A/N: I was going to wait until I finished uploading "Closure" but that story's nearly finished and I don't think you all will mind this.

Please note the rating! This is somewhat darker that "Closure" and be prepared for a lot of suspense and angst!

Disclaimer: I don't own the show, not trying to take anything from it except a little fun. Hope that's okay.

Booth opened his eyes slowly, wondering what was going on.

He was surprised at how hard waking up was. Trained as he was as a sniper, he was used to waking up completely alert and aware. But at the moment his mind was in a fog, and his limbs felt heavy.

Checking his bedroom without moving, he saw nothing out of the ordinary in the dim light that came from the window. He was just about to chalk it up to a dream when he heard a sound. A shoe scraping the floor outside his bedroom.

Booth tried to sit up. He got partway there before his body crashed back down on the bed. What was wrong with him? Was he coming down with something?

The door swung open and a man entered the room. He was dressed in black, including a ski mask that only showed his eyes and mouth. He was carrying a small leather case as he approached the bed.

"Hello, Agent Booth," he said, his voice a pleasant baritone. "Please don't bother getting up, I suspect your Mu Shu pork has had a soporific effect on you."

How did he know what Booth had for dinner? And the rest of it…he had to concentrate to remember what "soporific" meant. Bones would be able to tell him right off…

"Drugged…" he muttered, the word slurring slightly. "You…"

"Very good!" the man said, clapping his gloved hands together. "Yes, Dr. Brennan and her team might be worth all this after all. To be honest, Agent Booth, I've been rather disappointed in their lack of progress with my prior victims. I expected them to know much more than they apparently do."

Booth felt a chill sweep through him. He knew who this man was. The Professor. And all his prior victims had been dead.

He tried to punch at the man. But his swing lacked power, and The Professor easily grabbed his wrist.

"Ah, I suspected you were a fighter, Agent Booth," The man said as he easily restrained the weakened agent. "Now you see, I believe that Dr. Brennan and her team have gotten a little lazy when it comes to my tests. It's not like there's anything important at stake, you see. So, I've decided to add a deadline this time."

Using one hand to pin Booth's wrists to the bed, The Professor reached into the leather case and brought out a syringe. He used his teeth to pull off the protective sheath on the needle and held the syringe up to the dim light.

Booth began to struggle, but he was too drugged to put up a fight. The Professor swept his eyes up and down the agent's body, then seemed to come to a decision. He plunged the needle into the left side of Booth's neck and pushed in the plunger.

Booth gasped as a searing heat started at the injection site. It began to spread throughout his body, and he groaned as he writhed in pain.

"Yes, I'm sorry about that, the initial effects are rather unpleasant," The Professor said as he pulled out an envelope and jotted something down on it. He placed the envelope and the syringe on the pillow next to Booth's head.

"You'll get some temporary relief soon, I promise you. Unfortunately, you are in for a rough time. I'd contact Dr. Brennan as soon as possible – for you, Agent Booth, the clock is ticking."

Before Booth could say or do anything, the man stood and left the room without another word.

Booth lay panting on the bed, his hands clutching at the sheets as the burning continued. God, am I dying? Am I going to die like this? Please, God, no.

As promised, the burning began to subside. But what replaced it was a numbness that threatened to sweep Booth into darkness – darkness he wasn't sure he'd ever awake from.

He rolled on his right side, fighting to stay awake long enough to get help. His vision blurred and the light was poor, but he spotted his cell phone on the nightstand. It took two tries to get his hand on it.

Booth was glad he had her cell phone number on speed dial. A glance at the clock's red LED display told him it was 11:39 PM – she could be home, or she could be at the Jeffersonian. He prayed wherever she was she had her cell phone nearby.

Her phone rang once, twice. His eyes drifted shut and he forced them open. Hang on, Seeley, just a few more seconds…

A third ring, and then he heard her voice. "Booth? What's going on?"

"Bones…" he gasped weakly, his eyes closing despite his efforts, "…help…"

He felt his phone slip through his nerveless fingers. He never heard it hit the floor or Bone's frantic voice calling his name.

A/N2: So, do I have your attention? :-)