Straight Up Kind Of Girl

Hannah has three missed calls, and a voice mail message, all from Agent Booth, when she turns her phone back on after class. The message is a little ominious in its brevity -- Hey, kiddo, call me when you get this, okay? Whenever that is. Or maybe it's ominious in that for all he's clearly trying to sound light and neutral, Hannah can hear in Agent Booth's voice that whatever he wants her to call him about is going to fall into the category of Not Good.

She doesn't even bother going back to her room to drop her things, just calls him on her way to the Metro station. She's not surprised when he asks her to meet him, as soon as possible, though she is surprised when he asks her to come to his office. And while it's clear he doesn't want to talk about Whatever This Is over the phone, Hannah's starting to genuinely and truly worry.

The last time someone had news they didn't want to give her over the phone, it was that Agent Booth was dead.

It takes an eternity to get to the Hoover Building, and another eternity to get through security even though they've been told to expect her and had she realized where she was coming she SO would have gone back to the dorm to dump her stupid bag.

Eventually someone shows up to escort her up to Agent Booth's office, and she doesn't know if he's an agent or what, because aside from confirming her identity and asking her to come with him, he doesn't say a damn word. Hannah doesn't know if that means he knows what she's there to talk about and it's so bad that he doesn't know what to say, or if he's assuming that she's some sort of suspect or something and therefore not worth talking to, or if he just has the social skills of a cactus.

"Your visitor's here, Booth," the man says, and leaves Hannah standing in the door to Agent Booth's office.

Hannah slept till late afternoon today. Which is not that unusual for a teenager on a Saturday, though it's unusual for this teenager, who usually runs three miles before breakfast. But this is hardly a usual Saturday, and Hannah slept though both breakfast and lunch.

And now Brennan has gone to pick up Chinese food for dinner, and Hannah has had a very long and very hot shower and put on her own clothes for the first time in two and half weeks.

She's busy painting her toe nails a rather vivid shade of green, and watching Legally Blonde on her laptop while she waits for Brennan to get back. She's not especially concerned with the trials and triumphs of Elle Woods today, she just wants the background noise.

Hannah knows something is up.

Well, duh. Obviously. Escaped serial killer and all. But there’s something more to it than that, she thinks.

Dr. Sayoran had pulled her out of the lab, away from a cheerful, laughing conversation about a newspaper article, about two hours after Dr. Brennan left with Agent Booth. “Sorry,” Dr. Sayoran said, after she’d explained a little about Howard Epps and his escape. “I’m going to need everyone pretty focused right now.”

Hannah had nodded, yawning. (One of the workers renovating the apartment next to Dr. Brennan’s left his radio on last night, and it turns out hip hop is not exactly conducive to sleep.) “It’s okay. I mean, it’s more important and all. And I have a ton of stuff to read.”

Dr. Sayoran left her in the lounge. Two hours later, Dr. Sayoran asks her to gather up her stuff. “I’m going to have you relocate to my office for a bit.”

“Your office? Won’t I be in the way?”

“Not really. And we need the lounge for a bit. Just make yourself comfortable, and if you need anything, ask.”

Hannah’s pretty sure the person she’s supposed to ask if she needs anything is the security guard in the chair outside Dr. Sayoran’s office. She’s also pretty sure that neither the guard nor the chair was there yesterday.

She looks at the next marked article she’s supposed to read, and then closes the journal. “Screw it,” she mutters, and pulls out her laptop.

Fifteen minutes later, she’s skimmed the first four items that Google brings up on Howard Epps.

Something is definitely up.