Booth stood on the curb. He stood solitary, just staring at the familiar dwelling in front of him. It still amazed him how one place could house so much evil. As the taxi he'd ridden in drove way he realized he was completely alone. Just the way he'd wanted it. He'd come here to face his demons. Perhaps face himself. Something here was going to die.
The whole property was sealed off. Though the police had conducted an investigation they'd left the house cordoned until further notice. Booth ignored all the yellow tape, the police warnings, and went directly to the front door. Since it was locked, he hopped off the stoop and tried the window leading into the living room. It also was closed off. And so he cranked his arm back and smashed his fist directly through the glass. The bright color of pain told him he'd just likely once again broken his hand. After all, he'd only just gotten the cast off. He pulled his arm back, wincing at all the blood that was oozing from his forearm as the broken glass cut at it. He managed to remove enough of the glass to safely let himself inside. And that he did.
The carpet was dirty. That was the first thing he noticed. The dozens of officers and paramedics traipsing in and out had left the floor a mess. Booth lingered a bit before moving on. This room carried no memories for him. It wasn't what he was after.
In the kitchen there was a bit of blood on the floor. His own.
I should have killed you then. I never should have played around with you. You deserved a slow death.
Booth was numb to her voice by now. Daily it had increased in its abuse. Though he'd tried to fade it into the background he always heard it. The words still tore their way through his psyche. He was becoming sick enough to believe every word. But, of course, he didn't know this. Since being rescued this was just what his life had become.
He stood outside the door leading into the basement. Somewhere inside him, the man he used to be was scolding him that what he was doing was all wrong. He should have turned away. Gone outside, dialed another cab from his cell phone, and gone home to Brennan. That voice dimmed as he carelessly threw open the door and headed down the steps.
Along the wall he ran his hand. He searched for a light switch. He had yet to see the basement in the light. Towards the bottom of the steps his fingers brushed across the square nub. Immediately he turned it on.
A faint light flickered on all around him. Booth got off the last stair. He simply stood, drinking in everything around him. There was so much blood on the shiny concrete floor. He was a little surprised her torture hadn't killed him.
Around the room he did a canvass. He noticed a lot of items she'd used to inflict her abuse on him were missing. The police had no doubt seized them and taken them into evidence.
At the opposite end of the basement a pile of blankets laid haphazardly. Those too, had numerous blood stains on them.
"Hold still!"
Booth twisted his hips as hard as he could. His efforts however, weren't very aggressive. He couldn't believe this petite woman was getting her way with him. Why wouldn't his arms work? Why did his body feel like lead? His mouth was dry. And he was sweating. It soaked his shirt.
She pulled on the waist band of his pants. In doing so her fingers brushed across the skin on his stomach. The intense heat made her pull back. "What the…?" She whispered.
Booth winced as her hand traveled up his body to his forehead. His vision split. To him it appeared two hands were reaching out to touch him. He shivered, his teeth clicking together. He was surprised to feel comfort in the touch of her cool hand.
"Great," she muttered darkly. She stood, kicking him hard in the side. She stomped out of the basement.
The blow barely registered.
She came back with a syringe. With expert training she pressed the needle into his arm and injected. "If you think you can get away from me by dying," she dropped the needle. From the floor she retrieved a knife. "You got another thing coming."
Booth collapsed onto the blankets. Down onto his side he stretched out. One by one hellish flash backs took control of his mind. He launched into a painful panic attack. Tears squeezed out from his eyes. Finally, his beaten body got the better of him. He passed out cold.
Brennan was going crazy with worry.
She looked for Booth everywhere she could think of. Discreetly she called Angela in the lab to see if he'd ended up there. She tried his old apartment. The diner. The bar. She even got so desperate as to call Rebecca. She'd done her best to try and not alert the woman that something terrible had happened. There was no telling if she was successful.
She was on the way back to her apartment, hoping he'd gone back there, when her phone rang. "Booth?"
"No, Dr. Brennan. This is Dr. Andrews from Washington Memorial Hospital."
All the air escaped from her lungs. No. It couldn't be. He couldn't have. "Yes?" Somehow she managed to find her voice.
"I was told to contact you. We have Agent Seeley Booth here-"
She didn't wait for him to finish his sentence. "Is he all right?"
"Physically, yes. But I recommend you come to the emergency room immediately."
"On my way." This was bad. But she had no idea how bad.
Within a half an hour she was parked and inside. Various medical staff directed her where to go. She walked through different ER stations until she found the area Booth was being held in. There was a desk at the entrance. Upon telling the nurse there who she was, the woman paged the doctor. Soon a tall man was briskly approaching her. "Dr. Brennan," he shook her hand politely.
"Can I see him?" Booth was all she cared about.
"Yes. I just feel you should know of his condition first."
Brennan nodded for him to continue. She braced herself.
"A passing police car noticed someone had broken into the house that the incident with Amanda Wiles had occurred in. They've been stepping up patrol in the area since apparently children have thought it's fun to be vandalizing the property. They went inside and found Agent Booth in the basement, awake but unresponsive."
Brennan gasped. A strong trauma gripped her chest. What had he been thinking? What had been his intentions? It was more than she could comprehend.
"He's been alert since he's been brought here. He's spoken some to us. He actually was the one who told us to call you."
She bit her lip and nodded.
"I have to be honest with you, doctor. It's my recommendation that he be committed."
An unexpected tear fell. Hastily she swatted at it. "He's that bad?"
"His mental state is very fragile."
More tears burned her eyes. "If it's your recommendation… then legally you have to keep him, right?"
"Well, no. He's made no threats against his own life. Though there are some suspicious wounds on him."
"Then why are you telling me?"
"Because its my hope that you can convince him. He's a sick man."
"He's been through a lot."
"So I understand."
"May I see him now?"
"Right this way."
The doctor led her to an area enclosed by a curtain. He peeled it back slightly and let her inside. No more than two steps and she stopped dead. Now she saw the reason for the doctor's concern.
Booth was sitting up in his hospital bed. His hand had a brand new cast over it, and gauze wound up his arm like a snake. He was as pale as a ghost. But it was his eyes that scared her the most. His eyes that revealed everything to her. Booth simply had nothing left to give. He really was dying.
She went straight to his side. He stared at her. She pulled him tightly into her arms. Shockingly, he affectionately squeezed her back. His head fell down onto her shoulder. You have to let me love you, Booth. You need it. "They want to keep you here," she told him.
Booth nodded a little.
"I think they should."
He looked at her mutely with a puzzled expression.
This was it. Last chance ultimatum. "I can't take care of you, Booth. You're not letting me. You're not trying. You're killing yourself," she sniffed. "I can't just let that happen. If you're safe here then that's the best option for you right now."
He looked pained.
She pushed on. "If I take you home, then you have to start trying to overcome this. No more running. You have to let me in, Booth. I don't need protecting. You've always been there for me. Now let me help you." She held onto his good hand. "I love you," she reiterated. It was hard to say without it being persuaded out of her. But she felt he needed to hear it. He needed to know he was loved.
Unlike the last time she'd spoken those words, Booth looked like an innocent child. He looked down at their joined hands. "Okay," he agreed in an unsure voice.