Author Note: Okay, so it says this will by five chapters. It'll probably end up more, but my plan is five, so the summary shall remain. I hope you like this. I'm trying to really get a handle on the way Booth thinks. I decided that Booth did get promoted after the Cleo Eller Case, so his office is little right now. And I'm not updating What Your Forensics Team Doesn't Know until I hear about some more favorite possession boxes. Just by the way.
Disclaimer: Don't own it.
Booth was sitting in his office mulling over the case. They identified the victim as a woman named Gretchen Vandor. God her parents must have hated her, Booth thought as he read the name off of the file. There was a photograph but they were just speculating the identity from the letters which were not in good enough to shape to really read. Their prime suspect was the girl that she was writing letters to. They were arguing about a man. They had several leads that wouldn't have been discovered had it not been for Dr. Brennan's analysis of the bones. He frowned while he read the file. Although they had all this information, they could have been chasing the wrong lead...He knew the next thing he had to do was go apologize to Dr. Brennan, then ask for her help. He needed more than just a name and photograph. They needed a face on the skull to confirm who this girl was, and maybe more. It was likely that they would need particulate analysis beyond what the bureau could provide. He put on his best charm smile, loosened his tie, combed his hair, and then hopped into his car. He was about to grovel on his knees to the beautiful Dr. Brennan.
When he arrived and the Jeffersonian, he fixed his tie. He wasn't trying to seduce her. She was a braniac. He wasn't even into that. He liked his women smart, but not genius level. And she was beautiful, but she was almost prettier than him. He didn't like that very much. Booth was used to being the one that everyone looked at first, but with her next to him, he would look quite average. He strutted into the Jeffersonian for the second time after parking in the dreaded parking structure and was immediately hit with the smell. It was so...disinfected. It bothered him. Everything in that whole lab was cold, metal, plastic, and/or mechanical. It was sad that these people had to be shut up in that place all the time. He had to admit though, It was better than the basement that the forensics team worked in at the J. Edgar Hoover Building. All it was down there was fluorescent light and low ceilings.
Booth spotted Dr. Brennan and jogged up the platform. An alarm went off and suddenly, all eyes were on him. He felt blood rush to his cheeks. It wasn't often that he blushed, but it had been known to happen. Dr. Brennan was most definitely shooting daggers at him with her eyes. He shrugged his shoulders. He didn't know why he set off the alarm. He looked back behind him and a security guard eyed him. Booth flashed his badge and the guard just slid his card down the slot and the annoying alarm sound ceased. Dr. Brennan looked like she was going to slit his throat.
"Agent--" Did she really forget my name? Booth thought.
"Booth!" He nearly shouted, but only because his pride was slightly hurt.
"What are you doing up here? I can't have you on the forensic platform. You could compromise remains!" He was offended. It wasn't like he didn't know not to touch things.
"Look, I just came here because I wanted to--"
"Who is this?" A woman stepped up next to Booth and put out her hand for a shake. "I'm Angela. Montenegro. I do facial reconstruction, but I'm an artist." Booth was quite impressed. She was beautiful, but far more personable than Dr. Brennan. Booth shook her hand and tried to start speaking again, but Dr. Brennan interjected.
"Angela, please." She gave her a look that scared even the sniper trained FBI agent. "Agent Booth, could you please explain why you've come here?" She was trying so hard to be pleasant he could tell. He should have kept his tie loose.
"I came to apologize for not giving you the credit you deserved. I should have listened to you when you told me what you thought about the homicide." He smiled pleadingly. Angela had these puppy dog eyes that were glued to Booth's chiseled body.
"You need my help." How the hell did she guess that? Booth thought angrily.
"Yes, Bones," Oo Bones, that has a very nice ring to it. That's what I'll call her. She frowned, but let him continue. "We need particulate analysis, facial reconstruction and a confirmed ID. This," he whipped out a picture, "is who we suspect it to be. The age fits and we found letters." Brennan looked up.
"First of all, do not call me Bones. And second, I don't like to let things like letters cloud judgment. Don't tell me the name of this woman, but get me her medical records. I will also need the remains."
"Wait," Booth was slightly surprised. "Are you agreeing to help after I totally ignored your previous findings?" She looked surprised at Booth's choice of vocabulary.
"Do you want my help or not? It's important to me to be sure that the families of victims whether they are 50 or 1,000 years old are informed that we have found a relative. I am more than willing to help with that, but that doesn't mean I'm doing a favor for your ungrateful ass." He was a little bit surprised that she was so pissy. He took her as someone who would just comply when she had an excuse to. Apparently she was a rebel...
Booth nodded and saluted "The remains will be here in about," he looked at his watch. "Fifteen seconds." Twenty seconds later, and FBI team had a large cardboard box filled with the remains of the woman who was supposedly Gretchen Vandor. Within Minutes, Dr. Brennan and her team had taken everything out of the box, assembled them on the table, and got to work. The letters were given to Angela. Apparently she was some kind of computer genius. Booth knew very little about the team. He knew that Hodgins was a paranoid conspiracy theorist, Angela was hot and a geek, and the little assistant boy--Booth didn't take the time to learn his name--just followed Dr. Brennan around and did whatever she asked of him. Booth looked over everyone and contemplated what to do next. He decided to write his number on a page in his note book and give it to Dr. Brennan. It wasn't for romantic reasons, he had a girlfriend. He just needed her to call him when they found what the bureau was looking for.
"Well, Bones, just call me when you've got what I need." He slipped the paper into the breast pocked of her blue lab coat and left the lab. "And I want one of those ID card thingies!" he shouted as he left. Booth didn't see it, but Brennan looked up at him, rolled her eyes and continued to work on the remains.
Two hours later, Booth's cell phone rang. The front lit up with a number he didn't recognize. He assumed that it was Dr. Brennan, or Bones, as he had suddenly decided to call her. He really did prefer that spontaneity. Bones was far better than X-ray.
"Booth," he answered coldly like he always did.
"Booth, this is Dr. Brennan."
"Oh hey, Bones, what did you find me?" He smiled. She was going to tell him not to call her that, and then he'd do it again. He loved it.
"Don't call me Bones. We have a face. We ran it through a mass recognition program that Angela designed--"
"Oo, Angela..." Brennan sighed and Booth could almost see her rolling her eyes. He had only just met her, but he felt like he'd always known her. It was an odd thing for him to feel. Usually he would just have an erection, but with Dr. Brennan, he actually felt an odd affection for her that he couldn't quite explain. It was especially odd because she also made him want to tear out his eyelashes.
"I also solidified the identification by comparing medical records. There was a tibia break that was in her records. The ones you gave me were useless because her name is Paula Anderson not Gretchen Vandor. The photograph you provided didn't match the facial reconstruction." She took a big breath then continued, "Angela also rendered some of the letters. They were about a love affair. They were to the woman named Gretchen and from the victim, Paula. I don't believe they were ever read by Gretchen. But that is pure speculation. I just can't think of why the victim would have letters that she wrote. They're all dated two weeks apart from each other."
"Great. Is there anyway that you can bring me all of your findings?" He knew she was grimacing.
"If I must." She hung up and he leaned back in his chair, put his feet up on his desk and snickered. Yeah, that's right.
About fifteen minutes later, she was standing in the doorway of his office. It was about the size of the large storage closet that Dr. Brennan had in her office. She had a fat manila folder full of papers. "This is everything." She dropped it down onto his desk and turned to leave.
"Wait, Bones!" She turned around and her face was red with fury. "Jeez, all I wanted to say was thanks. I'm sorry I was a jerk earlier. This is exactly what I needed. And you know, you'll begin to like me sooner or later."
"You know, Booth, I think that that is highly unlikely." He frowned. God why does she hate me? I apologized...
"Well, I guess it was nice knowing you Dr. Brennan. You can leave now." She looked so happy that she had been released. Booth would never admit it, but it definitely bruised his ego knowing that she didn't like him. She left without hesitation, but Booth was certain she was thinking that she didn't have to be dismissed to leave his office. He looked around and thought about how great it would be to have an upstairs office with big windows, a new office chair, and a big glass doors so people could peer inside and see how great he was. He sighed and let that fantasy go. He was good at his job, but Deputy Director Cullen didn't like him enough to promote him for a good term of duty.
The Jeffersonian: Doctor Temperance Brennan's office
Temperance was writing a book. It was about a crime fighting anthropologist named Kathy Reichs. She could shoot a gun with deadly accuracy, knew several types of martial arts, and was a knock out. On top of all that, she was had a genius level IQ. She had everything and anything that she ever wanted, but still, something was missing from the story. Temperance had already written in a fantastic team of scientists who could detect whatever was necessary using empirical methods that were always right one. There was John, the entomologist, Alaina the artist, and the lowly assistant who would do whatever Kathy asked of him, Kenny. She knew that she had to write in another character that brought them together to uncover important evidence that is involved in murder investigations, but she just couldn't decide how to portray him.
She thought long and hard, and then began to introduce FBI Special Agent Andrew Lister. He walked into the lab one day, charmed everyone around him into working a case. She didn't know where he came from or what he would really do, but she knew that she needed some heart in the story. The science its self would not be enough for her to become a best-selling author. Not that she would ever tell anyone she dreamed of being on that heavenly list in the New York Times. She smiled to herself as she madly typed. Andy was much different than the other characters she'd written about. She knew exactly where she wanted him to go: To bed with Kathy. Now that would make her book a best-seller.
Startling her, Angela walked in and said, "Sweetie, are you working on that book again? I thought you finished it already?"
Temperance looked at Angela. "Well, I decided that it was missing something. I needed Kathy to have a side-kick, and now she does." Angela raised one eyebrow.
"Is it Booth? You're not going to tell me, I know, but it's Booth."
Temperance's mouth fell open. "Angela, if you must know, the side kicks name is Andy Lister. He is an FBI agent who ties the team of scientists together and gives them a mission. He is noble, kind, has a smile to die for, and won't rest until he finds the truth. That sounds absolutely nothing like the jerk who waltzed in here like he owned me." Angela didn't say anything, but she knew she was right. Brennan was very smart, but she was also incredibly stupid.
A few months later, Temperance's book was complete, published, and there was a photograph of her with a skull on the back. Booth was strolling through a bookstore--which wasn't something he did often--when he fell upon it.
"Bred in Bone," he read aloud, "By Dr. Temperance Brennan. Hmmm, a writer, who'd a thought?" He shrugged his shoulders, went up to the cashier and bought the book. When he arrived at home, he cracked it open, and didn't put it down until he had finished reading the last page. It wasn't necessarily that he loved it so much that he couldn't put it down, but he couldn't believe how similar he was to Special Agent Andy Lister...
Booth shut the book and looked up at folded his arms. He thought, hmmm...I guess she does like me after all.