Disclaimer: I own nothing, only the scotch tape holding posters to my wall.
Spoilers: None
Pairing: Booth x Brennan
Chapters: One-shot
Last Words: Random idea that came to me while putting tape down in three foot increments on a carpet. Don't ask…
Chapter 1: Splintered Wood
Note: Please review this! It's more of a creative writing piece, but I liked where it was going and I was so excited about Bones on Wednesday that it evolved into a more Bones-y fic, though no names are used. Enjoy! -Ash
She feels the warm blood flowing from beneath her auburn hair and she knows that there is no escape. Goose bumps rise from her scratched skin as the warmth of the liquid runs down her neck, soaking her shirt. Another punch connects with her face and she hears her jaw pop. The room is blurry through a swollen eye and her hot tears burn her raw skin. The dark room seems to swallow up all hope of survival from where she lies on the floor. There is no escape.
He strikes again, throwing her back against an old book shelf. The heavy volumes fall around her, and various trinkets shatter on the floor, littering it with painted ceramic and shards of glass. The floor creaks under the impact of the heavy books and the fragile ceramic crunches under her feet as she tries to remain standing against the hard shelf.
He is a tall, burly man who might have been sane once. Now there is only madness and bloodlust in his navy blue eyes. Her legs give out from under her, and she falls to the floor, crumpled at the foot of the oaken shelves. His knuckles are covered in her blood, dripping as he stares down at her where she lies on the floor. His black hair falls across his tanned face, and he continues to stare at her from beneath the curtain.
The pain runs like fire through her battered body, like venom in her veins. He walks slowly towards her, a strange grin creeping across his face. He knows she cannot escape, so he takes his time, feeding off of the fear and pain of her soul and body. Glass crunches beneath his heavily booted feet as he stands before her, his shadow enveloping her small body.
His large calloused hand finds her throat, and he lifts her into the air. Her feet rest on the stale air of the room before he drops her back down on the moldy floor where she catches herself against the rough concrete wall beside the bookshelf. He steps back and studies her once more, watching her sway in a haze of pain. The shouts and bumps down the stairs do nothing to ease her pounding head, and there is no relief for her pounding heart as she listens for him.
Her only chance of survival is down the rotting steps of the old house. He is fighting for her, trying to get to her. The ground quivers as furniture crashes to the floor below him. A gunshot is fired from below the old floors, and all is silent. Her attacker laughs, a cruel humorless laugh. There is no hope; there is no escape. He is gone, and now she must pay.
Her body flies through the air and the splintered wood scrapes her exposed flesh as she lands on the warped timber. The bleeding begins anew, warm rust running down her arms. The sound of cracking wood drifts into the room from the staircase as someone attempts to ascend the treacherous flight. The attacker's man is coming to watch, and she is angry.
Her attacker closes a fist around the fabric of the back of her torn shirt. She spins in the air towards his face, the smell of sweat and alcohol strong as nausea threatens to overcome her. She fights it down and swings a bloody fist at him, connecting with his ear. He drops her in surprise, her lungs emptying upon impact as the floor catches her in an unforgiving embrace.
She rolls onto her side, gasping for breath. His shadow in the lamplight crosses the patch of moonlight she lies in. His foot gently presses down on her slender throat, the pressure increasing little by little. She cannot breath.
His foot rolls down her neck and she feels the traction pattern pressing into the side of her throat. He pushes her back with his foot, sending her sliding over the broken glass and splintered floor. There is no escape, no hope. She holds onto the one wish that he will hurry up and kill her, for him to grow bored and put an end to it all. Her life is fading, and she wonders how she is able to keep her eyes open. She locks eyes with him, and she sees no sign of tiring of his game. She lowers her gaze to the floor, her inner light fading fast.
The old wooden door splinters, showering bits of wood and metal over her and the attacker. The audience is here, she thinks bitterly. Her attacker spins to see who the visitor is, blocking her view of the man at the door. The attacker shouts, and she is confused.
Her mind is muddled, a gray fog settling in behind her eyes. She hears a gunshot, but barely. The faint pop of the pistol echoes in her head and the black begins to border her sight. A familiar voice swirls around her ears, the gentle sound caressing her pounding head. She fights back the dense fog to see his face, his brown eyes gazing down into her own cobalt ones. He is not dead.
As he whispers in her ear, she hears the screams of sirens over his comforting voice. His arms are around her as he kneels with her on the floor, her upper body balancing on his lap. She cannot hear what he is saying through the fog, but she feels safe again. Footsteps break through the stairs down the hall, but it does not matter. He is with her. Finally succumbing to the once haunting black rimming her eyes, she drifts into a soft sleep, knowing she is safe in his arms.
Well, there you have it. A little tidbit of pain and misery with an ambiguous ending. Party on! You guys get this just because I was in such a good mood because I got a 100 on my biology test. I actually wasn't planning to do anything with this. But I did have fun with alliteration, if you could tell lol. Toodles! -Ash