Last one, folks. Thank you for all the reviews, guys! *hugs*
All he can feel is the sinking in his stomach.
Because there's not enough time.
People had always suspected that, with that kind of rifle and recoil back then, there would be no possible way one person could perform that kind of feat. Two shots. Two rounds, so close together, with such precise accuracy.
Well, they didn't know Seeley Booth. He was sure he could do it.
And he'd been wrong.
When the moment arrives for him to utilize his role in the concocted reenactment, it suddenly hits him. The seconds the squints had said it'd taken had seemed a lifetime in the eyes of a sniper. So much could happen in that amount of time.
But not this.
He knows before it's time that there's no way he can do it. Not with this weapon.
He takes the shots anyway. Teeth bared in a grimace as the revolting knowledge fully consumes him.
Booth had once taken out seven widely scattered and mobile targets in less than nineteen seconds, from a distance further than twelve hundred feet. But he can't space two shots two seconds apart.
It's feasible now. Even commonplace. But back then, with this weapon, it was impossible.
The evidence doesn't lie. No matter how much, this time, he begs for the facts to be wrong.
"There's no way," Sweets is saying, pacing the room with long, errant strides. His head is shaking vehemently, and he's been arguing the logic of it and how the evidence is still inconclusive because of the sheer amount of variables involved. "Not to mention, with no disrespect intended, he's not the same shot he was fifteen years ago. Time is a factor."
Time is always a factor. But in this case, it's futile.
Sweets is wrong. Because Booth knows all too well that you don't just forget that sort of thing. It doesn't dilute, no matter how badly you might wish it did.
It's profound how he's ended up here.
His ancestor put a bullet in Lincoln's skull. And now everything's come full circle in a truly maudlin sort of way.
Hodgins is as animated as can be, but anyone can clearly see that it isn't a glowing sensation of being right on this conspiracy that lights his gaze. Five years ago, it might have. "Come on, Sweets! Even he knows it's impossible!" His hand jerks in Booth's direction for emphasis.
Booth doesn't say anything. His world's been turned on its axis, and he truly knows now how his partner must feel.
Brennan steps forward then, her eyes glued meaningfully to her brooding partner before they settle over the rest of her team. Her tone is grave and resolute. "If there is any human being alive who could make that shot… it would be Booth."
The verdict is uttered, and a chill settles over them all.
And they know.
The government lied. They covered up one of the most infamous presidential assassinations of all time.
Moments pass, intense in their silence. Then, without warning, Booth activates and turns from the group to stalk toward the door.
"Where are you going?" Cam asks, frightened of the answer.
"I'm an FBI Agent, and a crime has been committed," Booth responds darkly. There's a foreboding quality to the timbre. He's digging out his cuffs when he reaches the threshold and disappears through it. "I'm making an arrest."