Nightmare
Nearly three hours later Max went up to check on his baby girl. See if perhaps he could entice her down to dinner. The smells drifting from the kitchen were intoxicating. He knocked on the door, but when no one answered he took fatherly privilege and opened the door. He entered the darkened room. She was sleeping in the center of the bed, partially obscured from view by the curtains.
He sat on the edge of the bed, trying to roust his sleeping daughter. He hated to wake her when she looked so peaceful, but she needed to eat. Something more than a few bites of coagulated cheese or fluffy treats. It didn't take much, his mere weight on the bed, had her turning toward him. "Hey sleepy head. How about you come downstairs for a little bit of dinner? This house apparently came with some world class chef!"
"Shhh please dad be quiet. Booth is actually sleeping." Booth was indeed sound asleep on the sofa, arm draped over his head. Quite a pair, his baby and the only man Max trusted with her. Max felt a surge of fatherly affection for the young man. He didn't know much his past, other than the details Tempe had confided. He knew that perhaps one reason they had found such connection is because they both understood the darkness. Not that Max would ever pry. But actions spoke louder than words, and Booth's actions told him volumes. As did his daughter's concern for him. Max had to admit the man had looked exhausted for weeks. The deep lines that had formed in his face softened in the dreamlike state. He was obviously in a very deep slumber.
"Well let me take you down to dinner, visit with friends and we will let your watch dog sleep a little longer." The twinkle in her dad's eye made the prospect of going downstairs appealing and she really hated to wake Booth with their arguing.
Looking down at her cast she inquired "Fine, but are you sure you can carry me down the stairs?"
Max winced at her words, did he look like such an old man that he was incapable of carrying her delicate frame? "I am sure I can manage." With those words he already had her up in his arms, the lightness shocking him but he gave no reaction. They silently crept from the room. Booth's steady breathing the only sound in the room.
Darkness made it impossible to see more than mere shadows. Keeping his footsteps silent was a difficult feat in the dense underbrush but the benefit of surprise was not one that he wanted to surrender. He could feel the cold steel of the gun in his hand; he could sense the men to his left and his right as they wordlessly made their way toward the clearing. It was a moonless night, but they were well trained to work under these conditions, he thrived in them. Movement gave the target away and with three quick shots he watched the shadow fall. Mission success. In that instant a spark of summer lightning lit the entire location up like mid afternoon sun. Two more minutes and their secret location would have been compromised. He looked toward his target with the second streak of lightning, but instead of the face from his dossier he saw her auburn matted with blood, her blue eyes half open in death.
"BONES!" He woke screaming, his face and back were drenched in cold sweat. For a moment his surroundings were foreign and terrifying. Darkness had indeed fallen while he had been asleep. How long was he out? He stood up in an attempt to regain his bearings. His nightmare blended with reality in a hazy sense of dread. Looking at the bed his stomach dropped. It was empty. Something was horribly wrong. Racing from the room his voice shot out in sheer panic "Temperance where are you!" Flying down the hall he continued to call her name. Racing down the stairs, into the main foyer he cursed the house for being a sprawling estate. "Temperance! Bones! Temperance!" His voice was ragged from the yelling. Barging through intricately carved double doors of the parlor, the others rushed toward the hysterical screaming.
Hodgins reached out and grasped his shoulder. "Hey man, relax she is down here with us. No one meant to startle you." Booth's eyes were still wild as if not comprehending his friend's words. "She is fine, come with us and see for yourself" Hodgins guided Booth into the parlor where everyone had gathered after dinner. Sitting on the sofa she had a green afghan across her lap covering her casted leg. She turned to face him pulsating with worry.
"Booth, I'm fine I didn't want to wake you. I never met to frighten you." She patted the end of the sofa "Come sit with me a moment. Please?" Her words sounded like they came from the dark end of a tunnel, but he obeyed still half in a trance. Her arms found their way around him, "Booth, talk to me." Her voice was soft. Not the far away whisper it had been, but soothing and comforting.
His face tucked against her hair. "I am so sorry for scaring everyone. I was dreaming. Just a nightmare. When I woke you were gone. I don't know what came over me." The small group was still huddled in the doorway. In all of the fear for Brennan it was easy to forget the psychological toll it would take on him. He always blamed himself when she was in trouble. This time was no different. Watching the two embrace on the couch was even more intimate then the morning they saw them intertwined in bed. Emotions throughout were raw and shaken, his fear brought to reality that they were still in danger. They were in desperate need of a lightening of atmosphere, a break in the tension. Or a really good scotch. Hodgins silently walked to the bar, added a solid splash to a glass, and pressed it into Booth's still shaking hand.
Three hours later the little group finally headed to bed. It was well past midnight and everyone had relaxed with a few sips of a fine amber 25 year old single malt. They had attempted to play Pictionary but everything Hodgins drew inevitably looked like bread mold, and Cam couldn't stop laughing long enough to hold a pen. Instead they sat in the formal room with their feet on the furniture reminiscing about the more curious cases they had worked on together. No one mentioned the killer still at large that still threatened their very core. But his presence hung in the room; a thick cigar smoke hanging against the ceiling in a dark rolling cloud.
Without words Booth gathered her once again into arms that were still a bit tensed after his earlier episode. Vivid dreams were something he had learned to keep at bay many years ago. Sleeping in a suspended state of readied awareness was one throwback from his sniper days with the added benefit of never quite hitting the point of dreams. Exhaustion had just gotten the better of him tonight. Yet she was safe and improving. Hopefully his outburst didn't cause her too much distress. It was bad enough that he couldn't protect her from serial killers. Now he had to worry about the danger posed by his own demons.
Maybe it was the five hour afternoon nap, the fear of the dreams, or just being unable to tear his eyes off her, but Booth was unable to sleep that night. He tossed and turned, paced the room, stood out on the balcony to stare out to the endless sky. The moonlight fractured across the ripples of waves and cast a cool blue light across the vast expanse of sand. Breathing deeply the salty night air was no solace to him. Darkness only hides the enemy, a lesson he learned long ago. It brings out the worst in men who feel safe to do evil under the cover of shadow. Men like him. The house had the restful feel of sleep but he couldn't seem to join into their slumber. Instead he turned his back to the night and once again watched the steady rhythm of her restful breathing.
