In Time
An anthology

Note: These stories are written with prompt words. Therefore each chapter is its own story. This is not a continuous story, so to speak. Though a few select elements remain the same throughout.

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One: Pain

He felt like cursing a blue streak but knew that it would really serve any purpose. No amount of words could make the pain go away. Words couldn't ease the burning sensation running through his body as his nerves sent a multitude of signals to his brain. Even the slightest movement was enough to send another shockwave racing through his body. He sank his teeth into his bottom lip to keep the unspoken words, the silenced cry deep within. It had nothing to do with showing weakness. It had everything to do with keeping himself concealed. One wrong move, one sigh uttered too loud and he would be a dead man. And it was going to be a cold day in hell before he let anything like that happen. There were a lot of things he still had to do, a lot of life left to live, so to speak. He would keep his mouth shut and endure the pain like a man. But he prayed the entire time that someone would stumble across him, that his back-up would finally arrive. What the hell was taking them so damn long?

For some odd reason he found himself thinking about how he felt every little thing. The coldness of the concrete underneath him. The rough wood pressed up against his back. Even the slightest shift in the wind coming through the many broken windows of the warehouse. He had once heard of another person speak of such sensations, saying that it had something to do with the body dying or some other crazy thing like that. As he came to understand it he was becoming more aware of his surroundings as his brain tried to focus on something other than the pain in his side. Of all the things he could feel there was one he wished would go away.

The pain.

"How does it feel, Agent Booth?" yelled the man he'd been pursuing. Anthony Inaba was wanted for the kidnapping of three little girls. And their subsequent deaths at his hands. For the longest time he had only been a suspect, no evidence being found to link him to the deaths of the first two little girls they found. But then the call came in about a skeleton. "I know that I hit you. You're hoping to wait me out. One problem with that, I'm not bleeding. I can wait until the end of time. But you…you'll eventually bleed to death. Is that your plan, Agent Booth? To bleed to death so that I might get away?"

Let the guy egg him on; let him push all the wrong buttons. There was no chance he was giving away his hiding place behind the massive stack of crates. At least he had the comfort of knowing there were a lot of crates in the warehouse, at least at his end. Anthony had nothing to hide behind. If he could just…but with a slight shift to his side he sent another wave of pain through his body, his hand slipping on the concrete floor. He left a smear of blood.

"Think about it, Anthony, you're only going to end up in the electric chair for killing me," Booth managed to shout back. The echo off the walls and ceiling carried his voice, making it harder to pinpoint him. He thanked his lucky stars.

"I'm already going to be put to death, Agent Booth."

The skeleton, at first, just looked like another body to join the rest of the unsolved cases that had been stacking up. That was until Temperance had gotten a hold of it. Her and that group of squints. Because of their hard work there was finally evidence to link Anthony to the death of the three girls. Of course, Anthony wasn't going to go down without a fight. How could he have been dumb enough to walk into this guy's trap without having back-up? It was simple really, he though there might be a fourth victim in the making. Just hours ago another little girl had gone missing and she resembled the first three in such a striking manner that his first thought was of Anthony. The pain coursing through his body was starting to fog his mind so he couldn't even really remember how he'd managed to find the warehouse to begin with, but now he was wondering if anyone was going to be able to save him.

He heard the distinct sound of sneakers on concrete as the murderer began to move around the large space, probably in an attempt to find his wounded prey. That meant he was going to have to move and he wasn't really up for it. The sheer effort alone was enough to make him want to lay there and die. A swift death was all he ever wanted, much like the deaths he doled out when working as a sniper. Quick and painless, the body never knowing what hit it. That was the proper way to go. Not bleeding to death in some warehouse. As he managed to make his way across the floor, slowly and painfully, he thought about the people he cared about. His son. What would his son do without him? And Temperance, he'd never have a chance to tell her how he really felt. Even the rest of the squints, they were his family. How would they deal with his death? As he rested up against another carton he realized the mistake he'd made. Moving from one place to another had been a good idea simply because it but him further into the warehouse.

However he'd left a trail of blood behind him.

Cursing under his breath he tried to think of something else he could do. From his location he didn't know where to find any exits. Even if he did he probably wouldn't have been able to make a run for it. It was getting harder for him to breathe as the minutes crept by. Each breath came out ragged and hoarse, almost like he was breathing with a ton of bricks crushing his chest. The fog that floated around his mind grew denser with each passing minute, the darkness starting to appear around the edges of his consciousness. He fought hard to remain alert but the loss of blood was starting to take a toll on him. He could feel the droplets of sweat that had broken out over his body and the fact that his extremities were starting to go cold didn't escape him. At this rate he was going to die before help reached the warehouse.

He thought of pulling out his cell phone and once again calling in the need for assistance but alas, in the mad scramble after being shot he'd dropped it somewhere amongst the crates. He had nothing but his pistol and the one remaining bullet. One little bullet that would not be enough to save his life. Sure he'd killed people before with a single bullet but he had not been standing face to face with them. They did not have a gun pointed out him and he had not been fighting to stay alert. All Anthony had to do was walk around the next corner, spy him and pull the trigger. That would be the end of him. Not so quick and very painful.

"Come on, Agent Booth," yelled the murderer. "Let's stop this game of cat and mouse. By my estimation you only have a little while longer for rescue to be of any help. Why not just let me put you out of your misery, hm? Wouldn't that be a lot nicer then bleeding to death like a wounded animal?"

"Fuck you, Anthony," he snapped. There was no hiding the pain in his voice. His words were followed by a sharp intake of breath as he felt a stab in his chest. He could feel the rapid beating of his heart as it tried to get blood and oxygen to all parts of his body but with the majority of it leaking through the bullet wound in his side…His brain kept screaming at him to do something to stop the bleeding but the more he bled the quieter the scream got, the more he drifted away.

The sound of Anthony's sneakers drew closer. Booth could tell that it was now only a matter of minutes before he died, whether from bleeding out or because the asshole put a bullet in his brain. He gritted his teeth and started to make peace with himself. There was little else that he could do at that point in time. As he watched Anthony materialized from behind a stack of crates, an evil grin spreading across his face, hatred burning deep in his eyes. He held up his revolver, leveling it with Booth's head. Booth fought to lift his weapon but found that he couldn't from a lack of strength. Or was it because that part of his brain wasn't function properly due to the blood loss?

"Good bye, Agent Booth, it was nice knowing you," Anthony said.

Booth fought desperately to take advantage of the other man's delay and finally managed to move his pistol. "I'm not going to die without taking you with me asshole."

Anthony only laughed.

The sound of gunfire in the warehouse was deafening. Booth flinched, his pistol dropping from his hand as Anthony slowly crumpled to the ground, a bullet in his brain. Standing behind him was a man dressed all in black with a helmet, the word SWAT was scrawled across his chest. The high powered rifle in his grasp was responsible for the bullet that killed Anthony. Booth didn't have the strength to pull a trigger. In fact, he was feeling pretty tired. The darkness within was growing larger now with each second. He watched through half-closed eyes as Temperance appeared in front of him with paramedics close at hand. She took his hand, placing the other one on his cheek, his forehead, touching him to affirm that he was still there.

"Hold on, Booth," she said, her voice almost impossible to hear through the rush of blood moving through his ears. He tried to say something, tried to smile but she wouldn't let him. "Save your strength."

"My eyelids feel so heavy," he barely managed to whisper, his eyes closing.

"Booth, please, open your eyes. Don't do this to me," she pleaded, tears welling in her eyes. "Please…"

He smiled ever so slightly. "Pain…there's…no pain."

"Booth…"

"No…pain…"