Title: When I Get To Iraq
Disclaimer: Me no own, you no sue.
Warning: A wee bit angsty
Note: Yes, it's another of my PTSD stories.
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When I get to Iraq…
The cadence comes from no where and Booth can't help but smile.
He had been sitting at his desk, tapping a pen and waiting for his meeting with his latest murder victim's father.
Osama's gonna say,
The sound of the tapping pencil suddenly turns to automatic gunfire.
Dropping the pencil as if it were aflame, Booth jumped from his seat and stared at the offending object.
"How'd you get to Iraq in just one day?"
A cold sweat broke out over his entire body and it was getting harder and harder to breathe. Somewhere outside his office door came the sound of an RPG exploding in front of him.
I replied with a whole lot of anger:
"Mr. Booth?" a middle-aged man popped his head into the office, jerking Seeley savagely from his day dream.
"Agent," Seeley corrected the man automatically. Numbly, he sat down and motioned for the civilian to do the same. By the time the father was seated and comfortable, Seeley was Agent Booth again, calm and collected and back from his war.
"Blood and guts and a little bit of danger."
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