AN: As has been stated before I do not own Bones and reviews are welcome. Apologies for this taking so long to update but my plate has been quite full these past few weeks; dissecting Reformation Europe is far more time consuming when you couple it with massive re-organization and planning meetings. That being said "Double Trouble in the Pan-Handle" was quite possibly the worst episode I've ever seen but "Fire in the Ice" more than made up for the disappointment; Booth inflicted pain ::laughs::. Questions/comments/reviews/complaints/threats/etc. are all welcome and given my workload at present will all be ignored in an equal fashion until things start getting easier on my end.
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Well Seeley now what?
You've managed to escape from harrowing captivity and certain pain and discomfort; congratufuckinglations on that by the way, your body count is how high now?; and have boldly set off into the dark woods of Appalachia with no shoes, a whole mess of cuts and bruises, and absolutely no fucking clue where you are or where you're headed. Your foot twinges painfully with every step you take reminding you that you don't have much time to beat feet until a whole manner of unfriendly starts tracking you down.
Of course with it being so dark out with it being night and all moving fast is something a mite more difficult than it sounds. Even with your eyes adjusted to the dark you can barely make out trees more than a few paces in front of you, and- *Whack!* Pain! The stabbing hurting pain! Yeah, the only way you can find out where the branches and twigs are is by feeling for them with your soft bloodshot eyeballs or your bruised and abused balls, grimly recalling several very springy bushes blessed with an unholy sense of accuracy.
You're quite thankful that you have no idea how long you've been, to be quite honest, blundering aimlessly in the woods; it would only make you depressed. You just have to will away the fatigue that you feel with the promise that after you get out of this place you'll treat yourself to a very very very well deserved vacation somewhere with a hot-tub. Of course you're not one for taking baths all that often but in this instance the relaxation is called for. Why is it that you only find it necessary to take baths after life-threatening experiences? Heck the last time you took a bath Bones showed up, you still say that she broke in and that rock is a clever hiding place damnit!, so maybe this time she'll show up again? Hell a guy can wish can't he? Of course you wouldn't admit thinking or God-forbid wishing for her to show up when you're naked to anyone this side of being crucified but thankfully nobody can read minds. Although Angela has shown a disturbing talent at doing just that, best not to think about that around her.
Hey nothing wrong with a little indulgence in your fantasy world right at this moment because quite frankly reality sucks at present. Come on God could you cut a guy at least a little break?
Wearily you trudge onwards in the dark forest, at least there aren't any weird bone things hanging from the trees or any headless witches coming out to chop off your head. Of course even a headless ghost-witch would probably say "Uncle!" to a belt of .45 slugs; speaking of which the Thompson is starting to feel really heavy in your arms what with it weighing a lot and you being all tired and tortured and everything. Perhaps you should ditch the weapon somewhere so you can move faster?
Never mind, scratch that thought. Hearing a wolf howl in the dead of night is enough to make your skin crawl and clutching that Thompson close to your body feels so very reassuring right now.
Wait a minute. What the hell is that? Too big to be a tree or even a tight copse of them; to even looking… your finger gently caresses the cold steel of the trigger guard. Slowly you stalk up and let your eyes pan over the entirety of the thing; looks to be an old burned out building with a heavy emphasis on old. Burnt and rotted logs about six feet long are stacked up like the wall of a Lego log cabin that Parker used to play with; mounds of broken wood and dirt surround the short wall in a way to make it look like it was once part of a cabin. If there was a cabin here then maybe there was a path or a road out of here nearby? You're probably going to have to wait until it gets light because if there is a path then it's going to be as old and dilapidated as this cabin which is going to make it impossible to find in the dark.
You meander around a bit looking blindly into the dark hoping against hope for some sort of path so you won't have to wait until it's light out. You spend what seems like forever fruitlessly stumbling about hoping to find something before you give up and head back to the ruins. You'll hide out nearby and come back to search later. You remember your pace count don't you? 65 paces for every hundred meters was what you calculated for yourself when you were back in active service. Methodically you pick a direction perpendicular from the path you came from and carefully pace out 200 meters then make a sharp right face and pace out another 100 meters until you find yourself in a rather dense and nasty speck of brush and undergrowth. Perfect.
You slither into the brush carefully mussing up the trail you leave behind you and cover yourself in dirt and leaves giving you a modicum of both concealment and insulation. You carefully orient yourself back in the direction that you came from and lay down the Thompson's muzzle roughly at the path that you took; hopefully you're being over cautious but you really can't risk anything at the moment. You only realize how exhausted you are as you slowly allow yourself to calm down and…
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-have to get to him and stop the bleeding. There might still be a chance. Plus Chung still has the radio and you need to guide those Zoomies and bring the rain and kill all of these dress wearing camel fuckers.
"I'm up, he sees me, I'm down!" you don't know why you always yell that out when you rush from cover. You got it beat into you in Basic crawling through red Georgian dirt and it never quite left you. Not that anyone is paying the slightest bit of attention to you at the moment because shit has hit the fan and broken the blades and motor. You taste the dust as you slam yourself down behind a small boulder; thousands of years of shit from man and beast mixed with ash, the acrid stench of carbon, and God alone knows what else overwhelms your senses.
"I'm up, he sees me, I'm down!" you roll and slam yourself into the gray broken rock. Only a couple more meters, you can see Chung's boot protruding from behind that pile of rocks.
"I'm up, he sees me, I'm-" Crack! Hell yes you're down. Damnit Seeley why did you have to go and get yourself shot. Again. You panic as you glance down at your semi-prostrate body looking at the jumble and mess of combat webbing, water, ammo, and too damn much other crap. Ah jeez why did they have to go and shoot your flashlight? Nights in Afghanistan are dark damnit and taking a leak while in battle rattle is difficult enough as it is. You can't believe for the millionth time that you re-upped for this shit. Anyway where were you? Ah yes. Just another meter or so…
"Hey Chung don't worry bud-" the words die on your lips as you rush over the rocks and get down next to Chung. Poor bastard, damn RPG caught him square in the torso; that looks like bits of lung and heart adorning the tip of the goddamn thing. Does the radio work?
"Victor one fife this is victor one six say again all after 'vicinity grid.' Over"
You hastily grasp the map and radio handset casually brushing off the matted bits of gore on the mouthpiece.
"Victor one six this is victor one fife vicinity grid whiskey charlie. Aight six seven faur tree. Niner seven aight two. How copy? Over."
"Victor one fife this is victor one six good copy. Bird's in the sky. Out."
"Victor one fife this is papa seven mark your target location. Over."
"Wilco."
You paw through your LCE and pull out a smoke grenade and find just where to put it. Twist, pull, pin and off it goes in the air. In seconds that seem to drag on forever a cloud of green smoke rises up into the sky.
"Victor one fife I see green smoke. Over."
"Papa seven I see you inbound east of my position. We have infantry along the ridge line north and west two hundred meters from green smoke. Danger close cleared hot. Over."
"Victor one fife I see the targets coming in hot, tell your boys to get small down there. Over."
"Get down take cover!" Your lungs and throat are raspy as you bellow this out for, hopefully, everyone in the vain hope that they can hear you as you throw yourself down.
The roar physically buffets you against the ground as the jet shoots by; suddenly the world explodes into fire. The light overwhelms you. The light. The-
-light of the sun pierces the shady gloom of your makeshift hiding spot as you suddenly jerk awake. Wow you do feel slightly refreshed as your eyes no longer feel like they're supporting lead weights, but sleeping on the cold rocky ground has done nothing for your back or your myriad of other injuries. Hopefully nothing gets infected before you can reach someplace safe. The growl of your stomach and your parched throat remind you of how bad off you are without any food or water to keep your battered body going. You quietly just lay there and listen for sounds of any sort of pursuit or hunt in the woods. Time crawls by as you just lay there with, as you suddenly realize, a myriad of small crawly creatures making their merry way up and down your back.
You decide that nobody is in the immediate vicinity looking for you; given what you saw of them back in the compound they probably aren't the type who would be totally suited for stalking someone through the woods. Gingerly you slink out the way you came and cautiously get up on your feet, wincing as pain shoots through your cut foot. That looks angry and red, not good Seeley, not good at all. You carefully pace back to where the burnt cabin was, eyes peeled and scouting about for signs of anyone else out here.
The woods look a lot different in the light of day, the trees are actually visible and you aren't poking your eye out every tenth step. There isn't too much undergrowth like those woods where you found that decapitated body; it's very clear and open with the only undergrowth being thin twiggy baby trees and bushes who barely reach the ankles of their larger brethren who surround them. You can make out the ruins just ahead.
You carefully look over the ruined building looking for anything that might be of value; burnt wood and dirt are the limits of things- wait. You notice a small pile of stones in a vague circular pattern… a well! Water! Things are looking up for you Seeley. Now to just… oh for the love of… damn thing is completely clogged with leaves, branches, rocks, and dirt. Godalmightydamn! Well maybe there is a trail here so this whole thing isn't a complete episode that somebody set up here just to fuck with you when you are in extremely desperate straits.
*rustle*
You whirl about with the Thompson raised up in the high ready finger almost touching the trigger just itching to… vaporize a very terrified looking squirrel who scampers off down a rough dirt trail away from you. A trail! Ha you'd probably have spent another hour minutes looking for the damn thing if that squirrel hadn't shown it for you. You can barely make out the outline of the thing as it meanders through the trees; in spots leaves and debris cover up the dirt which tells you that the thing is very old and out of use.
It's not just your Ranger training that tells you that, Sniper school was a hell of a lot more than just learning how to put a bullet through a man at close to half a mile away. Memory, tracking, stealth, and observation are all keys that they pumped into you. They'd be yelling at you and distracting you with a million little things as you made your way about to your classes on post and then ask you what had been changed on the bulletin board down near the entrance to the building between now and yesterday. As you make your way down the trail you think ruefully that such concentration and aptitude for detail is a bit of a perishable skill because you'd have thought that after nearly four years with your squints you'd know what they were talking about when describing a body. Of course in your defense you've had your attention *ahem* distracted from time to time. If asked you could describe in great detail every curve and angle of Bones in her lab coat and most of the rest of her clothes. Wait, why are you even thinking this right now? Come on Seeley you're trying to get out of these stinking woods and get somewhere safe so you can get back to the Jeffersonian and make out wi- wait, to keep Bones safe. At least Parker is safe with Rebecca. You never thought you'd say this but her taking him with her to Vermont for the week turned out to be a good thing after all.
You keep heading down the path noticing that its getting steeper as you keep on walking. Wait was that… oh thank you God that looks like a road down the trail! You hurry up and through the trees you can barely make out the sweet wonderful and beautiful yellow hash marks on worn down asphalt. Keeping your head on the level, you hang back in the tree line before you decide to follow your gut to head to your left towards what you think is the east. Not wanting to frighten anybody driving along the road or to give yourself away to anyone looking for you, you keep to the brush that borders the road noticing gleefully that there are either power or telephone lines bordering the road. That means that there is some sort of habitation down the road somewhere eventually.
Of course what are you going to do when you get there, or flag someone down to get you to safety? You have no ID on you, you look like shit (and smell like it too), are covered in mud and blood, you're tired, hungry, and are currently packing two weapons on you. You can't just waylay someone because they'd either speed away or run you down and there's no guarantee that they're not out here looking for you on orders of whoever took you in the first place. Wait you do have an ID on you, and cash! Of course it's a dead guy in the picture who doesn't look like you but maybe, just maybe you can pull it off. You quick check the name on the ID. "John Dough." Oh for fucks sake. If this whole thing wasn't so twistedly hilarious already you'd bust a nut laughing at the absurdity of it.
Well Seeley here's your chance to impersonate a man whose neck you broke. Looks like there's a semi coming down the road not all that fast. You decide to chance fate, quickly stashing the Thompson in the bushes and concealing the pistol in your waistline you step out onto the road holding up your stolen ID and shield waving for the driver to slow down. Miraculously the driver does and comes to a halt just in front of where you're standing. Wait that guy looks familiar. Is that…?
"Booth! Holy Jesus big Sarge what the hell are you doing all the way out here in Bumblefuck West Virginia? And what the hell happened to you?!" The round faced brown-skinned trucker with a slight baritone voice yells out as he steps down out of the truck, rushing over to you in concern. How many times did you sit in tents and rooms with this guy discussing just how and in great detail you were going to end the lives of men who deserved it?
"Williams? Is that you?! Holy shit man how are you?" You rush over and you both embrace each other in a bear hug; tears almost sting your eyes as you realize that despite all the odds against it you found someone all the way out here that you can trust to help you. Specialist Williams was a Military Intelligence guy attached to your BN support staff who would help assist and interpret data on targets which you would later use to eliminate said targets. Unlike some of the other REMFs that you knew Williams was someone who you could get along with an ease that was uncanny.
"Hey Williams, I'll explain later but right now I need you to get me to the Jeffersonian Center in Washington D.C. as fast as you can because right now I've gotten wrapped up in a regular Goat Rodeo complete with football bats and soup sandwiches." You're surprised how easy the military lingo returns to you when you're around guys who'd understand what you're saying without having to stop and explain every third word to people. If it were anyone else you'd just say that things are really really screwed up.
"Hey Big Sarge, ain't no problem just hop up into my cab and I'll get you there before you realize. Damn it's nice to see a battle buddy after all these years. Hell battle, I even got me some grub in the cab you can have 'cause you look like something the cat dragged in." He heads back to the truck trying to usher you in but you turn away and rush into the woods.
"Hang on a minute I need to get something, just get her warmed up and I'll join you in a sec."
"No problem big Sarge, I'll be right here waiting for you to explain just what the hell you got yourself into this time." You can hear the grin of anticipation in his voice; he probably thinks that you got ditched out here by some buddies as a prank to see how long it took you to get back. Of course he would think that because you and a few of your squad mates did wind up doing that to one joker back in Battalion who would just not shut up about how he was top in his survival class. The Article 15 that the Lt. later gave you was more of a nod and a wink then a reprimand; he was positively laughing as he dismissed you and your mates to go on disciplinary detail.
His eyes get as wide as saucers as you climb into the cab grasping the Thompson and stowing it between your legs as you shut and lock the doors. He says nothing but quickly locks the doors and puts the pedal to the metal as he starts to speed off down the road. It takes him a good minute to start talking as you're completely silent just reveling in the feeling that you're safe for now and can finally sit down. The seat is old and beat down with coffee stains and bits of trash and dirt all over but it feels like you just got knocked up with a syringe of morphine.
"Ok Booth now just tell me what the fuck I've just gotten myself into by helping you. You know that I'd do damn near anything for a battle, including breaking the law but damnit there is a limit!" He sounds torn between scared and outraged.
"Williams you know I work for the FBI right?" You wait for him to nod. It was common knowledge that you were a part timer when you were going into OEF and OIF. You re-upped after 9/11 taking a leave of absence from the FBI and after you got captured in '03 you got out and back to the civilian world; still in the Inactive reserves but you don't think you'll ever put on the uniform again.
"Well I can't tell you much given that I don't really know everything that going on right now, but what I think is that me and my partner finally got enough crime lords annoyed that they decided to try and take me out of the game and to use me as leverage against the FBI. They've tortured me and starved me and I just busted out of where they were holding me and I stole some clothes and weapons; killing some of the bastards and I've just spent hours wandering in the woods looking for help and will you please tell me where that grub is because I haven't eaten in at least a day." You wearily and almost desperately talk spilling out the gist of the story to him, hoping that he believes you and takes you seriously.
He nods to you, a barely perceptible motion that conveys the feeling that you've convinced him.
"Alright big Sarge, I believe you. Damn me to Hell if I think this whole thing is crazy but I believe you. Got some water and sandwiches packed in a cooler behind your seat; Melanie always packs me extras when I go out on the road. Having a woman in the home sure helps you put on weight." He grins at that and reaches over and pulls out a red and white cooler.
"Hahaha yeah I can understand that, so you married her when you got out huh?" He was one of the happy lucky ones whose relationship lasted while he was in the service; it's a tough life especially for a significant other. You rummage through the cooler grabbing a bottle of water and a turkey sandwich and begin attacking them like you'd never seen food before.
"Yup got myself a wife, got me a steady job, got a little one on the way. Life's been pretty good to me, how about you did you ever get back together with whatshername… Rebecca and your kid?" You vaguely recall way back then when you still held hope that you two could get back together after Parker was born, of course your being back in the service didn't exactly help that. You finish your sandwich and water before replying.
"No we ended up separating for good by the time I got back to the world, Parker is doing well though. I get to see him not enough but with what just happened I suppose that's all for the better." You fight back your mixed feelings on the subject. Normally it tears you up that you don't get to see your little boy nearly as often as you should but when things go bad you're glad that he's hundreds of miles away and safe. Fed and watered you just lean back into the seat and barely fight keeping your eyes open.
"Damn man that's cold, but shit you're damn lucky you're heading to D.C. because I'm hauling some furniture to Baltimore and D.C. isn't far out of the route I'd be taking anyway. It doesn't look like you're going to try and keep me in the loop for now so I'll just drive and I'll wait until a few hours from now for you to start talking again." He nods respectfully to you and turns his attention back to the road. You're thankful for his consideration and stare blankly out at the passing by trees until your eyes shut and you know nothing more.
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AN: Hope you enjoyed it and pardon the military slang and jargon but I do my best to keep it authentic. Thank you again for your patience and hopefully I can get the next chapter out in a few weeks. Enjoy this and review it please.