So, I updated in a few days rather then a few weeks, which is good. Thankyou all SOOOOOO much for the ideas - Gallaghergirl1 (Brooke) and BandBFOREVER55. I'll try to update ASAP again and please remember to review on your way out with a comment or constructive criticisim to help make me a better writer.

Have a good one!

Booth wasn't moving. Brennan guessed the guards had knocked him out and left him to die with her. She ran her eyes over him. His white singlet top was covered with dirt, creating patterned smudges in the cotton. It was ripped in pieces, with large chunks missing and loose threads tangling together. His once-shiny boots were scuffed, and his cheek looked swollen and bloody.

He was on his side, his back against where hers lay moments before. His head was lying in the dirt, mixing into his hair. But the objects that surprised and horrified her most were the ties.

They had used strips of white cotton to bind his hands behind him. Brennan guessed they were from his shirt. She gently rolled him to get a better view in the half-light. His wrists were red from the material cutting into him, and feeling over the knot, Brennan knew it would take a while to get undone. It was tied expertly, by someone with military experience. But she was disgusted even more by the gag tied in his mouth. It was filthy, and Brennan knew it would be hard to breathe.

She wondered why they had tied him up. He was trapped in here – there was no possible way to get out. He already looked weak...

Maybe that was why. So he wouldn't fight back.

Brennan gently layed her hand on his shoulder and shook him. He responded vaguely, a deep, gutteral groan emitting from deep in his throat. He blinked multiple times, squeezing his eyes open and shut to adjust them to the darkness. He turned and saw Brennan.

"Mrrrhmmurrrrr," he muttered, trying to speak through the gag.

"I could say the same to you," she joked, and for the first time in what seemed like weeks, she smiled. Booth responded with a half-grin. Booth shuffled his body and, with Brennan's help, managed to sit up.

"I'll try to untie the gag," she whispered, and brought her arms up to the back of his head.

Immediately pain spasmed through them and she dropped them to the ground. Her wrist banged against the dirt and she cried out with pain. Booth's eyes opened wide in worry and he tried to shift towards her, but she held her palms up.

"Don't worry, I'll be fine," she whimpered. She brought her arms up again, ignoring the seering pain. She felt for the knot, and finding it, found it tied as tightly as the ones binding his wrists.

"This may take awhile," she warned him. He nodded. He slowly shuffled foward and fell onto his stomach. Brennan watched in confusion as he wriggled back so his head was lying next to her. Then Brennan understood. He was making it easier for her to untie him. She was grateful. She was already in enough pain.

Her fingers slid under the knot, and she tried to loosen the material with her nail. Dirt cascaded out from his hair and onto the floor. Her nail broke from the strain and fell in the grave of dirt. Her fingers scrabbled under the knots, but they were tied too tightly. She grunted and brought her hands down.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "It's too hard."

She felt pain, defeat. Never before had she uttered those words, and never had she planned to.

Booth nodded, understanding, but she could see the pain and despair in his eyes. He rolled over onto his back, his brown eyes gazing towards the dirt sky.

She managed to slide herself over so she was beside his head. Gingerly she reached down and took hold of the bind. Booth gazed at her as she tried to slide the gag down.

It wouldn't budge.

She knew he wouldn't fancy this, but there was no other choice. Tentatively, she slid her fingers over his mouth. He sensed what she was about to do and opened his lips wider. She slid her fingers in and firmly grasped the material. She pulled, and the gag slid out of his mouth. She took her hand out and used it to slide the material down around his neck.

His mouth free, Booth began to take deep, heavy breaths.

"Thankyou," he grunted in appreciation.

"Sorry I had to...do....that," she said, referring to his mouth.

"Oh, yeah, no, that's cool," he said awkwardly. He used his hands to push down on the ground and sit up.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think I'll be able to untie your hands," she felt sorry for him. Because of her, he couldn't be truly free.

Booth saw the hurt in her eyes. "Hey, that's ok. We'll find a way. We'll work this out, together. OK? It's going to be fine."

A single tear slid down Brennan's cheek. "Really?" For a brief moment, she believed that. Despite everything she had been through, she believed it would all turn out ok.

"Yes. I promise you."

I promise you.

Suddenly she turned angry. "I don't know whether I can trust your promises any more, Booth."

Booth's eyes rose in confusion. "What are you talking abou...oh."

Brennan, like a child, turned her head the other way, folded her arms, and stuck her chin up high.

"Temperance, you saw those guys! If I didn't do as they said, they would have killed me, then you would have absolutely no chance of getting out of here. Trust me, when I hit you, I was loathing myself. I almost surrended myself to them so I wouldn't have to. I did it for you, Temperance. You don't know how hard that was for me to do."

More tears were flowing down her cheeks, and she had to take short, rugged breaths. Her shoulders sagged, and she sighed in defeat.

"Brennan," she whispered. "Temperance Brennan."

Booth tried to remember where he had heard that name before. And then it came to him – the world-known anthropologist and author. He squinted in the darkness, and his eyes looked past her bruises, the blood and the dirt. He saw the resembelance to the photo on the back of her books. It was really her.

She looked like crap at the moment though.

So how did a famous author end up in a dirt cell in El Salvador?