Author's Note: I have never read the books. I am basing this story on the little I have seen of the television series. Hope you enjoy it.

BONES

“Buried Bones”

One more minute and Seeley Booth was going to throw in the towel, and accept that this wasn't the product of an alcohol induced nightmare. It was going to be hard though, because it had all the classic elements. His Friday night had started out pretty much like any other, as far as he could remember anyway.

He'd made a spur of the moment decision to drown his sorrows in some anonymous pub, and the endless tall glasses of dark beer that waited within. He purposely avoided the usual hangouts, because sometimes you just wanted to wallow in your own misery. Without someone else along to commiserate, or forgive your foolishness before you had the right to be forgiven. He was mourning the passing of his relationship with Tessa... or celebrating, he wasn't quite certain yet.

The end had been delivered by modern day convenience, in the form of a clipped, but precisely worded voice mail message. He had been surprised to discover that he was more relieved than hurt at the unexpected news. Tessa had been a mistake of the major variety, and she'd been the stronger of the two to officially call off something that had been lying dormant for months.

What had he been thinking anyway? She had the long blond hair, and even longer legs that was his trademark in a woman, but they had never really connected on any other level than the horizontal. The sex had been good, real good... enough to make him overlook the fact that they had nothing in common, except for two high profile careers. Careers that took them in opposite directions, and the distances between them kept on increasing.

They could spend an entire meal, staring over each other's heads, with stainless steel utensils clinking between plate and mouth as the only accompanying sound. On those nights in particular they tried to hide their growing inadequacies with heavy breathing, and pounding each other up against walls and across tables. It had all the intimacy and romance of hiring an escort for the evening, and they would steal embarrassed glances at each other when they woke up in the morning amid tangled sheets. It was an ending, just waiting to happen.

There was just one thing that bothered him about the whole thing. Why had Tessa mentioned Bones in her heart-wrenching goodbye soliloquy? What did Bones have to do with the two of them anyway? Tessa had only ever met her in person twice to his recollection. Once at his apartment, when Bones had interrupted one of those trademark vertical bumps, and then again at the scene of a crime. It had been at the club where Bones had gotten accidentally high on bootleg cocaine, and was spouting all sorts of nonsensical stuff. Not even the usual nonsensical stuff that she normally spouted, having to do with the 'whys' and 'whats' of death and decay. That night she had seemed uninhibited and cute, in her little black sleeveless number... but anyway, back to the real matter at hand.

The minute was officially up, and now it was time to face the piper. This was indeed no hallucination, and he could no longer waste precious time waiting to wake up. He was already awake, kind of... and chained to a tree, in the middle of a cemetery, in the dead of night. And there was a strange man in a dark hooded robe standing right in front of him, beside a freshly dug grave, and carrying a scythe. Really... a scythe, no kidding. All curvy steel, and shining menace, right out of the horror movies. Booth cocked his head to one side, angling for a better look, and then immediately regretted the decision. His head pounded relentlessly, like a jack hammer was stationed inside building a new thoroughfare, by way of his synapses.

“You're awake,” Death officially proclaimed, as he took out a pack of Camel cigarettes from the pocket of his robe. He struck a match, and then inhaled deeply, blowing broken smoke rings into the darkened sky.

“Smoking causes cancer. But then in your line of work, I'm guessing you already knew that.”

“How astute of you, Agent Booth. I'm actually here to discuss the true meaning of death.”

“You couldn't have picked a better setting.” Booth jiggled the handcuffs and heavy chain for emphasis. The restraints encircled the large gnarled tree, holding his hands captive out to either side. “You could have asked me first. I might have come along willingly.”

“I prefer to keep the odds in my favor. Better safe than sorry, as they say.”

“So, Death... Do you mind if I call you Death?”

Death shrugged his shoulders in acceptance of the informality, as he flicked the shortened cigarette stub from his fingers, and then crushed it underfoot.

“There's a saying that I'm fond of myself. It's called 'cut to the chase.'

“That's what I like about you, Booth. You're a man of action. I planned this whole thing out with you specifically in mind.” Then Death dipped his head nonchalantly towards the fresh burial mound. “Well you, and the lovely Dr. Brennan, of course.”

Booth's head immediately snapped up, forgetting the headache, as his eyes widened in extreme terror. Death sidestepped neatly to one side, and now Booth could see other things. There was a pile of shovels and picks sticking from out behind the unmarked gravestone. Along with another pair of handcuffs, and a long paisley silk scarf, one that he could distinctly remember Bones wearing earlier today. His arms pulled uselessly against his bonds, as tendons stood out from his neck.

“If you've harmed her...”

“Harmed her?” Death laughed, low and throaty, like he practiced beforehand to get just the right inflection of evil. “Of course I harmed her. Do you honestly think she went into that grave of her own accord? You disappoint me Booth.”

Booth's eyes were cast forlornly on the pile of dirt, misleadingly rounded, like the earth was about to give birth, instead of cradling death within. “Is she...” The words were almost too much to bear. “Is she dead?”

Death walked up beside him, with scythe in tow. “Now what fun would that be, Agent Booth? We have the whole night ahead of us.” When Booth's eyes didn't rise from the melancholy that had seized his being, Death seemed to relent somewhat. “She's still alive. I'll even show you.”

More fumbling with the voluminous folds of the cape produced a compact video device. He messed around a moment with the settings, and then finally, swiveled the small projection screen towards Booth's straining eyes. There was Dr. Temperance Brennan, laid out on some kind of flat slab, surrounded on all sides, above and below, by form-fitting walls of galvanized steel. She was confined in a box; a coffin. There was simply no mistaking the cold, hard facts. The crystal clear quality of the video left nothing whatsoever to the imagination. He could even see a fine line of congealed blood that trickled down from one corner of her mouth. He didn't realize that he had been holding his breath while waiting for confirmation of hers, until she moved her head slightly, mumbling something indistinct in her drugged sleep.

“It's in real time, in case you're wondering,” Death informed him clinically, shutting off the display.

“Whatever you want... it's yours. Just, please, let her go.”

(To be continued)