OOM: "Are you putting them through needless pain, too?"
((Earlier.))
At first Booth thinks, maybe it's just the drugs that are making him slow.
He can't possibly be hearing this right. It just doesn't make any sense.
"So, wait, what, you told the squints I died in surgery?"
Agent Ben Jones shifts uncomfortably. Seeley Booth might be injured, and therefore not particularly dangerous at the moment, but he'd recover. And by reputation, the man did not suffer fools gladly. From Booth's tone, it was clear he thought Jones, and by extension, A.D. Mitchell, were exceedingly foolish.
"Yes. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid it's necessary. We've released the facts surrounding the uh, incident, to the media as well. It's all over CNN by now."
Booth sets his jaw into a firm line. "And my family? Do they have any idea, or are you putting them through needless pain, too?"
Jones opens his mouth to answer, but the door bursts open and A.D. Mitchell bursts in.
"They said you were awake, that I should come -" Mitchell breaks off and stares at Booth. "You look like shit."
"I was shot in the chest, or did you forget that part?" Booth asks sardonically.
"No, not so much," Mitchell replies, just as dry as Booth. "It's good to see you, uh -"
"Alive?" Booth asks drily.
"Awake," Mitchell says, his voice firm. "I was going to say awake."
As amusing as it was to throw Mitchell off his game, Booth couldn't really take the time to enjoy it. "The squints all think I'm dead. Have you allowed my son and his mother to think the same thing?"
His voice sounds even, calm, but there's an undercurrent of threatening anger that Mitchell clearly picks up on. "No, they know the truth. Is there anyone else who needs to know? Your parents? Brother? A girlfriend?"
"First I'd like to know exactly why I'm pretending to be dead," he growls. "This is the sort of thing you expect from a two-bit actress, but generally, I take life and death a little more seriously than the Hollywood set."
Mitchell and Jones share a long look, and at some unseen signal, Jones begins: "Do you remember Vasili Gregarin?"
Booth's jaw drops. "Christ, now there's a name I haven't heard in years."
Jones smiles faintly. "That's sort of the point, actually."
Booth nods. "Yeah, I guess it is." He looks hard at Jones. "You think that thing he said, about seeing him at my funeral, is actually valid?"
Jones nods. "Gregarin's a strange man, in a lot of ways. Very big on honor, very big on keeping his word, that kind of thing. If he said he'd be at your funeral, he'll be there."
Booth sighs, admitting to himself that capturing Gregarin is pretty damn important. It'd make him feel better, too, what with the man having gotten away and all.
"Okay, so I'm dead. You've told Parker and Rebecca. Nobody else?"
"Nobody else," Jones confirms. "You need me to tell anybody else?"
"Damn straight I need you to tell somebody else. Several somebodies. The -"
He breaks off. Can't tell all the squints - they're terrible at keeping secrets. That many people knowing would seriously jeopardize his case.
But if Sweets tells Bones - well. In about half an hour, everybody would know she was lying about something, they'd figure it out, and they'd all know. And nobody would have to worry, or feel bad.
"My parents. They need to know," he says, some of the fight going out of his voice. "And my partner. Dr. Brennan. That's all."
Mitchell nods. "Done." The shrink will handle it. He's already talked to Rebecca and Parker, so he's had the practice. Offering Booth his hand, he says: "We'll be in touch, when the hospital says you can be moved. Get you to a safehouse. We figure it'll take two weeks or so to set up the sting, so we'll just say we're waiting for the funeral to be scheduled."
Booth shakes Mitchell's proferred hand, then Jones' as well. "Sounds good to me." Privately, he wonders why they can't speed things up a little, but he knows better than to ask.
All he can say for sure is that if no one tells Bones, she's going to kill him.
Gregarin really needs to be put away, though.
At first Booth thinks, maybe it's just the drugs that are making him slow.
He can't possibly be hearing this right. It just doesn't make any sense.
"So, wait, what, you told the squints I died in surgery?"
Agent Ben Jones shifts uncomfortably. Seeley Booth might be injured, and therefore not particularly dangerous at the moment, but he'd recover. And by reputation, the man did not suffer fools gladly. From Booth's tone, it was clear he thought Jones, and by extension, A.D. Mitchell, were exceedingly foolish.
"Yes. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid it's necessary. We've released the facts surrounding the uh, incident, to the media as well. It's all over CNN by now."
Booth sets his jaw into a firm line. "And my family? Do they have any idea, or are you putting them through needless pain, too?"
Jones opens his mouth to answer, but the door bursts open and A.D. Mitchell bursts in.
"They said you were awake, that I should come -" Mitchell breaks off and stares at Booth. "You look like shit."
"I was shot in the chest, or did you forget that part?" Booth asks sardonically.
"No, not so much," Mitchell replies, just as dry as Booth. "It's good to see you, uh -"
"Alive?" Booth asks drily.
"Awake," Mitchell says, his voice firm. "I was going to say awake."
As amusing as it was to throw Mitchell off his game, Booth couldn't really take the time to enjoy it. "The squints all think I'm dead. Have you allowed my son and his mother to think the same thing?"
His voice sounds even, calm, but there's an undercurrent of threatening anger that Mitchell clearly picks up on. "No, they know the truth. Is there anyone else who needs to know? Your parents? Brother? A girlfriend?"
"First I'd like to know exactly why I'm pretending to be dead," he growls. "This is the sort of thing you expect from a two-bit actress, but generally, I take life and death a little more seriously than the Hollywood set."
Mitchell and Jones share a long look, and at some unseen signal, Jones begins: "Do you remember Vasili Gregarin?"
Booth's jaw drops. "Christ, now there's a name I haven't heard in years."
Jones smiles faintly. "That's sort of the point, actually."
Booth nods. "Yeah, I guess it is." He looks hard at Jones. "You think that thing he said, about seeing him at my funeral, is actually valid?"
Jones nods. "Gregarin's a strange man, in a lot of ways. Very big on honor, very big on keeping his word, that kind of thing. If he said he'd be at your funeral, he'll be there."
Booth sighs, admitting to himself that capturing Gregarin is pretty damn important. It'd make him feel better, too, what with the man having gotten away and all.
"Okay, so I'm dead. You've told Parker and Rebecca. Nobody else?"
"Nobody else," Jones confirms. "You need me to tell anybody else?"
"Damn straight I need you to tell somebody else. Several somebodies. The -"
He breaks off. Can't tell all the squints - they're terrible at keeping secrets. That many people knowing would seriously jeopardize his case.
But if Sweets tells Bones - well. In about half an hour, everybody would know she was lying about something, they'd figure it out, and they'd all know. And nobody would have to worry, or feel bad.
"My parents. They need to know," he says, some of the fight going out of his voice. "And my partner. Dr. Brennan. That's all."
Mitchell nods. "Done." The shrink will handle it. He's already talked to Rebecca and Parker, so he's had the practice. Offering Booth his hand, he says: "We'll be in touch, when the hospital says you can be moved. Get you to a safehouse. We figure it'll take two weeks or so to set up the sting, so we'll just say we're waiting for the funeral to be scheduled."
Booth shakes Mitchell's proferred hand, then Jones' as well. "Sounds good to me." Privately, he wonders why they can't speed things up a little, but he knows better than to ask.
All he can say for sure is that if no one tells Bones, she's going to kill him.
Gregarin really needs to be put away, though.