Yep, I can't even begin to make excuses about my other story 'Shot.' The best one I can come up with is: I am totally bored with it . So, it's on a temporary holiday. Feel free to PM to kick my ass for not updating /wink/. It might give me incentive.
Disclaimer: I actually DO own Bones. I just decide to come onto a fanfiction website and write under an alias instead of just putting my ideas into the actual TV show. I mean, come on, duh! Would I be here if I owned it? And YOU! If YOU are using this site than you know I don't own it. /Bows/ Thank you for my ramble!
Onwards, to the story:
"Nothing?"
"Yes, believe it or not, Booth. Nothing."
"There has to be something. Everyone is scared of something."
"I'm not."
"Spiders?"
"No."
"Heights?"
No."
"Rabid squirrels?" At this suggestion Dr Temperance Brennan turned to face her partner, eyebrows raised. Her hands were on her hips while his hands were in the air in the universal 'don't shoot me' gesture. Rolling her eyes, Brennan turned back to the body she was examining, leaving Booth leaning against a tree with a frown on his face. After a few moments he began to pace.
"Booth! You have no idea how irritating that is. Stop it." Brennan watched as the FBI agent's face cracked into a huge grin.
"Fine, I'll stop..." she sighed in relief. "...when you tell me what you're scared of."
Throwing her hands up in the air, the forensic anthropologist stalked off, calling back at her partner over her shoulder. "I don't have a fear. Being afraid is simply a release of endorphins."
"So you don't get squeamish from snakes?"
"No. When I was nine I wanted one as a pet." Brennan replied as she notified a tech that the body was ready to be bagged and moved.
"Sharks?"
"Went diving with them on the Great Barrier Reef in Australia."
"What about public speaking? Everyone dreads public speaking."
"Booth, I lecture all the time. Speaking in public is part of my job."
"Flying!" Booth snapped his fingers. "Does it ever run through your head that the plane could crash and you could end up hurtling towards the ground?"
"Flying is the safest form of transport. You're more likely to die while riding a donkey than when in a plane crash."
"Smart-ass," Booth muttered under his breath, as he tried to think of something else his partner could be frightened of. "What about the dark? Every child is afraid of the dark."
"I use to use a torch to read under my blankets so my room was never very dark."
"God?"
"No."
"Clowns?"
"Defiantly not."
"Large crowds?"
"Nope."
"Death?"
"Morbid, Booth," Brennan replied. "But, no, I'm not afraid of death."
By now the duo had reached the standard-issue SUV. Sliding into the driver's seat, Booth could not help but let out a tiny groan of frustration. There had to be something that gave her the heebie-jeebies, as Parker liked to put it.
Drumming his fingers on the steering wheels, Booth sighed and looked at his partner's side profile. She was smiling at his frustration.
"You have to be afraid of something," Booth blurted out. "Everyone has a fear of some kind."
"Everyone?" Brennan asked, eyebrows raised.
"Yes, everyone."
"And I suppose that means you've got a phobia?"
"Yes," Booth confessed. "I'm claustrophobic."
"You? You're afraid of enclosed spaces?" Brennan raised an eyebrow.
"Terrified. I hate dark, small places." An involuntary shudder ran down his back.
"Good thing the Gravedigger didn't come after you then. I can imagine you would have had a heart attack in that car."
"Defiantly," Booth replied cheerfully, with a grin.
Suddenly, Brennan began to laugh. "I never imagined you being claustrophobia, Booth. Tall, dark and FBI, protector of the innocent and all."
"I told you everyone is afraid of something. I happen to loath small spaces."
"Why?"
"That, my dear Dr Brennan, is a story for another day," he said, flashing a grin her way. "So, I told you my fear, you tell me yours."
Sighing in frustration, Brennan threw her hands in the air and turned to look out the mirror. Several moments of silence pasted before her 'having the last-word-nature' got the better of her.
"You want the truth, Booth? I've never been truly terrified," She turned to see that he was facing her with an intent look of interest. "Eyes on the road."
"But weren't you afraid when you were buried alive, or when those dogs were going to eat you?" Booth squinted at her again."
"No, I was more focused on trying to escape and keeping Jack alive."
"What about when you were little? Did you ever get lost or try to climb something really high?"
"Possibly. I don't really remember." Smiling, she turned to him. "I think this conversation proves it, Booth. I am not scared of anything."
-
"I will not sit here like some stupid on-looker while my partner is in there!" Brennan said, her voice rising with every word.
"Dr Brennan, you are an anthropologist, not a FBI agent."
"I know what I am, Director Cullen. I am a martial arts expert, an excellent shot and the person who found out where Booth was." She accentuated her words with a poke in the director's chest. "I think I am perfectly qualified to trapeze in there and rescue him."
For a moment the older man looked stunned. Brennan got the feeling he wasn't use to being talked to like that. Ha! Serves him right for suggesting she wait outside. They stared each other down for a moment, nose-to-nose before Cullen sighed.
"Fine. You're lucky you're such a help to the FBI or I would never allow this," he said, as a bullet proof vest was passed to her. "I don't know how he puts up with you."
Brennan reached into her bag as Cullen moved away and began to shout to his men, and revealed her large, mall-bought gun. A gasp of shock came from an agent behind her and she turned to see him eyeing his inferior weapon with distaste. Flicking off the safety, Brennan barely noticed the looks of appreciation on the male faces surrounding her. Cullen came to see what the fuss was and when he did, the director simply shook his head. "And I was about to yell something along the lines of 'get the bone lady a gun.' This wasn't BYO, Dr Brennan."
Brennan barely registered his words. She was too busy worrying about Booth, who was trapped somewhere in this building. More than 24 hours ago he had been kidnapped from the Jeffersonian car park, as he and Brennan walked to the SUV. There had been no warning, no time to even draw their guns before a sharp blow to the head and the two of them had been sprawled on the floor. Just after nightfall, Brennan had woken up in the same spot.
Alone.
Now she was here, near a small, inconspicuous house in an empty neighbourhood. She was about to storm in and rescue Booth.
Of course, it didn't hurt that she had a SWAT team to cover her back.
The next 5 minutes were a blur. Doors were broken down, men were yelling, shots were fired. Brennan remembered watching as one of the kidnappers died before she eyes. Three more surrendered, being forced to their knees at gun point. Agent Lockyer, one of Booth's closer friends, hit the closest man over the head.
"Bastard. No one gets away with hurting an FBI agent now days," the furious agent said, bringing up his hand again.
"No!" Brennan yelled, grabbing Lockyer's arm. "Don't! If we can't find Booth we'll need them to tell us where he is." She said in a whisper. Turning to the kidnapper, she placed her gun under his chin. "Where is he?"
The man started to laugh loudly.
"Tell me," she screamed. All around her, FBI agents were yelling, shouting that the house was clear, that Booth was nowhere to be found.
"Trust me, little girlie, you don't want to find your boyfriend," said the kidnapper, as he spat blood onto the filth-covered carpet. "He's not in a pretty state."
At those words, Brennan felt herself go numb. All the anger, hate, fear, that had encompassed her for the past day was gone. In their place she felt a strange deadening silence.
"Where is he?" Brennan's tone became monotonous.
The kidnapper noticed the dead, cold look on her face.
"Tell me where he is or I will blow your brains out."
Still, the man didn't say anything, but she could see the fear in his eyes. He really thought she was serious. And, god help her, she was.
Cocking the gun, she asked one more time. "Where is he?"
"Shed!" the man said in a strangled voice.
"What?"
"He's in the shed, down the back of the yard."
"Is he alive?"
"Yes."
Without a word, without informing anyone where she was going, without a second's hesitation, she ran out of the house and across the backyard. Large droplets of rain fell from the sky, soaking Brennan's hair as she forced open the door, lifting the large plank of wood from in front of it. Stumbling slightly, she ran into the large shed, understanding with horror that it was the workplace of a mad man. Drops of blood were covering the floor underneath a pair or manacles dangling from the ceiling. Several sharp knives were lying discarded on a small table, which also homed a lighter and a crowbar.
But no sign of Booth.
Closing her eyes to compose herself, Brennan took several deep breathes. Opening her eyes, she looked around for any sign of her partner. Spying another barred door, she quickly thrust it open.
It was a cell.
Barely two meters wide and lit only by a small, naked bulb, it was damp, dank and cold. A large figure was crumpled on the floor, unmoving.
"Booth," Brennan whispered. He was curled in a ball, knees draw to his chest, and Brennan knew it was a natural survival instinct, to retain warmth. For a moment she was frozen then she snapped out of her daze to rush to Booth's side. Ignoring all instincts tell her not to move him, she gathered him up in her arms.
The FBI agent was a mess. A large gash ran down his cheek, covering his face in blood, as well as several large knife marks marring his bare chest. Even in the desolate lighting Brennan could already see the bruises that littered his skin.
"Oh, Booth." She pushed his blood-matted hair off his face. "I'm so sorry."
He started to stir, big, brown eyes widening in fear.
"No," he whispered, eyes rolling back. "I won't tell you."
He started to fight against her, in a vain attempt to ward her away. Brennan quickly deduced that he thought it was his captors still.
"Booth! It's me, Bones," she said, holding him close. After several more moments of struggle her words began to sink in and he quieted. Pulling her shaken partner close to her body, he she held him tightly as he buried his face into her chest and she heard his breathing evening out.
"It's okay. You're okay, Booth. You're safe." Tears started to grow as she looked closer at him, realizing the extent of his injuries.
His wrists were bound and his left arm was swollen and probably broken. Large burns covered his arms and torso and three of his ribs appeared to be broken.Director Cullen was right in his guess about why Booth had been taken captive. He'd been tortured.
"The paramedics are on their way. You're going to be okay." Brennan knew she was trying to convince herself as much, if not more, as she was him. "The bastards who did this will pay, mark my words."
"I didn't tell them, Bones," came Booth's voice, stopping her flow of comforting words. It was said so quietly that Brennan had barely heard what her partner had spoken. "I didn't tell them where the safe house was. Royston's safe."
"I knew you wouldn't tell," she replied, smiling softly. Her facade dropped suddenly and without warning the tears began to stream. "I was so scared, Booth. So scared. Don't ever do that again. You had me terrified."
"I told you so," he whispered.
"Told me what?" she asked, as she reached down to untie his wrists. To her surprise, he smiled. It wasn't his usual, full-blown charm grin but it was legitimate.
"I told you everyone had a fear."
Wanna see something really cool? If you push the little button that looks like this [Submit Review and type something in the text box that appears, I get to read it! Isn't that totally awesome?!
Also, did you see the little hint hint at the possibility of a sequel about why Booth's claustrophobic??? I might write it: if enough people review in favour of the idea, of course :). I'm evil!