AN: Can I get a WHOOP WHOOP! Soooo… Quick thanks to jambled who gave me a word in the review ("unshowered" of all words) and that turned into the mud fight. If you can't tell, I'm not so far ahead in this story. sigh

Disclaimer: Dear Fox, I have not, as of yet, heard from your HR department. Please be aware that I am currently being headhunted by CBS to write for CSI: NY. While I'd prefer to write for Bones, a girl has to eat. A major deciding factor would be compensation and incentives. For example: give me David Boreanaz as an end-of-year bonus...

Just Like Any Other Tuesday

Booth sat at the bar, shoulders slumped, head down. He had been nursing the beer in front of him for so long, the condensation had puddled beneath his wrists, and the amber liquid inside the bottle was now warm. The day's events ran through his mind as he tried to ignore the dull throbbing behind his eyes.

He had run the gamut of emotions within a five hour period, and he was exhausted. All he wanted to do was take a heavy sedative, crawl into bed, and forget everything he ever knew. Booth figured it would be easier than actually having to face this new world. A world without Bones.

But, he couldn't. He couldn't avoid and he didn't want to forget. He needed to be fully conscious in case anything happened. If she was found. In case she was found. When she was found. However she was found. And he had to be prepared for that 'however'.

He and Angela had gone through every phone conversation with Brennan since she left. Foley had taken them through everything: from greetings to goodbyes, information to endearments. It was the endearments that had made him cringe. Somehow, throughout the eight months, he'd never told her. He'd even gotten angry at Angela for having said those three little words to her in their last phone conversation. And now he was terrified that she'd never know how much he loved her.

Booth was seconds away from losing it in a public place, when Dr. Jack Hodgins stepped through the door, calling his name. Booth did not respond. He was so lost in thought he didn't notice Hodgins until he was seated at the barstool next to him, placing a firm hand on Booth's shoulder.

"Hey, man."

Booth straightened in his seat, clearing his throat to ward off the disturbing emotions running dangerously close to the surface. Not raising his head, Booth responded with a grunt.

"Look, I know we're not… the best of friends," Hodgins started, and then paused, unsure of where he wanted to go with this. "But, I – if there's anything I can do…" Hodgins sighed. Booth was staring directly at the beer in front of him, seemingly ignoring everything around him, including Hodgins.

"Booth. We all love Brennan. We're all hurting and scared right now. But, I know it's different for you. For whatever reason, it's harder for you. I know that. So, if you need anything…" he tried again, shrugging his right shoulder as he dropped his hand from the agent's shoulder.

Booth dropped his chin to his chest, releasing a great breath. There was little noise in the bar at four o'clock on a Tuesday afternoon, yet Hodgins almost missed the response.

"That means a lot. You're a good friend, Jack." Hodgins smiled, sadly, turning back to the bar in front of him with the intention of ordering a beer and keeping his friend company. But, before Hodgins could draw the attention of the bartender, Booth's phone shrilled, demanding attention.

"Booth."

Within seconds, Booth had jumped off the barstool and practically sprinted toward the door, like a man on a mission. Hodgins watched in surprise for a brief moment, and then quickly followed after dropping some cash on the bar. By the time he'd gotten outside, Booth was already across the street, about ready to climb into his SUV. Man that guy can move.

"Booth! What is it?" Hodgins called across traffic.

Booth turned; his hand on the door handle, and his face hopeful, "They've got something."

Dr. Temperance Brennan had been in horrific situations before. She'd had her life threatened, several times. She'd been beaten to within an inch of her life. She'd been buried alive. She'd had to cut open a good friend. She'd been kidnapped, tied up, and almost fed to dogs. She'd seen her best friend blown up.

But she'd never been as scared as she was on Saturday night, when she'd heard the explosions and gunfire. She'd frozen, at first, but only for a brief second, and suddenly the rush of adrenaline brought her into action. Fight or flight.

Sam had grabbed her hand, and both women with a glance, decided at that moment it was going to be flight. And over the last 72 hours, the adrenaline had been enough to keep Temperance awake and alert.

But, now sitting in a boxcar amidst all the textiles being transported from Nyala to Port Sudan for export, her eyes became heavy. As her eyes began to droop, she wondered absently why she had been as terrified as she was. More scared than any other situation. She was still scared, but couldn't place why.

Shaking herself, she turned to Sam, concerned that the train hadn't left yet. But, Sam had already succumbed to sleep. Temperance wactched her for a moment, studying her breathing. It was rhythmic; normal. Temperance gave a sigh of relief; they both had been through quite a bit in the last few days. She didn't want to think about all their close calls. Finally, the train began to move, swaying soothingly. As it picked up speed, the clackity-clack of the wheels on the rails was an eerie comfort Temperance. She was being taken away and she was thankful.

Glancing around at the array of blankets and clothing, Temperance made the decision. It was at least a 7 day journey by rail to the port city, and Sam had assured her this train was not stopping for at least twelve hours. She pulled a blanket around herself and Sam, and allowing herself to give up the struggle, Temperance fell into unconsciousness .

Laughing, Sam and Temperance jogged away from the mud fight. After Dr. Andrew Baines had dropped the jug of water on the ground, Paul Freemont had grabbed a handful of the now wet dirt, and thrown it at the birthday boy who had caused the spill. Andrew retaliated, and under the glow of the numerous lanterns, the entire team had entered the war. Luckily, Sam and Temperance had been on 'clean-up' from dinner, and had missed the ruckus. They were able to escape without a speck of mud. Though the dirt smudges across their faces couldn't be helped. The area near Tumko was somewhat sandy.

Slowing to a walk, Temperance glanced at her new friend, the grin stuck to her face. Her cheeks hurt from laughing. She couldn't remember having this much fun on assignment before. On previous assignments, she'd maintained her detached demeanor, and kept her distance from the remainder of the team. She had thought this was the best way to maintain professionalism; but had missed out on the camaraderie that followed. But, in the last year, she'd been more and more open to befriending new people, like Sam; and in turn, they had befriended her right back. She tripped over air as she realized it was because of Booth that she had been more open; and, subsequently, had made friends with her new crew. She made a mental note to thank him in the call she would make in a few hours. And she was really looking forward to that call.

"Whoo." Sam released a breath, trying to calm her mirthful giggles. "You'd never guess those guys had such high IQs. So immature." Sam rolled her eyes, in complete imitation of Temperance. "So, Dr. Brennan, what are we learning tonight?"

"How many times have I told you to call me Temperance?" The two women made the several hundred yard trek in the dark toward the work site; the terrain was familiar and they could have done this with their eyes closed.

"Not enough times. One day I will."

"One day? When?" Receiving a small smile, Temperance waved her hand in a small motion, as if dismissing her own question. "Tonight, I thought you might want to go back over the –" Brennan's suggestion was interrupted by a large explosion two hundred yards behind them. Turning, they saw several men in open jeeps, one throwing grenades toward the tents, and two others firing weapons toward their friends.

Sam grabbed her hand. Fear was evident on both their faces, and the decision was made quickly and without words. Without a second glance, they took off, away from the gunfire and into the darkness.

AN: CBS doesn't really want me for CSI: NY, but...Shhhh... don't tell Fox. But DO tell me what you think! Review!

Shoutouts: for all those that reviewed thanks! jambled (the present and the flashback are really close to meeting up, you're right, though this wasn't my intention when I began this! Don't you love it how fics sometimes write themselves?), MissBennet (I'm not so sure if there is a "why" for what's happening to Temperance... I think it just "is"), annlu73 (Thanks! hope you like this one too), lemlee (I feel sad for Booth too, but the poor guy is in such denial, he almost begs to be tormented), Mockingbird84 (I'm a big fan of their banter, and I'm trying to be a pro - but Fox won't hire me...), Emma6373 (I figured, that once Brennan figured it out herself, she wouldn't hold back. She'd try to get what she wanted starting right away, even if she was leaving for awhile), and statler (I'm sure Othello was fine being back-burner'd. In fact, I believe anyone doing anything Shakespeare has procrastinated from doing it at least once. I know I have... Darn Julius Ceasar. Darn him to heck.)