Yes, once again i did not keep my word and update the next night. I apologise. Thankyou for all the great reviews. Keep the ideas coming, and it's good that people like the idea of me bringing in booth. By the way i don't live in america or el salvador, i live in australia therefore i apologise if i got any facts wrong, especially any about el salvador. Also, if there are any inconsistencies, i apologise and please let me know, or any queries about when they met or whatever. This is a fan site, so im sort of making it up.

And i think i should now change this story to M, because it is kinda gruesome.

Booth impatiently drummed his fingers on the tray on the back of the seat. The man next to him turned his head, and raised an eyebrow. Booth looked away, folded his arms and looked out the window.

He was bored out of his mind. He hated coach. No TV's, no free magazines, no nothing. And he didn't even get to stop to pick up a crossword puzzle!

He let out a deep breath and thumped his head against the back of the chair. He looked at his watch. He had been on this flight for 4 hours and had many more to go, and he could tell his new friend was getting sick of him.

Reaching into his bag, he pulled out the Notebook the FBI had provided him with. But from up here, he couldn't connect to the internet.

Maybe he could try a new career path, be a writer? He had heard of many people who wrote books on the side to their daily jobs. That Temperance Brennan, for example. Didn't she just release that bestseller? Man, he'd seen the pictures. She was a real beauty. He hoped one day he could get an autograph for Parker.

Booth closed his eyes and tried to rest. He heard a buzzing noise in his ear.

How the hell could a fly be up here? Wouldn't they die from the altitude or something?

He swatted at it, but it jumped out of his reach. Great, nothing to do, an easily annoyed man and a stalker fly.

Just what he needed on a long flight.

*

Booth stepped out into the hot air of El Salvador.

"Oh, my God!" he whispered to himself. "This is hell."

Looking out, he could see bodies everywhere. The flat desert land was covered with them, thrown casually as if bags of rubbish. The hot wind swept around him, trying to catch him off guard. Far away in the heat he could see a made-up tent, under which was equipment to house and identify bodies.

He began to head towards it.

But first he had to change into his new identity.

*

Booth emerged from behind a large tree. Not his ideal choice of change-room but there was no bathroom or cave in sight.

He was already sweating. He was wearing long camouflage trousers with black hiking boots. A rifle was strapped across a black t-shirt. He used special army paint he had saved from his Ranger days to decorate his face.

The walk to the shelter was long and hot. His face-paint began to mix with the sweat, dripping down his face. Looking around, he could see multiple people wandering between the bodies. Most looked huge and muscular, and he couldn't tell the guards apart from the terrorists. He kept his face forward, his head held high. He could not show weakness, despite the heat.

The tent was nearing. Underneath, he saw multiple tables, some already occupied. A few people were in the middle of the earning, what looked to be a nurse, a specialist of some kind – maybe an anthropologist, and who he assumed to be the commander.

They all turned at the sound of his footsteps. The commander approached, a curious gleam in his eye.

"Well, well, well," he spat, his accent heavy. "What 'ave we here?"

"I want to apply for the bodyguard, sir." Booth replied.

*

Brennan crawled across the ground. She could barely stand. She couldn't feel even an inch of her own skin, everywhere was covered in blood, dirt or injuries. She was pretty sure that her ankle was broken, but there wasn't much she could do about it. She was worried about Naomi – what had happened to her? Would she return after Brennan pretty much made her go through what she did? She didn't blame Naomi if she never wanted to see her again.

She had to get even. To fight back. But in her condition, that was nearly impossible. She couldn't stand, let alone beat a man twice her build. She needed help, but her options were running out.

No, that's not true, she thought. I never had options.

She waited in terror for Brason, or Bruce. She feared either one. Brason would leave physical damage, where as Bruce…. She didn't want to think about it. Couldn't. She couldn't think at all. The pain was her focus now, whether she wanted it to be or not.

Brennan massaged her ankle. It stung with every tiny amount of pressure. Her eyes were falling on her own accord, and she wasn't sure how much longer she could stay conscious. Brason had done damage to her skull, and she wasn't sure if her mind was damaged too.

Certainly she would never forget this trip.

As soon as the sliver of light turned black, the door opened. Brason entered.

"Bruce said he came in to check on you last night. Said that you tried to fight him. Not a good move, missy." He spoke from the shadows, the voice sending a chill down her spine.

Wait, she never tried to fight him! Bruce had set her up so she would be in even more pain, more vulnerable.

"You know the consequences for that, don't you?"

"I can guess." Her voice surprised her. It was barely even a whisper. She could hardly recognize it.

From the corner, she could see Brason looking her up and down, analyzing her injuries.

"Are you ready to surrender?" he asked quietly, gently.

"Never!" she spat.

"Even for your life?"

"I'm not sure what that is any more. I'm dead, anyway."

Out of nowhere, Brason swung his fist around, landing in her stomach. She only flinched. The new pain was nothing compared to the others.

What did that mean?

Brason grabbed her wrist. "I can easily snap this," he whispered into her ear. "Like snapping a twig."

She didn't respond. He slammed it against the wall. Despite herself, her screams rebounded off the cell walls. Her arm fell, her right hand catching her dead left one. She looked up at him.

"Please, stop," she whispered. He grinned, and then kicked her in the thigh. His boot connected with the soft flesh, piercing it.

"Too late."

*

Stationed on his new post outside, Seeley Booth heard the cries of a distressed woman inside. He flinched at the terrified pleas. He tried to listen closely, but the door was pulled open. He quickly snapped back into position, arms cradling the rifle. A guard walked out, a smile painted on his face.

Please give me all your thoughts, good or bad. sorry if any of these descrptions are...icky for you. please let me know and i'll get rid of them.

Thankyou! And the more reviews, the quicker i update.