Title: Deja Vu

Disclaimer: Violence, language.

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Chapter Thirteen: Away From The Sun

When he did finally wake up he began to wish that he'd stayed asleep. His body ached in every way imaginable. It was like he had been thrown up against a wall, not once, but twice. His shoulders ached and when he went to move his arms he found them tied behind his back. No attempt could break whatever bound them together. Feeling a sinking despair he looked down to find his feet in the same condition, bound at the ankles, a chain digging into the skin ever so slightly. There was no way he could break out of them. At least he counted himself lucky not to be gagged or blindfolded, not that being blindfolded would have mattered, it was already dark enough.

The ground beneath him felt like concrete, damp concrete. That led him to believe that he was somewhere underground, most likely in a basement. How much time had passed since he had been attacked at his apartment? Had they drive far or were they within the city limits? Try as he might he couldn't hear anything but the beat of his own heart. If it was tomorrow then people would be looking for him. Brennan would have found him missing. That is, if she had shown up. Did anyone realize that he was gone? Doing the best that he could he managed to sit up, it took him longer than he would have liked but it felt good to get the weight off of his left shoulder, which had been between him and the unforgiving concrete.

Sitting up turned out to be a bad idea. He felt the nausea growing inside and the spinning of the room only made matters worse. He was going to be sick and there was no way to stop it. Leaning slightly sideways he vomited, empty what little contents had been in his stomach. Whatever had been in that needle was no doubt the culprit of his nausea. Would he be getting sicker? His immune system was already slightly weakened from the poison the other night. How many days ago had that been? Was it last night, yesterday night, or a week ago? How long had he been out of it?

The room was feeling stuffy and it made it harder to breathe. He need cool, refreshing air, something with a current. His head was really beginning to hurt and he thought of lying on his side again, the cooling concrete would be soothing. It felt like he was getting a fever. Was it that he was burning up or that he just didn't want to be in here? Who had the guts to kidnap an FBI agent? Didn't they know that they would get into a hell of a lot of trouble? Especially if he died. That unwelcoming thought just popped into his head. He couldn't die. He had a son to raise, people to rescue, and girl that he wanted to love.

His head began to hurt more and more. It was like some little person inside was running around, banging on the side of his skull like it was a drum. Little lights began to explode in his vision and he knew that he was going to passing out. He didn't really want to do that. He made him vulnerable to whomever it was that held him captive. The darkness crept ever closer, though and before he knew it he was falling into an endless pit.

When he awoke next he found himself in the same dark place. All hopes of it having been a bad dream washed away. He moved, finding that his arms were no longer bound together. Neither were his feet. That meant one of two things; either his capturer was an idiot or they were sure Booth would not escape. The thought of climbing to his feet and having a look around was encouraging, but he delayed actually standing after remembering what happened when he sat up the first time. This was something that would have to take time. Happy to at least not be bound anymore he began to have a feel around. His hand bumped against something and it rolled slightly.

Grabbing at it he realized that it was a flashlight. Feeling a bit of hope he flicked it on. The beam of light hurt his eyes after being in the dark for lord only knows how long. Now would be a perfect time to check out his surroundings. The beam of light flashed off the metallic walls and for a moment he found that he was confused. Shining the light on the floor he found that he'd been mistaken, it wasn't concrete, it was metal. With a sinking recognition he knew where he was; locked up tight in one of those ugly shipping storages. How would anyone get the idea to look for him here? Screaming wouldn't help, docks were noisy places and he'd have to scream for help all day. What were the chances that he'd catch someone walking by?

He dropped the light and it shone on the corner of something white. Something flat, resting on the floor near the door. Most likely a piece of paper. Still not comfortable with the idea of getting up and he crawled his way over to it, flashlight in hand. The piece of paper was small with light blue lines. Ugly black letters were scrawled across it. He read them over and over, letting his mind absorb what the note said.

She doesn't realize how much you love her. She's too blind to see. But maybe once you're gone, she'll come to realize that she missed her chance. Next time you'll see each other you'll be a skeleton on her table.

They were talking about Brennan. How did this person know her? How did they know about his feelings for her and that she didn't return them? Wait, she was starting to. She was going to visit him that night, to talk, and this person had come along and messed it all up. Frustrated, he threw the flashlight across the container. It hit the wall with a thud and the light went out, leaving him in the dark again. It wasn't until he brought his hands to face that he realized he was crying.