Nightmares:

He's back in that ship, the one rigged to explode.

He's swimming in the freezing water that had come pouring in when he'd gotten that first door open. He's tired and cold. But he knows he has to keep swimming – his life depended on it.

"Teddy?" Booth shouted. He heard teddy teddy teddy echo but there was no sign of the corporal. He did catch sight of a bright blue fish circling him chanting to herself "just keep swimming, just keep swimming…"

"Yeah, Dory, I'm swimming," he gasped. He looked up and saw the catwalk was closer. Someone kneeling at the edge. "Teddy?"

"No."

The voice made him even colder. "Who are you?"

Then suddenly Booth was at the level of the catwalk. And face to face with Redjack's son, the son who'd witnessed his father's head explode. Because of him.

"Time to pay, Sergeant Booth."

The boy's face was speckled with blood – his father's blood. A coned party hat was perched on his head. His eyes were jet black. Booth couldn't stop looking in this boy's eyes.

Then he felt the child's fingers wind themselves in his hair and with a man's strength the boy shoved Booth's head under the frigid water.

Booth tried to fight, He reached up, trying to pry the boy's fingers out of his hair. He felt the kid's grip ease and thought he was going to be all right.

Then he felt bony fingers gripping his legs. He looked down, and there were skeletons, he couldn't tell how many, grabbing his feet, his legs, pulling him deeper into the water. And every skeleton had a face – a face Booth had seen in the scope of his sniper rifle before he pulled the trigger and ended another life…

More arms reached for him, grabbing his waist, his chest. He couldn't stop himself from opening his mouth and screaming as the water rushed in…

…Booth jerked upright in his bed, gasping for breath. For a few seconds he didn't know where he was. His skin felt damp and his legs were tangled in something and he couldn't catch his breath –

The light he'd left on by his bed – it had stayed on every night since his experience with the Gravedigger – helped him focus. He wasn't on the ship. He was in his bedroom. No nightmare creatures were dragging him down to a watery grave – his blanket had wrapped itself around his legs. He was damp with sweat, not seawater.

Booth closed his eyes as he gripped the edge of the bed. Square breathing…just like they taught you…inhale to the count of four, hold for the count of four, exhale for the count of four, hold to the count of four…

He concentrated on doing just that, breathing slowly for the required counts. He gradually felt his heart rate slow, and the panic he'd awakened with retreat.

Finally Booth opened his eyes. He looked around, his eyes falling to the bottle of sleeping pills. With a growl he scooped up the bottle and flung it across the room. It hit the wall and fell to the floor, the pills rattling inside their plastic prison.

Insomnia was one of those things Booth fought with. His doctor prescribed the pills to help with that. Over time Booth had managed to make his need for the medicine less. But there were times – like lately – when sleep was so far from him that it came down to a choice between the pills and not functioning.

But sometimes the sleep the pills offered came at a price. Booth had always been a vivid dreamer – always in color, with the detail of a movie. The pills sometimes took that to an even higher level, taking dreams that might have been mildly alarming to a place of terror.

With a grunt, Booth flopped back on his pillow. He knew why this particular nightmare – they were trying to put away the Gravedigger. There were probably a few more nightmares in the wings, waiting to come out and play until that evil woman was behind bars.

He looked at the clock on his nightstand. 4:23 AM. He closed his eyes. Maybe he'd talk to Bones about the nightmares. He knew she'd probably had her share – maybe she could help him see that there was an end to this.

He hoped so.