Disclaimer: Property of Fox.
A/N: Since no one ever reads these little notes, we shall press onward.
Chapter 1
This disaster we ended up in started with those fucking tapes. They have become my ticket to freedom and a death sentence at the same time. In hindsight, I wish I never opened that god damned package sitting on my desk. I might as well have opened Pandora's fucking box. The content of those tapes is the kind of shit that will get a man killed. I needed to find the dirty fucker who set me up to be labelled as a 'rogue agent' and put me on the hit list of every inter-governmental agency in the United States. I'll find him, and I'll kill the bastard.
#
"Get down!" I hollered. Without protest, she ducked behind the SUV tire. Adrenaline surged through my body. The only thing that I could hear was the blood pounding in my head, and the all too familiar sound of automatic weapons being fired. Bullets whizzed past us as we crouched behind the standard issue FBI vehicle. I knew that there were integrated transmitter systems placed in the vehicle. It was so the FBI could track down and monitor the location of their agents at any given time. I figured that I would have a fifteen to twenty minute window before the Bureau figured out that I dumped the vehicle in west rural DC, along with both of our cell phones giving Bones and me the edge to make a run for it. My time frame was slightly off...
By the sounds of it, I guessed that there were maybe two men firing at us. I could see where shooter number one was prone behind the white warehouse oil tank. I could see his black combat helmet poke up over the white support beam of the tanker. His firing ceased momentarily. That stupid fucker prairie dogged one last time before I put a bullet right through his forehead. Blood spattered at the force of the impact of the bullet. His head flung back, bending his neck at impossible angles.
Shooter number two was hard to spot in the overcast night sky. I spotted him crouched beside the aluminum panel of the warehouse. I shifted around to the front bumper. I fired my 9mm Beretta, (also FBI standard issue) and saw the shooter slump forward. In that instant, I saw the blood spray, I felt something forceful knock me back a few steps, and then I felt the searing pain. In a fraction of a second, it registered in my mind. I was shot. She poked up when she heard me grunt, then moan. "Booth!" she called my name. I retreated behind the flat truck tire and she began to crawl towards me to assess my wound which was oozing a steady flow of blood. I stopped her dead. "There's a third shooter, stay put."
I was breathing heavily and sweat cascaded down my entire body. It was a combination of the immense pain I was in, and the adrenaline that was flowing freely through my veins. I peered under the SUV to see if I would be able to find this shooter. A glint of metal on the rooftop was his giveaway. Bingo. The Big Guy must be on my side tonight. I stood up from behind the SUV and unloaded at least 6 rounds in his direction. Silence. Followed by a heavy metal object falling from the tin roof. It was his sniper rifle. I slumped down beside her, completely spent.
"Booth, we need to keep moving. We have to get out of here now." She said. The urgency was evident in her voice. I willed myself to nod in agreement. She knew that I was burned out. A result of the adrenaline wearing off and my increasing blood loss. My breathing was laboured, and my lungs were stinging. My chest was heaving with every gasp I was struggling to take. She pulled my blood-soaked jacket off. My white oxford button-down shirt was now red with my own blood.
She felt my chest, "It looks as though the bullet pierced between anterior deltoid and the pectoralis major. It doesn't appear to have struck the subclavian artery." She stated flatly, as she felt my back "An exit wound. I think you'll need medical attention very soon, but you'll be okay for now if we keep direct pressure on the wound."
She removed her scarf and wrapped it tightly around my shoulder. I grunted as she wrapped the tourniquet tightly around my arm. She squatted beside me with a hand on my forearm. She looked at my weary eyes, and without her speaking a word, I knew what she was saying. I nodded at her and struggled to get to my feet. We ran off into the night without even looking back.
#
Two weeks earlier:
I strode into her office at approximately 12:45Pm. She sat at her desk completing paperwork (probably another dead end limbo case). I slapped the file down on her desk and she jumped slightly.
"A simple 'hello' would have sufficed." She stated.
"I'll remember that for next time." I retorted. We were still in the midst of a 'mild' disagreement. Brennan and I have always had a good reputation for taking down the bad guys, but that woman could be frustrating.
"I thought we finished the case, what's this all about?" she gestured towards the manila folder.
"It's new. Highly sensitive. Some Washington bureaucrat goes missing, and his body turns up ten days later shoved in a culvert in Canada." She raised her eyebrows.
"No missing persons file in the database?" she questioned.
"Nope. The Bureau wanted to handle this Sgiven that he's former CIA, turned pencil pushing prick to the White House Advisor Council. I guess someone's gotta make the decisions for the ass holes who are supposed to make the decisions for the President. No known family either. He had a wife but she died in '94."
"Robert Gauley, born July seventeen, 1956." She read the case file out loud, "Why the hell did he end up in Canada? And who would want him dead in the first place. He's not exactly a dominant political figure."
"Well, we're just gonna have to take a little road trip and find out now, won't we?" I quipped. She glanced up at me from the folder, and shook her head a little bit.
"I'll get Angela to hold my mail." She breathed out a sigh.
"There we go, that's the spirit. Let's go solve us another murder, Bones."
A/N: I bet you won't read this note either. I'll see how long it takes me to get bored of doing this.