Brennan waited in the bedroom for twenty seconds, crouched behind the bed in the sweatshirt Booth had just handed her and the sweatpants he'd just been pressed against. He'd left the bedroom door open, so she could watch him as he ducked beside the sitting room window, his cell phone at his ear and his gun drawn. Elsa was still barking, racing from window to window – when she finally returned to Brennan, the anthropologist grabbed her by the collar and pulled her close, trying to quiet her.

She could still feel the spot where Booth's stubble had chafed her neck; the place where his lips had paused behind her right earlobe – as though he'd known exactly what her reaction would be. As though they'd been touching that way for years, rather than just a night. Imagine what they could do, she found herself musing, with some practice.

After twenty seconds, she could wait no longer. She crawled from the bedroom to the living room, Elsa beside her, and stopped when she reached Booth.

"Didn't I tell you to stay where you were?"

It was the voice he used in their worst situations, with no trace of humor at all. For some reason, his tone stung more than it really should have – she understood that they were in danger, that he was trying to do his job. It made perfect sense for him to be somewhat abrupt given their circumstances. He must have caught something in her expression, however, because when he spoke again his tone was softer.

"Bones, please – you've gotta let me do my job here."

"Who are you calling?"

He hesitated. She realized in that instant, simply from the way he looked away from her, that he was actually afraid. Not for himself, of course, because it seemed Booth was incapable of fearing for his own life. But he was afraid for her, and that was when she knew they were in trouble.

He put his phone away and she followed him back into the bedroom, both of them still crawling on all fours.

"I was trying to call the fire tower or the guys down the hill."

"They aren't answering?"

He shook his head, looking grim. "My cell's not working – the signal's not getting out, he must have jammed it somehow. Where the hell's this guy getting his money?"

She sat on the floor, her back against the wall while he continued looking out the bedroom window. "Dr. Wilcott had very powerful allies when he was in practice – there were many people who believed in the work he was doing."

Booth looked incredulous. "What, the whole human experiment mind control thing? People actually bought into that?"

"It's not like that, Booth – this isn't some caricature madman, he's a very brilliant scientist. It's not about mind control, it's about mapping the workings of the human brain – controlling the input so that he can observe how the mind works in the most stressful situations."

He turned away from the window for a moment and looked at her, as though she'd just said something significant.

"And that's what he did with you – I mean, when you were there? Made you think the worst was happening, just so he could watch what it'd do to you?"

The little pulse in his jaw was working, something she'd noticed before when he was angry. She didn't say anything; Booth shook his head and looked out the window again.

"Damn, I'm gonna like making this prick pay," he said quietly. It occurred to Brennan, despite their situation, that she would not want to be Wilcott right now.

After that, Booth seemed more calm – or at least more organized.

"I want you to get dressed – your warmest clothes. Pack any extra ammo you've got and if you have notes you don't want destroyed, bring them with you." He slid her day pack over to her. "Nothing more than what can fit in here, though."

She tried to make sense of the information he'd just given. "Why do I have to take anything at all – can't we just come back here once he's caught?"

He shook his head grimly, moving the edge of the curtain back just slightly so that she could see. What she saw made her stomach feel strange and her chest seem tight; she concentrated on her breathing and ordered herself not to panic. Fifty yards from the cabin, the treeline was ablaze, glowing pure orange in the early morning light.

"You think he did that?"

Booth nodded. "I know he did. I also know he's not stopping there – he's trying to flush us out, and he needs to do it before anybody notices the damn forest is on fire."

"So whatever's going to happen, it'll happen soon."

He nodded. "Get your stuff and let's go. We need to get to the car and get the hell out of here."

Two minutes later, Brennan was crouched at the front door beside Booth, Elsa's leash clutched tightly in her hand. She carried the backpack Booth had chosen, filled with a book of notes and a primitive first aid kit she'd grabbed from the bathroom, acting on impulse. Booth had his hand on the doorknob, and Brennan heard the sound before she saw anything – the sound of breaking glass from the back of the cabin, then a moment of silence. She grabbed Booth's arm, her heart pounding; Elsa began barking and an instant later there was a small explosion in the back bedroom. With that explosion came the fire – a bomb, Brennan realized. Small enough not to risk killing them, but enough to force them out of the cabin and into the open.

The fire alarm sounded shrilly, and Elsa's barking escalated.

"Damn it, Bones, you've gotta shut her up."

Brennan wrapped her hand around Elsa's muzzle; she could feel the dog shaking, clearly terrified. "Sssh," she whispered. "It's okay, Elsie." The dog whimpered, but stopped barking.

When Elsa had stopped, Booth looked at Bones with a question in his eyes. "You ready for this?"

She nodded, though she didn't feel at all ready. "When you say the word, Elsa and I run to the woodpile. We wait there for you."

Booth nodded. "Right. Then you make a break for the car – you get in, start her up, and you drive away."

"With you."

That pulse ticked in his jaw again, and he swallowed hard. "Or without me, if it comes to that." He looked at her seriously. "Bones, I'm not kidding around here – if something happens, you go. You take Elsa and you drive into town and get help."

She wasn't breathing the way she should, she realized. She should take deep breaths, she should be focused. She should not be afraid, because Booth wasn't. But she was terrified; smoke had filled the cabin, both fire alarms now blaring, and she couldn't tell any longer who was trembling more – her or Elsa. She felt a tear slide down her cheek, but she nodded.

"Okay. I'm ready."

He gave her a tremulous smile – meant to be encouraging, she was sure, but she couldn't seem to get beyond his brown eyes, couldn't stop thinking of the way his lips had tasted or how she didn't want tonight to be the last time she felt his hands on her skin.

"All right. Here we go."

He opened the door.

As it happened, Lincoln was by far the best investment Jedediah had ever made. The man was a marvel – he guided them expertly to Dr. Brennan's cabin, never pausing to get his bearings, never seeming anything but the picture of confidence. Across the clearing, Alan had already started the fire; Jedediah watched it spread along the treeline, the snow maintaining a buffer between the flames and the cabin. But within those four walls, he knew, Temperance would be thinking of him – he closed his eyes and smiled, imagining her fear. They had a clear view of the front door, where Temperance and Agent Booth would doubtlessly appear in just a few moments. Like herding sheep, he thought with satisfaction.

Lincoln had an ingenious little grenade launcher that he was particularly fond of. Jedediah had explained to him in great detail exactly the effect he wanted – a small explosion, enough to start a fire but give them time to get out without being injured. Rather than a grenade, Lincoln fired a homemade pipe bomb through the bedroom window; within five minutes, the back of the house was engulfed in flames.

Jedediah watched breathlessly as the front door opened. He could hear the fire alarm shrieking incessantly in the background – there had been a dog barking, but that had been stilled. No one was visible at first, but he knew what to expect. Lincoln had been given very clear instructions: no harm must come to Temperance, but Agent Booth needed to be incapacitated as quickly as possible.

Daylight was fast approaching; a gray light hung low on the horizon, the flames a deep orange against the backdrop of a pale pink sunrise. Agent Booth fired two shots toward the trees, and was met with silence. Jedediah watched Lincoln kneel in the snow, his rifle trained on the spot where the FBI agent would most likely appear. Nothing happened for another few seconds, Jedediah standing quivering in the cold air, his breath held high in his chest.

And then, a figure appeared. Jedediah caught his breath, clenched his hands. Temperance, crouched low to the ground and moving fast, dragging a large dog behind her. Lincoln held steady, still waiting. More shots were fired, surprisingly close to where Jedediah and Lincoln stood – he thought for a moment that they'd been spotted, then realized that the agent had merely calculated their position based on the placement of the fire and the direction from which the pipe bomb had come. Clever fellow. Temperance and her four legged companion reached the woodpile and hid on the opposite side, no longer visible to Jedediah. Another moment passed, and then Agent Booth broke free of the cabin, moving in an all-out sprint. It didn't matter how fast he moved, however; Lincoln was faster.

One shot, and the agent fell.

He knew it would happen this way. There were a lot of things Booth was clueless about – hell, just about anything Bones talked about left him scratching his head. But the situation they were in, locked down with guns drawn and fire on all sides?

He knew this stuff.

He knew, for example, that Bones would be safe making a run for it - Wilcott wanted her alive for whatever twisted experiments he still had to finish. So, if he could just cover her long enough to make it to the car, she might be okay. Because, again, they wouldn't blow up the car with her in it because a dead genius brain was apparently not good enough for Wilcott. The car alarm had never gone off, which meant no one had fucked with the SUV while he and Bones were… getting to know each other a little better, so he just had to hope that Bones could get there and it was safe to drive, and she'd be okay.

He wouldn't be. Because the other thing Booth knew was that he was no genius, so there wasn't much reason for Wilcott to keep him alive – and there were plenty of reasons for the mad doctor to want him dead. So the second he was out the door, Booth would be the one drawing the fire. But if he could just stay alive long enough to get Bones to that car, maybe it'd be okay. At least for her.

Sure enough, he was hit about halfway between the cabin and the woodpile. The air was filled with smoke, the fire alarms were going, the damned dog was barking again, and the first bullet hit him mid-thigh and sent him sailing straight into a snowbank. He kept moving, though, because he heard Bones call out his name and he knew it wouldn't work if he couldn't get her to the car. So, he kind of dragged his left leg along, still running, and slid the last few feet 'til he came to rest beside his partner.

"You got shot."

He smiled. His adrenaline was going now, so there was no pain – that was the benefit to a big, guns-blazing shootout. You didn't notice 'til long after the danger was past that you were in agony.

"Yeah, you noticed that too, huh? All right, Bones, you ready for phase two?"

She looked at him like he was crazy, a little flash of panic in those pretty blue eyes. "You're bleeding, Booth."

He looked down and, sure enough, the snow beneath his leg was turning crimson at a pretty impressive rate.

"I'm all right, okay? The plan doesn't change – the car's right there." He nodded to where the SUV stood, about twenty yards away. Why the hell hadn't he parked closer? Had more agents out here? Been on the lookout instead of playing tonsil hockey with Bones at four o'clock in the goddamn morning?

She met his eye, and he could tell by the way her eyes watered and she got kind of tight lipped that she'd figured out his plan. "I'm not going without you."

"Just go, all right? I'll be right behind you."

Her face was smudged with ash from the fire, so that when her tears fell it washed the dirt away in little rivers. "They'll shoot you – you know they'll shoot you, you knew when we were back in the cabin. You know I wouldn't leave you unless you're dead, so you'd rather just kill yourself than sit here and be safe."

He moved a little closer to her, and she smelled like smoke and snow and fear, but mostly she just smelled like Bones. He leaned in and rested his forehead against hers, breathing her in, and ran a hand through her hair.

"I'm not letting him get you again, okay? I saw what it did to you, and I sure as hell don't want to live with knowing I was the one who let it happen twice."

"So you'd rather just give up? Die, so I can live and feel guilty for the rest of my life?" She was crying hard now; Booth closed his eyes and was surprised to find he had a tear or two to spare himself. He took her face in his hands and kissed her, trying to tell her everything he was too clumsy to say with words. After a second or two, he stopped and pushed her away.

"Listen to me." The tone in his voice must have really been something, because she actually did seem to listen – she looked at him, waiting for him to continue. He took a breath, trying to figure out how to make her understand. "This is what I do, all right? I keep the people I love safe – I've been doing it for a long time. What happens to me doesn't matter. You're what's important."

"Why?" she asked, and if he wasn't so damned in love with her and he hadn't been bleeding to death with the world on fire around him, he might've been tempted to strangle her. He closed his eyes, trying to find his last ounce of patience.

"Why what, Bones?"

"Why am I the important one? You're the one with a child – I don't have anyone, and you have a dependent. Why shouldn't I be the one risking my life to save you?"

He took a deep breath, and he couldn't believe they really had to have this conversation now. "Because that's not the way it's done, okay? You don't save me, I save you. You're the millionaire genius who builds bridges and saves orphans and catches serial killers. I'm the mook who pulls you out of the dirt when you get buried alive and orders takeout when you forget to eat. Like it or not, the fact is not everyone's created equal, Tempe. I'm lower on the food chain, that's just the facts."

She didn't say anything to that, but apparently it worked because she turned away from him, got into a low crouch, and pulled Elsa closer, ready to finally make a break for it. Booth did the same, wincing when a sharp pain ripped through his leg. If there wasn't so much chaos and he wasn't dealing with blood loss on top of it, he probably would have figured out that Bones was up to something. But with everything going on at once, it was too late by the time he realized what she was doing.

She had her arms wrapped around the dog's neck, her face close to its ear almost like she was telling a secret – and then, suddenly, Elsa was free. The leash dropped to the ground and Bones released her; as soon as the dog realized there was nothing holding her back, she ran no holds barred for the road. Booth heard a gunshot come from the treeline and a yelp pierced the early morning light, but when Booth peered out from behind their barricade, Elsa was still running.

"Why the hell'd you do that?" he asked, and he knew as soon as the question was asked.

Bones didn't answer him. She just straightened with her hands raised and walked out from behind the woodpile, calling out to the trees.

"I'm here. Dr. Wilcott, please don't shoot. I'll go with you." Her voice was hoarse, choked from the smoke and the crying. "If you don't kill my partner, I'll do whatever you want. Just don't kill Booth."

He liked that she could still surprise him, after all this time. It was a ridiculous request, of course – offering up her life in exchange for such a Philistine, but Jedediah liked that she demonstrated that kind of loyalty. Lincoln looked at him questioningly, and he nodded his approval.

"I can agree with those terms."

Jedediah stepped into the open, noting somewhat dreamily the look of alarm on Lincoln's face – the man clearly didn't know his Temperance. It didn't even occur to Jedediah that he might not be safe. Temperance was a woman of honor, a woman who knew the value of a person's word.

It was her partner who did not, apparently. Jedediah heard the first shot ring out, and was genuinely surprised when he felt the impact in his chest. A second shot followed close behind, and he was suddenly on the ground. He turned to look to Lincoln for some assistance, only to watch in amazement as his hired gun packed up his rifle and vanished into the woods. How very mercenary of him, Jedediah thought dryly.

He lay on the cold ground, and he imagined his brain function slowing as the blood left his body. When Temperance appeared above him, he tried to smile. Beautiful, beautiful girl.

"He shot me," he said in surprise, his voice surprisingly unfamiliar.

Temperance knelt beside him, and he thought that her face was, perhaps, not without pain. She did not touch him, however, or attempt to stop the bleeding. Another surprise, from the woman who seemed full of them.

"We'll get help," she said.

He managed a smile. "I'm dying."

She didn't deny this, for which he was grateful. "You've lost a great deal of blood. My partner's a good shot."

"You'd given up, though. Surrendered to me."

She seemed to think about this for a moment. "I did – but Booth didn't. He doesn't really do that kind of thing."

A single tear fell down her cheek when she said it, and Jedediah told himself that the tear was for him. But even as he thought it, just before his neurons stopped charging and the light went dim, he knew he was fooling himself.

TBC