"The Boy in the Basement"

Bones; ensemble; Rated PG

"Dr. Brennan, I matched the tool mark on the skull." Zack burst into her office, clearly excited, Angela right behind him.

"What is it?" After hitting several dead ends she was more than ready for some good news.

"A gold club. Wilson Men's Fat Shaft IV, 5 Iron."

"Right handed," Angela added. "I dated a golf pro for almost a year," she explained.

"The golf instructor," Brennan said, absently.

"I thought he had an alibi," Zack said.

"Evidently not." She pointed at him, "Call Booth, tell him what you found."

He walked quickly off, and Angela leaned close to her friend. "Are you all ready for your date tonight?" she asked. "It's not a date," Brennan insisted. "We tried that a year ago, remember. We decided we were just meant to be friends."

"Correction, you went out a year ago and happened to run into just about every woman Booth's ever slept with. How could a date like that go right?"

"It's not a date."

Angela shook her head slightly and smiled. "He's taking you to dinner, and not at Shapiro's. And he's paying. Then dancing afterward at Club Nine? Sweetie, that's a date."

Brennan just shook her head and headed out of the lab.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _

"Get out."

"Bones, just get in."

"No, it's my turn to drive. I can't believe whenever it's my turn to drive, you always do this."

"Do what?"

"Act like you forgot."

"Forgot what?"

"Exactly! Now get out!"

Booth sighed. They came to an arrangement several years earlier to take "turns" driving. He always hoped she'd forget. He should have known better.

She slid behind the driver's seat and waited for him to climb in and buckle up.

"I knew it was the golf pro."

She shot him a brief glance before turning her attention back on the traffic. "You did not."

"Yes, I did, I told you there was something in the eyes."

She shook her head. "Just because his eyes are particularly wide-set doesn't mean he's a killer. Anthropological studies in the Yugani tribe of -"

He put a hand over her mouth, then quickly drew it back and wiped it on his pants. "You licked me!"

"You put your hand over my mouth!"

"You didn't have to lick me." He wiped his palm again for good measure.

"Well, why did you put it over my mouth?"

"I didn't want to hear another study of yet another tribe, yadda-yadda."

"All you had to do was ask me to stop."

"And you would have?"

"No, but it would have been better than your hand over my mouth. You do... things... with that hand."

"Hey, my hand is clean, thank you."

They traveled along in silence for a few minutes. "You could have kissed me."

Booth blinked several times quickly.

"To get me to be quiet," Brennan explained, not able to stop the words from coming out of her mouth. "Not that I wanted you to kiss me, it's just that it would have been better than your hand --"

"Bones, be quiet," Booth interrupted.

For once, he got no argument.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Why did you do it?"

Connor Jenkins sighed and ran a hand through his silver-brown hair. "For the fifteenth time, I didn't kill Bobby."

"Sure you did," Booth said.

"I was at a charity golf dinner; I told you this the first two times you questioned me."

"You could have slipped out, killed him, and slipped back in."

Booth gave her a look, and she leaned against the wall.

"A dinner of over two hundred people? It wouldn't have been hard to slip away unnoticed." Booth warmed to the interrogation, sure he had the murderer in front of him. "You were seen arguing with him earlier in the day."

"I told you, it was nothing. He wanted to play in the Ocean Spray Classic in Orlando, and I thought he needed to take a break, concentrate on his putting."

"You want to know what I think?" Booth leaned forward. "I think you couldn't handle that he was better than you. The student surpasses the teacher. You were mad, you argued - maybe he thought he didn't need you anymore - and you killed him. You lured him down to the basement under the clubhouse, and you took a five iron to his head. You hit him so hard you left an impression in his skull." He grimaced. "You must have really hated him to -"

"I didn't hate him, I loved him!" Connor exploded, spittle flying out of his mouth. An officer put his hands on Connor's shoulders to keep the golf pro in his seat.

Connor took a deep, shuddering breath. "I loved him." His eyes became unfocused, seeing only something he could see. "He was so beautiful. Like an angel. And he had been blessed with talent." He looked at Brennan. "It came effortlessly to him: golf, school, friends. He was so outgoing and friendly."

"You killed him because you loved him?" Brennan asked, not quite understanding.

"I told him how I felt that day, that's why we were arguing. I asked him to meet me down in the basement later, told him I wanted to apologize." Connor was crying, silent tears streaming down his cheeks. "I kissed him, but he pushed me away. Said I was a pervert and he was going to tell everyone he knew what kind of sicko I was." He looked at Booth imploringly. "I didn't care that he was only sixteen, he was an angel, sent for me and me alone. If I could have only made him see that we were meant to be together."

"So you killed him."

"He was going to walk away. Throw away the fours years we'd been together. I couldn't let him do that." Connor put his head in his hands and wept openly.

Brennan shuddered and slipped out of the room. Booth wondered how she could look at dead bodies and decomposing flesh day after day. She'd take a dozen rotting corpses over one Connor Jenkins any day.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"That was a nice dinner, thank you," Brennan said, sliding into the passenger seat of Booth's car.

"I'm glad you liked it." He smiled before shutting the door.

"Are you ready for Club Nine?" he asked, starting the car and putting it into gear.

"You know, I'm really not into the whole dance crowd thing," Brennan said almost apologetically. The night was going so well she hated to spoil it, but she also wanted to be honest. "You remember what happened the last time I went out dancing?"

Booth recalled the nightclub fiasco her and Angela had gotten caught in. "So what would you like to do?"

"Go home."

"Go... home." Certainly not the answer Booth had been expecting.

"I have an extensive CD collection, as you know. We could just dance... in my living room." It hadn't sounded as lame when she'd rehearsed it in her head.

"Why, Bones, are you inviting me back to your place?" Booth teased.

"Yes," she said, slowly smiling, "I guess I am."

Booth leaned over and gently kissed her on the lips; a feather light touch that lasted seconds but felt like minutes. He backed the car out of the parking lot.

Brennan turned and looked out the window. "At least at my place we won't run into any old girlfriends," she muttered under her breath.

"Excuse me?"

She turned and gave him a mischievous smile. "I said, 'Can't you go any faster?'"

Copyright December 2006 by Cait N.

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