Disclaimer: I don't own Bones or the song I use here. Lame, isn't it?
Author's Note: So, I've had this around since about...December, but didn't post it because I hadn't been watching the show long and I didn't want to offend anyone if they were waaaaay OOC. Then I decided that I might as well post it. Even if its awful, nothing good's coming of it just sitting in my documents. Besides, hey, maybe someone will like it.
Long distance information, give me Memphis, Tennessee
Help me find the party trying to get in touch with me
She could not leave her number, but I know who placed the call
'Cause my uncle took the message and he wrote it on the wall
Help me, information, get in touch with my Marie
She's the only one who'd phone me here from Memphis, Tennessee
Booth casually strode into the lab, looking for Brennan. He checked the platform, her office, and even sucked it up and checked Limbo, but she was nowhere to be found.
Confused, and not without a slight bit of concern, he walked into Angela's office.
The artist was skillfully working on on a painting of desert scenery. It was beautifully done; he almost didn't want to interrupt her, but this was about his Bones, so he did.
"Angela," he called, "Have you seen Bones today?"
"She's at that conference in Memphis, Booth," she said as though he should know that.
"What? No, she didn't- I haven't heard- Why didn't she tell me?" he asked, slightly offended that his partner that he was so close to had ran off without telling him.
"She didn't tell you? Really?" Angela asked dumbfounded.
"I swear, she never said a thing about Memphis. What's it for?"
"You know what her stuff is like. I try not to ask about these things. I find that if she doesn't tell you up front, you probably don't want to know," Angela said, making a disgusted face as she thought about some of the things that piqued her best friend's interests.
"Yeah, but, you know, she usually tells me stuff like this," Booth said sadly.
"Aww, Sweetie, don't worry about it. I'm sure she didn't mean anything by it. You know how she is sometimes, social courtesies don't always translate well into Brennanese," Angela tried to comfort him with a smile.
"Yeah...you know, that last case we worked, it- it got to her...a lot. I just- I just didn't want her to stay preoccupied with it," Booth sighed.
"Not even knights in shining armor could always be there for their damsels, Booth," Angela stated.
"Maybe that's why England got sacked so often," Booth commented, turning to leave.
Thursday, 7 pm. Eastern Standard Time
Booth pulled out his cell phone and called Brennan's number.
It rang once.
Was he calling because he was angry?
He was worried.
He was worried, he was confused, he was feeling left out, he was sad, he was angry, he was even a little jealous.
Her voice mail picked up. A thousand different possible messages ran through his head from very angry ones to very needy ones.
Before he could decide what exactly to say, he was talking.
"Bones, you don't run off like that without telling me. Do you know how worried I was? I still am, since you didn't answer my call. Really, Bones, I need you to call me when you get the chance. I need to know you're okay."
He hung up his phone, sighed, and sank down in his chair.
Thursday, 6 pm. Central Standard Time
Brennan sank down in her seat in the crowded auditorium as a lecturer droned on about something she should have cared about, but just couldn't bring herself to. She was preoccupied with something. Part of it was the case she helped wrap just before leaving. The other part was the leaving.
It hadn't occurred to her at the time. At the time, she just wanted to get as far away from DC and the skeletons that haunted her dreams as she could get.
In retrospect, she really should have told Booth. It was not his fault that the case had turned out the way it had; she shouldn't have placed so much blame on him.
She shouldn't have placed any blame on him.
But she did.
She knew he would worry and it worried her.
Why did it worry her that he was worried?
It should make her angry that he thought he had to know every part of her life, but it didn't.
In fact, it made her feel...good that he cared enough about her to worry.
Thursday, 10 pm. CST
Brennan walked into her hotel room and heard her cell phone beep. She didn't even remember sitting it on the counter, but there it was. She checked the voice mail and saw she had one from Booth. She listened to the message and at first she was angry, but at the end, she heard the worry and desperation in his voice and felt a knot forming in her stomach, as physically impossible and irrational as that seemed.
She called him back and waited.
Maybe there was something behind his talk of 'heartbreaking' or 'butterflies in stomach'.
Because if she could theorize on how live butterflies would feel if you existed in a hypothetical world where the insides of a human body were conducive to butterfly sustainability and they were able to fly within your abdominopelvic cavity, she would surmise that feeling would be similar to the one she was experiencing at this particular moment in time.
Also, his voice in the voice mail did feel as if he were experiencing emotional pain or trauma and if, in the hypothetical realm again, the heart really was the center of emotion then it would most definitely cause emotional pain or trauma for it to undergo a situation similar to 'breaking'.
And that feeling in her stomach. It certainly felt like a tight knot of tense muscles that suddenly appeared in the pit of her stomach.
Since when did she have feelings like knots or butterflies in her stomach. The only thing that was usually in her stomach was acid and partially digested food, the things that science has taught her should be in a stomach.
Could it really be that his voice from over a thousand miles away could do this to her? His voice?
Then his voice mail picked up and, without her brain censoring her, she spoke, "Booth, really, you have no justification for so much worry about my wellbeing. But since you are so worried, you should know that I blame nothing on you. It was just everything with the case. I was preoccupied and I just- I just...I just left. I know its irrational to call you back now. I'm an hour behind your time zone, so you're probably asleep. I'm sorry that I didn't tell you I was leaving, Booth."
She hung up the phone and got ready for bed hoping her apology would sate Booth.
Thursday, 11 pm. EST
Booth's phone lit up and vibrated on his kitchen counter, but he didn't hear it as he slept a fitful sleep in his bed. Tossing and turning, worrying about his Bones.
Friday, 9 am. EST
It was late.
Booth was late.
He hopped through the apartment trying to tie his shoe while holding his tie in his mouth. He poured a travel mug of coffee, shoved his cell phone in his pocket, and ran down to his SUV.
When he climbed in, the cell phone synced with the vehicle's Bluetooth and he checked his voice mail while tying his tie as he pulled out into the street.
After hearing at least six, 'You're late, Booth. Where the hell are you's from his boss, he got to Bones' message. He calmed down a bit just from listening to her voice.
He felt bad that he had been angry with her. He was such a jackass.
He called her cell phone and listened.
She was probably busy.
He should just leave her alone.
He shouldn't dwell on this.
But he couldn't help it.
Something moved in him.
He had to call.
Her voice mail picked up again and he didn't know whether to be relieved or frustrated.
"Hey, Bones, I just wanted to say that its not your fault and I was being an ass. I hope you're having a good time doing whatever it is you're doing. If- uh- if you get the chance, get a picture of Graceland for me, please. That'd be- that'd be cool. Uh, so I guess I'll talk to you when you get a chance. Bye."
He hit the end call button and groaned. So much for saying something meaningful.
Friday, 8 am. CST
Brennan made her way through the crowd. She hated it here, she really did. Not the city, but the ordeal. All she wanted was to get back to working cases with Booth.
In fact, at the moment, she was really missing Booth.
She reached down for her cell phone, thinking of calling him, but couldn't find it.
She tore through everything on her person, but couldn't find the phone.
When she arrived at the convention hall, she had checked the time so she knew it had made it this far, but now it was nowhere to be found.
Friday, 7 pm. CST
On her twelfth trip to the lost-and-found station, Brennan was relieved to hear that someone had turned in her cell phone. She checked the voice mail and found two from Angela, one asking a question and the other retracting it with the promise that she'd 'Google it', and one from Booth.
Of its own volition, her chest clenched upon seeing his name in the inbox.
She listened to the message and groaned. How did they keep missing each other?
After his message ended, she dialed his number.
There was really no need in returning this call.
Nothing from his last message indicated the desire for continued conversation.
But for some reason, she was calling him.
She didn't know why.
But she really, really wanted-
-to talk to him,
His voice mail picked up for the second time in the two days they had been apart and she groaned.
"Booth, I really don't know why I'm calling you back. Please stop blaming yourself. The matter really is very trivial. Oh, I've- uh- I've got tomorrow morning out, so I might go get you that picture...or you could- uh- you could call...so we could actually talk...to one another, It seems like it would be a lot more convenient and logical...to actually talk. Just, you know, if you get the time. I- uh...Bye, Booth," she hung up and rubbed her face with her hand.
They had been separated several times, why was this time bothering her so much more?
What had changed?
Friday, 8 pm. EST
Booth heard an urgent knocking on his door and scrambled to open it. On the other side was an excited looking Jack Hodgins.
"Hey, come on, man," he said, grabbing Booth's arm and pulling toward the exit.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Go where?"
"Out. Throw back a few cold ones. Guys night out," Hodgins grinned.
"'Guys'? What 'guys'? Me and you?" Booth grumbled.
"Nah; me, you, Fisher, Wendell, and your little FBI brain probe."
"I don't really feel like going out, Hodgins," Booth said moodily.
"You'd rather sit here in your apartment and count the hours until Dr. B comes home?" Hodgins said exasperatedly, "That's horrible and I'm not gonna let that happen. Come on."
Hodgins stared down his friend like a border collie eying a sheep. Booth allowed his friend to pull him int the hall and neither noticed Booth's cell phone ringing as the door slammed behind them.
Saturday, 10 am. EST
Booth woke up that morning groggy and frustrated, Last night he had vented his anger that he could never catch Bones and that frustration had stayed with him through his sleep. That morning, he decided that he wasn't going to deal with it anymore.
He picked up his cell phone to make a call and saw her message. He listened to the message and groaned.
He had to talk to her.
He called Angela.
"Angela? Its Booth. Do you know what hotel Bones is staying at?"
"Not off hand...its a really big hotel in Memphis. That's all I know."
"Alright. Thanks. Bye."
He hung up without second thought to his briskness.
With a quick Google he found the hotel and its phone number. He dialed and a smooth voice with a Southern accent answered, "The Peabody Hotel, what can I help you with today?"
"Yeah, I'm FBI Special Agent Booth and I need to contact one of your guests," he replied, it wasn't a lie, they were just two unrelated statements.
"Alright, sir, what is the name of the guest?"
"Dr. Temperance Brennan."
"Alright, sir, I'm putting you through to Dr. Brennan's room right now."
There was a brief pause.
"The one and only."
"The world is grateful."
"You're getting better at the funny stuff."
"How's your trip?"
"Its good to get to talk to you. I was tired of playing phone tag."
"I don't know what that means, but I am also happy to talk to you."
"I miss you."
"I miss you, too."
A.N.: In case all that EST/CST business messed you up, she's in CST (central time zone) and he's in EST (eastern time zone) and there's an hour difference.