"Well, well. What have we got here?"

"He won't talk to you. We can't get a word out of him."

Booth couldn't see straight. His head ached with the power of a thousand oceans. He was only just aware that his hands were tightly bound behind his back. His stomach burned with raw acid that in turn stirred up terrible bouts of nausea. Every so often he couldn't help but to turn his head and spit out blood tainted saliva.

A being knelt down before him. Since his eyes refused to hold still for longer than a few seconds the man was no more than a black and brown blur, the darkness accentuating the earth toned colors of his clothing. A palm to the face snapped his head around. "Look alive."

Since doing so was impossible he shut his eyes all together. Around him he could hear conversation taking place without him being much more than a centerpiece.

"He was in the same hotel as the other feds. When we hacked into the hotel's database he seemed like another one."

"All right. Did you grab his stuff?"

"Yeah. After I knocked him out Larry went back for his bag."

There was the sound of someone rummaging through his luggage. Then, a laugh of delight. "What have we got here?"

Though it killed him to do so he convinced his eyes to show him what he was missing. That same unidentifiable man was clutching his service weapon. In his other hand were Booth's credentials. More clothes were pushed aside until his handcuffs were uncovered. He scorned himself for being so careless.

"These will come in handy." The man declared gleefully. Booth's head rolled, and he found again he was relying on his hearing alone. If you pass out you're as good as dead, his conscious tried to remind him.

He sustained another hard impact to his skull, sending pain ricocheting throughout his cranium. "You are going to tell us everything you know," a voice growled menacingly.

Booth knew he had been tortured. He knew his body had been beaten and bruised, and left broken and bleeding. He knew it by the extraordinary amount of pain he was in; by the stiffness in his face and muscles due to swelling. Just as he knew while struggling for every immeasurable breath how fortunate he was to be alive.

He'd had yet to officially "wake up," though he'd had periodic bouts of brief consciousness. Often times he heard Brennan speaking to him. A few times her words had been strained, as though keeping her composure was a task she wasn't capable of. That too, clued him in as to how serious his situation was. Brennan worried. That much was true. Since having Christine her ability to display her emotions had improved. But rarely did he ever hear her on the verge of tears. He longed to give her some sort of sign to indicate to her that he comprehended her presence; that she wasn't as alone as she believed. Sadly his body refused to cooperate. Forcing open an eye involved expelling more strength than he currently had.

It wasn't until the tube was removed from his throat and he was permitted to breathe on his own that he felt ready to open up his eyes to the netherworld his wounds had deposited him into. A set of fateful words were all the motivation he needed to continue the process.

"I'm so sorry, Booth. I wish I could save you."

All his strength was utilized in just the effort of cracking his eye open a hair. In doing so a sudden tsunami of pain nearly ripped him back under. He managed to weakly choke out, "Bones."

Since her gaze had been focused on their linked hands her head snapped up at the sound of his voice. "Booth? Oh my God." Tears pooled in her eyes. "Booth." She rose to her feet to stand over him.

He tried to smile, but due to the swelling in his face it was a pathetic attempt. "What's wrong with me?" His voice had hardly any volume to it. It sounded just as scraped as he felt.

"Do you remember anything?"

"I was held captive."

She leaned in closer. One by one questions were fired off in a rapid procession. "Do you remember anything else? Do you remember why? Do you remember who abducted you? Their appearances? Do you remember being taken from your hotel room?"

The memories were lost to him. Instead of answering her he asked instead, "where are we?"

"New Mexico. The bureau sent you out here as a consultant in an antiterrorism case. Don't you remember?"

"No." He allowed his eye to lapse closed. "I remember… taking Christine to the park."

Brennan frowned. "That was the day before you left. Booth, that was last week."

He did his best to absorb the information being given to him. "How long… have I…"

"Five days. You sustained an impact to the head that left you with a hairline fracture to your skull. Your doctors believed you wouldn't wake up again. I knew they were wrong. I told them as much."

It seemed utterly impossible for him to have lost so much time. Days had slipped through his fingers like grains of sand. "What else?"

The tremble was back within her voice. "All your injuries? You were shot in the chest. As a result you had to undergo emergency surgery to remove the bullet, as well as repair the puncture it made into your left lung. Several of your ribs have been cracked, and you'd lost so much blood you required several transfusions."

No wonder his chest ached. Feebly he lifted his left arm to sweep his hand over his body, gesturing for her to continue on with the rest.

"You have a distal radius fracture. The metatarsals, cuboid, and lateral cuneiform bones were broken in your right foot. The talus bone was fractured in your left ankle." She had to avert her eyes away from him. "I was told it is believed that your captors were trying to disable you from getting away. You might have tried."

He gave her comment no acknowledgement. "Where's Christine?"

"Back at home with my father until we can return." She paused, though he could discern that something was still weighing heavily on her mind. "You really don't remember anything? Nothing?"

He let that question go unanswered as well. Rapidly was he tiring out. The small bit of interaction had left him spent. Besides, he couldn't see what the importance was. Judging by his injuries it was more than likely he'd rather forget the trauma he'd been through. Mutely his hand searched for the remote lying besides him in bed. A press of a button flooded his body with relief. That much deeper into the darkness did he sink.

Brennan had continued on despite his lack of responses. "They have you staying under an alias here. Armed agents have been posted outside your room ever since you were admitted. Booth, you were abducted for a reason. I realize it's only conjecture, but from the evidence I have seen and gathered, you were targeted. I need to know why."

The inquiries were falling upon deaf ears. Booth was almost asleep. He heard a soft sigh, and felt Brennan's fingers come to a rest on his forearm. "I need answers. And you're the only one who can tell me the truth."

Brennan watched in baffled sorrow as Booth faded away from her. She was relieved he'd woken at last, but downtrodden to know he knew nothing of his abduction. There were no answers to the questions she'd been tormenting herself with for days on end. Her only desire now was to take him home to allow him to heal under her loving care. Perhaps in the privacy of their home away from the unfamiliar atmosphere and scrutinizing eyes his mind would put together the missing puzzle pieces.

She was immersed in thought when the sound of footsteps caused her to glance upwards. A group of five or so agents stormed into the room. The ringleader needlessly flashed his badge at Brennan. "We heard he's awake."

"He was. He's resting now. I suppose you want me to leave." Such as the case was lately. When an army of agents arrived she was sheep herded out.

"He needs to be questioned in private."

Brennan assumed as much. She stood, gathering her bag and other various items she'd carted with her. "He doesn't remember anything. He doesn't even remember the trip here."

"We'll be the judges of that."

She didn't care for the ruthlessness in his voice. "He's in this situation because of what you allowed to be done to him. If he doesn't remember-"

"With all due respect, Dr. Brennan. Out of a dozen kidnapped agents he is the only survivor. All the others were killed. We need to know why his life was spared."

"It wasn't. Haven't you received the statement I gave?" During the second day in which Booth had been comatose she'd been dragged into the bureau's Albuquerque office only to be grilled all about his rescue. "He'd been shot, and was losing copious amounts of blood. He was minutes away from death. His doctor told me that had I been even five minutes later he never would have survived. He's too injured and too confused for your games. I won't allow-"

"You don't get a say in the matter. Now hurry along back to your hotel. We'll let you know when you can see him again."

Her face flushed with anger. The dismissal made her feel as though she were a precocious child. She would have loved to have told him off, but knew better. Arguing with other agents was as effective as speaking to a brick wall. Neither one listened to complaints. Or much of anything else.

She maintained a lady like confidence while showing herself out. Once she was out of the room she allowed her real colors to show. She slammed back through the hospital until she reached her rental car sitting in the parking lot. Half tempted she was to call Hacker and sock him with a piece of her mind. But again, her efforts would be in vain. No one was willing to hear her out. They didn't care about Booth as a man, only as an agent. There's so much more to him than that.

As she'd had her phone turned off while visiting him she switched it back on now to check for any missed calls. A mere press of a button turned her screen aglow. There on the backdrop was a picture of Booth and Christine. The three had gone to the park one warm, sunny afternoon. Their daughter had been placed in a "baby" swing. Booth was standing behind her, his hands hugging her tiny stomach. He smiled like the proud father that he was. Booth, she thought sadly. I wish there was something more I could do for you.

But she knew without his memory there was little she, or anyone else for that matter, could provide him. Her support would remain strong and true. But the ball was in his court now. There was nothing left to do but wait.