A/N: Hi everyone! Happy Easter! Thank you so much for your reviews of the last chapter, they truly make our day. Well, we promised you angst, so here it is. Incidentally, we noticed that the ---- separating the paragraphs are gone somehow. We will fix that as soon as possible. But for now, we wish you good reading!
Chapter 14 – Trapped
He missed her sleepy face when he woke up, her smile in the morning, her babbling while eating breakfast. He missed her coffee, her cooking, her caring gaze. He missed her perfume, the sight of her, and the sound of her steps. Why hadn't he realised it before? That he was addicted to the scent of her, that the slightest contact of her fingers made him shiver delightfully, that little by little he had got used to her being around; that what he liked to call 'his territory' didn't mean anything to him anymore. And that the happily shining sun didn't make him joyful at all, today; that nothing would, that it couldn't, because she was not there to share it with him. This coffee was the same, he could move one of his feet, it looked like it was going to be a beautiful day for once, and yet, everything seemed insipid, worthless, dull. He hadn't seen it coming. Why did it become clear only now that she was gone?
Booth stretched his hand to put his empty coffee cup back on the counter. He wondered what she was doing, if she was still sleeping. Looking at the clock, he figured that she had probably been up for at least two hours. With all his might, he wished that he had been able to go undercover with her. Of course, there was no point in tormenting himself and he knew very well that his going with her was out of the question as long as he was confined to a wheelchair, so he hoped that she was fine, and he made the selfish wish that she'd come back to him sooner rather than later. Frankly, that seemed more important to him at this moment than solving the case.
This was going to be a long day, longing for her voice, and her scent, and her gentle touch. Several long days, wondering what would happen when she'd come back; how they would celebrate the closing of this case; if their partnership would be affected by everything that had been happening lately; and what would become of him if he'd never completely heal. Long, depressing days, chewing over his thoughts, with no one to laugh with, and no one to bicker with. He was alone, and her absence filled every corner of his house, and his heart.
She knew it all too well. Sleep was a reassuring refuge. Somewhere you could hide, somewhere you could pretend everything was all right; a place to dream, a place to forget. But sleep is fragile, and she knew it too. A loud bang as the door was swung against the wall and her eyes shot open.
"You awake?"
Stupid question—How could she possibly still be sleeping after that assault on her eardrums?
"Sort of," she answered in a groggy voice. If this man could just vanish from her life... And why was he in her room, anyway?
"Brought you breakfast. Thought you might want to eat something."
Indeed, he was carrying a plate and cup, she saw now that her vision had cleared. He was still wearing his pyjamas.
"You trying to seduce me or something?" he asked.
"What?" she asked, puzzled, as she pushed herself into a sitting position, allowing her body the time to adjust its blood flow to her new position.
"You're lying sprawled out across the bed like that, exposed as much as you can, and you don't consider it disturbing?"
As she was considering not giving him any answer at all instead of shooting him with a gun she realised she didn't have at hand, he handed her the plate and cup, which she put on the nightstand next to her. What the hell did he want?
"I have increased body temperature, also known as a fever," she tried to tell him with authority and disdain, but failed to do so. She swore inwardly. She was just too weak, and her voice was really too hoarse.
There was his hand on her forehead again, annoying her to no end. She held herself from slapping him. Maybe he was doing his best to be caring, after all. But there was something about his touch that disgusted her; something that made her want to give him a blow which would send him across the room, something that made her feel a chill run down her spine. But then, the only man to have touched her in the last month or so was Booth. Perhaps the contrast between his touch and Cummings' was just so stark that her body objected to it. Honestly, she didn't want to sound like a child, but she wanted Booth. She wanted Booth to worry about her while she was sick and she wanted Booth to soothe the pain with his presence and kind words.
Cummings whistled. "Yup, that's a fever all right. Better stay in bed today."
When she was trying to convince herself that he was nicer than she thought, she felt annoyed again. Who was he that she was toning down her instincts so she would trust him? Her father? Booth?
"I'm fine. I'll just take some Tylenol—"
God. Even when she was bothered, her voice was so low that it sounded soft. She wished she didn't have to talk; her throat was so painful and dry.
"Appears it ruins your liver. You sure you want medication? I thought you'd be the type to let your body heal itself and all that shit."
She shot him a glare, succeeding this time, and pointed at the door. "Go take a shower first and I'll eat this. Then I'm coming with you. …Thanks for breakfast," she felt obliged to add.
He gave her his awful smirk again and left the room. She couldn't help but to smell and give the bread and strawberry jam a thorough inspection before taking a bite.
Shortly after he'd left the room, Cummings re-entered and threw her a pack of pills which landed in her lap.
He turned on his heel and stormed out so abruptly Brennan didn't feel the need to say 'thank you'. Instead she popped out two pills and swallowed them with tea.
As she ate slowly, she heard more stumbling and then the shower being turned on. The food and tea actually made her feel better, at any rate it gave her energy-level a boost, and she was pleased with the fact that there was nothing wrong with her appetite.
After having finished her breakfast, sleep started pulling at her body again. At her eyelids, in particular. So she decided to lie on her side and close her eyes until Cummings would be ready in the bathroom. She wouldn't sleep, just keep her eyes closed for a little while; just rest a little more. But you never can decide whether you'll fall asleep or not. Sleep comes to catch you whenever it wishes to.
He put his palm flat on the mirror. Against his warm skin, the glass felt cold and damp. It reminded him of his childhood. A submissive mother, a violent father. Bad pupil at school, not a lot of friends. These were not actually good memories, but it was a time he never wanted to forget. Because he liked to think that it was what had formed his personality, what had made him become who he was now. A smart, handsome, strong-minded man. Someone he was proud to be. When he removed it, his hand had left a mark on the condensation. He stared at it for a moment, studying thoughtfully his own reflection until it blurred, and was gently replaced by hundreds of tiny droplets of water.
In the shower, the hot water was still flowing—flowing for nothing, but why would he mind? He didn't pay for that.
He smiled. The sun was shining outside. Usually, he never paid attention to the weather. But today was different. The sun was shining. Soon, its rays would make the early morning frost melt. He could already feel it: Today was going to be a great day.
He finally turned off the faucet and rubbed his hair with a smooth, warm towel. He couldn't chase them from his mind, the two women he never stopped thinking of. Love and hate, such close notions. Love for the one who had caught his heart, who gave meaning to his life, the one whom he had killed for, whom he'd give his life for. Hate for the one who had thwarted his plans, who thought she was more intelligent than he was. Despite what she had to be thinking, everything wasn't over. This was going to be a great, sunny day, but not for everyone.
He who laughs last laughs longest.
She woke up again, shivering with cold this time, though it seemed that the drugging liquid had dissolved in her head, enabling her to think clearly again, and her eyes weren't popping out of her head anymore. Her coldness was probably merely caused by the fact that her legs as well as her arms were practically bare and the covers lay scrambled at the end of the bed.
The muscles in her back and shoulders were a bit sore so she shifted, but was alerted by what she felt.
Flattening her hands against the floor, she dragged her palms over the rough, gritty texture. …So much for lying in a bed. She wasn't in the room where fell asleep some time ago. How much time ago? Her fingertips brushed the floor as she described two semi-circles with her arms, feeling for nearby objects or walls. Nothing. She tried with her legs this time. Nothing. She tried moving her head. She could.
Pricking up her ears, she listened. Distant creaking and a gust of wind chasing phantoms through the narrow corridors. Muffled footsteps, as if someone were walking on dust.
The air she sucked into her lungs was moist. It had probably just rained. She hated how the pinning air felt in her throat. Even when she let the oxygen seep in through her nose it seemed as if her lungs froze, making it painful to breathe.
Again, footsteps. Louder this time, albeit just a little.
She felt thirsty, her lips and throat were dry. Swallowing was difficult and painful. A moan escaped her as she forced some saliva into her throat, scraping its walls in the process. She imagined a bottle of water, or the billowing stream of liquid that emerged when she turned open the faucet at Booth's house. It didn't feel like sixty per cent of her body consisted of water; it felt like sixty per cent of her body had vanished. And suddenly she felt exhausted…
Her eyes were open but it was too dark to see. She let her blind gaze wander through the blackness that surrounded her, enveloped her, invaded her. Wait—she knew this type of darkness. She'd felt it before. And the thirst… The sore muscles, the cold ground...
The footsteps were getting louder, alerting her to the fact that someone was approaching. She recognised the footfalls, realised the inevitability of their entrance into the room… in the decayed warehouse… This chilling place which had been haunting her dreams, and that had become her living nightmare again.
Her breath hitched in her throat. No. Not again. She was dreaming, wasn't she? Another of these nightmares that seemed so real... Because it couldn't be… could it? Was it really impossible for this to happen a second time? She had to admit it wasn't when the person creating the noise of footsteps held still. He had to be standing in front of a closed door now. Or was the door already open? But then… she could have run away. She could have got away as soon as she woke up! Maybe she still had a chance.
She lifted her head from the cold, hard surface first. Then, contracting her abdominal muscles pair by pair, she pulled her body into a sitting position. Slowly, she pushed herself off the ground and placed her feet under her body. Then, just as she was about to stand up, a blinding ray of light pierced the darkness, causing it to scatter away into dark corners.
Instinctively, she stayed crouched on the floor and placed the side of her hand against her forehead to protect her eyes. She was caught in the light as if it paralysed her, exposed her, defeated her.
When the whispering began, she snapped out of her terror-induced shock and stood up quickly, wanting to make off into the safety of darkness. Yet, she couldn't get to her feet. Weightless, invisible restraints kept her low to the floor, and she couldn't move. She felt like a savage animal, trapped in a cage, torn from the wild for a life of captivity.
The whispering continued as she pulled and tried to break her restraints, but she couldn't make out what he was saying. He sounded almost like he was casting a spell on her, and to heighten her terror he started to take slow, determined steps towards her again. She fought between keeping her eyes closed, protecting them from getting burnt by the light, and opening them, peering straight into the whiteness, trying to get a view of his face, or at least his appearance. If only she would be able to identify him, if only she could be sure that this was Matthew Delaney, if only she could get him this time…
His feet held still right in front of her, she knew from the clearness of the sound, but still she couldn't make out anything. The whispered vowels and consonants formed words unfamiliar to her, and every couple of words he would hiss something at her. She wasn't the kind of person who was easily scared. But it was truly frightening.
Anxious thoughts were flying through her mind. What was he going to do to her this time? Torture her? Starve her? Cut her? …Kill her? What was he after, what did he want? What could she do? If she screamed, would it help her or would it set him off? Should she fight him? Yes. Of course, of course she should fight him.
She remembers his touch, and the pain that would always accompany it. Always, pain. Always, thirst. Always, hunger. Always, agony.
Her mind started conjuring up images of Booth and her co-workers, standing in a semi-circle, looking defeated. As they walked away, their slouched figures diminishing in the increasing distance, her mind's eye switched directions and turned back to the place where they had gathered. Zooming in on a black object rising from the trampled grass, its engravings became legible. The momentary stillness of her frantic heart was caused by the fact that it was her own name the headstone bore.
Oh God, I can't… I can't, I can't…
"Please, don't touch me…" The words left her mouth in a whisper and her head was bent forward, so it was pretty unlikely he had heard her. Still, a part of her wished that she was able to be stronger, that she hadn't begged him.
Her entire body grew rigid, anticipating a kick or punch any moment. She cried out when his fingers made contact with her hair and caressed it. With all her might she tried to turn away, but her body wouldn't let her.
Her breaths were raspy and uneven as she continued to undergo his caresses. Then, she felt his fingers gathering her hair and pulling it, bit by bit, until her throat was completely exposed to the light. She tried to look, to get a glimpse of him, yet couldn't see anything but bright light.
Somehow she sensed the closeness of his body. His breathing was regular and calm, as if he were asleep. Was this the end? She knew it was coming. It was like the blade cut through a field of electricity around her before it even brushed her skin. She knew it was almost over. But then, she felt something light yet heavy in her hand. Without thinking about the consequences, she brought it to her face and finally, she was able to see. It was a cell phone. And the screen said 'BOOTH'.
A/N: Did you like it? Have any suspicions about certain persons yet? Next chapter will be longer and less angsty. We can't really give you any spoilers because it would give away the cliffhanger in this chapter. Please bear with us! What we can tell you, is that the following chapters will be very suspenseful, and a lot will become clear. Also, we do take notice of your wishes in the reviews, and consider your ideas. You will find out what we do with them. Hope to see you all next Sunday. Bye for now!