TITLE: Nothing Personal
CHAPTER ELEVEN: Urges and Impulses
Temperance sat in stiff silence, her mind not registering the bustle around her: the clicks of the crime scene photographer's flash-bulb; the red and blue lights alternating and passing across her living room from the squad cars outside; the low murmur of Booth and several officers. She couldn't even see her mahogany coffee table, right in front of her from her spot on the couch. All her mind's eye could see was that scrawled message on her bedroom mirror.
Her attention only diverted when she felt the couch cushion beside hers dip. Her head swiveled to find Booth beside her, his gaze concerned. She watched as he surreptitiously glanced over his shoulder, looking for prying eyes, before he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and drew her close. "You okay?"
She nodded on autopilot, though she knew her eyes were probably still vacant. When she leaned her head on his shoulder, she noted he had put his suit jacket back on. She then glanced down at herself, checking to make sure that, in her haze, she managed to redress as well.
She did.
"I'm so sorry this happened," he whispered, covertly dusting a kiss to her temple.
Tempe shook her head, conviction in her tone. "I'm not."
He leaned back slightly and gave her a once-over. "You're not?"
"No." She met his eyes, her own sparking with determination. "Because now we'll catch him even quicker, won't we?"
Booth grinned at this, and fought not to lean in and kiss her. "You got that right, Bones."
After being instructed to stay with a friend temporarily, Tempe and Booth made their way to his place, too exhausted to do anything else but curl up together for the night. The next morning, as soon as they arrived at the Jeffersonian, Tempe was pounced on immediately by Angela.
"Sweetie! God, are you okay? I heard about what happened!"
Booth nodded for her and placed his hand covertly, supportively on Tempe's back. "She's alright. Nothing was taken from her place, nothing was broken. It was just that threatening note in bright red lipstick."
Angela made a face. "Bright red?" She looked to her friend. "Sweetie, that doesn't sound like your color."
"It's not," Tempe sighed. "Booth thinks the killer brought it with him."
Angela raised her eyebrows. "So... what? Now we're looking for a transvestite killer that doesn't realize bright red should only be reserved for clowns and hookers?"
Booth tilted his head admonishingly, and Angela raised her hands in supplication. "Sorry, sorry. Bad joke."
Booth patted his partner on the back discretely and nodded in the direction of Hodgins' office. "I'm going to go see what else Hodgins has for us, alright? Stay here with Angela."
"Booth, I'm not a child. You don't have to coddle me."
His look, slightly wounded with a hint of frustration, stopped any more arguments she'd been about to make.
"You're right, you're not a child. You're my--" He stopped himself when he saw her widened eyes. He dropped his voice low, emphasizing each word to get his point across. "You're my partner, who's currently being watched by a psychotic killer. So excuse me if I get a little protective."
Tempe swallowed anything else she wanted to say, and just nodded while watching him walk away. She only tore her eyes from his form when she heard Angela's awed exhalation.
"Whoo, is he the hottest man alive, or what?"
Tempe rolled her eyes and shot her best friend a look, who held up her hands once again.
"Sorry, all I'm saying is... I'd totally let him manhandle me if you two weren't all..." She quirked her eyebrows. "Soulmate-y, and stuff."
Tempe sighed. "We should get back to work, Ange."
"No, first..." She draped an arm over her best friend's shoulders and steered her toward her office. "You need to tell me what the hell happened lastnight. And don't leave anything out."
"That's it?"
"That's it. The splinters embedded in each victim's skull is the same kind -- oak. And it's treated."
"So what does that mean?"
"Well, this particular treatment is a sealant used on only high-end hardwood floors. And, even though you didn't ask, I did some digging in my spare time..." Hodgins pulled up a sheet of paper from his desk. "This specific high-end oak is manufactured and distributed only in upstate New York."
Booth's eyebrows practically disappeared into his scalp. "So this means..."
Hodgins nodded. "This means your girls were most likely killed in that house upstate. All four of them. Together."
"Yeah, got it."
"Okay." After a moment, Hodgins glanced up at Booth, taking in the stress written clearly across the agent's face. Knowingly, he asked, "How is she?"
Booth looked up. "Brennan? She's... y'know, she's... her usual self."
Hodgins nodded. "Repressed, detached, demanding not to be coddled yet secretly feeling sorry for herself." He shrugged. "We're all used to that. You'll get used to it eventually, too."
"I don't want to. You know, she's gotta deal with this sometime. She's gotta let me... look out for her."
"Look, man, I may not know Brennan as well as Angela does, but I've seen and heard enough to know that she's pretty damn used to taking care of herself; looking out for herself. And I know that you guys have been partners for awhile now, but it still probably throws her off from time to time that somebody actually gives a damn. That somebody cares where she is and what she's doing all the time."
"It's not like I'm trying to suffocate her, I mean I know she's independent, but... I can't help it. It's just this weird urge I have to protect her." He rolled his eyes. "But I know that if I ever said that to her--"
Hodgins chuckled and nodded knowingly. "She'd go into a ten-minute diatribe about the ways of ancient man and how it relates to modern-day urges and impulses."
"I can't help it. I just--"
"You're in love with her."
Booth's eyes snapped up to meet Hodgins', who gave him a look and a smirk.
"I've got three doctorates. Not a lot sneaks past me, believe me."
Booth sighed and shook his head, his stress causing him to start pacing.
Hodgins watched this momentarily, studied the tense federal agent, before he asked quietly, "Have you told her?"
"He told you he loved you!" Angela nearly shrieked.
The sound, as usual, sent Tempe toward the door to close it. "Yes. He did."
Angela watched her friend's path back toward the couch. "Well did you say it back?"
"Everything was happening so fast. He said it, and then the next thing I knew, we were... y'know..."
Angela raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Fucking against the wall?"
"Ange!"
"Well, I'm sorry Brenn, but 'making love' against a wall is just not possible. If you're up against a wall, then you're--"
"I understand," she replied tersely.
Angela sighed and shook her head, staring at nothing in particular on the coffee table. "And I gotta say, honey -- against the wall? I never knew you had it in you." She shrugged facially. "Of course, I suppose if you have Booth in y--"
"That's quite enough, thank you." Tempe closed her eyes and began to rub one of her temples.
Angela studied her friend. "So are you really okay?"
"It's fine. Really. I don't care. I'm not the type to stress over what was said and not said."
"Yeah, but... you put yourself out there, man," Hodgins reasoned with a shrug. "You gotta expect at least a little response."
"Oh, I got a response... just not the coherent kind."
Hodgins raised an eyebrow. "Really? Care to elaborate?"
Booth shook his head. "Nope."
"Dammit." Hodgins turned the light off under the microscope he'd been using. He glanced up at Booth again. "So do you think it's that Vaughn guy?"
He got a shrug in response. "I don't know. He's our most plausible suspect--"
"And your only suspect," Hodgins interjected.
"Right. Plus the way he was looking at Brennan when we interviewed him just got my hackles up."
"Where is he now?"
Booth's brows knit together in contemplation for a moment, before he met Hodgins' eyes. "That is a very good question."
"It is?" His own eyebrows raised, as it wasn't often he acquired praise from Booth.
"Yeah. I think maybe I'll follow my ancient-man-impulse and go see Mr. Vaughn right now. Maybe ask him some more questions."
"Okay."
He watched as Booth headed for the door, flipping his keys in the air and catching them, before he spun around and pointed a finger at Hodgins. "You let Brennan out of your sight and I'll shoot you."
Hodgins nodded. "Okay. I'll, uh... start getting my will together now, just in case."
Booth shot him a look over his shoulder and was gone.
TBC
AUTHOR'S NOTES: YES, I know this took F-O-R-E-V-A-H to post, and I apologize. It's a disease, really, that stems from doing a casefile fic. I just always get stuck on them. It never fails. Ask the people that read my Grissom-Catherine stories in the CSI-fandom. I have two casefile fics yet to be finished, one of which (a crossover with The X-Files) has been untouched for over a year. See? Disease.
And as I am still battling this disease, I ask you all to bear with me. The gentle urging and encouraging words have helped, the not-so-gentle urging has not; all I can say for certain is that I will finish this story. Soon, I'm hoping, but I've learned never to pin down a ballpark time for having a fic finished. Especially since I write for several other fandoms. As of right now, I'm just pleased to have finally finished this chapter. Hang in there, everyone! And thanks for coming back to read this after so long.