Author: willowwood
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: The Staff at the Jeffersonian don't belong to me, although I am considering moving into Goodman's old office.
Summary: "She couldn't help but think that Zach's insistence that they were going to be too late was the more likely truth….."
Facing The Quarry
Even when being driven across the rural roads of the Santa Fe desert, after finding out that her boyfriend had been brutally murdered, Angela had never been the type to suffer from motion sickness. Yet now as she scrambled into the back of the SUV, she felt her throat tighten and her stomach lurch – had she actually managed to eat anything in the past fifteen hours, she was sure it would have been covering Booth's leather upholstery by now - As not for the first time, since pulling on her coat and racing towards the Jeffersonian's parking lot, she wondered whether or not this was a journey she really wanted to be taking.
How long had it been since Zach had said they were out of time? Five minutes? Ten? No matter how much she wanted to believe what Booth had said. No matter how intelligent she knew, her two friends were. She couldn't help but think that Zach's insistence that they were going to be too late was the more likely truth.
But what would be worse? Never finding them at all? Or finding a car with two dead bodies inside? Two dead bodies that, had they been quicker, smarter, more prepared for this kind of situation, would have only a few minutes ago been the living, breathing, very much alive bodies of her best friend and the man she kept telling herself was nothing more than a friend.
At least if they never found them at all, she'd be able to lie to herself. Pretend that they were still alive somewhere, just never came back from wherever that bastard had taken them. She knew it was a stupid and pathetic fantasy, one she hadn't conjured since her mother's death, when she was just a little girl. Yet she couldn't help but admit that she'd choose that game of make believe, over two dead bodies any day. Especially when those two dead bodies would be, the foundations of two funerals that would most definitely kill her. Kill them all.
Above the drumming staccato of her own racing heartbeat, she can just make out the wailing police siren above her head. It's clear as day to everybody else, warning and clearing the traffic miles before Booth is even close enough to blare his horn, tactfully swerving from lane to lane, a cavalry of other cars following in there wake, yet she can barely hear it.
She struggles to keep still. Crossing and uncrossing her arms. Wringing her sweating hands together, until her knuckles are red and sore. Suddenly out of nowhere Zach, who she'd forgotten was sitting next to her, reaches across and places his hand on top of hers, stilling them. It's pale and cold, with long thin fingers that easily cover hers as he gently places them on the back of her hands. It's such a un-Zach like thing to do, that her head is snapping up to stare at him in shock before she even realises what she's doing. He watches her nervously, brown eyes that are suddenly bigger and more scared looking than she's ever seen them before. Yet despite all of this, he slowly attempts an encouraging smile, but it's forced and only intended for her benefit. Just Zach trying to tell her that everything's going to be all right and she can't help but admit that she'd be half convinced if it only reached his eyes. Ever since he started working at the Jeffersonian, Jack's taught him a lot of things - How to be a good liar just wasn't one of them.
Turning her own hand over she links her fingers with his and squeezes them reassuringly. Offering one of her own strained smiles before returning her attention back to the scenery that is blurring past them. It's then that she realises, she doesn't recognise where they are anymore. Hasn't got the slightest idea where they're heading, and even if she could remember the name of wherever Zach had said the two of them were buried, she hates to admit that she still wouldn't know where the hell it was.
Yet she finds herself hoping, as Booth makes another sharp right on the freeway, that maybe this time the infamous Gravedigger hadn't been so clever. Maybe this time wherever he's hidden them isn't as big a location as all the others had been, wasn't as good.
Her hopes are shattered as the SUV makes a final turn on to a gravel driveway, following the incessant bleeping of the navigation system, the cars behind them quickly dropping into single file as the road suddenly becomes narrower.
After a couple of minutes a sign catches her attention - Brookstone Quarry 3 Kilometres - Causing an acidic bile to rise to the back of her throat, and she heaves, but nobody hears it, the familiar sound becoming lost beneath screeching tires and their own racing thoughts.
"This is where they are?" she hears Cam ask from the passenger seat when they pull into an opening. Had she been listening, able to focus above the burning at the back of her throat, the way her bosses voice no longer held its usual cocky streetwise drawl, would have scared the hell out of her. As it was, as soon as Booth slowed the SUV at the top of the plateau, she was already reaching for the door handle.
Standing at the top of the ledge, her eyes scan the quarry, searching for anything that would indicate a burial sight, dentations, tire tracks, anything. Then when everything begins to blend, becoming a sea of white gravel she looks up towards the sky, and wonders when the sun came up.
That was when she hears it, the pop of a distant explosion and the sound of gravel shifting. When she turns to where she thinks the sound has come from, the first thing she sees is Booth running, sliding down the embankment before racing at full speed towards the centre of the quarry. Without thinking, she takes off after him, faintly aware that Zach and Cam are following close behind her as the boots she chose to wear the previous morning, struggle to keep their footing on the banks steep slope.
With each step, she's sure she's going to fall, the gravel shifting beneath her weight and causing her ankles and knees to twist unpredictably, but she doesn't slow down, can't slow down. Even when she finally reaches level ground, she continues to push against her adrenaline levels, ignoring the way her coat flaps around her knees and specs of gravel shoot up towards her face.
Just ahead of her Booth is already on his knees, clawing at the ground until eventually, she spots something - a hand, tiny, compared to the two that are clasped around its adjoining wrist, and covered in dust. Eventually that hand becomes an arm covered in the sleeve of a maroon blouse that is ripped and even dirtier than the hand. Then finally a head of long brown matted hair.
That was when she reached them, dropping to the ground, digging into the gravel as Booth made sure her best friend was all right. Her dig felt never ending, as she cleared, dirt out of the way more seemed to fall and replace it. Besides her, she briefly acknowledged the arrival of Zach and Cam, then the dark shadow of Booth along with others from the ensemble of cars.
After what seems like hours Booth freezes like a pirate who's reached the treasure trove, quickly his gaze flicks up in her direction and her heart stops. The next thing she sees is a flash of dark blue material, and a head of wayward curls. Instantaneously she grasps for the nearest thing in reach, the sleeve of his sweater, tugging on it with the very last bit of strength and determination she has. Not caring when she hears the distinct sound of stitching separating and cloth ripping.
Her heart resumes its panicked rhythm when she first realises that he isn't breathing, and it only returns to normal when he's lying beneath her, eyes fluttering against the sudden bright light and her tears are leaving clean ovals on his dust-covered cheeks.
Finally, he smiles and presses a hand to Zach's forehead, he says something and even though she doesn't hear it, she laughs anyway. Then when his gaze finally flicks to her, she finds herself leaning forward, pressing her lips against his, ignoring the taste of dry dirt, and savouring the comfort of warm skin. As his hand comes up to wrap in the hair at the base of her neck, she realises not for the first time that she never wants to face losing him again.
The End
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