A/N: There's a lot packed into this chapter, so hang on tight. A big shout out to Goldy for beta'ing this chapter for me. And since she's running on a lack of sleep, any spelling mistakes are hers. J/K, jeez. They're mine. Which will teach me not to get a tired Goldy to beta. Anyhow, on with the story.
Torture. Agony. Hell. The words floated around Seeley Booth's mind like a swarm of bees and each one tore at his soul. He sat on the couch in his partner's empty office and stared at the floor with a blank look. Booth knew the time was coming, the time where he would have to choose, and not only his life for Cam's. He sniffed and cursed himself for showing weakness, for having to fight so hard to keep the tears a bay. Seeing that note suddenly made the wolf's warning clear. He was going to have to give up his life for another, but what shredded his heart was the fact that he would have to choose Cam or Brennan. Knowing that he had to give up his life was hard enough. Knowing that his son would grow up without a father, pulled at the tears in his eyes even more. However, knowing that he held in his hands the lives of two other people--of two women he cared for, made his heart almost stop beating. One of them wouldn't be coming back--someone had to die. Damn it, he cursed. Booth leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees; he clasped his hands and dropped his head. He needed God's mercy. I need help, he sent up. I can't do this. I shouldn't have to.
"Poor guy," Hodgins said to his companions and both Angela and Zack nodded their agreement.
"I hate seeing him like this," Angela said. "He's so…"
"Miserable," Zack offered.
"Yeah." The three stood together and watched the FBI agent struggle with his thoughts. Suddenly Angela uncrossed her arms and started off toward the office.
"Where're you going?" Hodgins asked.
"I can't stand it anymore," she tossed back at him. "He needs a friend." Angela entered the office and walked slowly to where Booth sat. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder as she lowered herself to the couch--a sign to show him that she was there for him.
"I don't know what to do, Angela," he said softly, his head remaining down and his eyes closed.
"You're doing your best, Booth," the artist said, her arm sliding around his shoulders. "Brennan knows that," and then as an after thought she added, "and so does Cam." Booth shook his head. Angela could see his lips were pinched together. "You're going to get them back, Booth."
"They trusted me," he said, his voce still soft. "They both trusted me to keep them safe. She might have hated me now, but Temperance trusted me." His voice cracked as he spoke her name and Angela tightened her hold him.
"Tempe didn't hate you," she told him, her voice strong with conviction. "Do you hear me, Seeley Booth? She didn't hate you. Mad at you, yes, but hate, no." She felt his shoulders begin to shake and saw the first tear slide down his cheek. Without a word, she pulled him into an embrace and held him as the tears finally won their battle.
"Sorry," he finally said with a sniffle, as he pulled away and wiped at his eyes.
"Won't leave this room," Angela assured him.
"What am I gonna do?" he asked.
"It's what we're gonna do," Hodgins said, placing his hand on the agent's shoulder.
"We're a team," Zack began, touching his other shoulder. Booth glanced over at Angela who smiled at him and nodded.
"A team," she agreed. Booth nodded his on agreement and then stood, feeling the urge to pace--to move.
"There has to be something," he said. "Something we're missing."
"We've been over everything," Hodgins told him.
"Not everything." The room quieted and they all waited for Booth to explain. The agent walked to the windows and stared out over the darkened world. He clasped his hands behind his back and drew in a shaky breath. He let his head fall back and closed his eyes. Silently, he talked to God, asking for his help once again. Finally, he opened his brown orbs and returned his gaze to the world outside. Booth opened his mouth to speak, and then promptly closed it. Again, he took in an unsteady breath—blowing it as a heavy sigh. He knew that the squints were waiting for him to explain himself. "About a week and a half ago," he started…
"Let me get this straight," Angela said when Booth finished his story. "You've been having nightmares about Brennan being murdered for almost two weeks and you haven't said anything?" Booth gave a sad nod. "You idiot," she shouted, standing from the couch. "You should have told her."
"I couldn't," Booth defended.
"And why not?" the artist demanded.
"Because," Booth began, and then lowered his voice, "because I'm the one that kills her." He looked up at Angela, then to Hodgins and Zack. "I kill her," he said again. The room was quiet—each person trying to understand Booth's confession.
"Dude," Hodgins said, breaking the silence. "It's just a dream."
"It's more than that," Booth explained. "It's like…it's like a vision." He pleaded with his companions to believe him. "Listen, I already feel like I'm going crazy," he said. "I haven't had a decent night's sleep in two weeks. My mind feels like jell-o."
"What else can you tell us about these…visions?" Hodgins questioned.
"I don't know," Booth said with a shrug. "There's this...wolf that talks to me."
"Wolves are thought of as guardians," Zack pointed out. "He could be guarding something."
"The gates of Hell," Booth mumbled. "Listen, we need to focus on the facts," he said, sounding a lot like Brennan. "We need to look over the cases again. There has to be something. I'll go back to my office and gather my notes," he started as he walked pasted Angela. "I'll bring them back here."
"Isn't that against protocol?" Hodgins asked. "After all, we're not FBI or your partner."
"Protocol be damned," Booth called back as he crossed the lab.
Booth threw open his office door and quickly began to gather his notes on the recent case. He piled folder after folder in his arms, as his mind raced. It's my fault she's gone, he accused himself. I should have protected her better. "Damn it," he said, dropping the load of folders back to the desk and sinking into his chair. He felt defeated; like a loser. He scrubbed his hands roughly over his face and then slammed his fists onto his desk, making items jump.
"Beating up your desk won't solve anything," a voice said. Booth snapped his head up and met the eyes of Guardian. "Don't look so surprised," she said.
"How can I do this?" he asked, too tired to argue, much less care how she got in. The woman looked at the agent with cerulean eyes filled with pity.
"I know this is hard for you…"
"Hard?" Booth interrupted, standing suddenly, sending his chair toppling over backwards. "Hard?" he questioned again. "This bastard has my partner," he spat out. "He has two of my friends and he intends to make me choose between them. Either way, someone I care about is going to die. Hell, I'm gonna die." Booth slapped one hand against his chest to emphasize his point. He was furious with his situation--with himself.
"Do you really believe that?" Guardian asked.
"Why shouldn't I?" he demanded. "Everything points to me killing Bones. Everything. And I can't…" Booth knew that he was almost yelling, but he didn't care. He had come to grips with his own death once before, years before there was a time when after weeks of torture he had begged God to take him. He had decided to die, was comfortable with his choice and had lain down and waited for his last breath. Now, just when his life was good, okay, maybe not good,he thought. But at least better than back then. Then he didn't have a son. Then he didn't have…her. Booth blinked back the tears that threatened to fall. "I can't do this," he said, his voice soft and tired. "I'm going crazy, Guardian. No man should be faced with this choice. My life for another, and no matter what, someone will die."
"Have faith, Seeley," she told him. "You must determine where your loyalties lay."
"Stop saying that. I know where they lay, everybody does."
"Really?" The woman took a step into the office. "Do they, Seeley?" She lifted her hand and moved it in a circle. "Do you?" Booth felt his body go tingly, and his legs began to tremble. His mind became blurry, and before Booth could respond, his world went black.
The sound of sobs pulled his lids open again, and the bright sun blinded his dilated pupils. Booth threw a hand up to shield his eyes, and tried to examine his surroundings. Again, he heard sobs and gained his bearings. With heavy feet, he moved toward the sound and the sight he found stopped his heart. Angela stood beside a casket, dressed in a black dress, and her shoulders shook with her gentle crying. With an unsteady hand, she reached out and placed a black rose atop the coffin. Booth watched as Hodgins came to stand beside her dressed in a rare suit. He slid his arm around her waist, but didn't say anything. Finally, Angela spoke, "I can't believe she's gone."
"I know, Ange," Hodgins said.
"Brenn was one of my best friends," the artist said and Booth's heart stopped.
"No," he whispered.
"She was a good friend," Hodgins agreed. "It's gonna be strange not having her around."
"And Cam," Angela reminded him. "For all her faults, Cam wasn't too bad." Booth watched in confusion. How could they both be dead? "It's all Booth's fault," she accused.
"Now you can't blame him. He's got a son to think of."
"But," Angela started and then sniffed. "But he could have saved her, one of them."
"How does it feel?" Booth jumped and spun around toward the voice. Brennan stood before him, white dress blowing gently in the breeze.
"But you're…" he glanced over his shoulder at the casket and the back.
"Dead?" she offered. "Yes, thanks to you." Booth couldn't find his voice, couldn't think of what to say if he had. "You made your choice, Booth. And you chose yourself over both Cam and I."
"I wouldn't do that," Booth tried to reason.
"I don't blame you, really," she went on. "It's not in our nature to give up our lives for someone else."
"But I will," he plead.
"No," she said with a shake of her head. "Look." Booth turned his glaze when Brennan had pointed and saw that Angela and Hodgins had moved away. Standing off to the side was him, dressed in his best black suit. Angela looked at him and shook her head.
"Angela," he heard his vision self say, but the artist only dropped her head and began to walk faster. "Hodgins…"
"My blood," Brennan said, pulling Booth's attention from the scene. "Is on your hands." The anthropologist held out the dagger with the jeweled handle. "Take it," she instructed. Booth looked at the blade in horror.
"I can't," he started.
"Take it," she said again, and Booth slowly reached out and wrapped his fingers around the cold grip. The dagger felt heavy, but well balanced in his hand. He stared at it for a moment, before picking his eyes up to meet Brennan's. "Now kill me."
"I can't," he said, tears already running down his face.
"You don't have a choice anymore," Brennan said. "You've made your decision."
"Bones," he began. "Temperance, I can't."
"We understand, Booth," she told him. "Dr. Saroyan and I, we both know you love your son more than anything."
"No," he said through his tears. "I can't live with the guilt."
"You've killed before," she pointed out.
"Never someone I've cared about," he snapped. "And I won't do it now. I'll find you."
"Even if you do, you can only save one of us. You have a past with Cam," she said.
"That doesn't take away what I have with you."
Brennan shook her head and stepped forward. "You've made your choice," she said, reaching out and touching his face. "Now make it final." With that, she reached down, wrapped her hand around his and brought the dagger up. "My blood is on your hands," she said again, and pulled the dagger to her. Booth felt the blade met her flesh and then her skin give way. The feel of the dagger plugging into her chest made his stomach flip. Brennan's eyes grew wide, but she never broke contact with Booth.
"No," he whispered, his breath washing over her. Booth let go of the knife and lowered Brennan to the ground. "Bones," he said. "Bones, come on, talk to me." Booth cradled her head and watched the blood stain grow on her chest. "No," he said again. He held her until he felt the life leave her body. Tears fell from his eyes and slide down her face. "Oh, God, Temperance, no." Booth eyes flew open and he found himself on his stomach on his office floor. He quickly pushed himself to his knees and shook his head. A quick check of his hands showed no sign of blood and a scan of his office showed no sign of Guardian. Booth thought back to his nightmare—to him killing Brennan and then reached out, and pulled his trashcan near as the remains of his last meal made its reappearance.
"You look like crap," Hodgins pointed out as Booth strolled up to the table the scientist sat at.
"Way to state the obvious, Sherlock," the agent remarked dropping a stack of folders on the metal table. "Okay people," he said, raising his voice as Zack and Angela made their way to him. "This is everything I have on this case. Interviews, forensic reports, crime scene photos, everything."
"We took the opportunity while you were gone to gather all our findings as well," Hodgins told him.
"Good, lets get to it then." Each member of the team pulled a chair near and grabbed a folder.
"What are we looking for?" Zack asked.
"Anything out of the ordinary," Booth explained.
"You said before," Angela began, "that we need to look at what the victims have in common with you. Maybe you should tell us some things we should keep an eye out for." Booth picked up his eyes from the folder and licked his lips. He didn't want to share his past with the squints, but knew that it could help.
"I'm not sure," Booth answered with a shake of his head.
"Well, start with your Army years," Hodgins suggested.
"I was a Sniper, you don't need to know anymore." Hodgins and Angela glanced over at each other with a knowing look and then went back to their folders.
"This is useless," Hodgins said, throwing his notepad to the table. "My eyes are starting to go cross."
"Agreed," Booth said, rubbing the back of his neck. He rolled his head around and then asked, "Where's Angela?"
"In with the Angelator," Zack told him. The agent stood and stretched his arms up over his head.
"Hey, Booth, I think I found something," Angela called. Booth, Hodgins and Zack quickly followed the artist into the darkened room.
"Please tell me it's good news," Booth begged.
"I think so." Angela picked up her hand held unit and punched a few buttons. The Angelator whirred to life. "The blue lines represent victim one. The red, number two and yellow is three."
"What am I looking at?"
"I'm getting there." Angela hit another series of buttons and the paths on the grid grew. "See anything?"
"The paths cross," Booth said.
"Right," Angela confirmed. "At one and only one point. Each man has gone down to this section of the city."
"What's down there?" Hodgins asked.
"Barry's," Booth answered, his face draining of color.
"Who's Barry?"
Booth looked over at Hodgins. "A bar," he said simply. "The bar."
"What bar?" Angela questioned. Booth turned tired eyes to the artist.
"My down fall." He turned back to the scene before him.
"That's a rough side of town," Hodgins said.
"Yeah, and that's where I have to go."
"Dude, people die down there," the entomologist pointed out.
Booth turned to him and said, "Yes, and Bones and Cam could be two of them." With that, the agent left the room and the squints.
Booth pushed through the door of Barry's Bar later that night. The smoke filled air burned his nostrils and made his eyes water slightly. The music roared over loud speakers and the dance floor was over packed with people. Booth pushed his way through the crowd heading to the back wall, where a man in a muscle shirt waited. "Private," he said in a gruff voice.
"Even to an old costumer?" Booth asked.
"Seel? Is that you?"
"In the flesh," the agent said, holding out his hand. "It's been too long, Ralph."
"What you been doin' with yourself?" the bouncer asked.
Booth shrugged. "Not much," he lied. "A little this, a little that. You gonna let me back or not?"
"Hope you're better at playin' than you where last time," Ralph teased as he stepped aside and pushed the door open.
"Guess we'll see." Booth walked through the door and stepped into a large room filled with poker tables. The music was muted as Ralph closed the door and Booth took a moment to scan the space. A man in the back corner caught his eye. Sitting alone, the man look as if he was waiting on someone. Yeah, he thought. Me. Booth pushed back his shoulders and made his way over. "Where are they?" he asked taking the seat opposite the man.
"Glad to see you made it," the man said, his green eyes coming up to meet Booth's.
"Where are they?" he asked again through clenched teeth.
"I'm just the messenger," the man said, and then pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. "Here's the message." He slid the note across the table and then stood.
"You really think I'm going to let you walk out of here?" Booth questioned.
"You don't have a choice," the man answered, and Booth noticed a second man close by. The other man pushed back his coat to reveal the butt of a pistol. Booth had no choice but to watch both men leave before turning his attention to the paper. A map had been drawn in a purple crayon with the words 'Come alone. No gun.' scribbled across the top.
Booth followed the map through the blackened streets of the city. He had obeyed the note and hadn't called anybody. After an hour of driving, Booth pulled his SUV to a stop and got out. The map told him to leave his car, keys in the ignition, and walk the rest of the way. He did as he was told. The winter air wrapped itself around his body and the drizzle that fell from the sky plastered down his hair. A shiver ran through him as he made his way between rows of warehouses. Finally, he made it to his destination. Carefully he reached out and tested the door handle—unlocked. Booth drew in a breath, held it for the count of ten and then blew it out. God help me, he prayed and then pushed the door open. On instinct, he reached for his gun before he remembered that he had left it in the SUV. He felt naked without, but made his way slowly into the abandoned building. He slid his feet, to minimize the noise and his chances of tripping. A dim light came from underneath a door at the back of the large room, and Booth headed toward it. After what felt like an eternity, he reached out and touched the coolness of the metal. He leaned in, putting his ear to the surface but didn't hear anything, but he knew—could feel that they were in there. With one last prayer, Booth opened the door and the sight before him stopped his heart. Both Brennan and Cam were there, chained to walls opposite each other. Their hands were bound, and they were bloody and bruised. Brennan lifted her head and looked over at the door and even from the distance-- Booth could see relief wash over her. "Booth," she said, her voice weak and hoarse. At this, Cam lifted her head with much effort.
"Seeley." Booth stood in horror at the scene. This was his fault. My fault.
"So glad that you could join us," a voice said from somewhere in the dark.
The agent looked around before replying, "I didn't have much of a choice, did I?" A chuckled filled the air, and Booth shivered.
"You had plenty of choices," the man said. "But now you only have one."
"What does he mean?" Cam asked through cracked lips.
"You haven't told them?" the voice asked. "A shame, really, but no harm done. They'll know soon enough."
"Know what?" Brennan demanded.
"It would seem that your dear friend has a choice to make," the voice informed them. "He could turn around and leave you both to die." Pause. "Or he could choose to take the place of one of you."
"One?" Cam asked.
"Indeed. One." The women snapped their heads around to look at Booth.
"You've known," Brennan accused. "This is what your nightmares have been about." Booth couldn't look her in the eye, instead forcing himself to look into the darkness.
"Seeley," Cam spoke. "Please tell me you brought backup?"
"Our good agent here did what I told him to do." Booth pinched his lips together and forced back the tears that had swelled in his eyes. The moment of truth was upon him. "What will it be, Agent Booth? You own life, or that of one of them?" Booth looked at Cam and then over at Brennan. Scenes from his latest nightmare flooded back to him. Brennan had told him that people didn't die for another, but they did. He did. God help me, he prayed, then turned his attention to Brennan, begging her with his eyes to understand his position. No man should have to choose. He pulled his eyes from Brennan and meet Cam's. He couldn't do this. He couldn't choose. You've made your decision, he heard Brennan say. Make it final. In his vision, he had chosen himself to live, in life he couldn't. He turned back to the darkness. "Choose," the voice said again. "Or you all will rot where you stand."
"I'll stay," Booth finally said, dropping his head.
"Good," the voice said, and Booth could hear the smile in it. "Now who will go and who will die with you?" He heard both woman gasp, but couldn't pick his eyes up. He knew as he said the name that his soul was dying. He felt empty inside and didn't have the courage to look at her--either one, because he had given one life, and condemned the other to death.
So, who do you think he'll choose to live and why?
