Title: Deja Vu

Disclaimer: Language, violence

Chapter One: Kryptonite

"What did you do with the body, Mathew?" Booth demanded of the youth sitting at the scarred table before him. His eyes burned with a desire to get justice for the victim in a horrifying case.

The young kid just stared back at him, as though he were deaf to every word that came out of the FBI agent's mouth. The nose-ring caught the light and sparkled, as did the two earrings in his ears. His close-cut hair had been dyed a shade of deep blue and his fingernails were painted black, matching the color of his clothing. Instead of answering the question at hand he let his eyes wander around the interrogation room. Three bare walls and one with a two-way mirror, nothing much for him to look at. Finally he decided to stare into the mirror, to see if he could see those standing on the other side.

Booth slammed a hand down on the table, making the punk jump with the sudden noise. "I asked you a question, Mathew. If you don't tell me where the body is I'll pull for the death penalty. Would you like that?"

The punk's brown eyes didn't show any sign of emotion. Booth's threat wasn't doing its job. The accused could care less about the hell he found himself locked in, thinking more about music or something else. This indifference to the situation did nothing but drive the anger that was already coursing full-throttle through Booth. He threw the folder of the case across the room, papers scattering and fluttering to the floor like many white leaves.

This case had been eating away at him for the last few months. Everyone could clearly see it and no one blamed him. The death of a young kid is always hard to handle, especially when that young kid is murdered and the only suspect is their older brother. Michael was only five-years-old, just a baby in the eyes of his parents. He'd been left in the care of Mathew, his older brother, one night while the parents were away at a business function. They returned home to find their baby boy dead, lying in a pool of his own blood. Mathew was nowhere to be found, until a week later, when Booth picked him up. The older boy had been driving around in a beat-up car and upon searching it for drugs and other illegal things they found a skeleton in the trunk. The skeleton of a boy not much older than Michael had been.

That's when Temperance Brennan and her people made their entrance into the case. They had only to identify the body to drive the case farther down into a black hole, sending Booth even farther spiraling down. The skeleton had belonged to a six-year-old boy who had a twin brother; both boys had gone missing from their yard months before. All trace of them disappeared, every lead led to another dead end. Finding that skeleton had been the only break to come in months. And what a terrible break it had been. Now Booth spent his hours trying to crack the punk and learn the whereabouts of the other still unaccounted for twin.

"Tell me where you hid the body," Booth demanded again, his voice was low but full of menacing tones. Walking around the room, waiting for the punk to say anything, just one word even, Booth began to pick-up the scattered paperwork of the thrown folder. A nasty grin crossed his face as he plucked a picture from the floor. With flourish he slapped it down in front of the quiet teenager.

"That's what you did to your little brother. Your own damn flesh and blood," yelled Booth. He placed his palms on the table and leaned forward. "What could a five-year-old boy do to piss you off, huh? Tell me, Mathew."

No tears fell from the teenager's eyes as he took in the gruesome picture of his baby brother. No emotion passed over his face at all. It made Temperance sick to her stomach, to see such a cold and heartless personality in a child. What had been done to him to make him react this way to death? Why had he shut off all emotion to the world, blanketing him in the world of darkness? With tentative hands she watched as the teenager picked the picture up, with a flick of his wrist he sent it sailing across the room.

Frustrated Booth turned his back on the kid, running a hand through his hair. His boss had given him full control of the case and he wanted to make things right. He wanted to give two families the peace of mind they needed, the answers they deserved to have. But if Mathew wouldn't say a word there was nothing he could do. There would be no understanding why a teenager felt like killing young children. The courts wouldn't care, neither would the juries. They condemn the teenager to the electric chair and at this point Booth no longer cared. He had a son of his own. He knew what it was like to love that little being with every part of his heart. What had gone wrong in this teenager?

"You know what," Booth said, running a hand over his mouth in defeat. "I give up, don't tell me the information I want. Keep the information to yourself. You'll be taking it to your grave. I overheard my boss talking with the court, seems they've decided that only though your merely sixteen you will be tried as an adult for your crimes. Enjoy your trip to hell."

Booth left the room, making sure to slam the door on his way out. It angered him that he couldn't break the cold front the teenager projected. It angered him even more that he'd lost his cool. Temperance stepped out of the room that allowed her to see the interrogation. Technically she shouldn't have even been there, her part in the case was over, done with. But she had asked a favor of Booth and he couldn't deny her. She laid a hand on his shoulder, trying to give him a sense of comfort.

"You did your best, Booth, you can't ask for more than that," she said in her matter-of-fact voice. As a scientist she very rarely let her emotions seep out, something Booth never could get a handle on.

"I wanted answer, Brennan. Silence is not a damned answer," he snapped, pulling away from her. He took off down the hallway, his frustration finally hitting the boiling point. Being stubborn herself, Temperance took off after him. She didn't think leaving him alone would be a good idea, not when he felt so defeated.

She caught up with him outside the FBI building. He was leaning against the white structure; his eyes watching the traffic of the city go by. Impulsively she sat on the steps next to him. Usually he loved being in the company of the young scientist and she knew that. She knew that he liked her, that she gave him some sort of relief even when she was driving him crazy with all her questions. Temperance didn't understand people, she understood bones. Much to her dismay and disbelief Booth did not join her on the step; he remained standing, his arms crossed protectively over his chest. She could feel the anger and frustration ebbing from his body. This case was going to haunt him for a long time.

"Do you want to go out and get a drink?" she asked him after letting the silence between them stretch. The city buzzed around them, ignoring their very existence. "It might help take your mind off things, or at least make you feel better. I understand that alcohol is very good at that."

"No thank you, Brennan," he replied in a hushed voice still filled with discouraging sorrow. "I think I'd like to be alone for a while." With that he began to make his way to the busy sidewalk. For a man who wanted to alone he picked a poor place to do it. How could he be alone on the crowded city sidewalks? Feeling discouraged herself; Temperance picked herself up and headed back inside the building. She wanted to talk with Booth's boss before heading back the comforting confines of her lab. It was only then that she realized Booth had not called her Bones even once. The nickname bothered her to a degree, and yet, it gave her a feeling that someone out there cared a whole hell of a lot for her. Now that someone was lost in his thoughts and she couldn't help but worry about his safety.