Fic: Bones: In the Trenches, Part 11/30
Chapter 11: Into the Fire
Author: amilyn
Rating: PG-13 (themes, abuse)
Warnings: physical abuse, psychological abuse
Chapter 10
Chapter 11: Into the Fire
~July 1992~
The backs of Temperance's legs stuck to the vinyl seats of Mrs. Dougherty's tan Buick. The air coming through the open windows was oppressive, and strands of hair blew out of Temperance's ponytail and stuck to her forehead and cheeks. If she'd realized Mrs. Dougherty's car had no air conditioning, she'd have worn a bandana, but she settled for trying to wrap the wayward hair around a finger.
"You have to try harder to fit in with this family, Temperance." The car slowed and stopped well before the line for the stoplight. "And in the fall you'll be going to Burtonsville High instead of Addison Trail."
"Do they have AP--"
"I don't know. The Maxwells will be taking you to register on Monday, so you can work out your schedule then."
Temperance nodded. She leaned on her hand and stared at the distortion in light refraction as hot air rose from the pavement. She focused on the waves caused by the movement of the air as it cooled and re-heated, on the rattle of the loose exhaust system in the Buick, on the skin on her legs tugging. When she concentrated on these things right now, she didn't hear Joseph and Lydia crying, didn't see Rachel reaching to her from Sarah's arms, didn't feel little arms being pried from around her neck and leg, didn't see Mrs. Davis's watery eyes or John's disappointment, didn't feel Mr. Davis's awkward pat on her shoulder.
The car moved again. Mrs. Dougherty was still giving her tips on being sociable, and Temperance bit her lower lip and stared at where the yellow stripe met its reflection in the side-view mirror.
They turned down a road heavy with big, old trees where the houses were set back from the street farther than the Brennans' home or either of the houses where Temperance had yet stayed. They wound away from the main street, and the heavy foliage absorbed heat so it felt about four degrees--or just over six degrees Fahrenheit--cooler.
The driveway Mrs. Dougherty turned into ran alongside an evenly green, carefully-trimmed lawn. The flower bed in the middle of the front yard was filled with bright-colored zinnias and edged with marigolds that were tallest and yellowest in the middle of each side, tapering down to the darkest orange ones in the corners. Geraniums and impatiens along the side of the house were planted in carefully patterned swaths of pink, red, and white.
Temperance's stomach tightened, and she blinked rapidly, pushing away the tight feeling around her eyes and throat. She and Mom had tried several times to produce the flower garden Mom had dreamt of, and Temperance could smell the rich, slightly moldy potting soil that had been under her fingernails for a week each time. Last year they had doted on the eight zinnias that came up from their two dozen packages of seeds and collected the seeds from the dead flowers at the end of the season, laughing as they stored the black-tipped bits of straw in an envelope. Temperance had forgotten it amongst the papers on her mother's desk.
Months before, she'd learned, the desk had been sold, along with everything else, and no amount of logic, reasoning, or pleading had garnered her the right to return to gather any of her belongings. "Where would you put them, anyway?" Mrs. Dougherty had asked.
The envelope with their flower seeds had probably been tossed into the trash. No experimenting with more effective growing methods. No gardening with Mom. No second chances.
Gravel crunched under the tires as the car stopped. Temperance blinked again. A detached garage was straight ahead with a car parked between it and a large tree. She saw a woman with short, curly brown hair and yellow shorts turn off the stream of water from a green hose that she wound onto a spool before walking over to join them.
"You must be Temperance. I'd offer to shake hands, but I'm a mess. Let me call Brad to help you with your things."
"That's all right--"
The woman jogged to the front door and popped inside.
A tall, gangly boy with shaggy hair appeared. Temperance pulled her suitcase from the trunk and headed for the door, but the boy stopped in front of her.
"I'll take those to your room."
"That's all right, really," she said.
"Mom said." He glanced at his mother and took hold of the handle.
She heard Mrs. Dougherty clear her throat and looked to see her social worker tipping her head toward the boy. Slowly she set the suitcases on the front walk and took a step back. "I mean...thank you?"
The curly haired woman reappeared in a light sun dress and walked past the boy.
"That was Brad. He's our youngest son. Curtis is still at work." This time she held out a hand. "And I'm Claire. Claire Maxwell."
"It's nice to meet you, ma'am."
Mrs. Maxwell laughed. "'Ma'am.' We're nothing like that formal at this house." She glanced at Mrs. Dougherty. "Is she always like this?"
"Temperance is a very polite young lady."
"Well, do I call you Temperance, or do you go by something else? Tempe, maybe?"
"No!"
Both women stared at her.
Temperance's heart pounded and she forced herself to speak steadily. "I mean, 'Temperance' is fine." She looked between the women but couldn't interpret their expressions. She had no idea what to do next. She had found that most people responded well to compliments, so she pointed at the zinnias. "Your flowers are very beautiful, Mrs. Maxwell."
"I'm so glad you like them. But you don't have to call me Mrs. Maxwell." She placed an arm around Temperance's shoulders and headed toward the house. "Did you ever garden, Temperance?"
"Yes, ma'am." She hesitated. Mrs. Dougherty's talks ran through her mind. "My mom and I planted flowers the last several years."
"That's so nice. I'll bet you miss her."
Temperance wanted to pull away. She wanted to unpack.
She wanted to go home.
Instead they walked past the bright white of azalea bushes and stepped into the Maxwell's house. It smelled faintly of oranges and ammonia. The furniture and carpet in the living room were a light cream. There were no knick-knacks and only a couple of frames on the walls, one with a landscape, another with an abstract piece that made Temperance shudder.
"I don't know what that boy is thinking sometimes." Mrs. Maxwell raised her voice, "Brad! Didn't I tell you to take these suitcases to her bedroom?"
"You just said bring them in!" he shouted back.
"Get back up here right now and do this right!" She smiled at Temperance and Mrs. Dougherty, and Temperance wasn't sure if the smile was genuine, or covering her anger, or apologetic. "Teenagers," she said. "Can't live with 'em, can't kill 'em."
Brad stomped through and dragged the suitcases around the corner and up one step at a time. Thump. Thump.
Temperance cringed and tried to focus on Mrs. Maxwell's words.
"--be giving you your chores once you're settled in. I'll help you unpack and arrange your things."
"I'm fine," she said, then caught Mrs. Dougherty's wide eyes and slight headshake. "But if you'd like to help..."
"Of course. That way you'll know where to put everything. And we can see what else you have to wear. I'm surprised those people you were with before let you leave the house like that."
Temperance looked between the two women, but they both just smiled. "I was moving out. Why wouldn't they let me leave the house?"
"Well, there are so many ways you could be lovely, but this is not at all put together to flatter you or make a strong first impression. We can work on that, though."
Temperance glanced at Mrs. Dougherty, but the social worker only smiled and gave her a thumbs-up sign.
"Is there anything else you need, or can I help Temperance settle in?" Claire asked.
"You're going in on Monday to register Temperance for school?"
"Absolutely."
"Then everything's set. Temperance, Mrs. Maxwell, give me a call if you need anything or have any questions or concerns. Good luck, Temperance." Mrs. Dougherty waved and let herself out.
Mrs. Maxwell led her down the hall, pointing out the rooms until they turned into one with sports pennants and trophies on shelves.
"This was our older son Mike's room until he went away to college, but we figured you wouldn't mind sharing it with the stuff he left behind. Would you?"
"No, ma'am."
"Well, good, because we're not going to move it!" Mrs. Maxwell laughed. "DA BEARS!"
She punched Temperance in the arm. It hurt. Temperance didn't respond. She didn't know how.
"Oh, come on. DA BEARS!" She punched Temperance's arm again.
This time Temperance shifted her eyes to look at Mrs. Maxwell's face, searching for a clue.
"What is wrong with you?" The woman rolled her eyes. "Now you say it back. DA BEARS."
"Duh Bears?"
Mrs. Maxwell rolled her eyes again. "Looks like we've got a lot of work to do. Let's get your stuff put away."
Twenty minutes later Brennan sat on the orange and navy comforter on her bed. Mike's bed. She avoided sitting on the snarling bear's face. It made her uncomfortable. The fangs were prominent, and reminded her of Mrs. Maxwell's smile as she'd carried away the suitcase still containing the half of Temperance's wardrobe she'd deemed "unfit to be seen in public."
Temperance had managed to grab her Christmas gifts and, after Mrs. Maxwell's footsteps reached the bottom of the stairs, had hidden them carefully. Her socks and underwear were on the opposite sides of the drawer from where Temperance usually put them, but Mrs. Maxwell had insisted that was where they had to go. That, and that the door wasn't ever to be closed or locked. Temperance hadn't argued. She was supposed to be fitting in. Making a good impression.
She sat on the corner of the bed and breathed past the tightness in her chest. She opened a tightly-closed fist and fingered her mother's earrings and rings. Mom's robe and cardigan had been hauled away in the suitcase. This and Mom's scarf, which Mrs. Maxwell had admired, were all she had left.
***
Mrs. Maxwell pulled into the school at nine a.m. Monday morning and they sat with the guidance counselor. Temperance was able to fill her schedule with Advanced Placement classes, and Burtonsville High even offered Latin, which hadn't been an option at her other schools. Of course, they made her take P.E., and Mrs. Maxwell's only contribution to the entire meeting was to interject, "At least you're taking one normal thing. I just hope you don't think all those hoity-toity classes mean you'll get out of your chores."
Afterwards, they drove straight to the local thrift store Mrs. Maxwell said was "the best in DuPage County."
Temperance just thought it was warm and ill-lit and smelled like mildew and sweat.
After fifteen minutes, though, Mrs. Maxwell had a huge armful of clothes that Temperance had to admit were very nice and impressively inexpensive. For the next three hours she tried on garment after garment, presenting each for Mrs. Maxwell's approval. The woman adjusted the clothes, poked at Temperance, moved her like a Barbie doll, and gave a running commentary the whole time.
"Oh, no. You don't have enough breasts to pull that off. You don't want a neckline like that. It just shows off that freakishly long neck of yours. Oh, dear. That color makes you look positively yellow. It's like you've been dead for days. Never wear that color. Oh, that really shows off your legs. The boys will know you're offering if you wear those jeans. Oh, a skirt like that just wasn't made for someone with hips like yours. If you're going to wear that you'd need heels, and you're so tall already that it'll just make you stick out like a sore thumb. That dress will look best with your hair down, but with your thin, mousy hair, you need to brush it several times a day if you don't want to look like you never wash it. You could be a fairly pretty girl if you just tried a little."
Temperance spent half of the time reciting the major bones of the human body in her head while Mrs. Maxwell assembled an entire wardrobe for the upcoming school year. The process of ringing up took over ten minutes. Mrs. Maxwell sorted clothes, the cashier searched for prices, and Temperance folded and bagged.
"Look at that!" Mrs. Maxwell crowed, waving the receipt. "We got all of this for $123! That'll use up a big chunk of your check for this month, but didn't I tell you this place was great? Let's get home and start on the basement. We've got a lot of cleaning to do so we can re-paint. You can wear those dreadful clothes you came in while we work."
Temperance followed her out of the store, carrying the bags in silence.
***
Chapter 12
***
Posting Schedule: This story has 2630 parts, which will post here and at ff.net on Tuesdays and Thursdays and Saturdays so that the story will finish posting the week Bones comes back.
Author's Notes
Thanks upon thanks to my wonderful betas and sounding boards: jsq, b1uemorpho. HUGE and effusive gratitude to my line-editor and prodder to make this story as good as I could at this time, as well as encouragement and sounding board services while I planned and wrote for two years to Ayiana2.
Feedback is most assuredly welcome.
***
Author: amilyn
Rating: PG-13 (themes, abuse)
Warnings: physical abuse, psychological abuse
Chapter 10
Chapter 11: Into the Fire
~July 1992~
The backs of Temperance's legs stuck to the vinyl seats of Mrs. Dougherty's tan Buick. The air coming through the open windows was oppressive, and strands of hair blew out of Temperance's ponytail and stuck to her forehead and cheeks. If she'd realized Mrs. Dougherty's car had no air conditioning, she'd have worn a bandana, but she settled for trying to wrap the wayward hair around a finger.
"You have to try harder to fit in with this family, Temperance." The car slowed and stopped well before the line for the stoplight. "And in the fall you'll be going to Burtonsville High instead of Addison Trail."
"Do they have AP--"
"I don't know. The Maxwells will be taking you to register on Monday, so you can work out your schedule then."
Temperance nodded. She leaned on her hand and stared at the distortion in light refraction as hot air rose from the pavement. She focused on the waves caused by the movement of the air as it cooled and re-heated, on the rattle of the loose exhaust system in the Buick, on the skin on her legs tugging. When she concentrated on these things right now, she didn't hear Joseph and Lydia crying, didn't see Rachel reaching to her from Sarah's arms, didn't feel little arms being pried from around her neck and leg, didn't see Mrs. Davis's watery eyes or John's disappointment, didn't feel Mr. Davis's awkward pat on her shoulder.
The car moved again. Mrs. Dougherty was still giving her tips on being sociable, and Temperance bit her lower lip and stared at where the yellow stripe met its reflection in the side-view mirror.
They turned down a road heavy with big, old trees where the houses were set back from the street farther than the Brennans' home or either of the houses where Temperance had yet stayed. They wound away from the main street, and the heavy foliage absorbed heat so it felt about four degrees--or just over six degrees Fahrenheit--cooler.
The driveway Mrs. Dougherty turned into ran alongside an evenly green, carefully-trimmed lawn. The flower bed in the middle of the front yard was filled with bright-colored zinnias and edged with marigolds that were tallest and yellowest in the middle of each side, tapering down to the darkest orange ones in the corners. Geraniums and impatiens along the side of the house were planted in carefully patterned swaths of pink, red, and white.
Temperance's stomach tightened, and she blinked rapidly, pushing away the tight feeling around her eyes and throat. She and Mom had tried several times to produce the flower garden Mom had dreamt of, and Temperance could smell the rich, slightly moldy potting soil that had been under her fingernails for a week each time. Last year they had doted on the eight zinnias that came up from their two dozen packages of seeds and collected the seeds from the dead flowers at the end of the season, laughing as they stored the black-tipped bits of straw in an envelope. Temperance had forgotten it amongst the papers on her mother's desk.
Months before, she'd learned, the desk had been sold, along with everything else, and no amount of logic, reasoning, or pleading had garnered her the right to return to gather any of her belongings. "Where would you put them, anyway?" Mrs. Dougherty had asked.
The envelope with their flower seeds had probably been tossed into the trash. No experimenting with more effective growing methods. No gardening with Mom. No second chances.
Gravel crunched under the tires as the car stopped. Temperance blinked again. A detached garage was straight ahead with a car parked between it and a large tree. She saw a woman with short, curly brown hair and yellow shorts turn off the stream of water from a green hose that she wound onto a spool before walking over to join them.
"You must be Temperance. I'd offer to shake hands, but I'm a mess. Let me call Brad to help you with your things."
"That's all right--"
The woman jogged to the front door and popped inside.
A tall, gangly boy with shaggy hair appeared. Temperance pulled her suitcase from the trunk and headed for the door, but the boy stopped in front of her.
"I'll take those to your room."
"That's all right, really," she said.
"Mom said." He glanced at his mother and took hold of the handle.
She heard Mrs. Dougherty clear her throat and looked to see her social worker tipping her head toward the boy. Slowly she set the suitcases on the front walk and took a step back. "I mean...thank you?"
The curly haired woman reappeared in a light sun dress and walked past the boy.
"That was Brad. He's our youngest son. Curtis is still at work." This time she held out a hand. "And I'm Claire. Claire Maxwell."
"It's nice to meet you, ma'am."
Mrs. Maxwell laughed. "'Ma'am.' We're nothing like that formal at this house." She glanced at Mrs. Dougherty. "Is she always like this?"
"Temperance is a very polite young lady."
"Well, do I call you Temperance, or do you go by something else? Tempe, maybe?"
"No!"
Both women stared at her.
Temperance's heart pounded and she forced herself to speak steadily. "I mean, 'Temperance' is fine." She looked between the women but couldn't interpret their expressions. She had no idea what to do next. She had found that most people responded well to compliments, so she pointed at the zinnias. "Your flowers are very beautiful, Mrs. Maxwell."
"I'm so glad you like them. But you don't have to call me Mrs. Maxwell." She placed an arm around Temperance's shoulders and headed toward the house. "Did you ever garden, Temperance?"
"Yes, ma'am." She hesitated. Mrs. Dougherty's talks ran through her mind. "My mom and I planted flowers the last several years."
"That's so nice. I'll bet you miss her."
Temperance wanted to pull away. She wanted to unpack.
She wanted to go home.
Instead they walked past the bright white of azalea bushes and stepped into the Maxwell's house. It smelled faintly of oranges and ammonia. The furniture and carpet in the living room were a light cream. There were no knick-knacks and only a couple of frames on the walls, one with a landscape, another with an abstract piece that made Temperance shudder.
"I don't know what that boy is thinking sometimes." Mrs. Maxwell raised her voice, "Brad! Didn't I tell you to take these suitcases to her bedroom?"
"You just said bring them in!" he shouted back.
"Get back up here right now and do this right!" She smiled at Temperance and Mrs. Dougherty, and Temperance wasn't sure if the smile was genuine, or covering her anger, or apologetic. "Teenagers," she said. "Can't live with 'em, can't kill 'em."
Brad stomped through and dragged the suitcases around the corner and up one step at a time. Thump. Thump.
Temperance cringed and tried to focus on Mrs. Maxwell's words.
"--be giving you your chores once you're settled in. I'll help you unpack and arrange your things."
"I'm fine," she said, then caught Mrs. Dougherty's wide eyes and slight headshake. "But if you'd like to help..."
"Of course. That way you'll know where to put everything. And we can see what else you have to wear. I'm surprised those people you were with before let you leave the house like that."
Temperance looked between the two women, but they both just smiled. "I was moving out. Why wouldn't they let me leave the house?"
"Well, there are so many ways you could be lovely, but this is not at all put together to flatter you or make a strong first impression. We can work on that, though."
Temperance glanced at Mrs. Dougherty, but the social worker only smiled and gave her a thumbs-up sign.
"Is there anything else you need, or can I help Temperance settle in?" Claire asked.
"You're going in on Monday to register Temperance for school?"
"Absolutely."
"Then everything's set. Temperance, Mrs. Maxwell, give me a call if you need anything or have any questions or concerns. Good luck, Temperance." Mrs. Dougherty waved and let herself out.
Mrs. Maxwell led her down the hall, pointing out the rooms until they turned into one with sports pennants and trophies on shelves.
"This was our older son Mike's room until he went away to college, but we figured you wouldn't mind sharing it with the stuff he left behind. Would you?"
"No, ma'am."
"Well, good, because we're not going to move it!" Mrs. Maxwell laughed. "DA BEARS!"
She punched Temperance in the arm. It hurt. Temperance didn't respond. She didn't know how.
"Oh, come on. DA BEARS!" She punched Temperance's arm again.
This time Temperance shifted her eyes to look at Mrs. Maxwell's face, searching for a clue.
"What is wrong with you?" The woman rolled her eyes. "Now you say it back. DA BEARS."
"Duh Bears?"
Mrs. Maxwell rolled her eyes again. "Looks like we've got a lot of work to do. Let's get your stuff put away."
Twenty minutes later Brennan sat on the orange and navy comforter on her bed. Mike's bed. She avoided sitting on the snarling bear's face. It made her uncomfortable. The fangs were prominent, and reminded her of Mrs. Maxwell's smile as she'd carried away the suitcase still containing the half of Temperance's wardrobe she'd deemed "unfit to be seen in public."
Temperance had managed to grab her Christmas gifts and, after Mrs. Maxwell's footsteps reached the bottom of the stairs, had hidden them carefully. Her socks and underwear were on the opposite sides of the drawer from where Temperance usually put them, but Mrs. Maxwell had insisted that was where they had to go. That, and that the door wasn't ever to be closed or locked. Temperance hadn't argued. She was supposed to be fitting in. Making a good impression.
She sat on the corner of the bed and breathed past the tightness in her chest. She opened a tightly-closed fist and fingered her mother's earrings and rings. Mom's robe and cardigan had been hauled away in the suitcase. This and Mom's scarf, which Mrs. Maxwell had admired, were all she had left.
***
Mrs. Maxwell pulled into the school at nine a.m. Monday morning and they sat with the guidance counselor. Temperance was able to fill her schedule with Advanced Placement classes, and Burtonsville High even offered Latin, which hadn't been an option at her other schools. Of course, they made her take P.E., and Mrs. Maxwell's only contribution to the entire meeting was to interject, "At least you're taking one normal thing. I just hope you don't think all those hoity-toity classes mean you'll get out of your chores."
Afterwards, they drove straight to the local thrift store Mrs. Maxwell said was "the best in DuPage County."
Temperance just thought it was warm and ill-lit and smelled like mildew and sweat.
After fifteen minutes, though, Mrs. Maxwell had a huge armful of clothes that Temperance had to admit were very nice and impressively inexpensive. For the next three hours she tried on garment after garment, presenting each for Mrs. Maxwell's approval. The woman adjusted the clothes, poked at Temperance, moved her like a Barbie doll, and gave a running commentary the whole time.
"Oh, no. You don't have enough breasts to pull that off. You don't want a neckline like that. It just shows off that freakishly long neck of yours. Oh, dear. That color makes you look positively yellow. It's like you've been dead for days. Never wear that color. Oh, that really shows off your legs. The boys will know you're offering if you wear those jeans. Oh, a skirt like that just wasn't made for someone with hips like yours. If you're going to wear that you'd need heels, and you're so tall already that it'll just make you stick out like a sore thumb. That dress will look best with your hair down, but with your thin, mousy hair, you need to brush it several times a day if you don't want to look like you never wash it. You could be a fairly pretty girl if you just tried a little."
Temperance spent half of the time reciting the major bones of the human body in her head while Mrs. Maxwell assembled an entire wardrobe for the upcoming school year. The process of ringing up took over ten minutes. Mrs. Maxwell sorted clothes, the cashier searched for prices, and Temperance folded and bagged.
"Look at that!" Mrs. Maxwell crowed, waving the receipt. "We got all of this for $123! That'll use up a big chunk of your check for this month, but didn't I tell you this place was great? Let's get home and start on the basement. We've got a lot of cleaning to do so we can re-paint. You can wear those dreadful clothes you came in while we work."
Temperance followed her out of the store, carrying the bags in silence.
***
Chapter 12
***
Posting Schedule: This story has 2630 parts, which will post here and at ff.net on Tuesdays and Thursdays and Saturdays so that the story will finish posting the week Bones comes back.
Author's Notes
Thanks upon thanks to my wonderful betas and sounding boards: jsq, b1uemorpho. HUGE and effusive gratitude to my line-editor and prodder to make this story as good as I could at this time, as well as encouragement and sounding board services while I planned and wrote for two years to Ayiana2.
Feedback is most assuredly welcome.
***