Haha Your responses pressured me into writing faster. ;) This chapter isn't the big action scene we're hoping for, so I decided to post it now so you guys had something to read before the next chapter. Still good, though, I hope?

Note: Don't look too deeply into Broadsky's logic. He's a sociopath, and, in my opinion, you can't ever rationalize serial killings.

Mmkay, Chapter 10—

(Bones POV)

What was . . . Where am I . . .? A vague flash of light seeped through my eyelids. What is that . . .? It flashed again. I somehow managed to open my drooping eyelids. It was . . . All I see is the gun. There's a gun? Where's Booth? What's happening? Where am I? Another light flashed, blinding me. Where am I . . .

…

My head throbbed. It hadn't felt this way in some time, possibly since Heather Taffet used a stun gun against my neck. What had happened? I tried to retrace yesterday's events. I can't remember Booth taking me out for drinks, and this pain in my skull hurt a lot more than a hang-over.

I opened my eyes, only to squint them against the harsh sunlight piercing through the windows. Where was I? I looked around the room groggily, attempting to discern my surroundings. Had I fallen asleep in Angela's and Hodgins's new home? Nothing here seemed familiar. This apartment room, if it was an apartment, had peeling, off-white paint, a faded, cream-colored couch, and a wooden table, nothing more. I couldn't see past this living area, but I assumed there was more to this apartment.

As I struggled to move out of my uncomfortable slouch and into a sitting position, a sharper pain vibrated throughout my skull, as well as my left arm. I assumed that I had recently acquired a skull fracture. It seemed that the injuries in the flesh and radius of my left arm had been aggravated, also. Perhaps a mugging had occurred.

I looked down at my throbbing arm. Yellowing bruises were visible, indicating that the injuries had been healing, although no cast was now present. Only a make-shift cloth bandage wrapped around a small gash on the arm, a gash now crusted of dried blood. A mugging didn't seem to have caused all of these injuries. After all, I remember my arm having had persistent pain ever since . . . something happened. What had happened?

It wasn't until Broadsky's heavy boots walked into the room, having heard my shuffling and gasp of pain, that I recalled how I had arrived here. I cringed as the brutal memories came rushing back. My first instinct was to hide away and hope that he offered me no more pain, but something inside of me metaphorically sparked hatred. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of me being cowardice. If he was intent to hurt me or kill me, then I would force him to look me in the eye as he did so. I wasn't sure where this new furious intensity arose from, perhaps anger at what Broadsky was putting Booth through, but I didn't question it.

Broadsky looked down on me with a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. "Good morning, Dr. Brennan. Did you sleep well?"

I stared at him evenly. "That's a difficult task when one has skull and radius fractures."

He gave a nod. "I'm sorry for that, as well as other things. But that needed to be done. I mean, I couldn't have gotten you here quietly if you had been conscious."

Fear clenched my stomach as his words resurrected my perspective on the pain Broadsky had inflicted, but I quickly forced the images back into the subconscious from which they had arisen. Booth would have braced through anything, and so would I.

I chose a new tactic and asked, "What are you sorry for, Broadsky?" Perhaps, if I distracted him long enough, I would be able to work my hands out of the ropes that bound them together in my lap. After that, if I was able to accomplish such a feat, I would render Broadsky unconscious and untie my feet before running. I'll admit that a positive outcome was extremely unlikely when Broadsky had superior strength, no restraining injuries, and a weapon at the ready.

It was as if Broadsky had read my thoughts, which was an irrational assumption. He pulled out a black handgun and held it loosely in his hand. He squatted down next to me, a gesture I found irritating; it was the same stance that I used when examining remains. I was not remains, and I did not intend on becoming some anytime soon.

"Because, Temperance," he explained in a grim tone, "I take no joy in taking someone's life. But Booth needs to understand that he is not God, and that he cannot enforce his morals."

"Isn't that what you're doing?" I questioned his flawed logic. "Your ideas may end your life."

"I doubt that I'll make it out of these events alive," he admitted with a curt nod, making my stomach drop even farther. There was nothing worse than a serial killer who had nothing to live for and was willing to die. "It's a price I must pay for the greater good. Full freedom can arise if we start by removing the minor restraints that are stopping it. But to help this plan take place, I'm going to need to remove the first restraint to my actions; I'm going to have to make sure that Seeley Booth knows that he is not invincible."

Somehow, more fear managed to find a way to enter into my body. His implications suggested something that I illogically found more painful than physical pain. It was an excruciating emotional pain. "Are you going to kill Booth?" I breathed the question I desperately needed to know.

To my brief relief, Broadsky shook his head. "No. How would Booth learn his lesson if he is a dead man? No, I'm going to have to kill you, Dr. Brennan."

…

(Third Person—Booth POV)

"Booth, just think about it," Cam begged her friend, desperately hoping that he might finally reconsider his ignorant plan of action. "Broadsky is setting you up. He's going to kill you both and find some way to get away." Her brown eyes stared into his as she pleaded with him to understand the danger he was igniting.

"Cam, I'll have the F.B.I. team with me," he answered, his tone calming. He found that ever since he'd been given a plan of action, he was no longer striving to pull his hair out by the handful. He just had to make it to eight o'clock tonight, and nothing would stop him. "I appreciate your concern, but we'll be O.K. I've done this before."

Cam wanted to shake him out of this secure fantasy. Couldn't he see that he was so close to death? That Brennan was so close to death? Booth's relaxed manner only increased Cam's irritability. "Seeley!" she exclaimed, exasperated. They had been going at this all day, only to end up at the start of the circle again. "You're going to die! Dr. Brennan will die! And if either one of you die, the other might as well be, too. You were both captured by Broadsky."

Booth rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, praying that Cam would finally just relent already. Couldn't she see that Bones's life was at stake? It was Bones! He was slowly shedding his placid exterior, not from Cam's request, but her thick headedness. "Cam, enough with the metaphors. This is the only way we're getting Bones out of there alive. There are no other options."

Cam was about to retort something, but she stopped herself. She bit her lip, closed her eyes, and took a deep, calming breath. When she opened her eyes again, she murmured, "Booth this case is just too personal for any of us, you especially. Maybe . . . maybe, you should put someone else as the head of this investigation."

Steel resided in Booth's eyes. "No. No way, Camille. We're so close. If we just do what that son of a bitch wants—"

"If we just do what that son of a bitch asks us to do, then we're all dead!" Cam fought him again. He glared at her as she struggled to regain composure. She looked at him, seeing a frantic man desperately grasping the shred of sanity he had left. Without this meeting with Broadsky tonight, he might as well check himself into the madhouse. For his sake, Cam relented, quietly pleading, "Don't let yourself die, Seeley. Don't you dare let Brennan die, either, but don't let the turn of events make you naïve. Lives are depending on you tonight."

Booth stared into her watering eyes and nodded. He wrapped his arms around his friend, pulling her into a hug, and murmured, "I promise, Camille."

She hugged him back, a few tears flowing around her small smile. "Don't call me Camille."

Booth grinned back. "Don't call me Seeley."

Their ritual saying eased them back into their typical personas. They needed to be strong for the others. Cam was the boss leading her team, and, as Angela said, the squints looked up to Booth.

"Cam," Booth said as they pulled apart, "if I don't make it . . ."

Booth's increased doubts caused their roles to reverse. Now it was Cam who stiffened her jaw pointedly, determined that she knew the outcome of tonight's events. "No. You've convinced me to root for you, so you damn well better lead us to victory." Her demeanor softened as she allowed a knowing smile to spread across her lips. "You always do."

The encouragement was what Booth needed. He offered a smile and a nod in return. "I'll see you tomorrow, Camille."

She touched his arm as he turned to leave. "Can't I do anything for you?" She felt terrible that her friends were forced through these dangerous situations as she silently waited on the sidelines. She'd already made Booth doubt his abilities as an agent, and felt that he deserved a last request, for Parker, for anyone, just in case.

"Yeah." He nodded and looked at her seriously. She stared at him with intense eyes, waiting. Slowly, he moved forward, cupped his hands to her ear, and stage whispered, "Don't call me Seeley."

She threw a glare at him as he quietly snickered and walked out of her office.

Booth's plans to quickly sharpen his marksmen skills at the shooting range before tonight's meeting were halted when he noticed a graying man barreling through the lab, aiming directly at Booth.

"Booth!" Max Keenan's threatening tone made Booth half raise his hands in a weak defense. Max came to a stop in front of Booth with a hard look in his eyes, the same look Bones got when she saw people manhandling evidence improperly. "When exactly were you planning on letting me know that my daughter has been taken by this Broadsky fellow?"

Booth knew that he was now walking on eggshells, so he replied cautiously, "I'm sorry, Max. We've been so wrapped up in trying to get her back—"

"Busy," Max scoffed. "I could have had her home by now if I had been informed earlier."

Max's implications transformed Booth's guilt into gratefulness. Bones would have eaten Booth alive if he had allowed her father to be thrown in prison again for her sake. Still, part of him wished he'd let Max do it, if only to get Bones home a couple of days sooner.

"Look, I'm sorry, Max," Booth apologized. "Have you been filled in on the details yet?"

Max nodded sharply. "Yes, that Sweets kid let it slip, and then I made him tell me the rest."

Booth nodded as he wondered if Sweets had a black eye or any other physical manifestation of Max's anger to show.

"Can I join you tonight when you get her?" Max asked him with false hope, fully expecting Booth's answer.

Booth knew that protocol wouldn't allow a civilian, nor an accused murderer, to join the professionals at the scene. He also feared that Max's temper might increase upon seeing Broadsky, forcing Booth to have to throw Max in jail, yet again. "Uh, there's a protocol we've got to follow, Max—"

Max gripped Booth's shoulders and looked at him with desperate eyes, cutting off Booth's improvised speech. "You make sure my little girl makes it home O.K."

Booth nodded at Bones's father, too sleep deprived and anxious to realize Max's intentions. "I will."

Max accepted his promise. "I'll hold you to your word." Turning on his heel, Max walked off, back to his office.

Booth sighed shakily and fingered the poker chip he constantly carried in his pocket. The ridged edges soothed his shaking fingertips as he moved the pads of his fingers across it.

He would save Bones, or he would die trying. Booth just hoped that his efforts would preserve her life, or, better yet, both of their lives.

He glanced at his watch. It was now six o'clock. Two more hours to dread. Two more hours to go.

Sorry for the lack of action. I wanted to describe how Brennan's absence was affecting the characters, Booth especially. I promise to write the next chapter and post it soon, this week-end at the latest. (My spring break ends on Tuesday, leaving me with fewer opportunities to write.)

Reviews encourage quicker updates, though! ;)