Voyeur - Angst, rated M for Mature Themes

Rating: M
Pairing: B&B
Genre: Angst/Hurt/Comfort
Summary: Sequel to Wounded and Scarred. Brennan and Celia meet for lunch...
tune in to find out what happens afterward.

Author's Note: The long wait is finally over. This is the promised sequel to Wounded and Scarred. If you'd like to read or reread that, feel free to do so, but it isn't necessary to understand this story. I apologize that it took me so long, but this story is much more complex than the last one. It is rated M because it contains some very mature themes. Thanks to redrider6612 for helping me brainstorm through writer's block and for all her editing. Thanks to FauxMaven for her editing and helping me come up with chapter titles. Thanks to luli27 for her legal input. All errors are my own.

Chapter 1: Velvet Cage
Brennan leaned back in her chair, sighing in relief that she'd finished the next chapter of her latest book. Her agent was pushing her to finish the whole thing, preferably as soon as possible. Thinking back over the last few weeks, she decided it was entirely understandable that she was a few chapters behind.

When she and Booth informed Cullen that they'd decided to pursue a romantic relationship, he hadn't split them up as she'd feared, but they were on probation. Between their heavier-than-normal caseload and a few dates with Booth, her writing time had been severely limited. Plus, she'd met Celia for coffee a few times.

Speaking of Celia, Brennan glanced at the clock on the wall. If she didn't leave right now, she'd be late meeting her new friend for lunch. Grabbing her jacket and purse, she headed toward the exit.

She zipped her coat against the nippy fall air and picked up her pace, hurrying toward the deli that had recently opened next to the Circuit City. She had been looking forward to introducing Angela to Celia, but the artist had come down with the flu.

Opening the door of the deli, Brennan stepped into the warmth. It only took her a moment to spot her friend sitting at nearby table. She shrugged out of her coat as she walked toward the empty chair.

"Hi, Celia," she said.

"Hi, Temperance. What's up?"

"Nothing much. Just the usual writing and working."

The other woman laughed. "Yeah, meeting me for coffee, and a few dates with Seeley. Speaking of Seeley, when are you two coming swing dancing with us again?"

"We've had so much work, we can hardly find a moment to ourselves. But it looks like things might be slowing down, so maybe this weekend?"

"You know I'm gonna hold you to that!"

The waiter cleared his throat to get their attention. "What can I get for you today?"

Both women ordered the soup and salad special.

"I can't believe it's only been a month since Sam and I met you guys at that dance club," said Celia. "I feel like I've know you forever."

Brennan smiled. She didn't normally make friends this quickly, but something told her she could trust this woman. They didn't have a lot in common, but they were both independent and career-oriented.

"I can't believe I didn't know that Booth could dance like that. You two totally amazed the crowd."

Celia giggled. "You know what? The place was packed more than usual the next weekend, and last week the owner asked me if 'that guy I danced with' was going to be back."

"If you're going to drag us out dancing regularly, maybe I'd better take some lessons."

"Why the sudden interest in dancing? I don't get the idea that you love it."

Brennan shrugged, not willing to say why. Booth was a good-looking guy, and there was no way she was going to watch him dancing with other women. If she had to take a few lessons to catch up, so be it.

The waiter arrived with their food, and they began to eat. The rest of lunch passed pleasantly for both women. Conversation flowed easily and the food was tasty. As they stood to leave, Brennan looked out and saw the wind had begun to blow. She shivered thinking about the walk back to work.

Noticing the direction of her friend's gaze, Celia offered, "I could give you a ride to the Jeffersonian. My car is just around back."

Brennan nodded gratefully, and they exited the restaurant and turned into the narrow alley toward the parking lot in the rear, chatting about the fall weather and an upcoming dance recital at Celia's studio.

Perhaps that's why neither of them noticed the furtive footfalls behind them. Brennan felt a strange prickling sensation at the back of her neck the moment before strong muscular arms jerked her backward against a man's body. Her attacker pressed a cloth to her face. Immediately, she held her breath, trying not to inhale whatever chemical was on the cloth. She reached for the arm around her chest to throw him, but he tightened his grip forcing the air out of her lungs, causing her to gasp and inhale the cloying smell of chloroform.

When Brennan regained consciousness, her body ached from being in an uncomfortable position. As she moved her arm to relieve the tension in her neck, Celia groaned.

"Celia, Celia," Brennan said, gently nudging her friend. "Are you okay?"

The dancer groaned, "My head is killing me and I feel nauseated, but otherwise I think I'm okay."

Brennan smiled at her in relief and then the two turned and examined their surroundings. They were in a large concrete room, without windows. The single double-door looked very sturdy and there were oddly shaped openings near the floor similar to pet doors. A clock, a speaker, and a thermometer hung directly above the door. Apparently the room was fifty-eight degrees. 'And a bit chilly,' she thought.

"The only way out is the door," Brennan told Celia.

Pointing to the far corner, Celia noted, "There's no privacy. The bathroom's right out in the open and there's no curtain for the shower."

"That corner could almost be a movie set from a 'Spaghetti' Western. The only thing the saloon's missing are chairs and tables and those swinging doors."

The corner to their right was empty.

The room was brightly lit by an unusually large number of lights affixed to the ceiling and upper walls.

"Afraid of the dark much?"

"I don't know what that means."

"Well, there's no need for this much light, so somebody must be afraid of the dark."

"Oh, right. That makes sense I guess."

"Those poles can't be supporting the ceiling," Celia said.

Brennan glanced toward the center of the room. Several poles stretched from the floor to the ceiling, but none of them looked sturdy enough to be supporting the ceiling. Plush area carpets of various colors and patterns covered the cement floor.

"There doesn't seem to be any logic to the way this room is decorated. I don't think it could even be considered eclectic. Did you notice the bed?"

She and Celia were sitting on a very strange bed which occupied the last corner. A large triangular prism sat diagonally across the mattress and the two of them were propped against it. Smaller ones ran across the head and the foot of the bed, and protruding from each were three wedges. The sheet covering the odd bed was made from a variety of white fabrics inexpertly stitched together, flannel next to cotton next to corduroy next to satin. Brennan nudged the prism in the center of the bed. It didn't move.

Giving up on the bed, she said, "We might as well see what else is here."

She got off the bed and went to examine the bar, systematically opening drawers and finding only swatches of diaphanous fabrics of varying dimensions.

"Other than a few pieces of fabric, there's nothing here. And the cups and bottles are painted."

Meanwhile, Celia riffled through the vanity. The drawers held the usual things including toothbrushes, toothpaste, shampoo, conditioner, soap makeup, hairdryer, curling iron and an electric razor.

"All that's in here are the usual toiletries."

Looking around the room one last time, Brennan finally acknowledged the first details she'd noticed, but hadn't really wanted to think about. Cameras covered the room like flies on a corpse.

"Temperance," Celia called, her teeth chattering, "I'm getting really cold."

"I take it you don't handle the cold well?" she asked with a smile, heading toward the bed.

"Nuh uh, never have," Celia answered.

"Muscle movement creates heat."

Although the comment was cryptic, the dancer understood what her friend was saying.

"So we should do something aerobic."

After a long while, Brennan began to tire. "I've had enough."

She sat down on the bed and pulled her knees to her chest. A few minutes later Celia joined her and they huddled together for warmth. With nothing else to do, they talked for a little while. Then conversation gave way to silence.

"I think I'm going to take a nap. I'm tired," Brennan said. "It won't help me keep warm, but it will conserve energy."

When they woke up a few hours later, the room was much colder, and Celia shivered almost constantly.

"What are they doing… running the air conditioning?" Celia asked sarcastically.

Literal as usual, Brennan replied, "That's a reasonable assumption, given the current temperature."

"Huh?" the dancer said in confusion.

Brennan pointed at the thermometer over the door. It was now thirty-five degrees.

"What happens if the temperature keeps dropping?" Celia asked.

"Hypothermia, followed by death," Brennan answered succinctly. "Although I doubt they went to the effort of creating such an elaborate setup with the intent of freezing us to death. There must be another reason we're here."

The presence of the cameras gave Brennan a few ideas, but she kept them to herself. None were pleasant and they'd probably find out soon enough.

She sat quietly for a moment, letting the details about what happened trickle through her brain. They'd been taken from behind near the deli after lunch and had been brought to this elaborate, but oddly staged room. Her eyes took in the details of the room once again and then settled on the speaker. Clearly their captors intended to communicate with them. But there was no way for she and Celia to communicate back, was there? Maybe the cameras contained microphones.

'There's only one way to find out,' she thought, before saying loudly, "Excuse me, but it's getting rather cold in here. We would appreciate some warmth."

Celia looked at her as though she was crazy, but a moment later her hypothesis was proved correct when a male voice answered her, "I'd be happy to give you some heat, but you'll have to do something for me in return."

Acting as though this was reasonable, even though she had her doubts, Brennan replied, "Okay. What do you want?"

"Take off your clothes," the male voice demanded.

"What?" Celia shouted in outrage. "It's freezing in here. Taking off my clothes will only make me colder!"

Brennan looked at the other woman and shrugged. "We're not going to do that," she said firmly, knowing that eventually they would have to. But for the moment, she wanted to test the limits.

She got off the bed and checked the carpets. Maybe they could wrap themselves in one and stay warmer for longer. To her disappointment, they were all firmly attached to the floor.

She returned to Celia, climbed on the bed and snuggled up, rubbing her hands up and down Celia's arms and legs trying to warm them with friction. The temperature slowly continued to drop and Brennan's efforts weren't enough to keep her friend warm. She tried to start a conversation, but after a while the other woman lost the ability to reply coherently.

Becoming concerned, Brennan decided to examine the cameras in more depth. A number were recessed in the walls behind small panes of glass. Others were surrounded by strong mesh frames with openings for the lenses. Unfortunately, the cameras were recessed far enough inside their protective covering that she couldn’t reach them, not with her hand.

She ground her teeth in frustration. Whoever had set this up was very through. She wasn't strong enough to break the glass or the mesh frames with her bare hands and she had nothing long enough or strong enough or small enough to reach them. There was no way she'd able to break any of the cameras or their lenses.

"Celia, we have to do what they said," Brennan said. "You're exhibiting the initial signs of hypothermia."

"No," Celia chattered her reply defiantly.

"You'd rather keep your clothes and die?" Brennan asked harshly. "We're getting out of these clothes now."

Brennan began to strip off her own clothes and shuddered when the cold air touched her skin. Then she reached for Celia and began to undress her.

The dancer fought back, but the anthropologist asked, "Do you trust me?"

Celia nodded.

"Then do this for me. Forget about the cameras and everything else. This is about our survival. He says he'll give us heat if we do this. The only thing we can do is test him and see if he's telling the truth. If he isn't then we'll just die a bit sooner," she told her friend.

The other woman must have seen the logic of her argument, because she tried to unbutton her blouse. Her cold fingers made it difficult, but eventually she too stood naked in the room.

The male voice said, "Ah, so you finally decided to believe me. Very nice. You are both very attractive women. Excellent."

But the leer in his voice made their skin crawl; neither doubted that he had an excellent view.

Then he continued, "Now take the clothes and shove them through the flap in the door. You won't be needing them anymore."

Brennan shrugged at Celia and moved to comply. They needed the heat more than they needed the inadequate protection of their clothes. As sshe watched, the thermometer began to show the room temperature rising and Celia's shivering slowly abated.

The idea for this story began when I was reading a so-so kidnapping story and thinking to myself that a lot of kidnapping stories were very similar. The perpetrator was always someone connected to their cases, Booth's past, Brennan's past, or her parents' past. I asked myself what would happen if their kidnapper wasn't one of those things. This story is the answer. I hope you've enjoyed the first chapter. The story is completely written and I will be updating at least once a week.

I have to say that I'm disappointed that no one posted a review. I know that not as many people enjoy angst as fluff, but I thought I'd get at least one or two. Anyhow, thanks to FauxMaven and redrider6612 for their editing. I'll be posting a new chapter every Sunday.

Chapter 2: Ad-lib
"Good morning, ladies," said their captor, waking them from their slumber.

"Huh?" Brennan mumbled, not fully awake. She opened her eyes and after a disoriented moment remembered what had happened. She yawned and then stretched while Celia rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

"Oh, yes," their captor cooed, "very, very nice."

"You're such a…" Celia paused, looking for the right word, and then finished angrily, "pervert!"

He chuckled. "And don't I know it."

In a business-like tone, he said, "Now ladies, here's how it's going to be. You do what I want, and I'll give you food and warmth and beauty sleep."

"What exactly do you want?" Brennan asked thoughtfully.

"Just two things. First, you must be clean, but you may not take long baths. Second, I want to be entertained. Oh, and don't call each other by your real names. From now on you're Blondie and Red." he replied.

"I'm impressed by your creativity," Brennan flung back sarcastically.

"Now, now," he responded condescendingly, "is that any way to talk to the person who controls whether or not you'll get your next meal?"

The pleasure in his tone made her so angry. Deciding that ignoring him would be better, she said to Celia, "So Blondie, do you want the first shower?"

Celia shook her head and curled back into a ball on the bed, and Brennan headed toward the bathtub. She pulled the shampoo, conditioner and soap out of one of vanity drawers and turned on the water, waiting for it to get warm. She used the toilet while she waited.
Then she got in, pulled the stop to turn on the shower, and moved under the water. As she shampooed her hair, she decided it was somewhat disconcerting to know that her every move was being recorded. Since there was a camera right underneath the showerhead, it was also a very difficult fact to ignore.

When her shower was over, she squeezed as much water out of her hair as she could, dried her hair, and then used the hair dryer to blow most of the water off of her body.

"Your turn, Blondie," she called.

"No thanks," the other woman said.

Brennan walked over to Celia. "You have to do this. I know it's making you uncomfortable; I feel the same way. But if you don't do this we won't have any food."

"Maybe I'd rather not eat, Red," she replied defiantly.

"You don't eat and who knows what happens," Brennan fired back. "He kept his word about the heat last night, and I'm hungry. Even if you don't want to eat, please do it so I can."

"Fine," Celia spat back, angry with her and the whole situation. The anger pulled her out of her prior funk and she was soon soaping her body in the shower, trying desperately to forget the cameras.

A couple of minutes after the water went off, two paper plates were pushed through the flap at the bottoms of the door. Brennan picked them up and took them to "saloon corner" as she was beginning to think of it. Celia joined her.

There were eggs, bacon and toast on the plates. Brennan wasn't particularly fond of these foods, but Celia apparently was. She grabbed a plastic spoon, the only utensil they had been given, and dug in.

'She must not be a morning person,' Brennan thought.

No drinks or cups had accompanied their breakfast, so when she was done, she went to the sink, bent over, awkwardly turned her head and drank straight from the tap. Celia followed her example and then went back and curled up the bed.

"Push the plates back through the flap," commanded their captor.

When Brennan grabbed the plates and pushed them under the door, she reached as far as she could to see if there was anything useful within reach. She pulled her arm back with disappointment and then inspected the door carefully. Their captor was very thorough.

'Oh well,' she thought, 'at least the room is cement, it should keep the heat in pretty well.'

At that moment, a loud fan started nearby. A moment later air began to circulate in their basement. Brennan glanced at the thermometer: seventy-two degrees.

She went to sit next to Celia and attempted to engage her in conversation.

"We're going to have to entertain this guy," she said. "My college professor said I did a lovely monologue of Shakespeare and I'm good at telling stories. I know that you can dance. What other talents do you have?" she asked.

The other woman refused to answer, so Brennan curled up next to her and began to sort through what had happened and what they knew about their captor. He was a pervert and liked to be in control, going to extreme lengths to manipulate the situation to his advantage. He was thorough and smart, a careful planner. A setup like this was expensive, so he might also be rich.

Brennan began to think about her resources. Booth would already have realized that she was missing. They were supposed to meet after lunch. He would already be looking. But there wasn't much evidence for him to find. It was unlikely the alley was monitored by cameras or that there had been any witnesses to their abduction.

There was nothing in the room that she could use to effect an escape. The door couldn't be opened from the inside. They didn't have enough of the right kind of household products to make any kind of explosives. If they'd had hairspray, she could have used it with the hairdryer. She wasn't sure if the lack was deliberate or simply an oversight, but it was aggravating. There might be something unique about something in the room – the wood of the saloon's bar or the paint on the walls, but she had no way of getting it to anybody who would find it useful.

Still, she should try and get as many of those particulates on herself and Celia as possible. Maybe they'd get lucky and one of them would get out somehow. If so, it would help her team find the other one. Speaking of which, she needed to find a way to tell Celia a few things without their captor overhearing.

Brennan shivered. The temperature was dropping rapidly. It was now sixty-five degrees. The room had been designed specifically for this exact use.

She momentarily thought about entertaining their captor, but decided to wait until it got colder. Certainty settled in her gut, she didn't want to have to entertain this guy any more often than she had to. A soft chuckle escaped her as she realized that she was acting on her gut. Booth would be so proud.

A second fan kicked in and started pulling the warm air out of the room faster. Another half an hour passed.

Deciding that she'd waited long enough, she got up, centered herself in the room, and began a dramatic recitation of the famous monologue from Macbeth:
"She should have died hereafter;
There would have been a time for such a word.
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing." (Act V, Scene 5)

"Very nice, Red," their captor said, "but that's not exactly the kind of entertainment I'm looking for."

Brennan thought for a moment and then went to the bar and took out four pieces of fabric. One she draped around her neck; she started juggling with the other three. She wasn't any good with balls or beanbags, but scarves weren't too hard. Once she'd found a rhythm she added the fourth to her pattern. She juggled several different ways, and then when she was done, she gave a deep performer's bow.

She looked toward the speaker, waiting for his response, and noticed that Celia was watching her.

The sound of clapping came from the speaker. "You're very talented. But once again, not what I'm looking for."

"Well, what do you want?" she demanded, having a pretty good idea of what the answer would be.

As expected, he replied, "Oh, I don't care what you do exactly, but it should show off your beautiful body." His voice dropped into a lower register and he continued, "Be seductive. Make me want you."

Brennan began the warm-up she used at her dojo. Hopefully this would meet his criteria and keep her in shape without giving too much away. Then she carefully executed the simplest moves, slowly first and then with increasing speed. It felt weird to do them without her uniform, but she put that aside and concentrated on making them look as stylized as possible. Any time felt as if she overbalanced even a bit, she allowed herself to fall or visibly wobble trying to make herself look as much like a novice as possible.

Panting from the effort of her workout, she completed the last move and then went to the sink for a drink. After a large swallow, she splashed her face with water. Then she collapsed onto one of the soft carpets, still breathing heavily.

The fans switched off.

"A very good beginning, Red," the male voice complimented her.

She pushed away her revulsion at his words and began to review human anatomy systematically, beginning with naming all 206 bones in alphabetical order.

About two hours later the fans came back on, and the temperature began to drop again. When they were sufficiently cold, she said, "Blondie, c'mon, it's your turn."

Leaning over, she whispered in Celia's ear. "Do the simplest dances you know. We need to begin as small as possible, so we can put off the worst as long as possible. "

"No whispering," their captor said harshly.

Celia looked at her with large scared eyes, not wanting to imagine what the worst could be. She stood, walked to the center of the room, and began an elegant dance.

When it was over, he said breathily, "Oh Blondie, your body is exquisite."

Celia practically ran back to the bed and resumed her fetal position. Her dance bought them three hours.

Brennan decided against doing anything else that would reveal her proficiency at martial arts and opted to drape fabrics artistically around her body and pose for the camera.

Two hours later Celia was doing another dance. Another two hours after that, Brennan did one of the tribal dances she knew.

"An unusual choice, Red," commented their captor. "I've never seen anything like it."

The two women took turns, and a variety of dances carried them through the end of the day. Two plates were pushed under the door and they ate hungrily, returning the plates when they were finished.

"If you want us to keep this up, we're going to need some props," Brennan told their captor. However, there was no reply, so she wasn't sure if he heard her.

The two women collapsed tiredly into the odd bed and slept soundly.

very good! PPS! I like this story
~~~~~~Cassie~~~~~~

I'll post the next chapter on Sunday. :-)

AN: I forgot to say thanks to labsquint for her help with the last chapter. For the purposes of the story, I needed there to be no way of escape and labsquint helped me eliminate a possibility I wasn't even aware of: hair dryer and hairspray. As always thanks to redrider6612 and FauxMaven for their fabulous editing skills.

Chapter 3: Ad hoc
The second morning of their captivity began much like the first: a wake up call which included lascivious comments, followed by showers and breakfast. Then the horror began again.

Brennan began the morning "entertainment" with a good workout as she had done the morning before. She stuck with the beginner level stuff, but used different moves.

Celia was not handling the situation as well. She refused to talk, had to be coaxed to shower and eat, and it took more effort to get her to dance in her turn.

For her next turn, Brennan strutted up and down the room, pretending to be a model at a runway show and then a photo shoot.

Around noon, the props Brennan asked for arrived via the door's flap. The small shallow box contained a variety of skimpy lingerie in two sizes, handcuffs, a whip and other similar paraphernalia.

The next time the temperature became too cold to bear, she handed Celia one of the outfits from the box and told her to put it on before dancing. She stared at Brennan with dull eyes for a moment and then complied.

Late in the afternoon, Brennan was out of other ideas and had to resort to pleasuring herself to get the heat they needed.

One time when her hands were particularly cold, she went to the sink to soak them in hot water, but discovered that there was no hot water. Their captor was infuriatingly prepared.

The next day, Celia was coaxed to shower and eat, but she refused to dance or do anything else at all. Using her creativity, the various surfaces in the room, including the bed's odd protrusions and the props she had been given, Brennan kept them warm that day.

By the fourth day, she hadn't figured out how to communicate what she needed to tell Celia and she was getting very worried about the other woman's mental health. In addition, she was running out of ideas.

Frustrated, she yelled, "I don't know what else to do."

The male voice replied calmly, "There are two of you for a reason," and then fell silent.

Brennan raged internally at him, mentally swearing at him in every language she knew. Then she thought further about his comment. Possibly it contained a solution to her communication problem.

The next time she was shivering with cold, she said to Celia. "Would you like a backrub?"

Celia switched from fetal position to lying flat on the bed. Brennan massaged her back and leaned near her ear. Moving sensually to distract their captor, she whispered to Celia, "Look, there are a few things I need to tell you. And it's going to take a while. I need you to do what I say, alright? I'm just trying to save our lives. We're going to have to pretend to be making out in various places around the room. This way if one of us gets away there will be some particulate evidence to help the authorities find the one left behind."

The next time they had to perform for their warmth, Brennan "backed" Celia up against the empty corner and they pretended to make out while Brennan tried to scratch paint off the walls. She could tell by the other woman's body language that she felt extremely uncomfortable, but having a task that might help them eventually revived her somewhat and she managed a creditable performance.

Two hours later, they danced salsa together. Two hours after that, they pretended again on the bar and Celia dug her nails into its surface. Afterward, Brennan offered her another massage, trying to get the dancer accustomed to her touch.

The rest of the day, they alternated the dancing with "making out." Near the end of the day, they had met Brennan's goal of covering themselves with particulates, but their captor had figured out that they had been pretending and was very unhappy.

"You owe me something big or I'm not going to give you any dinner or any heat tonight," he threatened.

Brennan looked at her friend and decided to wait it out. When they didn't respond immediately, both fans came on. Several hours passed and as promised, the temperature dropped rapidly.

It had dropped to almost freezing before Brennan spoke.

"Celia, he really means it," she said. "I think we have to… you know."

The dancer shook her head violently.

"I don't think we have much of a choice," she said, rubbing her hands up and down the other woman's arms. "I… look…. Just go somewhere else in your mind alright? I… I'll take care of the rest."

Brennan swallowed hard. Two days ago, she had known it would probably come to this eventually, but she hated her captor for putting them in this position and herself for what she was about to do.

Then she began to touch the other woman, whispering quietly in her ear. "I'm sorry, so sorry, but we have to live. This man? He's the pervert you called him and more. I suspect he's been selling tapes or a feed of this over the Internet. If he doesn’t kill us or if you get out, go to my team at the Jeffersonian. Ask for Angela. Don't sit on anything or wash your clothes. The evidence is on your body."

She sucked in another breath of cold air, put her emotions in a box, apologized once more, and gently began exploring the other woman's body, first with her fingers and then with her tongue. At some point, Celia's body responded, betraying her mental distaste and revealing that she had indeed listened to Brennan's advice.

The moment it was over, the dancer ran to the toilet and threw up. Then she grabbed all the fabric she could find and tossed it into the empty corner. She made a nest as best as she could and then sat there, rocking back and forth silently.

Heat started to flow into the room, but Brennan, crying silently on the bed, didn't notice. Eventually both women slept, but neither slept well. She had nightmares from her past and Celia dreamed she was running away from a large monster with soft hands.

Brennan woke the next day with a foul taste in her mouth. She was leaning against something warm and somewhat hard. Celia was definitely softer.

At the thought of Celia, Brennan sat up and looked toward the corner where she had last seen her friend. It was empty. Desperately she looked at the person on the bed with her. The sight of a naked Seeley Booth jolted her completely awake.

'What was her FBI partner doing here? And where was Celia?' she wondered.

"Where's Blondie?" she demanded out loud.

"Don't worry," her captor said soothingly. "She wasn't a fit playmate anymore, so I brought you a new one. Do you like him?"

"What about Blondie?" she repeated her demand.

"Don't worry, I promise I won't hurt her," he said. "Well, as long as you cooperate, I won't hurt her," he amended his prior statement and followed it with a nasty laugh.

Brennan was beginning to think he was evil incarnate. Realizing there was nothing she could do to help Celia now, she asked, "So what's his name?"

"Muscles," came the sardonic reply.

"That's the best you can do?" she mocked, no longer able to contain the emotions of the past few days.

"I didn't think you'd like 'pretty boy' or 'dead weight,'" he snapped back.

"You… you're such a…" Brennan began, but their captor interrupted her, "Tut, tut. Watch your language, Red. Now, Muscles should wake up sometime in the next hour or so."

"Why him?" she asked hoping he would satisfy her curiosity.

"Because he showed up the most often in your call logs," answered the male voice.

Her hope soared. If he had turned her cell phone on or better yet, made a call from it, it would traceable. However, he was disturbingly competent, so maybe she shouldn't get her hopes up.

Wanting to wash the nasty flavor from her mouth, she got up and took a swig from the tap. 'He used a gas to make me unconscious,' she realized. She glanced at the clock; it was 11 AM. She never slept that late. It must have been whatever drug they'd used put her out when they switched Booth for Celia.

As she returned to the bed, Brennan noted that the place had also been cleaned up. The ring that had begun to show in the tub was gone. The crumbs on the floor near the bar were gone, and the bed now sported a purple sheet instead of the white one. She climbed into the bed and curled up next to Booth, watching him for signs of waking.

She wasn't sure if she should be glad that he was the one held captive with her or not. Certain aspects of being here would probably be easier with him than with someone else. But if he was here, it meant he wasn't out looking for her.

Her gaze wandered over his attractive body and involuntarily her hand moved toward his chest. She pulled her arm back to her side. She shouldn't… at least not until he was awake. Her mind began to replay the last time she'd touched someone, specifically Celia. With effort, she pushed the image away and concentrated on admiring his physique.

The moment he was awake enough to recognize her, her hand covered his mouth to prevent him from saying her name.

"I'm Red and you're Muscles," she told him with a grimace. Calling him Muscles was definitely worse than being called Red.

She removed her hand from his mouth and he said, "What?"

"Apparently, we're not supposed to use real names. So I'm Red and you're Muscles. Got it, Muscles?" she answered, suppressing another grimace.

"Are you okay?" he asked, noticing her expression.

"As well as can be expected given the circumstances," she replied, gesturing with her head to the rest of the room.

But Booth was more interested in how she was doing, so he examined her face carefully and couldn't help but noticing her nakedness. Suddenly his perusal turned from making sure she was okay to checking out her body.

Brennan blushed at his frank appreciation. They had fooled around some, but had yet to actually make love. Boldly she looked him over in a similar way and then quirked a smile at him.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she silenced him with a look.

"Check out your new digs, Muscles," she suggested.

He carefully examined the room and then turned back to her with a question in his eyes. She nodded once, confirming his supposition.

"Our host," she emphasized the word 'host' with a sarcastic tone in her voice, "has a few rules. Besides the stupid names, we are to stay clean and to entertain him. In return, he gives us food and heat."

At that moment, plates were pushed under the door.

"Good morning, Red. Muscles. Or should I say 'Good Afternoon'?" said their captor. "I hope you slept well."

Brennan stood and retrieved their lunch from the floor, took it over to the bar, and the two sat down to eat.

He glanced down at his plate. "Is it safe?" he asked.

"Hasn't hurt me yet," she replied.

He started to speak again, but she said, "Save it. We'll have plenty of time to talk later. There isn't exactly a lot to do in here."

AN: Lately, I haven't been very interested in ready angsty stories (partly because of the holiday season). Given the lack of reviews, I presume everyone either feels like me or is too busy to have time to read, so I'm going to hold off posting the next chapter of this story until January. I'll be posting a nice fluffy one-shot in between though and I hope you'll enjoy that.

I generally avoid fluff, and I'm a sucker for angst, drama, and suspense. I like this story.

Thanks. I like a balance of fluff/angst (partly depends on my mood). Once I had the idea for this in my head, I couldn't get it out until I had it on paper. There's plenty of angst to come; I hope I won't let you down.

:-)

This is the first time I've posted on this board so I hope it ends up in the right place. The FF about B&B being kidnapped has my attention. Sorry you won't post again 'til Jan. I usually don't start reading a story until it's done. I thought the icon next to your story meant it was complete. If you can tell me where to find the prequel to this, I'd appreciate it. Thanks & happy holidays.

The other story, Wounded and Scarred, is also on this board: [Only admins are allowed to see this link] The story is complete, just not completely posted. Since I indicated I was going to wait on the posting I have found that several of the next chapters need to be revised, and I've been working on that.

To Saraluvzbonz: Can't wait 'til you post all of Wounded and Scarred and the rest of Voyeur. I'll have a great long read (just like I like...dragging out chapters over weeks or months frustrates me to the point of not caring about the story anymore) when you do. I for one look for action/adventure and angst with just a bit of romance, so what I've read of yours so far is just my cup of tea!

All of Wounded and Scarred is posted. It was finished last year around this time. W&S is mostly fluff. Voyeur is my second foray into really angsty stories. I've got some others I'm working on.

Hi. I'm new and I absolutely love this story. It's great and I can't wait for more in January.

PPS!!!
~~~~~Cassie~~~~~~

I'm working on the next chapter or two. Although I wrote the whole story before I started posting, I got some really good feedback about it and I felt that some minor revisions were in order... I'm trying to get the changed back through the editing processes, but with it being the holidays, it's taking a little longer.

wow this is awesome. i was soo scared for brennan and celia..then i realised that it was a fic

I'm glad that you're felling the emotion of the story.

Now that the holidays are over do we get an update soon...Pretty please with sugar on top

I'm hoping that the next chapter will be back from it's last edit in the next day or two. This is why I like to have a story done before I post... but there was no way that I could ignore the feedback that I got. The posting should continue normally after that.

AN: Apologies to everyone for the delay in posting. The day after I decided that I was going to take a "posting break" over Christmas, I received some excellent feedback from TotallyHonestReviewer1 (on ff.net) that made me go back and look again at the next chapters. At the simplest, THR1 said that I needed to treat the subject with the depth it deserves. I have tried to take into that account, and I believe I have made progress towards it. However, as a person and with where I am in my writing, I'm not sure that I can truly do the subject justice. However, I had already started posting the story, so I felt that I need to continue posting the story. Many thanks to redrider6612 and FauxMaven who have been over numerous additional drafts over the past month. Please don't hold the delay against me. The story is richer because of the changes.

Chapter 4: Marionettes
Smiling coyly at him, she blatantly came onto him."So, Muscles, you wanna share my shower?" she asked as she sashayed toward the tub.

In any other situation Booth would have followed her in an instant, but the cameras stopped him. He shook his head. She shrugged and showered with business-like efficiency.

Her lip curled. She hated being forced into things, but there was no way she could fight their captor. She just hoped she wouldn't hate herself afterwards.

'I can't do anything about the cameras,' she thought, 'but I can make this as easy on us as possible.'

Booth was aroused in spite of himself as he watched. He sat on the bed, wrapping his arms around his bent knees for modesty.

The idea that their captor was probably watching and sharing some of his thoughts made Booth insanely angry. His relationship with Brennan was special. He had spent so much time and energy nurturing it over the past several years. And now the actions of one unknown, but very sick, man were threatening it. He was supposed to rescue her, not be caught himself. The FBI had had all the bases covered. What had he done wrong?

Booth turned his anger to a useful task – a thorough search of the room. He sighed in disappointment as he came to the same conclusion that Brennan had. There was no way out and nothing in the room could be used as a weapon. His fist was millimeters from the wall before he remembered the cement wall would do more damage to him than he would do to it.

Then the sound of the hair dryer distracted him, and he watched as Brennan chased the drops of water down her generous curves with it. She rested a long, smooth leg on the edge of the tub and he caressed it with his eyes. His body responded as it had been doing far too often lately.

"Your turn," Brennan called, stepping out of the tub.

A bit dazed, Booth stared at her as his mind processed what she said.

She looked at him and laughed. "This time I can tell not only that you like what you see, but just how much!"

He blushed a bit. This wasn't how he had expected things to go at all. He had been planning a nice romantic dinner, followed by dancing or a show, and then a slow seduction.

His brain and his body seemed to be on different tracks. While he had been thinking about his plans, his eyes tracked her swaying hips as she walked toward him.

She stretched up on her toes and whispered in his ear, "Impressive, Seeley. You want help washing it?"

"I… you…" He tried to form a coherent response, but the fruity scent of her shampoo distracted him. He took a deep breath, inhaling it again. It wasn't apple or orange. Pear, or apricot maybe?

"No whispering," the voice of their captor demanded harshly. Abruptly he was jerked back to reality.

"No, thanks… Red," he said, choking on the stupid name. If they had to use names other than their own, he'd much rather be Tony and Roxie than Muscles and Red. Pushing his disgust aside, he headed toward the shower.

When he was finished, they curled up together on the bed. She rested a hand on his chest and slowly traced the defined lines of his muscles with her soft fingertips. He wrapped an arm around her waist, his fingers drawing lazy circles on her stomach.

"It's pretty warm in here right now," he commented. "The room should stay warm for a while. What exactly did you mean when you said he controls the heat?"

Brennan glanced at the thermometer. "It's seventy-eight degrees now, but you'd be surprised at how quickly the room can get cool. Just wait, you'll see."

"Were you really serious about the… um… type of entertainment he requires?" he asked.

"Oh, yes," she replied, pushing away self-loathing, but she didn't entirely succeed in keeping it out of her voice.

"T… Red?" he queried softly.

She shook her head. She couldn't think or talk about it right now. She needed her strength to stay alive.

"What happened while I was missing?" she asked to distract him.

He noticed that she changed the subject, but didn't push it. She probably didn't want to share with their unseen audience.

"Well, when you didn't show up for our meeting, I started looking for you. Your best friend told me you where you were planning on having lunch and the staff confirmed that you'd been there. But afterward you both just disappeared. Eventually the police found… um… your friend's car still in the parking lot. There were no traces of what happened."

"We were walking down the alley to the parking lot when a man came up behind me and put a cloth to my face. I think it must have had something like chloroform on it."

Booth looked in her eyes and saw that she was certain it had been chloroform, but it wouldn't do to give away what they knew. He began to mentally swear. She felt him tense and caressed his cheek with a finger.

"They'll find us." Alive or dead was another question.

He was surprised. She didn't usually have so much faith in people, but she was right; her team would never give up. And the man had kidnapped an FBI agent too, and the FBI took care of their own.

"So how'd you end up here?" she asked.

"Early this morning I got a call from your cell phone, telling me that if I wanted to see you again, I'd come alone to the mall. I was supposed to go to the janitor's closet, find a cell phone and get further instructions. I remember leaning into the trashcan on the wheeled cart to get the phone, then something was sprayed in my face." He bit his tongue to keep from admitting how stupid he felt.

A litany of questions she couldn't ask ran through her mind. Had he really gone to the mall alone? Would tracing the call help the FBI find them? Was he wearing his badge when he was taken? If he had, their chances of getting out of here alive would be significantly less. Their captor would probably rather kill them and dispose of their bodies than face charges of kidnapping an FBI agent.

"He told me he picked you out of my call list because I called you the most frequently," she said quietly.

The loud noise of machinery starting up distracted Booth from replying.

"What's that?" he asked.

"The fans," she replied dully, snuggling closer to him. She could feel the warmth being sucked out of the room already. Soon he would understand exactly how things worked in this messed up place.

Men's muscles produced more heat than women's. She'd be warmer with him than she'd been with Celia. 'I'm not thinking about her until we get out of here.'

Brennan wondered how long they could put off the inevitable. She really wanted him, but not in these circumstances. She compared her ideas against the number of "entertainment sessions" that would be required of them today. They'd probably run out of alternatives sometime tomorrow.

She swallowed her revulsion and stoked her determination. Their captor was going to steal something special from them, and they were going to have to go along with it. For now. But with the FBI's help, her team would find them and then she'd do everything possible to make sure he paid for this for as long as the law allowed. Imagining him rotting in prison for years made her feel a little better.

Forty-five degrees and several hours later, Booth couldn't stand to watch her shiver any longer and he gave into her earlier suggestion.

"Okay, Red. I'll teach you some more swing dance moves."

Brennan smiled, remembering their first date and how he'd taught her to dance. After this she'd never want to dance again.

The physical exertion warmed them until the temperature began to rise and they were given a reprieve.

Swing dancing carried them through the end of the day. The next day they started with the kind of dance done at singles bars. But when they tried some other dance variations in the next session, it didn't go so well.

"That's getting old, Muscles and Red," came the bored voice of their captor. "Give me something new."

Shivering uncontrollably, she directed to him lie on his back on the bed. She explored his body, her fingers dancing softly across his sculpted muscles, memorizing him and earning their heat at the same time. Occasionally he moaned involuntarily in response, but he forced himself to remain as still as possible. They needed to draw this out as long as possible. She leaned close to his ear and said, "When we're doing this, he'll let us whisper. I don't think he'll hear if we're careful to be really quiet." He nodded, and then let out another groan as her fingers brushed the sensitive skin at the base of his neck.

The next time, she was the virgin territory and he the explorer. He took his time; he loved the softness of her skin, and she bit her tongue with the effort of not calling out his name when her whole body was on fire.

Although they stretched the in-between times as long as possible, the fans could suck the warm air out quickly and the air conditioner was very effective at chilling the room.

When their time was up, she said, "Could we have hot water please?"

There was no reply, but when she went to the tub, the water eventually warmed. Adding the water to vary the last two sessions was enough to take them through early evening.

When dinner came, Booth was surprised to find steak and potatoes on the plate. No knives had been provided, but the steak had already been cut into bite-size pieces.

Brennan picked at the potatoes and then pushed the plate away. She had been coerced into a lot to survive, but she wouldn't do this. She'd hold onto every freedom she still had, no matter how small. As long as they kept him happy, there'd be another meal in the morning.

Booth ate voraciously. "The steak is excellent."

"He must have thought we were good."

Her comment reminded Booth how they'd been "earning" their food, and his appetite fled. He knew detachment was her usual coping mechanism, but he couldn’t stomach the thought of eating another bite at that price.

The food renewed their determination to wait as long as possible, but eventually the temperature dropped to near freezing.

"I'm out of ideas," Brennan told him.

"Me too."

"So?"

He swallowed hard. "Yeah, but I could never… under these circumstances… I don't want…"

"We're out of alternatives."

Accepting the inevitable, he moved close and whispered. "He might be controlling our actions, but he can't control our minds. Name somewhere you haven't been."

"Fiji."

"Close your eyes. Imagine we're in Fiji, staying in a cottage on the beach."

Booth was determined to make their first time special, regardless of their circumstances. Like a musician, he slowly tuned her body and then began to play a sweet melody, whispering the expanse of the horizon, the sound of the waves, the caress of the breeze across their skin, and the give of the sand underneath them. She let him lead and their harmony was exquisite. When the duet ended, both were satisfied and neither remembered the electronic eyes as they drifted into sleep.

Wow... the end to this chapter is painfully beautiful, if that's possible. Booth's ability to take her to another place entirely is awesome... but, as I said before, a little painful to consider.

AN: Here's the next installment of this story. Although I had originally planned to update once a week, I don't think that's going to happen. I apologize for this; however, the story is stronger and more realistic as a result. Thanks to TotallyHonestReviewer1 of FF.net for helping me keep this more true to life (not that it's necessarily as true to life as it could be, but with her input I'm closer than I originally was) and thanks to redrider6612 and FauxMaven for their outstanding editing. I'd like to say that I hope you enjoy the update, but I'm not sure that's quite appropriate given the subject matter.

Chapter 5: Through The Looking Glass
The next day, they stretched their few minutes of private conversation after each session of "entertainment."

Relief flooded Brennan when Booth told her he'd left his FBI identification in his car, but she was disturbed that he'd been taken despite the blanket of FBI security at the mall.

'Two weeks ago, I was thinking that some time away with Booth would be wonderful,' she thought. 'We have no outside interruptions and plenty of time to satisfy our biological urges, but... but not like this; not for the entertainment of some pervert. This should have been special, something for just us, but he's perverted it into a cheap performace.'

Nauseated, she fought the urge to vomit. She dashed across the room, barely making it to the toilet before losing the contents of her stomach.

Booth was at her side an instant later, pulling her hair back from her face and worriedly asking if she was sick. Ashamed, she avoided his gaze as she flushed the toilet and then brushed her teeth thoroughly. She had to be strong. She couldn't to let things get to her.

Unable to avoid his penetrating gaze any longer, she glanced up and saw his worry for her and anger at their situation.

"I'm fine. I'll be fine."

He pulled her into his arms to comfort her and to let her know that he understood. The situation was horrible, but they had to be fine, to keep it together if they were going to survive.

Trying to avoid her prior train of thought, Brennan focused on her encounters with her partner. She now knew the difference between satisfying her physical needs and making love, but she'd been calling them 'biological urges' for so long that 'making love' just sounded strange when she tried the words in her head.

She shook her head, trying to clear those thoughts too. Straying into emotional territory was dangerous. Staying detached was the only way she was staying sane at the moment, and she grasped at it, trying to forget the events that preceded Booth's arrival, using every ounce of willpower to maintain her detachment.

In some ways having Booth with her made things easier; she knew she could rely on him and he would lend her his strength when she needed it. He also made her feel safe. On the negative side, she trusted him and was more vulnerable around him, and the newness of their relationship made it very difficult to maintain her mental and emotional distance.

In addition, she was worried about Celia, which brought her back to…

The internal pressure burst through the dam of her detachment. She collapsed into Booth's arms and sobbed silently.

"T-t-tell m-m-me I'm not a t-terrible person," she begged through her tears.

Booth tightened his arms around her, rocking her gently back and forth.

"Shhhh. We're in a bad situation that's forcing us to make unpleasant choices to survive. That doesn't mean either of us is a bad person," he said, trying to soothe her with logic.

Brennan cried harder. He didn't know what she'd done in order to survive, and she didn't know how she was going to ever be able to live with herself. Eventually she cried herself to sleep in his arms.

Anger surged through Booth. She was slowly losing the battle against whatever demons she was wrestling. It was his job to protect her and he was failing miserably at it. Because of the lack of privacy, he couldn't figure out what was going on with her.

Their captor must have had some concern because he gave them a full five hours of warmth before the temperature began to drop again.

The long nap helped Brennan to regain her composure, but her vulnerability had pushed Booth closer to the edge and she could see it. A muscle twitched in his jaw. It was getting harder for him to contain his frustration and anger. She was afraid he might try to put his fist through the cement wall or break the saloon bar in half. Eventually he started pacing with long strides, his shoulders stiff and his fists clenched.

When Brennan couldn't stand any more, she spoke in a harsh tone for the benefit of their captor. "Being down here for so long is very difficult. I need an acceptable outlet for my stronger emotions."

She received no reply so she paced too, trying to work off her frustration.

Fortunately, both of them had plenty of experience to draw on, so keeping their captor entertained wasn't much of a problem, for the moment at least. The emotions roiling under the surface made their lovemaking explosive.

After a particularly passionate coupling, Booth, panting heavily from their activities, whispered in her ear, "If I could choose any way to die, it would be making love with you."

Brennan stared at him in surprise before worry flooded her. He was thinking about death? Did he think they were running out of time? How was she supposed to respond to that?!? Out of her depth, she did what she was good at. She kissed him and made words unnecessary.

On the morning of Booth's third full day of captivity and her eighth, Brennan woke before the usual morning wakeup call and noticed that a large freestanding punching bag had been slipped in during the night.

It was nice to get what she asked for, but incredibly frustrating to know that they had missed an opportunity to escape. She wasn't a heavy sleeper and the normal morning taste in her mouth told her that she hadn't been drugged.

She turned to her sleeping partner to point out the new addition to their furniture, but the soft expression on his face distracted her. There was no doubt about it; he was a fine specimen of manhood. He looked good when he was awake, intense and focused on a case, but he looked even better like this.

She smiled softly as Booth's eyes fluttered open slowly. She leaned down to kiss him.

"Good morning, beautiful," she greeted him quietly. "I love you."

His eyes popped open.

"I know… guys are handsome or good-looking or hot. You're all those things, and very sexy too. But beautiful describes you best," she said, snuggling into him.

"I… T..." he began, his brain still trying to shake off the remnants of sleep.

"Shhh…" She kissed him gently, reveling in the taste and texture of him. One hand found the back of his head and started playing with the short hairs near the nape of his neck while the other caressed the hard planes of his chest.

Shifting slightly so her lips were next to his ear, she whispered, "I love you, Seeley Booth." And then she proceeded to show him.

Afterward, for her ears only, he said, "I love you, Temperance Brennan. I have for a long time. You are the most amazing woman I've ever known."

After breakfast, she addressed their unknown captor. "I would really like some vanilla or lavender scented body wash. And, thank you for the punching bag." Brennan suppressed a grimace at the last statement. He didn't really deserve thanks. If he hadn't put them here… but maybe if he felt like they appreciated what he'd "given" them, he'd be willing to give them other things.

Booth's jaw tightened. She shouldn't be thanking the person who captured them. His anger rose, hot and furious.

"Hey, Red," he said in a controlled tone. "Help me move it to the corner?"

They turned it on its side and rolled it into the empty corner. The stand was heavy and both of them were panting with the effort by the time it was in its new location.

He gestured toward it. "Ladies first, Red?"

"Why not? I've got plenty of pent up emotion to work off."

Brennan began to attack the bag with a variety of punches and kicks. She'd been cooped up for days with nothing of real value to do. Her team was probably frantic with worry. She wanted to go back to work and her normal activities. She punched the bag savagely, trying not to think about what their captor had stolen from them.

She stopped and leaned against the punching bag to catch her breath, sweat pouring off her body. Surreptitiously, she inspected it. It was too heavy to use as a battering ram on the door, but maybe some part of it would be useful for something. To her disappointment, it would be impossible to disassemble it without tools. And if they had tools, they wouldn't be stuck here in the first place.

She stood up and took one last shot at it. She turned to find Booth staring at her.

"That was so hot," he growled, his voice low, breathing heavily, eyes half-lidded and dazed with desire. He was disgusted at his natural response. How could he have forgotten, even temporarily, their situation?

Then she stepped close and gave him a long kiss, muddling his senses all over again.

"Hold that thought, Muscles," she said with a wink, playing to the cameras. His stomach churned; they had been turned into circus animals performing for a Caligula.

While she showered, his fists furiously pounded out his pent up anger, frustration, and self-loathing.

After noon, a bag from Bath and Body Works was pushed under the door.

"Thank you." She choked on the polite words.

Heading to the tub, she turned on the water and waited for it to get warm. No dice.

"Baths are beneficial to the health of the female reproductive system. Given the repeated workout mine has had the past few days, I believe one is in order," she commented. "They are also relaxing." She swallowed her distaste and added, "Maybe you'll find it entertaining."

"Alright," said the male voice through the speaker. "You can have hot water, but don't stay in too long."

'What a control freak,' Brennan thought rolling her eyes. A few minutes later, the water warmed. She plugged the drain and stepped in, adding the bath gel to get bubbles. She sank into the water and sighed in pleasure as the warmth eased the ache in her neck caused by sleeping in the strange bed.

As always her brain ran a mile a minute. Brennan figured they'd be okay for the next day or two. Props and the bathtub would buy them a few more days, but after that it was going to be difficult to maintain the level of sexual activity their captor required. She needed to come up with something for when they reached that point. They had to survive long enough for the FBI to find them, and Celia's well-being depended on their ability to keep the pervert happy.

She mulled over their options all day, and late in the evening she finally came up with a feasible idea. She'd have to convince Booth, though. It would require supplies, but their captor seemed willing to provide them with reasonable things. Her plan, however, would require a couple of things he might be reluctant to give them.

The next morning, their fourth day, she started the first phase of her plan.

"I'm bored. I've always thought it would be fun to take up drawing. Could I have some pencils, an eraser and a drawing pad? I might as well do something useful with my spare time," she said. In an offhanded tone, she added, "Oh, and I'd like a cloth tape measure, preferably the kind used in sewing."

Booth looked at her like she was crazy. Their captor must have agreed, because he asked curiously, "What do you want the tape measure for?"

She replied with a shrug, "I want to measure how big Muscles is."

Booth blushed and their captor laughed.

"Why not?"

Brennan gave an internal sigh. Phase one was coming off without a hitch.

After their next "entertainment" session, Booth quietly said, "I know you, Temperance, and you're up to something."

"I'm working on what we can do when we run out of different positions," she whispered back. "But it requires some preparation."

"So what exactly is your plan?"

"I'd rather not tell you until I'm sure it will work," she replied. She knew it was going to take all her powers of persuasion to get him to agree.

AN: The usual thanks to redrider6612, FauxMaven, and TotallyHonestReviewer1. It was too long for a single post, so I split it into two.

Chapter 6: Maze Runner (Part 1)
Brennan's supplies arrived after breakfast the next morning. During their first break, she used the tape to measure Booth. Despite their nakedness and physical intimacy, his head-to-toe blush fascinated her. His color darkened further at her throaty laugh, even as it turned him on.

Her primary interest, however, was not the size of his penis as she told their captor, but the dimensions of his chest. Afterward she enlisted Booth to help her measure the dimensions of the room, recording everything on her drawing pad.

During the few minutes of private conversation they could steal after entertaining their captor, Booth asked, "Why do you need the dimensions of the room? Or, for that matter, me?"

"I don't need the measurements of the room," she whispered. "But it gave us something to do." And it kept her mind from straying into dangerous territory. It was getting harder and harder to keep herself together. Her control was fraying around the edges. She wanted, no needed, something to keep her from thinking too much. Like sharks around their prey, her thoughts and emotions circled dangerously close to what she'd done to Celia. No! She couldn't, no, wouldn't, think about that.

"And me?"

His voice pulled her from the morass of her mind. She struggled to remember what they were talking about. "I thought he might find it entertaining?"

Her reply was a second too slow and he noticed she avoided answering, but she spoke again before he could ask what was wrong or pin her down on the real reason behind the measurements.

"Hey, Muscles, would you get the tape measure please?"

He looked at her like she was crazy, but complied. It wasn't like there was anything else to do and she said she had some kind of plan.

"Okay, I need you to measure the breadth of my shoulders, my waist, my hips, then from the base of my neck to my waist, and the base of my neck to my hips. Please write them down on the bottom half of the page."

He stretched the tape measure across her shoulders, deliberately taking his time. The light brush of his fingers sent cascades of shivers across her bare skin.

She didn't really need all of the measurements, but decided to throw in a few extra to keep their captor guessing. Later, she'd take other measurements of him and have him do other ones on her. Then she'd measure other things in the room. Possibly those would be useful in her drawings.

The rest of the day Brennan alternated between drawing and exercising. After a session of martial arts warm-up, she started drawing the punching bag. It had been a long time since she'd drawn anything, and the punching bag had simple lines and interesting shadows. She worked off some of her anxiety about their situation, and then drew the saloon area as it looked from the bed. Booth scooted close to see what she was drawing.

"Stop it, Muscles!" she demanded in annoyance, glaring over her shoulder at him.

He moved back a bit, but not far enough.

Two minutes later, she ripped some pages from the book and thrust them at him along with a pencil. "Go draw over there. I can't focus with you looking over my shoulder."

He sat on a barstool. She started again, this time adding him to the scene.

By the end of the day, she was satisfied with her progress. She went to sleep thinking she was ready to attempt something harder.

Their captor woke them their sixth morning with a cheerful, "Good morning, lovelies."

"The next good morning I have will be when I wake up free," Brennan muttered in frustration.

"My, you're feeling feisty this morning," he said.

"Hey, watch your adjectives, buster," Booth growled, just as annoyed as Brennan. Usually his dreams were unpleasant and he was happy to wake from the memories his subconscious insisted on replaying. But most of them were more tolerable than their present reality.

Brennan tossed a quelling look at her partner.

"You'd better look into some props or something," she told their captor.

"Oh, I've got them all prepared," he responded. "Just let me know when you want them. Frankly, nobody has ever gone as long as you have without needing… accessories."

Bile rose in Brennan's throat. Given the elaborate setup of the room, she knew there had been people here before them, but having it confirmed and being compared to the prior occupants made her sick.

She swallowed reflexively, pushing down the burn in her throat. Maybe a shower would give her stomach time to settle so she'd be able to eat.

Mid-afternoon, Booth wandered over to see what she'd been drawing while he'd been doing his now five-times daily push-ups and sit-ups.

"Can I see what you've drawn, Red?"

She handed him the pad and offered him a nervous smile. She folded her hands in her lap to keep from grabbing it back.

He flipped through drawings of their room and some of places she'd been. She was good. However, what really surprised him were the ones of him.

He shifted awkwardly. "I didn't know you could draw."

She shrugged.

"You're really good," he allowed, even as he wished she hadn't drawn him. If – no, when – they were rescued, the sketchbook would be kept for evidence. Who knew how many people would see these naked drawings of him?

He swallowed a lump in his throat. Having things to do, drawing and measuring, was steadying both of them emotionally. They'd just have deal with the fallout later – if there was a later.

"I took a few figure drawing classes while I got my degrees. Before I started… working professionally, I had to do my own drawings sometimes, you know, for my job."

Booth flipped to the next page and saw something totally different than her other work. In simple lines, there were several smaller symbols drawn onto a shield. It almost looked like a heraldic symbol, but the drawing was unfinished.

He tossed her a questioning glance, and she answered his unspoken question, "It's just a design I'm working on."

"Huh." He could tell from the way she crossed her arms across her chest that she was keeping something from him, but this wasn't the time or place to push it. Maybe it was related to her plan.

Midway through the next day, Brennan asked for the props. When the box arrived, they took their time looking through it since they didn't really have anything better to do.

Booth examined the handcuffs. "These are very cheaply made. A good strong jerk would pull the chain links apart."

"Oh, look. I have one of these at home," she said, holding up a body stocking. "They're actually quite comfortable."

Next she pulled out a couple of bra and panty sets and Booth found a whip. The box also contained an Old West style corset, chaps, cowboy hat and boots, toy gun, bracelet and anklets with bells, and a vibrator.

Booth was really glad that there were no bits, bridles, or blinders in the box. But he could handle the Old West theme. 'I am a lawman after all,' he smirked.

On day eight, Brennan turned out to be especially creative with the Old West theme and they managed a whole day with those props alone.

After lunch, he looked around their room. He really hated this place. There was nothing to do and too much time to think. The cameras, a constant reminder of why they were here, angered him and the burning in his gut grew worse. He wished he had his gun and one bullet, all he needed to get them out of here. This kind of thinking was futile. He needed a distraction.

"I'm bored. Play a game with me."

"What kind of game?"

"We've got pencils and paper. How about tic-tac-toe or hangman?"

"I hated those games when I was six," Brennan replied. "I have a better idea."

She went and sat at the bar. Pulling a sheet of paper off her drawing pad, she began to fold it like an accordion, carefully creasing each fold line with her thumbnail. Then she tore carefully along the folds until she had a handful of long strips of paper about an inch wide. Next, she folded each strip and then tore along the folds again. When she was done, she had a large pile of one-inch squares. She wrote letters and small numbers on each.

After she completed the first several, Booth groaned, "Not Scrabble, Red. You'll beat me every time."

"We don't have a Scrabble board."

"I'm sure you can draw one," he replied grumpily.

"We could also use the squares for speed Scrabble, hangman, writing messages or poetry, or to make simple ciphers for the other person to decode."

"What exactly is speed Scrabble?"

"You play with Scrabble tiles," Brennan explained. "You start with five tiles. The first person who can incorporate all their tiles into crossword style words shouts 'Go' and all the players grab another tile and another round begins. The winner is the first person who finishes after there are no tiles left in the draw pile."

"What if nobody can make any words?" he asked.

"Then everybody agrees they're stuck and grabs another tile," she said. "There are other ways to determine the winner. One is by counting who wins the most rounds. Another is by counting the points each round. The sum of the numbers on the unused tiles is subtracted from the sum of the numbers of the used tiles."

Booth came within ten points of Brennan the first time they kept score, so he challenged her to another game. He lost miserably because he had a Q without a U. They switched to hangman. Unfortunately, she consistently beat him at that too. She used words he'd never heard of like 'syzygy' which she told him meant an alignment of the sun, moon, and earth, and seemed to know exactly which words he chose. 'If only we had Risk, I could probably beat her at that,' he thought in frustration.

As she fell asleep that night, thoughts of Celia bubbled up. Her hollow stomach churned. She had managed to go the whole day without losing her detachment, mostly because they'd had things to keep them busy. They'd begun to adjust to this situation. It was natural, but no less disturbing. She shifted restlessly, unable to find a comfortable position.

After breakfast the next day, Brennan decided it was time to try to convince Booth that her plan was a good idea. He wouldn't like it, but they didn't have a lot of options.

During their stolen minutes of conversation after their first entertainment session of the day, she told Booth, "You know, there's a chance I'm pregnant."

He pulled back from her abruptly and she saw an odd expression, not quite panic, in his eyes.

"What?!? You're so adamant about not wanting children; I figured you were probably on birth control."

"I was on the pill, but I haven't been able to take it since I've been here. Although it usually takes at least a few months after going off the pill for a woman to get pregnant, a certain percentage of women get pregnant immediately. And we've been having sex, lots of it, during the time when I'm likely to be most fertile."

"I … how do you feel about it?" The idea of having a child with Brennan sounded wonderful… sometime in the future; but not now, at the beginning of their relationship, and certainly not if she didn't want one.

He trembled in anger. This bastard was systematically destroying his dreams for the future. He'd already lost his chance to make their first time special. It would forever be tainted by memories of this place. He had never rushed her into anything and he never would. He'd hoped one day she'd change her mind and want a larger family than the two of them and Parker, but he'd never imagined a situation like this. Fury sent his blood pulsing through his veins, followed quickly by guilt. He was supposed to protect her. Not only had he been unable to rescue her, but he'd been trapped himself.

Pushing his fury and guilt away, Booth forced himself to tune into her voice.

"Like I said, I would never choose to bring a child into the world knowing what I do. But I haven't exactly had a choice in this situation. Biologically, life begins at conception and I would never willingly take an innocent life. But I'm not sure I would be a good mother. I'm not a very nurturing person."

Although her tone was steady, he recognized her insecurity. "You know, you might surprise yourself. Nurturing comes more easily to some than others, but every mother has to learn the same way – first-hand experience – and you're a very fast learner. Also, what makes you think you'd be excluded from the anthropological imperative for women to preserve the species and care for the young?" he asked softly.

"I'm just trying not to think too much about it at the moment," she admitted.

She had to end this conversation. It had taken an uncomfortable turn. In a louder voice she said, "Next time I'm putting the handcuffs on you, Muscles."

Chapter 6: Maze Runner (Part 2)
"In many cultures, rites of passage are celebrated with special ceremonies," she whispered during their next private moment.

"Rites of passage?" Booth questioned softly, wondering what she was thinking. "What has that got to do with anything?

"Rites of passage are life events: birth, death, reaching adulthood, marriage, the first time someone goes to war," she replied, ignoring his second question.

Booth was still confused. "But you think marriage is an antiquated ritual." It was so much fun to get her riled up; he hoped she would take the bait. They hadn't had a good argument in days.

She glared. "My main objection is that it perpetuates male domination in society. I suppose there's nothing wrong with marriage per se, but rather the problem is with the expectations that go along with it. Like I said, I don't need a piece of paper to show my commitment. Anyway, even our culture has certain rituals associated with different rites of passage. Births are celebrated with baby showers, and marriage with bridal showers and bachelor parties. Going out for drinks at age twenty-one is a common celebration associated with reaching adulthood."

"And why exactly are we talking about this?"

"Well, I kind of like the idea of forever," she admitted. "You know, if things continue to go well."

But they'd pushed the limit of their private conversation and their captor commanded, "No more whispering!"

"In many cultures, body painting, tattooing, or scarring is part of the rites of passage. For example, the Maori of New Zealand have a body modification technique called tā moka. Many parts of the body were marked. Some marks were created as part of rites of passage, others for beautification or indications of status," she said after their next "entertainment" session.

"Why are you going on about rites of passage?" he demanded in a harsh whisper.

"I… well," she began nervously, "You know I've been trying to figure out what do when we run out of ways to use our props."

"Uh huh?"

"Well, I was thinking…" she said clearly, but then she descended into mumbling and he could only catch a few words here and there. "…scarring… that design… assert your alpha male tendencies… commitment."

"Red," he hissed. "Just say it."

"It's not exactly a usual rite of passage, but for the first time ever I can see myself staying with one person for the rest of my life. We could think of it as our commitment ceremony – that we'll try to be together forever. "

"So are you saying we could somehow tattoo ourselves with that design while we're here?" he asked. He was elated to hear her talk about forever. It's what he was hoping for.

"Not exactly."

"Well, what then?" he demanded.

"You're not going to like it."

"I already guessed that by the way you're dancing around the subject."

"You know that design? If we have no options left, I thought we could, you know, mark each other with it."

"Mark how, with what?"

"A knife," she mumbled. "It would leave a scar."

"I… you… want me to cut your skin and vice versa?" he exclaimed.

"Not really," she replied harshly, "but if it's that or dying? I'll do it."

"No, absolutely not. I like the idea of a commitment rite of passage, but I could never do that to you. Besides, he'd never give us a knife."

"I could convince him."

She was probably right and that made him feel possessive. Their captor had no right to interfere in their relationship. He had seen her, all of her, and seen them in positions that should be private. Booth's rage boiled over.

As he furiously struck the punching bag repeatedly, he wondered how she could put the ideas of commitment and self-mutilation together. One was so beautiful and the other so terrible; they should never be mentioned in the same conversation. He let one or two last punches fly before stepping back and sucking in deep draughts of air, trying to regain his composure.

He glanced at his hands and realized that he should have stopped hitting the bag sooner. Two of his reddened knuckles were split, oozing blood and leaving small smears on the bag. Cold from the floor seeped into the soles of his feet as he crossed the room to wash his hands.

During the rest of their rest period, he had to keep pushing away images of her beautiful, smooth skin marred by hideous scars.

The next time they "entertained" their captor, things between them were fast and furious. Neither was happy with the other and it showed.

"Look, you can just think of it as some weird BDSM thing if you want," she whispered, pushing her point.

"No!" he replied, turning away.

"I don't think we have much of a choice. I don't really like the idea, but if we have to do something, at least we could make it meaningful."

"Yeah, and you know what? Every time I saw the scars afterward I would remember inflicting pain on you. I've been trying to forget how that feels."

"Yes, and that's why I knew you'd be able to handle it. And I'd be fine. I have a high tolerance for pain," she answered.

"This is not up for discussion, Temperance," he whispered fiercely. "We are NOT doing it."

"Well then, you'd better think of something else, because I don't want to die in here," she hissed in frustration. "I don't know why it's taking so long for them find us, but I don't want to experience what happens when our captor is unhappy. The last time Celia disappeared, and now he's holding her over our heads." She left out the fact that one of them could be used the same way; he already knew it and she just couldn't bear to think about the alternatives.

A minute later, she sighed. "I don't want to fight," she whispered. "We need each other to survive in here. I'm sorry. I'm sure we'll come up with something else."

He turned toward her. "Look, it's not a bad idea in general terms, but I just couldn't…" he said, struggling to explain. But there were no words to describe just how repulsed he was by the idea.

"Your latest version of the design looked really cool," he offered, trying to make amends.

She got up from the bed and retrieved her drawing pad.

Flipping to the page with the finished drawing she explained, "It represents us. The top row represents personal characteristics, the bottom our jobs."

He looked at it more carefully. The shield had four sections. Top left had a dolphin and two small stars, obviously representing Brennan. Top right had a large star with a second one inside it.

"The star is a protective sign, probably why it was chosen as part of the Army's symbology. This one represents your love of classic cars and that one needs no explanation," she said, pointing to the small Chevrolet logo inside the star and then a Celtic-style cross. She pointed to another symbol, a circle with a line running diagonally through it. A small line descended from the top end of the line, outside of the circle. "This is the ancient Greek symbol for a warrior."

The bottom left panel also contained three symbols, a line drawing in the shape of his FBI badge, a gun, and handcuffs. The bottom right had scales next to a skull and crossbones.

"This is incredible," he said. "We have our own… logo?"

Her laughter tinkled through the room. "Not quite a logo, but I suppose that's close enough."

They smiled at each other like the good friends they were.

"So, how about another round of speed Scrabble?" he offered. "I'm sure you'll knock the socks off me, but hey, at least it won't be boring."

"You're not wearing any socks," Brennan pointed out.

He looked at her in disbelief and she laughed.

"Just kidding, I know that one," she said with a wink.

He laughed much harder than the joke deserved, a nervous laughter that he had a hard time controlling.

AN: Thank you for your patience. Here's the next installment of the story. It's split into two posts because it's long. Thanks to redrider6612, FauxMaven, and TotallyHonestReviewer1 (of ff.net) for helping me keep it realistic and readable.

Chapter 7: Manumission
Brennan woke up slowly and yawned. She glanced over at the clock and was surprised to find that it was ten minutes after their normal wake-up call. Maybe their captor was being nice to them.

She turned her attention to her companion. Booth was her partner, her confidante, her best friend, her boyfriend, and most recently her lover. And he was still sleeping, his chest rising and falling rhythmically with his breathing. As if it had a mind of its own, her hand stretched to touch him. There was something irresistible about him, especially when he slept. But then she pulled her hand back; there was no reason to awaken him to this prison.

Resting her head on his shoulder, she thought back to the first time she'd allowed herself to appreciate his physique. He'd been grazed by a bullet and had refused to go to a hospital for treatment. She had insisted on bandaging the wound herself, and had been unable to take her eyes off his naked chest. She'd also found it difficult to hold back her desire to touch him. Things progressed, slowly gaining speed until that fateful Sunday when he'd dragged her out of the lab and took her to his 'thinking' spot.

She smiled at the memory of the two of them lying together on a picnic blanket in a grove of trees, clad only in their bathing suits. That day she had finally admitted that she wanted a romantic relationship with Booth. With him, she was beginning to imagine a life she thought she could never have. She wasn't sure she was prepared for it, but she wanted it anyway.

And then this nightmare happened. They were keeping each other sane, but she was apprehensive about what it would do to their future together, if they ever got out of here. So much had been taken from them, and Brennan felt as though she was reaching her breaking point. Something had to give and soon or she was going to… well, she didn't know what would happen, but it would be bad. Her hand tensed into a fist.

"Maybe it's time for a session with the punching bag," Booth suggested.

She started in surprise. "I didn't realize you were awake." Nodding toward the clock, she said, "Look at the time."

It was now half an hour after their captor usually greeted them in his disgustingly cheerful tone. He glanced at her, questioning. She returned the gaze and shrugged.

At that exact moment, someone knocked on the door. "Agent Booth? Dr. Brennan?" called an unfamiliar masculine voice.

"Yes?" Booth responded eagerly, jumping off the bed. He hadn't been carrying his badge when he was kidnapped. They weren't sure their captor knew he was FBI. So maybe… hope flared. Maybe this was rescue.

"Special Agent James Vatio, Missing Persons. We're sorry it took so long to find you," he said. "The cameras are all turned off. I'm going to push some clothes through the flaps. Knock when you're ready."

Brennan watched Booth's face. The lines of tension softened into lines of emotional exhaustion, but the light that had been missing from his eyes during their captivity had returned. A moment later, the clothes appeared.

"I… it's over?" the anthropologist asked in disbelief. She'd been waiting so long for this, but some part of her must have begun to believe they'd never get out. Maybe once they left the room she wouldn't have such a hard time wrapping her mind around it.

She was still staring at the pile of clothes when he pulled her into a tight hug. "We're getting out of here, Bones," Booth whispered, his voice cracking.

Then he leaned down and kissed her long and sweetly, their first truly private moment in a week and a half.

Grabbing the clothes, they began to dress slowly. When she was done dressing, she commented, "The clothes feel a little weird after being mostly naked for almost two weeks."

"Yeah, but I wouldn't want to go out there without them," he replied with a smile.

Brennan walked over to the bar and picked up her drawing pad and together they knocked on the door. Booth wrapped his left arm around her waist and they took a step back.

"I'm coming in with the EMTs," Vatio said, and then the doors opened outward.

"We're so glad you found us," Booth said, shaking Vatio's hand firmly. James Vatio was well-tanned and a few inches shorter than Booth, with spiky blond hair and regular features.

"What about Celia? Did you find her, too?" the anthropologist asked eagerly.

An unexpected look crossed Vatio's face as he replied, "Celia is safe."

An EMT approached them, distracting Brennan from asking more questions.

"We're fine," she told the woman firmly.

"We need to take you to the hospital for a checkup," the EMT informed them.

"And then you'll both need to give statements," added Vatio. "I'll have to take that pad as evidence."

"Guys, we know the drill. We've both been kidnapped before," Booth said in a placating tone.

He reached for the drawing pad, but Brennan held on. "Booth…"

"I know. But you'll get it back eventually." She didn't let go. He stepped closer and argued softly. "If this were any other crime scene, you'd insist on collecting all the evidence."

"But I…" She couldn't find the words to explain that letting the FBI take her drawings felt like letting tear away a part of her. In some ways, it was a relief – there would be fewer reminders. But she didn't want to lose the design she'd done for them either. It was too personal to share just now.

Booth tugged the sketch pad gently from her hands and handed it to Vatio. He pulled her into a tight hug to comfort her and to hide the tears welling in his eyes. He felt terrible, ripping away yet another thing that she didn't want to lose. He clung to her until he had his emotions under control. Then he slowly loosened his arms and waited for her to step away. When she didn't, he pulled his right arm free and slid the left down to her waist.

"Vatio, after we give our statements, I'm going to want a full explanation."

Brennan held back, happy to let Booth handle things for the moment. Her brain didn't have any trouble processing the fact that they were now free, but her emotions were a little bit behind and she felt off kilter. Okay, she was way beyond off kilter. Barely keeping it together was more like it. But she refused to suffer the indignity of breaking down before an audience.

They followed the agent and the EMTs out of the room and up a flight of stairs, passing the crime scene techs going down the stairs. Booth held her hand tightly the whole way.

The hallway at the top of the stairs opened into a large room filled with dusty shelves.

Brennan glanced at one of the banners and asked in disbelief, "We were at Circuit City this whole time?"

Vatio nodded apologetically.

"Then why did it take you so long to find us? This is practically where Celia and I were taken from!" demanded Brennan, fighting hard not to shout.

Vatio shrugged and replied, "I'm sorry, Dr. Brennan. Until you've given your statement I really can't enlighten you. I have to stay with the crime scene right now, but I'll meet you at the hospital in awhile."

He turned back toward the stairs and Clara and Robert, the EMTs, led Brennan and Booth into the parking garage.

"We thought this might be easier, since it will take your eyes a while to adjust to the light," explained Clara.

Brennan gave an internal sigh of relief when she saw that there was only one ambulance. She wasn't quite ready to be separated from Booth just yet.

"When it became clear that you two were alright, the other ambulance left with an agent who sustained a head injury," Robert explained.

During the ride to the hospital, Clara did a quick exam. She took their blood pressure and temperature, checked their ears, eyes, and throats with a flashlight, and listened to their lungs with the stethoscope.

When they arrived, she opened the door slowly to allow their eyes time to adjust to the light. Fortunately, the fall day was overcast so the transition didn't take long. A ray of sunlight shone through a gap in the clouds and Brennan closed her eyes and turned her face upward, basking in the light for a moment. It was good to be in the light again, to feel the breeze across her face, even to smell the exhaust fumes and hear the honking of cars. She allowed herself to simply be, to experience the world with her senses. Then the clouds shifted and the sunlight was gone.

The EMTs escorted them to a receptionist on the second floor and left them in her capable hands. A couple of minutes later, a nurse collected them. She stopped by the door of an exam room.

"Agent Booth," she said with a smile, gesturing him inside.

Brennan reached out and gripped his hand tightly. The upheaval of the day unsettled her and she hated hospitals, especially the antiseptic smell.

Understanding her unspoken request, he told the nurse, "We'd rather not be separated."

"We were going to put Miss Brennan in the next room."

"It's Dr. Brennan," Booth corrected.

Brennan smiled at him. He was even trying to defend her from perceived slights.

The anthropologist smiled at the nurse. "It's okay. There isn't a single millimeter of my body that he hasn't already seen and visa versa."

"Look, we've just been through a traumatic couple of weeks and we'd rather stay together for now," Booth pressed, tossing in one of his charm smiles.

Shrugging in surrender, the nurse gestured them into the room. "I'll be back in a moment with a gown for Dr. Brennan," she said.

Chapter 7: Manumission (Part 2)
Two minutes later they were left alone change into the gowns. While they waited, she glanced at the magazines in the rack, none of which looked remotely interesting. Then she sat next to Booth on the exam table, leaning into him and resting her head on his shoulder. He slipped his arm around her, reducing the cool air seeping in the back of her gown. She felt exhausted even though she'd had a good night's rest. Now that they were out, it was harder to push away the memories that niggled at the edge of her thoughts, waiting to burst through the smallest crack in her walls.

After knocking on the door, the doctor bustled into the exam room.

"I'm Dr. Patterson," he introduced himself, and then got right down to business. "I'd like to examine Dr. Brennan first."

Despite the doctor's brusque clinical manner, Booth did not like the idea of yet another man examining his partner, even if it was for health purposes. He gave himself a quick lecture on his alpha male tendencies as he glanced at her. At her shrug, he moved to the nearby chair, keeping hold of her hand and an even tighter grasp on his emotions.

Part way through the exam, Dr. Patterson commented, "You show signs of frequent recent sexual activity, and I was told you'd recently been through something traumatic. Should I do a rape kit?"

"A rape kit won't prove anything in this case," Brennan replied. "Would you order a pregnancy test, though? I was on the pill, but circumstances intervened."

"Do you think that's a good idea right now?" Booth asked. "I think we have enough on our plates at the moment without adding that. Knowing won't change anything."

"Maybe, but otherwise we'll just spend the next few days wondering."

"How recently could you have gotten pregnant, Miss Brennan?" Dr. Patterson asked, a bit bewildered by the conversation. He'd been warned that this wouldn't be a typical exam and that these were most definitely not typical patients, but he hadn't expected not to understand what they were talking about even though he heard every word.

"It's Dr. Brennan," she replied, "and I could have been impregnated anytime in the last nine days, or actually for the next two to four."

"In the past several years, tests have pushed back the earliest detection time but…" the doctor began.

"Oh, you're right. It's too early," Brennan interrupted. "The earliest pregnancy can be detected is seven days after conception. Sorry, I knew that. But I'm a bit distracted at the moment."

"You're an MD?" Dr. Patterson asked.

"No, PhD. I'm a forensic anthropologist, but I do keep up with the major medical journals."

"How likely is it that you're pregnant?" Booth asked.

"If I fall into the percentage of women who get pregnant right after they go off hormonal birth control, then it's very likely since we had sexual intercourse more than forty times in the past seven days. If you want the actual statistical probability, ask Zach," she answered matter-of-factly.

Dr. Patterson's eyes widened. "That certainly explains the vaginal bruising."

"Bones?" Booth asked softly.

"I'm okay, Booth," she replied, meeting his eyes steadily. In response to his stern expression, she added, "I was pretty uncomfortable yesterday."

The doctor completed his exam of Brennan and then it was Booth's turn. When he was done, he said, "Take it easy the next few days. Both of you need time to recover. You can get back into your clothes. A nurse will be by in a few minutes to check on you. I understand you have some visitors that are very anxious to see you."

Soon after they dressed, the nurse came back. "You'll need to head to the lab on the second floor for blood tests. They'll be expecting you. Shall I let your friends in now?"

They shared a look and then nodded simultaneously. Thirty seconds later, the squints crowded into the room. Silent reigned for a moment as their friends looked them over to make sure they were okay.

"I am so glad to see you, sweeties," Angela proclaimed before hugging each of them tightly. Hodgins followed suit.

Zach tried to say something but couldn't find the words. Booth smiled at him and nudged his shoulder with a fist.

Cam smiled and said, "Welcome back, Dr. Brennan, Seeley."

"Camille," Booth acknowledged her. "Don't call me Seeley."

"Don't call me Camille," she retorted, pleased to fall easily into the familiar exchange.

"So, what have you been doing while we were missing?" Brennan asked.

"Besides worry, you mean?" Hodgins asked. "Not much. Mostly we haven't been able to concentrate on work. Angela wanted to call Vatio for updates every five minutes, but I convinced her she shouldn't call more than once an hour. Except Zach. He went off into bone land with a vengeance."

"Are you two okay? I bet it was awful. I mean, how could someone do this to you?" Angela babbled. She hugged Brennan again.

An awkward silence descended on the room as the partners considered how to respond. Then Zach blurted out, "I have a limbo case that I need your opinion on, Dr. Brennan."

Cam said, "It'll have to wait a few days. She's got to take some mandatory leave."

"What?!?" exclaimed Brennan. "I don't want time off, I'd rather work."

"After the Gravedigger, the higher ups decided they needed a policy covering this type of situation. You have to take a minimum of two days leave before returning to work and pass a psychological evaluation before you will be allowed to do field work," explained Cam.

Seeing that the news wasn't sitting well with her friend, Angela shooed the others out of the room.

"I'm sorry, sweetie," she said apologetically. "I'll take a few days off and we can watch movies, go shopping, or something."

"Thanks, Ange, but Booth will probably have to take some time off too."

Angela looked them both over. She smiled at the closeness she saw between them, but frowned as she noticed their exhaustion. Booth was in protective mode, and Brennan wasn't even objecting.

"You guys look terrible. It must have been awful. The FBI didn't say anything other than that they'd found you and that you were physically okay. What happened?" Brennan appreciated the concern in her friend's voice, but she just couldn't talk about it.

Seeing the pained look on Brennan's face, Angela quickly added. "You know what? I don't really need to know. But if you ever want to talk about it…"

Celia rushing through the open door saved her from having to reply. "I'm so glad you're okay," she said and hugged Brennan tightly for about thirty seconds. Then she tensed and pulled away, memories overriding her relief. She backed quickly out of the room, her expression full of anguish.

Brennan sighed. "Ange, would you mind going out and finding Sam? He's Celia's boyfriend, and he's probably here somewhere. I really need to talk to him."

When Angela was gone, she couldn't hold the emotions and memories away any longer. She collapsed into Booth's arms and began to weep. He rocked her back and forth, wondering what was going on.

Finally, her sobs abated and she sniffed a few times. "Before you arrived, things got really bad. He figured out that we had been faking and he was really angry. You know what the room was set up for. I didn't feel like we had any choice, so I told her how to cope and then…" She paused and swallowed the huge lump in her throat. "She didn't want me to, but he told us he would let us freeze to death."

Booth's eyes widened. "You knew to tell her how to cope?"

"The foster parents of the second family I stayed with when I was in foster care were really cool. But their only son… he was a different story. He was a year older than me and he bullied everyone and took what he wanted, including me. For a couple of months, he forced his attentions on me regularly, until I misbehaved badly enough that they sent me back into the system," she answered softly, searching his eyes for a reaction and afraid of finding rejection there.

She had gone through so much, yet she was such an amazing woman. Booth contained his anger at the guy who had raped her, putting it away to deal with another time. She needed him right now.

He pulled her into a tight hug. "I love you, Temperance."

"Really?"

"Yes, really," he replied firmly. "It must have been hard, doing that, when you knew what it felt like to be the victim."

"You have no idea. I feel so awful." She shed a few more tears.

"We'll get through this, Temperance," he promised. "I'm not leaving."

Brennan searched for the words to tell him exactly how much it meant to her, but came up empty. She smiled up at him through a few unshed tears and said softly, "Thank you."

Sam entered the room and Brennan surreptitiously wiped the tears from her eyes before standing. She remembered meeting him and Celia at a dance club six weeks before and thinking they made a cute couple. While Booth had danced with Celia, Sam had told her that the two met a little over two years ago. They'd been on two double dates since that night. She wondered how he would take the news she was about to give him.

"Hi Sam," she greeted him.

"Hi, Temperance. Seeley," he said cautiously. "Angela said you needed to talk to me about something."

"Has Celia told you about what happened?" she asked him hesitantly.

"Some, but I know there's more."

"She's going to need your support, lots and lots and lots of it. I think I'd better tell you what happened. The man who kidnapped us demanded 'erotic' entertainment. We were threatened into performing sexual acts." Brennan sniffed, pushing away more tears. "She's probably… tell her I'm so sorry. I hope we could still be friends eventually, but I understand if she doesn't want to."

She wiped away tears and continued, "This is the third time I've been kidnapped. Booth probably understands better than anybody how you're feeling." She wanted to tell Sam that he should seek out Booth if he needed to, but she couldn't offer Booth's help.

"We could shoot some hoops," Booth offered, knowing the other man enjoyed the occasional game of basketball.

"I'll think about it," Sam replied, his voice tight with anger. "Right now, I need to get back to Celia. I… I can't really say 'thank you' for telling me, but I can see why you thought I needed to know." He left the room swiftly.

Brennan took a few deep breaths and locked her emotions away. Booth watched as her mask slid into place.

"I'm ready to head to the lab," she said.

"Okay, Bones, let's go."

As they walked down the corridor, Booth expressed one of his biggest fears. "I understand why you need your 'dealing with corpses' face right now, but please don't shut me out in an attempt to deal with this."

Her expression softened momentarily. "I don't think I could do that, even if I wanted to. You've broken down too many of my walls." She stretched up and kissed his cheek softly, and then her impassive expression was back. She turned and continued walking, leaving Booth to marvel at her inner strength. She really was a remarkable woman. With a wry smile and a shake of his head he hurried to catch up to her.