Chapter Text
Camille Saroyan rolled over for what she figured was the tenth time that night. She glared at the clock on her night stand. If she was awake for five more minutes, she would get up and do something, maybe read a book. A storm rolled on outside the cocoon of her bedroom, but it was not the rumble of thunder keeping her awake.
She wasn’t one to put much thought into nagging feelings. She trusted her gut for those split-second decisions she sometimes had to make at work, yet she was grounded in science. This feeling gnawing at her insides made her search her mind for an answer. She hadn’t worked anything difficult or particularly gruesome in months. In fact, she’d barely worked at all on criminal cases. She had been conducting some research into traumatic brain injuries as a personal project, and she couldn’t see how that work could be keeping her awake.
She’d downed half a bottle of antacid before throwing herself into bed. She hoped she just had a case of heartburn from the spicy Thai food she’d eaten at dinner. She almost wished she could go back and change what she’d ordered to something a little tamer. Memories of the heat that dinner date had created between her and a certain special someone gave Cam only a short-lived moment of reprieve. There was an answer to her unease, lingering at the edge of reason and trying too hard wasn’t going to help. She closed her eyes and counted, which didn’t last long because it was no use. Her brain would not stop working this unknown problem.
It was early morning now. She rolled over yet again and faced the only window in the room. Lightning slashed through the darkness, and thunder practically split open the very seam of reality. She could feel the echo in her chest, and her heart rate soared. She sat straight up, pulling back the covers. Cam was ready to run, but from what she couldn’t be sure.
She focused on the window, and during the next flash of light, she could swear she saw something reflected in the pane of glass. But no – she caught her breath. Her mind was playing tricks on her. That was it. The fierceness of the storm simply surprised her. It had been a quiet summer in DC.
It took her a few seconds to realize her cell phone was ringing on the night table. She almost didn’t answer because the number displayed was unfamiliar. Duty called, though, day and night. Urgency simply wasn’t part of her life lately. Her job had become rather mundane.
“Hello?” Cam winced at her informal greeting.
“Dr. Saroyan,” the owner of the voice was on the tip of her tongue, achingly familiar to her tired mind.
“Yes.” She answered uncovering herself and sliding her feet into a pair of slippers.
“I apologize for the late hour, cherie, but we have a situation.”
Caroline Julian. Cam knew the news could not be good. A call at this late hour from the Assistant US Attorney meant only one thing – a case – and she was without part of her team.
/././
Angela Montenegro sat next to her husband, Dr. Jack Hodgins. Their private jet was on final approach to Baltimore Washington International Airport. Bad weather had forced them to divert their landing. Lightning streaked across the sky to the west. Angela jumped, and Jack grabbed her hand.
“It’s okay, babe.” He soothed.
She wasn’t so sure. The flight home from France had been a bumpy one. Never in her life had she thrown up on a plane. More than once, she found herself saying a short prayer to the bathroom mirror.
“I’ll be better when we’re on the ground,” she said with a deep frown.
“I can’t argue with that.” He squeezed her hand and laughed. Angela wanted to smack him.
“This isn’t the time for laughing.” She straightened her seat and checked her seatbelt. “We could crash in this terrible weather, and I feel like puking again. Not to mention, you get a cryptic message from Cam mid-flight.”
“She knew we were on our way back.”
“That wasn’t a welcome home text.” Angela took a sip from her gingerale. “Something isn’t right.”
“You’re just on edge because of the horrible flight.”
Jack tilted his head and gave her that look that normally melted her. But this wasn’t normal. His charm did not calm her unease.
“No, no there’s something else. I just feel it.”
“What you feel is two hours of turbulence at the end of a seven-hour flight.” He unbuckled his belt. “It’ll be alright once we’re on the ground.”
He got up and stretched.
Angela pointed to the glowing sign above them. “You’re not supposed to be out of your seat. The captain turned on the seatbelt thingie.”
“It’s my plane. I can do what I want.” Jack bent down and touched his toes, big grin on his face, eyes sparkling.
Just then the plane lurched, and he flew forward, rolling into a haphazard somersault.
“Jack!” She undid her own belt and half stood to check on him, heart racing. Now, she really wanted to smack him once she saw he was alright, but couldn’t reach him.
“Point taken about the seatbelts.” He chuckled and came back to his seat. “I will obey the signs for the moment.”
/././
I’m back baby.
That was all Seeley Booth could think to text her.
As soon as he hit the send button, he groaned. He didn’t want to give her any ideas. He certainly didn’t want her to think he’d been pining for her all these months. Because he hadn’t done that. In fact, he’d done quite the opposite.
He quickly sent another message.
Meet me at noon?
Booth waited while the airport buzzed around him. The luggage carousel was still silent as the throng of weary travelers gathered with murmurs of anticipation. The red-eye flight across the Atlantic had not been smooth. Sometimes, air travel was like going through battle. Albeit a very mild one compared to what he had faced in his career, but it was an apt metaphor. You were stuck with a group of people for several hours, and if things went sideways, you had to rely on one another. Booth nodded at a few of the men and women, knowing he’d probably never see any of them again. The comradery only latest for the duration of the trip.
All he wanted to do now was get back to his place and relax. First, he needed a response from Temperance.
He thought it was funny that he was thinking of her by her given name rather than his nickname for her. Sweets would have fun with that revelation. He’d be sure to pull some deep-seated emotion from Booth – if they were still doing their sessions. His chest tightened for a few seconds. He missed those sessions. A teeny tiny bit.
Booth didn’t want to dwell on the past. Bones or Temperance, he didn’t care. He willed her to answer him.
Just then, his phone buzzed. He plucked it from his pocket and smiled.
I’ll see you at noon.
Her response was short and to the point.
He sighed and tucked his phone back into his shirt, wishing it would ring so he could hear her voice. Luggage began its parade around the metal runway, snaking its way through the crowd. He shrugged off the moment and watched for his bags.
/././
Dr. Lance Sweets sat at his desk, focused on notes he’d typed for his book. He’d been working on this project for months. Almost scrapped it twice because it was as frustrating and hard to reach as its subjects. He couldn’t get the two of them out of his head tonight.
He checked his watch and realized it was practically morning. The lights flickered as muffled thunder boomed in the background. He found the storm a fitting backdrop to his battle. He wanted to write this story, felt almost a calling to do so, yet every time lately that he put pen to paper, nothing would come.
His inspiration was gone. It was partially his fault, he figured. Though rationally, he knew this wasn’t true. People had free will. They could be manipulated and prodded, but he’d done none of those things. Most of the time, he observed.
He knew the bubble had burst. It was inevitable. Dr. Brennan was fragile though she made an effort to appear strong and logical. Agent Booth was both fierce and collected while fighting an intense war with his emotions. Not to mention, she denied her heart while he often wore his on his sleeve. Something had to give. Lance hadn’t expected things to turn out quite like this.
He certainly didn’t expect that he’d be sitting in his office alone. Daisy popped into his head. He missed her.
His phone buzzed and skittered across the desk. He checked the number. Camille Saroyan. What could she be calling about at this hour?
“Dr. Saroyan.” The line crackled and he held the phone away from his face. He had an irrational fear of talking on the phone during a storm.
“Dr. Sweets, sorry to bother you at this hour.” Her voice seemed to come from another dimension. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“No, no problem. I’m working actually.” He wasn’t sure why he told her that. He wasn’t proud of his night owl habits as of late.
“Oh, okay.” He thought he heard her almost laugh before she continued. “Do you have some time available tomorrow?”
“You need my help on a case?” He replied with a little too much enthusiasm. “I mean, yes, I am available.”
“Thank you, Sweets. I appreciate it, especially at such short notice.” He noted the worry in her voice.
“Cam – er Dr. Saroyan – are you alright?”
She didn’t answer right away, so he waited. The sky seemed to glow around him. He’d grown to love this moment in the city just before dawn when the street lights seemed to bleed into the landscape as if the light was escaping from its nightly prison.
“Yes.” She said finally. “I’m alright. Just a little tired is all.”
He understood completely. As if on cue, he stifled a yawn, hoping she didn’t hear him.
“Get some sleep Dr. Sweets. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
With that Cam was gone. He didn’t ponder their brief conversation for long. Lance turned off the computer and gathered his things. He needed to get some rest so he’d be fresh for the next day. Suddenly, he felt as giddy as a kid before Christmas.
/././
Temperance Brennan stared at her phone. The screen had gone blank. She felt nothing.
She would see Booth at noon. Not a big deal.
Only, it was a big deal.
But her mind would not allow her to conjure fantasies. She didn’t do that. Not while she was awake.
Her dreams lately had been dark in theme, so they weren’t fantasies. She might even call them nightmares, which were common and usually meant the dreamer was simply stressed or obsessing about something. Dreams weren’t omens or predictions. They were often fragments of strong memories, and the negative kind seemed to be the ones that bothered people the most. It was especially common for someone in her line of work to have dreams about the trauma they experienced.
Temperance stopped herself. There wasn’t anyone to convince. She was alone. Like always. Except being alone had begun to bother her.
She shook her head and sighed. It was late. She needed to get some rest.
Booth was back.
Smiling, she turned out the lights.