AN: I'll keep this short. I apologize for the wait, but unfortunately, after tragic events in my life, I could not write anything, much less breathe right. Thank you to all who understood.
And screw everyone else who chose to ignore that fact and demanded updates.
Chapter 20: A Song Without a Name
Cold. So cold.
The cement floor and the cement walls and the dark. Oh, so dark. Shivering, teeth chattering, slashes stretching and constricting. Lungs filling with water. Don't puke, they'll keep you under longer.
Sting, pound.
The bastards are bringing the whips out again. I can't, not again – NO!
Bleeding, aching.
Dying.
Punch.
Break.
Poison.
Dying.
And there was the distinct possibility he had to go through it all over again.
"…Booth, look at me."
"What?" Booth snapped. He kept his eyes on the dirt road stretching in front of him, alert for any possible rebel attacks.
"You look ill," Brennan said simply. Booth released a mirthless guffaw.
"I guess you could say that. I'm just nervous as hell, Bones."
"You're scared."
Booth finally looked at her, anger creeping into his eyes. Was she actually mocking him? She met his stare with cool, calculating eyes that masked the same fear. He could tell she meant no malice by the way she bit her lower lip slightly, and how her hand was awkwardly frozen to the seat of the car, halfway between restraint and gripping his hand for comfort. She was warring between heart and brain, and brain definitely was trying to win out. He relaxed and admitted finally, "Yeah, Bones. I'm scared. For everything. If something goes wrong…it's game over for Zach and I."
"I'd get help," Brennan insisted defiantly.
"Doesn't work like that, darling," Booth drawled out. "They'd shoot us dead. And to be honest, I don't know if I could make it again if they kept me alive," he hinted.
He felt pressure on his hand. Peering down quickly he found Brennan's own hand, which was no longer clamping the seat in indecision, was cupping the top of his. She squeezed his fingers and replied, "You're a fighter, Booth. It's what got you out the first time."
The Arabian sun had already begun to set as they raced towards Jameenza. The sky was aglow with a deep red and shading pink hues that case the desert sand into a pale sea. The sparse green vegetation turned black under the setting ball of fire, and the jeep carrying Booth and Brennan became part of the landscape, barely noticeable now as it sped on scorched earth and dirt, around tiny hills and drifting sand dunes. The angry sun turned to the images of blood, and Booth's stomach roiled at the sudden onslaught of memories.
So much blood and pain.
Booth felt a heaviness crush his chest. "Funny how vivid everything is, but so choppy. I couldn't remember time passing, ya know?" he croaked out. "It's like one of those old songs you hear on the radio. You haven't heard it for years, maybe even a decade or two, and you stop whatever you're doing to try to sing along. Because you know—you remember one time it meant so much to you. But you just can't bring back what it was called. That's kinda how this whole thing feels, without the nostalgia."
Brennan was silent as the surrounding hills became flatter. Lights dotted the distance and Jameenza rose from the desert like a slumbering giant.
"We're about 30 minutes away at this speed," Booth commented as he held reign on his storming insides.
"Booth."
"Yeah?"
He turned and looked at his partner and was surprised to find a frantic, searching, almost agonizing quality in her eyes and face.
"What's the matter?" Are you okay?"
She uttered, "I won't let them get you. I swear to you, they won't touch you. We're going to get Zach back, and everything—I mean everything will be okay again." She nodded to herself. "Yes. We're going to be okay."
"Is that your heart or your brain talking?"
"Brain, of course. It's almost always brain, Booth. You know that. Due to our knowledge of the situation and outside enforcements…it doesn't take a scientist to see we have the upper hand," Brennan answered, her voice slightly wavering.
He smiled sadly. She was a horrible liar.
"Then that's good enough for me, Tempe," he replied quietly. He lifted her hand and gave a quick peck to her knuckles before removing his hand completely from hers. Ignoring her quizzical stare and hesitation on reacting to the gesture, he announced, "Get ready, Bones. This is going to be a long night, even if everything goes to plan."
Keeping to the shadows of the inner city, Brennan was kept close to Booth. Se could feel his gentle but firm grip on her elbow as they wound there way through the alleys, following leads on the in-town mercenary. She looked down to her knuckles, where Booth had kissed her…and she found she was not offended, nor annoyed by the sudden and almost irrational intimacy. Don't go there, Bren. You've started traveling this road too many times in the past, but you've always been able to think sensibly. He is your partner. He is your best friend. The added adrenaline and stress is causing you to think groundlessly and illogically. When you get back to the States with Zach, you'll go back to the way things are supposed to be.
Quit kidding yourself. You know Zach is probably dead. You know things aren't going to be the same, ever.
"Bones, I think I see our guy. Standing in front of the bazaar on the right—in the mock fatigues." Booth whispered quietly as he clicked off the safety of his gun. He placed the weapon under his shirt and added, "Mercenaries and guns. Never goes right for the guy pointing one at the assassin."
"I wouldn't think so," Brennan added blandly.
The mercenary suddenly called out, "You can stay where you're at. Keep your hands behind your heads!"
"Should we worry?" Brennan spit out as she froze in her tracks.
"Not yet," Booth smiled grimly. "But I don't like the looks of those 2 men pointing guns at us in the lock and load position."
"Didn't you see them before?" Brennan hissed.
"Yes. They're body guards," Booth said simply. "Why'd you think I put my gun away? Since our heads weren't blown off our shoulders, they're more worried about what we're here for than the other way around. This is a good thing, trust me."
"Normally you'd shoot them by now," Brennan grit out.
Booth rolled his eyes slightly and raised his hands wordlessly behind his head. Brennan performed the same motion and called out, "I just want my colleague and friend back, Dr. Zach Addy!"
"Bones, just keep quiet!"
"Lady, I know what you want," the mercenary called back. He stepped from the shadows and lowered his weapon slightly, while his two assistants kept their fingers on the triggers. The man before Booth and Brennan was short, but incredibly muscled. His skin was permanently browned to the hue of cedar wood, and the stiff-necked man added with a German accent, "The name's Kissinger. I heard you seek my services."
"Your services got Zach's team killed," Brennan spat vehemently.
"Bones—"
Kissinger spit tobacco onto the road and shot back, "No, the Black Commanders requested my tracking expertise, bitch. What they did with the information is entirely up to them. Shit for your guy, but great money for me. That's how the world works, you stupid whore! Now I suggest, before you find a bullet in your foot, to shut the hell up. Take a lesson from your surroundings and don't speak when spoken to, and respect any walking organism with a dick. It worked for the women out here for thousands of years—do the same."
"Booth…" Brennan trailed off, her voice fighting a fit of fury.
Her partner fought to keep from grabbing his weapon and swallowed the lump of pure hatred for the mercenary. Closing his eyes and counting to ten, he whispered under his breath, "I'm gonna pretend he didn't just say that, Bones. For now on, you will do what I say and stay quiet."
Before Brennan could object at Booth's firm demand, he called back, "Why was Zach taken? Why were you hired out?"
"Who wants to know," Kissinger demanded.
"It'll better help us get him back. We can pay you whatever you need, but we already know the most you're gonna do for us is tell us where he his."
"Damned right. Those guys—no matter how much those pieces of shit needs to rot—contract me a helluva lot. Your doctor friend was taken because 1) he's an American, and 2) he was uncovering some nasty secrets. The Black Commanders, from what I understand, love guns and dead people. Preferably, if their guns cause the people to die. The leader—Uday Kamel—is probably clinically insane. He seems to forget that Saddam isn't in power anymore, and that the Black Commanders need to purify the country from infidels and political factions against the previous dictatorship. Iraqi government would have stepped in with the cavalry if they had solid evidence about the mini-genocides that have occurred over the years, and the Black Commanders know that. Your buddy was uncovering that evidence—so now he gets to serve as an example and possible money maker," Kissinger explained.
"How do we know what you're telling us now and later is the truth," Booth challenged. "You worked for the Black Commanders many times before; how do we know this isn't a trap?"
"No offense, dumbass, but I'm the one with the guns. It really wouldn't matter now, would it? You're gonna have to trust me when I tell you I hold no vows to clients. Whoever hires me first is the way I've always worked. I'm not some corporation's little bitch," Kissinger stated smugly.
Brennan questioned, "How much for Zach's location. Roman Proditorson couldn't give it out."
Kissinger frowned and replied, less confident, "It's gonna cost ya 5 grand for the location. Did you just say Roman? I thought you were with Burty Steels."
"Wait, who the hell is Burty Steels?" Booth demanded.
"Steels is an associate that I can trust. That asshole Roman got your doctor into trouble in the first place."
Booth felt his insides light on fire. "What?" he demanded icily.
"He was the guy who alerted the B.C. about the uncovering of the mass graves. Roman brought Zach back to their headquarters—"
"Son of a bitch!" Booth swore. "I was wrong about that traitor, Bones! How could I have been so stupid…?"
"Booth, you couldn't have known—" Brennan protested.
"We need to get moving, now."
Kissinger broke in the confusion, with his gun aimed directly at Booth's chest, "Someone needs to tell me now if it wasn't Steels fax I got, then who the hell it was!"
Then out of the shadows of the blanketing evening, a voice on a loudspeaker boomed out, "Burty's taking a long nap in the sand!" Rapid fire shot from seemingly thin air instantly and Kissinger stumbled back as red splotches painted his shirt. He collapsed with a strange gurgling eliciting from his throat. Booth pulled Brennan down and covered her body with his as the volley of bullets took out the two bodyguards. Brennan screamed as the dust kicked up inches from her face; she could feel the force of the bullets pound into the earth.
"Are you okay? Are you hit!?" Booth demanded as he shifted his arms over her head and neck. She muffled a, "I'm fine!" as the hail of metal began to lessen, and then finally, stop completely.
"Stay down, don't get up!" Booth insisted as he gripped his gun. Brennan struggled to breathe under his protective weight. Chaotic images and senses shocked her brainwaves as she fought to take in everything that was happening.
Tasted dirt
Smelled acrid gunfire.
Could make out Booth's soothing cologne even.
Saw a long scratch down the side of his face.
Felt my hands rubbed raw from hitting the ground.
Felt Booth's pounding heartbeat.
And for a moment, she felt safe.
Then, like ghosts coming out of a fog, a group of seven or eight men came from the surrounding buildings and stood on the balconies of their hidden perches. All clenched automatic weapons, and all were adorned in simple black combative fatigues. Approaching from the center of the group of men on the ground, Roman Proditorson grimaced tersely as he tossed the loudspeaker into the garbage.
"Sorry, Booth. Money's money."
"You're not taking me without a fight," Booth threatened. "You know I can get at least one of you bastards before a bullet leaves your barrel."
Roman nodded. "Then your lady friend is dead, too. Come quietly, please." For the first time as far as Brennan could tell, Roman sounded sincere. "She gets to leave. The Black Commanders have no need or use for her. She'd be a nuisance; don't let your ego get her killed, Booth. Lower your weapon, now."
Tense moments passed. Brennan looked pleadingly into Booth's eyes and shook her head no. "Don't do this, Booth. Don't…"
But it was useless. Booth closed his eyes and sighed heavily. Getting to his feet, he dropped his gun. Roman tapped his foot impatiently as the others ransacked the car for Booth's sniper rifle and seized any other weapons. Brennan rose to her feet, and stood in front of Booth.
"I told you—I promised you," she begged.
He diverted his eyes to the ground.
No promises could help them now.