Quick Note: I'm sorry for the late update. I've been trying to convince my mom to buy me a violin.
It's going well, just so you know.
Warning: Violence. Hospital kidnapping. BxB.
was in Sweets' room seconds after the call ended. " ."
"He's coming." Sweets whispered, looking up from his shaking hands. Wilson saw terror in his patience large brown eyes; the kind of pure, unadulterated fear that he remembered seeing in the eyes of dying men and women everyday. The fear of pain, and the end.
"Who?" Wilson stepped forward, placing a strong hand on the other man's shoulder. "Who, Lance, who's coming?"
"Havist!" Sweets choked the name out like poison, his entire body shaking now. "You have to call Agent Booth. I have to report the call, the FBI might be able to track-"
"You are staying in bed, and getting a security detail." Wilson broke in, pushing Sweets back onto the bed. He ran a tanned hand through his blonde curls before turning to shout out the door. "'Ey Nurse!"
"Yessir." Claire, the pretty blonde nurse from earlier, swung in the door with a bright smile. "What's up?"
"Call the FBI, get guards down here immediately. Also, call Agent Booth and his team and inform them a threat has been made." Wilson ordered, then turned back to Sweets and lowered his voice. "Nothing'll happen to you or your friends."
"You're a doctor." Sweets croaked. "You can't promise anything."
"True...But Imma do it anyway." He flashed a grin and turned to the nurse. "C'mon, let's go see how screwed up the security system here is." He motioned for the woman to follow, and she threw a sympathetic look to Sweets before trotting after the doctor.
"Oh God...Oh God." Sweets' breath quickened as he drug his shaking hands through his hair. His chest protested the violent breathing, and his muscles ached horribly from the seizures, and his head was spinning. "He's going to kill me." Sweets felt like some sort of horror movie character, stating his obvious fate, but it's the only thought his pain addled brain would supply. "Oh God! OhGodOhGodOhGod!" He repeated the mantra, praying for a paroxysm to take him over. His brain was blinking from the cold hospital bed to the blackness behind his thoughts, but neither would stick and he felt sick. Suddenly Lance doubled over the side of the bed, releasing the little hospital food he'd ingested to the floor. Then his eyes rolled back into his head and the blackness swirled up until he was swallowed by panic induced unconsciousness.
"What?" Booth growled into the phone, already reaching for his gun. "Yes, just get someone down and guard him." Booth ordered, slamming the hang up button and yelling for Brennan. She was at his side in seconds, and he thanked God yet again for gifting him with this wonderful woman. He explained quickly, watching her face carefully; this had hit so very, very close to home. Booth worried some for her safety, mentally and physically, she cared more about Sweets then she'd ever let on. They all did.
"How secure is the hospital?" She asked, already texting her father to come watch Christine.
"Not very." Booth sighed, pulling her jacket open so she could slip inside it. "Wilson is ex-marine. He was more than a little aggravated by the ignorance of that place. He said their security was basically an after thought."
"Is he guarding Sweets? Ex-military may be helpful."
"He says he'll do his best, but we need to hurry. He called an FBI team down already." Booth took her hand as they rushed outside, squeezing it once to reassure himself. She was stable, she was strong, she could rationalize it all to make it sound cold and factual for him. She could detach him just enough, just enough to Sweets. If they could get there in time.
They couldn't.
Lance rolled back into consciousness with a ruff flash of pain. The world wouldn't come into focus, zooming in and out then swirling into darkness, quickly booming into stark whiteness. He could see words-words, of all things!- dance around his head, crawl up the walls, slide across the floor.
Havist.
Help.
Hurt.
Run.
Seizures.
Can't.
Helpless.
End.
They all zipped and darted, dipping into his vision and away again. Making sentences that weren't exactly coherent.
Havist! Help, hurt, can't run, seizures. Helpless.
Run! End Havist-can't help-Helpless seizures.
It all flashed and then twirled away, like a shy school girl, trying to flirt from the distance. Slowly, oh so slowly, the world slid and clicked back into place. The words faded into the walls, bleeding away into the air, walls, and floor. Then his brain registered something new, and it appeared with a sudden rush through his body; burning like white hot fire rippling across his skin. Sweets wasn't completely in his right mind, and was thoroughly convinced someone was slowly tearing off his skin with a butter knife. Then, in bright, high popping neon the word for it etched it's way into his vision, filling his entire mind.
PAIN.
The words floated apart, switching around and stretching, bending, breaking into something new. This was black and red, dark with splashes of color that made Sweets' mind ache.
I'm going to die.
It twitched in his vision, burning the thought permanently into his consciousness. Slowly it lowered into his skin, dissipating across his burning flesh and remaining there- just below the surface. The truth, as it were, and he accepted it when the familiar figured stepped out through the previously locked door. He threw a sharp smirk to Sweets.
"Lance, good to see you darling." Havist sing-songed, kicking the door shut.
"Let me in, I'm a Special Agent!" Booth shouted at the rookie guarding the Hospital's main entrance. "Unlike you! You are only special to your mother! The United States thinks I'M special, so you should listen to me!"
"Agent Booth, I've asked my supervising agent if-"
"I will shoot you."
"Right this way…" The short man said, stepping aside. Booth certainly didn't mind his reputation for being the best shot this side of the equator. "Sir." Brennan followed the two men, shaking her head and suppressing her grin.
That grin slid off her face the second they walked into the waiting room. Dr. Wilson was crumpled over a chair, blood clumping his blonde curls, flattening them against his temple. A nurse lie by his feet, also unconscious. Other people clambered around, crying, screaming, hyperventilating, and shouting at the guards who rushed inside. From the bits of conversation Booth and Brennan caught, a tall English man dressed in FBI regulation with a, now believed to be, faked badge had walked right into the area. Wilson had been suspicious, tried to stop him and a fight broke out. The nurse rushed over to assist, and the English man pressed a rag to her mouth, then swung his gun around and knocked the Doctor down. The rest was unknown, left to speculation that made Brennan cling to Booth's hand.
The room of one Dr. Lance Sweets had been the unknown intruders objective, and he succeeded in getting inside. The evidence suggested he tried to durg Sweets, but didn't hold enough after the nurse. Brennan felt her knees go weak at the blood spot partially hidden by the blanket hanging from the side of the bed, the IV liquids mixing with the ruby color and creating a watery river disappearing under the bed. Sweets was then dragged from the room and shuffed into a stolen wheelchair. Now the psychologist was bleeding in the hands of a psychopath who wanted him dead. Temperance took in a sharp breath, her lungs burning at the sudden intake, tears pricking her eyes.
"Booth…" Her voice cracked now, and she turned into the strong, open arms of her partner.
"I'll call the team. We're gonna find him." He whispered into her hair. "We're gonna find him."
"No one's ever going to find you." Leo promised with glee, dangling a knife between his finger carelessly. Sweets winced as he sneered at the man, his body aching and bleeding. The doctor began taking inventory of his new injuries: Skinned elbows, cut up my calf, bleeding left shoulder, back of head hurting, wet. Conclusion: Blow to back of head. Mouth tastes sour, every breath feels dry and horrible. Drugged? Probably.
Altogether this was bad. Sweets pulled at his arms and found them tied to the arms of a chair, his ankles tied to the legs. His torso carelessly strapped to the back, and the only thing he could think of how cliche it was.
"Well at least, not until I put you on display!" Havist giggled, bringing Sweets out of his thoughts long enough to glare at the man. "Don't look at me like that, it will be beautiful. You will be my best work of art yet! The 'Not so sweet ending.' is what I'm calling it!" Leo's horrible face broke into a proud grin at the title, nodding in approval. "Let's start working, shall we?" The psychopath grinned ear to ear, disturbingly resembling the Cheshire Cat, and gripped the knife tightly in his fist. "We need a bit of color here." He hummed, pressing the dull side of the blade into a healing wound on Sweets' arm, dragging it down agonizingly slow as blood danced up from the line over the barely healed one. Sweets bit his lip until it bled, noises of sheer agony rising against his throat until they scrambled from between his lips. He kept a steady glare on the happy man in front of him and he poked the tip of the knife into the center of the cut, twisting it so it slipped under Sweets' skin and lifting until it began to tear upwards and farther apart at the edges. Sweets let out a small screech, the blood pooling in his elbow before snaking down onto the floor in slow drops. "There, better. Muuuuch better." Havist pulled the blade away, bring the sharp edge across Sweets' cheek, leaving behind a small scratch coated with the blood from his arm.
"I just love red on you, let's add just a bit more!" Havist smiled happily, bring the blade back towards Sweets. He brought it to the young man's neck, then glided it over his shaking neck, leaving a trailing cut, until he got to the collar of Lance's hospital gown. He continued dragging the blade, cutting the thin fabric away and revealing Sweets' heaving chest. "Right...here!" The torture master announced with chilly amusement, pushing the tip of the blade into the skin directly above Sweets' heart.
"The heart of a healer, true and strong, for everyone. Even those who have done wrong." Havist hummed, slashing a neat 'X' over the rapidly beating organ, smiling wolfishly at his work. "I'll save your healers heart for last, 'X' marks the spot after all." He tapped the hilt of the weapon on the wound, causing flashes of white hot pain to rush through Lance's blood. Sweets was sure he had screamed, probably cried, begged, and said many embarrassing things but he couldn't hear a sound coming from himself, only the horrible baritone of his capture.
The knife connected with his skin again, followed by thick laughter as the man cut shallow curves into his skin. None of it would scar, if it healed correctly; but then again, the likelihood of Sweets surviving was extraordinarily small.
Ouch yeah, I know. A bit not good...but….I'm mean.