Thanks for the overwhelming support of this fic, it's one of my faves. A shortie but a goodie.

Booth wasn't concentrating on the TV, though he desperately wished he could. His mind was just elsewhere tonight.

He shifted his hips, adjusting the way pressure was falling on his feet and ankles, but it didn't help. The pain kept racing up his veins, coursing through his tired muscles, carrying memories to his head.

He never moved much when he was in the VA hospital. Of course, how was he supposed to with both his feet in casts and his upper body so badly beaten that he could hardly lift his arms without crying out in pain. He was often wheeled to a window somewhere so he could look outside and usually they left him alone, they always left the new ones alone. Soldiers that were fresh from war and internment camps who were so shell shocked they couldn't find their way out of the nightmares with two hands and a flashlight.

He could still see the explosions, smell the death and dirt on the air. Even after months in the hospital he could hear his comrades beg for mercy in the next room and taste the blood in his mouth. And he could still feel every bone in his feet crack as the pipes landed against them one more time.

That's what days like today did to him, brought back the memories of why exactly his feet hurt with the change of the seasons. How exactly they got that way.

Brennan sat beside Booth on the couch, completely unaware of the darkness floating around inside his head. His arm draped casually over her shoulders as she leaned into him and sipped her beer.

She too, was paying no attention to the television. She could read Booth better than anyone which granted, wasn't saying much, but she could. And she knew bones better even than that. The way he was walking didn't have anything to do with being tired. And he hadn't had a beer. That wasn't at all like Booth.

In all their pondering, the two hadn't noticed that the show they were watching had ended and a new one, about a government agent with a knack for torture, was now beginning. Not when the numbers of a digital clock started counting down the next hour. Not when the blowtorch was lit. Not until the first scream rang out.

Booth was yanked from his thoughts and jerked forward, startling Brennan beside him.

"Booth?" She sat up, and looked at him. Booth was staring wide-eyed at the screen a mixture of horror and disbelief on his face.

She turned as another scream assaulted them from the surround sound speakers, along with the sickening sizzle of burning flesh.

Booth suddenly leapt up from the couch and backed away from the TV.

"Booth?"

"Turn it off!"

Startled by his shout, she didn't move right away.

Booth felt his body starting to shake as the camera panned across a man's naked torso, blood smeared across his chest ad then up to his face A face portraying barely contained screams of pain, before it came to rest on a deep crimson wound in his side as a glowing hot metal rod was pressed into it.

The man's scream was filled with the agony of torture, agony Booth knew too well and couldn't handle being reminded off. Not today.

Brennan saw all the color drain from his face and suddenly pulled herself back into reality, searching frantically for the remote.

"Bones!" He called out, unable to take his eyes off the screen. His heart pounded so hard against his chest it rattled his body and filled his ears. He covered them and shut his eyes, back pressed up against the wall as he prayed for a Chevy commercial or an Extreme Weather warning.

Something, anything, to make the screaming stop.

Brennan finally found the remote wedged between the two couch cushions and slammed her finger down on the 'power' button. The TV turned black and she spun around to face the terrified man behind her. His head was bent low, hands clasped over his ears, breathing loud and heavy.

"Booth?" She said quietly as she got up and crossed slowly over to him. Upon getting closer she could hear him muttering to himself and cautiously reached out to touch his shoulder.

"Booth?"

Ralph didn't make it, the walk was just too far, too long with not enough water. He went too slow for their captors and ended up taking the bullet of an AK47 to the spine. Luke didn't make it either, although he just was in the wrong place at the wrong time and received a blow to the temple with the butt of a gun. He got lucky, was dead on the spot. Booth rolled over and coughed up blood and dirt, creating a foamy pool three inches in front of him. He struggled to open his eyes, found he could only open one, and searched the darkness for any sign of the rest of the POWs. But there weren't any, he was all that was left and…

Booth felt a hand on his shoulder and instinctively jumped away. Brennan recoiled and folded her arms across her chest.

He looked at her and she gasped. His eyes were wide but pupils dilated, his lips parted in a question that never came. He didn't seem to be able to see her, was looking past her to the door. She felt her heart starting to pound with worry.

"Booth are you alright?" She asked shakily.

Booth swallowed, some of the life coming back to his eyes and he shook the cobwebs from his head.

"Yeah…just…give me a minute." He turned and limped hurriedly back to the bedroom.