Booth was okay.

An ambulance had arrived minutes after Brennan called and while the anthropologist put out the fire, I dragged Booth away from the kitchen. While I couldn't do anything to wake him up, I kept feeling for his pulse. I would have gotten a compress for the burns but Brennan and I both agreed that it was best not to touch anything unless absolutely necessary at this point.

I may have lied to the hospital about still being Booth's federal charge as a means of getting into his room after the on-call team left, but I did do the favor of giving them his name. I told them he was FBI and directed them to call the bureau for his insurance and emergency contacts and other medical records.

I must have been in the waiting room for over an hour, and it was past three in the morning when I finally got into his room. He was totally beat up - bandages all over, wrapping around his chest and shoulders to cover burns and abrasions and one arm in a cast. Brennan came by after the forensic team was completely through her apartment. I guess they didn't find any more traps. She got the doctors to let her see the x-rays and the two of us looked over them to find the extents of the damage the bomb had done.

I wish I hadn't seen. Booth's skeleton was riddled with remodeled sutures and unnatural bends, breaks, and stress markers, implying damage taken while protecting others. And while I knew he was a sniper in the Middle East, I would have been happy not knowing that at some point, he'd had methods of torture inflicted on him.

It made me stop and really think about how well I knew him. What had I profiled of his personality that was true before the torture? What had he been like before? Had he changed at all? I would think that if someone intentionally inflicted mind-numbing pain on me, it would prove mentally devastating. At least with the abusive families, it had never driven me into shock.

It also made me feel a bit bad for the way I'd treated him when he found out I had been abused and then asked about it. It was like a war in my own head because I knew firsthand that he wouldn't want to talk, but it was a burning curiosity to know what had happened, even if I also knew that I wouldn't like it. When you think you know someone and then find out that they were used as an anger management toy, you end up reevaluating your standing with them. I'd never taken a shot at Booth's patriotism before, because nationality is okay - good, even - so long as you don't hurt others to get your point across. Booth had killed people, I knew that, but it was a war and he saved lives of American soldiers and the innocent bystanders in the Middle East that were caught in crossfire. However, now I wondered why he was still so supportive of America, especially since he fought for the country and ended up tortured.

It also makes me wonder if that's the reason for his Catholicism. Was he raised into religion or was it a coping method to turn to God after returning from Afghanistan? People say the Lord works in "mysterious ways" pretty often, and while I've never been willing to buy into it, preferring to reduce life and creation to science, I suppose believing that some all-powerful Creator is watching over you and loves you might be reassuring if you truly believe it.

What about Parker? Given the remodeling, Brennan says it's been at least five years since he was in war, and it's not like he immediately came back to the States and joined the FBI after the weekend. His four year old son must have been born after his return, but what would happen when Parker learned about it and started asking questions? How do you explain to a child that daddy was blown up, shot, and beaten?

It was almost funny how much it shocked me, because after all the horrific things I've seen since I met him, injury in the line of duty is barely anything. Everyone knows bad things happen to soldiers. I'm pretty sure I would have laughed when the thought first occurred to me, if I hadn't been panicking because, hello, Booth was blown up.

Again.

The air felt too clean, too sterile, and my throat was too dry. I didn't want to be here, I wanted to be tracking down the son of a bitch trying to kill my friends. Booth's stable, just unconscious, and I'm pretty sure if I were in his position I'd be unconscious, too. But that brings up an entire boatload of new issues determining leads and motives; the bomb was in Brennan's apartment but the attacker had to have known that we would all be together. Was it intended for it to strike Brennan, or was the psycho done caring with who was killed and just trying to kill to get us off the case?

That made me think for a moment as I stood with stiff legs from the chair next to Booth's hospital bed, moving with slightly staggered steps as I waited for circulation to return. I wouldn't go far, but taking a walk around the wing of the hospital would leave me nearby and also give me a chance to move. If the point were just to get us off of the case, then he (statistically, killers are more likely to be male) wouldn't care who died. In theory (and hopefully I won't ever have to find out if it's true in practice), once someone on a team is killed because of a case, then that team is taken off of the case because the government considers it a conflict of interest.

So why go after Brennan and I? Since it was Brennan's apartment I can assume Booth wasn't the intended target. All things considered, the three of us would probably be the hardest to kill. Booth is an army-trained FBI agent who carries a firearm nearly all the time. Brennan is old enough to legally apply to carry a gun and she can kick anyone's ass three ways to Sunday and she's more than capable of fighting back. I'm most volatile in close quarters, but I'm more often than not surrounded by Booth and Brennan, as of late, and after living on my own I pay more attention to my surroundings. I can generally tell when I'm in danger. Plus, while working on the field, no one can ever be too sure where we'll be. You can't follow us unless you already know what we're working on. We don't have a routine to follow, unlike Zach, Hodgins, and Angela, who stay in the lab, live in one place, and who aren't as experienced with their lives being in danger.

It seems reasonable that Penny Hamilton's death is what's triggering the assassination attempts. Every time we get closer, the stakes of the attempt get higher. I was nearly killed before I was even handed the case, but there was no guarantee they'd be taken off as a conflict of interest. Then when we begin the case, Brennan is nearly killed, and that's a surefire way to get the rest of us taken off of it. And now, when we find out what was used to gouge out the eyes, get an ID, and figure out more of what happened, a place where we're bound to go sooner or later is rigged with an explosive that could have killed all three of us, circumstances permitting.

The correlation was far too coincidental to be dismissed as completely unrelated.

So who knew where we'd be and what we were doing? Only someone privy to the investigation would - someone working closely with Booth in the FBI, or someone in the Jeffersonian.

The thought of it being an inside job was startling. I trust the people near Booth and Brennan by extension and the thought of it being dangerous hadn't actually occurred to me, but when everything was put in one piece, it made the most sense. I bit down on my lip hard and made a firm resolve to tell Angela, Zach, Hodgins, and Kenton to keep the lab tests on lockdown from anyone not directly on the case. There was no point in raising havoc by suggesting betrayal, but putting more of a risk out was not something I was willing to do, especially not with Brennan having nowhere safe to be and Booth lying in a hospital bed.

I looked up to a clock and saw that without realizing it, I'd been walking for nearly fifteen minutes. Surprised, I looked around. I didn't recognize where I was, but I knew that I hadn't changed floors, so I shrugged, turned around, and followed the directions to the signs back to the desk in front of the elevators and walked down the long hall leading towards the emergency room ward.

When I got back to Booth's room, I stopped in the doorway. Brennan sat in the chair I had previously occupied and Booth was awake. For a moment I felt a bit guilty for not having been there when he woke up before rationalizing that after getting blown up while trying to protect Brennan and I, he probably didn't mind too much.

"Are you feeling okay?" I asked softly, stepping inside and pulling the door shut behind me to give us some privacy. Brennan turned slightly to look me up and down before deciding that I was okay.

"Yeah, I'm fine." The way he was so tense when he said it suggested that maybe he wasn't quite as fine as he wanted us to believe.

"There were no other bombs in the apartment," Brennan told me, her voice also quiet. Giving her a good look, I saw how tired she was, too, her eyes dark and skin paler than normal.

I nodded several times in acknowledgment, glad that I'd gone for a walk. I felt more awake than before. "Makes sense. It was almost inevitable that we'd open the fridge eventually." I shifted slightly, unsure, before sitting down in the chair next to Brennan. She and I were at about the same height. "Look, if you're okay, I think I'm going to go back to the lab." I told Booth. Mostly, I wanted to catch the guy that did this, but I don't like seeing Booth looking so beaten up.

"I'll… stay with Booth," Brennan said, reaching over and touching the mattress lightly with one hand, reassuring herself that it was real, she wasn't just hallucinating while in a burning apartment. Suddenly she drew back and reached for her bag, kicked underneath the chair. "Here, I'll give you my pass." She sat up and pulled it with her onto her lap so that she didn't have to stay bent over while she found it. "You shouldn't have to rely on Zach to get equipment."

I wasn't sure how to reply to that, so I brought up what had been making me antsy earlier. "Dr. Brennan, how many people… aside from the three of us, Angela, Zach, Hodgins, and Kenton… know what we're matching the keys with?"

Brennan frowned as the considered that. "Just Goodman and some lab techs helping Zach," she answered. "Why?"

I looked away, not looking forward to the reaction I was probably going to get. "I think whoever it is that's trying to kill us is working at the lab." I thought it was better to say it bluntly. Brennan's hand in her purse stilled and Booth stared at me. I shrugged. "I don't know… it seems like every time we get closer to solving the case, we also get closer to dead. And the way you and I were getting shot at, and the bomb in your apartment between sweeps? No forced entry? Someone had to know where we were, and if you're not around us, that's difficult. We've only been with Booth on the field and at the Jeffersonian."

"Why would someone at the lab want to kill us?" Brennan seemed almost offended at the suggestion, as I'd predicted, but luckily she wasn't angry with me. She handed over a security keycard for entry into the Medico-Legal lab and onto the platform, as well as a couple of her keys. "There's the keys to the supply closet and the morgue, in case they put the remains up."

"We'll buckle down on security," Booth told me seriously, taking my concerns to heart. I raised an eyebrow at him. "Kenton will buckle down on security," Booth corrected himself with a sigh. "Speaking of which, Kenton's on his way over. You have to promise me that you are going to stay with him."

Booth fixed me with a long look that suggested he'd get out of the bed and tie me up next to him if I didn't agree. I nodded slightly. "I will." I may not need to be babysat, but if that's what it took to get the monster responsible for all of this, then to hell with it, I'll go for it.

"You can take primary on the Jeffersonian's side of the investigation," Brennan told me as I hooked the keys to the morgue and supply closet to my keyring. I looked up in visible surprise. She just shrugged. "I'm going to stay with Booth, and you know everything that I do."

I nodded briefly in understanding. It didn't make me Archduchess of the Medico-Legal lab, but it did give me significantly more authority over the investigation than I'd had before. Besides, I highly doubted that anyone would disagree with my priorities. "Did forensics get everything from your apartment?"

"Yes." Brennan nodded confidently.

"You're sure?" Booth double-checked.

"Yes, Booth," Brennan answered patiently. "I was there. They were very thorough and I was… very annoying," she admitted. I smiled slightly at that, but quickly stopped at the next sentence. "Sorry, Booth." The anthropologist reached out and delicately touched Booth's unbandaged shoulder. "It should be me lying in that bed."

"Well, thank God it isn't," I said sharply, unwilling to hear her say something like that. "You're smaller. The blast could have easily put you in critical condition." I nodded towards Booth, eyes fixed on Brennan and determined to drive the point home. "He'll recover, no problem. Who knows how badly you could have gotten hurt?" Especially since the only reason Booth did survive was because he'd been stretching to reach the glasses in the cupboard and therefore hadn't been directly hit with the bomb's force. "I wish no one had gotten hurt, but we're lucky it wasn't worse."

"She's right, Bones." Booth grunted slightly as he tried to sit up further, sheets rustling. I winced slightly and wondered how bad the rough hospital blankets felt against abrasions. "You know, I don't even know if - if I have to stay here."

I fixed him with a stern look now instead of Brennan and flatly reminded him, "You were blown up by a pipe bomb."

Booth shrugged slightly, attempting to dismiss it, but grimaced when he tried to move the reset shoulder. "I've been worse."

Brennan and I exchanged a look and when we looked back to him, we started listing off everything that was wrong. "You have burns," Brennan started.

"Lacerations."

"Two broken ribs."

"Greenstick fracture of your left collarbone."

"Head trauma."

"Okay, I get it," Booth interrupted. "I got blown up." He tried to reach for a wheeled table pushed over his legs but the strain on his shoulder made him wince and lean back against the upright front of the mattress again. "Can you… can you hand me one of the puddings?" He asked pathetically, pointing to the vanilla and chocolate cups of jell-o brand pudding. I rolled my eyes but reached out with one hand and pushed the table further up the bed so he could reach.

"Thanks," Booth grunted, stretching again for the vanilla pudding. I rolled my eyes but got up and got a plastic spoon from the back of the table before he hurt himself.

"You know… on your x-rays…" Brennan started haltingly. "There's a history of multiple fractures on your feet consistent with beating. It's a common method of torture in the Middle East… beating the soles of the feet with pipes, or hoses."

"Yeah." Booth's mood turned sour. "I know."

"And… there are indications of injuries sustained while you were shielding someone," Brennan added with a slight pause.

"How the hell can you tell something like that?" Booth asked, both incredulous and irritated at the reminders. I sighed slightly. I had expected as much. It wasn't much different from what I'd done when our positions had been reversed.

"There's scarring on your ribcage that could only have happened if you were stanced-" I started to explain, but he cut me off.

"Yeah, okay. A buddy of mine, he lost his weapon, and I, uh… I tried." I never understood how army pals managed to stay friends so long, and how sometimes they were closer than brothers, until I was put in serious danger myself. Since going after Masruk and having been within feet of the man before Booth sniped him from an above balcony, I had trusted Booth with my protection. It hadn't been because Masruk was dead; it had been because he had saved my life, as well as hundreds of others, by preventing Masruk from blowing the dioxin bomb. "He didn't make it." He chuckled, trying not to let it become too severe of a conversation, and he pointed the plastic red spoon at Brennan. "You know, you shouldn't be looking at my x-rays."

She didn't smile or look away. "Sorry."

"Hey."

I turned when I heard Kenton's voice and saw him leaning against the door. I narrowed my eyes for a second - how long had he been there? - before standing up, Brennan's keys attached to mine in my pocket, her key pass included. "Kenton," I greeted briefly. "I need to go back to the lab."

Kenton nodded to me before calling out to Booth, "You look like crap."

"Yeah, well, a bit more of this pudding and I'll be just fine, you know." Booth took it in stride, pointing to the vanilla pudding with his spoon before becoming more serious. He nodded towards me. "Stay with her," he ordered.

"Yeah. If you want me to," Kenton agreed, already stepping closer to me. I moved away from Kenton and back towards the doors, eager to get back to doing something useful.

"We live in a democracy, people," I called, mildly annoyed by how decisions seemed to be being made without me.

"But you're not old enough to vote." I shot Booth an unimpressed glare at the comment, mostly irritated because it was true and my own comment had been used against me. He looked back to Kenton. "Keep her close."

Kenton glanced back to me. "Don't worry."

Back in the lab, I sat next to Angela in a chair by her desk, watching her work on her computer, watching as her programs made lines across James Cugini's cranium, lines thin and turning green and red, finding matches and similarities and incongruencies while Angela directed how to file the data for a computer simulation.

Zach sat next to me but a couple feet away while I watched the monitor with increasing intrigue, because there was nothing else to focus on except for my babysitter in the back of the room and Zach's reminders and attempts to talk. "It could have been you."

"Yes, Zach," I assured him with grit teeth, more than a little tense. "Or Dr. Brennan. I'm aware."

I thought we would be quiet but that thought was shattered a second later. "The only reason he survived is that he was reaching for the glass."

"I know." I glanced to Angela hopefully. If anyone could tell that I was uncomfortable, then she would. "Can we talk about something else?"

"Let's talk revenge," Angela suggested seriously, using the same exasperated tone she used when she thought Brennan wasn't doing what she should be. "Bloodlust."

"I will gladly spill the blood of the freak who keeps trying to kill us, but first we need enough evidence to find out who it is," I promised sincerely. I felt Zach's eyes still on the back of my neck. "Look, if we focus, we can identify who is responsible and neutralize them."

"Neutralize can mean either "kill" or "arrest,"" Zach stated.

I turned slightly to face him. He was frowning nervously, awaiting my confirmation. I didn't feel quite so inclined to tell him that if it came to it, I would be willing to see to the demise of the attacker. I doubted I would be without guilt afterwards, but if it kept Brennan and Booth safe, then it would be worth it. "Yes… it can mean either."

"I don't get it." Kenton interrupted, clearing his throat. "What, exactly, are you doing?"

"I'm using a digital enhancement program to fill in the missing markings made by the bullet when it passed through the bone," Angela answered smoothly, not having any difficulty simplifying the explanation. Kenton stepped forward to look over her shoulder at the computer, the light illuminating his face. "Impressed?" Angela smirked. "I have so many more tricks." I had to wonder if she meant that literally or if it was innuendo. "There's no ring. Single or gay?"

"Gay?" Kenton's voice went up in surprise and he coughed. "Why would you say gay?"

Angela grinned and shook her head. "Brokeback, baby," she said. "Gotta ask."

Kenton backed up. "Not gay," he muttered, cheeks pink at the assumption. Way to go, Angela, you embarrassed him. He cleared his throat, very business-like, and said in his normal tone, "So you match a digital replica of the bullet with any recovered bullets the FBI has?"

"Yes, to a degree," I allowed with a nod of my head towards the monitor. "Then we cross reference the crimes, suspects, weapons, and narrow down the suspect pool."

Kenton dug his hands in his pockets and puffed quietly. "Amazing."

Hodgins came into the room from behind Kenton and walked around the FBI agent that was taking Booth's place for the moment. "I just finished working with forensics at the FBI, analyzing the chemical composition of the explosives," he announced, locking his eyes on me once he saw me. "The isotopes and sulfur are like a fingerprint. It's a perfect match to the sulfur manufactured by the chemical company Hollings works for." For a moment, Hodgins allowed himself to smirk. "What's it like being in charge, Xena?"

I spared him a look as I pushed myself up from my seat. "Off the record, Kenton can still boss me around. On the record, Dr. Brennan's card makes me feel like your God." I smirked as I gave the sarcastic reply. "Bow to me, peasant." I looked quickly back to Kenton. "Let's go by Hollings' place," I told Kenton decisively. "If he's still there, this makes reason to bring him in. Then I guess we'll see if the attacks stop."

"I'll call in backup," Kenton informed, already reaching for his phone as he moved to follow me to the doorway. I felt a glimmer of satisfaction at having a big FBI agent following me. It felt nice to call the shots. "If he's going with bombs now, we can't be too safe."

I slipped out the door but caught my hand on the frame, swinging myself around in a half circle to stop before leaning back in as I remembered what I'd decided upon. "Hey, guys, keep this all between the people in this room at this moment, okay?" I looked between them. Hodgins looked slightly surprised but like he enjoyed the prospect of deliberate secrecy, while Zach and Angela looked confused. "Don't tell anyone what we've found."

"Why?" Zach asked, tipping his head to the side in question. "What are you thinking?"

I almost hesitated, except for that I knew it was important to get to Hollings as fast as possible just to be certain he couldn't do any more damage and I was honestly worried he might try to go after Brennan again. That in mind, there really was no time for tact. "The only way someone could successfully attack Brennan and I, and plant a bomb without forcing entry into her apartment, is if he knew he had time and where we were going to be," I said quickly, itching to move.

Hodgins frowned but judging by his expression, he was seriously considering it. "You think it's an inside job?"

I didn't answer directly. "I don't want to take any chances," I said carefully.

"Here." Kenton passed me a standard gun like his by the barrel, whispering with his voice low as we stood in the hall with a team of SWAT officials. The two of us stood on either side of Hollings' apartment door. He cocked his weapon with a muffled noise and looked up to me. "Ready?"

I nodded once in silent assent before spinning on my heel and kicking, slamming the heel of my shoe against the door. The impact sent a sharp spike of pain through my leg but as the door burst open and slammed against the wall, I advanced just behind Kenton, holding my gun like his, out in front of me with the safety off.

"FBI!" Kenton shouted in a deep yell. "Show yourself!"

Oh, yeah. I like calling the shots. It gets me in on all the good action.

Okay, so actually I had to practically beg Kenton to let me in on the raid. So what? I got what I wanted.

Agents rushed in behind us and spread out through the main room. Kenton and I stayed in the living room, slowly lowering our guards, when a man shouldered open the door to the bedroom.

"Clear!" The resounding yell made me slump my shoulders as the immediate danger dissipated.

In the kitchen, an oven dinner was on a steel tray to be baked, the cardboard box with the instructions next to it but with the wrap seal over the top still intact. I pulled open the oven and held my hand right in front of the racks while Kenton walked into the bedroom following the SWAT guy. "It's cold," I called. "He took off in a hurry some time ago."

"Why am I not surprised?" I heard Kenton grumble. I stepped into the bedroom and bent down at the side of the bed by a table and immediately started pulling open the drawers. Books. Note from work. Pens. I stopped for a minute to slam that one shut and opened the one under it and immediately saw a map haphazardly shoved in, edges wrinkled.

I grabbed it, rustling it carelessly, and held it up so I could see it better. It was of the city and there was a red ink circle surrounding the same part of town that Penny Hamilton had been killed in. "He marked the same area that we found the victim in." I threw the map onto the bed.

"He's going after someone else," Kenton realized grimly, before calling, "I want all this bagged!"

One of the agents in the room nodded obediently. "Right, let's go!" He called to a buddy behind him in the hall.

I looked at the map and frowned. The circle started from a point inside on the left, curved around towards the right, and then up with a loose end towards the left again. It was drawn by someone right-handed. I narrowed my eyes. Hollings is left handed.

Why would someone be trying to frame up Hollings? I'm convinced he's responsible for murdering Penny Hamilton, and the seventeen year old that Booth had pinned on him a couple of years ago, but whoever did this either wants Hollings pinned for his crimes or he wants to distract the authorities from something else by creating an urgent situation.

Kenton held out a phone in front of my face and I looked up to him quickly in question. He jerked it towards me again. "It's for you."

I took it carefully and held it up to my ear, brushing my hair out of the way. "Holly Kirkland."

"We found the key." Zach's voice on the other end was relaxing and made some tension in my shoulders melt. Frame-up or not, inside job or not, it meant that Zach was still okay, and with him Hodgins and Angela. "FBI said Hollings never returned to claim them." I opened my mouth to ask if he seriously meant that. "It matches bone damage exactly."

I held up the other hand to cover my ear to hear better. My mind was racing and it's like I couldn't compute Zach's words and match the syllables with meaning unless I blocked out Kenton and the SWAT team. "It's definitely - it's one of Hollings' keys, right?"

"Yes," Zach answered promptly.

Hollings is responsible for Penny Hamilton's death. Someone else knows that and wants us to think he's going after another victim.

"Zach, listen to me," I said seriously, lowering my voice out of habit, looking around in paranoia. An inside job with a frame up. Talk about conspiracy! Something was off here, and it was becoming more apparent with every discovery, except it was more complicated now because my mentors, Booth and Brennan, were both absent and that left me to make sure everything ended okay. "Do not leave the lab. Seriously, don't leave the security. Tell Angela and Hodgins to do the same, got it?"

"Hodgins tried to get DNA from the key, but he said it was dipped in a chemical bath to remove anything organic. Then he left to go to the hospital to see Booth. Angela's still here, though." He sounded worried now and unsure. "Is everything okay?"

I looked at Kenton and saw him watching me sharply. I paused and then turned away from him, walking out of the bedroom so he couldn't hear me… I mean, it is his phone, but there is no excuse for eyeing me like that. "We're missing something here, Zach," I said through the phone. "Something's not right. I just want you all to stay safe. Give Hodgins a call, tell him to stay with Booth and Dr. Brennan, yeah?"

"Okay." He paused for a moment before hinting, "Maybe you should come in now, Holly."

I shook my head before remembering that he wouldn't have been able to see the motion. "I'll be fine, Zach." And then I remembered that Brennan wasn't here, so I made a comment for her. "Good job, man. Is Angela having any luck with the bullet?"

Before Zach could answer, I felt someone tap my shoulder. I pressed the phone against my neck and violently spun around, glaring, only to come face to face with Kenton and I calmed down.

"Sorry," he apologized hastily. "Do you want to go back to the lab until we get any other news?" He offered, before adding meaningfully, "It will be safer there."

I couldn't deny that safety would be very welcome right now, so I raised the phone again. "Actually, Zach, I guess I'll see you soon."

Booth looked to the doorway when he heard footsteps, hoping that Bones was back from the cafeteria where she'd gone to get some food. She'd left only minutes ago, but maybe she'd changed her mind? Booth didn't begrudge her, but without the distraction, it felt like the sores and aches of his body were five times worse.

Instead, he saw Hodgins, the bugs and slime guy of the Jeffersonian. "Hey," he greeted with a small wave, a tan jacket over his arms and a black beanie pulled down over his head.

Booth shuffled slightly, withholding a grunt of pain. "Why are you here?" He demanded in confusion that quickly escalated to alarm. He and Hodgins were far from buddy-buddy and he was surprised that the squint would come see him when his friends were endangered. "Is Holly alright?" Since Holly had left with Kenton, Booth hadn't been able to help but worry over her. He trusted Kenton to keep an eye on her and keep her safe from harm as best as he could, but he'd have felt better if he'd been able to see her kept with him. As it was, he supposed he was lucky she'd stayed with him until he woke up as opposed to going stir-crazy and tracking down the bomber on her own.

"Sure, yeah!" Hodgins calmed him down quickly, waving one hand dismissively. "No, she's with your compadré. I came by to see how you are."

"Oh." In hindsight, that wasn't the most intelligent thing he could have said.

Hodgins caught sight of the pudding cups on the table over Booth's bed and made a beeline straight for it, reaching out for it in excitement. "Pudding, I still remember this stuff from when I got my appendix out!"

Booth brought his red spoon down like a whip, slapping it against the top of the plastic cup right as Hodgins' fingers curled around it. "Yeah, and it's as good as you remember," he said lightly, glaring. Hodgins retreated and held up his hands in surrender, backing away from the pudding and sitting down in one of the chairs by the bed. "The key fit?"

Hodgins nodded. "Yeah, and Zach relayed that Kenton says they found a map of the neighborhood where the other body was found, and some more keys." Hodgins whistled. "According to him, Holly is pretty freaked. Of course, he didn't say it in so many words. She told him to make sure he and Angela stayed in the lab and wanted him to tell me to stay here. You know she thinks it's an inside job?"

Booth nodded in response, already wondering what could have distressed the normally hard-to-shake teenager into cautioning so vehemently that even Zach noticed. "Yeah, she already said. You said they found a map?" The FBI had already searched the apartment the first time they brought Hollings in. How had they missed that? "We didn't catch that the first time?"

Hodgins shrugged helplessly. "No, I guess not. Maybe your killer is just getting sloppy."

"That's not like him," Booth disagreed.

"Well, it wasn't like him to use explosives, either," Hodgins pointed out. "People change. It's the wonderful thing about life. Now we just have to keep Brennan with you and get the psycho before he can get to Holly. This time, he'll try harder not to miss." Booth tensed and Hodgins probably didn't notice, because he was leaning forwards to snatch a pudding cup while the possessive agent was distracted. He pulled the lid off of a chocolate cup and grabbed a spoon. "You okay?"

Booth barely even noticed, too focused on figuring out what was going on. If Holly was noticeably flipping out in response to the situation, then she must have found something that Booth had missed while with Kenton. Holly had been prepared to figure out some less than happy things and understood what she was getting into from the get and go. What could be so disconcerting that she didn't know how to deal with it and let it eat at her instead? "Huh? Oh, yeah. I'm just thinking… people don't really change. We like to think they do, but… they don't."

Hodgins took a large spoonful of chocolate pudding before answering and the happy smile was enough to tell Booth that he was right about the pudding still being as good as Hodgins remembered. "You're thinking that it's the mob guys we're after?"

"I'm just thinking that things… they don't make sense." He was unwilling to commit to one suspect. The Romanos didn't seem the type to fixate so much on a teen when they could easily take her out without causing so much hassle as bombing an apartment, and they could have easily taken down Brennan before now. They were trained and didn't usually miss their shots. Even if they didn't shoot her fatally they still could have hit her.

Hodgins grinned and waved the spoon at him. "You're feeling something a little more devious… more like a frame up. I like it. Very conspiratorial."

"Things are just too neat," Booth agreed with a distracted shake of his head. "Hollings would never leave a map there. What if Holly was right about the inside job?" Booth didn't want to think about it too hard unless given proof. He had to trust his life to the people he worked with; he didn't want to consider that maybe they weren't all the good guys.

Booth didn't pay Hodgins' excited attitude much attention. "Go with me on this. Mob guys know you're closing in and want to throw you off by making it look like the psycho, so they have someone on their side infiltrate the Jeffersonian to make sure no one gets too close before things are laid into place. They think Holly and Brennan are good enough to risk their mission, they try to off them. These guys have been involved in conspiracies a lot more complicated than this. They set up Lee Harvey Oswald, worked with the CIA to kill Castro - forget about what they did to Marilyn Monroe-!"

Booth didn't care too much to listen to the continued rambling. "Someone planted that evidence so that we'd find it," he interrupted. "Someone who knew what we were up to." There weren't many people that knew everything they were doing. Even the people at the lab were kept away from most information regarding the FBI's cases. That left the people immediately on their team and anyone that hacked into the information. Booth would have gotten told if their information is compromised, and Angela would have firewalls protecting her own security, right?

So, aside from their team, there was no one, which meant it had to be someone on their team.

Angela and Goodman didn't have the skillset they'd need to think everything through well enough to completely hinder authorities, and add Hodgins and Zach to that list when it came to shooting. Obviously, Holly and Brennan wouldn't try to kill themselves, and Booth knew he didn't put himself in the hospital. The only other person that had the information and access needed was Kenton.

And Booth realized he couldn't account for Jamie when Holly and Bones had been shot at.

Holly was in more immediate danger than she had probably ever been in before, and she likely didn't even realize it. The thing Booth had noticed with her is that while it was difficult to gain her trust, once you had it, it took some serious problems to make it waver. While it could be both a good and a bad thing, in this case it was certainly a bad thing. Holly might suspect someone at the lab, but she would never suspect someone who's been helping to keep her alive, especially not since Booth - another person she trusted - had vouched for Kenton himself.

"...I mean, someone at the lab works for the mob. I can see it. There's not much difference between a corrupt government and organized crime-"

Booth reached out and shoved the table away from his bed,. "You're right."

Hodgins stopped mid-sentence, spoon halfway to his mouth. "Excuse me?" He looked at Booth with shocked, wide eyes.

Booth grimaced as he moved his shoulder, which he had learned was bandaged because not only did he manage to fracture his collarbone, but he had also dislocated it. He knew from experience it hurt to have it reset and wondered briefly whether Holly or Brennan had set it or whether it had been done by paramedics. He cast it away in light of more important matters. He grabbed the cuff over his arm monitoring his blood pressure and ripped off the velcro. "The only way that this could unfold is if someone on the inside was orchestrating things."

"People never tell me I'm right," Hodgins breathed in admiration. "They only say I'm crazy." He nodded and waved his spoon and Booth for emphasis. "Love you, man." The affection quickly turned to shock when Booth swung his legs out of the bed. "What the hell are you doing?"

Booth grunted with effort as he pushed himself up after not having walked for a while, stumbling slightly before getting his balance. "You're driving." He needed to find where Kenton and Holly were to arrest Kenton and get Holly out of danger, and while Hodgins drove Booth could send Brennan a message that they'd left and to call Angela. Maybe they could get a trace on Holly's cell phone? Booth nearly cursed when he remembered that Holly didn't have one.

Hodgins nodded obediently, eyes still wide in surprise. "Cool."

I looked out the window at the street as Kenton drove in his FBI van. When we passed some run-of-the-mill supermarket I frowned, realizing we'd gone too far, and I looked back to the FBI agent warily, tuning back into the conversation he was having on the phone.

"Yeah? Okay, make sure there's backup." He held the phone out, glancing away from the road to end the call, and he set it up by the dashboard before explaining to me. "They spotted someone taking a woman into those old abandoned buildings off of Hunter Boulevard. I'll drop you off at the lab."

I scoffed. Some bastard decides to take shots at my friends - literally - on top of two connected murders, one of which is mostly solved but the psychopath skipped out and is God-knows-where but being framed for another murder by God-knows-who? I wouldn't miss this, especially not if an innocent civilian is in danger. I'll enjoy taking down the sick son of a bitch who managed to flip my life over and around in less than two days.

"No, I'm coming," I argued.

Kenton huffed slightly like he thought I was kidding, but then he saw my dead serious expression and the corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile. "Booth said it was pointless to argue."

I smiled a bit, pleased to know that Booth got the message finally. "He's a smart man," I stated honestly. "Best one I've met." I stopped and sighed, looking out the window, before leaning forward to pick up the phone from the dashboard. "I told Zach I'd be going back, I'll call him and let him know plans have changed." His phone should be in the recent calls section.

As I found the number, I hit the dial button and then knocked my hair back behind my ear. "See, something's wrong here. Hollings wouldn't leave a map out, he's not that careless, and even so, whoever wrote on the map isn't left-handed like Hollings. This isn't only an inside job, this is a frame up." I shook my head, slumping to the side with a sigh.

I looked out the window as I listened to the dial tone until I heard another click. I frowned and turned my head to pull the phone away and look, to see what was going on, until I stopped halfway when I saw Kenton. His firearm was drawn and pointed at me, safety off. The safety was the click I heard. I knew it was loaded, since he hadn't fired since preparing for the raid on Hollings' apartment.

The son of a bitch was pointing a gun at me, and with one swift motion he used the gun to knock his phone out of my hand. It clattered down over my legs and to the floor of the car.

My heart jumped and seemed to try to eject itself via my throat and I felt my hands start to shake in fear and fury. He knew where to find me because I told him where I worked and where I usually am - my apartment - when I got the restraining order. He staked out the place and waited until I left the bar. He knew Brennan had a date - he could have hacked into her conversation and found the location. He had our trust and the FBI; he could have easily gotten into Brennan's apartment to plant the bomb. And of course, the most obvious: he works in the gang and organized crime department.

I was right - it was an inside job. And it was a lot closer than I'd thought.

I was also right that it was a frame-up. He knew about Cugini, he knew about the Romanos - he got angsty and that glare he gave me when I told him how we were going to match the gunshot wound to a weapon was real, not imagined. He shot Cugini, knew he was going to go down, so he tried to take out Brennan and I to make it a conflict of interest to keep us off of Hollings' case and to keep Booth off of his. And since we're on it, he manipulated things from inside to make us think Hollings was going to kill again so we wouldn't focus on him, and it would give him time to try to kill again.

I trusted the bastard and now, he's the one that's been trying to kill me and nearly killed my friends.

I dug my nails into my palms so tightly it hurt and I stared over the barrel of the gun and at Kenton. "You," I growled furiously, feeling so stupid for not having figured it out sooner and shocked, terrified, and mostly incensed that this - this son of a bitch came into my life, deceived me, and then had the audacity to go after my friends.

"You really are impressive." He sounded like he was grieving even as he spoke and I noted that his hold on the gun was slightly shaky. Still, his finger was on the trigger and I doubted I could unbuckle my seatbelt without his notice. "It's too bad."

Booth groaned when the little red car drove over another pothole in the road. Hodgins' car was barely large enough for Booth to sit without knocking his head on the roof as it was - he didn't appreciate the extra jostling. "Work with the FBI and they put you on hold when you want information," he complained, listening to the outdated elevator music playing next to his ear. "Kenton was working organized crime at the same time that Cugini was killed, alright? So he was the only one who knew the details of both investigations, so he takes what he knows about Hollings to throw suspicions off himself."

Hodgins frowned over at him from the driver's seat, which happened to be on the right in his foreign vehicle. "Maybe that nurse was right to be pissed that you were leaving," he worried. "You don't seem too good, Booth."

Booth sent Hodgins a venomous glare that had the entomologist shrinking back. He already had to worry about Holly; he didn't need Hodgins throwing more on him. "You know, if we weren't in a toy car…" he snapped. Hodgins frowned at the slight but didn't retort. He listened back to the phone when an actual voice called his name. "Yeah, listen to me Bobby. Just get some units out there now, okay? I want to know about any activity in the-" Booth shut his eyes when they hit another bump and he sent Hodgins a look that promised pain if it happened again. "-abandoned buildings on that map."

Hodgins held up his phone to read a text that lit up his screen. "Brennan says that according to Zach, Holly was on her way back to the Jeffersonian. Do you think she's still okay?"

Booth grimaced and tried to find a way not to hit his head on the drive. "Kenton's spent two days trying to kill her and Brennan. Now he has her alone in one place and she doesn't have a phone. He's not going to just take her back to the lab." He cursed under his breath. "Kenton, he never called for backup or surveillance or anything. Jesus, how can I be so stupid?" He griped in frustration, glaring out the window. "Everything pointed to him!"

"Hey," Hodgins cautioned, looking over at Booth in concern. "It is not your fault."

"How could it not be my fault?" Booth snapped at the scientist. "It was my job to protect her!" He growled under his breath and looked out the windshield, barely containing his anger at both Kenton and himself to refrain from taking another go at Hodgins. "Instead, I just handed her right over to him."

Kenton pushed me into one of the warehouses past Hunter Boulevard with one hand wrapped in a tight fist around my ponytail, yanking and tugging my hair back so I had to look up to the ceiling. Unable to watch where I was going, I felt weak and vulnerable. The feeling was only heightened by the cold ring of metal from the barrel of the gun pressed against the side of my neck in threat.

I winced when something sharp caught my leg. I couldn't see what it was but I stumbled. I felt my keyring fall out of my pocket, and the five keys on it clattered loudly as they fell to the floor. I swallowed tensely when Kenton's grasp on my hair tightened and he pulled, forcing me to straighten up and keep going.

Which was hard, when the sound of the keys made the dogs start barking and snarling.

He pushed me through what used to be a hallway, but now had panels of wood and metal leaning against the walls in the dim lighting coming from the windows. "There are certain crimes you've just got to let slide," he whispered into my ear, pulling my hair and forcing me to tilt my head to the side. "A death like Cugini's, it's an internal issue. It doesn't affect anyone else."

"You killed Cugini." I'd already suspected, and it was more than likely, but having it confirmed made it a grim reality. My voice was rough and dry, slightly strained from trying to talk with my head forced back.

Kenton snorted. "You don't get rich working for the FBI. When I was undercover, the Romanos were very good to me." Oh, I bet, I sneered mentally. "When you accept their generosity, you have no choice but to do what they ask."

"In this instance alone," I started, furious beyond belief. I actually can't remember ever being this angry before. Not at the abuse, not at the bullying - hell, my emotions have been tested up and down and right and left since I started to work in allegiance with the FBI and Jeffersonian, but not even my anger at Howard Epps held a candle to my rage towards Kenton right now. "I can think of three different choices you could have made, all without involving killing anyone!"

He didn't like this and he yanked my hair down with his fist. I gasped in pain as a sharp ache throbbed in my skull and my head snapped back. I felt the barrel of the gun slide threateningly over my throat while he used his foot to nudge the back of my calves into moving again.

"It's no different than Booth taking out someone from the other side when he was a sniper in the Gulf," Kenton hissed.

"That was a war!" I snapped as best as I could, hissing slightly when I stepped on something sharp that dug into the sole of my shoe. "Booth saved lives! You're just a selfish coward, too scared to own up to his own actions!"

Kenton kicked at my ankles and I grudgingly moved past the foyer into another, wider room, the concrete not even painted before it had been abandoned. A long chain dangled from the ceiling, a hook attached to the end, swinging softly in the center of the room. Nearly a dozen dogs, feral, with matted coats and yellow teeth, went wild, yapping and wailing, straining against choke collars tethered to the walls. Several strained, barking loudly and snarling, while others bent down, their tails wagging madly in the air before leaping forwards and falling back when the collars caught them. A table was by one wall, with some bricks and a pocket knife exactly like Hollings' and exactly like mine. A key was sitting innocently on top of a brick and my blood rushed through my ears.

Chain. Dogs. Key. Pocketknife. He's going to do to me the same things that Hollings did to Penny Hamilton.

And what was most disturbing was that we hadn't yet determined what the cause of death for her was.

"You don't think getting rid of Cugini ended a street war?" Kenton growled in response to the insults flying from my mouth.

"So you think this justifies my murder?" I glowered at the dogs. Unlike with humans, it had no effect.

"The bureau keeps a shell from every weapon it issues. You match that slug, it points to my weapon and I go down, and the Romanos make sure I don't talk."

"Good," I spat in disgust. "You'd deserve it, you fucking-" I cut short in the middle of my insults, taking him off guard by kicking my heel up with as much force as I could and connecting it with his shin. He groaned, doubling over, and let go of my hair. I turned around quickly, scalp still burning from the abuse. While Kenton was bent down I clenched my hand into a fist and swung at him, hitting him soundly on the ear.

I hope I deafened him, I thought bitterly to myself, despite knowing how unlikely that was.

The gun clattered to the floor and I turned to get it, but Kenton struggled. I should have known it wouldn't be that easy. He lunged forward even while doubled over and grabbed me around my hips, lifting me up while straightening out his back. My light weight made it far too easy for him to swing me up into the air and I screamed at the top of my lungs, hoping someone would hear, kicking my legs and swinging my arms vigorously. Kenton puffed and tossed me weakly around, but I wasn't that light so I didn't go far, instead hitting the ground. I huffed, feeling the wind knocked out of me.

I laid on the concrete, knee connecting painfully with the cement floor, but eyed the gun a foot away from me and rolled over, grabbing the weapon and grimacing as my wallet and pocket knife fell out of my pocket onto the ground.

Still, I had the gun.

A weight on my back made my knees give out and I buckled forwards again, spine screaming out in protest as I tried to stay upright. About a hundred fifty to two hundred pounds of flesh and muscle forced me down to the ground and the short-haired double-crosser slammed the hand holding the gun down onto the concrete with as much force as he could. I heard a sickening crack as my hand hit that made my stomach twist violently followed almost immediately by sharp, stabbing pain and I shrieked so loudly that my ears hurt, tears springing into my eyes. Kenton easily wrested the gun from my lax grip and I whimpered when he unkindly grabbed my wrist and held it behind me, pressing my hand to the shallow dip in my back.

It felt like there were a thousand needles being forced through my skin, and deeply, past the veins and to the very bones. I sobbed dryly whilst he leaned over and collected my wallet, throwing it over on top of the table, and my pocket knife, which he kept firmly clenched in his fist.

"Shut up," Kenton hissed. "It'll be easier for both of us!"

Says the man on top of me who just seriously damaged my wrist and plans on killing me, gouging out my eyes, and feeding me to dogs.

I wasn't quite able to say that whole thing, so I whimpered and weakly tried to shove him off of me with the uninjured hand. In retaliation, Kenton dug his fingers in around my wrist. The pain was so sharp and flared through all of the many muscles surrounding the heel and back of my hand, as well as my wrist and forearm. The agony was so intense that I bucked under the agent, opening my mouth to shout but instead coughing and then dry retching so hard that I tasted blood.

"Now, behave," Kenton urged, climbing off of me and letting go of my wrist right as another muscle spasm hit me and had me moaning in distress again.

"You know, maybe you're wrong," Hodgins suggested, almost hopeful for Holly's sake that Hollings was the bad guy. Not only would she not be in immediate danger but then she wouldn't have to deal with betrayal. Booth could easily relate. "Hollings is missing, right?"

"Convenient, huh?" He knew better. "Kenton planned the lead so that we would find her and go after Hollings, who we would never find." Booth scoffed. He couldn't believe someone he'd considered a friend could be so wicked. Holly was seventeen and had never hurt Kenton. She had her entire life to live and now Kenton thought he had a right to take that away from her?

"Because he's dead?" Hodgins asked.

"Because he's dead," Booth confirmed.

Hodgins shook his head and Booth noted the speedometer went up ten miles an hour. "This conspiracy thing is a lot more intense when you're in the middle of it," he breathed.

Booth's phone rang as a momentary distraction and he lifted it up to his ear for a moment. "Booth. Yeah?" He listened to the agent for a moment before closing the phone and turning to Hodgins urgently. "An agent talked to a witness who saw a couple go into a building off of North 23rd, by Hunter Boulevard."

"Oh, a building," Hodgins snarked. "That's really specific."

"Well, crackheads aren't that detail oriented," Booth returned sharply before nodding his head tensely towards the speedometer. "Step on it."

I staggered to my feet as the dogs wailed, drowning out any sound other than Kenton's voice as he tried to explain to me what he was doing. I felt the sticky tears making their way down my face in response to the continuous onslaught of pain and horror. I just didn't seem able to wrap my head around that Kenton was the bad guy here. I could act like he was, yes, but mentally I wasn't quite able to understand it. Why?

But, I thought as I cradled my wrist, no way in hell was I going to take it like a sitting duck.

I gingerly felt around my wrist, stifling my little whimpers whenever I touched too hard. I don't think it's broken… just sprained. A sprain is the tearing of a ligament or tendon, but it's a hell of a lot better than a break or fracture.

Though it hurt like a bitch, I was lucky it was only sprained. It had felt like he'd freaking pulverized my bones. I'd probably need a cast, and definitely physical therapy, but I should be able to recover enough to have full range of motion in three to five weeks, and fighting ability in four to eight weeks. The approximate time could be less or more; it all depended on what was sprained and how severe it was.

On the other hand, it's entirely possible I won't live through this long enough to particularly care about recovery time.

I hid my left wrist behind my back and charged at Kenton, hitting him square in the back with my right shoulder. He was sent reeling over the table, wheezing, but turned around, holding up my pocket knife with the blade out.

I realized too late that I should have gotten an actual weapon before blitzing him. He glared at me and I ducked to the side as he lurched forward to grab me, kicking out with one leg. He went down with a heavy crash but grabbed my ankle and I tumbled down next to him.

He reeled back one arm and I thought for a moment he was going to strike me, but then saw the glint of a blade, and he swung his arm towards my stomach.

I screamed out loud, shrill and agonized, when the blow landed and my own pocket knife sliced through my sweater and shirt and then through my skin. He only pushed the blade in a couple of inches before pulling it out, so, yeah, he could have gone deeper, but that didn't mean I was exactly grateful. It hurt like all of hell and I could see blackness rimming my peripheral vision. I lifted both hands to my stomach regardless of the sprain. Clean, thin, even, but a couple of inches deep. A couple of inches too deep.

"Son of a bitch," I coughed, choked and dry. I felt my own blood, red and sticky, ooze out over my fingers as I pressed my hands over my lower stomach, the stab slightly to my right. On one hand, it avoided most organs and I doubted it was deep enough to do irreparable damage anyway, but it would still be nice to actually have an ambulance and medical team. On the other, he stabbed me in the stomach and my blood is all over my hands. I pressed harder, crying out in pain again and fighting the need to pull my hands away and relieve the pressure and the pain.

But pressure would keep the wound closed and the more closed it was, the better my chances.

"They're not going to find Hollings," Kenton panted, sending a passing glance to the pocket knife and then slinging it across the room. It skidded under the table. "Uh uh. You know, he used to slit their throats like they were cattle." I felt his fingers press against my carotid and I willed myself not to cry any more. He moved his hands down my body to mine and helped me press for a second before lifting my wrists tenderly away. I tried to struggle but my trademark blue sweater looked more purple now in front and one wrist was still just as sprained as it was two minutes ago.

"He told me he used the key to unlock the soul behind their eyes."

I moaned softly as Kenton lifted my hands above my head and grabbed a rope off the edge of the table, wrapping it around my wrists tightly. I didn't even have the willpower to move by the time he finished. Blackness was in the corners of my vision and I had the feeling that if I looked too much then I wouldn't look back - from, what? Unconsciousness? Death?

Well, I certainly felt half dead.

Convulsions took over my body and I dry heaved, my stomach trying to force out contents that weren't there to deal with the shock waves running through it. Blood dripped onto the floor and I rolled slightly onto my side, arms still bound above my head. The only thing that came up was blood, saliva, and acid that burned my throat. The taste of blood only made me gag again.

I couldn't remember what it felt like not to hurt, but this made a sprained wrist feel like a papercut.

Don't people go into shock and pass out when their bodies overload on pain? Is that going to happen to me any time soon? Please?

"That's one sick bastard the world ain't going to miss." Kenton bent to gather me up in his arms and I wriggled weakly as he carried me towards the hook. I felt the cold chain against my wrists as he situated the hook to catch on the rope around my wrists before letting me down gently, which was ironic, considering the damage he'd already done. The cold versus the heat of the already-swelling sprain made my head spin. My knees bent and my toes dragged behind me on the cement as the chain allowed me to weakly sway while my back was forced to stretch straight and I fought to keep my head up.

Booth was practically out of Hodgins' small car before it even stopped moving, and an agent in a bulletproof vest approached him quickly, identifying him despite the hospital gown that would have been embarrassing in a different situation.

"We used thermal imagery to see what activity there was inside the buildings. We found a crack house, a couple of squatters, and we're about to move in here next." He motioned to a large building on the right and Booth's heart jumped just at the thought that inside, Holly - the compassionate girl he'd promised himself he'd protect - could be being tortured and murdered as he wasted time out here talking.

"No, no!" He started quickly, dissuading as fast as he could. "He hears noise, he could freak out and kill her!" He was dimly aware of Hodgins coming up to his side. "We've got to be careful!"

"There's no we, Booth," the agent warned sternly, giving Booth a once-over to prove his point.

"Yeah, I'm going in with you." Regardless of what this insignificant officer decided upon, Booth was going to go in there and he was going to get the girl out of there.

"You can barely stand!"

"I said I'm going with you!" Booth barked roughly, and the agent sighed in defeat. "Gimme my gun," he ordered in the same tone, seeing as it produced good results. The agent deliberated only for a second before handing over a firearm reluctantly. He turned his head to another of the guys. "Bring me that vest for Booth!" He called. A short, dark brown haired agent gave up the vest on his way by and the agent held it out to Booth, professionally nonchalant. "Wear this."

"Yep." Booth waited until the agent walked away to try to open the vest but groaned at the effort the heavy material set on his shoulder. He gave up and tossed it at Hodgins, who caught it with a bit of fumbling. "You know what? You can come too." Hodgins nodded slightly and pulled open the sleeves, shrugging one side on over his jacket. "Alright, put that on and you stay back."

"I can do that," Hodgins answered, sounding both excited at going into the heat of the action and apprehensive about the state of his friend inside.

I heard a crunch as Kenton beat the edge of his pocket knife with a brick, creating the imitation of the knick on Hollings'. "I'm sorry," he told me, sounding genuinely mournful. "I really am."

Indignantly, I swallowed and blinked open my eyes, trying to breathe as deeply as possible so my blood didn't flow faster and therefore stayed in my body longer. Because if I'm going out, I'm not going to let him kill me, meek and begging. My words were slurred and low, but understandable.

"Yeah, well you can take your damn apologies and shove them up your-"

If Booth listened closely, he thought he could hear the sound of dogs barking. He turned down a hall going in that direction, acutely aware of the presence of Hodgins behind him. He said the entomologist could come to seemingly keep up appearances, but really he wanted the backup in case he needed help getting Holly out of there, in case she was too injured.

He refused to think about what would happen if they were too late.

Come on, kid, he thought fiercely. Just hang on. Please God, let her be okay.

This wasn't the time or place for a formal prayer, but that would have to work for now.

He stopped when he felt something hit the toe of his shoe and looked down. Hodgins shone a flashlight down at the ground from one of the FBI cars, and he saw a plain keyring with five keys on it.

Booth was pretty sure it was Holly's.

"Let's go," he whispered, holding the gun cocked and loaded out in front of him. "This way."

"I'm not like him at all." Kenton told me sincerely, holding his gun by the barrel. I stared at him in the eyes defiantly, just daring him to do something to prove it. "The things I have to do to you…" he stopped and shuddered. "You'll be gone first. You'll never know a thing." He stopped in place and sighed for a moment before drawing his arm up, the barrel of the gun to be used as a blunt weapon. "I never expected anyone to find out. For what it's worth, Holly, you're brilliant. You really could have been something."

Well, talk about adding salt to the wounds.

He drew back to slam the firearm against my skull and I cringed back, bowing my head, helpless to do anything else with my vision going so blurry I could barely tell the difference between floor, wall, and ceiling anymore. I felt like I was just in a big ball of grey, red, brown, black, yellow, and white, most of the colors from the dogs. The occasional droplet of blood trickled from my hands and hit the top of my head, sliding into my hair. I didn't even have the energy to cringe in disgust.

A gunshot rang out loudly, suddenly and without warning, and I flinched, expecting even more pain before things went dark, but instead I heard a strangled shout from Kenton and I looked up, seeing the man fall back to the ground, cursing and moaning from a single gunshot to the shoulder.

You know, all things considered, I have a much higher pain tolerance than he seems to.

I looked back blearily to the doorway, wary of who would have shot him. My eyes widened. I'd been sure no one would find us here. I had nothing on me to be tracked and Kenton was good - evil, dastardly, but good - so I was stunned (well, as stunned as my brain could register being at this point) to squint and make out Booth and Hodgins, the former still wearing a hospital gown and the latter with a jacket, bulletproof vest, and a black beanie hat.

Booth hurried over and I closed my eyes for a moment, feeling safe for once in the past two days. I just wanted to escape the agony from my wrist and abdomen. "Alright," I heard him say stoppingly. I wasn't sure why he sounded so close to panicking when I wasn't quite dead yet. "Okay, alright, hold on. Open your eyes. I'm going to have to touch you now, alright?"

After the pain, I thought maybe a kinder touch would be relieving. I opened my eyes wearily - not because I wanted to, but because he asked me to - and blinked slowly at him. "M'kay," I slurred slightly. My tongue felt heavy in my mouth.

Booth ducked his head and stepped closer, getting my arms around his neck before straightening up and lifting the ropes on my wrists away from the hook. Once my arms were free I felt the strain on my back relax, and I whimpered softly in relief.

I heard the clatter of Booth's gun landing on the ground behind me as he dropped to his knees, his arms around my sides and my arms around his neck, the rope still tied tight. "Hodgins," he called behind him to the entomologist even as he seemed to forget about the no-touch rule and pulled me closer to him.

When I thought about it, I wasn't entirely sure why I had the no-touch rule. Booth's touch was warm and gentle. Kenton was the one that was the bitch, not Booth.

Another pair of hands grasped the rope knots and started working to undo them while Booth's hands slid across my back, pulling me close to him and I leaned against his chest, chin on his shoulder. I slouched over, leaning on him, and my head rocked to the side, hair brushing against his cheek.

Booth misread the reason for my sudden affection - he thought injury was distress, and I suppose I was both, but it wasn't exactly good lighting and how was he supposed to be able to tell my blue sweater wasn't blue anymore?

"Oh… it's okay." He tightened his arms around me and one hand moved up to my hair, gently stroking the black locks down over my neck and upper back. "I'm right here, it's all over." He cooed with a loving tenderness like he was talking to a child. Wonder how Parker's doing, I wondered absentmindedly. "I'm right here, alright?"

I figured I should probably tell them I was stabbed, but when Hodgins managed to get the rope loose enough to shuck off of my wrists, he took care of that for me. I pushed myself closer to Booth, my good arm hugging around his neck and I lazily noted that my vision was going worse. Booth continued the soft hushing and gently pet my hair.

I closed my eyes, warm and safe with people who I could trust not to kill me, and felt my limp hand gently grabbed by two others, slightly calloused. "Booth," Hodgins said, voice kind of quiet like he respected I was tired. And Christ, was I tired. "Her hands are covered in blood."

This made my savior pause. "Her blood?"

"Who else is here that was bleeding before we got here?"

The worried reply made Booth push me away. I frowned but closed my eyes, figuring he'd better have a good reason. A moment later, I heard a hushed "Oh my God."

I was gently laid down on my back and hands found my stomach, pressing down painfully. I winced and struggled. "Shh, Holly, stay still," Booth ordered. "I know you're tired, but you have to stay awake. We're gonna get you help. Hodgins, go get an ambulance."

"Yeah, okay." Hodgins' voice sounded almost panicky now. I would have giggled at the sound if there wasn't so much pain.

"I'm sorry…" I muttered. I knew that I was upsetting Booth.

He didn't say anything for a moment, just increased the pressure as the sounds of the things around us - the wild dogs, the receding and approaching footsteps, Hodgins' shouts for help, Kenton's screams and groans - started to fade, along with the soothingly familiar voice repetitively saying my name and nearly pleading for me to wake up.

But I was tired and if I could sleep through the pain, then why shouldn't I? He'd been hurt before - very recently, in fact, and he'd slept afterwards, so he'd understand.