Post by mossy on Jun 30, 2007 18:25:02 GMT -5
Thanks to Roxy206 for the feedback.
The Child in the Anthropologist.
Chapter One.
There is something in the smell of strawberries. When the wind picks up over the Carabine Valley, their smell is sensed far and wide. In the local town of Harness, the residents set their calendar by the strawberries. Children rush excitedly to the glens and hillsides to pick the fruit; housewives arise earlier and eagerly prepare the pastry, waiting for their kids to come back with baskets full and trousers torn. As soon as the sun rises, the strawberry fields that have been calm and content in their growing for a full season are soon invaded. Children start filling their baskets, wildly at first, to get as much in as they can. Soon enough however, thoughts catch up with excitement and for every one strawberry put into the boy’s or girl’s basket, two are put in their mouth. By mid morning, the battle of the strawberries is in full swing. Any fruit not fit to be put in a basket or a mouth is used as ammunition against the children of the neighbouring town. By mid-day, the day’s work is done. Everyone arrives back and presents their taking. With the ovens nicely warmed, and the pastry nicely set, its time to make the desserts: Strawberry jam, and strawberry shortcakes. This annual tradition lets the people of Carabine Valley know that summer has arrived. When Claire Parker’s daughter came back with her shirt stained red, it looked like a good days picking, but the look of sheer terror on the seven year old girl’s face coupled with her empty basket and heavy breathing led Claire to ask the most obvious of questions:
“Sweetie, whats wrong?”
“Mommy, I found a dead man”, replied the child, barely able to speak the words as she leapt forward and clung to her mother, crying. Three things ran through Claire’s mind at that time. First: Terror at the realisation that the red stain on her daughter’s top was blood, not strawberry. Second: Relief at the realisation that the blood did not belong to her daughter. Three: Confusion. Whose blood was that? And where did her daughter get the lollipop she was clenching in her fist? Right now wasn’t the time to worry about those things.
“Ok, sweetie, everything is going to be alright. You are safe now”, she held her daughter closer, and said “We’re going to go get you cleaned up, ok And then we can sit down and you can tell me everything that happened with a glass of milk and some cookies, deal?” The child pulled her teary head from her mothers shoulder and nodded. Then Claire took her by the hand and led her to the bathroom. “Ok sweetie, go in there and wash your face, I'll get you some clean clothes”. Claire took the lollipop out of her daughters hand and turned to go upstairs. As she rested the lollipop on the table beside the stairs, her name was called.
“Mommy? Will the dead man come get me?”
“No, Temperance, you’re safe now”
If Claire had looked at the lollipop, she would have noticed the words “You’re next” written across it. When the door burst open and the knife wielding killer lunged wildly at her throat – Claire’s scream was heard all the way down to the town’s lumberyard. It let the folk there know that murder had come to Carabine Valley.
* * * * * *
Summer was certainly the fashion in Washington. Temperance Brennan, forensic anthropologist, best-selling author and, now, makeshift soccer goalie was staring at the ball. Or, to be accurate about it, she was staring at the penalty spot where the ball once was. Her assailant, the five-year-old Parker, had taken a long run and kicked the ball with all his might, and it was now slowly rolling toward the goal line. When Booth suggested that she get out of the lab and join him for his weekend with Parker, this is not what she had in mind. Booth was watching from the side of the green area, camera in hand, and his turn in goal recently over. When he was in goal, Booth had wildly dived to areas where the ball clearly wasn’t rolling and each shot made it to the back of the net. With each goal scored, Booth would say something like, “Hey hey. Good job buddy” or “God, you really know how to upstage your Old Man.”
Brennan had so far saved every shot. The only time she spoke was to notify Parker of an imbalance she noticed in his quadriceps leading to his kicks going astray. At about 3-0 to Brennan, Booth stepped in and stopped the game.
“Alright, what does everyone say to a round of ice-cream on me?” he said, handing a five dollar bill to a deflated Parker. “What do you say buddy, you reckon you could take care of the Ice-Creams for us? The van is right over there, I’ll time you to see how long it takes ok?”
“Ok Dad!” said Parker, the sound of his voice was unclear because he was already racing toward the van with Booth counting loudly after him.
He turned to Brennan, “Hey Bones, would it have killed you to let Parker score a goal once or twice?”
“Anthropologically speaking, children who have received false praise and encouragement grow up less able to deal with the world around them”, explained Brennan.
“Bones, he’s five.”
“An early grasp of failures and shortcomings can lead a child to develop a better understanding of the competitiveness and demands asked of a person in the real world.”
“Don’t talk to me about the “real world” ok Bones? You spend all day with your squint squad looking at fossils and never even see the real world. Now this is the only day a week I get to see Parker, and when he gets back, I want you to show him some encouragement,” said Booth.
Parker came struggling back. Three ice-cream cones is a lot for a worn out kid to carry. He handed one to Booth and one to Brennan. “Well Bones, you think my guy is a regular Pelé or what?” said Booth, patting Parker on the back.
“I think with practice and a good training regime, he could definitely have a career in professional sports.”
“Yeah, that’s great Bones. I gotta go get the car, stay here with Parker, and try not to be too much like…you know.”
“What?”
“Try not to be too you Bones, ok?” with that he turned to Parker, “I gotta get the car buddy ok? You stay here with Bones for a couple of minutes, yeah?” He then left, giving Parker the thumbs up as he walked away.
Parker looked up at Brennan. Brennan looked back down at Parker.
“Why does daddy call you Bones?” he asked
“Because I examine the bones of decomposed bodies that have been murder victims in your father's investigations,” came the reply. Brennan took a bite of her ice-cream. A large dollop of strawberry sauce remained on her nose. When Parker noticed this he started to laugh. That’s when Booth pulled up in the car.
“Hey, you two seem to be getting on well,” he said.
Brennan turned to face him. It took all of his Army, Ranger and FBI training to keep from laughing. Brennan went around and got into the passenger seat. She leaned over to Booth. “I think we are starting to get on,” she said about Parker. Booth, still sblack personing, replied “Yeah Bones, I guess you just nose how to get on with people, eh?”
“I don’t know what the means.”
“Nothing Bones, good work. Parker buddy, you got your seatbelt on there?”
“Yep.”
And off they went. They were driving a good five minutes before Parker spoke again.
“Dad? What’s a murder victim?”
Booth nearly crashed. “Jesus Christ Bones, I leave you with my kid for two minutes and you teach him a word like 'Murder Victim'?”
“He asked why you call me Bones…what was I suppose to say?”
“You could have made up something more child friendly than 'Murder Victim'. I mean, you’re the genius around here, you ought to know how to talk to kids,” he turned his head to face Parker in the back seat. “Murder Victim is a word we use for people who eh…work with Daddy.”
“Oh, what’s decomposed mean?” he asked.
“That means old”, he turned back to Brennan. “Remind me to never let you talk to Parker again Bones, ok?”
“I’m sorry, but dressing up what you do as something its not will only hurt Parker in the long term,” she replied.
“Don’t tell me how to be a father, ok? I’ve been doing this for five years, and while we’re at it, clean your nose,” he threw a tissue from the dash board over to her. She inspected her face in the wing mirror then looked slightly embarrassed as she cleaned it. They pulled into the parking lot of the Jeffersonian. “Let me know if there are any cases over the weekend, ok?” she asked of Booth.
“Yeah, sure,” he replied. Brennan looked into the back seat at Parker. “Bye Parker,” she said as she waved.
“Bye Bones,” he said. Booth gave him a little smile when he heard his son call Brennan “Bones”.
They drove off. When they reached the next set of traffic lights, Booth turned to Parker and said
“Parker, all those words you learned off Bones today? I want you to forget them, ok?”
“Ok, Dad,” said Parker.
They drove through the traffic lights. In his rear view mirror Booth thought he noticed someone trying to get his attention from very far away. He dismissed it and drove on to drop Parker home.
If he took a little longer to look, he would have noticed that the person jumping up and down in his rear view mirror WAS trying to get his attention. He also would have noticed that it was Brennan. As she saw his car drive through the lights, she stopped waving and jumping and walked back into the Jeffersonian. Cursing the fact that he didn’t bring his cell phone with him today….
The Child in the Anthropologist.
Chapter One.
There is something in the smell of strawberries. When the wind picks up over the Carabine Valley, their smell is sensed far and wide. In the local town of Harness, the residents set their calendar by the strawberries. Children rush excitedly to the glens and hillsides to pick the fruit; housewives arise earlier and eagerly prepare the pastry, waiting for their kids to come back with baskets full and trousers torn. As soon as the sun rises, the strawberry fields that have been calm and content in their growing for a full season are soon invaded. Children start filling their baskets, wildly at first, to get as much in as they can. Soon enough however, thoughts catch up with excitement and for every one strawberry put into the boy’s or girl’s basket, two are put in their mouth. By mid morning, the battle of the strawberries is in full swing. Any fruit not fit to be put in a basket or a mouth is used as ammunition against the children of the neighbouring town. By mid-day, the day’s work is done. Everyone arrives back and presents their taking. With the ovens nicely warmed, and the pastry nicely set, its time to make the desserts: Strawberry jam, and strawberry shortcakes. This annual tradition lets the people of Carabine Valley know that summer has arrived. When Claire Parker’s daughter came back with her shirt stained red, it looked like a good days picking, but the look of sheer terror on the seven year old girl’s face coupled with her empty basket and heavy breathing led Claire to ask the most obvious of questions:
“Sweetie, whats wrong?”
“Mommy, I found a dead man”, replied the child, barely able to speak the words as she leapt forward and clung to her mother, crying. Three things ran through Claire’s mind at that time. First: Terror at the realisation that the red stain on her daughter’s top was blood, not strawberry. Second: Relief at the realisation that the blood did not belong to her daughter. Three: Confusion. Whose blood was that? And where did her daughter get the lollipop she was clenching in her fist? Right now wasn’t the time to worry about those things.
“Ok, sweetie, everything is going to be alright. You are safe now”, she held her daughter closer, and said “We’re going to go get you cleaned up, ok And then we can sit down and you can tell me everything that happened with a glass of milk and some cookies, deal?” The child pulled her teary head from her mothers shoulder and nodded. Then Claire took her by the hand and led her to the bathroom. “Ok sweetie, go in there and wash your face, I'll get you some clean clothes”. Claire took the lollipop out of her daughters hand and turned to go upstairs. As she rested the lollipop on the table beside the stairs, her name was called.
“Mommy? Will the dead man come get me?”
“No, Temperance, you’re safe now”
If Claire had looked at the lollipop, she would have noticed the words “You’re next” written across it. When the door burst open and the knife wielding killer lunged wildly at her throat – Claire’s scream was heard all the way down to the town’s lumberyard. It let the folk there know that murder had come to Carabine Valley.
* * * * * *
Summer was certainly the fashion in Washington. Temperance Brennan, forensic anthropologist, best-selling author and, now, makeshift soccer goalie was staring at the ball. Or, to be accurate about it, she was staring at the penalty spot where the ball once was. Her assailant, the five-year-old Parker, had taken a long run and kicked the ball with all his might, and it was now slowly rolling toward the goal line. When Booth suggested that she get out of the lab and join him for his weekend with Parker, this is not what she had in mind. Booth was watching from the side of the green area, camera in hand, and his turn in goal recently over. When he was in goal, Booth had wildly dived to areas where the ball clearly wasn’t rolling and each shot made it to the back of the net. With each goal scored, Booth would say something like, “Hey hey. Good job buddy” or “God, you really know how to upstage your Old Man.”
Brennan had so far saved every shot. The only time she spoke was to notify Parker of an imbalance she noticed in his quadriceps leading to his kicks going astray. At about 3-0 to Brennan, Booth stepped in and stopped the game.
“Alright, what does everyone say to a round of ice-cream on me?” he said, handing a five dollar bill to a deflated Parker. “What do you say buddy, you reckon you could take care of the Ice-Creams for us? The van is right over there, I’ll time you to see how long it takes ok?”
“Ok Dad!” said Parker, the sound of his voice was unclear because he was already racing toward the van with Booth counting loudly after him.
He turned to Brennan, “Hey Bones, would it have killed you to let Parker score a goal once or twice?”
“Anthropologically speaking, children who have received false praise and encouragement grow up less able to deal with the world around them”, explained Brennan.
“Bones, he’s five.”
“An early grasp of failures and shortcomings can lead a child to develop a better understanding of the competitiveness and demands asked of a person in the real world.”
“Don’t talk to me about the “real world” ok Bones? You spend all day with your squint squad looking at fossils and never even see the real world. Now this is the only day a week I get to see Parker, and when he gets back, I want you to show him some encouragement,” said Booth.
Parker came struggling back. Three ice-cream cones is a lot for a worn out kid to carry. He handed one to Booth and one to Brennan. “Well Bones, you think my guy is a regular Pelé or what?” said Booth, patting Parker on the back.
“I think with practice and a good training regime, he could definitely have a career in professional sports.”
“Yeah, that’s great Bones. I gotta go get the car, stay here with Parker, and try not to be too much like…you know.”
“What?”
“Try not to be too you Bones, ok?” with that he turned to Parker, “I gotta get the car buddy ok? You stay here with Bones for a couple of minutes, yeah?” He then left, giving Parker the thumbs up as he walked away.
Parker looked up at Brennan. Brennan looked back down at Parker.
“Why does daddy call you Bones?” he asked
“Because I examine the bones of decomposed bodies that have been murder victims in your father's investigations,” came the reply. Brennan took a bite of her ice-cream. A large dollop of strawberry sauce remained on her nose. When Parker noticed this he started to laugh. That’s when Booth pulled up in the car.
“Hey, you two seem to be getting on well,” he said.
Brennan turned to face him. It took all of his Army, Ranger and FBI training to keep from laughing. Brennan went around and got into the passenger seat. She leaned over to Booth. “I think we are starting to get on,” she said about Parker. Booth, still sblack personing, replied “Yeah Bones, I guess you just nose how to get on with people, eh?”
“I don’t know what the means.”
“Nothing Bones, good work. Parker buddy, you got your seatbelt on there?”
“Yep.”
And off they went. They were driving a good five minutes before Parker spoke again.
“Dad? What’s a murder victim?”
Booth nearly crashed. “Jesus Christ Bones, I leave you with my kid for two minutes and you teach him a word like 'Murder Victim'?”
“He asked why you call me Bones…what was I suppose to say?”
“You could have made up something more child friendly than 'Murder Victim'. I mean, you’re the genius around here, you ought to know how to talk to kids,” he turned his head to face Parker in the back seat. “Murder Victim is a word we use for people who eh…work with Daddy.”
“Oh, what’s decomposed mean?” he asked.
“That means old”, he turned back to Brennan. “Remind me to never let you talk to Parker again Bones, ok?”
“I’m sorry, but dressing up what you do as something its not will only hurt Parker in the long term,” she replied.
“Don’t tell me how to be a father, ok? I’ve been doing this for five years, and while we’re at it, clean your nose,” he threw a tissue from the dash board over to her. She inspected her face in the wing mirror then looked slightly embarrassed as she cleaned it. They pulled into the parking lot of the Jeffersonian. “Let me know if there are any cases over the weekend, ok?” she asked of Booth.
“Yeah, sure,” he replied. Brennan looked into the back seat at Parker. “Bye Parker,” she said as she waved.
“Bye Bones,” he said. Booth gave him a little smile when he heard his son call Brennan “Bones”.
They drove off. When they reached the next set of traffic lights, Booth turned to Parker and said
“Parker, all those words you learned off Bones today? I want you to forget them, ok?”
“Ok, Dad,” said Parker.
They drove through the traffic lights. In his rear view mirror Booth thought he noticed someone trying to get his attention from very far away. He dismissed it and drove on to drop Parker home.
If he took a little longer to look, he would have noticed that the person jumping up and down in his rear view mirror WAS trying to get his attention. He also would have noticed that it was Brennan. As she saw his car drive through the lights, she stopped waving and jumping and walked back into the Jeffersonian. Cursing the fact that he didn’t bring his cell phone with him today….