My world mostly consisted of lying stretched out like a giant cat on the right side of the pull-out couch, cuddled by a blanket that had somehow managed to get itself over my head while I slept.
It was kind of nice, until I heard a car engine outside. I laid there dormant like a sunbathing tiger for a long time until I finally deemed it necessary to get up when the engine grew louder and then cut as someone parked outside. Reluctantly I pushed the blankets off from over my head with my right hand and tried to sit up. My body felt loose and relaxed, probably because I wasn't sleeping on a couch (well, technically I was, but it was an actual mattress), and I just didn't want to get up.
But a car door opened loudly and closed even more so. In my mind I tried to determine who it could be – Kirk and Dhani would be nice, no matter how unlikely it was. No, it was far more likely sheriff Ben No-One-Mentioned-His-Last-Name or Booth, who had sort of confirmed that he would go down to the airport and catch the flights.
Either Angela had been awake or the car had woken her up. Her door opened and she walked out, wearing shorts and a tank top with her hair down, tangled from the pillows and not yet brushed, and she covered her mouth with her hand as she yawned. With no sense of urgency, she wandered past the couch and towards the door, her eyes going down to check on Brennan before looking back up to watch where she was going.
"Good morning," I managed to get out before I stretched my jaw in a yawn, sending a mock glare at Angela's back for passing it on.
Angela made an incoherent grumbling sound and raised her hand in acknowledgment like a wave.
I was used to operating on little sleep, so I was waking up pretty fast compared to the artist. I threw my legs over the edge of the couch, pleased to note that I felt no strain or discomfort with natural movement, and rose from the bed. I had taken my sling off the night before, so I could reach both arms above my head and sigh while walking around the foot of the bed.
I sort of wondered if Brennan would wake up on her own or if we would have to wake her up, and on that note, whether or not she'd appreciate being allowed to sleep in, but even though the blanket was up to her throat, she was lying on her side with her fringe in her face quite contently.
I just kind of shrugged and decided to leave Angela to make that decision. Angela knew her better and I'm a minor. I can't be held responsible for adults, anyway – the decisions I make to protect them are another matter entirely.
Angela stopped in front of the doors, rubbed her eyes, and then looked through the glass again dully before deciding she was seeing something real and she opened the door.
"Hey," Booth chuckled at her disheveled appearance. It was weird to see him out of the suit he wore when he was working – the only time I'd seen him and it wasn't work-related was when Kenton tried to kill us, and then we were in the hospital. Maybe it was too hot or he hadn't officially taken FBI jurisdiction, but either way, he wore a white tank top, a beige jacket, and brown cargo pants.
"Hey." The sight of Booth seemed to be what Angela needed to get her brain working right, because she suddenly became coherent and ambulatory, holding out her arms for a quick hug.
Booth came bearing gifts; a big cardboard box of doughnuts and four cups of coffee in a cardboard cup holder balanced on top of the doughnuts. Well, I guess that's breakfast. He walked past Angela at first, targeting the table, and set the doughnuts and coffee on top of the kitchen island before turning around and letting Angela finally hug him hello. "You know, people in the desert don't have actual addresses. What's up with that?"
The door shut with more noise than I had thought it would and Brennan stirred, rolling over onto her back. The sheet fell down to her arms and she blinked several times before gathering the energy to sit up and cross her legs, sheet covering her lap. "Booth, you made it," she said tiredly, rubbing her forehead.
"Yeah, I'm touring the hottest places in the universe," he returned sarcastically, shrugging the backpack strap down his arm to grab it in his hand before it fell. "Next stop-" he paused to toss his backpack onto the bed next to Brennan where I used to be sleeping.
"Hell?" I finished with a grin, combing my fingers through my hair and pushing it back behind my shoulders.
Brennan eyed the backpack suspiciously. For a moment I kind of hoped that she would kick it off of the bed and onto the ground, for comedy relief if nothing else. Unfortunately, no such thing happened. "I'm not really awake yet," she said slowly, keeping her eyes on it as though it might attack.
"Mini!" My turn for a greeting, then. Booth grinned and held out his arms. I guess 'junior agent-squint' and 'kid' both got boring, because I don't think I've heard 'mini' before. In itself, it's kind of funny – I'm by no means miniature. I'm tall and I can be intimidating. Maybe if I were younger it would be more fitting – miniature human and miniature Booth, but not so much now.
"Not gonna happen," I said flatly, noting that he was still waiting for a hug. I would have felt bad, but I accepted a while ago that I don't need to go out of my comfort zone for them. Booth and I are on strained ground, but I'm not going to force myself to psychologically heal just because he wants a hug. Sorry if that's harsh, but that's the way it is.
Booth shrugged. I don't think he really expected me to hug him to begin with. His hands fell, clapping together in front of his stomach. "Last night, before I left, I used my FBI powers to force the sheriff to send the skull back to the Jeffersonian. Talked to him this morning… you know, he seems a little resentful." He winced but shrugged and clearly expected me to respond.
"You went federal!" I cheered, clapping my hands very lightly. The sentiment behind it was the point, not the actual motion. "Thanks. You know, I think he'll get over it. He's pretty eager to find Dhani and Kirk, too."
Brennan looked longingly at both her silver watch and the coffee and doughnuts on the kitchen island. "What time is it?" She asked, slowly stretching her legs and throwing her feet over the side of the fold-out.
"Ten, give or take," Booth answered quickly, picking up Brennan's watch and pulling a coffee cup from the four-piece holder. He carried them both over to her helpfully and gave her the watch. Brennan turned it over so the face was down and pressed it on her knee, her wrist over it, to strap it on. Booth set the coffee cup onto the coffee table that we'd pulled out of the way the night before. "Let's go, drink that on the way."
"On the way where?" Brennan narrowed her eyes at the watch like it had somehow offended her by refusing to go on without a fight.
"You know." Booth mimed by moving his arms back and forth exaggeratedly. "To go check out the model, guide… whatever's place."
"Dhani," Angela corrected Booth, her eyes going downcast again. "Can I come with you?" She asked. Her words were hopeful but… she didn't sound like her heart was really in it. Maybe she just doesn't want to invade on her friend's privacy.
Booth didn't even pause to consider the question, which told me he had probably anticipated it beforehand. "No, no, we can ask tougher questions if you're not there." I knew what it sounded like and I knew that Angela understood it wasn't meant to be cruel, but it still sounded rather harsh to me and it took effort to keep myself from being offended on Angela's behalf, especially because I've nearly been in this situation myself.
People Angela cares for are missing, maybe dead, making the entire case a conflict of interest. What she learns she may not like, and instead of fitting scenarios to facts, she may unintentionally begin doing the opposite. When people have vested personal interests in cases, they aren't supposed to be involved in the investigations, lest they screw up the chain of command or accidentally sabotage their own case. Creating a conflict of interest was the entire reason that Brennan, Booth, and I were all nearly murdered by Kenton, who hadn't wanted to be convicted for murder.
Brennan got her watch on at last and she looked first at Booth's bag, then longingly through the open door to Angela's bedroom where we'd parked our own luggage. "Wait outside while we get dressed," she told Booth, waving dismissively towards the screen door at the front.
I didn't expect for Booth to flat-out refuse. "No," he said bluntly, shaking his head decisively. "Uh-uh. The sun's been up for hours out there. It's already the surface of Mercury."
"Put on sunblock," I grumbled discontentedly. It was disappointing that my good mood had been forced by the circumstances to fade so quickly, especially given how well I'd slept.
"No," Booth repeated, continuing to shake his head. "Not happening. SPF Three Hundred isn't good enough to justify just standing out there in that." Maybe that was a bit strong, but I wasn't going to tell him that. "I can stand here, close my eyes, eat my doughnuts…" He caught onto the three of us glaring at him before he had dug himself into too deep of a hole. "Best I can do," he said resolutely, taking a step back and shrugging. "Okay?"
He demonstrated by raising his left hand to cover his eyes. I looked at Angela, then at Brennan, gauging how well they received this plan, and was somewhat pleased that I wasn't the only one opposed to it.
We ended up taking turns changing behind locked doors. Booth didn't seem to mind the distinct discomfort his pointedly masculine presence caused. If anything, he was oblivious to the irritated glares he received sporadically as he munched on his doughnuts.
Booth managed to get the FBI to rent him an SUV. It wasn't very fancy or anything, and it didn't have any sirens or police radios or anything of the like, but it did have air conditioning, which automatically made it my preferred mode of transport. I was almost glad I hadn't been in front, because if I had been, I would have kept my face in front of the vent until my lips started to chap.
If I said I'd never been in a desert before, it would be a lie; but it had been a long time ago, and I'd spent over a year in the Maryland climate, so I got more used to cooler temperatures and humidity than the New Mexican desert provided. I'd moved to D.C. with the last foster parents and Aaron a few months after I turned sixteen, and I've stayed there since. When I met Booth in February, I'd been living on my own for a little over two months. It's stunning how much has occurred since then, as it's only now only a couple more weeks to the summer months when school's out.
It has occurred to me that Parker's going to start kindergarten in the coming year. My brother. I'm still not sure how involved I want to be in his life, because I know that I don't want to cause any more of a rift between Booth and Rebecca. While Rebecca shouldn't blame Booth – I believe him when he says he didn't know my mother was pregnant – I'm aware that it may seem like too much for her to handle.
But with Rebecca aside, it's not like I'm dangerous to be around. I can be dangerous, but only when there's a threat that needs fending off. Just because I'm not very comfortable with most children doesn't mean that I'm clueless about how to take care of kids. In any case, I'm not responsible for Parker, his parents are. I'm not going to take over their roles, just adopt a new one if the circumstances allow. Even if we don't grow up close, he has the right to know his older sister.
Brennan was defensive of Angela on the car ride to a trailer the sheriff knew about. He gave vague directions, but Booth seemed to think he knew where he was going, so I didn't think too hard on it. I was sure the car had some sort of GPS, and if it didn't, then their phones would. Both adults tried to get me to engage in the conversation – Brennan wanted support for her argument, and Booth was surprised when I didn't take the anthropologist's side. He tried to get a rise out of me by saying I missed him and starting that argument again, but he didn't seem very playful so I think he was just doing it now to see if I was okay.
I sent him a look that was probably more annoyed than I meant to be and appeased them both by assuring Booth I had called for Angela's sake and reminded Brennan that, rationally, Angela had a conflict of interest, and made sure to specify that it meant nothing against the artist. It was just a fact.
Of course, I was really picking at the Velcro of the cast on my wrist and deliberately tuning them out. For the first day going without my sling, I thought my healing had pretty good timing, since wearing a heavy strap around my neck in this weather wouldn't be pleasant. I appreciate they pay attention to know my tells, but it's irritating that I can't relax myself by minding my own business and quietly humming without them knowing I'm agitated about something.
I should be allowed to think about my family without having to spill my guts about it, too. I'm my own therapist. I spent weeks trying to solve everything at once, and in the process I made myself more prone to anxiety attacks, which makes working all the more dangerous. It's best for my health if I sort through only a couple things at a time. The Jeffersonian is running the paternity test, and I'm trying to focus on maintaining the healthy relationships I already had. Considering the additional stress of this most recent murder being close to home, I think I deserve some quiet time to not have to help the two adults go back and forth. If they can shoot people, they can argue by themselves.
"What tougher questions can we ask without Angela being here?" Brennan asked petulantly, reluctant to let the subject go even as we all got out of the SUV. Booth had parked to the side of a dull yellow old Humvee, a big-tired desert ride. I was working more on autopilot, shutting my door with my uninjured arm and walking around to the right side, where the trailer was.
Whereas I walked around the back, Booth went around the hood of the car. "Well, you know. Things like, did her boyfriend run off with the model, guide… whatever." He had clearly seen the pictures of Dhani posing in the desert, otherwise I don't know where he'd have gotten the idea that she was a model. She was certainly pretty enough to be.
"Angela and I discussed this," Brennan stated, crossing her arms despite the heat. Her hair was tied up in a high ponytail, the end just brushing the top of her neck. "She said it couldn't happen."
"While your faith in Angela's judgment of character is admirable, that's not sound evidence," I said dryly. Saying anything against the nervous artist felt not only like walking in a mine field because of Brennan, but to me it also felt like I was betraying her a bit. It was stupid, because I'm doing my job and being a good friend by trying to help. Someone has to stay objective.
"You're the one saying you're a good judge of people," Brennan countered. It hurt a little bit that I was on the edge of an argument with her.
Oh, for God's sake, I griped to myself internally. Man up! I can break a psychopath; I can deal with a disagreement.
"Intuition," I corrected calmly, keeping my voice level. In no way did I want her to interpret it as me actually going after herself or her best friend. "It's not just a gut feeling, it's taking little pieces of what I see or hear and subconsciously making connections. Angela has good intuition, but because she's personally involved, it may be hard for her to make objective analyses."
"Hey, no offense to Angela, but she doesn't even really know this guy," Booth told Brennan. Of course I was thankful that he was trying to help me, but I couldn't help but notice how much he was opening himself up to more crass insults. "She's only with him, what, three weeks out of the year?"
"No offense to you," Brennan predictably snapped, turning the words back to Booth. "But you are a stodgy traditionalist when it comes to relationships, buddy."
"Stodgy?" Booth repeated incredulously, his eyes narrowing at her neck when Brennan stood up on her toes to try to see into the darkened trailer.
"Buddy?" I echoed. It felt like Brennan had been watching TV recently, because using 'buddy' as a sarcastic endearment didn't seem very much like something she would do.
"Yes, stodgy," Brennan confirmed with certain emphasis, smug at how he was thrown.
"Oh, dear." I raised my hand and tiredly rubbed the bridge of my nose, already feeling the beginning twinges of a headache beginning to pulse inside my skull.
"Here's the deal, Bones," Booth huffed, uncomfortable from the heat and offended at the same time, which, sure enough, made him about as snappy as a piranha. "We find out that the skull isn't Kirk. We go home. We let the locals handle it, okay?"
"Of course," Brennan stated like it was the only obvious end to the case, taking a step back from the windows of the inactive mobile home.
The soft crunching of footsteps kept me from saying anything. I looked to Booth, who hadn't moved, and then took a very slow step backwards, craning my neck to see around the FBI agent, looking to the right side of the trailer. An olive-skinned Indian man was creeping forwards around the side, armed with a rifle, probably loaded. I didn't know if the safety was on or anything, but his finger was on the trigger.
"Booth," I called softly, slowly raising my hands above my head.
"You know what? You say 'of course,' but then you get all caught up in it." Booth pointed at Brennan, who looked mildly insulted so far. Neither of them paid any attention to me, and neither of them were watching to see that I had my arms up. "And then-"
"Booth!" I said, louder, and a bit more insistent. "Would you listen? It might be important."
Brennan looked to me before Booth did, and then she saw the armed man. His dark hair was straight and brushed down behind his shoulders. She lifted her arms and looked back to Booth pointedly.
"What?" Booth spun around and then stopped. "Oh." He raised his arms like Brennan and I had done, finally realizing that there was a problem.
My eyes kept straying to the barrel of the rifle, though I kept correcting myself to look back to the man holding it to seem as though I wasn't as intimidated as I was. Oddly enough, I wasn't frightened. Yes, I wanted to avoid bodily harm – hence, the surrender – but not because I was afraid of being hurt. Seeing the trained sights didn't bother me nearly as much as it should have. Must be because… I started to think, but then stopped. Being in potentially fatal danger should scare me, but instead I was just a little irritated that my life was being threatened again.
"What do you want?" The native asked through narrowed eyes. Whether he was suspicious or squinting against the sun was hard to tell, but it was most likely a combination of both.
"FBI," Booth answered, sounding as calm as I felt.
"We're looking for Dhani Webber," I said, staring the man down and hoping maybe he'd put the gun away before he decided to shoot someone. "And Kirk Persinger. They've been missing for six days. Who're you?" Fair's fair – he knows who we are now, so don't we have a right to know who he is?
"I'm the guy holding the big gun," he said assertively, sparking another flare of annoyance in me. He held the gun up marginally.
"Yeah, on federal agents and associates, which I've been very nice about so far," Booth countered. He was annoyed, too, I could tell, and maybe worried about our safety.
"Let's rush him," Brennan suggested in a whisper that wasn't quite soft enough. When Booth and I both gave her disbelieving looks for the ridiculous option, she reasoned, "He can't shoot us all."
"Sound reasoning," I said dryly. "But I think you're forgetting that guns can hold more than one round and he's several yards away."
"How about I just show him my badge so everyone survives, alright?" Booth counteroffered tensely, slowly lowering his right hand into his pocket to get his federal badge. He held it in front of his body. The Indian squinted closely at it. "See?"
He realized Booth was telling the truth and he changed how he held the gun. It was still pointed at us, but his finger was off of the trigger and he wasn't necessarily aiming. "Name's Alex Joseph," he answered my earlier question with a shrug and then nodded to the side at the trailer. "This is me and Dhani's place."
"Where's Dhani Webber?" Booth asked as Brennan and I both lowered our arms to our sides at the lack of gunfire.
"Missing." Alex lowered the gun the rest of the way and held it so that it was pointed at the ground for safety. "In the desert for almost a week, like she said. I've been looking for her."
I crossed my arms, careful of my wrist, and scowled at Alex. I am not the type of person who enjoys or appreciates being threatened. "How many people have you shot in the process?"
Alex shifted the rifle he held to his other hand and canted his head to the side at the admittedly aggressive inquiry. "Maybe I'm nervous," he excused evasively.
"Anything in particular you might be nervous about?" Whether or not it was an excuse, Booth still took the opportunity to question him. "Maybe something Dhani got caught up in?"
Alex gave another very unhelpful little shrug like he couldn't care less if he'd tried. The motion was belied by the tension in his shoulders that gave away exactly how much he did care. He must have known Kirk, Dhani, or both. "Nothing I can think of."
"Can we look in the trailer?" Brennan asked, pointing towards the front door of the mobile home.
"Not without a warrant," Alex denied without pause. He was either naturally suspicious or he had anticipated the question.
"You have a problem with law enforcement?" Booth asked Alex's back as he looked away from us, stalking over to the trailer and swinging open the front door.
He tossed the rifle to the side and I heard it hit something when it landed. I think he let it lean between the wall and a piece of furniture. "You could say that, I guess," he answered over his shoulder, leaving the front door to open as far as the hinges would allow as he disappeared inside.
The moment I couldn't see Alex anymore, I turned to Booth and pointed with my good arm to the open door. "He left it open. I'm not federal, I could go inside now and not technically be breaking any laws," I volunteered. He'd set the rifle down and somehow I didn't think he'd beat up a kid – that is, if he realized I was a kid. People always assume I'm too young to be working with Booth and Brennan because I don't look old enough to be in the bureau, not because I don't look old enough to have reached the age of majority. Though I'm seventeen, I can easily pass as a legal adult.
Booth waved his hand at me in dismissal, refusing the offer. It left me gritting my teeth, but I knew that since I had offered it, I couldn't very well fault him for making the decision.
Brennan took several steps closer to Booth and looked through the open door curiously. "Model runs off with a handsome photographer…" she mused, trying her hand at what Booth usually did. "Jealous boyfriend with a gun finds them in the desert."
"Yeah, he's definitely twitchy about something," Booth agreed, tucking his hands in his pockets and looking at the empty doorway in anticipation of Alex's return.
We stood in the middle of the desert in silence for a few seconds until Brennan's frown deepened in concern. "What if he's escaping out the back door?"
Booth and I both turned our heads to look at her. I tilted mine to the side, trying to determine whether or not she had actually meant that as a legitimate question. Sometimes, no matter how well I think I understand her, it can be hard to discern between seriousness and playfulness with her.
She appeared to be completely serious. "You… haven't spent much time in trailers, have you, Dr. Brennan?" I asked slowly. Brennan shook her head in response. "No… There's not a back door…"
Alex came back out with a small Polaroid clutched tightly in his left hand and with the other, he reached around the side of the doorway to grab the handle of the door. He shoved the picture wordlessly at Booth, who was the closest. Booth looked at the picture and took it to turn it over, but the moment it was out of Alex's hands, the local swung the door back shut again.
Booth scowled in disapproval at the door and then glanced down to the photograph in his hands. "Whoa."
Brennan stepped closer to Booth in curiosity. "What?"
Booth held out the picture for her and because of where I was standing somewhat between them, I could see it, too. It was a picture of the woman I recognized as Dhani and the sheriff, Ben I-Still-Don't-Know-His-Last-Name. They were in some sort of restaurant and he had his arm around her shoulders. Dhani was smiling and one of her hands had reached up to hold his around her neck.
"Er… does anyone else think that Alex Joseph and Dhani might have been seeing each other?" I asked, going off of Alex's odd behavior and apparent problem with the photograph.
"Yeah," Booth agreed, holding up the picture and staring at it intently. "He definitely has a problem with law enforcement."
Booth wasn't all that pleased to see the sheriff – I finally figured out his last name is Dawes, thanks to Brennan – and Ben wasn't exactly thrilled to see Booth again, either, since the agent had taken jurisdiction.
"Why didn't you mention your relationship to Dhani Webber?" Brennan asked first, her head cocked to the side and her arms crossed. And so begins the interrogation.
Booth smacked the photograph from Alex down onto the top of the sheriff's now muffin-less desk and slid it across with two fingers. "Dhani Webber drop you for the photographer, the Indian guy, or both?" He drilled, glaring at the New Mexican over the computer monitor.
The sheriff's lips curled in disgust at the thought and he scoffed, "Moron. Dhani's my sister." I bit my lower lip to keep myself from snickering at the surprised look on Booth's face. He hadn't expected that. To be fair, they didn't look very similar, nor did they have the same last name. "Half-sister. Mostly, I raised her. You can check with Angie." …Meaning Angela. Well, that fits with Angela being a long-time friend of the two.
"Okay… we got that one wrong," Booth admitted awkwardly, dropping the hostility factor. With the photo explained, that was several motives out of the way, including the most likely. "I pretty much don't like the look of your sister's boyfriend, Alex Joseph."
Well, overprotective alpha males' bonding would consist of pointing out the flaws of people they don't like. This applied to the sheriff especially, as Alex's girlfriend's protective big brother. "Assault, narcotics. He bootlegs for the reservation." He glanced down at his sister in the photo and snorted. "Yeah. Dhani could do better."
"Is there any way that something Alex is involved with could have put Dhani in danger?" I asked because it was a good question, but I was hoping that the answer was a negative.
I wasn't given any such comfort, because the sheriff refused to say yes or no either way. "Until I find out otherwise, I'm assuming that Dhani and Kirk are lost in the desert," he stated stubbornly.
"Alex Joseph. Is he bad enough to hurt them if he finds them out in the desert together?" Booth asked, and for some reason, the sheriff actually gave that question a good answer, to my irritation.
"It's on my list of nightmares, yeah," he responded reluctantly as Brennan raised her phone, which must have been set on vibrate, to her ear in order to take a call. She held her free hand over her other ear to block out noise and turned to the side. "Brennan."
The room fell silent. It would have been nice if it were just for her ease of communication, but I knew better – it was far more likely that we were all just eavesdropping on her conversation.
"Poor Angela…" Brennan murmured, casting a forlorn look down to the floor. A moment later, she frowned and asked in confusion, "What's that?" and a minute later, "Anything on the cranial scoring?"
This answer took a bit longer to give. By now I'd figured out she was probably talking to either Hodgins or Zach – possibly both, if they were using the speakerphone – and that they must have gotten the DNA sample from the skull back.
"Okay. Ask Dr. Goodman to find a naturalist," Brennan advised before holding her phone away from her face so that she could see to end the call.
"Kirk Persinger?" Booth asked softly, mindful of the way Brennan's mood had fallen according to her tone and the crestfallen way she held herself.
Brennan swallowed and nodded. "Yes. They found traces of peyote."
"Drug-related," Booth stated in grim surprise, turning to face Ben again.
"And he was shot at the base of the spine, like in an execution." I crossed my arms and felt a sort of inappropriate satisfaction at having been correct whilst the sheriff was wrong. I felt horrible for Angela that her boyfriend was dead and at the confirmation that, yes, her friend was most likely dead or dying in the desert, but that didn't stop me from being irritated by the sheriff who had been giving me more problems.
"So, sheriff, do you still think this is a simple missing persons case?" Booth asked, raising his eyebrows and inviting Ben to challenge his authority again.
There might have been an awkward moment before the sheriff admitted that, yes, he did need help on this one, except for that Brennan stepped back, away from the desk. "I… I have to tell Angela," she told Booth earnestly, her voice small and tone tormented.
I nodded in agreement and turned my back to the two men, walking with Brennan towards the doors. "You shouldn't have to do this alone," I murmured to her. By no means did I think I'd enjoy the conversation that was sure to ensue, but I understood that friends do things for friends, even if they don't enjoy it. Angela deserves to hear it from someone she knows and trusts, and Brennan shouldn't have to tell her alone. I have friends now. I need to attend to those responsibilities before playing hero with the FBI.