Disclaimer: "Bones" is the property of Fox Broadcasting, Kathy Reichs, and Hart Hanson. The following story was written for pleasure only and not for personal profit in any way.

Chapter 4

Hodgins sat at his workstation, bent over a microscope, as usual. He was working late, trying to identify the organic matter from the victim's jacket.

The phone rang. Looking up from his task, he picked up the receiver. "Dr. Hodgins," he answered.

"Yes, this is Special Agent Booth with the FBI, Doctor Temperance Brennan is at the Brackenyard Warehouse, off the Old Jefferson Highway, and needs to be picked up. "

"Booth, what is going-" Hodgins began, but the line went dead. He sat staring at the phone in his hand for a moment.

"Are you almost done? It's getting late," Angela said, coming up behind him.

Hodgins turned to look at her, confusion on his face.

"What's wrong?" she asked. "Who was on the phone?"

"It was Booth, I think he and Brennan are in trouble," he said, as he stood up and grabbed his jacket.

"What?!" What did he say? Hey, where are you going?" she asked, as she followed him towards the door.

"He said Dr. Brennan is at the Brackenyard warehouse, off the Old Jefferson Highway, and needs to be picked up. He was being very formal, almost as if someone was listening to the conversation. When I answered the phone, he identified himself as Agent Booth with the FBI, told me where Brennan was, then hung up. Something is definitely wrong," he said as he headed out the door.

"Jack."

He stopped and turned around. Angela's eyes were filled with worry.

"Please, be careful." she said, her tone almost begging.

He took a step back towards her and kissed her cheek. "Booth wouldn't lead me into danger, but they need help. I will be right back, I promise." He kissed her again and headed quickly out the door.

--

It was a bright night, the trees casting shadows across the road as he drove towards the warehouse. When the warehouse was in sight, Hodgins killed the lights and slowed the car. He was no "special agent," but he had watched enough cop shows to know better than to go flying in with lights blazing. As he approached the parking lot at a crawl, he turned in, sticking to the left side, as far from the open bay doors as possible. He skirted the parking approaching the building on the left side. He stopped the car just out of sight of the doors, turned the dome light off, so it would not come one when he opened the door, and silently got out of the vehicle, not shutting the door behind him. He crept into the open warehouse and quietly made his way to the back of the room, towards the only light source. He had every confidence that Booth wouldn't lead him into danger; but still, if they were in enough trouble that they needed his help, he had to be careful.

As he neared the back of the room he saw her. She was tied to a chair, her head down, chin resting on her chest.

"Dr. Brennan!" He went to her, placing his hands on her shoulders and dropping to his knees in front of her.

To his immense relief, she looked up at him. There was a nasty cut above her left eye and a bruise on her cheek. Quickly, he untied the material gagging her.

"Are you okay?" he asked, as he worked to free her mouth.

"Hodgins," she gasped when she was freed. "They took him, they were going to take me, but he talked them out of it. They have him; we have to do something."

She said all of this very fast. As he untied her arms, he tired to calm her down.

"Dr. Brennan," he said in a calm voice, "Are you okay?"

As soon as she was freed of the ropes holding her, she sprang to her feet and moved towards a door to her right that stood slightly ajar.

"I am not sure where they are going, they said something about a boat; we have to hurry," she continued at top speed, ignoring his question.

Hodgins grabbed her arm pulling her back. She looked at him, with an almost frantic look in her eyes. He had never seen her so agitated. It was a drastic contrast to the calm, rational scientist he worked with.

"Dr Brennan, calm down," he said in a low steady voice. "Tell me what happened. How did you come to be here and where is Booth?"

She took a deep breath. "You're right, I'm sorry," she said, running her fingertips across her forehead. "Okay, I was on my way to karate. As I was leaving the parking lot, someone came up behind me. There was a struggle." She paused, as if trying to sort through her memories. "I think they hit me over the head," she said as she gingerly touched the back of her head, wincing as she did so.

"When I came to, I was here, tied up and gagged, with two other men. They were talking about negotiations with the FBI and a boat; they were talking about a boat. They said they were going back to the boat. Then the first guy headed out towards the doors and I heard him talking to someone. After a bit, he called to the second guy, called him Harold, and Harold grabbed me and dragged me out the door. The first guy was standing over there," she said, pointing, " And Booth was in front of him, holding his gun. Booth called the guy McGregor. They talked for a little while…" She paused, closing her eyes, and let out a sigh. "He convinced them to take him as a hostage in my place," she continued, her voice becoming a little shaky.

She turned away from Hodgins, walking around a little as she continued. "He convinced them to let him make a phone call, to you, I presume." She took another deep breath. "Then they put him in the car and drove away," she finished, looking at Hodgins again.

He put a hand on her shoulder. "We'll find him," he said.

"Thank you," Brennan said, giving him half a smile. "We need to find that boat."

"Well, let's go look for some dirt," he said, in what he hoped was an encouraging tone. "I keep an evidence kit in my car, I will be right back."

When he returned, he found Dr. Brennan in a small room to the right of where she was tied to the chair, leaning over a table. Together, they scoured the room, collecting dirt, dust, shavings, and everything they could that might help them in finding these people.

--

Dr. Brennan was sitting in her office, seemingly lost in thought, when Angela came to the door. She stood there for a few minutes watching her friend.

"Brennan," she said softly.

There was no response from the woman sitting at the desk.

"Brennan," she said again a little bit louder.

Still no change. Angela's forehead creased with concern.

"Brennan," she said, still louder yet.

The archeologist started and looked towards the door.

"Oh Ange, sorry. Anything new?" she asked, turning away from the desk.

"Brennan," the artist began, but she was cut off.

"Angela, I'm fine, really," said the scientist, in what she hoped was a reassuring tone.

"No, sweetie, you're not, and that's okay," she said as she moved into the office and towards the desk.

The anthropologist turned back to the open case file she had been looking through on her desk. She closed her eyes briefly, trying to compose herself. There was silence for a moment.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Angela prodded gently.

"I just don't understand," Brennan stated abruptly, her voice a little louder than she intended. She stood and walked around the desk, her frustration getting the better of her. "It is just not rational. Why would he do something like that?"

Angela watched her friend pace around the office. She knew the answer, of course, it was totally obvious to everyone-- everyone except for them.

"He cares about you, sweetie," she said in a soft voice.

"Angela, please," Brennan started, but Angela continued.

"Look he's your partner, your friend. It is not like this is the first time he has risked his life for you."

"I know, Angela, but this is different." She sat down on the couch, holding her face in her hands for a moment before she continued.

"He is a very skilled agent, a loyal friend. He has shot people trying to hurt me, he has shielded me, he even took a bullet for me. He has protective reflexes. It is part of what makes him a good Federal Agent. He is a classic example of the "alpha-male role", protector to those around him. Even the most basic of societal grouping has those whose job it is to protect others. These are generally the young healthy males in the group…" She stopped her rambling and took a deep breath. "It is built into his nature to protect, a reflex."

She paused, turning to look at Angela. "This was not a reflex. This was a carefully executed plan. He talked them into it, into taking him instead of me. He made logical, rational arguments, persuading them that he would make a better hostage. Ange, he knows these people, knows the brutality they are capable of," she said, gesturing towards the open file on her desk. "He has worked cases against them for years. How could he just…" she trailed off, her voice catching in her throat.

"Brennan, he cares about you," the artist repeated, her tone full of understanding and sympathy.

The anthropologist opened her mouth to argue, but Angela continued without giving her the chance.

"If you can't look at it that way, then think about this: you would have done the same thing for him. It is part of the whole 'cop-partner-relationship-thing.' Every day you put your lives on the line for each other. It is part of the job. Yes, he knows what they are capable of, that is why he did it. He couldn't let you get into something like that." The artist paused, letting that sink in.

"Sweetie, you are frustrated and feel helpless. You are not really mad at him. You are scared for him. This cost him everything, so that you could walk away. Just remember that you've risked everything you have, your life even, to help him before. How can you be mad at him for doing what you would have done yourself?"

She paused for a moment, and then added, "And while you're thinking about that, think about what that says." She gave Brennan a small smile.

The two sat for a moment, both lost in their own thoughts. At length, Brennan broke the silence.

"I called the FBI, after Hodgins showed up, and told them about Booth and everything I could remember about these men. They sent their forensic team out to do the same thing we're doing. They, of coarse, told me to stay out of it, and reminded me that I am not a cop. They are shutting me out, just like they did when he disappeared last time." She turned to look at the artist. "He is my partner, Ange, I have to help, I have to do something. He is there because of me."

Angela came and sat on the couch next to her friend. "I know, sweetie, we'll find him," she said, resting her hand on Brennan's arm.

Just then, Hodgins walked into the office. "I found something," he said as he stood in front of them.

Brennan jumped to her feet. "What do you have?" she asked, looking at him imploringly.

"We found E-glass fibers or marine fiber glass, which is no surprise as we know they have a boat. However, the particulates we found show no traces of sodium chloride," he turned to Angela, "indicating no saltwater. Obviously, their boat is not in the ocean. But we did find traces of Methanobacterium ruminantium and Methanosarcina barkeri. Now, Methanobacterium ruminantium is found in regions of high-organic-silt sediments. Methanosarcina barkeri are identified in sand-silt, clay, or sand sediments. I also identified pollen from Cyperus acuminatus, commonly known as umbrella-sedge, and Eleocharis engelmannii, or Engelmann's Spike, which are both water vegetation seldom seen, only during periods of lower water levels--"

"Hodgins, the shortened version, please," Brennan interrupted.

"Right, sorry. Harold and or McGregor have recently been at the southern end of Lake Erie," he said, with a triumphant smile on his face.

"Hodgins, you are a genius!" Brennan said, turning from him back to the woman on the couch. "Angela, can I have the sketches of those men that I described to you?"

"Sure they are in my office; where are you…" she began, but Brennan hurried out the door.

Angela got up and followed the slender woman to her own office, Hodgins right behind her.

"I am going to the FBI building," she said, emerging from the artist's room, sketches in hand. "We will see if they can keep me out of this one."

The anthropologist headed quickly out of the lab. Angela turned to Hodgins, a smile on her face. "You truly are amazing, you know that?" she asked, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He placed his arms around her waist, "I have my moments," he said, with a mischievous glint in his eye.

He turned and looked towards the lab doors, the smile fading from his face. "I just hope it is enough," he added, looking at the empty door way.

To Be Continued...