Chapter 2

Elle and Seeley talked until they both fell asleep, Seeley propped up against one of the pillows he took from the tent, and Elle's head resting safely on his chest. Seeley despised going to bed angry, with or without a woman, yet Elle never conceded to what or who had caused her injuries. What she was able to disclose was how long she was gone, which Seeley was able to decipher for himself. The last time he set his eyes on her was approximately a year and two months to the day. He remembered her leaving his apartment, standing in his doorway, lingering more so, not wanting to say goodbye. Goodbyes were final in their line of work. Yes, they were trained to survive, but it was the others, those that they were sent to free, sustain, pacify, or, what made Seeley shudder, murder for the good of the country, who weren't trainedThey were unstable bombs, for lack of a better term, ready to blow up whatever and whomever was in their way.Her destination was off the record, her length of stay, undetermined. In governmental terms, until the job was done.

Elle hardly dreamt, but when she did, they were nightmarish echoes of her tortuous past. She rarely saw the faces of her captives; they wore black sheets with the eyes missing. She endured all forms of torture and as she relived the intensive dripping of water on her forehead, she felt an oddly familiar tapping on her nose. Tap…tap…tap…she opened her eyes. Squinting from the sunlight, she saw that Parker had crawled out from his castle and had his face eye level with hers, his cheek resting on his father's chest as well. He was poking Elle's nose.

"I have to use the potty," he whispered.

"O…kay," Elle yawned, "let's go big guy."

She watched as Parker sleepily walked down to the bathroom, half of his hair, scrunched to the side of his head, the other, reminiscent of Alfalfa. Why Parker woke her up, she didn't know, nor did it bother her. Seeley's promise that they were going to sleep in, seemed a dream itself, but as Parker came out of the bathroom, and tugged on her hand, he crawled back into the tent. He was snoring, short little grunts, escaped his tiny lips. Elle smiled to herself and found herself crawling into the tent, cuddling up with Parker.

Seeley woke, glanced around the room, and realized Elle was no longer near him. Thinking she had left, which she was known to do, he sighed, cursed under his breath, and stretched his arms over his head. He quietly tiptoed passed the tent and stopped short. Looking down, he saw two feet, too big to be Parker's inching out of the tent. Squatting down, he peered in, and smiled. That's something you don't see everyday, he thought to himself. I could get used to this. He walked to the bathroom, splashed some cold water on his face, and headed to the kitchen where he brewed a fresh pot of coffee; strong.

The smell was enough to stir Elle and Parker who walked in hand and hand, both rubbing the sleep out of their eyes.

"Morning sleepyhead," Seeley grinned.

"Mornin' daddy," Parker pulled himself up to one of the stools that lined Seeley's island.

"I meant that one," he pointed to Elle as he rubbed off some drool that had long since dried off Parker's cheek.

"It's too early to be cute, Booth," Elle grumbled, "I need to wake up."

"Never were a morning person, were you?" Seeley handed her a cup of coffee; sweet and light, just the way she liked it.

"That's one thing I need," she graciously accepted the coffee and sipped it.

"What else could you possibly need this early on a lazy Sunday morning?"

"A shower," she laughed as Parker held his nose.

"That's right buddy," Seeley nodded, "you're next."

"Lady first," Parker winked and pointed a finger.

"He didn't," Elle's mouth went slack as she witnessed Parker's early demise from being cute and innocent, "oh, he's definitely your kid, Seeley."

"I'm making breakfast," Seeley ignored her, "what's your pleasure?"

"Whatever Parker's having," she winked at him and walked out of the kitchen.

Elle found her duffel bag in Seeley's bedroom, not the guest room, as one would have imagined. Then again, she never stayed in the guest room. She rummaged through her belongings, pulled out a pair of khakis, a long sleeved navy blue shirt, undergarments, and toiletries. After the past few weeks, Elle welcomed hot water, soap, and privacy more than your average person. In fact, she realized, she was a glutton for the few things everyone happened to take for granted. As she ran the hot water, the steam began to open her senses and her pores simultaneously. Stripping out of her clothes, she left them in a crumpled pile on the floor, stared at herself in the mirror, frowned, and carefully stepped into the tub. Pulling the curtain over, she winced as the hot water pelted her badly bruised skin. She was mid way through as she lathered her body and scrubbed carefully around her thighs, not to disrupt the healing scars. To her astonishment, she heard the bathroom door swing open, banging against the wall. He wasn't one to invade on someone's privacy, but he wasn't feeling as patient as he should have been. Seeley's voice reverberated off the tiles as Parker followed him into the bathroom.

"Sorry, kiddo," he pushed him out, "grown up talk."

"How about I time you and see how fast you can put all those pillows away?"

Elle heard Parker squeal and run down the hallway, leaving a stony Seeley at the door. She heard it close over and his heavy steps approached.

"Grown up talk?"

"I must be in trouble," Elle smirked as she rinsed out her hair.

Seeley stepped towards the curtain and she could see his silhouette, looming. His fists were balled.

"Iraq." It wasn't a question and she knew that.

"What red tape did you have to cut through," she turned off the water and squeezed the water out of her hair.

Elle reached for the curtain, but held it shut.

"Turn around, Seeley."

"There isn't anything about you I haven't seen," he grumbled.

There are quite a few new things, she thought to herself as she scanned her body. Burns, cuts, bruises, she painfully laughed to herself, take your pick. She wasn't about to be pitied.

"Turn around, Seeley," she said, this time, more roughly.

Seeley did as she asked, reluctantly, a towel hung from his outstretched hand. His eyes, however, rested on the mirror. Elle wasn't as quick to cover up, as Seeley was to catch a glimpse of her body. Her thighs were covered in multiple lacerations, precision cuts, and her one leg, slightly burned, the skin, crinkled and damaged. The bruises appeared more terrible today than they did the night before.

"Damn it," he whispered, turning to face her, the towel doing a poor job of concealing her battle wounds.

"Who'd you have to wake up this early on their day off?"

"We're the FBI, Elle," he propped himself against the sink, "we never have off."

She cocked her head to the side, as if to say, you're off now, aren't you, and he squared his jaw as he clenched his teeth.

"What did you find out," she asked him, unable to pretend to be angry, "besides I was in Iraq?"

"You were Special Ops," he rambled, "sent to gather Intel from one of the notorious insurgent affiliates."

"That's right," she nodded, "chalk that up to my Minor in Arabic."

"I was sent undercover, as an informant, to infiltrate the insurgents, gather information, and report it back to Us."

"Which meant you had to go deep undercover," he shook his head.

"It worked, Seeley," she was stoic, "until the final two weeks."

"Somehow, they found out, I wasn't who I pretended to be," she wiped the condensation off the mirror with the palm of her hand.

"And they never did," she grimaced as she saw her reflection.

"Up until my evacuation," she continued, "I never gave in."

"How did you get out?"

"Enough, Seeley," she turned to face him, "isn't it enough?"

"For now," he reached over to her and she allowed him to embrace her.

"Hey Seeley," she whispered into his neck.

"Yeah?"

"You still a God fearing man?"

Booth laughed and nodded,

"I'd say I was dedicated and devoted to my God, but, yes."

"Why?"

She pulled away from him and she had that lost look in her eyes again as she spoke.

"I haven't been to church, in a long, long, time."

"Well, lucky for you, it just happens to be Sunday."

Seeley left her to finish getting dressed and they shared a nonverbal understanding as she entered the kitchen. A plate of Mickey Mouse shaped pancakes drizzled with syrup waited for her. To her right, sat Parker, sticky from the syrup, but still cute as ever. To her left, was Seeley, flipping pancakes faster than they were eating them. Elle found it comforting, yet a bit strange, that they both were so tortured, in their own ways.