Disclaimer: I do not own these characters; they belong to Kathy Reichs, far field productions, Josephson entertainment and Fox.
The sound was overbearing and searing; like a thick blade of lightning caressing sheet metal. The first stall was slammed open in sync with the leap her heart made with the bubbling nausea from her stomach to her throat. The gag threatened to spread her pursed lips and spill over into the room. The first stall had been slammed open. The thick lump beat and urged her to take action but the sound of the second stall slamming immediately ceased all thought that could have occurred in way of decision making. Knuckles paling against the force with which her hands flexed open and shut, she counted the stalls she had passed on the way in; she was in the fourth of five. The third smashing sound felt as though she had been punched in the chest, the blow reverberating through the hallow space as her heart now sat in her mouth in a pool of bile. She had to move now. Climb on the toilet and try to get into the ceiling and risk him seeing her? Or slip into the third stall and hope he doesn't notice? The decision was made for her as she saw the two black boots move towards her stall, her thin finger silently unlatching the lock and slipping under the separator between the third and fourth stall just as the fourth boom sounded and as his shoulder passed the opening of the third stall's door. She cursed herself for being forced into a decision, ashamed of her fear. Another decision laid itself before her, she could make a run for the door, which she could now see had been closed, possibly locked, or she could try for the ceiling. The fifth slam rang into her ears as his tirade was over. Slowly she moved herself up onto the seat of the toilet; her thin heals slipping on the cheap plastic, his shoes tapping a deep rhythm on the bathroom floor as he made his way to the door. He must have seen her shut the stall's door and heard the lock click. Her fingers reached towards the thin metal framing and ugly off white tiling just as his foot met the old, metallic door. Her fingers burnt against the sharp steel as she pulled herself into the ceiling, the fragile tiles bending under the weight she could not consider in her escape.
Suddenly she was enveloped in complete darkness, the black consuming and blinding her. The sound of the stall's door breaking below nearly killed her. The sound of him climbing into the ceiling behind her accomplished what the door could not. This man, her attacker, was right behind her in a peerless darkness that swallowed them both completely. The heart in her mouth buzzed a melody, not beats. Her hands and knees scraped against tile after tile, Plexiglas shards and metal ripping into her skin as she crawled, his breath seeming to move over her skin as fingers would, angrily probing every inch of her. She could hear him behind her, crawling just as she did, though she imagined him to be much more excited about the entire event than she; she was the mouse to his cat and was about to miss the mouse hole in the wall. Abruptly the sounds of his movement stopped, the only rustling being that of her own body in terror. She could feel the newly heeled and scarred wounds on her knees bleeding against the grimy tiles, her breath catching on the heart between her lips. A moment of calm, she had stopped to listen and catch her breath, the thought of him lurking in the darkness with her pressing her to keep moving. The ceiling was filled with an eerie silence quickly interrupted with a ferocious squeal from somewhere below her, the world dropping out from below her.
The tile hit the linoleum first, then her shoulders, then her neck, head, legs and arms; the sensation was that of being set into a bath of too-warm water as the air left her lungs like air let out of a popped balloon, air that her body instantly wanted it back. The brain that had been in her mouth was now lodged in between her spinal cord and brain, the obstruction blocking the messages that were meant to move between the two, to signal her arms tom move, her eyes to open. Short, labored gasps began to rack her body, her limbs aching with the fall's force and the vision temporarily knocked out of her eyes. In what seemed like days the light began to slip back to her visions revealing to her the lobby just beyond the lab's glass doors, behind which stood Booth, his back to the doors and completely oblivious to the fact that she had just tumbled out of the ceiling. Sitting up she cringed against the stiffness in her back, her lungs emitting all of their contents again as two hands grabbed her from behind, pulling her into the air as her scream leapt into the space around them, this time grabbing Booth's attention as he turned and stared at her, his expression softening as his eyes met her. What the hell was he doing? She began to struggle, her burning arms dancing about her captor's body trying to scramble free. Booth only then seemed to realize what was happening as his eyes took in the ceiling tile laying beneath her and how panicked she was. Rushing towards the glass door he bid them open with the pressing of a button, the sound of her threats and her handler's orders.
"Tim let go of her!" boomed into her mind and she looked up, relieved to see he had come to her rescue, his eyes meeting hers as he moved to get a hold of her waist and look into the ceiling. As he prompted her to walk she turned to look at the man who had been holding her, undoubtedly, she realized now, another agent as he wore all black and an ear piece similar to Booth's. He was the same build as booth, but had a thinner face, with deep set sky blue eyes and dusty blonde hair, freckles splattered over his cheeks and nose. She felt the need to apologize to him, but couldn't find the words or the effort, the adrenaline leaving her body and leaving her tired and sore. She sulked against Booth's warm body, hers feeling suddenly cold and distraught. She needed to sit and was thankfully pushed lightly down into a lab chair sitting adjacent to one of the observation tables. He knelt down next to her, his own breath slightly labored now, not from her weight against him but from concern.
"What happened?"
"He found me. He…I went to the bathroom, I thought you had given me approval, I looked towards the restrooms then at you, when I was getting ready to leave he entered the bathroom and started slamming stall doors open. He got to mine and I slipped into the next and then I climbed into the ceiling." Her words came out all at once; a blast of desperate sounds and gasps for breath.
"And he followed you up there." She nodded and took a deep breath. She looked around noticing Cruz and Tim's closeness to them; they had both moved in to hear the story.
"Booth," the man who had held her had a southern accent, his lips quivering slightly as he spoke, as though he was a young kid who was going to get into trouble for what he was about to confess. "I went in the bathroom looking for her."
Her eyes widened and her breath stopped, the immediate urge to get away from him burning in her chest. Was he the one who chased her into the ceiling? The only thing she recalled seeing of the man were his shoes, which she now looked for on the agent, only to find he was wearing a pair of old basket ball sneakers, not black boots.
"But I didn't slam doors open." His eyes tried to meet hers but she was too focused on Booth's expression. "I knocked on each stall; all five of them were empty. I was walking back to the lab when she fell through the damn roof, scared the shit out of me."
She now looked up at him her eyes widening once again this time in epiphany, "He kicked in the third stall's door, it should be broken off its hinges." She met Booth's eyes sincerely, the blue washed out with exhaustion and fear.
"Cruz, you go check the bathroom, if any of the doors are damaged or missing." The agent instantly made his way towards the glass doors, disappearing down the hall as he went to the restrooms. The time that lapsed between his departure and return seemed like seconds, like he wasn't gone long enough. But Booth accepted his answer: No broken or damaged hinges or doors. The bathroom looked fine.
"No, he kicked the door off." Her eyes pleaded with Booth's, surely Cruz was mistaken, had gone in the wrong bathroom.
"Bones, Cruz just checked."
"No Booth, I heard him kick the door off, he slammed the other's open, he was chasing me."
"Maybe this is just some bullshit psychotherapy crap." Chimed in Tim, his hands shoved into his black slack. The comment awarded him a look from Booth that could have ended an ice age.
"I am not lying Booth, go check, I want to come with you." His eyes searched her for some time before he stood up, her hand in his. He led her through the glass doors and towards the bathroom. Upon pushing open the large wooden door he entered first, her slight form entering right behind him. Slowly they moved to the third stall, finding the door on its hinges, and perfectly unharmed.
"God no." her eyes welled and her lips dropped, her arms limp by her sides. But he had come to get her. Again. He had. He had. He had. He had. He had.
A/n: sorry it took so long to update!! Enjoy!