Author's Note: Didn't have to wait too long for the cliffy conclusion.

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CHAPTER TWENTY
FORCED TO WATCH YOU FALL

*

I'll never leave you, but fate has come to silence me
Darkness is all that I see
I cannot reach you, and soon the earth will cover me
It's become so hard to breathe
Your caught but not forgot
Another hero lost

The sorrow builds with every passing
All the lessons that you taught
When all would light you bright

-Shadows Fall-

Awareness slowly comes back. He registers pain.

Hears two things. The first is a sound, a voice. He can't quite make out the words yet, but somehow he knows they're important. He struggles to focus on the voice, that tangible anchor. Her voice. Blurrily distant, calling to him. She sounds afraid.

Bones is afraid. He fights harder against the thick oblivion.

The second thing he hears is a rather incessant beeping. A hot pain throbs in the back of his head. Everything is dark, until he realizes he can open his eyes. Slowly, the darkness recedes. He blinks sluggishly as consciousness returns. He half-expects the light to send a spear of agony shooting through his skull, but it doesn't. There are shadows… too many shadows for what should be bright and warm.

The first thing he notices is that he's upside-down. Odd, and confusing. He blinks slowly, feeling deeply disoriented, and tries to focus on her voice again to pull him through the fog. Coming out of it slightly, he shifts in his suspended location, mumbling a groan. "Bones…"

"I'm here, Booth," answers Brennan, directly below him. There's a concerned catch to her voice that he doesn't understand. "But I can't reach you." As if it's the most despairing thing she's ever said.

That's right. He's hanging upside-down.

Cringing, he can barely discern her from the chaos beneath his skull. He has to dispel that annoying beep. Each quivering pulse causes a miniature firework show to light off behind his eyes. It makes it exceptionally difficult to concentrate only on her. At least he feels considerably less faint. He can blink now without needing to engage in battle to keep his eyes open.

His watch won't shut up.

Beep-beep. Beep-beep. Beep-beep. Beep-beep.

He wants to shoot the damned thing, but settles for turning it off.

Jerking up slightly, he rallies his strength to form a glance upward at what holds him so uncomfortably captive and instantly regrets it. He grimaces, stilling so that the pain might follow suit. Inhales shakily, eyes wiring shut against the sudden onslaught.

"Booth?" She stirs anxiously against his silence.

He waves a weak hand at her. "I'm all right… 'M okay…" He lets his posture hang slack, looking over at the faraway setting sun. Her pressing words of encouragement and urgency fill him as he gropes about his waistline, searching. Finding the pocketknife, he tugs it free and switches the sable blade out of its sheathe. Steeling his aching muscles, he curls up, reaching with his other hand to grip the back of his captive knee. He stretches with the knife blade for the cable around his ankle.

In one quick torrent of fatigue, he sags back down. Takes a breath.

"Are you all right?"

"I got it, Bones. My head just feels like it's ready to implode." Heaving a sigh, he reaches back up again. He feels the drowsiness fading from his system. Obtaining a stronger grip, now more determined and aware, he begins to saw at the cable.

He's too focused on his current task to dwell on the biggest question running through both their minds. Though neither speaks a word of it, both are wondering the same thing.

What the hell had just happened?

"It'll hurt when you fall." There's a sympathetic balk to her face.

"Yeah," Booth snorts. "That'll be the icing on the cake. Most likely got a concussion, might as well add a bruised ass to the mix."

She laughs nervously, feeling a healthy portion of her worry dissipate at his making light of the situation. "I'll try to catch you," she offers meekly. "Break your fall as best I can."

He's about to ask that she not get herself injured because of his idiocy when the cable snaps and suddenly, he's dropping. She does well to slow his fall, just as she'd said, catching him below the shoulders on his back and chest and hitting the ground with him. Though his landing is less than graceful–he feels his teeth rattle with the hard impact–he's more than relieved to feel none of his bones break.

At least, not the most important one. A tightness seizes at his chest when she buries her face into his collar and screams.

"What? What's wrong?" Entangled in each other's arms on the damp and soiled street, he fights to locate the source of her pain. Voice taut with concern, panic mounting. "Bones, what happened?" She pulls back from him with a whimper, cringing, looking at the foundation of her motor function. Imbedded in her outer right thigh is the knife's blade. It had broken free of the handle during the rough landing. "Oh God!"

She labors through a gasp of pain, shaking her head. "Booth, it–it's okay..."

"Bones, Jesus–" Sitting up at a more agreeable angle, he cradles her back with one arm and reaches forward with the other. He rambles off in a panic of apologies and medical inquiries.

"It's not as bad as it looks," she reassures through shallow breaths, lovely face contorted. "I think it only broke the first and second layer of the epidermis. I'll be fine." She touches the protruding section with a tentative hand, hissing upon contact. "I shouldn't remove it, though. Not until we get home." The pain lacing her voice breaks his heart. As if his guilt today couldn't be topped. She inhales deeply, closing her eyes and leaning against his shoulder for support. "Happy birthday," she laughs faintly.

Booth groans, intensely sickened. "Totally antiquated ritual which apparently only brings about bad luck. I'll pass." He brings his other arm around her, looking back at the darkening sky. The late evening insects and wildlife can already be heard. "Here, let me help you up. I can carry you."

But Brennan has stilled completely.

He can feel her entire frame ice over in his arms. He glances down. Her expression looks fearful, complexion noticeably whiter. Her gaze is locked straight ahead of them, past the snare, and into the dark cavern that leads into the damaged façade of the bank building. Bars and railings are bent back, twisted, glass shattered. Broken shards have collected over the threshold. The small hand which had so calmly rested upon his forearm now involuntarily tightens its grip. Almost painful, as she clings to the contact. She's terrified, so naturally he's become hugely murderous at whatever has put that expression on her beautiful face.

The echoing bark of a dog sounds from within the black hole.

Booth becomes instantly alert, rigid with pulsing instinct. An icy claw closes around his spine. Brown eyes are suddenly black, focused intently on the gateway looming just strides away. The hostile bark is seconded by another, and another, and eventually develops into a single dark chorus of rumbling growls.

"We have to go," Booth says tightly.

She grips shakily at his jacket, pulse pounding, in full agreement. He stumbles upright and hauls her quickly to her feet. She cries out, unable to stand on her own, swaying unsteadily and holding onto him for balance. "Booth," she whispers, sinking against him.

"I've got you." Wasting no time, he stoops down and lifts her into his arms. With her clinging to him, he takes a step forward, biting back a moan at his own exhaustion. A flash of pain shoots up his right leg, which is numb and aching from the abuse of the cable snare. His head pounds mercilessly. Every so often, he sees a flurry of colorful spots impeding his vision. This is unimportant, however. He can still see shapes, and the large bulk of the Tahoe is easily discernable. That's all he needs.

He'd made quite a distance when he halts without warning, looking back.

"What? Booth, what?"

He's forgotten his weapon in the puddle. "My gun…"

Hesitation is countered by striking desperation.

"Don't you dare go back," she warns, begs.

"We may need it." His eyes bore into hers, and she knows he's right.

He finds himself fighting with decision. They don't have many weapons with them, and they just may need every one they can get. Snapping his attention to the truck, the driver's door still hanging open, and then back to the forgotten weapon, he sets his jaw. They don't have time for him to think it over. She doesn't have time.

Shifting his weight onto his unprotesting leg, he sets her down gently and looks her in the eyes. "You get yourself to the truck–do you hear me?" She nods quickly. "I have a .38 under the steering column. You get it and lock yourself in. I'll be right behind you."

His voice leaves no debate. Her own shakes considerably. "Alright."

With that, he's running back for the weapon.

Unable to hold any weight on her injured leg without feeling a violent surge of agony, she quickly lowers herself to the ground. Sitting flat and facing away from the vehicle, she pushes herself back with her hands and left leg, repeating the motion. Creating a sound pattern of retreat. Booth dashes across the only remaining beam of sunlight between the Tahoe and the bank building. Reaching the puddle in which his weapon lay, he's about to scoop it up when he sees a shadow move within the abandoned stone and metal.

Stepping out from the encompassing darkness is the alpha male Infected, the same who had run out at them when capturing the human specimen. Its sickly face is hard and sunken into a glower. Strong and muscular arms strain from underneath the shredded army jacket, and it isn't long before Booth realizes why.

On each arm is a full grown hunting dog, held roughly by the scruff of the neck. Large muscles slide and constrict in their bulking canine shoulders–enhanced by KV. He can't be sure if they're German Shepherds or Dobermans, beneath their nearly hairless hides. They bark and growl in anticipation, snapping their salivating jaws. Eyes wild with rabid ferocity. Deeper into the shadows, Booth sees a fourth shape, much larger but indiscernible, pacing from behind the Infected with its menacing gray eyes glowing.

Without warning, the Infected releases the animals. They spring forward with lunging speed. Booth snatches up the rifle and pivots, breaking for his partner and the Tahoe's saving grace. She hasn't made it to the vehicle yet.

He can almost feel the snarling mongrels at his heels. Crossing over the remaining shaft of light, however, and the first dog skids to a frantic halt, yelping under the sun's scorching touch. The shaft is becoming narrower by the second as the sun begins to disappear behind a tall building far from the bridge. But it does buy them some time.

The two dogs snap and bark just shy of the golden ray, paws never at rest. They crouch eagerly, waiting to pounce. Bare their rotten teeth in anticipation, dark blue veins pulsing under the meaty, transparent flesh.

"Bones! Get in the truck!" he shouts as he runs for her. She's nearly there. Ducking under the fallen street sign, she rolls over onto her front and begins to crawl forward as swiftly as she can.

The sun is gone.

Emitting sharp howls, the two Infected dogs surge forward, angry calls reaching deafening volume. Rounding, Booth singles the larger one out and begins unloading shots into the charging threat. Some make contact with the evasive target while others ricochet off the pavement under it. It's darker, harder for him to see. The crosshairs are nearly lost in the sights. Before the beast can fall, the chamber clicks empty. He'd wasted all his damn bullets on Fred.

The second canine dashes past him.

"Brennan!"

Ducking under the door, she reaches in and feels around frantically for the .38. Just as she pulls her hand back, she sees the animal leaping at her, teeth bared. She nearly empties the clip into it by the time it's on top of her, claws scraping against the concrete and snapping its jaws. She struggles to hold the weakened predator back, reaching blindly for her lost weapon. It's significantly stronger than she, despite being wounded, and she doesn't have much energy left herself.

Its jaws dangerously close to her face, her arms burn from the unrelenting pressure. She twists her face away, squirming under the dog. While she can't become anymore infected than she already is, this animal can certainly kill her. And in a moment or two, her strength will give out and it will.

Suddenly, though, it's gone.

One second it had been atop her, and the next, it isn't. She'd only seen a flash of black in-between. The dogs aren't the only predators here tonight. Darting her eyes to the left, she sees Booth and the dog tumble to the ground and roll away. He'd tackled it, forced into the pavement with brutal grace. Her heart leaps into her throat as she struggles upright. "Booth!"

She reaches for her gun, scooping it up and watching as her partner and the infected dog wrestle just yards away. Taking up an aim, she bites back a frustrated cry. She can't get a shot without possibly hitting him. Out of nowhere, she's slammed back into the ground again. The second dog growls from above her. Though Booth had shot it, it's still as powerful as any normal canine, its brain too damaged by adrenaline to tell it it's been hurt.

Just as she's about to feel its jaws in her throat, her fist collides with its snout. Fingers closing around the saving metal, she draws up her gun and aims. In a flash, its teeth close around her wrist and wrench the weapon from her hand, sending it away. Red blurs her vision momentarily as she chances a look to her left. She watches as Booth rolls onto his back and snaps the first dog's neck.

Feeling a tentative wave of relief wash over her, she flinches away from the animal yet causing her grief. Struggling, she sees Booth get to his feet, but shouts his name as a third dog–the largest–at last comes out of hiding and leaps onto his back with a fierce bark, forcing Booth to the ground.

"No!" Her scream of sorrow meets the echo of the vicious growls. Tears spring into her eyes. Judging by its size and build, it's a Great Dane. If the particular breed had a shoulder height of only thirty-two inches, the dog was considered small. Choking back a cry, she has to use all her dwindling strength to hold the biting canine back and away from her face.

She can hear the struggle far off to her left and forces back the rising sobs, a great anguish curling around her heart. She's weaponless, pinned, and helpless to aid him…

…no. She's only two of those things.

She has a weapon.

Gritting her teeth in determination, she gathers all her might, holding the dog back with one staying hand, and reaches for her right thigh with the other. With a cry, she rips the broken blade from her leg and drives it up into the dog's throat. It's silenced immediately, sagging on top of her. She labors frantically under the dead weight, shoving it off of herself with aching limbs. She releases a trembling gasp, finally able to breathe again and rolls over onto her side, tears in her eyes as she searches for her gun.

But he's already upright. When he sees her relieved of the large animal, he stills.

She looks over in time to see him staggering to his feet, a large army knife in his bloody grip. The Great Dane lies just feet behind him, motionless and scarred.

She breathes a sob, turning darkly shattered eyes to Booth, taking in his battered appearance. A deep laceration is torn into his shoulder–the mark of teeth. Claw patterns travel along the side of his face, the blood reaching past his jaw. Even through the black of his clothing, the dark moisture soaking him is evident. He can barely stand. Yet he'd been going for her–to defend her.

Seeing now that she's safe, the knife slips from his fingers, clanking against the street. After a moment, he nearly doubles over. Sways dangerously.

"Booth," she sobs, struggling to her feet. Suddenly, she can't breathe again. Ignoring the fiery pain igniting in her leg, she limps over to him with tears shining on her cheeks. Face contorted in grief.

It's quiet now. She has not known Hell.

He winces, feeling a deep ache assaulting him from every possible direction. The world is spinning, eyes slip out of focus. "Bones," he manages out, pain lacing his voice. The strength of it fades, until it's merely a lissome anomaly in the evening wind. "Have to get you home..."

He tries to find the energy to ask if she's all right, but can't summon the words. His step falters, and he collapses in her arms just as she reaches him, the both of them sinking to the street. The light is severely dimming now. She has to get him out of there.

His hand repeatedly slips from hers as his strength starts to dwindle. His head is down and his breathing is measured. He's losing so much blood...

Crying, she holds him. "You're all right… you're all right…" she whispers, her voice faint and trembling. She can barely see him through her tears. It's too much like déjà vu. It's gripping, and it's intense.

Idiot! she thinks furiously, without shame, forcing back the sobs rising in her throat. Has he no reverence for his own life?! Why, why, why?!

He'd saved her. Again.

What hurts the most is that it's possibly that last time he ever will.

Success.

It watches from the shadowed seclusion of the bank, gray eyes narrowing in feral satisfaction. The sheep is now without a shepherd. Now, the wolf could seek the lamb.

Now, It can seek Her.

Mother.

Is this how you were found?
Like a star fallen to the ground
As you fall you make no sound
As you fall, wish for a place
Where you want to be lying still
In my dreams I see you falling down

-As You Fall-