Ok, I can't apologise enough. The main reason for not updating is due to my working on another story - any Wicked fans here, feel free to check it out :) My original ideas decided to leave me, and I had to try and do the best I could, trying to remember what the ideas were. So I apologise if this chapter isn't the best.

I also recently got a laptop, and am planning on using it mostly for writing. So along with that, it being holidays and my friend nagging me, I should be able to update soon.

Thanks for reading anyway, and i'd appreciate a comment at the end - I don't mind whether it's good or bad.

And Happy (late) new Years!

Booth stalked slowly through the thick bush. He had no idea how dense the shrubbery - or even a jungle - was. Dead leaves and broken twigs cracked underneath his bare feet, but they didn't register the pain. He walked with a limp, his entire side weighed down by bullet injuries. His head was matted with sweat, and he quickly wiped it off, smearing it onto his already-filthy white singlet.

He stopped suddenly, and strained his ears to hear the sound of a flowing river. He knew the water to be unsafe in this area but he was sure any water would be a relief, infected or not. Hearing no sounds but the buzzing wildlife, he stumbled forward, his head beginning to spin from the compressed air and the recent blood loss.

He looked around him to see if he could discover any leaves that seemed edible. But each tree and individual leaf looked the same to him - green and shiny. That was his extended knowledge on the subject. Finding a few long leaves, he pulled them free from its home, thinking it could create a suitable bandage, if only temporarily until they could find help.

After about ten minutes of wandering aimlessly, he came upon a river. It crawled slowly downhill, and Booth marked the territory in his minding, hoping once they had gathered more strength they could follow this river. It was common knowledge that water lead to buildings. Hopefully that included this river.

Filling up his empty flask, he followed his mown path back to the entrance of the green maze. The trees opened up and he saw Brennan lying on the ground. Amazingly, she was conscious. He knelt down beside her and offered her the leaves. She looked up at him, her eyes questioning.

"For the wounds," he explained.

"You need them more than me," she managed, indicating his bullet wounds. He chuckled.

"I don't think so."

The environment was more relaxed now that they knew they were safe. A small amount of colour had even returned to Brennan's face. Her eyes sparkled with new strength. This was enough to lift the mood in them both.

Booth reached out and smoothed the leaves onto Brennan's skin. He saw her flinch as the leaf touched the scarred flesh.

"Are you ok?" he asked gently, releasing the pressure.

"Yes, it just...it hurts." He was sure that that was an understatement. He tried again, and saw her bite her lip as she struggled to conceal the pain. It was true, leaves were not the smartest idea, but there was nothing else available to them.

While he was wrapping her leg, he nodded his head towards his hip, indicating the flask. Brennan struggled, but managed to reach over and take the water. She tipped her head back and swallowed the tainted water in large amounts. She finally brought her head forward, colour now lighting up her face.

"Thank you", she whispered. Sighing, she rolled backwards and her head fell to the ground. Booth crawled beside her, realising she had fallen unconscious once more. Either that or she had suddenly given way to a deep sleep. He reached out to a nearby bush and collected a handful of leaves. He gently lifted Brennan's head and slipped the leaves underneath, creating a thick - although maybe uncomfortable - pillow.

He slid back down to her side and continued to cover her wounds.

Now that he had time to look at her, he could see the true depth of her injuries. Every inch of her body was covered in dark red scratches, purple bruises or dirt. And if it wasn't a scratch, it was a large lump of skin that had been torn away, revealing the sensitive layers underneath.

He finished dressing the larger wounds, and moved towards the wrist. It was bent out of shape, as limp as a tortured doll. He had absolutely no medical training, but he still tried to help. He collected a large stick from nearby, and using the brilliant green leaves, connected it to her arm, creating a kind of splint. He couldn't see how he could attach a splint to the ankle, so instead he wrapped leaves around it, hoping to create some support for the shattered bone.

Seeing nothing more that he could do for the moment, he collected his own selection of foliage and created a matted pillow. As he lay down, he could feel his arm and leg throbbing, and he wondered if he should dress his own wounds. But as soon as his head touched the pillow, his mind swept blank.

He was as unconscious as his - friend, partner, person who shared the peril - beside him.

He let the day and its events slip away, as swiftly as the flowing river nearby.