Disclaimer - Bones and all its lovely characters belong to someone else
A/N - Once again apologies for the incredibly long gaps between updates on this one and thank you so much for all the reviews.
"Drop the gun!" Booth shouted again.
The woman didn't blink or make any kind of move. Suddenly there was movement in the doorway beside her, and a second gun appeared, the long barrel extended with a silencer. There was no hesitation from the second gunman. Booth tensed at the dull report of the gun as it fired, but there was so little time to react that he could do little more than squeeze off a wildly aimed shot.
The bullet whistled past him and embedded itself in the wall behind. The two gang members took advantage of Booth's momentary distraction, the woman diving into the room and slamming the door behind her but, not, Booth realised before his shot clipped her arm.
Booth swore and made his way up the corridor at a shambling run, his gun at the ready.
He stopped by the bodies, at least two of the agents were obviously still breathing but the steady flow of blood on the the pristine tiles told Booth that they need urgent attention.
He knew there was no point in attempting to storm into a locked room with two armed suspects on his own, but he still ground his teeth in frustration at his inability to act before reaching down to grab a hissing radio from the belt of one of the men.
As he thumbed the mike and started to speak, the unearthly wail of the fire alarm burst into life and the sprinklers began jetting a fine mist of water along the corridor.
Booth gasped at the cold sensation as his clothes rapidly became soaked before focusing on instructing the FBI teams as to where their suspects were while making sure that they brought a trauma team with them.
Even as he signed off, he could hear orders being barked out.
He turned his attention back to the three badly injured agents, finally taking in the details of their faces and his expression settled into a dark frown as he realised that he knew two of them well, Peterson and O'Malley. Friends from way back.
He knelt down beside O'Malley, whose skin was ashen and where there was no discernible rise and fall of his chest, and checked for a pulse. Booth could feel his fury building as he searched for a sign that his friend still had a chance. He was about to give up when he felt a weak, thready pulse against his fingers.
He closed his eyes for a moment in relief and then hesitated as he wondered how he could compress bullet wounds on three different causalities at the same time and keep the icy water from sending them any deeper into shock.
He was saved by the doors at either end of the corridor swinging open and a group of grim looking agents and local police officers surging towards him, followed by a surgical team led by the familiar Dr Davies.
The doctor managed a wry look at his erstwhile patient, before gesturing for him to get out of the way and starting to work on stabilising the injured men.
Booth picked out the senior agent and brought him up to speed. It was difficult to make yourself heard over the din of the alarm, so Booth pointed to the door and indicated that he'd seen two shooters.
The senior agent nodded, that accorded with what they knew.
He paused, taking in Booth's injuries, pale face and the gun still held firmly in his hand, then shook his head and gestured for Booth to stand back. Booth looked mutinous for a moment, but finally stood aside realising that his reactions were a lot slower than usual and he was more likely to put other people at risk if he insisted on being involved.
He scarcely noticed as one of the police officers handed him a coat and only realised how much he was shivering when he slid it over his shoulders.
He stood back against the wall, watching the doctors rig IV lines and staunch the bleeding, stabilising the patients enough to get them onto a trolley and into an OR. At the same time, the agents got ready to batter open the door. They lined up, providing cover for each other, but the shouted instruction to open up went unacknowledged.
Booth felt frustration build, it had been only about a minute or two from when he had exchanged shots with the gang members but he could feel their chances of catching them draining away with the water that still poured from the ceiling.
The door was smashed open and the agents rushed in.
The room was empty.
And the critically injured gang member was dead. A single shot to the head.
A ceiling panel had been removed and it was obvious that the alarm had provided the perfect cover to hide any noise from two people fleeing through the ducting.
Booth slumped against the wall, suddenly aware of his exhaustion and the vicious discomfort in his shoulder. He watched, detached, as further sweeps of the building and the roof space were planned and members of the FBI team went rushing off.
Booth pulled the coat tighter around himself and wondered how he was going to get back to his room on legs that suddenly felt like they'd been filled with jello.
As abruptly as it started, the alarm stopped, bringing an echoing silence, and the chilling indoor rain ceased. The silence lengthened as two familiar figures appeared in the doorway.
Booth looked up and smiled involuntarily as Bones rushed down the corridor towards him, oblivious to the treacherous surface.
She came skidding to a halt next to him, her eyes darting as she checked him for further injury. Her look of worry increased as she noticed his pallor and the shivers that were wracking his body.
Bones opened her mouth, but found that the words were stuck behind a lump that had become lodged in her throat. She didn't know whether she want to yell at him for being so reckless or to whisper in his ear how glad she was to see him safe. Instead she settled for staring at him in painful silence, her heart in her eyes.
After an agonised second, Booth reached across and gently touched her cheek, brushing away the tears that she hadn't even realised were falling.
Then she was in his arms, both drawing strength from the embrace.
The other newcomer's greeting was more restrained, but Booth recognised that ignoring Cullen's instruction that he should get back to his room would not be a good idea.
With Bones to help him, he slowly trudged back towards his bed.
Back at the lab, Hodgins had been overlaying maps for the best part of four hours. He really needed the information from Pennsylvania but had been trying to find anything else from the samples they had from each body that might tie them together.
He looked more closely at the sample on his slide. Then sighed, nothing. On to the next one.