Brennan woke from the drugged sleep gradually, blinking her eyes in the pitch blackness surrounding her. She was confused and stiff. And lying facedown on something lumpy, hard, and warm. She lifted her head, only to smack the back of it on something just inches above. She winced then paused to get her bearings. The thing she was lying on had a heartbeat and a solid, familiar shape. She also recognized the scent of his soap.
"Booth." She said urgently. He shifted beneath her and groaned in complaint. "Booth." She repeated, shaking him. There was an unidentifiable metallic sound. He was as immovable as a ton of wet cement and gave no response. Brennan gave up trying to wake him for a moment and instead began gingerly exploring around the darkness. The space was small, narrow, padded. The ceiling that she had bumped her head against wouldn't budge, neither would any other surface. She discovered Booth's arms were pulled above his head and handcuffed to a metal handle of some kind – accounting for the sound she had heard. Every surface was upholstered. There was even a small pillow under Booth's head. A coffin.
Booth shifted again and heaved a chest-deep groan. "Whuuuuh?" he muttered, slowly shaking off the effects of the drugs.
"Booth!" Brennan said.
"Bones?" he said quizzically. "What are you…? Are you okay? Are you hurt?" his voice hardened in urgency.
"I'm fine, I'm fine." Brennan reassured him. "Are you injured?"
"No, I'm…well, I'm handcuffed to something up here."
"To a handle." Brennan confirmed, "I think we're in a casket. We're still in our evening clothes from the Jeffersonian Foundation Founders Gala. We were going to the parking lot and…"
"Well, hell." Booth said in exasperation. "He got us."
"Yes, it seems that he did." Brennan replied.
"He's never taken two before, so…" Booth trailed off. "Bones, why are you on top of me?"
"I woke up here. Just a few moments before you." Her hair was falling into his face. She was patting his chest and sides. "You aren't wearing your tux jacket anymore."
Booth blew out a breath to move her hair. "It had my phone and keys. Damn it, that jacket'll cost me at the rental place." They shifted in discomfort. "Hey, I think my work keys are still in my pants pocket." He said. "There's a handcuff key on there. There's also a little flashlight on there. Can you…? Right hand pocket. My right."
"Yup. Yes. Hold on." Brennan shifted to her right and slid her slim fingers into his right trouser pocket. Her left leg slid between his and he tensed, willing his body not to respond. She was too close, too soft, and too warm. Smelled too good. And her breasts were flattened against the plane of his chest while her clever fingers wriggled into his pocket getting much too close to…"Geez, Bones!"
"Sorry. I'm sorry." She said. Her fingers closed over the key ring and she drew it out of his pocket. Metal jingled as she felt through the key ring to find the penlight. She kept talking. "Don't be embarrassed. It's a normal physiological response."
"I know that, just get my hands loose, damn it." Booth said his voice mortified.
"Got it." Brennan said triumphantly. The little flashlight came on. She grinned at him briefly then shimmied up his body to his wrists. Her breasts were now directly above Booth's face and, even though the flashlight gave too little light for him to see down her cleavage, Booth closed his eyes tight – willing his mind to focus on the problem of being entombed instead of the scent of her skin. Some jingling of keys and metal and tugging at his wrists, a soft brush of a full breast against his left cheek, and his hands were free. He had to wrap his arms around Brennan to rub his chafed wrists and numb fingers. She wriggled back down until her head was tucked neatly under his chin. Booth sighed and reined back a sudden mental image of Bones in the shower – Bones and her strawberry shampoo. "Okay." He said, a little too sharply – pushing the fantasy away and letting his arms fall to his sides. "Let's get outta here, Bones."
"The lid is stuck, bolted, or something is holding it down." Brennan said. "We're getting air so I don't we're buried."
"No, that's not his style. We're probably just somewhere remote – like the other victims – surrounded by his mementos. Why both of us?" Booth muttered to himself.
"Well…" Brennan started.
Booth cut her off. "Never mind, let's just get out of here first, okay? I'm going to try to budge the lid of this thing."
"I tried that – it didn't work."
"Bones, can we just remember who's the brawn here? If we need the coffin analyzed for pieces of kryptonite – you'll be in charge. I'm in charge of the heavy lifting."
"Krypton is actually a noble gas – it doesn't fragment into pieces."
"Thanks for that, I'll file that away." Booth rolled his eyes. "Now, here's what I think: you need to…um…get between my legs so I can brace them wide against the lid and push up."
"Okay." They shuffled awkwardly in the small space, the tiny flashlight giving a pale shine to the satin liner of the coffin and a small amount of light to see. Once in position, Booth's feet braced wide against one end of the lid and Brennan's stomach pressing lushly against his increasing 'physiological response', Booth blew out a breath and pushed forcefully upward against the lid. Splintering wood screeched in protest and one end of the coffin lid lurched upward several inches – letting in dim light from outside their cramped prison.
"Ha! Impressive." said Brennan in satisfaction, "You are very strong."
"Thanks, Brains." Booth grinned up at her. They smiled into each other's faces in the dim light and one moment passed into two. Both suddenly remembered their position and looked away. Booth reddened, embarrassed with his body's response – it wasn't just soft feel of her stomach against him – it was her. Always simply her.
"It…it's natural…" Brennan repeated lamely.
"I know it is. Let's just…don't talk about it, okay?"
"I'm not embarrassed." Brennan said, trying to adjust her position on top of him.
"Well, I am. Stop wiggling for the love of God!" Booth grabbed her hips to still her. "Are you trying to kill me?" Brennan stilled, incredibly aware of the heat of his hands low on her hips.
"Sorry." She almost whispered.
"Just…let's focus, okay? The thing is bolted, so I got a couple loose on that end. If we can get turned around, I can do the same to the other side and maybe we can get the lid off."
"Yes." She nodded. "I'll flatten myself against the side and try to give you space to turn around."
"Good plan. Okay." Booth agreed. The wriggling and awkward disentanglement of limbs started again, this time Bones rolled off of his chest and to his right side. He missed her soft weight immediately. She wedged her back as closely as possible to the side of the casket. Once she had settled, Booth hesitated a moment before deciding on his course of action. His body was too long and too broad to turn around normally, but he pulled his knees up to his chest and curled into the tightest ball possible before scooting himself 180 degrees. His head briefly smashed into Brennan's midsection, eliciting an "Oof!" from her and an unexpected chuckle.
She rolled back onto him – this time trying to keep her feet out of his face, and repositioned her hips between his legs, lying face down between his feet. Booth sputtered as the spike of one evening shoe came dangerously close to his eye and the skirt of her dress covered his face. "Okay, I'm covering my head from splinters." She said.
"Ready?" Booth asked.
"Yes."
With a grunt, Booth heaved upward and the other end of the casket lid ripped free. Only two bolts, one on each side, now secured the lid. Booth shoved again and one more bolt gave. The lid crashed to the floor of the…storage unit. Both occupants disentangled themselves and sat up – stretching out cramped arms, legs, and backs. The very dim light coming under the storage unit door barely illuminated what was covering the walls of the unit. Booth snatched the flashlight from Brennan's fingers and crawled out of the casket – reaching in to lift her to her feet and steady her against his chest.
"No wonder it was so easy to get out." He murmured – shining the little light at the hundreds of photos and papers featuring Temperance Brennan's face and work and hundreds more pornographic images of auburn-haired women. "I wasn't meant to be in there with you. I was just collateral damage."
"I wouldn't have had the strength to force that lid open…" she whispered. Suddenly, she clung to his shoulders and burrowed her face against his neck, unable to look at the walls anymore. "Thank you, Booth." She murmured, her lips forming the words against his neck. He let out a little shuddering sigh and dropped the little flashlight into the coffin to wrap strong arms around her, molding her slender body against his.
"Bones." He said her name gently, reverently. "I would've found you. I would've saved you."
She lifted her face and looked up into his eyes. "Maybe." She stated.
"I'll always find you. I'll always save you." He said fiercely. His eyes met hers with dark intensity. "Okay? Always."
Her lips curved into a small smile and time slowed. Stopped. Booth's eyes flicked down to rest on her mouth and he bent his head just as she lifted her face. They rested their foreheads against each other. What came next might have been a kiss, could have been, if Booth's knees hadn't chosen that moment to collapse. He dragged Brennan down with him.
"Woah, must've gotten a bigger dose of the drug than I thought." He said in bafflement. Brennan got up and helped hoist him to his feet again.
"Okay?" she said.
"Yeah, yes. Bones, let's get this damned storage unit door open and get home, huh? I hate wearing this monkey suit."
They grinned at each other and nodded. A team.