A Bones AU--should I continue?

At some point after rewatching Soccer Mom in the Minivan, I was struck by the notion of a colonial setting. What if Booth and Brennan were in Boston before the Revolution? And I came up with this, with some details & concepts on pre-revolutionary times taken from the Outlander series by Diana Gabaldon. I own neither property and no infringement is meant, and of course, all errors, historical or linguistical or character, are all mine!
You will also note that I am keeping the Brennan names. He might have been Maxwell Keenan at some point, but here & now is only known as Matthew Brennan. Perhaps he changed his name when he arrived in the colonies.

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Temperance Brennan stood in the doorway, alert. Her father and brother made surprisingly little noise in the warehouse unless you knew what to listen for. She did, allowing her to focus on the rest. She heard a step and jingle of harness and scowled. What’s a lazy lobsterback doing here now? The usual guard already passed by! She plastered on her best frail maiden imitation and waited.

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Newly promoted and freshly transferred Sergeant Seeley Booth wondered what had overcome him to check the Crown’s warehouse again. He had locked the doors himself and placed the guards, but his gut bothered him. So he had rousted himself from the warmth of the tavern and away from the arms of a very willing woman and headed down to the docks.

All clear, he thought, rounding a corner. I’m an idiot!

And a delicate form crashed into him. Automatically, he juggled his musket in an effort to keep--her? yes, her--from falling.

“Help, please help!” she said breathlessly. Loose hair washed over his hands, distracting him.

“Here, you’re safe now. What happened, mistress?”

“There-there was a man in th’ alley,” she wept.

“Did he attack you? Did you see him at all?”

She only sobbed loudly in response.

“Are you harmed or simply frightened, mistress?” He gently coaxed her under one of the torches. Her dress was disheveled and the sleeve torn, and her hair hung free, covering her face. “Come, let me see,” he added in a soothing tone. God, she reminded him of his cousin back home and why he hated women’s tears!

Her hands dropped from her face and fumbled in the pocket of her apron, finally extracting a handkerchief. She wiped at her face, not looking at him.

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Temperance peeked at the soldier over the edge of the kerchief. He was tall and seemed kind. “Are you all right, lass?”

“I-I think so,” she whispered. She finished wiping her face and tucked the cloth away again. Did I get the one soldier not likely to molest me? Thank God for that! But her fingers brushed the shape of the knife hidden under her skirts for reassurance.

“What were you doing near the docks at this hour, mistress?”

Her teeth gritted at the patronizing tone. If he says I deserved what I got, I’ll gut him, King’s soldier or not! “I-we live near here and I had to get some medicines for m’ da. He’s not well this evening,” she explained, allowing her voice to quiver. “I lost m’ basket over there,” she added, gesturing behind her.

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“Well, then, let’s go have a look,” he said. Taking the torch, he followed her around the corner. The cobbles were bare except for a basket on its side and some small packages spilled out of it. Irish, he thought, watching her pick them up and tsk at their condition. Probably not born there or left right after birth. The Irish are supposed to be as bad as the Scots, according to the Captain, he mused a little further. But the Highland Regiment are damned good fighters and were overall decent men. Despite the kilts! he added with an internal grin.

“It’s all here,” she said, straightening up, the basket back on her arm.

“I’ll escort you home, mistress--no woman should be walking alone in the dark. And your assailant may not have gone far. Just come back with me so I can make sure the guard at the warehouse saw nothing and then we can go.”

“You are too kind, Captain.”

He smiled, flattered despite himself. “Sergeant, mistress. Merely a sergeant.” She walked back with him just in time to see the usual guard pacing in front of the door.

“Sergeant Booth, sir!” the boy gasped and saluted.

“All’s well, Charlie?” Booth asked, returning it.

“Yessir! Haven’t seen a thing!”

“Good. Just checking. You know how it is sometimes. You get a feeling…”

Charlie nodded with a grin.

“I’ll be back in a bit with the torch; have to escort a lady home. From what Captain Kirby said, keeping the locals happy is important and letting her get her throat cut in an alley won’t do us any favors.”

“Especially near the Crown’s warehouse,” Charlie agreed.

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Temperance listened, half in shadow, behind the Sergeant. Booth, hmmm? Newest promotion; replaced Cullen, Da said, she thought. She wondered if he was cut from the same cloth as Cullen or was going to be easier to handle than the old man. Wait and see what he does and says on the way home, I guess.

The men exchanged a few more words, then Booth turned away from the young private. “And now, where do you live, mistress?”

“A few streets down,” she replied in a muffled voice.

“Then lead the way.”

“Will you be able to find your way back, Sergeant?” she inquired innocently. “I can tell you’re not from around here and I know the King recently sent fresh troops here.”

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Booth’s blood fired up at the implied challenge. “Mistress, I have been in France and Germany. If I can find my way about in Paris, I can find it in Boston.”

“I beg your pardon,” she murmured. Was she laughing at him? “I know many people who have gotten lost here when newly-come.”

“Your consideration warms my heart,” he said tightly.

She bent her head, saying nothing more.

“What’s wrong with your father?”

“He gets these spells, sometimes,” she said softly. “’Tisn’t fits, or plague, I know that. Sweats and weakness, and he has to take to his bed for a day. We ran out of the medicines and there wasn’t anyone else to send tonight.”

“Malaria?”

She shook her head. “Nay. There’s no yellowing in his skin or eyes.”

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Was that Russ? A swift look up at the soldier showed he hadn’t heard anything. Well, if it was, then he knows the line I’ve been feeding the king's man. He and Da can be ready.

She wound her way into the area where her family lived, deliberately taking the long route, to confuse him.

To her dismay, though not surprise, he insisted on going inside with her. Suspicious, after all? Oh, please, Da, Russ, tell me you’ve already gotten the swag to Jack and that you took things that won’t be noticed right away!

She pushed the door open, revealing a dimly lit room, and went to kneel beside her father’s pallet. “Da, I have the medicines.”

“Good lass,” he replied in a weak voice.

“Where have you been?” Russ demanded, hauling her to her feet, the very picture of outrage.

“And where have you been?” she demanded back. “I had to go out on my own and was almost kill’t since you were nowhere to be found! This soldier saved me!”

“Actually, all I did was see her,” Booth corrected with visible embarrassment. “Her assailant ran off when she pulled free.”

“’Twas good of ye, lad, to escort her home,” her father said, still in that trembling voice. “She’s th’ apple of m’ eye, as th’ Good Book says, an’ th’ spit an’ image of her mother, God assoil her.” He crossed himself and she bowed her head. Booth reflexively crossed himself as well, missing the quick glances exchanged.

Russ released her and she dropped back to her knees and began digging through her basket. “And where were you, mo bráthair? The tavern? Getting drunk and spending our coin on a striapach?”

“Children!” the father said, rousing himself long enough to scold. They quieted obediently. “M’iníon, have ye thanked th’ Sergeant?”

She looked up at him shyly through the hair she had not yet pinned back up. “I do thank you, sir. ‘Twas most kind of you.”

“I could not live with the thought of such a fair maid walking the streets alone at night. Your servant, sir, mistress.” He bowed slightly and left.

The single window looked up onto the street and Russ watched as the torch bobbed away. “He’s gone.” Breathing a sigh of relief, he sank to the floor. “Well done, as always, Tempe.”

“And you, Russ.”

“Did you get his name, lass?”

“Aye, Da. Sergeant Booth.”

“Cullen’s replacement.” Matthew Brennan sat up, wiping away the paste that disguised his features and made him appear ill. “What impression did you get?” he asked, speaking in the Gaelic.

“He won’t be easy to sway,” she replied in the same tongue. “He made no improper advances toward me at all, and insisted on checking with the warehouse guard before walking me back. Tonight’s guard was named Charlie, by the way.”

The men nodded and Matthew grimaced. “Damn. I wished for a more malleable man, as did Master Hodgins. Well, we have to accept what the Fates give us, right?”

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For those who want to know:
mo bráthair--my brother; striapach--prostitute; m’iníon--(my) daughter--in Irish Gaelic.
Should I continue this when I clear some of the other stories off my plate? This is definitely still a work in progress, regardless, so let me know what's right and what's not! Thanks.

Well I loved it! Usually I hate period pieces but this one. . .ranks highly on my list of fics I'm loving and I can assure you I am loving this one great beginning my intrest is definitely piqued. Continue please

~ann

Soccer Mom in the Minivan -- that's gotta be the one where they're on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial and Booth mentions how he loves this country and if he'd been back then ... ? This is a neat way to play on that.

I really recognize Booth. I loved the "but his gut bothered him" and the kilt remark. - LOL! Temperance getting ready to deck him, that was definitely her! Her dad and brother are obviously operating on the other side of the law, so that fits nicely too.

Don't know that I've read anything this out of time for them, but it looks fun. I vote to go for it!!

Yes, that's the scene--of course, in true drunken fashion, he promptly contradicts himself:

I love this country. You know, I tell ya something. If I was working law enforcement back in the day when they threw all that tea, alright, in the harbor – I'm good, alright, I'm – I'm good. I would have rounded everybody up and we'd still be English.

I do have some ideas--Russ being one of those tossing the tea, or perhaps Booth being one of the soldiers during the Boston Massacre and seeing Temperance's face in the crowd as he fires...
Oh, yes, and the Squints will be involved! Possible romance, too, but really, that depends on how the rest goes.

Oh my Queen, this is a joyous piece to behold and one needs must see more of it. Plus it makes me feel sooo much better about my own AU fic that's a bit of Austen inspired Regency fluff, think Persuasion meets Sharpe's Rifles. So put me down for more more more!

RM

In other news, a new support group for talented but unfocused fic writers called "Abused by the Muse" will be meeting on alternate Wednesdays.

I like the idea! Very interested to see how it plays out...

Getting any jam tomorrow??

Yes please more? I actually like it... I usually dont like these types of fanfics, well done!

Interesting story.

dawnsfire wrote:Alternate Wednesdays--is that last Wed and next Wed, but never this Wed? Or is the 1st meeting tonight? Virtual fudge for everyone! (And I make a mean pan of fudge, I promise you!)

I shall indeed continue this, but you will have to allow me some time to clear a few things off my plate. What I am going for is the old Squints vs Booth dynamic, just more legal/illegal, rebel/loyalist...

Remind me anytime, though--please!



"The rule is, jam tomorrow and jam yesterday - but never jam today."--Lewis Carroll

Ah my fair and lovely Queen, perhaps if we can't have Jam we could manage with some chocolate sauce?

RM