Here is chapter 2! Im so overwhelmed by all the love this story is getting. I still don't own any part of bones. Please review and follow!
The sound of a violent crash exploded through the phone, followed by the shriek of twisting metal and shattering glass. Then—silence.
"Bones? Bones!"
Booth froze, the phone still pressed tightly to his ear. His heart pounded like a war drum in his chest.
"Temperance, answer me!" he shouted into the phone, his voice breaking as he sprinted to grab his keys, his gun, his badge—anything. The line remained open. Static. Faint, distant noise. But no voice.
No Bones.
He was out the door in seconds, adrenaline flooding his body, panic overtaking logic. The woman he had just gotten back—the woman who had finally said the words he had longed to hear—was gone.
And he didn't even know where.
Smoke curled in thin, hazy ribbons through the crumpled wreckage of the car. The metallic taste of blood filled Brennan's mouth as she fought to stay conscious, blinking slowly against the shattered glass and the burn of tears. Her head pounded—every nerve firing at once, her body a symphony of pain and panic. Something was wrong with her leg, her ribs screamed with every shallow breath, and her vision danced with shadows.
Her phone was gone. The line had gone dead. Booth. Booth had heard it. He must be coming.
She tried to move, to lift her hand, but even that effort made her groan aloud. A strange pressure began to build in her chest—fear. Not the rational, calculated concern she was used to. This was raw. Desperate. She needed him. She needed Booth.
The world started to dim around the edges, black creeping in like ink. She blinked hard, trying to keep her eyes open, when she heard footsteps—quick, heavy on the gravel. Shapes moved outside the car, and for a moment, hope surged in her chest.
"Help," she rasped, barely a whisper. "Please…"
A figure leaned down through the broken window—face obscured by light and smoke. Her mind, foggy and frantic, tried to make out features. Was it a paramedic? A good Samaritan?
But something in the way they moved didn't sit right. Their hands didn't go to check her vitals. They didn't call for help. They reached instead for the door, tugging it hard, forcing it open with practiced ease.
Brennan's heart skipped.
This wasn't rescue.
She tried to pull away, but her body wouldn't respond. Her limbs felt like concrete. Still, her mind screamed one name over and over.
Booth. Booth. Booth.
She felt arms sliding beneath her shoulders. Everything tilted and spun. The pain overwhelmed her completely now. The last thing she saw before slipping into unconsciousness was the stranger's face—blurred and cold, like the last page of a nightmare she hadn't meant to read.
And then, nothing.
"Come on, Bones. Just be stuck in traffic," he muttered, swallowing hard, blinking against the pressure building behind his eyes. "Just… answer your phone. Please."
But she didn't.
Each street he turned onto brought more dread. No sign of her. No twisted bumper. No brake lights in the distance. Just empty road and the rising thunder of fear in his chest.
Then his phone rang.
"Booth," he snapped as he answered, not even checking the caller ID.
"Agent Booth, this is Officer Darnell with D.C. Metro. We've got a crash on 8th and Logan. A silver sedan registered to a Dr. Temperance Brennan—"
He didn't hear the rest.
His foot slammed on the gas as he swerved hard into a U-turn, the tires squealing as he flew through traffic, his sirens blaring though he wasn't in a Bureau car.
"Hold on," he whispered, his jaw clenched tight, hands white-knuckling the wheel. "Hold on, Bones. I'm coming."
Streetlights blurred past. Cars honked. The city pulsed around him, but all Booth could see in his mind was her face—her smile, her laugh, the way her voice had cracked when she told him she'd made a mistake.
He had her. She was coming back to him. He couldn't lose her now.
Not now.
He tore through the intersection, a sea of flashing red and blue ahead. Squad cars, paramedics, a firetruck. His heart dropped into his stomach.
And no sign of her.
Booth slammed the door behind him as he jumped out, yelling over the chaos. "Where is she? Bones! Bones!"
A young officer approached, his face tense. "The vehicle's been tampered with. The driver's gone."
Booth froze.
"What do you mean gone?"
"There was blood. But she wasn't here when first responders arrived. We think someone took her."
Booth didn't hear anything else. Not the explanation. Not the theories. Just the sound of his heart breaking.
She was gone.
And he had to find her.
Because she was his Bones. And no one—no one—was going to take her from him.