(Season 7)
This story is rated T for violence and language.
I don't own Bones.
Ooooooooooooooooo
Staring at the man lying next to the toilet, Booth felt a shiver run down his spine. The body had been discovered in the toilet at the bar and for some reason the police thought he or Bren knew why the man had been killed. Feeling a little uncertain, Booth thought the victim looked familiar, but he couldn't place where he'd seen him before. He placed his arm around Bren's waist and continued to stare at the body, blood pooled under the victim's hips, humiliated in death . . . Starting to shake, it suddenly came to him that he knew where he'd seen the man before and he released Brennan. Moving closer to the body for a better look, Booth trembled, afraid of what was happening to him. "Dick . . . Dick, I don't understand . . . you're dead . . . you can't be here, you're already dead . . . No . . . NO!"
Sweating, Booth sat up, felt a hand touch him and he cried out. Moving off the bed, he stared down at Brennan, his eyes blinking rapidly, his heartbeat racing, sweat glistening on his face and dripping down his neck. "Bones." He was awake and Dick was no longer lying next to a toilet, dead, murdered by Jared. No, that's not right. "That was a dream. Jared didn't kill him."
Concerned, Brennan moved off the bed and walked around it so she was standing a few feet from her lover. "Who did Jared kill, Booth?"
Slowly shaking his head, Booth knew he sounded crazy. "No, no . . . Jared didn't kill anyone." Running his hands through his hair, Booth felt his hands come away damp. His hair was wet and he felt hot. "I . . . I was dreaming . . . just now . . . I . . . that dream I had when I was in a coma, I told you about it . . . that dream . . . I . . ."
Brennan stepped closer and placed her hand on Booth's arm. "You're upset, Booth. Yes, you were just having a bad dream, but you're awake now. It's alright." She pulled on his arm and docilely he followed her over to the chair near the closet. Moving him so his back was to the chair, she smiled and used both hands to guide him down on the seat. Once he was settled, she knelt before him and placed her hands on his knees. "You've had this dream before, Booth. It's just a dream. It's not real . . . I'm here . . . Jared is not a killer . . . we don't own a bar." She'd been through this several times since she had started to sleep with Booth and wondered why this particular dream plagued his nights. "You're an FBI Agent, I'm a forensic anthropologist. We don't own a bar . . . do you remember now?"
Fully awake, Booth leaned back against the chair and swallowed. "Yeah . . . it was a dream."
"Yes, a dream." She wasn't sure what else to say. Normally, he woke up from his bad dreams, got a drink of water and he went back to sleep, but tonight something seemed different about the situation. The look of fear on his face when she had touched him had startled her. That wasn't his usual reaction and she thought perhaps something new had happened in his dream. "Do you want to talk about it?"
His heart rate much calmer, his breathing easier, Booth nodded his head. "I . . . I had the club dream, you know the one."
She nodded her head. "Yes, I do."
"Yeah, I . . . we were in the bathroom, the men's bathroom at the club and Cam and Jared were showing us a body, you know the man who died in the toilet in my dream."
"Yes, Dick Vorstenbach . . . I remember . . . that wasn't the name I gave him in my book. I'm not sure why you call him that." Over the years, after many conversations about that coma dream, Brennan had found discrepancies between the book she had read aloud to Booth and the dream he'd had while in his coma, but she had never understood why the dead man's name had changed. Up until now, Booth hadn't been able to explain it.
His voice a little hoarse, Booth cleared his throat. "I . . . I remember who Dick Vorstenbach is . . . . I don't know why he ended up in my dream, but I . . . I know who he is."
Curious, Brennan smiled encouragement. "Can you tell me?"
Closing his eyes, Booth pictured in his mind, the last time he'd seen Dick. "I don't know why I forgot about him, I shouldn't have . . . His name was Richard Vorstenbach but everyone called him Dick . . . His father was called Richard so his family called him Dick . . . Corporal Richard Vorstenbach . . . I served with him during Operation Desert Storm . . . he . . . he didn't make it . . . he was with me when . . . he was with me."
Uncertain, Brennan stood up, moved over to the bed and sat down. She felt that if she gave Booth space he might feel more comfortable talking about whatever it was he was trying to tell her. "He was with you?"
His eyes still closed, Booth felt the air conditioner turn on and his damp t-shirt and underwear made him feel clammy. "I . . . When I was in Iraq . . . you know I was a prisoner of war. The Republican Guard found us . . . Dick and me . . . we were looking for a Colonel in the Republican Guard and . . . and we made a mistake . . . a mistake that almost killed me . . . they captured us and beat the shit out of us . . . Dick laughed because that was the way he was . . . he laughed . . . They tied us up and threw us in the back of a truck . . . we were taken to a small village and they took us out of the truck and carried us like sacks of grain . . . they dumped us in a building with no windows and left us there for a couple of hours. Dick was worried because his ropes were too tight and he couldn't feel his hands . . . I yelled for help and when . . . when the door was opened someone came in and I told them about Dick's hands . . . I can speak some Kurdish . . . I told them the ropes were too tight . . . the guard beat me and left . . . Dick told me to keep quiet, that they didn't give a fuck . . . didn't care about us."
She could hear the pain in Booth's voice and she wanted to cry, but Brennan sat there and let Booth tell his story because he needed to tell it. She knew that he needed to tell her his story.
"I managed to get over to where Dick was lying and with our backs towards each other, I messed around with the ropes on Dick's hands. I got them a little loose, but before I could free him, three guards came in, picked up Dick and left with him . . . While they were carrying him out the door, Dick told me to laugh when they came for me next because that was what he was going to do . . . I . . . I didn't see Dick again for a few hours . . . it was dark again and they came for me. They carried me out of the building and took me to another building . . . I was thirsty and I asked for some water . . . one of the guards poured a bucket of water over my head and laughed . . . I saw Dick lying in a corner of the building, he wasn't moving but I could see he was alive, he was staring at me . . . they tied me to a chair, removed my boots and started hitting my feet with a rod . . . I screamed . . . I screamed . . ."
"Booth." She wanted him to stop. Her partner was reliving an awful memory and he was in so much pain she wanted him to stop. "Booth, you don't have to tell me . . ."
"Yes, I do . . . I need to tell someone." Booth opened his eyes and licked his lips. "I've told some of this stuff to an army psychiatrist and when I was debriefed, but not all of it, not the screaming and other stuff. Please let me tell you . . . alright?"
Reluctantly, Brennan nodded her head. "Yes, of course."
His breath ragged, Booth tried to control his breathing and finally calmed down. "Thanks . . . Dick called out to me, he said 'laugh Booth', but I couldn't . . . they broke my leg and I screamed some more . . . anyone that tells you that they can put up with that kind of shit and not scream their head off is a fucking liar . . . Dick started yelling at them to stop and the guards stopped hitting me. I watched them go over to where Dick was lying and they . . . they killed him . . . they cut his throat and he looked at me and he . . . he died and I watched it." He felt tears running down his cheeks, but he let them. This was the first time he'd actually told the whole story about his captivity and he knew that Brennan needed to know what had happened to him. "I knew they were going to kill me and I decided that they weren't going to see me beg or anything. I . . . I laughed. They slapped me and told me to stop and I laughed harder. I was . . . I was crazy I guess and I probably scared the shit out of them, but I kept laughing . . . They left me alone . . . A few hours later, my people found me and cut me from the chair . . . I . . . I asked them to take care of Dick first, but they couldn't do anything for him because he was dead. I knew he was, but I kept begging them to take care of Dick . . . They gave me something and knocked me out . . . I woke up in a field hospital and they told me they were sending me to Germany . . . I was in bad shape." He stopped and shivered. "I'm cold."
Quickly, Brennan retrieved a clean pair of shorts and a t-shirt from the dresser and handed them to Booth. After he stripped off his damp clothes and redressed, he sat down while Brennan wrapped a blanket around him.
"Thanks Bones."
"You're welcome." Brennan picked up his damp clothes, carried them into the bathroom, placed them in the clothes basket and came back into the room. "Dick Vorstenbach was your friend. You inserted him in my story, because he was your friend and you hadn't forgot about him."
"Maybe." Sighing, Booth pulled the blanket across his legs and made sure his feet were covered with the blanket. "It's weird, I made him a killer and it's weirder that I killed him in my dream . . . He would have laughed if I'd told him about that dream . . . he would have loved it, being a hit man, but I don't think he'd have appreciated me dreaming he'd died in the bathroom . . . I think Dick saved my life . . . He told me to laugh when the guards came and got me . . . I couldn't do it then, but when they killed Dick and I saw him staring at me . . . I laughed. I wasn't going to let them see me cry or scream or beg, I was going to go out laughing like Dick wanted to do. I did it for him . . . Does that make sense?"
"Yes, it does." Brennan sat down on the edge of the bed again. "Perhaps you dream about Dick because you want to remember him, he was your friend and you don't want to forget him."
Not sure if what she said was true or not, Booth decided that it didn't matter. "I haven't thought about Dick for a long time. I try not to live in the past, you know that. I believe in moving forward, the past is the past, but I guess the past doesn't like to be forgotten, not all of it anyway . . . Dick was a great guy. I think I miss him. He was brave and he died fighting for what he believed in . . . You would have liked him. He . . . he was a great guy."
Moving over on the bed, Brennan got under the covers and held them open for her lover to join her. "Come to bed, Booth. I don't think you'll dream about Dick again, at least not for tonight. You've remembered him and I think that will be enough for now."
Back in bed, covered and feeling warm, Booth lay still staring at the ceiling. "Dreams are weird. Dick would have loved me telling him about it except for the dying next to a toilet part."
Oooooooooooooooo
Let me know what you think of my story. Thank you.
