Author's Note: Hey everyone! Sorry for the slight delay on getting this posted, but I had some computer trouble (still on a loaner laptop, actually) and lost parts of the chapter. Then I add two essays due on the same day, and now I'm on fall break, and I'm spending it at a friend's house so not as much lounging/writing time as I might have.

That said, this is an important chapter, so I hope it makes up for the wait. And the wait should be much shorter next time, especially considering I'm already having hiatus withdrawal. Song this chapter is "Rescued" by Jack's Mannequin, very fitting, very gorgeous and I highly recommend it.

Chapter Three

Rescued

Two to one
Static to the sound of you and I
Undone for the last time
And there this was
Hiding at the bottom of your
Swimming pool some September
And don't you think
I wish that I could stay
Your lips give you away

I can hear it, a jet engine
Through the center of the storm
And I'm thinking I'd
Prefer not to be rescued

03:02:27.

One of the largest monitors in the lab had been dedicated, once again, to a clock, the time Booth had to find them rapidly falling away.

Booth was crouched on the stairs of the platform, tearing through the much smaller stack of folders that held information of cases he hadn't closed. It had been Sweets' tentatively offered suggestion that, since DNA had proved the guy they were looking for had never been convicted of a crime, they check for any victims families that may blame Booth for not getting justice.

Every member of the team was close by, on the platform, but everyone was actively avoiding glancing over at him. There was total silence, aside from the quiet mutterings of Sweets' phone calls, following up any leads Booth half-heartedly passed along.

Truthfully, none of them clicked with Booth. As his career had progressed, he'd had fewer and fewer unsolved cases. As a result, he remembered every grieving family, every victim he hadn't been able to avenge…he'd never let those cases go.

And Booth believed that those families knew he'd done everything he could. They knew he was the one who kept pushing, who kept the case active for months or even years after leads went cold.

But still he turned files over to Sweets if anyone fit a part of the criteria in the updated profile the psychologist had worked up. He was grasping.

But just as the clock dropped below the three hour mark, he closed the final unsolved case folder and tossed it to the side.

He was out of ideas.

Booth swiveled and glanced back, the neon numbers of the clock seeming to tick away all the faster. Hodgins and Cam were running tests on samples taken from Brennan's apartment, but Booth knew they were on the third or fourth tests…they, too, were grasping.

His only hope was Angela, who was working on the latest recording.

Booth fixed his gaze on the artist, who was staring at a monitor, headphones on, a distressed look on her face.

Sweets voice interrupted him; he'd hung up the phone. "Booth? Another dead end."

"Yeah," Booth replied, unsurprised. "Nothing here, either." He stood, shaking his fingers out spasmodically, trying to keep the tight knot of fear in his chest from uncoiling. "Angela? Anything?"

The artist shook her head, her voice shaky when she replied, "No just…just a really loud air conditioner hum. Nothing we can use."

"Nothing new here, either," Cam put in flatly.

Booth nodded too hard for too long. "Okay…okay…" His voice dropped to whisper. "Okay, okay, okay, okay…"

He kept muttering to himself, his back to the others, unable to stop the rhythmic mantra and face the fact that he was out of options.

"Booth?" Hodgins voice came from behind him.

Well, you must have known someone had to die here, Agent Booth.

"Seeley, what do you need us to do?"

You get to choose which one.

"Booth?"

But you realize by choosing neither…you are making a choice. You're choosing for both of them to die.

"Maybe it's worth getting some help…"

At that, finally, Booth whirled around, pinning his gaze on Sweets, who instantly looked like he regretted the last comment. "You want to call in the FBI?"

"I…no…."

"You realize he said no other FBI?"

"Yes, but…"

Booth was unconsciously advancing on the kid, his voice low and uneven. "But you think that's worth the risk? Because you think there's something they'll think of doing that I won't? That I'm not doing everything I possibly can?"

Sweets' eyes were huge. "I…I'm sorry."

"Seeley," Cam's voice was firm. "You need to calm down. It's okay to take a second."

Booth's fist collided with the monitor of the clock. "I can't take a second, I don't…I don't have a second." He stared dizzily at the numbers on the screen. "Where are they?" He didn't mean to say it out loud, but it came out anyway, a soft, desperate plea. Then, a little louder, as though he was addressing the others, "Where are they?" The neon in front of him began to blur, and then Booth was bellowing, deep from his chest, "WHERE ARE THEY?"

No one answered. They didn't need to point out that, of course, they didn't know. They couldn't.

But he should know. He'd spoken to this guy, it had to be someone he knew…all Booth had to do was remember. But he was failing them.

He turned and walked off the platform.

~(B*B)~

Brennan absently lifted her unbroken fingers to her cheek, tender and swollen, patches of blood drying on her skin.

"I wonder how long it's been," Hannah's voice floated out of the darkness for the first time since the man had left. She still sounded shaky.

"About an hour since he left," Brennan replied automatically. "So, if we believe what he said, it's been about an hour and a half since he gave Booth the time frame."

There was a pause. Then, sounding a little bewildered, "How do you know that?"

"I've got a highly developed temporal sense," Brennan answered absently. She'd spent the past hour trying to develop a plan to accomplish her goal: taking away Booth's choice.

It wasn't going to be easy…it relied on psychological manipulation, not exactly Brennan's strength.

But she'd learned a lot watching Booth over the years…he was good with people. And she'd spent a lot of time watching him (along with Sweets on occasion) manipulate people in interrogation.

She just had to be prepared.

Another twenty minutes passed in silence before the door slung open. For a moment, their captor hovered in the door, as though waiting for Brennan to make another escape attempt.

When nothing happened, he regarded her with a slight smirk. "Good. You seem to have learned. Finally. You were slow to pick up on it, for such a genius."

Brennan gritted her teeth, her hatred for this man filling her, very nearly distracting her from her objective.

It had been nearly two hours. That meant Booth had another two to find them.

Brennan wanted to give him more time; she knew he was doing everything he could to find them, and still believed he could come through.

But based on the frequency of their captors visits over the course of the day, it would be dangerous to assume that he would come by again before the end of the four hour period.

So before she could talk herself into waiting, Brennan heard herself saying, "Actually, I need to speak to you. Alone."

The statement through off both Hannah and their captor. Brennan saw Hannah sit up straighter, her eyebrows knitting together, while the man standing above them just stared down, suspicious.

Brennan's stomach clenched slightly; this was the part of her plan she'd been least prepared for, and everything would fall apart if he refused. Nervously, she added, "It's about Booth. I think you'll find it important."

After a pause, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the gun, very deliberately releasing the safety. "I hope you aren't wasting my time."

Brennan stood, a little lightheaded with relief. She kept her gaze fixed on the man, not glancing at Hannah. "I'm not."

He stared back, dark eyes squinting. For the first time, Brennan took the time to study his face, observing the various distinguishing features. He had a large mandible, a lengthy frontal bone, a narrow zygomatic. Small, dark eyes, which seemed even smaller because of his bizarre lack of eyebrows. There was a small, dark mole by his left ear, nearly covered by his messy black hair.

Brennan made a mental note of all those facts as he considered her.

Finally, he swiveled the gun in Hannah's direction. "You. Get up, grab those ropes."

For a second, Brennan's lungs constricted in momentary panic; then, as she realized his intention, she exhaled slowly.

Directing Hannah vaguely by waving the gun, the man demanded, "Tie her wrists up. Behind her back, like I had them, go on."

Hannah slowly did so, taking care not to jostle Brennan's broken fingers. Feeling the other woman staring at her, obviously hoping for some sort of hint about what was happening, Brennan never removed her eyes from the man in front of her.

"Good. Now sit down." Hannah did, and the man came up behind Brennan, seizing the ropes in one hand and driving the gun into her back with another. Cutting his eyes at Hannah as he led Brennan out of the room, he warned, "We'll be back."

~(B*B)~

Angela knocked softly on the half open door to Brennan's office, but Booth didn't look up.

He was sitting on the couch, cradling something small in his hands, staring at it with a fixation that suggested the tiny object held the answer to his current predicament, if he could only look hard enough.

"Hi," she said gently.

Booth's head jerked up, his eyes wild.

Angela tilted her head, realizing what Booth was holding was a small toy pig, one she vaguely recognized but had never understood. "Did…did you take that from Brennan's room?"

"I…yes." Booth pocketed the small toy, then rubbed his face hard with both hands. "What's going on, did someone…did someone find something?"

"No, no one found anything…" Angela paused, considering, then decided to go for honesty. "No one's going to find anything, Booth. We have nothing else to go on. You know that."

Pressing the heel of his hands over his eyes, Booth spoke in a low, rough voice, "If you've come to tell me I'm failing them both, it's okay. I already know that." He lifted his head to look at her. "I'm the only one who would be able to come up with something, and I'm sitting here, trying to remember, I am, but…I can't." His voice cracked. "I just can't."

"Booth, no one expects you to know who this person is. There are so many possibilities and there's not much to go on…how could you know?"

His lips trembled, and Booth pressed them together, emotions overwhelming him. He pulled the hand still clenched around Jasper back out of his pocket and stared down at the pig until his vision cleared.

Angela throat narrowed, tears rushing to her eyes for the hundredth time of the past few hours. She folded her hands over her abdomen, as though to protect her unborn daughter from the sadness and destruction around them.

"Booth…" The single syllable wavered, and Angela sucked in a breath before trying again. "Booth it's been over two hours."

"Yeah, I know," he whispered thickly.

"What if…" Angela glanced down at her hands, wincing a little. There was no good way to ask this. "What happens if you don't remember? If he calls back?"

For a moment, silence stretched between them, and Angela was sure he wasn't going to answer. Then, Booth lifted his head and stared at her, his expression anguished. "I can't choose, right? That…that's horrible, I'd be…" His face twisted. "…killing one of them."

"No," Angela whispered back. "No, he would be. You…you'd be saving one."

But Booth was already shaking his head, rejecting the words, the reality. "No, no, I can't. I, I can't choose, I…how can I?"

Angela leaned forward, her eyes boring into his. "I know. But how can you not?"

~(B*B)~

Brennan had been shoved roughly into a room even smaller than the one she and Hannah had been held in; in fact, it seemed to be nothing more than a supply closet, though the metal shelves that lined the perimeter were empty now.

The man stood in the doorway, barely two feet away from her, his gun still gripped tightly in his hand.

He was waiting.

"You had to know," Brennan began, her voice much weaker than she intended. She swallowed, set her jaw, and started again. "You had to know you weren't giving Booth a very difficult choice."

"Oh, really?"

"Really." Brennan forced herself to maintain eye contact. "I'm his partner. Hannah's his girlfriend. They live together. They'll most likely get married." Her gaze wavered. "He loves her."

"Maybe so," the man acknowledged. "But even if he picks her, and the choice is easy…he'll live with that guilt forever. He'll never be able to forget it. And he'll never be able to be with her the same way, because her being alive will always mean someone else is dead."

There was something knowing about the way the man said this, and Brennan made another mental note.

"That's true," she agreed. "But I'd like to propose another option."

He snorted slightly, almost mocking. "And what is that?"

Brennan drew a breath. This was going to be the most difficult task: convincing him the precise opposite of what she believed: that taking the choice away would hurt Booth more, rather than less.

"Take Hannah back. Don't wait out the time limit. Don't let him choose."

Scoffing, he made a grab for the ropes around her wrists. "Like I've said. You don't seem like such a genius."

Biting back panic, Brennan shuffled back the best she could, away from his grasp. "Wait, just…just listen. If Booth makes the choice, he'll be guilty, yes. But he'll know he did the right thing. He'll know he had to choose. But…but if you send Hannah back early, she'll tell him why. She'll tell him I sacrificed myself because I knew what his choice would be. And that will produce far more guilt."

"And why's that?" He still seemed skeptical, but at least mildly interested. Brennan kept going, giving the speech she'd been fine tuning for the past hour.

"Did you know Booth's a devout Catholic? He goes to church every Sunday. While I find that sort of faith in an unseen deity foolish, Booth swears by it. And as a devoted follower of the standard Catholic doctrine, he is strictly opposed to suicide, in all forms. And that is what Booth would consider such a sacrifice by me to be…a suicide."

Brennan paused, trying to gauge his reaction. She couldn't read his expression, so she simply continued, "We had a fight. Just before you attacked me, we fought. He said some terrible things." Again, Brennan momentarily broke eye contact, frustrated by how much the truth of that statement stung, even now, when it honestly shouldn't have mattered. "That's how I know he'll choose her. And Booth will know that."

Silence fell and Brennan's chest began to tighten unpleasantly. There was no backup plan, no alternative experiment. If this failed, she had no idea what to do.

Nerves overtaking, Brennan began to speak again, "So in conclusion…Booth is morally opposed to suicide. He would believe me to be destined for an eternity in Hell. And he would torture himself knowing that the last things he said to me made me so utterly certain I wouldn't be the one saved. So you should send Hannah back now. You'd be doing it either way."

More silence. Then, at last, "Why are you telling me this? What's in it for you?"

Brennan sighed; she hadn't prepared for this, having forgotten the strange obsession most people had with discerning the motivation behind every action. Caught off guard, she eventually offered a quiet, small bit of truth, "Because I don't believe in Hell. Or Heaven. So that makes no difference to me. I'd just…I'd rather die without knowing for sure that Booth killed me. Even indirectly."

The man stared at her. He almost nodded.

"It's worse for him, but better for me," she told him, half the statement a lie. "And you've said you only care about hurting him."

~(B*B)~

"Bones, she…she has this really rare skill. She's the best in her field," These words, spoken in the mechanical tone of memorized book report, were the first Booth had spoken in the last fifteen minutes.

Angela closed her eyes. "Don't…"

"But…but Hannah's my girlfriend, she's….that's the obvious answer, isn't it…"

"Please just stop…" Angela begged. She knew she couldn't try to convince him of anything, she really did. But deep down there was some part of her that couldn't believe he wouldn't choose Brennan.

"You know, we don't even know if he's telling the truth," Booth continued, the pitch of his voice creeping higher, a note of hysteria seeping in. "And Bones was taken later, so statistically it's more likely that she's still alive."

Tears filled Angela's eyes and she looked at him almost angrily, "Stop it. Just stop. Do you really think you have to justify this to me? Especially with this crap about careers and statistics?"

His was body shaking violently, and Booth's hands curled into fists, and he pressed them against either side of his head, a nearly demented expression flickering across face for a moment. He looked seconds away from striking himself. "No, no, I…I have to do this rationally, I have to…"

Angela shook her head. "This isn't about being rational. Okay?"

Booth stilled momentarily, then said quietly, almost to himself. "Brain and heart."

The statement meant nothing to Angela. "Sure, okay. But Booth, the point is…" She reached out and placed her hand over his, Jasper between them. "…stop with the facts. The statistics. What are you feeling, right now?"

"I'm feeling…" Slowly his face crumpled, childlike, and Booth's voice splintered as he choked out, "I'm feeling that if the last thing I say to Bones is I don't need you then I'll die." A strangled sob followed that declaration, tears suddenly slipping hard and fast. "I really think I will." He ducked his head low then, choking back sobs.

Angela, too, was crying. "Okay." She put a hand on his back, briefly. "Alright."

Abruptly, swiping his sleeve across his face, Booth stood. "Damn it, why am I standing here? I've got almost two hours left. I can do this….I can."

~(B*B)~

Brennan's heart was throbbing painfully when the man unceremoniously shoved her back into the room with Hannah. She was terrified of this next part, terrified that the man would take Hannah immediately away without giving them a chance to talk.

But she'd been banking on him having at least some preparations to take care of before setting Hannah free, and that turned out to be accurate. "Be right back," he leered at two of them, closing the door behind him.

Hannah wasted no time. "What the hell is going on? What was that all about?"

Brennan shook her head dismissively, "We don't have a lot of time, he's going to be coming to get you soon…"

"Get me?"

"Yes, to take you to Booth," Brennan's tone was businesslike, a complete contrast to Hannah's panicked confusion.

"But…I don't understand. It hasn't been four hours."

"No, it hasn't," Brennan carefully kept her voice clipped and unemotional. "I told him to go ahead and take you back. This way Booth won't have to choose."

Even in the darkness, she could see how wide Hannah's eyes were. "You…you can't do that. He could still find us, you said Seeley would find us."

"He might have," Brennan replied calmly, though her impatience was mounting. "But with the limited time frame I was no longer comfortable with the risk." She drew a breath, ready to launch in to the final speech she'd planned. "Now when you get back-"

"You can't do this, Temperance, you just…you can't.. Seeley will kill me for letting you decide this..."

"No, he won't," Her voice was tight but steady. "He'll just be glad he didn't have to." Finally, Hannah seemed to have only silence. So Brennan began again, "When you get back you'll need to tell them everything you can remember. Tell them it smells like paint, tell them we walked downstairs so it's probably a basement. Tell them…"

Hannah didn't interrupt as Brennan moved through details of their surroundings, some of which were obvious and others the journalist wouldn't have thought to mention. Then, Brennan moved on to the captor.

"They may have assumed this, but confirm that I've never seen him before, so he has no connection with any recent cases. Sit down with Angela and describe his face, her sketches can be very accurate. Tell them about the no eyebrows, that's distinctive, although it could be recent. Large, square mandible, alright? And a very angular zygomatic, approximately-"

"I, I don't know what those words mean."

"Angela will."

"Right, I know, but…" Hannah sighed shakily, sounding overwhelmed. "I don't know that I'll be able to remember them."

Gritting her teeth, impatient, Brennan merely said, "Well, remember what you can. I may have succeeded in sparing Booth the burden of having to choose, but either way this man is exacting revenge on him. Booth will have to find him."

"Yeah, I…I know," Hannah muttered. "I'll remember."

"Good. Now, when we were in the room just now, he mentioned the effects having to choose someone will have on a person. This isn't my area of expertise, obviously, but it sounded as though he was alluding to some personal experience in which one person died because he picked another one, and his relationship with the living one was altered as a result. Tell Booth that, it may remind him of some old case."

"Okay…"

Brennan hesitated, then continued, "And…there's something else, something…I need you to tell Booth."

There was a momentary silence. Then, "Sure. Anything."

An unexpected wave of emotion crashed over Brennan, and for the first time, the tears lining the column of her throat rose, causing her words to catch in her throat as her eyes flooded.

Biting her lip hard, Brennan pushed away the thoughts of just how much she wanted Booth to know, everything she'd never told him. Because her messenger was Hannah, and besides that…this goodbye had to be about Booth, what he needed to hear.

It wasn't about what Brennan needed to say.

When she thought she'd gotten control, Brennan started, "Tell him…" It was no good; her voice broke into pieces, and almost immediately she felt Hannah's hand on her knee, but Brennan slid away just as the tears spilled over. Her hands tied uselessly behind her, Brennan could only let them fall, stinging the open cut on her cheek, literally rubbing salt in her wound.

She made a gasping sound, almost a sob, and Hannah's voice, compassionate and pitying, tried, "Temperance…"

"Please." Brennan shook her head, though the other woman couldn't see it. "Please just tell him…tell him it's okay. That I forgive him. Please do that."

Brennan hoped that was vague enough that it sounded as though she was only referring to this, the kidnapping and her inevitable death. But she had to believe Booth would know she meant everything else, especially their last conversation.

Because saving him the guilt of having to choose would be useless if he spent his life torturing himself for a moment of anger the last time they'd spoken.

"I will. I promise."

Never so glad for the darkness, Brennan ducked her head, wiping her tears on the shoulder of her shirt, then pressing her pinched, trembling lips against her shoulder until she was confident she could speak normally. "And…you'll remind him that he didn't choose, won't you? Because that's why…I couldn't let him choose. Make sure he remembers."

"I will," Hannah's voice was shaking too, now. "I'll make sure."

Brennan froze suddenly, thinking she heard footsteps. They passed by, however, but the reminder of what was coming made her braver. "And… take care of him. Make sure he's okay."

"I'll try," Hannah answered in a small voice. "I'll try but…but after this-"

"No," Brennan cut her off firmly. "No, you can't just try. Booth…Booth wants to get married and have a family and he deserves that. You have to make sure he's happy, alright?" Hannah didn't reply right away, and for some reason it felt very important to make sure she did. "Please."

"Okay. I will," Hannah whispered. Then, with barely a beat, she said, "You love him. Don't you?"

Brennan's throat was aching, literally convulsing with the effort of holding back sobs. She was suddenly so very exhausted. "I…I love Booth in…in a professional, 'atta boy kind of way. That…that's all." Another half truth. It was the best she could do, and now it was the closest she'd ever get to admitting it.

"Atta boy?" Hannah repeated.

"Yes, it's colloquial," Brennan answered thickly. "You…you don't have to tell him that part, though."

"Alright."

"Okay."

A silence stretched between them; after a moment, Hannah crawled over and begin working the knots around Brennan's wrists, but still neither spoke.

The ropes had just fallen away when the door once again swung open, their captor entering swiftly for once, grabbing Hannah by the arm and pulling her up. "Say goodbye," he muttered tauntingly.

Hannah threw Brennan a glance over her shoulder, their eyes meeting. "I'm sorry," she mouthed silently.

"Don't forget," Brennan murmured, and Hannah was barely able to nod before she was pulled fully out the door, which slammed behind them.

Brennan stood, listening to the retreating sets of footsteps echo down the hallway.

Then, finally, leaning against the cold, hard wall for support, she allowed herself to cry out loud.

Author's Note: Have I mentioned you guys are amazing? Because you are. I love the feedback, it's the best motivator there is. So click that little button and share your thoughts haha. Next chapter coming soon.