadequate as an expert witness."
"The hell it will," Deaver mumbled. "The jury loved Styres! He looked like a regular guy who's not allowed to speak the truth because the stupid rules get in the way."
"The rules of jurisprudence aren't stupid," Brennan disagreed.
Deaver rolled her eyes. "Dr. Brennan, you need to learn the difference between reality and perception. A trial is all about perception."
I glared at the woman like I could set her on fire telekinetically if I tried hard enough. "Have you already forgotten that conversation we had earlier?" I asked, a warning clear in my voice. "I am more than willing to refresh your memory."
Deaver looked startled, but she looked back to the floor and sped up until she had passed us by. I smiled, happy, and crossed my arms. Brennan's fists were clenched tightly as she looked to Levitt almost desperately. "Put me back on the stand! I can rebut everything that Michael said!"
"She can do this," I agreed, trying to help her persuade the lawyer. "Michael is not acting objectively. Dr. Brennan can come across as empirical but she does feel, and she can drive the point across. Anything that Michael says based on any evidence strong enough for conviction, I guarantee Dr. Brennan can refute it!"
Levitt sighed. I could tell that he wasn't going to make a decision before he gave himself time to weight his options. On one hand, the jurors weren't too taken with Brennan, and Michael connected with them much more easily. But on the other hand, Brennan was the better scientist, and someone less experienced than those on the jury had been able to see that. Booth and I have both vouched for her several times and by the jury's reaction to us, we hadn't alienated them, either. "I'll think about it," he finally said, before shaking his head to himself and walking down the hall.
"I've never been in this position before," Brennan growled in frustration. "I need to get back up there!"
"Alright," Booth agreed quickly, nodding to show he really did agree and wasn't just saying it to shut her up. "Just let me talk to him."
"You shouldn't worry so much, Dr. Brennan. Increasing stress levels can cause excessive anxiety, which can manifest as physical ailments."
Brennan was curled up on one end of the couch in her office, her feet tucked under her. Her black shoes were sitting in front of the couch, waiting for when she got up to do something and needed them again. Upon giving me a ride back to the Jeffersonian, she had ditched the professional and uncomfortable court outfit in favor of a dark colored blouse to wear while she reread her notes almost frantically.
Of course, I hadn't known this beforehand. I'd been getting my messenger bag back from Angela's office and preparing to leave the Jeffersonian to go back to my flat for the night. I figured since I was getting excused from my job, I might as well take the opportunity to get extra sleep. Then Goodman had found me and asked if I knew where Brennan was. Assisting him in his search for the anthropologist, we'd ended up in her office.
Now I raised my eyebrows. Her normally cool exterior was determined and anxious and her shoulders were tense. Just like I'd told Levitt, Brennan really does care, but she compartmentalizes. I understand that. She solves murders and spends her work hours with dead bodies. If you didn't compartmentalize, you'd go insane with a job like that. Brennan just compartmentalizes extremely well, and she would stretch herself thin to keep another person from being murdered by the Costellos.
"Trial going badly?" Goodman presumed, stepping into the office further. Brennan looked up, surprised, and frowning slightly. "You don't usually cram at the last minute."
Brennan groaned, throwing the papers she'd been holding against the couch cushion next to her. "The jury likes Michael better than they like me. Apparently, that's a problem." She looked between Goodman and I, frustrated. "Are they stupid?"
Making himself comfortable, Goodman settled into the chair across from her. "Compared to you, yes, they are stupid."
I leaned over the back of the couch, looking at Brennan sympathetically. It's not her fault that she can't empathize with a jury when she only cares about convicting murderers. The jury, not completely understanding the sciences involved, defer to deportment and an ability to relate to judge the people on the stand. "Dr. Brennan, you are the best anthropologist in the world. You transition between French and English quickly enough to fluently work for two different organizations in two different countries, and at the same time you work federal murder cases, while being a New York Times bestselling authoress." I laughed slightly. "I think that, compared to you, everyone's a little stupid."
"You have many skills, Temperance," Goodman agreed amiably. "But not one of them includes communicating with the average person on the street, which is exactly what juries are made of."
I shot Goodman a confused look. Dude, we're trying to boost her morale, not tell her that she can't get through to the jurors!
"I'm a better forensic anthropologist than Michael Styres," Brennan exclaimed, scowling down at the notes from her case.
"Which is why, two years ago, I hired you instead of him." Goodman replied without pause.
Brennan, however, was shocked. "Michael applied for this job?" Clearly, she hadn't known. I motioned towards Goodman for him to continue. Go on. You've got an audience.
"Yes."
"His credentials are better than mine," Brennan said softly, still unsure as to why she had been hired over her former professor.
"Yes," Goodman agreed, and leaned forward towards her. "But you are the more rational, reasoned, empirical scientist. And you care. And if he tries to convince you otherwise, tell him to go to hell." He finished, completely serious.
I hummed to myself anxiously, sitting on a bench outside the courtroom. Brennan was standing up beside me, reviewing her notes a final time before the trial restarted. Today would be the day that the judge ruled guilty or not guilty, and the Costellos might beg guilty and cop a plea bargain if they thought we had much of an edge to us.
"You're doing it again," Brennan said suddenly. I looked up, surprised. She didn't look from her papers, trying not to break her focus. She wasn't irritated, just making an observation. "You hum sometimes. I think it's because you're nervous."
I blinked. "I didn't realize it was that obvious," I mumbled.
"Is it safe to approach, Miss Kirkland?" I looked up again. Michael was standing with his hands in the air, like he was surrendering.
I had the feeling he would approach no matter what I said. "Go on ahead. If you start being stupid again, then you just might have another bruise."
"I'll keep that in mind," Michael said, rolling his eyes, annoyed. "The great women have spoken."
"Don't charm, Michael," Brennan ordered. She closed her case file and held it at her side so that Michael couldn't see her notes again. I was still kind of guilty that I'd had to ruin her relationship for her, but I know that it's better that I did now instead of letting Brennan be stunned at the beginning of court.
Michael let his hands fall to his sides and pretended I wasn't there. Leaning over Brennan's shoulder, he moved his hands to her sides. "I think you're taking this too personally," he said casually.
"You think I should be more rational?" Brennan asked.
"Yes."
"Go to hell," Brennan replied, pulling away from him. I smiled. That's my girl!
"Only a prolonged struggle, not sexual activity, would cause the tearing on the medial head of the gastrocnemius muscle on the distal portion of the bone and-"
"So, in lay terms?" Levitt interrupted Brennan, giving her a look. He sent a sideways glance up at the judge, trying to survey her reaction. On either side of me, Angela sighed and Hodgins shook his head to himself. Levitt had decided that it was worth putting Brennan back on the stand, and now she can't remember to speak in non-anthropological terms.
Brennan paused, stopping short in her speech, then said, "The muscle avulsed."
Levitt turned back to the jury. "She pulled a muscle," he restated.
"Because she was immobilized," Brennan added quickly.
"Tied up," Levitt corrected.
"Yes," Brennan nodded again before continuing with her testimony, trying to make the jury understand that Michael hadn't been thinking of all of the facts as a whole. "These conditions have to be contextualized. The inflammation to…"
I saw Levitt and Booth look at each other. Levitt seemed questioning and Booth gave the slightest nod. I frowned slightly. What's up with those two?
"Dr. Brennan, why did you become a forensic anthropologist?" Levitt interrupted sharply.
Brennan stopped in the middle of her sentence, blinking several times in confusion. "I beg your pardon?"
Levitt raised his hands in front of him, absentmindedly rubbing his palms together. "There must be some reason you chose this field out of the hundreds of other careers someone of your intelligence could have chosen. Was there some… emotional reason, perhaps?"
Meredith rose to his feet and raised his arm. "Objection! Relevance, your Honor?"
Brennan's slight smile (directed to the jurors) faded slightly. "I don't see how this pertains to the case," she told the judge.
"Dr. Brennan is cold, distant, and alienating, your Honor." Levitt stated to the judge, sounding completely matter-of-fact.
"Hey!" Brennan protested, her voice slightly squeaking as she took offense.
"I need the jury to understand why she's so cold, so that they might be willing to accept her testimony," Levitt explained, sounding completely rational. And how do you propose on doing that? You don't know anything about her! But Booth gave you some sort of cue, so – oh, no. Booth!
Meredith snorted derisively. "Her personality issues are not relevant to this case."
"They opened up this line of questioning, your Honor!" Levitt objected, pointing at Meredith with one hand. "When Dr. Styres was on the stand, he wondered why Dr. Brennan became a forensic anthropologist, so the defense must have thought it had some relevance then."
The judge looked regretfully at Meredith. "Sorry, Mr. Meredith. You did raise the issue." Authoritatively, she hit her gavel. "Overruled." She nodded at Levitt. "You may continue, Mr. Levitt."
Levitt nodded at the judge in respectful gratitude. He took a deep breath to keep his composure and inclined his chin slightly before starting, like he knew that if something went wrong, then this entire plan would crash and burn. Booth, what did you do? "Dr. Brennan, your parents disappeared when you were fifteen, and no one's ever found out what happened to them. Isn't that correct?"
My hands clenched the edge of the table tightly. He didn't. Why would he do that? Booth must have told Levitt about Brennan's family history. I only knew about it from when I'd heard Booth and Cullen conversing during the Cleo Eller case. I hadn't brought it up with Brennan simply because she hadn't told me, so I didn't have a right to talk about it. She lost her parents when she was fifteen. Although I'm not fond of the family I used to have, before they (my foster parents and brother) had gone and abandoned me, hadn't abused me like the other families. They had tried to understand and tried to make me part of their family, but it didn't work out, I guess. During the Christmas season, less than five months ago, the foster parents had driven away and the brother had enlisted for the army without even telling me! Luckily for me, he was over the legal age and had given me the amount of cash I needed, along with the papers, to fake having parental consent to live on my own and pay rent until I got the job at the bar.
Brennan made the connection to Booth, too. Looking as though someone had hit her, she looked to Booth and gave him an expression that suggested she thought she'd been betrayed. Although I understood why Booth had done what he did, as an attempt to make the jury appreciate her and listen to her more, I was still furious that he'd done something like that without Brennan's consent. It's just not right.
The judge herself looked intrigued and I wanted to scream. "Please. Answer the question, Dr. Brennan." No! Not you, too! I felt like shouting. I wanted to stand up and march to the stand, then drag Brennan out of there so that she didn't have to talk about something like that. It hurt me and I had tried not to develop a sense of attachment for the kinder family that I'd lost, so who knew how much it hurt Brennan?
Brennan took a deep breath and visibly steeled herself. "That's correct."
"It must be very painful," Levitt prodded. "Is it fair to say that you've been trying to solve the mystery of their loss your whole life?"
"Xena," Hodgins whispered softly. He was looking down at me in concern. "You alright? You look like you're trying to break the table."
I spared a quick look at my hands and could see why he thought that. My fingers were turning white because I was squeezing the edge of the table so tightly, and I let out a long breath I hadn't known I'd been holding. It does explain why I was starting to get a bit dizzy. "I'm fine," I said listlessly, forcing myself to let go of the table. I flexed my fingers as feeling returned with the circulation and looked back to Brennan, ignoring the concerned look Hodgins gave me for another second. They don't know, I thought to myself. Booth knows I live on my own, and he knows my parents are missing, but no one else knows. And even Booth doesn't know that it still hurts sometimes. It's why I don't really want to trust any of them… I started to trust and they left me.
Brennan leveled a disgruntled look at Levitt. "Do I want answers? Yes! As to how that has affected my behavior, which I assume is what you're trolling for, I don't put much stock in psychology."
"Is that why you wrap yourself up in techno-speak? So you don't have to feel how these victims remind you of your own parents?" Damn it, Levitt, why don't you just let it go already?!
"How I feel doesn't matter," Brennan insisted strongly. I admired how her voice didn't even shake. "My job doesn't depend on it."
"But it's informed by it," Levitt countered the anthropologist's defense. "Or are you as cold and unfeeling as you seem?"
This isn't fair. It was clear to me just by looking that Brennan didn't quite know how to answer. The entire room seemed to still and the silence said enough. But no pressure, Dr. Brennan, I thought to myself, glaring at the lawyer. It was one thing for Booth to have told him about it; it was another for the lawyer to take it this far. Doesn't he know anything?! This trial isn't about us! It's about arresting murderers for the death of a girl named Maggie Schilling!
Brennan took a deep breath and started off uncertainly. "I see a face on every skull. I can look at their bones and tell you how they walked, where they hurt. Maggie Schilling is real to me. The pain she suffered was real. Her hip was being eaten away by infection from lying on her side." Brennan paused and blinked and I had the distinct feeling that the emotions were trying to get the best of her, too. She held out a hand to gesture to Michael briefly before pulling her arms back to her almost protectively. "Sure, like Dr. Styres said, the disease could contribute to that if you take it out of context, but you can't break Maggie Schilling down into little pieces.
"She was a whole person, who fought to free herself. Her wrists were broken from struggling against the handcuffs. The bones in her ankles were ground together because her feet were tied. And her side, her hip, and her shoulder were being eaten away by infection."
Someone choked behind me. I didn't have to look to know that it was Maggie's mother, and the soft rustling was from her father's shirt as he moved to comfort his wife.
Brennan's voice was getting a note higher and she had to stop talking for a couple of seconds while she talked. The emotions (anger, sadness, and frustration) were beginning to affect her speech, but that wasn't bad. It was exactly what Levitt had been going for. The only good thing brought because of this was the jury's reaction. They seemed sympathetic and I think the blonde woman on the far left is actually crying.
"And the more she struggled, the more pain she was in. So they gave her those drugs to keep her quiet. They gave her so much it killed her. These facts can't be ignored, or dismissed, because you think I'm…" Brennan looked to the side for a moment and laughed dryly. There was no humor in her voice. "Boring, or obnoxious, because I don't matter. What I feel doesn't matter! Only she matters. Only Maggie."
Brennan locked eyes with Michael. After holding her gaze for a few seconds, Michael looked down, having the decency to look a little bit shameful.
During our lunch hour, Brennan rushed out of the courtroom like the hounds of hell were after her. I ditched Angela and Hodgins (in the nicest way possible) and ran after her, pushing through the throng of the jurors as they were leaving to the courtroom's little luncheon area.
I caught up to her as she rushed out the doors of the courthouse. The court actually has a very nice picnic area across the street, with a small playground in the same area. The playground was deserted and so were the picnic benches. I trailed after her as she rushed down the steps. That she didn't even pause to say something to me told her that she was still terribly upset about the turn of events that Levitt had forced her to endure.
But she didn't tell me to go away, so I followed her across the street and under the shade of the picnic structure. She threw herself onto a bench and rested her elbows on the wood of the table, covering her face in her hands. I didn't wait before sitting across from her, patiently waiting for her to regain her composure and gain her bearings again.
When her shoulders weren't trembling anymore I spoke up, although I started off on a happier note. "On my way out, I heard the Costellos talking to Meredith. I think they're trying to cop a plea to be charged with a crime that won't warrant the death penalty, so they know that they're going down. Your testimony really did it for them. You shot down Michael, and even he knew it. The jury was really affected by it; I have no doubts the Costellos will be found guilty. That's a win for the Jeffersonian."
"Great." Brennan seemed spent and her voice was tense, full of pent up aggression that she didn't want to exact on me.
I paused, looking down to the table. "I know you probably want to be alone, but I thought it would help if you knew that someone else understands how you must have felt on that stand. I mean, Levitt just kept pushing, and I've never been in a court session for murder, but even I know that if someone had objected for relevance near the end, then it wouldn't have been overruled. You shouldn't have had to answer to what he asked you. That was wrong."
I sighed when she didn't reply. "I guess I'm stalling. What I really wanted to tell you was that I really do understand. I understand it was wrong and stressful, but that's not what I mean. The last foster family I was in – the one I'm still registered in – I haven't seen any of them since the last Christmas season." I waited to see if she would ask me about it, about if I was happy because I was safe from them, but it didn't come. I guess Booth must have honored my wishes for it to be a secret. He didn't tell. "I was never really part of their family, but to their credit, they did try. They did their best to include me and they provided me with the necessities. But one day, the parents just drove off. They said they'd go to the store but they didn't return.
"After the necessary forty-eight hours, the foster brother filed a missing persons' report. The police didn't look into it for very long, and that's when I was left alone again. The brother enlisted in the army… I only found out because he left the acceptance letter out in the open." I scoffed. "He didn't even have the decency to tell me himself. I wasn't as close to them as you must have been with your parents, so I know it's not at all the same thing, but I do understand sort of." I paused. "Probably better than anyone else that had been in there."
Brennan looked up. Her eyes were dry but her cheeks were flushed and I felt even sorrier. She really didn't deserve to have to deal with what had happened. "I don't understand why you're telling me."
"Because I sympathize," I answered with a shrug. "And with something like that, you should know that you're not really that alone." I'm such a hypocrite. I never try to reach out to anyone else, and here I am, telling Brennan that it's okay.
"Thank you," Brennan said sincerely. Although it was a simple phrase, it conveyed all it needed to.
"Guilty on all counts," Angela sang as she leaned in the doorway of Brennan's office. Brennan looked up from her phone and I stopped, now unable to get out the door. I'd just been telling Brennan that it had been a pleasure to work with her again and that I was leaving.
"Yep," I agreed, happy with the sentencing.
Angela craned her neck to see the screen of the doctor's phone. "So he owes you another dinner, huh?"
"No," Brennan sighed, closing whatever screen had been open and setting her phone down on the table in front of her. "I won't be seeing him anymore."
Angela looked down, embarrassed. "Sorry."
"I was foolish to be so open with him," Brennan said, shaking her head as she berated herself. "It was irrational. … You know how you get when you're tired."
"Yeah," Angela agreed, nodding quickly. She hesitated for a minute before offering, "Do you want to go out? Grab a drink? Or a non-alcoholic beverage?" She added, extending the offer to me.
Brennan shrugged heavily. "I think I just want to work."
I stepped forward and smiled up at Angela. "I should be getting to the bar and doing some work to make up for the past three days. It really was great to meet you." How fitting, that the last time I see them (for all I know; logic says it is, experience says it just might not be) we close a case formally in a court of law.