She had gotten what she wanted from him.

Finished, she removed herself from his body, leaving him there hollow and alone. She walked behind him and removed the hand cuffs she'd secured around his wrists. "This is all your fault, you know," she told him as she clasped the cuffs back together. "You have no one to blame but yourself for any of this."

Booth shut his eyes tightly. He didn't want to hear it. He couldn't believe it. But at this point, he nearly did. He'd been in captivity for so long he'd lost count of the days. The abuse had broken him down into a shell of what he was; what he had been.

A satisfied smirk was on her face as she took herself back upstairs and into the main area of the house. Behind her the door slammed shut.

Completely still he laid. There was no point in getting up. There wasn't much point in anything anymore. She used him for whatever suited her and then threw him away. Scars from brutal burns and vicious cuts covered a good potion of his body. Though he couldn't see them he could feel them, both with his fingertips and simply on his skin. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen light besides the yellow glow of a night light. Natural light used to faintly show from the two windows up on the wall, but after one of his escape attempts she boarded them up. That hadn't deterred him. Even after she hooked up the electric shock wires she still left them covered.

The verbal abuse she'd put into his brain was sinking in. He couldn't help himself but to listen. No one was looking for him. They all had given up. As far as they were concerned he was dead and gone. There wasn't a single person who cared. He was worthless. His life had meant nothing to anyone.

Booth was sick. Both physically and mentally. He was tired. And he couldn't take living in such pain anymore. He couldn't let her continue to take her sick pleasure out on him. Somehow, he had to end his life. It was the only way he could take power back.

He maneuvered himself onto his stomach. From there he strained to push himself up onto his hands and knees. Earlier in the day when he'd tried to resist her advances she'd beat on the bones in his feet to keep him from walking away. Now he couldn't stand to take any steps.

He crawled towards the light in the bathroom. It was a simple bathroom, with no more than a toilet and a sink. The sink was shallow, the kind found in hospitals to keep patients from drowning themselves. She'd acted like it had been such a treat to give him his own bathroom. She'd expected him to worship her, and when he didn't he'd been punished for it.

Booth shook his head. No more. His thoughts were firing off at rapid speed. No more of any of it. He gripped the sink and lifted himself into a standing position. The pain in his feet nearly dropped him back down to the ground. His muscles quivered as he held himself upright. One hand kept him balanced while the other opened the door of the medicine cabinet. Every shelf was empty, he was disappointed to find. Had he really expected anything different? She'd done what she could to make sure he stayed alive.

Back down to the floor he fell in a heap. He wanted to cry from frustration. How much more could he take? What else could he do to harm himself? In the faint light he looked down at his wrist. He'd gotten a hold of a butter knife and tried unsuccessfully to cut himself. It'd done nothing but leave a few pink surface scratches.

He leaned back against the sink. His back brushed against hard wood, and a cool piece of metal. Again he sat forward and turned himself around. A cabinet was underneath the sink. A lock kept the latch closed. That had to mean there was something dangerous hidden behind the double doors. Without thinking twice he began pounding at the lock with his fist. Harder and harder he hit it, until surprisingly it fell apart. The shaft fell down onto the ground. Booth pulled the latching mechanism away and tossed it. Eagerly he opened the doors.

Inside was an array of cleaning products. Yes! He could poison himself! He didn't pay attention to what he was doing. He just grabbed. In a matter of seconds he twisted the top off and began drinking. The chemical burned his lips and mouth. It seared down his throat, burning all the way down into his nearly empty stomach. The smell of it made his eyes water. But still he drank until he couldn't anymore. He put the bottle down and coughed horrendously.

The chemical cycled through his veins. His vision became blurry. He felt light headed. The air in his lungs seemed to dissipate. It was working! He was dying! He smiled to himself as he passed out.

Booth woke up to terrible pains in his stomach. He sat up and wretched, nearly choking himself as he vomited. Blood left a metallic taste in his mouth.

"What. Did. You. Do?"

The voice made him pause. Then he vomited again. He disappointedly realized he hadn't died, and by the looks of it, wasn't dying. Had she done something to save him? He tried to moan, then stopped as an unbearable pain formed in his throat. He collapsed back down onto the ground.

"I ought to kill you. But that's what you wanted, wasn't it? I think it's a better punishment to make you live like this."

He shut his eyes and listened to her clomp back upstairs. Just as she shut the door he dry heaved yet again.

Brennan had tears in her eyes by the time he finished his story. Booth hadn't looked at her once during the entire time he'd spoken. He'd allowed her touch, even flipping his hand over to hold hers. But he hadn't looked up from the floor.

"Booth? When you say she… she "got what she wanted," did you mean…?" She could barely ask.

He raised his eyes to hers. And in them she got her answer. She was outraged. When they found "her" she'd take great pleasure in killing that woman herself. They would find her. She would see to it.

"That's just one of a thousand memories I don't want," he said softly. "I can't live like this. I don't want to." Something in him had released while he'd confided in her. He was surprised to find a tension that had been within him had been lifted.

"You can't give up. You're a father," she tried.

"Parker's better off without me."

"No. It's proven that-"

"I'm no father in this condition."

"You'll get better."

"I can't stand to be touched."

"You let me," she squeezed his hand as proof.

"That's cause you're Bones."

Despite the seriousness of the situation she smiled. Out of everyone in his world she was still someone he trusted. Someone he felt comfortable enough to turn to. "It'll get better. But it'll take time," she tried to emphasize. "I know you've given up on yourself. But don't give up on me."

"Okay." He agreed sadly.

Brennan wondered how long he could live off his faith in her alone. An idea struck her. One she decided to go with. "We're going somewhere tomorrow."

"Huh?"

She nodded.


It hadn't been as hard to find Dr. Temperance Brennan as she had thought. Sometimes she contemplated if she'd made the right career choice in life. Nursing was her calling, but she seemed to be excellent at detective work. Now if she could only get confirmation that Booth was there.

Luckily, she had the day off work. In the early morning hours she parked her car at the far end of the parking lot of the complex Brennan lived in. She pushed her seat back and laid just far enough to be oblivious to view, but enough so she could see out. And there she waited.

People came and went. Single men and women. Families. Single mothers. All different types lived in Brennan's building. She felt herself getting antsy. She wished there was some way she could just go to the front door and find out if he was there. But it was too gutsy. If she wanted to stay on the sly then she had to be patient.

At last her patience paid off. Brennan walked out into the parking lot with Booth behind her. She was aggravated to see how much healthier he looked since he'd made his break. No. This was all wrong. Rage gripped her chest.

He stopped just outside the passenger door of Brennan's car. She caught him staring back at her own vehicle. Oh no. Did he know? Could he have?

Keep staring, Agent Booth, she silently sneered to him. Your days are numbered.