A/N
I wouldn't normally do this here, mid-story, but I feel compelled by some comments t offer some clarification:
Max is not "crazy".
Given his conviction that Booth is an intolerable threat (with an impossible 'conflict of interest' as Max understands it)), everything Max is doing is ruthlessly rational. Of course YMMV about Max's single-mindedness, on which all else hangs. I discuss these issues some more over at newscaperDOTlivejournalDOTcom.
As Max stopped in front of Booth, he glanced over his shoulder at his daughter lying unconscious on the floor, then back to him. Max let out a sigh, no longer quite so manic after the encounter.
He grimaced and ran a gloved hand through his hair. "The broken arm was an accident. I was keeping the puddle between us, figuring it would slow her down enough to give me an edge, but she charged right through it, then she slipped and threw her hand out…" Max's pained eyes drifted past Booth as his voice faded away.
Booth blinked back the wetness in his good eye. He couldn't believe the bastard seemed to be wanting his understanding.
Max stood there for a second, lost in thought, then he shook himself and spoke more forcefully. "It's for her own good." He nodded to himself then looked directly at Booth again and chuckled wryly. "I don't know why I'm wasting time telling you this."
He continued as if one-sided conversation were perfectly normal. "I know what you're thinking, how can I do this against her wishes? Well, it's a hell of a thing to love someone enough to be willing to let them hate you. At least this way she'll be alive long enough to do it." He gave Booth a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Anyway, she's done fine without me this long…"
The fucker sounded positively wistful, but Booth was hardly about to shed a tear for him.
Max shifted the butcher knife to his left hand and began pulling off the right glove. "Well, we've got no more time for chatting here. She'll only be out a few minutes at most." He frowned in concentration as he fished in a pocket with the bare hand. The rummaging ended with a look of satisfaction as he pulled out the Columbus coin and set it on the counter before pulling the glove back on.
Max dropped the air of false cheer and looked at Booth in deadly earnest. "I'll get her out of here so she's not the one to find you." He took a deep breath. "You know, I really do wish things could have worked out differently somehow, but it's got to be this way."
So this is it. At least, Booth thought behind the gag, it'd be over with and Max would be gone before Rebecca arrived.
"For what it's worth," Max added, "with you out of the picture, your boy should be perfectly safe now."
Booth eyed the knife now back in Max's right hand. Gee, thanks, you fucking lunatic. Let's get it over with. His chest was heaving as some last reserve of adrenaline kicked in. He strained against the bonds, but with his broken wrist it was still pointless.
Max ignored his movements. "I have to take back what I said earlier. You're going out in a body bag one way or the other, but you have one last choice in how you get in there. I can make it quick, or I can make it… not. Nod if you want me to remove the gag so you can tell everything you know, and it'll all be over in a second. If you bullshit me – and I can tell -- I swear, for a few minutes after I cut you, you'll desperately wish you were already dead."
Max held the cold flat of the blade across Booth's cheek.
"So, what's it going to be?"
Oh dear God…
Max held his eye in anticipation.
Booth slowly shook his head. No.
Max nodded in return, only looking a little disappointed. "Good choice. A man should try to keep some dignity. Quick it is."
Booth closed his eyes as the pressure of the blade left his face on its way somewhere else.
The left side of his neck just started to burn with the sharp Swiss steel when the room exploded.
His good eye jerked opened by reflex in time to see Max knocked sideways and fall to the floor. On the way down he dropped the knife, but it made no sound over the blast still ringing in Booth's ears. Max's jacket had a small red splotch just below and behind his left armpit, matched by a huge wet one on his right chest where the jacket gaped open. Booth couldn't tear his eye away as Max struggled to his knees and reached out to the knife lying on the tile between them. However, he never made it. Max sagged back to the floor and fell over backwards. His chest rose and fell twice more then stopped with a last bloody cough. His open eyes were frozen in a look of surprise.
Booth barely noticed his own bleeding neck over the sensation of his heart about to pound its way out of his ribcage. He watched for another moment, making sure Max was dead before turning to look at his rescuers. To his surprise the door was still closed.
Instead, lying on her back with her feet toward him, Bones groggily held his heavy revolver in one dangerously wavering hand still aimed in the general direction of her father. Forgetting to retrieve it from wherever it had fallen in the dark had been Max's final mistake. Her broken left arm was across her stomach which was rising up and down furiously with her panting. After a few seconds she let the big gun drop to the floor then she made eye contact with him. Her blinking right eye kept trying to cross until she closed her eyes and laid her head back down on the tile for a long moment.
All Booth could do was try to keep from collapsing and hurting his damaged wrist as he closed his eyes and said a short prayer.
When he opened them again Temperance had tottered to her feet and was slowly walking to her father's body where she swayed for a moment before bending over to check his pulse and then close his vacant eyes.
She took a step and picked up the knife. She refused to meet Booth's eyes as she came to him. As she reached behind to cut his hands free she mumbled something he couldn't quite make out.
Booth's eyes watered as the renewed circulation began throbbing against the nerves in his broken wrist. He clutched at the post with his good hand for a moment to catch his balance before letting go to tear off the gag and taking the proffered knife.
"What?" he shouted. He could just hear his own voice. In the relatively confined space the gunshot of the Magnum had been deafening. The air still reeked, pungent with burnt gunpowder.
She finally looked directly at him instead of staring off into space. She was thoroughly shell shocked, but broke out of it long enough to repeat herself loudly but uncertainly.
"I…" She gulped visibly and looked like she was about to faint herself. "I couldn't trust my aim well enough to try to shoot him in the arm." Then she appeared to forget him as she went back to her father and sank to the filthy floor beside him, her back to Booth. She was oblivious to the pool of blood slowly spreading around her knees as she bent her head. The .44 Mag hollow point round would have done catastrophic damage almost anywhere in the torso, he absently noted.
She didn't make a sound.
Booth almost fell as he bent to cut his legs free. His bruised muscles were on fire with the mild exertion, and he bit back a whimper as the blood pressure in his battered head temporarily increased. When he stood up and took the first shuffling steps he felt at least a hundred years old.
He tossed the knife on the counter and staggered over to her. He reached down to put a hand on her shoulder. God, how can things get so fucked up so fast.
"Bones, I'm so…"
She interrupted him by shrugging off his hand. She wouldn't look at him.
After a moment, he tried again.
Clutching his broken wrist to his chest, he slowly squatted behind her right side. He ignored his screaming thigh muscles as he prayed he wouldn't fall over.
He put his good arm around her shoulders. "Temperance…"
"Don't touch me." Her voice was the coldest he'd ever heard it. She was looking at neither him nor her father but, rather, at just a spot on the floor.
He removed his hand from her shoulder and clutched his broken wrist to him again. He was fighting not to pass out as it was, and with the blood and piss and vomit he was hardly in any condition to force himself on her. Off balance, he awkwardly struggled back to his feet only to stand there helplessly. He watched her back for another long moment, but she didn't move from beside her father's body.
Everything was ashes.
Finally, left-handed, he managed to fish his cell phone out of the 'wrong' side of his jacket. He staggered into the living room and collapsed on the couch to call Rebecca, 911 and Cullen.
He really did love her, but now, for the first time, he realized that might not be enough.
A/N
There is just one more chapter.