Disclaimer - Bones and all its lovely characters belong to someone else
A/N - Thank you for reading, and thanks very much for the reviews of previous chapters.
Twenty minutes later, a heavily armed FBI agent swung the doors open and waved Angela through.
She paused momentarily to thank him before hurrying down the stark, impersonal corridor, her expressive features set in a worried frown. The tight security, large number of ambulances parked outside and the overcrowding in reception were clear indications that something serious had gone down that evening. She was certain that she would never have made it past the door if Temperance had not somehow arranged for her name to be placed on the list of approved visitors. Angela briefly wondered who at the FBI Temperance had asked to arrange it, knowing that it could not have been Booth.
Then she dismissed the question and replayed their brief phone conversation. The uncharacteristic but obvious distress underlying her friend's description of Booth's injuries had worried her more than the description itself. The hurried, hesitant request that she came to hospital had sent her out of the Jeffersonian at a sprint, Jack in tow. She had been grateful for his offer to drive and she had left him attempting to find a spot to park.
The lengthy corridor suddenly opened out into a windowless waiting area, filled with rows of uncomfortable looking plastic chairs. A few abandoned children's toys and tatty magazines were dotted around the place and there were another armed agent, but aside from that it was largely empty. Few people, it seemed, were being permitted access to this area.
A lonely figure was sat in a chair in the far corner. Arms folded across her chest, her head was leaning back against the wall and her eyes were closed.
Closing the distance, Angela called her friend's name softly.
Temperance's eyes snapped open and she stood up just in time to enveloped in Angela's warm hug. After a moment or two, Angela released her and looked at her questioningly.
"They say he's going to be fine." Temperance said, replying to the unasked question. "He's being treated now. Burns. A few broken bones. The doctor'll have more details later." She paused and sat back down, her whole body rigid with tension.
Angela sat too. She was concerned at how pale her friend was and asked, "Sweetie. Are you okay?"
Temperance nodded silently, taking a deep breath to steady herself.
Angela waited.
Temperance brushed irritably at her eyes and swallowed, "It's just so soon after the last time..." Her voice trailed off and Angela knew that she was picturing the devastation in her kitchen from the bomb and terrifying kidnapping ordeal that had followed.
"Sweetie, you both came out of that okay." Angela smiled reassuringly. "And you got through all that happened in New Orleans. This'll be the same."
There was another silence, then Temperance whispered, "But what happens the next time, or the next? There's going to be a time when it's not okay - it's statistically inevitable."
Angela laid a gentle hand on Temperance's arm, "Sweetie, Booth has a dangerous job and as his partner you get to take a lot of the same risks, but don't go borrowing trouble." She paused and sighed, "There's no statistical formula that tells you when your luck is going to run out. Booth's a federal agent, he knows what's he's dealing with. He's prepared." Angela looked her friend in the eye, "I worry more about you."
Temperance smiled slightly and shook her head, "I was firmly kept at a safe distance today."
Angela raised an eyebrow, "What and you weren't tempted to ignore the instruction?"
"It would have been a bit difficult as Deputy Director Cullen was keeping an eye on me." Temperance replied with a shrug.
"What actually happened this evening anyway?" Angela asked, "And what's with all the security here?"
Temperance glanced around quickly and then leant closer, "They think they've found one of them - really badly injured but still alive." She waved an arm in the direction of the agent standing in the entrance to the wards, "Hence all the security." She paused, "And as for what happened today..."
(Flashback)
It was early evening. The sun was setting and the western skyline was aflame with golden red clouds.
It was quiet.
Most of the businesses had closed up for the day. Metal shutters had rolled down locking up warehouses and showrooms. A last few cars were pulling out of parking lots as managers or cleaners went home at the end of a long day.
If you looked closer, and knew what to look for, the scene was not as quiet and empty as it seemed. In one particular building, towards the edge of the industrial estate, a non-descript blue van pulled up. At some unspoken signal, the automatic door rolled up and the van pulled inside.
The watchers strained to see inside, but the door was descending again even as the van passed underneath it. As the door crunched into the tarmac, silence fell again.
The sun dipped lower below the horizon and shadowy figures began to close in on the building.
A large sea-container had been delivered a fortnight ago to a wholesale business across the street. A large number of crates had been removed from it, but it was still sitting in the parking lot, backed up against the side of the building next to a door.
It had served as an observation point for two weeks and had now been pressed into service as an operations centre. Deputy Director Cullen was holding a last minute conference with the primary team. Two armed men, clad in dark, form-fitting clothing and body armour stood in front of him. One would be leading the SWAT team in; the other would be in charge of a much smaller reconnaissance team that would lead the way.
Behind them, a handful of technicians were monitoring the bank of surveillance cameras and listening to radio and phone data. Everything seemed routine.
A final grim nod and word of caution and the two men were dismissed. Cullen turned to face the monitors as they left, the SWAT team commander leading the way. The second man paused in the doorway to speak with a figure wreathed in shadows.
The figure stepped forward and laid an hand on the man's arm.
"Be careful Booth." She said.
The familiar cocky grin answered her concerns, "I'm always careful Bones." He paused and gently squeezed her hand, "You stay out of trouble."
The shared a brief smile and then he walked out into the rapidly cooling evening air.
The next two hours were spent staring at the grainy images from the night vision cameras and listening to terse radio reports, as the teams moved in. There was little to report and no hint of alarm from within the warehouse.
Just before ten, Booth and his team moved into the building. Followed almost immediately by the SWAT team.
Events then began to speed up, before finally spinning out of control.
Booth's team penetrated deeper into the warehouse. Seeing no sign of people, but becoming increasingly concerned by the stacks of unmarked barrels left strategically in each room.
Booth ordered the SWAT team to hold at a perimeter, convinced that something was up.
His team pressed onwards and finally arrived at an office, with heavily blacked-out internal windows and a disguised entrance, behind which they knew lurked an altogether different business to the industrial cleaners that provided a front.
Scraping off a sliver of paint on one of the windows, Booth peered down into the room.
The lights were blazing, but there was no-one around. Crates were stacked all around. They'd need to get closer to see which of the gang's surprisingly diverse line of goods they contained. Booth was convinced that this was a the home of their counterfeiting distribution, but the majority of people at the Bureau were betting on arms dealing.
Booth signalled to the rest of his three man team to wait, as he disarmed the door alarm and then pushed the door open.
The blue van from earlier stood silently in the corner, but the place seemed deserted. Booth disquiet mounted - something was wrong.
Then he spotted the steps leading downwards; to a basement not shown on the blueprints.
He made a split second decision to order everyone to fall back.
They had just exited the office when all hell broke loose.
Gunfire opened up outside and the radio came alive with reports of two agents down.
Half a minute later the first explosion happened. A dull detonation from somewhere behind them, then a whoomp of fiery hot air blasted along the corridor.
Booth's team stumbled but kept going. All around them barrels were exploding.
The whole building had been wired as a giant bomb.
One explosion knocked Booth off his feet. The side of his face made contact with the rough concrete floor and he felt a sickening crack in collarbone; then a flaming chunk of the ceiling crashed onto his side.
The pain was excruciating. He could feel the flames eating through his fire-retardant top and searing his skin.
With a superhuman effort he pushed the flaming mass away and then forced himself upright.
He spotted another man down, groaning weakly. With the help of his other team-mate, he half-dragged, half-carried, the other man towards the exit.
As they arrived at the doorway, eager hands helped them.
Booth waved off a medical team and ordered them to help the other man. Three ambulances had been on standby, but by the time Booth made it out two were already on their way to the hospital with victims of the brief, but vicious gunfight. The third team of paramedics concentrated on stabilising the man Booth had helped.
He made his way slowly and painfully towards the ambulance, planning to wait for treatment once the critical cases had been dealt with.
He sat on the step, exhausted with pain, when he heard a familiar footstep.