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Chapter Seven:
Women's Intuition
Present:
"Anything yet?"
Booth shook his head. "We're still too deep in. No signal."
Brennan sighed. Booth could see the fatigue written clearly on her face. Her shoulders slumped against her will, and every so often he thought her movements were involuntarily slower than usual.
She was currently setting up a campfire a few feet away from where he lay propped up against a fallen tree trunk. Her body was hunched over as she placed the appropriate twigs and branches together and then set about trying to light it with the two rocks she had found. When the initial spark died pitifully, he saw her frown and pout, and he almost laughed at the childish annoyance she was exhibiting toward the fire, as though it were a failed science experiment.
"You need any help?" he asked, though he wasn't sure he'd be able to move any closer. The pain in his side, as much as he hated to admit it, was catching up with him, and lying still seemed to be the only protection against further agony. Still, he thought he should offer.
"No, I'm fine," she replied sharply. Again, he almost laughed. Her tone of voice was exactly the same as when she'd snap at him in the Jeffersonian for hovering too close to one of her bone samples. He cracked a small grin, letting himself watch her work. It always entertained and awed him to see her like this, completely absorbed in a task as though nothing in the world could tear her away. In the early evening sunset, everything about her was aglow, the sun's last few rays pouring out their warmth to bathe her figure. Her fingers, slender and delicate, were moving with precision as they struck stone against stone, and a wisp of her hair had fallen in front of her face, casting a shadow on her pale skin.
He would have been content to watch her for hours like this, but the reality of the situation sunk in almost viciously when she tilted her head to the side, revealing the still barely healed cuts and bruises marring that pale, beautiful skin. A sudden hatred for the man who had caused all of this seized his heart with a vice grip.
With effort, he shook it away. They needed rest now, and thinking about Guzman was not going to calm him at the least. He forced himself to find the amusement in her actions again, and luckily for him, it wasn't hard as her eighth attempt failed just then. Her lower lip twisted slightly, her nose scrunched up in frustration.
He fought back a grin.
"Bones," he said, reaching towards his pocket with his good arm.
"I'm fine, Booth," she replied sharply, still not looking at him and focused on her task.
"Bones," he said again, struggling this time as his arm felt incredibly weak. That got her attention; her head snapped up, eyes full of concern and her task completely forgotten as she rushed over to his side.
"What is it?" she asked, her fingers automatically moving to his bandaged side.
"Nothing about that," he quickly reassured her. "Just – reach into my left side pocket, will ya?"
"Okay…" she said, and gingerly, her hands reached over his torso to his pocket. Had the pain not been enough to dull most of his other senses, Booth was sure he would have felt a shock of electricity course through his system as he felt her hands digging into the fabric of his pants. He almost rolled his eyes at himself. Really, Seeley? Now's not exactly the best time for this.
He felt her fingers close in around the object he knew was still there, and then her hand and the pressure was gone. He couldn't help the cocky grin on his face as he watched her expression change from concern to confusion to annoyance.
"BOOTH!" she exclaimed, lifting one hand to punch him, but thinking better of it at the last second. Thank God for that, he thought, wincing at what he was sure would have been quite a painful blow.
"What?" he said innocently, wanting to keep the lightness between them. This game never got tiring for him.
"You watched me try to make this fire for twenty minutes!"
"Aww Bones, you looked pretty set."
"Twenty minutes, Booth!"
"Well I did try to offer my help," he pointed out, still grinning at her. "You were the one who said you were just fine." He could tell he was pushing the right buttons, and that her logical mind was reluctantly coming to the conclusion that yes, he had offered, and yes, she had refused his help. He waited.
Finally, she sighed, and her lips broke out into a grudging smile.
"You could have said you had matches all along," she said with a slight toss of her head. With that, she marched back over to the fireside and opened up the pack of matches he had been carrying. He saw her freeze for a moment, her fingers hesitating over them. He was about to ask what was wrong when he realized, of course. He had gotten the matches from El Zapato Rojo, the club they had gone to that night when she had worn that little black dress and had danced with him til the early morning hours. If he closed his eyes, he could still smell her perfume and the light cigar smoke from the restaurant. He could tell she was thinking of the same thing.
"That was a fun night, huh?" he said, smiling at the memory.
"Yeah," she replied. "Yeah it was."
"You still owe me for spilling your drink on me."
"What! You were the one who got me drunk – it's your own fault for not thinking of the consequences of your actions."
"Well I didn't think you'd be a sloppy drunk, Bones!"
"I don't usually consume alcohol in such large quantities. It had an effect."
He grinned, remembering how loose and free she had been on the dance floor.
"Yeah, I'd say. You actually danced."
"I've danced before, Booth."
"Not that like, you haven't," he replied, winking at her. "I think the whole club enjoyed seeing you twirl up on the stage, though I think I might have punched out some guys for staring up your dress while you were doing it. Black lace, Bones?"
For a moment, she looked slightly flustered, shaking her head at herself. He thought he heard her mutter "Angela" under her breath. He grinned even more; he'd had a feeling the sneaky artist had been responsible for some of Bones' clothing choices that week. His head felt a little light as he remembered the day at the beach…
"It was a fun night though," said Bones, jumping Booth out of his thoughts. He fought the blush he knew was creeping up on him.
That's another hour of confession for when we get back, he thought. Wrong place, wrong time for this, Seeley. He wasn't a fool – this trip had brought all of her past demons to the surface, but it had also brought his deeply buried emotions up along for the ride as well. There was a line, he thought, one they hadn't crossed yet, but he wasn't sure how long he'd be able to keep himself on his side of it. But whatever she meant to him, whatever he wanted to say or thought he should say, now wasn't the time. They had to focus on survival here, on the mission, on making it out of this jungle of hell; anything else felt simply out of place.
Even love?
He shook his head at himself. Again, not something he should be thinking about. He had always told her she needed to have more heart than brain; the problem now was that his heart was getting too full to manage. He swallowed down the feelings, the confusion it brought with it, and forced his thoughts clear.
"Booth?" There was worry in her voice again.
Crap, had he been zoning out? He smiled reassuringly at her immediately.
"Just thinking, Bones," he replied. "It just all feels like forever ago."
"It's only been eleven days," she reminded him.
"Yeah, well, a lot's happened in eleven days," he reminded gently back.
She nodded, a sad look on her face as she lit one of the matches and set her campfire successfully ablaze. The flickering flames danced before her, replacing the soft glow from the now distant sun with its own fiery light. Having decided that the fire was satisfactory, she came over to his side.
"We can only stay for a few hours max," he said, as she settled in next to him against the trunk. It seemed too short of a time, but they had to keep moving.
"Just rest," she told him, one hand reaching to lightly caress the side of his face, to calm him. "I'll keep watch."
"No, you need to rest too, Bones," he protested.
"Booth," she said firmly. There were sparks in her eyes as she sat up slightly so she was staring right at him, her face inches away. "You've done so much already. Let me do something now. Let me keep watch."
He had a hard time resisting her when she was looking at him like that. He'd always been a sucker for blue eyes, but with the added flecks of green and the soft, haunting glow from the firelight, he was powerless. He nodded slowly, and then gestured to one of the guns by his side. She picked it up expertly.
"Compromise," he said, as he watched her lean back against the trunk. "You wake me up in an hour, deal?"
She looked ready to argue further, but then simply smiled and said, "deal."
"Promise me, Bones."
"Booth-"
"Bones."
"Shhh," she replied, caressing his cheek again. "Just close your eyes. I'm here. Just rest."
Finally succumbing to the pain and fatigue riddling his body, Booth let himself drift away to the sound of her whispers and the smooth, calming feel of her skin against his. He felt himself smiling even as the world faded into black.
"You okay?"
Angela sighed. She knew it would be him. He was the only one who dared to come talk to her these days. Everyone else hid away, unnerved by her dark mood, which was so unlike her. Normally, she'd be glad to see him, but the problem was that even he, Mr. Government-Conspiracy-Guru, was refusing to believe her.
"Angie, come on," he coaxed, coming up behind her to rub her shoulders. She let herself enjoy it for a few seconds, and then pulled away.
"She's in trouble," she said, focusing her gaze on the computer screen in front of her.
"You don't know that," Hodgins replied. His voice sounded thin, as though he too was getting tired of having the same conversation over and over again. Angela frowned; she, on the other hand, was ready to talk about this as many times as she needed in order for her words to sink in.
In order for them to believe her.
"They're three days overdue," she repeated for the umpteenth time. Those words seemed to roll of her tongue so easily now.
"The CIA extended their assignment. They're still needed."
"No." Angela shook her head. "No, Brennan would have said something if she knew she had to stay longer. Booth would have said something. This isn't like them. And I'm sick of everyone pretending like it's okay."
"Angela," Hodgins sighed, spinning her chair around so that she was facing him. He knelt down, grasping her hands with his, his expression trying hard to be supportive, but eyes filled with doubt. "I'm sure they're fine. They'll be back as soon as they're done."
"Cam should have tried harder."
"You don't argue with these guys, Ange," Hodgins replied with a little laugh. "Trust me, when they want to block you out, they can do it. But even Cam's inside guy is telling us everything's fine. Just breathe, and try to relax a little."
"Don't tell me what to do, Jack," she snapped. She hadn't meant to; she regretted it almost instantly upon seeing the look on his face, but she was sick of this. How could he of all people not believe her? This whole trip to Cuba had been strange and secretive from the beginning, but it was the look on Brennan's face the last time they had video chatted that was really gnawing at her.
Brennan had looked worried. Tired, frustrated, and worried. And if Angela was any good at reading people, which she knew she was, her best friend had looked more than a little afraid as well. She had said that nothing was wrong, that everything was being handled, and simply that she couldn't call again for the remainder of the trip. After 3 days past their return date, however, Angela knew something else had to have gone amiss.
"Look, Cam needs you to focus on the Keller case," Hodgins was saying. "But listen, we can talk to her –"
"I don't want to talk to her. I want to talk to Brennan."
"You know that's not possible. The CIA—"
"Since when were you the spokesperson for the CIA? You of all people should be just as suspicious as I am!"
"I am, Angie, but I'm also worried about you. You're taking this conspiracy theory farther than I would, and that worries me a lot."
"I just need to hear from Brennan. I need to have her tell me everything's fine."
"Okay, we'll talk to Muller, he can hook us up from State."
"He wouldn't, and you know it."
"Yeah, true, he is one nasty guy."
"Listen...don't you have a friend who works for the CIA?"
Hodgins frowned, thinking. "Yeah, a college buddy, Greg Sanford."
"Why can't you ask him to look into this?"
"Whoa, Ange, first, I haven't talked to Greg in ages, and second, I'm not sure he even has the clearance for this."
"Jack."
"Angie, I'm up for a mystery as much as the next conspiracy-obsessed guy, but you're really starting to scare me. You're not eating, you're not sleeping, you're not doing so well at work."
"I would if I just could stop worrying about them."
"Angie –"
"Jack. Please."
He sighed, and then offered her a small smile as he touched her cheek with his thumb. "Okay. I'll give him a call, okay?"
"Okay."
"How about we grab some lunch now then?"
"Okay," she nodded. As they started to walk to the door, she paused and turned him to look straight at her. "It's not just women's intuition, you know," she said, wanting him, of all people, to believe her. "I know all of you think I'm going crazy, but it's not just women's intuition. She's my best friend, and something there scared her. And I don't care if this is all classified – we shouldn't be leaving her alone like this."
"She's got Booth with her, remember?" he replied easily. "He wouldn't let anything happen."
"Still," Angela said, "Please, please put that amazing brain of yours to work on this? For me?"
He bent in to kiss her, a calming kiss, and then said, "I'll call him right after lunch. Come on."
Sighing, Angela followed him out the door, the feeling of dread still looming above her as she tried to force the pounding questions and thoughts away.
Keep her safe, Booth. Please keep her safe.