Author's Note: Let's say this is set sometime towards the end of Season Two – if you want specifics, read on through to the next few chapters (when I post them!). My first Bones fic – I write House MD fic under a different guise, just in case you were wondering. Updates should be a little more frequent than weekly (how's that for an estimate?) - it will be case based, with a few twists and turns to keep you interested. Enjoy! Disclaimer: I own nothing (except the plot and some of the locals...)

"Booth, could you at least look at the road?" Brennan pleaded helplessly from the passenger seat of the FBI issue vehicle. For the third time in under an hour her partner was taking a call on his cell whilst driving. It wouldn't have been too much of an issue if they were casually driving through D.C, on the streets that Booth knew like the back of his hand; his multi-tasking skills could just about handle that, with minimal trouble. What did pose a problem were the dark, unfamiliar roads of Berkeley Springs, West Virginia.

Once again, Booth had taken the Anthropologist away from her natural habitat, namely the Jeffersonian, and persuaded her to let him drive her across state to look at some important remains. What he had failed to tell her so far were the details of why, and where, they were going so far from D.C. From the moment he'd dragged her away from her office at 8:37pm, his ear had been glued to his cell, taking call after call. Brennan had never seen him wound so tight, practically snapping orders down the phone at the caller. She wasn't sure she liked 'bossy Booth' very much.

As another cliff-face loomed against her window, Brennan had no doubts that the ridges and valleys that made this particular stretch of road so dangerous at night, made it equally as breathtaking during the day. She decided she'd like to witness that herself, and that doing so would involve actually surviving her partner's unusually reckless driving.

Booth snapped the phone closed, holding it thoughtfully for a second before putting it within grabbing distance – something told him he'd be getting plenty more calls before the night was through. He caught sight of Brennan squirming in her seat as he clipped the verge slightly, throughout the distracting phone calls he hadn't really realised just how recklessly he'd been taking the corners. Easing his foot off the gas, he slowed the car to a more comfortable pace, deciding an explanation might be in order, an apology of sorts to his female passenger who'd been incredibly patient with him from the point he'd dragged her away from the Jeffersonian and into Morgan County. He figured he owed her that much.

"This is what we've got, Bones-" he started, ignoring the look she shot at him for calling her by that name. "Agent by the name of Joe Thomas, investigating the murder of one Hank Chapman – whose body was found in the Cacapon Resort State Park by a couple of hikers nine days ago – Agent Thomas followed a lead, wound up in Bath, interviewed a couple of locals before he went missing two days ago..." he paused, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

Brennan could sense the tension radiating from her partner, even in the dim moonlight she could see the frown on his features as he negotiated a fierce right-hand bend. He was still driving on auto-pilot, his mind running a thousand possibilities of what may have happened to Agent Thomas.

"Approximately one hour ago another body was discovered in a disused maintenance building just out of Berkeley Springs, badly burned...we need an I.D as soon as possible-"

"Which I'd have a better chance of giving you as long as we make it there in one piece!" Brennan noted, unable to hold her tongue as an approaching corner loomed on them, Booth braking sharply at the last minute to take it. "Why are you in charge of a case this far out of D.C?" the question had been eating away at her, why not get it out whilst she had his undivided attention...sort of.

"Because it's not a question of Geography, Bones. A Federal Agent has disappeared – and a body has turned up." Booth replied, taking a small measure of comfort from the illuminated sky up ahead. They were getting close. The relief was soon overshadowed by dread – would his mystery corpse turn out to be Joe Thomas...Special Agent Joe Thomas. A fellow Agent. A good guy. A friend...

"Is there anything to suggest that the body is that of Agent Thomas?" Brennan asked, seeing Booth's eyes flash her way at the Agent's name. "Other than a wild theory that puts one man's disappearance with the discovery of a set of burned remains in a nearby town? Coincidence, maybe?"

Booth ignored her, choosing to concentrate on following signs leading him to the desolate area where the body had been found. He already knew the outcome of this road trip – Joe Thomas had been murdered by the same son of a bitch he'd been chasing for the murder of Hank Chapman. No matter how hard he tried to block it out, his gut feeling told him that he was right, and it was making him feel physically sick. He was a Good guy. Good guys shouldn't get killed for protecting people against murderers...

"Booth?" he heard an anxious voice beside him, Bones had finished reeling off the dozen possibilities she'd come up with already as to why his gut instinct could be wrong, and then realised that he wasn't even listening. "Who found the body?" she repeated, seeing that she had his wavered attention for the time being.

"Sheriff got an anonymous tip off, probably some local looking to cash in on some scrap metal before the old Pump house gets torn down...figures he's safe rooting around, area's all sealed off ready for demolition – he walks in – bam! Kicks a skull, shines his flashlight over it, craps his pants before he hightails it outta there quicker than Forest Gump..."

"Forest Gump?" Brennan felt a tinge of familiarity with the name, but couldn't pinpoint where she'd heard it.

"It's a film – you know what? Never mind." Booth shook his head in mock annoyance. He'd learned to take Brennan's naivety towards popular culture with a large pinch of salt, he was sure that nothing could surprise him in that department nowadays. "What I'm saying is that this anonymous tipster just wants his prints to be taken out of the running for lead suspects, okay?" Still annoyed, still wound up.

"You got that whole scenario purely from the fact that the person who tipped off the local sheriff wanted to remain anonymous?" Brennan asked, amazed that Booth would try and figure out something as pivotal to the investigation as how the body was initially found – especially since they hadn't even reached the crime scene yet.

"Sure." Booth replied nonchalantly, leaving the main road and leading them towards an array of vehicles parked some way down a rough track. It beats thinking about how the body ended up there in the first place... he thought as he killed the engine. "Time to do your thing, Bones." he announced, exiting the car before she could even scowl at him.

Brennan stepped into the cold night air and shuddered, feeling an icy bite on her cheeks and neck. Already, she regretted letting Booth drag her away from what was going to be a long stint at the Jeffersonian, cataloging and archiving specimens from the early eighteenth century. She'd been looking forward to having the Lab to herself for the whole weekend, and Booth was all too aware of that fact, especially since it had been the source of his amusement for the past week. Bones, you're the only person I know who looks forward to spending the weekend at work!

She pulled on her thick jacket and glanced over at her partner, who was talking to the Sheriff – or who Brennan perceived to be the Sheriff. The tall, graying man seemed to be in charge of the small babble of lawmen currently rubbing their hands together and throwing curious glances her way. They'd obviously been waiting for the Anthropologist to arrive before they dared move the bones, the cellphone conversations with Booth in the car must have been to ensure that nobody got access before she did. Was it for her benefit, or for his own? Something about this assignment had him on edge – and Brennan was sure it was more than the fact that the victim could potentially be a fellow FBI Agent. This was far more personal than Booth was willing to let on. She felt annoyed that he was keeping her in the dark for this one, especially after all they'd been through together. Didn't he trust her?

"Bones!" Booth beckoned her over, introducing her to Sheriff Keller. Brennan noted the Sheriff's forced geniality towards her as he nodded his 'hello'. Someone else who wasn't too impressed with Booth's late night FBI excursion...

"Where were the remains found?" Brennan asked, equaling the Sheriff's hostile reception with her coolly, clipped question. She didn't want to waste time with niceties any more than he did.

"This way, Bones." Booth grabbed her by the crook of the elbow, smirking at her directness towards the senior law enforcer. Sometimes her brash social skills came in handy, particularly when an addled Sheriff was keen to chew the ear off the FBI agent who'd sent him out in freezing conditions to guard a charred corpse.

As Booth led her through a thicket of unruly branches and bush, Brennan couldn't help but notice how much of a hurry the Agent seemed to be in. She asked, "Are we on a tight deadline, or something?" Come on, Booth, talk to me...

"It's cold, Bones." he replied, with a touch too much forced enthusiasm. "I don't want you complaining when you get the Flu tomorrow."

"Influenza's typically an airborne virus – unless you think we're going to bump into a local who's out for a late-night run...even then, I doubt they'd be able to make it this far out of town-"

"Okay, what say we continue this walk in silence?" Booth huffed, shaking his head in disbelief.

Blown it already Brennan thought, gazing up at the huge Pump house looming ahead of them. Rotting timber hung from the external walls like a limp, decaying cladding. She imagined the Pump house had once been a magnificent building, a hundred or so years ago. It seemed a shame that such an architecturally sound building had been left to ruin, destined for demolition.

The Sheriff's men had set up three small spotlights, each pointing and creating their own imposing shadows over the entrance to the building. Booth shone his flashlight along the floor as they stepped through what was left of the door. Bird's feathers, pieces of ironwork and dirt were strewn haphazardly all over the wooden floorboards, making it difficult to locate the remains to begin with. Brennan caught sight of the skull and fell into the routine of analyzing the 'who and how' of the situation. She sensed Booth impatiently shuffling beside her, his flashlight hovering over the wider area in an attempt at looking for telltale footprints or other such clues. Or maybe he just preferred any alternative to having look at the body. With that thought, she commandeered his flashlight, practically yanking it from his hand in an attempt at creating a workable light over her bones.

"This is only a partial skeleton..." Brennan said, "he's missing everything from the waist down." she frowned with Booth in shared confusion before taking out her digital camera and snapping some quick pictures of the area. There was no point in wasting more time than necessary on fieldwork, not when she could be examining the bones in a nice, frost-free lab. Strategically positioned photographs would have to do with regards to the crime scene layout, maybe Booth could arrange a nice daytime visit next time... "Booth, we need to get these to a lab, or a nearby morgue – anywhere where there's enough light for me to actually determine cause of death...I can get an I.D from what we've got here – we don't need to stay."

"Okay, you don't have to tell me twice." Booth replied, clicking his fingers in a triumphant gesture before sticking his head out the door and whistling for one of the Sheriff's men to get busy. Nothing would make him happier than getting out of the damp, intimidating Pump house – even if it did mean having to watch Bones pick apart the remains of, what seemed too likely to be, an old friend...What a way to spend a Friday night...

"Booth."

He spoke over his shoulder, from the doorway "They'll take them to the local morgue, Bones – just out of town-"

"Booth." Brennan repeated lowly, causing Booth to turn away from the door and back to her. "They searched this area before we arrived, right?"she asked, her voice verging on the point of whispering.

"Yeah, the Sheriff had his guys comb the place about ten minutes before we got here-"

"So who's he?" Brennan pointed to a doorway a hundred yards across the empty room where a man standing in the shadows seemed to be watching them intently.

Before Booth even had a chance to shout 'FBI, freeze!' the unknown man bolted. Brennan took chase, armed solely with Booth's flashlight, which she was certain would make a formidable weapon if used correctly. She heard Booth cursing behind her as he pulled out his gun and joined the pursuit. No doubt she'd hear another lecture later about how he was supposed to be protecting her, and how was he supposed to do that if she kept chasing suspects at every opportunity.

Brennan leaped onto a temporary staircase, feeling it shudder under both her, and her fugitive's weight. The condemned Pump house was lined with them, all looking out of place - 20th century steel in a backdrop of 18th century timber. The labyrinth wasn't helped by the fact that most of the windows had been removed prior demolition, meaning a slight ground-frost had crept onto the more exposed parts of the steel steps making them extremely slippery.

"Bones!" Booth hissed, grabbing the guardrail as the unsupported staircase swayed precariously under his momentum. The last thing he needed was for it to topple over, especially with his partner nearing the top of the two story structure. He could just about see the beam of his flashlight, bobbing and weaving it's way upwards as Brennan rounded another flight – Trust Bones to be Queen of the stair-master...

The Anthropologist was beginning to tire, blaming the long car journey combined with the icy cold weather for her stiff limbs. She could feel the burning sensation in her thighs as she fought to take the last few steps two at a time. The gap between her and her prey was closing though, she could hear his ragged breathing almost as clear as her own, and it spurred her on. They rounded a corner, Brennan almost close enough to touch him, catch him...but he had other plans.

In a well-rehearsed maneuver, the running man grabbed hold of an overhead zip-line, his momentum carrying his body clear over the room some twenty meters or so. Brennan's pace faltered on entering the room, feeling the rotting wood shifting unsteadily underfoot. She dropped the flashlight as she stumbled to an exposed ground beam, something which wouldn't splinter and fail, even if the remainder of the antique floorboards did. The only safe way from the room was back they way she'd came, and she had no doubt it wasn't a coincidence.

Panting, she cast her eyes over towards her intended prize, squinting to see him now that the flashlight was rolling uselessly somewhere behind her. She was surprised to see that he wasn't using this valuable time to make his escape, in fact, he almost seemed to be waiting – Oh God, he didn't want me to chase him, he wanted -

"Booth! No - Don't-" The realization and the words came simultaneously, but they were still too late. As soon as the Agent sprinted into the room, the sound of splintering wood became deafening. The decaying floorboards wilted and groaned under the additional weight before quickly giving way to nothing. Booth disappeared under a shower of dust and debris as part of the floor collapsed. Brennan could only watch on helplessly from her vantage point as her partner fell two stories down, and the man who lured him to his fate, simply turned and walked away.

The whole chase had been a set up – and Brennan had inadvertently lead Booth into the trap.

TBC...

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