Jungle Work

AN- I own nothing as Bones isn't my origional work. This is my first serious work for a long time so please be honest and point out any and all flaws that it may have and I promise to do my utmost to reply to all serious reviews.


"Do you want to live forever?"
You don't know why that question went through your mind just now but you know the answer right? Who wouldn't want to live forever? A lifetime of experiences with no permanent repercussions, isn't that an ideal way to live? You know what your partner would say: "Such hedonistic ideals where what destroyed countless civilizations. When a society starts to idealize decadence it surely falls." You don't know why but hearing her voice in your head makes you feel better, or at least you don't want to acknowledge that you know why it does. You first heard that question from your platoon sergeant in Panama before you flew in. Funny the last time you heard that it was a way to motivate you, now the question was all too real.

It's dark; you can barely perceive the walls around you. It's wet; the moisture has soaked your shirt. As you try to sit up pain sears through your head; pain is good it means that you're still alive. Only the bad thing is that you realize that it isn't a nightmare and you really are in a dark dank room with what appears to be blood on the floor. You realize that your hands are bound, so are your ankles; zip-tied. That's not good, that means whoever did this to you is a professional, they know what they're doing. As your eyes adjust to the dark you can see the outline of a door in front of you only you don't see a doorknob or a latch. That worries you the most. That means that you're dealing with someone who's done this before, you're in a purpose built holding cell. You notice that there is a drain by your head; the blood crusted to it looks old and your blood mixes with it as you spit up a gob that was pooling in your mouth. The color reminds you a bit of that tub of cleaner that those women put their husband in; a dark red mixed with brownish stuff, Ange would know what shade it was.

A groan escapes your mouth as you finally manage to sit up and asses the room. It's cramped and small, stone walls and floors with a wooden door. Hah it's like you got shoved into a dungeon like one of the guys in the fairy tales you read to Parker before bed. Only they forget to mention the smell. Your hackles rise as your nostrils are assailed by the mixed stench of vomit, shit, piss, and blood. Bad memories come rushing back but you suppress them before you get any more agitated. Still you start to panic as you try to recall your training from Ft. Rucker. You calm yourself down and try to remember how you ended up here. The last thing you remember is walking out of the Jeffersonian and walking to the parking lot to go to… wow. You have no idea of where you were supposed to go but apparently you never showed up. You suddenly panic. Bones! Was she with you? You can't remember. Wait… Hodgins wanted to show her something as you two were walking out. You remember arguing with her but she went off to see whatever the Bug and Slime guy found and you walked out to the car to warm it up and wait for her. You say a silent prayer thanking God that whoever it was that got him didn't get her as well.

That said you tack on a little request for help getting out of here, wherever it is.

Suddenly you hear voices on the other side of the door and you try to listen to what they say. Before you can discern any words the door bursts open and a really bright light is shining in your eyes. Your eyes water as you squint, the irony of the label doesn't escape you; and suddenly the light is blocked by a rather large boot. Ow! You can definitely feel your nose break. The only noise that is being made is the smacking and thuds of, hmmmm, two rather large men beating you with what feels like anvils and baseball bats but you probably guess with just their hands and feet. Blood leaks out of your mouth as you grind your teeth together to keep from crying out. Show no weakness; don't give them anything to latch on to, don't give them a method to break you.

They wrench you up and lift you to your feet by your arms. Darkness covers your eyes but you don't think you were knocked out; one of them must have put a bag over your head. This causes you to panic the most as the memories begin to assail you. As they drag you along you try to bring yourself back under control as visions flash before your eyes. You almost feel as if you're back in Afghanistan and you're being dragged off for another meeting with your tormentors, with your torturers. You bring yourself back to the present with the cold realization that you're not in Afghanistan because your feet aren't broken. That's what they did to you first when they captured you and your team, they broke your feet so you couldn't run away; well except for Vandercook, he was already wounded so they… you don't want to think about what they did to him.

Next thing you know you're careening through the air. You bet that Zach could have predicted exactly where you would hit and how hard if he could see you what with him being such a genius. A crazy murder but a genius nonetheless. You miss him and his rather … odd way of looking at the world; you don't know why he suddenly popped into your head at that second but maybe it was because--- you hit something hard and fall to the floor. You wheeze out loud and spit up a mouthful of blood; gross that's going to leave a stain on your shirt. Oh yeah he liked to fly model airplanes and you were making a fair imitation of one just then. Well so did Kennedy and he was a hit man. Was there some sort of link between flying airplanes and murder? The ironic thing is that Zach would be the first person to figure that out.

"Special Agent Seely Booth of the FBI Major Crimes Unit out of DC."

Who the hell is that? It doesn't sound like some bruiser who just roughed you up, too dammed refined and pretentious.

"A shame that we had to meet under these circumstances Agent Booth. Your reputation precedes you and under different conditions we might have rather enjoyed working together. But for now let us be civilized, after all there is no rule which says that one cannot be polite with even one as perfectly difficult as you and it is rather rude that your face is hidden."

You're hauled up to your feet and someone pulls the bag over your head. You blink at the harsh light and realize that you're looking at a mirror of yourself. Well yourself and two rather large men in black ski masks.

"Ahh much better. I can see that my colleagues have welcomed you properly to this facility. Oh don't scowl like that."

At those words the one to your left, or is it to your right; mirrors are so confusing. Either way his fist slams into your jaw and you collapse towards the ground. Or you would as your descent is met by the other goon's ascending knee. You try not to gasp as you feel a rib crack. Defiantly you glare back into the mirror hoping to hide just how much pain you feel.

"Heh, well there is just no negotiating with some people. But I'm a generous man and I feel that I can trust you not to do anything foolish."

You feel the zip-tie on your wrists being cut. Without warning you whirl about and grapple with the guard who cut your bonds. Hah take that you little fuck! You feel some pain as your forehead smashes into his nose but you know that he's hurting a lot more. He stumbles back still holding the knife and --- hello floor meet face. You can't help but cry out as your nose smashes into the stone floor. Should have waited for them to cut your feet loose as well, then you could have balanced yourself. You grin up at the mirror as they proceed to kick you. Except for right then, that was a rib breaking and oh what would you know your shoulder is dislocated.

You finally start making noise as they drag you over to a chair and a table. In retrospect telling him that he hit like a girl was probably not a good idea; the stars you see remind you of those old cartoons that you'd see. They strap you down to the chair and- Oh God! That really hurt. Is your arm broken? Nah it just feels like it's on fire but now how the hell are you supposed to hit back? Suddenly you feel a stabbing pain from your left hand, quite literally as there is now a knife sticking out of your hand pinning it to the table. You only hope this isn't the prequel of getting garroted like that guy in The Godfather.

"But then again I have been wrong before."

"Who the hell are you?!" you spit out with some more blood. Hah you got a bit on that guys face. Take that!

"Now now what makes you think that you're the one who is going to ask questions here? Now we're going to start this slowly and carefully but no worries we're not like those savages who have tortured you before; it will be considerably different for you this time around but have no illusions. My associates have made it explicitly clear that you are here to be tortured, to break you, to utterly destroy your psyche."

Your mind swims with the possibilities of that statement, none of them really reassure you. But it does remind you of SERE school; of course there they didn't stab you.

"Now we know that you have some familiarity with rationality and logic your colleague Dr. Brennan is famous for it. And just so you know there is a totally rational and logical reason why you are here and that there is a logical method to what will be done to you." The (man? voice?) states from the mirror.

Smug bastard is probably grinning and holding a damn martini. This feels like a particularly bad dream from a James Bond movie and you hope you wake up soon because this dream really sucks.

"So why am I here? What is this logical reason why I'm tied to a chair somewhere with a knife sticking out of my hand?" Was that too demanding? He did tell you that you weren't asking the questions here but it can't hurt to ask right? On second thought the whole getting your head slammed into the table hurts so maybe it does hurt to ask some times.

You barely hear him as your vision is quite blurry right now, something about getting knocked in the head repeatedly. "Agent Booth you're here for the simple reason that you are more useful to us here than in an active role in the FBI at the moment. Of course I won't go into the details as you quite simply don't need to know them; after all you're going to need something to think about because you're going to be here for quite some time."

Well at least that means that they don't want you dead just yet, just mostly dead. Parker likes to watch Disney movies and sometimes leaves the TV on when he falls asleep. The last time he was over he fell asleep watching the Princess Bride; you always thought it was a kinda girly movie but you just couldn't stop watching that night for some reason. Maybe it was your subconscious forewarning you about getting kidnapped and tortured so you could stock up on movie quotes! Sweets would probably say something along those lines but then again he's so annoying sometimes that you'd probably just ignore him. Oh yeah where were you again? Oh that's right sitting in some God-forsaken room talking to yourself in the mirror, and getting beaten by two rather pissed of guys. At least they took the knife out of your hand. That being said will someone please pick you up off the floor because you don't trust your legs to hold up your weight.

It doesn't seem like there is going to be any more talking from the mirror on the wall. "Mirror mirror on the wall, how many beatings have I had in all?" Taking up a stoic glare seems to be the best way to deal with this. It's just pain. Honestly it's better than when you had to face off against that Goliath in Vegas. That night was rather memorable; your body ached for days after that even with Bones taking care of you. It brings a small grin to your face thinking about how she helped you win that fight and took care of you with an almost annoying degree of… attention. Not that you minded because you really did. Uh-oh did that grin actually set upon your face just then? Did they see it?

"Hey Karl, did you see him just there? He's enjoying this! If he likes it so much then we ought to oblige him." Damn. This is going to- *Wham* What happened to the lights?


At least they left the restraints off of you when they put you back in your cell. It allows you to scratch your leg. That was annoying you for a while. It reminded you a bit of that James Bond movie when he was tortured; that's not saying that you'd have wanted to be tortured the same way as he did but… at least he did get freed afterward. Looking around this place you don't see the cavalry riding over the next hill, or busting in through the door. That kind of depresses you; the squints and you had all arranged to go to Sid's for dinner tonight. At least you think that its tonight; time sort of flies when you're passed out.

Taking stock of your injuries sort of depresses you; it feels like your entire body is one mass of bruises and from what you can see of your body it sort of fits. Wait you can see your entire body. Holy shit you have no clothes! No wonder its cold. Ha if only Bones could see you now; she'd be able to tell you exactly which of your bones was bruised, cracked, or whatever. Wait why did you think of Bones just then? Could it be because you… um… how did she put it… "lack of Puritan modesty?" Nah it can't be that, it's the bone thing because your ribs feel pretty bad right now. You don't want to think that it might be that… other thing.

Why are you here? The mirror, you don't want to say guy I mean you can't even see his/her face, that there was some sort of logical reason why you were here. The best thing you can think of is that it has something to do with a case. I mean what else would it be? This whole set up and the professional feeling of the beat down, if that's the word for it, smells like something organized. Could it be the mob? Could it have something to do with that big RICO case that you… gave up all that credit to. Even if you didn't get the credit for the case, your face uncontrollably darkens as you remember why you gave it up, the mob would know who worked on the case and who helped reveal some of their most profitable operations to the world. What is it with you being captured by organized crime? Technically the thing in Vegas was you being undercover to find a double murderer but it certainly felt like you were going to be locked up by the mob when they accused you of cheating. And the whole fiasco with Kennedy and his rather disgruntled boss, whoa. That was rather unpleasant. At least "Big Dawg" Gallagher let you keep your clothes. Of course he also wanted to kill you fairly quickly but you've been known to be stubborn so it took a little while which gave Bones time to find you. She'll find you. She and her squints are the best. She has to. Geez you don't want to feel needy but you do feel like you need her right at this moment. And it has nothing to do because you're naked. Why do you keep telling yourself that?

Hey it looks like they bandaged up your hand! All wrapped up in clean gauze too! At least they're considerate enough, at least when they're not stabbing you and beating you in the first place. That means… that they want you to stay around long enough to "talk" to again. You're sort of flattered that they want you around but given the chance you'd decline their invitation.

It's better to think of a way to get out of here, sitting here brooding will only make things worse. Besides what is it that Bones always calls you? An "alpha-male?" Well wouldn't an alpha-male try to dominate the situation? Standing up hurts; hell breathing hurts right now. You stumble over to the door to study it. Your training takes over as you look over the cracks between the door and the wall; no wires, no little "lumps" in between the spaces. At least they didn't rig the door to blow if it got opened from the inside. It doesn't even look like it was set up to trip an alarm; still before you get too excited you need to figure out how to get the door open in the first place, perhaps if you wedged something in the cracks to pry the door open? But what with?

The cell still looks empty, dark, and wet. Nothing to work with here at the moment, also nothing to do. You suppress a dark chuckle though; these guys are obviously well versed in how to take and hold prisoners, you wouldn't be surprised if some of the guys who helped design this whole set-up were ex-military from various parts of the world where this was the norm for even regular prisons. You don't want to think that maybe some of these guys went through the mill here in the states, sure some of the guys who went through never were quite right in the first place; more were changed afterwards. As long as they didn't do what they did at SERE school they wouldn't break him, at least not for a while.

What's that sound? Is it- oh God oh God oh God oh God not this. Not those noises. Oh God in heaven...


Special Agent Seely Booth of the FBI, veteran of the 75th Ranger Regiment US Army with years of some of the most difficult training and assignments that his country has given him. He's acknowledged bulwark against evil and despair that his friends and colleagues all look to in times of fear and desperation. He knows what it is to kill; his psyche has held up under blood, torture, and stress that most cannot possibly understand. He's the quintessential Alpha Male, a Paladin, the defender of the weak and those oppressed. He's curled up in the fetal position with his hands over his ears, sobbing and begging God to make the noises stop as time stretches on into infinity. Ah the while unbeknownst to him a camera watches and records these moments for those who orchestrated this.