Author's Notes: I am so sorry that I haven't updated in… oh wow, nearly two years! I lost all inspiration for this fiction, in fact to be honest I don't really like any of the ones in this series, I like the storyline but I think I've betrayed the fundamental characters and my writing standard is significantly lower than most of the other things I've written.I would much like to go back and edit it all ruthlessly, in essence, do a complete rewrite but I don't really have the time, and as people seem to really enjoy what I've done so far I shall continue; I hope you enjoy it – as I am already aware that the characters are off, please don't criticize me for it and feel free to read other fictions, not in this series because they are much, much better. The first sort of page or so was written in November 2006, the rest in April 2008 so I have been trying! lol
Chapter 9: Torpedo
Tanashiko looked more like a primary school teacher than a scientist, short and plump with a bubbly nature much like Angela's but at the same time as down to earth as Temperance. Her natural mothering nature had Zack blushing before he'd even stepped up to the table. Her dark hair was cropped and flecked with silver she seemed she did not try and hide, green eyes searing through Booth as he gave the remains on the table a rather disgusted look.
"Did I interrupt something?" she asked, looking Temperance up and down, her outfit extremely out of place in the lab but she herself looked unaware, already pulling on latex gloves and speaking into her tape recorder details about the skeleton shape, age and general state of being.
"Birthday party," Booth offered as he nodded goodbye to Jack as the spore specialist gave him a pointed look regarding the slumbering artist in the back seat of his car.
Tanashiko nodded "oh! My dear, I am so sorry, I shouldn'ta called,"
Temperance didn't look up "it doesn't matter, where were they found?"
"She was on the bed and he was in the living room, poor things, so young-"
"His teeth fit the indentations in her clavicle," Temperance dead panned as she glanced from the male's teeth to the holes in the female's neck, "it was violent," she said softly, eyes scanning the male's skull carefully.
Booth had long since learnt not to question how his partner managed to pick things up so quickly and without mistake. It was a mystery he did not want the answer too.
"And he shot himself," she stood up, contemplated putting her hands on her hips but stopping just short of staining her dress with the blood and decomposing flesh that stuck to the gloves.
The thought had her pausing a moment and pressing the back of her wrist to her mouth for a second; her stomach churning.
"Are you all right Doctor Brennan?" Zack pressed gently as Booth disappeared and returned with a glass of water.
"I'm fine," she said, recovering and pulling of the gloves and dropping them in the trash, taking the glass she sipped at it, nodding at Booth. "I'll get Angela to get us a face in the morning once Hodgins has taken samples of what he needs and Zack's cleaned the remains,"
"Honey why dontcha go and sit down? We can handle it out here,"
Temperance shook her head "I'm fine," she said off-handedly.
"She was an asthmatic," Zack reported.
Temperance nodded examining the shape of the sternum and what remained of the diaphragm; it was a slightly different shape than that which she would normally expect to see on someone without a breathing condition so that supported Zack's statement.
"Here," Booth took her wrist and pressed the glass of water into her hand "you need to sit down,"
She glared at him but it soon faded when she realised that he wasn't going to back down.
"Zack can do it," he assured her "I can take you home and we'll come back in the morning,"
Temperance shook her head. She needed to be here. This had never been a part of the plan. Everything had changed, so suddenly, so abruptly, she'd never wanted children; the idea of being a mother, of being responsible for another human being – another, entirely defenceless human being – scared her more than she wanted to admit. Nevertheless she didn't have much of a choice in the matter.
"He's right honey," Tanashiko said softly "I can watch the kid whilst you two go on home,"
Booth could see she was still not entirely convinced "Parker's babysitter's only paid 'til midnight," he said, and whilst he knew that the girl wouldn't leave his son on his own, and would dutifully wait until he and Temperance got home, he hoped that it would convince the determined Forensic Anthropologist to see sense.
She was pregnant and it wasn't fun. She ached and felt tired all the time, she had to pee twice as much as she had before and all she could do was act like it wasn't bothering her because that's what she was good at; acting like nothing mattered. Like nothing got at her because that meant surrendering to emotion, and emotion got in the way of the things that mattered.
There was a murder victim lying on the table in front of her, her murderer and suicide victim on the one next to it. A series of occult slayings moving further and wider across the area they had originated from; she hadn't seen anything like this before, it was like something straight out of those absurd TV shows and movies Booth watched. It certainly didn't seem real.
"Fine," she said but only because she felt tired, it had nothing to do with the churning in her stomach because the baby was wriggling and writhing around, and it certainly had nothing to do with the nausea that was assaulting her because her sense had been heightened and adjusted to suit the outrageous hormone levels in her body.
"Thanks," Booth said again as the seventeen year old smiled at him and waved goodbye.
With the baby sitter gone he headed into the bedroom, checking briefly on Parker but the boy was sound asleep, curled up under the comforter.
"Bones," he said as he shut the bedroom door behind him "you okay?"
"I'm fine," she answered from the bathroom, taking off her earrings and toeing off her shoes before coming back into the main room "seriously Booth, I'm okay,"
"You sure?" he said.
She shook her head and ignored the comment. She hated the mood swings, one moment she couldn't be happier because everything she had thought she'd never wanted turned out to be precisely what she'd needed. For the first time since she was fifteen she had a family, and despite the fact she had never intended to have children because… well there were a hundred and one reasons why but none of them mattered… at least not every other hour but at the moment they did.
In the club, for example, she'd been content, her partner had refused alcoholic beverages on her behalf, she'd danced, the music had been pounding and the rhythm had felt almost soothing in some strange way. The throng of bodies and the waves of heat had been overwhelming but in a way that didn't make her feel claustrophobic or stuck.
But now it was different. Now it felt like this was all wrong, she didn't feel comfortable in her own body, she wanted out but obviously, that wasn't possible. And to not only be feeling these strange sensations but thinking these completely irrational thoughts was, in actual fact, quite daunting.
Deciding it would be best to forgo that line of question Booth took off his jacket and started unbuttoning his shirt "so have you worked with her before?"
"Who?" she twisted as best she could and undid the zipper at the side of her dress – thank God for maternity wear, she mused, else it would have been at the back and she would have had to have asked Booth to unzip it, and at the moment, no offence to him, she didn't need to be touched by anyone else.
"Oh," she stepped out of the dress and proceeded to change into pyjamas "once or twice; she was a consultant for the labs in Quebec for a few months before she transferred to a university in Carolina,"
"Cool," he said because he wasn't sure how else to respond, he was just trying to make conversation.
Something was up with Brennan and he wasn't sure what. If he asked directly he knew she would deflect the question with a witty remark or a flippant 'I'm fine'; and he wasn't very good at puzzles really, he could connect the dots in a murder case, motive and reason, he could figure out what a criminal's next move might be but the one person whose signals he should be able to read, he couldn't.
Temperance Brennan was an enigma, a year ago he would not have thought she would change for anything, she was stubborn and did as she pleased, regardless of what everyone else thought but at the same time she followed the book, doing what needed to be done in her own, little way. What he considered to be random and impulsive from her was calculated and measured in her head; she connected the dots in a totally different way, forming an abstract picture that would have made Picasso proud.
But then something had happened, Rebecca had been murdered, Parker traumatized and he'd jumped, taken the bullet intended for one or the other of them and the intensity of that fear had taken him aback because it didn't matter which one – Temperance or Parker – that bullet had been meant for, he would have reacted the same way. The coma had been an unfortunate side-effect but he wouldn't react any differently if he were put in the same situation again; God forbid.
He had vague memories of people talking to him, nurses, Angela, Hodgins, even Zack, but Bones' and Parker's voices rang higher than the rest, their words made sense, even if he couldn't remember precisely what they had said. His memory might have been somewhat lacking but he'd known, the moment he'd opened his eyes and seen her that she was different.
The events following his being short had done something to change the Temperance Brennan he had known, oh he loved her, still did, and quite possibly had for a long time before the coma, he didn't know and it didn't matter for dwelling on it would show no purpose other than they painfully true words should have noticed it sooner but all the same she was different; open to more obscure possibility.
Whilst he had always thought that her eyes had shown her emotions, the passion with which they were shown now made before seem like she was the Ice Queen because the floodgates had opened and she was there, more present than before. And if he knew even the smallest thing about this woman, he knew she hated showing how she felt unless the situations were dire, she'd even hated it when he hugged her if she was crying or scared, but the way she'd hold on told him a different story.
Back then he had known that if she was showing anything, if she was crying, then she needed him, and he had always been there and as far as he was concerned he always would be. But something was wrong and it was intimidating to think that he couldn't figure out what.
Siobhan ran her tongue over her teeth for what must have been the hundredth time since removing the false set of fangs she was forced to sport when in the company of Sinclair and his cronies. The others all had 'real ones', in that they went to a dentist and had their canines elongated and modified, strengthened to suit the purposes.
When she'd first studied Vampirism she had been reasonably certain that these so called 'Vampires' just drank blood – like from a butchers or, if they were more daring, a blood bank, and as a result many ended up sick, from lack of nutrition or HIV or something that was transferred via the blood because if they came from places such as blood banks, chances are it would have been black market.
Her parents had wanted nothing more to do with Mace after he joined the cult but she couldn't let it rest, for weeks it had been the one thing on her mind, and after bidding her parents farewell with the unspoken promise to return with her brother, she had had a set of 'fangs' constructed to fit her mouth because she wasn't going to have surgery just to go undercover but she had to fit in so they had to look as genuine as possible.
Again she ran her tongue across her incisors, they felt smooth and her mouth felt all morphed out of shape after having to wear the dentures for as long as she had; the car hummed beneath her fingers as she turned the wheel with a smooth flick of her wrist and pulled up outside the Hoover Building, the parking lot was dark and mostly unoccupied, glancing around she was satisfied to find that she was not visible to any of the CCTV cameras that were dotted around. Siobhan glanced at her watch and sighed; she had a long wait.
Settling back in her seat and closing her eyes, she shifted her right hand to rest on her opposite hip as she folded her arms; the familiar comfort of her pistol and its holster firm against her waist.
Author's Notes: A little short but at least it's an update right? I am so sorry for it taking so long to update!!