AN: As I write this I should be trying to find a TV to watch "Bones" as it's on in about 3 minutes; that show which I don't own or else I'd use the money I'd have to hire someone to smack the whole raft of people who have been causing me headaches at the BN. I thank my few and faithful reviewers and all my numerous but silent readers for their patience with the time it took to get this chapter out and published. If I had my laptop with me this past weekend I could have written a book what with the time I spent sitting bored out of my mind in the woods but I guess you can just blame the S-4 for giving me a medium ruck so I didn't have enough room. Anyways, enjoy!
You dimly remember a while back when Angela took a ride with you two in the truck and that one time in her lab. She mentioned of how you two were always talking; how you were never not talking. Funny but with everything that has happened in the past few days, in the past few hours, hell in the past few minutes silence is the only language that the two of you seem to share.
You're practically boiling at the seams; all the memories and feelings that you've hidden deep in your past and behind the barriers of your psyche now seem to be playing "Rock, Paper, Scissors" on whose going to be the first to sound off. You've always found it curious, but not necessarily surprising, that Bones has never pressed you about your past; she's always been cautious, even at times you feel as if she's uninterested in your past. It bothered you at first, especially when you tried to learn everything you could about her; now… it's just the status quo. It's just how things are, she's just not interested in knowing all those things you've experienced and done in your past which is just as well; you've woken up in a cold sweat more than once dreaming that she'd run off scared and horrified after learning about what you've done in your past.
You've always laughed on the inside when someone has tried to lecture you on blood borne pathogens, the silliness of it of how the diseases which can hide in blood are dangerous and contagious. What about the blood itself?
The hot, sticky, and coppery feel of blood. The bright red stream of life which flows in the rivers of veins under a man's skin. The true danger is when you spill that blood; you've shown yourself capable of denying God's gift to one of his creations. People call HIV contagious? What about the sick pleasure of spilling another human's life onto the ground? You never just kill once; you kill over and over and over again. You dream about it; the scene replaying itself in infinity in the dark recesses of your mind. You keep acting it out as you keep killing; the rush of the kill leads to more. You know as well as any other man the almost addictive rush of taking life, of taking lives; one by one or a handful at a time.
When you tell the story of your kills you spread that disease to the listener. The contagion of your blood sin is spread to those whose only fault is to be curious and to listen to you; you corrupt their innocence with your words.
You promised yourself when you finally got out of the hospital and saw your son for the first time that you'd never again let yourself corrupt the innocent with your shadows; you would hide your mark of Cain from the vision of all others lest you draw them into the dark path that you've trod in your life.
When you returned from active duty you tried nearly everything to control your darker urges, almost desires, to re-live the hunt, the kill. Gambling almost consumed you until you finally set your life straight. With nearly no exception your past, save for your public achievements in sports and school, was one long tale of hidden darkness and barely recognized pain, horror, and vice.
You furtively glance at your companion, at your partner. The dim glow of the street lights penetrates the slight tint in the glass outlining her graceful lines; hair haloed in a haze of luminescence, her eyes as cut sapphires set in alabaster and ivory. You know that it would pain you more than anything to see her look at you in horror, in pain, in fear. You've seen too many men and women who've come home and who've had their lives torn apart, their marriages, their families, everything just destroyed when they've tried to tell what they've seen, what they've done. Other than Parker, Bones is the only person you've ever known whom you could not bear to have driven off by your personal demons.
No, you can't tell her. She'll think you're weak, that you're flawed. She needs you to be strong now.
You spend the rest of the drive in silence, alternating between staring at the road in furtive worrying and sneaking glances at your objectively beautiful partner and worrying that you'll be unable to contain your memories, feelings, and desires having them burst forth in a frenzied confession to her.
You pull into the lot behind your apartment building; the air is palpable with all the unsaid words in your throat as you turn the engine off. You get out of the car, Bones mimicking your actions without comment. The chirp of the locks engaging sounds like a cannon blast in the stillness and silence of the night hours.
Without word or invitation Bones follows you up the stairs to the door of your apartment. You're confused for a second before realizing that you don't have your key on you; your kidnappers weren't kind enough to return it to you when you escaped. You glance down to the little corner by your door, the mess of loose concrete and plaster which collects in the nooks and crannies of older less well maintained buildings like this. You kneel down and pry away some of the detritus and finally come across a chunk of rock which to the trained eye is distinct from the surrounding material. You pull it out and take the key that it was concealing; carefully you replace the bits of rock and plaster to cover up your little cache.
You turn to unlock the door but suddenly you freeze in place.
Wordlessly you motion for Bones to be on her guard and to stay put; you'd taken to the habit of placing a little bit of hair over the seam of the door. When the door was opened then the hair would fall off; and you notice that the little piece of hair that you'd left on the door is no longer there.
You pull the pistol from where you'd placed it under your beltline, slowly the lock turns and tumbles as you rotate the key.
A flash of memory bursts through you and you feel like you're just about to go through the shoot house for the first time with live ammo.
You can feel the surprise emanating from Bones as you rush through the door quickly going to your right without even glancing at the room. Move forward avoiding obstacles, feet up off the floor, weapon at the low ready. Corner is cleared, make a left Seeley and keep moving up the wall scanning your sector for threats. You speedily and stealthily navigate the familiar corners and turns of your small apartment. All the little hidey holes like the coat closet being conveniently open with no one hiding in them. Your body is tensed like a spring ready to go; in seconds you've cleared every room except your bed room and its adjoining bathroom.
Breathlessly you throw open the door and rush in. You notice a flash of movement in your left peripheral eyesight. Without warning you feel the smack of a metal object crashing down on your hands, your pistol drops to the floor. You spin and grab your assailant's wrist jerking his arm forward to collide his frontal nasal suture with your own. Ha Bones would be so proud of you remembering that little tidbit of knowledge. Without pausing to register his pain distorted features you clamp your hand around his neck and slam him into the wall; squeezing with your left hand, pain shooting through you as you apply pressure.
"Booth!"
You glance to the side to see a wide-eyed Bones staring dumbfounded at you and your assailant. Wait.
You take a second glance at the man you're pinning to the wall.
"Oh sorry about that Max." You hurriedly let go and help him stand up as he catches his breath.
"Oh don't worry about that son you were just defending yourself. I thought you were one of the guys whom I was trying to give the slip to; normal people don't enter their homes with flung open doors and fast movements you know." Wheezing Max rights himself after bending down to pick up a sharpened piece of copper pipe; re-concealing it in his shirt sleeve he continues.
"I was trying to get some info on what's been going on; I'd made contact with one of the information brokers that I once knew and was trying to pump him for as much as I could. The thing is I think he sold me out because one minute he and I were about to order a round of drinks and the next I see two large ruffians coming from a back room straight towards us. I got out of there before anything happened and before I could get any info; I've been playing hide and seek with these guys for the last two hours. Oh sorry Booth but I let myself in, I hope you don't mind. That rock really doesn't fool anybody you know."
"Hey that rock has served me very well these past few years I'd have you know; the only people who've found it out are you and Bones. And both times you two have used it to break into my home."
He looks confused.
"Sweetie you broke into Booth's home before?"
She just looks exasperated and… is it pained from the memory?
"No dad, I just let myself in while Booth was taking a bath, I had to talk to him and it just couldn't wait because it was right after he had faked his own death without even telling me which showed that he was decidedly untrustworthy because he should have told me."
Max looks slightly stunned as she says this, you find yourself both speechless and embarrassed at how that whole debacle of you faking your death turned out.
"You walked in on Booth while he was taking a bath?"
"Yes I did."
Oh God you don't like how this conversation is going.
"You saw Booth naked?"
"Well he did stand up out of the tub after I stormed into the room."
Flop sweat and panic time Seeley. Max Keenan is finding out that you flashed his daughter and he's currently armed.
"Hey hey hey lets all just forget about that and focus on other things like how are we going to solve the current crisis that we're in? We can all return to this other conversation after we take down the people who just put a hit out on the lab."
"Wait a hit on the lab?"
You explain how one of the camp gaurds had infiltrated the Jeffersonian and had shot both Hodgins and Wendell. You also mention that they're both in the ICU; being careful to keep your own personal opinion of their chances to yourself, there's no need to get Bones worried too soon.
Max excuses himself to go to the bathroom; you dimly hear the door shut as you turn to Bones.
You can tell that she's deeply agitated at the whole situation. You can also tell that it just looks so right for her to be here in this room with you- stop Seeley these thoughts will only distract you.
"Booth why are we here?"
"I have some tools here that we're going to use to bring these bastards down."
You walk over to the closet in the back corner of your bedroom. You've never opened this closet for anyone else before. Too many old memories here. You stop before opening it realizing that Bones walked over to you; her body so close to yours.
Are you going to open it up and let her see in? Are you going to risk her asking questions and getting answers?
Are you going to risk her turning away after learning what you've done?
She places a warm hand on your shoulder.
Sometimes all you need is a touch.
You swallow down all your apprehensions and doubts about the past interfering with your hopes for the future. You have to protect her now and to do that you have to open up your past.
The door unlocks and with it the unbelievably heavy weight of history rolls out from behind it's stout oak frame.
AN: Please review, I write faster with more reviews you know.