Fic: The Senator in the Scarecrow (7/25)
Title: The Senator in the Scarecrow [Chapter Seven: The Wizard and I]
Author: ladychi
Beta Babes: katmorning, cathmarchr
Characters/Pairings: Booth/Brennan, Hodgins/Angela, Cam, Sweets, Wendell, Clark, Parker Booth, various OCs
Rating: M for language, graphic violence and graphic sex
Summary: It's August in western Kansas and a Senator's gone missing. When a body shows up in a field of milo, the President himself wants only the best investigating the murder. Seeley Booth and Temperance Brennan are both plucked unceremoniously from their lives and thrust into extreme-rural Kansas after a year apart. Takes place immediately after the year of separation in The Beginning in the End, the S5 finale. Multi-part mystery, updated every Monday.
Previous Chapters: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six
Author's Note: Wow! I managed to wait a whole week between updates. Believe you me, y'all. That was hard when I knew I was sitting on this chapter. Thanks to cathmarchr and katmorning for being so awesome with all of their wonderful beta-comments, and to biba79 who read the middle scene of this chapter before anyone else and reassured me that it was not over-the-top.
Chapter Seven: The Wizard And I
Booth silently seethed as they drove down the highway. This was the kind of crap that had tired him even from the very beginning of the job. It wasn't surprising that people lied; murder investigations were high-stakes, and even an idiot off the street understood the consequences of being found guilty. He wanted to curse, slam his hand against the wheel or punch a window: the kinds of things his father would have done to blow off some steam.
He could feel Brennan's eyes on him, studying him carefully, as she had on and off since they first saw each other on the plane. He wondered what she was looking for. He could tell she was concerned - that practically radiated off of her in waves -- but he didn't know how to reassure her that he would be all right.
Damn the Army and damn Bones and damn Hacker and damn everything, Booth thought. Before he'd opened up his mouth in Sweets' office, they'd been perfectly content. Deluded, maybe, but it had been a happy stalemate. They both knew the score, and they would have continued along in that vein forever: alone-but-together. His place and her place. Breakfast at the diner, supper at Founding Fathers. Solving cases and being just goddamn fine.
Or maybe that's not how it would have gone. Brennan might have turned down the dig in Indonesia if the Gravedigger trial had gone better, but he still would have gone overseas. It'd been drilled into him from a very young age that to live in America was a privilege and one that had to be paid for in duty and honor and blood.
In the end, it had been Parker that had persuaded him to go. Not just the conversation in the car that had told Booth that Parker expected him to go, but the fact of Parker. He wanted his little boy to say with pride that he had done, unfailingly, what his country had asked of him. He wanted Parker to think of him as a hero - to understand that when Booth talked about honoring heroes and patriotism and love of country, he'd been talking in concretes; not ideas that applied to someone else.
He'd known going in that he'd save lives, but he'd also known that he'd lose them. Not everyone came back from a war, and it was usually the young and the good-hearted that paid the price for the older men who ruled the world. That was the side of war he hadn't wanted to talk to Parker about until he had armpit hair. Like Santa Claus, sometimes it was better to preserve the illusion.
And it pissed him off, royally pissed him off, that with everything going on, everything he'd done, everything he had given up, that people lied to him about crap that didn't matter in the long run. Booth had told Catherine once that he could always tell who hadn't committed a murder, and in this case, he knew that Helen Rettinger hadn't. There wasn't that capability in her eyes. So why lie?
They reached the highway - Brennan checking her mail on her phone and Donaldson studiously staring out the window. Booth caught sight of the diner/gas station that the Sheriff had recommended to him and he glanced over at Brennan, forcing a bright smile.
“What do you say, Bones? Take a little break from the world for a cup of coffee?”
Brennan narrowed her eyes at him, clearly not buying his act. “That would be agreeable. Cam will be calling us with a mid-morning update in a few minutes.”
“Great.” Booth smiled.
“Coffee sounds like a good idea to me, too, you know,” Donaldson said, clearing his throat.
Brennan looked over her shoulder at him. “Sorry, Agent Donaldson. We should have asked your opinion.” Her expression, however, gave her clear lack of remorse. Booth bit back a smile. It was good to know Bones resented the intrusion into their usual working style as much as he did. Some things, at least, never changed.
The SUV came to a stop and they climbed out of the car and back into the repressive heat. Donaldson sighed and slipped his sunglasses on. “I do believe it's hot enough to fry an egg on the asphalt.”
Brennan squinted at him. “How can you tell?”
“An expression, Bones. It's just an expression,” Booth ground out, feeling strangely irritated. He usually found this side of Bones adorable.
“It's very likely that the road could become hot enough to fry an egg, however,” Brennan said, with acknowledging nod at Donaldson. “Asphalt retains heat extremely well and can become much hotter than the air temperature around it.”
Booth could see Donaldson struggle a bit to come up with a proper response to that. “I guess you learn something new every day.”
Before Brennan could speak up, Booth clasped Donaldson on the shoulder. “Maybe you could lay off the idioms and folk phrases for a bit, yeah? Starting to get a headache.” He walked ahead of Brennan and Donaldson, pushing the glass door of the establishment open and wincing when the doorbell rang.
The inside was paneled entirely in wood - from floor to ceiling, and a few booths were pushed against one wall. The majority of the space, however, was occupied by a long bar and the dozen or so stools that lined it. The windows were dirty and chalked with signs promoting the local high school team. One lone table sat in a corner with a bucket and a sign that read: “For Sale: Rattlesnakes, $10”.
Booth whipped off his sunglasses and headed straight for the counter and the smell of coffee. Finding a seat at the bar, he waited while Brennan and Donaldson sat as well. A woman stepped out from the kitchen and smiled at them. She was white-haired, suntanned and yet somehow ageless. In her youth, she must have been a show-stopping beauty, but time had worn her down. Still, her smile was bright and welcoming and Booth found himself smiling in response.
“You folks have to be from the FBI,” she said definitively, “don't ya?”
“Booth is,” Brennan said, her need for correctness once again making itself known. “As is Agent Donaldson. I'm Doctor Temperance Brennan, with the Jeffersonian Institute.”
“Oh, you know we went there once on a school trip with the boys,” the woman said, “and I just found it all so fascinating. You had an Egyptian exhibit at the time, as I recall... Oh, excuse me. I'm forgetting my manners. Marge Dewey, that's the name.”
“Good morning,” Brennan said, shooting Booth a glance when he didn't respond to her. “I'm glad you enjoyed your visit.”
“Oh, very much. Now, we don't have anything fancy, but the coffee's hot and the lemonade's cold. What can I get you folks?”
“Coffee, black,” Booth practically growled.
“A little milk in mine,” Brennan said, glaring at Booth. He felt guilty for a brief moment but then his phone began to ring. He snapped it open.
“Booth.”
“It's Cam.”
“Okay, hold on.” He gestured at Brennan and walked out the door, closing it in Donaldson's face. “What's new?”
“There was enough tissue left on the remains to run a tox screen,” Cam said, “and it came back with quite a tale to tell.”
“Just the facts, Camille,” Booth snapped. Brennan grabbed the phone from him.
“Sorry, Dr. Saroyan.” She held up a hand when Booth began to protest. “What were the results?”
“Drug overdose could be a likely cause of death. Our senator came back positive for all kinds of things: cocaine, ecstasy...”
“Clark's report says there's evidence of a struggle,” Brennan said. “I just received his report.”
Booth's eyebrows flew up. Cam continued on: “Yes, absolutely. All of the evidence is peri-mortem, but however much damage was done to his body before he was dead, it was the drugs that killed him.”
“Unless Clark or Wendell finds something to the contrary,” Brennan said firmly. “It's too early to speak with absolute certainty.”
“Yes, of course.” Booth could hear the amusement in Cam's voice and he fisted his hands.
“What about the identification, Camille? My investigation is pretty well stalled until you can identify the body positively.”
“Okay, Seeley. In childhood, Senator Williams broke his left femur in two places. The remodeling of the bones as well as what's left of the dentals confirm: these remains belong to Senator Williams.”
“That is the kind of information you start with, Camille. You start with the identity of the victim and then you irritate the crap out of me with the science stuff.”
“Agent Booth?” Cam's voice was frosty, and Booth felt a cold shiver of self-awareness run down his spine. He'd gone too far.
“Sorry, Cam.” He coughed. “It's been... a rough morning.”
“I hope so,” Cam said. “Well, that's about all I have to right now. I'm going to have Wendell investigate the cause of the bruising on the ribs and Hodgins is still sorting through particulates to see if we can give you a better idea of whether or not the senator died in that field.”
“Right, good. Okay.” Booth took his phone from Brennan and snapped it closed. “Coffee?”
Brennan set her mouth in a line. “No.”
“What?” Booth stopped and put his hands on his hips.
“Booth, I'm sorry that this is a difficult time for you and I know you're missing Parker,” Brennan said on a rush, “but you've got to stop... being me.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I upset the locals. I... put my foot in my mouth and ask the wrong questions.” Brennan put her hand on Booth's bicep and squeezed. “Seeing you this way puts me... very off-balance.”
Booth's mouth went dry. “Well, I'm sorry I'm inconveniencing you.”
“Stop that,” Brennan said firmly. “I'm trying to talk to you. I'm trying to help.”
“What can you do to help me, huh?” Booth looked anywhere but her eyes. They were so blue and so soft... and better than he'd remembered, and she was breaking him in half. “Can you bring me my kid? Can you give me a second to breathe?”
She pried his other hand from his hip and wrapped it in her own. “No, Booth, I can't do that. I'm sorry, I know - you deserve those things. You really do.”
Booth squeezed her hand and let his head hit the wall behind him. “My hands itch.”
“You want to gamble, you mean?”
“Yeah. I want to gamble. Or hit someone. Or drink a good bottle of single-barrel Jack all by myself. Fuck a beautiful woman or rip something apart.”
Brennan grabbed his other hand, rubbing her thumb soothingly over his palm. “Booth...”
He winced. “Bones, I'm sorry. Let's just... let's get back in there and have coffee, okay?”
“Booth...” Brennan protested. “No. Let's...”
“What? What are we going to do, huh? We don't have time for me to be a child, Bones. Let's just postpone this little breakdown until later, okay?” He dropped her hands, put his sunglasses back on, and walked back in the shop.
**
Parker Booth adjusted his backpack, staring up at the face of the Hoover building. He'd been here plenty of times before, of course, but always to see his dad, and always with an adult to accompany him. This time, though, he was here to see a different adult, and he was by himself. Still, he had a mission, and he was determined to complete it.
Sneaking away from the summer camp he attended had been easy enough - they were good at headcounts and keeping track of everyone usually - until they threw open the doors and let the kids out for recess. He'd had the help of his friend Bobby, who distracted the teachers long enough for Parker to vault over the fence and walk the block and a half to the bus stop.
When he'd paid his fare in quarters and dimes, the bus driver had smiled at him in the way that adults had that meant he'd done something particularly adorable, and he'd walked back to the middle of the bus, sat quietly and waited for his stop. D.C. had zoomed by - sweltering in the summer sun and melting everything and everyone just a little. It had been a relief to get off of the bus and away from the smell of people far too close together.
Parker ran a hand through his curls and thought once more about buzzing them off like his friend Petey had right as he opened the front door and walked in the lobby, straight up to the front desk like he'd been taught all of his life.
He waited patiently until the secretary there, Debbie,was done on the phone. When she clicked off the line and turned her attention to him, her eyes widened. “Parker?”
“Hey Mrs. Katz,” he said with a grin people told him all the time looked just like his dad's. “How are you?”
“Melting in this sun,” she said with a kind smile. “If you're looking for your dad, he's on assignment in Kansas.”
“Yeah, I know. I'm here to see Deputy Director Hacker, if I can.”
Debbie's eyebrows shot up. “Oh really? Do you have an appointment?”
Parker felt his stomach drop, and - though he would never admit this to someone else -- his eyes fill with tears. “No, ma'am.”
“Well, most folks have to have an appointment to see the Deputy Director. However,” she continued, seeing the distraught look on Parker's face, “we'll just see what we can do for you.” Extending her hand, she beckoned Parker behind the desk and dialed a number. “Oh hey Melinda, listen I was wondering. Can you push Director Hacker's schedule around so he has five minutes here in the next little bit?”
A few moments later, Parker was riding the elevator up to the floor where Deputy Director Hacker had his office. The woman he'd heard on the phone rose to her feet immediately when she saw him.
“You must be Parker Booth!”
He smiled shyly. “Yes, ma'am. I am.”
“Oh my gosh. Well, he certainly raised you right. Course, we'd have to expect that from Special Agent Booth. Don't know that there's a thing that man does poorly. Well, he's just about ready for you. He has another man in there.”
“I can wait.” Parker sat in a chair, reached in his backpack and pulled out a book. Normally he wasn't a big fan of reading, but the books he'd been reading lately were pretty cool, about a boy who discovered he was half a god. He'd gotten a few pages in when the office door opened and a harried-looking man stepped out. He moved quickly, but paused when he saw Parker sitting there.
“You waiting on your dad?” he asked, jerking his thumb toward Hacker's office.
“No, sir. I'm waiting to talk to his boss.”
The man raised an eyebrow and sat next to him, extending his hand for a shake. “I'm Joe. What's your name?”
“Parker Booth,” Parker answered honestly.
Joe's face softened into a smile. “Are you Special Agent Seeley Booth's son?”
“Yes, sir. He's in Kansas right now.”
“I know. I'm sorry that we had to ask him to take on a case so quickly.”
“Do you work for the FBI?” Parker asked, sitting up straighter.
“No. Usually, Deputy Director Hacker comes to me. I work at the White House, for Mr. Obama .”
Parker's eyes widened. “Wow. That's really cool.”
“Some days.” Joe regarded the small boy levelly. “Some days it's not fun at all.”
“Like the day you asked Dad to come back to work before he got to say hello?” Parker asked, remembering just why he'd come in the first place.
“I'm sorry about that.” Joe shook his head. “It's a very sad situation, though. A man close to Mr. Obama has passed away, and we need your dad to help us figure out who did it so that they can't hurt anyone ever again.”
“Dad's the best at solving murders.” Parker nodded. “He's also the best at shooting guns and taking down bad guys.”
“That's what I hear. That's why we had to ask him.”
“He's also really good at playing catch. And showing me how to throw a football. And making popcorn and staying up 'til midnight.”
Joe nodded. “I'm sorry, Parker. I know you must have missed him.”
“A year is a long time. Dr. Sweets says it's not anyone's fault 'cause Dad can't say no when his country asks him to do something cause Dad really likes being an American.”
“It's sometimes very difficult to do what our country asks of us to do - your father has made a lot of sacrifices to keep you safe. And you've made a lot of sacrifices, young man. Mr. Obama would want me to tell you thank you.”
“Ask Mr. Obama when I can have my dad back,” Parker said, his eyes flashing a little cold. “Cause I need him just as much as America does.”
“We'll get him home, Mr. Booth,” Joe said seriously, extending his hand. “Just as soon as we can. My word of honor.”
“No changies, no takebacks,” Parker said firmly. “Your word of honor.”
“Absolutely.”
“Good.” Parker shook Joe's hand. “I can wait.”
**
“So what do we do now that we have confirmed the identity of the victim?” Donaldson asked, once Booth had filled him in on the details he'd received in the briefing.
“We start shifting through the garbage,” Booth said firmly. “And that means a trip to visit the last place he was seen alive, interviewing all of the people that worked in the campaign office in Salina...”
“We should call Mrs. Hoake and tell her we won't be home for supper,” Brennan said, interrupting their conversation.
“What? Why?” Booth raised his eyebrows.
“It's a three and a half hour drive out there, Booth, according to my GPS. It's very likely we won't make it back in time to have your steak.”
“You know what the problem is with this state?” Booth grumbled. “It's too damn big.”
“Texas is bigger,” Donaldson pointed out, and was silenced immediately by the glares of Brennan and Booth. Fortunately for him, Booth's cell phone rang again.
“Booth.”
“It's Hacker.”
Booth fought the urge to roll his eyes or shut the phone off. “How can I help you, sir?”
“I just finished briefing the Vice President on the Williams case.”
“Uh, congratulations, I guess,” Booth said, unlocking the door to the SUV with the remote control.
“He said that he and any of his staff would be available for questioning any time that you needed them, given Williams' tight connections in the administration.”
“Well, that's nice to hear sir, but...”
“He also wanted me to tell you that he really enjoyed meeting your son, and that you ought to be very proud of him.”
“I... am, sir, but... what? Why?”
“Parker stopped by to see me today.” Booth could hear the rustle of papers on the other end of the line and he pictured Hacker nonchalantly signing files while he terrified Booth.
“What? Sir, he's supposed to be in a summer program at...”
“We got him home safely, Booth - along with a strong warning -- but you can't blame the kid. He's a bit worried about you.”
Booth swallowed. “Oh.”
“You're doing a good job on the case, Booth. Your reports are as good as ever, your information is solid, and you're moving as quickly as can be expected.”
“Thanks, sir, but...”
“So call your kid, Booth. Take ten minutes. That's an order.”
“Absolutely. Thanks.”
Booth hung up the phone, and stared at it for a minute. Bones looked at him quizzically. “Is everything all right? Parker?”
“He took a day trip, all by himself,” Booth was shaking, “to the FBI offices, to talk to Hacker.”
“Agent Donaldson?” Brennan fixed a pointed glare at the man who was watching them both with fascinated eyes. “As my brother would have told me two decades ago: get lost.”
“Bones...” Booth gave a weak half-laugh. “You can't be mean to the junior agent, he...”
“He made it there safely, didn't he?” Brennan didn't move to touch him this time, but her eyes were intense as any caress. “Parker, I mean.”
“Yeah, he got there and back okay.” Booth shrugged. “He was just... worried. I called Rebecca last night but it was too late to talk to Parker, he was already asleep and... I didn't want her to shake his life up anymore than I already was, so...”
“Booth. Parker loves you. He needs to hear that you're okay.”
Booth started to walk, away from the store and away from the SUV, into the bright blue horizon. He knew without looking that Bones was right behind him. They'd walked maybe five minutes along the highway before he stopped.
“You know, they tell me my old man was a good guy before the war.” He picked up a rock and tossed it in his hands. “Sometimes I'd even catch a glimpse of that person. He'd smile just the right way or he'd dance with my mother in the kitchen.”
“Booth, you --”
“Just... stop, for a second, okay Temperance?” He sighed. “Just... stop. Cause you have to know: my old man was a real fucker when he was drunk, and he was conniving and mean when he was sober. He tore my mom apart from the inside out, and I'm the only one left in the world that knows just how bad it was.”
“Are you concerned that... you will become your father?”
“Sweets is right. There's this rage inside of me that boils underneath the surface. I've got a pretty good handle on it, usually. I can be the nice guy and do the right things and go whole weeks without breaking something or losing a night in a bottle of booze.” Booth shrugged. “Normally, I'm not anything like that part of my old man.”
“You aren't now, either.”
“I'm pissed as hell, Bones.”
“You have a right to be. Your father's rage was... uncontrollable. Irrational. You are in a very difficult situation at the moment.” Brennan watched him, somewhat helplessly. “You can control your rage, Booth. Even your rational rage. You're not going to hurt Parker. You're not going to gamble again, and you're not going to fall into a bottle.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I won't let you.” Brennan stood as solid as a stone. “In... times where my life has been very difficult, and I have found change hard to handle - when my whole paradigm was shifting, you were there, Booth.”
Booth sidearmed the stone he picked up with all of his might. “Bones... listen, you don't owe me anything or... whatever. There's no social contract here, okay?'
“Yes, there is.” Brennan picked up a rock, and launched it down the dirt road they'd been standing on, away from the high way.“You're my partner, you're my friend. I'm going to help you, Booth. Whether you want my help or not.”
“Temperance, Jesus, just...”
She took his elbow firmly. “We are going to walk back together. You will call Parker and reassure him that you are alive and doing well. Then we are going to question witnesses and start taking apart the senator's life, together.”
“Yeah, okay,” Booth said with a nod of his head. “That... sounds good.”
“But before you do any of that,” Brennan said, reaching into her bag and pulling out a bottle of water and a few nondescript white pills, “you are going to take two of these.”
“What are they?”
“Painkillers. You won't be nearly as grouchy or emotional when your back loosens up,” Brennan said firmly. “When we get to the hotel in Salina, I'll be able to do more for you.”
“Bones...”
“Shut up, Booth. Take the pills and let's go.”
He smiled, a little dazed. “Yeah, okay.”
**
Chapter Eight: The Flying Monkey
Author: ladychi
Beta Babes: katmorning, cathmarchr
Characters/Pairings: Booth/Brennan, Hodgins/Angela, Cam, Sweets, Wendell, Clark, Parker Booth, various OCs
Rating: M for language, graphic violence and graphic sex
Summary: It's August in western Kansas and a Senator's gone missing. When a body shows up in a field of milo, the President himself wants only the best investigating the murder. Seeley Booth and Temperance Brennan are both plucked unceremoniously from their lives and thrust into extreme-rural Kansas after a year apart. Takes place immediately after the year of separation in The Beginning in the End, the S5 finale. Multi-part mystery, updated every Monday.
Previous Chapters: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six
Author's Note: Wow! I managed to wait a whole week between updates. Believe you me, y'all. That was hard when I knew I was sitting on this chapter. Thanks to cathmarchr and katmorning for being so awesome with all of their wonderful beta-comments, and to biba79 who read the middle scene of this chapter before anyone else and reassured me that it was not over-the-top.
Chapter Seven: The Wizard And I
Booth silently seethed as they drove down the highway. This was the kind of crap that had tired him even from the very beginning of the job. It wasn't surprising that people lied; murder investigations were high-stakes, and even an idiot off the street understood the consequences of being found guilty. He wanted to curse, slam his hand against the wheel or punch a window: the kinds of things his father would have done to blow off some steam.
He could feel Brennan's eyes on him, studying him carefully, as she had on and off since they first saw each other on the plane. He wondered what she was looking for. He could tell she was concerned - that practically radiated off of her in waves -- but he didn't know how to reassure her that he would be all right.
Damn the Army and damn Bones and damn Hacker and damn everything, Booth thought. Before he'd opened up his mouth in Sweets' office, they'd been perfectly content. Deluded, maybe, but it had been a happy stalemate. They both knew the score, and they would have continued along in that vein forever: alone-but-together. His place and her place. Breakfast at the diner, supper at Founding Fathers. Solving cases and being just goddamn fine.
Or maybe that's not how it would have gone. Brennan might have turned down the dig in Indonesia if the Gravedigger trial had gone better, but he still would have gone overseas. It'd been drilled into him from a very young age that to live in America was a privilege and one that had to be paid for in duty and honor and blood.
In the end, it had been Parker that had persuaded him to go. Not just the conversation in the car that had told Booth that Parker expected him to go, but the fact of Parker. He wanted his little boy to say with pride that he had done, unfailingly, what his country had asked of him. He wanted Parker to think of him as a hero - to understand that when Booth talked about honoring heroes and patriotism and love of country, he'd been talking in concretes; not ideas that applied to someone else.
He'd known going in that he'd save lives, but he'd also known that he'd lose them. Not everyone came back from a war, and it was usually the young and the good-hearted that paid the price for the older men who ruled the world. That was the side of war he hadn't wanted to talk to Parker about until he had armpit hair. Like Santa Claus, sometimes it was better to preserve the illusion.
And it pissed him off, royally pissed him off, that with everything going on, everything he'd done, everything he had given up, that people lied to him about crap that didn't matter in the long run. Booth had told Catherine once that he could always tell who hadn't committed a murder, and in this case, he knew that Helen Rettinger hadn't. There wasn't that capability in her eyes. So why lie?
They reached the highway - Brennan checking her mail on her phone and Donaldson studiously staring out the window. Booth caught sight of the diner/gas station that the Sheriff had recommended to him and he glanced over at Brennan, forcing a bright smile.
“What do you say, Bones? Take a little break from the world for a cup of coffee?”
Brennan narrowed her eyes at him, clearly not buying his act. “That would be agreeable. Cam will be calling us with a mid-morning update in a few minutes.”
“Great.” Booth smiled.
“Coffee sounds like a good idea to me, too, you know,” Donaldson said, clearing his throat.
Brennan looked over her shoulder at him. “Sorry, Agent Donaldson. We should have asked your opinion.” Her expression, however, gave her clear lack of remorse. Booth bit back a smile. It was good to know Bones resented the intrusion into their usual working style as much as he did. Some things, at least, never changed.
The SUV came to a stop and they climbed out of the car and back into the repressive heat. Donaldson sighed and slipped his sunglasses on. “I do believe it's hot enough to fry an egg on the asphalt.”
Brennan squinted at him. “How can you tell?”
“An expression, Bones. It's just an expression,” Booth ground out, feeling strangely irritated. He usually found this side of Bones adorable.
“It's very likely that the road could become hot enough to fry an egg, however,” Brennan said, with acknowledging nod at Donaldson. “Asphalt retains heat extremely well and can become much hotter than the air temperature around it.”
Booth could see Donaldson struggle a bit to come up with a proper response to that. “I guess you learn something new every day.”
Before Brennan could speak up, Booth clasped Donaldson on the shoulder. “Maybe you could lay off the idioms and folk phrases for a bit, yeah? Starting to get a headache.” He walked ahead of Brennan and Donaldson, pushing the glass door of the establishment open and wincing when the doorbell rang.
The inside was paneled entirely in wood - from floor to ceiling, and a few booths were pushed against one wall. The majority of the space, however, was occupied by a long bar and the dozen or so stools that lined it. The windows were dirty and chalked with signs promoting the local high school team. One lone table sat in a corner with a bucket and a sign that read: “For Sale: Rattlesnakes, $10”.
Booth whipped off his sunglasses and headed straight for the counter and the smell of coffee. Finding a seat at the bar, he waited while Brennan and Donaldson sat as well. A woman stepped out from the kitchen and smiled at them. She was white-haired, suntanned and yet somehow ageless. In her youth, she must have been a show-stopping beauty, but time had worn her down. Still, her smile was bright and welcoming and Booth found himself smiling in response.
“You folks have to be from the FBI,” she said definitively, “don't ya?”
“Booth is,” Brennan said, her need for correctness once again making itself known. “As is Agent Donaldson. I'm Doctor Temperance Brennan, with the Jeffersonian Institute.”
“Oh, you know we went there once on a school trip with the boys,” the woman said, “and I just found it all so fascinating. You had an Egyptian exhibit at the time, as I recall... Oh, excuse me. I'm forgetting my manners. Marge Dewey, that's the name.”
“Good morning,” Brennan said, shooting Booth a glance when he didn't respond to her. “I'm glad you enjoyed your visit.”
“Oh, very much. Now, we don't have anything fancy, but the coffee's hot and the lemonade's cold. What can I get you folks?”
“Coffee, black,” Booth practically growled.
“A little milk in mine,” Brennan said, glaring at Booth. He felt guilty for a brief moment but then his phone began to ring. He snapped it open.
“Booth.”
“It's Cam.”
“Okay, hold on.” He gestured at Brennan and walked out the door, closing it in Donaldson's face. “What's new?”
“There was enough tissue left on the remains to run a tox screen,” Cam said, “and it came back with quite a tale to tell.”
“Just the facts, Camille,” Booth snapped. Brennan grabbed the phone from him.
“Sorry, Dr. Saroyan.” She held up a hand when Booth began to protest. “What were the results?”
“Drug overdose could be a likely cause of death. Our senator came back positive for all kinds of things: cocaine, ecstasy...”
“Clark's report says there's evidence of a struggle,” Brennan said. “I just received his report.”
Booth's eyebrows flew up. Cam continued on: “Yes, absolutely. All of the evidence is peri-mortem, but however much damage was done to his body before he was dead, it was the drugs that killed him.”
“Unless Clark or Wendell finds something to the contrary,” Brennan said firmly. “It's too early to speak with absolute certainty.”
“Yes, of course.” Booth could hear the amusement in Cam's voice and he fisted his hands.
“What about the identification, Camille? My investigation is pretty well stalled until you can identify the body positively.”
“Okay, Seeley. In childhood, Senator Williams broke his left femur in two places. The remodeling of the bones as well as what's left of the dentals confirm: these remains belong to Senator Williams.”
“That is the kind of information you start with, Camille. You start with the identity of the victim and then you irritate the crap out of me with the science stuff.”
“Agent Booth?” Cam's voice was frosty, and Booth felt a cold shiver of self-awareness run down his spine. He'd gone too far.
“Sorry, Cam.” He coughed. “It's been... a rough morning.”
“I hope so,” Cam said. “Well, that's about all I have to right now. I'm going to have Wendell investigate the cause of the bruising on the ribs and Hodgins is still sorting through particulates to see if we can give you a better idea of whether or not the senator died in that field.”
“Right, good. Okay.” Booth took his phone from Brennan and snapped it closed. “Coffee?”
Brennan set her mouth in a line. “No.”
“What?” Booth stopped and put his hands on his hips.
“Booth, I'm sorry that this is a difficult time for you and I know you're missing Parker,” Brennan said on a rush, “but you've got to stop... being me.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I upset the locals. I... put my foot in my mouth and ask the wrong questions.” Brennan put her hand on Booth's bicep and squeezed. “Seeing you this way puts me... very off-balance.”
Booth's mouth went dry. “Well, I'm sorry I'm inconveniencing you.”
“Stop that,” Brennan said firmly. “I'm trying to talk to you. I'm trying to help.”
“What can you do to help me, huh?” Booth looked anywhere but her eyes. They were so blue and so soft... and better than he'd remembered, and she was breaking him in half. “Can you bring me my kid? Can you give me a second to breathe?”
She pried his other hand from his hip and wrapped it in her own. “No, Booth, I can't do that. I'm sorry, I know - you deserve those things. You really do.”
Booth squeezed her hand and let his head hit the wall behind him. “My hands itch.”
“You want to gamble, you mean?”
“Yeah. I want to gamble. Or hit someone. Or drink a good bottle of single-barrel Jack all by myself. Fuck a beautiful woman or rip something apart.”
Brennan grabbed his other hand, rubbing her thumb soothingly over his palm. “Booth...”
He winced. “Bones, I'm sorry. Let's just... let's get back in there and have coffee, okay?”
“Booth...” Brennan protested. “No. Let's...”
“What? What are we going to do, huh? We don't have time for me to be a child, Bones. Let's just postpone this little breakdown until later, okay?” He dropped her hands, put his sunglasses back on, and walked back in the shop.
**
Parker Booth adjusted his backpack, staring up at the face of the Hoover building. He'd been here plenty of times before, of course, but always to see his dad, and always with an adult to accompany him. This time, though, he was here to see a different adult, and he was by himself. Still, he had a mission, and he was determined to complete it.
Sneaking away from the summer camp he attended had been easy enough - they were good at headcounts and keeping track of everyone usually - until they threw open the doors and let the kids out for recess. He'd had the help of his friend Bobby, who distracted the teachers long enough for Parker to vault over the fence and walk the block and a half to the bus stop.
When he'd paid his fare in quarters and dimes, the bus driver had smiled at him in the way that adults had that meant he'd done something particularly adorable, and he'd walked back to the middle of the bus, sat quietly and waited for his stop. D.C. had zoomed by - sweltering in the summer sun and melting everything and everyone just a little. It had been a relief to get off of the bus and away from the smell of people far too close together.
Parker ran a hand through his curls and thought once more about buzzing them off like his friend Petey had right as he opened the front door and walked in the lobby, straight up to the front desk like he'd been taught all of his life.
He waited patiently until the secretary there, Debbie,was done on the phone. When she clicked off the line and turned her attention to him, her eyes widened. “Parker?”
“Hey Mrs. Katz,” he said with a grin people told him all the time looked just like his dad's. “How are you?”
“Melting in this sun,” she said with a kind smile. “If you're looking for your dad, he's on assignment in Kansas.”
“Yeah, I know. I'm here to see Deputy Director Hacker, if I can.”
Debbie's eyebrows shot up. “Oh really? Do you have an appointment?”
Parker felt his stomach drop, and - though he would never admit this to someone else -- his eyes fill with tears. “No, ma'am.”
“Well, most folks have to have an appointment to see the Deputy Director. However,” she continued, seeing the distraught look on Parker's face, “we'll just see what we can do for you.” Extending her hand, she beckoned Parker behind the desk and dialed a number. “Oh hey Melinda, listen I was wondering. Can you push Director Hacker's schedule around so he has five minutes here in the next little bit?”
A few moments later, Parker was riding the elevator up to the floor where Deputy Director Hacker had his office. The woman he'd heard on the phone rose to her feet immediately when she saw him.
“You must be Parker Booth!”
He smiled shyly. “Yes, ma'am. I am.”
“Oh my gosh. Well, he certainly raised you right. Course, we'd have to expect that from Special Agent Booth. Don't know that there's a thing that man does poorly. Well, he's just about ready for you. He has another man in there.”
“I can wait.” Parker sat in a chair, reached in his backpack and pulled out a book. Normally he wasn't a big fan of reading, but the books he'd been reading lately were pretty cool, about a boy who discovered he was half a god. He'd gotten a few pages in when the office door opened and a harried-looking man stepped out. He moved quickly, but paused when he saw Parker sitting there.
“You waiting on your dad?” he asked, jerking his thumb toward Hacker's office.
“No, sir. I'm waiting to talk to his boss.”
The man raised an eyebrow and sat next to him, extending his hand for a shake. “I'm Joe. What's your name?”
“Parker Booth,” Parker answered honestly.
Joe's face softened into a smile. “Are you Special Agent Seeley Booth's son?”
“Yes, sir. He's in Kansas right now.”
“I know. I'm sorry that we had to ask him to take on a case so quickly.”
“Do you work for the FBI?” Parker asked, sitting up straighter.
“No. Usually, Deputy Director Hacker comes to me. I work at the White House, for Mr. Obama .”
Parker's eyes widened. “Wow. That's really cool.”
“Some days.” Joe regarded the small boy levelly. “Some days it's not fun at all.”
“Like the day you asked Dad to come back to work before he got to say hello?” Parker asked, remembering just why he'd come in the first place.
“I'm sorry about that.” Joe shook his head. “It's a very sad situation, though. A man close to Mr. Obama has passed away, and we need your dad to help us figure out who did it so that they can't hurt anyone ever again.”
“Dad's the best at solving murders.” Parker nodded. “He's also the best at shooting guns and taking down bad guys.”
“That's what I hear. That's why we had to ask him.”
“He's also really good at playing catch. And showing me how to throw a football. And making popcorn and staying up 'til midnight.”
Joe nodded. “I'm sorry, Parker. I know you must have missed him.”
“A year is a long time. Dr. Sweets says it's not anyone's fault 'cause Dad can't say no when his country asks him to do something cause Dad really likes being an American.”
“It's sometimes very difficult to do what our country asks of us to do - your father has made a lot of sacrifices to keep you safe. And you've made a lot of sacrifices, young man. Mr. Obama would want me to tell you thank you.”
“Ask Mr. Obama when I can have my dad back,” Parker said, his eyes flashing a little cold. “Cause I need him just as much as America does.”
“We'll get him home, Mr. Booth,” Joe said seriously, extending his hand. “Just as soon as we can. My word of honor.”
“No changies, no takebacks,” Parker said firmly. “Your word of honor.”
“Absolutely.”
“Good.” Parker shook Joe's hand. “I can wait.”
**
“So what do we do now that we have confirmed the identity of the victim?” Donaldson asked, once Booth had filled him in on the details he'd received in the briefing.
“We start shifting through the garbage,” Booth said firmly. “And that means a trip to visit the last place he was seen alive, interviewing all of the people that worked in the campaign office in Salina...”
“We should call Mrs. Hoake and tell her we won't be home for supper,” Brennan said, interrupting their conversation.
“What? Why?” Booth raised his eyebrows.
“It's a three and a half hour drive out there, Booth, according to my GPS. It's very likely we won't make it back in time to have your steak.”
“You know what the problem is with this state?” Booth grumbled. “It's too damn big.”
“Texas is bigger,” Donaldson pointed out, and was silenced immediately by the glares of Brennan and Booth. Fortunately for him, Booth's cell phone rang again.
“Booth.”
“It's Hacker.”
Booth fought the urge to roll his eyes or shut the phone off. “How can I help you, sir?”
“I just finished briefing the Vice President on the Williams case.”
“Uh, congratulations, I guess,” Booth said, unlocking the door to the SUV with the remote control.
“He said that he and any of his staff would be available for questioning any time that you needed them, given Williams' tight connections in the administration.”
“Well, that's nice to hear sir, but...”
“He also wanted me to tell you that he really enjoyed meeting your son, and that you ought to be very proud of him.”
“I... am, sir, but... what? Why?”
“Parker stopped by to see me today.” Booth could hear the rustle of papers on the other end of the line and he pictured Hacker nonchalantly signing files while he terrified Booth.
“What? Sir, he's supposed to be in a summer program at...”
“We got him home safely, Booth - along with a strong warning -- but you can't blame the kid. He's a bit worried about you.”
Booth swallowed. “Oh.”
“You're doing a good job on the case, Booth. Your reports are as good as ever, your information is solid, and you're moving as quickly as can be expected.”
“Thanks, sir, but...”
“So call your kid, Booth. Take ten minutes. That's an order.”
“Absolutely. Thanks.”
Booth hung up the phone, and stared at it for a minute. Bones looked at him quizzically. “Is everything all right? Parker?”
“He took a day trip, all by himself,” Booth was shaking, “to the FBI offices, to talk to Hacker.”
“Agent Donaldson?” Brennan fixed a pointed glare at the man who was watching them both with fascinated eyes. “As my brother would have told me two decades ago: get lost.”
“Bones...” Booth gave a weak half-laugh. “You can't be mean to the junior agent, he...”
“He made it there safely, didn't he?” Brennan didn't move to touch him this time, but her eyes were intense as any caress. “Parker, I mean.”
“Yeah, he got there and back okay.” Booth shrugged. “He was just... worried. I called Rebecca last night but it was too late to talk to Parker, he was already asleep and... I didn't want her to shake his life up anymore than I already was, so...”
“Booth. Parker loves you. He needs to hear that you're okay.”
Booth started to walk, away from the store and away from the SUV, into the bright blue horizon. He knew without looking that Bones was right behind him. They'd walked maybe five minutes along the highway before he stopped.
“You know, they tell me my old man was a good guy before the war.” He picked up a rock and tossed it in his hands. “Sometimes I'd even catch a glimpse of that person. He'd smile just the right way or he'd dance with my mother in the kitchen.”
“Booth, you --”
“Just... stop, for a second, okay Temperance?” He sighed. “Just... stop. Cause you have to know: my old man was a real fucker when he was drunk, and he was conniving and mean when he was sober. He tore my mom apart from the inside out, and I'm the only one left in the world that knows just how bad it was.”
“Are you concerned that... you will become your father?”
“Sweets is right. There's this rage inside of me that boils underneath the surface. I've got a pretty good handle on it, usually. I can be the nice guy and do the right things and go whole weeks without breaking something or losing a night in a bottle of booze.” Booth shrugged. “Normally, I'm not anything like that part of my old man.”
“You aren't now, either.”
“I'm pissed as hell, Bones.”
“You have a right to be. Your father's rage was... uncontrollable. Irrational. You are in a very difficult situation at the moment.” Brennan watched him, somewhat helplessly. “You can control your rage, Booth. Even your rational rage. You're not going to hurt Parker. You're not going to gamble again, and you're not going to fall into a bottle.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I won't let you.” Brennan stood as solid as a stone. “In... times where my life has been very difficult, and I have found change hard to handle - when my whole paradigm was shifting, you were there, Booth.”
Booth sidearmed the stone he picked up with all of his might. “Bones... listen, you don't owe me anything or... whatever. There's no social contract here, okay?'
“Yes, there is.” Brennan picked up a rock, and launched it down the dirt road they'd been standing on, away from the high way.“You're my partner, you're my friend. I'm going to help you, Booth. Whether you want my help or not.”
“Temperance, Jesus, just...”
She took his elbow firmly. “We are going to walk back together. You will call Parker and reassure him that you are alive and doing well. Then we are going to question witnesses and start taking apart the senator's life, together.”
“Yeah, okay,” Booth said with a nod of his head. “That... sounds good.”
“But before you do any of that,” Brennan said, reaching into her bag and pulling out a bottle of water and a few nondescript white pills, “you are going to take two of these.”
“What are they?”
“Painkillers. You won't be nearly as grouchy or emotional when your back loosens up,” Brennan said firmly. “When we get to the hotel in Salina, I'll be able to do more for you.”
“Bones...”
“Shut up, Booth. Take the pills and let's go.”
He smiled, a little dazed. “Yeah, okay.”
**
Chapter Eight: The Flying Monkey