A/N
The story isn't growing any longer as such, but I decided to go for another chapter break or two to prolong the agony :) Now it may be three or four chapters.
At first Booth's world was nothing but pain. The worst headache of his life nearly blotted out the fact the right side of his face was on fire. His broken wrist was a distant third.
Slowly, his wits returned.
Do nothing. Be cool.
His long ago Special Forces training in resisting 'interrogation' had taught him to make the most of the few seconds he might have before his captor realized he'd regained consciousness. He used the time to carefully take stock of his situation.
With great difficulty he pushed the overwhelming sensations into a box and closed the lid. The pain slowly subsided to a dull roar throbbing in time with his pulse. He kept his eyes closed for the moment, although he could tell from the red-black through his eyelids that the lights were back on. He assumed/hoped that he was still in his own apartment. He was bound in a standing position, probably tied to the 8 by 8 post at the end of the small bar where the kitchen transitioned to the living room.
His chin was down on his chest, but, instead of raising his head, he just listened.
He heard a low squeaking sound that stopped with an increase in the red light filtering through his eyelids. It was followed by a thud, a chuff of breath, and then the sound of a chair scraping across the floor.
Soft footsteps moved off to his left where he heard the squeals of several drawers being jerked opened and just as quickly slammed shut. Finally he heard the clinking sounds of what had to be his captor rummaging through his utensil drawer followed by a clunk as something was set on the counter. His unknown assailant didn't bother closing that drawer before moving on to the cupboards. Worse, he started humming.
For the first time since he'd woken up, Booth felt real fear piercing the cool detachment that had been hard won through years of training and fieldwork...
If one thing scared the shit out of him it had to be knives.
He decided it was time to risk taking a look. Without raising his head he slitted his eyes. At first the light was blinding until his pupils contracted, but then he realized he couldn't see out of his right eye. He couldn't even be sure if it was opening or not. It might just be swollen shut, or stuck shut or clouded by the blood he felt trickling down his face, but it might be worse. He knew he had a concussion, but the way his face felt it was also quite likely his cheekbone and brow might be broken, raising the possibility of bone fragments…
Fuck it.
One eye would have to do. He couldn't see shit, looking down at the floor as he was, but his peripheral vision did catch one glimpse of a muddy work boot.
Then, some thing else scared him even more than knives or blindness.
He remembered that Rebecca was bringing Parker over.