Title: The Small Strokes in the Big Picture

Author: NexustehULF0o

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN BONES. However, Bones will own ME come September 23rd.

Nexus: Still attempting to fill this hole in my chest that aches every Thursday at eight…maybe since school is starting, my mind will be at ease…at least a little. Anyway, enjoy chapter five!

Chapter Five: Of Novels, Head Injuries, and Pinch Runners

"I still don't understand why you dragged me here."

A light afternoon breeze swayed the leaves of trees towering over the baseball field's bleacher seats, some of the older, redder ones rising into the air to land a few feet away. The blue sky was home to few clouds this particular autumn afternoon, leaving the sun to shine brightly with little disruption.

A young woman seated herself on the highest tear of bleachers, shaded by one of the more plumed trees. She crossed one leg over the other, looking to her partner as he smirked cockily at her.

"Well, some guys at the office offered to play some baseball this weekend - and I accepted, that's all." He replied, grinning and adjusting his bag strap across his chest. His female accompaniment didn't appear to buy it – instead, she donned a confused look and glanced in between him and the incoming men that had just recently begun arriving.

"Then why did you call me saying that you had vital information concerning a case?" She asked, not amused.

"Aw, c'mon, Bones – you need to get out with the people once in a while…you can't stay cooped up with your bodies forever." He replied jokingly, playfully pushing her leg.

Temperance Brennan uncrossed her legs before rolling her eyes and folding her arms, a smirk tugging at either corner of her mouth.

"I was planning on taking the day to finish my novel, Booth." She retorted, "You can't just have my attention whenever you feel like it."

"Ah, ahaha." He chuckled, pointing a finger at her. "Yeah, you say that, but you're really thinking about how much you'd like to see me smack one outta the park like Mark McGuire, eh?" He swung his hands like he was holding a bat. Brennan's confused expression only worsened in the face of his comment.

"I don't know what that means." She shook her head, her fingertips gripping the end of the seat.

"Famous baseball player, Bones?" He explained. "Yankees slugger?"

"I don't see what cephalopods have to do with this, but one of your colleagues is calling you." She pointed to a man about Booth's age that was calling for him and waving him over from across the field.

Booth waved back before returning his eyes to his partner.

"You'll be okay here, right?" He asked, all playfulness draining from his face. She huffed.

"Please. I mean, I can't leave – you have the keys."

"Pfft, it's not like you didn't bring your laptop with you. If you get bored, then by all means…" He gestured to the portable computer sitting right next to her.

Brennan grimaced and remained silent, her argument rendered invalid. Her partner smirked devilishly and raised an eyebrow at her before being called over by the crowd of men waiting for him. He said goodbye and jogged onto the field, moving over into one of the dugouts and dropping his things.

Brennan's forehead crinkled. She wasn't about to let Booth's little idea of fun get in the way of her finishing her novel on schedule.

With that, she opened her laptop, pressing a few buttons before the screen blurred into her typed manuscript. The anthropologist heaved out a quick sigh before resting her back against the chain-link fencing behind her, then placing her fingers to the keys and warming into the first sentence…

I peered around the corner into the dark living room, steak knife clutched in my sweaty, shaking palm.

"Birdie?" I called to my cat. The words were garbled trash in my throat.

Silence.

Suddenly, I heard soft creaking against the floor – I held my breath until I could hear them no longer.

"Bird…?" I called again, this time louder and clearer.

Again, no answer.

Then –

DING!

The loud sound caused Brennan to jump and then immediately clutch the laptop that had begun to slide off of her lap. The anthropologist glanced up to see one of the men running towards a white bag while another chased after a small white ball in the right corner of the field.

For a moment, she wondered why, only to shake her head and return to her document again.

Then something warm touched my shoulder, causing my muscles to tense and the small hairs on the back of my neck to bristle, similar to the ends of a toothbrush. Dare I turn around to reveal who it was? I readied my knife just in case.

Get a hold of yourself, Kathy. I thought violently, futilely attempting to relax my nerves. If it was the same person who had killed all of those people, you'd have been dead by now.

To no avail, the apprehension would not dissipate.

Slowly, warily, I turned around to face the stranger – I gasped, horrified at the result.

It was –

A whistle broke her out of her thoughts once more. She looked up to watch the men, brown mitten-like sleeves covering one hand as they took a certain position on the field. She scanned the area for her partner, soon realizing that he was preoccupied in throwing the small white ball to the person hitting it.

DING!

The man with the metal bat swung at the ball, sending it flying back at Booth.

Though, instead of cringing away from the ball, which seemed to be natural instinct – Booth reacted, tossing his gloved hand in front of the ball to catch it.

The men hooted and hollered at both batter and Booth as the batter walked off the field, dejected.

Brennan couldn't help but clap. It took stellar reflexes to be able to think to put his hand out. Booth must be more physically fit than she ever could have imagined – not that she doubted it for a second…

Brennan sat there momentarily, blindly watching the game in front of her as she tapped her fingers lightly against the keyboard keys.

Her mind snapped back to full attention at the changing of her screen to its screensaver. Booth's team was heading in to their little covered bench area and the other team was heading out onto the field.

She didn't even understand what was going on – what was so enticing about a game where one hits balls with a bat and runs around bases? It seemed rudimentary – this was fun? She'd much rather be examining remains or working on her novel…

She turned and looked at the laptop in her lap.

…Then why was she paying such close attention? Then why wasn't she working on her novel?

The men whistled as Booth walked out of the sitting area with a baseball bat.

"No-hitter, no-hitter. Move in!" One of the men in the field jeered, smirking at his teammates.

"Can it, Wilkins!" Booth called as he took his place in front of a man who was wearing a padded chest plate, shin guards, and a mask. Raising the bat behind him, Booth knelt into a ready position, watching the man on a small hill in the middle of the field.

The man on the small hill reared back, then throwing the ball with all of his might toward the padded man's glove.

Booth leaned back and swung the bat hard, attempting to hit the ball.

Brennan's heart caught in her throat.

She noticed soon after that Booth had swung too late, thus missing it by inches. The ball was caught in the padded player's glove, and he returned it to the man on the mound soon after.

"STRIKE ONE!" a masked man behind the man on the hill called out with a flamboyant hand gesture.

Strike one. That was bad, wasn't it?

The man on the hill leaned back again and shot the ball at Booth, who swung and missed a second time.

"STRIKE TWO!" the masked man behind the dirt mound called out again.

That must have been even worse, because now Booth's teammates were cheering for him.

"C'mon, Booth! Use your head!"

"You can do it, man! Focus!"

Brennan felt compelled to say something just then. Putting her laptop down beside her on the bleacher seats, she stood, cupping her hands around her mouth.

"Come on, Booth!" She yelled to him. "Smack the ball like Matt McGuire! Be a Yankees slug!"

When Booth heard this, he loosened his stance and turned around, looking at her.

"Yankess slugger, Bones!" He cried out, "Slugge -"

Unbeknownst to both of them, the pitcher wasn't paying attention to their conversation, and threw the baseball, which soared through the air until it smacked Booth right on the side of the head.

The FBI Agent went down pretty easily, hitting the ground with an abrupt flop. Brennan gasped and covered her mouth, hopping off the bleachers and running onto the field. The other players jogged toward home plate and began gathering around him as well.

Brennan knelt down and shook her partner's body, a panicked "Booth!" escaping her lips.

Booth's eyes rolled open, and he looked over at her, his face cracking into a wide smile.

"Oh, hey, Bones." He nodded before cringing. "Ow! Ugh, my head hurts…"

Brennan gently felt along her partner's skull, checking his head for any signs of a fracture. Everything seemed intact upon initial inspection, but she would need to examine his head further to be sure.

"Booth, I need to examine your head for injuries. I think you should go home." She suggested, looking up at the other players that had circled the injured Booth. Most nodded in agreement.

"We could probably just have a pinch runner stand in for him." One mentioned.

"I don't know what that means." She shook her head, looking at Booth who had moaned under his breath and rolled over on the ground.

Most of the players then realized what Booth meant when he talked about his partner's social ineptitude.

With that, some of the FBI agents helped Booth to his car, where Brennan searched his pockets and fumbled with the keys to open the door. They propped him up in the passenger seat and waited for Brennan to return with her laptop in hand.

"I'm sorry to ruin your game." She mumbled to the men after she shut the driver's side door and rolled down the window.

"Aw, it's all right. You didn't ruin it." One of the men reassured her. "We can do without him. Besides, the way he talks about you, I think he'd rather be hanging with you anyway."

"I can see why." One of the men leaned over and whispered to another, causing all of the present players to chuckle.

Brennan managed a smile and backed her way out of the parking lot, raising her hand in one last wave as they drove away.

It was Ryan.

"Jesus Christ, Andrew!" I cried out, lowering the knife from its poised position in my hand. "You scared me half to death!"

Ryan smiled, his features lightened by a flash of lightning prickling through the dark sky.

"I knocked once," He explained, motioning to the door. "But you didn't answer and it was getting really bad out there."

It was then that Birdie decided to answer my call, wrapping his tail around my ankles and rubbing his lithe, furry body up against my legs.

I pressed a hand to my heart, looking to calm myself from the nerve-wracking events that had happened in a split second.

Think about how easily the real killer could have snuck up on you. I thought, shaking my head. You even left the door unlocked. Stupid!

Just then, something flung past my ear.

The smirk fled from Ryan's face and he turned, slowly recognizing the new attachment sticking out of him.

My heart leapt into my throat – there was now a knife protruding from his shoulder.

Before I could stop him, he'd ripped the knife out, blood –

Booth's moan from on the couch caused Brennan to look up from her laptop screen.

She watched the FBI agent grab for his head and squint in the light of the room, rolling over to face her.

"Bones…" he muttered.

She put her laptop on the end table and smiled for her partner, standing from her chair and kneeling over him.

"Oooh, Booth, be careful." She warned, placing a hand to his temple. "You were hit very hard by a ball. I drove you home."

He grunted in reply, shutting his eyes tightly.

"Your skull is not fractured, although you were his pretty hard. I would expect severe bruising to occur over the next few days." She explained.

"Ice." He mumbled.

"What?"

"Ice!" He groaned louder, pointing to the kitchen. "In a Ziploc bag! Please!"

She stood and stepped into the kitchen, hurriedly put ice in a sandwich bag, then handed it to him.

"Thank you." He nodded minutely, and then placed the bag to the side of his head. Brennan slowly crossed her legs and sat down on the floor, leaning her back against the couch while heaving a heavy sigh.

There was a moment of silence before Booth shifted his weight and pulled the TV remote from underneath him, switching on the television set before flipping the channel to a professional baseball game. He turned the volume down after he cringed at the pain drumming in his ears, but he quickly situated himself with one ear resting on a couch pillow and the other topped with ice.

Silence ensued for another long moment omit the hum of the crowd in the stadium and the announcers' ramblings.

"So…" Brennan turned and looked at Booth, a confused look passing her face. "What is a 'pinch runner'?"