I won't delay this chapter any further.

Chapter 11. The Meetings at the Bar.

"We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope."

-Martin Luther King, Jr.

Foggy.

Hazy.

Cloudy vision.

These factors wavered through Brennan's brain, making it difficult to see, making it difficult to concentrate. Brennan tried to push past the haze, but her brain had no solid footing. It was still much too clouded with chloroform to be aware of anything yet.

"Booth…" she mumbled incoherently, irrationally hoping that he would hear her soft cry.

Another voice, a calm voice that sent chills through Brennan's spine began speaking incomprehensible words.

And then Brennan was lost in the darkness again.

Booth was frustrated. He was angry, he was entirely anxious, he was determined, and he was frustrated. After scouring over their—or rather, he corrected mentally, Brennan's—apartment, he had ended up with a severe deficit of evidence.

Monroe had broken down Brennan's door, but no shoe print was left behind.

He must have used some type of drug, but only minute traces of it had been scattered onto the carpet. (Hodgins was processing it now.)

He must have touched something, taken something. But no finger prints were left, and nothing appeared to be missing.

Booth had nothing, nothing in so many horrible meanings of the word.

"We always bring 'em home, Booth," Cam stated, looking sorrowfully at him from her stance by the window. "We find the victim, and we bring them home."

Booth was in a slight daze as he looked up from his position on Brennan's armchair. "This is different, Cam. It's Bones, for God's sake! We can't count on anything."

Cam walked up to him, recognizing the need for a pep talk. With a hand on her hip, she said, "Seeley, Brennan has been in sticky situations before. I'm not trying to get you to take this lightly, but know that she isn't a damsel in distress out there. She can hold her own."

"She's pregnant, Cam!" Booth shot back, rising to his own feet as his emotions swelled angrily within him. "That psycho has kidnapped my kid, too! It isn't just Brennan's life we're dealing with anymore!" Even if it had been only one of the people Booth loved most, his emotions would still be in this harsh sea. Adding to the victims' list only further roughened the waters.

"Have faith, Seeley," she told him, staring at him comfortingly with her dark eyes.

Booth's eyes flickered heavenward. His silence voiced the doubt he had in her words.

"What else do you have," she asked him, wishing she wasn't the one to remind him, "if you don't have faith in them? If you won't hope for them?"

Perhaps that statement scared him more than helped him. Either way, it was the truth, and they both knew it. Booth needed to believe that they would come home, safe and sound, for the appropriate actions to take place at all.

Cam saw the warm hope flood life back into Seeley's chocolate eyes, making a small smile appear at her lips.

Booth gave her a nod, turning the F.B.I. team crawling around the apartment. "Alright," he announced verbosely, "I need to know any of Monroe's last where-abouts. This is a critical missing. If you have to scour over every video camera in the city, do it. We've got a time stamp on this, people. Get to it."

As the forensic team quickly moved into work, a tall, graying man in an expensive suit walked through the door of the apartment. He spotted Booth easily and strode over to him with two suits on his flanks.

"Agent Booth," the man identified his target, "I would appreciate it if you withdrew from my crime scene. I won't have any evidence tainted."

Cam backed away, feeling her sudden hope in Seeley diminish. She could only watch as anger flared through Booth's features.

"Excuse me," Booth shot back hotly, "but this is my crime scene. I'll be calling the shots."

The graying man pointed for his men to go to the forensic team. They quickly followed his orders, having them paused in gathering the evidence.

The man then graciously allowed his time to be wasted on this conversation with Booth. "I'm Agent Darren Gorski, Senior Field Agent of the F.B.I. It has come to my understanding that this is a personal case for you, Booth. Therefore, I have been appointed to take lead in this case."

He gave a raised eyebrow to the seething Booth, challenging him to refute the statement.

"Why wasn't I informed about this?" Booth demanded hotly.

Gorski remained cool and collected despite the radiating anger Booth emitted. "I'm sure you'll receive a call soon enough."

As if on cue, Booth's cellphone rang shrilly, off-key in this heated stand-off.

Gorski let a small smirk escape as he placed a hand on Booth's shoulder. "You're just as much a victim here, Booth. Take the time to grieve." He turned and began throwing orders around, not allowing Booth to speak back.

Booth flipped open his phone to listen to his boss explain exactly what Gorski just had; Booth was a liability, too close to the case, just as much a victim. However, his boss had been much more apologetic about the whole ordeal; he had known the famous duo for a few years now.

"What do you expect me to do, sir?" Booth felt his question lacked the respect that was expected, so he threw the pleasantry on the end.

Andrew sighed. "Take some personal time, Booth. No one's settling about this; we'll be working."

Booth snorted, faintly realizing the disrespect the sound insinuated. "I can't sit on my couch just stewing, sir. I have the most insight on this case."

Andrew knew the jagged reality Booth was forced to experience, so he let the disrespect slide. "By F.B.I. regulations, I'm forced to order you to turn everything you have over to Agent Gorski."

Booth glared at the wall of Brennan's apartment, hating every single damned slice of this situation.

"But," Andrew muttered quietly through the phone, "if you happened to be walking past Al's Bar on your way home, I wouldn't be surprised if that happened to be where Monroe was last spotted. There even could be a few video cameras' footage that captured him."

Again, the hope warily returned to Booth's heart, afraid of be crushed and trampled again.

"Thanks," Booth responded hastily, in a rush to get over there before Andrew was forced to inform Gorski.

Cam watched him strut out of the apartment, hoping he would find Dr. Brennan. He needed to find her.

Many lives depended on it.

Booth yanked the bar's door open, faintly attempting to keep the anxiety out of his quickened step. His eyes scanned over the few, scattered men that littered the pub as he searched for the bar tender. He found him quickly, expectedly placed behind the bar.

Booth flashed his badge, giving the bald, burly man a hard stare. "Agent Gorski, F.B.I. Was there a man seen here earlier, brown hair, thirties—"

The bartender raised an unsurprised eyebrow as he continued to dry a mug. "Are you talking about that Monroe guy?"

It was Booth's turn to raise an eyebrow, but the bartender just pointed at the TV placed behind him. "The news has been flashing that guy's picture all night. Yeah, I recognized him from the guy who was here earlier."

"I'll need to see your surveillance tapes." Booth glanced at his watch, wondering how much more time he would have before the real Gorski showed up.

The bartender gave a nod and reached next to the TV where stacks of DVDs were lined. With a glance at the label, he slid it into the TV. He then grabbed the remote and fast forwarded until Monroe appeared on screen.

Booth clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. Seeing this man strutting through the bar, smirking, just an hour before Brennan's disappearance. . . It made Booth's blood boil. Despite the impossibilities of it, he hoped that someone on this film would stop him, that someone would look up and stop the potential danger.

Of course, no one did. Monroe sat idly at a bar stool, sipping a glass of tonic and gin. After finishing his single drink, he stood and grinned at the camera, knowing exactly where to look.

Booth's knuckles grew whiter as he resisted the urge to punch the television set.

Monroe then flashed a white square at the screen before casually placing it on a window sill. He then walked out as fluidly as he came.

Booth's eyes darted toward the window, noticing that the white square was still there. He walked over and snatched the plain white, folded paper up.

In neat, clean scrawl, the paper read:

Thank you.

"'Thank you?'" Booth repeated incredulously. The pleasantry caused even more anger to flare through Booth's system. Thank you for what? Having his partner and child kidnapped?

The bartender saw Booth's rage and decided to quietly continue drying the glasses. A smart move.

Booth stuffed the lead into his coat pocket and moved to march out of the bar, but his eyes noticed a familiar face; after all, it was a Tuesday.

Booth slammed himself onto the booth's cushion next to the familiar man. "Mr. Smith?"
The crazed blue eyes snapped up at Booth in shock. Momentary recognition registered on his face, but he still edged away from the agent. "Yes?"

"Agent Booth with the F.B.I. Remember me?"

The man gave a cautious nod.

Booth slammed a photo of Monroe onto the table. "Did you see this man earlier?"

"Mr. Smith" warily leaned over and stared at Daniel Monroe's face. After a moment, he shook his head. "I've never seen this man in my life! Never!"

Booth refused to let his hope fall. "You're sure?" He nudged the picture towards the man.

With pursed lips, "Mr. Smith" bent back over the photo, scrutinizing the image. A dim recognition flickered through his features. "Well, I, uh, did see that guy once. . ."

Booth forced himself to remain erect and not lean forward eagerly. "Where?"

"Last week, the night all a those bodies just up 'n' piled up," he admitted.

Booth forced the anger out of his system; he needed more information first. "Why wasn't this mentioned before?"

"It, it was dim!" he responded pleadingly. "I couldn't see. . . I couldn't see. . ." His eyes left reality as they focused on the memory of a hooded figure walking down the alley. It had only been a fleeting smirk towards "Mr. Smith." He hadn't been sure. . . He didn't know. . . He couldn't see. . .

Booth sighed and fished into his pocket for his wallet and a pad of paper. "Look, Mr. Smith, I need your name. You're a witness."

"Mr. Smith" snapped back to reality and saw the pen and paper being nudged towards him. He scooted away fearfully. "No! No! I don't wanna be apart of this! No!"

Booth sighed again, knowing he couldn't force this man to come in; he had been an innocent bystander.

He noticed the bowl of soup lying before "Mr. Smith." He reached for his wallet, and offered, "Let me pay that for you. Just call me if you remember anything or see anyone you remember. Do you still have my card?"

Booth had been busy fishing a five out of his wallet, so he hadn't noticed "Mr. Smith"'s lost gaze, staring at a picture on Booth's wallet. He looked up and followed the confused stare, a knot forming in his stomach when he did so.

"I remember her," Mr. Smith mumbled softly, pointing at Brennan's happy face. This had been before the accident, just after she announced her pregnancy.

Booth gave a curt nod as he moved to put the wallet back in his pocket. "She's my partner, Dr. Brennan. She was at the crime scene that night you were there. She's missing."
Mr. Smith reached out and stopped Booth's progressing hand. "I remember her. I saw her! She, she was just outside."

This caught Booth's attention earnestly. "When? Where?"

"Mr. Smith" pointed at the street outside of the bar. "She got into a car. 'Was. . ." His forehead wrinkled as he fought to remember. "'Was a few minutes before you walked in."

Booth leaned towards him. "Do you remember anything else? Was anyone with her?"

"Mr. Smith" wracked his brain. "She. . . she had someone with her. 'Couldn't tell who. They were in a cream Cadillac. . . I owned a those, once. . ." He became lost in another memory.

"Which way did they go?" Booth demanded, needing his attention for a few moments longer.

"Mr. Smith" snapped back to the present. "They, uh, they came outta that building." He pointed to the building across the street. His bushy, grey eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "I don't remember 'em leavin'. . ."

Booth's head snapped up, just in time to see a cream coloured Cadillac speeding down the street.

Without a thought, without another wasted moment, Booth sprang out from the table and sprinted into the street. He saw the car, driving away at an impossibly fast speed. The taillights' red glow dimmed much too quickly.

There was no physical way to catch them on foot.

If Booth shot at the car, Brennan could be injured. Besides who was to say it was absolutely her and Monroe?

Booth raced to his SUV, parked just around the corner and hurried to start the engine. He was up and away from the curve without a proper traffic check. He slapped the siren on and prayed to God that he could find them again.

Gorski watched as the black SUV flew by, siren blaring. His back-up glanced at him, but he shrugged. "Whoever it is can handle it."

He then marched into Joe's bar, right up to the bald, burly bartender. "Agent Gorski, F.B.I. I understand there was a fugitive sighting here earlier this night?"

Joe, the bartender, squinted at Gorski's credentials, clearly confused. "An Agent Gorski already came by. I showed him everything. Can't you talk to him?"

Confusion and outrage flashed across Gorski's face. Then understanding came to him. "Excuse me." Without another word, he marched outside, dialing with his cellphone, but he only got Booth's voicemail.

*Meanwhile*

Her head had refused to stop the swirling, the mixing, and the hammering. The images her eyes saw were confusing, but, slowly, they began to right themselves. . .

And with the sudden sights, her nausea flooded back as well. Lying on a couch, she rolled to her side and vomited all over the cracked wood floor.

The sound alerted Monroe. With a wicked, loving, twisted grin, he walked into the room. "Good. You're up."

Brennan wiped her mouth in disgust as she eyed her captor, all of the memories coming back to her now.

"We really need to get moving," he informed her with a nod to himself. He then replaced duct tape over her mouth before pulling her to her feet.

She pulled away from his touch, but was then forced to lean into it; the rapid stand caused another wave of vertigo to wash over her.

Monroe took this opportunity to quickly grab her hands behind her and tie her wrists together.

All the same, she pulled away from him as she tried to assess where the hell she was.

"Don't fight it, love," he murmured in her ear after securing the bounds. "Our family has yet to even begin."

With a rough shove, she stumbled forward. Monroe kept his hand on her arm and began dragging her out the door.

She was dragged out of the hallway, down the staircase, and then into the lobby.

How the hell was no one around? How did no one see her being taken against her will?

It was when she was dragged onto the rather empty sidewalk that she saw the notice on the apartment complex's door; the building had been vacated for a termite inspection.

Brennan was forced into the passenger side of a cream coloured Cadillac. Perhaps, if she was not still battling those damned waves of vertigo, she would have truly fought her captor. Of course, she struggled against him, but it was never enough to get away.

The door was slammed on her, but before she could fully consider making a quick run for it, Monroe pulled out his gun in warning.

Like a predator, he kept his eyes on his prey as he slowly circled the front of the car to the driver's side. His gun was drawn, twitching stealthily all the while.

As he slid into the driver's seat and closed the door, he looked tenderly at Brennan. "I wouldn't want to hurt you. Of course, I wouldn't kill you. But you must learn to accept me somehow. I know; it will be difficult at first, but. . ." His cold fingers brushed hair away from Brennan's cheek, making her shiver. "I think you'll find that you love me."

In response to his psychotic words, she protested the only way she could by yanking her face back from his touch.

A spark of hurt and anger was lighted in his eyes, but he quickly stomped the emotions out. "Be advised," he murmured carefully, "I will shoot you anywhere I see fit if you try to go back to him."

Monroe's eyes focused on something outside the car, and Brennan was forced to follow his gaze.

There, just on the other side of the street, Booth marched down the sidewalk, lost in his determined thoughts.

She tried to yell his name; she knew if he only heard, she would be able to get out of this alive. But Booth carried on ignorantly.

Monroe pulled Brennan against him, pushing his hand against her duct taped mouth to muffle her dim shouts. In her ear, he breathed, "Shh. We just watch."

He waited until Booth turned into the bar to let Brennan straighten herself. As a constant warning, he continued to point the gun's barrel at Brennan.

They waited, watching as Booth watched the TV, found the note, and talked to people. He never saw Brennan, despite her desperate, desperate hopes.

Occasionally, Monroe would speak lovingly to Brennan; it seemed he could not go without the sound of his voice for too long. "I'm so glad we're finally together, Temperance. It's been such a long wait, but so very worth it.

"You can't imagine what it was like to have to be with women who never measured up to all that you are. I tried to find women that shared your physical attributes, but it was in vain." He leaned forward and murmured with a smile, "They would lack your intelligence—an intelligence to match mine. Or they wouldn't smell the same." He closed his eyes and inhaled Brennan's aroma. "Such a sweet smell. . ."

All the while, Brennan had been slowly moving into a crouch, an offensive position. But, she had never turned to him; she couldn't allow her eyes to leave Booth. She did glance in disgust at Monroe's pleased expression, an expression lost in euphoria. . .

Now was her chance, she realized. She had to act now.

With a quick kick to the gut, Monroe was snapped out of his trance. His eyes stared at Brennan as she delivered another kick to his head, despite the cramped conditions.

She scrambled to flee from the car. She used her bound hands to open and push against the car door, managing to open it a fraction of the way. She quickly turned back around to leap out.

However, Monroe was much too determined to allow his life's purpose to simply walk out on him. Like a snake's strike, his arm shot out and latched onto the back of Brennan's blouse. He wrenched her back, and she gave a muffled cry.

In the moment of adrenaline, in that opportunity of alertness, something in Temperance Brennan's mind clicked. Where haze lingered, remembrance flooded and washed. Seven of her years, previously stripped from her mind, came into focus and left her dumbfounded.

Of course, not all of her memories had returned to her. There were still a few blank holes to fill. Yet, it no longer felt as if those years had never existed anymore. They were fuzzy, but they were there.

This whole, life-changing moment happened in less than a minute. Monroe had no clue what had made the anthropologist stop fighting and stare, shocked, at the empty road. All he knew was that Booth's head just snapped up in the Cadillac's direction.

"We've been made," Monroe announced, quickly pulling into the street. He fled down the road, not allowing himself to look back yet.

Brennan snapped back to her senses, still struggling to press what had just happened together. She was strangely terrified, something that did not occur often. And, even more of a rarity, she was confused.

When Monroe allowed himself to glance into his rearview mirror, he caught sight of a black, F.B.I.-issued SUV pulling onto the street.

Again, again, and again, I am so sorry for these extended delays! Tackling two stories and a full course of advanced classes has sucked away my time.

Thank you so much for the reviews I have received! I would reply to them now, but I have a feeling that the reviewers wouldn't even remember leaving me a comment. Please know that I am forever grateful for those, the alerts, and your time in reading my stories. Thank you!

Please, if you have time, let me know what you thought. I promise to try to update much more than I have!

P.S. Thank you greatly to Jewelbe11! Your too kind words were a well-deserved kick in the butt for me to finish up and post.