A/N: sorry for the rift in the update, maybe reviews would grease the wheels? Anyway, I'm going to focus more on Brennan in captivity, and maybe a little case stuff.

"What are you going to do to me?" Brennan cried, her voice shrill.

"Oh, nothing, honey... For now, at least." the voice answered her. She shivered again, and it had nothing to do with the cold.

An evil laugh that sounded totally cliche echoed through the room she was in. And just like that, he was gone. Hot tears dripped down her face and onto the cold, unforgiving concrete. The steady drip of her tears on the floor matched her heartbeat. All of the sounds she made were magnified, the slightest shift could make a slight ruffling sound that seemed louder than a jet engine.

As suddenly as he'd left, he was back, jamming something in her mouth. She thrashed as best she could, trying to bite down on his fingers, but when she bit, she tasted something that reminded her of cornmeal. A corn muffin? "What's the matter, honey? You seem hungry. How long was it since you last ate?" he nearly cooed in a voice that sounded so unnaturally caring and sweet, that it felt like a microphone screech to her ears. She spat out the corn muffin on the cold floor. "That's okay. You don't like corn muffins. I'll keep that in mind." After that, he left, once again leaving Brennan in total darkness.

Her breathing began to return to normal, and her erratic heartbeat slowed. But after a few long, lonely hours she rethought about the food on the floor. Her stomach was deafening, and the hunger made her more uncomfortable than she already was. Shifting so she sat on her side, she picked the partially chewed corn muffin off the ground with her teeth and tongue, chewing slowly and deliberately. She didn't taste any poisons or other meds. "But some are tasteless," she chastised out loud. But as soon as her tongue had a slight taste of some form of nourishment, she couldn't stop. Despite her fear at there being meds in her meal, she gobbled it down, which partially satiated her roaring hunger.

She had been chloroformed. Her DNA on the rag confirmed it. Booth was staring wide eyed at the busy scene in front of him. Many FBI agents had been called in, and Jeffersonian personnel were collecting evidence.

Booth tried to visualize what happened, but all he could think about was how scared he must've been. How scared she must be. He leaned against a wall, sinking into his personal hell.


Brennan felt like she'd been lying on her side for a millennia, even though in logic that would hardly be true. She was starting to calm down, her heart rate slowing to reasonable levels, and rational thought was now possible. Before she could even sort through her situation, he was back.

"Darling, you've been here for two days now," he said in his nasty, sugar-coated voice. "I think it's time."

"For what?" she asked, morbidly curious about her own fate.

"To come outside. To be in our house. I decorated it just like you wanted it. The perfect color to match your eyes is in the bathroom," he said, his voice sounding dreamy.

Harshly dragging her to her feet, he used something to cut the twine, most likely the knife he'd kill her with, she thought with a shudder. She felt the blade being pressed against her carotid artery, she she inhaled sharply. Any plans of escape quickly disappeared in her mind. If he cut her neck she'd be dead in a matter of seconds. Usually, when she processed her own death, she thought of it as the natural order. Eventually everything wears down and has to shut down. Like human bodies. She didn't know what it would be like not to exist-to have her existence snuffed out by a guy with a knife. Now though, she didn't want to process her own death, to think about not having a set of lungs, a beating heart, a working brain.

Something she didn't often want to confront pushed itself to the forefront of her mind. She didn't want to die not knowing what would ever happen to Booth. She wanted to share her life with him, to laugh when he did, to be sad when he was, to prop him up when things got rough, to lean on him when she was feeling down. She wasn't sure if that was love, but she thought it was. If that wasn't love, then no one could really be in love. No one could be that blissed out all the time. Now she vehemently wished that she'd taken up Booth's offer to give them a try. She ferverently wished that one of those idiots who were trying to bend time and space could invent a time machine, so she could go back. She could go back to when they stood together after that session with Sweets. She wished she could go back to that kiss, and make it last forever, and never let go.

Back when she met Booth six years ago, she'd considered 'love' as a flood of brain chemicals, of endorphins and serotonin. But now she believed it was something more. Something that wasn't measurable in brain chemistry or a lab. Like Booth had said all those years ago. There are those things like love that just can't be measured in a lab, Bones. She'd never thought Booth would be right. She wasn't shy about flaunting her superior knowledge, but Booth just seemed to be in a different league than her. He had a whole different set of knowledge than she did. She'd never thought her science or her brains could be wrong. Now she was rethinking everything. Booth had made her rethink her whole life.

This whole conclusion had taken place in less than a second, and now The Little Lady Killer was shoving her through a door that would ultimately lead to her death. And she didn't want to go. Not yet.

Sorry for the short chap. wanted to get another one up. a nice romantic ballad by brennan there XD hope i didn't write her too far out of character.