"You're calmed with disappointment

While I'm drowning in the next room

The last contagious victim of this plague between us

I'm sick with apprehension

I'm crippled from exhaustion

And I dread the moment when you finally come to kill me"

- "Stockholm Syndrome" blink 182

Booth was conscious of the pain before much else. Before his eyes even opened.

His head felt like someone was nailing it with a jack hammer. His body was stiff; sore. Down to the bone he was chilled, coming upon the gradual realization he was wearing pants but no sort of shirt. There was a stinging pain in both his right ankle and his chest. He was sure something was broken. He just couldn't pin point what. Or where. His back was teeming with pain. And for some reason his arms were restrained with something metallic uncomfortably behind him while he was sitting up. Why on earth was he sitting up?

A moan escaped his lips as he struggled to force his eyes open. All around him the world was unclear, and it was a moment before his vision was able to focus. He was aware he was sitting on the floor leaning back against something warm. Hot, even. His nose detected the awful smell of burning flesh. As he became more alert he realized his skin was burning. Pain shot up and down his body, sharp like a knife. He jerked his body away so hard that he nearly dislocated his shoulder. Or so it felt like. It was then he became aware his wrists were bound behind his back with hand cuffs. Most likely his own.

Footsteps vibrated the wooden floor under him. To his horror Vick came into the room, smirking as though he'd been told a humorous joke. "Good morning," he said in a sing song voice. "You picked out a great place here. Nice. Secluded. I bet you thought being isolated from town would keep me from finding you." He knelt down before him. Vick slapped him. "Stupid boy. But then again maybe you wanted to be found. Maybe you thought if I killed you I'd stay away from them. That was your fear, right? That I'd kill your partner. And your precious son."

How'd he know? Booth tried to respond but came to find his mouth had thick silver duct tape over it.

"Don't worry, I didn't tell anyone where you were. I could have. I could have trapped them all here one by one."

Booth wasn't listening. His memory was coming back to him in glimpses. The snowmobile accident. Crashing down onto the hard ground. Waking up to find someone lifting the damaged vehicle off of him before passing out once again.

"You were so easy to trap," Vick murmured, as if reading Booth's mind.

Booth exhaled hard through his nose. It'd been Vick who'd caused his accident!

"But right now, there are more important matters." Vick tugged Booth's wrists out from under the metal pole he was restrained to. Another flick of pain traveled through him as his shoulder fell onto something hot and burned. A radiator. The sick son of a bitch had chained him up to a radiator!

Something warm and wet was pushed down against his left wrist. "There's a reason," Vick hissed in his ear. "Why people commit suicide by slashing their wrists in hot water."

Booth grew rigid. He knew what was coming.

"So much more blood," Vick whispered.

Helplessly Booth began to struggle with all of his might. No. Vick wouldn't leave that mark on him. He wouldn't let him get away with it.

Vick slammed his fist into his jaw. "Hold still!" He screamed at him. "Hold still or else I will make this much more painful for you!"

If he made the slash on Booth's wrist it was nearly a death sentence. Booth wouldn't willingly let himself be the next victim. He pulled away, only to have Vick yank his wrist forward with an incredible bout of force. Another burn formed on his shoulder as he slammed straight into one of the heated coils.

Out of the corner of his eye Booth could see Vick had a straight blade instead of a traditional razor. He pushed it down to his wrist. There was a snapping sound as the skin resisted to the friction. "Stupid razor," he muttered, cutting again and again at Booth's wrist until blood began to bead up through the pale flesh. "Now was that so difficult?"

Booth shut his eyes, trying to mentally survey the damage. Warm blood was dripping down onto his hand. From what he could tell the cut wasn't deep enough to kill him. But it was a sign he knew of what was to come. Statistics weren't really his thing, but he knew the chances of his escaping Vick's prison alive were slight.

"One last business to attend to." Vick ripped the tape off of Booth's mouth with force. From his pocket he produced a few small white pills.

Booth felt cold dread run through his body.

"Open your mouth," he commanded.

Booth kept his lips locked. For that he received another punch to the face.

"I said open it!"

His back slumped a bit. He kept his mouth closed, his eyes darkening with controlled rage.

"All right, fine." Vick stood. He sent a good hard kick into Booth's injured leg.

The pain was sharp and hot. Booth couldn't help but to open up his mouth in a gasping noise. Vick was speedy to jam the pills inside. He replaced the duct tape, then grabbed onto Booth's throat. "Swallow!"

The pressure on his throat affected his ability to breathe. Regretfully he had no choice. With a heavy heart he downed the pills. Then he dropped his head in defeat.

"Aww, don't worry. I have much planned for you. In the meantime, just sleep," Vick cooed. "It'll all be over soon."

Booth stared coldly as the man retreated from the room. He tried to shift his body enough to take the strain off his back. The wall was a cooling comfort for his tender skin. But in order to lean against it he had to contort his body into a painful position. It was no use. He was stuck leaning forward, his chest over his stomach. Soon as the pills set in his head lifelessly fell forward, craning his neck. Just before he fully went under he wondered if he'd ever wake up again.