AUTHOR'S NOTE I have so many people to thank here. First of all Faux Maven for not abandoning faith in me while I was going through an insomnia-phase. (Well, technically I am still smack dab in the middle of it, but eh...) FM, it was and still is a joy working with you. I will never grow tired of your honest opinions. Next in line for thanks is Mendenbar. Thanks for providing me with a chapter title! I'm glad to have a torture device expert among my readers. And finally lots of thanks to everyone who read (and lurked), reviewed, added Strappado to their favorites and/or story alert list. You have no idea how much this means to me. And before we plunge right back into the action, let me just say HA HA, I managed to reply to all my reviews! Well, at least I think I did...If I happened to have skipped one, please accept my apologies. That being said, hold on tight because we're in for a ride. :)

- VIII -

-- THE FAITHLESS WOMAN --

The Faithless Woman is both a psychological and a physical torture method. It was usually reserved for, as its name suggests, unfaithful women and their lovers. The victims had to face each other and were bound hands around waists and tied in back. They had to stand like that, for hours and hours, until they reached a point of exhaustion. Then they had to choose who would protect the other by falling onto whatever the torturer had laid out around them -- hot coals, spikes or whatever his sadistic mind could come up with.

In this chapter Brennan is the faithless woman. She is still struggling with what's raging inside of her and with Booth's protective streak. Her faith in him is tested. In the end she comes to rest and a choice is made. They decide who falls, be it alone or together.

Thursday November 29 - Outside Brennan's hotel - 19:16

Shit, shit, shit...reverberated through Booth's head as he broke into a run and rounded the corner into a trash-filled alleyway. The echo of his inward curses died away as he quietly scanned the scene before him. No one, there was absolutely no one he could see. Had he imagined the man edging along the sidewalk? Had he imagined the piercing stares he had been subjected too? Booth tensed, half turned, and hoped he wasn't going crazy. If his gut began fooling him, what was there to trust?

And then...A shift of a shadow, a flicker of light, and a sudden cry of a cat disturbed in its peacefulness. Booth spun around just in time to see the stray cat jump out from behind a pile of garbage bags. It ran along the alley and flew around the corner emerging onto the sidewalk of 24th Street. There it skittered away, dodging shoes and shins as it weaved through the legs of a few couples walking down the street. Booth's breath hitched in his throat. There were only a limited number of reasons for the cat's cry of pain. Either a stray dog had bitten it or someone had chased it away. Because of the purpose of his search and because the dreadful feeling of being watched all day still clung to his skin, Booth stepped closer to the wall on his left. It was the entire right side of the Park Hyatt Washington he had left only ten minutes ago.

One step at a time, excruciatingly slow and cautious, all the while making sure he stayed in the shadows, Booth walked down the alleyway. His fingers slid over the rough brick wall to guide him because his eyes were fixed on where he had seen the glimmer from the corner of his eye. Someone was there. The presence of the stranger didn't unnerve Booth. It only confirmed what he and Brennan had been uncertain of the minute they had gotten into his SUV that morning. It confirmed he wasn't losing his mind. Someone was there and Booth was determined to catch him.

His every muscle was tense. He was acutely aware of the brick walls on either side of him and the piles of garbage bags crowding around him. Bright moonlight shining down on him lit his way. It was the same moonlight that had given him the flicker of light on metal. He kept moving, his fingertips encountering dips and bumps on the wall, his dress shoes crunching the dirty pavement. Anticipation, the disdain of being ridiculously outsmarted by a common criminal, and a hint of excitement clouded his mind. He was set on trapping whoever had been sneaking around after him. For two weeks he had been played now. It was time for this to come to an end so he, Brennan and the rest of their team could move on to new cases.

But doubt began to settle in his mind. He was halfway along the abandoned alleyway now and so far he hadn't spotted a single soul except for a cat. Was his gut wrong after all? He felt like a hunter, but maybe he was one without a prey. Booth halted, carefully and precisely scanning the rest of the alley. Holding his breath, he listened carefully hoping to catch a rustle of clothes or the hint of a breath. Patiently he waited. He was good at waiting. Back in the day when he had been a sniper, he had waited for hours on end for his target. The last three years he had spent waiting for his partner to react to his subtle advances and approach him like a bee searches the heart of flower. The waiting game was one he was a master at.

Two minutes later everything was still eerily quiet. A light breeze made a flap of garbage bag sway and whisper. And then, however short and fleeting the moment was, the moonlight caught the same piece of metal again. It was a shiny belt buckle. It was no more than a faint glow, but Booth immediately registered it. The man wearing the belt buckle was aware of his adversary having found him the same second it dawned on Booth he was looking at the man who had killed John and hurt Angela. Before Booth had a chance to look at the killer's face, the man leapt to his feet and raced down the alleyway. A curse escaped Booth as he launched himself forward and chased after the man. They ran, jumped over garbage bags, splashed through small shallow pools of rain water, and pressed themselves to run even faster. The alleyway was longer than Booth had presumed. It seemed to him that they kept running and running forever...

Until a sudden burst of energy pushed him forward. Within seconds Booth had a hold of the man's black sweater. His prey slid to a stop, turned, and swung at Booth, but the agent managed to dodge away. But Booth didn't notice his adversary's foot hooking around his ankle until it was too late and he was lying flat on the ground. He rolled over and pushed himself up, but was knocked down again when the heavy lid of a garbage can landed on the back of his head. Though his ears were ringing from the blow and a throbbing ache settled under his skull, Booth turned just enough to see the other man throw himself forward, up against the wall that closed the alleyway off. Quick and agile like a cat he climbed up. On the top of the wall he paused briefly, only long enough to glance down to where Booth was shaking his head while slowly getting to his feet. And then he was gone. Without any hesitation he dropped down the other side of the wall, disappearing into the shadows and the night, leaving Booth below in the alleyway staring after him.

Realizing the prey had outwitted the hunter, Booth cursed and began climbing up the wall himself despite his throbbing head. But when he reached the top where the killer had jumped off, he needed a minute to steady himself. That blow to his head had been harder than he thought. Breathing in and out steadily to calm himself, his eyes swept left to right in the alley below. It was dark and narrow and completely deserted. Booth swore under his breath. He had been close, frighteningly close, and because of one well-placed blow the killer had slipped through Booth's fingers. There wasn't a word to describe the disappointment, defeat, resentment and rage he was experiencing. The killer was pushing them around like defenseless pawns in a game only he knew the rules of. The wish to catch him plagued Booth's mind day and night. And now, in a matter of seconds, he had let him get away. He wouldn't forgive himself until the day he caught the son of a bitch who had dared to mess with Brennan.

Booth gritted his teeth and climbed back down as he suppressed the storm inside of him. Briskly and refusing to look back at the damned wall that had prevented him from catching the murderer, Booth followed the cat's path and retraced his steps to the street. Moments later he was crossing the hotel lobby, wearing a dangerous scowl as testimony to his severe irritation. His dark stare fixed on an unknown point in the distance and the arrogant way he stepped into the elevator and leaned against one of the sides were enough to make anyone who crossed his path grant him space. Like a miniature hurricane, matching the mix of emotions whirling inside of him, he swept through the hallway on the seventh floor, forcing the handful of people he met to step aside. Thus apparent was his agitation.

But as always Brennan was unfazed by what everyone catalogued as a warning to steer clear. The moment Booth barged into the hotel suite, she crossed her arms and steadily stared at him. Booth sighed, as if to deflate the balloon of annoyance inside of him, flung his coat over the back of the luxurious and spacious couch, and flopped down in one of the corners. As he ran his hands over his face and through his hair, ruffling it up considerably, Brennan approached him. She noted damp patches on his coat he had so carelessly tossed aside. Taking in the scuff on the pair of new pair of shoes he had so proudly modeled for her only three weeks ago and his quiet wince as he touched the back of his head, Brennan picked up the faint smell of rotten food -- garbage. It was all over Booth as if he had been rolling around in some dirty back alley. Brennan quickly did the math.

Earlier Booth had set out to do a quick check-up of their surroundings because of their mutual hunch of something not being entirely as it was supposed to be. It now seemed her partner had come face to face with the source of their discomfort in the alleyway next to the hotel. Brennan stiffened and stared at Booth so fiercely as if she wanted to drill a hole through the side of his head, wishing and hoping he would keep from confirming the facts that were screaming at her.

"He was there," he said gruffly in response to Brennan's silent question. Her eyes widened and her arms tightened across her chest.

"So you were right," was her breathless answer.

"Of course I was right. I always am." Booth sent a pointed glare her way, but softened when he saw her distress. There she was, his partner, standing in the middle of the hotel suite, looking as fragile as he had ever seen. The sight of her slightly hunched shoulders, eyes flicking restlessly through the room, and the tension generously radiating from her fired up his irritation some more. If he didn't get a grip on himself, he would surely do something irrational, something he might regret later.

"I had a feeling someone was watching us, but..." Brennan shook her head. "To hear you say it made it seem more definite." Upon receiving a curious look, Brennan lightly shrugged. "You're the gut guy. It's what you're good at. As illogical as it is to believe your gut can tell you what's wrong, fact remains that your feelings usually tend to be quite accurate. You said someone was watching us so I believed you."

Booth leaned back and draped his arm over the back of the couch as he regarded her. "You're taking this trust thing pretty far, Bones. You've got some serious faith in me and what I'm capable of."

"I've been accused of that before," Brennan mumbled as she walked over to the over-sized desk and sat down. The large working area made the defeated set of her shoulders and spine stand out. It was in contrast with the proud, straight-backed woman Booth was used to seeing.

Some of his annoyance and anger ebbed away and was replaced by a deep sense of protectiveness. As much as they both regularly denied it, they were each a part of a whole. He had once jeeringly called their partnership a symbiotic relationship; how true he had been then. One couldn't survive without the other. It perfectly explained why he could sense her confusion and the first signs of panic so accurately. As they both lapsed into silence, Booth kept his eyes on her, wondering how he could prevent her from getting hurt anymore. That's all he seemed to do nowadays -- wondering, waiting and worrying.

Brennan absent-mindedly ran a finger over her closed laptop, pretending to be unaware of Booth's staring. The sound of a woman in high heels passing their suite reached them. As they listened to her walking by, Brennan lifted her head to study her partner. His gaze was unfocused as he loosened his tie and shrugged off his jacket. He frowned and was seemingly working something out in his head. Brennan wondered what exactly he was mulling over -- the man he had presumably chased earlier, the funeral or what had taken place nearly ten hours ago against the wall to her right?

She averted her eyes when Booth unbuttoned the top of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves past his elbows. Unintentionally they came to a rest on the one spot she felt uncomfortable looking at -- the spot of wall right next to the bedroom door. It was the spot where Booth had pinned her and where something unnamable had passed between them. It hadn't been a current, had been too weak and liquid for a spark. It had been something unsettling. But in a good way. Brennan abruptly stood up shaking her head.

"You should go, Booth. It's getting late."

"I'm not going anywhere." As he spoke, he draped his jacket over the back of the couch and reached down to untie his shoes. In a minute he had disposed of them and curled his toes clad in wildly striped socks in the hotel suite's rug.

Brennan's eyebrows shot up. "You can't stay."

"Why not? You've got room. I can sleep on the couch." He bounced up and down a few times as an experiment and smiled approvingly before swinging his feet onto the low table standing in front of him. He relaxed, expectantly looking at Brennan.

She rolled her eyes as she went to him. Nudging his legs with her knee, she snapped, "Feet off my table."

"It's not your table. It's the hotel's."

"That's beside the point. Feet off the table, grab your things, and leave."

"Bones, what-" His voice rose half an octave when Brennan poked his shoulder to urge him to stand up.

"Booth," Brennan warned, all the while poking, prodding and nudging until he was on his feet. As much as she dreaded to admit it, she wouldn't mind having him around, but it would be dangerous for her independence. She couldn't risk lying awake for hours on end because he was in the next room.

Booth glared at her. "That's it. I've had it." Before Brennan could react, he spun around and invaded her personal space. Defiantly he stared at her. "I've let you push me away long enough, Bones. There's a murderer out there; a guy who's obviously after us. You can't expect me to leave you right now. Not after we've established that there's a big chance he's keeping an eye on us. I refuse, alright?"

Brennan glanced away, but made eye-contact almost immediately again, albeit a bit reluctantly. Booth reckoned this wasn't a fight she desperately wanted to win. But why was she driven to push him away then? "Don't make me force you out." Her threat was weak and Brennan was all too aware of it.

"I'd like to see you try." He was thrown for a moment when Brennan closed her eyes and sucked in a quivering breath. Hesitant, unsure of his next, rather bold, move, Booth lightly brushed her cheek. "It's alright, Bones," he mumbled. Repeating his gesture, he brushed a strand of hair away. Brennan's eyes slowly slid open, regarding him with a puzzled, mysterious look. Booth braced himself for rejection as he opened his arms a bit, tilted his head, and calmly asked, "Guy hug?"

She stared at him, waiting. She waited and waited until eventually Booth dropped his arms down his side again. "Let's line up all the evidence we've got so far." Her tone meant business, but her eyes focused on everything except Booth's disappointed face and the barely perceptible slump of his shoulders.

"Whatever you say, Bones," he mumbled. Sitting down again, Booth realized he wouldn't be sent away, and calmly listened to Brennan's monologue. She paced up and down in front of him as she enumerated every tiny detail and every remotely interesting piece of proof they had noted and bagged. She reasoned and rationalized forgetting that Booth knew the case just as well. Finally she came to a rest.

Hands clasped behind her back, Brennan said, "I need to examine the evidence myself."

Booth sighed. "You know you can't. You're not on this case."

"But maybe the FBI forensics lab is missing something," Brennan replied. "You know my team is the best. We could help you."

"Listen," Booth started, standing up and approaching her. "I know the squints are atop the league when it comes to, well...squinting and drowning me with scientific mumbo jumbo, but it doesn't matter. You, John and Angela are the victims in this case. I couldn't officially assign you even if I wanted to."

Brennan narrowed her eyes. "You don't want us on your case?"

"Does personal involvement ring a bell?"

"That's not a valid argument and you know it. You're personally involved too!"

"But not on the same level as you." He cocked his head to the side and gave her a somewhat pleading look. "Go with me on this one, Bones. You know I can't help you."

"Says the man who involved my team the second the Gravedigger took me." Brennan shook her head as she disappeared to her bedroom. Two minutes later she emerged with a bundle of sheets and a pillow. "Goodnight, Booth," she earnestly said while shoving everything in his arms. Booth opened his mouth to retort, but before he could, Brennan turned and walked away again, leaving Booth alone. The only door connecting the living area with the bedroom was shut with a dry click to indicate all conversation -- all contact, it seemed -- was cut off until morning.

---&---

Thursday November 29 - Brennan's hotel room - A bit after midnight

The soft patter of Brennan's bare feet on the parquet broke the heavy silence hanging in the 'Park Deluxe' room. Booth blinked and propped himself up on his elbows to see her come padding through the door that connected the living area with the bedroom. The moonlight slipping through the blinds Booth had deliberately left open shone on the tank top and loose pair of pajama pants she was wearing. Even in the dim light he could clearly feel her eyes locking onto him. When she came to a stop beside his make-shift bed on the couch, Booth rose to his feet. Smoothing down his white wife-beater, he stared at her questioningly. Brennan looked away, through the open blinds, into the night.

"You have to let me help, Booth," she stated. "I can't watch you chase every lead and not be right there beside you."

Booth shook his head. "I can't assign you." When she turned to face him, he gave her a small smile. "Not officially anyway." Brennan's eyes widened before she relaxed. "We'll make this work, Bones. But we'll have to keep this under wraps as much as possible."

"Deal," Brennan nodded satisfied.

They stood silently for a moment, awkwardly frozen into position by their sudden and unexpected agreement. Brennan had come to her partner to convince him to include her in the investigation. Now that she had obtained her goal, she wasn't sure what else was keeping her rooted to the spot next to the bundle of Booth's bed sheets. A strange feeling pooled in the pit of her stomach, but oddly enough she couldn't name it right away. The toes of her right foot curled into the living room rug as Booth sauntered over to the window. It was then that Brennan realized what was nibbling and fretting on the inside. Before she had time to properly think her actions through Brennan moved to join Booth in his quiet gazing at a world asleep. Ever so lightly she ran her fingertips over his upper arm.

"Are you sure it's a safe idea to be standing in front of a window like this? I'd hate for you to end up like John."

Booth shrugged. "We're safe. The buildings across the street aren't high enough for a sniper to target someone in this room."

Nodding in understanding, Brennan ran her fingers up his arm again. "Is your offer for a guy hug still valid?"

Booth threw her a scrutinizing look as her gently uttered and quietly desperate words sunk in. A curt nod marked his permission. As if in a dream, bathing in moonlight, Brennan slid her arms around his waist and let her head rest against his shoulder. Her pajama pants brushed his bare legs clad only in a pair of boxers as Booth drew her closer -- gathered her in his arms as though she was a precious relic. There they stood. Psychology wrapped around science. Emotions pressed against facts. The cliché hard against soft, Yin against Yang. Man and Woman. Two bubbles of loneliness that had been lost in a sea of trauma and disturbance now fused in a more than tender embrace.

A tremor shook Brennan when Booth's nose nuzzled her hair before he placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head. It wasn't light as a feather or as shocking as an out of the blue peck on the cheek. It was what it was -- a brushing of lips against her skull, meant to be noticed and meant to reassure.

"This isn't a regular guy hug, is it?" Brennan mumbled into his shoulder. Booth briefly stiffened, but when he felt Brennan's arms stay locked around him he exhaled slowly into her hair.

"No, it's not," he admitted.

It was of no importance. As they hugged each other tightly and tenderly at the same time in front of the large window giving out onto an empty street, they accepted each other's comfort for what it was. Reality and realization could catch up later with them. For now all they needed was the feel of skin on skin and knowing they wouldn't pass the night alone. Little did they know their embrace was reflected in a mirror, seen from across the street by the man who loathed their intimacy even more than how Booth had sabotaged his plans.