CHAPTER 22

Hodgins and Angela arrived at Brennan's to find Booth pacing the living room, his cell phone to his ear. The forensics team, comprised of three men and a woman, were working quietly. Angela guessed from the glances they were throwing at Booth from time to time that he'd been riding them harder than she knew he rode Brennan at a crime scene. She felt a flash of sympathy for them.

"I know he just got there, but I need to talk to him," Booth said, the strain in his voice almost unbearable to hear. He listened for a moment, his free hand clenching and unclenching. "Okay, just make sure you've finished treating him by the time I get there. I want to question him and I'm not in the mood to wait." Snapping the phone shut, he stood with his head bent for a moment.

Angela approached him cautiously, then touched his back gently. Turning, he looked at her and her look of sympathy was his undoing. He grabbed her to him roughly, dropping his face to her shoulder as he cried for the first time since regaining consciousness. Angela stroked his hair, tears streaking her own cheeks as Booth, one of the strongest men she knew, cried in her arms. Hodgins stood off to the side, hands buried in his pockets, tears in his own eyes.

Booth finally pulled away, wiping at his cheeks, unable to meet anyone's eyes. Clearing his throat, he gestured helplessly. "We don't know anything yet," he said, his defeated tone heartbreaking. Angela knew he needed to work past the grief to get to the anger which would drive him to work the case and find Brennan. She wanted to help him get to that point quicker.

"Who is at the hospital?"

Booth took a deep breath. "The pizza delivery guy. They found him unconscious in the bushes near the parking lot. I've gotta go, I've gotta question him, find out what happened. He had to see who attacked him." Then he was moving, grabbing his coat and his car keys, heading for the door. Angela motioned at Hodgins.

"Hodgins is going with you, Booth. You shouldn't be driving," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. Booth turned and handed the keys to Hodgins.

"I'm only letting you drive if we take my vehicle. I'm not riding in that little toy you like to call a car," he said with a glimmer of a smile.

"Hey, don't knock my car. It gets me where I need to go and the gas mileage is killer," Hodgins protested, feigning an injured look. "Unlike that gas guzzler you drive…" Hodgins continued to harass Booth as they went down the walk. Angela found herself smiling in spite of the grave situation. If anyone could divert Booth's attention, it was Hodgins. She just hoped he'd take it easy on the guy. She didn't want them to come to blows over one of Hodgie's conspiracy theories.

The forensics team was packing up. Angela looked around her friend's disheveled apartment. Brennan's absence left a vacuum so palpable, Angela shivered. She picked up the plates and glasses and carried them to the kitchen, washing them and leaving them on the drain board. Working quickly, automatically, she tidied the apartment, coping with her anxiety the only way she knew how. By the time she was done, she felt much calmer and prepared to deal with her friend's disappearance.

Booth bullied his way into the emergency triage room where the pizza delivery guy was being treated. The poor guy lay against the pillow, his face nearly as pale as the sheets, a large bandage on his forehead.

"Sir, you can't be in here," the nurse that had followed him protested, grabbing ineffectually at his sleeve.

"My partner's life could be in danger," he said harshly. "This guy may be the only one who can give me what I need to know to find her before its too late. I am going to question him whether you like it or not."

"I'm getting the doctor," she warned, and then she was gone.

The guy on the bed opened his eyes blearily and Booth stepped up to the bed. "What's your name?" Booth asked, far more gently than he wanted to.

The guy frowned, wetting his lips. "Patrick. Who-who are you?"

"Special Agent Seeley Booth. The guy who knocked you out, what did he look like?"

The urgency in his voice must have frightened Patrick, because he shrank back against the pillow. "I-I'm not sure. I-it was dark. He came up behind me, said 'Excuse me', I turned, and wham! he hit me."

Booth's fist clenched at his side, but he held onto his patience. "Are you sure you didn't get a look at him, even a glimpse?"

"All I remember is he was about my height, average build. I think he had dark hair, cut short," he said slowly, then shook his head. "That's all I remember. I'm sorry."

Booth closed his eyes and cursed softly. Taking a few deep breaths, he spoke when he was able. "Okay, Patrick, thank you." He pulled one of his business cards out and gave it to him, "Please call me if you think of anything else." And then he turned away, passing the doctor as he left.