Chapter 3
Booth stiffly followed Bortis into the anthropologist's office, Mico on his tail.
The man gestured around the office. "I apologize for the mess here. It's been a … stressful few days."
Booth dipped his head in what he hoped was a sympathetic way. He had fought in wars, hunted serial killers, been tortured, even, and faking these niceties was still the hardest thing he'd ever done.
"Tell me again about when you saw her last," Booth said diplomatically. The man looked at him strangely, probably because this was the fourth time Booth had asked. He was desperate to find a hole or contradiction in Bortis's story and give him somewhere to start looking.
Bortis shrugged. "Like I said, she left the room after I asked for a few moments to clear my head. I believe she was headed to one of the food places across the road, but she never came back. Some of my staff have reported seeing her walk towards the exit, but nobody saw her come back in."
Mico jumped up. "I'll go round up the others for questioning, yeah Seel?"
Booth nodded absently. "Yeah, you do that," he said, still studying Bortis.
Bortis smiled flatly at him. "Was there anything else, Agent Booth?"
"Actually yeah, Paul, there is. Why did you ask Dr. Brennan to leave the room? Isn't the entire point of her coming over here to help with the body?"
Bortis stared back at him. "Yes, it was."
Booth's jaw set. "But you asked her to leave? That just seems a little, I don't know, suspicious."
Bortis was beginning to look guarded. "I don't appreciate what you're insinuating, Agent Booth."
"Well, that's just too bad, because this is an investigation. Why did you ask Dr. Brennan to leave?"
He stared at him for a moment before replying. "It had just been a long day, and I needed a while to myself before running through the case with Temperance. She can be quite… what's the word, forthright. It can be hard not to take offence when I'm not in my right mind."
Booth willed himself to stay calm. He knew Bortis was right, Bones was blunt at the best of times. But it didn't mean he liked Bortis agreeing with that. He was damn lucky she'd ever graced his presence.
"Did she say something insulting?" Booth tried.
Bortis shook his head. "After I realised it wasn't purposeful and she was merely just clueless with social cues, I found it quite amusing. Charming, actually. I was planning on asking her out after the case. A woman that looks and thinks like that is hard to come by here, and my bed has been cold for too long." The man looked surprised immediately after he'd spoken, like he hadn't planned on saying that out loud.
Booth felt his eyebrows all but disappear into his forehead. He wanted to rearrange the man's dental work. Here he was, talking about Bones like she existed purely for male gratification, ready for the taking. Anger rose in his stomach, but he remained tactful, opting instead to stroll briskly around the office.
He recognized the thick binders of Brennan's crime novels stacked neatly along the cabinet in the corner of the room, the shiny lettering glinting at him mockingly.
Booth was fighting to keep his temper at bay when he noticed the open folders and files on the table. He was no squint, but even he could easily discern the documentation that contained cause of death, suspected identity and description of the events that lead to the victim's death. And, he noted in shock, none of the writing was in Brennan's neat cursive. The case was all but solved before she even got here, he realized. Bortis never needed her help. He had lured her over here. Booth was suddenly seeing red.
"You never needed her here!" He blurted uncoordinatedly.
Bortis looked taken aback. "Excuse me?" He asked in confusion.
"You're one of her crazy fans, aren't you? You like her work, huh?" He was yelling angrily now.
Bortis blinked. "I'm a fan of a beautiful woman, who doubles as an excellent author and triples as a brilliant forensic anthropologist! Is that supposed to be crazy, or surprising? Or a crime?" His voice was tight with ire.
Booth scowled, all friendly pretenses dropping. "No, but you know what is a crime? Assault. Public intoxication. You're not an innocent guy, are you?"
Bortis looked furious. "That's in the past, Agent Booth! And I don't appreciate you bringing it back up. I've done my penance, and I'm a changed man now."
"Oh, right!" Booth spat. "That easy, is it? You just woke up one day and decided to be a different person? Because you know what I think, Bortis? I think you're the same violent drunk you used to be, and maybe this girl pushed you over the edge, and you shut her up." Booth waved his hand angrily in the direction of the victim documentation. "And Dr. Brennan was going to figure that out, wasn't she? So, you tried to shut her up too." Booth's blood was rushing in his ears, and he relinquished control over his body, his hand grasping Bortis's tie and slamming him back against the wall, the equipment on the trolley next to them clattering to the floor.
Mico's approaching voice echoed down the hall. "Seel, I've got all the other's ready for y-" Mico stopped abruptly once he rounded the corner and saw the scene in front of him.
Booth quickly released the man.
"Seel," Mico said warningly.
"Everything's fine here," Booth said, clearing his throat.
Bortis spluttered. "Police brutality!" He piped up. He looked to Mico pleadingly. "You saw what he was doing, you've got to help me!"
Mico feigned a look of utter confusion. "Sorry Sir, I'm really not sure what you're talking about."
Bortis's face hardened, and Booth watched on with dark satisfaction. "I see," he said coldly.
He turned back to Booth, ignoring Mico for the time being and opting instead to try and clear his name. "Your theory doesn't make any sense. Why would I ask for Temperance's help if I didn't want it?"
"You tell me," Booth spat. "And don't call her Temperance."
Bortis suddenly looked slightly amused. "My apologies, I've been corrected of this before. Look, Agent Booth, I am truly sorry about Dr. Brennan being missing, but I can't help you. Feel free to interrogate anyone in this lab and let me know if you need anything else. But I do ask that you treat my associates with more respect than you have with me." Bortis straightened and readjusted his tie disdainfully.
"I treat people exactly how they deserve," Booth said in a low voice. Bortis looked outraged.
Booth felt Mico's hand on his shoulder, pressuring him to move towards the exit. "Alright Seel, I think you made your point. So much for staying calm," he muttered under his breath.
They quickly exited the office before Bortis could react.
Marshall Bortis was becoming increasingly frantic as he attempted to barter with the men in the warehouse. Jusuf had called and filled him in on how the American agent was in Kosovo searching for the missing doctor, and how he'd all but threatened everyone in the lab in an attempt to get information. Marshall knew it wouldn't be easy to track the woman out to North Macedonia, but he was done taking chances. He wanted her out of this area entirely. This was turning into a massive headache.
"She must be delivered to the warehouse in Hungary," he tried again with the man. "She has already been purchased, I only need you to provide the transportation. My boss, he is someone you do not want to keep waiting. He is very wealthy, and a loyal client to you. Do you want to jeopardize this?" Lie after lie tumbled out of his mouth, like it was second nature. He was becoming increasingly good at this.
The man looked at him warily. "Nothing in it for us. This woman," he gestured to the direction of the car, "she will fetch handsome price in auction."
Marshall slammed his fist into the open palm of his other hand in frustration. He couldn't risk the woman being bought in a local auction and staying in the area. She was feisty, and if whoever she ended up with couldn't control her, she'd be out and walking straight into this American agent's arms. That wouldn't bode well for him.
He sighed in irritation. "I can pay." Trudging back to the car, he reluctantly drew the paper package of cash he kept under his seat, a surplus of what he had withdrawn to arrange the murder of his wife and brother. The other man's eyes lit up greedily, hand outstretched to take the wad.
Marshall withdrew it quickly. "She must be delivered to Hungary. If my boss informs me that she has not arrived, I will be returning, and you will not like the outcome," he said warningly.
The man didn't even falter. He kept his hand outstretched, nodding too quickly for Marshall's liking. It didn't matter what he threatened, he realized. All this man wanted was money, and he was clearly planning to profit more than once off the woman.
He drew back after a moment of contemplating, shaking his head. He'd changed his mind. "I will deliver her," he said, not missing the flash of anger in the other man's eyes. "I need a larger vehicle."
The man scowled. "Why would I loan you a vehicle? Out of the goodness in my heart? I do not do this kind of thing."
Marshall waved the cash again. "I will still pay," he said grudgingly.
The man's leer returned. "Give me twenty minutes," he said voraciously.
Not long after, Marshall was standing beside a small truck, loaded with boxes full of useless garbage as a cover, and one large box with something decisively of more value. Well two things. Apparently, there was another woman who needed to be sent up to Hungary, so she'd been packed in tightly next to the doctor.
Handing over a large portion of the cash, Marshall begrudgingly thanked the man, and settled into the driver's seat. The car he had used to come up here would be safely stowed within the facility. It didn't worry him – these people were experts at discreetness. He drove a little before pulling over once he was out of sight. He racked his brain furiously, the humming of the truck hindering his focus.
He had no intention of delivering the truck himself, but he needed it out of the Southern area. He stared at the man shoveling snow across the road in front of the shabby housing, taking in his old, worn clothing and unkempt appearance. As he watched, the man dropped to his knees and frantically sifted through the cold snow with his bare hands, raising them triumphantly with something glinting in his grasp. A coin. Perhaps the only kind of person more desperate for money than the warehouse men. Hardly believing he was about to do it, he slid out of the truck, approaching the man.
The man was instantly on guard, the shovel swiftly reappearing in his grip. Marshall waved his hand placatingly. "I have a favor to ask of you, young man."
The man fixed him with a wary look. "You need me to shovel the snow in your yard too?"
Marshall shook his head. "No. I need a much larger favor. But it comes with a larger reward." He brandished the remainder of the cash. He had the man's attention now.
The man stepped forward. "What do you need me to do?"
He gestured to the truck on the side of the road, still running noisily. "I need you to drive this to Hungary, to the warehouse at the Budapest Port. Once you're there, tell the workers that Agoston sent you. They'll know what you're talking about." He relayed the information the warehouse man had told him carefully. "You get half of this now, and half when you return." He hefted the money. He had no intention of seeing this man again, but he needed to give him incentive to complete the job.
The man nodded eagerly. "What is in the truck?"
Marshall pondered for a second. "Just supplies for the Port. Nothing interesting, I just need a delivery man."
He looked elated, like the job was a dream come true. "I will leave right away! How will I find you when I return?"
Marshall smiled. "I will see the truck return, do not doubt it. I'll find you."
If the man looked suspicious, he didn't show it. "Of course, Sir. What is your name?"
"Paul," he said instantly.
He passed over a portion of the money. "I will see you when you return."
Nodding excitedly again, the man took the money and made for the truck, not wasting a second as he began to sail down the road. Marshall watched his own rapidly diminishing form in the side mirror.
He exhaled in satisfaction. Now all he needed to do was return to the camp and act clueless.
Brennan was barely sure she was alive. Her eyes were closed, but she could tell she was lying in a cramped space, her knees pressed uncomfortably against her chest. Her limbs and eyelids felt heavy. She couldn't think of or remember anything through the strange daze she was in, but she had been in enough tricky situations to know that feigning unconsciousness was always best until she had gauged her surroundings. She shouldn't move. Although, she doubted she could even if she wanted to.
Her thoughts were unbearably slow and cloudy. What had happened to her? She was never like this. Experimentally, she pushed her knees and elbows outwards, an inconspicuous move that could pass for restless slumber if it was noticed. She was surprised to find a barrier at all points of contact. She fought down the rising surge of panic. Was she in a trunk? All thoughts of stealth fleeing her mind, she forced her eyes open and lunged forward, trying to stretch out of the horribly cramped position she was in.
Her forehead collided with something soft and warm, and she flinched, trying to draw back enough to see what it was. Blinking rapidly as she tried to adjust to the dark lighting and straining backwards as much as her predicament would allow, she suddenly froze. She'd collided with… someone. A human. A woman.
The woman was leaning forward in the same cramped way that she was, her head hanging loosely. She wasn't conscious.
Brennan tried to speak to her, quickly realizing she was gagged. She grumbled through it in frustration, her sudden protectiveness and urge to help the other woman momentarily preceding her own fear. Awkwardly, she leant forward again, pushing her forehead into the woman's shoulder with a little more force than the last accidental time. She slid her head from the woman's shoulder to under her chin, trying to lift it upwards. After a few tedious moments, it worked, and her head was leant up against the wall behind her.
Brennan studied her face, looking for injuries. The woman's skin was a tan bronze, though it was marred with the yellow and blue of fading bruises that the layer of glamourous makeup she was sporting couldn't quite cover. She looked surprisingly young, at least ten years younger than herself, placing her in her mid-twenties. The loose coils of her dark hair cascaded lusciously down her shoulders, like it had been freshly washed. The overpowering scent of floral perfume hovered between them. She was dressed in a shimmery, sheer gown.
What was going on? Why was she confined with this woman? They had nothing in common, she thought in confusion. She had been investigating at the lab, and this woman looked like she was snatched from a indicative, suggestive date. How had they both ended up here, trussed, and silenced?
Satisfied that the woman had suffered no lasting damage and was merely unconscious, Brennan leant her head backwards against the wall, trying to settle into the most comfortable position possible. Her head was spinning as she tried to remember how she had gotten here. She vaguely recalled the scuffle between her and Bortis…. Bortis. The man that had been driving was not Paul, she was sure of that. Though the slightly pronounced zygomatic and narrow mandible structure had been disturbingly similar. Taki had called him Bortis as well. Her bleary mind was struggling to decipher what she was sure was common sense, but it finally clicked. It had to be Paul's brother. Wasn't he supposed to be away at a skill developmental event? What had Paul called him? She couldn't remember, she was terrible with names. Booth would have remembered, she thought solemnly. He was good with people.
Her stomach dropped at the thought of her partner. She'd never been the damsel in distress type, but for the first time in her life she just wanted to be rescued. Ever since she'd landed in Kosovo, she'd come to the realization she didn't like being far from home. It confused her at first, because she'd spent years of her career overseas happily, and missed the travel whenever she was back in DC, but she'd soon found the cause of the feeling. It was homesickness, for the people she'd let into her life after so many years. For Angela, even a little for Cam and Hodgins. But mostly for Booth. The man who'd made it all the way through her defences without dealing any damage and showed her how to open her heart. She didn't believe in miracles or godsends like he did, but if they were real, he would be both.
She shook herself out of her wistful thoughts. They wouldn't help her now, and she needed a plan. She tuned herself to her surroundings and tried to make sense of them.
What she had thought before was just a buzzing in her ears now sounded more like the hum of a vehicle, and the gentle rock and occasional jarring bump supported that theory all the more. It was enough evidence for her to confidently agree with. They were being driven somewhere.
To her slight relief, she didn't seem to be in a trunk. The walls were far too square and flat, and the material of the walls wasn't the synthetic fibre or rubber she was expecting. She knocked her tied hands forcibly against the wall behind her. It thudded dully. Wood, she presumed. Perhaps a box?
Although it was getting her nowhere, she felt decidedly better that she'd been able to decipher the setting around her. A soft moan from the unconscious girl caught her attention. She shifted worriedly. The woman's eyes were spasming under her closed eyelids – Brennan could see the whites as her eyelids fluttered. Her raspy breathing sounded more like gurgles, and her complexion was ashen. Brennan leaned forward and pressed her ear against the woman's chest gently. The heartbeat was slow and irregular.
Anxiety rose in Brennan's throat. These symptoms were consistent with continued over-use of drugs. She studied the woman's outfit, bruising and elegant hairstyle and makeup again, realisation dawning. As a seasoned traveller, she knew all too well what these signs meant. The woman wasn't dressed of her own volition. She probably wasn't even aware. Brennan doubted the poor girl had been aware of anything for a long time.
To her surprise, the woman's eyes flickered open, unexpectedly alert. Brennan watched with bated breath as the girl quickly took in their surroundings, namely their cramped predicament and restraints, and waited for her to react. To her shock, the other girl didn't appear to be scared, or concerned, or at all affected in any way. And Brennan didn't think it could all be attributed to her drugged state, not with how perceptive her bright green eyes seemed be, darting around them with clear recognition. It was as if she woke up to this every day. Not a comforting thought.
She watched in disbelief as the girl lowered her head and wiggled her nose and mouth back and forward, similar to how one would when swishing mouthwash, dislodging and shaking the gag off within moments. Her surprise must have been evident, because the girl chuckled softly, her voice raspy.
"Trick of the trade," she said, words slightly slurred. "You've been in this as long as I have, you start to pick some things up." She studied Brennan slowly. "They only just got you, huh?"
Brennan was swishing her cheeks to no avail. She raised her eyebrows pointedly.
"Oh," the girl giggled apologetically. "Sorry, let me get it for you."
She leant forward and grasped the side of the gag with her teeth, dragging it down.
Brennan coughed as the dusty fabric left her mouth. "Thank you," she said genuinely. The girl nodded in acknowledgement.
She licked her dry lips, thoughtfully examining the girl. "Your system is exhibiting signs of extreme drug use," she said informatively, "although you seem surprisingly coherent."
The girl looked amused. "That's very observant, considering the situation we're in. You don't seem to be afraid."
Brennan cocked her head. "Neither do you."
The girl pursed her lips, suddenly solemn. "I don't have fears anymore. I've been facing them for so long that now they mean nothing. But I was afraid when I was first taken. Why aren't you?"
"I find that fear clouds my judgement, and at this point in time, it's a rather useless emotion. I find it more convenient when I am in need of adrenaline, which clearly won't help right now," Brennan said matter-of-factly.
The girl laughed. "Well okay then, Mrs. Robot. Not everyone has the luxury of choosing."
Brennan furrowed her brow. "Sorry, my name is Temperance Brennan. Dr. Brennan. I think you're mistaking me for someone else."
The girl looked confused, but she laughed again. "I like you."
Brennan smiled awkwardly. She wasn't used to people taking to her so quickly. Although, this girl had clearly been starved of the company of respectable people for apparently a long time, so maybe it wasn't such a glowing compliment.
"It doesn't matter what your name was," the girl said, suddenly forlorn. "No one is ever going to use it again. Nobody will care who you were, or what you used to be, or what you want." She trailed off, staring into the corner of their wooden prison.
Brennan chewed her lip. She'd heard the ghastly stories of what people went through in these situations, and she knew how rare it was to escape. This girl was living proof. She looked at her sadly. She looked so young.
"Well, you can use it for me," Brennan proposed. "And I'll do the same for you. What is your name?"
The girl stared at her for a moment, almost as if she was struggling to remember. Then her eyes lit up and the ghost of a smile graced her lips.
"Charlie."
Booth paced anxiously in front of the laptop as Angela clicked away from her side. None of the others that he and Mico had interrogated had been helpful. They were running out of places to look, so he'd scanned through the case documents and sent images of the remains to the Jeffersonian to try and get some more information on the victim. Maybe if they could ID her, he could narrow down a suspect list that would lead him to Brennan.
"I'm running a face reconstruction with the photos you sent me, Booth. I'm not sure how accurate it will be since we don't have the actual skull here, but since we have a suspected ID from the file, it should be easy enough to compare."
Angela's voice was hoarse. Booth sympathised all too well with her. There were bags under her puffy, red eyes, and her face was drawn and pale.
Mico returned to the room, setting down a plastic cup filled with water. "Come on Seel, I know you won't eat, but you have to drink. You think the doc's gonna want ya when she finds you all scaly and flaking?"
"Who's this again?" Angela questioned in amusement, grateful for the brief distraction.
"Mico Jackson," Mico said, extending his hand as if to shake hers through the screen. "At your service, pretty lady."
Angela cracked a smile despite herself. "And Booth trusts you to help look for Brennan? You must be a super good guy."
Mico nodded thoughtfully. "Well, I like to think so."
A sharp beeping from the laptop ended their conversation. "I've got a match," Angela said hurriedly. "The victim is Alyson Stoll. Oh…"
"What?" Booth demanded. "What, oh?"
Angela was typing so fast that her image in the laptop was bouncing. "She kept her maiden name. Alyson Stoll is married to Marshall Bortis. Who is…. Paul Bortis's brother. Paul is the one that you're with now, right?"
"Yeah." Booth was already on his feet, making for the door. "Mico, you stay here and let me know if Angela finds anything else, alright?"
"With pleasure," Mico said with a wink, in an effort to keep the mood light. But he nodded seriously. "Let me know if you need backup."
Booth paced down the corridor, entering Bortis's office without knocking or declaring himself. Bortis just tiredly removed his glasses and looked up at him. "Yes?"
"Why didn't you tell me that the victim was your sister-in-law?" Booth got straight to the point.
Bortis raised his hands in exasperation. "You never asked about the case, Agent Booth, and all my suspicions were in the files you took. You know exactly what I do." His vision dropped for a second, before clearing his throat. "So, it's definitely Alyson?"
"Yes." Booth said flatly. He was in no mood for a 'sorry for your loss' conversation. "Did Alyson have any enemies, Paul?"
He shook his head. "No. No, she was… lovely."
"How about you? You don't get jealous of your brother? Your bed's been cold for too long, right? Your words, not mine. I think that maybe you had a long night of drinking and feeling sorry for yourself, you tried to make a move on her, and it wasn't received well. Maybe she was going to tell your brother, right? You couldn't let that happen." Booth was rambling, just hoping to press the guy enough for him to snap and give him something useful to work with.
"No!" Bortis shot to his feet angrily. "I would never do anything she didn't want. Alyson and I…" He trailed off, pain in his eyes.
Booth's gut was telling him something. "You were sleeping with her," he said. It wasn't a question.
Bortis looked at him defeatedly. "I… she was so lonely. Marshall is always away, and she doesn't deserve that. It just happened."
Booth laughed incredulously. "Just happened eh? That's some brilliant justification…" He faltered, staring for a split second at the narrow window just below the ceiling, where the barrel of a gun had just peeked through.
"Get down!" He yelled, diving towards the man and sending them both in a tumble to the ground. The gunshot sounded as they hit the floor and a grunt of pain elicited from Bortis, but from which, Booth wasn't sure. Booth rolled them directly under the windowpane, where he knew the gun physically couldn't reach due to the narrow opening. Within seconds of the shot firing, he heard the attacker jump down to the ground outside and retreating footsteps.
He kneeled beside Bortis, checking for damage. The man's side was bleeding, but he seemed to be fine. The bullet had barely grazed him, and Booth really didn't like him enough to worry. The anthropologist fixed him with a look of shock. "What just happened?"
The sound of fast-paced footsteps approaching them made Booth jump to his feet, his own gun ready in his hands, trained on the entrance to the room. To his relief, the frantic form of Mico dashed around the doorway, his hands flying up by his head more in surprise than 'don't shoot'.
"Seeley! I told you not to shoot him!" He said in exasperation, eyes flicking between Booth's gun and the bleeding anthropologist on the floor.
"What? No! I didn't shoot him, Meek. Someone else did!" Booth said defensively, holstering his weapon.
Mico gaped at him. He leant around Booth, addressing Bortis who was still lying on the floor. "Is he lying? Did he shoot you?"
Booth crossed his arms. "Really?"
Bortis shook his head, grunting as he grasped his side. "He's right. Someone else did."
Mico looked around the room in disbelief. "What… who?"
Booth retrieved the bullet, which had deflected off the metal supply table in the corner. He examined it closely. It matched the gauge and description of the bullet wound in Alyson Stoll's skull. "The same person who killed Alyson," he said grimly.
"Who would want us both dead?" Bortis asked in confusion.
Booth raised his eyebrows. "You can't think of anyone? You've been sleeping around with your sister-in-law. Let's go find your brother."
Thirty minutes later had Booth determinedly driving out to Sofia, Mico in the passenger seat and Angela on speed dial. Booth was confident he was headed in the right direction. Marshall's wife had cheated on him with his brother. She was dead now, murdered, and Paul had almost been shot. Bones had come over to help with the identification, and she'd gone missing. Booth's hands clenched tightly on the steering wheel, mimicking the throttling action he wanted to inflict round Marshall's neck. The murderer taking revenge and trying to cover his tracks was the only scenario that accounted for everything that happened, and the only suspect that fit the story was Marshall. He just knew. This man was responsible for Brennan disappearing. He couldn't wait to get his hands on the son of a bitch.
Angela, God bless her, had managed to locate the training camp that Marshall was meant to be attending, pulled a background check on the guy, and was currently working on tracking his movements over the last few days. The fact that Marshall had supposedly been at this camp for the last few weeks meant absolutely nothing to him – he knew first-hand just how easy it was to sneak off base unnoticed. If Angela could track his recent movements, they'd have him.
He glanced sideways at Mico. His swaggering demeanour was somewhat subdued, and he was staring out at the cityscape in front of them broodingly. He felt horrible for his buddy and hated that he was dragging him along on this search, even though he was eternally grateful for the help. He couldn't imagine how he was feeling. It would be like some cruel re-enactment, driving all over the Southern end of Europe looking for a disappeared girl who just had to be found. It wasn't an experience anyone ever wanted to live, he thought painfully, much less re-live.
"Alright, Meek?" He questioned casually.
Mico's careless grin instantly returned. "Yeah Seel," he replied lightly.
Booth wasn't fooled. "You know, I appreciate this more than you know. You helping me out here, I mean. I'll owe you one."
Mico smirked, a little more genuinely this time. Booth was glad to see it. "You don't really know how favours work, do ya? I owed you one, and now you're using it all up. So, then we'll be even," he spoke slowly and deliberately, like he was explaining it to a child. Booth laughed.
"But we won't be, Meek. You help me find Bones, and I'll owe you for the rest of my life. Seriously. You call me up for help any time, any day, any place, and I'll be there as soon as I can," Booth said truthfully.
"No," Mico said quickly, with surprising force. Booth was taken aback. "You don't owe me anything, Seeley. You didn't just save my life in the Gulf War, you made it worth having. You changed my mind about Charlie, you know. I would've gone home and danced around my feelings for her until it was too late. Would've sent me off my rocker."
Booth's gaze flickered between the road and his friend.
"I thought it was the war that changed your mind?" he said in surprise.
Mico chuckled softly and shook his head. "Nah, Seel, it was you. Don't you remember what ya said, when I told you I wasn't going to tell her? 'Don't let now be the only bloody time you actually shut your mouth. You've got so much to lose by staying silent.' You were nasty," he joked. "But you were right. What was I thinking, that if I just kept my mouth shut in case I scared her off, she'd never move on and find someone else? You gave us a chance, Seeley. And I'll be damned if I don't give you the same one."
Booth furrowed his brow, still trying to process what Mico just said. "What do you mean?"
Mico rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. Take your own advice, bud. I know you love her. I'm sure everyone knows that. And I don't see how she hasn't figured it out yet, because it's really bloody obvious. Take a chance, Seel. If you want her, lock her down before someone else finds her. And running off the fact she's a good-lookin' genius, it's not that far-fetched, yeah?"
Booth studied him warily. "We've got to find her first, Meek."
"We will," Mico said confidently. "So don't chicken out, alright? After we get her, I'll need five minutes with her to make sure she's woman enough for ya, and then you're up."
Booth bit back a smile despite himself. He was trying to imagine Brennan and Mico having a conversation. Mico used so many weird expressions that Bones' head would probably explode with how literal she took everything.
He was glad Mico was so adept at lightening the tension in the air, but it never took long for the sinking feeling of dread to re-settle in his stomach. He was terrified, and this was one of the very few times in his life he'd experienced true terror. It was exhausting. He felt seconds away from snapping and unleashing his rage on whoever was nearest to him, and he would much prefer that person be Marshall Bortis instead of Mico or Angela. He unconsciously pressed his foot harder on the gas pedal, even though it was almost already floored. This presumed 'four-hour drive' wouldn't take half that time.
Mico looked grateful that the offending Kosovo skyline had changed into a grim-coloured blur, and Booth felt the same way. This place was quickly becoming his own personal hell.
"Promise me that you two won't be getting married in Europe," Mico said sternly. "Coz if you are, I ain't coming. No honeymooning here either – take it from me, it doesn't end well."
Booth winced at the attempt of humour at his friends' own expense. He pondered his words. It wasn't like he had to worry about that – Bones certainly wasn't the marrying type. She was barely even a relationship type. But he wasn't about to get into that with Mico.
"You don't have to tell me twice," Booth muttered under his breath, swerving into the other lane to pass a line of cars going at the measly speed limit.
Mico snorted. "Didn't think so."
"If Bones was going to get married, she'd probably want to do it in some museum, or at some old ruins site or some other miserable place anyway."
Mico laughed. "Why do you call her Bones?"
"It's obvious, isn't it? She works with… well, bones."
Mico rolled his eyes. "Gee, thanks Seel. I mean, you want her don't you? 'Bones' isn't the most flattering nickname. You don't call her that to her face, right?"
Booth shrugged. "Well what else am I gonna call her?"
Mico sighed. "Romantic, Seeley, very dreamy. You gotta put the charm on! Maybe at least call her by her name?"
Booth waved him off. "Nah. Bones. She loves it."
"Uh huh," Mico hummed skeptically. "What does she call you?" He sounded a little too hopeful for Booth's liking.
"Booth," he replied.
"Oh, bloody hell," he said defeatedly. "Worst couple ever."
Booth chuckled. "We're not a couple. We're professional partners."
Mico grumbled, turning to rest his head against the window. "You keep telling yourselves that," came his muffled reply. "I'm gonna have a snooze, Seel. Wake me up when we're closer."
Booth nodded his reply. Mico must have been exhausted, because he was asleep within seconds, his head bouncing slightly against the window from Booth's insane driving.
He settled back into his seat, eyes fixed on the road. Although he'd been joking (maybe), Mico talking about his future with Bones was making him miss something he'd never had. He could almost see it, coming home with Brennan after a long day of working on a case and just being… together. Maybe he'd cook dinner, and she'd wash up. It felt so domestic, yet he felt himself longing for it. It only made him more determined to find her, not that he was lacking with that.
He was getting closer, he told himself.
She'd be safe with him soon.
Brennan's hands fidgeted behind her back, thrumming against the rough wooden wall of the box. Charlie was constantly dozing off for short periods of time, her body clearly trying to combat the effects of her continuous drugging.
The irregular speeds and occasional bumps in the road that she had noted earlier had since transitioned to a smooth, consistent drive. They must have left whichever town or city from before and were now on open roads. Although she tried to ignore it, this revelation had left her feeling quite hopeless. Logically, there was no way that Booth would be able to find her. Even she didn't have the slightest idea where she was. But despite that and her loyalty to logic, she still harboured a sliver of hope. This was Booth. He would never give up on her, and he had a way of beating the logic and the odds. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn't want to put faith in something this delicate or improbable, but right now, it felt as though it was keeping her alive.
She noticed Charlie watching her through half-lidded eyes, evidently still sleepy.
"How are you feeling?" She asked.
"Golden," Charlie joked. She yawned widely.
Brennan didn't fully understand what that meant, but she decided not to press the matter.
"What were you thinking about?" Charlie asked softly.
"That I didn't know what you may have meant by describing your physical state as 'golden,'" Brennan replied.
Charlie snorted. "No, I meant before you realised I was awake. You looked very… nostalgic."
Brennan chewed the inside of her cheek, studying the girl for a moment. "I was thinking about… about Booth. He's my partner," she added when Charlie cocked her head questioningly. "My work partner."
"What about Booth?" Charlie pressed.
"That I miss him," the words came out of their own volition, and her voice cracked slightly. "And that he might not be able to find me." The emotion she felt surprised her, rising up and gripping her throat uncomfortably and stinging her eyes in the form of liquid shame. She blinked rapidly.
"So he's more than just your work partner," Charlie stated.
Brennan blinked again, this time in confusion. "Pardon?"
Charlie just smiled at her. "Will Booth give up looking for you?"
"No," Brennan replied instantly. If she knew one thing about Seeley Booth, that was it. He'd never give up.
"Then he'll find you," Charlie said, nodding confidently.
Brennan bit her bottom lip hard, the searing pain enough to stop the moisture gathering in her eyes for the moment. "How can you be so sure?"
"Because there's someone looking for me too," Charlie said. "I remember that every day, and it's what's kept me alive."
Charlie had just explained perfectly what Brennan was feeling. If she didn't know that Booth was out there searching for her, she was certain she wouldn't be able to stay alive for long. It didn't make any sense, because it had no effect on what was going to happen to her, but it's just how she felt. But like thousands of times before, logic and reason were there to quell her hope.
"But Booth has no way of finding us," Brennan reasoned. "How can he, when he doesn't know where to look? It's almost impossible."
"He could make the impossible happen," Charlie said with a small smile.
Brennan frowned. "That sentence renders the word 'impossible' redundant. 'He could make the very unlikely happen' is more accurate," she corrected habitually.
Charlie snickered. "Well, however you want to phrase it Temperance, every day they are out there looking for us is another day we have a chance of being found. And just for once, I'm sure the odds will be on our side."
Brennan contemplated that. It sounded much more hopeful when it was worded that way, and she supposed it was still accurate enough. She observed the look on Charlie's face, a heart-wrenching combination of nostalgia, hopefulness, and longing. Much like the expression she imagined had been on her own face earlier when she was thinking about Booth.
"What are you thinking about?" She echoed Charlie's earlier question.
"Mico," The name brought a small smile to the girl's lips. "My husband."
Brennan smiled with her. "You're young to be married," she remarked.
Charlie looked wistful. "There was no point waiting," she said. "We were so in love. And only just married. I was abducted on our honeymoon." Her expression changed from reminiscing to haunted.
"How long ago was that?" Brennan questioned.
Charlie grimaced. "I don't know. It's been hard to keep track of time. Years."
"How can you be sure he's still looking for you? What if he's moved on and found somebody else?" Brennan asked, purely curious.
Charlie raised an eyebrow. "It's a good thing I'm not a snowflake, Temperance," she said amusedly. "Tactful, aren't you?"
Brennan frowned again. Now, what did that mean? She was pretty sure that in no world were snowflakes and tact relative.
Charlie continued. "I know he hasn't found anybody else. I can just feel it, you know? And I know he wouldn't give up looking for me, because I wouldn't give up on him either," she said passionately.
Brennan nodded, understanding now. It was like her and Booth. She knew he'd search every inch of the planet for her if he had to, and she'd do the same for him.
She swallowed thickly. They must have been in this box for hours, and her body was pleading for water. She knew Charlie needed attention too. The girl was miraculously aware and coping, but Brennan knew the signs of a body shutting down all too well. She was constantly falling asleep, and her breathing and heartrate were weak and irregular. She became more ashen with every passing hour. She didn't know how long they'd last in here. She had to try and keep Charlie awake.
"Your husband, Mico. What's he like?" She asked, a little awkwardly. She never had been one for small talk.
A soft smile spread across Charlie's weary features. "He's a lot of things. He's… loyal and righteous and brave. But he's kind and romantic as well. I've known him all my life, you know, but he never got up the courage to tell me how he felt until he came home from Desert Storm."
Brennan was struck at the similarity. "Oh. He… he sounds like Booth. Booth fought in the Gulf War as well," she added, marvelling at the coincidence.
Charlie faltered, like she was reaching for something her impeded mind couldn't quite grasp. "Booth… what was his first name?" She asked slowly.
"Seeley," Brennan spoke uncertainly. The name felt strange on her tongue. He'd never been Seeley to her, just Booth.
Reading expressions had never been one of Brennan's strong suits, but the look spreading across Charlie's face was certainly one of shock. She let out a laugh of disbelief. "Seeley Booth? Tall, brown eyes, grew up in Pittsburgh, has-an-older-brother Seeley Booth?"
Brennan's eyes widened. "Yes. How…?"
Charlie laughed again incredulously. "He was Meek's best man at our wedding. Seeley saved his life in the war, and he's the reason Mico had the courage to tell me his feelings. We owe him everything."
Brennan was reeling trying to process this information. "Oh. Wow. I had no idea. The odds of us being here together are… extremely slim." She speculated disbelievingly.
Charlie cocked her head. "He's never spoken about Mico? Or anything about me going missing?" She sounded surprised.
Brennan shook her head. "He's never liked to talk about his time in the army, but he's told me all about the friendships that he's formed through it. I- I cannot think of a reason why he never told me about you."
Charlie chewed her lip, scraping off the dried lipstick she was wearing. "Well, I guess I don't know him as well as you do, but that seems odd."
Brennan nodded. "I agree."
Brennan was still in awe at the sheer coincidence that her and Charlie had ended up meeting at all, much less under the same horrible circumstances. She suddenly felt a strange surge of attachment to Charlie. She knew Booth. She was trapped in a box headed to God knows where on the wrong side of the world, and she was with somebody else who knew Booth. It was oddly comforting.
"Booth is looking for us," she said, hoping that meant as much to Charlie as it did to her. "He'll find us, and we'll get you back to Mico. I promise."
Charlie looked at her appreciatively. "I know, Temperance."
Leon Alvaro drove smoothly down the road, still exhilarated at the opportunity he'd been given. For the hundredth time that night, he flicked through the wad of cash like a deck of cards with one hand, revelling in the feeling of each note passing through his fingers. This was truly changing his life.
Of course, he wasn't stupid, and he knew that Paul had been extremely shifty and suspicious, but he had chosen to brush it off. It hadn't been a light decision though, to his credit. He was a good man and considered himself to be morally driven, but the truth was he wouldn't survive much longer shovelling snow for some meagre coins. He was probably driving a truckful of drugs across Europe for some massive illegal trade. He felt guilty, but not enough to make him turn around and return the truck. It wouldn't change anything anyway, he reasoned. Someone else would just be paid to do it instead.
He relaxed back into his seat. He'd been driving for almost four hours. Nearly halfway. He glanced again at the instructions he had scribbled onto a napkin he'd found in the beverage holder. Budapest Port Warehouse, sent by Agoston. It sounded simple. In another fourteen hours or so, he'd be back in North Macedonia, with double the cash in his hand. He tried to put his guilt aside. He could live however he liked after that.
Booth's eyes bored into Marshall Bortis, hatred sparking within him. He hadn't even spoken to him yet, but years of interrogations and instinctive readings of people told him that Marshall was exactly everything that Booth hated in a human being. He looked cruel, arrogant and abrasive. People like this shouldn't have been allowed to work for the justice system. They were corrupt. He definitely made his brother Paul more likeable, and to Booth, that was really saying something.
He glared a little harder, trying to make the man uncomfortable. He wasn't about to be the first to break the silence. It was a power thing. If he gave in first, the entire interrogation would tip out of his favour.
To his satisfaction, it worked. Marshall shifted slightly in his seat, though his expression remained stoic. "Why am I here?" His voice was deep and harsh, and for some reason it made Booth hate him more. Mico watched on from beside him, eyes shifting between the two in fascination. Booth adjusted his earpiece, hoping it was working and Sweets could hear the conversation.
Booth struggled to keep his emotions in check. "When's the last time you spoke to your wife, Marshall?" He asked coolly.
Immediately, shock flickered across the man's face, but only for a split second. Expertly veiled, but he'd seen it. Marshall already knew his wife was dead, but he thought he'd stopped the identification when he took Brennan. Anger swelled further in Booth's chest, threatening to take over. They'd managed to ID the victim anyway. Bones was taken for nothing.
"Agent Bortis," Marshall snapped. "And I spoke to my wife on the phone about two weeks ago."
"Two weeks, that's a long time for a happily married guy stuck out here," Booth antagonised. This guy was smart, he could see it. The only way they would get something out of him was to trigger his temper. Which was clearly very short. "Were you and Alyson having problems?"
Marshall's glare was icy. "You're an agent, aren't you?" He asked, looking Booth up and down with distaste. "It's hard to get in contact out on these camps. You get it."
"Mhm," Booth mused. "Maybe."
"Why are you asking about Alyson? Is everything alright?" Marshall asked with believable concern.
"I'm sorry," Booth said, not apologetic in the slightest. "Your wife was found dead six days ago. The identification process was… delayed. It was only discovered a few hours ago."
Booth and Mico watched as the man covered his face with his hands, slumped over the table in a perfect picture of grief. They exchanged glances. It would have been convincing if Booth hadn't seen right through him.
"What- what happened?" Marshall asked shakily.
Booth looked at him coldly. "She was murdered. But you already knew that," he pressed.
Marshall feigned a look of confusion. "Excuse me?"
Booth didn't say anything. He continued to stare, expressionless, curious to see which reaction it drew from the man.
"You think I killed my own wife?" His voice was quickly becoming angry. "I have an alibi!"
"Interesting, reaching for the alibi as the reason he didn't kill his wife. Innocent people would feel heartbroken about being a suspect in a loved ones' murder, not accused." Sweets' fascinated voice sounded through the earpiece.
He was right. Any time Booth had ever questioned someone close to the victim, the standard response was 'I love her! I would never do that!' Or something along those lines. Marshall was definitely lacking in that department.
"And what's your alibi?" Booth asked starkly. He was fed up with this. He wanted to question the bastard about what he'd done with Bones. He reigned himself in. If they could get him for the murder, he could barter his sentence with him for Bones. If he outright accused him with no proof, he'd get nothing, and she'd be lost forever. Not an option.
Marshall gestured around him agitatedly. "I've been here for weeks! Check the records, my enrolment forms, whatever you need. I haven't been home."
"Oh, please," Booth drilled, leaning forward. "You're telling me you've never snuck off base or off camp? Because that'd be a lie, and we both know it."
Marshall pressed his lips together resentfully, but to Booth's dismay, he didn't seem flustered.
"When was she killed?"
"Tuesday night, between eight and eleven," Booth recited, the entire case file committed to memory.
Marshall's eyes glittered triumphantly. "Check the mess hall cameras," he drawled. "That's my alibi."
Booth hadn't been expecting that. Marshall had killed his wife, every fiber of his being was sure of that, but his cocky demeanor told him he wasn't worried in the slightest. Booth stood abruptly, the plastic chair tipping and clattering to the floor loudly.
"Don't go anywhere," he practically growled. "We'll be right back."
He gestured for Mico to follow him and strode quickly from the room, the muscles in his body so tight with frustration that his gait was remarkably restricted.
Mico obviously sensed his turmoil. "Don't worry, we'll get him, Seel. There's no way that alibi checks out."
"Doesn't matter," Booth snarled. "He touched Bones, and he's dead either way."
Mico nodded resignedly, patting a hand on Booth's rage-quivering shoulder. "I know," he muttered.
Booth's foot tapped aggressively as Angela ran the security footage from the mess hall through for the third time, as per his request. Sweets watched quietly from beside her, taking it all in.
"It hasn't been tampered with, Booth. It's real. Marshall was in the mess hall until almost ten – there's no way he could've gotten back fast enough to kill Alyson. It wasn't him." On a regular day, Angela would have been annoyed at Booth for doubting her conclusions, but today, all he could hear was anguish.
Booth slammed his fist into the table. It was too orchestrated. Marshall must have known when Alyson was to be murdered, and he'd given himself an airtight alibi. He'd been too ready for it. No normal person just sits around by themselves in the mess hall until ten in the evening, not even eating anything. And he'd been too quick to remember that he was accounted for on camera for certain hours on a certain night. It wasn't a coincidence. It just didn't happen.
"It doesn't make sense," he said, seething. "If he didn't kill his wife, why would he take Bones to stop the case being solved?"
To his indignation, Angela and Mico exchanged a look over the screen. Since when had they become so acquainted?
"Booth…" Angela started. "There's nothing tying Marshall to Brennan at all. Maybe-"
Booth whirled on her. "Seriously? Now? Of all times, you're doubting me now?" His voice was incredulous, tinted with anger.
Angela looked again pointedly at Mico.
"Seel," Mico began, like they'd rehearsed it. Booth raised his eyes skyward, clasping his hands over his head. What was this, an intervention?
"What?" He snapped.
"The man's a bastard, I agree, but… but honestly bud, we've got no reason to think he's the one that took your lady. I'll admit it made sense, but the proof says otherwise."
"Think about it Booth," Angela pressed. "Brennan is all about facts. She wouldn't waste her time with conjecture and guesswork, she'd be looking for some hard evidence."
"You think I'm wasting my time?" He boomed. "I think she'd give me a pass, you know, if it meant I'd be getting her out of the goddam sex trade." He spat the last words with so much fury that Angela averted her eyes for a moment. Sweets stayed uncharacteristically quiet, studying Booth with an unreadable expression on his face.
He breathed deeply to calm himself down. "I'm not taking any chances here, alright? Marshall might have an alibi for his wife's murder and his brother's attempted murder, but he doesn't for Brennan going missing. Like hell I'm letting him off with that over his head."
Now Mico tried to reason with him. "But why would he care about covering up his wife's murder if he didn't do it? He had no reason to take your doctor."
"I don't know! Alright? I don't know, but we aren't leaving until we're sure."
"I agree with Booth." Sweets chose now to pipe up. "Marshall had a disturbing lack of reaction to finding out his wife was murdered. Even if they weren't getting along, that kind of revelation would absolutely draw a reaction. I believe he already knew."
"Thank you, Sweets," Booth said pointedly to the others. "Angela, get me everything you can find on this guy, okay? No stone unturned."
She nodded, still looking uncertain. "You got it, Booth."
Not trusting himself not to combust spontaneously, Booth quickly fled the room. Where he was going, he wasn't sure, but he wanted to clear his head.
If everything was normal and this nightmare wasn't happening right now, he'd be sitting in front of the Washington Monument, probably with Bones by his side. He remembered the case they'd solved years ago, where the woman blown up in the minivan had actually been part of the National Liberation Army. The entire case, he'd been wrestling with Brennan to try and get her to forgive her father. And to his surprise, she had. They'd sat there, in front of the Washington Monument, him spewing drunken patriotic nonsense and resting on her shoulder, and her admitting she believed her father loved her. Because of him. He'd managed to break through the tough stone exterior of Brennan just long enough to give her back some of the love she'd missed out on when she was young. His heart had swelled so proudly. Even though he might not have known how he felt about her back then, she'd always been so important to him.
Not for the first time on this trip, he found himself getting angry at God. Hadn't Bones been through enough? Hadn't he? Why was this happening to them? It wasn't fair, and it enraged him to no end. He'd never been the kind of person to take revenge, but if he found the person responsible for this, God help them. He wouldn't show mercy.
"Seel?" Mico's voice brought him back to the present. "What… what ya doing?"
Booth blinked. He was standing on the grass outside the building, facing a wall. Not that he'd been seeing it. He had no memory of ever walking out here.
He unclenched his fists. "Just thinking, Meek. Go back inside."
Annoyingly, but as expected, Mico just walked forward to stand beside him. "You know you overreacted in there, right? Angela, she wants to find your lady as much as you do. You've gotta calm down. You can't scare off the people that wanna help."
Booth laughed darkly. "Oh don't worry, there's no scaring Angela off. And whose side are you on, Mico?"
"Seriously, Seeley?" He asked. "I'm always on your side, and you know that. But what I'm trying to say here is that there are no sides. We're all in this together, okay? And you overreacted."
Booth exhaled defeatedly. "I know."
Mico smiled crookedly. "Oh, Seeley Booth admitting he was wrong. What's this girl done to you? Can't wait to meet her, y'know, sounds like she's gonna blow my socks off."
Booth smiled a little. "Yeah. She does that."
Mico smirked. "Come on," he said, slapping a hand on Booth's arm good-naturedly, and steering him towards the door. "Let's go back inside and help Angela. And after this is all over, you get me a place at the FBI or something with you, cos you work with some gorgeous women."
TBC
Feedback/advice is appreciated :)