A/N – Hi readers. Thank you to everyone who reviewed on my first chapter, it's very encouraging and makes me want to keep it going. I will try to update consistently, but I am very busy, and this fic is a free-time kind of thing.

Enjoy!

Chapter 2

Brennan blinked tiredly as she followed Dr. Bortis into the lab. She was exhausted, but her earlier conversation with Booth made her all the more determined not to show it. Sweets would have something to say about her stubbornness, and how it was a by-product of her childhood of independence and abandonment, or something of that description. Psychology, she thought scornfully. She was never one for the soft science.

Dr. Bortis came to a halt, having arrived at the remains. Brennan looked around the room. It was small and antiseptic, with carts of equipment stowed neatly in the corner. The remains were laid out accurately on a metal table, completely cleaned and free of flesh. Markers stuck out of the skull, which looked as if it had been reconstructed. Brennan actually felt a rare stab of sympathy for the other scientist. He was clearly competent and had all but completed the process, he just wanted somebody to tell him he was mistaken about the identity.

Snapping on a pair of gloves, Brennan ghosted her hand along the skeleton, her weariness forgotten as she settled into the familiar routine of examination.

"Victim is female, mid-to-late twenties. Perimortem crushing and scrape marks to the tarsals, metatarsals, and phalanges indicate the victim's feet were bound."

Brennan glanced up at Dr. Bortis. The man's foot was bouncing anxiously, and his expression was tight, but he nodded at her to continue.

"Extensive fracturing to both the right and left tibia, fibula, and humerus. The lack of remodelling shows these injuries were sustained around time of death. The butterfly-patterned nature of the fracturing suggests the victim was beaten."

She looked again at Dr. Bortis, feeling uneasy. She was a professional and had no issues distancing herself from the victim, but she was unsure of what manner to communicate by to the other anthropologist. "This victim was tortured," she said hesitantly.

Dr. Bortis closed his eyes, nodding again and turning away from the bones.

Brennan stood unsurely by the table, wondering if she should continue.

"It wouldn't make sense." He spoke suddenly, facing Brennan again. "For it to be Alyson," he forced out in answer to Brennan's questioning look. "She was, is, a lovely person, and I haven't met anyone who would have a problem with her. To be… tortured and murdered, it… it just doesn't make sense. No one would want that to happen to her." He sounded frantic, and it seemed like he was pleading with her, as if Brennan could make his statement true if she tried hard enough. She didn't like it. It made her uncomfortable.

Shifting her weight uneasily, she ventured further up the skeleton, where the obvious cause of death had already been marked. "Gunshot wound through the frontal bone, exiting through the parietal bone. Execution style. Suggests-"

"Suggests the victim was completely at the killer's mercy and made no move to escape." Dr. Bortis's voice was soft. Brennan hadn't expected him to speak. She pressed her lips together, waiting for him to continue. He never did. He was fixated on the bones, as if he were waiting for them to give him an answer.

"Paul?" She tried. "Are you alright?"

Dr. Bortis looked up, startled, like he had forgotten she was there. "Yes, Temper – uh, Dr. Brennan. Actually, do you mind giving me some time? Feel free to look around the lab – you will see some of my team working, just don't disturb them and you'll be fine. There's also a bakery and a diner just across the road. I will call you when I require you back here."

Brennan recognised his suggestion of getting food so soon after having lunch to mean he wanted to be alone for quite some time. She nodded and smiled at him in what she hoped was an understanding way, before exiting the room.

The lab was relatively small compared to the Jeffersonian. Not that it seemed to hinder anyone here – people buzzed around her, barely acknowledging her presence as they worked busily. It made her homesick for the daily bustle of her lab.

She stopped outside an office, recognising the name on the shiny bronze plaque. Dr. J. Taki, the supporting forensic anthropologist working for Dr. Bortis. She had heard he was quite impressive.

She glanced inside the office as she walked past, immediately locking eyes with the resident. In the second it took her to glide past the door, his watery green gaze bored hatefully into her, making her skin crawl. She repressed the urge to shudder, moving hastily past the office and through the lab faster now. The young anthropologist had looked extremely angry. She wondered what was aggravating him.

She reached the exit door of the lab, unsure of what to do next. She had her laptop – maybe she would sit down in the diner across the road and work on her next novel. Writing about Kathy and Andy's next harrowing set of adventures was always welcoming to her. Even she would admit the parallels between her novels and her own life were similar, and it gave her an unfounded sense of control, like she was plotting the next events of her life. It was nonsensical, she knew, but she let it be. And Booth was not Andy, however much he and Angela claimed otherwise.

She stepped outside into the narrow alley between the lab and the neighbouring building, instantly battered by freezing winds that made her nose go numb. The grey sky threw a cloud cover that darkened the small lane, making the icy floor look dirty. Charming, Booth would say.

Drawing her coat more tightly around her, she walked forward, the audible crunch of her foot on the icy ground sounding simultaneously with another noise that she recognized - the heavy door being pushed open. She whipped around, startled, meeting familiar pale green eyes. Before she had any time to react, she felt a sharp sting in the side of her neck, and her vision swam, and all she could see was a cruel green blur. Suddenly losing control of her body, she felt herself drop to the ground, her legs crumpling painfully under her. The last thing she remembered was the freezing hard snow pressing uncomfortably against her neck, and two pallid green eyes boring into her like lasers, so devoid of humanity that even in her incapacitated state, she trembled. Then the world went black.

Booth glanced at the clock again in frustration. It was almost two in the afternoon – eight in the evening where Brennan was. She had promised to call him when she returned to her room after studying the remains, yet he hadn't spoken to her since this morning in Sweets's office. He had heard in her voice just how tired she was. Why did she have to insist on working herself to the bone?

He set his cell down halfway through dialling her number, for what must have been the tenth time today. She had already agreed to his overbearing terms, he didn't want to annoy her even more by calling her while she was working. Still, she had been working for six hours – regardless of when she returned to her room, she knew he was expecting another call. Twice a day. She had certainly agreed to those conditions. He would give her one more hour, and then he was calling her himself.

Feeling a little better now that he had a plan, Booth settled back into his chair, trying to focus on the report he was writing. He had spent the previous twenty minutes reading the last few sentences over and over, forgetting to actually take them in.

An hour. He could wait until then.

Heart stammering, Booth listened to his cell ring out for the twentieth time. Brennan's alto smooth voicemail greeting sounded again, assuring that she will get back to him later. The time in the corner of his computer read eight in the morning. The following afternoon in Kosovo. And he still hadn't heard from her. She had never called him back last night like she had promised.

His hand tremored slightly as he stared at his cell. She had promised to call him. Last night, he had been surviving off the unlikely scenario that she was still at the Kosovo lab, even though he knew she would have put aside five minutes to call or text him and let him know she was working late. She wasn't that impervious to his concern. Well at least, he didn't think so. But it had been a full twenty-four hours since he had heard from her, and seventeen hours since he had first attempted to call her. All of the terms she had agreed to had been broken. Something was wrong. Something must have happened. He rubbed his brow, trying to sort his chaotic thoughts. He didn't know what to do.

A knock on his door further darkened his mood. The apprehensive face of Sweets peeked around the corner timidly. Booth suspected his hesitance had something to do with the insufferable attitude he had been harbouring since yesterday.

"Agent Booth. May I come in?"

No, he thought internally. "Sure," he said disgruntledly.

"I am just letting you know the field evaluations for the interns are complete. Mr. Fisher failed instantly – that guy is uh… extremely miserable. But the rest of the interns have all been cleared – you will be partnered with whoever is intern of the week. Just thought you would appreciate a heads up," Sweets was rambling, and Booth didn't need to be a psychologist to know this wasn't the reason for paying him a visit. It was for some other shrinky reason.

"Yeah that's great, Sweets, thanks for letting me know. You can go now," he said gruffly, putting his theory to the test.

Sweets hovered awkwardly. "Oh, well, actually, Agent Booth, now that I'm here, I was wondering if-"

Booth interrupted him. "Aha! I knew you didn't come here to tell me about the interns. I'm not in the mood for you to get all shrinky right now, Sweets, alright?"

The profiler crossed his arms insolently. "You know, the entire bullpen has been complaining about your mood. And if this has something to do with Dr. Brennan being away, I'd like to address it as soon as possible, because at this rate you're going to get yourself fired before she returns."

The mention of Brennan had him fuming. He'd been in a precarious state all morning, and this meddling psychologist was going to tip the balance for the worst. He pointed to the door. "Out, Sweets," he growled.

He stood his ground. "Your anger isn't directed at me, Agent Booth, this is stemming from somewhere else. Why don't we discuss it?" Sweets' voice was nonchalant, like he wanted to chat about the weather.

Booth's blood was boiling. "Oh, no, see you've got it all wrong. This is definitely directed at you. Aren't I making that clear enough?" His voice was raising uncontrollably. He stood up abruptly, knocking the stack of papers he had been working on to the floor.

Sweets studied him silently, not perturbed by Booth's outburst in the slightest.

"Dr. Brennan is more than capable of looking after herself, Agent Booth. She has always been fine doing this kind of thing, well before she met you. You have to trust she will be fine this time round too."

Booth opened his mouth to yell at Sweets to leave again, but nothing came out. The mention of Brennan for the second time threw him in a different direction, and his voice caught in his throat. He hefted his cell, gripping it so tightly his knuckles glowed white. "She hasn't called!" His voice broke without warning. "She… she promised she'd call."

Sweets hastily shut the door to Booth's office; people in the bullpen were starting to stare.

He tilted his head in an annoyingly examining way. "You spoke to her yesterday morning. I take it you had an arrangement to speak again before now?"

Booth glared at him. "She promised she'd call as soon as she went back to her room last night. She was exhausted when she spoke to me yesterday, Sweets. I expected her to be in her room within the hour, but she never called. I don't think she would have forgotten to call me, either. It's not like I didn't remind her."

Sweets nodded, understanding dawning on his face. "You think something has happened to her, and you can't get in contact with her to be sure."

"You're a genius," Booth snapped. He didn't care if he was being rude. He was so high-strung that he honestly could barely tell. "I've been trying her cell since yesterday afternoon. Nothing."

Sweets brushed off his snipe, nodding. "Dr. Brennan mentioned you hounded her for all the details of her trip – do you have any contacts from who she was meeting with in Kosovo? I'm sure they could put your mind at ease. It's very possible her cell just ran out of battery, or she's out of range. Did you consider that?"

Booth was glaring so intensely he thought he might burn a hole through the boy. "I'm a special agent, Sweets, of course I've considered it. I've considered everything," he said tightly. "I have Dr. Paul Bortis's number, the guy in charge of the investigation." He inhaled angrily. "But I must have a wrong digit, or something, because the call won't connect. It's the only contact I had."

Sweets's eyebrows were knitted together in thought. His face cleared suddenly in triumph. "Dr. Saroyan will have his details! This guy would have had to gain authorisation from her to ask for Dr. Brennan to fly out!"

Did Sweets really think he was that incompetent? The psychologist grimaced when he realised Booth was still death-staring him. "Oh, you already thought of that too," he muttered.

"Cam left early for the weekend, she's spending it with her gynaecologist boyfriend and she's unreachable," he said heatedly. "Her damn cell is switched off. I swear it's the one and only time she's ever taken a weekend off work. She won't be back until Monday."

Sweets slumped. "Well… what else can we do?"

Booth looked at him, the anger rapidly draining out of him and leaving him weary and desperately worried. "I can't wait until Monday," he said defeatedly. The image of Brennan, hurt and alone somewhere kept plaguing his mind. He knew it was a mistake letting her go to that place alone. Nowhere on the planet was completely safe, but Kosovo was a damn powder keg waiting for a spark. And he could trust Brennan to be the match that set it alight.

The thought of her in danger, needing him, settled it. His resolve hardened, his jaw setting decisively. "I'm going to go find her. I've got all the info about where's she's staying right here." He brandished the notepad that hadn't left his side since Brennan flew out. "I don't know when I'll be back. Cover for me?"

Sweets threw his hands up in surprise. "Wait, what? Wh- what do I tell Cullen?"

Booth shoved the SUV keys into his pocket, swiftly tossing his personal affects into his desk drawer. "Family emergency," he replied quickly.

Sweets' eyes widened. "You want me to lie to Cullen? What will happen if he finds out?"

The words he had spoken to Bones all those years ago replayed in his mind. "Listen, Bones. Hey, there's more than one kind of family."

He remembered his fingers lightly under her chin, her blue eyes shining with unshed tears as she grasped what he was saying. They were family. The memory made him feel homesick.

"It isn't a lie," Booth said softly.

He could see in Sweets' eyes that he understood. He would cover his absence. Grasping his notepad tightly, Booth nodded his thanks to the psychologist and made to walk past him.

"Booth," Sweets spoke, stopping him in his tracks. He glanced at him, hoping he hadn't misread the situation and Sweets wasn't about to report him or notify someone else to look further into this. He knew that even if an investigation was started up, he would be taken off it. He was too close to this. Swallowing, he watched the profiler warily. Sweets stared back at him, several tense seconds passing before he nodded resolutely. "Keep me in the loop, yeah?"

Booth bowed his head in agreement, relieved. Pushing past Sweets, he made a beeline for his SUV. His thoughts were of nothing but his partner. Brennan hurt, or scared, or unconscious, or… or worse. He was furious with himself for not trusting his gut earlier on. Every fibre of his being had warned him about this, and he'd still let her go. He took a deep breath, trying to collect his thoughts as he started up the SUV.

He knew what he needed to do. He needed to be on the fastest goddam plane he could find en route to Kosovo. But he needed to make a stop first. There was only one person who could help him over in a place like Kosovo that he trusted with this. Memories of Desert Storm filled his mind, and the intensity of the kinship and loyalty that he had found there. He was owed a favour, and he prayed to God that he would never again need one as badly as he did now.

But he was going to have to ask a favour of someone else first. A plan flying together in his mind, Booth withdrew his cell from his pocket, dialling frantically.

"Hodgins," the entomologist's voice droned boredly through the phone.

"It's Booth," he said determinedly. "Listen, I need a huge favour."

Not even an hour later, thanks to Hodgins pulling some strings and his seemingly bottomless bank account, Booth was airborne on the fastest private jet that money could buy. The pilot commandeering the aircraft had been sworn to secrecy through both a massive paycheck from Hodgins, and some slightly uncalled for death threats by Booth.

They were on track for Bucharest. Booth desperately wanted to beeline to Kosovo, but he knew he'd need help. He couldn't mess this up. He was a great FBI agent, not to be cocky, but this would be nothing like America. More knowledge was needed.

Inhaling anxiously, he began punching a number into his cell, a number that he had memorised after hearing it only once so many years ago and had never uttered or written again in fear of it being discovered. He raised the cell to his ear, hoping against hope the number was still operational.

A computerized, decisively female voice answered. "Association?"

"Shield, storm, sabre," Booth replied tensely.

"Relation?"

"Comrade."

"Claim?"

"Recompense."

"Code?"

"2-18-1991. Paladin." He waited in anticipation.

The mechanical tone disappeared, replaced by a clearly human voice. "Your name, Sir?"

"Seeley Joseph Booth."

The voice clicked in approval. "Patching you through now, Mr. Booth."

A familiar deep but cheery voice sounded through the cell. "Seeley! I'd say it's nice to hear from you, but considering you're using your call, I'd be wrong eh? What bloody soup sandwich have you mixed up this time?"

Booth exhaled, the relief that his contact had worked barely recognisable through the fear that gripped his heart.

"Mico," Booth offered in greeting. "It's a surprise to hear that you're still alive, actually." His tone was joking, but there was a ring of truth to it. "Listen, I'm on course for your main headquarters in Bucharest. Look, I'm not landing for another ten hours, but I need you on this jet as soon as possible."

"Woah, hold up. You're coming to Bucharest? Seel, what's happened?" Mico sounded concerned, even through the gritty call quality.

Booth closed his eyes. Images of Brennan in peril had been threatening to take him over all morning. He didn't think he could keep it together if he had to bring it up now.

"I… I'll tell you later, Meek. I don't have the time right now," he said guardedly.

Mico snorted. "Oh, no? Ten-hour flight isn't enough time to let your buddy know what's so important that you're risking his life and entire operation by flying out to HQ?"

Booth cringed. He made a fair point. "Yeah okay. I'm sorry though, Meek, you know I wouldn't be doing this if it wasn't important."

"I know. So, let's hear it, yeah?"

Booth steeled himself. "My partner's in danger. I need you to come and help me out." Instantly, the flashes of Bones he had been trying to keep at bay rushed through again, tugging at his heart.

"Your… FBI partner?"

"No, uh, sort of. She's a forensic anthropologist, with the Jeffersonian Institute, not FBI. We solve murder cases together, you know, she finds out what happened to the victim, and I go catch the bad guy."

"She?" Mico's voiced peaked with interest. Booth would have rolled his eyes if he wasn't so tense.

"Not now, alright?" He must have heard the seriousness in Booth's voice, because he stayed quiet for once. "She went over to Kosovo for work, and she's gone AWOL. I can't get in contact with her, and I just know something's wrong. And I thought… well, I thought you'd be the best person to ask for help in a place like Kosovo, because, well…"

Booth trailed off, not wanting to breach the sensitive topic of why Mico now lived and fully operated out of Southern Europe. He was floundering, almost terrified of driving away the only help he needed. "It's just, you know better than anyone what might have happened to her if she's been taken." Booth's voice cracked on that last word, resolve crumbling. He'd blocked that thought from his mind ever since he found out Bones was visiting Kosovo, of all damn places. "I can't go through that, Meek. I saw firsthand what it did to you, and I can't go through that."

He hadn't wanted to reference his friend's trauma, but he needed to be sure Mico understood what he was asking of him.

Mico was uncharacteristically quiet. Booth was sure he had never before made it through more than a couple sentences without him interjecting in some way. "Hey. You still there?"

"Yeah, I'm here," Mico said slowly.

Booth hesitated. "Will you help me?"

"Yes." His friend replied immediately. His voice softened. "I owe you my life, Seel. But even if I didn't… I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

Booth deflated in relief, even as he was struck with sympathy for his friend. "You know, Charlotte, she… she was lucky to have someone like you, Meek." He tentatively addressed the elephant in the room.

A humourless laugh sounded through the cell. "Yeah well, she could have been luckier, couldn't she?" He said darkly.

Booth chewed the inside of his cheek, at a loss for what to say. He remembered the year before Mico went underground in uncomfortable detail. He remembered his friend, searching desperately all over Mediterranean Europe for his missing girlfriend, triggering the downfall of so many human trafficking rings that the entire undercover illegal trade market had singled him out as a target. He remembered Mico being forced to go into hiding, building his own covert operation for the sole intent of ridding the world of the scum that ran the sex trade. He remembered the day he had given up hope, even though he had never admitted it or stopped searching. Booth had seen it in the man's eyes.

The ex-veteran's operation was for retribution, uncovering warehouses and rescuing victims. Booth suspected he was responsible for the various bombings across Europe, which had all been discovered to be sites of illegal trafficking in the aftermath of the investigations. But for once, he turned a blind eye. After all, the explosions seemed to be targeting the facilities, and there had never been casualties reported. He didn't want to know, and he sure as hell didn't want to be the one that had to stop it.

His friend's voice distracted his train of thought, considerably lighter than a few moments before. "We'll find her, Seel."

"I know," Booth replied with conviction. Failure wasn't an option. He tapped his foot, pumping with adrenaline that was being put to waste on the lengthy plane flight. "She'll be just fine." Mico grunted in agreement.

"So," Mico goaded suddenly after a tense pause. "Is she a looker?"

Booth smirked. The next few hours were going to be interesting; he could feel it. "You never were one for subtlety, were you Meek?""

"Oh, that's definitely a yes."

Brennan's eyes slowly flickered open, something she'd been trying to achieve for the past few minutes. Her eyelids were absurdly heavy, more so than the ocular and brow muscle fatigue sensation she was so familiar with after long nights in the lab.

She blinked forcibly, attempting to encourage some moisture to relieve her dry eyes as she tried to make sense of her surroundings.

Even though her eyes were open, the world was still black, meaning her head must be covered. She tried to quell the rising sense of alarm in her chest as she recalled her most recent memories – a sharp stinging in her neck, and the face of Dr. Taki slowly blurring as she crumpled to the floor. The side of her neck throbbed at the recollection. She'd been drugged.

She forced herself to take stock of the situation. She felt lethargic and drowsy, and her limbs weren't moving. A side effect of the sedative, she reassured herself. It would wear off. She was trying to approach this in a distant, businesslike manner that would hopefully prevent her from panicking as the sleepy feeling started to wear off.

Voices distracted her. She strained to hear them over the ringing in her ears.

"…came alone, Mr. Bortis. She only landed today and has made no breakthroughs on the remains."

Brennan's sluggish mind struggled to keep up. Dr. Bortis was responsible for this? It didn't make sense. Why would the other voice be telling him things he already knew?

"You're sure the identity has not been announced?" Dr. Bortis's voice sounded unfamiliarly brusque.

"Yes."

"Excellent, Jusuf," Dr. Bortis said approvingly. "Make yourself scarce tomorrow evening, and make sure you have an alibi. You will be the only forensic anthropologist left in the lab, and no further investigation will occur on the remains. Understood?"

Brennan's head was spinning. Jusuf. Dr. Jusuf Taki, her captor. She hadn't imagined his face, at least she was sure of that now. But Dr. Bortis's words didn't make any sense. He was the lead anthropologist. Was he leaving? What was going to happen tomorrow evening? Why would Jusuf need an alibi?

Feeling started seeping back into her fingers and toes, and she wriggled them experimentally. Her relief was short-lived, though, as she encountered a different kind of resistance. Her ankles and wrists were bound tightly. That didn't bode well for her.

Fumbling for ideas, she tried to drag her bound hands along her side, feeling her pockets for her cell. Her numb fingers caught clumsily on the sides of her coat, sending horrible tingling sensations down her arms from the lack of movement and circulation. No cell. The urge to curse surprised her. Booth was a negative influence on her, she thought groggily.

Booth.

She had no way of telling the time, and she wondered how long it had been since their last call. Was he worrying right now? Or would he be clueless for a while longer? It didn't matter, she realised. Though she suspected he was exaggerating about flying out to Kosovo if she didn't return his call, even if he did, he would be too late. He'd be a minimum of eleven hours away, more than enough time for these people to make her disappear. If that was what they intended to do.

She racked her brains for reasons this could be happening, trying to think the way Booth did when he speculated motive. Normally, he would assume that it was the killer trying to prevent her from figuring out the crime, but that didn't make sense in this case. Why would Dr. Bortis ask for her help if he was trying to cover up the murder, not draw attention to it? She could have stayed perfectly oblivious to the entire ordeal while over in DC and he would have gotten away with it easily.

The only other option that made sense was ransom. Like the Gravedigger, maybe Dr. Bortis just knew of her wealth and reputation and wanted to trade her safe return for a sum of money. That idea was a little more comforting to her. At least in this scenario, she got to go home. Home to the Jeffersonian. Home to Booth.

The sound of a door closing and the gentle rock it set off told Brennan she was in a vehicle. She held her breath, trying to still her trembling muscles. If she could keep up the pretence of being unconscious, she might be able to learn something more and gain the upper hand. Her lungs burned, too afraid to breathe lest she give herself away.

The engine started, grumbling so loudly that Brennan deemed it safe enough to let out her shaky breath. They were going to drive away, and she doubted there would be any way of tracing her. If Booth came looking for her, he'd come to a dead end after the lab. Her prickling fingers wrapped around the pen in her pocket. She couldn't disappear, or she'd have no hope. She had to get this right – it was now or never.

She could hear Dr. Bortis's husky breaths in close proximity, meaning she was lying across the backseat, her head directly behind the driver's chair. That was something she could take advantage of. Focusing for a moment to ensure they were moving, and Bortis would be focused on driving, she quietly raised her restrained arms towards the underside of her chin, fumbling with what felt like the knotted cord of a drawstring bag. Her fingers were unfeeling and cumbersome, greatly hindering the process. Again, stinging pain shot through her limbs as the oxygen-starved flesh gradually re-sensitised.

At long last, she managed to loosen the coarse knot and untie the string completely. Her hands froze, thumbs under the hem of the bag as she listened intently for any indication that her antics had been discovered. Her heart pounded so loudly that she wondered if Bortis could hear it.

Uncomfortably slowly, she began to raise the bag off and over her head, fighting the urge to just tear it off. Irrational as it was, fear of the dark had plagued her ever since those dreadful few days in foster care, locked in that trunk.

With her arms halfway over her head, the edge of the bag was lifted enough for a substantial amount of light to flood through. Even though it couldn't have been bright, the prolonged period of time she had spent in darkness made it blinding, and she winced. Simultaneously, the vehicle hit a bump in the road that jolted her bristling appendages and sent her head reeling. Unable to control herself, a soft yelp escaped her lips. She froze in horror, doubting that had been missed even over the loud road noise. Her heart was thrumming even harder against her chest, and she strained to hear over it.

A sharp intake of breath from the driver spurred her into action. He had heard her. Ripping the bag off the rest of the way, she quickly grasped the pen again in her tied hands and tried to vault herself upwards, her body so lethargic it felt like she was moving in slow motion. The vehicle swerved abruptly, throwing her hard against the door and throwing her vision out of focus. Determined, she forced herself up again and brandished her pen, grabbing her captor's shoulder as he spun around to face her, the car now pulled over and stopped.

Without hesitation, she sunk the pen with all her might into Bortis's neck, even as she felt another sting in her own. Looking down in surprise, she concentrated on the syringe protruding from her neck, the last of the clear liquid quickly disappearing inside her skin. Her mouth dropping in a mixture of shock and the rapid onset of paralysis, she sluggishly raised her head to face her attacker. The harshly angled face stared back at her, eyes black with rage as a small bead of blood ran its way down over his clavicle. This was someone who was extremely angry, she noted absently, her mind slowing down with every passing second. And someone who was most certainly not Paul Bortis.

Something nagged in the back of her mind, a missing piece to the puzzle her failing brain couldn't put together right now. For the second time this unfortunate day, her vision went black.

A little of the tension that had lived in Booth over the last twenty-four hours dissipated as he opened the jet door to the face of his old army buddy, patting him roughly on the back in greeting.

Mico cracked into a wide grin, running a tan hand through his already tousled black hair. "It's been too long, Seeley."

Booth offered a smile of his own, feeling slightly less enthusiastic than his friend as he catalogued the hours that Brennan could be missing for by the time they landed in Kosovo.

His lack of excitement must have shown through his half-hearted grin, because Mico looked at him dubiously as he set his bag down on one of the seats. "Always so doom-and-gloom, Seel. You know, I thought ya might've been dribbling bull crap back then when you said you were ditching the army for a quiet life in DC. And I was bloody right! Every second day I see it, you in the paper, on the news, making the world a smidge better one scumbag at a time." He slid a laptop onto his knees and grinned at Booth. "More action than Master Sergeant Booth ever saw."

Booth sank into the seat beside him, elbows resting on his knees. "You know, I'll be happy to never see another day of action again after this." He rubbed his temple, trying to settle the subtle ache growing there.

Mico looked at him, sympathy present on his usually cocky face. His brash demeanour was gone for the moment, and Booth appreciated it. Mico was a joker, not a jackass. "We'll find your pretty lady, Seeley," he confirmed. "I'm on it." Mico gestured to the sleek laptop that was balancing on his knees. He was zooming in on a map of Kosovo, certain areas of the place alight in different colours.

"What's that telling you?" Booth asked skeptically.

Mico waved his hand unceremoniously in front of the screen. "Lovely ladies back at HQ are running a trace on your girl's cell with all the info you sent earlier."

The computer continued to zoom on its own, gradually zeroing in on a large, industrial looking building, the birds eye map format having now changed to a realistic feed from ground level. It beeped triumphantly, apparently signifying its success.

Mico snapped his fingers. "According to this, she's at the, uh, Kosovo Research Laboratory and Institute."

Booth's anger sparked. "She's not at the damn lab!" He barked, standing abruptly. "It's been thirty-six goddam hours, Meek!"

A look saying, 'I saw that coming,' from Mico had him biting his tongue before he said something he would regret. "She isn't at the damn lab," he repeated.

Mico cleared his throat dramatically before he spoke, trying to add a touch of humour that Booth just was not interested in right now. "If you'd let me finish, you'd know that her cell's been transmitting from the same spot for almost eighteen hours. Before that, it was in the southern end of the building, then it moved through the place and out a side exit to the road behind the lab. Then, it came back into the northern end and hasn't budged for eighteen hours. Either she's lost it, or if she was, y'know, snatched, then someone's gone and-"

"Someone took her cell phone," Booth interjected quietly. "Some bastard from the lab took her and put her cell back to make it look like she misplaced it."

Mico glanced up at him, apprehensive for possibly the first time in his life. "We don't wanna jump the gun here, Seel, she actually could've lost the thing."

Booth shook his head angrily. "God, Meek, she's practically got a photographic memory, for God's sake. She didn't lose her cell. Someone took her."

Mico gave a conceded nod. "Who was she with?" He asked pointedly.

Booth's jaw clenched as he recalled Brennan gloating about how the other anthropologist had been showering her with compliments over their lunch. "Paul Bortis," he snarled.

Mico nodded again, clacking some more on his laptop. "I'll get my guys to run a background check, alright?"

Booth exhaled heatedly, brutalising the inside of his cheek with his teeth at the thought of Bortis. The sharp click of Mico's computer closing turned his attention to his friend.

Mico's lips were curled with the ghost of a smirk. His trademark untimely-humour look. But this time, the humour in it was completely lost on Booth.

"You sure she ain't just taking a breather from ya?"

Booth stiffened. "Excuse me?"

Mico's eyes were sparkling with amusement, but currently Booth's detection of these things was all but dead to the world. "This doctor's got you all topsy-turvy, Seel. You're lovestruck. You're not just coming on a little strong and she needs a break?"

Booth's blood felt like lava. He'd been struggling with his feelings for Bones for so long, and so afraid of losing her if he told her, that he'd all but forbidden himself from doing anything that would give him away. Like the long, drawn-out hug at the airport. If Brennan was any other regular person, she might have picked up on his feelings for her. But she wasn't. She was Bones, and the day she discovered the way he felt was the only control he'd ever have. And having Mico imply she had already figured it out and was avoiding him was hitting a soft spot he didn't even know he had.

Despite being furious, something in Booth's addled brain acknowledged that Mico wasn't ever intentionally cruel, just painfully insensitive. Like someone else he knew.

"I get it, you're trying to lighten the mood," he said in a low, controlled voice. "But my advice? Stop it."

Still burning, he refused to look at his friend. Putting some distance between them, Booth walked across to the window by the door, his anger quickly fizzling out. He stared carelessly at the clouds passing as they soared through the sky. He hadn't even noticed the jet take off.

An increasingly common event over the last day and a half, any emotion or thought he'd been having was rapidly replaced by worry for Bones. His mind swarmed with all the worst possibilities and scenarios, with a horrible new addition that stemmed from why Mico was here to help. He suddenly felt incredibly remorseful for how short he'd been with his friend. The way he felt was no excuse. Mico had suffered more than he had.

"I'm sorry," he blurted.

Mico's accepting tone reverberated back. "No stress, Seel. You're under pressure, I get it. No time to appreciate my jokes."

Booth shook his head, turning around. "No, I'm sorry about Charlotte." The name on his tongue felt radioactive, like it was taboo to speak.

Mico's shoulders sagged. He nodded despondently, all traces of humour gone. "Yeah. Charley… she was perfect, wasn't she?"

"She is," Booth corrected reassuringly.

Mico looked at him with pain in his eyes. "Don't do that, Seel," he begged quietly. "Don't get my hopes up."

Booth's heart sank. For his friend, and for himself. What if he was looking into his future? No, he had to walk away from the cliff-edge of 'what if', or he was going to start falling and never stop. Mico must have noticed because he piped up quickly.

"But this won't be like that, Seeley. I'm not letting that happen again. I know more now, okay? I know what to do this time." His voice was ragged, clearly caught up in bad memories.

Booth stayed quiet. He could see his friend needed a minute, and he couldn't blame him. Mico had married Charlotte. He remembered the first few days with Mico in the army, how he had droned on and on about some girl he was chasing but was too afraid to actually tell her how he felt. How he wasn't sure if he ever would because it might push her away and that was too much to risk. And then, they'd spent long, horrible weeks in the midst of the First Gulf War, which would make anyone long for their other fears and troubles to come back. When it's life and death, what's important to you becomes very clear, very quickly.

Within a week of their return, Mico and Charlotte were together, and a few months later, they were being married. Booth, his best man, remembered how content and joyful his friend had been. They'd left immediately for their romantic honeymoon in Greece, intent on a happy ever after. And Booth had been happy for him, and maybe a little envious. Until he'd received the call weeks after, his friend's broken voice radiating from the cell. "Charley's been taken," he'd cried. "She's gone."

He had come out to meet Mico immediately, but there was nothing he could do. Mico had tracked her all through Southern Europe after finding evidence that she'd been sold into a human trafficking ring, through Albania, then Kosovo and reaching a dead end in Serbia. Booth remembered studying the photographs they'd found of some of the victims, apparent teasers for potential buyers. It was sick. He recalled Mico finding one of Charlotte, the poor girl's eyes and face listless from sedation, dressed head to toe in flimsy, revealing lingerie. He'd seen his friend's heartbreak in his eyes. Booth remembered not being able to imagine how Mico must feel, not knowing what consolation to offer or how to help. But he was starting to realise how that felt, and it was terrifying. He wasn't going to let that happen to Bones, not a chance in the world.

Booth shook his head internally. They were getting ahead of themselves here, weren't they? "There's other possibilities here," he said slowly. "She was called over to help investigate a potential murder case. It's more likely she was targeted by the killer to stop her figuring out who did it."

Mico looked up at him, face still impassive. "Well you might be right, Seel, but I don't reckon it much changes the outcome."

"What do you mean?"

"If that's the case, and the bad guy wanted to stop your girl uncovering him, he's got two options. Either he's adding to his kill-list, which would be kinda stupid, coz then he's got a chance of it getting traced back to him. Or, he makes her disappear. And in Kosovo, there's a bloody easy way to do it. Not to mention he'd get a nice payday. If she's alive, I can guarantee she's in that system."

Booth's fist clenched involuntarily, tingling like it was asking him to put it through the wall. Bones had to be alive, because considering otherwise wasn't an option. Which meant they were going on a hunt.

Another triumphant beep from Mico's closed computer brought them both out of their brooding states. He lifted the lid as Booth walked briskly back over to join him.

Mico squinted at the screen. "That Bortis guy has charges for DUI, public intoxication, minor assault, aggravated assault… not much of a classy, respected doctor, eh?"

Booth's blood ran cold. A violent bastard with a drinking problem hit a little too close to home, and it was definitely the last kind of person he wanted around Bones. "We're going to see him as soon as we land," he said stiffly.

Mico raised an eyebrow. "I agree, Seel, but let's try for the uncaring, 'just-doing-our-job' type at first, alright? He might not loosen his tongue about what he's done with her if he's talking to an angry boyfriend. Calm and chill are what we need, don't you reckon?"

Booth nodded erratically. "Calm and chill. I can do that," he muttered, even as his hands curled back into fists. "And then, I kick the guy's ass."

Mico slapped his shoulder in approval. "And I'll be right behind ya."

Booth smiled bleakly. He was ready for this jet to land. He was going to find her, no matter what the cost. And then, he was never going to let her out of his damn sight again.

Marshall Bortis drove swiftly through the night, still quaking with rage at the nerve of the woman now lying unconscious in the trunk. He brought up a hand and ran it along the side of his neck, angrily tracing the swollen wound site and the trail of dried blood that ran down to his collarbone. He wanted to kill the bitch right then and there, but he knew it was too risky. His insolent brother just had to go and involve her in the investigation. He was probably just trying to make a move on the woman, he scorned. Yes, Paul always did love taking things that weren't his.

Marshall wasn't foolish though, and he knew having the murder of a celebrated scientist and author on his hands wouldn't go undetected forever. He needed this woman to vanish, without having any blood on his hands. And if there was one thing he'd learnt after years in Kosovo law enforcement, there was a perfect way to make that happen. She'd never be found again, much less be traced back to him. It was a 'get out of jail free card', not to mention the paycheck for his trouble.

He re-adjusted himself on the uncomfortable car seat. He'd been driving for hours. Only a little while to go, and he could wash his hands of this whole mess. Alyson was already dead. Another few hours, and this doctor would be gone. And in another day, his brother would be dead too. Jusuf would take care of Alyson's body at the lab and stop the investigation, if he knew what was good for him. Marshall didn't doubt it though. He could pay Jusuf more than he'd ever earnt in his life working for his cheap brother. He'd asked the young man to destroy the woman's phone and dispose of it so it couldn't be traced or tested for DNA. It could easily be assumed that someone Marshall had put away held a grudge and wanted to ruin his life by taking his family away from him. It was believable enough; he'd seen it really happen, more than once.

The populated Kosovo city skyline had gradually shifted to the profile of dank, shabby housing and long, low warehouses of Skopje over the past thirty minutes. Not far now. He strained to hear for any movement from the trunk. The road noise was load, but he didn't expect to see any life out of her for a while, anyway. It was surprising enough she'd woken up so early the first time, and a double dose of the GHB was sure to keep her out of it for a while to come.

He mentally ran over his plan one more time. While Kosovo was pretty notorious for sex trafficking, most of the victims ended up being transported to North Macedonia before being auctioned off, just because it was one of the most prolific places for it and there were much more customers around. He would dispose of her there, and if anyone came looking for her they'd start in Kosovo, and they wouldn't find a thing. She'd be long gone.

After getting rid of her, he'd go back to his training camp until it ended. He'd return, play the part of a grieving man with a missing wife and a dead brother. His temper sparked at the thought of his traitorous wife and brother. It would be presumed that Alyson wasn't careful enough while traveling to her retreat. It would be presumed that a killer or a thief that was incriminated by Paul had just taken revenge. None of it would come back to him and besides, he had an alibi. No one would even know he'd been gone for a few days – the camps were always overflowing with agents; one missing face would never stand out.

He cursed his brother again for his insolence. If it wasn't for him and his choice to request the help of the pretty doctor in the back, he wouldn't have needed to leave the camp at all for his problems to be taken care of, and his alibi would have been airtight. Alas, here he was, carting the renowned woman through North Macedonia in the dead of the night. It didn't matter, he reminded himself. It would take one hell of a detective to solve this one, and Kosovo just didn't have that kind of dedicated workforce.

Everything would be over in a few days. And he'd be richer for it.

TBC

Let me know what you think :)