WARNING: For Mature persons only. Contains Violence; Torture; Physical and Sexual Assault. Not rape exactly, and nothing too graphic, but can still be disturbing, please don't read if you are bothered by such things in fiction.
Author's Note: I hesitated to write this, but it wasn't something that would allow itself to go unwritten. Then I hesitated even more to post it, but I do think it's a good look into reactions. The character of Dr. Brennan is an amazing person, who has survived a great deal. So are the other characters of Bones. Their loyalty to her and Booth is a trait I greatly admire. I did take some liberties with events we don't know much about, such as Brennan's past. However, I did try to stick close to what we have heard about so far in the show. If it seems to be a little disjointed, don't worry, it's supposed to be that way. Feel free to express how you feel about it, even if it's negative. I'm tough, I can take it.
Disclaimer: Show and characters not mine, someone elses. Story is though.
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More Than the Sum of Our Parts
Part One
It was an open room, not unlike the lab at the Jeffersonian. There weren't any windows, but there was a feeling of space and air. They were on a raised platform, Cam and Sweets tied securely to the grated floor and bar edging on the left side, Angela and Hodgins to the right. Booth, slightly bloodied and still struggling, was handcuffed and bound right in front of her. Everyone but she and Angela were still gagged.
"Get on your knees." He ordered.
Brennan didn't move.
One of his faceless companions struck the back of both her knees, sending her to the ground.
"Don't!" He grated. He made a sharp gesture at the man, who promptly retreated back to the ramp.
She knelt with her head bowed, looking at him out of the corner of her eye and a curtain of hair.
He laughed softly and throatily, the sound seething past his teeth to her hair covered ears. "Think I don't understand you? Dr. Brennan, I'm not going to hurt you if you don't do as I say." He took the gun from his belt and pointed it at Cam. "I'm going to kill your friends."
Cam's eyes went wide with fear, somehow not losing that glint of hatred as she did so. The barrel of the gun pressed up against the pathologists forehead.
His eyes never left her.
Careful not to move, Brennan flashed her eyes around her, looking for… something. Anything. However, the man had come prepared. There were no weapons, no distractions, no help at all to be had. Her eyes snatched back to him as he chuckled.
"I don't need to physically force you to do anything. You do as I say, or you will have one less friend to worry about."
She still made no response, but he seemed to take that as an understanding and replaced the gun to its original position.
"I'm sure by now you are more than curious as to my intentions." He gestured around at the others. "All of you. See, the thing is Dr. Brennan, I find you much too pretentious. Overbearing and self-absorbed. For your convenience Agent Booth, I'll give you a definition of pretentious. Self-important and affected: acting as though more important, valuable, or special than is warranted, or appearing to have an unrealistically high self-image Made to look or sound important: presenting itself unjustifiably as having a special quality or significance, and often seeming forced or overly clever Seems an apropos sobriquet, don't you think Dr. Brennan?"
She didn't answer.
"Tut tut, that won't do. Manners, Dr. Brennan." He gestured at the man on the stairs. Immediately, the man took out his gun, walked up to Cam and pressed it to her temple. Then he kicked out, his foot connected hard at the pathologists thigh. Cam grunted.
Brennan stared for a moment as pain flashed across her boss' face. Her eyes then slid back to him, glaring.
"You treat people as lesser beings, and put yourself on a pedestal of perfection. I pity your colleagues really, having to put up with you. So, what is the antithesis of pretension? Humility. You require lessons in simple human behavior, so I'm going to provide one. I'm going to teach you the meaning of being humble." His eyes glinted dangerously. "Now, here's what is going to happen. My colleague there is going to keep that gun pointed at Dr. Saroyan's head, while I teach you a little part of that lesson. Call it the first phase. Feel free to fight back, but know that if you do, Dr. Saroyan will die." He struck her hard across the jaw. The crack of sound it caused made her ears ring. She fell to the side, barely catching herself on her elbow, her hands bound before her making the movement awkward and almost ineffective. Suddenly his foot was coming right for her side. Her body wanted her to move. To reach out, grab his leg, slant sideways to cushion the blow and roll to take him down with her. To fight.
His foot connected with her ribs harshly, the breath left her lungs in a pained grunt and she was bulled over onto her back. His next kick met with her leg, then he knelt and began punching her. Her mind tried to disconnect at that point from the rest of her body. On instinct, she shielded her head, but he seemed more preoccupied with the rest of her. As blows rained down on her, she was slightly distracted by an unfamiliar sound. She looked up and over, just for an instant, but long enough to see Cam struggling against her restraints. There were tears on her cheeks. The strange sound was the pathologists voice trying to be heard around her gag. One more gut-wrenching blow to her abdomen forced another grunt out of her.
Finally, he stilled. He was sweat covered and wore a satisfied, malicious grin. "Very good, Dr. Brennan. I see that you are indeed a good listener." He grabbed her bound hands and lifted her. She tried to muffle the cry that movement wanted to force from her lips. Her legs couldn't respond to her urging to support her weight, but he didn't seem to expect her to. Holding her up, he attached her to a hook hanging by a chain from the ceiling. She hung there as he also handcuffed her ankles together and attached that to the grated floor. "A small recess seems in order. We don't want you falling asleep in class."
Brennan tried to hold back tears as her shoulders popped and stressed. Her bruised ribs stretched achingly.
He left the platform, taking his colleague with him.
Once he was gone, she let herself shudder convulsively. Her mind and body slowly started really coming back together. As each second ticked by, she discovered new agony she hadn't been aware of before. Everything hurt. It didn't seem like an inch of her below her neck was untouched. Unbruised.
"Bren?" Angela's shaky, barely audible voice brought her back.
Her eyes opened. She hadn't even noticed that they had been squeezed shut.
"Are you… god, sweetie can you hear me?"
She grunted in response.
"How bad… I mean…" Obviously, Angela was having trouble forming her question.
After a quick once over, she spoke up. "I'm okay. Nothing's broken." Her voice sounded slurred and strained but it didn't quake like she had feared it would.
However, Angela still broke into quiet sobs.
For once, Brennan didn't try to console her friend or to offer comforting truths to mask the more unpleasant ones. She remained silent, trying desperately to ignore Angela. Casting about with her eyes for something else to take her mind off the sobs and the pain in her own body, she spotted Cam's face and wished she hadn't.
The pathologist wasn't crying. She was staring at her with eyes that visibly shook but a grim expression.
So instead of risking looking anywhere else, she closed her eyes again and tried to focus on her bindings. The rope cut into the backsides of her wrists. The hook was resting between them. Maybe, if she could push off the floor with her legs, she could unhook herself. The handcuffs presented a whole different problem, but if she fell to the floor, the Guard might come back. Perhaps with the keys on his belt.
Testing her legs, she found she could move them again. They were weak though. She tried to push off, failed, tried again. At that, everyone was looking at her again.
"Mmmf…" Booth muffled around his gag.
At last, a good shove, the hook came off and she went crashing to the floor with a loud metallic thud.
She lay still.
The Guard did come. He drew nearer. She prepared herself.
"If you value your family jewels, stop where you are."
Internally cursing as the Guard froze, Brennan looked up at the man from before.
He leaned casually at the entrance to the platform, an amused smile on his face. The Guard backed up slowly.
The man tsked again. "Children always rebel at the beginnings of lessons. It's to be expected, but really Dr. Brennan. I expected more from you." He came forward a little, gesturing his colleague over toward Angela. The Guard placed his gun at the base of Angela's skull.
"No!" Brennan yelped. She desperately pushed up to her knees to crawl as close as her hand-cuffed feet allowed to her best friend. "Touch her and I swear I'll tear your throat out with my teeth." Her voice was a hitched growl, feral in nature.
"Disobedience requires discipline and correction. Simple enough concept to grasp I would think. However, I'm feeling unusually generous today and it is the first part of your lesson after all. I'll let you take the punishment this time, Dr. Brennan, if you wish."
Too relieved to even contemplate it, she nodded eagerly.
"Bren, don't…" Angela started, but the gun applying significant pressure silenced her.
"On your back, Dr. Brennan." He ordered.
She obeyed. She couldn't have kept herself up any longer anyway. Her arms were shaking with the strain of dragging herself such a short distance. A particularly bad bruise was shooting sharp pains up from her elbow.
He produced a knife.
Angela started sobbing again. Renewed muffled strains came from Booth's direction. A glance at Hodgins showed wide eyes that suddenly turned to stare fixedly at the floor.
He straddled her, hitching up her shirt. Brought the knife up and cut a gash in her side. The wound curled from near her ribs at the back to near her hip on the front. Not a large wound, but certainly painful enough to get the message across. He sat back on his heels, which put pressure on her bruised thighs.
She didn't cry out, though her body was much protesting that decision. She almost bit clear through her lip with the effort.
"Since you've obviously had enough rest, lets move right into phase two. Remember the gun behind Miss Montenegro? Keep that in mind." He stood. "Up onto your knees."
She was looking at Angela who was shaking her head furiously, seeing only the gun pointed at her best friend. It was a struggle to raise herself onto her knees. She knelt there in the middle of the floor, hunched over, trying to take deep breaths that her bruised chest wouldn't allow.
"Turn so you are facing away from Agent Booth." He reached down and unsecured her feet just long enough for her to do so, then reattached them to the floor. Then he took the hook and lowered it a little, lifted her arms up before her and reattached them, this time snapping a latch on to hold it in place. Then he had the knife again. He cut her shirt open, exposed her bra covered breasts and proceeded to cut her pants away from her body till her lower half was only in her dark colored underwear. A nick or two with the blade made her wince, but otherwise she kept her face neutral, almost blank.
The Guard with the gun was breathing harder, almost panting.
The Man took out more rope. Then he tied her ankles tightly to her thighs, then her two legs together. He tied her arms together just above and below her elbows. Finally, he cut off another length of rope. "Open." He said, pressing it to her lips.
She complied.
Then he was hauling her backward, the rope biting into the corners of her mouth, slamming her to the floor. Her head bounced off the metal grating, ringing even worse than when she had been hit. Her tarsals immediately began to ache as her toes touched her back. He tied the rope there through the grating so she was kneeling, bent all the way backward so that her thighs screamed in protest, her arms up and the rope there digging into her wrists again. Her shoulders renewed protest as weight returned to them. The blouse fell open wide. Because of the position, she already felt a cramp forming in her leg and couldn't move a millimeter in any direction that could relieve the strain. He tied another rope around her ribs, securing her to the floor even further.
He quickly ran a hand along her thigh, then mercifully left, taking the Guard with him again, leaving her in that contorted position. Blood from her cut pooled a little in her navel, but quickly abated, the wound clotting without movement to break open the scab.
Everyone was decidedly not looking at her. Everyone but Booth. His eyes bore into hers, gaze so intense, she knew she would feel exposed even if she wasn't mostly naked. She held the gaze for as long as she could, relishing in this torture as opposed to focusing on her body, anchoring herself. But finally, six hours later, she could not ignore it. The strain-the pain, was growing more intense as time ticked away. She shut her eyes and felt a single tear leave her lashes and travel to the side in a gentle curve up to her hair. Eyes closed left nothing to focus on but her pain, so she opened her eyes again and reconnected with Booth's. Almost three hours after that,though she could not have known how long she lasted, she couldn't hold it back.
She whimpered.
Everyone shifted about her.
Angela's cracking voice cut the silence. "Shh…it'll be okay. Shh…"
Part of her immediately wanted to say she wasn't a baby, but the sound, the shushing of her best friends voice provided some comfort. More hours crept past. She felt as though time had slowed and seconds turned into days. This wasn't possible, but the pain was growing too intense to allow for rational thought. Her injuries ached, the bruising sending messages of pain to her brain. Her limbs began shaking of their own volition. At first, she'd tried to quell it. However, that just made it worse. The more she clamped down, the harder she shook. Cramps curled through her muscles, charlie horses in her calves made her vision foggy.
It happened suddenly. A part of her snapped. With a cry, pain, frustration, and maybe more tore from her chest. She arched upward, making it hard to breath as the ropes cut into her cheeks, tongue and ribs. Then down so her wrists actually began to bleed. She needed up. No more. She couldn't take anymore. She thrashed. A wail left her unwillingly, muffled by the rope in her mouth. Her movements increased in desperation though she hadn't known that was possible. A part of her realized all this with detached fascination. The rest was consumed by a haze that blocked out almost everything else. She heard Angela's voice and the others' grunts but nothing really registered. Not until her arms were released.
The Man's face swam in her vision. She realized she'd started tearing up. "Had enough?"
She had just enough room to nod.
"I want to hear you beg." He loosed the rope from her mouth enough to move it to her bottom lip.
A small part of her rebelled. But the rest forced her lips to move. "Yes, please. Please."
With that, he cut the ropes binding her to the floor.
She lurched to the side. Her muscles were too weak to do anything more. He cut the ropes binding her ankles to her thighs. Her legs spasmed when she tried to uncurl them. So instead, she just pressed her face to the cold grate of the floor, biting back sobs of both relief and pain.
He straightened her legs out for her, dragging her toward Booth till her feet still handcuffed to the floor stretched her out and then attaching her hands above her head. Her legs were still bound together, as were her arms, but it seemed a trivial thing next to the position she had just been in.
"There's still another hour till dawn. Try to rest this time, or it's your friends who will pay the prize." His voice was soft, almost gentle but for the tinge of smugness.
If she had had any energy at all, she would have tried to wipe that smile off his face, maybe by attempting to lash out and bite off his nose. He left without incident.
This time, she didn't look around at anyone. Shame twisted in her belly. She closed her eyes. For once, shame was easier to bear.
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Between bouts of sleep, the others stared at Brennan's unconscious form. Not because she was half naked or even because her entire bruised body was trembling even in sleep. But because not a one of them was able to wrap their minds around what was happening.
Unbeknownst to anyone but Sweets, Cam was allowing only her hands tied behind her back to shake uncontrollably. She wanted to scream, to yell, to fight back; mostly because Brennan hadn't. Dr. Brennan had taken that beating for her. To protect her life. She had seen the tense up, had thought for a moment that the Forensic Anthropologist would fight. She had also seen the barest glance in her direction. Her friend hadn't fought back, even though she could have. Should have. That's what was tearing her up inside.
Angela was asleep, exhausted from her sobs, hoarse from putting her voice out there to try and sooth her best friend. She'd been running through everything in her head. How dare he? How dare he tie up Temperance Brennan, her best friend? Contorted into such a torturous position, bared to the world. The only way she'd managed to keep speaking to the suffering Brennan was by staring fixedly on some delicate-looking scars on the side of Brennan's thigh that were barely visible. Focusing only on that and not the trembling of her friends body. She'd screamed when Brennan had started thrashing.
And that damn cut. It grinned at her like a part of a freaking psychotic Cheshire cat. That gash was for her, even more than the contorted position had been to save her life. She'd nearly thrown up when Brennan had almost meekly fallen on her back, like a submissive. That was because of the threat to her life. She'd seen the stark fear in her best friend when she'd dragged herself towards them. A look Angela was sure she'd never be able to forget. When she'd growled that threat at the Guard…even tied up, Angela knew Brennan meant every word.
Her sleep was anything but peaceful.
Hodgins stared at a space near Dr. B's head, where a single strand of hair was curled into a figure eight. He felt useless. The spike of fear when they had threatened Cam had torn into full-blown panic when they'd turned on Angela. He couldn't look at any other part of Dr. B, not bruised and exposed as she was. So he simply stared numbly and fixedly at the figure eight.
Sweets was trying to distract himself by watching everyone but Dr. Brennan. He seriously wanted to throw up every time his gaze was drawn back to her. Still, he doubted he wanted to throw up more than Agent Booth.
Booth stared intently at his partner. He didn't look away or doze off. He hadn't looked away when she'd latched onto his eyes. Like that was the only thing keeping her sane. He hadn't looked away at the sight of her shaking, or her thrashing. Or when the son of a-… had beaten and cut her. He would never look away. Not ever. Not if there was even a chance that she would need him again.
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The Man came back. It was a moment before anyone else noticed him. Booth tried to make noise enough to warn Bones, but the woman didn't stir.
Angela woke when he unattached Brennan's hands from the floor and gave a squeak that may have been the woman's name.
He hauled Brennan up to her feet on legs that could not possibly hold her. She gasped, starting awake and almost sobbed immediately, though she managed to stifle it behind her teeth. Her body was still trembling against her will. He attached her to the hook on the ceiling and she hung from it limply.
"I hope you slept well. Here." He took a granola bar from his pocket and tore open the packaging. "It's organic, I know how you feel about things like that."
When he pressed it to her lips, her stomach growled. Hesitating, she took a careful bite. When the bar was completely consumed, he held water to her lips, which she drank greedily.
The Guard removed gags carefully and fed each of her colleagues the same. When that was done, the Man began to speak again.
"I was doing some light reading last night and I had an epiphany. A 'Eureka moment', if you will." He took out a bland looking file and rifled through it. "It seems as though you've had lessons like these before. You keep it a secret. Humility does not come naturally to you, I understand. So we'll have a sort of review. These, you won't be able to hide. Not with witnesses. I discovered we've already got the beatings you reported from both foster fathers and brothers down. The foster mother that took a razor blade to your legs when you were late for curfew could well apply to that little nick on your side. We're well on our way."
Brennan stared at him, not daring to look around at her friends expressions which couldn't have been more shocked and angry. "Those records are sealed."
"Not to me. As I was saying, I was reading about your previous experiences and then it hit me. Everything just seemed to come together. An alignment of the cosmos." He flipped the file shut and walked sedately over to Cam. The pathologist glared at him balefully. "Dr. Camille Saroyan, pathologist. Her purview is soft tissue. In my teachings thus far, I was very careful not to break any of your lovely bones. Seems like such an appropriate lesson to stake the good doctor's life on, don't you think?" He went over to Angela, who flinched even though he didn't touch her. "Likewise, Miss Montenegro is an artist. She's all about beauty and form. I wonder is she was thinking of sketching your admittedly gorgeous body so deliciously exposed."
Angela shivered.
"Also, anyone who's ever even heard of her knows she enjoys discussing sexual positions."
"Shut up!" Angela barked hoarsely.
He fixed her with a stone cold stare. "Mind you manners, Miss Montenegro, or I shall be forced to gag you like the others." He strode over to Brennan. "We all know who gets punished for disobedience from Dr. Brennan. Use that wonderfully convoluted brain of yours to determine who gets punished for you." He punched Brennan in the gut. Her breath exhaled with force. She almost threw up the food he had just given her.
Angela's eyes teared but she didn't speak again.
"Good girl." His smile made everyone shudder. "The next part of the lesson is special. I put a great deal of thought and effort into it." He went back to the file. "This was a little more difficult to discover, since you never officially reported it. Can't blame you really, you must have been afraid of going somewhere where the punishments were so much worse. Or perhaps back to the group home. I've heard those places can be quite horrible. Not enough supervisors to go around, kids attacking each other. You were fifteen, but I'll bet you were terribly naive. So for this, I had to look into Dr. Sweets' notes. Not easy to get a hold of, I can tell you. However…" He gestured to his companion who'd been hovering, largely unnoticed, by the stairs. The Guard came up with another man helping him haul something covered in a white sheet onto the platform. It looked quite heavy. The other guy left. The first one walked over to Sweets and pressed his weapon into the psychologists back. She shot the boy a startled look. He looked like he was going to throw up.
"Dr. Lance Sweets, psychologist. He deals with the twists and turns that is the maze of the human mind." He swept the sheet aside to reveal the back section of a car. A trunk.
Understanding shot through her. She could see the same reaction from Sweets. Booth raged against his bindings again, his unintelligible cries harsh in her ears. Angela, Cam, and Hodgins shared a confused look.
"Your foster parents locked you in small spaces as a means of punishment, which included the trunk of their car. The longest they ever left you in there was two days straight, without food, water, or the opportunity to relieve yourself."
Her breathing became heavy without her consent. She was now trembling for a whole new reason; fear.
"Oh god." Angela gagged.
"After that, they sent you back, saying you were too much trouble for them to handle." The man reached out, unhooking her feet from the floor, cutting the rope holding them together. Then he let her down from the hook. She fell to her knees. He gestured. "Get in."
Her head was shaking. "D-don't make me. P-please."
The Guard cocked his gun. Sweets flinched.
She looked at him. The young man shook his head. She knew what he was silently saying, even as bad as she was at non-verbal communication. He was giving her an out. An opportunity to not do what was being demanded of her. But the gun to his back was unyielding, just on the edge of her vision. With a quickly bitten off sob that sounded like a yelp, she crawled over to the trunk and pulled herself up inside. He closed the lid over her, plunging her into darkness.
Sweets stared as the Anthropologist was shut in the car trunk. Suddenly, he turned his head to the side and vomited. The Man chuckled and left. The Guard replaced Sweets sodden gag so he could still breath and then followed. The team was left in the aching silence of their little piece of hell.
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Dark. It was so very dark. She hated this combination of enclosed space and utter darkness. The suffocating feel of it. The cramped leg room was worse than she remembered it, probably because of her growth in the interim years. She focused on the fact that Angela, Booth, and the rest of her friends were just on the other side. That was the only thing that was really different. If she didn't make it out of this instance, there were people who would miss her. Who knew where she was. It made the dark easier.
Honestly, she was surprised she was so afraid. She thought she'd banished her irrational fear long ago. She went spelunking for crying out loud, and the dives she had been on were much darker and cramped than this. Of course, she had had a light in those instances. Also, she was in there of her own free will. This was ridiculous. Cramped spaces and occasional dark were hazards of her profession. When buried alive with Hodgins, she'd started to panic a little in the small, dark place before she'd managed to turn on the overhead light. In front of Hodgins, it was surprisingly easier to focus and remain lucid. She tried to remember that her friends were out there. Her breath quickened, but she told herself she would not panic.
Outside, Sweets was staring at his knees, his stomach in so many knots he wasn't sure if he would vomit again. Angela was staring around at everyone, her eyes constantly roving. Hodgins was staring at a spot on the floor. Cam had her eyes closed, body tense.
Booth had not looked away from the offending trunk that had swallowed his partner. Not for an instant. It had been hours at least. Maybe half a day.
His ears picked up a small noise. Slowly, it grew louder and louder until everyone was aware of it. It originated from the trunk. After some time, it resolved itself into words.
"Let me out. Let me out. I'm sorry, let me out please!" In a seemingly unending litany.
"Brennan?" Angela stage whispered, trying to be heard by her friend, but not by their captors.
"I'm sorry. I'll be more careful. I won't be so clumsy, I swear, please just let me out!" Brennan was shouting. After several more minutes of apologies, she quieted again. They thought she had calmed down. Then the sobbing could be heard. A frantic banging started, startling them all. Brennan was definitely panicking.
The sobbing melted into screams, the banging increasing, until suddenly it ceased.
"Bren?" Angela called uneasily.
There was no response.
The artist looked about ready to panic herself. "Brennan!"
More hours passed before the Man came back. He opened the trunk with a single key. Before he got the lid open more than a crack, it shot upward. Sobbing brokenly, Brennan slithered over the edge and down onto the floor before the Man could blink. She scurried away, her bound hands impeding her only slightly in her mad crawl. A tiny trail of blood from her arms and hands was left in her wake. It was Cam she reached first and without even thinking about it she buried her face in the pathologists lap, letting her tears course silently into her boss' clothing.
Just as unconsciously, Cam hunched over, shielding the woman as best she could as blood and tears seeped through her dress onto her leg. The pathologist glared up at the man, daring him to try and interfere.
"Touching. I suppose your cooperation deserves a rest." He attached her feet and hands to the floor but didn't pull her away from the unexpected warmth.
She hadn't even realized how much her temperature had plummeted. She didn't move except for the uncontrollable shaking of her body she had almost gotten used to by now. Her tears finally stopped, but she didn't move away. Cam's surprisingly soft body provided comfort. It felt safe, perhaps falsely so, it did none the less. Like someone else was protecting her. She allowed herself to embrace the lie.
Cam kept herself curled around her friend. It was the only thing she could do, even if seemingly the very least.
As before, Booth and Angela kept their eyes on her, while Hodgins returned his gaze to it's previous position. Sweets couldn't bear to look at her. It was for him, after all. He shut his eyes.
Brennan's reprieve was short lived.
He came back. Hauled her away from Cam. Attached her to the floor in the middle again, hanging once again from the ceiling. Took out that file again and glanced at his companion behind Hodgins. The Entomologist finally shifted his gaze to glare at the man as the gun pressed into the side of his neck.
"Dr. Jack Hodgins. Mineralogist, Botanist, Entomologist. He has as many doctorates as you do. Soil, plants, and bugs basically. Who hasn't heard about your run in with the Gravedigger together? But there's no need to exactly rehash the same old things. Soil's been done, so there's no reason to make it the main point of the lesson. After all, it's not like you could keep that incident from your colleagues. So, I think I have found something better." He slipped on a glove and produced a plant. "See this, Dr. Brennan? Poison Ivy: a North American climbing vine of the cashew family that has three-part leaves, small green flowers, and white berries. Genus: Rhus. Contact with the plant produces an itchy rash. Similar to poison oak, but not as lingering or transferable. Your foster sister shoved you into a patch of it once. However, it seemed a little too simplistic on it's own. Hardly worthy of my time. Then, I had a stroke of genius." He gestured.
Two more almost faceless companions carried away the trunk, then replaced it with a large glass container. Then they donned gloves and took leaves of poison ivy from a bag and rubbed them against her arms and legs. Then a single swipe to her stomach. Bumps appeared on her skin, the flesh turning red. She couldn't help but squirm as a terrible itch and pain gnawed at her skin. Then she was cut free of the rope that had been around her wrists for seemingly days. The Man peeled the rope from the grooves etched into her skin, breaking the scabs and causing the blood to flow over her numb hands. The Guard beside Hodgins cocked the gun. Not daring to move, she had to be lifted into the glass box and set inside. The next sight forced her to close her eyes for a minute.
He held it up, the creature curled around the hand where he held the head. "This is Agkistrodon Contortrix Mokasen, or Northern Copperhead, a venomous pit-viper subspecies found in the eastern United States. You can tell by its rich, reddish brown coloring and the hourglass patterning." He dropped the snake in with her gently. "I read about your fear of snakes."
He left again, taking his companions with him. The golden, reddish brown head moved over her. She bit through her lip trying to control her fear and the need to move to ease her extreme discomfort as the itch and burning pain grew.
Meanwhile, Hodgins was trying to convey things to Angela without the benefit of words, grunting the basic form. Finally part of it crossed the barrier. "I think Hodgins is saying those snakes are docile, but become agitated with too much or sudden movements. Try to hold still, sweetie."
Unsure if speaking counted as moving, Brennan didn't. She held as still as possible as the time inched by. She barely dared to breath. She still remembered the snake her brother had thrown at her when they were kids. A curious part of her wondered idly how the Man had discovered this fear she was at times unable to control.
Many hours later, he came back with his companions and several buckets of mud. Carefully, he removed the snake. She breathed a little easier once it was gone.
As he placed a straw-like tube in her mouth, they began dumping the mud in with her. "Mud is a natural treatment for Poison Ivy. It should sooth your skin." He chuckled. The mud inched it's way up her body. When it reached her nostrils, she had to fight hard to squelch a flood of panic. Closing her eyes, she thought of why she wasn't fighting this. She and Hodgins had faced this before. She owed it to him to stay calm. They filled up the container above her head. Darkness engulfed her once again. She concentrated on her breathing, feeling the ease of the pain and itch. Silence settled in around her ears. There was no way she could even guess how long she'd been under when they finally tipped the container she was in over. The mud slid through the grating. She gasped in great lungfuls of air, spluttering mud out of her mouth. Before she could even try to remove the mud herself, a blast of freezing cold water shot into her face. He was cleaning her off, but the water pressure felt like it was stripping her sensitive flesh off. She was finally left shivering and coughing on the floor.
He attached her to the floor again, hands and feet. Then he rubbed her too sensitive skin dry with a towel and threw a blanket over her. Exhausted, she fell almost instantly unconscious, heedless that she'd lost her shirt completely.
No one made a sound, unwilling to disturb this unusual rest.
Hodgins burned with anger and guilt. Why hadn't she fought when her restraints were removed? She'd had a chance. He knew the answer though. She was his colleague, his friend. A fierce loyalty rose up in him, drowning out the guilt a little. Anger built.
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He came back too soon.
Sleep receded only slowly.
How much more could he possibly think she could handle? Even she didn't know the answer to that. Perhaps that was the point. Ugh, psychology gave her a headache. She opened aching eyes to look up at him.
"Here." He held out another granola bar, letting her eat, then drink just as before. She could see the others getting their "meals" as well. When that was done, he began to speak. "This part of the lesson is important. Unlike the previous time, this lesson will not be forgotten." He took the chair he'd brought and set it up on her far side, facing Booth. Then he came back and once again completely freed her of restraints. His companion pointed the gun at Booth's head.
Unable to control her reaction, she jerked upward, glaring hard at the offender. Though he could barely move her exhausted limbs, she prepared to tackle the Man if necessary. Booth was shaking his head frantically, but she ignored him. Instead she turned to the Man, who was already seated.
Casually, he flipped open her file. "Special Agent Seeley Booth of the FBI. He's all about catching the bad guy. Protecting others; namely you, Dr. Brennan. Think that I haven't heard all the rumors about how close you two are? Partners are partners. So it had to be extra special. I found something so very fitting in this file of yours." He grinned maliciously, set the file down and leaned back. "The foster father that couldn't keep his hands to himself? Who made you dread going back, for fear you would end up with him, alone. Of course, you didn't report his wandering hands until he attempted to rape you, but… " There was absolute silence. She risked a peek at Angela. The artist was staring, shocked and dismayed, at the Man.
Quickly turning her attention back to him, she felt the knot in her stomach get bigger. Disgust and dread spread through her. Unconsciously, she hunched her shoulders.
He reached down. "He never succeeded, but that's where I think the lesson was truly fumbled. Perhaps we should properly drive it home?" Slowly, he slid the zipper of his pants down.
Behind her, the Guard holding the gun on Booth did the same, as well as the other man who had come to join them.
"No!" Angela sobbed.
He gestured at the guy that had just arrived, completely ignoring the artist.
The Guy put his gun in the back of his pants and came forward.
Damn, she definitely wanted to throw up. However, a glance back at Booth brooked no argument. Though the agent was screaming around his gag and straining at his bounds, she saw no choice. She'd die before she'd just let him be killed. So she held very still.
The Guy wrapped his arms around her from behind and crushed her breasts with his hands. She yelped when his probing fingers met bruises. His mouth slobbered over her neck. Flashbacks shocked through her. Memories of her head banging back against the wall, making her dizzy as her foster father did the same thing. Unable to breath as he held her down. She didn't like being touched, not without her permission. Anger boiled in the pit of her stomach. It had taken years for her to manage not to break the hand of anyone that touched her unexpectedly.
Right now, she couldn't breath either though. Her concentration pulled out of her memories as he was pressing himself against her back. Then he grabbed her hair and yanked back hard. She screamed a little as pain shot through her. He shoved his tongue in her mouth. Slipped a hand down to the rim of her underwear.
"Alright, that's enough from you. You'll get a chance to finish after." The Man said, his tone light. When the Guy finally let go of the back of her head with a grunt, she fell forward. His taste lingered in her mouth. She couldn't face her colleagues, so turned away as best she could and vomited.
The Man handed her a bottle of water. "Wash out your mouth."
She did as ordered gratefully. Then, kneeling, she pulled her chest to her knees and pressed her face to the floor.
"Next is me." The man said laughingly. Then the his voice softened. "Come on, Dr. Brennan. I'm not like my associate, or your foster father. I won't force you to do anything. I want a real job. I know that mouth is good for more than scathing words. I want it soft, sexy."
She flinched at the hiss of those words.
He removed his girth from his pants. "You know you can do it. Fail, and…" He left the sentence open-ended, the threat plain.
She shuddered. Then crawled toward him, trying desperately to block out the wails from Booth.
The Man indeed was doing nothing, waiting for her cooperation.
Angela was whispering a barely audible litany of "Oh god, no. No."
Thinking only of the gun pointed at her partner, she hesitantly took him in hand. Eased her mouth forward slowly. Her only hope was that he wouldn't try to actually force her to have vaginal sex with him, that oral was enough. She doubted his colleagues would give her the same reprieve. His head fell back in ecstasy, a moan drawn from his chest.
There was a shift behind her. Booth's Guard was getting more impatient.
She had no doubt that the Guard would want more than what she was doing already. An idea filled her addled brain. Applying more pressure, she elicited a swear from the Man.
Then Booth's Guard lowered his weapon from her partner and took a step forward.
It happened fast. Part of her wasn't even sure how she managed to make her muscles work. Her hand shot out and grabbed the gun she knew was in the back of his belt. At the same time, she bit down hard. The mortal scream of agony was satisfying and galvanizing. She turned and shot the Guard near Booth before he could react. The Guy fumbled with his weapon in his own belt. She shot him right in the head. She half vomited, half spat blood from her mouth. Then she rose on unsteady legs. Crouched low and ignoring the cries of her friends, she rushed to the stairs.
A shot startled her and she fell back with a cry. Twisted to put her back against the only bit of cover available. In her crouch, her legs shook as she sobbed in the face of the flood of so many emotions at once. Ducking out, she shot. The gun jammed. "Damn." She swore in a hiss, tossing it aside. A part of her was aware of the others' yelling around their gags. Angela was screaming. She went silent, not listening to them, but to something else. The others quieted when she didn't acknowledge them.
Footsteps.
She prepared herself.
Once he inched past her hiding place, she was moving. Hitting the gun in front upward. One blow to the throat, groin, solar plexus. He went down. She went for his weapon. Another guard pressed a gun to her head.
"Up bitch." He barked. It was the one she'd noticed wasn't very experienced when they had first been taken.
She moved faster than him. Knocked his gun up, arm to the side. Round him to his back as he shot at the ceiling. One quick jerk, disarm. Gun in hand under his right arm up to his chin, pull trigger.
As blood splattered her cheek, she was dimly aware of Angela screaming again. The man fell. She stood there shaking. Knowing she was going into shock, but unable to think straight, she cast about and found Booth's eyes. His intense gaze caught her. Held her. Steadied her enough that she realized he would be the one to release. He could help, do what she couldn't. He had more energy, less injuries. Strength to her vulnerability. Her thoughts were rational enough to finally make her move again.
She stumbled over to him. Took the knife and keys from the guard slowly bleeding out into the grate floor beside her partner. Cut the ropes, unlocked the cuffs, handed over the gun wordlessly. Didn't expect his arms to fling around her, hold her close. The rush of adrenaline left her system. Her legs gave out.
"Whoa, easy." He lowered her to her knees on the floor.
A shot startled them both. The Man had managed to retrieve one of his companion's guns, but in his bleeding agony, had missed. Booth didn't give him another chance. The Man responsible for all of this died almost quietly.
Booth glanced around. "Stay here, I'll be right back for all of you." He hurried off after a quick peck to her forehead. She sat there a full minute, unable to move. Unable to think.
Then it came in stages. Her physical awareness returned. The gash on her side had reopened, more blood sliding down her side. Her body was shaking again. Aches of bruises scattered her body. Her slightly bloodied and bruised hands from banging on the roof of the trunk sent shots of pain up her arms, almost completely drowning out the stings of the rope burn and cuts. Her skin was too raw, almost feeling burned. The muscles of her thighs and calves were seizing more dramatically than the rest of her. In only her underwear, she was acutely aware of the low temperature. There was a bad taste in her mouth, including his blood. The first guard she'd attacked physically had managed to bruise her shin badly and pull out a small chunk of her hair before she'd rendered him unconscious. Somewhere along the way, she'd sprained her wrist. Her shoulders sent aches into her chest with her badly bruised ribs. She might have even broken something, she wasn't sure. Once her injuries were cataloged, she shut them away. Compartmentalizing as best she could.
It was then that she finally became aware of the others staring at her with concern. She'd been looking off into space, her expression blank. Angela had been speaking to her. Hazily, she picked the knife back up and half-crawled, half-stumbling-walked over to Hodgins. Her shin awoke in new fire she tried to squelch. Sounds left her lips against her will, but she was quickly numbing to the onslaught of pain. After Hodgins was released, he gently took the knife from her and used it to release the others.
Angela immediately came to her and drew her into an embrace. Numbly, she allowed her head to rest on the artists chest.
Booth came back, saying something to Cam and Hodgins. He handed the gun over to Cam. Then he came over and silently gathered up her limp form. She didn't protest at all.
More than anything else, that scared the others witless.
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The hospital was too noisy. He could tell by the way Bones covered her ears as they entered. The ambulance ride had been almost silent. He and Angela rode with Bones. Cam, Sweets and Hodgins ended up in the other ambulance. Though he didn't like it, they all separated to be treated.
Then, he and the others congregated outside Bones' room. Of them all, only she had been admitted for overnight care. He had a few quickly treated injuries, got himself five stitches, three one place, two the other. He had been told to take it easy on his shoulders, as he had almost dislocated them in his struggles. Cam had a large bruise on her thigh that hindered her usually graceful glide. They all had rope burns on their ankles and wrists. Hodgins had a cracked tooth from when he'd struggled in the beginning.
Finally, they were allowed in as Bones returned from x-ray. High on pain-killers, she wasn't very lucid. He held a hand, Angela the other, as she slept. Cam, Hodgins, and Sweets requested chairs and didn't leave either.
The doctor came back when she was awake and thinking more clearly. He gave a report about her injuries and the treatments. Painkillers, stitches, antiseptic, skin ointment, muscle relaxants, watching body temp, bandages, a wrap for her sprained wrist, a soft cast for her leg since the x-ray didn't show a brake, tests for STD's.
The last made Booth gulp.
She'd have to use a cane for a while once she was released, because of her shin, but at least it wasn't broken. She took it all in calmly, even the STD tests.
Booth's blood almost boiled. Looking around, he realized the others were close behind himself. Angela had a scowl. Cam, a steely look. Hodgins, his usual frown. Sweets looked like a combination of sick and angry.
"Thank you, Doctor." Bones responded, surprising them all by speaking for the first time. Her voice was hoarse but steady. "When can I be released?"
"I'd like to keep you for 24 hours. Tomorrow sometime, maybe in the afternoon, baring any complications." He answered.
She nodded. After he left, there was silence for a while. Then, "You all look terrible. Go home. Get sleep, recover your strength, eat something. It has been more than 72 hours since we had a decent meal." She made a shooing motion.
"We're not going anywhere." Sweets answered, sounding braver than normal.
She sighed. "Please? There's no reason for you to be here. I'll be fine. Getting released tomorrow."
"We've all got to see a trauma counselor to be cleared for work anyway." Cam responded. "Seems stupid to leave just to have to come back."
"Very stupid." Hodgins concurred.
Bones looked put out. Than she turned to Booth. "The FBI report? The… men?"
"One died from his gunshot wound to the chest on his way to the hospital. Blood loss. The second two… well, their heads were blasted so…" He left the sentence open ended. "Then, the boss I got. He's dead too. Not that he probably wouldn't have died anyway. Blood loss, shock, and all that. Only one guy survived. He started pleading guilty to most everything we're charging him with the second he woke up. Caroline says not to worry about it, she'll handle everything."
"Are we sure there were only five?" Angela spoke up.
"Yeah. Really sure." Booth grunted.
Brennan sighed and shifted uncomfortably. The pain medication was kicking in again. She fell back into an uneasy sleep. Everyone took turns using the hospital room's shower. Cam retrieved a combination of scrubs and things from the gift shop for them all to change into. Without the need for discussion, they all threw away the clothes they had been wearing through it all, doing the same to Bones' bag of belongings the FBI had dropped off from the scene. Then they fell asleep in their chairs, unwilling to leave Dr. Brennan for any significant length of time or go home till she was released.
In the middle of the night, she was mumbling in her sleep. Then started awake with the tail end of a muffled "no", her breathing ragged.
Suddenly Booth was at her side, smoothing back her hair, soothing her with his comforting voice. No one else woke.
She spoke to her partner in hushed tones, voicing her fears with reluctance when he pleaded it out of her. Her body was coming down from the stress and hurt of the incident, but in her nightmares her mind seemed stuck on everything she'd endured recently and in the now distant past. Damn she hated psychology.
Booth assured her he wasn't going to let her get put into any more car trunks.
She chuckled softly. Then hesitantly proceeded to tell him about the foster father who'd touched her, forced her to touch him. How he'd come into her room at night, when her foster mother was asleep and couldn't hear. She'd reported him when he'd escalated into attempting to rape her. Attempted being the operative word. She felt unclean all over again, but telling Booth eased the sting of that. Her thoughts turned to the recent recurrence of the same emotions the men had forced on her. Her stomach rebelled and she gagged. Booth barely got a bowl in time as she started to throw up.
The sound of her retching woke the others. A sleepy-eyed Angela came over and pulled her hair back.
"Must be a reaction to the medication." She said weakly once it passed, settling back into the pillows.
"Must be." Sweets answered quietly.
The tone of his voice made her suspicious, but he smiled gently, so she decided to ignore it. She was never the best at interpreting tones anyway.
They went back to sleep. Booth never once let go of her hand the rest of the night. Amazingly, nightmares kept away so that she got some decent sleep.
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"Booth, I can walk." Brennan said, exasperated. "That's why they gave me the cane."
"Not a chance. It's my shift and I'm not letting you."
She sighed and rolled her eyes, but Booth still carried her into her apartment building. She'd been released from the hospital a little late because of a spike in her temperature, so now it was past nightfall but not dark out yet. The others had finished their initial counsel sessions and reluctantly agreed to take shifts being with her so they could at least go to their own homes for a while. It made her glad that the others were finally taking care of themselves. Not that she hadn't enjoyed seeing them in the ridiculous clothing they'd managed to scrounge up around the hospital. Especially Booth in scrubs and a terrible sweater from the gift shop. She hadn't been able to keep herself from laughing, but the others seemed more happy about this than upset.
She hissed in a breath when Booth jostled her, her stitches in her side stretching uncomfortably and her ribs and shin protesting.
"Sorry." He mumbled.
Uncomfortably, she spared a smile for her neighbors who got on the elevator as they disembarked. She was well aware they both looked ridiculous. Her bandages weren't even hidden.
Booth somehow made it into her apartment without dropping her and set her gently on the couch.
She sighed. It felt good to be home.
"Hey, you want take-out for dinner?" He grabbed her phone from the receiver.
"Sure." She stood clumsily on her good leg and snorted when Booth made to support her. "I've got this Booth, really." She hadn't intended for her tone to be quite so sharp.
He sheepishly handed her the cane.
She gestured at the phone, careful of her sprained wrist. "You call, I'm going to go take a shower. Get changed."
"Okay." That seemed to make him feel better.
After taking off her clothes behind the closed door of her bathroom, she stared at herself in the mirror. Honestly, she looked like hell. Unwrapped, her wrist was an ugly blotched purple and blue. Several places, mostly her ribs, hands and thighs, shared the same discolorations. Her shin was a dark blue and black. She couldn't remember ever having so many bruises. She peeled off the bandages from her hands where the skin had broken on impact with the trunk lid. They'd already scabbed over by now. So had the spot where a chunk of her hair and scalp had been torn off. Looking at her face and the large bruise along her jaw line, she opened her mouth and peeked at her tongue. Hastily, she got her toothbrush and paste and scrubbed at her mouth till her gums bled and the froth turned pink. Would her mouth ever feel clean again? She carefully applied a waterproof bandage to the stitched cuts on her side, then moved to the shower. Turning the water to scalding hot, she carefully climbed in and scrubbed the rest of her body clean, cautious of her wounds. Opened her mouth to the water. Once she was out and dry, dressed in comfortable house clothes, she felt more like herself.
Out in her living room, the food had already arrived. She sat with Booth on the couch. Her appetite was rather pathetic, but the food smelled good. She managed to eat enough that Booth didn't hassle her, for which she was grateful. After a while, she started feeling extremely tired. Sleepy and slightly ill. She supposed it was the medication. "I think I'm going to go to bed. You really don't have to stay Booth, I'm fine." Her words came out slightly slurred.
"I'm not leaving Bones." He stood and reached out a hand. "Here. I'll help you to bed." He did and Brennan found herself drifting off to sleep before he'd even pulled the covers up to her chin.
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