AN: Once again I don't own Bones and thank you all for your reviews. I'm sorry for this taking so long but consider it this year's Christmas gift from me to you as I've gone back and edited this half a dozen times in the last few days trying to make it as exciting as I can. Also the English major in me wants to say that this is being written in the second person not the first; just wanted to make that clear. Enjoy.
Someday you'll be alone,
The door bursts in and you see three men rush in and a slight grin appears on your face as you see their features register surprise and fear. The one on the left almost trips over Tim's corpse as he runs into the room and knocks over the cooler and bags. Your stomach rumbles for a split second as you see a whole panoply of fruit and water spill onto the floor but you silence it as the situation develops. The ones on the left and right of the door are frightened out of their wits despite the clubs that they wield; the fear is palpable on their skin as their eyes flicker from the corpse on the ground to the pistol in your hand. They don't even look old enough to shave; damn fool kids in over their heads as the grunt muscle of criminal organizations. The third one, the one in the middle hardly stops in the door and is running straight towards you, knife in hand. The scars on his face mingle with his rough beard; eyes full of determination as he's experienced enough to know that his only chance is to hit you right away and get the pistol away from you. Too bad for him you're better at giving scars than receiving them.
First asses the most immediate threat; you see the hard-ass running at you looking to gut you with a knife. Looks like he's the biggest threat at the moment as the other two are just now starting to move in at you. Ok Seeley just like a drill back in CQM. Acquire the target, weapon at the high ready, weapon off safe, squeeze the trigger, acquire the target, squeeze the trigger, acquire the target, squeeze the trigger, weapon on safe, weapon back down at the low ready. Your ears ring as the high pitched bark of the Browning reverberates in the small room and echoes down the corridors; anyone in the vicinity knows something happened and is probably on their way to find out what happened. Time to move; there ain't no time to feel what you did so don't even think about it Seeley. You step over the body in front of you, the knife still gripped by cooling fingers as the rigor sets in. The splatter of grey mixed with red coats the back of the body and bits of brain matter are dripping from the door. Thankfully you can't see his face but you know that it looks like someone caved in his face with a hammer and scorched his skin afterwards. Unfortunately you can see the faces of the other two. The one on your left is bleeding all over the food and water, his left eye a juicy pile of gore smeared across his cheek and nose. The one on the right's jaw is hanging off of his right cheek; you must have got him right in the side of the head. You quickly make your exit leaving behind the remains and no small part of the humanity that you tried to restore when you left active service.
Way out there in a combat zone.
Your instinct kicks in as you move down the corridor your muscles return to old positions without you even consciously telling them to do so; muscle memory is a wonderful thing isn't it? You remember Bones asking you about the strange way you move at times when you think you're going to have to use your weapon. The question was so pure in its naiveté that you couldn't help but smile at it. You told her it was just the way you were trained; neglecting to mention why it was so necessary for you to know how to do it, it's far better to keep her from worrying and thinking about those reasons by never mentioning them to her. Feet shoulder width pointing in the exact same direction, slightly leaning forward on the balls of the feet, shoulders square to the front, weapon at a 45-degree angle, and scanning your sectors. The adrenaline pumping through your veins helps ease the pain and discomfort you're starting to feel; hitting a guy in the face with a hand that had been stabbed the day before is a lot less enjoyable than you thought it was at the time. Moving down the corridor as fast as you can, given the condition you're in; you come to the intersection that you were at before you went into the room. You carefully peek around the corner-
Bullets flying all around,
Holy shit! The first warning you had was a flash which seemed to fill up the entire damn world followed by what sounded like the end of days! Another good thing about adrenaline is that it makes your reflexes just a little bit faster which just saved you from getting pulped by a .45. The stone walls crack and bits of rock go flying everywhere; what those rounds would have done to your unprotected body… inadvertently your testicles crawl up into your belly with fear.
"Hey tovarisch! Toss your weapon out da! Boss promises that you'll live!" The bad English is enough to make you cringe; or that could be the second burst that he sends down the tunnel to emphasize his point.
"Hey Ivan how about you toss out your weapon first huh? You do that and I'll promise you that you'll live!" As you shout that out you ponder your options. You can't move into the corridor as there isn't any cover; you'd be turned into hamburger in seconds. Move back and try to draw them around the corner? A possibility but they'd probably just siege you and starve you out. They must have hidden cameras in the rooms, how else did they get pictures of you? Assuming that there really were any pictures and that the whole thing wasn't some sort of psychological torture. Hey what was that "whumping" sound? It's really fami-
Keep your head low to the ground.
A cylinder goes barreling down the corridor and loud curses from where they shot it from. Hey that was a 40mm grenade! They're shooting explosives at you?! They'd be insane to blow things up underground! Wait there wasn't an explosion… gas. It has to be gas. Most likely tear gas but if they got their hands on so much military hardware… looks like you're going to be in for a swell trip down memory lane. Fuck. *Whump* the second grenade bounces down the corridor past where you're crouching. You hear someone yelling at the Grenadier, most likely telling him that he was fucking retarded and was too blind or drunk to hit the target. That's what you'd say if you were in their position but hey that's just you. What's that smell? Oh God damn it they went and got their hands on CS gas. Military grade tear gas, oh bloody fucking wonderful; this is so not fair. In Basic they exposed you to the stuff for the first time ever; burning tons of the stuff in a small chamber and making you do PT or answering questions without a mask on; people who have never been through that don't know what the hell the word "agony" means.
Once when you were explaining the experience to Jared before he left for Annapolis trying to watch out for him by giving him all the knowledge you knew about the service; not that being at the Naval Academy was similar to Ft. Benning Basic. At least he had gone to join the Navy to be an officer and not the Army; the dapper and proper officer with a non-com for an older brother in the same service? You described it to dousing your body in rubbing alcohol after rubbing yourself down with sandpaper and nails. You forgot to mention how painful it was to breathe as well; like pouring gasoline into your lungs and lighting it. Why couldn't you be one of those lucky few people who were born immune to the stuff; Wishko was one lucky son of a bitch wasn't he? He waltzed in as calm as you please and never even sniffled even when they stuck his head in the damn barrel where they burned that crap. But noooooo you had to be just like everyone el- oh shit here comes the next one!
Don't you worry don't you have no fear,
Without thinking you sprint back towards the room; hopefully you can make it to the room before the cloud of gas catches- Nope too late. Well Seeley aren't you glad that you're so fucking lucky lately? At least you don't wear contacts otherwise they'd fuse to your retina in this stuff, plus you're wearing some clothing so be happy. That sweet and oh so pleasant sensation of having your lungs lit on fire from the inside and is that vomit you're choking on or just the snot dripping out of every conceivable part of your sinuses? You strongly suspect that the Devil doesn't actually have fire in Hell, only barrels and barrels of CS powder ready to go. Weeping and gasping; snot dripping out of your nose, eyes, and God knows where else you get out of the thick stuff and into semi-clear air. You whoop in air and hack and cough up a storm trying to get the stuff out of your lungs. Your eyes are watering but you can see just enough to make out the corner to see if anyone is trying to go through it. CS gas is mostly invisible so it's not going to obscure your eyesight anymore than the tears are doing already.
"All right tovarisch last chance! Come out with no weapon or we come to get you!" Fat chance you assholes, you've beaten, stabbed, shot at and gassed me already. You're not going to give those bastards anything that they're not willing to take. You shout out a particular Russian phrase that one of your buddies back in Ranger Bat. taught you after he'd come back from a "sightseeing trip" in the Ukraine. Loosely translated it has something to do with how his sister prefers your lovemaking prowess over his; not something that would be conducive to making amends. You sprint back until you're in the doorway to the room with the sweet sounds of what can only be loud Russian curses coming from down the hall. Ewwww squishy dead person; you can definitely emphasize with Bones when she says that she prefers bones to flesh because it's a lot cleaner. Gross, crushed spleen and brain chunks between your toes; why couldn't these guys have shoes that fit your feet? Of all the criminals in the world and you had to be kidnapped by ones whose feet are smaller than yours. Taking cover behind the wall aiming down the sights to the corner all you can do is wait. "Hurry up and wait", some things never change.
Loud thunderous clumping up ahead, they're going to try and bum rush you thinking that you're completely incapacitated by the gas. Well looky there isn't that a vintage set of gas gear that the first guy is wearing? Too bad that his heavy rubber suit is two sizes too big and his mask is all jacked up on his face. Seriously if you're a criminal organization looking to hire mercenaries at least have some sort of screening process to get the cheese dick fucktards from actually getting the jobs. The range is long for a pistol, about 60 meters but what the hell you only live once right? The pistol barks in your hands and you see a spurt of blood shoot out from- Oh God that last shot went really low didn't it? You were aiming for center of mass around his chest and stomach but you got him… at least you set him up for a Darwin Award. You can't even imagine how that feels; and with CS gas getting in there too- Ok Seeley enough about that and focus on the other guy stumbling towards you. Haha he tripped over the guy writhing on the floor. Damn they can scream loudly in those masks can't they? It's like a bad Three Stooges skit only with guns taking the place of hammers; Larry, Curly it's been nice knowing you but Moe thinks it's time for you to shut the fuck up! The pistol barks once, twice; suddenly the corridor is quiet, albeit much messier than it was a few minutes ago.
Your Ranger God is gonna be near.
You strain to hear for the sounds of anyone moving; you try to tell your heart to quit beating like a jackhammer and to quiet down so that you can hear. Come on Seeley you have to move! But how are you going to get past that gas without getting too impaired to keep going? You suddenly remember the bottles of water from the cooler! First step rip dead guys shirt into a big face mask looking piece of cloth; step two soak with water and wrap around mouth. Alright now instead of smelling the spicy tinges of the gas you smell the blood and shit from someone you shot; lucky you're not squeamish right?
Swiftly, well sort of; your body still hurts all over but the pain is dulled a bit at the moment, you move down the corridor and come upon the bodies still bleeding from the holes in their suits. You blink away the sting of the gas as you put the pistol into your waist band and grab the Thompson. It's really heavy; still has plenty of ammo in the drum but you have no idea of how much. Not that you're complaining; the sheer thrill of once again holding a fully automatic weapon is enough to get your adrenaline rushing all over again. Sweets would say that such a reaction is part of the whole psychology of being a male; Bones would bitch-slap him and say it was some sort of anthropological norm set by society that males are drawn to loud destructive objects. Of course "bitch-slap" might be too literal a turn of phrase but you have to admit it's really hot when she gets all "in your face" when arguing with people; besides you still think that she needs to slug Sweets for his part in not telling her that you weren't really dead. Bones packs one hell of a punch; you suspect that she's probably wild in- hey Seeley knock it out! Focus! Back to reality here and do not go into a fantasy dream world.
This time when you peek around the corner you don't see any one there; good that means you can keep moving and get the hell away from this gas. Fuck, you know the stuff dissipates fairly quickly but it still burns. Twenty paces down and you toss away the rag over your mouth and start to breathe in nice cool clean air and not CS and blood tinged air. It makes a world of a difference doesn't it? Hold it there's a door to your front. Weapon up and slink over to the door nice and easy. You wait a few seconds without hearing anyone on the other side. Ok is it empty or is there someone waiting for you with a weapon drawn? Either way you can't stay here. 1…2…3!
Someday you'll be alone,
No one here, good. Hey this looks like some sort of monitoring room! You can see three monitors showing your cell, the interrogation room, and the room with the dead bodies. Hmm what else of value is here? Looks like two other doors in this room and- hello! You crouch down under the monitors and find what looks to be a stereo system setup complete with DVD/VHS and a CD player only the wires are heading into the walls… a cold shiver runs up your spine as you realize that this was probably where they made those pictures of you; … and where those bastards played those noises into your cell. Without thinking you slam the butt of the Thompson into system. Bits of plastic go flying as in a rage you start bashing the thing into rubble. Hey hold on a sec Seeley you're still stuck in this place right? You wrench yourself from that broken bit of terror and electronics and move over to the door on the left. Your blood's up now so no more being quiet. You rush into the room ready to unleash a torrent of bullets only to- Well well well what do we have here? Same place where you started in this little mess only this time you're armed and aren't being stabbed. Your gaze wanders over to a blood soaked chair and table; you can spot the little space on the other side of the mirror large enough for a man to stand, it must have been where that nameless bastard was taunting you. Your left hand twinges uncontrollably in pain. It takes more than a little discipline and self control to keep from shooting out that damn mirror; you head back to the monitoring room your blood pounding in your veins. Looks like that other door is the way out of here and to whatever happens to be outside.
Your heart is beating in overdrive now as you can taste the faint feeling of freedom from this place. The sweat sparkles off your brows and gets into your eyes bringing in days worth of grit and blood with the salty water. You cautiously lean up to the door and slowly open it up to the outside bracing yourself for a torrent of hate coming your way. For a brief moment you wonder why you haven't spotted any other prisoners here underground with you. Suddenly that wonder disappears and is replaced with equal parts horror and anger. You must have been extremely important indeed to have merited such generous and comfortable living accommodations.
Your eyes walk over a row of squat wooden boxes behind the shed where they drug out that fire hose. A row of a dozen wooden boxes about four and a half feet tall set into a concrete slab with fist sized holes cut out at regular intervals all over the sides and a half a foot section at the bottom cut away giving you a glimpse of five pairs of feet and ankles stained black with dirt, grime, and shit. These men have been forced into these boxes and can neither stand up because they're so short nor sit down because they're too narrow; the chill wind whips their freezing bodies through the holes and it's quite obvious that the only way to clean up their waste is to spray the area with the fire hose a dozen feet away. Probably with them still inside if the bruises visible on their feet and legs mean anything.
You keep pieing off the outside with your weapon up, ready for anything. The sun is low in the sky which makes seeing difficult; you have no idea if it's early in the morning or heading towards night. For some reason you don't see anyone walking around the open area; you'd have bet money that the guards would have alerted somebody that you've made an escape attempt or at least the crackle of gunfire. The wind picks up and whips through the trees making an eerie howling that chills your skin and sends uncontrollable shivers up your spine. Most likely nobody is on guard because they'd all rather be inside away from the wind and they're so convinced of their safety here that they think that nothing will happen because of it. You quietly shut the door behind you so if anyone does come out to look then it might fool them into thinking that nothing's amiss.
In the distance down along the hill across from the clearing where they sprayed you down and fed you, light filters out from some sort wooden structure. Probably the barracks that these guys occupy or some sort of blockhouse for whomever is supposed to be on watch. It must be heading on towards night as the sky is getting darker and the shadows of the trees are lengthening; the slivers of light from the structure seem unnaturally bright set alongside this encroaching darkness. You push out away from the lights heading in the opposite direction. It's less likely that they'll notice you if you're heading off this way and maybe you can find some way over the wire this way; a tree you can climb or something like that.
As you creep away into the darkness a sense of "contentment," that's the only way you can really describe it to yourself, falls over you. It's like this every time you went out into the darkness, the woods, the desert sands or craggy mountains. The feeling of being totally in control over yourself and of your surroundings; wits luck and training are what you have against whatever the world has in store for you. Of course with that "contentment" comes with it a sense of "loneliness," even when you were a sniper there was always someone with you, your observer was your partner. The man who would guide and point you in the right direction to make that final strike; you and Hank were as close as brothers, closer in fact. At least until he got hurt. It damn near killed you to see the closest person in your life to get hurt in the line of duty; the only thing worse than that would be if something happened to Parker.
One of the hazards you've learned from the life you've led has been what happens when you let someone get close to you and you see them get hurt because of what you've done. The pain and the guilt are physical and psychic reminders of painful memories and experiences. When you saw Bones get shot by that crooked sheriff for a split second you saw yourself back in Kosovo when Hank got hit; killing that crooked cop caused you the least amount of guilt and grief of any of the men you've killed in your life. You can't let her get hurt because you weren't there to protect her, she's your partner and the closest friend you have.
But your Ranger God is gonna bring you home.
As these thoughts whirl in your head your eyes peer into the evening light and see something promising. A small rivulet under the wire caused by what looks to be a small stream from higher up in the hills. The mud is cold and wet as you quietly scrape away at the earth trying both to dig as fast and as quietly as you can while simultaneously keeping your head up and alert swiveling around looking for any signs of a guard. The minutes seem to drag on into eternity as your pulse pounds in your ears, the scrapes of mud and rock sound deafeningly loud to you even though the wind is howling loud enough to wake the dead. It looks like the little rivulet is large enough for you to crawl through now but it's going to be a tight squeeze; at least you won't have to worry about the little alarms scattered throughout the wire because those things are already going off as the wind jostles them around like so many babies rattles.
Carefully you lie down on your back and toss the pistol to the other side, there's no sense in letting it get caught or fall out as you crawl through. With the Thompson above you held in your hands you gently push the wire up as you slither through. Slither might be too active a word for this because you're not moving very fast and the little trench is not that deep or wide. You can see the sharp points and edges of the concertina wire as you pass through less than an inch underneath them. You can only pray that nobody shows up because there is no way that you can defend yourself at the moment.
Your head passes through the wire and bumps up against your pistol. Keeping from grimacing from the bruising that's already there you carefully keep slithering your body out of the rivulet. Your legs are the hardest part, not only is there no way for you to use the Thompson to push the wire up but the cold is starting to cause you to cramp up making it difficult to move. No sooner does that thought run through your head you suddenly see a light moving down on the other side of the wire. Oh shit they must be walking the wire. You only see one flashlight so there might only be one guy but you never know. You guesstimate that the patrol is about 200 meters away but they're headed in your direction so you have to get out of the wire ASAP.
OW FUCK!!!!! Your foot just got snagged in the fucking wire!!!! You see Seeley that's what happens when you try to move quickly through wire. Carefully you pry your damaged appendage off of the wire hoping that the wire wasn't rusty or anything because getting lockjaw would really suck. Why you're worried about something like lockjaw down the road when you should really be worried about getting caught and shot in the next five minutes is really kind of silly but then again being silly is one of your ways to keep from breaking under the stress. You pick up the pistol and put it back in your pocket and quickly slink away into the woods not knowing where the hell you're headed as long as it's away from here.
As you creep through the woods you suddenly get an idea. You grab handfuls of the dirt and rocks and leaves and put it into your pockets. Hopefully when you get back to the Jeffersonian Hodgins can figure out where this place is so you can come back and clean house on these bastards. Of course that would involve you first getting back to the Jeffersonian which at the moment is a little distant. You keep walking on into the night trying to put as much distance between you and that place as you can. After walking for about twenty minutes you stop and bind your foot with ragged scraps torn from your shirt. Walking barefoot sucks but walking barefoot with a nasty gouge in your foot sucks even more.
You keep up your dogged movement through the woods thankful that the trees shield you from the wind but cursing them for also obscuring the sky. If you could see the stars then you could at least orient yourself towards north and possibly figure out which direction you're going. So here you are Seeley, alone in the dark wilderness, tired, hurt, with no doubt some angry people coming to find you come morning at the latest. But you have your wits, your weapons, your skill and above all a burning desire to get back to the Jeffersonian to get these bastards before they can hurt your partner. With this goal in mind you stalk off into the darkness not knowing where you're going but trusting in God to direct you to where you're needed.