Title: Friends and Foes
Rating: Jungle sex? I think this totally calls for an M rated fic.
Disclaimer: Whatever. Not mine.
Category: Romance, Drama, Action/Adventure and definitely some angst.
A/N: This is not like Into the Wild. This is the jungle, with all the squints and a minor case. The only thing that will be similar will be survival skills and tent sex. I don't imagine there'll be many of you opposed to the latter of these two! Don't forget to review, because reviews feed my soul.
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"I'm not sure how I feel about all this," Angela Montenegro said, lathering bug repellent cream unto her arms. "I've stayed in the desert, you know, with Kurt. But the jungle... it's something different altogether, isn't it?" Brennan smoothed her hands over her khaki clad thighs. "There's scorpions, snakes, spiders... don't any of these dangerous creatures scare you, Bren?"
"There's plenty of those creatures in the desert too, Angela," Brennan reminded her best friend, shouldering her backpack.
"Yes, sweetie, but ordinarily, I was in the desert for sex. In an air conditioned house with all the amenities. Not plundering around in the soil." Beside her, Jack frowned, his crystalline blue eyes darkening with a intensity that Angela found difficult to categorise. Even as an artist, the vast contrast in colouring was extraordinary.
"Well, you won't be 'plundering', Ange," Brennan said. "You'll be drawing faces." A Jeep rolled across the dirt road, the very body rattling as it trundled over the uneven terrain. "At last," she sighed, "I thought they'd never arrive." Booth and their jungle guide Rafael had been gone for over an hour, picking up supplies. She was beginning to feel agitated, her eagerness to get started was ebbing away at her patience.
"Why are we here, Bren?" Angela asked, not for the first time. It seemed 'to work' was not an answer that was going to suffice.
"Soldiers are turning up dead. The government don't like it. At least... they think the remains belong to soldiers. The remains are too badly mutilated to tell." Angela bobbed her head.
"Yes. That explains why Booth is here. That explains why you are here. But why me? Why Hodgins and Zach?" Brennan doubled checked her water supply, ensuring that her canteen was full.
"The government are in the middle of conducting an experiment in this jungle. They don't want satellite or radio waves compromising those results. For that reason, we're forbidden to use cell phones or wireless transmissions. You guys aren't much use to us in Washington if we can't maintain contact. Booth asked that we all come along on this one." Jack grinned.
"Too cool," he said a dark green sunhat placed atop his curly head. "The question is, who is murdering American soldiers? Mexican insurgents?" Brennan shrugged, and Booth lifted himself from the Jeep, swinging to the ground, addressing them all with his usual flair of authority.
"We have to get going. Rafael wants us at base by nightfall and there's only so far the vehicle can go." Angela sighed.
"Jungle trekking? You know, this is not what I signed up for when I joined the Jeffersonian." Booth smirked, offering them a glimmer of his teeth.
"You get to parade around in teeny-tiny shorts, Angela. I thought you'd be in your element." Brennan tossed her backpack into the rear end of the Jeep, keeping her necessary forensic equipment, all very fragile, to the top.
"What experiment are we in the middle of conducting?" Zach asked, speaking for the first time in over an hour. He'd been bit twice by rouge mosquitoes and his skin itched. He'd been so quiet, it was almost possible to forget his presence completely. So when he spoke, everyone turned, their eyes wide as though they had just discovered a ghost in their midst.
"It's classified," Booth said, a deep warning ground into his voice. His tone told them they were forbidden to poke around. His eyes levelled on Hodgins. "It's classified," he repeated. Jack lifted his hands.
"I hear you dude. Classified. Giving people cancer, driving locals mad, electric-shock treatment..." Booth stared.
"Shut up Hodgins," he said, casting a sideward glance at Rafael. "There is a considerable amount of unrest here at the moment. So unless you want to make what allies we have becomes foes, I suggest you keep your paranoid theories to yourself." Brennan cleared her throat.
"Perhaps he's right," she said, and for a moment, everyone debated which 'he' she was siding with. "It does seem suspicious that soldiers are going missing, remains are turning up and no one seems terribly fond of the American government in these parts. Maybe we've made more enemies than we know?" Her theory lingered among them for a moment, creeping along their spines. Suddenly the leafy jungle, alive with wildlife, seemed threatening and dark. "And as for our allies," Brennan added, watching how Rafael picked through the foliage, a haggard looking cigarette pressed between his lips, "how can we be sure they're not already enemies?" Booth patted his hip, the bulge of his weapon visible though his tan cotton shirt.
"We can't, Bones," he said. "Which is why we stay alert and stick together." Hodgins dispelled a breath through his lips, his eyes narrowed.
"And if one of us gets injured or killed?" Zach asked. "No phones, satellites or radio? How big is the ground covered by this 'experiment'?" Booth crossed his arms, glaring.
"I have an emergency radio. Only to be used in the event of injury or death. Can we get moving please? It's already gone midday." Rafael stubbed his cigarette out, dropping it into his pocket for later. His fingers turned the key in the ignition and the Jeep rumbled to life. "Angela and Bones in the front, and us guys, we'll rough it in the back."
The back, as it happened, was squashed among the bags, avoiding the rattle of breakable equipment. After an hour, Booth was sure his spine was irreversibly twisted, shaped like a crooked question mark. When he was sure his body couldn't hurt any more, Brennan spoke. "Why is Dr Saroyan not joining us?" she asked and he muffled his groan with his arm.
"Because we have no need for a pathologist, Bones," he said, slowly, as if it were the simplest answer ever. "How long until we're there, Rafael?" The driver glanced at him through the rear-view mirror, a sadistic smirk toying at his lips. Booth had spent time folded into even the most uncomfortable of military vehicles. But avoiding so much as touching one of Brennan's precious parcels was taking its toll on his spine.
"Thirty minutes, boss," he said, tipping his hat. Around them, branches snapped against the side of the Jeep, breaking and crunching beneath the tyres. "Do you want to stop for a bathroom break?" Booth shook his head.
"I want you to drive faster."
"So," Angela said, shouldering her bag. "What do you think of this newest challenge, Jack?" Hodgins removed his hat, shaking his sweat dampened curls. His eyes offered her no humour.
"I think something stinks," he said. "And I think Booth's 'ask no questions' rule is going to cause trouble." She wondered at the darkness of his statement. "Because the military don't fly in the FBI and forensic scientists to cover murderous mysteries unless something untoward is going on."
His voice seemed to linger on, moving along the treetops and slinking across her skin longer after he'd spoken.
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