Angela Montenegro (
bringonthewonder) wrote in
milliways_bar2007-05-06 10:34 pm
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Angela has settled into a confortable chair, ordered a glass of wine, and gotten out her sketch pad.
Tonight she is drawing hands, from memory, with long fingers and what appears to be a rubber band around one wrist.
It's nothing that can't be interrupted.
Tonight she is drawing hands, from memory, with long fingers and what appears to be a rubber band around one wrist.
It's nothing that can't be interrupted.
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"Angela?" he asks, not entirely sure it's her. It looks like her, and the drawing is a clue, but it's best to check.
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"Hello, Booth. How are you?"
She's not even a little surprised to see him.
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"I'm good," he says, smiling. "And you? Looks like a pleasant way to spend an evening."
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"It is," she says. She nods at the nearest chair.
"You sitting or looming tonight?"
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That said, he takes a seat and orders a beer. "So, come here often?" It's said with an endearing grin and the goofy tone a pickup line like that deserves.
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She gives him a grin, and leans forward conspiratorially. "I should warn you, I have a very jealous boyfriend with enough money to make you disappear and who knows a formula that literally curdles blood."
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He laughs. "I live for danger."
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She looks around.
"You know, Hodgins would love it here. Of course, it would make him absolutely insufferable, because it would prove too many of his theories in one fell swoop, but . . . he'd love it here."
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He looks around too, and nods. "He really would. And he'd come up with new theories, too, and that would be kind of scary, really."
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Not that Angela is going to mention that.
"Stilted diction and long words don't suit you, Booth."
She raises an eyebrow. "My God, can you imagine what he'd come up with? And would you really want to try?"
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"No," he says emphatically. "No, I'm pretty sure I can't, and that I shouldn't try."
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They really are very nice hands.
"So, how are you doing, Booth?" she says, setting aside the sketchbook and picking up her wine.
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The last one she can remember was when she was doing recreations of Etruscan burial mounds, shortly before Booth and Brennan went to investigate a body hanging from a tree, and that was well over a year ago.
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"Busy for you guys in the lab?" he asks. Sometimes he forgets how hard they work on other things, cases that have nothing to do with violent death and modern murder.
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She frowns at her wine.
"You've been to Arlington, to the Tomb of the Unknowns? Powerful thing, that. And necessary, I think, because it means something. We'll never figure out who everybody was. In complete records, too much time. But you know, there's a part of that wonders if she could figure out who that is, in that tomb. And whether or not she should try."
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"Maybe she should," he says. "I mean, maybe she shouldn't, because what it represents is bigger than just those men. But they identified the Vietnam soldier, and that's...worth a lot to his family."
He pauses again, not sure what he's saying, but still processing.
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Booth pauses, because this is the sort of thing he can't say to Brennan without her scoffing.
"Then there's their souls. Don't you think maybe they'll rest easier, knowing their bodies have been put to rest?"
He pauses again, and this time the hesitation is from thought rather than concern. "Or maybe, once you're done with your earthly remains, you just can't care anymore. I don't know. But there's something in naming a person. It's powerful. Meaningful."
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"I guess . . . I guess that depends on what sort man they were when they were alive. Whether they would prefer to be the person chosen to represent all the people we'll never find, even if it means being nameless, because that's powerful and meaningful, too. Or if they'd rather be known. Buried in a family plot, with flowers on Memorial day instead of an honor guard. I don't know, Booth.
"I kind of think most of us would like to be the former kind of person, but we're really the latter."
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Then a smile. "God, we got deep there, didn't we?"
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