Disclaimer: I don't own Bones. I know your surprised.
Author's Note: I got the idea for this story while I was working. I have no idea why. Anyway, the plot just kind of came to me, and I wanted to get it out of my head, so I decided that I would change it into a Bones fanfiction so I could get some feedback on it. It's probably going to be another long story, and as you know if you read Body at the Beach, I write longer chapters. Hope that works for everyone. For now it's rated T since I'm not totally sure where it's going yet and I want to be on the safe side. Also, just so you know, Angela and Hodgins are not dating in this fic. Hope you enjoy it!
September arrived in Washington D.C. in precisely the same way that it arrived everywhere else. The lengths of pant legs and sleeves varied inversely with the length of sunlight in the days, and the fiery fingers of August began to loosen their grip, causing the once lush summer foliage to become edged with reds and browns. The scent of the summer months, which was a delicate mixture of grass clippings and heat, was replaced by the distinct, though perhaps imagined, smell of pencil shavings and paste. The colors of the outdoors changed, washing the landscape into a swirling blend that was reminiscent of the crayons in a child's box. During the darkened hours of the night, long forgotten fears began to crop up in people's minds, vague, but insistent. Among these were the fears of missing homework assignments, not being able to find the classroom on the first day, and of taking math tests wearing nothing but underwear. All people, young and old alike, felt the similar anxieties—what if the teacher calls on me and I don't know the answer? Who will I sit with at lunch? What if I trip and fall on my face in front of my entire class? All things were tinged with a feeling of newness, despite the fact that the year was actually three fourths of the way over. The laid back mindset of the hotter months was slowly replaced by the jovial, bustling feeling that comes with colder weather and the anticipation of new beginnings, of school years beginning, of family coming home for the holidays, and of nestling in for the snow and cold that surely lay ahead, however far in the future. Children prepared themselves to become students, teachers wrote new lesson plans and rearranged bulletin boards, and parents mentally readied themselves for hours of soccer practices, parent-teacher meetings, and homework assistance. Everyone felt the shift.
The workers at the Jeffersonian were no exception to this rule. Although it had been years since any of them had been in elementary school, they all felt the familiar mental tug that came with the dawning of September. It seemed that no one was immune to the pull of this month; the early years of life had been too influential, too important to be forgotten or ignored. Resistance was futile. However, for the workers in the Jeffersonian, September was more than just a reminder of long past school days. September was the marker of the beginning of fall, the season which is often used as an archetype for death. And it was death, not schoolhouse memories, which tended to stand at the forefront of Jeffersonian employee's minds as they drove to work on cool September mornings.
Temperance Brennan's mind, however, was not on death as she drove to the Jeffersonian on one particularly and unusually cold Monday morning in September. Although she knew what was waiting for her when she got to work—the remains of a long dead body that had been found by a backhoe that was digging in an effort to prepare a piece of ground for the laying of a foundation—she allowed her thoughts to stray to other things, happier things. She had woken up in a good mood that morning roughly two minutes before the alarm sharply sounded. She had smiled through a breakfast of coffee and toast, in spite of the terrible news of death and destruction from around the world that had been plastered on the front of the newspaper which she had been reading. She felt relaxed as she drove, ignoring the fact that two drivers had cut her off and one had given her the finger as she made her way to work. Nothing could touch her mood today.
The reason for this, though she would never admit it out loud, was because she knew that Booth would be coming by her office at some point that day. He would come for an update on the body, which had been found late the night before. She smiled as she recalled his voice when he had called her. He had told her about the remains, informed her that they were being sent to the Jeffersonian, and then asked her if she would mind taking a look at them on Monday. She smiled at the idea. He had asked her to look at the remains. He hadn't demanded or insisted. He had asked. She smiled again as she recalled the rest of the conversation. It had almost seemed as though Booth didn't want to get off the phone. He had made an attempt at small talk, which Temperance had tried to return. In the end, they had spent a half hour on the phone, talking about nothing in particular. Booth had finally ended the conversation, leaving Temperance with the smile that remained on her face even into this morning.
Since becoming the FBI link to the Jeffersonian, Booth had been a constant presence in Temperance's life. At first she had been annoyed by him, always feeling as though he were looking down on her, or disrespecting her. After some time together she had come to understand his manner, and this had lead to her respect for him. He was a good person who was honestly seeking justice and truth. Temperance had to admit that this was admirable. And then, as more time passed, Temperance realized that she and Booth had drifted into a friendship. They cared about each other. She knew he would be there if she needed him, just as she would be there for him if the situation was reversed. They were coming to understand one another, learning how to communicate, and slowly their relationship was growing. Angela was always quick to point out that she thought their relationship would become, and should become, one of romantic involvement. These were thoughts that Temperance always quickly scoffed at and pushed away. "We're just friends!" she would insist, or "we just work together!" However, though she denied it outwardly, Temperance knew on the inside that her relationship with Booth was changing. It was growing into something more than just mutual respect and friendship. She sensed that Booth felt it, too, though the two never discussed it. The idea was both exciting and frightening to Temperance at the same time. So much could go wrong, in so many ways they would clash with one another, they were both so stubborn…and yet, in the face of her resistance and denials, she realized that it only took one look from Booth and one utterance of "Bones" to make her ignore these claims. She was attracted to Seeley Booth. She respected Seeley Booth. She was friends with Seeley Booth. How wrong could it be?
Temperance dropped her bag in her office, looked through a few stray papers, exchanged morning pleasantries and small talk with her co-workers, and eventually pulled on her lab coat and began her work on the remains. Zach mimicked her actions with his own lab coat, surveying the remains silently with her, as Hodgins and Angela stood by, looking, and waiting to see what they could do with the new find.
"Victims appears to be male, Caucasian," Zach stated as his eyes scanned the remains. He sniffled slightly.
"Broken collarbone, restructuring suggests five to seven years before death," Temperance added, staring closely at one of the bones.
Zach coughed lightly. Temperance's eyes flicked to him briefly. "Take some measurements to determine height. I'll start determining age."
Zach nodded, sniffling again as he did so. This drew a quizzical look from Angela. "Are you sick, Zach?" She asked as she glanced up from the sketch pad on which she had been jotting notes about the bones.
Zach shook his head. "No, not sick," he said. The dark circles under his eyes and the lethargic manner with which he moved betrayed his words. Angela gave him a look that reflected this, and he shrugged slightly. "I might have a cold."
"Great, you have a cold. With any luck we'll all be infected by lunch," Hodgins said, his tone gruff.
Angela looked at him and rolled her eyes. "That was Mr. Optimism with the Big Picture." She turned her attention back to the young lab assistant. "If you're sick, you should go home and get some rest."
Zach shook his head. "I'm fine."
Temperance looked up at him. "Go home if you're sick, Zach. We're not that busy today. You don't necessarily have to be here."
Zach shook his head again. "I'm fine," he repeated.
Angela sighed. "Men," she mumbled. Zach gave her a quizzical look before shrugging and gathering the necessary bones to accomplish his task. Temperance moved to do the same thing, and with that the four slip up to work on their various parts of the project.
Booth parked his SUV in the parking lot of the Jeffersonian at two o'clock that afternoon. He climbed out, locking the doors behind him as he flipped his keys between his fingers and tucked a manila file under his arm. He found Temperance in her office a short time later, her attention focused on her computer screen. She didn't even look up when he appeared in her doorway.
Booth moved to give the door a gentle knock so he wouldn't startle her, but before his fingers could connect with the surface, Temperance spoke. "Come on in, Booth, I'm almost done."
He smiled slightly her perception of him and moved into the office. She hit a few more keys, and a moment later he heard the sound of her printer producing a typed sheet. She glanced at it briefly, and then handed it to him. "The body was a male, Caucasian, 50 to 57 years of age, between 5'11" and 6'1". Cause of death unknown, but he'd been buried in that spot for a minimum of 10 to 15 years."
Booth accepted the paper, his eyes scanning over it as Temperance spoke. "Great. Thanks," he said. "I didn't think you would get to it so fast."
"Anything to help the FBI," Temperance said, her voice showing that she was being somewhat sarcastic.
Booth smiled. "I'm glad you feel that way, because I have something for you." He dropped the file onto her desk. She opened it and began to read the contents as Booth spoke. "Harold Gibson and Richard Hyde both died on the same day almost one year ago. Both were buried, but in different graveyards. A few days ago the Gibson family began claiming that the person buried in Harold Gibson's grave was not Harold Gibson. Since the same funeral home was in charge of both burials, Richard Hyde became the most reasonable option for a mix-up; they had similar builds, similar features, it wouldn't have been a hard mistake to make. Both had closed-casket services. Then the Gibson family starts claiming that they heard a worker at the funeral home talking about how they had buried Harold Gibson in the wrong place. They claim that they heard this statement during Harold Gibson's funeral. Why they waited almost a year to tell anyone is beyond me."
Temperance glanced up. "Why is this an FBI case?"
"It wasn't," Booth answered. "But when they dug up what should have been the body of Harold Gibson, they found something else. Someone was buried in Harold Gibson's grave—on top of the coffin."
Temperance, who had gone back to looking at the file, glanced up again. "There were two bodies in Harold Gibson's grave?"
"That's right. And that's where we come in. We need to know who the second person is, and we need to know why they were doing buried on top of someone else in a graveyard. There was no record of the second body being there, and no reason for it to be there."
"Well, there could be one reason…" Temperance replied.
"Yeah. In fact, there could only be one reason. And that's why it's an FBI case."
Feel free to hit the review button now, and feel free to tell me if you hate it so far. Seriously. If you think it sucks, I want to know :-)