Okay - this must be important because I have seen everyone else do it. These characters do not belong to me. They belong to Fox, or Kathy Reichs, or whoever else actually owns them. No infringement intended. These are just great stories we share with each other because...well, who knows why we do this?

This is my first fanfic, so I would appreciate feedback. I've found over the last week it's much easier to keep writing a story when you know there are people out there actually reading and enjoying it. So any reviews are greatly appreciated. (Good or bad - I'm an equal opportunity review-reader!)

Please enjoy - If I may say so, it's just getting good!
Max

CHAPTER #5

Brennan's tired eyes watered as she parked in her designated spot. Her pleading with Booth for a trip home to shower was only partially to clean up, as they were indeed both becoming ripe from over twenty four hours straight of investigations and emotions. But it was also a chance to simply remove herself from the situation and from him for a short period of time. Long enough in order to better separate herself from his emotions, wash away the remnants of the day before, and begin the day anew and back on task. She simply worked better that way.

Her mind and body were tired, but she knew a brisk shower, a change of clothes, and a few good strong cups of Brazilian coffee would remedy that. Her building was quiet as she waited for the elevator, since the few neighbors that she did have typically didn't emerge until well after eight a.m. and it was barely now six.

Today, in particular, she was thankful that her apartment was on the top floor and that both of her direct neighbors were out of the country. The last time she had dragged in at six a.m. after a particularly horrendous case, Mrs. Russell, an older woman with a spinster attitude, had filed a formal complaint about Brennan's pull-behind laptop bag, stating the noise it made on the tile hallway caused her undue pain and suffering as she was sure it was an intruder. Brennan was sure that the formal complaint had more to do with the verbal berating she had given the old woman for being so nosy and less to do with the actual noise in the hallway.

As such, she heaved a sigh of relief when the elevator pinged its signal for her floor. Grateful that she did not have to worry about disrupting Mrs. Russell's beauty sleep, she crossed the tile floor, keys in hand, heels clicking loudly behind her. Just as she had inserted her key into the lock and moved to open the door she felt a presence behind her.

Quickly she spun around, to see a dark clad figure rushing towards her. Protection instincts took over, despite her already weary mind and body, and the adrenaline rush proved to fuel her response. His arm shot out to strike her, but her sudden awareness of him allowed her to dodge the blow and he hit the wall instead. He was quick with his follow-up, grabbing her by the hair with his other hand and slamming her up against the doorframe, causing her chin to crack against the hard wood.

Slightly dazed, she felt him roughly shove her against the wall and realized he was pulling her arms behind her to handcuff them only after she heard the associated clicks. Unwilling yet to submit, but knowing she was dangerously overpowered with her arms incapacitated, she desperately threw her head back, grunting and feeling a sense of satisfaction when she felt the back of her head make contact with his nose. Immediately she turned, and with another grunt she issued a roundabout kick that sent her assailant sprawling backwards across the hallway.

Hastily she ran towards the stairs, briefly wondering how she could manage to make it down four flights of stairs with her hands behind her back and not fall and break her neck. He answered the question for her. She had just reached the top of the landing, still running, and was primed to take the steps two-at-a-time, if need be, when his arm shot out and roughly grabbed her by the ankle. With her arms unable to break her fall, Brennan felt as if she were falling in slow motion. She closed her eyes, remembering that her partner had mentioned once that it helped.

Finally, with the eventuality that she knew was coming, her body finally made contact with the hard surface beneath her, her head smashed against the corner of the step, and all suddenly went black.

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"Agent Booth, why didn't you forward this information on to us immediately after receiving it?" Director Cullen was asking, hands crossed genially as he sat behind his desk.

Normally the calm and collected agent would have squirmed in his seat under such a negatively direct question from his supervisor, but as the hours had dragged on Booth had found his body and his mind growing increasingly weary. The anticipation of waiting for another call at any moment from some psychopath that was holding his child, combined with over twenty four hours without sleep, as well as his current irritability with all things FBI, proved to be a troublesome combination where careers were concerned.

"Well, sir, I guess I just figured that since I was officially no longer a part of the FBI I didn't have any responsibility to follow department issued protocol," he snipped.

"Don't get smart with me, agent," he warned.

"I don't even try, sir. That's my partner's job."

"Dammit, son, what is going on here?"

"What's going on? What's going on?" Booth's voice raised a notch with each syllable, until his body mirrored his intonation and he was standing over the director's desk, squarely yelling into his face.

"Watch yourself, Agent Booth," Cullen warned again, sitting back slightly at the intensity displayed on the young man's face.

Booth dropped his head slightly, his ingrained respect for his superior taking over out of reflex. "I'm sorry, sir, but this…this is the hardest thing I've ever had to go through. I just...I just don't know what to do."

Cullen's chair snapped up, his voice slightly softer than before. "I know, son. Believe me, I know. At least there is a tangible enemy in this equation. Someone that we can find and eliminate."

Booth knew that he was now talking about the ordeal he and his wife had faced with the death of his own daughter, who had been infected with cancer after receiving a tainted bone graph. "At least there is still a strong chance that your son will come back to you safe and sound," he finished.

"Yes, sir."

"In the meantime, you need to go home and clean up," he ordered. Booth started to protest, but his boss waved him off. "You smell like crap, and you're wearing the same clothes you had on yesterday. I'm not going to waste my breath telling you to get any sleep, but for god's sake at least go home and shower."

At the agent's wry smile, he demanded, "What's so damn funny?"

"Well, sir, it's just that Bones...er, Dr. Brennan and I just had this exact conversation about an hour ago," he admitted.

"And obviously she was right."

"Yes, sir. She's the one that wanted to go home and shower."

The older man huffed. "Now there's someone that has a good head on her shoulders, squint or no squint," he paused, again taking in Booth's disheveled appearance.

"Call in an hour. I'll have our forensics lab analyze this copy of the tape you brought in and we should have some results by then. And give the team your cell phone for a few minutes before you leave. We'll use actual reliable Bureau-issued technology from now on to monitor future calls if that's okay with you."

Booth knew the last comment from his boss was not to be taken as a question, and that he was also not soliciting input. "Does this mean I am off of Administrative Leave?"

Cullen looked at him as if he'd just asked if the earth was still flat. "You were removed from official status when it was confirmed that your ex had been killed. Now we know that the same person, apparently, has kidnapped your son? How would you ever think you would be reinstated?"

"But sir, I..."

"No 'buts' allowed. When we find this bastard and it goes to trial, the defense will destroy our case if you are involved in any way and that is unacceptable."

Booth's jaw hardened and his eyes grew cold, which did not go unnoticed by the older man. "And I also know you're probably thinking right now that this might not ever even make it to trial, and let me just give you a warning, Agent Booth..." he paused until he finally made eye contact. "There is absolutely no room for a vigilante in the FBI, I can guarantee you of that. Off the record, if you choose to pursue this case on your own, your employment here will be terminated."

His jaw was still set, and his hands gripped the arms of the chair with barely restrained frustration. "Is that all sir?" he managed.

"Yes. Now go home and get cleaned up."

Booth walked out of the room, not looking back.